Class _£S.112.I_ 
 
 Book ^ 2 A 7 
 
 Gopght)!" ^^ 01 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT, 
 
AMBIGUITIES 
 
 THE 
 
 Hbbcy press 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 FIFTH AVENU^ 
 
 Condon NEW YORK IRontrcal 
 
THF tIBRAWY ©F 
 QCt CHESS, 
 
 Two Cul'lM ReC€IVED 
 
 FEB. 7 1902 
 
 Op»«VT?tOMT ENTRY 
 
 COPY d. 
 
 .Tf?- 
 
 Copyright, 1901, 
 
 by 
 
 THE 
 
 Hbbc y Pr CBS 
 
J 
 
 ^/l CONTENTS. 
 
 ;i 
 
 CHAPTER PACa 
 
 I. Plural Ego 5 
 
 II. Involution Evoluted 6 
 
 III. Personal Responsibility and Vice Versa 8 
 
 IV. Emotional Correlations lo 
 
 V. Normally Intermittent 15 
 
 VI. Physical Metaphysics 19 
 
 VII. Intellectual Indigestion 29 
 
 VIII. Thought Impacted 39 
 
 IX. Sense Six 46 
 
 X. Phase Two 52 
 
 XI. Individual Coalescence 56 
 
 XII. Comets Tailless 62 
 
 XIII. Gloria Antebellum 65 
 
 XIV. Coincidents Severed 71 
 
 XV. For New Combine , 74 
 
 XVI. Golden Wedding 76 
 
AMBIGUITIES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PLURAL EGO. 
 
 Excuse me if I am "pronounced." Excuse 
 my saying, "I, I, I," simply, frankly, even if 
 strongly. It is either you, or I, chiefly. I have 
 recreation on my vacation. I very much like 
 times good enough for every one, good times 
 ahead. 
 
 I fancy the former Mrs. Fiddlesticks consid- 
 ered me "normal" at least. I fancy the former 
 lady Fiddlesticks considered me "pumpkin pie," 
 and not all "rattle." I guess I fancy what I 
 fancy. I do. I guess I do. So do you — of- 
 fence not intended. 
 
Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Involution Evoluted. 
 
 Yes, I fancy I did know Mrs. Fiddlesticks, 
 sometimes. I fancy I was Mr. Fiddle- 
 sticks myself. I fancy, so I do. I fancy 
 we're yet to have high old times ahead 
 of us. I fancy we're to have a waking moment, 
 swallowing up fits and starts and all noises, 
 wicked noises. I seriously fancy we are on the 
 excursion to the Hellespont. I fancy quite an 
 agreeable disappointment is not for us. 
 
 I suppose — but did Mr. and Mrs. Fiddlesticks 
 resemble each other? Who possessed the Ro- 
 man nose, the eyes, and lip? Whose tongue 
 was impudent, slightly impudent, or silvery? 
 
 Ah, la, dear Mrs. Fiddelsticks, follderoll de- 
 rido! And bless your own sweet soul, good 
 Mr. Fiddlesticks, follderoll derido ! God bless 
 your paper dolls, and tiny toy cradle and golden 
 slippers. 
 
Involution Evoluted. 7 
 
 Suppose you say something. Suppose you 
 kick Mgh-ho! Suppose you be a very great 
 man indeed, and a knowing one altogether. 
 Suppose, shucks, suppose! Clear the way for 
 Mr. Fiddlesticks and lady. 
 
 "Are those two," quoth the German profes- 
 sor in French — "as so much contribution and 
 scarce a super-imposition of anyone — a pack of 
 mythological lies, disinterred — d — lies!" (Poor 
 Prof!) 
 
8 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PERSONAL IRRESPONSIBILITY AND VICE VERSA. 
 
 The practical man — he could be no other — 
 proposed to conquer himself. He had proposed 
 to consummate that much for ever so long. 
 In the very first place, he remembered, he 
 learned that he was even yet amenable to di- 
 gestion. He was constantly reminded that he 
 was required to have nerve. He even fancied 
 that these live and sensitive threads, tingling in 
 his finger-tips, were somehow like telltales on 
 his previous life. Of course something was 
 due to the "grand dames," on his paternal side, 
 something big. 
 
 Not liking to be "remote" he conceded cof- 
 fee its just dues, and coffee alone. He was not 
 inclined to diagnose the "whys and where- 
 fores." Was he a man of feeling? The "feeling 
 world" was more than one phenomenon or 
 freak. He could not help some sensation at 
 
Personal Irresponsibility. 9 
 
 least, when he said it. He fancied all the phi- 
 losophies on the subject were ancient. He felt 
 he was what he was, since it was not worth his 
 while to want to know any more. 
 
 He had responded to what he called Nature's 
 rhythm, and, thank God, he was devoutly capa- 
 ble of responding to more. Light and sound, 
 like all of Nature's harmonies, still gladdened 
 the recesses of his soul. The message kept 
 coming to him from the inflowing morning, 
 and returned within him, and sometimes never 
 passed forever away. There were sweet as- 
 surances of better things 'way beyond the 
 breaking of the day. They were above the 
 echoes from down the slants of time. His soul 
 would have been one harmonious whole, had it 
 not been for other discordant notes. 
 
 His lot had not been some more propitious 
 clime, but Earth, only Earth, for he was only 
 a man or worm. There were those now blessed 
 memories, who were only gone before. Fond 
 memories lingered and cheered the pathway to 
 the goal. 
 
lo Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 EMOTIONAL CORRELATIONS. 
 
 Perhaps after so long he was prepared to 
 conquer himself.^ Sometimes his past and pres- 
 ent alternated and were not blended. His feel- 
 ings had taken possession of him, and hurried 
 him along, zig-zag. Then, too, his soul had dis- 
 covered his feelings, he remembered, he knew 
 not where, knew not when. He remembered 
 their daring tendencies, and wondered at them 
 — wondered like a goose. They were the life 
 of his life, and led him to rejoice. They were 
 father, mother, home and heaven. They were 
 innocence and youth, and every good thing. 
 
 There, too, had been stern realities, like chok- 
 ing laughs. They were a never-failing foun- 
 tain, and the well-spring for perpetual bloom. 
 (Mixed metaphor.) Oh, they were everlasting 
 reason. Then, too, they led him away. Ex- 
 cesses of pleasures mingled in the bitter cup. 
 
Emotional Correlations. ii 
 
 Excesses of pleasures promised unending de- 
 lights. 
 
 After the feasts and the garlands, the prom- 
 ise was broken, the true nature revealed. The 
 lesson was learned and learned as it is learned. 
 And then he learned to bridle his feelings, like 
 a wild colt is bridled. And they grew with 
 him. And he came to this armor and that ar- 
 mor. And he sought his weapons of defence 
 and found them. 
 
 These, too, were cold facts. And with all 
 these weapons he was to exercise until he 
 strengthened in skill, as an invisible warrior, 
 and yet visible, we repeat. Only giants and 
 great warriors would ever fell him to the 
 ground. ( Poor man ! ) 
 
 He had consciously grown a living verity, an 
 hourly companion on the street, at home, and 
 everywhere, like grass. Mighty forces as from 
 distant upheavals surged up to him, and rolled 
 in on him, and returned to the great streams. 
 These streams, when within him, pulled and 
 pushed in opposite directions, and whither he 
 listed he often went not, and yet he proposed 
 to conquer himself, this man of feeling, before 
 high Heaven! 
 
12 Ambiguities. 
 
 And yet, after these many years, he sat there 
 repeating, ''Know thyself." He was asking 
 himself to introduce himself to himself. Other- 
 wise, where should the conquest begin ? Again 
 he said, he knew the philosophies, but was not 
 satisfied. And yet he said he was satisfied and 
 more abundantly satisfied. 
 
 *' Whence?" said he, "I care not. I rejoice, 
 but who am I ? Heretofore, in the established 
 order of things, I always took myself for my- 
 self, asking no questions, and awakening no 
 suspicions." 
 
 This question was always a momentary one. 
 Where was its fountain? 
 
 "Let me see how I look. I cannot see my 
 present self. I am forever in my own light. 
 I am always past. I am the ghost of myself. 
 My externals, those of my conscious self are 
 present though chiefly future. I'm 60 seconds. 
 Sometimes I know how I seem to look to my- 
 self. How do I look to my Hindu wife, I 
 sometimes fancy. How does she look to me? 
 statuesque or not? 
 
 I fancy how legislative halls look to me, dis- 
 enchanted from letters, or news items. I 
 know I scarcely seem to them, I wear so. I 
 
Emotional Correlations. 13 
 
 have none of the philosophies, but seek facts. 
 
 I thought I saw how I looked to others, I 
 blindly thought so. I had not properly ex- 
 pressed myself. I had never succeeded in doing 
 that, like any man. Some one of my moods 
 was always expressed, but only one phase. 
 
 No one would ever succeed in seeing his com- 
 plete self reflected anywhere, and to any one. 
 He is never finished. His conscious self was 
 too expansive for that. He reached too far in 
 every direction. In addition to all this, he was 
 too alternating, so at least, I fancy. And then 
 there were to be allowances for the media, and 
 for those beholding him. 
 
 At any rate, the world kept on with the un- 
 dertaking. 
 
 I could not help communing with my crowd. 
 I said "communing," and "my crowd." For me 
 to hold them to their individual traits in one 
 strong light was not just to them. I saw the 
 butcher was a butcher, while the baker was the 
 baker. And yet for me to show him as always 
 following his calling, while temporarily con- 
 venient for me, was not his true light, for he 
 could preach. My acquaintance, the pawn- 
 
14 Ambiguities. 
 
 broker, showed distinctive characteristics, but 
 then as a whole, he was not so pronounced as 
 my camera made him, he was "filmy." I, too 
 was likely to be drawn "high-sky." 
 Was Ldoing this to my wife? 
 
Normally Intermittent. 15 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NORMALLY INTERMITTENT. 
 
 Gracious me! I, too, have been permitted 
 to suffer some. It's one's measure. Don't you 
 know ? You know what I mean. His capacity 
 to suffer. 
 
 My wife's relatives from Singapore, excuse 
 me for any feeling, proposed doing America 
 with me. I could not see with his eyes, nor he 
 with mine. I, at least did not propose to be 
 at all "epistolary." 
 
 Young Swami brought along his ^'perfect 
 wheel." He proposed to pedal upon the "par- 
 allel rays," which he claimed he discovered in 
 the atmosphere. I found him the severest 
 youth — nothing in Temple-bar equalling him 
 in the way of a lean life, absolutely nothing. 
 
 I hardly preconceived how Swami was to 
 look all to me. We had a Japanese boy in our 
 cuisine. I knew how he was, to be sure. I 
 
i6 Ambiguities. 
 
 was introduced to a lady in Hong Kong in 
 times past. Such straws might prove helpful, 
 so I fancied. 
 
