Chapter 47

THEWAYOFTHEBEATEN—AHARPINTHEWIND

Inthecity,atthattime,therewereanumberofcharitiessimilarinnaturetothatofthecaptain’s,whichHurstwoodnowpatronizedinalikeunfortunateway.Onewasaconventmission-houseoftheSistersofMercyinFifteenthStreet—arowofredbrickfamilydwellings,beforethedoorofwhichhungaplainwoodencontributionbox,onwhichwaspaintedthestatementthateverynoonamealwasgivenfreetoallthosewhomightapplyandaskforaid.Thissimpleannouncementwasmodestintheextreme,covering,asitdid,acharitysobroad.InstitutionsandcharitiesaresolargeandsonumerousinNewYorkthatsuchthingsasthisarenotoftennoticedbythemorecomfortablysituated.Buttoonewhosemindisuponthematter,theygrowexceedinglyunderinspection.Unlessonewerelookingupthismatterinparticular,hecouldhavestoodatSixthAvenueandFifteenthStreetfordaysaroundthenoonhourandneverhavenoticedthatoutofthevastcrowdthatsurgedalongthatbusythoroughfarethereturnedout,everyfewseconds,someweather-beaten,heavy-footedspecimenofhumanity,gauntincountenanceanddilapidatedinthematterofclothes.Thefactisnonethelesstrue,however,andthecolderthedaythemoreapparentitbecame.Spaceandalackofculinaryroominthemission-house,compelledanarrangementwhichpermittedofonlytwenty-fiveorthirtyeating

atonetime,sothatalinehadtobeformedoutsideandanorderlyentranceeffected.Thiscausedadailyspectaclewhich,however,hadbecomesocommonbyrepetitionduringanumberofyearsthatnownothingwasthoughtofit.Themenwaitedpatiently,likecattle,inthecoldestweather-waitedforseveralhoursbeforetheycouldbeadmitted.Noquestionswereaskedandnoservicerendered.Theyateandwentawayagain,someofthemreturningregularlydayafterdaythewinterthrough.

Abig,motherlylookingwomaninvariablystoodguardatthedoorduringtheentireoperationandcountedtheadmissiblenumber.Themenmovedupinsolemnorder.Therewasnohasteandnoeagernessdisplayed.Itwasalmostadumbprocession.Inthebitterestweatherthislinewastobefoundhere.Underanicywindtherewasaprodigiousslappingofhandsandadancingoffeet.Fingersandthefeaturesofthefacelookedasifseverelynippedbythecold.Astudyofthesemeninbroadlightprovedthemtobenearlyallofatype.Theybelongedtotheclassthatsitontheparkbenchesduringtheendurabledaysandsleepuponthemduringthesummernights.TheyfrequenttheBoweryandthosedown-at-theheelsEastSidestreetswherepoorclothesandshrunkenfeaturesarenotsingledoutascurious.Theyarethemenwhoareinthelodginghousesitting-roomsduringbleakandbitterweatherandwhoswarmaboutthecheapershelterswhichonlyopenatsixinanumberofthelowerEastSidestreets.Miserablefood,ill-timedandgreedilyeaten,hadplayedhavocwithboneandmuscle.Theywereallpale,flabby,sunken-eyed,hollow-chested,witheyesthatglintedandshoneandlipsthatwereasicklyredbycontrast.Theirhairwasbuthalfattendedto,theirearsanemicinhue,andtheirshoesbrokeninleatherandrundownatheelandtoe.Theywereoftheclasswhichsimplyfloatsanddrifts,everywaveofpeoplewashingupone,asbreakersdodriftwooduponastormyshore.

Fornearlyaquarterofacentury,inanothersectionofthecity,Fleischmann,thebaker,hadgivenaloafofbreadtoanyonewhowouldcomeforittothesidedoorofhisrestaurantatthecornerofBroadwayandTenthStreet,atmidnight.Everynightduringtwentyyearsaboutthreehundredmenhadformedinlineandattheappointedtimemarchedpastthedoorway,pickedtheirloaffromagreatboxplacedjustoutside,andvanishedagainintothenight.Fromthebeginningtothepresenttimetherehadbeenlittlechangeinthecharacterornumberofthesemen.Thereweretwoorthreefiguresthathadgrownfamiliartothosewhohadseenthislittleprocessionpassyearafteryear.Twoofthemhadmissedscarcelyanightinfifteenyears.Therewereaboutforty,moreorless,regularcallers.Theremainderofthelinewasformedofstrangers.Intimesofpanicandunusualhardshipstherewereseldommorethanthreehundred.Intimesofprosperity,whenlittleisheardoftheunemployed,therewereseldomless.Thesamenumber,winterandsummer,instormorcalm,ingoodtimesandbad,heldthismelancholymidnightrendezvousatFleischmann’sbreadbox.

