有一回他忽然感到这一切都含有蓄意拒绝的意思，他把捉住了她的对抗情绪，力图弄明白她击打着琴键所传达给他的信息，却又否定了这种想法，认为她用不着，也不可能那么做，便又更加自由地沉浸于旋律之中。原有的欢乐情绪也随之诱发。他的脚再也不是泥脚，他的肉体变得轻灵飘逸；眼前和内心出现了一片灿烂的光明。随即，他眼前的景象消失了，他自己也悄然远行，到世界各地浪游击了。那世界对他非常可爱。已知的和未知的一切融会为一个辉煌的梦，挤满了他的幻想。他进入了一个阳光普照的国度的陌生的海港，在从没人见过的野蛮民族的市场上漫步。他曾在海上温暖得透不过气来的夜里闻到过的香料岛上的馨香又进入了他的鼻孔。在迎着西南贸易风行驶在赤道上的漫长的日子里，他望着棕相摇曳的珊瑚岛逐渐在身后的碧海里沉没，再望着棕相摇曳的珊瑚岛逐渐从前面的碧海里升起。场景如思想一样倏忽来去。他一时骑着野牛在色彩绚丽、宛如仙境的彩绘沙漠上飞驰；一时又穿过闪着微光的热气俯瞰着死亡谷的晒白了的墓窟。他在快要冻结的海洋上划着桨，海面上巍然高耸的庞大冰山熠耀在阳光里。他躺在珊瑚礁的海滩上，那儿的椰树低垂到涛声轻柔的海面，一艘古船的残骸燃烧着，闪出蓝色的火苗。火光里人们跳着呼啦舞。为他们奏乐的歌手们弹奏着叮叮当当的尤克里里琴，擂着轰隆作响的大鼓，高唱着野蛮的爱情歌曲。那是纵情于声色之乐的赤道之夜。背景是衬着一天星星的火山口轮廓，头顶是一弯苍白的漂浮的月牙儿。天穹的低处燃烧着南十字座的四颗星星。
他是一架竖琴，一生的经历和意识是他的琴弦，音乐之潮是吹拂琴弦使之带着回忆和梦想颤抖的风。他不光是感受。他的感知以形象、颜色和光彩的形式积聚，并以某种升华的神奇的方式实现他大胆的想像。过去。现在和将来交汇融合。他在辽阔而温暖的世界上踟蹰，并通过高尚的冒险和高贵的业绩向她奔去，他要跟她在一起，赢得她、搂着她、带着她飞翔，穿过他心灵的王国。
这一切的迹象她在转过头去时都在他脸上看到了。那是一张起了变化的面孔。他用闪亮的大眼睛穿透了音乐的帷幕看到了生命的跳跃、律动，和精神的巨大幻影。她吃了一惊。那结结巴巴的粗鲁汉子不见了，尽管那不称身的衣服、伤痕累累的手和晒黑了的面孔依然如故。但这只不过宛如监牢的栅门，她通过栅门看到的是一个怀着希望的伟大灵魂。只因他那在弱的嘴唇不善表达，他只能词不达意地说话，或是哑口无言。这一点她只在瞬间看到，转瞬间那粗鲁汉子又回来了。她因自己离奇的幻觉感到好笑。可那瞬息的印象却萦绕在她心里不去。夜深了，他结结巴巴地告了别，打算离开。她把那卷史文朋和一本勃朗于借给了他——她在英文课里就修勃朗宁。他涨红了脸结结巴巴地表示感谢时很像个孩子。一阵母性的怜爱之情从她心里油然涌起。她忘记了那莽汉、那被囚禁的灵魂；忘记了那带着满身阳刚之气盯着她、看得她快乐也害怕的人。她在自己面前只看见一个大孩子在跟自己握手，那手满是老茧，像把豆蔻挫子，挫得她的皮肤生疼。这时那大孩子正在结巴地说：
“这是找平生最美好的一夜。你看，这里的东西我不习惯……”他无可奈何地望望四周，“这样的人，这样的房子，我全都觉得陌生，可我都喜欢。”
“希望你再来看我们，”她趁他跟她的哥哥告别时说。
他拉紧帽子，突然一歪身子死命地跑出门去，不见了。
“喂，你们觉得他怎么样？”亚瑟问。
“非常有趣，是一阵清新的臭氧，”她回答，“他有多大？”
“二十岁——差点二十一。我今天下午问过地。没想到他会那么年青。”
我比他还大三岁呢，她和哥哥们吻别时心还想。
Chapter 3
As Martin Eden went down the steps, his hand dropped into his coat pocket. It came out with a brown rice paper and a pinch of Mexican tobacco, which were deftly rolled together into a cigarette. He drew the first whiff of smoke deep into his lungs and expelled it in a long and lingering exhalation. "By God!" he said aloud, in a voice of awe and wonder. "By God!" he repeated. And yet again he murmured, "By God!" Then his hand went to his collar, which he ripped out of the shirt and stuffed into his pocket. A cold drizzle was falling, but he bared his head to it and unbuttoned his vest, swinging along in splendid unconcern. He was only dimly aware that it was raining. He was in an ecstasy, dreaming dreams and reconstructing the scenes just past.
