Chapter VIII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　INTIMATIONS BY WINTER--AN AMBASSADOR SUMMONEDAmong the forces which sweep and play throughout the universe,untutored man is but a wisp in the wind. Our civilisation isstill in a middle stage, scarcely beast, in that it is no longerwholly guided by instinct; scarcely human, in that it is not yetwholly guided by reason. On the tiger no responsibility rests.We see him aligned by nature with the forces of life--he is borninto their keeping and without thought he is protected. We seeman far removed from the lairs of the jungles, his innateinstincts dulled by too near an approach to free-will, his free-will not sufficiently developed to replace his instincts andafford him perfect guidance.He is becoming too wise to hearken always to instincts anddesires; he is still too weak to always prevail against them. Asa beast, the forces of life aligned him with them; as a man, hehas not yet wholly learned to align himself with the forces. Inthis intermediate stage he wavers--neither drawn in harmony withnature by his instincts nor yet wisely putting himself intoharmony by his own free-will. He is even as a wisp in the wind,moved by every breath of passion, acting now by his will and nowby his instincts, erring with one, only to retrieve by the other,falling by one, only to rise by the other--a creature ofincalculable variability. We have the consolation of knowingthat evolution is ever in action, that the ideal is a light thatcannot fail. He will not forever balance thus between good andevil. When this jangle of free-will instinct shall have beenadjusted, when perfect under standing has given the former thepower to replace the latter entirely, man will no longer vary.The needle of understanding will yet point steadfast andunwavering to the distinct pole of truth.In Carrie--as in how many of our worldlings do they not?--instinct and reason, desire and understanding, were at war forthe mastery. She followed whither her craving led. She was asyet more drawn than she drew.When Minnie found the note next morning, after a night of mingledwonder and anxiety, which was not exactly touched by yearning,sorrow, or love, she exclaimed: "Well, what do you think ofthat?""What?" said Hanson."Sister Carrie has gone to live somewhere else."Hanson jumped out of bed with more celerity than he usuallydisplayed and looked at the note. The only indication of histhoughts came in the form of a little clicking sound made by histongue; the sound some people make when they wish to urge on ahorse."Where do you suppose she's gone to?" said Minnie, thoroughlyaroused."I don't know," a touch of cynicism lighting his eye. "Now shehas gone and done it."Minnie moved her head in a puzzled way."Oh, oh," she said, "she doesn't know what she has done.""Well," said Hanson, after a while, sticking his hands out beforehim, "what can you do?"Minnie's womanly nature was higher than this. She figured thepossibilities in such cases."Oh," she said at last, "poor Sister Carrie!"At the time of this particular conversation, which occurred at 5A.M., that little soldier of fortune was sleeping a rathertroubled sleep in her new room, alone.Carrie's new state was remarkable in that she saw possibilitiesin it. She was no sensualist, longing to drowse sleepily in thelap of luxury. She turned about, troubled by her daring, glad ofher release, wondering whether she would get something to do,wondering what Drouet would do. That worthy had his future fixedfor him beyond a peradventure. He could not help what he wasgoing to do. He could not see clearly enough to wish to dodifferently. He was drawn by his innate desire to act the oldpursuing part. He would need to delight himself with Carrie assurely as he would need to eat his heavy breakfast. He mightsuffer the least rudimentary twinge of conscience in whatever hedid, and in just so far he was evil and sinning. But whatevertwinges of conscience he might have would be rudimentary, you maybe sure.The next day he called upon Carrie, and she saw him in herchamber. He was the same jolly, enlivening soul."Aw," he said, "what are you looking so blue about? Come on outto breakfast. You want to get your other clothes to-day."Carrie looked at him with the hue of shifting thought in herlarge eyes."I wish I could get something to do," she said."You'll get that all right," said Drouet. "What's the useworrying right now? Get yourself fixed up. See the city. Iwon't hurt you.""I know you won't," she remarked, half truthfully."Got on the new shoes, haven't you? Stick 'em out. George, theylook fine. Put on your jacket."Carrie obeyed."Say, that fits like a T, don't it?" he remarked, feeling the setof it at the waist and eyeing