 My lady of Hindu extraction was educated, 
 and she and I were on a level, in some matters. 
 
 But I go on, as I am prompted. I, too, ob- 
 ject and pity myself — but go on, — poor "Pity." 
 I am thankful, I am not heartless, as I supposed. 
 I, too, made light of our youthful relative's air 
 wheel, as he called it — ''perfection wheel." 
 
 I was relieved when I learned it was boxed 
 with his parallel, and yet in Calcutta. 
 
 I was subject to humors. When I married 
 my Hindu lady, I was contemplating Africa 
 at a convenient distance. On account of my 
 humors I was frequently tasteful to myself, and 
 very agreeable. Had I caught the humors 
 from the masters, or my star? My young 
 Hindu never caught anything. 
 
 He was as passive as pond water. He knew 
 English better than I did, the scamp. He la- 
 mented over dishes. Our doings were mostly 
 pardonable, just like him. Our religion was 
 next after his own. He was as far along in 
 life as I was in years. His body was an old 
 man, but only his body. 
 
Normally Intermittent. if 
 
 His soul, I forget what he said his soul was, 
 was perpetual cologne, a Plato or cur. Of 
 course, I had to admire my wife's tenets, they 
 were tenets. Not that I was not exactly my 
 former self, for I was not, not at that time, at 
 least. I have been my former self, and so on, 
 almost indefinitely. But then, one is not pre- 
 cisely one's former self. There have been me- 
 dia, and more or less intensity, and push. And 
 then, one can be only one phase of his former 
 self, and that too, not for long, I trow. He is 
 always coming from a maze, or else coming 
 to one. Then he was exaggerated and again 
 he was normal, and so on, like a red rubber bal- 
 loon. 
 
 I do not care to linger on these little differ- 
 ences, if they are little. I am in a like humor, 
 to the one, when I wrote or read ''Inferno/' 
 I relegated to back numbers. To-morrow I can- 
 not catch that very humor. Perhaps I can 
 never come across it any more. What influ- 
 ence, if any, have these inner, I think they are 
 inner reproductions upon my conscious self? 
 Do they temporarily, as it seems, take the place 
 of this conscious soul, and think when it would 
 think, were it not for them? Sometimes it is 
 
1 8 Ambiguities. 
 
 my wife thinking for me, and not myself. Do 
 they or have they impressed themselves into 
 one's conscious thought so that their voluntary 
 action becomes your own? This, too, when 
 they are absent, and after the intervention of 
 other equally impassive things. 
 
 If I have trenched on tender places, the mis- 
 take was here justifiable. They were mat- 
 ters passing and repassing and constantly re- 
 viewed. They concerned a man, and were not 
 wholly unprofitable to him and a maid. If 
 they were twice told, they are not spoiled in the 
 telling. Perhaps they were calling for some 
 little remembrance. Perhaps they were not 
 consigned to complete oblivion. Perhaps, all 
 regardless, they were to return in cycles. 
 
Physical Metaphysics. 19 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PHYSICAL METAPHYSICS. 
 
 Did he not care and yet care to impress him- 
 self on his relative. Not that he could counter- 
 act his quiet influence. There was an involun- 
 tary longing, or tendency of his nature towards 
 the perpetuation of himself, he read Cicero. 
 It was not of his conscious self or choice. Was 
 it only part of himself ? The tendency was al- 
 ways there. His young friend radiated some- 
 thing akin to the purity of his feelings, a per- 
 petual reminder to the elder one to proceed cir- 
 cumspectly. 
 
 They were at croquet, or golf, or polo, or in 
 the yacht, or else they withdrew to the select 
 realm, the one within them. The elder senten- 
 tiously met and met the fact of his years as 
 though the fact was visual, like his cigar smoke, 
 or his wife's nose. He never could get used to 
 it all. No one bothered about such matters. 
 
±0 Ambiguities. 
 
 as his physical metaphysics. He was not a 
 dreamer, and yet things long relinquished kept 
 repeatedly recurring to him. What did it all 
 mean? There was a meaning, otherwise, they 
 would not recur. Self-conquest with him at 
 least, related to former fields. But then he had 
 suffered defeats, far-reaching defeats. 
 
 Had he ground on the mill-stone of the gods 
 so as to go forth purer and more available? 
 Mental blistering was energy or force. Had 
 she not called him ''blister"? Some reverses 
 were better for him, some thwarted will, some 
 contrition, some abnegation. 
 
 The Hindu was like a rind. Chicago & Co., 
 as he called some cities, were not tasteful to 
 him. They were haunted in broad day by the 
 mute remains of the departed. East India was 
 nearer "glorified." 
 
 Respecting "the fatalities," he who did vio- 
 lence to his own life woefully offended his eter- 
 nal destinies. He was instantly transformed in- 
 to the deathless scorpion that forever tortured 
 his half-human, half-reptile body. 
 
 With the coming ages, each moment an age, 
 all his agonies accumulated ; meanwhile his ca- 
 pacities for pain multiplied! All the miseries 
 
Physical Metaphysics. 21 
 
 of the forever damned were trebly also his. The 
 everlasting rejoicings of the redeemed souls, 
 winged spirits of thanksgiving, and praise, 
 songs incarnate and flowers, not expressionless 
 perpetuated within him diabolical jealousies! 
 Jealousies, mind you. All his infernal powers 
 enlarging, the realm of his sufferings expand- 
 ing, the flagrant suicide unable to further harm 
 friend and foe inexorably lacerated himself, re- 
 ceiving none other compensation than his own 
 growing woes — he was Vulcanized. 
 
 The Power that saved the planets from 
 tumbling into meaningless atoms chained him 
 to his imposed orbits where eternal justice was 
 supreme; Mercy well known and principles 
 were fadeless. 
 
 Some things distasteful, are unavoidable. 
 Against that which was fixed and immutable, 
 all human philosophy availed not. 
 
 My Hindu wife spoke from beneath her thick 
 veil ! 
 
 Myself doting on myself, as the blest father 
 of a promising progeny, a craving never to be 
 appeased, was assured that upon one auspicious 
 occasion I caught the revealed feature of my 
 lady of the veil, the half of my soul. That face 
 
22 Ambiguities. 
 
 was always there, often associated with casket 
 face of the aged mother feebly radiant with the 
 triumphant smile of a returning youth. Our 
 stipulated separation was voluntary, for had she 
 not forsaken caste, revered associations and 
 home for me? We agreed that she was not to 
 forsake her heaven of the veil. 
 
 My wife was an invalid and lame. Her talk 
 had come through the 'phone straight from her 
 own lips. She was conscious of some one's cer- 
 tain condition. That one attended with every 
 gift, luxuriant nature could give, was continu- 
 ally impressed with his powerlessness to own 
 and appropriate a single thing of all the world 
 afforded. Luxury, elegance, ease all hung like 
 a pall on his earthly tabernacles. Fancying 
 earth was prematurely tired of him, he was 
 rashly tired of earth. 
 
 In that state, unfit for heaven as he was, he 
 was only fit for hell. 
 
 "Woe unto the philosophies of unrest, woe 
 unto perverted natures, woe unto the vio- 
 lent!" she 'phoned. 
 
 Harsh though true. 
 
 Had my cloistered wife meant by that some- 
 body me and only me? Was there flattery 
 
Physical Metaphysics. 23 
 
 meant? She was to be sweetly resigned to the 
 ripening processes. I thought that when I 
 should fully see her face it would be one of res- 
 ignation. I thought it would be a face on which 
 already occasionally flashed illuminations from 
 the haven of light. I knew that face was com- 
 posed and natural, and her own. Other faces 
 might come and go wnth her face, but hers was 
 distinct and alone, in all the throngs. 
 
 Her young relative was quietly the counter- 
 part of her harmonious and harmonized will. 
 Not that his identity was not always his own. 
 A dual identity was not his. 
 
 "Coalescence to Cosmic order was not for 
 any of us," said he. 
 
 I was glad that he was disabused of his 
 dreamlike infatuation for his "aerial wheel !" 
 The prospect seemed so incongruous it might 
 bring down philosophy, fame on us. The pleas- 
 ure was that young man's sport; something 
 not wholly perishing, something to him, 
 not evanescent, something eminently practical, 
 in so much that I inwardly and in an inex- 
 plicable manner, shuddered for him, for I 
 fancied he was ethereal. He was no conjurer 
 
24 Ambiguities. 
 
 or anything gross. He was, as it were, like an 
 ethereal Psyche. 
 
 Was his a soul permeating from his body? 
 A sage imprisoned in youth ? Osiris nailed on 
 Confucius? Then cooped in a dry goods box? 
 
 To him civilization, and especially European 
 civilization imported in America, was appetite, 
 dominant, exorbitant, and oppressive withal, 
 literary or otherwise. To one accustomed to 
 the bodily communion of the saints, he had em- 
 braced Rome's primitive fathers, as a counter- 
 part of his own tenets, our American claims 
 were preternaturally discordant to him. He 
 found some consolation in the hope that out of 
 our noisy woes was rising a grand temple for 
 the incarnation of the higher life, not Hindu. 
 
 After our youthful development, the life of 
 a people were mellowed by the approach of 
 age. Good and true spiritual domination was 
 the ultimatum of a nation's rise. Otherwise 
 there was disintegration. 
 
 Was he hifalutin? Had that really ad- 
 vanced young man conquered his own material 
 cant-cant. The attachment of my wife for that 
 truly gifted and handsome youth, afforded me 
 more than one assurance for his future success. 
 
Physical Metaphysics. 25 
 
 Their kinship and early associations afforded 
 them the freedom of affectionate regard to 
 which my heart, not schooled as was her heart, 
 hardly hoped to aspire. 
 
 Had she, for once, revealed her face to him, 
 for only once? The bare suggestion sent my 
 blood tingling in my heart. He had seen her 
 when a virgin maid, he saw her when my 
 wedded spouse. That joy would go with him 
 through the asperities of life's way to the stars. 
 
 Melodrama right "foine." Had he looked on 
 her again and again, my esteem for the ten- 
 derly pitied one, on the ebb and flow, him I 
 mean. Was theirs to be an eternity of mutual 
 esteem and fond regard, meanwhile where was 
 I to come in ? What had I done to compel me 
 to tread my wine press alone, out in the frost ? 
 Had I, too, been led to contemplate the horrid 
 soliloquy? 
 
 If I had been so tempted of the Evil ones, if 
 I had looked upon the cowardly act, if I had 
 trembled on the brink of a heartless want of 
 mercy for my friends, manfully fighting life's 
 battles, if I had yielded to all that, that acme of 
 develtry, self destruction of the God intrusted 
 body, then I was unpardonable. I had con- 
 
26 Ambiguities. 
 
 mitted the unforgivable sin, if I thought so. 
 But no, my act, thank God, had been as yet 
 chiefly fanciful, distortedly fanciful. There 
 was yet atonement for me, there was yet 
 life, there was hope. 
 
