Chapter XXX

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE KINGDOM OF GREATNESS--THE PILGRIM A DREAMWhatever a man like Hurstwood could be in Chicago, it is veryevident that he would be but an inconspicuous drop in an oceanlike New York. In Chicago, whose population still ranged about500,000, millionaires were not numerous. The rich had not becomeso conspicuously rich as to drown all moderate incomes inobscurity. The attention of the inhabitants was not sodistracted by local celebrities in the dramatic, artistic,social, and religious fields as to shut the well-positioned manfrom view. In Chicago the two roads to distinction were politicsand trade. In New York the roads were any one of a half-hundred,and each had been diligently pursued by hundreds, so thatcelebrities were numerous. The sea was already full of whales.A common fish must needs disappear wholly from view--remainunseen. In other words, Hurstwood was nothing.There is a more subtle result of such a situation as this, which,though not always taken into account, produces the tragedies ofthe world. The great create an atmosphere which reacts badlyupon the small. This atmosphere is easily and quickly felt.Walk among the magnificent residences, the splendid equipages,the gilded shops, restaurants, resorts of all kinds; scent theflowers, the silks, the wines; drink of the laughter springingfrom the soul of luxurious content, of the glances which gleamlike light from defiant spears; feel the quality of the smileswhich cut like glistening swords and of strides born of place,and you shall know of what is the atmosphere of the high andmighty. Little use to argue that of such is not the kingdom ofgreatness, but so long as the world is attracted by this and thehuman heart views this as the one desirable realm which it mustattain, so long, to that heart, will this remain the realm ofgreatness. So long, also, will the atmosphere of this realm workits desperate results in the soul of man. It is like a chemicalreagent. One day of it, like one drop of the other, will soaffect and discolour the views, the aims, the desire of the mind,that it will thereafter remain forever dyed. A day of it to theuntried mind is like opium to the untried body. A craving is setup which, if gratified, shall eternally result in dreams anddeath. Aye! dreams unfulfilled--gnawing, luring, idle phantomswhich beckon and lead, beckon and lead, until death anddissolution dissolve their power and restore us blind to nature'sheart.A man of Hurstwood's age and temperament is not subject to theillusions and burning desires of youth, but neither has he thestrength of hope which gushes as a fountain in the heart ofyouth. Such an atmosphere could not incite in him the cravingsof a boy of eighteen, but in so far as they were excited, thelack of hope made them proportionately bitter. He could not failto notice the signs of affluence and luxury on every hand. Hehad been to New York before and knew the resources of its folly.In part it was an awesome place to him, for here gathered allthat he most respected on this earth--wealth, place, and fame.The majority of the celebrities with whom he had tipped glassesin his day as manager hailed from this self-centred and populousspot. The most inviting stories of pleasure and luxury had beentold of places and individuals here. He knew it to be true thatunconsciously he was brushing elbows with fortune the livelongday; that a hundred or five hundred thousand gave no one theprivilege of living more than comfortably in so wealthy a place.Fashion and pomp required more ample sums, so that the poor manwas nowhere. All this he realised, now quite sharply, as hefaced the city, cut off from his friends, despoiled of his modestfortune, and even his name, and forced to begin the battle forplace and comfort all over again. He was not old, but he was notso dull but that he could feel he soon would be. Of a sudden,then, this show of fine clothes, place, and power took onpeculiar significance. It was emphasised by contrast with hisown distressing state.And it was distressing. He soon found that freedom from fear ofarrest was not the sine qua non of his existence. That dangerdissolved, the next necessity became the grievous thing. Thepaltry sum of thirteen hundred and some odd dollars set againstthe need of rent, clothing, food, and pleasure for years to comewas a spectacle little calculated to induce peace of mind in onewho had been accustomed to spend five times that sum in thecourse of a year. He thought upon the subject rather activelythe first few days he was in New York, and decided that he mustact quickly. As a consequence, he consulted the businessopportunities advertised in the morning papers and beganinvestigations on his own account.That was not before he had become settled, however. Carrie andhe went looking for a flat, as arranged, and found one inSeventy-eighth Street near Amsterdam Avenue. It was a five-storybuilding, and their flat was on the third floor. Owing to thefact that the street was not yet built up solidly, it waspossible to see east to the green tops of the trees in CentralPark and west to the broad waters of the Hudson, a glimpse ofwhich was to be had out of the west windows. For the privilegeof six rooms and a bath, running