Atbothofthesetwocharities,duringtheseverewinterwhichwasnowon,Hurstwoodwasafrequentvisitor.Ononeoccasionitwaspeculiarlycold,andfindingnocomfortinbeggingaboutthestreets,hewaiteduntilnoonbeforeseekingthisfreeofferingtothepoor.Already,ateleveno’clockofthismorning,severalsuchashehadshambledforwardoutofSixthAvenue,theirthinclothesflappingandflutteringinthewind.TheyleanedagainsttheironrailingwhichprotectsthewallsoftheNinthRegimentArmory,whichfrontsuponthatsectionofFifteenthStreet,havingcomeearlyinordertobefirstin.Havinganhourtowait,theyatfirstlingeredatarespectfuldistance;butotherscomingup,theymovedcloser

inordertoprotecttheirrightofprecedence.TothiscollectionHurstwoodcameupfromthewestoutofSeventhAvenueandstoppedclosetothedoor,nearerthanalltheothers.Thosewhohadbeenwaitingbeforehim,butfartheraway,nowdrewnear,andbyacertainstolidityofdemeanor,nowordsbeingspoken,indicatedthattheywerefirst.

Seeingtheoppositiontohisaction,helookedsullenlyalongtheline,thenmovedout,takinghisplaceatthefoot.Whenorderhadbeenrestored,theanimalfeelingofoppositionrelaxed.

“Mustbeprettynearnoon,”venturedone.

“Itis,”saidanother.“I’vebeenwaitingnearlyanhour.”

“Gee,butit’scold!”

Theypeeredeagerlyatthedoor,whereallmustenter.Agrocerymandroveupandcarriedinseveralbasketsofeatables.Thisstartedsomewordsupongrocerymenandthecostoffoodingeneral.

“Iseemeat’sgoneup,”saidone.

“Iftherewuzwar,itwouldhelpthiscountryalot.”

Thelinewasgrowingrapidly.Alreadytherewerefiftyormore,andthoseatthehead,bytheirdemeanor,evidentlycongratulatedthemselvesuponnothavingsolongtowaitasthoseatthefoot.Therewasmuchjerkingofheads,andlookingdowntheline.

“Itdon’tmatterhownearyougettothefront,solongasyou’reinthefirsttwenty-five,”commentedoneofthefirsttwenty-five.“Youallgointogether.”

“Humph!”ejaculatedHurstwood,whohadbeensosturdilydisplaced.

“ThishereSingleTaxisthething,”saidanother.“Thereain’tgoingtobenoordertillitcomes.”

Forthemostparttherewassilence;gauntmenshuffling,glancing,andbeatingtheirarms.

Atlastthedooropenedandthemotherlylookingsisterappeared.Sheonlylookedanorder.Slowlythelinemovedupand,onebyone,passedin,untiltwenty-fivewerecounted.Thensheinterposedastoutarm,andthelinehalted,withsixmenonthesteps.Ofthesetheex-managerwasone.Waitingthus,sometalked,someejaculatedconcerningthemiseryofit;somebrooded,asdidHurstwood.Atlasthewasadmitted,and,havingeaten,cameaway,almostangeredbecauseofhispainsingettingit.

Ateleveno’clockofanotherevening,perhapstwoweekslater,hewasatthemidnightofferingofaloaf—waitingpatiently.Ithadbeenanunfortunatedaywithhim,butnowhetookhisfatewithatouchofphilosophy.Ifhecouldsecurenosupper,orwashungrylateintheevening,herewasaplacehecouldcome.Afewminutesbeforetwelve,agreatboxofbreadwaspushedout,andexactlyonthehouraportly,round-facedGermantookpositionbyit,calling“Ready.”Thewholelineatoncemovedforwardeachtakinghisloafinturnandgoinghisseparateway.Onthisoccasion,theex-manageratehisashewentploddingthedarkstreetsinsilencetohisbed.

