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The Journal of Arthur Stirling: "The Valley of the Shadow", a novel by Upton Sinclair |
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Part 2. Seeking A Publisher - April 3d. -- April 28th. |
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_ PART II. SEEKING A PUBLISHER April 3d. -- April 28th. It has been another week. I could not stand it any more. I am going over to the publishers' again this afternoon. --What in Heaven's name does this thing mean? I met the satisfied smile of the clerk again. "We have never seen the manuscript, Mr. Stirling!" If you could only see how positive she is! "I don't know anything about what the editor told you, I can only tell you positively that he has never submitted any such manuscript to the firm, or to anybody connected with the firm." That thing drove me wild. I don't know what to make of it. Surely he's given it to some one, for he told me so. I went up to the magazine rooms, and he was in his office; but he had left word that he would not see any one, and they would not even take in my name. * * * * * April 4th. I can do nothing but haunt that place till I find out what it means! It has been three weeks and a half since he gave it to them, and he said I would hear at once. What in the world does he think it means to me? Can't I presume the slightest gleam of interest, of care, on his part? * * * * * April 5th. To-day I could not stand it any longer. I went to the place again. I saw the manuscript clerk once more--the same answer. I went upstairs; he was there again, but busy. I wrote a note and left it. I explained that I did not in the least wish to trouble him, but that the thing meant a great deal to me, and that I had the utmost need of promptness; that it had been almost four weeks since he gave it to the firm, and that nobody there seemed to know anything about it. * * * * * April 7th. He did not answer my letter! I thought I should hear to-day. O God, this is the most tormenting thing! Think what it means! And what in Heaven's name has he done? Surely some one--he must have given it to some one! Only why in the world doesn't he understand my perplexity and explain? * * * * * April 9th. No letter yet. I went back to the publishers' again this morning. I have been wandering by the place every day since. They had not seen it yet. She said she'd have the firm inquire, but I said not to, as it might annoy him. "He surely has given it to some one, you know."--She laughed at me. I went up to the magazine office again. He was not there, but I saw his associate. The associate did not know anything about it either. * * * * * April 10th. I waited one day more and no answer. I wrote to him again to-night, begging him to please reply. * * * * * --I have begun several novels, but I can't get interested in them. I am simply sick. I came out of that horrible restaurant with money enough to do me for ten weeks, and here are over five of them gone in this hideous way. Oh, it is monstrous! It has been nine weeks and a half since I gave him that poem in the beginning! I never spent nine such weeks of horror in my life. * * * * * April 12th. "In answer to your letter I beg to inform you that the manuscript of The Captive is now in the hands of the firm, and that you may expect a decision in about a week." So! It is a relief at any rate to know that the thing is all right. I can wait a little better now. Of course I knew it must be there. A plague on that foolish clerk! * * * * * April 14th. All the while that I am writing about this thing I keep up my courage by thinking what it will mean to me. It is something so immense that I can hardly realize it. I shall be famous!--And he really liked it, there can be no doubt about that! He was too busy to talk much, but he showed he liked it. * * * * * April 17th. Oh my soul, I think this is the most frightful thing--is it not simply a nightmare? I have been pacing the floor to-night in an agony. _They have never seen that manuscript_! I was going by there to-day, and I couldn't withstand the temptation; the week was not up, but I said: "If I inquire, there's no reason why he should know about it." I went in. And that terrible clerk--she smiled at me still! The more I talked, the more she shook her head. "There's no such manuscript ever been seen here," she said. I showed her the letter, and that decided her to go in and see the firm. They sent out word that neither they nor their readers had ever heard of it, but that they would write to the editor at once. * * * * * Oh, I think this is horrible--horrible! And then just guess what I did! I couldn't bear the agony--I went to the other place, and he wasn't there, and so at last I went to his club. He wasn't at the club, but they told me where he was; and I spent ten cents telephoning him. At this place they said he had an engagement to be there later, so I spent another ten cents, and that time I found him. I told him who I was. "The week isn't up yet," I said, "but the firm say they have never received the manuscript." "So?" he said; his voice sounded hard, I thought, and it made me shudder. "You come up to see me the day after to-morrow at ten o'clock, and you'll hear about your manuscript." And that is all. And I walked out of the great, rich club, and I have been pacing up and down in my own garret ever since. I am almost too ill with anxiety to stand. * * * * * April 18th. And to-day I can only wait. Once I lay down upon the bed and cried. * * * * * April 19th. I don't know how to tell this thing. I am simply dazed. I had an experience to-day--the most hideous thing that I think ever happened to me in my life. Oh, I have been like a madman ever since--I lost my head--I did not know what I was doing. I was really crazy--it is three o'clock in the morning, now, but I shall write it down--I can not sleep. * * * * * To-day I went up to see that man as he told me to. I went trembling with suspense--just think, it has been eleven weeks