Chapter XXXII

by Theodore Dreiser

　　THE FEAST OF BELSHAZZAR--A SEER TO TRANSLATESuch feelings as were generated in Carrie by this walk put her inan exceedingly receptive mood for the pathos which followed inthe play. The actor whom they had gone to see had achieved hispopularity by presenting a mellow type of comedy, in whichsufficient sorrow was introduced to lend contrast and relief tohumour. For Carrie, as we well know, the stage had a greatattraction. She had never forgotten her one histrionicachievement in Chicago. It dwelt in her mind and occupied herconsciousness during many long afternoons in which her rocking-chair and her latest novel contributed the only pleasures of herstate. Never could she witness a play without having her ownability vividly brought to consciousness. Some scenes made herlong to be a part of them--to give expression to the feelingswhich she, in the place of the character represented, would feel.Almost invariably she would carry the vivid imaginations awaywith her and brood over them the next day alone. She lived asmuch in these things as in the realities which made up her dailylife.It was not often that she came to the play stirred to her heart'score by actualities. To-day a low song of longing had been setsinging in her heart by the finery, the merriment, the beauty shehad seen. Oh, these women who had passed her by, hundreds andhundreds strong, who were they? Whence came the rich, elegantdresses, the astonishingly coloured buttons, the knick-knacks ofsilver and gold? Where were these lovely creatures housed? Amidwhat elegancies of carved furniture, decorated walls, elaboratetapestries did they move? Where were their rich apartments,loaded with all that money could provide? In what stables champedthese sleek, nervous horses and rested the gorgeous carriages?Where lounged the richly groomed footmen? Oh, the mansions, thelights, the perfume, the loaded boudoirs and tables! New Yorkmust be filled with such bowers, or the beautiful, insolent,supercilious creatures could not be. Some hothouses held them.It ached her to know that she was not one of them--that, alas,she had dreamed a dream and it had not come true. She wonderedat her own solitude these two years past--her indifference to thefact that she had never achieved what she had expected.The play was one of those drawing-room concoctions in whichcharmingly overdressed ladies and gentlemen suffer the pangs oflove and jealousy amid gilded surroundings. Such bon-mots areever enticing to those who have all their days longed for suchmaterial surroundings and have never had them gratified. Theyhave the charm of showing suffering under ideal conditions. Whowould not grieve upon a gilded chair? Who would not suffer amidperfumed tapestries, cushioned furniture, and liveried servants?Grief under such circumstances becomes an enticing thing. Carrielonged to be of it. She wanted to take her sufferings, whateverthey were, in such a world, or failing that, at least to simulatethem under such charming conditions upon the stage. So affectedwas her mind by what she had seen, that the play now seemed anextraordinarily beautiful thing. She was soon lost in the worldit represented, and wished that she might never return. Betweenthe acts she studied the galaxy of matinee attendants in frontrows and boxes, and conceived a new idea of the possibilities ofNew York. She was sure she had not seen it all--that the citywas one whirl of pleasure and delight.Going out, the same Broadway taught her a sharper lesson. Thescene she had witnessed coming down was now augmented and at itsheight. Such a crush of finery and folly she had never seen. Itclinched her convictions concerning her state. She had notlived, could not lay claim to having lived, until something ofthis had come into her own life. Women were spending money likewater; she could see that in every elegant shop she passed.Flowers, candy, jewelry, seemed the principal things in which theelegant dames were interested. And she--she had scarcely enoughpin money to indulge in such outings as this a few times a month.That night the pretty little flat seemed a commonplace thing. Itwas not what the rest of the world was enjoying. She saw theservant working at dinner with an indifferent eye. In her mindwere running scenes of the play. Particularly she remembered onebeautiful actress--the sweetheart who had been wooed and won.The grace of this woman had won Carrie's heart. Her dresses hadbeen all that art could suggest, her