ByJanuaryhehadaboutconcludedthatthegamewasupwithhim.Lifehadalwaysseemedapreciousthing,butnowconstantwantandweakenedvitalityhadmadethecharmsofearthratherdullandinconspicuous.Severaltimes,whenfortunepressedmostharshly,hethoughthewouldendhistroubles;butwithachangeofweather,orthearrivalofaquarteroradime,hismoodwouldchange,andhewouldwait.Eachdayhewouldfindsomeoldpaperlyingaboutandlookintoit,toseeiftherewasanytraceofCarrie,butallsummerandfallhehadlookedinvain.Thenhenoticedthathiseyeswerebeginningtohurthim,andthisailmentrapidlyincreaseduntil,inthedarkchambersofthelodgingshefrequented,hedidnotattempttoread.Badandirregulareatingwasweakeningeveryfunctionofhisbody.Theonerecourselefthimwastodozewhenaplaceofferedandhecouldgetthemoneytooccupyit.

Hewasbeginningtofind,inhiswretchedclothingandmeagerstateofbody,thatpeopletookhimforachronictypeofbumandbeggar.Policehustledhimalong,restaurantandlodginghousekeepersturnedhimoutpromptlythemomenthehadhisdue;pedestrianswavedhimoff.Hefounditmoreandmoredifficulttogetanythingfromanybody.

Atlastheadmittedtohimselfthatthegamewasup.Itwasafteralongseriesofappealstopedestrians,inwhichhehadbeenrefusedandrefused—everyonehasteningfromcontact.

“Givemealittlesomething,willyou,mister.”hesaidtothelastone.“ForGod’ssake,do;I’mstarving.”

“Aw,getout,”saidtheman,whohappenedtobeacommontypehimself.“You’renogood.I’llgiveyounawthin’.”

Hurstwoodputhishands,redfromcold,downinhispockets.Tearscameintohiseyes.

“That’sright,”hesaid;“I’mnogoodnow.Iwasallright.Ihadmoney.I’mgoingtoquitthis,”and,withdeathinhisheart,hestarteddowntowardtheBowery.Peoplehadturnedonthegasbeforeanddied;whyshouldn’the.Herememberedalodginghousewheretherewerelittle,closerooms,withgas-jetsinthem,almostpre-arranged,hethought,forwhathewantedtodo,whichrentedforfifteencents.Thenherememberedthathehadnofifteencents.

Onthewayhemetacomfortable-lookinggentleman,coming,clean-shaven,outofafinebarbershop.

“Wouldyoumindgivingmealittlesomething.”heaskedthismanboldly.

Thegentlemanlookedhimoverandfishedforadime.Nothingbutquarterswereinhispocket.

“Here,”hesaid,handinghimone,toberidofhim.“Beoff,now.”

Hurstwoodmovedon,wondering.Thesightofthelarge,brightcoinpleasedhimalittle.Herememberedthathewashungryandthathecouldgetabedfortencents.Withthis,theideaofdeathpassed,forthetimebeing,outofhismind.Itwasonlywhenhecouldgetnothingbutinsultsthatdeathseemedworthwhile.

Oneday,inthemiddleofthewinter,thesharpestspelloftheseasonsetin.Itbrokegrayandcoldinthefirstday,andonthesecondsnowed.Poorluckpursuinghim,hehadsecuredbuttencentsbynightfall,andthishehadspentforfood.AteveninghefoundhimselfattheBoulevardandSixty-seventhStreet,wherehefinallyturnedhisfaceBowery-ward.Especiallyfatiguedbecauseofthewanderingpropensitywhichhadseizedhiminthemorning,henowhalfdraggedhiswetfeet,shufflingthesolesuponthesidewalk.Anold,thincoatwasturnedupabouthisredears—hiscrackedderbyhatwaspulleddownuntilitturnedthemoutward.Hishandswereinhispockets.

“I’lljustgodownBroadway,”hesaidtohimself.