it from a few paces with realpleasure. "What you need now is a new skirt. Let's go tobreakfast."Carrie put on her hat."Where are the gloves?" he inquired."Here," she said, taking them out of the bureau drawer."Now, come on," he said.Thus the first hour of misgiving was swept away.It went this way on every occasion. Drouet did not leave hermuch alone. She had time for some lone wanderings, but mostly hefilled her hours with sight-seeing. At Carson, Pirie's he boughther a nice skirt and shirt waist. With his money she purchasedthe little necessaries of toilet, until at last she looked quiteanother maiden. The mirror convinced her of a few things whichshe had long believed. She was pretty, yes, indeed! How niceher hat set, and weren't her eyes pretty. She caught her littlered lip with her teeth and felt her first thrill of power.Drouet was so good.They went to see "The Mikado" one evening, an opera which washilariously popular at that time. Before going, they made offfor the Windsor dining-room, which was in Dearborn Street, aconsiderable distance from Carrie's room. It was blowing upcold, and out of her window Carrie could see the western sky,still pink with the fading light, but steely blue at the topwhere it met the darkness. A long, thin cloud of pink hung inmidair, shaped like some island in a far-off sea. Somehow theswaying of some dead branches of trees across the way broughtback the picture with which she was familiar when she looked fromtheir front window in December days at home.She paused and wrung her little hands."What's the matter?" said Drouet."Oh, I don't know," she said, her lip trembling.He sensed something, and slipped his arm over her shoulder,patting her arm."Come on," he said gently, "you're all right."She turned to slip on her jacket."Better wear that boa about your throat to night."They walked north on Wabash to Adams Street and then west. Thelights in the stores were already shining out in gushes of goldenhue. The arc lights were sputtering overhead, and high up werethe lighted windows of the tall office buildings. The chill windwhipped in and out in gusty breaths. Homeward bound, the sixo'clock throng bumped and jostled. Light overcoats were turned upabout the ears, hats were pulled down. Little shop-girls wentfluttering by in pairs and fours, chattering, laughing. It was aspectacle of warm-blooded humanity.Suddenly a pair of eyes met Carrie's in recognition. They werelooking out from a group of poorly dressed girls. Their clotheswere faded and loose-hanging, their jackets old, their generalmake-up shabby.Carrie recognised the glance and the girl. She was one of thosewho worked at the machines in the shoe factory. The latterlooked, not quite sure, and then turned her head and looked.Carrie felt as if some great tide had rolled between them. Theold dress and the old machine came back. She actually started.Drouet didn't notice until Carrie bumped into a pedestrian."You must be thinking," he said.They dined and went to the theatre. That spectacle pleasedCarrie immensely. The colour and grace of it caught her eye.She had vain imaginings about place and power, about far-offlands and magnificent people. When it was over, the clatter ofcoaches and the throng of fine ladies made her stare."Wait a minute," said Drouet, holding her back in the showy foyerwhere ladies and gentlemen were moving in a social crush, skirtsrustling, lace-covered heads nodding, white teeth showing throughparted lips. "Let's see.""Sixty-seven," the coach-caller was saying, his voice lifted in asort of euphonious cry. "Sixty-seven.""Isn't it fine?" said Carrie."Great," said Drouet. He was as much affected by this show offinery and gayety as she. He pressed her arm warmly. Once shelooked up, her even teeth glistening through her smiling lips,her eyes alight. As they were moving out he whispered down toher, "You look lovely!" They were right where the coach-callerwas swinging open a coach-door and ushering in two ladies."You stick to me and we'll have a coach," laughed Drouet.Carrie scarcely heard, her head was so full of the swirl of life.They stopped in at a restaurant for a little after-theatre lunch.Just a shade of a thought of the hour entered Carrie's head, butthere was no household law to govern her now. If any habits everhad time to fix upon her, they would have operated here. Habitsare peculiar things. They will drive the really non-religiousmind out of bed to say prayers that are only a custom and not adevotion. The victim of habit, when he has neglected the thingwhich it was his custom to do, feels a little scratching in thebrain, a little irritating something which comes of being out ofthe rut, and imagines it to be the prick of conscience, thestill, small