sufferings had been so real.The anguish which she had portrayed Carrie could feel. It wasdone as she was sure she could do it. There were places in whichshe could even do better. Hence she repeated the lines toherself. Oh, if she could only have such a part, how broad wouldbe her life! She, too, could act appealingly.When Hurstwood came, Carrie was moody. She was sitting, rockingand thinking, and did not care to have her enticing imaginationsbroken in upon; so she said little or nothing."What's the matter, Carrie?" said Hurstwood after a time,noticing her quiet, almost moody state."Nothing," said Carrie. "I don't feel very well tonight.""Not sick, are you?" he asked, approaching very close."Oh, no," she said, almost pettishly, "I just don't feel verygood.""That's too bad," he said, stepping away and adjusting his vestafter his slight bending over. "I was thinking we might go to ashow to-night.""I don't want to go," said Carrie, annoyed that her fine visionsshould have thus been broken into and driven out of her mind."I've been to the matinee this afternoon.""Oh, you have?" said Hurstwood. "What was it?""A Gold Mine.""How was it?""Pretty good," said Carrie."And you don't want to go again to night?""I don't think I do," she said.Nevertheless, wakened out of her melancholia and called to thedinner table, she changed her mind. A little food in the stomachdoes wonders. She went again, and in so doing temporarilyrecovered her equanimity. The great awakening blow had, however,been delivered. As often as she might recover from thesediscontented thoughts now, they would occur again. Time andrepetition--ah, the wonder of it! The dropping water and thesolid stone--how utterly it yields at last!Not long after this matinee experience--perhaps a month--Mrs.Vance invited Carrie to an evening at the theatre with them. Sheheard Carrie say that Hurstwood was not coming home to dinner."Why don't you come with us? Don't get dinner for yourself.We're going down to Sherry's for dinner and then over to theLyceum. Come along with us.""I think I will," answered Carrie.She began to dress at three o'clock for her departure at half-past five for the noted dining-room which was then crowdingDelmonico's for position in society. In this dressing Carrieshowed the influence of her association with the dashing Mrs.Vance. She had constantly had her attention called by the latterto novelties in everything which pertains to a woman's apparel."Are you going to get such and such a hat?" or, "Have you seenthe new gloves with the oval pearl buttons?" were but samplephrases out of a large selection."The next time you get a pair of shoes, dearie," said Mrs. Vance,"get button, with thick soles and patent-leather tips. They'reall the rage this fall.""I will," said Carrie."Oh, dear, have you seen the new shirtwaists at Altman's? Theyhave some of the loveliest patterns. I saw one there that I knowwould look stunning on you. I said so when I saw it."Carrie listened to these things with considerable interest, forthey were suggested with more of friendliness than is usuallycommon between pretty women. Mrs. Vance liked Carrie's stablegood-nature so well that she really took pleasure in suggestingto her the latest things."Why don't you get yourself one of those nice serge skirtsthey're selling at Lord & Taylor's?" she said one day. "They'rethe circular style, and they're going to be worn from now on. Adark blue one would look so nice on you."Carrie listened with eager ears. These things never came upbetween her and Hurstwood. Nevertheless, she began to suggestone thing and another, which Hurstwood agreed to without anyexpression of opinion. He noticed the new tendency on Carrie'spart, and finally, hearing much of Mrs. Vance and her delightfulways, suspected whence the change came. He was not inclined tooffer the slightest objection so soon, but he felt that Carrie'swants were expanding. This did not appeal to him exactly, but hecared for her in his own way, and so the thing stood. Still,there was something in the details of the transactions whichcaused Carrie to feel that her requests were not a delight tohim. He did not enthuse over the purchases. This led her tobelieve that neglect was creeping in, and so another small wedgewas entered.Nevertheless, one of the results of Mrs. Vance's suggestions wasthe fact that on this occasion Carrie was dressed somewhat to herown satisfaction. She had on her best, but there was comfort inthe thought that if she must confine herself to a best, it