The Letters of Ambrose Bierce Part 8

I came here on Monday of last week, and the change has done me good. I have no asthma and am slowly getting back my strength.

Leigh and Ina Peterson pa.s.sed Sunday with me, and Leigh recounted his adventures in the mountains. I had been greatly worried about him; it seems there was abundant reason. The next time he comes I wish he would bring you. It is lovely down here. Perhaps you and Katie can come some time, and I'll drive you all over the valley--if you care to drive.

If I continue well I shall remain here or hereabout; if not I don't know where I shall go. Probably into the Santa Cruz mountains or to Gilroy. If I could have my way I'd live at Piedmont.

Do you know I lost Pin the Reptile? I brought him along in my bicycle bag (I came the latter half of the way bike-back) and the ungrateful scoundrel wormed himself out and took to the weeds just before we got to San Jose. So I've nothing to lavish my second-childhoodish affection upon--nothing but just myself.

My permanent address is Oakland, as usual, but _you_ may address me here at San Jose if you will be so good as to address me anywhere.

Please do, and tell me of your triumphs and trials at the Conservatory of Music. I do fervently hope it may prove a means of prosperity to you, for, behold, you are The Only Girl in the World Who Merits Prosperity!

Please give my friendly regards to your people; and so--Heaven be good to you.

AMBROSE BIERCE.

[San Jose, October 28, 1894.]

O, BEST OF POETS,

How have you the heart to point out what you deem an imperfection in those lines. Upon my soul, I swear they are faultless, and "moonlight"

is henceforth and forever a rhyme to "delight." Also, likewise, moreover and furthermore, a ---- is henceforth ----; and ---- are forever ----; and to ---- shall be ----; and so forth. You have established new canons of literary criticism--more liberal ones--and death to the wretch who does not accept them! Ah, I always knew you were a revolutionist.

Yes, I am in better health, worse luck! For I miss the beef-teaing expeditions more than you can by trying.

By the way, if you again encounter your fellow pract.i.tioner, Mrs.

Hirshberg, please tell her what has become of her patient, and that I remember her gratefully.

It is not uninteresting to me to hear of your progress in your art, albeit I am debarred from entrance into the temple where it is wors.h.i.+ped. After all, art finds its best usefulness in its reaction upon the character; and in that work I can trace your proficiency in the art that you love. As you become a better artist you grow a nicer girl, and if your music does not cause my tympana to move themselves aright, yet the niceness is not without its effect upon the soul o'

me. So I'm not so _very_ inert a clod, after all.

No, Leigh has not infected me with the exploring fad. I exhausted my capacity in that way years before I had the advantage of his acquaintance and the contagion of his example. But I don't like to think of that miserable mountain sitting there and grinning in the consciousness of having beaten the Bierce family.

So--apropos of my brother--_I_ am "odd" after a certain fas.h.i.+on! My child, that is blasphemy. You grow hardier every day of your life, and you'll end as a full colonel yet, and challenge Man to mortal combat in true Stetsonian style. Know thy place, thou atom!

Speaking of colonels reminds me that one of the most eminent of the group had the a.s.surance to write me, asking for an "audience" to consult about a benefit that she--_she!_--is getting up for my friend Miss * * *, a glorious writer and eccentric old maid whom you do not know. * * * evidently wants more notoriety and proposes to s.h.i.+ne by Miss * * * light. I was compelled to lower the temperature of the situation with a letter curtly courteous. Not even to a.s.sist Miss * * *

shall my name be mixed up with those of that gang. But of course all that does not amuse you.

I wish I could have a chat with you. I speak to n.o.body but my chambermaid and the waiter at my restaurant. By the time I see you I shall have lost the art of speech altogether and shall communicate with you by the sign language.

G.o.d be good to you and move you to write to me sometimes.

Sincerely your friend, AMBROSE BIERCE.

[First part of this letter missing.]

You may, I think, expect my a.s.sistance in choosing between (or among) your suitors next month, early. I propose to try living in Oakland again for a short time beginning about then. But I shall have much to do the first few days--possibly in settling my earthly affairs for it is my determination to be hanged for killing all those suitors. That seems to me the simplest way of disembarra.s.sing you. As to me--it is the "line of least resistance"--unless they fight.

So you have been ill. You must not be ill, my child--it disturbs my Marcus Aurelian tranquillity, and is most selfishly inconsiderate of you.

Mourn with me: the golden leaves of my poplars are now underwheel. I sigh for the perennial eucalyptus leaf of Piedmont.

I hope you are all well. Sincerely your friend,

AMBROSE BIERCE.

[San Jose, November 20, 1894.]

Since writing you yesterday, dear Blanche, I have observed that the benefit to * * * is not abandoned--it is to occur in the evening of the 26th, at Golden Gate Hall, San Francisco. I recall your kind offer to act for me in any way that I might wish to a.s.sist Miss * * *. Now, I will not have my name connected with anything that the * * * woman and her sister-in-evidence may do for their own glorification, but I enclose a Wells, Fargo & Co. money order for all the money I can presently afford--wherewith you may do as you will; buy tickets, or hand it to the treasurer in your own name. I know Miss * * * must be awfully needy to accept a benefit--you have no idea how sensitive and suspicious and difficult she is. She is almost impossible. But there are countless exactions on my lean purse, and I must do the rest with my pen. So--I thank you.

Sincerely your friend, AMBROSE BIERCE.

[18 Iowa Circle, Was.h.i.+ngton, D. C., January 1, 1901.]

DEAR STERLING,

This is just a hasty note to acknowledge receipt of your letter and the poems. I hope to reach those pretty soon and give them the attention which I am sure they will prove to merit--which I cannot do now. By the way, I wonder why most of you youngsters so persistently tackle the sonnet. For the same reason, I suppose, that a fellow always wants to make his first appearance on the stage in the role of "Hamlet." It is just the holy cheek of you.

Yes, Leigh prospers fairly well, and I--well, I don't know if it is prosperity; it is a pretty good time.

I suppose I shall have to write to that old scoundrel Grizzly,[1] to give him my new address, though I supposed he had it; and the old one would do, anyhow. Now that his cub has returned he probably doesn't care for the other plantigrades of his kind.

[1] Albert Bierce.

Thank you for telling me so much about some of our companions and companionesses of the long ago. I fear that not all my heart was in my baggage when I came over here. There's a bit of it, for example, out there by that little lake in the hills.

So I may have a photograph of one of your pretty sisters. Why, of course I want it--I want the entire five of them; their pictures, I mean. If you had been a nice fellow you would have let me know them long ago. And how about that other pretty girl, your infinitely better half? You might sneak into the envelope a little portrait of _her_, lest I forget, lest I forget. But I've not yet forgotten.

The new century's best blessings to the both o' you.

AMBROSE BIERCE.

P.S.--In your studies of poetry have you dipped into Stedman's new "American Anthology"? It is the most notable collection of American verse that has been made--on the whole, a book worth having. In saying so I rather pride myself on my magnanimity; for of course I don't think he has done as well by me as he might have done. That, I suppose, is what every one thinks who happens to be alive to think it.

So I try to be in the fas.h.i.+on.

A. B.

[18 Iowa Circle, Was.h.i.+ngton, D. C., January 19, 1901.]

MY DEAR STERLING,

I've been a long while getting to your verses, but there were many reasons--including a broken rib. They are pretty good verses, with here and there _very_ good lines. I'd a strong temptation to steal one or two for my "Pa.s.sing Show," but I knew what an avalanche of verses it would bring down upon me from other poets--as every mention of a new book loads my mail with new books for a month.