第9章

Heshowednoresentmentatmypatronage,butaself-sufficiencythatmademysympathyseemsuperfluous,givingtheimpressionofaninnerharmonyandcontentthatsurprisedme.

"Ineedn"taskhowyou"regettingalong,"hesaid

AttheendofthefreshmanyearweabandonedMrs.Bolton"sformoredesirablequarters.

Ishallnotgodeeplyintomycollegecareer,recallingonlysuchincidentsas,seenintheretrospect,appeartohavehadsignificance.I

havementionedmyknackforsong-writing;butitwasnot,Ithink,untilmyjunioryeartherewasstartlinglyrenewedinmemyyouthfuldesiretowrite,tocreatesomethingworthwhile,thathadsolongbeendormant.

TheinspirationcamefromAlonzoCheyne,instructorinEnglish;aremarkableteacher,inspiteofthefinickymannerismswhichTomimitated.Andwhen,inreadingaloudcertainmagnificentpassages,heforgothisaffectations,hemanagedtoarousecravingsIthoughttohavedesertedmeforever.Wasitpossible,afterall,thatIhadbeenrightandmyfatherwrong?thatImightyetbegreatinliterature?

AmerehintfromAlonzoCheynewasmorehighlyprizedbythegrindsthanfulsomepraisefromanotherteacher.Andtohiscredititshouldberecordedthatthegrindsweretheonlyoneshetreatedwithanyseriousness;hetookpainstoanswertheirquestions;buttowardstherestofus,theChosen,heshowedathinlyveiledcontempt.Nonesoquickashetodetectasimulatedinterest,orawilyefforttomakehimridiculous;andfewtriedthisasecondtime,forhehadarapier-likegiftofreparteethattransfixedtheoffenderlikeamothonapin.Hehadawayofeyeingmeattimes,hisglassesinhishand,aqueersmileonhislips,asmuchastoimplythattherewasoneatleastamongthelostwhowasmadeforbetterthings.Notthatmyworkwaspoor,butI

knewthatitmighthavebeenbetter.Outofhisclasses,however,beyondtheimmediate,disturbinginfluenceofhispersonalityIwouldrelapseintoindifference

Returningoneeveningtoourquarters,whichwerenowinthe"Yard,"

IfoundTomseatedwithablanksheetbeforehim,thrustinghishandthroughhishairandbitingtheendofhispenholdertoapulp.Inhismuttering,whichwasmixedwiththecurious,stinglessprofanityofwhichhewasmaster,IcaughtthenameofCheyne,andIknewthathewasfacingthecrisisofafortnightlytheme.Thesubjectassignedwasanarrativeofsomepersonalexperience,anditwastobehandedinonthemorrow.

Myownthemewasalready,written.

"I"vebeenholdingdownthischairforanhour,andIcan"tseemtothinkofathing."Herosetoflinghimselfdownonthelounge."IwishIwasinCanada."

"WhyCanada?"

"TroutfishingwithUncleJakeatthatclubofhiswherehetookmelastsummer."Tomgazeddreamilyattheceiling."WheneverIhavesomedarnedfoolishthemelikethistowriteIwanttogofishing,andIwanttogolikethedevil.I"llgetUncleJaketotakeyou,too,nextsummer."

"Iwishyouwould."

"Say,that"slivingallright,Hughie,upthereamongthetamaracksandbalsams!"Andhebegan,forsomethinglikethethirtiethtime,torelatetheadventuresofthetrip.

Ashetalked,theideapresenteditselftomewithsuddenfascinationtousethisincidentasthesubjectofTom"stheme;towriteitforhim,fromhispointofview,imitatingthedrollstylehewouldhavehadifhehadbeenabletowrite;for,whenhewasinterestedinanymatter,hisoralnarrativedidnotlackvividness.Ibegantoaskhimquestions:

whatwerethetreeslike,forinstance?HowdidtheFrench-Canadianguidestalk?Hehadthegiftofmimicry:aidedbyapartialknowledgeofFrenchIwrotedownafewsentencesastheysounded.Thecanoehadupsetandhehadcomeneardrowning.Imadehimdescribehissensations.

"I"llwriteyourthemeforyou,"Iexclaimed,whenhehadfinished.

"Gee,notaboutthat!"

"Whynot?It"sapersonalexperience."

HisgratitudewaspatheticBythistimeIwassofullofthesubjectthatitfairlyclamouredforexpression,andasIwrotethehoursflew.

