Part 17 (1/2)

--The American!

July 18th.

Still another day, and no news from the publisher's. The time is nearly up--I can not wait much longer.

They have rejected The Captive! They have rejected The Captive! In G.o.d's name, what does it mean? They have rejected The Captive!

I stared at the paper in blank consternation! I couldn't realize the words, I couldn't understand what they meant. Such a thing never occurred to me in my wildest moment.

What is the matter with them--are they mad? Great G.o.d, that any human creature!--And without a line about it!

--”We have carefully considered the MS. which you have kindly offered us, and regret that we are not advised to undertake its publication. We are returning the MS. with thanks for your courtesy in submitting it.”

That letter came to me like a blow in the face.--I have spent hours to-night pacing the streets, almost speechless. Fools!

--But I will not let such a thing disturb me for an instant. Yes, they are a great publis.h.i.+ng-house--but such things as I have seen them publis.h.!.+ And they ”regret.” Well, you _will_ regret, some day, never fear!

July 19th.

The ma.n.u.script arrived this morning. I took it up-stairs and sat down, trembling, and read it all again.

I wish that I could see the man or woman who read that poem and rejected it--just that I might see what kind of looking person it is. Oh, the wildness of it, the surge and the roar of it! The glory of it!

I can not afford to waste my time worrying about such things. I only say ”Fools!”

--I took it to another publisher. I don't know any in particular, but I will try the best. This publisher didn't seem very anxious to read it. Go ahead, try it!--Or are you a fool too?

--Of course I shall have to begin tramping around, looking for some work again. I must find something better than the last.

July 20th.

Nervous, impatient--it is so that I have lived. Never to waste an instant has been my pa.s.sion. I have struggled, watched, fought for a minute. If ever I were held back or kept idle it drove me wild, and I burst through everything. It has always been a torture to me not to be thinking something.

But less of that torture than I have now, I think I never had; it seems as if I had won the mastery--I mind nothing any more. I walk upon the air, and I never tire. Thoughts--endless thoughts--come to me without ever the asking; nothing disturbs me, nothing hinders me--I take everything along with me.--I am full of impulse, of life, of energy!--