wasneat and fitting. She looked the well-groomed woman of twenty-one, and Mrs. Vance praised her, which brought colour to herplump cheeks and a noticeable brightness into her large eyes. Itwas threatening rain, and Mr. Vance, at his wife's request, hadcalled a coach."Your husband isn't coming?" suggested Mr. Vance, as he metCarrie in his little parlour."No; he said he wouldn't be home for dinner.""Better leave a little note for him, telling him where we are.He might turn up.""I will," said Carrie, who had not thought of it before."Tell him we'll be at Sherry's until eight o'clock. He knows,though I guess."Carrie crossed the hall with rustling skirts, and scrawled thenote, gloves on. When she returned a newcomer was in the Vanceflat."Mrs. Wheeler, let me introduce Mr. Ames, a cousin of mine," saidMrs. Vance. "He's going along with us, aren't you, Bob?""I'm very glad to meet you," said Ames, bowing politely toCarrie.The latter caught in a glance the dimensions of a very stalwartfigure. She also noticed that he was smooth-shaven, goodlooking, and young, but nothing more."Mr. Ames is just down in New York for a few days," put in Vance,"and we're trying to show him around a little.""Oh, are you?" said Carrie, taking another glance at thenewcomer."Yes; I am just on here from Indianapolis for a week or so," saidyoung Ames, seating himself on the edge of a chair to wait whileMrs. Vance completed the last touches of her toilet."I guess you find New York quite a thing to see, don't you?" saidCarrie, venturing something to avoid a possible deadly silence."It is rather large to get around in a week," answered Ames,pleasantly.He was an exceedingly genial soul, this young man, and whollyfree of affectation. It seemed to Carrie he was as yet onlyovercoming the last traces of the bashfulness of youth. He didnot seem apt at conversation, but he had the merit of being welldressed and wholly courageous. Carrie felt as if it were notgoing to be hard to talk to him."Well, I guess we're ready now. The coach is outside.""Come on, people," said Mrs. Vance, coming in smiling. "Bob,you'll have to look after Mrs. Wheeler.""I'll try to," said Bob smiling, and edging closer to Carrie."You won't need much watching, will you?" he volunteered, in asort of ingratiating and help-me-out kind of way."Not very, I hope," said Carrie.They descended the stairs, Mrs. Vance offering suggestions, andclimbed into the open coach."All right," said Vance, slamming the coach door, and theconveyance rolled away."What is it we're going to see?" asked Ames."Sothern," said Vance, "in 'Lord Chumley.'""Oh, he is so good!" said Mrs. Vance. "He's just the funniestman.""I notice the papers praise it," said Ames."I haven't any doubt," put in Vance, "but we'll all enjoy it verymuch."Ames had taken a seat beside Carrie, and accordingly he felt ithis bounden duty to pay her some attention. He was interested tofind her so young a wife, and so pretty, though it was only arespectful interest. There was nothing of the dashing lady's manabout him. He had respect for the married state, and thoughtonly of some pretty marriageable girls in Indianapolis."Are you a born New Yorker?" asked Ames of Carrie."Oh, no; I've only been here for two years.""Oh, well, you've had time to see a great deal of it, anyhow.""I don't seem to have," answered Carrie. "It's about as strangeto me as when I first came here.""You're not from the West, are you?""Yes. I'm from Wisconsin," she answered."Well, it does seem as if most people in this town haven't beenhere so very long. I hear of lots of Indiana people in my linewho are here.""What is your line?" asked Carrie."I'm connected with an electrical company," said the youth.Carrie followed up this desultory conversation with occasionalinterruptions from the Vances. Several times it became generaland partially humorous, and in that manner the restaurant wasreached.Carrie had noticed the appearance of gayety and pleasure-seekingin the streets which they were following. Coaches were numerous,pedestrians many, and in Fifty-ninth Street the street cars werecrowded. At Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue a blaze oflights from several new hotels which bordered the Plaza Squaregave a suggestion of sumptuous hotel life. Fifth Avenue, thehome of the wealthy, was noticeably crowded with carriages, andgentlemen in evening dress. At Sherry's an imposing doormanopened the coach door and helped them out. Young Ames heldCarrie's elbow as he helped her up the