WhenhereachedForty-secondStreet,thefiresignswerealreadyblazingbrightly.Crowdswerehasteningtodine.Throughbrightwindows,ateverycorner,mightbeseengaycompaniesinluxuriantrestaurants.Therewerecoachesandcrowdedcablecars.

Inhiswearyandhungrystate,heshouldneverhavecomehere.Thecontrastwastoosharp.Evenhewasrecalledkeenlytobetterthings.“What’stheuse.”hethought.“It’sallupwithme.I’llquitthis.”

Peopleturnedtolookafterhim,souncouthwashisshamblingfigure.Severalofficersfollowedhimwiththeireyes,toseethathedidnotbegofanybody.

Oncehepausedinanaimless,incoherentsortofwayandlookedthroughthewindowsofanimposingrestaurant,beforewhichblazedafiresign,andthroughthelarge,platewindowsofwhichcouldbeseentheredandgolddecorations,thepalms,thewhitenapery,andshiningglassware,and,aboveall,thecomfortablecrowd.Weakashismindhadbecome,hishunger

wassharpenoughtoshowtheimportanceofthis.Hestoppedstockstill,hisfrayedtrouserssoakingintheslush,andpeeredfoolishlyin.

“Eat,”hemumbled.“That’sright,eat.Nobodyelsewantsany.”

Thenhisvoicedroppedevenlower,andhismindhalflostthefancyithad.

“It’smightycold,”hesaid.“Awfulcold.”

AtBroadwayandThirty-ninthStreetwasblazing,inincandescentfire,Carrie’sname.“CarrieMadenda,”itread,“andtheCasinoCompany.”Allthewet,snowysidewalkwasbrightwiththisradiatedfire.ItwassobrightthatitattractedHurstwood’sgaze.Helookedup,andthenatalarge,gilt-framedposterboard,onwhichwasafinelithographofCarrie,life-size.

Hurstwoodgazedatitamoment,snufflingandhunchingoneshoulder,asifsomethingwerescratchinghim.Hewassorundown,however,thathismindwasnotexactlyclear.

Heapproachedthatentranceandwentin.

“Well.”saidtheattendant,staringathim.Seeinghimpause,hewentoverandshovedhim.“Getoutofhere,”hesaid.

“IwanttoseeMissMadenda,”hesaid.

“Youdo,eh.”theothersaid,almosttickledatthespectacle.“Getoutofhere,”andheshovedhimagain.Hurstwoodhadnostrengthtoresist.

“IwanttoseeMissMadenda,”hetriedtoexplain,evenashewasbeinghustledaway.“I’mallright.I—”

Themangavehimalastpushandclosedthedoor.Ashedidso,Hurstwoodslippedandfellinthesnow.Ithurthim,andsomevaguesenseofshamereturned.Hebegantocryandswearfoolishly.

“Goddamneddog!”hesaid.“Damnedoldcur,”wipingtheslushfromhisworthlesscoat.“I—Ihiredsuchpeopleasyouonce.”

NowafiercefeelingagainstCarriewelledup—justonefierce,angrythoughtbeforethewholethingslippedoutofhismind.

“Sheowesmesomethingtoeat,”hesaid.“Sheowesittome.”

HopelesslyheturnedbackintoBroadwayagainandsloppedonwardandaway,begging,crying,losingtrackofhisthoughts,oneafteranother,asaminddecayedanddisjointediswonttodo.

Itwastrulyawintryevening,afewdayslater,whenhisonedistinctmentaldecisionwasreached.Already,atfouro’clock,thesomberhueofnightwasthickeningtheair.Aheavysnowwasfalling—afinepicking,whippingsnow,borneforwardbyaswiftwindinlong,thinlines.Thestreetswerebeddedwithit-sixinchesofcold,softcarpet,churnedtoadirtybrownbythecrushofteamsandthefeetofmen.AlongBroadwaymenpickedtheirwayinulstersandumbrellas.AlongtheBowery,menslouchedthroughitwithcollarsandhatspulledovertheirears.Intheformerthoroughfarebusinessmenandtravelersweremakingforcomfortablehotels.Inthelatter,crowdsoncolderrandsshiftedpastdingystores,inthedeeprecessesofwhichlightswerealreadygleaming.Therewereearlylightsinthecablecars,whoseusualclatterwasreducedbythemantleaboutthewheels.Thewholecitywasmuffledbythisfast-thickeningmantle.