 Not that my Heathen wife, do I speak advis- 
 ably ? divined the promptings of my nature, or 
 the promptings of some influence for evil mys- 
 teriously acting within me and from without, 
 tho' she bowed to Fates. I even fancied, the 
 influence, or presence, it v/as like a presence 
 stole over me, also, even during my less wake- 
 ful moments, as if from an invisible and bot- 
 tomless pit, conscious as I was that my own 
 fancies were alone distorted and exaggerated, 
 as they were. It was not me, it was, them. 
 They might go on loving and being loved, 
 meanwhile I rejoiced at their sincere manifesta- 
 tions, they were blood ties. I was sure my 
 wife's Japanese .lady companion said that "she" 
 loved my soul, but how? The way she said 
 it, impressed me as though the Japanese lady 
 meant, my wife was in love with my soul. 
 
 I knew our young friend dearly loved my 
 soul. 
 
Physical Metaphysics. 27 
 
 I had no reason to believe the Japanese lady 
 loved my soul. My soul was not shekels. 
 
 Her fright was lest she some day turn into 
 a Nubian chief, or Eunuch. 
 
 Our valet was an Asiatic negro, whose 
 straight hair my wife's lady companion insisted 
 on tying back with a pink ribbon, for a decora- 
 tion. 
 
 The Egyptian, for so he seemed to me, was 
 stolidly indifferent to the blandishments of 
 Fate, or the ire of the earth genii. He was 
 docile, obedient, simple, except that he loved 
 rum. The lady, too, so I knew her, pleased 
 my wife in the matter of concealing her face. 
 I noticed, however, that her veil was some- 
 times of a less cloudy and thick material. I 
 thought there was an absence of everything on 
 her features, save the most enticing carnal 
 beauty. And the Nubian being our go-between, 
 impressed me with the fancy that my person- 
 ality was like a large masculine body inhabited 
 by the feminine gender. This was meant to be 
 fully complimentary to me. Did it come from 
 my wife? 
 
 My wife believed that the absolute woman- 
 soul was vastly more magnificent and superior 
 
28 Ambiguities. 
 
 to the male soul. She never doubted any dis- 
 tinction on the score of the psychical and 
 sexual. That was as plain as mathematics, or 
 Huxley. She lamented that she was an asceti- 
 cally celibate soul in female form, not that she 
 was physically absolutely effeminate, as she 
 termed it. There were both mental and physi- 
 cal mesalliances. 
 
 I confessed to myself, at the time, she was 
 both above me, and reached farther down 
 than I. She was colossal, and a woman. 
 However, I reasoned I was only some 
 man. I was not going to tear the veil 
 from her face though I had a right to do so. 
 I did not endeavor to justify any such act. 
 That offence would be an unpardonable of- 
 fence according to the tenor of her whole life. 
 
 We had come to occupy a villa at the edge 
 of the reposeful R.hine town. I had come to 
 suspect that the Japanese companion was 
 French, or had been from France, and knew 
 French ways, I mean the lady. 
 
 I was not perturbed, though I did not want 
 characters to multiply upon me. I preferred to 
 indulge my vagaries for the promptings in- 
 spired by my young visitor. 
 
Intellectual Indigestion. 29 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 INTELLECTUAL INDIGESTION. 
 
 On account of my young friend's suggestive 
 way that he involuntarily had, this was only 
 temporarily true, I could not so much as write 
 a single stanza, unless I was as one fully per- 
 suaded that I was in some unaccountable way 
 forced to do it. Alone with my ideals and in 
 my studio, where I shut out noise, as best I 
 could, . the once familiar faces, of cherished 
 ones, merely departed, were hovering near me. 
 They peered over my shoulder, while I wrote. 
 
 An influence of their presence reached to 
 my finger tips. It was often all I could do to 
 direct my own thoughts. I laughed at the ma- 
 terial philosopher. I compared them to the 
 shadows of the flies on the glass. I consid- 
 ered them boys, who discerned not the invisi- 
 ble sweets. They had not yet shed their 
 
30 Amhiguities. 
 
 scales. They could not distinguish with the 
 eye of the mind. Material things were not 
 the world's real concern. The things of sense 
 were great and reached far. 
 
 But the things invisible to the carnal eye, 
 the things that were the life of the soul were 
 inestimably greater. 
 
 I was only indulging my long cherished 
 tendency. In the midst of it all our lady com- 
 panion managed to show me her face. I trem- 
 bled with affright. Was — she — she, who had, 
 deliberately committed the unpardonable of- 
 fence? Had she shot herself to death, on ac- 
 count of unrequited love? Had she returned 
 to persecute and haunt me? 
 
 The incident was soon over. The incident 
 contrived or accidental. I kept on with my 
 work while she sped away with some article 
 she had come for. I was at once so absorbed 
 I did not care who she was, or what she had 
 done. I had obliterated her from my exist- 
 ence. Suicides should not pursue me, they 
 should be arraigned and everlastingly chained. 
 I did not then know that she had tried suicide 
 because she was worth her millions. Improb- 
 able soul! 
 
Intellectual Indigestion. 31 
 
 I could not have believed it without some 
 effort, not then. 
 
 Our Nubian was vigorously at work from 
 morn until eve, a summer's day. And yet he 
 was dead in sense, while our young friend, 
 who was as pale as death, was awake. He 
 had said over in America the Yankee was 
 alive. In India they were awake. He had 
 also said this at the catacombs, where his own 
 voice recoiled upon him. He had said it amid 
 the mummies and at the Sphynx — ruefully said 
 it. He believed it all, and proceeded to prove 
 it in his own leisurely way. He resignedly 
 relied on time. 
 
 On the cool steps, overlooking the fisher- 
 men, knee deep in the warmlike water, my 
 young friend confided in me. It was just 
 when the pack-mule turned the corner of the 
 huge stone palace. He said Heaven had not 
 willed that he die by his own hand. He knew 
 it was so, because he never mused on any 
 downward tendencies that suggested it. He 
 was not mentally concerned about the means 
 by which his great ancestors had acquired their 
 great wealth. They had not returned to play 
 upon his "chords" in tempting him to come to 
 
32 Ambiguities. 
 
 them. Their last looks had not upbraided him. 
 They had not sacrificed for his well being here 
 below, though they had imposed upon him the 
 sacred trust of all their former wealth. 
 
 It was not in him to dissipate and then die 
 the death. The death was self-destruction. 
 It was not in him to gamble. No brilliant 
 financial coup was to allure him on to the be- 
 som of destruction. He had been confronted 
 with the whole fatal question. The mind 
 never arrived at anything like a disease of 
 this kind by one impulsive bound. In the 
 latter event there had been a repeated revolv- 
 ing of the question. The grave fault was 
 there had been error, terrible error, or a mo- 
 mentous, rebellious willfulness. Hell is when 
 you make it. 
 
 As I was re-arranging my "Lord P 's 
 
 personal incidents" he would have that no- 
 menclature — I did not particularly heed the 
 boy at that time. I wondered whether the 
 lake was deeper near the dark smack than he 
 was tall. He was four feet and some inches, 
 and like cork. He stood there like one vainly 
 lamenting because he was not as tail as the 
 bronze knight, or, as I thought, my own lady 
 
Intellectual Indigestion. 33 
 
 love. But he looked as though he had gained a 
 great internal victory over himself and its al- 
 lies. I prayed that, that humor might stay with 
 him. 
 ****** 
 
 I was sorry and amused at their little in- 
 cident. The cause of their divergence lay in 
 some ceremonial, like the times they should 
 ablute their heads. The disputants were my 
 lady's companion and her young relative. The 
 contest waxed so hot that one of them threat- 
 ened not to live under the same roof with the 
 other. My wife declared for her relative. I 
 proposed protecting the companion. I do not 
 know why I was so obdurate, unless it was 
 my love within me for humanity. The rela- 
 tives barricaded the stairs. We held the lower 
 floors. 
 
 With all their claims of self-abnegation I 
 detected that they made nightly raids on our 
 cuisine — or to our cupboard. But I com- 
 manded the supplies. 
 
 I took the French maid's hand in mine; 
 she was French, and together we ascended to 
 my wife's boudoir. Her relative was sketch- 
 ing, she posing as Penseroso. Rising above 
 
54 Ambiguities. 
 
 my mingled feelings, I prepared to permit 
 them to finish their conscientious task. I fan- 
 cied the maid illy concealed a titter by means 
 of her kerchief. I admired his skill, as I saw 
 it ought to be admired. 
 
 The one posing as the goddess was now 
 concealed by the curtains, though I was pain- 
 fully reminded of her crutch, by its inharmoni- 
 ous resemblance in an opposite mirror. 
 
 I then commanded them to be instantly rec- 
 onciled. They complied like children. I then 
 reminded the young man of his resolves to 
 devote himself and his all to the elevation of 
 his fallen fellow-men. He assured me that 
 both his relative, my wife, and he loved my 
 soul. I believed his every word. The maid 
 busied herself with my wife and her veils. 
 
 I further commanded that one such distress- 
 ing episode was more than half past enough. 
 They signified their intentions to the effect 
 that it was. Then I retired to my rooms. I 
 was positive that even religion itself, after 
 ages of conquest, had not totally eliminated 
 The things of sense and desire. So composite 
 was the soul, certainly not of a sacred cow. 
 
 Next day he proposed going to Rome. He 
 
Intellectual Indigestion. 35 
 
 preferred, as he said it, to live amongst the 
 eternal statues. He said even the Rhine peo- 
 ple were only as yet learning to eat and drink. 
 Their appetites bound them to Earth. They 
 had not yet even learned to eat and drink. 
 Theirs was animal life and that was all bac- 
 teria. He preferred existence. He preferred 
 dead bodies and live souls. He preferred live 
 souls to dead bodies. He went so far as to 
 say that Americans, meaning me, were not live 
 souls; with all their noise, they were fuss. 
 
 I uppercut in my clenched hands. He called 
 them, again meaning me, "eaters and drinkers." 
 I instinctively divined that he was powerless 
 to hit back, and so retained my equipoise. I 
 thus conquered him in a moment, and he saw 
 it. I decided that he was to remain with me 
 yet awhile longer. He gracefully bowed to the 
 inevitable. Then he poured forth his confes- 
 sion. He had not yet conquered himself as 
 he thought he had. He referred to an imag- 
 inary apothesis, while there was a weird glit- 
 ter in the expression on his eyes. The ex- 
 pression was external. 
 
 He was soon, as though he was helped by 
 some unseen cause, or sequence, and the like. 
 
36 Ambiguities. 
 
 But when he spoke he was blank; he was a 
 vacuity, not even so much as a stare. I was 
 seeing through him — detecting nothing. 
 
