Chapter XII

by Nathaniel Hawthorne

　　Early one evening, struggling with a sonnet that twisted all awrythe beauty and thought that trailed in glow and vapor through hisbrain, Martin was called to the telephone."It's a lady's voice, a fine lady's," Mr. Higginbotham, who hadcalled him, jeered.Martin went to the telephone in the corner of the room, and felt awave of warmth rush through him as he heard Ruth's voice. In hisbattle with the sonnet he had forgotten her existence, and at thesound of her voice his love for her smote him like a sudden blow.And such a voice! - delicate and sweet, like a strain of musicheard far off and faint, or, better, like a bell of silver, aperfect tone, crystal-pure. No mere woman had a voice like that.There was something celestial about it, and it came from otherworlds. He could scarcely hear what it said, so ravished was he,though he controlled his face, for he knew that Mr. Higginbotham'sferret eyes were fixed upon him.It was not much that Ruth wanted to say - merely that Norman hadbeen going to take her to a lecture that night, but that he had aheadache, and she was so disappointed, and she had the tickets, andthat if he had no other engagement, would he be good enough to takeher?Would he! He fought to suppress the eagerness in his voice. Itwas amazing. He had always seen her in her own house. And he hadnever dared to ask her to go anywhere with him. Quiteirrelevantly, still at the telephone and talking with her, he feltan overpowering desire to die for her, and visions of heroicsacrifice shaped and dissolved in his whirling brain. He loved herso much, so terribly, so hopelessly. In that moment of madhappiness that she should go out with him, go to a lecture with him- with him, Martin Eden - she soared so far above him that thereseemed nothing else for him to do than die for her. It was theonly fit way in which he could express the tremendous and loftyemotion he felt for her. It was the sublime abnegation of truelove that comes to all lovers, and it came to him there, at thetelephone, in a whirlwind of fire and glory; and to die for her, hefelt, was to have lived and loved well. And he was only twenty-one, and he had never been in love before.His hand trembled as he hung up the receiver, and he was weak fromthe organ which had stirred him. His eyes were shining like anangel's, and his face was transfigured, purged of all earthlydross, and pure and holy."Makin' dates outside, eh?" his brother-in-law sneered. "You knowwhat that means. You'll be in the police court yet."But Martin could not come down from the height. Not even thebestiality of the allusion could bring him back to earth. Angerand hurt were beneath him. He had seen a great vision and was as agod, and he could feel only profound and awful pity for this maggotof a man. He did not look at him, and though his eyes passed overhim, he did not see him; and as in a dream he passed out of theroom to dress. It was not until he had reached his own room andwas tying his necktie that he became aware of a sound that lingeredunpleasantly in his ears. On investigating this sound heidentified it as the final snort of Bernard Higginbotham, whichsomehow had not penetrated to his brain before.As Ruth's front door closed behind them and he came down the stepswith her, he found himself greatly perturbed. It was not unalloyedbliss, taking her to the lecture. He did not know what he ought todo. He had seen, on the streets, with persons of her class, thatthe women took the men's arms. But then, again, he had seen themwhen they didn't; and he wondered if it was only in the eveningthat arms were taken, or only between husbands and wives andrelatives.Just before he reached the sidewalk, he remembered Minnie. Minniehad always been a stickler. She had called him down the secondtime she walked out with him, because he had gone along on theinside, and she had laid the law down to him that a gentlemanalways walked on the outside - when he was with a lady. And Minniehad made a practice of kicking his heels, whenever they crossedfrom one side of the street to the other, to remind him to get overon the outside. He wondered where she had got that item ofetiquette, and whether it had filtered down from above and was allright.It wouldn't do any harm to try it, he decided, by the time they hadreached the sidewalk; and he swung behind Ruth and took up hisstation on the outside. Then the other problem presented itself.Should he offer her his arm? He had never offered anybody his armin his life. The girls he had known never took the fellows' arms.For the first several times they walked freely, side by side, andafter that it was arms around the waists, and heads against thefellows' shoulders where the streets were unlighted. But this wasdifferent. She wasn't that kind of a girl. He must do something.He crooked the arm next to her - crooked it very slightly and withsecret tentativeness, not invitingly, but just casually, as thoughhe was accustomed to walk that way. And then the wonderful thinghappened. He felt her hand upon his arm. Delicious thrills ranthrough him at the contact, and for a few sweet moments it