since this agony began. And I went into his office--he was alone; and when he saw me he sprang to his feet--my soul, he looked like a tiger. He stood there in the middle of the room fairly gasping with rage. "So," he cried, "you've come, have you! I tell you, young man, I have never been subjected to such an outrage as this in my life! I would not read another manuscript for you--why, I wouldn't stand for such an imposition from Balzac or Thackeray--no, sir, I wouldn't!" I stared at the man simply speechless with astonishment. "Why," I panted, "what do you mean?" "What do I mean? Why, you have hounded me about this city until I'm crazy. There's no place I can go to escape you. You come to my office, you come here, you come to my club! You have made yourself a perfect pest at the publishers to every one! Why--" He stopped out of breath. Of course I have no courage or head with men--I was ready to grovel at his feet. "My dear sir," I pleaded, "I assure you I didn't mean to do anything of the kind--it was only that the clerk kept telling me--" "I don't care what the clerk kept telling you! I tell you that that manuscript has been in the hands of the company since the day I told you I would leave it there. Of course there have been delays, there is all sorts of routine to go through with; but suppose all our contributors did the same thing--what would we do?" He was talking at me as if expecting a reply. Fortunately the right words came to my lips--I was really ready to cry with shame and perplexity. "I don't think it is quite the same with all your contributors," I said, with a trembling voice. "While I have been waiting I have been simply starving." It seemed to clear the atmosphere. He stared at me, and then he sat down. He was ashamed of himself, I could see. "Why," he said, "you couldn't have been paid anything for months." "I didn't know," I said, "I didn't know anything about it. But I have been starving." He spoke more quietly. "Mr. Stirling," he said, "I'm very sorry about this, the whole thing has been unfortunate. Excuse me that I spoke angrily; let us not think any more about it." I stood there, feeling almost like crying, I was so nervous. "Now, about that manuscript," he went on, "I'm doing what I can to learn about it. It's been there all along, as I told you, and you will hear about it soon. Why, Mr. Stirling, I even took the trouble to send my secretary down there yesterday to make sure that it was all right." "I did not want you to go to any such trouble," I stammered. "That's all right," he said, "don't mention it. Now they will have decided in a few days, and I will write you--" "No, please do not," I said, still with my abject humility. "Don't take any more trouble--let me go there and find out--" "By no means!" said he. "Take my advice and don't go near there again under any circumstances. You can't tell how much an author hurts himself by troubling a publisher as you have done. Don't go near there--let me write to you." I promised that I would; and then with more abjectness I got myself out of that room, and I went out and sat down upon a step near by, simply shaking like a leaf. "Oh, heavens!" I gasped. "That was horrible! Horrible!" * * * * * I sat dazed--thinking about it--thinking it over and over--I couldn't understand it, try as I might. Why should he have been so angry _that_ day--had he not told me to come there? And had he not said I should have a report? * * * * * --And then suddenly something flashed over me that made me leap! That firm had written him a letter the day before yesterday asking about the manuscript, and _that_ was why he was angry! And he had sent his secretary down to inquire!--But why in Heaven's name should he send his secretary down to inquire _when he had a telephone connecting with the firm right there in his office_! And so I saw it--all in one instant the thing flashed over me! I was so wild I paid a car-fare--I rode straight as a die down to that place, and I went in and saw the clerk. "He has sent the manuscript now," I said, "hasn't he?" "Yes," she said. "He sent it in yesterday?" I said. "Yes." "He sent it by his secretary, didn't he?" "Yes," she said again. "Thank you," I answered, and went out. * * * * * Is not that simply monstrous, simply awful beyond words? I have been beside myself tonight with rage, with amazement, with perplexity. Oh, think what I have suffered at the hands of that frightful man! And what have I _done_ to him--why should he have treated me so? What does it mean? I am baffled every way I turn. The thing is like flame in my blood--like acid in my veins. It makes me hysterical with pain. I cry aloud. * * * * * --What do you mean by it, you monster, you wretch? Why, here for eleven weeks I have been hanging upon your every word--eleven weeks of my life spent in torment--absolutely flung away! _Eleven weeks!_ And you have lied to me--and you have kicked me about like a dog! What do you mean? What do you mean? Tell me, above all, _why_ you did it! Were you torturing me on purpose? Or did you simply forget it? But then, how could you forget it when you had to tell me all those miserable falsehoods? And when you had to write me those letters? And then to-day! That is the thing that goads me most--to-day! I stood there cringed before you like a beaten cur--you kicked me--you spit upon me! And it was every bit of it a lie! That insolent rage of yours--why, it wasn't even genuine! You weren't even angry--you knew that you had no reason to be angry--that you had treated me as if I were a worm to tread on! And yet you stood there and abused me! Oh--why, the thing is madness to think of! It is more madness the more you realize it! I have never known anything like it before in my life. Yes--actually--it is something quite new to me. I have met blind people--people who would not heed me--but a really evil person I have never known before! A person who has no respect for another's rights--who would trample upon another! Oh, you miserable wretch--and