 He ^compared the apotheosis to his sense of 
 justice. He secretly demanded justice. Not 
 that he was not to blame for this and that, 
 and that and so on. Nevertheless, he felt that 
 he was the victim of a superincumbent injus- 
 tice, not precisely visible, though keenly real. 
 His mental faculties were not disordered. He 
 was more rational than people usually are. 
 His soul demanded nicer equities. I knew that 
 this feeling was natural to the finer sensibili- 
 ties of almost every one expecting too much. 
 Even the Nubian was not devoid of it, but in 
 a less congruous fashion of his own. He sim- 
 ply hated personal impositions or inequalities. 
 We both experienced the moral government 
 operative upon us, we felt it in our bones. 
 Since we were fragmentary, the equities, as he 
 called them, related to the eternities. No one 
 could destroy God's works and love God. He 
 was not compelled to imitate whales or car- 
 nivora. He knew that he was responsible for 
 his every act. His every violation was penal. 
 
Intellectual Indigestion. 37 
 
 The recoil upon himself was a punishment 
 for some offence, real or probable. His 
 willfulness sought to be his destroyer. But 
 then there was no destruction or annihilation 
 possible. The ascending scale peculiar to all 
 life proved that. 
 
 Self-inflicted punishment of the hideous na- 
 ture referred to, would go on and on. There 
 was no remedial eflicacy applicable, because 
 there was no time for an acceptable state of 
 mind. He admitted that one could seldom be 
 too seriously disposed, though he might be that 
 for too long at any one time. He promised to 
 hand me a letter from my wife. 
 
 Her room was her external world. I ac- 
 cepted his proffers with every manifestation 
 of courtesy. I was almost effusive. I rec- 
 ommended more outdoor exercise, knowing 
 that he believed bodily exercise, profited him 
 little. The soul, however adversely situated, 
 struggling amid the mutations of time for a 
 fuller life, was a spectacle words did not por- 
 tray. But the experiences of all the past were 
 reflected in the living present relative. The 
 actors had passed on ahead and were waiting. 
 
38 Ambiguities. 
 
 We were the actors and were passing on ahead. 
 We were material, but then we were living 
 souls. 
 
 All jagged, had I a soul, thrown from some 
 moon? 
 
Thought Impacted. 39 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THOUGHT IMPACTED. 
 
 We were living in a semi-desultory way. 
 We were not doing our share in the world's 
 daily battles. I commenced contemplating the 
 question, I would postpone its consideration. 
 We held to the nook we occupied as best we 
 could, and that was enough for the present. 
 
 Perhaps I would yet relive some historical 
 passion. I would reprint starvation scenes. 
 I would copy insurrections, or only riots. My 
 ultimate object was humanity, a name recently 
 come to make me feel serious. Dollars did 
 not express my idea. The word incarnation 
 was nearer my idea. If I wanted I could not 
 be a dog. 
 
 Respecting those historical reproductions, it 
 made all the difference in the world, not so 
 much as to how they were worked over into 
 news items as it did as to who said it. If 
 
40 Ambiguities. 
 
 the one who reached the most numbers said it 
 then it carried some authority, at least, with 
 it. There were times when we, as the masses, 
 were operated upon to think as one man thinks. 
 The irritating process could be carried on until 
 somebody got hurt. Then, when one of the 
 contending parties, usually the other fellow, 
 got weak, we returned to the triumphs of peace. 
 As a human integral, I, too, like the rest 
 of us, was more or less reactionary. Some 
 part of my nature was involuntary. Strange- 
 ly enough, there was very little known about 
 it. As it was not wholly within my control, I 
 thought very little about it. And yet, I was 
 amazed when I suspected how much my in- 
 voluntary actions possibly affected me. I said, 
 suppose my heart should go thumping of its 
 own accord — what then?" The very sugges- 
 tion was well-nigh distantly alarming. Just 
 then, however, I could afford to postpone the 
 suggestion. If it ever returned it would 
 scarcely be a welcome visitor, but then, these 
 reveries did me good. They were equivalent 
 to so much work done. They were not eva- 
 nescent, but lastingly real, though unseen. And 
 they were strangely active, more active than 
 
Thought Impacted. 41 
 
 trip-hammers, though silent. I kept repeating, 
 silent forces are wonderfully active. I was 
 thinking from the great gaseous balls in space 
 to my involuntary actions. I was thinking 
 of my wife's involuntary actions and my wife's 
 relative. 
 
 He said his love of water crackers rendered 
 him helpless in the matter. He lived on water 
 and crackers. He starved his involuntary ac- 
 tions into subjection. Did he mean his volun- 
 tary ones ? 
 
 I noted his limitations. I had witnessed his 
 passion when they barricaded me. The maid 
 possessed vastly more passion than did my 
 wife and he together, only the former's was 
 exceptionally dormant. 
 
 That pale statue stood there and admitted 
 to me that his feelings habitually tended to 
 run away with him. He had been faithful 
 to the mathematics, but his feelings were still 
 there with him. He had again and again con- 
 trolled them, and would continue so to do. He 
 hoped to be gradually dead to them, and if it 
 had not been for the crackers he would have 
 done so long ere this. 
 
 I was instinctively reminded of that apothe- 
 
42 Ambiguities. 
 
 osis of liis. I was convinced that something 
 like a gieam from way beyond struck him 
 near the region of his temples. It was sug- 
 gestive of the rest of a halo, lost in shadow. 
 I suggested that slow heroics of human sacri- 
 fice (this was a harsh way of putting it), was 
 not imperative in his case. I conjured the 
 heathen in him. I recommended the heroics 
 of a long suffering service in favor of ulti- 
 mate good and his own sure reward. I tem- 
 pered this with some seasoning like that of his 
 will reconciled, personal acquiescence with his 
 lot in life, the value of a cheerful disposition, 
 contentment, resignation, and all the other sa- 
 vory morsels I could think of. 
 
 My wife and he were again fasting, pre- 
 sum.ably on liquids, for forty days. There 
 were other tedious ceremonies associated with 
 the operation. He was already as if he were 
 stretched on a board, as he lay there on his 
 sofa, not unlike a living corpse. Suddenly 
 he sprang from his resting place like a tiger 
 in a rage. In the darkened room he gleamed 
 like two eyes, two diminutive balls of fire. 
 The rest of his body was in shadow. I never 
 saw a better show of impassioned fury. 
 
Thought Impacted. 43 
 
 ''Soup! Soup!" he stormed — "give me some- 
 thing to eat, I tell you ! Give me to eat before 
 I die!" 
 
 The maid came running in, from v^hose 
 hands he tore the bowl, drinking the hot broth 
 in gulps. 
 
 I remarked his fine show of appetite in our 
 successful efforts to keep him from suddenly 
 devouring himself. 
 
 They said my wife succeeded better. She 
 attained heights not seen by the grosser senses. 
 She saw the embattled glow not visible to 
 Earth. She accepted messages forever her 
 own. She returned to her room all the better 
 for her trance. Her body had not left her 
 soul. She demonstrated that affluence of ma- 
 terial supply was not unlike the poor in spirit. 
 Her idea of abject poverty was anyone's ina- 
 bility to dine on an ounce of rice. I thought 
 she was to turn into lier Angel. 
 
 He said she was homiletic, because she said 
 the matter of anyone's distates so often 
 tended towards things gross in nature. Slio 
 had attained to where her tastes were for the 
 beautiful. Good was always that. Evil was 
 
44 Ambiguities. 
 
 not. Religion returned to chide the sensual. 
 Then she asked me for rice pudding. 
 
 Our maid had gone with the Nubian, osten- 
 sibly to teach somev.-here in America. 
 
 It had been r.iy remarkable lot to live well- 
 nigh half a century. I, too, had had vicissi- 
 tudes. Others came and went, much as they 
 are daily doing. I had lived through great 
 crises. I felt I could not live through when 
 many, very many, died in battle. I am en- 
 abled to rejoice with the Earth hourly forging 
 ahead. 
 
 I will never forget the moment when my 
 wife showed me her face and confided in me. 
 She became my bride. I carried her flowers 
 and grapes, like one on visioning honeymoons. 
 Our peculiar courtship, as I called it, had been 
 strangely protracted — was but jus!; begun. 
 
 I hastened to the yard and threw the doves 
 some grains. The manner in which they dis- 
 criminated in their preferences for particular 
 seeds momentarily suggested a train of 
 thought. I cut my wife bunches of flovv'ers, 
 and carried them with her to the bedside of 
 the sick boy. I gave my pet squirrel a cup 
 of cold water. We together began to devise 
 
Thought Impacted. 45 
 
 means for making the world better. We, too, 
 advisedly began with ourselves. Each spare 
 moment was devoted to making somebody bet- 
 ter. 
 
 From loving my soul, my wife took to lov- 
 ing the souls and bodies of our neighbors need- 
 ing help, needing us. 
 
 Our young friend we left with a good phy- 
 sician in the assurance that our young friend, 
 too, would go home a good physician. We, 
 too, finally determined that there was work 
 for us in America. And so we were to set 
 sail. 
 
 But first we determined to breath the free 
 air of France. 
 
46 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SENSE SIX. 
 
 My reveries contrasted me (I adopted the 
 word) with what I ever was before. When 
 they were entirely absent from me, when they 
 were not present with me, just as they used 
 to be before, I was lost. I proposed to stay 
 under the sun as long as I could stay from 
 it. What if I had missed my chance, what of 
 it? It was chiefly circumstantial after all. I 
 kept repeating, as I ought to have done. I 
 could be ever so much now and henceforth. 
 I would have to learn and unlearn. There 
 was something sweet in a cup of cold water 
 and a smoke. There was always something 
 pleasant to behold, something nice to say, 
 something good to do. 
 
 No one knew the capacities or possibilities, 
 how I disliked long words, of his senses. I 
 always called my brains my sixth sense. 
 
Sense Six. 47 
 
 While I was repeatedly tasting and feeling 
 something I called appeasing to me, I was not 
 to suffer more than was good for me. I was 
 not unmindful of other feelings. Judge of 
 my excitement. I confess 1 was excited on 
 hearing of my young friend's abruptly an- 
 nounced marriage. He married an African 
 princess, black as Niobe, if she was black. 
 
 I gladly learned the great event was a cher- 
 ished design of his. I longed to meet the 
 lady, for such she likely was to prove. I 
 went so far as to picture him the happy father 
 of a lively boy, almost envying, as I did, the 
 coveted distinction. My wife knew that they 
 would be happy. But, alas! Was I not to 
 be permitted the realization of my ardent 
 wishes in this respect? I consoled myself, 
 however, that time and distance were not nec- 
 essarily unconquerable. 
 
 The sixth sense I recurred to, and relating 
 to joys unspeakable, was capable of magnifi- 
 cent development. It had to do with the most 
 serious affairs. We revelled in all the poetic 
 charms. adorning Venus. We gladly mingled 
 with what we were pleased to call the cease- 
 less human activities. 
 
