Had I been brought to America a few years earlier, I might have
written that in such and such a year my father emigrated, just as I
would state what he did for a living, as a matter of family history.
Happening when it did, the emigration became of the most vital
importance to me personally. All the processes of uprooting,
transportation, replanting, acclimatization, and development took
place in my own soul. I felt the pang, the fear, the wonder, and the
joy of it. I can never forget, for I bear the scars. But I want to
forget--sometimes I long to forget. I think I have thoroughly
assimilated my past--I have done its bidding--I want now to be of
to-day. It is painful to be consciously of two worlds. The Wandering
Jew in me seeks forgetfulness. I am not afraid to live on and on, if
only I do not have to remember too much. A long past vividly
remembered is like a heavy garment that clings to your limbs when you
would run. And I have thought of a charm that should release me from
the folds of my clinging past. I take the hint from the Ancient
Mariner, who told his tale in order to be rid of it. I, too, will tell
my tale, for once, and never hark back any more. I will write a bold
"Finis" at the end, and shut the book with a bang!