steps. They entered thelobby already swarming with patrons, and then, after divestingthemselves of their wraps, went into a sumptuous dining-room.In all Carrie's experience she had never seen anything like this.In the whole time she had been in New York Hurstwood's modifiedstate had not permitted his bringing her to such a place. Therewas an almost indescribable atmosphere about it which convincedthe newcomer that this was the proper thing. Here was the placewhere the matter of expense limited the patrons to the moneyed orpleasure-loving class. Carrie had read of it often in the"Morning" and "Evening World." She had seen notices of dances,parties, balls, and suppers at Sherry's. The Misses So-and-sowould give a party on Wednesday evening at Sherry's. Young Mr.So-and-So would entertain a party of friends at a privateluncheon on the sixteenth, at Sherry's. The common run ofconventional, perfunctory notices of the doings of society, whichshe could scarcely refrain from scanning each day, had given hera distinct idea of the gorgeousness and luxury of this wonderfultemple of gastronomy. Now, at last, she was really in it. Shehad come up the imposing steps, guarded by the large and portlydoorman. She had seen the lobby, guarded by another large andportly gentleman, and been waited upon by uniformed youths whotook care of canes, overcoats, and the like. Here was thesplendid dining-chamber, all decorated and aglow, where thewealthy ate. Ah, how fortunate was Mrs. Vance; young, beautiful,and well off--at least, sufficiently so to come here in a coach.What a wonderful thing it was to be rich.Vance led the way through lanes of shining tables, at which wereseated parties of two, three, four, five, or six. The air ofassurance and dignity about it all was exceedingly noticeable tothe novitiate. Incandescent lights, the reflection of their glowin polished glasses, and the shine of gilt upon the walls,combined into one tone of light which it requires minutes ofcomplacent observation to separate and take particular note of.The white shirt fronts of the gentlemen, the bright costumes ofthe ladies, diamonds, jewels, fine feathers--all were exceedinglynoticeable.Carrie walked with an air equal to that of Mrs. Vance, andaccepted the seat which the head waiter provided for her. Shewas keenly aware of all the little things that were done--thelittle genuflections and attentions of the waiters and headwaiter which Americans pay for. The air with which the latterpulled out each chair, and the wave of the hand with which hemotioned them to be seated, were worth several dollars inthemselves.Once seated, there began that exhibition of showy, wasteful, andunwholesome gastronomy as practised by wealthy Americans, whichis the wonder and astonishment of true culture and dignity theworld over. The large bill of fare held an array of dishessufficient to feed an army, sidelined with prices which madereasonable expenditure a ridiculous impossibility--an order ofsoup at fifty cents or a dollar, with a dozen kinds to choosefrom; oysters in forty styles and at sixty cents the half-dozen;entrees, fish, and meats at prices which would house one overnight in an average hotel. One dollar fifty and two dollarsseemed to be the most common figures upon this most tastefullyprinted bill of fare.Carrie noticed this, and in scanning it the price of springchicken carried her back to that other bill of fare and fardifferent occasion when, for the first time, she sat with Drouetin a good restaurant in Chicago. It was only momentary--a sadnote as out of an old song--and then it was gone. But in thatflash was seen the other Carrie--poor, hungry, drifting at herwits' ends, and all Chicago a cold and closed world, from whichshe only wandered because she could not find work.On the walls were designs in colour, square spots of robin's-eggblue, set in ornate frames of gilt, whose corners were elaboratemouldings of fruit and flowers, with fat cupids hovering inangelic comfort. On the ceilings were coloured traceries withmore gilt, leading to a centre where spread a cluster of lights--incandescent globes mingled with glittering prisms and stuccotendrils of gilt. The floor was of a reddish hue, waxed andpolished, and in every direction were mirrors--tall, brilliant,bevel-edged mirrors--reflecting and re-reflecting forms, faces,and candelabra a score and a hundred times.The tables were not so remarkable in themselves, and yet theimprint of Sherry upon the napery, the name of Tiffany upon thesilverware, the