OnceinawhileIpausedtoaskhimaquestionashesatwithhischairtiltedbackandhisfeetonthetable,readingadetectivestory.I

sketchedinthescenewithboldstrokes;thedesolateboisbruleonthemountainside,thepolishedcrystalsurfaceofthepoolbrokenhereandtherewiththecirclesleftbyrisingfish;IpicturedArmand,theguide,hispipebetweenhisteeth,holdingthecanoeagainstthecurrent;andI

seemedtosmellthesharptangofthebalsams,toheartheroaroftherapidsbelow.Thencamethesuddenhookingofthebigtrout,habitantoathsfromArmand,bouleversement,wetness,darkness,confusion;ahalf-

strangledfeeling,abriefglimpseofgreenthingsandsunlight,andthenstrangulation,orwhatseemedlikeit;strangulation,thesenseofbeingpickedupandhurledbyaterrificforcewhither?ablindingwhiteness,inwhichitwasimpossibletobreathe,onesharp,almostunbearablepain,thenanother,thenoblivionFinally,awakening,tobeconfrontedbyamuchworriedUncleJake.

Bythistimethedetectivestoryhadfallentothefloor,andTomwashuddledupinhischair,asleep.Hearoseobedientlyandwrappedawettowelaroundhishead,andbegantowrite.Oncehepausedlongenoughtomutter:——

"Yes,that"saboutit,——that"sthewayIfelt!"andsettoworkagain,mechanically,——allthepraiseIgotforwhatIdeemedaliteraryachievementofthehighestorder!Atthreeo"clock,a.m.,hefinished,pulledoffhisclothesautomaticallyandtumbledintobed.Ihadnodesireforsleep.Mybrainwasracingmadly,likeanenginewithoutagovernor.Icouldwrite!Icouldwrite!Irepeatedthewordsoverandovertomyself.Allthecomplexitiesofmypresentlifewereblottedout,andIbeheldonlythelong,sweetvistaofthecareerforwhichI

wasnowconvincedthatnaturehadintendedme.Myimmediatefortunesbecameunimportant,immaterial.NojuiceofthegrapeIhadevertastedmademehalfsodrunkWiththemorning,ofcourse,camethereaction,andIsufferedtheaftersensationsofanorgie,awakingtoaworldofnecessity,coldandgreyandslushy,andnecessityalonemademerisefrommybed.Myexperienceofthenightbeforemighthavetaughtmethathappinessliesinthetrickoftransformingnecessity,butitdidnot.Thevisionhadfaded,——temporarily,atleast;andsuchwasthedistractionofthesucceedingdaysthatthesubjectofthethemepassedfrommymind

OnemorningTomwaslaterthanusualingettinghome.Iwaswritingaletterwhenhecamein,anddidnotnoticehim,yetIwasvaguelyawareofhisstandingoverme.WhenatlastIlookedupIgatheredfromhisexpressionthatsomethingserioushadhappened,somournfulwashisface,andyetsoutterlyludicrous.

"Say,Hugh,I"minthedeuceofamess,"heannounced.

"What"sthematter?"Iinquired.

Hesankdownonthetablewithagroan.

"It"sAlonzo,"hesaid.

ThenIrememberedthetheme.

"What——what"shedone?"Idemanded.

"HesaysImustbecomeawriter.Thinkofit,meawriter!HesaysI"mayoungShakespeare,thatI"vebeenlazyandhidmylightunderabushel!

HesaysheknowsnowwhatIcando,andifIdon"tkeepupthequality,he"llknowthereasonwhy,andwriteapersonallettertomyfather.Oh,hell!"

Inspiteofhisevidentanguish,Iwasseizedwithaconvulsivelaughter.

Tomstoodstaringatmemoodily.

"Youthinkit"sfunny,——don"tyou?Iguessitis,butwhat"sgoingtobecomeofme?That"swhatIwanttoknow.I"vebeenintroublebefore,butneverinanylikethis.Andwhogotmeintoit?You!"

Herewasgratitude!

"You"vegottogoonwriting"em,now."Hisvoicebecamedesperatelypleading."Say,Hugh,oldman,youcantemper"emdown——temper"emdowngradually.Andbytheendoftheyear,let"ssay,they"llbeaboutnormalagain."

Heseemedactuallyshivering.

"Theendoftheyear!"Icried,thepredicamentstrikingmeforthefirsttimeinitsfulness."Say,you"vegotacrust!"

"You"lldoit,ifIhavetoholdagunoveryou,"heannouncedgrimly.

Mingledwithmyanxiety,whichwasreal,wasanexultationthatwouldnotdown.Nevertheless,theideaofdevelopingTomintoaShakespeare,——Tom,whohadnottheslightestdesiretobeoneIwasappalling,besideshavinginitanelementofuselessself-sacrificefromwhichIrecoiled.

