Chapter XI

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE PERSUASION OF FASHION--FEELING GUARDS O'ER ITS OWNCarrie was an apt student of fortune's ways--of fortune'ssuperficialities. Seeing a thing, she would immediately set toinquiring how she would look, properly related to it. Be itknown that this is not fine feeling, it is not wisdom. Thegreatest minds are not so afflicted; and on the contrary, thelowest order of mind is not so disturbed. Fine clothes to herwere a vast persuasion; they spoke tenderly and Jesuitically forthemselves. When she came within earshot of their pleading,desire in her bent a willing ear. The voice of the so-calledinanimate! Who shall translate for us the language of thestones?"My dear," said the lace collar she secured from Partridge's, "Ifit you beautifully; don't give me up.""Ah, such little feet," said the leather of the soft new shoes;"how effectively I cover them. What a pity they should ever wantmy aid."Once these things were in her hand, on her person, she mightdream of giving them up; the method by which they came mightintrude itself so forcibly that she would ache to be rid of thethought of it, but she would not give them up. "Put on the oldclothes--that torn pair of shoes," was called to her by herconscience in vain. She could possibly have conquered the fearof hunger and gone back; the thought of hard work and a narrowround of suffering would, under the last pressure of conscience,have yielded, but spoil her appearance?--be old-clothed and poor-appearing?--never!Drouet heightened her opinion on this and allied subjects in sucha manner as to weaken her power of resisting their influence. Itis so easy to do this when the thing opined is in the line ofwhat we desire. In his hearty way, he insisted upon her goodlooks. He looked at her admiringly, and she took it at its fullvalue. Under the circumstances, she did not need to carryherself as pretty women do. She picked that knowledge up fastenough for herself. Drouet had a habit, characteristic of hiskind, of looking after stylishly dressed or pretty women on thestreet and remarking upon them. He had just enough of thefeminine love of dress to be a good judge--not of intellect, butof clothes. He saw how they set their little feet, how theycarried their chins, with what grace and sinuosity they swungtheir bodies. A dainty, self-conscious swaying of the hips by awoman was to him as alluring as the glint of rare wine to atoper. He would turn and follow the disappearing vision with hiseyes. He would thrill as a child with the unhindered passionthat was in him. He loved the thing that women love inthemselves, grace. At this, their own shrine, he knelt withthem, an ardent devotee."Did you see that woman who went by just now?" he said to Carrieon the first day they took a walk together. "Fine stepper, wasn'tshe?"Carrie looked, and observed the grace commended."Yes, she is," she returned, cheerfully, a little suggestion ofpossible defect in herself awakening in her mind. If that was sofine, she must look at it more closely. Instinctively, she felta desire to imitate it. Surely she could do that too.When one of her mind sees many things emphasized and re-emphasized and admired, she gathers the logic of it and appliesaccordingly. Drouet was not shrewd enough to see that this wasnot tactful. He could not see that it would be better to makeher feel that she was competing with herself, not others betterthan herself. He would not have done it with an older, wiserwoman, but in Carrie he saw only the novice. Less clever thanshe, he was naturally unable to comprehend her sensibility. Hewent on educating and wounding her, a thing rather foolish in onewhose admiration for his pupil and victim was apt to grow.Carrie took the instructions affably. She saw what Drouet liked;in a vague way she saw where he was weak. It lessens a woman'sopinion of a man when she learns that his admiration is sopointedly and generously distributed. She sees but one object ofsupreme compliment in this world, and that is herself. If a manis to succeed with many women, he must be all in all to each.In her own apartments Carrie saw things which were lessons in thesame school.In the same house with her lived an official of one of thetheatres, Mr. Frank A. Hale, manager of the Standard, and hiswife, a pleasing-looking brunette of thirty-five. They werepeople of a sort very common in America today, who liverespectably from hand to mouth. Hale received a salary of forty-five dollars a week. His wife, quite attractive, affected thefeeling of youth, and objected to that sort of home life whichmeans the care of a house and the raising of a family. LikeDrouet and Carrie, they also occupied three rooms on the floorabove.Not long after she arrived Mrs. Hale established social relationswith