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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35991-8.txt b/35991-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7f207f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/35991-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12568 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Domesday Book, by Edgar Lee Masters + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Domesday Book + +Author: Edgar Lee Masters + +Release Date: April 29, 2011 [EBook #35991] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOMESDAY BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive.) + + + + + + + + + +DOMESDAY BOOK + + + + +SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY + +BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS + + +SOME PRESS OPINIONS + +"One of the greatest books of the present century."--_Nation._ + +"The 'Spoon River Anthology' has certain qualities essential to +greatness--originality of conception and treatment, a daring that would +soar to the stars, an instant felicity and facility of expression."--C. E. +LAWRENCE in _The Daily Chronicle_. + +"Mr. Edgar Lee Masters will become a classic ... so close-packed is the +book's pregnant wit, so outspoken its language, so destructive of cant and +pharisaism and the veneer of the proprieties, so piercingly true in +insight."--EDWARD GARNETT in _The Manchester Guardian_. + +"It is a remarkable book and it grips."--_Daily Telegraph._ + +"This book is of a quality that will endure.... Mr. Masters has been +daring with the certainty of success."--_Liverpool Daily Post._ + +"A quite remarkable volume of verse ... quite masterly."--_Sphere._ + +"Its reality, ingenuity, irony, insight, and vision are +unique."--_Bookman._ + + + + + DOMESDAY BOOK + + + BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS + AUTHOR OF "SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY," ETC. + + + LONDON + EVELEIGH NASH COMPANY + LIMITED + 1921 + + + + + COPYRIGHT IN THE U. S. A. + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + + + TO MY FATHER + HARDIN WALLACE MASTERS + SPLENDID INDIVIDUAL OF + A PASSING SPECIES--AN AMERICAN + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + DOMESDAY BOOK 1 + + THE BIRTH OF ELENOR MURRAY 4 + + FINDING OF THE BODY 9 + + THE CORONER 13 + + HENRY MURRAY 23 + + MRS. MURRAY 36 + + ALMA BELL TO THE CORONER 50 + + GREGORY WENNER 59 + + MRS. GREGORY WENNER 71 + + DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER 80 + + IRMA LEESE 84 + + MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER 94 + + ARCHIBALD LOWELL 101 + + WIDOW FORTELKA 110 + + REV. PERCY FERGUSON 118 + + DR. BURKE 126 + + CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF 138 + + THE GOVERNOR 152 + + JOHN SCOFIELD 158 + + GOTTLIEB GERALD 163 + + LILLI ALM 173 + + FATHER WHIMSETT 179 + + JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON 188 + + AT FAIRBANKS 210 + + ANTON SOSNOWSKI 219 + + CONSIDER FREELAND 229 + + GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN 237 + + WILL PAGET ON DEMOS AND HOGOS 247 + + THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT 254 + + JANE FISHER 270 + + HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK 277 + + LOVERIDGE CHASE 286 + + AT NICE 289 + + THE MAJOR AND ELENOR MURRAY AT NICE 305 + + THE CONVENT 312 + + BARRETT BAYS 319 + + ELENOR MURRAY 356 + + THE JURY DELIBERATES 377 + + THE VERDICT 395 + + + + +DOMESDAY BOOK + + + + +DOMESDAY BOOK + + + Take any life you choose and study it: + It gladdens, troubles, changes many lives. + The life goes out, how many things result? + Fate drops a stone, and to the utmost shores + The circles spread. + + Now, such a book were endless, + If every circle, riffle should be traced + Of any life--and so of Elenor Murray, + Whose life was humble and whose death was tragic. + And yet behold the riffles spread, the lives + That are affected, and the secrets gained + Of lives she never knew of, as for that. + For even the world could not contain the books + That should be written, if all deeds were traced, + Effects, results, gains, losses, of her life, + And of her death. + + Concretely said, in brief, + A man and woman have produced this child; + What was the child's pre-natal circumstance? + How did her birth affect the father, mother? + What did their friends, old women, relatives + Take from the child in feeling, joy or pain? + What of her childhood friends, her days at school, + Her teachers, girlhood sweethearts, lovers later, + When she became a woman? What of these? + And what of those who got effects because + They knew this Elenor Murray? + + Then she dies. + Read how the human secrets are exposed + In many lives because she died--not all + Lives, by her death affected, written here. + The reader may trace out such other riffles + As come to him--this book must have an end. + + Enough is shown to show what could be told + If we should write a world of books. In brief + One feature of the plot elaborates + The closeness of one life, however humble + With every life upon this globe. In truth + I sit here in Chicago, housed and fed, + And think the world secure, at peace, the clock + Just striking three, in Europe striking eight: + And in some province, in some palace, hut, + Some words are spoken, or a fisticuff + Results between two brawlers, and for that + A blue-eyed boy, my grandson, we may say, + Not even yet in seed, but to be born + A half a century hence, is by those words, + That fisticuff, drawn into war in Europe, + Shrieks from a bullet through the groin, and lies + Under the sod of France. + + But to return + To Elenor Murray, I have made a book + Called Domesday Book, a census spiritual + Taken of our America, or in part + Taken, not wholly taken, it may be. + For William Merival, the coroner, + Who probed the death of Elenor Murray goes + As far as may be, and beyond his power, + In diagnosis of America, + While finding out the cause of death. In short + Becomes a William the Conqueror that way + In making up a Domesday Book for us.... + Of this a little later. But before + We touch upon the Domesday book of old, + We take up Elenor Murray, show her birth; + Then skip all time between and show her death; + Then take up Coroner Merival--who was he? + Then trace the life of Elenor Murray through + The witnesses at the inquest on the body + Of Elenor Murray;--also letters written, + And essays written, conversations heard, + But all evoked by Elenor Murray's death. + And by the way trace riffles here and there.... + A word now on the Domesday book of old: + Remember not a book of doom, but a book + Of houses; domus, house, so domus book. + And this book of the death of Elenor Murray + Is not a book of doom, though showing too + How fate was woven round her, and the souls + That touched her soul; but is a house book too + Of riches, poverty, and weakness, strength + Of this our country. + + If you take St. Luke + You find an angel came to Mary, said: + Hail! thou art highly favored, shalt conceive, + Bring forth a son, a king for David's throne:-- + So tracing life before the life was born. + We do the same for Elenor Murray, though + No man or angel said to Elenor's mother: + You have found favor, you are blessed of God, + You shall conceive, bring forth a daughter blest, + And blessing you. Quite otherwise the case, + As being blest or blessing, something like + Perhaps, in that desire, or flame of life, + Which gifts new souls with passion, strength and love.... + This is the manner of the girl's conception, + And of her birth:--... + + + + +THE BIRTH OF ELENOR MURRAY + + + What are the mortal facts + With which we deal? The man is thirty years, + Most vital, in a richness physical, + Of musical heart and feeling; and the woman + Is twenty-eight, a cradle warm and rich + For life to grow in. + + And the time is this: + This Henry Murray has a mood of peace, + A splendor as of June, has for the time + Quelled anarchy within him, come to law, + Sees life a thing of beauty, happiness, + And fortune glow before him. And the mother, + Sunning her feathers in his genial light, + Takes longing and has hope. For body's season + The blood of youth leaps in them like a fountain, + And splashes musically in the crystal pool + Of quiet days and hours. They rise refreshed, + Feel all the sun's strength flow through muscles, nerves; + Extract from food no poison, only health; + Are sensitive to simple things, the turn + Of leaves on trees, flowers springing, robins' songs. + + Now such a time must prosper love's desire, + Fed gently, tended wisely, left to mount + In flame and light. A prospering fate occurs + To send this Henry Murray from his wife, + And keep him absent for a month--inspire + A daily letter, written of the joys, + And hopes they have together, and omit, + Forgotten for the time, old aches, despairs, + Forebodings for the future. + + What results? + For thirty days her youth, and youthful blood + Under the stimulus of absence, letters, + And growing longing, laves and soothes and feeds, + Like streams that nourish fields, her body's being. + Enriches cells to plumpness, dim, asleep, + Which stretch, expand and turn, the prototype + Of a baby newly born; which after the cry + At midnight, taking breath an hour before,-- + That cry which is of things most tragical, + The tragedy most poignant--sleeps and rests, + And flicks its little fingers, with closed eyes + Senses with visions of unopened leaves + This monstrous and external sphere, the world, + And what moves in it. + + So she thinks of him, + And longs for his return, and as she longs + The rivers of her body run and ripple, + Refresh and quicken her. The morning's light + Flutters upon the ceiling, and she lies + And stretches drowsily in the breaking slumber + Of fluctuant emotion, calls to him + With spirit and flesh, until his very name + Seems like to form in sound, while lips are closed, + And tongue is motionless, beyond herself, + And in the middle spaces of the room + Calls back to her. + + And Henry Murray caught, + In letters, which she sent him, all she felt, + Re-kindled it and sped it back to her. + Then came a lover's fancy in his brain: + He would return unlooked for--who, the god, + Inspired the fancy?--find her in what mood + She might be in his absence, where no blur + Of expectation of his coming changed + Her color, flame of spirit. And he bought + Some chablis and a cake, slipped noiselessly + Into the chamber where she lay asleep, + And had a light upon her face before + She woke and saw him. + + How she cried her joy! + And put her arms around him, burned away + In one great moment from a goblet of fire, + Which over-flowed, whatever she had felt + Of shrinking or distaste, or loveless hands + At any time before, and burned it there + Till even the ashes sparkled, blew away + In incense and in light. + + She rose and slipped + A robe on and her slippers; drew a stand + Between them for the chablis and the cake. + And drank and ate with him, and showed her teeth, + While laughing, shaking curls, and flinging back + Her head for rapture, and in little crows. + + And thus the wine caught up the resting cells, + And flung them in the current, and their blood + Flows silently and swiftly, running deep; + And their two hearts beat like the rhythmic chimes + Of little bells of steel made blue by flame, + Because their lives are ready now, and life + Cries out to life for life to be. The fire, + Lit in the altar of their eyes, is blind + For mysteries that urge, the blood of them + In separate streams would mingle, hurried on + By energy from the heights of ancient mountains; + The God himself, and Life, the Gift of God. + + And as result the hurrying microcosms + Out of their beings sweep, seek out, embrace, + Dance for the rapture of freedom, being loosed; + Unite, achieve their destiny, find the cradle + Of sleep and growth, take up the cryptic task + Of maturation and of fashioning; + Where no light is except the light of God + To light the human spirit, which emerges + From nothing that man knows; and where a face, + To be a woman's or a man's takes form: + Hands that shall gladden, lips that shall enthrall + With songs or kisses, hands and lips, perhaps, + To hurt and poison. All is with the fates, + And all beyond us. + + Now the seed is sown, + The flower must grow and blossom. Something comes, + Perhaps, to whisper something in the ear + That will exert itself against the mass + That grows, proliferates; but for the rest + The task is done. One thing remains alone: + It is a daughter, woman, that you bear, + A whisper says to her--It is her wish-- + Her wish materializes in a voice + Which says: the name of Elenor is sweet, + Choose that for her--Elenor, which is light, + The light of Helen, but a lesser light + In this our larger world; a light to shine, + And lure amid the tangled woodland ways + Of this our life; a firefly beating wings + Here, there amid the thickets of hard days. + And to go out at last, as all lights do, + And leave a memory, perhaps, but leave + No meaning to be known of any man.... + So Elenor Murray is conceived and born. + + * * * * * + + But now this Elenor Murray being born, + We start not with her life, but with her death, + The finding of her body by the river. + And then as Coroner Merival takes proof + Her life comes forth, until the Coroner + Traces it to the moment of her death. + And thus both life and death of her are known. + This the beginning of the mystery:-- + + + + +FINDING OF THE BODY + + + Elenor Murray, daughter of Henry Murray, + The druggist at LeRoy, a village near + The shadow of Starved Rock, this Elenor + But recently returned from France, a heart + Who gave her service in the world at war, + Was found along the river's shore, a mile + Above Starved Rock, on August 7th, the day + Year 1679, LaSalle set sail + For Michilmackinac to reach Green Bay + In the _Griffin_, in the winter snow and sleet, + Reaching "Lone Cliff," Starved Rock its later name, + Also La Vantum, village of the tribe + Called Illini. + + This may be taken to speak + The symbol of her life and fate. For first + This Elenor Murray comes into this life, + And lives her youth where the Rock's shadow falls, + As if to say her life should starve and lie + Beneath a shadow, wandering in the world, + As Cavalier LaSalle did, born at Rouen, + Shot down on Trinity River, Texas. She + Searches for life and conquest of herself + With the same sleepless spirit of LaSalle; + And comes back to the shadow of the Rock, + And dies beneath its shadow. Cause of death? + Was she like Sieur LaSalle shot down, or choked, + Struck, poisoned? Let the coroner decide. + Who, hearing of the matter, takes the body + And brings it to LeRoy, is taking proofs; + Lets doctors cut the body, probe and peer + To find the cause of death. + + And so this morning + Of August 7th, as a hunter walks-- + Looking for rabbits maybe, aimless hunting-- + Over the meadow where the Illini's + La Vantum stood two hundred years before, + Gun over arm in readiness for game, + Sees some two hundred paces to the south + Bright colors, red and blue; thinks off the bat + A human body lies there, hurries on + And finds the girl's dead body, hatless head, + The hat some paces off, as if she fell + In such way that the hat dashed off. Her arms + Lying outstretched, the body half on side, + The face upturned to heaven, open eyes + That might have seen Starved Rock until the eyes + Sank down in darkness where no image comes. + + This hunter knew the body, bent and looked; + Gave forth a gasp of horror, leaned and touched + The cold hand of the dead: saw in her pocket, + Sticking above the pocket's edge a banner, + And took it forth, saw it was Joan of Arc + In helmet and cuirass, kneeling in prayer. + And in the banner a paper with these words: + "To be brave, and not to flinch." And standing there + This hunter knew that Elenor Murray came + Some days before from France, was visiting + An aunt, named Irma Leese beyond LeRoy. + What was she doing by the river's shore? + He saw no mark upon her, and no blood; + No pistol by her, nothing disarranged + Of hair or clothing, showing struggle--nothing + To indicate the death she met. Who saw her + Before or when she died? How long had death + Been on her eyes? Some hours, or over-night. + + The hunter touched her hand, already stiff; + And saw the dew upon her hair and brow, + And a blue deadness in her eyes, like pebbles. + The lips were black, and bottle flies had come + To feed upon her tongue. 'Tis ten o'clock, + The coolness of the August night unchanged + By this spent sun of August. And the moon + Lies dead and wasted there beyond Starved Rock. + The moon was beautiful last night! To walk + Beside the river under the August moon + Took Elenor Murray's fancy, as he thinks. + Then thinking of the aunt of Elenor Murray, + Who should be notified, the hunter runs + To tell the aunt--but there's the coroner-- + Is there not law the coroner should know? + Should not the body lie, as it was found, + Until the coroner takes charge of it? + Should not he stand on guard? And so he runs, + And from a farmer's house by telephone + Sends word to Coroner Merival. Then returns + And guards the body. + + Here is riffle first: + The coroner sat with his traveling bags, + Was closing up his desk, had planned a trip + With boon companions, they were with him there; + The auto waited at the door to take them + To catch the train for northern Michigan. + He closed the desk and they arose to go. + Just then the telephone began to ring, + The hunter at the other end was talking, + And told of Elenor Murray. Merival + Turned to his friends and said: "The jig is up. + Here is an inquest, and of moment too. + I cannot go, but you jump in the car, + And go--you'll catch the train if you speed up." + They begged him to permit his deputy + To hold the inquest. Merival said "no," + And waived them off. They left. He got a car + And hurried to the place where Eleanor lay.... + Now who was Merival the Coroner? + For we shall know of Elenor through him, + And know her better, knowing Merival. + + + + +THE CORONER + + + Merival, of a mother fair and good, + A father sound in body and in mind, + Rich through three thousand acres left to him + By that same father dying, mother dead + These many years, a bachelor, lived alone + In the rambling house his father built of stone + Cut from the quarry near at hand, above + The river's bend, before it meets the island + Where Starved Rock rises. + + Here he had returned, + After his Harvard days, took up the task + Of these three thousand acres, while his father + Aging, relaxed his hand. From farm to farm + Rode daily, kept the books, bred cattle, sheep, + Raised seed corn, tried the secrets of DeVries, + And Burbank in plant breeding. + + Day by day, + His duties ended, he sat at a window + In a great room of books where lofty shelves + Were packed with cracking covers; newer books + Flowed over on the tables, round the globes + And statuettes of bronze. Upon the wall + The portraits hung of father and of mother, + And two moose heads above the mantel stared, + The trophies of a hunt in youth. + + So Merival + At a bay window sat in the great room, + Felt and beheld the stream of life and thought + Flow round and through him, to a sound in key + With his own consciousness, the murmurous voice + Of his own soul. + + Along a lawn that sloped + Some hundred feet to the river he would muse. + Or through the oaks and elms and silver birches + Between the plots of flowers and rows of box + Look at the distant scene of hilly woodlands. + And why no woman in his life, no face + Smiling from out the summer house of roses, + Such riotous flames against the distant green? + And why no sons and daughters, strong and fair, + To use these horses, ponies, tramp the fields, + Shout from the tennis court, swim, skate and row? + He asked himself the question many times, + And gave himself the answer. It was this: + + At twenty-five a woman crossed his path-- + Let's have the story as the world believes it, + Then have the truth. She was betrothed to him, + But went to France to study, died in France. + And so he mourned her, kept her face enshrined, + Was wedded to her spirit, could not brook + The coming of another face to blur + This face of faces! So the story went + Around the country. But his grief was not + The grief they told. The pang that gnawed his heart, + And took his spirit, dulled his man's desire + Took root in shame, defeat, rejected love. + He had gone east to meet her and to wed her, + Now turned his thirtieth year; when he arrived + He found his dear bride flown, a note for him, + Left with the mother, saying she had flown, + And could not marry him, it would not do, + She did not love him as a woman should + Who makes a pact for life; her heart was set + For now upon her music, she was off + To France for study, wished him well, in truth-- + Some woman waited him who was his mate.... + So Merival read over many times + The letter, tried to find a secret hope + Lodged back of words--was this a woman's way + To lure him further, win him to more depths? + He half resolved to follow her to France; + Then as he thought of what he was himself + In riches, breeding, place, and manliness + His egotism rose, fed by the hurt: + She might stay on in France for aught he cared! + What was she, anyway, that she could lose + Such happiness and love? for he had given + In a great passion out of a passionate heart + All that was in him--who was she to spurn + A gift like this? Yet always in his heart + Stirred something which by him was love and hate. + And when the word came she had died, the word + She loved a maestro, and the word like gas, + Which poisons, creeps and is not known, that death + Came to her somehow through a lawless love, + Or broken love, disaster of some sort, + His spirit withered with its bitterness. + And in the years to come he feared to give + With unreserve his heart, his leaves withheld + From possible frost, dreamed on and drifted on + Afraid to venture, having scarcely strength + To seek and try, endure defeat again. + + Thus was his youth unsatisfied, and as hope + Of something yet to be to fill his hope + Died not, but with each dawn awoke to move + Its wings, his youth continued past his years. + The very cry of youth, which would not cease + Kept all the dreams and passions of his youth + Wakeful, expectant--kept his face and frame + Rosy and agile as he neared the mark + Of fifty years. + + But every day he sat + As one who waited. What would come to him? + What soul would seek him in this room of books? + But yet no soul he found when he went forth, + Breaking his solitude, to towns. + + What waste + Thought Merival, of spirit, but what waste + Of spirit in the lives he knew! What homes + Where children starve for bread, or starve for love, + Half satisfied, half-schooled are driven forth + With aspirations broken, or with hopes + Or talents bent or blasted! O, what wives + Drag through the cheerless days, what marriages + Cling and exhaust to death, and warp and stain + The children! If a business, like this farm, + Were run on like economy, a year + Would see its ruin! But he thought, at last, + Of spiritual economy, so to save + The lives of men and women, use their powers + To ends that suit. + + And thus when on a time + A miner lost his life there at LeRoy, + And when the inquest found the man was killed + Through carelessness of self, while full of drink, + Merival, knowing that the drink was caused + By hopeless toil and by a bitter grief + Touching a daughter, who had strayed and died, + First wondered if in cases like to this + Good might result, if there was brought to light + All secret things; and in the course of time, + If many deaths were probed, a store of truth + Might not be gathered which some genius hand + Could use to work out laws, instructions, systems + For saving and for using wasting spirits, + So wasted in the chaos, in the senseless + Turmoil and madness of this reckless life, + Which treats the spirit as the cheapest thing, + Since it is so abundant. + + Thoughts like these + Led Merival