InhercomfortablechambersattheWaldorf,Carriewasreadingatthistime“PereGoriot,”whichAmeshadrecommendedtoher.Itwassostrong,andAmes’smererecommendationhadsoarousedherinterest,thatshecaughtnearlythefullsympatheticsignificanceofit.Forthefirsttime,itwasbeingborneinuponherhowsillyandworthlesshadbeenherearlierreading,asawhole.Becomingwearied,however,sheyawnedandcametothewindow,lookingoutupontheoldwindingprocessionofcarriagesrollingupFifthAvenue.

“Isn’titbad.”sheobservedtoLola.

“Terrible!”saidthatlittlelady,joiningher.“Ihopeitsnowsenoughtogosleighriding.”

“Oh,dear,”saidCarrie,withwhomthesufferingsofFatherGoriotwerestillkeen.“That’sallyouthinkof.Aren’tyousorryforthepeoplewhohaven’tanythingto-night.”

“OfcourseIam,”saidLola;“butwhatcanIdo.Ihaven’tanything.”

Carriesmiled.

“Youwouldn’tcare,ifyouhad,”shereturned.

“Iwould,too,”saidLola.“ButpeoplenevergavemeanythingwhenIwashardup.”

“Isn’titjustawful.”saidCarrie,studyingthewinter’sstorm.

“Lookatthatmanoverthere,”laughedLola,whohadcaughtsightofsomeonefallingdown.“Howsheepishmenlookwhentheyfall,don’tthey.”

“We’llhavetotakeacoachto-night,”answeredCarrieabsently.

InthelobbyoftheImperial,Mr.CharlesDrouetwasjustarriving,shakingthesnowfromaveryhandsomeulster.Badweatherhaddrivenhimhomeearlyandstirredhisdesireforthosepleasureswhichshutoutthesnowandgloomoflife.Agooddinner,thecompanyofayoungwoman,andaneveningatthetheatrewerethechiefthingsforhim.

“Why,hello,Harry!”hesaid,addressingaloungerinoneofthecomfortablelobbychairs.“Howareyou.”

“Oh,aboutsixandsix,”saidtheother.“Rottenweather,isn’tit.”

“Well,Ishouldsay,”saidtheother.“I’vebeenjustsittingherethinkingwhereI’dgoto-night.”

“Comealongwithme,”saidDrouet.“Icanintroduceyoutosomethingdeadswell.”

“Whoisit.”saidtheother.

“Oh,acoupleofgirlsoverhereinFortiethStreet.Wecouldhaveadandytime.Iwasjustlookingforyou.”

“Supposingyouget‘emandtake‘emoutto

dinner.”

“Sure,”saidDrouet.“Wait’llIgoupstairsandchangemyclothes.”

“Well,I’llbeinthebarbershop,”saidtheother.“Iwanttogetashave.”

“Allright,”saidDrouet,creakingoffinhisgoodshoestowardtheelevator.Theoldbutterflywasaslightonthewingasever.

OnanincomingvestibuledPullman,speedingatfortymilesanhourthroughthesnowoftheevening,werethreeothers,allrelated.

“Firstcallfordinnerinthedining-car,”aPullmanservitorwasannouncing,ashehastenedthroughtheaisleinsnow-whiteapronandjacket.

“Idon’tbelieveIwanttoplayanymore,”saidtheyoungest,ablack-hairedbeauty,turnedsuperciliousbyfortune,asshepushedaeuchrehandawayfromher.

“Shallwegointodinner.”inquiredherhusband,whowasallthatfineraimentcanmake.

“Oh,notyet,”sheanswered.“Idon’twanttoplayanymore,though.”

“Jessica,”saidhermother,whowasalsoastudyinwhatgoodclothingcandoforage,“pushthatpindowninyourtie—it’scomingup.”

Jessicaobeyed,incidentallytouchingatherlovelyhairandlookingatalittlejewel-facedwatch.Herhusbandstudiedher,forbeauty,evencold,isfascinatingfromonepointofview.

“Well,wewon’thavemuchmoreofthisweather,”hesaid.“ItonlytakestwoweekstogettoRome.”

