the extreme of recklessness. From the clerk with the tooth-pick he
learned the address of a small hotel near the docks, to which he
ordered his trunks to be forwarded; having done which, and distributed
various tips with a gentlemanly profusion, he stepped out into the
gathering night of New York.
The city hummed and sang like some monstrous wheel, driven by an unseen
dynamo. It presented to the eye a riot of life and light; its lofty
buildings flared like torches, its shops glowed like jewels, its
streets were lanes of fire; and into the upper air, still coloured with
the hues of sunset, there rose an immense reverberation, composed of
human cries and shouts, wheels pounding on granite roads, wheels
groaning on roads of steel, all resolved into a thunderous bass note,
the raucous music of the human multitude. There are moods in which
such a spectacle is exhilarating, moods in which it is dreadful; but
there is another and a rarer mood, when it appears majestic. As Arthur
surveyed the scene, it was this aspect of majesty that appealed to him.
It overwhelmed his mind with an impression more commonly attributed to
astronomy--viz., the entire insignificance of the individual in
relation to physical magnitudes. His own particular troubles suddenly
assumed dwarfed proportions; his little life appeared a mere bubble
floating for an instant on the crest of disappearing waves; the city
itself a streaming star-river, flowing out of dark eternities, peopled
for an instant by a tribe of eager ants. To what avail the strife, the
passion, the disorder of these tiny lives? Yet a little while, a few
days it might be, a few years at most, and he would be lost to sight as
though he had never been. But the wheel would spin on, with a million
new Ixions bound upon its flaming spokes; the magnificent and monstrous
city would go on, piling pyramid on pyramid above the bones of its
exhausted slaves, and with not one light the less because he did not
see it, not one softened moment in its raucous song because his ear was
filled with the clods of the valley.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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