to run for coroner. + The people wondered why he sought the office. + But when they gave it to him, and he used + His private purse to seek for secret faults, + In lives grown insupportable, for causes + Which prompted suicide, the people wondered, + The people murmured sometimes, and his foes + Mocked or traduced his purpose. + + Merival + The coroner is now two years in office + When Henry Murray's daughter Elenor + Found by the river, gives him work to do + In searching out her life's fate, cause of death, + How, in what manner, and by whom or what + Said Elenor's dead body came to death; + And of all things which might concern the same, + With all the circumstances pertinent, + Material or in anywise related, + Or anywise connected with said death. + And as in other cases Merival + Construed the words of law, as written above: + All circumstances material or related, + Or anywise connected with said death, + To give him power as coroner to probe + To ultimate secrets, causes intimate + In birth, environment, crises of the soul, + Grief, disappointment, hopes deferred or ruined. + So now he exercised his power to strip + This woman's life of vestments, to lay bare + Her soul, though other souls should run and rave + For nakedness and shame. + + So Merival + Returning from the river with the body + Of Elenor Murray thought about the woman; + Recalled her school days in LeRoy--the night + When she was graduated at the High School; thought + About her father, mother, girlhood friends; + And stories of her youth came back to him. + The whispers of her leaving home, the trips + She took, her father's loveless ways. And wonder + For what she did and made of self, possessed + His thinking; and the fancy grew in him + No chance for like appraisal had been his + Of human worth and waste, this man who knew + Both life and books. And lately he had read + The history of King William and his book. + And even the night before this Elenor's body + Was found beside the river--this he read, + Perhaps, he thought, was reading it when Elenor + Was struck down or was choked. How strange the hour + Whose separate place finds Merival with a book, + And Elenor with death, brings them together, + And for result blends book and death!... He knew + By Domesday Book King William had a record + Of all the crown's possessions, had the names + Of all land-holders, had the means of knowing + The kingdom's strength for war; it gave the data + How to increase the kingdom's revenue. + It was a record in a case of titles, + Disputed or at issue to appeal to. + So Merival could say: My inquests show + The country's wealth or poverty in souls, + And what the country's strength is, who by right + May claim his share-ship in the country's life; + How to increase the country's glory, power. + Why not a Domesday Book in which are shown + A certain country's tenures spiritual? + And if great William held great council once + To make inquiry of the nation's wealth, + Shall not I as a coroner in America, + Inquiring of a woman's death, make record + Of lives which have touched hers, what lives she touched; + And how her death by surest logic touched + This life or that, was cause of causes, proved + The event that made events? + + So Merival + Brought in a jury for the inquest work + As follows: Winthrop Marion, learned and mellow, + A journalist in Chicago, keeping still + His residence at LeRoy. And David Borrow, + A sunny pessimist of varied life, + Ingenious thought, a lawyer widely read. + And Samuel Ritter, owner of the bank, + A classmate of the coroner at Harvard. + Llewellyn George, but lately come from China, + A traveler, intellectual, anti-social + Searcher for life and beauty, devotee + Of such diversities as Nietzsche, Plato. + Also a Reverend Maiworm noted for + Charitable deeds and dreams. And Isaac Newfeldt + Who in his youth had studied Adam Smith, + And since had studied tariffs, lands and money, + Economies of nations. + + And because + They were the friends of Merival, and admired + His life and work, they dropped their several tasks + To serve as jurymen. + + The hunter came + And told his story: how he found the body, + What hour it was, and how the body lay; + About the banner in the woman's pocket, + Which Coroner Merival had taken, seen, + And wondered over. For if Elenor + Was not a Joan too, why treasure this? + Did she take Joan's spirit for her guide? + And write these words: "To be brave and not to flinch"? + She wrote them; for her father said: "It's true + That is her writing," when he saw the girl + First brought to Merival's office. + + Merival + Amid this business gets a telegram: + Tom Norman drowned, one of the men with whom + He planned this trip to Michigan. Later word + Tom Norman and the other, Wilbur Horne + Are in a motor-boat. Tom rises up + To get the can of bait and pitches out, + His friend leaps out to help him. But the boat + Goes on, the engine going, there they fight + For life amid the waves. Tom has been hurt, + Somehow in falling, cannot save himself, + And tells his friend to leave him, swim away. + His friend is forced at last to swim away, + And makes the mile to shore by hardest work. + Tom Norman, dead, leaves wife and children caught + In business tangles which he left to build + New strength, to disentangle, on the trip. + The rumor goes that Tom was full of drink, + Thus lost his life. But if our Elenor Murray + Had not been found beside the river, what + Had happened? If the coroner had been there, + And run the engine, steered the boat beside + The drowning man, and Wilbur Horne--what drink + Had caused the death of Norman? Or again, + Perhaps the death of Elenor saved the life + Of Merival, by keeping him at home + And safe from boats and waters. + + Anyway, + As Elenor Murray's body has no marks, + And shows no cause of death, the coroner + Sends out for Dr. Trace and talks to him + Of things that end us, says to Dr. Trace + Perform the autopsy on Elenor Murray. + And while the autopsy was being made + By Dr. Trace, he calls the witnesses + The father first of Elenor Murray, who + Tells Merival this story: + + + + +HENRY MURRAY + + + Henry Murray, father of Elenor Murray, + Willing to tell the coroner Merival + All things about himself, about his wife, + All things as well about his daughter, touching + Her growth, and home life, if the coroner + Would hear him privately, save on such things + Strictly relating to the inquest, went + To Coroner Merival's office and thus spoke: + I was born here some sixty years ago, + Was nurtured in these common schools, too poor + To satisfy a longing for a college. + Felt myself gifted with some gifts of mind, + Some fineness of perception, thought, began + By twenty years to gather books and read + Some history, philosophy and science. + Had vague ambitions, analyzed perhaps, + To learn, be wise. + + Now if you study me, + Look at my face, you'll see some trace of her: + My brow is hers, my mouth is hers, my eyes + Of lighter color are yet hers, this way + I have of laughing, as I saw inside + The matter deeper cause for laughter, hers. + And my jaw hers betokening a will, + Hers too, with chin that mitigates the will, + Shading to softness as hers did. + + Our minds + Had something too in common: first this will + Which tempted fate to bend it, break it too-- + I know not why in her case or in mine. + But when my will is bent I grow morose, + And when it's broken, I become a scourge + To all around me. Yes, I've visited + A life-time's wrath upon my wife. This daughter + When finding will subdued did not give up, + But took the will for something else--went on + By ways more prosperous; but alas! poor me! + I hold on when defeated, and lie down + When I am beaten, growling, ruminate + Upon my failure, think of nothing else. + But truth to tell, while we two were opposed, + This daughter and myself, while temperaments + Kept us at sword's points, while I saw in her + Traits of myself I liked not, also traits + Of the child's mother which I loathe, because + They have undone me, helped at least--no less + I see this child as better than myself, + And better than her mother, so admire. + Also I never trusted her; as a child + She would rush in relating lying wonders; + She feigned emotions, purposes and moods; + She was a little actress from the first, + And all her high resolves from first to last + Seemed but a robe with flowing sleeves in which + Her hands could hide some theft, some secret spoil. + When she was fourteen I could see in her + The passionate nature of her mother--well + You know a father's feelings when he sees + His daughter sensed by youths and lusty men + As one of the kind for capture. It's a theme + A father cannot talk of with his daughter. + He may say, "have a care," or "I forbid + Your strolling, riding with these boys at night." + But if the daughter stands and eyes the father, + As she did me with flaming eyes, then goes + Her way in secret, lies about her ways, + The father can but wonder, watch or brood, + Or switch her maybe, for I switched her once, + And found it did no good. I needed here + The mother's aid, but no, her mother saw + Herself in the girl, and said she knew the girl, + That I was too suspicious, out of touch + With a young girl's life, desire for happiness. + But when this Alma Bell affair came up, + And the school principal took pains to say + My daughter was too reckless of her name + In strolling and in riding, then my wife + Howled at me like a tigress: whip that man! + And as my daughter cried, and my wife screeched, + And called me coward if I let him go, + I rushed out to the street and finding him + Beat up his face, though almost dropping dead + From my exertion. Well, the aftermath + Was worse for me, not only by the talk, + But in my mind who saw no gratitude + In daughter or in mother for my deed. + The daughter from that day took up a course + More secret from my eyes, more variant + From any wish I had. We stood apart, + And grew apart thereafter. And from that day + My wife grew worse in temper, worse in nerves. + And though the people say she is my slave, + That I alone, of all who live, have conquered + Her spirit, still what despotism works + Free of reprisals, or of breakings-forth + When hands are here, not there? + + But to return: + One takes up something for a livelihood, + And dreams he'll leave it later, when in time + His plans mature; and as he earns and lives, + With some time for his plans, hopes for the day + When he may step forth from his olden life + Into a new life made thus gradually, + I hoped to be a lawyer; but to live + I started as a drug clerk--look to-day + I own that little drug store--here I am + With drugs my years through, drugged myself at last. + And as a clerk I met my wife--went mad + About her, and I see in Elenor + Her mother's gift for making fools of men. + Why, I can scarce explain it, it's the flesh, + But then it's spirit too. Such flaming up + As came from flames like ours, but more of hers + Burned in the children. Yes, it might be well + For theorists in heredity to think + About the matter. + + Well, but how about + The flames that make the children? For this woman + Too surely ruined me and sapped my life. + You hear much of the vampire, but what wife + Has not more chance for eating up a man? + She has him daily, has him fast for years. + + A man can shake a vampire off, but how + To shake a wife off, when the children come, + And you must leave your place, your livelihood + To shake her off? And if you shake her off + Where do you go? what do you do? and how? + You see 'twas love that caught me, yet even so + I had resisted love had I not seen + A chance to rise through marriage. It was this: + You know, of course, my wife was Elenor Fouche, + Daughter of Arthur, thought to be so rich. + And I had hopes to patch my fortunes up + In this alliance, and become a lawyer. + What happened? Why they helped me not at all. + The children came, and I was chained to work, + To clothe and feed a family--all the while + My soul combusted with this aspiration, + And my good nature went to ashes, dampened + By secret tears which filtered through as lye. + Then finally, when my wife's father died, + After our marriage, twenty years or so, + His fortune came to nothing, all she got + Went to that little house we live in here-- + It needs paint now, the porch has rotten boards-- + And I was forced to see these children learn + What public schools could teach, and even as I + Left school half taught, and never went to college, + So did these children, saving Elenor, + Who saw two years of college--earned herself + By teaching. I choke up, just wait a minute! + What depths of calmness may a man come to + As father, who can think of this and be + Quiet about his heart? His heart will hurt, + Move, as it were, as a worm does with its pain. + And these days now, when trembling hands and head + Foretell decline, or worse, and make me think + As face to face with God, most earnestly, + Most eager for the truth, I wonder much + If I misjudged this daughter, canvass her + Myself to see if I had power to do + A better part by her. That is the way + This daughter has got in my soul. At first + She incubates in me as force unknown, + A spirit strange yet kindred, in my life; + And we are hostile and yet drawn together; + But when we're drawn together see and feel + These oppositions. Next she's in my life-- + The second stage of the fever--as dislike, + Repugnance, and I wish her out of sight, + Out of my life. Then comes these ugly things, + Like Alma Bell, and rumors from away + Where she is teaching, and I put her out + Of life and thought the more, and wonder why + I fathered such a nature, whence it came. + Well, then the fever goes and I am weak, + Repentant it may be, delirious visions + That haunted me in fever plague me yet, + Even while I think them visions, nothing else. + So I grow pitiful and blame myself + For any part I had in her mistakes, + Sorrows and struggles, and I curse myself + That I was powerless to help her more-- + Thus is she like a fever in my life. + + Well, then the child grows up. But as a child + She dances, laughs and sings. At three years springs + For minutes and for minutes on her toes, + Like skipping rope, clapping her hands the while, + Her blue eyes twinkling, and her milk-white teeth + Glistening as she gurgled, shouted, laughed-- + There never was such vital strength. I give + The pictures as my memory took them. Next + I see her looking side-ways at me, as if + She studied me, avoided me. The child + Is now ten years of age; and now I know + She smelled the rats that made the family hearth + A place for scampering; the horrors of our home. + She thought I brought the rats and kept them there, + These rats of bickering, anger, strife at home. + I knew she blamed me for her mother's moods + Who dragged about the kitchen day by day, + Sad faced and silent. So the upshot was + I had two enemies in the house, where once + I had but one, her mother. This made worse + The state for both, and worse the state for me. + And so it goes. Then next there's Alma Bell. + The following year my daughter finished up + The High School--and we sit--my wife and I + To see the exercises. And that summer Elenor, + Now eighteen and a woman, goes about-- + I don't know what she does, sometimes I see + Some young man with her walking. But at home, + When I come in, the mother and the daughter + Put pedals on their talk, or change the theme-- + I am shut out. + + And in the fall I learn + From some outsider that she's teaching school, + And later people laugh and talk to me + About her feat of cowing certain Czechs, + Who broke her discipline in school. + + Well, then + Two years go on that have no memory, + Just like sick days in bed when you lie there + And wake and sleep and wait. But finally + Her mother says: "To-night our Elenor + Leaves for Los Angeles." And then the mother, + To hide a sob, coughs nervously and leaves + The room where I am, for the kitchen--I + Sit with the evening paper, let it fall, + Then hold it up to read again and try + To say to self, "All right, what if she goes?" + The evening meal goes hard, for Elenor + Shines forth in kindness for me, talks and laughs-- + I choke again.... She says to me if God + Had meant her for a better youth, then God + Had given her a better youth; she thanks me + For making High School possible to her, + And says all will be well--she will earn money + To go to college, that she will gain strength + By helping self--Just think, my friend, to hear + Such words, which in their kindness proved my failure, + When I had hoped, aspired, when I had given + My very soul, whether I liked this daughter, + Or liked her not, out of a generous hand, + Large hearted in its carelessness to give + A daughter of such mind a place in life, + And schooling for the place. + + The meal was over. + We stood there silent; then her face grew wet + With tears, as wet as blossoms soaked with rain. + She took my hand and took her mother's hand, + And put our hands together--then she said: + "Be friends, be friends," and hurried from the room, + Her mother following. I stepped out-doors, + And stood what seemed a minute, entered again, + Walked to the front room, from the window saw + Elenor and her mother in the street. + The girl was gone! How could I follow them? + They had not asked me. So I stood and saw + The canvas telescope her mother carried. + They disappeared. I went back to my store, + Came back at nine o'clock, lighted a match + And saw my wife in bed, cloths on her eyes. + She turned her face to the wall, and didn't speak. + + Next morning at the breakfast table she, + Complaining of a stiff arm, said: "that satchel + Was weighted down with books, my arm is stiff-- + Elenor took French books to study French. + When she can pay a teacher, she will learn + How to pronounce the words, but by herself + She'll learn the grammar, how to read." She knew + How words like that would hurt! + + I merely said: + "A happy home is better than knowing French," + And went off to my store. + + But coroner, + Search for the men in her life. When she came + Back from the West after three years, I knew + By look of her eyes that some one filled her life, + Had taken her life and body. What if I + Had failed as father in the way I failed? + And what if our home was not home to her? + She could have married--why not? If a girl + Can fascinate the men--I know she could-- + She can have marriage, if she wants to marry. + Unless she runs to men already married, + And if she does so, don't you make her out + As loose and bad? + + Well, what is more to tell? + She learned French, seemed to know the ways of the world, + Knew books, knew how to dress, gave evidence + Of contact with refinements; letters came + When she was here at intervals inscribed + In writing of elite ones, gifted maybe. + And she was filial and kind to me, + Most kind toward her mother, gave us things + At Christmas time. But still her way was such + That I as well had been familiar with her + As with some formal lady visiting. + She came back here before she went to France, + Staid two days with us. Once upon the porch + She turned to me and said: "I wish to honor + Mother and you by serving in the war. + You must rejoice that I can serve--you must! + But most I wish to honor America, + This land of promise, of fulfillment, too, + Which proves to all the world that men and women + Are born alike of God, at least that riches + And classes formed in pride have neither hearts, + Nor minds above the souls of those who work. + This land that reared me is my dearest love, + I go to serve the country." + + Pardon me! + A man of my age in an hour like this + Must cry a little--wait till I can say + The last words that she said to me. + + She put + Her arms about me, then she said to me: + "I am so glad my life and place in life + Were such that I was forced to rise or sink, + To strive or fail. God has been good to me, + Who gifted me with spirit to aspire." + I go back to my store now. In these days, + Last days, of course, I try to be a husband, + Try to be kinder to the mother of Elenor. + Death is not far off, and that makes us think. + We may be over soft or penitent; + Forgive where we should hate still, being soft; + And fade off from the wrongs, we brooded on; + And cease to care life has been badly lived, + From first to last. But none the less our vision + Seems clearer as we end this trivial life. + And so I try to be a kinder husband + To Elenor's mother. + + So spoke Henry Murray + To Merival; a stenographer took down + His words, and they were written out and shown + The jury. Afterward the mother came + And told her story to the coroner, + Also reported, written out, and shown + The jury. But it happened thus with her: + She waited in the coroner's outer room + Until her husband told his story, then + With eyes upon the floor, passing her husband, + The two in silence passing, as he left + The coroner's office, spoke amid her sighs, + Her breath long drawn at intervals, looking down + The while she spoke: + + + + +MRS. MURRAY + + + I think, she said at first, + My daughter did not kill herself. I'm sure + Someone did violence to her, your tests, + Examination will prove violence. + It would be like her fate to meet with such: + Poor child, unfortunate from birth, at least + Unfortunate in fortune, peace and joy. + Or else if she met with no violence, + Some sudden crisis of her woman's heart + Came on her by the river, the result + Of strains and labors in the war in France. + I'll tell you why I say this: First I knew + She had come near me from New York, there came + A letter from her, saying she had come + To visit with her aunt there near LeRoy, + And rest and get the country air. She said + To keep it secret, not to tell her father; + That she was in no frame of mind to come + And be with us, and see her father, see + Our life, which is the same as it was when + She was a child and after. But she said + To come to her. And so the day before + They found her by the river I went over + And saw her for the day. She seemed most gay, + Gave me the presents which she brought from France, + Told me of many things, but rather more + By way of half told things than something told + Continuously, you know. She had grown fairer, + She had a majesty of countenance, + A luminous glory shone about her face, + Her voice was softer, eyes looked tenderer. + She held my hands so lovingly when we met. + She kissed me with such silent, speaking love. + But then she laughed and told me funny stories. + She seemed all hope, and said she'd rest awhile + Before she made a plan for life again. + And when we parted, she said: "Mother, think + What trip you'd like to take. I've saved some money, + And you must have a trip, a rest, construct + Yourself anew for life." So, as I said, + She came to death by violence, or else + She had some weakness that she hid from me + Which came upon her quickly. + + For the rest, + Suppose I told you all my life, and told + What was my waste in life and what in hers, + How I have lived, and how poor Elenor + Was raised or half-raised--what's the good of that? + Are not there rooms of books, of tales and poems + And histories to show all secrets of life? + Does anyone live now, or learn a thing + Not lived and learned a thousand times before? + The trouble is these secrets are locked up + In books and might as well be locked in graves, + Since they mean nothing till you live yourself. + And I suppose the race will live and suffer + As long as leaves put forth in spring, live over + The very sorrows, horrors that we live. + Wisdom is here, but how to learn that wisdom, + And use it while life's worth the living, that's + The thing to be desired. But let it go. + If any soul can profit by my life, + Or by my Elenor's, I trust he may, + And help him to it. + + Coroner Merival, + Even the children in this neighborhood + Know something of my husband and of me, + Our struggle and unhappiness, even the children + Hear Alma Bell's name mentioned with a look. + And if you went about here to inquire + About my Elenor, you'd find them saying + She was a wonder girl, or this or that. + But then you'd feel a closing up of speech, + As if a door closed softly, just a way + To indicate that something else was there, + Somewhere in the person's room of thoughts. + This is the truth, since I was told a man + Came here to ask about her, when she asked + To serve in France, the matter of Alma Bell + Traced down and probed. + + It being true, therefore, + That you and all the rest know of my life, + Our life at home, it matters nothing then + That I go on and tell you what I think + Made sorrow for us, what our waste was, tell you + How the yarn knotted as we took the skein + And wound it to a ball, and made the ball + So hardly knotted that the yarn held fast + Would not unwind for knitting. + + Well, you know + My father Arthur Fouche, my mother too. + They reared me with the greatest care. You know + They sent me to St. Mary's, where I learned + Fine things, to be a lady--learned to dance, + To play on the piano, sing a little; + Learned French, Italian, learned to know good books, + The beauty of a poem or a tale; + Learned elegance of manners, how to walk, + Stand, breathe, keep well, be radiant and strong, + And so in all to make life beautiful, + Become the helpful wife of some strong man, + The mother of fine children. Well, at school + We girls were guarded from the men, and so + We went to town surrounded by our teachers, + And only saw the boys when some girl's brother + Came to the school to visit, perhaps a girl + Consent had of her parents to receive + A beau sometimes. But then I had no beau; + And had I had my father would have kept him + Away from me at school. + + For truth to tell + When I had finished school, came back to home + They kept the men away, there was no man + Quite good enough to call. Now here begins + My fate, as you will see; their very care + To make me what they wished, to have my life + Grow safely, prosperously, was my undoing. + I had a sister named Corinne who suffered + Because of that; my father guarded me + Against all strolling lovers, unknown men. + But here was Henry Murray, whom they knew, + And trusted too; and though they never dreamed + I'd marry him, they trusted him to call. + He seemed a quiet, diligent young man, + Aspiring in the world. And so they thought + They'd solve my loneliness and restless spirits + By opening the door to him. My fate! + They let him call upon me twice a month. + He was in love with me before this started, + That's why he tried to call. But as for me, + He was a man, that's all, a being only + In the world to talk to, help my loneliness. + I had no love for him, no more than I + Had love for father's tenant on the farm. + And what I knew of marriage, what it means + Was what a child knows. If you'll credit me + I thought a man and woman slept together, + Lay side by side, and somehow, I don't know, + That children came. + + But then I was so vital, + Rebellious, hungering for freedom, that + No chance was too indifferent to put by + What offered freedom from the prison home, + The watchfulness of father and of mother, + The rigor of my discipline. And in truth + No other man came by, no prospect showed + Of going on a visit, finding life + Some other place. And so it came about, + After I knew this man two months, one night + I made a rope of sheets, down from my window + Descended to his arms, eloped in short, + And married Henry Murray, and found out + What marriage is, believe me. Well, I think + The time will come when marriage will be known + Before the parties tie themselves for life. + How do you know a man, or know a woman + Until the flesh instructs you? Do you know + A man until you see him face to face? + Or know what texture is his hand until + You touch his hand? Well, lastly no one knows + Whether a man is mate for you before + You mate with him. I hope to see the day + When men and women, to try out their souls + Will live together, learning A. B. C.'s + Of life before they write their fates for life. + + Our story started then. To sate their rage + My father and my mother cut me off, + And so we had bread problems from the first. + He made but little clerking in the store, + Besides his mind was on the law and books. + These were the early tangles of our yarn. + And I grew worried as the children came, + Two sons at first, and I was far from well, + One died at five years, and I almost died + For grief at this. But down below all things, + Far down below all tune or scheme of sound, + Where no rests were, but only ceaseless dirge, + Was my heart's _de profundis_, crying out + My thirst for love, not thirst for his, but thirst + For love that quenched it. But the only water + That passed my lips was desert water, poisoned + By arsenic from his rocks. My soul grew bitter, + Then sweetened under the cross, grew bitter again. + My life lay raving on the desert sands. + To speak more plainly, sleep deserted me. + I could not sleep for thought, and for a will + That could not bend, but hoped that death or something + Would take him from me, bring me love before + My face was withered, as it is to-day. + At last the doctor found me growing mad + For lack of sleep. Why was I so, he asked. + You must give up this psychic work and quit + This psychic writing, let the spirits go. + Well, it was true that years before I found + I heard and saw with higher power, received + Deep messages from spirits, from my boy + Who passed away. And as to this, who knows?-- + Surely no doctor--of this psychic power. + You may be called neurotic, what is that? + Perhaps it is the soul become so fine + It leaves the body, or shakes down the body + With energy too subtle for the body. + But I was sleepless for these years, at last + The secret lost of sleep, for seven days + And seven nights could find no sleep, until + I lay upon the lawn and pushed my head, + As a dog does around, around, around. + There was a devil in me, at one with me, + And neither to be put out, nor yet subdued + By help outside, and nothing to be done + Except to find escape by knife, or pistol, + And thus get sleep. Escape! Oh, that's the word! + There's something in the soul that says escape! + Fly, fly from something, and in truth, my friend, + Life's restlessness, however healthful it be, + Is motived by this urge to fly, escape: + Well, to go on, they gave me everything, + At last they gave me chloral, but no sleep! + And finally I closed my eyes and quick + The secret came to me, as one might find, + After forgetting how, to swim, or walk, + After a sickness, and for just two minutes + I slept, and then I got the secret back, + And later slept. + + So I possessed myself. + But for these years sleep but two hours or so. + Why do I wake? The spirits let me sleep. + Oh, no it is my longing that will rest not, + These thoughts of him that rest not, and this love + That never has been satisfied, this heart + So empty all these years; the bitterness + Of living face to face with one you loathe, + Yet pity, while you hate yourself for feeling + Such bitterness toward another soul, + As wretched as your own. But then as well + I could not sleep for Elenor, for her fate, + Never to have a chance in life. I saw + Our poverty made surer; year by year + Slip by with chances slipping. + + Oh, that child! + When I first felt her lips that sucked my breasts + My heart went muffled like a bird that tries + To pour its whole song in one note and fails + Out of its very ecstasy. A daughter, + A little daughter at my breast, a soul + Of a woman to be! I knew her spirit then, + Felt all my love and longing in her lips, + Felt all my passion, purity of desire + In those sweet lips that sucked my breasts. Oh, rapture, + Oh highest rapture God had given me + To see her roll upon my arm and smile, + Full fed, the milk that gurgled from her lips! + Such blue eyes--oh, my child! My child! my child! + I have no hope now of this life--no hope + Except to take you to my breast again. + God will be good and give you to me, or + God will bring sleep to me, a sleep so still + I shall not miss you, Elenor. + + I go on. + I see her when she first began to walk. + She ran at first, just like a baby quail. + She never walked. She danced into this life. + She used to dance for minutes on her toes. + My starved heart bore her vital in some way. + My hope which would not die had made her gay, + And unafraid and venturesome and hopeful. + She did not know what sadness was, or fear, + Or anything but laughter, play and fun. + Not till she grew to ten years and could see + The place in life that God had given her + Between my life and his; and then I saw + A thoughtfulness come over her, as a cloud + Passes across the sun, and makes one place + A shadow while the landscape lies in light: + So quietness would come over her, with smiles + Around her quietness and sunniest laughter + Fast following on her quietness. + + Well, you know + She went to school here as the others did. + But who knew that I grieved to see her lose + A schooling at St. Mary's, have no chance? + No chance save what she earned herself? What girl + Has earned the money for two years in college + Beside my Elenor in this neighborhood? + There is not one! But then if books and schooling + Be things prerequisite for success in life, + Why should we have a social scheme that clings + To marriage and the home, when such a soul + Is turned into the world from such a home, + With schooling so inadequate? If the state + May take our sons and daughters for its use + In war, in peace, why let the state raise up + And school these sons and daughters, let the home + Go to full ruin from half ruin now, + And let us who have failed in choosing mates + Re-choose, without that fear of children's fate + Which haunts us now. + + For look at Elenor! + Why did she never marry? Any man + Had made his life rich had he married her. + But in this present scheme of things such women + Move in a life where men are mostly less + In mind and heart than they are--and the men + Who are their equals never come to them, + Or come to them too seldom, or if they come + Are blind and do not know these Elenors. + And she had character enough to live + In single life, refuse the lesser chance, + Since she found not the great one, as I think. + But let it pass--I'm sure she was beloved, + And more than once, I'm sure. But I am sure + She was too wise for errors crude and common. + And if she had a love that stopped her heart, + She knew beforehand all, and met her fate + Bravely, and wrote that "To be brave and not + To flinch," to keep before her soul her faith + Deep down within it, lest she might forget it + Among her crowded thoughts. + + She went to the war. + She came to see me before she went, and said + She owed her courage and her restless spirit + To me, her will to live, her love of life, + Her power to sacrifice and serve, to me. + She put her arms about my neck and kissed me, + Said I had been a mother to her, being + A mother if no more; wished she had brought + More happiness to me, material things, + Delight in life. + + Of course her work took strength. + Her life was sapped by service in the war, + She died for country, for America, + As much as any soldier. So I say + If her life came to any waste, what waste + May her heroic life and death prevent? + The world has spent two hundred billion dollars + To put an egotist and strutting despot + Out of the power he used to tyrannize + Over his people with a tyranny + Political in chief, to take away + The glittering dominion of a crown. + I want some good to us out of this war, + And some emancipation. Let me tell you: + I know a worse thing than a German king: + It is the social scourge of poverty, + Which cripples, slays the husband and the wife, + And sends the children forth in life half formed. + I know a tyranny more insidious + Than any William had, it is the tyranny + Of superstition, customs, laws and rules; + The tyranny of the church, the tyranny + Of marriage, and the tyranny of beliefs + Concerning right and wrong, of good and evil; + The tyranny of taboos, the despotism + That rules our spirits with commands and threats: + Ghosts of dead faiths and creeds, ghosts of the past. + The tyranny, in short, that starves and chains + Imprisons, scourges, crucifies the soul, + Which only asks the chance to live and love, + Freely as it wishes, which will live so + If you take Poverty and chuck him out. + Then make the main thing inner growth, take rules, + Conventions and religion (save it be + The worship of God in spirit without hands + And without temples sacraments) the babble + Of moralists, the rant and flummery + Of preachers and of priests, and chuck them out. + These things produce your waste and suffering. + You tell a soul it sins and make it suffer, + Spend years in impotence and twilight thought. + You punish where no punishment should be, + Weaken and break the soul. You weight the soul + With idols and with symbols meaningless, + When God gave but three things: the earth and air + And mind to know them, live in freedom by them. + + Well, I would have America become + As free as any soul has ever dreamed her, + And if America does not get strength + To free herself, now that the war is over. + Then Elenor Murray's spirit has not won + The thing she died for. + + So I go my way, + Back to get supper, I who live, shall die + In America as it is--Rise up and change it + For mothers of the future Elenors. + + By now the press was full of Elenor Murray. + And far and near, wherever she was known, + Had lived, or taught, or studied, tongues were loosed + In episodes or stories of the girl. + The coroner on the street was button-holed, + Received marked articles and letters, some + Anonymous, some crazy. David Borrow + Who helped this Alma Bell as lawyer, friend, + Found in his mail a note from Alma Bell, + Enclosed with one much longer, written for + The coroner to read. + + When Merival + Had read it, then he said to Borrow: "Read + This letter to the other jurors." So + He read it to them, as they sat one night, + Invited to the home of Merival + To drink a little wine and have a smoke, + And talk about the case. + + + + +ALMA BELL TO THE CORONER + + + What my name is, or where I live, or if + I am that Alma Bell whose name is broached + With Elenor Murray's who shall know from this? + My hand-writing I hide in type, I send + This letter through a friend who will not tell. + But first, since no chance ever yet was mine + To speak my heart out, since if I had tried + These fifteen years ago to tell my heart, + I must have failed for lack of words and mind, + I speak my heart out now. I knew the soul + Of Elenor Murray, knew it at the time, + Have verified my knowledge in these years, + Who have not lost her, have kept touch with her + In letters, know the splendid sacrifice + She made in the war. She was a human soul + Earth is not blest with often. + + First I say + I knew her when she first came to my class + Turned seventeen just then--such blue-bell eyes, + And such a cataract of dark brown hair, + And such a brow, sweet lips, and such a way + Of talking with a cunning gasp, as if + To catch breath for the words. And such a sense + Of fitness, beauty, delicacy. But more + Such vital power that shook her silver nerves, + And made her dim to others; but to me + She was all sanity of soul, her body, + The instruments of life, were overborne + By that great flame of hers. And if her music + Fell sometimes into discord, which I doubt, + It was her heart-strings which could not vibrate + For human weakness, what the soul of her + Struck for response; and when the strings so failed + She was more grieved than I, or anyone, + Who listened and expected more. + + Well, then + What was my love? I am not loath to tell. + I could not touch her hand without a thrill, + Nor kiss her lips but I felt purified, + Exalted in some way. And if fatigue, + The hopeless, daily ills of teaching brought + My spirit to distress, and if I went, + As oftentimes I did, to call upon her + After the school hours, as I heard her step + Responding to my knock, my heart went up, + Her face framed by the opened door--what peace + Was mine to see it, peace ineffable + And rest were mine to sit with her and hear + That voice of hers where breath was caught for words, + That cunning gasp and pause! + + I loved her then, + Have loved her always, love her now no less. + I feel her spirit somehow, can take out + Her letters, photograph, and find a joy + That such a soul lived, was in truth my soul, + Must always be my soul. + + What was this love? + Why only this, shame nature if you will: + But since man's body is not man's alone, + Nor woman's body wholly feminine, + A biologic truth, our body's souls + Are neither masculine nor feminine, + But part and part; from whence our souls play forth + Part masculine, part feminine--this woman + Had that of body first which made her soul, + Or made her soul play in its way, and I + Had that of body which made soul of me + Play in its way. Our music met, that's all, + And harmonized. The flesh's explanation + Is not important, nor to tell whence comes + A love in the heart--the thing is love at last: + Love which unites and comforts, glorifies, + Enlarges spirit, woos to generous life, + Invites to sacrifice, to service, clothes + This poor dull earth with glory, makes the dawn + An hour of high resolve, the night a hope + For dawn for fuller life, the day a time + For working out the soul in terms of love. + This was my love for Elenor Murray--this + Her love for me, I think. Her sacrifice + In the war I traced to our love--all the good + Her life set into being, into motion + Has in it something of this love of ours. + How good is God who gives us love, the lens + Through which we see the beauty, hid from eyes + That have no love, no lens. + + Then what are spirits? + Effluvia material of our bodies? + Or is the spirit all--the body nothing, + Since every atom, particle of matter + With its interstices of soul, divides + Until there is no matter, only soul? + But what is love but of the soul--what flesh + Knows love but through the soul? May it not be + As soul learns love through flesh, it may at last, + Helped on its way by flesh, discard the flesh:-- + As cured men leave their crutches--and go on + Loving with spirits. For it seems to me + I must find Elenor Murray as a spirit, + Myself a spirit, love her as I loved her + These years on earth, but with a clearer fire, + Flame that is separate from fuel, burning + Eternal through itself. + + And here a word: + My love for Elenor Murray never had + Other expression than the look of eyes, + The spiritual thrill of listening to her voice, + A hand clasp, kiss upon the lips at best, + Better to find her soul, as Plato says. + + Too true I left LeRoy under a cloud, + Because of love for Elenor Murray--yet + Not lawless love, I write now to make clear + What love was mine--and you must understand. + But let me tell how life has dealt with me, + Then judge my purpose, dream, the quality + Of Elenor Murray judge, who in some way, + Somehow has drawn me onward, upward too, + I hope, as I have striven. + + I did fear + Her safety, and her future, did reprove + Her conduct, its appearance, rather more + In dread of gossip, dread of ways to follow + From such free ways begun at seventeen, + In innocence, out of a vital heart. + But when a bud is opening what stray bees + Come to drag pollen over it, and set + Life going to the end in the fruit of life! + O, my wish was to keep her for some love + To ripen in a rich maturity. + My care proved useless--or shall I say so? + Or anyone say so? since no mind knows + What failure here may somewhere prove a gain. + + There was that man who came into her life + With heart unsatisfied, bound to a woman + He wedded early. Elenor Murray's love + Destroyed this man by human measurements. + And he destroyed her, so they say. But yet + She poured her love upon him, lit her soul + With brighter flames for love of him. At last + She knew no thing but love and sacrifice. + She wrote me last her life was just one pain, + Had always been so from the first, and now + She wished to fling her spirit in the war, + Give, serve, nor count the cost, win death and God + In service in the war--O, loveliest soul + I pray and pray to meet you once again! + So was her life a ruin, was it waste? + She was a prodigal flower that never shut + Its petals, even in darkness, let her soul + Escape when, where it would. + + But to myself: + I dragged myself to England from LeRoy + And plunged in life, philosophies of life, + Spinoza and what not, read poetry, + Heard music too, Tschaikowsky, Wagner, all + Who tried to make sound tell the secret thing + That drove me wild in searching love. And lovers + I had one after the other, having fallen + To that belief the way is by the body. + But I was fooled and grew by slow degrees. + And then there came a wild man in my life, + A vagabond, a madman, genius--well, + We both went mad, and I smashed everything, + And ran away, threw all the world for him, + Only to find myself worn out, half dead + At last, as it were out of delirium. + And for four years sat by the sea, or made + Visits to Paris, where I met the man + I married. Then how strange! I gave myself + Wholly to bearing children, just to find + Some explanation of myself, some work + Wholly absorbing, lives to take my love. + And here I was instructed, found a step + For my poor feet to mount by. Though submerged, + Alone too much, my husband not the mate + I dreamed of, hearing echoes in my dreams + Of London and of Paris, sometimes voices + Of lovers lost and vanished; still I've found + A peace sometimes, a stay, too, in the innocence + And helplessness of children. + + But you see, + In spite of all we do, however high + And fiercely mounts desire, life imposes + Repression, sacrifice, renunciation. + And our poor souls fall muddied in the ditch, + Or take the discipline and live life out. + So Elenor Murray lived and did not fail. + And so it was the knowledge of her life + Kept me in spite of failures at the task + Of holding to my self. + + These two months passed + I found I had not killed desire--found + Among a group a chance to try again + For happiness, but knew it was not there. + Then to my children I came back and said: + "Free once again through suffering." So I prayed: + "Come to me flame of spirit, fire of worship, + Bright fire of song; if I but be myself, + Work through my fate, you shall be mine at last."