An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

never to see her more.”

“But she will not let you go or go her way unless you

accompany her. And if you go yours, it will be without

Sondra and all that she represents, as well as all this

pleasant life here—your standing with your uncle, his

friends, their cars, the dances, visits to the lodges on the

lakes. And what then? A small job! Small pay! Another such

period of wandering as followed that accident at Kansas

City. Never another chance like this anywhere. Do you

prefer that?”

“But might there not be some accident here, destroying all

my dreams—my future—as there was in Kansas City?”

“An accident, to be sure—but not the same. In this instance

the plan is in your hands. You can arrange it all as you will.

And how easy! So many boats upsetting every summer—

the occupants of them drowning, because in most cases

they cannot swim. And will it ever be known whether the

man who was with Roberta Alden on Big Bittern could

swim? And of all deaths, drowning is the easiest—no noise

—no outcry—perhaps the accidental blow of an oar—the

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side of a boat. And then silence! Freedom—a body that no

one may ever find. Or if found and identified, will it not be

easy, if you but trouble to plan, to make it appear that you

were elsewhere, visiting at one of the other lakes before

you decided to go to Twelfth Lake. What is wrong with it?

Where is the flaw?”

“But assuming that I should upset the boat and that she

should not drown, then what? Should cling to it, cry out, be

saved and relate afterward that…. But no, I cannot do that—

will not do it. I will not hit her. That would be too terrible …

too vile.”

“But a little blow—any little blow under such circumstances

would be sufficient to confuse and complete her undoing.

Sad, yes, but she has an opportunity to go her own way,

has she not? And she will not, nor let you go yours. Well,

then, is this so terribly unfair? And do not forget that

afterwards there is Sondra—the beautiful—a home with her

in Lycurgus—wealth, a high position such as elsewhere you

may never obtain again—never—never. Love and

happiness—the equal of any one here—superior even to

your cousin Gilbert.”

The voice ceased temporarily, trailing off into shadow,—

silence, dreams.

And Clyde, contemplating all that had been said, was still

unconvinced. Darker fears or better impulses supplanted

the counsel of the voice in the great hall. But presently

thinking of Sondra and all that she represented, and then of

Roberta, the dark personality would as suddenly and swiftly

return and with amplified suavity and subtlety.

“Ah, still thinking on the matter. And you have not found a

way out and you will not. I have truly pointed out to you and

in all helpfulness the only way—the only way—It is a long

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lake. And would it not be easy in rowing about to eventually

find some secluded spot—some invisible nook near that

south shore where the water is deep? And from there how

easy to walk through the woods to Three Mile Bay and

Upper Greys Lake? And from there to the Cranstons’?

There is a boat from there, as you know. Pah—how

cowardly—how lacking in courage to win the thing that

above all things you desire—beauty—wealth—position—the

solution of your every material and spiritual desire. And with

poverty, commonplace, hard and poor work as the

alternative to all this.

“But you must choose—choose! And then act. You must!

You must! You must!”

Thus the voice in parting, echoing from some remote part

of the enormous chamber.

And Clyde, listening at first with horror and in terror, later

with a detached and philosophic calm as one who, entirely

apart from what he may think or do, is still entitled to

consider even the wildest and most desperate proposals for

his release, at last, because of his own mental and material

weakness before pleasures and dreams which he could not

bring himself to forego, psychically intrigued to the point

where he was beginning to think that it might be possible.

Why not? Was it not even as the voice said—a possible

and plausible way—all his desires and dreams to be made

real by this one evil thing? Yet in his case, because of flaws

and weaknesses in his own unstable and highly variable

will, the problem was not to be solved by thinking thus—

then—nor for the next ten days for that matter.

He could not really act on such a matter for himself and

would not. It remained as usual for him to be forced either

to act or to abandon this most wild and terrible thought. Yet

during this time a series of letters—seven from Roberta,

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five from Sondra—in which in somber tones in so far as

Roberta was concerned—in gay and colorful ones in those

which came from Sondra—was painted the now so sharply

contrasting phases of the black rebus which lay before him.

To Roberta’s pleadings, argumentative and threatening as

they were, Clyde did not trust himself to reply, not even by

telephone. For now he reasoned that to answer would be

only to lure Roberta to her doom—or to the attempted

drastic conclusion of his difficulties as outlined by the

tragedy at Pass Lake.

At the same time, in several notes addressed to Sondra, he

gave vent to the most impassioned declarations of love—

his darling—his wonder girl—how eager he was to be at

Twelfth Lake by the morning of the Fourth, if he could, and

so thrilled to see her there again. Yet, alas, as he also

wrote now, so uncertain was he, even now, as to how he

was to do, there were certain details in connection with his

work here that might delay him a day or two or three—he

could not tell as yet—but would write her by the second at

the latest, when he would know positively. Yet saying to

himself as he wrote this, if she but knew what those details

were—if she but knew. Yet in penning this, and without

having as yet answered the last importunate letter from

Roberta, he was also saying to himself that this did not

mean that he was planning to go to Roberta at all, or that if

he did, it did not mean that he was going to attempt to kill

her. Never once did he honestly, or to put it more

accurately, forthrightly and courageously or coldly face the

thought of committing so grim a crime. On the contrary, the

nearer he approached a final resolution or the need for one

in connection with all this, the more hideous and terrible

seemed the idea—hideous and difficult, and hence the

more improbable it seemed that he should ever commit it. It

was true that from moment to moment—arguing with

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himself as he constantly was—sweating mental sweats and

fleeing from moral and social terrors in connection with it all,

he was thinking from time to time that he might go to Big

Bittern in order to quiet her in connection with these present

importunities and threats and hence (once more evasion—

tergiversation with himself) give himself more time in which

to conclude what his true course must be.

The way of the Lake.

The way of the Lake.

But once there—whether it would then be advisable so to do

—or not—well who could tell. He might even yet be able to

convert Roberta to some other point of view. For, say what

you would, she was certainly acting very unfairly and

captiously in all this. She was, as he saw it in connection

with his very vital dream of Sondra, making a mountain—an

immense terror—out of a state that when all was said and

done, was not so different from Esta’s. And Esta had not

compelled any one to marry her. And how much better

were the Aldens to his own parents—poor farmers as

compared to poor preachers. And why should he be so

concerned as to what they would think when Esta had not

troubled to think what her parents would feel?

In spite of all that Roberta had said about blame, was she

so entirely lacking in blame herself? To be sure, he had

sought to entice or seduce her, as you will, but even so,

could she be held entirely blameless? Could she not have

refused, if she was so positive at the time that she was so

very moral? But she had not. And as to all this, all that he

had done, had he not done all he could to help her out of it?

And he had so little money, too. And was placed in such a

difficult position. She was just as much to blame as he was.

And yet now she was so determined to drive him this way.