voice that is urging him ever to righteousness. Ifthe digression is unusual enough, the drag of habit will be heavyenough to cause the unreasoning victim to return and perform theperfunctory thing. "Now, bless me," says such a mind, "I havedone my duty," when, as a matter of fact, it has merely done itsold, unbreakable trick once again.Carrie had no excellent home principles fixed upon her. If shehad, she would have been more consciously distressed. Now thelunch went off with considerable warmth. Under the influence ofthe varied occurrences, the fine, invisible passion which wasemanating from Drouet, the food, the still unusual luxury, sherelaxed and heard with open ears. She was again the victim ofthe city's hypnotic influence."Well," said Drouet at last, "we had better be going."They had been dawdling over the dishes, and their eyes hadfrequently met. Carrie could not help but feel the vibration offorce which followed, which, indeed, was his gaze. He had a wayof touching her hand in explanation, as if to impress a fact uponher. He touched it now as he spoke of going.They arose and went out into the street. The downtown sectionwas now bare, save for a few whistling strollers, a few owl cars,a few open resorts whose windows were still bright. Out WabashAvenue they strolled, Drouet still pouring forth his volume ofsmall information. He had Carrie's arm in his, and held itclosely as he explained. Once in a while, after some witticism,he would look down, and his eyes would meet hers. At last theycame to the steps, and Carrie stood up on the first one, her headnow coming even with his own. He took her hand and held itgenially. He looked steadily at her as she glanced about, warmlymusing.At about that hour, Minnie was soundly sleeping, after a longevening of troubled thought. She had her elbow in an awkwardposition under her side. The muscles so held irritated a fewnerves, and now a vague scene floated in on the drowsy mind. Shefancied she and Carrie were somewhere beside an old coal-mine.She could see the tall runway and the heap of earth and coal castout. There was a deep pit, into which they were looking; theycould see the curious wet stones far down where the walldisappeared in vague shadows. An old basket, used fordescending, was hanging there, fastened by a worn rope."Let's get in," said Carrie."Oh, no," said Minnie."Yes, come on," said Carrie.She began to pull the basket over, and now, in spite of allprotest, she had swung over and was going down."Carrie," she called, "Carrie, come back"; but Carrie was fardown now and the shadow had swallowed her completely.She moved her arm.Now the mystic scenery merged queerly and the place was by watersshe had never seen. They were upon some board or ground orsomething that reached far out, and at the end of this wasCarrie. They looked about, and now the thing was sinking, andMinnie heard the low sip of the encroaching water."Come on, Carrie," she called, but Carrie was reaching fartherout. She seemed to recede, and now it was difficult to call toher."Carrie," she called, "Carrie," but her own voice sounded faraway, and the strange waters were blurring everything. She cameaway suffering as though she had lost something. She was moreinexpressibly sad than she had ever been in life.It was this way through many shifts of the tired brain, thosecurious phantoms of the spirit slipping in, blurring strangescenes, one with the other. The last one made her cry out, forCarrie was slipping away somewhere over a rock, and her fingershad let loose and she had seen her falling."Minnie! What's the matter? Here, wake up," said Hanson,disturbed, and shaking her by the shoulder."Wha--what's the matter?" said Minnie, drowsily."Wake up," he said, "and turn over. You're talking in yoursleep."A week or so later Drouet strolled into Fitzgerald and Moy's,spruce in dress and manner."Hello, Charley," said Hurstwood, looking out from his officedoor.Drouet strolled over and looked in upon the manager at his desk."When do you go out on the road again?" he inquired."Pretty soon," said Drouet."Haven't seen much of you this trip," said Hurstwood."Well, I've been busy," said Drouet.They talked some few minutes on general topics."Say," said Drouet, as if struck by a sudden idea, "I want you tocome out some evening.""Out where?" inquired Hurstwood."Out to my house, of course," said Drouet, smiling.Hurstwood looked up quizzically, the least suggestion of a smilehovering about his lips. He studied the face of Drouet in hiswise way, and then with the demeanour of a gentleman, said:"Certainly; glad to.""We'll have a nice game of euchre.""May I bring a nice little bottle of Sec?" asked Hurstwood."Certainly," said Drouet. "I'll introduce you."