Mrs.Hurstwoodnestledcomfortablyinhercornerandsmiled.Itwassonicetobethemother-in-lawofarichyoungman-onewhosefinancialstatehadborneherpersonalinspection.

“Doyousupposetheboatwillsailpromptly.”askedJessica,“ifitkeepsuplikethis.”

“Oh,yes,”answeredherhusband.“Thiswon’tmakeanydifference.”

Passingdowntheaislecameaveryfair-hairedbanker’sson,alsoofChicago,whohadlongeyedthissuperciliousbeauty.Evennowhedidnothesitatetoglanceather,andshewasconsciousofit.Withaspeciallyconjuredshowofindifference,sheturnedherprettyfacewhollyaway.Itwasnotwifelymodestyatall.Bysomuchwasherpridesatisfied.

AtthismomentHurstwoodstoodbeforeadirtyfourstorybuildinginasidestreetquiteneartheBowery,whoseone-timecoatofbuffhadbeenchangedbysootandrain.Hemingledwithacrowdofmen—acrowdwhichhadbeen,andwasstill,gatheringbydegrees.

Itbeganwiththeapproachoftwoorthree,whohungabouttheclosedwoodendoorsandbeattheirfeettokeepthemwarm.Theyhadonfadedderbyhatswithdentsinthem.Theirmisfitcoatswereheavywithmeltedsnowandturnedupatthecollars.Theirtrousersweremerebags,frayedatthebottomandwobblingoverbig,soppyshoes,tornatthesidesandwornalmosttoshreds.Theymadenoefforttogoin,butshiftedruefullyabout,diggingtheirhandsdeepintheirpocketsandleeringatthecrowdandtheincreasinglamps.Withtheminutes,increasedthenumber.Therewereoldmenwithgrizzledbeardsandsunkeneyes,menwhowerecomparativelyyoungbutshrunkenbydiseases,menwhoweremiddle-aged.Nonewerefat.Therewasafaceinthethickofthecollectionwhichwasaswhiteasdrainedveal.Therewasanotherredasbrick.Somecamewiththin,roundedshoulders,otherswithwoodenlegs,stillotherswithframessoleanthatclothesonlyflappedaboutthem.Thereweregreatears,swollennoses,thicklips,and,aboveall,red,bloodshoteyes.Notanormal,healthyfaceinthewholemass;notastraightfigure;notastraightforward,steadyglance.

Inthedriveofthewindandsleettheypushedinononeanother.Therewerewrists,unprotectedbycoatorpocket,whichwereredwithcold.Therewereears,halfcoveredbyeveryconceivablesemblanceofahat,whichstilllookedstiffandbitten.Inthesnowtheyshifted,nowonefoot,nowanother,almostrockinginunison.

Withthegrowthofthecrowdaboutthedoorcameamurmur.Itwasnotconversation,butarunningcommentdirectedatanyoneingeneral.Itcontainedoathsandslangphrases.

“Bydamn,Iwishthey’dhurryup.”

“Lookatthecopperwatchin’.”

“Maybeitain’twinter,nuther!”

“IwishtIwasinSingSing.”

Nowasharperlashofwindcutdownandtheyhuddledcloser.Itwasanedging,shifting,pushingthrong.Therewasnoanger,nopleading,nothreateningwords.Itwasallsullenendurance,unlightenedbyeitherwitorgoodfellowship.

Acarriagewentjinglingbywithsomerecliningfigureinit.Oneofthemennearestthedoorsawit.

“Lookattheblokeridin’.”

“Heain’tsocold.”

“Eh,eh,eh!”yelledanother,thecarriagehavinglongsincepassedoutofhearing.

Littlebylittlethenightcrepton.Alongthewalkacrowdturnedoutonitswayhome.Menandshop-girlswentbywithquicksteps.Thecross-towncarsbegantobecrowded.Thegaslampswereblazing,andeverywindowbloomedruddywithasteadyflame.Stillthecrowdhungaboutthedoor,unwavering.

“Ain’ttheyevergoin’toopenup.”queriedahoarsevoice,suggestively.

