MY thoughts being now turned, if vaguely, to the idea of rural life and
editing a country newspaper, although I really did not believe that I
could succeed at that, I talked and talked, to Michaelson, to my future
wife, to Dick and Peter, in a roundabout, hinting way, developing all
sorts of theories as to the possible future that awaited me. To buoy up
my faith in myself, I tried to make Miss W—— feel that I was a personage
and would do great things.... How nature would ever get on without total
blindness, or at least immense credulity on the part of its creatures, I
cannot guess. Certainly if women in their love period had any more sense
than the men they would not be impressed with the boshy dreams of such
swains as myself. Either they cannot help themselves or they must want
to believe. Nature must want them to believe. How the woman who married
me could have been impressed by my faith in myself at this period is
beyond my reasoning, and yet she was impressed, or saw nothing better in
store for her than myself.
That she was so impressed, and that I, moved by her affection for me or
my own desire to possess her, was impelled to do something to better my
condition, was obvious. Hints thrown out at the _Republic_ office, to my
sponsor Wandell in particular, that I might leave producing nothing, I
decided sometime during January and February, 1893, to take up
Michaelson’s proposition, although I did not see how, other than by
gross luck, it could come to anything. Neither of us had any money to
speak of, and yet we were planning to buy a country newspaper. For a few
days before starting we debated this foolish matter and then I sent him
to his home town to look over the field there and report, which he
immediately did, writing most glowing accounts of an absolutely
worthless country paper there, which he was positive we could secure for
a song and turn into a paying proposition at once. I cannot say that I
believed this, and yet I went because I felt the need of something
different. And all the time the tug of that immense physical desire
toward my beloved which, were there any such thing as sanity in life,
might have been satisfied without any great blow to society, was holding
me as by hooks of steel. It was this conflict between the need to go and
the wish to stay that tortured me. Yet I went. I had the pain of
separating from her in this mood, realizing that youth was slipping
away, that in the uncertainty of all things there might never be a happy
fruition to our love (and there was not). And yet I went.
I bade her a final farewell the Sunday night before my departure. I
hinted at all sorts of glorious achievements as well as all possible
forms of failure. Lover-wise, I was tremendously impressed with the
sterling worth and connections of this girl, the homely, conventional
and prosaic surroundings. My unfitness for fulfilling her dreams
tortured me. As I could plainly see, she was for life as it had been
lived by billions, by those who interpret it as a matter of duty,
simplicity, care and thrift. I think she saw before her a modest home in
which would be children, enough money to clothe them decently, enough
money to entertain a few friends, and eventually to die and be buried
respectably. On the other hand, I was little more than a pulsing force,
with no convictions, no definite theories or plans. In my sky the latest
cloud of thought or plan was the great thing. Not I but destiny, over
which I had no control, had me in hand. I felt, or thought I felt, the
greatest love ... while within me was a voice which said: “What a liar!
What a pretender! You will satisfy yourself, make your own way as best
you can. Each new day will be a clean slate for you, no least picture of
the past thereon—none, at least, which might not be quickly wiped away.
Any beautiful woman would satisfy you.” Still I suffered torture for her
and myself, and left the next day, lacerated by the postponement, the
defeated desire for happiness in love.
My attitude on leaving the _Republic_ was one of complete indifference,
coupled with a kind of satisfaction at the last moment that, after
having seemed previously totally indifferent to my worth, the city
editor, the managing editor, and even the publisher, seemed suddenly to
feel that if I could be induced to stay I might prove of greater value
to them than thus far I had—from a cash point of view. And so they made
a hearty if belated effort to detain me. Indeed on my very sudden
announcement only a few days before my departure that I was going, my
city editor expressed great regret, asked me not to act hastily, told me
he proposed to speak to the editor-in-chief. But this did not interest
me any more. I was down on the _Republic_ for the way it had treated me.
Why hadn’t they done something for me months ago? That afternoon as I
was leaving the building on an assignment, the managing editor caught me
and wanted to know of my plans, said if I would stay he believed that
soon a better place in the editorial department could be made for me.
Having already written Michaelson that I would soon join him, however, I
now felt it impossible not to leave. The truth is I really wanted to go
and now that I had brought myself to this point, I did not want to
retreat. Besides, there was a satisfaction in refusing these belated
courtesies. The editor said that if I were really going the publisher
would be glad to give me a general letter of introduction which might
stand me in good stead in other cities. True enough, on the Monday on
which I left, having gone to the office to say farewell, I was met by
the publisher, who handed me a letter of introduction. It was of the “To
whom it might concern” variety and related my labors and capacities in
no vague words. I might have used this letter to advantage in many a
strait, but never did. Rather, by some queer inversion of thought, I
concluded that it was somewhat above my capacity, said more for me than
I deserved, and might secure for me some place which I could not fill.
For over a year I carried it about in my pocket, often when I was
without a job and with only a few dollars in my pockets, and still I did
not use it. Why, I have often wondered since. Little as I should
understand such a thing in another, so little do I now understand this
in myself.
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