An Experiment in Misery by Stephen Crane
"An Experiment in Misery" is a short story by Stephen Crane that explores the stark realities of life on the margins of society in late 19th-century New York City. The narrative follows a young man dressed in rags who traverses the streets, encountering both the indifference of the affluent and the harshness of his own existence. As he seeks companionship and shelter, he is met with derision and finds himself in seedy locales that reflect the despair of the underclass. The setting, particularly a grim lodging house, portrays a world filled with neglected individuals, underscoring themes of isolation and social stratification.
While interacting with a drunken man, whom he refers to as an "assassin," the youth experiences a fleeting connection, revealing the fragmented lives of those struggling with hardship. Their conversations highlight personal suffering and societal neglect, providing a deep sense of despair and disillusionment. Crane's vivid descriptions and use of social realism serve to illustrate the stark contrasts between the lives of the privileged and those of the impoverished. The story ultimately evokes a sense of empathy for the marginalized and invites readers to reflect on the broader implications of social inequality.
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An Experiment in Misery by Stephen Crane
First published: 1894
Type of plot: Social realism
Time of work: 1894
Locale: The Bowery section of New York
Principal Characters:
A young man , the protagonistThe "assassin , ," his companion
The Story
Late one rainy night, a shabbily dressed young man trudges along a New York street taunted by voices calling him a bum. As he reaches City Hall Park, he seeks companionship but spots only well-dressed people on their way home. Moving on to Chatham Square, where the pedestrians' clothes match his "tatters," he sees a saloon sign that advertises "Free hot soup tonight." Moving through its swinging doors, which snap "to and fro like ravenous lips," the youth is served a schooner of frothy beer and a bowl of watery chicken broth. Turning down a second helping, he returns to the street to search for cheap lodging.
The youth is making inquiries with a seedy-looking man when along comes a bushy-haired drunk who appears "like an assassin steeped in crimes performed awkwardly." His eyes have a guilty slant and his lips look as though they have just consumed "some tender and piteous morsel." When he begins begging for some money, the seedy man tells him to "go t' hell," but the youth agrees to give him a few pennies in exchange for finding them inexpensive accommodations.
The "assassin" leads them to a seven-cent dive, a foul-odored den that reminds the youth of a graveyard "where bodies were merely flung." Inside the gloomy room, the faint flame of a gas jet casts ominous shadows. Putting his derby and shoes in a tall locker resembling a mummy case, the youth lies down on a cold cot next to a man who is so still that he might be taken for a corpse. Across the room, his companion is sprawled on his back, snoring through a bulbous nose that shines "like a red light in a fog." Throughout the night, the youth is kept awake by shrieks and moans, the melancholy dirge of a forgotten underclass. The morning rays of the sun produce a cacophony of curses, snorts, and gruff banter. Naked men parade about casually, looking like "chiefs" until they put on their ragged clothes, which exaggerate their deformities.
Out on the street, the youth offers to buy the assassin something to eat at a run-down basement restaurant whose sign reads "No mystery about our hash!" Six cents purchases two coffees and rolls. While they are eating, the assassin launches into an "intricate, incoherent" personal tale of suffering at the hands of his father and various bosses. Meanwhile, the proprietor prevents an old man from leaving because he is carrying a tiny package of food. "B'Gawd, we've been livin' like kings," the assassin chortles after breakfast. "Look out, or we'll have t' pay for it t'-night," the youth replies.
The two companions make their way to a bench at City Hall Park. Watching people hurrying to their morning destinations reminds the youth of the huge gulf between his present plight and "all that he valued." Guiltily, he pulls down his hat, feeling like a criminal. A babble of tongues roars heedlessly, and behind him multistoried buildings cast their pitiless hues. They seem "emblematic of a nation forcing its regal head into the clouds, throwing no downward glances . . . [at] the wretches who may flounder at its feet."
Bibliography
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