the lies--the lies! The hateful sneaking of it--you black-hearted, insolent man! The manuscript had been there all the time! _The delays, the routine_! And you had sent your secretary down to inquire! And above all--oh, above all--the prince of them--I must not go near there lest I should injure myself! I must not go near them--they were so weary of seeing me! And I never saw a single soul there in my life but one clerk! I never suffered such a thing as this before in all my days--deliberate, brutal injustice! And that I should be so placed as to be a victim of such a thing--that I should have to hang upon your words and to be at your mercy for eleven weeks of agony! You are a great editor, a clubman, a rich man! You have fame and power and wealth--and you stand up there and scald me with your rage--and with your heart a mess of lies all the time! * * * * * --But _why_ did you do it? That is the thing I ask myself in consternation. Why? _Why?_--Were you not interested in my work? If you weren't--why didn't you give it back to me, and let me go my way? And if you were--if you had any idea of publishing it--then why did you use me in this way? Where was the manuscript all this time? What did you mean to do with it? How long did you expect me to wait? And what object did you have in telling me untruths about it meanwhile? --The whole thing is as blank to me as night. That a man should have in him so much infinite indifference about another as to leave that manuscript in a drawer, and write me that I was to "have a report on it within a week"! Why, it is something of which I can not even think. And then to get out of it by that sham anger and that sneaking!-- * * * * * April 20th. I have done absolutely nothing but brood over this thing and rage all day. What am I to do?--I sat and wondered if there was anything I could do but go and shoot that man. And I asked myself: Ought I not at least to go and get the manuscript from that accursed place this instant? Ought I not to have taken it then and there? But see the utter misery of my situation, the abject shame of it--suppose they were to take the thing! It is my one hope in this world--I dare not lose it--I have to leave it there! * * * * * But then, what hope is there now? I ask. Why, he was going to urge it upon them! And now, of course, he's simply sent it in there without a word! Don't you see what it was--it was that letter of inquiry they wrote him! He paid no more attention to me than if I were a hound; but he had to send it when they wrote! And perhaps they said something about carelessness and that made him wild. Oh, the thing is an endless spring of gall to me! I am all raw with it--I have to rush out on the street and walk away my passion. I never saw my situation so plainly--the horrible impotence of it! Just see what I struggle against, the utter insane futility of everything I do! Why, I beat my wings in a void, I hammer my head against a wall! * * * * * --And now I must wait for that thing to come back--don't I know that it will come back? And don't I know that that will be the end of me? A black, horrible gloom has settled down upon me. I am utterly lost in despair. * * * * * April 21st. I will write no more about that man--my whole being is turned to bitterness. I wonder at myself--I have no longer one feeling left in this world except a black brooding hatred of him! * * * * * --And all the time the thing haunts me like a detective story--I can't find the solution! What does it mean? Why did he do it? It is so irrational--so impossible--so utterly incomprehensible! And shall I _never_ know the truth about it? * * * * * April 24th. "We regret that we are not advised to undertake the publication of The Captive. We return the manuscript by express." * * * * * There it is! I read that thing, and I felt my whole being sinking down as if into hell. There it is! And that is the end of it all! Oh, merciful Providence, is it not simply too cruel to be believed! Eleven weeks! _Eleven weeks_! * * * * * --I can do no more--I do not know where to turn. I believe I shall go mad with my misery. * * * * * April 25th. To-day I thought I would go up and see him--I thought I could not live until I knew what this thing meant. I heard myself saying, "I _demand_ to know why you treated me thus? I say I demand it! Before God, how _dared_ you--or don't you believe in a God?" * * * * * --Then again I thought, I will plead with him. It must be some mistake--I can't believe that it is all over. Why, he liked it! And now perhaps it was only looked over by some careless reader and flung aside! But no--I could not go near the place! I could not face that man again. The memory of his look as he stood there in his insolence is so hateful to me that it makes me tremble. * * * * * April 26th. I see myself crying this out from the housetops. I even wrote a letter to a newspaper, but I did not send it. I went to a lawyer, a man I used to know. I told him I had no money--I asked him to help me. But I can not sue him--he was under no obligations, it seems; and I can not prove that the manuscript was injured in value by the delay. So there is nothing that I can do. He will go his way--he will never think of me again. He is rich and famous.-- * * * * * --I have just nine dollars left of my money. I can not possibly make it do more than three or four weeks; and meanwhile I sit and brood and watch them go by in blank despair. * * * * * April 28th. I fight with myself--I must get that hellish thing out of my head! I went to a publisher's to-day--I didn't have the heart to go in, but I gave it to the clerk. It will take two or three weeks. This will be the eighth publisher. * * * * * I said to-day: "I will force myself to read, I will get myself together; I will not let myself be stamped to the mud by this man." * * * * * There is nothing I can do about it--I only poison my whole soul thinking of it. I must put it out of my mind--I must work! _ |
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