Chapter VI

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

　　A terrible restlessness that was akin to hunger afflicted MartinEden. He was famished for a sight of the girl whose slender handshad gripped his life with a giant's grasp. He could not steelhimself to call upon her. He was afraid that he might call toosoon, and so be guilty of an awful breach of that awful thingcalled etiquette. He spent long hours in the Oakland and Berkeleylibraries, and made out application blanks for membership forhimself, his sisters Gertrude and Marian, and Jim, the latter'sconsent being obtained at the expense of several glasses of beer.With four cards permitting him to draw books, he burned the gaslate in the servant's room, and was charged fifty cents a week forit by Mr. Higginbotham.The many books he read but served to whet his unrest. Every pageof every book was a peep-hole into the realm of knowledge. Hishunger fed upon what he read, and increased. Also, he did not knowwhere to begin, and continually suffered from lack of preparation.The commonest references, that he could see plainly every readerwas expected to know, he did not know. And the same was true ofthe poetry he read which maddened him with delight. He read moreof Swinburne than was contained in the volume Ruth had lent him;and "Dolores" he understood thoroughly. But surely Ruth did notunderstand it, he concluded. How could she, living the refinedlife she did? Then he chanced upon Kipling's poems, and was sweptaway by the lilt and swing and glamour with which familiar thingshad been invested. He was amazed at the man's sympathy with lifeand at his incisive psychology. Psychology was a new word inMartin's vocabulary. He had bought a dictionary, which deed haddecreased his supply of money and brought nearer the day on whichhe must sail in search of more. Also, it incensed Mr.Higginbotham, who would have preferred the money taking the form ofboard.He dared not go near Ruth's neighborhood in the daytime, but nightfound him lurking like a thief around the Morse home, stealingglimpses at the windows and loving the very walls that shelteredher. Several times he barely escaped being caught by her brothers,and once he trailed Mr. Morse down town and studied his face in thelighted streets, longing all the while for some quick danger ofdeath to threaten so that he might spring in and save her father.On another night, his vigil was rewarded by a glimpse of Ruththrough a second-story window. He saw only her head and shoulders,and her arms raised as she fixed her hair before a mirror. It wasonly for a moment, but it was a long moment to him, during whichhis blood turned to wine and sang through his veins. Then shepulled down the shade. But it was her room - he had learned that;and thereafter he strayed there often, hiding under a dark tree onthe opposite side of the street and smoking countless cigarettes.One afternoon he saw her mother coming out of a bank, and receivedanother proof of the enormous distance that separated Ruth fromhim. She was of the class that dealt with banks. He had neverbeen inside a bank in his life, and he had an idea that suchinstitutions were frequented only by the very rich and the verypowerful.In one way, he had undergone a moral revolution. Her cleanness andpurity had reacted upon him, and he felt in his being a crying needto be clean. He must be that if he were ever to be worthy ofbreathing the same air with her. He washed his teeth, and scrubbedhis hands with a kitchen scrub-brush till he saw a nail-brush in adrug-store window and divined its use. While purchasing it, theclerk glanced at his nails, suggested a nail-file, and so he becamepossessed of an additional toilet-tool. He ran across a book inthe library on the care of the body, and promptly developed apenchant for a cold-water bath every morning, much to the amazementof Jim, and to the bewilderment of Mr. Higginbotham, who was not insympathy with such high-fangled notions and who seriously debatedwhether or not he should charge Martin extra for the water.Another stride was in the direction of creased trousers. Now thatMartin was aroused in such matters, he swiftly noted the differencebetween the baggy knees of the trousers worn by the working classand the straight line from knee to foot of those worn by the menabove the working class. Also, he learned the reason why, andinvaded his sister's kitchen in search of irons and ironing-board.He had misadventures at first, hopelessly burning one pair andbuying another, which expenditure again brought nearer the day onwhich he must put to sea.But the reform went deeper than mere outward appearance. He stillsmoked, but he drank no more. Up to that time, drinking had seemedto him the proper thing for men to do, and he had prided himself onhis strong head which enabled him to drink most men under thetable. Whenever he encountered a chance shipmate, and there weremany in San Francisco, he treated them and was treated in turn, asof old, but he ordered for himself root beer or ginger ale andgood-naturedly endured their chaffing. And as they waxed maudlinhe studied them, watching the beast rise and master them andthanking God that he was no longer as they. They had theirlimitations to forget, and when they were