DEAR GEORGE,
I’ve been having noctes ambrosianæ with “The House of Orchids,” though truly it came untimely, for I’ve not yet done reading your other books. Don’t crowd the dancers, please. I don’t know (and you don’t care) what poem in it I like best, but I get as much delight out of these lines as out of any:
“Such flowers pale as are
Worn by the goddess of a distant star —
Before whose holy eyes
Beauty and evening meet.”
And — but what’s the use? I can’t quote the entire book.
I’m glad you did see your way to make “Memory” a female.
To Hades with Bonnet’s chatter of gems and jewels — among the minor poetic properties they are better (to my taste) than flowers. By the way, I wonder what “lightness” Bonnet found in the “Apothecary” verses. They seem to me very serious.
Rereading and rerereading of the Job confirm my first opinion of it. I find only one “bad break” in it — and that not inconsistent with God’s poetry in the real Job: “ropes of adamant.” A rope of stone is imperfectly conceivable — is, in truth, mixed metaphor.
I think it was a mistake for you to expound to Ned Hamilton, or anybody, how you wrote the “Forty-third Chapter,” or anything. When an author explains his methods of composition he cannot expect to be taken seriously. Nine writers in ten wish to have it thought that they “dash off” things. Nobody believes it, and the judicious would be sorry to believe it. Maybe you do, but I guess you work hard and honestly enough over the sketch “dashed off.” If you don’t — do.
* * * * *
With love to Carrie, I will leave you to your sea-gardens and abalones.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
I’m off to Broadway next week for a season of old-gentlemanly revelry.
[Washington, D. C., May 2, 1911.]
DEAR GEORGE,
In packing (I’m going to New York) I find this “Tidal” typoscript, and fear that I was to have returned it. Pray God it was not my neglect to do so that kept it out of the book. But if not, what did keep it out? Maybe the fact that it requires in the reader an uncommon acquaintance with the Scriptures.
If Robertson publishes any more books for you don’t let him use “silver” leaf on the cover. It is not silver, cannot be neatly put on, and will come off. The “Wine” book is incomparably better and more tasteful than either of the others. By the way, I stick to my liking for Scheff’s little vignette on the “Wine.”
In “Duandon” you — you, Poet of the Heavens! — come perilously near to qualifying yourself for “mention” in a certain essay of mine on the blunders of writers and artists in matters lunar. You must have observed that immediately after the full o’ the moon the light of that orb takes on a redness, and when it rises after dark is hardly a “towering glory,” nor a “frozen splendor.” Its “web” is not “silver.” In truth, the gibbous moon, rising, has something of menace in its suggestion. Even twenty-four (or rather twenty-five) hours “after the full” this change in the quality and quantity of its light is very marked. I don’t know what causes the sudden alteration, but it has always impressed me.
I feel a little like signing this criticism “Gradgrind,” but anyhow it may amuse you.
Do you mind squandering ten cents and a postage stamp on me? I want a copy of Town Talk — the one in which you are a “Varied Type.”
I don’t know much of some of your poets mentioned in that article, but could wish that you had said a word about Edith Thomas. Thank you for your too generous mention of me — who brought you so much vilification!
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[Washington, D. C., May 29, 1911.]
MY DEAR RUTH,
You are a faithful correspondent; I have your postals from Athens and Syracuse, and now the letter from Rome. The Benares sketch was duly received, and I wrote you about it to the address that you gave — Cairo, I think. As you will doubtless receive my letter in due time I will not now repeat it — further than to say that I liked it. If it had been accompanied by a few photographs (indispensable now to such articles) I should have tried to get it into some magazine. True, Benares, like all other Asiatic and European cities, is pretty familiar to even the “general reader,” but the sketch had something of the writer’s personality in it — the main factor in all good writing, as in all forms of art.
May I tell you what you already know — that you are deficient in spelling and punctuation? It is worth while to know these things — and all things that you can acquire. Some persons can not acquire orthography, and I don’t wonder, but every page of every good book is a lesson in punctuation. One’s punctuation is a necessary part of one’s style; you cannot attain to precision if you leave that matter to editors and printers.
You ask if “stories” must have action. The name “story” is preferably used of narrative, not reflection nor mental analysis. The “psychological novel” is in great vogue just now, for example — the adventures of the mind, it might be called — but it requires a profounder knowledge of life and character than is possible to a young girl of whatever talent; and the psychological “short story” is even more difficult. Keep to narrative and simple description for a few years, until your wings have grown. These descriptions of foreign places that you write me are good practice. You are not likely to tell me much that I do not know, nor is that necessary; but your way of telling what I do know is sometimes very interesting as a study of you. So write me all you will, and if you would like the letters as a record of your travels you shall have them back; I am preserving them.
I judge from your letter that your father went straight through without bothering about me. Maybe I should not have seen him anyhow, for I was away from Washington for nearly a month.
Please give my love to your mother and sister, whom, of course, you are to bring here. I shall not forgive you if you do not.
Yes, I wish that you lived nearer to me, so that we could go over your work together. I could help you more in a few weeks that way than in years this way. God never does anything just right.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[Washington, D. C., July 31, 1911.]
