The Journal of Arthur Stirling : ("The Valley of the Shadow")Sinclair, Upton
General
The Journal of Arthur Stirling : ("The Valley of the Shadow")
Sinclair, Upton
Authors -- Fiction
If it were for truth and beauty, such a life would be heroism. But the
hoards of wealth that they heap up--they spend it upon fine houses, and
silly clothes, and gimcracks, and jewels, and rich food to eat, and wines
to drink, and cigars to smoke! Bah!--
It is the brutality of it all that drives me wild. I see great, hulking,
disgusting _bodies_ that live to be pampered and fed. And after that,
in the place of minds, I see little restless centers of vanity--hungering,
toiling, plotting, intriguing--to be stared at and praised and admired.
* * * * *
August 20th.
I thought that I would surely have heard from my poet by now. I am not a
good waiter.
* * * * *
The senior-partner's nephew is a young German, over to learn the language.
He is on a furlough from the army. He has close-cropped hair, a low
forehead, and two front teeth like a squirrel's. When he smiles he makes
you think of a horse. He has opinions, commercial and political, which he
enunciates in a loud voice. Think of listening to Prussian opinions!
* * * * *
And there is another clerk who was meant for a variety-show specialist.
He hums comic songs and cracks jokes, and conducts witty pantomime
incessantly. He is very popular. He is never quiet. Sometimes he slaps you
on the back.
* * * * *
I wrestle with my soul all day; the rage of it is like to burst me. The
infinite pettiness of it--that is the thing! I am bitten and stung by a
swarm of poisonous flies!
* * * * *
August 24th.
Another twelve dollars yesterday! I gasp with relief as if I were hauling
a load up successive slopes; here is so much gained, so much safe. I have
gotten along on twelve dollars; I have a little over thirty-five.
* * * * *
I believe these things are more wearing than the toil of writing; I know I
find it so. Then I accomplish something; here I work myself into nervous
frenzies, and chafe and pant for nothing. I can feel how it weakens me; I
can feel that I have less elasticity, less _élan_ every day. Ah, God,
let me go!
* * * * *
August 25th.
Why doesn't he answer my letter?
* * * * *
August 27th.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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