drunk, their dim, stupidspirits were even as gods, and each ruled in his heaven ofintoxicated desire. With Martin the need for strong drink hadvanished. He was drunken in new and more profound ways - withRuth, who had fired him with love and with a glimpse of higher andeternal life; with books, that had set a myriad maggots of desiregnawing in his brain; and with the sense of personal cleanliness hewas achieving, that gave him even more superb health than what hehad enjoyed and that made his whole body sing with physical well-being.One night he went to the theatre, on the blind chance that he mightsee her there, and from the second balcony he did see her. He sawher come down the aisle, with Arthur and a strange young man with afootball mop of hair and eyeglasses, the sight of whom spurred himto instant apprehension and jealousy. He saw her take her seat inthe orchestra circle, and little else than her did he see thatnight - a pair of slender white shoulders and a mass of pale goldhair, dim with distance. But there were others who saw, and nowand again, glancing at those about him, he noted two young girlswho looked back from the row in front, a dozen seats along, and whosmiled at him with bold eyes. He had always been easy-going. Itwas not in his nature to give rebuff. In the old days he wouldhave smiled back, and gone further and encouraged smiling. But nowit was different. He did smile back, then looked away, and lookedno more deliberately. But several times, forgetting the existenceof the two girls, his eyes caught their smiles. He could not re-thumb himself in a day, nor could he violate the intrinsickindliness of his nature; so, at such moments, he smiled at thegirls in warm human friendliness. It was nothing new to him. Heknew they were reaching out their woman's hands to him. But it wasdifferent now. Far down there in the orchestra circle was the onewoman in all the world, so different, so terrifically different,from these two girls of his class, that he could feel for them onlypity and sorrow. He had it in his heart to wish that they couldpossess, in some small measure, her goodness and glory. And notfor the world could he hurt them because of their outreaching. Hewas not flattered by it; he even felt a slight shame at hislowliness that permitted it. He knew, did he belong in Ruth'sclass, that there would be no overtures from these girls; and witheach glance of theirs he felt the fingers of his own classclutching at him to hold him down.He left his seat before the curtain went down on the last act,intent on seeing Her as she passed out. There were always numbersof men who stood on the sidewalk outside, and he could pull his capdown over his eyes and screen himself behind some one's shoulder sothat she should not see him. He emerged from the theatre with thefirst of the crowd; but scarcely had he taken his position on theedge of the sidewalk when the two girls appeared. They werelooking for him, he knew; and for the moment he could have cursedthat in him which drew women. Their casual edging across thesidewalk to the curb, as they drew near, apprised him of discovery.They slowed down, and were in the thick of the crown as they cameup with him. One of them brushed against him and apparently forthe first time noticed him. She was a slender, dark girl, withblack, defiant eyes. But they smiled at him, and he smiled back."Hello," he said.It was automatic; he had said it so often before under similarcircumstances of first meetings. Besides, he could do no less.There was that large tolerance and sympathy in his nature thatwould permit him to do no less. The black-eyed girl smiledgratification and greeting, and showed signs of stopping, while hercompanion, arm linked in arm, giggled and likewise showed signs ofhalting. He thought quickly. It would never do for Her to comeout and see him talking there with them. Quite naturally, as amatter of course, he swung in along-side the dark-eyed one andwalked with her. There was no awkwardness on his part, no numbtongue. He was at home here, and he held his own royally in thebadinage, bristling with slang and sharpness, that was always thepreliminary to getting acquainted in these swift-moving affairs.At the corner where the main stream of people flowed onward, hestarted to edge out into the cross street. But the girl with theblack eyes caught his arm, following him and dragging her companionafter her, as she cried:"Hold on, Bill! What's yer rush? You're not goin' to shake us sosudden as all that?"He halted with a laugh, and turned, facing them. Across theirshoulders he could see the moving throng passing under the streetlamps. Where he stood it was not so light, and, unseen, he wouldbe able to see Her as she passed by. She would certainly pass by,for that way led home."What's her name?" he asked of the giggling girl, nodding at thedark-eyed one."You ask her," was the convulsed response."Well, what is it?" he demanded, turning squarely on the girl inquestion."You ain't told me yours, yet," she retorted."You never asked it," he smiled. "Besides, you guessed the firstrattle. It's Bill, all right, all right.""Aw, go 'long with you." She looked him in the eyes, her ownsharply passionate and inviting. "What is it, honest?"Again she looked. All the