seemedthat he had left the solid earth and was flying with her throughthe air. But he was soon back again, perturbed by a newcomplication. They were crossing the street. This would put himon the inside. He should be on the outside. Should he thereforedrop her arm and change over? And if he did so, would he have torepeat the manoeuvre the next time? And the next? There wassomething wrong about it, and he resolved not to caper about andplay the fool. Yet he was not satisfied with his conclusion, andwhen he found himself on the inside, he talked quickly andearnestly, making a show of being carried away by what he wassaying, so that, in case he was wrong in not changing sides, hisenthusiasm would seem the cause for his carelessness.As they crossed Broadway, he came face to face with a new problem.In the blaze of the electric lights, he saw Lizzie Connolly and hergiggly friend. Only for an instant he hesitated, then his handwent up and his hat came off. He could not be disloyal to hiskind, and it was to more than Lizzie Connolly that his hat waslifted. She nodded and looked at him boldly, not with soft andgentle eyes like Ruth's, but with eyes that were handsome and hard,and that swept on past him to Ruth and itemized her face and dressand station. And he was aware that Ruth looked, too, with quickeyes that were timid and mild as a dove's, but which saw, in a lookthat was a flutter on and past, the working-class girl in her cheapfinery and under the strange hat that all working-class girls werewearing just then."What a pretty girl!" Ruth said a moment later.Martin could have blessed her, though he said:-"I don't know. I guess it's all a matter of personal taste, butshe doesn't strike me as being particularly pretty.""Why, there isn't one woman in ten thousand with features asregular as hers. They are splendid. Her face is as clear-cut as acameo. And her eyes are beautiful.""Do you think so?" Martin queried absently, for to him there wasonly one beautiful woman in the world, and she was beside him, herhand upon his arm."Do I think so? If that girl had proper opportunity to dress, Mr.Eden, and if she were taught how to carry herself, you would befairly dazzled by her, and so would all men.""She would have to be taught how to speak," he commented, "or elsemost of the men wouldn't understand her. I'm sure you couldn'tunderstand a quarter of what she said if she just spoke naturally.""Nonsense! You are as bad as Arthur when you try to make yourpoint.""You forget how I talked when you first met me. I have learned anew language since then. Before that time I talked as that girltalks. Now I can manage to make myself understood sufficiently inyour language to explain that you do not know that other girl'slanguage. And do you know why she carries herself the way shedoes? I think about such things now, though I never used to thinkabout them, and I am beginning to understand - much.""But why does she?""She has worked long hours for years at machines. When one's bodyis young, it is very pliable, and hard work will mould it likeputty according to the nature of the work. I can tell at a glancethe trades of many workingmen I meet on the street. Look at me.Why am I rolling all about the shop? Because of the years I put inon the sea. If I'd put in the same years cow-punching, with mybody young and pliable, I wouldn't be rolling now, but I'd be bow-legged. And so with that girl. You noticed that her eyes werewhat I might call hard. She has never been sheltered. She has hadto take care of herself, and a young girl can't take care ofherself and keep her eyes soft and gentle like - like yours, forexample.""I think you are right," Ruth said in a low voice. "And it is toobad. She is such a pretty girl."He looked at her and saw her eyes luminous with pity. And then heremembered that he loved her and was lost in amazement at hisfortune that permitted him to love her and to take her on his armto a lecture.Who are you, Martin Eden? he demanded of himself in the looking-glass, that night when he got back to his room. He gazed athimself long and curiously. Who are you? What are you? Where doyou belong? You belong by rights to girls like Lizzie Connolly.You belong with the legions of toil, with all that is low, andvulgar, and unbeautiful. You belong with the oxen and the drudges,in dirty surroundings among smells and stenches. There are thestale vegetables now. Those potatoes are rotting. Smell them,damn you, smell them. And yet you dare to open the books, tolisten to beautiful music, to learn to love beautiful paintings, tospeak good English, to think thoughts that none of your own kindthinks, to tear yourself away from the oxen and the LizzieConnollys and to love a pale spirit of a woman who is a millionmiles beyond you and who lives in the stars! Who are you? and whatare you? damn you! And are you going to make good?He shook his fist at himself in the glass, and sat down on the edgeof the bed to dream for a space with wide eyes. Then he got outnote-book and algebra and lost himself in quadratic equations,while the hours slipped by, and the stars dimmed, and the gray ofdawn flooded against his window.