in a straight line, they werecompelled to pay thirty-five dollars a month--an average, and yetexorbitant, rent for a home at the time. Carrie noticed thedifference between the size of the rooms here and in Chicago andmentioned it."You'll not find anything better, dear," said Hurstwood, "unlessyou go into one of the old-fashioned houses, and then you won'thave any of these conveniences."Carrie picked out the new abode because of its newness and brightwood-work. It was one of the very new ones supplied with steamheat, which was a great advantage. The stationary range, hot andcold water, dumb-waiter, speaking tubes, and call-bell for thejanitor pleased her very much. She had enough of the instinctsof a housewife to take great satisfaction in these things.Hurstwood made arrangements with one of the instalment houseswhereby they furnished the flat complete and accepted fiftydollars down and ten dollars a month. He then had a littleplate, bearing the name G. W. Wheeler, made, which he placed onhis letter-box in the hall. It sounded exceedingly odd to Carrieto be called Mrs. Wheeler by the janitor, but in time she becameused to it and looked upon the name as her own.These house details settled, Hurstwood visited some of theadvertised opportunities to purchase an interest in someflourishing down-town bar. After the palatial resort in AdamsStreet, he could not stomach the commonplace saloons which hefound advertised. He lost a number of days looking up these andfinding them disagreeable. He did, however, gain considerableknowledge by talking, for he discovered the influence of TammanyHall and the value of standing in with the police. The mostprofitable and flourishing places he found to be those whichconducted anything but a legitimate business, such as thatcontrolled by Fitzgerald and Moy. Elegant back rooms and privatedrinking booths on the second floor were usually adjuncts of veryprofitable places. He saw by portly keepers, whose shirt frontsshone with large diamonds, and whose clothes were properly cut,that the liquor business here, as elsewhere, yielded the samegolden profit.At last he found an individual who had a resort in Warren Street,which seemed an excellent venture. It was fairly well-appearingand susceptible of improvement. The owner claimed the businessto be excellent, and it certainly looked so."We deal with a very good class of people," he told Hurstwood."Merchants, salesmen, and professionals. It's a well-dressedclass. No bums. We don't allow 'em in the place."Hurstwood listened to the cash-register ring, and watched thetrade for a while."It's profitable enough for two, is it?" he asked."You can see for yourself if you're any judge of the liquortrade," said the owner. "This is only one of the two places Ihave. The other is down in Nassau Street. I can't tend to themboth alone. If I had some one who knew the business thoroughly Iwouldn't mind sharing with him in this one and letting him manageit.""I've had experience enough," said Hurstwood blandly, but he felta little diffident about referring to Fitzgerald and Moy."Well, you can suit yourself, Mr. Wheeler," said the proprietor.He only offered a third interest in the stock, fixtures, andgood-will, and this in return for a thousand dollars andmanagerial ability on the part of the one who should come in.There was no property involved, because the owner of the saloonmerely rented from an estate.The offer was genuine enough, but it was a question withHurstwood whether a third interest in that locality could be madeto yield one hundred and fifty dollars a month, which he figuredhe must have in order to meet the ordinary family expenses and becomfortable. It was not the time, however, after many failuresto find what he wanted, to hesitate. It looked as though a thirdwould pay a hundred a month now. By judicious management andimprovement, it might be made to pay more. Accordingly he agreedto enter into partnership, and made over his thousand dollars,preparing to enter the next day.His first inclination was to be elated, and he confided to Carriethat he thought he had made an excellent arrangement. Time,however, introduced food for reflection. He found his partner tobe very disagreeable. Frequently he was the worse for liquor,which made him surly. This was the last thing which Hurstwoodwas used to in business. Besides, the business varied. It wasnothing like the class of patronage which he had enjoyed inChicago. He found that it would take a long time to makefriends. These people hurried in and out without seeking thepleasures of friendship. It was no gathering or lounging place.Whole days and weeks passed without one such hearty greeting ashe had been wont to enjoy every day in Chicago.For another thing, Hurstwood missed the celebrities--those well-dressed, elite individuals who lend grace to the average bars andbring news from far-off and exclusive circles. He did not seeone such in a month. Evenings, when still at his post, he wouldoccasionally read in the evening papers incidents concerningcelebrities whom he knew--whom he had drunk a glass with many atime. They would visit a bar like Fitzgerald and Moy's inChicago, or the Hoffman House, uptown, but he knew that he wouldnever see them down here.Again, the business did not pay