_Terry's Finish_
Terry had given Marie life, and she had finally used this vitality to
free herself from him and his too exigent idealism. The result of his
relation to her seems from this point of view pathetically ironical; but
it is only a symbol of the ironical pathos of his relation to society in
general; he and his kind act as a stimulant and a tonic to the society
which rejects and crushes them. The anarchist is in a double sense the
victim of society. He is, in the first place, generally a "labour"
victim, is generally the maimed result of our factory system; and, in
the second place, his philosophy, needed by society, reacts against
himself and turns the world against him. So he is a double victim, a
reiterated social sacrifice.
When I went to Chicago this last time I found Terry, as I have said,
despondent and disillusioned; and intensely savage in his rejection, not
only of capitalistic society, but apparently of all society. In a way,
he had left his old moorings, the "proletariat" no longer appealed to
him. This mood was not a part of his philosophy: it was an expression of
his disappointment, of his disillusionment. He talked about his own life
and Marie's with an almost brutal frankness. He seemed to take a sad
pleasure in stripping the illusion of human worth and beauty to the bare
bones. In spite of his words, in spite of his previous letters, it
seemed clear to me that Marie had not lost her hold on him entirely, and
that he deeply felt her defection. Through her he had failed socially
and personally. Around her much of his life, intellectual and personal,
had been wound. Lingeringly he talked of her, of her qualities; he
seemed to try to steel himself against all need of human relation;
incidentally he rejected me and other friends, finding us wanting.
Marie, too, was not perfect, and must be "passed up"; but his mind
rested, in spite of himself, on this woman and his life with her. Some
of the things he said and wrote to me about this time indicate his
present mood toward me, Marie, the anarchists, proletariat, and the
world in general.
A year or two ago he wrote me: "No one, very close to me geographically,
can ever get much out of me. This is a family trait and is too deep for
me. So don't be downcast if we should ever meet again and you should
find me as stoical as some crustacean of the past. Some such
antediluvian feeling animates me to take advantage of your distance and
clamour up out of the depths."
He did, indeed, "clamour up out of the depths" very eloquently, but when
I saw him in Chicago I found that I had somehow "lost touch," like the
rest of the world, with him. He felt it and wrote me:
"While you were in Italy, I sent you a letter in which I represented
myself as one clamouring up out of the depths of his being to you who
might understand. Now I sincerely and deeply regret having made this
attempt with you. In the same letter I predicted that your return might
find me back in the depths of my being, where I belong. I regret I did
not stay there when you came along. This feeling is due to no fault of
yours or mine; but points to the fact that I must become still more
exclusive and circumspect."
Of Marie he wrote: "This attachment between two human beings is in all
circumstances very terrible. The bond between Marie and myself was as
strong as death, and partly so because of our great and essential
differences. The first night we spent together struck one of the deep
things in our discord. I was too nervous and sensitive to touch her that
night, and in the morning she bitterly reproached me. The first book
that really aroused her to the meaning of life was '_Mademoiselle de
Maupin_.' Deeper than this difference was her galling interference in my
affairs which never prompted me to meddle in hers. And her failure to
appreciate or reciprocate my respect for the integrity of her
personality is the hardest blow she can ever give to me. I have the same
fatal charge to make against almost all men; the exceptions are so few
and doubtful that I doubt whether I can ever gain from another that
intense receptive attitude which I am willing to bestow. Fortunately for
me, this illusion that there are such intense perceivers re-creates
itself out of the veriest dust and dross of humanity. Like Shelley's
'Cloud,' my illusion may change, but it cannot die. Now I am in a state
of mind when I am willing to let everything go by default--everything
except my last illusion, that I can never let myself out to anyone. To
Marie--and to you--and one or two others--I have been sorely tempted to
lay myself out--but not even the moon can seduce me to reveal myself. My
dead and buried self is my first and last seduction. This is crazy, of
course, but I am heartily sick of all the 'sense' I know or can know. I
believe, however, that I have lived so close to the 'truth' that its
shadow has been cast over all my life. If, in the last analysis, all is
illusion, I shall stick to the most powerful one--myself. My feeling for
Marie arises largely from the fact that she is an expression of the
irreparable part of my life--of its deepest essence.