her, and together they went about. For a long time this washer only companionship, and the gossip of the manager's wifeformed the medium through which she saw the world. Suchtrivialities, such praises of wealth, such conventionalexpression of morals as sifted through this passive creature'smind, fell upon Carrie and for the while confused her.On the other hand, her own feelings were a corrective influence.The constant drag to something better was not to be denied. Bythose things which address the heart was she steadily recalled.In the apartments across the hall were a young girl and hermother. They were from Evansville, Indiana, the wife anddaughter of a railroad treasurer. The daughter was here to studymusic, the mother to keep her company.Carrie did not make their acquaintance, but she saw the daughtercoming in and going out. A few times she had seen her at thepiano in the parlour, and not infrequently had heard her play.This young woman was particularly dressy for her station, andwore a jewelled ring or two which flashed upon her white fingersas she played.Now Carrie was affected by music. Her nervous compositionresponded to certain strains, much as certain strings of a harpvibrate when a corresponding key of a piano is struck. She wasdelicately moulded in sentiment, and answered with vagueruminations to certain wistful chords. They awoke longings forthose things which she did not have. They caused her to clingcloser to things she possessed. One short song the young ladyplayed in a most soulful and tender mood. Carrie heard itthrough the open door from the parlour below. It was at thathour between afternoon and night when, for the idle, thewanderer, things are apt to take on a wistful aspect. The mindwanders forth on far journeys and returns with sheaves ofwithered and departed joys. Carrie sat at her window lookingout. Drouet had been away since ten in the morning. She hadamused herself with a walk, a book by Bertha M. Clay which Drouethad left there, though she did not wholly enjoy the latter, andby changing her dress for the evening. Now she sat looking outacross the park as wistful and depressed as the nature whichcraves variety and life can be under such circumstances. As shecontemplated her new state, the strain from the parlour belowstole upward. With it her thoughts became coloured and enmeshed.She reverted to the things which were best and saddest within thesmall limit of her experience. She became for the moment arepentant.While she was in this mood Drouet came in, bringing with him anentirely different atmosphere. It was dusk and Carrie hadneglected to light the lamp. The fire in the grate, too, hadburned low."Where are you, Cad?" he said, using a pet name he had given her."Here," she answered.There was something delicate and lonely in her voice, but hecould not hear it. He had not the poetry in him that would seeka woman out under such circumstances and console her for thetragedy of life. Instead, he struck a match and lighted the gas."Hello," he exclaimed, "you've been crying."Her eyes were still wet with a few vague tears."Pshaw," he said, "you don't want to do that."He took her hand, feeling in his good-natured egotism that it wasprobably lack of his presence which had made her lonely."Come on, now," he went on; "it's all right. Let's waltz alittle to that music."He could not have introduced a more incongruous proposition. Itmade clear to Carrie that he could not sympathise with her. Shecould not have framed thoughts which would have expressed hisdefect or made clear the difference between them, but she feltit. It was his first great mistake.What Drouet said about the girl's grace, as she tripped outevenings accompanied by her mother, caused Carrie to perceive thenature and value of those little modish ways which women adoptwhen they would presume to be something. She looked in themirror and pursed up her lips, accompanying it with a little tossof the head, as she had seen the railroad treasurer's daughterdo. She caught up her skirts with an easy swing, for had notDrouet remarked that in her and several others, and Carrie wasnaturally imitative. She began to get the hang of those littlethings which the pretty woman who has vanity invariably adopts.In short, her knowledge of grace doubled, and with it herappearance changed. She became a girl of considerable taste.Drouet noticed this. He saw the new bow in her hair and the newway of arranging her locks which she affected one morning."You look fine that way, Cad," he said."Do I?" she replied, sweetly. It made her try for other effectsthat selfsame day.She used her feet less heavily, a thing that was brought about byher attempting to imitate the treasurer's daughter's gracefulcarriage. How much influence the presence of that young woman inthe same house had upon her it