Thisseemedtorenewthegeneralinterestinthecloseddoor,andmanygazedinthatdirection.Theylookedatitasdumbbruteslook,asdogspawandwhineandstudytheknob.Theyshiftedandblinkedandmuttered,nowacurse,nowacomment.Stilltheywaitedandstillthesnowwhirledandcutthemwithbitingflakes.Ontheoldhatsandpeakedshouldersitwaspiling.Itgatheredinlittleheapsandcurvesandnoonebrusheditoff.Inthecenterofthecrowdthewarmthandsteammeltedit,andwatertrickledoffhatrimsanddownnoses,whichtheownerscouldnotreachtoscratch.Ontheouterrimthepilesremainedunmelted.Hurstwood,whocouldnotgetinthecenter,stoodwithheadloweredtotheweatherandbenthisform.

Alightappearedthroughthetransomoverhead.Itsentathrillofpossibilitythroughthewatchers.Therewasamurmurofrecognition.Atlastthebarsgratedinsideandthecrowdprickedupitsears.Footstepsshuffledwithinanditmurmuredagain.Someonecalled:“Slowupthere,now,”andthenthedooropened.Itwaspushandjamforaminute,withgrim,beastsilencetoproveitsquality,andthenitmeltedinward,likelogsfloating,anddisappeared.Therewerewethatsandwetshoulders,acold,shrunken,disgruntledmass,pouringinbetweenbleakwalls.Itwasjustsixo’clockandtherewassupperineveryhurryingpedestrian’sface.Andyetnosupperwasprovidedhere—nothingbutbeds.

Hurstwoodlaiddownhisfifteencentsandcreptoffwithwearystepstohisallottedroom.Itwasadingyaffair—wooden,dusty,hard.Asmallgasjetfurnishedsufficientlightforsoruefulacorner.

“Hm!”hesaid,clearinghisthroatandlockingthedoor.

Nowhebeganleisurelytotakeoffhisclothes,butstoppedfirstwithhiscoat,andtuckeditalongthecrackunderthedoor.Hisvesthearrangedinthesameplace.Hisoldwet,crackedhathelaidsoftlyuponthetable.Thenhepulledoffhisshoesandlaydown.

Itseemedasifhethoughtawhile,fornowhearoseandturnedthegasout,standingcalmlyintheblackness,hiddenfromview.Afterafewmoments,inwhichhereviewednothing,butmerelyhesitated,he

turnedthegasonagain,butappliednomatch.Eventhenhestoodthere,hiddenwhollyinthatkindnesswhichisnight,whiletheuprisingfumesfilledtheroom.Whentheodorreachedhisnostrils,hequithisattitudeandfumbledforthebed.“What’stheuse.”hesaid,weakly,ashestretchedhimselftorest.

AndnowCarriehadattainedthatwhichinthebeginningseemedlife’sobject,or,atleast,suchfractionofitashumanbeingseverattainoftheiroriginaldesires.Shecouldlookaboutonhergownsandcarriage,herfurnitureandbankaccount.Friendstherewere,astheworldtakesit—thosewhowouldbowandsmileinacknowledgmentofhersuccess.Fortheseshehadoncecraved.Applausetherewas,andpublicity—oncefaroff,essentialthings,butnowgrowntrivialandindifferent.Beautyalso-hertypeofloveliness—andyetshewaslonely.Inherrocking-chairshesat,whennototherwiseengaged—singinganddreaming.

Thusinlifethereisevertheintellectualandtheemotionalnature—themindthatreasons,andthemindthatfeels.Ofonecomethemenofaction—generalsandstatesmen;oftheother,thepoetsanddreamers—artistsall.

Asharpsinthewind,thelatterrespondtoeverybreathoffancy,voicingintheirmoodsalltheebbandflowoftheideal.

Manhasnotyetcomprehendedthedreameranymorethanhehastheideal.Forhimthelawsandmoralsoftheworldareundulysevere.Everhearkeningtothesoundofbeauty,strainingfortheflashofitsdistantwings,hewatchestofollow,wearyinghisfeetintraveling.SowatchedCarrie,sofollowed,rockingandsinging.

Anditmustberememberedthatreasonhadlittlepartinthis.Chicagodawning,shesawthecityofferingmoreoflovelinessthanshehadeverknown,andinstinctively,byforceofhermoodsalone,clungtoit.

