Genteel Pagan: The Double Life of Charles Warren Stoddard (42 page)

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Authors: Roger Austen

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #General, #Literary Criticism, #Gay & Lesbian, #test

BOOK: Genteel Pagan: The Double Life of Charles Warren Stoddard
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Page 158
had changed. But the weather was heavenly, the people were kind, and simple pleasures abounded. Stoddard felt as if he had been transported back to Italy. He rented a bright apartment, in a house near the water he called "Casa Verde," and set about writing his overdue articles. Occasionally the distractions outside his window made it difficult for him to concentrate. Italian fishermen in hip boots were drying their nets; sailors from foreign vessels were coming ashore; young people in bathing suits were trooping to the beach; young soldiers in "almost skintight trousers" were strolling by. Some of these soldiers, noticing that Stoddard was eyeing them, began to lift their hats in salutation. He purchased some curtains of a material heavy enough to hide him from view but gauzy enough to allow him to continue to espy everyone passing by.
16
Some nights Stoddard would walk to the Monterey Hotel for a nightcap, and at the bar he regularly encountered his new friend, Captain Conrad. This career army officer seemed to have a decided taste for alcohol and the company of good-looking young men, and before long Stoddard was addressing him as "Camerado." On other nights, when there was nowhere to go and no one to see, Stoddard might bring home a bottle of "soft Zinfandelle" to keep him company and make him feel drowsy. He chose to do this, for instance, on Wednesday night, 13 September 1905. The last "bugle cry'' had sounded at the Presidio; people were settling down for the night; the only sounds he could hear were the rising and the falling of the surf. Stoddard was lonely. Like a character out of E. A. Robinson's "Tilbury Town," he sipped the wine in his rocking chair and gazed out the window at the moonlit harbor. "If only my Kid were with me!" he mused in his diary, as the wine began to tell. But which one? "I know not," he wrote. And then. "I would have them allone after another" (D 13 Sept. 1905).
Monterey provided him with almost everything he desired except a "Kid." It was not for lack of trying. Stoddard felt out almost every likely young man he came across, from bootblack to cannery worker to bellboy; but they were not, alas, "responsive" (D 10 Oct. 1905ff.). Stoddard turned his gaze toward the slightly older Bohemians who were starting to move into Carmel, especially toward George Sterling.
Sterling was a troubled man, unhappily married, who had always needed a hero to admire and to please. In his home town in New York, he had developed an adolescent crush on a prize-fighter named Pete M'Coy. When he moved to the Bay Area in 1890, Sterling fell under the
 
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spell of Ambrose Bierce, who began molding him into a poet. Writing verse within the narrow confines of what Bierce regarded as the "great tradition," Sterling was eventually rewarded by extravagant praise from his mentor. Sterling would become one day, Bierce predicted, "the poet of the skies, the prophet of the suns."
17
By 1905, however, Sterling had found a new idol in Jack London. Comfortable in the role of hero-worshiper, Sterling was taken off guard when Stoddard worshiped
his
heroic proportions in an obsequious poem in the
Sunset.
18
Although he assured Stoddard that "To George Sterling'' had been "a joy" to read, he had to wonder what Stoddard meant by "love." There was only one kind that Sterling thought proper between men, and that was the manly affection he felt for his "darling Wolf." He gradually concluded that Stoddard's love was not in this category. As he wrote to Bierce in 1908, Stoddard's was a "case of inversion of sex," and Sterling found that merely being in the old man's presence gave him the "jims." If he was not careful, the "old devil" might wind up "compromising" him.
19
At the same time he was reporting his horror to Bierce, Sterling was continuing to visit Stoddard and to send him affectionate notes and letters. What was the truth about Sterling's feelings toward Stoddard? At this point, we can only guess. Whatever they were, Stoddard never seemed to perceive any chill upon his friendship with Sterling. Perhaps Sterling disguised his revulsion so well that Stoddard never detected it. Or perhaps Sterling was never, in fact, as scandalized by Stoddard's "affectionate manner toward others of his own sex" as he wanted Bierce to believe.
20
If so, then it may be that Sterling was deflecting upon Stoddard any suspicion about his own fondness for London, whose influence over him Bierce had bitterly resented for years.
Compared with Sterling, Jack London was a model of suave imperturbability on the subject of sexual inversion. He was, in his own words, "no spring chicken in the ways of the world." As a "sailor and a tramp and a prisoner," a recent biographer asserts, London had come "to be tolerant" of men who loved other men.
21
He was, in fact, fascinated by the idea of homosexuality. "I have for years specialized on sex," London wrote to Edward Carpenter.
22
To another homosexual correspondent, Maurice Magnus, he boasted of reading "the whole literature and all the authorities of the 'curious ways.'" He knew about homosexuality "fairly thoroughly and scientifically," but, of course, he was "a lover of women."
23
Everyone agrees that London was a narcissist; he loved his own body,
 
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as long as it was muscular, and he loved being photographed wearing as few clothes as possible. Moreover he never bothered to hide that he was tantalized by the physiques of other young men who were equally well built. London apparently found the muscles as well as the mussels delectable at George Sterling's beach parties at Carmel. "Gee!" he once wrote to "Greek," as he called Sterling, "I'd like to be out with you one day for a muscle-feed."
24
Thus when London began receiving amorous letters from Stoddardthe two men had apparently been put in touch by London's friend, Cloudesley Johnshe was more intrigued than appalled. Stoddard presented himself as a harmless old man who wanted to love London from afar. Stoddard wrote in August 1903:
I am very old, very tender-hearted and very faithful: my heart is faithful, tender and true, if there ever was one. I suppose Cloudesley thinks me foolishly sentimental. I cannot help that. I am what I was when I was born. . . .
My God! How you have lived as with a heart of fire. I have felt the warmth of it even out here, when re-reading your books and your letters. Even when thinking of you there comes a glow upon my cheek and a warmth in my heart. . . .
That is because you are my own Jack and I am your very Dad. . . .
Does all this seem like nonsnsense?
25
Whether it did or not, London continued to respond to Stoddard in a way that was not only cordial but affectionate. After Stoddard sent him a copy of
South-Sea Idyls,
London mailed the "Love Man" a copy of
The Son of the Wolf with
this inscription: "To Charles Warren Stoddard. O, you Singer of the South Seas! How can I write aught else just now, to you who know? There is neither time nor space for loveyet, I can only repeat, O you Singer! P.S. I have just finished your 'Idyls' and come back to earth."
26
As it happened, there was little time for love between London and Stoddard, even after the latter had come to California. When they met each other, Stoddard felt drawn to London more powerfully than he ever had been to Sterling. "I wish you knew Jack London," Stoddard wrote to Horace Traubel, Whitman's companion. "His love is inspiring and gives as much as it takes. He has wonderfully magnetic eyes. When he looks at me, I feel as if a fairy cobweb were waving in my face."
27
But London was extraordinarily preoccupied at the time of Stoddard's arrival in California; and as far as love was concerned, he had found his

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