第 18 节
作者:美丽心点      更新:2023-05-17 13:23      字数:9321
  〃While the cheers following his nomination were still ringing through the
  old courthouse; Harwood broke away from the congrat… ulating handclasps
  of his henchmen and hurried to Judge Creswell's house to find Ida。〃
  Pettit came   up out of Alabama to   write   fiction。 The   Southern   papers
  had printed eight of his stories under an editorial caption identifying the
  author as the son of 〃the gallant Major Pettingill Pettit; our former County
  Attorney and hero of the battle of Lookout Mountain。〃
  Pettit was a   rugged fellow;  with a kind   of shame…   faced culture;   and
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  my   good   friend。   His   father   kept   a   general   store   in   a   little   town   called
  Hosea。  Pettit   had   been   raised   in   the  pine…woods   and   broom…sedge   fields
  adjacent   thereto。   He   had   in   his   gripsack   two   manuscript   novels   of   the
  adventures in Picardy of one Gaston Laboulaye; Vicompte de Montrepos;
  in the year 1329。 That's nothing。 We all do that。 And some day when we
  make a hit with the little sketch about a newsy and his lame dog; the editor
  prints the other one for us  or 〃on us;〃 as the say… ing is  and then  and
  then   we   have   to   get   a   big   valise   and   peddle   those   patent   air…draft   gas
  burners。 At 1。25 everybody should have 'em。
  I took Pettit to the red…brick house which was to appear in an article
  entitled 〃Literary Landmarks of Old New York;〃 some day when we got
  through with it。 He engaged a room there; drawing on the general store for
  his   expenses。   I   showed   New York   to   him;   and   he   did   not   mention   how
  much   narrower   Broadway   is   than   Lee Avenue   in   Hosea。   This   seemed   a
  good sign; so I put the final test。
  〃Suppose   you   try   your   band   at   a   descriptive   arti…   cle;〃   I   suggested;
  〃giving your impressions of New York as seen from the Brooklyn Bridge。
  The fresh point of view; the  〃
  〃Don't be a fool;〃 said Pettit。 〃Let's go have some beer。 On the whole I
  rather   like   the   city。〃 We   discovered   and   enjoyed the   only  true   Bohemia。
  Every  day  and   night   we   repaired   to   one   of   those   palaces   of   marble   and
  glass and tilework; where goes on a tremendous and sounding epic of life。
  Valhalla     itself   could    not   be   more    glorious    and    sonorous。     The    classic
  marble on which we ate; the great; light… flooded; vitreous front; adorned
  with   snow…white   scrolls;   the   grand   Wagnerian   din   of   clanking   cups   and
  bowls the flashing staccato of brandishing cut… lery; the piercing recitative
  of the white…aproned grub…maidens at the morgue…like banquet tables; the
  recurrent   lied…motif   of   the   cash…register      it   was   a   gigantic;   triumphant
  welding of art and sound; a deafening; soul…uplifting pageant of heroic and
  em… blematic life。 And the beans were only ten cents。 We wondered why
  our    fellow…artists     cared    to   dine   at  sad    little  tables   in  their   so…called
  Bohemian restau… rants; and we shuddered lest they should seek out our
  resorts and make them conspicuous with their pres… ence。
  Pettit   wrote   many   stories;   which   the   editors   re…   turned   to   him。   He
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  wrote love stories; a thing I have always kept free from; holding the belief
  that   the   well…known   and   popular   sentiment   is   not   properly   a   matter   for
  publication;   but   something   to   be   privately   handled   by   the   alienists   and
  florists。 But the editors had told him that they wanted love stories; because
  they said the women read them。
  Now; the editors are wrong about that; of course。 Women do not read
  the love stories   in   the   magazines。 They  read   the poker…game   stories   and
  the   recipes   for   cucumber   lotion。   The   love   stories   are   read   by   fat   cigar
  drummers and little ten…year…old girls。 I am not criticising the judgment of
  editors。 They  are   mostly  very fine   men;   but   a   man can be   but   one   man;
  with   individual   opinions   and   tastes。   I   knew   two   associate   editors   of   a