Ontheotherhand,ifAlonzoshoulddiscoverthatIhadwrittenhistheme,therewerepenaltiesIdidnotcaretodwelluponWithsuchacloudhangingovermeIpassedarestlessnight.

AsluckwouldhaveittheverynexteveninginthelevellightundertheelmsoftheSquareIbeheldsaunteringtowardsmeadapperfigurewhichI

recognizedasthatofMr.Cheynehimself.AsIsalutedhimhegavemeanamusedandmostdisconcertingglance;andwhenIwascongratulatingmyselfthathehadpassedmehestopped.

"FineweatherforMarch,Paret,"heobserved.

"Yes,sir,"Iagreedinastrangevoice.

"Bytheway,"heremarked,contemplatingthebarebranchesaboveourheads,"thatwasanexcellentthemeyourroommatehandedin.Ihadnoideathathepossessedsuch——suchgenius.Didyou,byanychance,happentoreadit?"

"Yes,sir,——Ireadit."

"Weren"tyousurprised?"inquiredMr.Cheyne.

"Well,yes,sir——thatis——Imeantosayhetalksjustlikethat,sometimes——thatis,whenit"sanythinghecaresabout."

"Indeed!"saidMr.Cheyne."That"sinteresting,mostinteresting.Inallmyexperience,Idonotrememberacaseinwhichagifthasbeendevelopedsorapidly.Idon"twanttogivetheimpression——ahthatthereisnoroomforimprovement,butthethingwasverywelldone,foranundergraduate.ImustconfessInevershouldhavesuspecteditinPeters,andit"smostinterestingwhatyousayabouthisclevernessinconversation."Hetwirledtheheadofhisstick,apparentlylostinreflection."Imaybewrong,"hewentonpresently,"Ihaveanideaitisyou——"Imustliterallyhavejumpedawayfromhim.Hepausedamoment,withoutapparentlynoticingmypanic,"thatitisyouwhohaveinfluencedPeters."

"Sir?"

"Iamwrong,then.Oristhismerelycommendablemodestyonyourpart?"

"Oh,no,sir."

"Thenmyhypothesisfallstotheground.Ihadgreatlyhoped,"headdedmeaningly,"thatyoumightbeabletothrowsomelightonthismystery.

Iwasdumb.

"Paret,"heasked,"haveyoutimetocomeovertomyroomsforafewminutesthisevening?"

"Certainly,sir."

HegavemehisnumberinBrattleStreet

LikeonerunninginanightmareandmakingnoprogressImademywayhome,onlytolearnfromHallam,——wholivedonthesamefloor,——thatTomhadinconsideratelygonetoBostonfortheevening,withfourotherwearyspiritsinsearchofrelaxation!Avoidingourclubtable,ItookwhatlittlenourishmentIcouldatamodestrestaurant,andrestlesslypacedthemoonlitstreetsuntileighto"clock,whenIfoundmyselfinfrontofoneofthoselow-gabledcolonialhouseswhich,onlesssoul-shakingoccasions,hadexercisedagreatcharmonmyimagination.MyhandhungforaninstantoverthebellImusthaverungitviolently,forthereappearedalmostimmediatelyanoldladyinalacecap,whogreetedmewithgentlecourtesy,andknockedatalittledoorwithglisteningpanels.ThelatchwasliftedbyMr.Cheynehimself.

"Comein,Paret,"hesaid,inatonethatwasunexpectedlyhospitable.

Ihaverarelyseenamoreinvitingroom.Awoodfireburnedbrightlyonthebrassandirons,flingingitsglareonthebig,whitebeamthatcrossedtheceiling,andreddeningthesquarepanesofthewindowsintheirpanelledrecesses.Betweenthesewererowsofbooks,——attractivebooksinchasedbindings,redandblue;booksthatappealedtobetakendownandread.Therewasatablecoveredwithreviewsandmagazinesinneatpiles,andalampsoshadedastothrowitslightonlyonthewhiteblotterofthepad.Twoeasychairs,coveredwithfloweredchintz,wererangedbeforethefire,inoneofwhichIsank,muchbewildered,uponbeingurgedtodoso.

Iutterlyfailedtorecognize"Alonzo"inthisnewatmosphere.Andhehad,moreover,droppedthesubtlysarcasticmannerIwaswonttoassociatewithhim.