"A year ago to-day, on the thirteenth of August," he wrote, "occurred my
first, last, and only breakaway from the best pal I have ever hoped to
have, Marie. Now that it has passed, I see it in its proper proportions,
just as if it had happened to someone else, but to one as near and dear
to me as myself. I have broken away from the Mob, too. My sympathy for
what is called the People has been worn down to a mere thread that might
easily be broken and turn me against them. When one has been stoned
long enough, one may easily turn into something as hard as stone itself.
I am like the knight of old, turned inside out. I am developing a
coating of internal mail, as so many of the attacks come from within.
But worse than attacks from within or without is the sordid security and
mental inertia of all the people about me: they are strangling me just
as surely as if they put a rope around my neck. By day they hurry on
like ghosts about their business, and by night they gather in the little
tombs of many rooms they call their homes.
"You may call it madness, this my cutting off of all things. I know that
I have kept off madness a long while now. I have shrunk from 'business'
to social anarchy and pure beings, from these again I have shrunk to
books and poetry, from these again into the solitude of myself where
only I am really at home. Though I have lost my general bearings, I
still stand at the helm of myself. I am going to pieces on the rocks of
the world, but I still inhabit the realm of the soul.
"When I could no longer see my ideals rise out of my work, I quit that
work; for then the work was no longer an expression of myself. This is
the origin of all modern problems. A man stands to his job because of
the visions that come to him only when at work. He sees in imagery his
own possibilities arise out of the thing on which he is at work, and
easily links himself to his fellows. Thus does the worker make of his
eternal cerebral rehearsals an endless chain of imaged solidarity
binding him in a maze from which he can never think his way out. The
fixed gaze of those who try to grasp the abstract is proof of this.
"When I could no longer see my ideals arise out of human solidarity, I
quit my fanatical belief in the possibility of a Utopia. So that now I
am not even an anarchist. I am ready to pass it all up."
When I saw Terry for the last time, and found him in this almost crazy
crisis of extreme individualism, where he hopelessly "passed up"
everything--human society, love and friendship, all the things his warm
and loving Irish heart really desired, I felt that here indeed was a
complete expression of the spirit of revolt. It was so extreme that I
and no one else could follow him in it. It had passed beyond the point
where social rebellion may be useful or stimulating or suggestive
poetically and had reached the sad absurdity of all extreme attitudes.
One lesson Terry's proud and strenuous soul has never learned: that the
deeper and simpler things in social growth we must take on faith. We
cannot demand an ideal reason or justification for all social
organisation, for the ways that human beings have of living together.
The elementary social forms at least must be instinctively and blindly
accepted. To go beyond in one's rejection the anarchism of the social
communist into what is called individualistic anarchism is mere
egotistic madness and has as its only value the possible poetry of a
unified personal expression. Into this it was that Terry fell, and of
course he could find no support for it except in his own soul, which
could not bear the strain. No soul could, for, struggle as we may, we
are largely social and cannot stand alone. Terry's life well shows the
sympathetic source of social rebellion and its justification, but it
also shows the ultimate sterility of its extreme expression.
The latest word I have about Marie is that she is at work "keeping
house for a respectable family" in San Francisco. Her experience in
camping-out seems to have rendered her normal to, for her, an extreme
degree. Going to work certainly represented as radical a reaction from
Terry and his philosophy as well could be imagined. A friend of mine in
San Francisco writes of her: "She is now to all appearances a good,
respectable girl. She wants to live a new life, is working hard, and is
trying to break away from smoking. Sometimes she feels the restraint
severely, and comes to our house where she knows she can smoke and
express herself. She is in better health, and I think now is in close
enough touch with nature not to want to go back for nourishment to ideas
and the slum."
The latest word I have from Terry shows him faithful to the
end--faithful to his character and his mood:
"There is a rumour that Marie has got a job at general housework. This
gave me the blues--after all our life together, this the end! I'd rather
have her do general prostitution, with the chance of having an
occasional rest in the hospital. But perhaps her drudgery will kill her
enthusiasm for 'vita nuova!'
"I should have answered your letter had I not been suffering from an old
malady of mine which is accompanied by such mental depression that I
could not answer the communication of even a lost soul. I had to seek
surcease in my old remedy of hasheesh and chloroform, which was a change
from suffering to stupidity. But I shall not swell the cosmic chorus of
woe by raising my cracked voice against impending fate. I am more and
more alone, more and more conscious of a growing something that is
keeping me apart from all whom I can possibly avoid."
