Yet it was enough. At the end there came to me one of those moments God grants now and then as a reward for long thirst, way-weariness, and heart-sickness patiently borne! One of those foolishly divine moments you stand with the gods and, like them, are young and fair and powerful! Your very nerves thrill harmonious, like harp-strings attune—your blood courses like quicksilver for swiftness, like wine for warmth, and on that fair peak of Triumph, where one tarries but by moments, there is no knowledge of sin or suffering, of death or hate; there is only sunshine, the sunshine of success! love for all those creatures who turn smiling faces on you, who hold their hands to you with joyous cries!
There is no question of deserts, of qualifications! No analysis, no criticism then—they follow later! That is just a moment of delicious madness; and to distinguish it from other frenzies it is called—a Dramatic Triumph!
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINTH
I Am too Dull to Understand a Premonition—By Mr. Daly's Side I See the Destruction of the Fifth Avenue Theatre by Fire.
How shall I call that strange influence that dumbly tries to warn, to prepare?
Many of us have had experience of this nameless something whose efforts are but rarely heeded. The something that one morning suddenly fills the mind with thoughts of some friend of the far past, who is almost entirely forgotten—persistent thoughts not to be shaken off.
You speak of the matter, and your family exclaim: "What on earth ever brought him to your mind?" and that night you either hear of the old friend's death or he sends you a letter from the other side of the world.
I had an acquaintance who one day found herself compelled, as it were, to talk of thefts, of remarkable robberies. She seemed unable to turn her mind to any other subject. If she looked at a lock, she thought how easy it would be to force it; at a window, how readily a man might enter it. Her people laughed and told her she was hoodooed; but next day she was robbed of every jewel she had in the world. What was it that was trying dumbly to warn her?
It was on the 1st of January that my mind became subject to one of those outside seizures. The snow was banked high in the streets—had been so for days. The unexpected sale of the house in Twenty-first Street had forced me to new quarters; I was at that moment in Twenty-fourth Street. As I raised my head from kissing my mother a Happy New Year, I remarked: "The streets are in a terrible condition for a great fire—are they not?"
"Let us hope there won't be a great fire," replied mother, and began to pour out the coffee.