name of Haviland upon the china, and over all theglow of the small, red-shaded candelabra and the reflected tintsof the walls on garments and faces, made them seem remarkable.Each waiter added an air of exclusiveness and elegance by themanner in which he bowed, scraped, touched, and trifled withthings. The exclusively personal attention which he devoted toeach one, standing half bent, ear to one side, elbows akimbo,saying: "Soup--green turtle, yes. One portion, yes. Oysters--certainly--half-dozen--yes. Asparagus. Olives--yes."It would be the same with each one, only Vance essayed to orderfor all, inviting counsel and suggestions. Carrie studied thecompany with open eyes. So this was high life in New York. Itwas so that the rich spent their days and evenings. Her poorlittle mind could not rise above applying each scene to allsociety. Every fine lady must be in the crowd on Broadway in theafternoon, in the theatre at the matinee, in the coaches anddining-halls at night. It must be glow and shine everywhere,with coaches waiting, and footmen attending, and she was out ofit all. In two long years she had never even been in such aplace as this.Vance was in his element here, as Hurstwood would have been informer days. He ordered freely of soup, oysters, roast meats,and side dishes, and had several bottles of wine brought, whichwere set down beside the table in a wicker basket.Ames was looking away rather abstractedly at the crowd and showedan interesting profile to Carrie. His forehead was high, hisnose rather large and strong, his chin moderately pleasing. Hehad a good, wide, well-shaped mouth, and his dark-brown hair wasparted slightly on one side. He seemed to have the least touchof boyishness to Carrie, and yet he was a man full grown."Do you know," he said, turning back to Carrie, after hisreflection, "I sometimes think it is a shame for people to spendso much money this way."Carrie looked at him a moment with the faintest touch of surpriseat his seriousness. He seemed to be thinking about somethingover which she had never pondered."Do you?" she answered, interestedly."Yes," he said, "they pay so much more than these things areworth. They put on so much show.""I don't know why people shouldn't spend when they have it," saidMrs. Vance."It doesn't do any harm," said Vance, who was still studying thebill of fare, though he had ordered.Ames was looking away again, and Carrie was again looking at hisforehead. To her he seemed to be thinking about strange things.As he studied the crowd his eye was mild."Look at that woman's dress over there," he said, again turningto Carrie, and nodding in a direction."Where?" said Carrie, following his eyes."Over there in the corner--way over. Do you see that brooch?""Isn't it large?" said Carrie."One of the largest clusters of jewels I have ever seen," saidAmes."It is, isn't it?" said Carrie. She felt as if she would like tobe agreeable to this young man, and also there came with it, orperhaps preceded it, the slightest shade of a feeling that he wasbetter educated than she was--that his mind was better. Heseemed to look it, and the saving grace in Carrie was that shecould understand that people could be wiser. She had seen anumber of people in her life who reminded her of what she hadvaguely come to think of as scholars. This strong young manbeside her, with his clear, natural look, seemed to get a hold ofthings which she did not quite understand, but approved of. Itwas fine to be so, as a man, she thought.The conversation changed to a book that was having its vogue atthe time--"Moulding a Maiden," by Albert Ross. Mrs. Vance hadread it. Vance had seen it discussed in some of the papers."A man can make quite a strike writing a book," said Vance. "Inotice this fellow Ross is very much talked about." He waslooking at Carrie as he spoke."I hadn't heard of him," said Carrie, honestly."Oh, I have," said Mrs. Vance. "He's written lots of things.This last story is pretty good.""He doesn't amount to much," said Ames.Carrie turned her eyes toward him as to an oracle."His stuff is nearly as bad as 'Dora Thorne,'" concluded Ames.Carrie felt this as a personal reproof. She read "Dora Thorne,"or had a great deal in the past. It seemed only fair to her, butshe supposed that people thought it very fine. Now this clear-eyed, fine-headed youth, who looked something like a student toher, made fun of it. It was poor to him, not worth reading. Shelooked down, and for the first time felt the pain of notunderstanding.Yet