centuries of woman since sex began wereeloquent in her eyes. And he measured her in a careless way, andknew, bold now, that she would begin to retreat, coyly anddelicately, as he pursued, ever ready to reverse the game should heturn fainthearted. And, too, he was human, and could feel the drawof her, while his ego could not but appreciate the flattery of herkindness. Oh, he knew it all, and knew them well, from A to Z.Good, as goodness might be measured in their particular class,hard-working for meagre wages and scorning the sale of self foreasier ways, nervously desirous for some small pinch of happinessin the desert of existence, and facing a future that was a gamblebetween the ugliness of unending toil and the black pit of moreterrible wretchedness, the way whereto being briefer though betterpaid."Bill," he answered, nodding his head. "Sure, Pete, Bill an' noother.""No joshin'?" she queried."It ain't Bill at all," the other broke in."How do you know?" he demanded. "You never laid eyes on mebefore.""No need to, to know you're lyin'," was the retort."Straight, Bill, what is it?" the first girl asked."Bill'll do," he confessed.She reached out to his arm and shook him playfully. "I knew youwas lyin', but you look good to me just the same."He captured the hand that invited, and felt on the palm familiarmarkings and distortions."When'd you chuck the cannery?" he asked."How'd yeh know?" and, "My, ain't cheh a mind-reader!" the girlschorussed.And while he exchanged the stupidities of stupid minds with them,before his inner sight towered the book-shelves of the library,filled with the wisdom of the ages. He smiled bitterly at theincongruity of it, and was assailed by doubts. But between innervision and outward pleasantry he found time to watch the theatrecrowd streaming by. And then he saw Her, under the lights, betweenher brother and the strange young man with glasses, and his heartseemed to stand still. He had waited long for this moment. He hadtime to note the light, fluffy something that hid her queenly head,the tasteful lines of her wrapped figure, the gracefulness of hercarriage and of the hand that caught up her skirts; and then shewas gone and he was left staring at the two girls of the cannery,at their tawdry attempts at prettiness of dress, their tragicefforts to be clean and trim, the cheap cloth, the cheap ribbons,and the cheap rings on the fingers. He felt a tug at his arm, andheard a voice saying:-"Wake up, Bill! What's the matter with you?""What was you sayin'?" he asked."Oh, nothin'," the dark girl answered, with a toss of her head. "Iwas only remarkin' - ""What?""Well, I was whisperin' it'd be a good idea if you could dig up agentleman friend - for her" (indicating her companion), "and then,we could go off an' have ice-cream soda somewhere, or coffee, oranything."He was afflicted by a sudden spiritual nausea. The transition fromRuth to this had been too abrupt. Ranged side by side with thebold, defiant eyes of the girl before him, he saw Ruth's clear,luminous eyes, like a saint's, gazing at him out of unplumbeddepths of purity. And, somehow, he felt within him a stir ofpower. He was better than this. Life meant more to him than itmeant to these two girls whose thoughts did not go beyond ice-creamand a gentleman friend. He remembered that he had led always asecret life in his thoughts. These thoughts he had tried to share,but never had he found a woman capable of understanding - nor aman. He had tried, at times, but had only puzzled his listeners.And as his thoughts had been beyond them, so, he argued now, hemust be beyond them. He felt power move in him, and clenched hisfists. If life meant more to him, then it was for him to demandmore from life, but he could not demand it from such companionshipas this. Those bold black eyes had nothing to offer. He knew thethoughts behind them - of ice-cream and of something else. Butthose saint's eyes alongside - they offered all he knew and morethan he could guess. They offered books and painting, beauty andrepose, and all the fine elegance of higher existence. Behindthose black eyes he knew every thought process. It was likeclockwork. He could watch every wheel go around. Their bid waslow pleasure, narrow as the grave, that palled, and the grave wasat the end of it. But the bid of the saint's eyes was mystery, andwonder unthinkable, and eternal life. He had caught glimpses ofthe soul in them, and glimpses of his own soul, too."There's only one thing wrong with the programme," he said aloud."I've got a date already."The girl's eyes blazed her disappointment."To sit up with a sick friend, I suppose?" she sneered."No, a real, honest date with - " he faltered, "with a girl.""You're not stringin' me?" she asked earnestly.He looked her in the eyes and answered: "It's straight, all right.But why can't we meet some other time? You ain't told me your nameyet. An' where d'ye live?""Lizzie," she replied, softening toward him, her hand pressing hisarm, while her body leaned against his. "Lizzie Connolly. And Ilive at Fifth an' Market."He talked on a few minutes before saying good night. He did not gohome immediately; and under the tree where he kept his vigils helooked up at a window and murmured: "That date was with you, Ruth.I kept it for you."