Whatever I was in truth, rid of accidental emotions if such they
were, I had filled her mind with fear and doubt. Thus our fate was made,
our sorrow was born.
As I walked along in the darkness toward the village, my loneliness in
the world came over me. I had not attached many to me; many of those I
had won were gone. Was there a home for me? How could I return to the
house in Chicago? To what there? I had come from Italy to America; from
a city of memories and spiritual richnesses to the tumult of New York.
Above all I had found heaven in Isabel and lost it. My life had come to
flower only to be withered. I had stepped out of heaven into hell, and
from a great light into darkness.
But the soul does not give up while there is breath. If one is ill he
looks forward to health; if he is slowly dying he hopes for years of
life; if one friend is lost there is another to turn to. No heart so
desperate but can imagine a haven, however poor it may be, and go to it.
In this hour my mind turned to Reverdy back in Jacksonville. There could
be no truer, kinder heart. There in the prairie of Illinois that I had
grown up with he would be my solace. What had I to do with Rome, with
art; what with a woman like Isabel? I had ventured on sacred ground and
this was my punishment. A god had driven me forth.
Pages:
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397