48 Ambiguities. 
 
 We, my wife and I, were associated in all 
 these human and mechanical evolutions. Our 
 wheels fairly spun through space — I paid 
 Worth for a fine gown for my wife. We 
 longed to stay here a thousand years, for we 
 were immensely in love with life. We wanted 
 to revel in the outcome. We wanted to take 
 part in the culminating ascent — it is sweet to 
 live for Country. We wanted to garland and 
 crown prodigious humanity. But we were 
 not the slaves of our desires of this kind. We 
 were constantly preparing for that glory which 
 would come to us and enable us, as we be- 
 lieved, to review all of Earth from afar. 
 
 LIGHTED FACES, OR, RELATIVE'S LETTER, AD- 
 DRESSED TO AMERICA. 
 
 His muse was pensive. Was he a failure? 
 What was failure ? Oh, that pastry ! He was 
 sure he was some man, some one of us Amer- 
 icans, and far from young. He hoped for 
 better things. There was a man filled with 
 his routine labors or odes. His intermittent 
 ideals, as he called them, at first pleased him, 
 and then soured him, when he was weary of 
 
Sense Six. 49 
 
 cake. His ideals, he called them conceits, or 
 fancies were, as he remembered, as though 
 they come to him, or thrust in upon him. He 
 was not concerning himself about their source; 
 it was enough for him that they were there 
 with him. 
 
 He was subordinate to material things, and 
 dependent upon the neighbors' brats. It was 
 as if he had been always materially circum- 
 stanced. He needed pickles. It was too often 
 his infatuation that material things would al- 
 ways occupy him. Constant effort was re- 
 quired for him to rid his mind of the materi- 
 alistic idea. 
 
 It was an idea or bugaboo, a motive, a bent 
 of his mind, heart and disposition, and in a 
 large measure, a necessary condition. He, 
 like every one, was hourly illustrating his posi- 
 tion, his material connection, as he called it, 
 mounted hobby. 
 
 He was not independent of all those who 
 were mercenary any more than he was inde- 
 pendent of the demands of his nature. 
 
 Was he to consider how those social asso- 
 ciations had affected him? He was empow- 
 ered to ruthlessly terminate his material rela- 
 
50 Ambiguities. 
 
 tions, he had the power. The wanton exer- 
 cise of that power daily passed. Alas! It 
 came to be almost a mania. The right of its 
 fearful exercise, even if permitted as a con- 
 templation, at once did violence to every sense 
 of decency and order. Every instinct of na- 
 ture taught him that there was no such right 
 permissible to the contemplation of a sound 
 mind. The very contemplation was absolutely 
 wrong, and, alas! too long familiar to many. 
 And the right, though scarcely debatable, was 
 already discussed. 
 
 Those believing themselves to be of a sane 
 mind, evidenced by their conduct, were con- 
 fronted by the question. It had become a 
 question. As its one final solution is a matter 
 of time, and some forbearance as well, we are 
 entitled to dismiss the subject, much after the 
 manner distasteful subjects are dismissed, 
 fully persuaded, however, that we will be re- 
 peatedly reminded of it before a day passes. 
 
 We have especially alluded to a periodic 
 prevalence, spoken of as likely to become epi- 
 demic. Nor are we destitute of sympathy for 
 those of our relatives more poignantly affected. 
 We pray for them a reconsideration of every- 
 
Sense Six. 51 
 
 thing bordering a rash undertaking. We be- 
 lieve we are justified in our remarks. 
 
 One more relative as a written page is tor- 
 ture. One more written line from my relative 
 would drive me mad. Spooks, avaunt! I'm 
 bound for other scenes and nicer places. And 
 not all unlike the former Mrs. Fiddlesticks, 
 I, too, am henceforth a changed man. I'm 
 henceforth the latterly Mr. Fiddlesticks, to 
 turn to Rome, or Paris, at pleasure, and cheat 
 the prestidigitateur. 
 
52 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PHASE TWO. 
 
 My wife was translucent. I loved the mathe- 
 ematics. Our chef was with us. So was 
 wife's companion. My wife was to them as 
 "the unacquainted with them before." I copied 
 my wife daily; not that I did not have my 
 opinion, for I did. She was pleased with the 
 doll's new gown. I was happy. I promised 
 myself a golden slipper for the doll we were 
 to borrow. I even looked for our distant rela- 
 tive, he with the wheel for the parallel rays. 
 I looked to week after next. 
 
 We occupied our villa near the French City. 
 My translucent wife met the French cadet in 
 an ordinary manner. He was very polite to 
 my translucent lady. She was "caste" — as 
 we all know. I, lovingly to m.yself, called 
 my wife "Caste." I hoped I was getting ac- 
 quainted with my own wife famously. 
 
Phase Two. 53 
 
 The Lieutenant was like her chaperon. She 
 distantly made him a guide for her. Not that 
 I felt less redolent of youth on his account, 
 for I did not. I was exotic. 
 
 As he had no eyes for me I simply relished 
 his youthful inexperience. I even fancied my 
 wife a bit austere with our gay cadet, though 
 she was not melancholy. He did not so much 
 as notice my wife's French companion, our 
 lady's maid. Would he notice our relative 
 when he should come? 
 
 We three enjoyed luncheon, singly and to- 
 gether. The soft candy floated in the juice 
 of cherries. We made a grand discovery. The 
 cadet was a writer. 
 
 He had come unscathed through "the 
 duello." 
 
 He wore a scar under the finger ring of his 
 own right hand and by him mentionable. 
 
 I am not partial to the denouments, however 
 pleasing, though I confess I do not despise 
 them on occasion. I am not a savant with the 
 French tongue and labials. The Lieutenant 
 supposedly was "vocable and vibratory." He 
 enjoyed my "accent" and I enjoyed my want 
 of it. He enjoyed my meanings in French. 
 
54 Ambiguities. 
 
 I enjoyed his supposable interpretation of my 
 meanings. I enjoyed their customs when on 
 their streets and when in their saloons in pub- 
 He. I resolved to enjoy their purely private 
 arrangements at a relative distance, and was 
 happy. My wife had known him before. Did 
 he know her? Quite an enigma, but brief. 
 Yet he w^as a benefactor as a writer. 
 
 My wife's fictitious wTiter donated me all 
 Nature to enjoy. He proffered me outdoor 
 sports unstinted for us both. He loved turtle 
 in the swim. Were there dim vistas in our 
 savant writer's vision? This whole query sat 
 there before me, but without me. 
 
 Thus I never thought any when in company 
 at dinner. Or if I thought a thing worthy 
 of thinking it was the pleasure of those who 
 entertained me, for that it was that just then 
 pleased me altogether. 
 
 Yes, there were sights in the City, but 
 sights were not seeking me, not for awhile. 
 My wife was my sweetheart — I was her pickle. 
 The young Lieutenant was roses blushing to- 
 gether. 
 
 She played well upon our feelings — very 
 well. I never saw her more translucent to me, 
 
Phase Two. 55 
 
 and I was never more attentive and true, 
 never. Not that he, for one rich moment, was 
 my brave rival, for in that role he never 
 played to either of us. And I could not con- 
 ceive he rashly played it unto himself, for he 
 never did. And so we both, my wife and I, 
 admired Nature for him, and with him, indoors 
 and out. My wife administered bonbons and 
 translucent sweetness. She showed very 
 motherly and tenderly to her boy. 
 
 And so we kissed him a warm adieu. God 
 bless you. Then it was I gave the almslady 
 my grapes. 
 
56 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 INDIVIDUAL COALESCENCE. 
 
 Heart to heart and hand in hand, my wife 
 and I were on our honey-mooning. Not that 
 we had not tasted wedded bliss for years, for 
 we had, as we both of us well knew, though 
 but a curtained veil transmuted her visible 
 loveliness at that time. What I do mean is 
 this, I could not see her with my own eyes, 
 and with scarcely the eyes of some other one. 
 I could not see through that veil in our earlier 
 married life. But now, right jauntily would 
 we sail right on together. We would let 
 every passing cloud just pass us by. 
 
 In most all the galleries we, she and I, 
 passed in front most all the pictures; yes, she 
 and I, in front. 
 
 We two never said we saw the pictures, we 
 could not see in quite an age together. Here 
 dame Nature wedded a Cupid, and we were 
 
Individual Coalescence. 57 
 
 assured the spectacle was intense, for it took 
 us both quite by surprise, and that, too, when 
 we were surprised before. 
 
 Then there was Art glued to Nature, which 
 we were almost sure we both admired, though 
 the contrast we much enjoyed ourselves 
 through it. I confess that Virgin Nature's 
 arms were loveliness to me, though when I felt 
 Bettina's wifely look piercing me, I closed my 
 eyes. And for her sweet sake and my own 
 we turned to a skeleton nailed to a tree, Bet- 
 tina and I. 
 
 Then I coyly blushed at the Sirens across 
 the gallery, all smiles for me or not for me, 
 just as I chose, though I inwardly mourned 
 for them, if it were not all dead loss. I told 
 my wife, Bettina, I looked on the grand im- 
 prints in the wall, those palpitating faints for 
 fresh courage to look on her comparatively. 
 
 And I meant it, for she, my own wife, was 
 lovelier to me than loveliest women, contrast 
 or no contrast. I disliked to call her tender 
 and round and the fairest of all the King's 
 daughters, either to myself or to her face, for 
 I both knew and felt she was to me, at least, 
 like every lady is to her own true knight. 
 
58 Ambiguities. 
 
 But the brazen serpent walking on his fcjt 
 or big toe, I meant great toe, or caudal ap- 
 pendage, or patented attachment of some kind, 
 was no longer a draw on us. So, too, the 
 accursed tree and all the salamander sirens, 
 because that painting of the fleshy arms drew 
 the crowd, illusionized. 
 
 If my own Bettina Amanda had then been 
 my imipersonal pronoun I could not have kept 
 my hand off that pictured arm of flesh, by — 
 Joe-no-ho, in spite of the guards. 
 
 I could not have done it, for you see it just 
 took hold of me until my own guardian angel 
 squeezed me away bodily. She brushed me 
 like a limber rag. She dragged me to the 
 Marbles, some saucy, impudent and proud, 
 while others hanged his head, ashamed of his 
 record, weazen thing. 
 
 I knew those engraven images were not 
 blind and knew not where I got the impres- 
 sion, though they had stone eyes. But the 
 most unaccountable thing of all, it was plain 
 to me, was the manner of my thoughts and 
 feelings, while I was in that strange gallery. 
 I was some one else than my former self all 
 the while we two were there. I was ungainly 
 
Individual Coalescence. 59 
 
 to myself in my own eyes. I was the reflec- 
 tion of a distorted mirror. And yet I was 
 not dwarfed, or awed, or humbled, but 
 ashamed at my own reflections. And I en- 
 joyed it all hugely — we, both of us. 
 
