vivid black eyes； with the tears of rage and shame in them； and his cold
blue eyes。 This must be the climax； and just at this point I gave my
fancy a rest； while I went into a drugstore at the corner of Avenue B to
get my hands warm。
They were abominably cold； even in my pockets； and I had suffered past
several places trying to think of an excuse to go in。 I now asked the
druggist if he had something which I felt pretty sure he had not； and
this put him in the wrong； so that when we fell into talk he was very
polite。 We agreed admirably about the hard times； and he gave way
respectfully when I doubted his opinion that the winters were getting
milder。 I made him reflect that there was no reason for this； and that
it was probably an illusion from that deeper impression which all
experiences made on us in the past； when we were younger； I ought to say
that he was an elderly man； too。 I said I fancied such a morning as this
was not very mild for people that had no fires； and this brought me back
again to Janssen and Marina； by way of the coke…cart。 The thought of
them rapt me so far from the druggist that I listened to his answer with
a glazing eye； and did not know what he said。 My hands had now got warm；
and I bade him good…morning with a parting regret； which he civilly
shared； that he had not the thing I had not wanted； and I pushed out
again into the cold； which I found not so bad as before。
My hero and heroine were waiting for me there； and I saw that to be truly
modern； to be at once realistic and mystical； to have both delicacy and
strength； I must not let them get further acquainted with each other。
The affair must simply go on from day to day； till one morning Jan must
note that it was again the grandmother and no longer the girl who was
following his cart。 She must be very weak from a long sicknessI was
not sure whether to have it the grippe or not； but I decided upon that
provisionally and she must totter after Janssen； so that he must get down
after a while to speak to her under pretence of arranging the tail…board
of his cart； or something of that kind； I did not care for the detail。
They should get into talk in the broken English which was the only
language they could have in common； and she should burst into tears； and
tell him that now Nina was sick； I imagined making this very simple； but
very touching； and I really made it so touching that it brought the lump
into my own throat； and I knew it would be effective with the reader。
Then I had Jan get back upon his cart； and drive stolidly on again； and
the old woman limp feebly after。
There should not be any more； I decided； except that one very cold
morning； like that； Jan should be driving through that street； and should
be passing the door of the tenement house where Nina had lived； just as a
little procession should be issuing from it。 The fact must be told in
brief sentences； with a total absence of emotionality。 The last touch
must be Jan's cart turning the street corner with Jan's figure sharply
silhouetted against the clear； cold morning light。 Nothing more。
But it was at this point that another notion came into my mind； so antic；
so impish； so fiendish； that if there were still any Evil One； in a world
which gets on so poorly without him； I should attribute it to his
suggestion； and this was that the procession which Jan saw issuing from
the tenement…house door was not a funeral procession； as the reader will
have rashly fancied； but a wedding procession； with Nina at the head of
it； quite well again； and going to be married to the little brown youth
with ear…rings who had long had her heart。
With a truly perverse instinct； I saw how strong this might be made； at
the fond reader's expense； to be sure； and how much more pathetic； in
such a case； the silhouetted figure on the coke…cart would really be。
I should； of course； make it perfectly plain that no one was to blame；
and that the whole affair had been so tacit on Jan's part that Nina might
very well have known nothing of his feeling for her。 Perhaps at the very
end I might subtly insinuate that it was possible he might have had no
such feeling towards her as the reader had been led to imagine。
III。
The question as to which ending I ought to have given my romance is what
has ever since remained to perplex me； and it is what has prevented my
ever writing it。 Here is material of the best sort lying useless on my
hands； which； if I could only make up my mind； might be wrought into a
short story as affecting as any that wring our hearts in fiction； and I
think I could get something fairly unintelligible out of the broken
English of Jan and Nina's grandmother； and certainly something novel。
All that I can do now； however； is to put the case before the reader； and
let him decide for himself how it should end。
The mere humanist； I suppose； might say； that I am rightly served for
having regarded the fact I had witnessed as material for fiction at all；
that I had no business to bewitch it with my miserable art； that I ought