would be difficult to say. But,because of all these things, when Hurstwood called he had found ayoung woman who was much more than the Carrie to whom Drouet hadfirst spoken. The primary defects of dress and manner hadpassed. She was pretty, graceful, rich in the timidity born ofuncertainty, and with a something childlike in her large eyeswhich captured the fancy of this starched and conventional poseramong men. It was the ancient attraction of the fresh for thestale. If there was a touch of appreciation left in him for thebloom and unsophistication which is the charm of youth, itrekindled now. He looked into her pretty face and felt thesubtle waves of young life radiating therefrom. In that largeclear eye he could see nothing that his blase nature couldunderstand as guile. The little vanity, if he could haveperceived it there, would have touched him as a pleasant thing."I wonder," he said, as he rode away in his cab, "how Drouet cameto win her."He gave her credit for feelings superior to Drouet at the firstglance.The cab plopped along between the far-receding lines of gas lampson either hand. He folded his gloved hands and saw only thelighted chamber and Carrie's face. He was pondering over thedelight of youthful beauty."I'll have a bouquet for her," he thought. "Drouet won't mind."He never for a moment concealed the fact of her attraction forhimself. He troubled himself not at all about Drouet's priority.He was merely floating those gossamer threads of thought which,like the spider's, he hoped would lay hold somewhere. He did notknow, he could not guess, what the result would be.A few weeks later Drouet, in his peregrinations, encountered oneof his well-dressed lady acquaintances in Chicago on his returnfrom a short trip to Omaha. He had intended to hurry out toOgden Place and surprise Carrie, but now he fell into aninteresting conversation and soon modified his originalintention."Let's go to dinner," he said, little recking any chance meetingwhich might trouble his way."Certainly," said his companion.They visited one of the better restaurants for a social chat. Itwas five in the afternoon when they met; it was seven-thirtybefore the last bone was picked.Drouet was just finishing a little incident he was relating, andhis face was expanding into a smile, when Hurstwood's eye caughthis own. The latter had come in with several friends, and,seeing Drouet and some woman, not Carrie, drew his ownconclusion."Ah, the rascal," he thought, and then, with a touch of righteoussympathy, "that's pretty hard on the little girl."Drouet jumped from one easy thought to another as he caughtHurstwood's eye. He felt but very little misgiving, until he sawthat Hurstwood was cautiously pretending not to see. Then someof the latter's impression forced itself upon him. He thought ofCarrie and their last meeting. By George, he would have toexplain this to Hurstwood. Such a chance half-hour with an oldfriend must not have anything more attached to it than it reallywarranted.For the first time he was troubled. Here was a moralcomplication of which he could not possibly get the ends.Hurstwood would laugh at him for being a fickle boy. He wouldlaugh with Hurstwood. Carrie would never hear, his presentcompanion at table would never know, and yet he could not helpfeeling that he was getting the worst of it--there was some faintstigma attached, and he was not guilty. He broke up the dinnerby becoming dull, and saw his companion on her car. Then he wenthome."He hasn't talked to me about any of these later flames," thoughtHurstwood to himself. "He thinks I think he cares for the girlout there.""He ought not to think I'm knocking around, since I have justintroduced him out there," thought Drouet."I saw you," Hurstwood said, genially, the next time Drouetdrifted in to his polished resort, from which he could not stayaway. He raised his forefinger indicatively, as parents do tochildren."An old acquaintance of mine that I ran into just as I was comingup from the station," explained Drouet. "She used to be quite abeauty.""Still attracts a little, eh?" returned the other, affecting tojest."Oh, no," said Drouet, "just couldn't escape her this time.""How long are you here?" asked Hurstwood."Only a few days.""You must bring the girl down and take dinner with me," he said."I'm afraid you keep her cooped up out there. I'll get a box forJoe Jefferson.""Not me," answered the drummer. "Sure I'll come."This pleased Hurstwood immensely. He gave Drouet no credit forany feelings toward Carrie whatever. He envied him, and now, ashe looked at the well-dressed jolly salesman, whom he so muchliked, the gleam of the rival glowed in his eye. He began to"size up" Drouet from the standpoints of wit and fascination. Hebegan to look to see where he was weak. There was no disputingthat, whatever