Martin Eden by Jack London

call biology. It is biology in its largest aspects.

“I know I express myself incoherently, but I’ve tried to hammer out

the idea. It came to me as you were talking, so I was not primed

and ready to deliver it. You spoke yourself of the human frailty

that prevented one from taking all the factors into consideration.

And you, in turn, – or so it seems to me, – leave out the

biological factor, the very stuff out of which has been spun the

fabric of all the arts, the warp and the woof of all human actions

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and achievements.”

To Ruth’s amazement, Martin was not immediately crushed, and that

the professor replied in the way he did struck her as forbearance

for Martin’s youth. Professor Caldwell sat for a full minute,

silent and fingering his watch chain.

“Do you know,” he said at last, “I’ve had that same criticism

passed on me once before – by a very great man, a scientist and

evolutionist, Joseph Le Conte. But he is dead, and I thought to

remain undetected; and now you come along and expose me.

Seriously, though – and this is confession – I think there is

something in your contention – a great deal, in fact. I am too

classical, not enough up-to-date in the interpretative branches of

science, and I can only plead the disadvantages of my education and

a temperamental slothfulness that prevents me from doing the work.

I wonder if you’ll believe that I’ve never been inside a physics or

chemistry laboratory? It is true, nevertheless. Le Conte was

right, and so are you, Mr. Eden, at least to an extent – how much I

do not know.”

Ruth drew Martin away with her on a pretext; when she had got him

aside, whispering:-

“You shouldn’t have monopolized Professor Caldwell that way. There

may be others who want to talk with him.”

“My mistake,” Martin admitted contritely. “But I’d got him stirred

up, and he was so interesting that I did not think. Do you know,

he is the brightest, the most intellectual, man I have ever talked

with. And I’ll tell you something else. I once thought that

everybody who went to universities, or who sat in the high places

in society, was just as brilliant and intelligent as he.”

“He’s an exception,” she answered.

“I should say so. Whom do you want me to talk to now? – Oh, say,

bring me up against that cashier-fellow.”

Martin talked for fifteen minutes with him, nor could Ruth have

wished better behavior on her lover’s part. Not once did his eyes

flash nor his cheeks flush, while the calmness and poise with which

he talked surprised her. But in Martin’s estimation the whole

tribe of bank cashiers fell a few hundred per cent, and for the

rest of the evening he labored under the impression that bank

cashiers and talkers of platitudes were synonymous phrases. The

army officer he found good-natured and simple, a healthy, wholesome

young fellow, content to occupy the place in life into which birth

and luck had flung him. On learning that he had completed two

years in the university, Martin was puzzled to know where he had

stored it away. Nevertheless Martin liked him better than the

platitudinous bank cashier.

“I really don’t object to platitudes,” he told Ruth later; “but

what worries me into nervousness is the pompous, smugly complacent,

superior certitude with which they are uttered and the time taken

to do it. Why, I could give that man the whole history of the

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Reformation in the time he took to tell me that the Union-Labor

Party had fused with the Democrats. Do you know, he skins his

words as a professional poker-player skins the cards that are dealt

out to him. Some day I’ll show you what I mean.”

“I’m sorry you don’t like him,” was her reply. “He’s a favorite of

Mr. Butler’s. Mr. Butler says he is safe and honest – calls him

the Rock, Peter, and says that upon him any banking institution can

well be built.”

“I don’t doubt it – from the little I saw of him and the less I

heard from him; but I don’t think so much of banks as I did. You

don’t mind my speaking my mind this way, dear?”

“No, no; it is most interesting.”

Yes,” Martin went on heartily, “I’m no more than a barbarian

getting my first impressions of civilization. Such impressions

must be entertainingly novel to the civilized person.”

“What did you think of my cousins?” Ruth queried.

“I liked them better than the other women. There’s plenty of fun

in them along with paucity of pretence.”

“Then you did like the other women?”

He shook his head.

“That social-settlement woman is no more than a sociological poll-

parrot. I swear, if you winnowed her out between the stars, like

Tomlinson, there would be found in her not one original thought.

As for the portrait-painter, she was a positive bore. She’d make a

good wife for the cashier. And the musician woman! I don’t care

how nimble her fingers are, how perfect her technique, how

wonderful her expression – the fact is, she knows nothing about

music.”

“She plays beautifully,” Ruth protested.

“Yes, she’s undoubtedly gymnastic in the externals of music, but

the intrinsic spirit of music is unguessed by her. I asked her

what music meant to her – you know I’m always curious to know that

particular thing; and she did not know what it meant to her, except

that she adored it, that it was the greatest of the arts, and that

it meant more than life to her.”

“You were making them talk shop,” Ruth charged him.

“I confess it. And if they were failures on shop, imagine my

sufferings if they had discoursed on other subjects. Why, I used

to think that up here, where all the advantages of culture were

enjoyed – ” He paused for a moment, and watched the youthful shade

of himself, in stiff-rim and square-cut, enter the door and swagger

across the room. “As I was saying, up here I thought all men and

women were brilliant and radiant. But now, from what little I’ve

seen of them, they strike me as a pack of ninnies, most of them,

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and ninety percent of the remainder as bores. Now there’s

Professor Caldwell – he’s different. He’s a man, every inch of him

and every atom of his gray matter.”

Ruth’s face brightened.

“Tell me about him,” she urged. “Not what is large and brilliant –

I know those qualities; but whatever you feel is adverse. I am

most curious to know.”

“Perhaps I’ll get myself in a pickle.” Martin debated humorously

for a moment. “Suppose you tell me first. Or maybe you find in

him nothing less than the best.”

“I attended two lecture courses under him, and I have known him for

two years; that is why I am anxious for your first impression.”

“Bad impression, you mean? Well, here goes. He is all the fine

things you think about him, I guess. At least, he is the finest

specimen of intellectual man I have met; but he is a man with a

secret shame.”

“Oh, no, no!” he hastened to cry. “Nothing paltry nor vulgar.

What I mean is that he strikes me as a man who has gone to the

bottom of things, and is so afraid of what he saw that he makes

believe to himself that he never saw it. Perhaps that’s not the

clearest way to express it. Here’s another way. A man who has

found the path to the hidden temple but has not followed it; who

has, perhaps, caught glimpses of the temple and striven afterward

to convince himself that it was only a mirage of foliage. Yet

another way. A man who could have done things but who placed no

value on the doing, and who, all the time, in his innermost heart,

is regretting that he has not done them; who has secretly laughed

at the rewards for doing, and yet, still more secretly, has yearned

for the rewards and for the joy of doing.”

“I don’t read him that way,” she said. “And for that matter, I

don’t see just what you mean.”

“It is only a vague feeling on my part,” Martin temporized. “I

have no reason for it. It is only a feeling, and most likely it is

wrong. You certainly should know him better than I.”

From the evening at Ruth’s Martin brought away with him strange

confusions and conflicting feelings. He was disappointed in his

goal, in the persons he had climbed to be with. On the other hand,

he was encouraged with his success. The climb had been easier than

he expected. He was superior to the climb, and (he did not, with

false modesty, hide it from himself) he was superior to the beings

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