... + Then was it that I heard from Elenor Murray-- + Such letters, such outpourings of herself! + Poor woman leaving love that could not be + More than it was; how wise she was to fly, + And use that love for service, as she did; + Extract its purest essence for the war, + And ease death with it, merging love and death + Into that mystic union, seen at last + By Elenor Murray. + + When I heard she came + All broken from the war, and died somehow + There by the river, then she seemed to me + More near--I seemed to feel her; little zephyrs + Blowing about my face, when I sat looking + Over the sea in my rose bower, seemed + The exhalation of her soul that caught + Its breath for words. I see her in my dreams-- + O, my pure soul, what have you been to me, + What must you be hereafter! + + But my friend, + And I must call you friend, whose strength in life + Drives you to find economies of spirit, + And save the waste of spirit, you must find + Whatever waste there was of Elenor Murray + Of love or faith, or time, or strength, great gain + In spite of early chances, father, mother, + Too loveless, negligent, or ignorant; + Her mother instinct never blessed with children. + I sometimes think no life is without use-- + For even weeds that sow themselves, frost reaped + And matted on the ground, enrich the soil, + Or feed some life. Our eyes must see the end + Of what these growths are for, before we say + Where waste is and where gain. + + * * * * * + + Coroner Merival woke to scan the _Times_, + And read the story of the suicide + Of Gregory Wenner, circle big enough + From Elenor Murray's death, but unobserved + Of Merival, until he heard the hint + Of Dr. Trace, who made the autopsy, + That Gregory Wenner might have caused the death + Of Eleanor Murray, or at least was near + When Elenor Murray died. Here is the story + Worked out by Merival as he went about + Unearthing secrets, asking here and there + What Gregory Wenner was to Elenor Murray. + The coroner had a friend who was the friend + Of Mrs. Wenner. Acting on the hint + Of Dr. Trace he found this friend and learned + What follows here of Gregory Wenner, then + What Mrs. Wenner learned in coming home + To bury Gregory Wenner. What he learned + The coroner told the jury. Here's the life + Of Gregory Wenner first: + + + + +GREGORY WENNER + + + Gregory Wenner's brother married the mother + Of Alma Bell, the daughter of a marriage + The mother made before. Kinship enough + To justify a call on Wenner's power + When Alma Bell was face to face with shame. + And Gregory Wenner went to help the girl, + And for a moment looked on Elenor Murray + Who left the school-room passing through the hall, + A girl of seventeen. He left his business + Of massing millions in the city, to help + Poor Alma Bell, and three years afterward + In the Garden of the Gods he saw again + The face of Elenor Murray--what a fate + For Gregory Wenner! + + But when Alma Bell + Wrote him for help his mind was roiled with cares: + A money magnate had signed up a loan + For half a million, to which Wenner added + That much beside, earned since his thirtieth year, + Now forty-two, with which to build a block + Of sixteen stories on a piece of ground + Leased in the loop for nine and ninety years. + But now a crabbed miser, much away, + Following the sun, and reached through agents, lawyers, + Owning the land next to the Wenner land, + Refused to have the sixteen story wall + Adjoin his wall, without he might select + His son-in-law as architect to plan + The sixteen-story block of Gregory Wenner. + And Gregory Wenner caught in such a trap, + The loan already bargained for and bound + In a hard money lender's giant grasp, + Consented to the terms, let son-in-law + Make plans and supervise the work. + + Five years + Go by before the evil blossoms fully; + But here's the bud: Gregory Wenner spent + His half-a-million on the building, also + Four hundred thousand of the promised loan, + Made by the money magnate--then behold + The money magnate said: "You cannot have + Another dollar, for the bonds you give + Are scarcely worth the sum delivered now + Pursuant to the contract. I have learned + Your architect has blundered, in five years + Your building will be leaning, soon enough + It will be wrecked by order of the city." + And Gregory Wenner found he spoke the truth. + But went ahead to finish up the building, + And raked and scraped, fell back on friends for loans, + Mortgaged his home for money, just to finish + This sixteen-story building, kept a hope + The future would reclaim him. + + Gregory Wenner + Who seemed so powerful in his place in life + Had all along this cancer in his life: + He owned the building, but he owed the money, + And all the time the building took a slant, + By just a little every year. And time + Made matters worse for him, increased his foes + As he stood for the city in its warfares + Against the surface railways, telephones; + And earned thereby the wrath of money lenders, + Who made it hard for him to raise a loan, + Who needed loans habitually. Besides + He had the trouble of an invalid wife + Who went from hospitals to sanitariums, + And traveled south, and went in search of health. + + Now Gregory Wenner reaches forty-five, + He's fought a mighty battle, but grows tired. + The building leans a little more each year. + And money, as before, is hard to get. + And yet he lives and keeps a hope. + + At last + He does not feel so well, has dizzy spells. + The doctor recommends a change of scene. + And Gregory Wenner starts to see the west. + He visits Denver. Then upon a day + He walks about the Garden of the Gods, + And sees a girl who stands alone and looks + About the Garden's wonders. Then he sees + The girl is Elenor Murray, who has grown + To twenty-years, who looks that seventeen + When first he saw her. He remembers her, + And speaks of Alma Bell, that Alma Bell + Is kindred to him. Where is Alma Bell, + He has not heard about her in these years? + And Elenor Murray colors, and says: "Look, + There is a white cloud on the mountain top." + And thus the talk commences. + + Elenor Murray + Shows forth the vital spirit that is hers. + She dances on her toes and crows in wonder, + Flings up her arms in rapture. What a world + Of beauty and of hope! For not her life + Of teaching school, a school of Czechs and Poles + There near LeRoy, since she left school and taught, + These two years now, nor arid life at home, + Her father sullen and her mother saddened; + Nor yet that talk of Alma Bell and her + That like a corpse's gas has scented her, + And made her struggles harder in LeRoy-- + Not these have quenched her flame, or made it burn + Less brightly. Though at last she left LeRoy + To fly old things, the dreary home, begin + A new life teaching in Los Angeles. + Gregory Wenner studies her and thinks + That Alma Bell was right to reprimand + Elenor Murray for her reckless ways + Of strolling and of riding. And perhaps + Real things were back of ways to be construed + In innocence or wisdom--for who knows? + His thought ran. Such a pretty face, blue eyes, + And such a buoyant spirit. + + So they wandered + About the Garden of the Gods, and took + A meal together at the restaurant. + And as they talked, he told her of himself, + About his wife long ill, this trip for health-- + She sensed a music sadness in his soul. + And Gregory Wenner heard her tell her life + Of teaching, of the arid home, the shadow + That fell on her at ten years, when she saw + The hopeless, loveless life of father, mother. + And his great hunger, and his solitude + Reached for the soothing hand of Elenor Murray, + And Elenor Murray having life to give + By her maternal strength and instinct gave. + The man began to laugh, forgot his health, + The leaning building, and the money lenders, + And found his void of spirit growing things-- + He loved this girl. And Elenor Murray seeing + This strong man with his love, and seeing too + How she could help him, with that venturesome + And prodigal emotion which was hers + Flung all herself to help him, being a soul + Who tried all things in courage, staked her heart + On good to come. + + They took the train together. + They stopped at Santa Cruz, and on the rocks + Heard the Pacific dash himself and watched + The moon upon the water, breathed the scent + Of oriental flowerings. There at last + Under the spell of nature Gregory Wenner + Bowed down his head upon his breast and shook + For those long years of striving and of haggling, + And for this girl, but mostly for a love + That filled him now. And when he spoke again + Of his starved life, his homeless years, the girl, + Her mind resolved through thinking she could serve + This man and bring him happiness, but with heart + Flaming to heaven with the miracle + Of love for him, down looking at her hands + Which fingered nervously her dress's hem, + Said with that gasp which made her voice so sweet: + "Do what you will with me, to ease your heart + And help your life." + + And Gregory Wenner shaken, + Astonished and made mad with ecstasy + Pressed her brown head against his breast and wept. + And there at Santa Cruz they lived a week, + Till Elenor Murray went to take her school, + He to the north en route for home. + + Five years + Had passed since then. And on this day poor Wenner + Looks from a little office at his building + Visibly leaning now, the building lost, + The bonds foreclosed; this is the very day + A court gives a receiver charge of it. + And he, these several months reduced to deals + In casual properties, in trivial trades, + Hard pressed for money, has gone up and down + Pursuing prospects, possibilities, + Scanning each day financial sheets and looking + For clues to lead to money. And he finds + His strength and hope not what they were before. + His wife is living on, no whit restored. + And Gregory Wenner thinks, would they not say + I killed myself because I lost my building, + If I should kill myself, and leave a note + That business worries drove me to the deed, + My building this day taken, a receiver + In charge of what I builded out of my dream. + And yet he said to self, that would be false: + It's Elenor Murray's death that makes this life + So hard to bear, and thoughts of Elenor Murray + Make life a torture. First that I had to live + Without her as my wife, and next the fact + That I have taken all her life's thought, ruined + Her chance for home and marriage; that I have seen + Elenor Murray struggle in the world, + And go forth to the war with just the thought + To serve, if it should kill her. + + Then his mind + Ran over these five years when Elenor Murray + Throughout gave such devotion, constant thought, + Filled all his mind and heart, and kept her voice + Singing or talking in his memory's ear, + In absence with long letters, when together + With passionate utterances of love. The girl + Loved Gregory Wenner, but the girl had found + A comfort for her spiritual solitude, + And got a strength in taking Wenner's strength. + For at the last one soul lives on another. + And Elenor Murray could not live except + She had a soul to live for, and a soul + On which to pour her passion, taking back + The passion of that soul in recompense. + Gregory Wenner served her power and genius + For giving and for taking so to live, + Achieve and flame; and found them in some moods + Somehow demoniac when his spirits sank, + And drink was all that kept him on his feet. + And so when Elenor Murray came to him + And said this life of teaching was too much, + Could not be longer borne, he thought the time + Had come to end the hopeless love. He raised + The money by the hardest means to pay + Elenor Murray's training as a nurse, + By this to set her free from teaching school, + And then he set about to crush the girl + Out of his life. + + For Gregory Wenner saw + Between this passion and his failing thought, + And gray hairs coming, fortune slip like sand. + And saw his mind diffuse itself in worries, + In longing for her: found himself at times + Too much in need of drink, and shrank to see + What wishes rose that death might take his wife, + And let him marry Elenor Murray, cure + His life with having her beside him, dreaming + That somehow Elenor Murray could restore + His will and vision, by her passion's touch, + And mother instinct make him whole again. + But if he could not have her for his wife, + And since the girl absorbed him in this life + Of separation which made longing greater, + Just as it lacked the medium to discharge + The great emotion it created, Wenner + Caught up his shreds of strength to crush her out + Of his life, told her so, when he had raised + The money for her training. For he saw + How ruin may overtake a man, and ruin + Pass by the woman, whom the world would judge + As ruined long ago. But look, he thought, + I pity her, not for our sin, if it be, + But that I have absorbed her life; and yet + The girl is mastering life, while I fall down. + She has absorbed me, if the wrong lies here. + And thus his thought went round. + + And Elenor Murray + Accepted what he said and went her way + With words like these: "My love and prayers are yours + While life is with us." Then she turned to study, + And toiled each day till night brought such fatigue + That sleep fell on her. Was it to forget? + And meanwhile she embraced the faith and poured + Her passion driven by a rapturous will + Into religion, trod her path in silence, + Save for a card at Christmas time for him, + Sometimes a little message from some place + Whereto her duty called her. + + Gregory Wenner + Stands at the window of his desolate office, + And looks out on his sixteen-story building + Irrevocably lost this day. His mind runs back + To that day in the Garden of the Gods, + That night at Santa Cruz, and then his eyes + Made piercing sharp by sorrow cleave the clay + That lies upon the face of Elenor Murray, + And see the flesh of her the worms have now. + How strange, he thinks, to flit into this life + Singing and radiant, to suffer, toil, + To serve in the war, return to girlhood's scenes, + To die, to be a memory for a day, + Then be forgotten. O, this life of ours. + Why is not God ashamed for graveyards, why + So thoughtless of our passion he lets play + This tragedy. + + And Gregory Wenner thought + About the day he stood here, even as now + And heard a step, a voice, and looked around + Saw Elenor Murray, felt her arms again, + Her kiss upon his cheek, and saw her face + As light was beating on it, heard her gasp + In ecstasy for going to the war, + To which that day she gave her pledge. And heard + Her words of consecration. Heard her say, + As though she were that passionate Heloise + Brought into life again: "All I have done + Was done for love of you, all I have asked + Was only you, not what belonged to you. + I did not hope for marriage or for gifts. + I have not gratified my will, desires, + But yours I sought to gratify. I have longed + To be yours wholly, I have kept for self + Nothing, have lived for you, have lived for you + These years when you thought best to crush me out. + And now though there's a secret in my heart, + Not wholly known to me, still I can know it + By seeing you again, I think, by touching + Your hand again. Your life has tortured me, + Both for itself, and since I could not give + Out of my heart enough to make your life + A way of peace, a way of happiness." + + Then Gregory Wenner thought how she looked down + And said: "Since I go to the war, would God + Look with disfavor on us if you took me + In your arms wholly once again? My friend, + Not with the thought to leave me soon, but sleeping + Like mates, as birds do, making sleep so sweet + Close to each other as God means we should. + I mingle love of God with love of you, + And in the night-time I can pray for you + With you beside me, find God closer then. + Who knows, you may take strength from such an hour." + Then Gregory Wenner lived that night again, + And the next morning when she rose and shook, + As it were night gathered dew upon fresh wings, + The vital water from her glowing flesh. + And shook her hair out, laughed and said to him: + "Courage and peace, my friend." And how they passed + Among the multitude, when he took her hand + And said farewell, and hastened to this room + To seek for chances in another day, + And never saw her more. + + And all these thoughts + Coming on Gregory Wenner swept his soul + Till it seemed like a skiff in mid-sea under + A sky unreckoning, where neither bread, + Nor water, save salt water, were for lips. + And over him descended a blank light + Of life's futility, since now this hour + Life dropped the mask and showed him just a skull. + And a strange fluttering of the nerves came on him, + So that he clutched the window frame, lest he + Spring from the window to the street below. + And he was seized with fear that said to fly, + Go somewhere, find some one, so to draw out + This madness which was one with him and in him, + And which some one in pity must relieve, + Something must cure. And in this sudden horror + Of self, this ebbing of the tides of life, + Leaving his shores to visions, where he saw + Horrible creatures stir amid the slime, + Gregory Wenner hurried from the room + And walked the streets to find his thought again + Wherewith to judge if he should kill himself + Or look to find a path in life once more. + + And Gregory Wenner sitting in his club + Wrote to his brother thus: "I cannot live + Now that my business is so tangled up, + Bury my body by my father's side." + Next day the papers headlined Gregory Wenner: + "Loss of a building drives to suicide." + + * * * * * + + Elenor Murray's death kills Gregory Wenner + And Gregory Wenner dying make a riffle + In Mrs. Wenner's life--reveals to her + A secret long concealed:-- + + + + +MRS. GREGORY WENNER + + + Gregory Wenner's wife was by the sea + When Gregory Wenner killed himself, half sick + And half malingering, and otiose. + She wept, sent for a doctor to be braced, + Induced a friend to travel with her west + To bury Gregory Wenner; did not know + That Gregory Wenner was in money straits + Until she read the paper, or had lost + His building in the loop. The man had kept + His worries from her ailing ears, was glad + To keep her traveling, or taking cures. + + She came and buried Gregory Wenner; found + His fortune just a shell, the building lost, + A little money in the bank, a store + Far out on Lake Street, forty worthless acres + In northern Indiana, twenty lots + In some Montana village. Here she was, + A widow, penniless, an invalid. + The crude reality of things awoke + A strength she did not dream was hers. And then + She went to Gregory Wenner's barren office + To collect the things he had, get in his safe + For papers and effects. + + She had to pay + An expert to reveal the combination, + And throw the bolts. And there she sat a day, + And emptied pigeon holes and searched and read. + And in one pigeon hole she found a box, + And in the box a lock of hair wrapped up + In tissue paper, fragrant powder lying + Around the paper--in the box a card + With woman's writing on it, just the words + "For my beloved"; but no name or date. + + Who was this woman mused the widow there? + She did not know the name. She did not know + Her eyes had seen this Elenor Murray once + When Elenor Murray came with Gregory Wenner + To dinner at his home to face the wife. + For Elenor Murray in a mood of strength, + After her confirmation and communion, + Had said to Gregory Wenner: "Now the end + Has come to this, our love, I think it best + If she should ever learn I am the woman + Who in New York spent summer days with you, + And later in Chicago, in that summer, + She will remember what my eyes will show + When we stand face to face, and I give proof + That I am changed, repentant." + + For the wife + Had listened to a friend who came to tell + She saw this Gregory Wenner in New York + From day to day in gardens and cafes, + And by the sea romancing with a girl. + And later Mrs. Wenner found a book, + Which Gregory Wenner cherished--with the words + Beloved, and the date. And now she knew + The hand that wrote the card here in this box, + The hand that wrote the inscription in the book + Were one--but still she did not know the woman. + No doubt the woman of that summer's flame, + Whom Gregory Wenner promised not to see + When she brought out the book and told him all + She learned of his philandering in New York. + And Elenor Murray's body was decaying + In darkness, under earth there at LeRoy + While Mrs. Wenner read, and did not know + The hand that wrote the card lay blue and green, + Half hidden in the foldings of the shroud, + And all that country stirred for Elenor Murray, + Of which the widow absent in the east + Had never heard. + + And Mrs. Wenner found + Beside the box and lock of hair three letters, + And sat and read them. Through her eyes and brain + This meaning and this sound of blood and soul, + Like an old record with a diamond needle. + Passed music like:-- + + "The days go swiftly by + With study and with work. I am too tired + At night to think. I read anatomy, + Materia medica and other things, + And do the work an undergraduate + Is called upon to do. And every week + I spend three afternoons with the nuns and sew, + And care for children of the poor whose mothers + Are earning bread away. I go to church + And talk with Mother Janet. And I pray + At morning and at night for you, and ask + For strength to live without you and for light + To understand why love of you is mine, + And why you are not mine, and whether God + Will give you to me some day if I prove + My womanhood is worthy of you, dear. + And sometimes when our days of bliss come back + And flood me with their warmth and blinding light + I take my little crucifix and kiss it, + And plunge in work to take me out of self, + Some service to another. So it is, + This sewing and this caring for the children + Stills memory and gives me strength to live, + And pass the days, go on. I shall not draw + Upon your thought with letters, still I ask + Your thought of me sometimes. Would it be much + If once a year you sent me a bouquet + To prove to me that you remember, sweet, + Still cherish me a little, give me faith + That in this riddle world there is a hand, + Which spite of separation, thinks and touches + Blossoms that I touch afterward? Dear heart, + I have starved out and killed that reckless mood + Which would have taken you and run away. + Oh, if you knew that this means killing, too, + The child I want--our child. You have a cross + No less than I, beloved, even if love + Of me has passed and eased the agony + I thought you knew--your cross is heavy, dear, + Bound, but not wedded to her, never to know + The life of marriage with her. Yet be brave, + Be noble, dear, be always what God made you, + A great heart, patient, gentle, sacrificing, + Bring comfort to her tedious days, forbear + When she is petulant, for if you do, + I know God will reward you, give you peace. + I pray for strength for you, that never again + May you distress her as you did, I did + When she found there was someone. Lest she know + Destroy this letter, all I ever write, + So that her mind may never fix itself + Upon a definite person, on myself. + But still remaining vague may better pass + To lighter shadows, nothingness at last. + I try to think I sinned, have so confessed + To get forgiveness at my first communion. + And yet a vestige of a thought in me + Will not submit, confess the sin. Well, dear, + You can awake at midnight, at the pause + Of duty in the day, merry or sad, + Light hearted or discouraged, if you chance, + To think of me, remember I send prayers + To God for you each day--oh may His light + Shine on your face!" + + So Widow Wenner read, + And wondered of the writer, since no name + Was signed; and wept a little, dried her eyes + And flushed with anger, said, "adulteress, + Adulteress who played the game of pity, + And wove about my husband's heart the spell + Of masculine sympathy for a sorrowing woman, + A trick as old as Eden. And who knows + But all the money went here in the end? + For if a woman plunges from her aim + To piety, devotion such as this, + She will plunge back to sin, unstable heart, + That swings from self-denial to indulgence + And spends itself in both." + + Then Widow Wenner + Took up the second letter: + + "I have signed + To go to France to-day. I wrote you once + I planned to take the veil, become a nun. + But now the war has changed my thought. I see + In service for my country fuller life, + More useful sacrifice and greater work + Than ever I could have, being a nun. + The cause is so momentous. Think, my dear, + This woman who still thinks of you will be + A factor in this war for liberty, + A soldier serving soldiers, giving strength, + Health, hope and spirit to the soldier boys + Who fall, must be restored to fight again. + I've thrown my soul in this, am all aflame. + You should have seen me when I took the oath, + And raised my hand and pledged my word to serve, + Support the law. I want to think of you + As proud of me for doing this--be proud, + Be grateful, too, that I have strength and will + To give myself to this. And if it chance, + As almost I am hoping, that the work + Should break me, sweep me under, think of me + As one who died for country, as I shall + As truly as the soldiers slain in battle. + I leave to-morrow, will be at a camp + Some weeks before I sail. I telephoned you + This morning twice, they said you would return + By two-o'clock at least. I write instead. + But I shall come to see you, if I can + Sometime this afternoon, and if I don't, + This letter then must answer. Peace be with you. + To-day I'm very happy. Write to me, + Or if you do not think it best, all right, + I'll understand. Before