he might think of him as a good fellow, he felt acertain amount of contempt for him as a lover. He could hoodwinkhim all right. Why, if he would just let Carrie see one suchlittle incident as that of Thursday, it would settle the matter.He ran on in thought, almost exulting, the while he laughed andchatted, and Drouet felt nothing. He had no power of analysingthe glance and the atmosphere of a man like Hurstwood. He stoodand smiled and accepted the invitation while his friend examinedhim with the eye of a hawk.The object of this peculiarly involved comedy was not thinking ofeither. She was busy adjusting her thoughts and feelings tonewer conditions, and was not in danger of suffering disturbingpangs from either quarter.One evening Drouet found her dressing herself before the glass."Cad," said he, catching her, "I believe you're getting vain.""Nothing of the kind," she returned, smiling."Well, you're mighty pretty," he went on, slipping his arm aroundher. "Put on that navy-blue dress of yours and I'll take you tothe show.""Oh, I've promised Mrs. Hale to go with her to the Exposition to-night," she returned, apologetically."You did, eh?" he said, studying the situation abstractedly. "Iwouldn't care to go to that myself.""Well, I don't know," answered Carrie, puzzling, but not offeringto break her promise in his favour.Just then a knock came at their door and the maidservant handed aletter in."He says there's an answer expected," she explained."It's from Hurstwood," said Drouet, noting the superscription ashe tore it open."You are to come down and see Joe Jefferson with me to-night," itran in part. "It's my turn, as we agreed the other day. Allother bets are off.""Well, what do you say to this?" asked Drouet, innocently, whileCarrie's mind bubbled with favourable replies."You had better decide, Charlie," she said, reservedly."I guess we had better go, if you can break that engagementupstairs," said Drouet."Oh, I can," returned Carrie without thinking.Drouet selected writing paper while Carrie went to change herdress. She hardly explained to herself why this latestinvitation appealed to her most"Shall I wear my hair as I did yesterday?" she asked, as she cameout with several articles of apparel pending."Sure," he returned, pleasantly.She was relieved to see that he felt nothing. She did not credither willingness to go to any fascination Hurstwood held for her.It seemed that the combination of Hurstwood, Drouet, and herselfwas more agreeable than anything else that had been suggested.She arrayed herself most carefully and they started off,extending excuses upstairs."I say," said Hurstwood, as they came up the theatre lobby, "weare exceedingly charming this evening."Carrie fluttered under his approving glance."Now, then," he said, leading the way up the foyer into thetheatre.If ever there was dressiness it was here. It was thepersonification of the old term spick and span."Did you ever see Jefferson?" he questioned, as he leaned towardCarrie in the box."I never did," she returned."He's delightful, delightful," he went on, giving the commonplacerendition of approval which such men know. He sent Drouet aftera programme, and then discoursed to Carrie concerning Jeffersonas he had heard of him. The former was pleased beyondexpression, and was really hypnotised by the environment, thetrappings of the box, the elegance of her companion. Severaltimes their eyes accidentally met, and then there poured intohers such a flood of feeling as she had never before experienced.She could not for the moment explain it, for in the next glanceor the next move of the hand there was seeming indifference,mingled only with the kindest attention.Drouet shared in the conversation, but he was almost dull incomparison. Hurstwood entertained them both, and now it wasdriven into Carrie's mind that here was the superior man. Sheinstinctively felt that he was stronger and higher, and yetwithal so simple. By the end of the third act she was sure thatDrouet was only a kindly soul, but otherwise defective. He sankevery moment in her estimation by the strong comparison."I have had such a nice time," said Carrie, when it was all overand they were coming out."Yes, indeed," added Drouet, who was not in the least aware thata battle had been fought and his defences weakened. He was likethe Emperor of China, who sat glorying in himself, unaware thathis fairest provinces were being wrested from him."Well, you have saved me a dreary evening," returned Hurstwood."Good-night."He took Carrie's little hand, and a current of feeling swept fromone to the other."I'm so tired," said Carrie, leaning back in the car when Drouetbegan to talk."Well, you rest a little while I smoke," he said, rising, andthen he foolishly went to the forward platform of the car andleft the game as it stood.