 And all the way home I saw she knew I 
 was keeping back something from her, while 
 she saw I knew she was keeping back some- 
 thing from me. She w^as not giving in to 
 me. I was not giving in to her — we mated. 
 Then she was not thinking of the affair and 
 I was not thinking of it. Then, again, she 
 was thinking of it and I was thinking of it; 
 not that it was mystic, for it was not mystic, 
 or was it ? 
 
 Unable to contain myself, I inflected, 
 "Whose picture?" 
 
 She deflected, "Whose picture?" 
 I added, "You're thinking of—" 
 She sighed. "And you?" 
 "I mean the Virgin on the wall." 
 "You mean that of the nude hussy." 
 "Yes, but whose is it?" coaxed I. 
 "You know well enough," she answered. 
 And then, once again, because understand- 
 ing one another, we were quite happily de- 
 
6o Ambiguities. 
 
 termined. The first one to meet us at our 
 own threshold was the picture, the picture of 
 the arm. It was not at all blood stained, it 
 was my wife's lady companion certain. Had 
 she presented her own painting to the Acad- 
 emy? 
 
 Incidentally, she said she was not aware of 
 the exhibition. Incidentally, we, wife and 
 husband, requested her to specially report pic- 
 ture No. 9 to us next day. We believed every 
 word she reported. We believed that the pic- 
 ture displayed no arm at all. I know we did. 
 
 Bettina and I did believe her when she was 
 loath not to report whose picture the thing 
 really was. She was sure of the right picture, 
 right number, right everything. 
 
 She went into ecstacies over the pictured 
 woman's grand gown and fine diamonds. Her 
 coiffure scintillated, her mantle was radiant. 
 She meant her head-dress was radiant, while 
 her skirt scintillated. Here she recorrected 
 herself. 
 
 Wife's companion kept on saying — she 
 went into raptures over some lace upon the 
 pictured lady's throat. Wife's companion fell 
 to her knees and held her both hands prayer- 
 
Individual Coalescence. 6i 
 
 fully together, pointed towards my wife. She 
 meant No. lo was my wife, my wife's por- 
 trait. 
 
 Thought I, did she mean it or didn't she 
 mean it? Were Bettina and I, each and both 
 of us, deceived, or was Souzoo, wife's com- 
 panion, deceiving me ? Impossible, thought I. 
 I will look up something for Souzoo. 
 
 I'll find a thing of hers in all this matter, 
 for I'm very much tickled over the complete, 
 combined aggregation. 
 
 Next day, with Bettina, my witness, I took 
 a cab and her for the exposition. I saw no 
 one and nothing on the way. I was blind 
 and deaf to all the paraphernalia of the big 
 show. My witness and I made straight for 
 No. 9. Bless my stars, there was nothing 
 there! Number 9 was a framed hobgoblin; 
 No. 10 her twin brother. We ransacked the 
 whole aggregation-convention for that picture. 
 
 I offered the management 1,000 louis d'or 
 for that picture. I multiplied it, all in vain. 
 
62 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 COMETS TAILLESS. 
 
 The banker realistically confirmed compan- 
 ion's statement. Had I something, after years 
 of sportiveness, to think about ? We two, hus- 
 band and wife, had slight acquaintance with 
 the banker. He fell to his knees on the tufted 
 carpet and apostrophized my wife before my 
 surprised eyes. I was used to efifete symbol- 
 ism, but the banker was extraordinary. 
 
 He prayed our pardon because he showed 
 ordinary. Was he to kiss the carpet figure 
 where my wife just stood? He lapped it. He 
 averred he would not permit her to touch her 
 finger tips on his fevered lips, then kiss and 
 kiss and kiss. 
 
 He protested he kissed the air she breathed, 
 the room she occupied, kissed his way through 
 all the world, from the gallery (No. 9), to 
 find her. 
 
Comets Tailless. 63 
 
 I would have lifted the banker bodily if he 
 had not grandiloquently sworn by check and 
 draft that he would not lay his hands upon 
 her nor touch a single hair upon her sacred 
 person, for he was a veteran worshipper of 
 female loveliness. He sought all his past for 
 one translucent woman and now he found her. 
 
 I helped him to the divan, where he was 
 very happy. 
 
 We were unconscious of the greatness of 
 the banker and only saw the individuality im- 
 pressed upon us. My wife and I sat very close 
 and concealed our conjugal felicity. We 
 blessed his wife and two charming daughters, 
 gone to Italy. 
 
 Bowing and saluting, he pompously departed, 
 promising himself to call daily. Should we 
 travel, too, to Italy hy the early train, or should 
 we solve the riddle of the picture, that of the 
 fleshy arm? Had the wealthy banker my 
 wife's picture secreted in his apartments? 
 Then it was I saw Bettina wore a cheerful 
 smile, but she only zvore it. 
 
 Was her portrait on the boards her heart's 
 delight? Or was there else back of the scenes, 
 I durst not even fancy. Had we always 
 
64 Ambiguities. 
 
 brewed happiness for one another against the 
 time when we should have our life-long meet- 
 ing? 
 
 Of one thing, only one thing, I was certain, 
 he had seen a likeness to my wife's reflection; 
 all else clearly was uncertain. We were hav- 
 ing one therefore, and it was we were still 
 very happy together, my wife and I. 
 
 This time I gave the peddler of poverty 
 my orange. Would wife resume the veil? 
 Was caste in her bones? Meanwhile, I had 
 her with me. 
 
Gloria Antebellum 65 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 GLORIA ANTEBELLUM. 
 
 Did I love myself? What a question. Did 
 I like gooseberry? 
 
 No, sir ; there were to be no more avalanches 
 of invitations for self and Betty, high or not. 
 There was to be no shim-sham of battles galore 
 for me (both) I shielded my fair lily from 
 the glories of war. Didn't we both love 
 ''vive Repuh-l-i-q-u-eT Didn't we prance 
 along the charging column bugling, ''Vive 
 republic r Didn't they boom-boom-boom, 
 ''Vive La Republic r Ours the glory, as ours 
 the crush all day long, all for the glory of 
 France. 
 
 We were happiness, we two. 
 
 We had our own select party of field mar- 
 shals. They were the banker, decorated. The 
 banker galloped like ''Wind," which he rode. 
 The banker was spurs, save his decorations 
 
66 Ambiguities. 
 
 and boots. The banker saluted me with his 
 sabre — swirr ! 
 
 Was Bettina to be the enemy he was charg- 
 ing? I returned the compliment when the 
 Field Marshals decorated me with the salute. 
 Our field of glory was just then, as if for al- 
 ways. Intenser glory kept coming on us. 
 Were all the marshals turned to the ladies? 
 Were they to crown me, or my queen, with 
 salvos? Were the bristling columns charging 
 up and charging down, were the "bristles" ma- 
 noeuvering? Was it "leap to the rear, parry by 
 the head, kneeling!" Was it "lunge, lunge, out, 
 guard, passe, d-e-p-1-o-y !" It was glory, all war, 
 all sheen, all sweet strains, and boomerangs! 
 bang, boom, b-a-n-g! 
 
 It was love of country, love of the grand 
 promenade, love of the saloon, and parks full 
 of transparent maids. 
 
 At the head of the columns and the thick 
 masses, I ambled home — Betty and I — feeling 
 almost better than myself. 
 
 I handed the poor veteran my purse. I scat- 
 tered coin. 
 
 That night my banker sent me more bouquets 
 bound by threads of gold. That night be re- 
 
Gloria Antebellum. 67 
 
 newed me his addresses, honeycombed. I was 
 to consider him my kindest of lovers. I was 
 his dove-love. I w^as his own dear "platonic," 
 his liaison, sub rosa. 
 
 He had no other "liaison." His wife and 
 daughter were finishing Italy. At the masquer- 
 ade dance that night he proposed marriage in 
 the curtained casement by the exotics, to me. 
 He offered to marry my Bettina. He proposed 
 a sealed contract for fourteen days. He intoned 
 ''daysf' — P. M., 6 o'clock, she was Mrs. F. 
 again. 
 
 In his mind, he armored his day-time bride 
 with solitaire diamonds, not borrowed. He 
 paraded his fairest bride — my ''translucent," 
 before the illustrious gaze of the Parisians. In 
 his mind, my bride was his cynosure of France 
 and glory. 
 
 I kept noting it w^as all in his mind, his artic- 
 ulating my bride for the day-time, glorying of 
 him. I blandly notified him to name the day 
 and terms, I to chose my second. He saw a 
 duel in my eyes and shook my hands. The 
 duel made us friends. We would have ten 
 days to revel in our duel appointments, and mu- 
 tual friendships, he for me, and vice versa. 
 
68 Ambiguities. 
 
 Did he prefer his paper cutter, then I pre- 
 ferred carbines. Should he prefer his rapier, 
 I choose my young cannon. With this good 
 hope of our great tragedy upon us, we enjoyed 
 the ball. I saw, he felt, like I, that our glori- 
 ous duel was fixed, sure and certain, and when 
 enacted it would surprise the papers. 
 
 I danced with my banker — my banker danced 
 with me. Betty waltzed with her companion 
 until we all quadrilled in the cotillion, and 
 changed partners, Betty to me, the duelist to the 
 companion. Was the companion the duelist- 
 banker's former friend? 
 
 I dismissed this as an improbable sugges- 
 tion. Might as well ask was Betty once a star, 
 a star actor, was the banker Betty's former 
 genius, might as absurdly ask anything foolish- 
 ly ridiculous, as was companion's photograph 
 exactly like Betty's photograph ? You might as 
 well imagine my duelist-banker was 99 years 
 old, plus 364 days. And yet, these foolish no- 
 tions danced in Betty's eyes, and danced in my 
 ears, and kept dancing to the refractory fiddle 
 string, until I laughed and Betty laughed, and 
 w^e all laughed together, we two of us, for we 
 were in harmony. 
 
Gloria Antebellum. 69 
 
 When the banker-entity first came to me, I 
 accepted the situation, he had along with him, 
 I never looked at all, fore or aft, for I had my- 
 self well in hand, as I thought. 
 
 I was down for a good time. Next, perhaps, 
 I would be treated to my gun club in front of 
 my debating event of the season. My target 
 practice was what I made it, good sport after 
 my mathematics, good for me. My dolly dar- 
 ling plugged the bull-eye. I loaded, she fired. 
 At our gun club, I parried, Dolly lunged at me 
 like a vixen. We slashed at one another with 
 our sa'ores, until I feared she thought me in- 
 vulnerable. I had been pleased to remain invul- 
 nerable too long. I should have fought the 
 banker day before yesterday. 
 
 Now I was to have the chance to duel to the 
 glorious finishing stroke for my own, own, old 
 woman, bless her ! 
 