DEAR GEORGE,
Thank you for that Times “review.” It is a trifle less malicious than usual — regarding me, that is all. My publisher, Neale, who was here last evening, is about “taking action” against that concern for infringement of his copyright in my little book, “Write It Right.” The wretches have been serving it up to their readers for several weeks as the work of a woman named Learned. Repeatedly she uses my very words — whole passages of them. They refused even to confess the misdeeds of their contributrix, and persist in their sin. So they will have to fight.
* * * I have never been hard on women whose hearts go with their admiration, and whose bodies follow their hearts — I don’t mean that the latter was the case in this instance. Nor am I very exacting as to the morality of my men friends. I would not myself take another man’s woman, any more than I would take his purse. Nor, I trust, would I seduce the daughter or sister of a friend, nor any maid whom it would at all damage — and as to that there is no hard and fast rule.
* * * * *
A fine fellow, I, to be casting the first stone, or the one-hundredth, at a lovelorn woman, weak or strong! By the way, I should not believe in the love of a strong one, wife, widow or maid.
It looks as if I may get to Sag Harbor for a week or so in the middle of the month. It is really not a question of expense, but Neale has blocked out a lot of work for me. He wants two more volumes — even five more if I’ll make ‘em. Guess I’ll give him two. In a week or so I shall be able to say whether I can go Sagharboring. If so, I think we should have a night in New York first, no? You could motor-boat up and back.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.14
14 Addressed to George Sterling at Sag
Harbor, Long Island.
[Washington, D. C., Monday, August 7, 1911.]
DEAR GEORGE,
In one of your letters you were good enough to promise me a motorboat trip from New York to Sag Harbor. I can think of few things more delightful than navigating in a motorboat the sea that I used to navigate in an open canoe; it will seem like Progress. So if you are still in that mind please write me what day after Saturday next you can meet me in New York and I’ll be there. I should prefer that you come the day before the voyage and dine with me that evening.
I always stay at the Hotel Navarre, 7th avenue and 38th street. If unable to get in there I’ll leave my address there. Or, tell me where you will be.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
If the motorboat plan is not practicable let me know and I’ll go by train or steamer; it will not greatly matter. A. B.
[Washington, D. C., Tuesday, August 8, 1911.]
DEAR GEORGE,
* * * * *
Kindly convey to young Smith of Auburn my felicitations on his admirable “Ode to the Abyss” — a large theme, treated with dignity and power. It has many striking passages — such, for example, as “The Romes of ruined spheres.” I’m conscious of my sin against the rhetoricians in liking that, for it jolts the reader out of the Abyss and back to earth. Moreover, it is a metaphor which belittles, instead of dignifying. But I like it.
He is evidently a student of George Sterling, and being in the formative stage, cannot — why should he? — conceal the fact.
My love to all good Californians of the Sag Harbor colony.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[Washington, D. C., November 16, 1911.]
DEAR GEORGE,
It is good to know that you are again happy — that is to say, you are in Carmel. For your future happiness (if success and a certain rounding off of your corners would bring it, as I think) I could wish you in New York or thereabout. As the Scripture hath it: “It is not good for a man to be in Carmel” — Revised Inversion. I note that at the late election California damned herself to a still lower degradation and is now unfit for a white man to live in. Initiative, referendum, recall, employers’ liability, woman suffrage — yah!
* * * * *
But you are not to take too seriously my dislike of * * *15 I like him personally very well; he talks like a normal human being. It is only that damned book of his. He was here and came out to my tenement a few evenings ago, finding me in bed and helpless from lumbago, as I was for weeks. I am now able to sit up and take notice, and there are even fears for my recovery. My enemies would say, as Byron said of Lady B., I am becoming “dangerously well again.”
15 Excised by G. S.
* * * * *
As to harlots, there are not ten in a hundred that are such for any other reason than that they wanted to be. Their exculpatory stories are mostly lies of magnitude.
Sloots writes me that he will perhaps “walk over” from the mine to Yosemite next summer. I can’t get there much before July first, but if there is plenty of snow in the mountains next winter the valley should be visitable then. Later, I hope to beguest myself for a few days at the Pine Inn, Carmel. Tell it not to the Point Lobos mussel!
My love to Carrie.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[Washington, D. C., December 27, 1911.]
DEAR GEORGE,
As you do not give me that lady’s address I infer that you no longer care to have me meet her — which is a relief to me.
* * * * *
Yes, I’m a bit broken up by the death of Pollard, whose body I assisted to burn. He lost his mind, was paralyzed, had his head cut open by the surgeons, and his sufferings were unspeakable. Had he lived he would have been an idiot; so it is all right —
“But O, the difference to me!”
If you don’t think him pretty bright read any of his last three books, “Their Day in Court,” “Masks and Minstrels,” and “Vagabond Journeys.” He did not see the last one — Neale brought down copies of it when he came to Baltimore to attend the funeral.
I’m hoping that if Carlt and Lora go to Wagner’s mine and we go to Yosemite, Lora, at least, will come to us out there. We shall need her, though Carrie will find that Misses C. and S. will be “no deadheads in the enterprise” — to quote a political phrase of long ago. As to me, I shall leave my ten-pounds-each books at home and, like St. Jerome, who never traveled with other baggage than a skull, be “flying light.” My love to Carrie.