He had met the woman at last - the woman that he had thought little about, not being given to thinking about women, but whom he had expected, in a remote way, he would sometime meet. He had sat next to her at table. He had felt her hand in his, he had looked into her eyes and caught a vision of a beautiful spirit; - but no more beautiful than the eyes through which it shone, nor than the flesh that gave it expression and form. He did not think of her flesh as flesh, - which was new to him; for of the women he had known that was the only way he thought. Her flesh was somehow different. He did not conceive of her body as a body, subject to the ills and frailties of bodies. Her body was more than the garb of her spirit. It was an emanation of her spirit, a pure and gracious crystallization of her divine essence. This feeling of the divine startled him. It shocked him from his dreams to sober thought. No word, no clew, no hint, of the divine had ever reached him before. He had never believed in the divine. He had always been irreligious, scoffing good-naturedly at the sky-pilots and their immortality of the soul. There was no life beyond, he had contended; it was here and now, then darkness everlasting. But what he had seen in her eyes was soul - immortal soul that could never die. No man he had known, nor any woman, had given him the message of immortality. But she had. She had whispered it to him the first moment she looked at him. Her face shimmered before his eyes as he walked along, - pale and serious, sweet and sensitive, smiling with pity and tenderness as only a spirit could smile, and pure as he had never dreamed purity could be. Her purity smote him like a blow. It startled him. He had known good and bad; but purity, as an attribute of existence, had never entered his mind. And now, in her, he conceived purity to be the superlative of goodness and of cleanness, the sum of which constituted eternal life.
And promptly urged his ambition to grasp at eternal life. He was not fit to carry water for her - he knew that; it was a miracle of luck and a fantastic stroke that had enabled him to see her and be with her and talk with her that night. It was accidental. There was no merit in it. He did not deserve such fortune. His mood was essentially religious. He was humble and meek, filled with self- disparagement and abasement. In such frame of mind sinners come to the penitent form. He was convicted of sin. But as the meek and lowly at the penitent form catch splendid glimpses of their future lordly existence, so did he catch similar glimpses of the state he would gain to by possessing her. But this possession of her was dim and nebulous and totally different from possession as he had known it. Ambition soared on mad wings, and he saw himself climbing the heights with her, sharing thoughts with her, pleasuring in beautiful and noble things with her. It was a soul- possession he dreamed, refined beyond any grossness, a free comradeship of spirit that he could not put into definite thought. He did not think it. For that matter, he did not think at all. Sensation usurped reason, and he was quivering and palpitant with emotions he had never known, drifting deliciously on a sea of sensibility where feeling itself was exalted and spiritualized and carried beyond the summits of life.
He staggered along like a drunken man, murmuring fervently aloud: "By God! By God!"
A policeman on a street corner eyed him suspiciously, then noted his sailor roll.
"Where did you get it?" the policeman demanded.
Martin Eden came back to earth. His was a fluid organism, swiftly adjustable, capable of flowing into and filling all sorts of nooks and crannies. With the policeman's hail he was immediately his ordinary self, grasping the situation clearly.
"It's a beaut, ain't it?" he laughed back. "I didn't know I was talkin' out loud."
"You'll be singing next," was the policeman's diagnosis.
"No, I won't. Gimme a match an' I'll catch the next car home."
He lighted his cigarette, said good night, and went on. "Now wouldn't that rattle you?" he ejaculated under his breath. "That copper thought I was drunk." He smiled to himself and meditated. "I guess I was," he added; "but I didn't think a woman's face'd do it."
He caught a Telegraph Avenue car that was going to Berkeley. It was crowded with youths and young men who were singing songs and ever and again barking out college yells. He studied them curiously. They were university boys. They went to the same university that she did, were in her class socially, could know her, could see her every day if they wanted to. He wondered that they did not want to, that they had been out having a good time instead of being with her that evening, talking with her, sitting around her in a worshipful and adoring circle. His thoughts wandered on. He noticed one with narrow-slitted eyes and a loose- lipped mouth. That fellow was vicious, he decided. On shipboard he would be a sneak, a whiner, a tattler. He, Martin Eden, was a better man than that fellow. The thought cheered him. It seemed to draw him nearer to Her. He began comparing himself with the students. He grew conscious of the muscled mechanism of his body and felt confident that he was physically their master. But their heads were filled with knowledge that enabled them to talk her talk, - the thought depressed him. But what was a brain for? he demanded passionately. What they had done, he could do. They had been studying about life from the books while he had been busy living life. His brain was just as full of knowledge as theirs, though it was a different kind of knowledge. How many of them could tie a lanyard knot, or take a wheel or a lookout? His life spread out before him in a series of pictures of danger and daring, hardship and toil. He remembered his failures and scrapes in the process of learning. He was that much to the good, anyway. Later on they would have to begin living life and going through the mill as he had gone. Very well. While they were busy with that, he could be learning the other side of life from the books.