 My cup bubbled over. When we two swam 
 together on the ambient trapeze, we altogether 
 felt our future duel was magnificent. We two 
 reciprocated everything — terms, place, time, 
 seconds and weapons. Nerve, muscle, cuisine 
 was hov/, then, become exceedingly pleasurable. 
 I loved onions. Certainly I was already much 
 
70 Ambiguities. 
 
 better. I was to get to be nerve itself, the pride 
 of Paris. 
 
 Therefore I began to pummel myself with 
 sand cushions. I erected myself in every con- 
 ceivable attitude everyv/here, in cold or heat, I 
 drilled every muscle, and came out of it all 
 smooth as a cucumber. 
 
 I was collecting myself. I was concentrating 
 in upper cuts, and rib-breakers. I was toughen- 
 ing but quickened. Betty ought to win. Betty 
 had to win. Betty was to win. 
 
 The time for the duel was in all especially 
 reasonable probability soon to be considered 
 definitely. The authorities were to be frus- 
 trated. Nothing short of a duel was to atone 
 the mortal offence given. . 
 
Coincidents Severed. 71 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 COINCIDENTS SEVERED. 
 
 I LAUGHED until I shook inwardly. Had I 
 imagination after all said. Betty had my con- 
 science, I said. I copied Bettina. 
 
 But then the French had honor, and French 
 honor was as much for me as it was for the 
 French. 
 
 Another queer thing happened me, it was 
 this, I had an idea. My idea was the drollest 
 idea. But it could survive independent of 
 words. I had a right to ask myself, did I know 
 my own idea? With it, I was non-combative. 
 
 My idea and I maintained pleasant relations. 
 We simply could not help our mutual esteem. 
 
 At my wife's request I frequently accom- 
 panied her lady companion to the public places 
 of amusement. For my wife's amusement, we 
 two, Farina and I, thus innocently occupied 
 
72 Ambiguities. 
 
 ourselves. We wished Bettina to fulfill her per- 
 sonal appointments. I wished her to indulge 
 her proper inclinations, for I was determined to 
 be pleased. Farina yearned for me to teach her 
 the mathematics, she had the music. 
 
 We established a family confessional, where 
 I freely told *'Bet" all Farina and I did and 
 saw, alvv^ays both going and coming, and when 
 there. Dear, good Bet believed my every word, 
 never doubting. I believed myself. It was all 
 like music, in one ear and out t'other — never 
 staying. We led a happy life — events trilling 
 through us. Since my Bettina scraped my ear 
 with the rapier, when we stood in the rear of 
 the curtain — she loved to have her own way, 
 not less than formerly. 
 
 Everything, however, occurred to keep us 
 happy. The golden slipper arrived. We had 
 punch in it. 
 
 At the exhibition we saw the ''beautifulest" 
 baby! My wife was charmed, because baby 
 could cry, and did cry, while my wife charmed 
 me on account of the baby. 
 
 Such a baby mouth, too, sweet, trilled Bet- 
 tina. "And such a baby-foot and such curls, 
 and eyes, and a real dimple! ain't it lovely!" 
 
Coincidents Severed. 73 
 
 We agreed the beautiful baby was a French 
 baby. 
 
 We told the French lady they certainly did 
 not import the we- wee, plump baby. The lady 
 was pleased to inform us that we rightly and 
 creditably informed her. I thought Bettina 
 permanently settled at long last, by the side 
 of that baby, for she loved to hear it sing. She 
 asked me whether they sold babies at the Ex- 
 position. Betty grew very communicative, so 
 that she was a fine study, in my view point. 
 She wondered how much a baby was worth. 
 
 The lady in attendance pointed to the tag. 
 It read, ''Sold to Banker, No. — Serpentine 
 Street. 
 
 Betty and I looked at one another, tears brim- 
 ming her eyes, while we silently passed on. 
 
 The banker found "a translucent baby." 
 
 That night, before retiring, my spouse asked 
 me to send her a poodle dog from the Dog 
 Show. Yes, certainly, to be sure, I loved 
 poodles, ribbons and wax dolls. She requested 
 me also to buy Farina a dream of a bonnet, "all 
 for Farina." 
 
74 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FOR NEW COMBINE. 
 
 The French banker sent me a candy pop- 
 gun concealed in a ''billet." He called to eat 
 ''farewell" with me. He wished a "merry- 
 making," because the duel haunted him. We 
 were first having a merry farewell. Previous 
 to the encounter we were to have rounds of big 
 dinners. We were to do Venice and laws know 
 what all. Thus the grim reality was happily 
 postponed. 
 
 This time he renewed his former proposal. 
 He remembered it to our lady Farina, acting in 
 behalf of my absent Bettina. Brushing aside 
 my explanations and expostulations, he was 
 convinced by his own eight senses that he was 
 addressing Bettina. I enjoyed the correc- 
 tion of his eccentricities. I shook him out 
 to the street, like a pug pup. I rever- 
 berated, "Coward!" I was done trifling with 
 
For New Combine. 75 
 
 eccentricities. My own good sense was in- 
 volved. I enjoyed the exercise of my manhood. 
 That was enough. I never thought of conse- 
 quences. 
 
 My idea was refreshing. I, then, saved Fa- 
 rina from falling. 
 
76 Ambiguities. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 GOLDEN WEDDING. 
 
 The banker's ways were not purely French 
 ways. He had not thus convinced me. Was 
 Farina ''lucent" ? He called her ''luscious" ; 
 that weazened flapdoodle, that ninety and nine 
 years, that emasculate wormwood ! 
 
 I saw not my own ways. I took it for 
 granted, he also saw no peculiarity in me. I 
 fancied I was ebb and flow of mankind. I sup- 
 posed he had motives. He thought they were 
 good for him. He was after gratification of his 
 vanity, nothing more, nothing less. But then, 
 we were against that gratification. Ourselves 
 were compromised by every suggestion belong- 
 ing to his proposal. His only excuse was the in- 
 fatuation of his great age. Even that did not 
 help him out of his guiltiness, or out of our 
 reach. 
 
 I confess I shuddered at complications of any 
 
Golden Wedding. 77 
 
 character. I confess we less courted publicity 
 always two sided. We might have to stand 
 even publicity. But then, he feared exposure. 
 Would he turn the tables on us? 
 
 Did we know the savant? I even came to 
 enjoy my helplessness in the matter. Where I 
 was blamable that I did not reason backwards. 
 I was fonder of being happy than of being 
 right. Yes, I was getting very much better. 
 Would I ever be able to withstand a lecture? 
 Was I to meet those "truly happy" ? Was I to 
 attain the next best to it ? Was I to evangelize 
 myself? Deliver us. 
 
 At one thing I laughed right heartily. Bet- 
 tina sued me for a divorce. She alleged I 
 bought Farina a costly bonnet, while Bettina 
 went bareheaded in the w^eather. Certainly I 
 believed my senses. Bettina legally proceeded 
 by her best friend, the great banker. Poor, best 
 words how I loved ye, to name to me all my 
 hilarious folly ! Bettina was departed from me 
 for the saloon of the savants, gone for good. 
 Bettina, the pride of my life, the joy of my soul 
 — fled from me. 
 
 What magic art invoked by that finished im- 
 postor ! This complication twisted me, though I 
 
78 Ambiguities. 
 
 laughed a little after dinner, a very little bit. 
 Would Farina cling to my cause like mucilage 
 to an envelope? Would she turn the tables on 
 him? Would she remove the spell from Bet- 
 tina? 
 
 I flung myself down at her mercy, sobbing, 
 "Farina!" and kissed her brow and promised 
 her everything. Great Vidio! Was she, too, 
 become translucent? Next they made me im- 
 ponderable. 
 
 But I'd "translucent" that fellow when I got 
 him, I'd ''imponderable'' him also when I got 
 him ! When I got him, there'd be forgiveness 
 for some one, free pardon. 
 
 Surely I was getting happy, two enjoyable, 
 if not ridiculously laughable affairs — duel and 
 divorce. My integrity, if nothing more, de- 
 manded that I enlist Farina and keep her on my 
 side. She would establish the truth for me. 
 She knew that Bettina shared everything with 
 Farina, myself included. The two women were 
 "loving sisters." 
 
 Bettina had said my kindness to Farina was 
 kindness to Bettina. Indeed she refused to re- 
 ceive more at my hands, more of affectionate 
 regards, than became Farina's. I was invalid. 
 
Golden Wedding. 79 
 
 I had not punched hard, when she and I 
 boxed with the gloves. I did not hit back when 
 she repierced my ear. I was always consid- 
 erate, kind and tender, always. She never 
 screamed in my ear, and I never snorted like 
 a sea-horse, no never. I never pewked vitu- 
 perate abuse all over her, and she never spat 
 recriminative lies in my face, so help me Isis. 
 She never blew off a whole mess of false jeal- 
 ousies across her decayed false teeth in my 
 nostrils, when I once, only once soberly re- 
 mained to hear the oratory until 4 o'clock in 
 the morning. 
 
 I knelt to Farina. I implored my perfumed 
 goddess. Had I ever so much as walloped Bet- 
 tina, had I ever even once paddled her hands 
 or her wrist, or her collar bone ? Paralyze my 
 false teeth if I did ! 
 
 Farina, toying with her tired ankle, sweetly 
 smiled through her tears. 
 
 "Now, Hans," she laughed, holding to the 
 light her rosy finger. 
 
 She talked for all the world like a Dutch 
 girl, a Bohemian. She assured me that I had 
 been kind to "Betete." She knew I had loved 
 her, and loved her now, and always. 
 
So Ambiguities. 
 
 Then we two, Farina and I, waltzed the 
 room, while the blind chef blindly dozed in the 
 corner, his nose glued to his violin-bridge, 
 until both fell with a crash. 
 
 She espoused my cause, m.y case was to be 
 won. Then in all the light she, too, became 
 translucent! Farina was not Bettina to me, 
 but only her sister. She would restore me my 
 own good Bettina, and that right early 
 
 How I loved that good, dear Monsieur who 
 behind my back called me ''Hans." After all 
 his bland exterior, w^as Monsieur passionate? 
 Was Monsieur passion, beautiful letters ? Was 
 my good Bettina a temporary devotee to Artf 
 
 Farina herself informed me — I looked pas- 
 sively on the establishment. I bought sister 
 Farina liveried lackeys, and bright pages, girls 
 and boys. 
 
 I looked complacently on the big stakes joy- 
 ously showered on me from my delightful path- 
 way. I attended the games, for pleasure in 
 them. I showered diamonds on Farina for the 
 banker. He it was who again wooed me, in be- 
 half of my wife's adored sister, for he informed 
 me the day was fixed. 
 
 My argosy for witnesses in his divorce trial 
 
Golden Wedding. 8i 
 
 was to be a dead certainty. He promised me an 
 encounter with carbines, right after the trial. 
 I was deHghted, for I was pleased to be a dupe 
 for the pleasure there was in it. Pleasure was 
 everything. He indited me an apostrophe for 
 my Bettina, wife's sister. The ode was in let- 
 ters of gold on a surface of silver. He apos- 
 trophized ''Beauty, the Twin Sister," he called 
 her. 
 