there was nothing sarcastic or supercilious in the way Amesspoke. He had very little of that in him. Carrie felt that itwas just kindly thought of a high order--the right thing tothink, and wondered what else was right, according to him. Heseemed to notice that she listened and rather sympathised withhim, and from now on he talked mostly to her.As the waiter bowed and scraped about, felt the dishes to see ifthey were hot enough, brought spoons and forks, and did all thoselittle attentive things calculated to impress the luxury of thesituation upon the diner, Ames also leaned slightly to one sideand told her of Indianapolis in an intelligent way. He reallyhad a very bright mind, which was finding its chief developmentin electrical knowledge. His sympathies for other forms ofinformation, however, and for types of people, were quick andwarm. The red glow on his head gave it a sandy tinge and put abright glint in his eye. Carrie noticed all these things as heleaned toward her and felt exceedingly young. This man was farahead of her. He seemed wiser than Hurstwood, saner and brighterthan Drouet. He seemed innocent and clean, and she thought thathe was exceedingly pleasant. She noticed, also, that hisinterest in her was a far-off one. She was not in his life, norany of the things that touched his life, and yet now, as he spokeof these things, they appealed to her."I shouldn't care to be rich," he told her, as the dinnerproceeded and the supply of food warmed up his sympathies; "notrich enough to spend my money this way.""Oh, wouldn't you?" said Carrie, the, to her, new attitudeforcing itself distinctly upon her for the first time."No," he said. "What good would it do? A man doesn't need thissort of thing to be happy."Carrie thought of this doubtfully; but, coming from him, it hadweight with her."He probably could be happy," she thought to herself, "all alone.He's so strong."Mr. and Mrs. Vance kept up a running fire of interruptions, andthese impressive things by Ames came at odd moments. They weresufficient, however, for the atmosphere that went with this youthimpressed itself upon Carrie without words. There was somethingin him, or the world he moved in, which appealed to her. Hereminded her of scenes she had seen on the stage--the sorrows andsacrifices that always went with she knew not what. He had takenaway some of the bitterness of the contrast between this life andher life, and all by a certain calm indifference which concernedonly him.As they went out, he took her arm and helped her into the coach,and then they were off again, and so to the show.During the acts Carrie found herself listening to him veryattentively. He mentioned things in the play which she mostapproved of--things which swayed her deeply."Don't you think it rather fine to be an actor?" she asked once."Yes, I do," he said, "to be a good one. I think the theatre agreat thing."Just this little approval set Carrie's heart bounding. Ah, ifshe could only be an actress--a good one! This man was wise--heknew--and he approved of it. If she were a fine actress, suchmen as he would approve of her. She felt that he was good tospeak as he had, although it did not concern her at all. She didnot know why she felt this way.At the close of the show it suddenly developed that he was notgoing back with them."Oh, aren't you?" said Carrie, with an unwarrantable feeling."Oh, no," he said; "I'm stopping right around here in Thirty-third Street."Carrie could not say anything else, but somehow this developmentshocked her. She had been regretting the wane of a pleasantevening, but she had thought there was a half-hour more. Oh, thehalf-hours, the minutes of the world; what miseries and griefsare crowded into them!She said good-bye with feigned indifference. What matter couldit make? Still, the coach seemed lorn.When she went into her own flat she had this to think about. Shedid not know whether she would ever see this man any more. Whatdifference could it make--what difference could it make?Hurstwood had returned, and was already in bed. His clothes werescattered loosely about. Carrie came to the door and saw him,then retreated. She did not want to go in yet a while. Shewanted to think. It was disagreeable to her.Back in the dining-room she sat in her chair and rocked. Herlittle hands were folded tightly as she thought. Through a fogof longing and conflicting desires she was beginning to see. Oh,ye legions of hope and pity--of sorrow and pain! She was rocking,and beginning to see.