American short stories : $b Selected and edited with an introductory essay on the short story by Charles Sears Baldwin
General
American short stories : $b Selected and edited with an introductory essay on the short story by Charles Sears Baldwin
American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
The documents are all in this portfolio, under my elbow. I had just
read them again completely through, when you were announced. You may
examine them as you like, afterwards: for the present, fill your glass,
take another Cabaña, and keep silent until my “ghastly tale” has
reached its most lamentable conclusion.
The beginning of it was at Wampsocket Springs, three years ago last
summer. I suppose most unmarried men who have reached, or passed, the
age of thirty--and I was then thirty-three--experience a milder return
of their adolescent warmth, a kind of fainter second spring, since
the first has not fulfilled its promise. Of course, I wasn’t clearly
conscious of this at the time: who is? But I had had my youthful
passion and my tragic disappointment, as you know: I had looked far
enough into what Thackeray used to call the cryptic mysteries, to save
me from the Scylla of dissipation, and yet preserved enough of natural
nature to keep me out of the Pharisaic Charybdis. My devotion to my
legal studies had already brought me a mild distinction; the paternal
legacy was a good nest-egg for the incubation of wealth,--in short, I
was a fair, respectable “party,” desirable to the humbler mammas, and
not to be despised by the haughty exclusives.
The fashionable hotel at the Springs holds three hundred, and it
was packed. I had meant to lounge there for a fortnight and then
finish my holidays at Long Branch; but eighty, at least, out of
the three hundred, were young and moved lightly in muslin. With my
years and experience I felt so safe, that to walk, talk, or dance
with them became simply a luxury, such as I had never--at least so
freely--possessed before. My name and standing, known to some families,
were agreeably exaggerated to the others, and I enjoyed that supreme
satisfaction which a man always feels when he discovers, or imagines,
that he is popular in society. There is a kind of premonitory apology
implied in my saying this, I am aware. You must remember that I am
culprit, and culprit’s counsel, at the same time.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account