"Jollyoldhouse,isn"tit?"heobserved,asthoughIhadcasuallydroppedinonhimforachat;andhestood,withhishandsbehindhimstretchedtotheblaze,lookingdownatme."ItwasbuiltbyacertainColonelDraper,whofoughtatLouisburg,andafterwardsfledtoEnglandatthetimeoftheRevolution.Hecouldn"tstandthepatriots,I"mnotsosurethatIblamehim,either.Areyouinterestedincolonialthings,Mr.Paret?"

IsaidIwas.IfthequestionhadconcernedAztecrelicsmyanswerwouldundoubtedlyhavebeenthesame.AndIwatchedhim,dazedly,whilehetookdownasilverporringerfromtheshallowmantelshelf.

"It"snotaRevere,"hesaid,inaslightlyapologetictoneasthoughtoforestallacomment,"butit"srathergood,Ithink.IpickeditupatasaleinDorchester.ButIhaveneverbeenabletoidentifythecoatofarms."

Heshowedmealadle,withthenamesof"PatienceandWilliamSimpson"

engravedquaintlythereon,andtookdownotherarticlesinwhichI

managedtofeignaninterest.Finallyheseatedhimselfinthechairopposite,crossedhisfeet,puttingthetipsofhisfingerstogetherandgazingintothefire.

"Soyouthoughtyoucouldfoolme,"hesaid,atlength.

Ibecameawareofthetickingofagreatclockinthecorner.Mymouthwasdry.

"Iamgoingtoforgiveyou,"hewenton,moregravely,"forseveralreasons.Idon"tflatter,asyouknow.It"sbecauseyoucarriedoutthethingsoperfectlythatIamledtothinkyouhaveagiftthatmaybecultivated,Paret.YouwrotethatthemeinthewayPeterswouldhavewrittenitifhehadnotbeen——whatshallIsay?——scripturallyinarticulate.AndItrustitmaydoyousomegoodifIsayitwassomethingofaliteraryachievement,ifnotamoralone."

"Thankyou,sir,"Ifaltered.

"Haveyouever,"heinquired,lapsingalittleintohislecture-roommanner,"seriouslythoughtofliteratureasacareer?Haveyoueverthoughtofanycareerseriously?"

"Ioncewishedtobeawriter,sir,"Irepliedtremulously,butrefrainedfromtellinghimofmyfather"sopinionoftheprofession.Ambition——apurerambitionthanIhadknownforyears——leapedwithinmeathiswords.

He,AlonzoCheyne,haddetectedinmethePrometheanfire!

Isatthereuntilteno"clocktalkingtotherealMr.Cheyne,ahumanMr.

Cheyneunknowninthelecture-room.NorhadIsuspectedoneinwhomcynicismanddistrustofundergraduates(ofmysort)seemedsoingrained,ofsuchidealism.Hedidnotpouritoutinpreaching;delicately,unobtrusivelyandonthewholeratherhumorouslyhemanagedtopresenttomeinamostdisillusionizinglightthatconceptionoftheuniversityheldbymeandmyintimateassociates.AfterIhadlefthimIwalkedthequietstreetstobeholdasthroughdissolvingmistsanotherHarvard,andtheretrembledinmysoullikethebirth-struggleofaflamesomethingofthevisionlatertobeimmortalizedbySt.Gaudens,thespiritofHarvardrespondingtothespiritoftheRepublic——tothecallofLincoln,whovoicedit.TheplaceofthatbronzeatthecornerofBostonCommonwasasyetempty,butIhavesincestoodbeforeittogazeinwonderatthelightshiningindarknessonmute,upliftedfaces,blackfaces!atHarvard"ssonleadingthemonthatthelightmightliveandprevail.

I,too,longedforaCauseintowhichImightflingmyself,inwhichI

mightlosemyselfIhaltedonthesidewalktofindmyselfstaringfromtheoppositesideofthestreetatafamiliarhouse,myoldlandlady"s,Mrs.Bolton"s,andsummonedupbeforemewasthetired,smilingfaceofHermannKrebs.WasitbecausewhenhehadoncespokensocrudelyoftheUniversityIhadseenthereflectionofherspiritinhiseyes?Alightstillburnedintheextensionroof——Krebs"slight;anothershonedimlythroughthegroundglassofthefrontdoor.Obeyingasuddenimpulse,Icrossedthestreet.

Mrs.Bolton,inthesky-bluewrapper,andlookingmoreforbiddingthanever,answeredthebell.Lifehadtaughthertobeindifferenttosurprises,anditwasIwhobecameabruptlyembarrassed.

"Oh,it"syou,Mr.Paret,"shesaid,asthoughIhadbeenafrequentcaller.IhadneveroncedarkenedherthresholdsinceIhadleftherhouse.

"Yes,"Ianswered,andhesitated"IsMr.Krebsin?"