as well as he thought. Itincreased a little, but he found he would have to watch hishousehold expenses, which was humiliating.In the very beginning it was a delight to go home late at night,as he did, and find Carrie. He managed to run up and take dinnerwith her between six and seven, and to remain home until nineo'clock in the morning, but the novelty of this waned after atime, and he began to feel the drag of his duties.The first month had scarcely passed before Carrie said in a verynatural way: "I think I'll go down this week and buy a dress.'"What kind?" said Hurstwood."Oh, something for street wear.""All right," he answered, smiling, although he noted mentallythat it would be more agreeable to his finances if she didn't.Nothing was said about it the next day, but the following morninghe asked:"Have you done anything about your dress?""Not yet," said Carrie.He paused a few moments, as if in thought, and then said:"Would you mind putting it off a few days?""No," replied Carrie, who did not catch the drift of his remarks.She had never thought of him in connection with money troublesbefore. "Why?""Well, I'll tell you," said Hurstwood. "This investment of mineis taking a lot of money just now. I expect to get it all backshortly, but just at present I am running close.""Oh!" answered Carrie. "Why, certainly, dear. Why didn't youtell me before?""It wasn't necessary," said Hurstwood.For all her acquiescence, there was something about the wayHurstwood spoke which reminded Carrie of Drouet and his littledeal which he was always about to put through. It was only thethought of a second, but it was a beginning. It was somethingnew in her thinking of Hurstwood.Other things followed from time to time, little things of thesame sort, which in their cumulative effect were eventually equalto a full revelation. Carrie was not dull by any means. Twopersons cannot long dwell together without coming to anunderstanding of one another. The mental difficulties of anindividual reveal themselves whether he voluntarily confessesthem or not. Trouble gets in the air and contributes gloom,which speaks for itself. Hurstwood dressed as nicely as usual,but they were the same clothes he had in Canada. Carrie noticedthat he did not install a large wardrobe, though his own wasanything but large. She noticed, also, that he did not suggestmany amusements, said nothing about the food, seemed concernedabout his business. This was not the easy Hurstwood of Chicago--not the liberal, opulent Hurstwood she had known. The change wastoo obvious to escape detection.In time she began to feel that a change had come about, and thatshe was not in his confidence. He was evidently secretive andkept his own counsel. She found herself asking him questionsabout little things. This is a disagreeable state to a woman.Great love makes it seem reasonable, sometimes plausible, butnever satisfactory. Where great love is not, a more definite andless satisfactory conclusion is reached.As for Hurstwood, he was making a great fight against thedifficulties of a changed condition. He was too shrewd not torealise the tremendous mistake he had made, and appreciate thathe had done well in getting where he was, and yet he could nothelp contrasting his present state with his former, hour afterhour, and day after day.Besides, he had the disagreeable fear of meeting old-timefriends, ever since one such encounter which he made shortlyafter his arrival in the city. It was in Broadway that he saw aman approaching him whom he knew. There was no time forsimulating non-recognition. The exchange of glances had been toosharp, the knowledge of each other too apparent. So the friend,a buyer for one of the Chicago wholesale houses, felt, perforce,the necessity of stopping."How are you?" he said, extending his hand with an evidentmixture of feeling and a lack of plausible interest."Very well," said Hurstwood, equally embarrassed. "How is itwith you?""All right; I'm down here doing a little buying. Are you locatedhere now?""Yes," said Hurstwood, "I have a place down in Warren Street.""Is that so?" said the friend. "Glad to hear it. I'll come downand see you.""Do," said Hurstwood."So long," said the other, smiling affably and going on."He never asked for my number," thought Hurstwood; "he wouldn'tthink of coming." He wiped his forehead, which had grown damp,and hoped sincerely he would meet no one else.These things told upon his good-nature, such as it was. His onehope was that things would change for the better in a money way.He had Carrie. His furniture was being paid for. He wasmaintaining his position. As for Carrie, the amusements he couldgive her would have to do for the present. He could probablykeep up his pretensions sufficiently long without exposure tomake good, and then all would be well. He failed therein to takeaccount of the frailties of human nature--the difficulties ofmatrimonial life. Carrie was young. With him and with hervarying mental states were common. At any moment the extremes offeeling might be anti-polarised at the dinner table. This oftenhappens in the best regulated families. Little things broughtout on such occasions need great love to obliterate themafterward. Where that is not, both parties count two and two andmake a problem after a while.