Terry is nearing his logical end, while Marie is still struggling for
life, life given her in the beginning by this strange man, whose
influence was then to take it away from her; and from this, like the
world, she rebelled. "Anarchism" she embraced as long as it enhanced her
being; as long as this deeply emotional philosophy added to the fulness
of her life, she saw its meaning and its use; when it finally tended to
sterilise her new existence, its "pragmatic" value was nothing.
This is the test of all social theory: How It Works Out. In Marie's
case, as in the case of many proletarians, it worked out well, as a
general civilising and consoling philosophy, for a time, but when
carried to an "idealistic" extreme, it tended rapidly towards general
death--from which all live things react. So it was with Marie: she left
her "poisonous" Terry and sought for another vitalising experience.
Goethe said that the best government is that which makes itself
superfluous. Terry's spiritual influence on Marie, important for her in
the beginning as rendering her self-respecting and mentally ambitious,
had become superfluous. But it had been of great value to the girl. So,
too, with our society. The extreme rebellious attitude educates
us--sometimes to the point where rebellion is superfluous.
THE END
_The_
Autobiography _of a_ Thief
A true story of the life of a criminal
taken down and edited by Mr. Hapgood.
_Cloth. 349 pp. $1.25 postpaid._
COMMENTS OF THE CRITICS
"The book as a whole impresses the reader as an accurate
presentation of the thief's personal point of view, a vivid
picture of the society in which he lived and robbed and of
the influences, moral and political, by which he was
surrounded. The story indeed has something of the quality of
Defoe's 'Colonel Jacque'; it is filled with convincing
details."--_New York Evening Post._
"To one reader at least--one weary reader of many books
which seem for the most part 'flat, stale and
unprofitable'--this is a book that seems eminently 'worth
while.' Indeed, every word of the book, from cover to cover,
is supremely, vitally interesting. Most novels are tame
beside it, and few recent books of any kind are so rich in
suggestiveness."--_Interior._
"What is the value of such an autobiography of a thief as
Mr. Hapgood has given us? It is this. Professional crime is
one of the overprosperous branches of industry in our large
cities. As a nation we are casting around for means to check
it, or, in other words, to divert the activities of the
professional criminals into some other industry in which
these men can satisfy their peculiar talents and at the same
time get a living with less inconvenience to the mass of
citizens. The criminal, being as much a human being as the
rest of us, must be known as he is before we can either
influence him personally or legislate for him effectually.
If we treat him as we would the little girl who stole her
brother's candy mice or as the man who under great stress of
temptation yields to the impulse to steal against his
struggling will, we will fail, for we overlook the very
essence of the matter--his professionalism. It is safe to
say that perusal of Mr. Hapgood's book will help many a
student of criminology to find his way through the current
tangle of statistics, reform plans, analyses of 'graft' and
what not, by the very light of humanity that is in
it."--_Chicago Record-Herald._
"The manner and style of 'The Autobiography of a Thief' is
that which attracts even the fastidious lovers of
literature. It is the life-story of a real thief
unmistakably impressive in its force and truth. As a matter
of course, the book is on the hinge of a novel, but it
contains the gem and sparkle of genuineness and its
complication has the flavor of accuracy."--_New Orleans
Item._
"It is not only a powerful plea for the reform of abuses in
our penitentiaries, but it is an extraordinary revelation of
the life of a criminal from his birth up, and an explanation
of the conditions which impelled him first to crime and
later to attempted reformation."--_New York Herald._
"The truth found in 'The Autobiography of a Thief' is not
only stranger but far more interesting than much of the
present day fiction. The autobiography of 'Light-fingered
Jim' is absorbing, in many pages startling, in its
graphicness.... In spite of its naturalness, daring and
directness, the work has a marked literary style--a finish
that could not have been given by an unexperienced hand. But
this adds to rather than detracts from the charm of the
book."--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._
"No more realistic book has been written for a long time
than Hutchins Hapgood's 'The Autobiography of a Thief.' No
books on criminology and no statistics regarding penal
institutions can carry the weight of truth and conviction
which this autobiography conveys."--_Chicago Chronicle._
"As a study in sociology it is splendid; as a human story it
will hold attention, every page of it."--_Nashville
American._
"It is a clear and graphic insight into the lives of the
lower world and is written with impressive force. It is a
remarkable addition to the literature of the
season."--_Grand Rapids Herald._
"An illuminating and truly instructive book, and one of
terrible fascination."--_Christian Endeavor World._
"As a contribution to the study of sociology as illustrated
from life and not from mere text-books, the story recorded
by Mr. Hapgood will be welcomed by all philanthropic
people."--_New York Observer._
"It is an absorbing story of the making of a criminal, and
is rightly classed by the publishers as a 'human document.'
