The Journal of Arthur Stirling : ("The Valley of the Shadow") Part 37

February 16th.

It is not as desperate as it sounds, because I have a few books and things that I can sell--I do not believe that I will actually starve--I have always done my work well, and have gotten references. But O G.o.d, the shame of it--the endless, heaped-up bitterness!

I have sunk into a beast of burden. I trudge on with my mind torpid--I take whatever comes to me, and go on mechanically. Oh it cows me, it wears me down! I have learned to bear anything--_anything_! A man might kick me and I would not mind.

I think I went to fifty places yesterday. Nothing to do--nothing. To-day is Sunday, but I tried even to-day. I came home to get some dinner.--I might have been a porter in a hotel, and carried trunks--that was my one chance.

But I have not the physical power for that.

--And then after all--toward evening--when I was so tired I was almost wild--I had an offer at last! And guess what it was--of all the things that I had made up my mind I could not bear--to be a waiter!

It is, I believe, what a man should call a rare opportunity. It is a fairly good restaurant just off Broadway; and I get ten dollars and tips. Poor me!

My heart bounded for a moment, and then I asked myself, And what do you want with money any more? I took the place, and I am to begin the day after to-morrow. I am so tired I can hardly move.

February 17th.

Was it not irony? I have watched day by day for snow; and now that I have taken the other place--behold, to-day it snows a foot!

--I went to see the editor in the afternoon. I was desperate at the thought of to-morrow. I said I would tell him!--But when I got there I only had the courage to inquire about the poem. He had not read it. I feared he seemed annoyed.

I shall not go there again for a week. I can not make him hurry.

February 18th.

To-day I had to begin by apologizing to my landlady, and begging her to let me pay her a week later. I had to go into an elaborate explanation--she wanted to know why I had not been working all these months, and so on. She has a red face, and drinks, I think.

Then I had to take a load of my best books--my poor, few precious books that I have loved--and sell them at a second-hand bookstore. When I had sold them I had to hire a waiter's suit for a week, until I had money to buy it. And then with that awful thing on I went down to the restaurant.

Can you imagine how a pure woman would feel if she had to go into a brothel to live? That was just how I felt--just how! Oh my G.o.d, the indignity of it! Is there _anything_ that I could do more humiliating?

--But I have lost the power of getting angry. Only my heart is one great sob.

February 20th.

Oh, that h.e.l.lish place! What is there in this whole city more brutal than that restaurant?

Day and night, day and night, to see but one thing--to see flashy, overdressed, fat and vulgar men and women gorging themselves! Oh, this will teach me to feel--this at least! I go about with my whole being one curse of rage--I could throttle them! And to bow and smirk and lackey them--all day! All day! Oh, what shall I do--how shall I bear it?

They offer me tips. At first I thought I should refuse; but no, I dare not do that, even if I wanted to. And since I have stooped to do it, I will take all I can get. To get money is my one pa.s.sion now. Oh my G.o.d, how can I bear it!

February 21st.

I said to-day, I must fight this thing--I must, or it will kill me; I can not let myself go to wreck in this fas.h.i.+on--_I've got to fight!_

And so I got my note-book; and I fell to work to drive myself as of old.

The effort that it cost me made me ill, but I did it. I shall keep on doing it--I am like a man faced by a fiend--I _must_ keep on--I must!

But then, why do you want to have new languages? Do you not know enough now to keep you in reading matter for all the time you are ever likely to have?

February 24th.

Oh, one can get used to even a flashy restaurant! It is your fate--you take it. This is how I pa.s.s all my time there. I struggle to resist the deadening of it, and the horror of it; while I am going about the loathsome grind I try to think--try to have some idea in my head. And something comes to me--something beautiful, perhaps; and then in a few moments, in the clatter and confusion, I lose it; and after that I go about haunted, restless, feeling that I have lost something, that I ought to be doing something. What the thing is, I do not even know--but so it drives me and drives me!

I spend literally hours that way.

February 25th.

When are you going to read that poem--_when_? The week was gone yesterday--but I will not trouble you, even now! I wait, I wait!

February 27th.

There is another torment about this fearful place that I am in, one that you could not imagine. I had thought that it would be a pleasure, but it tears my soul. They have music in the evening; and fancy a person in my state listening to a violin!

Chiefly, of course, they play trash; but sometimes there comes something beautiful, perhaps only a phrase. But it takes hold of my soul, it makes my eyes grow dim, it makes me shudder. It is all my pent-up agony, it is all my sleeping pa.s.sion--why, it overwhelms me! And I am helpless--I can not get away from it!

Remember that I have not heard any music for a year. It is like the voice of a dead love to me. I thought to-night that I could not bear it.

March 1st.

To-day I had a day off, and I went to see the editor. I have been waiting, day by day, for a letter; it has been a month since I left it with him, and I found that he had not read it yet!

"Mr. Stirling," he said, "it is not my fault, it has simply been impossible. Now I will tell you what to do. I am going out of the city Sunday week, and I shall have a little leisure then. I do not see how I can get to it before that, so you take it and see if you can find some one else to read it meanwhile. If you will bring it to me Sat.u.r.day, a week from to-day, I will promise you faithfully to read it on Sunday."

So I took the ma.n.u.script. I tried four publis.h.i.+ng houses, but I could not find one that would read it in a week. I had to take the ma.n.u.script home.

March 3d.

To-morrow ends my second week at the restaurant. It took me five days to find that place, but I am going to give it up to-morrow. I could not bear it, if it were to save my life. I can not bear the noise and the grease and the dirt, and the endless, endless vulgarity; but above all I can not bear the music.

I can bear almost any degradation, I have found; but not when I have to listen to music!

Besides, I can afford to give it up. I have made a fortune. I shall have over thirty dollars when I leave!