  magazine who were won… derfully alike in almost everything。 And yet one
  of them was very fond of Flaubert; while the other preferred gin。
  Pettit brought me his returned manuscripts; and we looked them over
  together to find out why they were not accepted。 They seemed to me pretty
  fair   stories;   written   in   a   good   style;   and   ended;   as   they   should;   at   the
  bottom of the last page。
  They were well constructed and the events were marshalled in orderly
  and logical sequence。 But I thought I detected a lack of living substance
  it was much as if I gazed at a symmetrical array of presentable clamshells
  from     which    the   succulent    and    vital  inhabitants    had    been   removed。      I
  intimated that the author might do well to get better acquainted with his
  theme。
  〃You   sold   a   story   last   week;〃   said   Pettit;   〃about   a   gun   fight   in   an
  Arizona mining town in which the hero drew his Colt's 。45 and shot seven
  bandits as fast as they came in the door。 Now; if a six…shooter could  〃
  〃Oh; well;〃 said I; 〃that's different。 Arizona is a long way from New
  York。 I could have a man stabbed with a lariat or chased by a pair of chap…
  arreras if I wanted to; and it wouldn't be noticed until the usual error…sharp
  from around McAdams Junction isolates the erratum and writes in to the
  pa… pers about it。 But you are up against another proposition。 This thing
  they call love is as common around New York as it is in Sheboygan during
  the young onion season。 It may be mixed here with a little commercialism
  they read Byron; but they look up Bradstreet's; too; while they're among
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  the B's; and Brigham also if they have time  but it's pretty much the same
  old internal disturbance every… where。 You can fool an editor with a fake
  picture of a cowboy mounting a pony with his left hand on the saddle horn;
  but you can't put him up a tree with a love story。 So; you've got to fall in
  love and then write the real thing。〃
  Pettit did。 I never knew whether he was taking my advice or whether
  be fell an accidental victim。
  There   was   a   girl   be   had   met   at   one   of   these   studio   contrivances   …   a
  glorious;     impudent;      lucid;  open…    minded      girl  with   hair   the   color   of
  Culmbacher;   and   a   good…natured   way  of   despising   you。   She   was   a   New
  York girl。
  Well   (as   the   narrative   style   permits   us   to   say   in…   frequently);   Pettit
  went to pieces。 All those pains; those lover's doubts; those heart…burnings
  and   tremors   of   which   be   had   written   so   unconvincingly   were   his。   Talk
  about Shylock's pound of flesh! Twenty…five pounds Cupid got from Pettit。
  Which is the usurer?
  One   night     Pettit  came    to  my   room   exalted。     Pale   and   haggard     but
  exalted。 She had given him a jonquil。
  〃Old Hoss;〃 said he; with a new smile flickering around his mouth; 〃I
  believe I could write that story to…night  the one; you know; that is to win
  out。
  〃I can feel it。 I don't know whether it will come out or not; but I can
  feel it。〃 I pushed him out of my door。 〃Go to your room and write it;〃 I
  ordered。 〃Else I can see your fin… ish。 I told you this must come first。 Write
  it to… night and put it under my door when it is done。 Put it under my door
  to…night when it is finished  don't keep it until to…morrow。〃
  I was reading my bully old pal Montaigne at two o'clock when I beard
  the sheets rustle under my door。 I gathered them up and read the story。
  The hissing of geese; the languishing cooing of doves; the braying of
  donkeys; the chatter of irre… sponsible sparrows … these were in my mind's
  ear   as   I   read。   〃Suffering   Sappho!〃   I   exclaimed   to   myself。   〃Is   this   the
  divine   fire that   is   supposed   to   ignite  genius   and   make   it practicable   and
  wage…earning?〃
  The story was sentimental drivel; full of whim… pering softheartedness
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  and gushing egoism。 All the art that Pettit had acquired was gone。 A pe…
  rusal    of   its  buttery   phrases     would     have    made    a   cynic   of   a  sighing
  chambermaid。
  In    the  mo