"And can you rent it to me for a month?"
"Why, I don"t know any reason why I can"t rent it to you for a year--only it ain"t worth nothin", an"--"
"Then rent it to me! The less it is worth the better it will suit me. But come, show me where it is!"
"I reckon I can show you," said the man, looking perplexed. "But what in the world do you want to go into that lonesome place for? Why, boy, n.o.body goes there in a month! An" what you goin" to do for somethin" to eat, an"
some place to sleep, an"--"
I managed to get him started at last. And now, oh just look at me! I"ve been roaming around staring at it--inside and outside. The G.o.ds love me after all.
The infinite relief that it is! The infinite exultation that it is! And all to myself--not a soul near me! And out in the woods! _And mine for a month!_ Oh blessed "cello player that moved away; blessed landlady"s sister that talked--!
And oh blessed cook-house! We will make thee a consecrated cook-house before we get through--we will! We will cook a dish in thee that will warm the hearts of a goodly company--oh blessed cook-house!
--And outside a great white moon streaming through the forest trees!
The "cook-house" is about ten feet square. It is about one-third stove, now covered with a newspaper and serving as a table. Besides that there is one chair, for which I have just improvised a leg, with the help of my knife.
Besides the knife I have a fork, a plate, a cup, and a spoon--borrowed from the farmer. I have a blanket and a bed consisting of an old carriage robe, rented from the farmer. I have a lamp and a kerosene-can--ditto. I have a frying-pan--ditto. But I haven"t my little oil-stove, so I fear I shall eat mostly cold things. I have a pail of milk, a loaf of bread, a ginger-cake, some b.u.t.ter, some eggs, some bacon, some apples and some radishes; also a tooth-brush, a comb, a change of clothing, two handkerchiefs, some pencils and paper, Prometheus Bound, Prometheus Unbound, Samson Agonistes, faith, hope, and charity!
--I believe I have named all the necessaries of life.
June 15th.
I have scooped myself out a bathtub below the spring. I forgot towels in my list of necessaries! I fear it will be inconvenient on rainy days. I am like a child with a new toy, in my wonderful home. I was too excited to think of working. I fried an egg over a little fire, and then I roamed all about the woods. I don"t remember ever having been so happy before. I had forgotten there was anything beautiful in the world.--
--I spent the whole of the afternoon dreaming a dream. When I have finished The Captive and gotten some money, I am going to have a little house in the woods! I have just had it before my eyes--and I laughed with delight like a boy.
It will be a fine big house--it will cost about fifty dollars; and there will be a table and a chair, and a cot, and such things. It will stand by a lake, a wild lake far out in the mountains! I have vowed to find a lake at least five miles from anything; and once a week I will have somebody bring me provisions.
--That is the way I shall spend next summer!--Up, up! Get to work!--
June 17th.
I have done nothing for two days but wander around and stare at things. It is all gone, every gleam of it! And I can not bring it back--I know not what to do, where to turn. I stopped in one of the hardest parts of the whole thing--in the very midst of it; and how in the world am I to begin? I walk around, I sit down, I get up again; I try to put my thoughts upon it, I bring them back again and again. But I can not do it--I have let every thread of it go. What has tramping over the country and delight in houses got to do with my work?
I have nothing to write--the whole thing is a blank to me. And here I am, eating up my provisions!--This shows me what I am--what a child.
--But how am I to get up on those fearful heights again? How am I to take the first step toward those fearful heights again? I cry that all day!
June 20th.
Oh, the joy of being out in the woods! I never knew of it before--I never dreamed it!
It is better than an orchestra. To be able to stretch your arms! To have a place to walk! To be able to talk aloud!--to laugh--to shout--to do what you please!--to be free from all men, and the thought of all men!
And to hear your own poetry aloud!--I cried out to-day that I would go back and do the whole of The Captive over again, so that I could hear it out loud. It made me quite wild yesterday when I first realized that I was _alone_!
--Last night there was a gale, and the clouds sped over the moon, and the wind roared in the trees--and I roared too!
--"For I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set!"
June 21st.
I did just as I have always done before. I got desperate enough, and then I went to work. I said "I will! and I will! and I will!" I think I said nothing else for twenty-four hours.
And so the storm again, and the great waves speeding!
Is there any one who has ever watched the great waves?--How they go! They take you right with them. My verses shall be waves.
I am tired out again; but oh, I am filled with my music! There was never any poetry like it in the world!
And at the height of it I cry out: "I am free! I am free!
"I won"t have to stop again!
"I can go to the very end of it!
"And I don"t care who hears me!
"I am free!"
June 23d.
I ate a raw egg this morning. For yesterday I let the fire go out five times, and gave up my breakfast rather than start a sixth.
I wanted to save time--I thought it would be egg just the same; but I record it for future generations of poets, that the experiment is not a success. You taste raw egg all day.