COPYRIGHT, 1922 , BY F I ALFR ED A . K NOP , NC. Third Printing , M a y , 1922 F i u l 1933 f th Printi ng , J y , S ev n r 1983 e th Printing , Oc to b e , Ei Iq; gh th Prmtin . Ma rch 1923 q g , N inth Prin ting , Ju ly . 1933 t Vai ~ a P s t tr t ed, rinted and b ound by he l B llo u re s , Inc. , Bm hamto S e up , elec o yp p a n, N. Y, Pa er urms hed b W . F . Etherin ton Co . N wY r p f y a . e o k . MANU FACTURED IN THE U NITED STATES OF AMERICA ’ ‘ Tin lin is t test sa i Ba bb ala n a Yo o m g g he , d j , y, ’ did o u tin le when tha t s o n wa c m o in ? y g , g s o p s g “ . ” A ll o ver, B a bb a la nj a . HERMA N M ELVILLE : M ardi . W e wo rk in the da rk—we d o wha t w e ca n—we ive wha t we ha ve. O ur d o u bt is o u r ss i n nd g p a o , a o u ass u as k T t r p i o n is o r t . he res t is he ma dness o f a rt. D ENCOMBE : The M iddle Y ea rs. “ Les ex istences les plus b elles s o nt p eut- etre celles u i o nt s u b i to us les xtremes u i o nt ra fvers u q e , q t é to tes les tem era tures renco ntré to u tes les s ensa tio ns exces p , ” m o n c r s s iwes et to us les s enti ents c tra di to i e . EM Y M R DE GOU R ONT : Le Chat d e M isére. The ma n who s a tisfi es a ceas eless intellectu a l cu r io s it ro b a bl s u eez es mo r o ut o li e in the lo n y p y q ” e f f g e run tha n a ny o ne els . DM ssa B k h T ab l E U ND Go : o o s o n t e e. 0 mother o the hills or i ze o u r towers f , f g g ; m t e h clo u ds o r av o u r drea s . 0 mo h r o f t e , f g e D I ELLI E W N S . Pref a ce J i ’ So few people were With Téter the W hiflle th at the announcement , on that page of New York Times consecrated to wedding, birth , and obituary notices , of his death in New York ' 1 1 1 . on Decembe r 5 , 9 9 , awakened no comment Those of my friends who knew something of the relationship between Pete r and myself, probably did not see the slender paragraph at all . At any te m ra save , of course , l e h a s Edith Dal , w o se interest , in a sense , was no t special as my own . Her loss was so personal , however , nor her grief so deep . It was strange and curious to remember that however infrequently we had met , and the chronicle which follows will give evidence of the comparative infrequency of these meetings , yet some indestructible bond , a firm m r deter ining girdle of intimate understanding, ove which Time and Space had no power , held us to gether . I had become to Peter something of a necessity, in that through me he found the proper outlet for his artistic explosions . I was present , indeed , at the bombing of more than one discarded r theo y . It was under the spell of such apparently trivial and external matters that our friendship [ I ] Prefac e developed and , while my own interests often flew im in other directions , Peter certainly occupied as 1n I ln portant a place my heart as did his , probably , i es m r n me r cts . so pe g o e important Nevertheless , when I received a notification from his lawyer that : ’ I shafcf b n in r t e n I ee é fian d d Peter s will , was con si e r b d a ly astonished . My astonishment increased when I was informed of the nature of the bequest . Peter W hiflle had appointed me to serve as his literary executor . hiflle Now Peter W was not , in any accepted sense of the epithet , an author . He had never published a book ; he had never , indeed , written a book . In the end he had come to hold a somewhat mystic theory in regard to such matters , which he had only exp lamed to me a few moments before he died . I was , however , aware , more aware than any one else could possibly have been , that from time to time he had been accustomed to take notes . I was as I familiar , suppose , as any one could be , with the an i trend of his later ideas , d w th some of the major incidents in his earlier life he had acquainted I . e me , although , here , must confess , there w re lacuna in my knowledge . Still , his testamentary I request , unless might choose to accept it in a I sense , am convinced , entirely too flattering to my slender talents , seemed to be inconsistent with the speculative idea which haunted him , at least to wards the end o f his life . This contradiction and an enlarging sense of the mysterious character of [2 ] Preface b the assignment were somewhat dispelled y a letter , 1 1 1 dated June 7 , 9 7 , which , a few days after the reading of the will , his lawyer placed in my hands and which indicated plainly enough that Peter had decided upon my appointment at least two years and a half before he died . This letter not only confirmed the strange clause in the will but also , to some extent , explained it and , as the f letter is an essential part of my narrative , I o fer it in evidence at once . — Dear Carl so it read I suppose that some day I shall die ; people do die . If there has been one set purpose in my life , it has been not to have a purpose . That , you I alone , perhaps , understand . You know how have always hesitated to express myself definitely, you I know how have refrained from writing , and you I also know , perhaps , that can write ; indeed , until I . recently , you thought was writing, or would write But I think you realize now W hat writing has come al to mean to me , definition , constant definition , it though is as apparent as anything can be that life , natu re art h , whatever one writes about , are fluid t and mutable hings , perpetually undergoing change and , even when they assume some semblance of permanence , always presenting two or more faces . There are those who are not appalled by these conditions , those who confront them with bravery and even with impertinence . You have been cour a eo s g u . You have published several books which I [3] r have ead with varying shades of pleasure , and you have not hesitated to define , or at any rate discuss , t even hat intangible , invisible , and noisy art called Music . I have begun many things but nothing have I ever completed . It has always seemed unnecessary or impossible , although at times I have tried to carry a piece of work through . On these occasions a restraining angel has held me firmly back . be It might better if what I have written , what I have said , were permitted to pass into oblivion with to . me , become a part of scoriac chaos It may not mean anything in particular ; if it means too much , to that extent I have failed . Thinking, however , of death , as I .sometimes do , I have wondered if, after all , behind the vapoury curtain of my fluctuating purpose , behind the orphic wall of my indecision , there did not lurk some vague shadow of intention . Not on my part , per haps , but on the part of that being , or that con dition , which is reported to be interested in such do ub t I . matters . This , confess , I owe to you . b e Sometimes , in those extraordinary moments tween sleeping and awakening— and in the . once ’ as — dentist s chair , after I had taken g the kno ts seemed to unravel , the problem seemed as naked as Istar a t the seventh gate . But these moments ffi . re are di cult , or impossible , to recapture To capture them I sho fild have been compelled to t invent a new s yle , a style as capricious and vibra [4] s In t to ry as the moments themselve . his , how ou n ever , as y k ow, I have failed, while you have succeeded . It is to your success , modest as it may appear to you , that I turn in my dilemma . To come to the point , cannot you explain , make out some kind of case for me , put me on my feet (or in a ? book! , and thereby prove or disprove something Shameless as I am , it would be inconceivable , absurd , for me to ask you to do this while I am yet living and I have , therefore , put my request into a formal a m o u cl ause in my will .