As the car crossed the zone of scattered dwellings that separated Oakland from Berkeley, he kept a lookout for a familiar, two-story building along the front of which ran the proud sign, HIGGINBOTHAM'S CASH STORE. Martin Eden got off at this corner. He stared up for a moment at the sign. It carried a message to him beyond its mere wording. A personality of smallness and egotism and petty underhandedness seemed to emanate from the letters themselves. Bernard Higginbotham had married his sister, and he knew him well. He let himself in with a latch-key and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Here lived his brother-in-law. The grocery was below. There was a smell of stale vegetables in the air. As he groped his way across the hall he stumbled over a toy- cart, left there by one of his numerous nephews and nieces, and brought up against a door with a resounding bang. "The pincher," was his thought; "too miserly to burn two cents' worth of gas and save his boarders' necks."
He fumbled for the knob and entered a lighted room, where sat his sister and Bernard Higginbotham. She was patching a pair of his trousers, while his lean body was distributed over two chairs, his feet dangling in dilapidated carpet-slippers over the edge of the second chair. He glanced across the top of the paper he was reading, showing a pair of dark, insincere, sharp-staring eyes. Martin Eden never looked at him without experiencing a sense of repulsion. What his sister had seen in the man was beyond him. The other affected him as so much vermin, and always aroused in him an impulse to crush him under his foot. "Some day I'll beat the face off of him," was the way he often consoled himself for enduring the man's existence. The eyes, weasel-like and cruel, were looking at him complainingly.
"Well," Martin demanded. "Out with it."
"I had that door painted only last week," Mr. Higginbotham half whined, half bullied; "and you know what union wages are. You should be more careful."
Martin had intended to reply, but he was struck by the hopelessness of it. He gazed across the monstrous sordidness of soul to a chromo on the wall. It surprised him. He had always liked it, but it seemed that now he was seeing it for the first time. It was cheap, that was what it was, like everything else in this house. His mind went back to the house he had just left, and he saw, first, the paintings, and next, Her, looking at him with melting sweetness as she shook his hand at leaving. He forgot where he was and Bernard Higginbotham's existence, till that gentleman demanded:-
"Seen a ghost?"
Martin came back and looked at the beady eyes, sneering, truculent, cowardly, and there leaped into his vision, as on a screen, the same eyes when their owner was making a sale in the store below - subservient eyes, smug, and oily, and flattering.
"Yes," Martin answered. "I seen a ghost. Good night. Good night, Gertrude."
He started to leave the room, tripping over a loose seam in the slatternly carpet.
"Don't bang the door," Mr. Higginbotham cautioned him.
He felt the blood crawl in his veins, but controlled himself and closed the door softly behind him.
Mr. Higginbotham looked at his wife exultantly.
"He's ben drinkin'," he proclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "I told you he would."
She nodded her head resignedly.
"His eyes was pretty shiny," she confessed; "and he didn't have no collar, though he went away with one. But mebbe he didn't have more'n a couple of glasses."
"He couldn't stand up straight," asserted her husband. "I watched him. He couldn't walk across the floor without stumblin'. You heard 'm yourself almost fall down in the hall."
"I think it was over Alice's cart," she said. "He couldn't see it in the dark."
Mr. Higginbotham's voice and wrath began to rise. All day he effaced himself in the store, reserving for the evening, with his family, the privilege of being himself.
"I tell you that precious brother of yours was drunk."
His voice was cold, sharp, and final, his lips stamping the enunciation of each word like the die of a machine. His wife sighed and remained silent. She was a large, stout woman, always dressed slatternly and always tired from the burdens of her flesh, her work, and her husband.
"He's got it in him, I tell you, from his father," Mr. Higginbotham went on accusingly. "An' he'll croak in the gutter the same way. You know that."
She nodded, sighed, and went on stitching. They were agreed that Martin had come home drunk. They did not have it in their souls to know beauty, or they would have known that those shining eyes and that glowing face betokened youth's first vision of love.
"Settin' a fine example to the children," Mr. Higginbotham snorted, suddenly, in the silence for which his wife was responsible and which he resented. Sometimes he almost wished she would oppose him more. "If he does it again, he's got to get out. Understand! I won't put up with his shinanigan - debotchin' innocent children with his boozing." Mr. Higginbotham liked the word, which was a new one in his vocabulary, recently gleaned from a newspaper column. "That's what it is, debotchin' - there ain't no other name for it."
Still his wife sighed, shook her head sorrowfully, and stitched on. Mr. Higginbotham resumed the newspaper.
"Has he paid last week's board?" he shot across the top of the newspaper.
She nodded, then added, "He still has some money."
"When is he goin' to sea again?"
"When his pay-day's spent, I guess," she answered. "He was over to San Francisco yesterday looking for a ship. But he's got money, yet, an' he's particular about the kind of ship he signs for."
"It's not for a deck-swab like him to put on airs," Mr. Higginbotham snorted. "Particular! Him!"
"He said something about a schooner that's gettin' ready to go off to some outlandish place to look for buried treasure, that he'd sail on her if his money held out."
"If he only wanted to steady down, I'd give him a job drivin' the wagon," her husband said, but with no trace of benevolence in his voice. "Tom's quit."