to have spoken to that little child and those poor old women； and tried
to learn something of their lives from them； that I might offer my
knowledge again for the instruction of those whose lives are easy and
happy in the indifference which ignorance breeds in us。 I own there is
something in this； but then； on the other hand； I have heard it urged by
nice people that they do not want to know about such squalid lives； that
it is offensive and out of taste to be always bringing them in； and that
we ought to be writing about good society； and especially creating
grandes dames for their amusement。 This sort of people could say to the
humanist that he ought to be glad there are coke…carts for fuel to fall
off from for the lower classes； and that here was no case for sentiment；
for if one is to be interested in such things at all； it must be
aesthetically； though even this is deplorable in the presence of fiction
already overloaded with low life； and so poor in grades dames as ours。
SUMMER ISLES OF EDEN
It may be all an illusion of the map； where the Summer Islands glimmer a
small and solitary little group of dots and wrinkles； remote from
continental shores； with a straight line descending southeastwardly upon
them； to show how sharp and swift the ship's course is； but they seem so
far and alien from my wonted place that it is as if I had slid down a
steepy slant from the home…planet to a group of asteroids nebulous
somewhere in middle space； and were resting there； still vibrant from the
rush of the meteoric fall。 There were； of course； facts and incidents
contrary to such a theory： a steamer starting from New York in the raw
March morning； and lurching and twisting through two days of diagonal
seas； with people aboard dining and undining； and talking and smoking and
cocktailing and hot…scotching and beef…teaing； but when the ship came in
sight of the islands； and they began to lift their cedared slopes from
the turquoise waters； and to explain their drifted snows as the white
walls and white roofs of houses； then the waking sense became the
dreaming sense； and the sweet impossibility of that drop through air
became the sole reality。
I。
Everything here； indeed； is so strange that you placidly accept whatever
offers itself as the simplest and naturalest fact。 Those low hills； that
climb； with their tough； dark cedars； from the summer sea to the summer
sky； might have drifted down across the Gulf Stream from the coast of
Maine； but when； upon closer inspection； you find them skirted with palms
and bananas； and hedged with oleanders； you merely wonder that you had
never noticed these growths in Maine before； where you were so familiar
with the cedars。 The hotel itself； which has brought the Green Mountains
with it； in every detail； from the dormer…windowed mansard…roof； and the
white…painted； green…shuttered walls； to the neat； school…mistressly
waitresses in the dining…room； has a clump of palmettos beside it；
swaying and sighing in the tropic breeze； and you know that when it
migrates back to the New England hill…country； at the end of the season；
you shall find it with the palmettos still before its veranda； and
equally at home； somewhere in the Vermont or New Hampshire July。 There
will be the same American groups looking out over them； and rocking and
smoking； though； alas！ not so many smoking as rocking。
But where； in that translation； would be the gold braided red or blue
jackets of the British army and navy which lend their lustre and color
here to the veranda groups？ Where should one get the house walls of
whitewashed stone and the garden walls which everywhere glow in the sun；
and belt in little spaces full of roses and lilies？ These things must
come from some other association； and in the case of him who here
confesses； the lustrous uniforms and the glowing walls rise from waters
as far away in time as in space； and a long…ago apparition of Venetian
Junes haunts the coral shore。 （They are beginning to say the shore is
not coral； but no matter。） To be sure； the white roofs are not accounted
for in this visionary presence； and if one may not relate them to the
snowfalls of home winters； then one must frankly own them absolutely
tropical； together with the green…pillared and green…latticed galleries。
They at least suggest the tropical scenery of Prue and I as one remembers
seeing it through Titbottom's spectacles； and yet； if one supplies roofs
of brown…red tiles； it is all Venetian enough； with the lagoon…like
expanses that lend themselves to the fond effect。 It is so Venetian；
indeed； that it wants but a few silent gondolas and noisy gondoliers；
in place of the dark； taciturn oarsmen of the clumsy native boats； to
complete the coming and going illusion； and there is no good reason why
the rough little isles that fill the bay should not call themselves
respectively San Giorgio and San Clemente； and Sant' Elena and San
Lazzaro： they probably have no other names！
II。
These summer isles of Eden have this advantage over the scriptural Eden；
that apparently it was not woman and her seed