time that I began to be impressed with the power of wealth； the adulation
and reverence it commanded； the importance in which it clothed all who
shared in it。。。。
The private school I attended in the company of other boys with whom I
was brought up was called Densmore Academy； a large； square building of a
then hideous modernity； built of smooth； orange…red bricks with threads
of black mortar between them。 One reads of happy school days； yet I fail
to recall any really happy hours spent there； even in the yard； which was
covered with black cinders that cut you when you fell。 I think of it as
a penitentiary； and the memory of the barred lower windows gives
substance to this impression。
I suppose I learned something during the seven years of my incarceration。
All of value； had its teachers known anything of youthful psychology； of
natural bent； could have been put into me in three。 At least four
criminally wasted years； to say nothing of the benumbing and desiccating
effect of that old system of education！ Chalk and chalk…dust！ The
Mediterranean a tinted portion of the map； Italy a man's boot which I
drew painfully； with many yawns； history no glorious epic revealing as it
unrolls the Meaning of Things； no revelation of that wondrous
distillation of the Spirit of man； but an endless marching and counter…
marching up and down the map； weary columns of figures to be learned by
rote instantly to be forgotten again。 〃On June the 7th General So…and…so
proceeded with his whole army〃 where？ What does it matter？ One little
chapter of Carlyle； illuminated by a teacher of understanding； were worth
a million such text…books。 Alas； for the hatred of Virgil！ 〃Paret〃 （a
shiver）； 〃begin at the one hundred and thirtieth line and translate！〃 I
can hear myself droning out in detestable English a meaningless portion
of that endless journey of the pious AEneas； can see Gene Hollister； with
heart…rending glances of despair； stumbling through Cornelius Nepos in an
unventilated room with chalk…rubbed blackboards and heavy odours of ink
and stale lunch。 And I graduated from Densmore Academy； the best school
in our city； in the 80's； without having been taught even the rudiments
of citizenship。
Knowledge was presented to us as a corpse； which bit by bit we painfully
dissected。 We never glimpsed the living； growing thing； never
experienced the Spirit； the same spirit that was able magically to waft
me from a wintry Lyme Street to the South Seas； the energizing；
electrifying Spirit of true achievement； of life； of God himself。 Little
by little its flames were smothered until in manhood there seemed no
spark of it left alive。 Many years were to pass ere it was to revive
again； as by a miracle。 I travelled。 Awakening at dawn； I saw； framed
in a port…hole； rose…red Seriphos set in a living blue that paled the
sapphire； the seas Ulysses had sailed； and the company of the Argonauts。
My soul was steeped in unimagined colour； and in the memory of one
rapturous instant is gathered what I was soon to see of Greece； is
focussed the meaning of history； poetry and art。 I was to stand one
evening in spring on the mound where heroes sleep and gaze upon the plain
of Marathon between darkening mountains and the blue thread of the strait
peaceful now； flushed with pink and white blossoms of fruit and almond
trees； to sit on the cliff…throne whence a Persian King had looked down
upon a Salamis fought and lost。。。。 In that port…hole glimpse a
Themistocles was revealed； a Socrates； a Homer and a Phidias； an
AEschylus； and a Pericles； yes； and a John brooding Revelations on his
sea…girt rock as twilight falls over the waters。。。。
I saw the Roman Empire； that Scarlet Woman whose sands were dyed crimson
with blood to appease her harlotry； whose ships were laden with treasures
from the immutable East； grain from the valley of the Nile； spices from
Arabia； precious purple stuffs from Tyre； tribute and spoil； slaves and
jewels from conquered nations she absorbed； and yet whose very emperors
were the unconscious instruments of a Progress they wot not of； preserved
to the West by Marathon and Salamis。 With Caesar's legions its message
went forth across Hispania to the cliffs of the wild western ocean；
through Hercynian forests to tribes that dwelt where great rivers roll up
their bars by misty； northern seas； and even to Celtic fastnesses beyond
the Wall。。。。
IV。
In and out of my early memories like a dancing ray of sunlight flits the
spirit of Nancy。 I was always fond of her； but in extreme youth I
accepted her incense with masculine complacency and took her allegiance
for granted； never seeking to fathom the nature of the spell I exercised
over her。 Naturally other children teased me about her； but what was
worse； with that charming lack of self…consciousness and consideration
for what in after life are called the finer feelings； they teased her
about me before me； my presence deterring them not at all。 I can see
them hopping around her in the Peters yard crying out：
〃Nancy's in love with Hugh！ Nancy's in love with Hugh！〃