 Was he again my Fortuna? Did he shower 
 on me sweepstakes, my establishment and men 
 in livery? Was he, my Fortune, blind to all 
 the Teuton in me? Was Monsieur Irish, sure 
 as he was born? 
 
 Might as well say our African cook was Fa- 
 rina's father, guarding her with a jealous care. 
 Did I think to brush out all my palace, valets 
 and all, for the pleasure of my whim? Did I? 
 I asked. 
 
 Was it my pleasure to pay my detectives to 
 preserve me from my physician and my valet? 
 I called on the madam of the gilded saloon. 
 Her interpreter accepted my plate of rubies in- 
 tended for the madam. I threw myself upon 
 the madam and pressed her to my shirt-front. 
 I tore the thick veil from her face, and im- 
 
82 Ambiguities. 
 
 printed kisses on her face, wherever I could. 
 The female attendant collapsed at the Madam's 
 feet, clutching the rubies. I expected her to 
 scream. I bore the Madam from the saloon to 
 the cab at the curb. Then we drove down 
 town fast. I knew my own wife, when I caught 
 her. 
 
 I disillusionized my wife when in the nest 
 prepared for her. Meanwhile, I let the banker 
 and Farina disappear together, honeymooning 
 to Italy. I discharged all my fine appointments, 
 trained nurses and all. My own wife was 
 mine again. I saved her every explanation, for 
 I had disenchanted Monsieur Banker, the old 
 fool, loo years old, yet crazy after women, the 
 phantoms of his emasculated mind. But what 
 had he done with the most beautiful baby? 
 The baby, sure enough, the baby. 
 
 Would Farina bring back that hoty totty 
 dumpling boy? 
 
 For my wife's own sake — should we hasten 
 to Germany? When I showered fees on my 
 lawyers, had they not forbade my argosy for 
 witnesses ? Had they not cut and dried my case 
 with the new code? With my perquisites for 
 them, rny case was as though tried. That is, 
 
Golden Wedding. 83 
 
 it never was to be tried. We were spared the 
 fame, for our own glory's sake. 
 
 All Betty's past and all my past was now as 
 though it never was for her and me. Now she 
 was my betrothed — I her lover, just think of it ! 
 Now, she was my bride — I her own "old man," 
 her adoring husband. She was as pure as the 
 lily. She was purer than the lily and more 
 spotless than the snow, or violets, now rant, 
 baby. 
 
 I was too pleased to objurgate myself or the 
 mother of the gods. Now she reigned in me, 
 so that I reigned through her. We celebrated 
 the coronation of the most beautiful wax-doll 
 enthroned on her piano stool. Bettina played 
 and sang to the forward child. Bettina was 
 radically cured of her desire to be personally 
 immolated on Art's altars in the saloon. To 
 facilitate her domestic bliss I slept over the mat- 
 ter of another establishment for her. I came 
 to consider the duel as most absurd and ridicu- 
 lous. Would I duel my great-grandmother, 
 Erin go Bragh? Monsieur D. M. Egonis? 
 
 My memories bury with me. Yet I do con- 
 fess I was tender in conscience. I felt chanc- 
 ing it was unmercifully cruel, wicked and 
 
84 Ambiguities. 
 
 charlatan. And yet the game-infested place 
 captivated, charmed, fascinated poor, weak me. 
 
 It was after the masquerade ball, and I was 
 all excitement. The Knight of the Black 
 Masque played awkwardly, intentionally, or 
 not, I cared not. I — of the white mask, thrice 
 vanquished him at cards. I felt larger, I almost 
 said bigger, than Paris, my conceptions were 
 exaggerated and swift. I was like when I was 
 a drowning man, just out from under the ice, 
 in the river, boozy. 
 
 My fancy was busied with my memory, soon 
 sober as my judge. I staked my all and lost. 
 Old fool that I was, enacting the old, old story. 
 I saw it all, all at a glance — more than the stage 
 has words for, let alone vain babble. I was a 
 totally ruined man. I instantly perceived what 
 that meant, though I helplessly felt I did not 
 just then, and could not take in, all my ruin 
 meant to me, and the rest. Mechanically my 
 hand was on the jeweled handle in my hip 
 pocket. Instantly strong hands bore me to the 
 bath. Here they soused me in the hot and cold 
 water, and kneaded me, like dough, as usual. 
 
 Exhausted, and then exhilarated, I enjoyed 
 the fine aroma of the hot coffee. The fragrant 
 
Golden Wedding. 85 
 
 fumes from my long-stemmed pipe soothed my 
 nerves. I fancied I was the same bald eagle 
 I was during previous baths. They had not 
 kicked me out, like a dog. I respected gentle- 
 manly qualities everywhere. I would pay my 
 great debt of honor to the last sou. I would 
 face dire penury in the face, like a man. I 
 would try again. Surely my luck had not 
 turned against me, alack ! As a new sensation I 
 even welcomed this, this strange freak of For- 
 tune. 
 
 Heretofore I had to win ; restitution was dis- 
 honorable and not "gamey," not in the game, 
 as was deception. Was the Black Knight an 
 American ? He talked French to a T, with the 
 accuracy of volubility. He inhaled and exhaled 
 French nasals and fairly hissed French labials, 
 while his gutturals were fairly mellifluous. 
 
 And yet I overheard him say. "Hokey, 
 pokey !" And then I thought he once said, ^we- 
 uns." He was an American, but no Puritan, 
 by Jumbo. 
 
 I confessed all, everything, all my crime and 
 stupendous folly to my own wife, the wife of 
 my choice and true heart, my cynosure of my 
 devotion, and the object of my protecting care, 
 
86 Ambiguities. 
 
 my dove, my Bettina Amanda Janet. With her 
 full arms encircling my brawny shoulders, she 
 crowned me the great hero of the hour with all 
 the wealth of love of her woman, great heart. 
 I cried, "Host, I lost r 
 
 Her great eyes sparkled and leaped for joy 
 of her love for me. Her expressive eyes, the 
 gift of a noble race, flashed like a true wife's 
 eyes flash, when they shine above ''purest rays 
 serene." I had to yield to my emotions. Even 
 the gems of poetry, I felt, were absolutely far 
 short of exaggeration, when applied to her, at 
 that time, for sure. 
 
 I instantly felt, others were and would be 
 in my predicament, nice sympathy. And 
 though I talked neither coherently, nor intel- 
 ligibly, yet she understood right off, all and 
 more than my meaning. 
 
 Poor, we came in the world, — in one sense, 
 and we would have to tramp and try again. Bet- 
 tina faced the new situation more philosophi- 
 cally than even I did. She would wear well. 
 We began our new life, or last supper in town, 
 with tea and toast. We were fancifully ab- 
 stemious for one another's sake, for we were 
 both positive that we had little appetite, respec- 
 tively. Not even the baked apple floating on 
 
Golden Wedding. Sy 
 
 cream cake and wine sauce tempted me to 
 drown it. We reserved it for the sick child 
 next door. 
 
 Then who should burst in on us, like a good 
 angel, but Farina Lucella herself. She hugged 
 and kissed us alternately, bent on having a full 
 vent to the free flow of her kindly feelings. 
 We could tell her nothing, not a word, she knew 
 it all, my ruin included, our distress, our plans, 
 our everythings. 
 
 ''Black Knight d-i-a-b-1-o !" she stormed; 
 here she clasped both her hands and stretched 
 her full arms upward and downward, from 
 above her head almost to the carpet, like she was 
 crushing a false knight, or a dirty liar. 
 
 She exclaimed : "American'm'n, mebby, zat 
 mon he c-h-e-a-t you ! Zat mon, my own Old- 
 m'n! Monsieur shall make ze amende hono- 
 rable. Monsieur fear ze true light. I, his light, 
 your light. Cadet Lieutenant, Madam's own 
 son, witness. Chef, he two witness." 
 
 Soothing and caressing the two true women, 
 as best I could do, I could scarce believe my 
 own senses. How had that astute, elderly sin- 
 ner vamoosed me again in this royal fashion? 
 Once clearly convinced of his daring fraud, and 
 
88 Ambiguities. 
 
 brazen effrontery, 1 simply refused to pay him, 
 Metaphorically I shook him out, dust and all. 
 I twisted his nostrils, his blamed proboscis. 
 
 Impotent as the polished rascal certainly 
 was, I almost resolved to thrash him within an 
 inch of his profligate life. Judge of my feel- 
 ings when he confronted me with the Lieuten- 
 ant, my wife's long absent son, dear boy. 
 
 Monsieur, the irrepressible, was interested in 
 my dear Lieutenant's promotion, very inter- 
 ested. Monsieur was genuine politeness itself, 
 genuine. Monsieur adore the military, and 
 longed for a foster son to become Field Mar- 
 shal. Monsieur kissed the air the ladies kissed, 
 then he kissed the Lieutenant, whom he prom- 
 ised an ode, and plume. 
 
 But Monsieur dared never mention that little 
 due bill, the smart fox knew better. And then 
 we were going to have an extra good time. 
 Our distant relative was coming to visit us. 
 He was sure to bring the baby. His wife had 
 or had not donned the mystic veil. I could not 
 make out, while Farina and our boy were to 
 carry out a good old-fashioned flirtation. 
 
 And we were all to sail for New York, on 
 Saturday morning, at 12 o'clock. And to Mon- 
 
Golden Wedding. 89 
 
 sieur with all his latent goodness, we said, ''fare 
 thee well," and threw kisses at Neptune and 
 salt hoss. 
 
 On our way out, in midocean, as per prom- 
 ise, we read Monsieur's epistolary donation to 
 and for us, and commented as we read. 
 
 His address was to — 
 
 ^'Latterly, the Mr. Fiddlesticks." 
 
 He somehow wrote across the face of the 
 envelope, ''If not delivered return to the Former 
 Mrs. Fiddlesticks." 
 
 "Former," was accentuated. He promised 
 to meet her in New York on the anniversary of 
 his 97th birthday, the disingenuous prevarica- 
 tor of mathematical figures, incarnate pecca- 
 dillo, maimed in the socket of his right limb! 
 The unappreciated but unconscious demon- 
 strator of foreign proclivities! He wrote, 
 "Kisses for all, and the mathematics." 
 
 Let us eliminate a varied past. Let us only 
 look on any possible mistakes, in the hope of 
 further improvement. Let us cheerfully meet 
 the near future in the active present, at the 
 trysting place. 
 
 We are always blest. We are stable, perma- 
 
90 
 
 Ambiguities. 
 
 nent, so long as we are in the right view — our- 
 selves approving ourselves. 
 
 Let us do all we can; let us do the best we 
 can. Have v/e always so acted? When we 
 shall have done this, who knows what will come 
 to us? 
 
1OO0^ 
 
FEB. T 1902 
 
 FEB. 14 1902