Infineraimentandelegantsurroundings,menseemedtobecontented.Hence,shedrewnearthesethings.Chicago,NewYork;Drouet,Hurstwood;theworldoffashionandtheworldofstage—thesewerebutincidents.Notthem,butthatwhichtheyrepresented,shelongedfor.Timeprovedtherepresentationfalse.

Oh,thetangleofhumanlife!Howdimlyasyetwesee.HerewasCarrie,inthebeginningpoor,unsophisticated.emotional;respondingwithdesiretoeverythingmostlovelyinlife,yetfindingherselfturnedasbyawall.Lawstosay:“Beallured,ifyouwill,byeverythinglovely,butdrawnotnighunlessbyrighteousness.”Conventiontosay:“Youshallnotbetteryoursituationsavebyhonestlabor.”Ifhonestlaborbeunremunerativeanddifficulttoendure;ifitbethelong,longroadwhichneverreachesbeauty,butweariesthefeetandtheheart;ifthedragtofollowbeautybesuchthatoneabandonstheadmiredway,takingratherthedespisedpathleadingtoherdreamsquickly,whoshallcastthefirststone.Notevil,butlongingforthatwhichisbetter,moreoftendirectsthestepsoftheerring.Notevil,butgoodnessmoreoftenalluresthefeelingmindunusedtoreason.

AmidthetinselandshineofherstatewalkedCarrie,unhappy.AswhenDrouettookher,shehadthought:“NowIamliftedintothatwhichisbest”;aswhenHurstwoodseeminglyofferedherthebetterway:“NowamIhappy.”Butsincetheworldgoesitswaypastallwhowillnotpartakeofitsfolly,shenowfoundherselfalone.Herpursewasopentohimwhoseneedwasgreatest.InherwalksonBroadway,shenolongerthoughtoftheeleganceofthecreatureswhopassedher.Hadtheymoreofthatpeaceandbeautywhichglimmeredafaroff,thenweretheytobeenvied.

Drouetabandonedhisclaimandwasseennomore.OfHurstwood’sdeathshewasnotevenaware.Aslow,blackboatsettingoutfromthepieratTwenty-seventhStreetuponitsweeklyerrandbore,withmanyothers,hisnamelessbodytothePotter’sField.

Thuspassedallthatwasofinterestconcerningthesetwainintheirrelationtoher.Theirinfluenceuponherlifeisexplicablealonebythenatureofherlongings.Timewaswhenbothrepresentedforherallthatwasmostpotentinearthlysuccess.Theywerethepersonalrepresentativesofastatemostblessedtoattain—thetitledambassadorsofcomfortandpeace,aglowwiththeircredentials.Itisbutnaturalthatwhentheworldwhichtheyrepresentednolongeralluredher,itsambassadorsshouldbediscredited.EvenhadHurstwoodreturnedinhisoriginalbeautyandglory,hecouldnotnowhavealluredher.Shehadlearnedthatinhisworld,asinherownpresentstate,wasnothappiness.

Sittingalone,shewasnowanillustrationofthedeviouswaysbywhichonewhofeels,ratherthanreasons,maybeledinthepursuitofbeauty.Thoughoftendisillusioned,shewasstillwaitingforthathalcyondaywhenshewouldbeledforthamongdreamsbecomereal.Ameshadpointedoutafartherstep,butonandonbeyondthat,ifaccomplished,wouldlieothersforher.Itwasforevertobethepursuitofthatradianceofdelightwhichtintsthedistanthilltopsoftheworld.

Oh,Carrie,Carrie!Oh,blindstrivingsofthehumanheart!Onwardonward,itsaith,andwherebeautyleads,thereitfollows.Whetheritbethetinkleofalonesheepbello’ersomequietlandscape,ortheglimmerofbeautyinsylvanplaces,ortheshowofsoulinsomepassingeye,theheartknowsandmakesanswer,following.Itiswhenthefeetwearyandhopeseemsvainthattheheartachesandthelongingsarise.Know,then,thatforyouisneithersurfeitnorcontent.Inyourrockingchair,byyourwindowdreaming,shallyoulong,alone.Inyourrockingchair,byyourwindow,shallyoudreamsuchhappinessasyoumayneverfeel.

TheEnd