A sufficiently thrilling pastime； this； for Nancy could take care of
herself。 I was a bungler beside her when it came to retaliation； and not
the least of her attractions for me was her capacity for anger： fury
would be a better term。 She would fly at themeven as she flew at the
head…hunters when the Petrel was menaced； and she could run like a deer。
Woe to the unfortunate victim she overtook！ Masculine strength；
exercised apologetically； availed but little； and I have seen Russell
Peters and Gene Hollister retire from such encounters humiliated and
weeping。 She never caught Ralph； his methods of torture were more
intelligent and subtle than Gene's and Russell's； but she was his equal
when it came to a question of tongues。
〃I know what's the matter with you； Ralph Hambleton；〃 she would say。
〃You're jealous。〃 An accusation that invariably put him on the
defensive。 〃You think all the girls are in love with you； don't you？〃
These scenes I found somewhat embarrassing。 Not so Nancy。 After
discomfiting her tormenters； or wounding and scattering them； she would
return to my side。。。。 In spite of her frankly expressed preference for
me she had an elusiveness that made a continual appeal to my imagination。
She was never obvious or commonplace； and long before I began to
experience the discomforts and sufferings of youthful love I was
fascinated by a nature eloquent with contradictions and inconsistencies。
She was a tomboy； yet her own sex was enhanced rather than overwhelmed by
contact with the other： and no matter how many trees she climbed she
never seemed to lose her daintiness。 It was innate。
She could； at times； be surprisingly demure。 These impressions of her
daintiness and demureness are particularly vivid in a picture my memory
has retained of our walking together； unattended； to Susan Blackwood's
birthday party。 She must have been about twelve years old。 It was the
first time I had escorted her or any other girl to a party； Mrs。 Willett
had smiled over the proceeding； but Nancy and I took it most seriously；
as symbolic of things to come。 I can see Powell Street； where Nancy
lived； at four o'clock on a mild and cloudy December afternoon； the
decorous； retiring houses； Nancy on one side of the pavement by the iron
fences and I on the other by the tree boxes。 I can't remember her dress；
only the exquisite sense of her slimness and daintiness comes back to me；
of her dark hair in a long braid tied with a red ribbon； of her slender
legs clad in black stockings of shining silk。 We felt the occasion to be
somehow too significant； too eloquent for words。。。。
In silence we climbed the flight of stone steps that led up to the
Blackwood mansion； when suddenly the door was opened； letting out sounds
of music and revelry。 Mr。 Blackwood's coloured butler； Ned； beamed at us
hospitably； inviting us to enter the brightness within。 The shades were
drawn； the carpets were covered with festal canvas； the folding doors
between the square rooms were flung back； the prisms of the big
chandeliers flung their light over animated groups of matrons and
children。 Mrs。 Watling； the mother of the Watling twinstoo young to be
present was directing with vivacity the game of 〃King William was King
James's son；〃 and Mrs。 McAlery was playing the piano。
Now choose you East； now choose you West；
Now choose the one you love the best！〃
Tom Peters； in a velvet suit and consequently very miserable； refused to
embrace Ethel Hollister； while the scornful Julia lurked in a corner：
nothing would induce her to enter such a foolish game。 I experienced a
novel discomfiture when Ralph kissed Nancy。。。。 Afterwards came the
feast； from which Ham Durrett； in a pink paper cap with streamers； was at
length forcibly removed by his mother。 Thus early did he betray his love
for the flesh pots。。。。
It was not until I was sixteen that a player came and touched the keys of
my soul； and it awoke； bewildered； at these first tender notes。 The
music quickened； tripping in ecstasy； to change by subtle phrases into
themes of exquisite suffering hitherto unexperienced。 I knew that I
loved Nancy。
With the advent of longer dresses that reached to her shoe tops a change
had come over her。 The tomboy； the willing camp…follower who loved me
and was unashamed； were gone forever； and a mysterious； transfigured
being； neither girl nor woman； had magically been evolved。 Could it be
possible that she loved me still？ My complacency had vanished； suddenly
I had become the aggressor； if only I had known how to 〃aggress〃； but in
her presence I was seized by an accursed shyness that paralyzed my
tongue； and the things I had planned to say were left unuttered。 It was
somethingthough I did not realize itto be able to feel like that。
The time came when I could no longer keep this thing to myself。 The need
of an outlet； of a confidant； became imperative； and I sought out Tom
Peters。 It was in February； I remember because I had venturedwith
incredible daringto send Nancy an elaborate； rosy Valentine； wr