I sail I'll send + A message to you--for the time farewell." + + Then Widow Wenner read the telegram + The third and last communication: "Sail + To-day, to-morrow, very soon, I know. + My memories of you are happy ones. + A fond adieu." This telegram was signed + By Elenor Murray. Widow Wenner knew + The name at last, sat petrified to think + This was the girl who brazened through the dinner + Some years ago when Gregory Wenner brought + This woman to his home--"the shameless trull," + Said Mrs. Wenner, "harlot, impudent jade, + To think my husband is dead, would she were dead-- + I could be happy if I knew a bomb + Or vile disease had got her." Then she looked + In other pigeon holes, and found in one + A photograph of Elenor Murray, knew + The face that looked across the dinner table. + And in the pigeon hole she found some verses + Clipped from a magazine, and tucked away + The letters, verses, telegram in her bag, + Closed up the safe and left. + + Next day at breakfast + She scanned the morning _Times_, her eyes were wide + For reading of the Elenor Murray inquest. + "Well, God is just," she murmured, "God is just." + + * * * * * + + All this was learned of Gregory Wenner. Even + If Gregory Wenner killed the girl, the man + Was dead now. Could he kill her and return + And kill himself? The coroner had gone, + The jury too, to view the spot where lay + Elenor Murray's body. It was clear + A man had walked here. Was it Gregory Wenner? + The hunter who came up and found the body? + This hunter was a harmless, honest soul + Could not have killed her, passed the grill of questions + From David Borrow, skilled examiner, + The coroner, the jurors. But meantime + If Gregory Wenner killed this Elenor Murray + How did he do it? Dr. Trace has made + His autopsy and comes and makes report + To the coroner and the jury in these words:-- + + + + +DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER + + + I cannot tell you, Coroner, the cause + Of death of Elenor Murray, not until + My chemical analysis is finished. + Here is the woman's heart sealed in this jar, + I weighed it, weight nine ounces, if she had + A hemolysis, cannot tell you now + What caused the hemolysis. Since you say + She took no castor oil, that you can learn + From Irma Leese, or any witness, still + A chemical analysis may show + The presence of ricin,--and that she took + A dose of oil not pure. Her throat betrayed + Slight inflammation; but in brief, I wait + My chemical analysis. + + Let's exclude + The things we know and narrow down the facts. + She lay there by the river, death had come + Some twenty hours before. No stick or stone, + No weapon near her, bottle, poison box, + No bruise upon her, in her mouth no dust, + No foreign bodies in her nostrils, neck + Without a mark, no punctures, cuts or scars + Upon her anywhere, no water in lungs, + No mud, sand, straws or weeds in hands, the nails + Clean, as if freshly manicured. + + Again + No evidence of rape. I first examined + The genitals _in situ_, found them sound. + The girl had lived, was not a virgin, still + Had temperately indulged, and not at all + In recent months, no evidence at all + Of conjugation willingly or not, + The day of death. But still I lifted out + The ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus, + The vagina and vulvae. Opened up + The mammals, found no milk. No pregnancy + Existed, sealed these organs up to test + For poison later, as we doctors know + Sometimes a poison's introduced _per vaginam_. + + I sealed the brain up too, shall make a test + Of blood and serum for urea; death + Comes suddenly from that, you find no lesion, + Must take a piece of brain and cut it up, + Pour boiling water on it, break the brain + To finer pieces, pour the water off, + Digest the piece of brain in other water, + Repeat four times, the solutions mix together, + Dry in an oven, treat with ether, at last + The residue put on a slide of glass + With nitric acid, let it stand awhile, + Then take your microscope--if there's urea + You'll see the crystals--very beautiful! + A cobra's beautiful, but scarce can kill + As quick as these. + + Likewise I have sealed up + The stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines, + So many poisons have no microscopic + Appearance that convinces, opium, + Hyoscyamus, belladonna fool us; + But as the stomach had no inflammation, + It was not chloral, ether took her off, + Which we can smell, to boot. But I can find + Strychnia, if it killed her; though you know + That case in England sixty years ago, + Where the analysis did not disclose + Strychnia, though they hung a man for giving + That poison to a fellow. + + To recur + I'm down to this: Perhaps a hemolysis-- + But what produced it? If I find no ricin + I turn to streptococcus, deadly snake, + Or shall I call him tiger? For I think + The microscopic world of living things + Is just a little jungle, filled with tigers, + Snakes, lions, what you will, with teeth and claws, + The perfect miniatures of these monstrous foes. + Sweet words come from the lips and tender hands + Like Elenor Murray's, minister, nor know + The jungle has been roused in throat or lungs; + And shapes venene begin to crawl and eat + The ruddy apples of the blood, eject + Their triple venomous excreta in + The channels of the body. + + There's the heart, + Which may be weakened by a streptococcus. + But if she had a syncope and fell + She must have bruised her body or her head. + And if she had a syncope, was held up, + Who held her up? That might have cost her life: + To be held up in syncope. You know + You lay a person down in syncope, + And oftentimes the heart resumes its beat. + Perhaps she was held up until she died, + Then laid there by the river, so no bruise. + So many theories come to me. But again, + I say to you, look for a man. Run down + All clues of Gregory Wenner. He is dead-- + Loss of a building drives to suicide-- + The papers say, but still it may be true + He was with Elenor Murray when she died, + Pushed her, we'll say, or struck her in a way + To leave no mark, a tap upon the heart + That shocked the muscles more or less obscure + That bind the auricles and ventricles, + And killed her. Then he flies away in fear, + Aghast at what he does, and kills himself. + Look for a man, I say. It must be true, + She went so secretly to walk that morning + To meet a man--why would she walk alone? + + So while you hunt the man, I'll look for ricin, + And with my chemicals end up the search. + I never saw a heart more beautiful, + Just look at it. We doctors all agreed + This Elenor Murray might have lived to ninety + Except for jungles, poison, sudden shock. + I take my bottle with the heart of Elenor + And go about my way. It beat in France, + It beat for France and for America, + But what is truer, somewhere was a man + For whom it beat! + + * * * * * + + When Irma Leese, the Aunt of Elenor Murray, + Appeared before the coroner she told + Of Elenor Murray's visit, of the morning + She left to walk, was never seen again. + And brought the coroner some letters sent + By Elenor from France. What follows now + Is what the coroner, or the jury heard + From Irma Leese, from letters drawn--beside + The riffle that the death of Elenor Murray + Sent round the life of Irma Leese, which spread + To Tokio and touched a man, the son + Of Irma Leese's sister, dead Corinne, + The mother of this man in Tokio. + + + + +IRMA LEESE + + + Elenor Murray landing in New York, + After a weary voyage, none too well, + Staid in the city for a week and then + Upon a telegram from Irma Leese, + Born Irma Fouche, her aunt who lived alone + This summer in the Fouche house near LeRoy, + Came west to visit Irma Leese and rest. + + For Elenor Murray had not been herself + Since that hard spring when in the hospital, + Caring for soldiers stricken with the flu, + She took bronchitis, after weeks in bed + Rose weak and shaky, crept to health again + Through egg-nogs, easy strolls about Bordeaux. + And later went to Nice upon a furlough + To get her strength again. + + But while she saw + Her vital flame burn brightly, as of old + On favored days, yet for the rest the flame + Sputtered or sank a little. So she thought + How good it might be to go west and stroll + About the lovely country of LeRoy, + And hear the whispering cedars by a window + In the Fouche mansion where this Irma Leese, + Her aunt, was summering. So she telegraphed, + And being welcomed, went. + + This stately house, + Built sixty years before by Arthur Fouche, + A brick home with a mansard roof, an oriel + That looked between the cedars, and a porch + With great Ionic columns, from the street + Stood distantly amid ten acres of lawn, + Trees, flower plots--belonged to Irma Leese, + Who had reclaimed it from a chiropractor, + To cleanse the name of Fouche from that indignity, + And bring it in the family again, + Since she had spent her girlhood, womanhood + To twenty years amid its twenty rooms. + For Irma Leese at twenty years had married + And found herself at twenty-five a widow, + With money left her, then had tried again, + And after years dissolved the second pact, + And made a settlement, was rich in fact, + Now forty-two. Five years before had come + And found the house she loved a sanitarium, + A chiropractor's home. And as she stood + Beside the fence and saw the oriel, + Remembered all her happiness on this lawn + With brothers and with sisters, one of whom + Was Elenor Murray's mother, then she willed + To buy the place and spend some summers here. + And here she was the summer Elenor Murray + Returned from France. + + And Irma Leese had said: + "Here is your room, it has the oriel, + And there's the river and the hills for you. + Have breakfast in your room what hour you will, + Rise when you will. We'll drive and walk and rest, + Run to Chicago when we have a mind. + I have a splendid chauffeur now and maids. + You must grow strong and well." + + And Elenor Murray + Gasped out her happiness for the pretty room, + And stood and viewed the river and the hills, + And wept a little on the gentle shoulder + Of Irma Leese. + + And so the days had passed + Of walking, driving, resting, many talks; + For Elenor Murray spoke to Irma Leese + Of tragic and of rapturous days in France, + And Irma Leese, though she had lived full years, + Had scarcely lived as much as Elenor Murray, + And could not hear enough from Elenor Murray + Of the war and France, but mostly she would urge + Her niece to tell of what affairs of love + Had come to her. And Elenor Murray told + Of Gregory Wenner, save she did not tell + The final secret, with a gesture touched + The story off by saying: It was hopeless, + I went into religion to forget. + But on a day she said to Irma Leese: + "I almost met my fate at Nice," then sketched + A hurried picture of a brief romance. + But Elenor Murray told her nothing else + Of loves or men. But all the while the aunt + Weighed Elenor Murray, on a day exclaimed: + "I see myself in you, and you are like + Your Aunt Corinne who died in ninety-two. + I'll tell you all about your Aunt Corinne + Some day when we are talking, but I see + You have the Fouche blood--we are lovers all. + Your mother is a lover, Elenor, + If you would know it." + + "O, your Aunt Corinne + She was most beautiful, but unfortunate. + Her husband was past sixty when she married, + And she was thirty-two. He was distinguished, + Had money and all that, but youth is all, + Is everything for love, and she was young, + And he was old." + + A week or two had passed + Since Elenor Murray came to Irma Leese, + When on a morning fire broke from the eaves + And menaced all the house; but maids and gardeners + With buckets saved the house, while Elenor Murray + And Irma Leese dipped water from the barrels + That stood along the ell. + + A week from that + A carpenter was working at the eaves + Along the ell, and in the garret knelt + To pry up boards and patch. When as he pried + A board up, he beheld between the rafters + A package of old letters stained and frayed, + Tied with a little ribbon almost dust. + And when he went down-stairs, delivered it + To Irma Leese and said: Here are some letters + I found up in the garret under the floor, + I pried up in my work. + + Then Irma Leese + Looked at the letters, saw her sister's hand, + Corinne's upon the letters, opened, read, + And saw the story which she knew before + Brought back in this uncanny way, the hand + Which wrote the letters six and twenty years + Turned back to dust. And when her niece came in + She showed the letters, said, "I'll let you read, + I'll tell you all about them": + + "When Corinne + Was nineteen, very beautiful and vital, + Red-cheeked, a dancer, bubbling like new wine, + A catch, as you may know, you see this house + Was full of laughter then, so many children. + We had our parties, too, and young men thought, + Each one of us would have a dowry splendid-- + A young man from Chicago came along, + A lawyer there, but lately come from Pittsburgh + To practice, win his way. I knew this man. + He was a handsome dog with curly hair, + Blue eyes and sturdy figure. Well, Corinne + Quite lost her heart. He came here to a dance, + And so the game commenced. And father thought + The fellow was not right, but all of us, + Your mother and myself said, yes he is, + And we conspired to help Corinne and smooth + The path of confidence. But later on + Corinne was not so buoyant, would not talk + With me, your mother freely. Then at last + Her eyes were sometimes red; we knew she wept. + And, then Corinne was sent away. Well, here + You'll guess the rest. Her health was breaking down, + That's true enough; the world could think its thoughts, + And say his love grew cold, or she found out + The black-leg that he was, and he was that. + But Elenor, the truth was more than that, + Corinne had been betrayed, she went away + To right herself--these letters prove the case, + Which all the gossips, busy as they were, + Could not make out. The paper at LeRoy + Had printed that she went to pay a visit + To relatives in the east. Three months or so + She came back well and rosy. But meanwhile + Your grandfather had paid this shabby scoundrel + A sum of money, I forget the sum, + To get these letters of your Aunt Corinne-- + These letters here. This matter leaked, of course. + And then we let the story take this form + And moulded it a little to this form: + The fellow was a scoundrel--this was proved + When he took money to return her letters. + They were love letters, they had been engaged, + She thought him worthy, found herself deceived + Proved, too, by taking money, when at first + He looked with honorable eyes to young Corinne, + And won her trust. And so Corinne lived here + Ten years or more, at thirty married the judge, + Her senior thirty years, and went away. + She bore a child and died--look Elenor + Here are the letters which she took and nailed + Beneath the garret floor. We'll read them through, + And then I'll burn them." + + Irma Leese rose up + And put the letters in her desk and said: + "Let's ride along the river." So they rode, + But as they rode, the day being clear and mild + The fancy took them to Chicago, where + They lunched and spent the afternoon, returning + At ten o'clock that night. + + And the next morning + When Irma Leese expected Elenor + To rise and join her, asked for her, a maid + Told Irma Leese that Elenor had gone + To walk somewhere. And all that day she waited. + But as night came, she fancied Elenor + Had gone to see her mother, once rose up + To telephone, then stopped because she felt + Elenor might have plans she would not wish + Her mother to get wind of--let it go. + But when night came, she wondered, fell asleep + With wondering and worry. + + But next morning + As she was waiting for the car to come + To motor to LeRoy, and see her sister, + Elenor's mother, in a casual way, + Learn if her niece was there, and waiting read + The letters of Corinne, the telephone + Rang in an ominous way, and Irma Leese + Sprang up to answer, got the tragic word + Of Elenor Murray found beside the river. + Left all the letters spilled upon her desk + And motored to the river, to LeRoy + Where Coroner Merival took the body. + + Just + As Irma Leese departed, in the room + A sullen maid revengeful for the fact + She was discharged, was leaving in a day, + Entered and saw the letters, read a little, + And gathered them, went to her room and packed + Her telescope and left, went to LeRoy, + And gave a letter to this one and that, + Until the servant maids and carpenters + And some lubricous fellows at LeRoy + Who made companions of these serving maids, + Had each a letter of the dead Corinne, + Which showed at last, after some twenty years, + Of silence and oblivion, to LeRoy + With memory to refresh, that poor Corinne + Had given her love, herself, had been betrayed, + Abandoned by a scoundrel. + + Merival, + The Coroner, when told about the letters, + For soon the tongues were wagging in LeRoy, + Went here and there to find them, till he learned + What quality of love the dead Corinne + Had given to this man. Then shook his head, + Resolved to see if he could not unearth + In Elenor Murray's life some faithless lover + Who sought her death. + + The letters' riffle crawled + Through shadows of the waters of LeRoy + Until it looked a snake, was seen as such + In Tokio by Franklin Hollister, + The son of dead Corinne; it seemed a snake: + He heard the coroner through neglect or malice + Had let the letters scatter--not the truth;-- + The coroner had gathered up the letters, + Befriending Irma Leese; she got them back + Through Merival. The riffle's just the same. + And hence this man in Tokio is crazed + For shame and fear--for fear the girl he loves + Will hear his mother's story and break off + Her marriage promise. + + So in reckless rage + He posts a letter off to Lawyer Hood, + Chicago, Illinois--the coroner + Gets all the story through this Lawyer Hood, + Long after Elenor's inquest is at end. + Meantime he cools, is wiser, thinks it bad + To stir the scandal with a suit at law. + And then when cooled he hears from Lawyer Hood + Who tells him what the truth is. So it ends. + + * * * * * + + These letters and the greenish wave that coiled + At Tokio is beyond the coroner's eye + Fixed on the water where the pebble fell:-- + This death of Elenor, circles close at hand + Engage his interest. Now he seeks to learn + About her training and religious life. + And hears of Miriam Fay, a friend he thinks, + And confidant of her religious life, + Head woman of the school where Elenor + Learned chemistry, materia medica, + Anatomy, to fit her for the work + Of nursing. And he writes this Miriam Fay + And Miriam Fay responds. The letter comes + Before the jury. Here is what she wrote:-- + + + + +MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER + + + Elenor Murray asked to go in training + And came to see me, but the school was full, + We could not take her. Then she asked to stand + Upon a list and wait, I put her off. + She came back, and she came back, till at last + I took her application; then she came + And pushed herself and asked when she could come, + And start to train. At last I laughed and said: + "Well, come to-morrow." I had never seen + Such eagerness, persistence. So she came. + She tried to make a friend of me, perhaps + Since it was best, I being in command. + But anyway she wooed me, tried to please me. + And spite of everything I grew to love her, + Though I distrusted her. But yet again + I had belief in her best self, though doubting + The girl somehow. But when I learned the girl + Had never had religious discipline, + Her father without faith, her mother too, + Her want of moral sense, I understood. + She lacked stability of spirit, to-day + She would be one thing, something else the next. + Shot up in fire, which failed and died away + And I began to see her fraternize + With girls who had her traits, too full of life + To be what they should be, unstable too, + Much like herself. + + Not long before she came + Into the training school, six months, perhaps, + She had some tragedy, I don't know what, + Had been quite ill in body and in mind. + When she went into training I could see + Her purpose to wear down herself, forget + In weariness of body, something lived. + She was alert and dutiful and sunny, + Kept all the rules, was studious, led the class, + Excelled, I think, in studies of the nerves, + The mind grown sick. + + As we grew better friends, + More intimate, she talked about religion, + And sacred subjects, asked about the church. + I gave her books to read, encouraged her, + Asked her to make her peace with God, and set + Her feet in pious paths. At last she said + She wished to be baptized, confirmed. I made + The plans for her, she was baptized, confirmed, + Went to confessional, and seemed renewed + In spirit by conversion. For at once + Her zeal was like a flame at Pentecost, + She almost took the veil, but missing that, + She followed out the discipline to the letter, + Kept all the feast days, went to mass, communion, + Did works of charity; indeed, I think + She spent her spare hours all in all at sewing + There with the sisters for the poor. She had, + When she came to me, jewelry of value, + A diamond solitaire, some other things. + I missed them, and she said she sold them, gave + The money to a home for friendless children. + And I remember when she said her father + Had wronged, misvalued her; but now her love, + Made more abundant by the love of Christ, + Had brought her to forgiveness. All her mood + Was of humility and sacrifice. + + One time I saw her at the convent, sitting + Upon a foot-stool at the gracious feet + Of the Mother Superior, sewing for the poor; + Hair parted in the middle, curls combed out. + Then was it that I missed her jewelry. + She looked just like a poor maid, humble, patient, + Head bent above her sewing, eyes averted. + The room was silent with religious thought. + I loved her then and pitied her. But now + I think she had that in her which at times + Made her a flagellant, at other times + A rioter. She used the church to drag + Her life from something, took it for a bladder + To float her soul when it was perilled. First, + She did not sell her jewelry; this ring, + Too brilliant for forgetting, or to pass + Unnoticed when she wore it, showed again + Upon her finger after she had come + Out of her training, was a graduate. + She had a faculty for getting in + Where elegance and riches were. She went + Among the great ones, when she found a way, + And traveled with them where she learned the life + Of notables, aristocrats. It was there, + Or when from duty free and feasting, gadding + The ring showed on her finger. + + In two years + She dropped the church. New friends made in the school, + New interests, work that took her energies + And this religious flare had cured her up + Of what was killing her when first I knew her. + There was another thing that drew her back + To flesh, away from spirit: She saw bodies, + And handled bodies as a nurse, forgot + The body is the spirit's temple, fell + To some materialism of thought. And now + Avoided me, was much away, of course, + On duty here and there. I tried to hold her, + Protect and guide her, wrote to her at times + To make confession, take communion. She + Ignored these letters. But I heard her say + The body was as natural as the soul, + And just as natural its desires. She kept + Out of the wreck of faith one thing alone, + If she kept that: She could endure to hear + God's name profaned, but would not stand to hear + The Savior's spoken in irreverence. + She was afraid, no doubt. Or to be just, + The tender love of Christ, his sacrifice, + Perhaps had won her wholly--let it go, + I'll say that much for her. + + Why am I harsh? + Because I saw the good in her all streaked + With so much evil, evil known and lived + In knowledge of it, clung to none the less, + Unstable as water, how could she succeed? + Untruthful, how could confidence be hers? + I sometimes think she joined the church to mask + A secret life, renewed forgiven sins. + After she