Sincerely,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
1912.
[Washington, D. C., January 5, 1912.]
DEAR LORA,
It is good to hear from you again, even if I did have to give you a hint that I badly needed a letter.
I am glad that you are going to the mine (if you go) — though Berkeley and Oakland will not be the same without you. And where can I have my mail forwarded? — and be permitted to climb in at the window to get it. As to pot-steaks, toddies, and the like, I shall simply swear off eating and drinking.
If Carlt is a “game sport,” and does not require “a dead-sure thing,” the mining gamble is the best bet for him. Anything to get out of that deadening, hopeless grind, the “Government service.” It kills a man’s self-respect, atrophies his powers, unfits him for anything, tempts him to improvidence and then turns him out to starve.
It is pleasant to know that there is a hope of meeting you in Yosemite — the valley would not be the same without you. My girls cannot leave here till the schools close, about June 20, so we shall not get into the valley much before July first; but if you have a good winter, with plenty of snow, that will do. We shall stay as long as we like. George says he and Carrie can go, and I hope Sloots can. It is likely that Neale, my publisher, will be of my party. I shall hope to visit your mine afterward.
* * * * *
My health, which was pretty bad for weeks after returning from Sag Harbor, is restored, and I was never so young in all my life.
Here’s wishing you and Carlt plenty of meat on the bone that the new year may fling to you.
Affectionately,
AMBROSE.
[Washington, D. C., February 14, 1912.]
DEAR GEORGE,
I’m a long time noticing your letter of January fifth, chiefly because, like Teddy, “I have nothing to say.” There’s this difference atwixt him and me — I could say something if I tried.
* * * I’m hoping that you are at work and doing something worth while, though I see nothing of yours. Battle against the encroaching abalone should not engage all your powers. That spearing salmon at night interests me, though doubtless the “season” will be over before I visit Carmel.
Bear Yosemite in mind for latter part of June, and use influence with Lora and Grizzly, even if Carlt should be inhumed in his mine.
We’ve had about seven weeks of snow and ice, the mercury around the zero mark most of the time. Once it was 13 below. You’d not care for that sort of thing, I fancy. Indeed, I’m a bit fatigued of it myself, and on Saturday next, God willing, shall put out my prow to sea and bring up, I hope, in Bermuda, not, of course, to remain long.
You did not send me the Weininger article on “Sex and Character” — I mean the extract that you thought like some of my stuff.
* * * * *
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[Washington, D. C., April 25, 1912.]
DEAR GEORGE,
I did not go to Bermuda; so I’m not “back.” But I did go to Richmond, a city whose tragic and pathetic history, of which one is reminded by everything that one sees there, always gets on to my nerves with a particular dejection. True, the history is some fifty years old, but it is always with me when I’m there, making solemn eyes at me.
You’re right about “this season in the East.” It has indeed been penetential. For the first time I am thoroughly disgusted and half-minded to stay i
n California when I go — a land where every prospect pleases, and only labor unions, progressives, suffragettes (and socialists) are vile. No, I don’t think I could stand California, though I’m still in the mind to visit it in June. I shall be sorry to miss Carrie at Carmel, but hope to have the two of you on some excursion or camping trip. We want to go to Yosemite, which the girls have not seen, but if there’s no water there it may not be advisable. Guess we’ll have to let you natives decide. How would the Big Trees do as a substitute?
* * * * *
Girls is pizen, but not necessarily fatal. I’ve taken ‘em in large doses all my life, and suffered pangs enough to equip a number of small Hells, but never has one of them paralyzed the inner working man. * * * But I’m not a poet. Moreover, as I’ve not yet put off my armor I oughtn’t to boast.
So — you’ve subscribed for the Collected Works. Good! that is what you ought to have done a long time ago. It is what every personal friend of mine ought to have done, for all profess admiration of my work in literature. It is what I was fool enough to permit my publisher to think that many of them would do. How many do you guess have done so? I’ll leave you guessing. God help the man with many friends, for they will not. My royalties on the sets sold to my friends are less than one-fourth of my outlay in free sets for other friends. Tell me not in cheerful numbers of the value and sincerity of friendships.
* * * * *
There! I’ve discharged my bosom of that perilous stuff and shall take a drink. Here’s to you.
Sincerely yours,
AMBROSE BIERCE.
[Washington, D. C., June 5, 1912.]
DEAR GEORGE,
* * * * *
Thank you for the poems, which I’ve not had the time to consider — being disgracefully busy in order to get away. I don’t altogether share your reverence for Browning, but the primacy of your verses on him over the others printed on the same page is almost startling. * * *
Of course it’s all nonsense about the waning of your power — though thinking it so might make it so. My notion is that you’ve only begun to do things. But I wish you’d go back to your chain in your uncle’s office. I’m no believer in adversity and privation as a spur to Pegasus. They are oftener a “hopple.” The “meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin” will commonly do better work when tucked out with three square meals a day, and having the sure and certain hope of their continuance.
Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce (Delphi Classics) Page 324