It is absorbing alike to the reader who reads for the
diversion of reading and to those who are really thoughtful
students of the forces which are working in the life round
about them."--_Brooklyn Life._
"Those in whom the sense of human oneness and social
responsibility is strong will be intensely interested in
these genuine experiences and in the naive, if perverted,
viewpoint of a pick-pocket, thief and burglar who has served
three terms in State's prison."--_Booklovers' Library._
"It may be that 'Jim' puts things strongly sometimes, but
the spirit of truth at least is plain in every chapter of
the book. That, in general, it is the real thing is the
feeling the reader has after he has finished with 'The
Autobiography of a Thief.' It is not a pleasant book; it is
anything but a book such as the young person should receive
as a birthday gift. It is a book however which the man
anxious to keep track of life in this country should read
and ponder over."--JOSIAH FLYNT, _in the Bookman_.
DUFFIELD AND COMPANY
36 EAST 21ST ST. NEW YORK
* * * * *
"_The_ Spirit _of_ Labor"
_$1.25 Net_
"A straightforward narrative which has the tremendous
advantage of disclosing more things about the greater life
of Chicago--and more which are not generally known to the
more sheltered classes--than any book of its size ever
written. Those who wish to be written down as loving their
fellow-men should read this volume with care. It is a real
book, and worth anybody's while."--_The Interior, Chicago._
"Much of the story is set down in this man's own words, and
the whole is made vividly interesting and really meaningful
by the author's broad understanding and sincerity of
purpose."--_Life, New York._
"Mr. Hapgood's portrayal of the American workingman is a
'moving picture' in two senses of this equivocal phrase. It
is kinetoscopic, first of all, in its lifelikeness and the
convincing reality of the actions it pictures. Then, again,
it is emotionally moving; for the character of Anton, the
big, honest, alert and energetic Chicago laborer, can hardly
fail to arouse in the reader intense admiration, lively
sympathy and not a little amusement free from all cynicism
and class feeling. In 'The Spirit of Labor' we are brought
into living contact with the men and women we meet on the
streets, the great American public with whom every business
man, every pastor and every politician has daily to reckon.
Teamsters, masons, unionists, saloonkeepers, policemen,
wash-women, newsboys, walking delegates, waitresses, ward
heelers, local bosses, anarchists--the procession seems
endless and the medley beyond all hope of disentanglement.
But it is real life and no parade of puppets."--_New York
Tribune._
"We cannot doubt, however, that Anton is a true type and
represents a large portion of the men of this land with whom
workers and students in social matters must meet. The book
deals intimately with the questions arising between labor
and capital, and is especially interesting in its analysis
of the Chicago spirit as it relates to these matters."--_The
Christian Advocate, New York._
"The story of Anton and his socialistic, anarchistic, and
trade union comrades is a faithful and photographic picture
of aspects of the urban activity of vast multitudes of
industrials combining to assist each one in his fellow in
the struggle for existence and fullness of life. The forces
revealed are full of danger, the temper is ugly, the manners
are always urbane, the judgment not always well informed,
the range of knowledge often limited; but there is wondrous
power, vigor, and the chaotic promise of a better and larger
morality than anything the churches yet have taught, or the
mere book students have ever dreamed. Miss Jane Addams has
discovered this larger morality in seeming coarseness and
evil, and Mr. Hapgood has given us glimpses of it in the
biography of his man of toil and rebellion. The Philistine
needs the Anarchist to wake him, as Hume did Kant, from his
dogmatic slumbers, and the Philistine may (let us hope
rarely) wear cap and gown."--_The Dial, Chicago._
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Notes: |
| |
| Page 54: woman amended to women |
| Page 97: acount amended to account |
| Page 102: interst amended to interest |
| Page 145: pamplets amended to pamphlets |
| Page 148: envolved _sic_ |
| Page 154: senstive amended to sensitive |
| Page 166: inconsistences amended to inconsistencies |
| Page 172: beause amended to because |
| Page 241: concious amended to conscious |
| |
| Punctuation has been standardised. |
| |
| Where a word is hyphenated and unhyphenated an equal number |
| of times, both versions have been retained: pickpocket/ |
| pick-pocket; upstairs/up-stairs. |
+--------------------------------------------------------------+