cloaked herself with piety. + Perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do, + And how to do it, using these detours + Of piety to throw us off, who else + Had seen what doors she entered, whence she came. + She wronged the church, I think, made it a screen + To stand behind for kisses, to look from + Inviting kisses. Then, as I have said, + She took materialism from her work, + And so renewed her sins. She drank, I think, + And smoked and feasted; but as for the rest, + The smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame + Or fire at least where there is smoke. + + You ask + What took her to the war? Why only this: + Adventure, chance of marriage, amorous conquests-- + The girl was mad for men, although I saw + Her smoke obscured the flame, I never saw her + Except with robins far too tame or lame + To interest her, and robins prove to me + The hawk is somewhere, waits for night to join + His playmate when the robins are at rest. + You see the girl has madness in her, flies + From exaltation up to ecstasy. + Feeds on emotion, never has enough. + Tries all things, states of spirit, even beliefs. + Passes from lust (I think) to celibacy, + Feasts, fasts, eats, starves, has raptures then inflicts + The whip upon her back, is penitent, + Then proud, is humble, then is arrogant, + Looks down demurely, stares you out of face, + But runs the world around. For in point of fact, + She traveled much, knew cities and their ways; + And when I used to see her at the convent + So meek, clothed like a sewing maid, at once + The pictures that she showed me of herself + At seaside places or on boulevards, + Her beauty clothed in linen or in silk, + Came back to mind, and I would resurrect + The fragments of our talks in which I saw + How she knew foods and drinks and restaurants, + And fashionable shops. This girl could fool the elect-- + She fooled me for a time. I found her out. + Did she aspire? Perhaps, if you believe + It's aspiration to seek out the rich, + And ape them. Not for me. Of course she went + To get adventure in the war, perhaps + She got too much. But as to waste of life, + She might have been a quiet, noble woman + Keeping her place in life, not trying to rise + Out of her class--too useless--in her class + Making herself all worthy, serviceable. + You'll find 'twas pride that slew her. Very like + She found a rich man, tried to hold him, lost + Her honor and her life in consequence. + + * * * * * + + When Merival showed this letter to the jury, + Marion the juryman spoke up: + "You know that type of woman--saintly hag! + I wouldn't take her word about a thing + By way of inference, or analysis. + They had some trouble, she and Elenor + You may be sure." And Merival replied: + "Take it for what it's worth. I leave you now + To see the man who owns the _Daily Times_. + He's turned upon our inquest, did you see + The jab he gives me? I can jab as well." + So Merival went out and took with him + A riffle in the waters of circumstance + Set up by Elenor Murray's death to one + Remote, secure in greatness--to the man + Who ran the _Times_. + + + + +ARCHIBALD LOWELL + + + Archibald Lowell, owner of the _Times_ + Lived six months of the year at Sunnyside, + His Gothic castle near LeRoy, so named + Because no sun was in him, it may be. + His wife was much away when on this earth + At cures, in travel, fighting psychic ills, + Approaching madness, dying nerves. They said + Her heart was starved for living with a man + So cold and silent. Thirty years she lived + Bound to this man, in restless agony, + And as she could not free her life from his, + Nor keep it living with him, on a day + She stuck a gas hose in her mouth and drank + Her lungs full of the lethal stuff and died. + That was the very day the hunter found + Elenor Murray's body near the river. + A servant saw this Mrs. Lowell lying + A copy of the _Times_ clutched in her hand, + Which published that a slip of paper found + In Elenor Murray's pocket had these words + "To be brave and not to flinch." And was she brave, + And nerved to end it by these words of Elenor? + But Archibald, the husband, could not bear + To have the death by suicide made known. + He laid the body out, as if his wife + Had gone to bed as usual, turned a jet + And left it, just as if his wife had failed + To fully turn it, then went in the room; + Then called the servants, did not know that one + Had seen her with the _Times_ clutched in her hand. + He thought the matter hidden. Merival, + All occupied with Elenor Murray's death + Gave to a deputy the Lowell inquest. + But later what this servant saw was told + To Merival. + + And now no more alone + Than when his wife lived, Lowell passed the days + At Sunnyside, as he had done for years. + He sat alone, and paced the rooms alone, + With hands behind him clasped, in fear and wonder + Of life and what life is. He rode about, + And viewed his blooded cattle on the hills. + But what were all these rooms and acres to him + With no face near him but the servants, gardeners? + Sometimes he wished he had a child to draw + Upon his fabulous income, growing more + Since all his life was centered in the _Times_ + To swell its revenues, and in the process + His spirit was more fully in the _Times_ + Than in his body. There were eyes who saw + How deftly was his spirit woven in it + Until it was a scarf to bind and choke + The public throat, or stifle honest thought + Like a soft pillow offered for the head, + But used to smother. There were eyes who saw + The working of its ways emasculate, + Its tones of gray, where flame had been the thing, + Its timorous steps, while spying on the public, + To learn the public's thought. Its cautious pauses, + With foot uplifted, ears pricked up to hear + A step fall, twig break. Platitudes in progress-- + With sugar coat of righteousness and order, + Respectability. + + Did the public make it? + Or did it make the public, that it fitted + With such exactness in the communal life? + Some thousands thought it fair--what should they think + When it played neutral in the matter of news + To both sides of the question, though at last + It turned the judge, and chose the better side, + Determined from the first, a secret plan, + And cunning way to turn the public scale? + Some thousands liked the kind of news it printed + Where no sensation flourished--smallest type + That fixed attention for the staring eyes + Needed for type so small. But others knew + It led the people by its fair pretensions, + And used them in the end. In any case + This editor played hand-ball in this way: + The advertisers tossed the ball, the readers + Caught it and tossed it to the advertisers: + And as the readers multiplied, the columns + Of advertising grew, and Lowell's thought + Was how to play the one against the other, + And fill his purse. + + It was an ingrown mind, + And growing more ingrown with time. Afraid + Of crowds and streets, uncomfortable in clubs, + No warmth in hands to touch his fellows' hands, + Keeping aloof from politicians, loathing + The human alderman who bails the thief; + The little scamp who pares a little profit, + And grafts upon a branch that takes no harm. + He loved the active spirit, if it worked, + And feared the active spirit, if it played. + This Lowell hid himself from favor seekers, + Such letters filtered to him through a sieve + Of secretaries. If he had a friend, + Who was a mind to him as well, perhaps + It was a certain lawyer, but who knew? + And cursed with monophobia, none the less + This Lowell lived alone there near LeRoy, + Surrounded by his servants, at his desk + A secretary named McGill, who took + Such letters, editorials as he spoke. + His life was nearly waste. A peanut stand + Should be as much remembered as the _Times_, + When fifty years are passed. + + And every month + The circulation manager came down + To tell the great man of the gain or loss + The paper made that month in circulation, + In advertising, chiefly. Lowell took + The audit sheets and studied them, and gave + Steel bullet words of order this or that. + He took the dividends, and put them--where? + God knew alone. + + He went to church sometimes, + On certain Sundays, for a pious mother + Had reared him so, and sat there like a corpse, + A desiccated soul, so dry the moss + Upon his teeth was dry. + + And on a day, + His wife now in the earth a week or so, + Himself not well, the doctor there to quiet + His fears of sudden death, pains in the chest, + His manager had come--was made to wait + Until the doctor finished--brought the sheets + Which showed the advertising, circulation. + And Lowell studied them and said at last: + "That new reporter makes the Murray inquest + A thing of interest, does the public like it?" + To which the manager: "It sells the paper." + And then the great man: "It has served its use. + Now being nearly over, print these words: + The Murray inquest shows to what a length + Fantastic wit can go, it should be stopped." + An editorial later might be well: + Comment upon a father and a mother + Invaded in their privacy, and life + In intimate relations dragged to view + To sate the curious eye. + + Next day the _Times_ + Rebuked the coroner in these words. And then + Merival sent word: "I come to see you, + Or else you come to see me, or by process + If you refuse." And so the editor + Invited Merival to Sunnyside + To talk the matter out. This was the talk: + First Merival went over all the ground + In mild locution, what he sought to do. + How as departments in the war had studied + Disease and what not, tabulated facts, + He wished to make a start for knowing lives, + And finding remedies for lives. It's true + Not much might be accomplished, also true + The poet and the novelist gave thought, + Analysis to lives, yet who could tell + What system might grow up to find the fault + In marriage as it is, in rearing children + In motherhood, in homes; for Merival + By way of wit said to this dullest man: + "I know of mother and of home, of heaven + I've yet to learn." Whereat the great man winced, + To hear the home and motherhood so slurred, + And briefly said the _Times_ would go its way + To serve the public interests, and to foster + American ideals as he conceived them. + Then Merival who knew the great man's nature, + How small it was and barren, cold and dull, + And wedded to small things, to gold, and fear + Of change, and knew the life the woman lived,-- + These seven days in the earth--with such a man, + Just by a zephyr of intangible thought + Veered round the talk to her, to voice a wonder + About the jet left turned, his deputy + Had overlooked a hose which she could drink + Gas from a jet. "You needn't touch the jet. + Just leave it as she left it--hide the hose, + And leave the gas on, put the woman in bed." + "This deputy," said Merival, "was slack + And let a verdict pass of accident." + "Oh yes" said Merival, "your servant told + About the hose, the _Times_ clutched in her hand. + And may I test this jet, while I am here? + Go up to see and test it?" + + Whereupon + The great man with wide eyes stared in the eyes + Of Merival, was speechless for a moment, + Not knowing what to say, while Merival + Read something in his eyes, saw in his eyes + The secret beat to cover, saw the man + Turn head away which shook a little, saw + His chest expand for breath, and heard at last + The editor in four steel bullet words, + "It is not necessary." + + Merival + Had trapped the solitary fox--arose + And going said: "If it was suicide + The inquest must be changed." + + The editor + Looked through the window at the coroner + Walking the gravel walk, and saw his hand + Unlatch the iron gate, and saw him pass + From view behind the trees. + + Then horror rose + Within his brain, a nameless horror took + The heart of him, for fear this coroner + Would dig this secret up, and show the world + The dead face of the woman self-destroyed, + And of the talk, which would not come to him, + To poison air he breathed no less, of why + This woman took her life; if for ill health + Then why ill health? O, well he knew at heart + What he had done to break her, starve her life. + And now accused himself too much for words, + Ways, temperament of him that murdered her, + For lovelessness, and for deliberate hands + That pushed her off and down. + + He rode that day + To see his cattle, overlook the work, + But when night came with silence and the cry + Of night-hawks, and the elegy of leaves + Beneath the stars that looked so cold at him + As he turned seeking sleep, the dreaded pain + Grew stronger in his breast. Dawn came at last + And then the stir and voices of the maids. + And after breakfast in the carven room + Archibald Lowell standing by the mantel + In his great library, felt sudden pain; + Saw sudden darkness, nothing saw at once, + Lying upon the marble of the hearth; + His great head cut which struck the post of brass + In the hearth's railing--only a little blood! + Archibald Lowell being dead at last; + The _Times_ left to the holders of the stock + Who kept his policy, and kept the _Times_ + As if the great man lived. + + And Merival + Taking the doctor's word that death was caused + By angina pectoris, let it drop. + And went his way with Elenor Murray's case. + + * * * * * + + So Lowell's dead and buried; had to die, + But not through Elenor Murray. That's the Fate + That laughs at greatness, little things that sneak + From alien neighborhoods of life and kill. + And Lowell leaves a will, to which a boy-- + Who sold the _Times_ once, afterward the _Star_-- + Is alien as this Elenor to the man + Who owned the _Times_. But still is brought in touch + With Lowell's will, because this Lowell died + Before he died. And Merival learns the facts + And brings them to the jury in these words:-- + + + + +WIDOW FORTELKA + + + Marie Fortelka, widow, mother of Josef, + Now seventeen, an invalid at home + In a house, in Halstead Street, his running side + Aching with broken ribs, read in the _Times_ + Of Lowell's death the editor, dressed herself + To call on William Rummler, legal mind + For Lowell and the _Times_. + + It was a day + When fog hung over the city, and she thought + Of fogs in Germany whence she came, and thought + Of hard conditions there when she was young. + Then as her boy, this Josef, coughed, she looked + And felt a pang at heart, a rise of wrath, + And heard him moan for broken ribs and lungs + That had been bruised or mashed. America, + Oh yes, America, she said to self, + How is it different from the land I left? + And then her husband's memory came to mind: + How he had fled his country to be free, + And come to Philadelphia, with the thrill + Of new life found, looked at the famous Hall + Which gave the Declaration, cried and laughed + And said: "The country's free, and I am here, + I am free now, a man, no more a slave." + What did he find? A job, but prices high. + Wages decreased in winter, then a strike. + He joined the union, found himself in jail + For passing hand-bills which announced the strike, + And asked the public to take note, and punish + The corporation, not to trade with it, + For its injustice toward the laborers. + And in the court he heard the judge decide: + "Free speech cannot be used to gain the ends + Of ruin by conspiracy like this + Against a business. Men from foreign lands, + Of despot rule and poverty, who come + For liberty and means of life among us + Must learn that liberty is ordered liberty, + And is not license, freedom to commit + Injury to another." + + So in jail + He lay his thirty days out, went to work + Where he could find it, found the union smashed, + Himself compelled to take what job he could, + What wages he was offered. And his children + Kept coming year by year till there were eight, + And Josef was but ten. And then he died + And left this helpless family, and the boy + Sold papers on the street, ten years of age, + The widow washed. + + And first he sold the _Times_ + And helped to spread the doctrines of the _Times_ + Of ordered liberty and epicene + Reforms of this or that. But when the _Star_ + With millions back of it broke in the field + He changed and sold the _Star_, too bad for him-- + Discovered something: + + Josef did not know + The corners of the street are free to all, + Or free to none, where newsboys stood and sold, + And kept their stands, or rather where the powers + That kept the great conspiracy of the press + Controlled the stands, and to prevent the _Star_ + From gaining foot-hold. Not upon this corner + Nor on that corner, any corner in short + Shall newsboys sell the _Star_. But Josef felt, + Being a boy, indifferent to the rules, + Well founded, true or false, that all the corners + Were free to all, and for his daring, strength + Had been selected, picked to sell the _Star_, + And break the ground, gain place upon the stands. + He had been warned from corners, chased and boxed + By heavy fists from corners more than once + Before the day they felled him. On that day + A monster bully, once a pugilist, + Came on him selling the _Star_ and knocked him down, + Kicked in his ribs and broke a leg and cracked + His little skull. + + And so they took him home + To Widow Fortelka and the sisters, brothers, + Whose bread he earned. And there he lay and moaned, + And when he sat up had a little cough, + Was short of breath. + + And on this foggy day + When Widow Fortelka reads in the _Times_ + That Lowell, the editor, is dead, he sits + With feet wrapped in a quilt and gets his breath + With open mouth, his face is brightly flushed; + A fetid sweetness fills the air of the room + That from his open mouth comes. Josef lingers + A few weeks yet--he has tuberculosis. + And so his mother looks at him, resolves + To call this day on William Rummler, see + If Lowell's death has changed the state of things; + And if the legal mind will not relent + Now that the mind that fed it lies in death. + It's true enough, she thinks, I was dismissed, + And sent away for good, but never mind. + It can't be true this pugilist went farther + Than the authority of his hiring, that's + The talk this lawyer gave her, used a word + She could not keep in mind--the lawyer said + _Respondeat superior_ in this case + Was not in point--and if it could be proved + This pugilist was hired by the _Times_, + No one could prove the _Times_ had hired him + To beat a boy, commit a crime. Well, then + "What was he hired for?" the widow asked. + And then she talked with newsboys, and they said + The papers had their sluggers, all of them, + Even the _Star_, and that was just a move + In getting circulation, keeping it. + And all these sluggers watched the stands and drove + The newsboys selling _Stars_ away. + + No matter, + She could not argue with this lawyer Rummler, + Who said: "You must excuse me, go away, + I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do." + + Now Widow Fortelka had never heard + Of Elenor Murray, had not read a line + Of Elenor Murray's death beside the river. + She was as ignorant of the interview + Between the coroner and this editor + Who died next morning fearing Merival + Would dig up Mrs. Lowell and expose + Her suicide, as conferences of spirits + Directing matters in another world. + Her thought was moulded no less by the riffles + That spread from Elenor Murray and her death. + And she resolved to see this lawyer Rummler, + And try again to get a settlement + To help her dying boy. And so she went. + + That morning Rummler coming into town + Had met a cynic friend upon the train + Who used his tongue as freely as his mood + Moved him to use it. So he said to Rummler: + "I see your client died--a hell of a life + That fellow lived, a critic in our midst + Both hated and caressed. And I suppose + You drew his will and know it, I will bet, + If he left anything to charity, + Or to the city, it is some narcotic + To keep things as they are, the ailing body + To dull and bring forgetfulness of pain. + He was a fine albino of the soul, + No pigment in his genesis to give + Color to hair or eyes, he had no gonads." + And William Rummler laughed and said, "You'll see + What Lowell did when I probate the will." + + Then William Rummler thought that very moment + Of plans whereby his legal mind could thrive + Upon the building of the big hotel + To Lowell's memory, for perpetual use + Of the Y. M. C. A., the seminary, too, + In Moody's memory for an orthodox + Instruction in the bible. + + With such things + In mind, this William Rummler opened the door, + And stepped into his office, got a shock + From seeing Widow Fortelka on the bench, + Where clients waited, waiting there for him. + She rose and greeted him, and William Rummler + Who in a stronger moment might have said: + "You must excuse me, I have told you, madam, + I can do nothing for you," let her follow + Into his private office and sit down + And there renew her suit. + + She said to him: + "My boy is dying now, I think his ribs + Were driven in his lungs and punctured them. + He coughs the worst stuff up you ever saw. + And has an awful fever, sweats his clothes + Right through, is breathless, cannot live a month. + And I know you can help me. Mr. Lowell, + So you told me, refused a settlement, + Because this pugilist was never hired + To beat my boy, or any boy; for fear + It would be an admission, and be talked of, + And lead another to demand some money. + But now he's dead, and surely you are free + To help me some, so that this month or two, + While my boy Joe is dying he can have + What milk he wants and food, and when he dies, + A decent coffin, burial. Then perhaps + There will be something left to help me with-- + I wash to feed the children, as you know." + + And William Rummler looked at her and thought + For one brief moment with his lawyer mind + About this horror, while the widow wept, + And as she wept a culprit mood was his + For thinking of the truth, for well he knew + This slugger had been hired for such deeds, + And here was one result. And in his pain + The cynic words his friend had said to him + Upon the train began to stir, and then + He felt a rush of feeling, blood, and thought + Of clause thirteen in Lowell's will, which gave + The trustees power, and he was chief trustee, + To give some worthy charity once a year, + Not to exceed a thousand dollars. So + He thought to self, "This is a charity. + I will advance the money, get it back + As soon as I probate the will." + + At last + He broke this moment's musing and spoke up: + "Your case appeals to me. You may step out, + And wait till I prepare the papers, then + I'll have a check made for a thousand dollars." + + Widow Fortelka rose up and took + The crucifix she wore and kissed it, wept + And left the room. + + * * * * * + + Now here's the case of Percy Ferguson + You'd think his life was safe from Elenor Murray. + No preacher ever ran a prettier boat + Than Percy Ferguson, all painted white + With polished railings, flying at the fore + The red and white and blue. Such little waves + Set dancing by the death of Elenor Murray + To sink so fine a boat, and leave the Reverend + To swim to shore! he couldn't walk the waves! + + + + +REV. PERCY FERGUSON + + + The Rev. Percy Ferguson, patrician + Vicar of Christ, companion of the strong, + And member of the inner shrine, where men + Observe the rituals of the golden calf; + A dilettante, and writer for the press + Upon such themes as optimism, order, + Obedience, beauty, law, while Elenor Murray's + Life was being weighed by Merival + Preached in disparagement of Merival + Upon a fatal Sunday, as it chanced, + Too near to doom's day for the clergyman. + For, as the word had gone about that waste + In lives preoccupied this Merival, + And many talked of waste, and spoke a life + Where waste had been in whole or part--the pulpit + Should take a hand, thought Ferguson. And so + The Reverend Percy Ferguson preached thus + To a great audience and fashionable: + "The hour's need is a firmer faith in Christ, + A closer hold on God, belief again + In sin's reality; the age's vice + Is laughter over sin, the attitude + That sin is not!" And then to prove that sin + Is something real, he spoke of money