* * * * *
So * * * showed you his article on me. He showed it to me also, and
some of it amused me mightily, though I didn't tell him so. That
picture of me as a grouchy and disappointed old man occupying the
entire cave of Adullam is particularly humorous, and so poetic that I
would not for the world "cut it out." * * * seems incapable (like a
good many others) of estimating success in other terms than those of
popularity. He gives a rather better clew to his own character than to
mine. The old man is fairly well pleased with the way that he has
played the game, and with his share of the stakes, thank'ee.
I note with satisfaction _your_ satisfaction with my article on you
and your poem. I'll correct the quotation about the "timid
sapphires"--don't know how I happened to leave out the best part of
it. But I left out the line about "harlot's blood" because I didn't
(and don't) think a magazine would "stand for it" if I called the
editor's attention to it. You don't know what magazines are if you
haven't tested them. However, I'll try it on Chamberlain if you like.
And I'll put in "twilight of the year" too.
* * * * *
It's pleasing to know that you've "cut out" your clerical work if you
can live without it. Now for some great poetry! Carmel has a
fascination for me too--because of your letters. If I did not fear
illness--a return of my old complaint--I'd set out for it at once.
I've nothing to do that would prevent--about two day's work a month.
But I'd never set foot in San Francisco. Of all the Sodoms and
Gomorrahs in our modern world it is the worst. There are not ten
righteous (and courageous) men there. It needs another quake, another
whiff of fire, and--more than all else--a steady tradewind of
grapeshot. When * * * gets done blackguarding New York (as it
deserves) and has shaken the dung of San Francisco from his feet I'm
going to "sick him onto" that moral penal colony of the world. * * *
I've two "books" seeking existence in New York--the Howes book and
some satires. Guess they are cocks that will not fight.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.