sins + That bring the money panics, of the beauty + That lust corrupts, wound up with Athen's story, + Which sin decayed. And touching on this waste, + Which was the current talk, what is this waste + Except a sin in life, the moral law + Transgressed, God mocked, the order of man's life, + And God's will disobeyed? Show me a life + That lives through Christ and none shall find a waste. + This clergyman some fifteen years before + Went on a hunt for Alma Bell, who taught + The art department of the school, and found + Enough to scare the school directors that + She burned with lawless love for Elenor Murray. + + And made it seem the teacher's reprimand + In school of Elenor Murray for her ways + Of strolling, riding with young men at night, + Was moved by jealousy of Elenor Murray, + Being herself in love with Elenor Murray. + This clergyman laid what he found before + The school directors, Alma Bell was sent + Out of the school her way, and disappeared.... + But now, though fifteen years had passed, the story + Of Alma Bell and Elenor Murray crept + Like poisonous mist, scarce seen, around LeRoy. + It had been so always. And all these years + No one would touch or talk in open words + The loathsome matter, since girls grown to women, + And married in the town might have their names + Relinked to Alma Bell's. And was it true + That Elenor Murray strayed as a young girl + In those far days of strolls and buggy rides? + + But after Percy Ferguson had thundered + Against the inquest, Warren Henderson, + A banker of the city, who had dealt + In paper of the clergyman, and knew + The clergyman had interests near Victoria, + Was playing at the money game, and knew + He tottered on the brink, and held to hands + That feared to hold him longer--Henderson, + A wise man, cynical, contemptuous + Of frocks so sure of ways to avoid the waste, + So unforgiving of the tangled moods + And baffled eyes of men; contemptuous + Of frocks so avid for the downy beds, + Place, honors, money, admiration, praise, + Much wished to see the clergyman come down + And lay his life beside the other sinners. + But more he knew, admired this Alma Bell, + Did not believe she burned with guilty love + For Elenor Murray, thought the moral hunt + Or Alma Bell had made a waste of life, + As ignorance might pluck a flower for thinking + It was a weed; on Elenor Murray too + Had brought a waste, by scenting up her life + With something faint but ineradicable. + And Warren Henderson would have revenge, + And waited till old Jacob Bangs should fix + His name to paper once again of Ferguson's + To tell old Jacob Bangs he should be wary, + Since banks and agencies were tremulous + With hints of failure at Victoria. + + So meeting Jacob Bangs the banker told him + What things were bruited, and warned the man + To fix his name no more to Ferguson's paper. + It was the very day the clergyman + Sought Jacob Bangs to get his signature + Upon a note for money at the bank. + And Jacob Bangs was silent and evasive, + Demurred a little and refused at last. + Which sent the anxious clergyman adrift + To look for other help. He looked and looked, + And found no other help. Associates + Depending more on men than God, fell down, + And in a day the bubble burst. The _Times_ + Had columns of the story. + + In a week, + At Sunday service Percy Ferguson + Stood in the pulpit to confess his sin, + The Murray jury sat and fed their joy + For hearing Ferguson confess his sin. + This is the way he did it: + + "First, my friends, + I do not say I have betrayed the trust + My friends have given me. Some years ago + I thought to make provision for my wife, + I wished to start some certain young men right. + I had another plan I can't disclose, + Not selfish, you'll believe me. So I took + My savings made as lecturer and writer + And put them in this venture. I'm ashamed + To say how great those savings were, in view + Of what the poor earn, those who work with hands! + Ashamed too, when I think these savings grew + Because I spoke the things the rich desired. + And squared my words with what the strong would have-- + Therein Christ was betrayed. The end has come. + I too have been betrayed, my confidence + Wronged by my fellows in the enterprise. + I hope to pay my debts. Hard poverty + Has come to me to bring me back to Christ." + + "But listen now: These years I lived perturbed, + Lest this life which I grew into would mould + Young men and ministers, lead them astray + To public life, sensation, lecture platforms, + Prosperity, away from Christ-like service, + Obscure and gentle. To those souls I owe + My heart's confession: I have loved my books + More than the poor, position more than service, + Office and honor over love of men; + Lived thus when all my strength belonged to thought, + To work for schools, the sick, the poor, the friendless, + To boys and girls with hungry minds. My friends, + Here I abase my soul before God's throne, + And ask forgiveness for the pious zeal + With which I smote the soul of Alma Bell, + And smudged the robe of Elenor Murray. God, + Thou, who has taken Elenor Murray home, + After great service in the war, O grant + Thy servant yet to kneel before the soul + Of Elenor Murray. For who am I to judge? + What was I then to judge? who coveted honors, + When solitude, where I might dwell apart, + And listen to the voice of God was mine, + By calling and for seeking. I have broken + The oath I took to take no purse or scrip. + I have loved money, even while I knew + No servant of Christ can work for Christ and strive + For money. And if anywhere there be + A noble boy who would become a minister, + Who has heard me, or read my books, and grown + Thereby to cherish secular ideas + Of Christ's work in the world, to him I say: + Repent the thought, reject me; there are men + And women missionaries, here, abroad, + And nameless workers in poor settlements + Whose latchets to stoop down and to unloose + I am unworthy." + + "Gift of life too short! + O, beautiful gift of God, too brief at best, + For all a man can do, how have I wasted + This precious gift! How wasted it in pride, + In seeking out the powerful, the great, + The hands with honors, gold to give--when nothing + Is profitable to a servant of the Christ + Except to shepherd Christ's poor. O, young men, + Interpret not your ministry in terms + Of intellect alone, forefront the heart, + That at the end of life you may look up + And say to God: Behind these are the sheep + Thou gavest me, and not a one is lost." + + "As to my enemies, for enemies + A clergyman must have whose fault is mine, + Plato would have us harden hearts to sorrow. + And Zeno roofs of slate for souls to slide + The storm of evil--Christ in sorrow did + For evil good. For me, my prayer is this, + My faith as well, that I may be perfected + Through suffering." + + That ended the confession. + Then "Love Divine, All Love Excelling" sounded. + The congregation rose, and some went up + To take the pastor's hand, but others left + To think the matter over. + + For some said: + "He married fortunate." And others said: + "We know through Jacob Bangs he has investments + In wheat lands, what's the truth? In any case + What avarice is this that made him anxious + About the comfort of his wife and family? + The thing won't work. He's only middle way + In solving his soul's problem. This confession + Is just a poor beginning." Others said: + "He drove out Alma Bell, let's drive him out." + And others said: "you note we never heard + About this speculation till it failed, + And he was brought to grief. If it had prospered + The man had never told, what do you think?" + But in a year as health failed, Ferguson + Took leave of absence, and the silence of life + Which closes over men, however noisy + With sermons, lectures, covered him. His riffle + Died out in distant waters. + + There was a Doctor Burke lived at LeRoy, + Neurologist and student. On a night + When Merival had the jury at his house, + Llewellyn George was telling of his travels + In China and Japan, had mutual friends + With Franklin Hollister, the cousin of Elenor, + And son of dead Corinne, who hid her letters + Under the eaves. The talk went wide and far. + For David Borrow, sunny pessimist, + Thrust logic words at Maiworm, the juryman; + And said our life was bad, and must be so, + While Maiworm trusted God, said life was good. + And Winthrop Marion let play his wit, + The riches of his reading over all. + Thus as they talked this Doctor Burke came in. + "You'll pardon this intrusion, I'll go on + If this is secret business. Let me say + This inquest holds my interest and I've come + To tell of Elenor's ancestry." Thus he spoke. + "There'll be another time if I must go." + And Merival spoke up and said: "why stay + And tell us what you know, or think," and so + The coroner and jury sat and heard:-- + + + + +DR. BURKE + + + You've heard of potters' wheels and potters' hands. + I had a dream that told the human tale + As well as potters' wheels or potters' hands. + I saw a great hand slopping plasmic jelly + Around the low sides of a giant bowl. + A drop would fly upon the giant table, + And quick the drop would twist up into form, + Become homonculus and wave its hands, + Brandish a little pistol, shoot a creature, + Upspringing from another drop of plasm, + Slopped on the giant table. Other drops, + Flying as water from a grinding stone, + Out of the giant bowl, took little crowns + And put them on their heads and mounted thrones, + And lorded little armies. Some became + Half-drooped and sickly things, like poisoned flies. + And others stood on lighted faggots, others + Fed and commanded, others served and starved, + But many joined the throng of animate drops, + And hurried on the phantom quest. + + You see, + Whether you call it potter's hand or hand + That stirs, to no end, jelly in the bowl, + You have the force outside and not inside. + Invest it with a malice, wanton humor, + Which likes to see the plasmic jelly slop, + And rain in drops upon the giant table, + And does not care what happens in the world, + That giant table. + + All such dreams are wrong, + My dream is wrong, my waking thought is right. + Man can subdue the giant hand that stirs, + Or turns the wheel, and so these visions err. + For as this farmer, lately come to town, + Picks out the finest corn seeds, and so crops + A finer corn, let's look to human seed, + And raise a purer stock; let's learn of him, + Who does not put defective grains aside + For planting in the spring, but puts aside + The best for planting. For I'd like to see + As much care taken with the human stock + As men now take of corn, race-horses, hogs. + You, Coroner Merival are right, I think. + If we conserve our forests, waterways, + Why not the stream of human life, which wastes + Because its source is wasted, fouled. + + Perhaps + Our coroner has started something good, + And brought to public mind what might result + If every man kept record of the traits + Known in his family for the future use + Of those to come in choosing mates. + + Behold, + Your moralists and churchmen with your rules + Brought down from Palestine, which says that life + Though tainted, maddened, must not be controlled, + Diverted, headed off, while life in corn, + And life in hogs, that feed the life of man + Should be made better for the life of man-- + Behold, I say, some hundred millions spent + On paupers, epileptics, deaf and blind; + On feeble minded, invalids, the insane-- + Behold, I say, this cost in gold alone, + Leave for the time the tragedy of souls, + Who suffer or must see such suffering, + And then turn back to what? The hand that stirs, + The potter's hand? Why, no--the marriage counter + Where this same state in Christian charity + Spending its millions, lets the fault begin, + And says to epileptics and what not:-- + "Go breed your kind, for Jesus came to earth, + And we will house and feed your progeny, + Or hang, incarcerate your murderous spawn, + As it may happen." + + And all the time we know + As small grains fruit in small grains, even man + In fifty matters of pathology + Transmits what's in him, blindness, imbecility, + Hysteria, susceptibilities + To cancer and tuberculosis. Also + The soil that sprouts the giant weed of madness-- + There's soil which will not sprout them, occupied + Too full by blossoms, healthy trees. + + We know + Such things as these--Well, I would sterilize, + Or segregate these shriveled seeds and keep + The soil of life for seeds select, and take + The church and Jesus, if he's in the way, + And say: "You stand aside, and let me raise + A better and a better breed of men." + Quit, shut your sniveling charities; have mercy + Not on these paupers, imbeciles, diseased ones, + But on the progeny you let them breed. + And thereby sponge the greatest waste away, + And source of life's immeasurable tragedies. + Avaunt you potter hands and potter wheels! + God is within us, not without us, we + Are given souls to know and see and guide + Ourselves and those to come, souls that compute + The calculus of beauties, talents, traits, + And show us that the good in seed strives on + To master stocks; that even poisoned blood, + And minds in chemic turmoils, mixed with blood + And minds in harmony, work clean at last-- + Else how may normal man to-day be such + With some eight billion ancestors behind, + And something in him of the blood of all + Who lived five hundred years ago or so, + Who were diseased with alcohol and pork, + And poverty? But oh these centuries + Of agony and waste! Let's stop it now! + And since this God within us gives us choice + To let the dirty plasma flow or dam it, + To give the channel to the silver stream + Of starry power, which shall we do? Now choose + Between your race of drunkards, imbeciles, + Lunatics and neurotics, or the race + Of those who sing and write, or measure space, + Build temples, bridges, calculate the stars, + Live long and sanely. + + Well, I take my son, + I could have prophesied his eyes, through knowing + The color of my mother's, father's eyes, + The color of his mother's parent's eyes. + I could have told his hair. + + There's subtler things. + My father died before this son was born; + Why does this son smack lips and turn his hand + Just like my father did? Not imitation-- + He never saw him, and I do not do so. + Refine the matter where you will, how far + You choose to go, it is not eyes and hair, + Chins, shape of head, of limbs, or shape of hands, + Nor even features, look of eyes, nor sound + Of voice that we inherit, but the traits + Of inner senses, spiritual gifts, and secret + Beauties and powers of spirit; which result + Not solely by the compound of the souls + Through conjugating cells, but in the fusion + Something arises like an unknown X + And starts another wonder in the soul, + That comes from souls compounded. + + Coroner + You have done well to study Elenor Murray. + How do I view the matter? To begin + Here is a man who looks upon a woman, + Desires her, so they marry, up they step + Before the marriage counter, buy a license + To live together, propagate their kind. + No questions asked. I'll later come to that. + This couple has four children, Elenor + Is second to be born. I knew this girl, + I cared for her at times when she was young-- + Well, for the picture general, she matures + Goes teaching school, leaves home, goes far away, + Has restlessness and longings, ups and downs + Of ecstasy and depression, has a will + Which drives her onward, dreams that call to her. + Goes to the war at last to sacrifice + Her life in duty, and the root of this + Is masochistic (though I love the flower), + Comes back and dies. I call her not a drop + Slopped from the giant bowl; she is a growth + Proceeding on clear lines, if we could know, + From cells that joined, and had within themselves + The quality of the stream whose source I see + As far as grandparents. And now to this: + + We all know what her father, mother are. + No doubt the marriage counter could have seen-- + Or asked what was not visible. But who knows + About the father's parents, or the mother's? + I chance to know. + + The father drinks, you say? + Well, he drank little when this child was born, + Had he drunk much, it is the nerves which crave + The solace of the cup, and not the cup + Which passes from the parent to the child. + His father and his mother were good blood, + Steady, industrious; and just because + His father and his mother had the will + To fight privation, and the lonely days + Of pioneering, so this son had will + To fight, aspire, but at the last to growl, + And darken in that drug store prison, take + To drink at times in anger for a will + That was so balked. + + Well, then your marriage counter + Could scarcely ask: What is your aim in life? + You clerk now in a drug store, you aspire + To be a lawyer, if you find yourself + Stopped on your way by poverty, the work + Of clerking to earn bread, you will break down, + And so affect your progeny. So, you see, + For all of that the daughter Elenor + Was born when this ambition had its hope, + Not when it tangled up in hopelessness; + And therefore is thrown out of the account. + The father must be passed and given license + To wed this woman. How about the mother? + You never knew the mother of the mother. + She had great power of life and power of soul, + Lived to be eighty-seven, to the last + Was tense, high voiced, excitable, ecstatic, + Top full of visions, dreams, and plans for life. + But worse than that at fifty lost her mind, + Was two years kept at Kankakee, quite mad, + Grieving for fancied wrongs against her husband + Some five years dead, and praying to keep down + Desire for men. Her malady was sensed + When she began to wander here and there, + In shops and public places, in the church, + Wherever she could meet with men, one man + Particularly to whom she made advances + Unwomanly and strange. And so at last + She turned her whole mind to the church, became + Religion mad, grew mystical, believed + That Jesus Christ had taken her to spouse. + They kept her in confinement for two years. + The rage died down at last, and she came home. + But to the last was nervous, tense, high keyed. + And then her mind failed totally, she died + At eighty-seven here. + + Now I could take + Some certain symbols A and a, and show + Out of the laws that Mendel found for us, + What chances Elenor Murray had to live + Free of the madness, clear or in dilute, + Diminished or made over, which came down + From this old woman to her. It's enough + To see in Elenor Murray certain traits, + Passions and powers, ecstasies and sorrows. + And from them life's misfortunes, and to see + They tally, take the color of the soul + Of this old woman, back of her. Even to see + In Elenor Murray's mother states of soul, + And states of nerves, passed on to Elenor Murray + Directly by her mother. + + But you say, + Since many say so, here's a woman's soul + Most beautiful and serviceable in the world + And she confutes you, in your logic chopping, + Materialistic program, who would give + The marriage counter power to pick the corn seed + For future planting: + + No, I say to this. + What does it come to? She had will enough, + And aspiration, struck out for herself, + Learned for herself, did service in the war, + As many did, and died--all very good. + But not so good that we could quite afford + To take the chances on some other things + Which might have come from her. Well, to begin + Putting aside an autopsy, she died + Because this neural weakness, so derived, + Caught in such stress of life proved far too much + For one so organized; a stress of life + Which others could live through, and have lived through. + The world had Elenor Murray, and she died + Before she was a cost.--But just suppose + No war had been to aureole her life-- + And she had lived here and gone mad at last + Become a charge upon the state? Or yet, + As she was love-mad, by the common word, + And as she had neurotic tendencies, + Would seek neurotic types therefore, suppose + She had with some neurotic made a marriage, + And brought upon us types worse than themselves; + Given us the symbol double A instead + Of big and little a, where are you then? + You have some suicides, or murders maybe, + Some crimes in sex, some madness on your hands, + For which to tax the strong to raise, and raise + Some millions every year. + + Are we so mad + For beauty, sacrifice and heroism, + So hungry for the stimulus of these + That we cannot discern and fairly appraise + What Elenor Murray was, what to the world + She brought, for which we overlook the harm + She might have done the world? Not if we think! + And if we think, she will not seem God's flower + Made spotted, pale or streaked by cross of breed, + A wonder and a richness in the world; + But she will seem a blossom which to these + Added a novel poison with the power + To spread her poison! And we may dispense + With what she did and what she tried to do, + No longer sentimentalists, to keep + The chances growing in the world to bring + A better race of men. + + Then Doctor Burke + Left off philosophy and asked: "How many + Of you who hear me, know that Elenor Murray + Was distant cousin to this necrophile, + This Taylor boy, I call him boy, though twenty, + Who got the rope for that detested murder + Of a young girl--Oh yes, let's save the seed + Of stock like this!" + + But only David Borrow + Knew Elenor was cousin to this boy. + And Merival spoke up: "What is to-day? + It's Thursday, it's to-morrow that he hangs. + I'll go now to the jail to see this boy." + "He hangs at nine o'clock," said Dr. Burke. + And Merival got up to go. The party + Broke up, departed. At the jail he saw + The wretched creature doomed to die. And turned + Half sick from seeing how he tossed and looked + With glassy eyes. The sheriff had gone out. + And Merival could see him, get the case. + Next afternoon they met, the sheriff told + This story to the coroner. + + + + +CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF + + + I have seen twenty men hanged, hung myself + Two in this jail, with whom I talked the night + Before they had the rope, knotted behind + The ear to break the neck. These two I hanged, + One guilty and defiant, taking chops, + Four cups of coffee just an hour before + We swung him off; the other trembling, pale, + Protesting innocence, but guilty too-- + Both wore the same look in the middle watch. + I tell you what it is: You take a steer, + And windlass him to where the butcher stands + With hammer ready for the blow and knife + To slit the throat after the hammer falls, + Well, there's a moment when the steer is standing + Head, neck strained side-ways, eyes rolled side-ways too, + Fixed, bright seen this way, but another way + A film seems spreading on them. That's the look. + They wear a corpse-like pallor, and their tongues + Are loose, sprawl in their mouths, lie paralyzed + Against their teeth, or fall back in their throats + Which make them cough and stop for words and close + Dry lips with little pops. + + There's something else: + Their minds are out of them, like a rubber band + Stretched from the place it's pinned, about to break. + And all the time they try to draw it back, + And give it utterance with that sprawling tongue, + And lips too dry for words. They hold it tight + As a woman giving birth holds to the sheet + Tied to the bed's head, pulls the sheet to end + The agony and the reluctance of the child + That pauses, dreads to enter in this world. + + So was it with Fred Taylor. But before + The high Court shook his hope, he talked to me + Freely and fully, saying many times + What could the world expect of him beside + Some violence or murder? He had borrowed + The books his lawyers used to fight for him, + And read for hours and days about heredity. + And in our talks he said: mix red and violet, + You have the color purple. Strike two notes, + You have a certain chord, and nature made me + By rules as mathematical as they use + In mixing drugs or gases. Then he'd say: + Look at this table, and he'd show to me + A diagram of chickens, how blue fowls + Come from a cross of black with one of white + With black splashed feathers. Look at the blues, he'd say. + They mate, and of four chickens, two are blue, + And one is black and one is white. These blues + Produce in that proportion. But the black + And white have chickens white and black, you see + In equal numbers. Don't you see that I + Was caught in mathematics, jotted down + Upon a slate before I came to earth? + They could have picked my forbears; on a slate + Forecast my soul, its tendencies, if they + Had been that devilish. And so he talked. + + Well, then he heard that Elenor Murray died, + And told me that her grandmother, that woman + Known for her queerness and her lively soul + To eighty years and more, was grandmother + To his father, and this Elenor Murray cousin + To his father. There you have it, he exclaimed, + She killed herself, and I know why, he said + She loved someone. This love is in our blood, + And overflows, or spurts between the logs + You dam it with, or fully stayed grows green + With summer scum, breeds frogs and spotted snakes. + + He was a study and I studied him. + I'd sit beside his cell and read some words + From his confession, ask why did you this? + His crime was monstrous, but he won me over. + I wished to help the boy, for boy he was + Just nineteen, and I pitied him. At last + His story seemed as clear as when you see + The truth behind poor words that say as much + As words can say--you see, you get the truth + And know it, even if you never pass + The truth to others. + + Lord! This girl he killed + Knew not the power she played with. Why she sat + Like a child upon the asp's nest picking flowers. + Or as a child will pet a mad dog. Look + You come into my life, what do you bring? + Why, everything that made your life, all pains, + All raptures, disappointments, wisdom learned + You bring to me. But do you show them, no! + You hide them maybe, some of them, and leave + Myself to learn you by the hardest means, + And bing! A something in you, or in me, + Out of a past explodes, or better still + Extends a claw from out the buttoned coat + And rips a face. + + So this poor girl was killed, + And by an innocent coquetry evoked + The claw that tore her breast away. + + One day + As I passed by his cell I stopped and sat. + What was the first thing entering in your mind + From which you trace your act? And he said: "Well + Almost from the beginning all my mind + Was on her from the moment I awaked + Until I slept, and often I awoke + At two or three o'clock with thoughts of her. + And through the day I thought of nothing else; + Sometimes I could not eat. At school my thought + Stretched out of me to her, could not be pulled + Back to the lesson. I could read a page + As it were Greek, not understand a word. + But just the moment I was with her then + My soul re-entered me, I was at peace, + And happy, oh so happy! In the days + When we were separated my unrest + Took this form: that I must be with her, or + If that could not be, then some other place + Was better than the place I was--I strained, + Lived in a constant strain, found no content + With anything or place, could find no peace + Except with her." + + "Right from the first I had + Two minds, two hearts concerning her, and one + Was confidence, and one was doubt, one love, + One hatred. And one purpose was to serve her, + Guard her and care for her, one said destroy, + Ruin or kill her. Sitting by her side, + Except as I shall say I loved her, trusted her, + Away from her, I doubted her and hated her. + But at the dances when I saw her smile + Up at another man, the storming blood + Roared in my brain for wondering about + The words they said. He might be holding her + Too close to him; or as I watched I saw + His knee indent her skirt between her knees, + That might be when she smiled. Then going home + I'd ask her what he said. She'd only smile + And keep a silence that I could not open + With any pry of questions." + + "Well, we quarreled, + About this boy she danced with. So I said: + I'll leave her, never see her, I'll go find + Another girl, forget her. Sunday next + I saw her driving with this fellow. I + Was walking in the road, they passed me laughing, + She turned about and waved her hand at me. + That night I lay awake and tossed and thought: + Where are they now? What are they doing now? + He's kissing her upon the lips I've kissed, + Or worse, perhaps, I have been fooled, she lies + Within his arms and gives him what for love + I never asked her, never dared to ask." + This brought Fred Taylor's story to the murder, + In point of madness, anyway. Some business + Broke in our visit here. Another time + I sat with him and questioned him again + About the night he killed her. + + "Well," he said, + "I told you that we quarreled. So I fought + To free myself of thought of her--no use. + I tried another girl, it wouldn't work. + For at the dance I took this girl to, I + Saw Gertrude with this fellow, and the madness + Came over me in blackness, hurricanes, + Until I found myself in front of her, + Where she was seated, asking for a dance. + She smiled and rose and danced with me. And then + As the dance ended, May I come to see you, + I'm sorry for my words, came from my tongue, + In spite of will. She laughed and said to me: + 'If you'll behave yourself.'" + + "I went to see her, + But came away more wretched than I went. + She seemed to have sweet secrets, in her silence + And eyes too calm the secrets hid themselves. + At first I could not summon up the strength + To ask her questions, but at last I did. + And then she only shook her head and laughed, + And spoke of something else. She had a way + Of mixing up the subjects, till my mind + Forgot the very thing I wished to know, + Or dulled its edges so, if I remembered + I could not ask it so to bring the answer + I wished from her. I came away so weak + I scarce could walk, fell into sleep at once, + But woke at three o'clock, and could not sleep." + + "Before this quarrel we had been engaged + And at this evening's end I brought it up: + 'What shall we do? Are you engaged to me? + Will you renew it?' And she said to me: + 'We still are young, it's better to be free. + Let's play and dance. Be gay, for if you will + I'll go with you, but when you're gloomy, dear, + You are not company for a girl.'" + + "Dear me! + Here was I five feet nine, and could have crushed + Her little body with my giant arms. + And yet in strength that counts, the mind that moves + The body, but much more can move itself, + And other minds, she was a spirit power, + And I but just a derrick slowly swung + By an engine smaller, noisy with its chug, + And cloudy with its smoke bituminous. + That night, however, she engaged to go + To dance with me a week hence. But meanwhile + The hellish thing comes, on the morning after. + Thus chum of mine, who testified, John Luce + Came to me with the story that this man + That Gertrude danced with, told him--O my God-- + That Gertrude hinted she would come across, + Give him the final bliss. That was the proof + They brought out in the trial, as you know. + The fellow said it, damn him--whether she + Made such a promise, who knows? Would to God + I knew before you hang me. There I stood + And heard this story, felt my arteries + Lock as you'd let canal gates down, my heart + Beat for deliverance from the bolted streams. + That night I could not sleep, but found a book, + Just think of this for fate! Under my eyes + There comes an ancient story out of Egypt: + Thyamis fearing he would die and lose + The lovely Chariclea, strikes her dead, + Then kills himself, some thousands of years ago. + It's all forgotten now, I say to self, + Who cares, what matters it, the thing was done + And served its end. The story stuck with me. + But the next night and the next night I stole out + To spy on Gertrude, by the path in the grass + Lay for long hours. And on the third night saw + At half-past eight or nine this fellow come + And take her walking in the darkness--where? + I could have touched them as they walked the path, + But could not follow for the moon which rose. + Besides I lost them." + + "Well, the time approached + Of the dance, and still I brooded, then resolved. + My hatred now was level with the cauldron, + With bubbles crackling. So the spade I took, + Hidden beneath the seat may show forethought, + They caught the jury with that argument, + And forethought does it show, but who made me + To have such forethought?" + + "Then I called for her + And took her to the dance. I was most gay, + Because the load was lifted from my mind, + And I had found relief. And so we danced. + And she danced with this fellow. I was calm, + Believed somehow he had not had her yet. + And if his knee touched hers--why let it go. + Nothing beyond shall happen, even this + Shall not be any more." + + "We started home. + Before we reached that clump of woods I asked her + If she would marry me. She laughed at me. + I asked her if she loved that other man. + She said you are a silly boy, and laughed. + And then I asked her if she'd marry me, + And if she would not, why she would not do it. + We came up to the woods and she was silent, + I could not make her speak. I stopped the horse. + She sat all quiet, I could see her face + Under the brilliance of the moon. I saw + A thin smile on her face--and then I struck her, + And from the floor grabbed up the iron wrench, + And struck her, took her out and laid her down, + And did what was too horrible, they say, + To do and keep my life. To finish up + I reached back for the iron wrench, first felt + Her breast to find her heart, no use of wrench, + She was already dead. I took the spade, + Scraped off the leaves between two trees and dug, + And buried her and said: 'My Chariclea + No man shall have you.' Then I drove till morning, + And after some days reached Missouri, where + They caught me." + + So Fred Taylor told me all, + Filled in the full confession that he made, + And which they used in court, with looks and words, + Scarce to be reproduced; but to the last + He said the mathematics of his birth + Accounted for his deed. + + Is it not true? + If you resolved the question that the jury + Resolved, did he know right from wrong, did he + Know what he did, the jury answered truly + To give the rope to him. Or if you say + These mathematics may be true, and still + A man like that is better out of way, + And saying so become the very spirit, + And reason which slew Gertrude, disregarding + The devil of heredity which clutched him, + As he put by the reason we obey, + It may be well enough, I do not know. + + Now for last night before this morning fixed + To swing him off. His lawyers went to see + The governor to win reprieval, perhaps + A commutation. I could see his eyes + Had two lights in them; one was like a lantern + With the globe greased, which showed he could not see + Himself in death tomorrow--what is that + In the soul that cannot see itself in death? + No to-morrow, continuation, the wall, the end! + And yet this very smear upon the globe + Was death's half fleshless hand which rubbed across + His senses and his hope. The other light + Was weirdly bright for terror, expectation + Of good news from the governor. + + For his lawyers + Were in these hours petitioning. He would ask: + "No news? No word? What is the time?" His tongue + Would fall back in his throat, we saw the strain + Of his stretched soul. He'd sit upon his couch + Hands clasped, head down. Arise and hold the bars, + Himself fling on the couch face down and shake. + But when he heard the hammers ring that nail + The scaffold into shape, he whirled around + Like a rat in a cage. And when the sand bag fell, + That tested out the rope, a muffled thug, + And the rope creaked, he started up and moaned + "You're getting ready," and his body shivered, + His white hands could not hold the bars, he reeled + And fell upon the couch again. + + Suppose + There was no whiskey and no morphia, + Except for what the parsons think fit use, + A poor weak fellow--not a Socrates-- + Must march the gallows, walk with every nerve + Up-bristled like a hair in fright. This night + Was much too horrible for me. At last + I had the doctor dope him unaware, + And for a time he slept. + + But when the dawn + Looked through the little windows near the ceiling + Cob-webbed and grimed, with light like sanded water, + And echoes started in the corridors + Of feet and objects moved, then all at once + He sprang up from his sleep, and gave a groan, + Half yell, that shook us all. + + A clergyman + Came soon to pray with him, and he grew calmer, + And said: "O pray for her, but pray for me + That I may see her, when this riddle-world + No longer stands between us, slipped from her + And soon from me." + + For breakfast he took coffee, + A piece of toast, no more. The sickening hour + Approaches--he is sitting on his couch, + Bent over, head in hands, dazed, or in prayer. + My deputy reads the warrant--while I stand + At one side so to hear, but not to see. + And then my clerk comes quickly through the door + That opens from the office in the jail; + Runs up the iron steps, all out of breath, + And almost shouts: "The governor telephones + To stop; the sentence is commuted." Then + I grew as weak as the culprit--took the warrant, + And stepped up to the cell's door, coughed, inhaled, + And after getting breath I said: "Good news, + The governor has saved you." + + Then he laughed, + Half fell against the bars, and like a rag + Sank in a heap. + + I don't know to this day + What moved the governor. For crazy men + Are hanged sometimes. To-day he leaves the jail. + We take him where the criminal insane + Are housed at our expense. + + * * * * * + + So Merival heard the sheriff. As he knew + The governor's mind, and how the governor + Gave heed to public thought, or what is deemed + The public thought, what's printed in the press, + He wondered at the governor. For no crime + Had stirred the county like this crime. And if + A jury and the courts adjudged this boy + Of nineteen in his mind, what was the right + Of interference by the governor? + So Merival was puzzled. They were chums, + The governor and Merival in old days. + Had known club-life together, ate and drank + Together in the days when Merival + Came to Chicago living down the hurt + He took from her who left him. In those days + The governor was struggling, Merival + Had helped with friends and purse--and later helped + The governor's ambition from the time + He went to congress. So the two were friends + With memories and secrets for the stuff + Of friendship, glad renewal of the surge + Of lasting friendship when they met. + + And now + He sensed a secret, meant to bring it forth. + And telegraphed the governor, who said: + "I'll see you in Chicago." Merival + Went up to see the governor and talk. + They had not met for months for leisured talk. + And now the governor said: "I'll tell you all, + And make it like a drama. I'll bring in + My wife who figured in this murder case. + It was this way: It's nearly one o'clock, + I'm back from hearing lawyers plead. I wish + To make this vivid so you'll get my mind. + I tell you what I said to her. It's this:" + + + + +THE GOVERNOR + + + I'm home at last. How long were you asleep? + I startled you. The time? It's midnight past. + Put on your slippers and your robe, my dear, + And make some coffee for me--what a night! + Yes, tell you? I shall tell you everything. + I must tell someone, and a wife should know + The workings of a governor's mind--no one + Could guess what turned the scale to save this man + Who would have died to-morrow, but for me. + That's fine. This coffee helps me. As I said + This night has been a trial. Well, you know + I told these lawyers they could come at eight, + And so they came. A seasoned lawyer one, + The other young and radical, both full + Of sentiment of some sort. And there you sit, + And do not say a word of disapproval. + You smile, which means you sun yourself within + The power I have, and yet do you approve? + This man committed brutal murder, did + A nameless horror; now he's saved from death. + The father and the mother of the girl, + The neighborhood, perhaps, in which she lived + Will roar against me, think that I was bought, + Or used by someone I'm indebted to + In politics. Oh no! It's really funny, + Since it is simpler than such things as these. + And no one, saving you, shall know the secret. + For there I sat and didn't say a word + To indicate, betray my thought; not when + The thing came out that moved me. Let them read + The doctor's affidavits, that this man + Was crazy when he killed the girl, and read + The transcript of the evidence on the trial. + They read and talked. At last the younger lawyer, + For sometime still, kept silent by the other, + Pops out with something, reads an affidavit, + As foreign to the matter as a story + Of melodrama color on the screen, + Which still contained a sentence that went home; + I felt my mind turn like a turn-table, + And click as when the switchman kicks the tongue + Of steel into the slot that holds the table. + And from my mind the engine, that's the problem, + Puffed, puffed and moved away, out on the track, + And disappeared upon its business. How + Is that for metaphor? Your coffee, dear, + Stirs up my fancy. But to tell the rest, + If my face changed expression, or my eye + Betrayed my thought, then I have no control + Of outward seeming. For they argued on + An hour or so thereafter. And I asked + Re-reading of the transcript where this man + Told of his maniac passion, of the night + He killed the girl, the doctors' testimony + I had re-read, and let these lawyers think + My interest centered there, and my decision + Was based upon such matters, and at last + The penalty commuted. When in truth + I tell you I had let the fellow hang + For all of this, except that I took fire + Because of something in this affidavit + Irrelevant to the issue, reaching me + In something only relevant to me. + O, well, all life is such. Our great decisions + Flame out of sparks, where roaring fires before, + Not touching our combustibles wholly failed + To flame or light us. + + Now the secret hear. + Do you remember all the books I read + Two years ago upon heredity, + Foot-notes to evolution, the dynamics + Of living matter? Well, it wasn't that + That made me save this fellow. There you smile + For knowing how and when I got these books, + Who woke my interest in them. Never mind, + You don't know yet my reasons. + + But I'll tell you: + And let you see a governor's mind at work. + When this young lawyer in this affidavit + Read to a certain place my mind strayed off + And lived a time past, you were present too. + It was that morning when I passed my crisis, + Had just dodged death, could scarcely speak, too weak + To lift a hand to feed myself, but needed + Vital replenishment of strength, and then + I got it in a bowl of oyster soup, + Rich cream at that. And as I live, my dear, + As this young lawyer read, I felt myself + In bed as I lay then, re-lived the weakness, + Could see the spoon that carried to my mouth + The appetizing soup, imagined there + The feelings I had then of getting fingers + Upon the rail of life again, how faint, + But with such clear degrees. Could see the hand + That held the spoon, the eyes that looked at me + In triumph for the victory of my strength, + Which battled, almost lost the prize of life. + It all came over me when this lawyer read: + Elenor Murray lately come from France + Found dead beside the river, was the cousin + Of this Fred Taylor, and had planned to come + To see the governor, death prevented her-- + Suppose it had? + + That affidavit, doubtless + Was read to me to move me for the fact + This man was kindred to a woman who + Served in the war, this lawyer was that cheap! + And isn't it as cheap to think that I + Could be persuaded by the circumstance + That Elenor Murray, she who nursed me once, + Was cousin to this fellow, if this lawyer + Knew this, and did he know it? I don't know. + Had Elenor Murray lived she would have come + To ask her cousin's life--I know her heart. + And at the last, I think this was the thing: + I thought I'd do exactly what I'd do + If she had lived and asked me, disregard + Her death, and act as if she lived, repay + Her dead hands, which in life had saved my life. + + Now, dear, your eyes have tears--I know--believe me, + I had no romance with this Elenor Murray. + Good Lord, it's one o'clock, I must to bed.... + + You get my story Merival? Do you think, + A softness in the heart went to the brain + And softened that? Well now I stress two things: + I can't endure defeat, nor bear to see + An ardent spirit thwarted. What I've achieved + Has been through will that would not bend, and so + To see that in another wins my love, + And my support. Now take this Elenor Murray + She had a will like mine, she worked her way + As I have done. And just to hear that she + Had planned to see me, ask for clemency + For this condemned degenerate, made me say + Shall I let death defeat her? Take the breach + And make her death no matter in my course? + For as I live if she had come to me + I had done that I did. And why was that? + No romance! Never that! Yet human love + As friend can keep for friend in this our life + I felt for Elenor Murray--and for this: + It was her will that would not take defeat, + Devotion to her work, and in my case + This depth of friendship welling in her heart + For human beings, that I shared in--there + Gave tireless healing to her nursing hands + And saved my life. And for a life a life. + This criminal will live some years, we'll say, + Were better dead. All right. He'll cost the state + Say twenty thousand dollars. What is that + Contrasted with the cost to me, if I + Had let him hang? There is a bank account, + Economies in the realm of thought to watch. + And don't you think the souls--let's call them souls-- + Of these avenging, law abiding folk, + These souls of the community all in all + Will be improved for hearing that I did + A human thing, and profit more therefrom + Than though that sense of balance in their souls + Struck for the thought of crime avenged, the law + Fulfilled and vindicated? Yes, it's true. + And Merival spoke up and said: "It's true, + I understand your story, and I'm glad. + It's like you and I'll tell my jury first, + And they will scatter it, what moved in you + And how this Elenor Murray saved a life." + + * * * * * + + The talk of waste in human life was constant + As Coroner Merival took evidence + At Elenor Murray's inquest. Everyone + Could think of waste in some one's life as well + As in his own. + John Scofield knew the girl, + Had worked for Arthur Fouche, her grandfather, + And knew what course his life took, how his fortune + Was wasted, dwindled down. + + Remembering + A talk he heard between this Elenor Murray + And Arthur Fouche, her grandfather, he spoke + To Coroner Merival on the street one day: + + + + +JOHN SCOFIELD + + + You see I worked for Arthur Fouche, he said, + Until the year before he died; I knew + That worthless son of his who lived with him, + Born when his mother was past bearing time, + So born a weakling. When he came from college + He married soon and came to mother's hearth, + And brought his bride. I heard the old man say: + "A man should have his own place when he marries, + Not settle in the family nest"; I heard + The old man offer him a place, or offer + To buy a place for him. This baby boy + Ran quick to mother, cried and asked to stay. + What happened then? What always happens. Soon + This son began to edge upon the father, + And take the reins a little, Arthur Fouche + Was growing old. And at the last the son + Controlled the bank account and ran the farms; + And Mrs. Fouche gave up her place at table + To daughter-in-law, no longer served or poured + The coffee--so you see how humble beggars + Become the masters, it is always so. + Now this I know: When this boy came from school + And brought his wife back to the family place, + Old Arthur Fouche had twenty thousand dollars + On saving in the bank, and lots of money + Loaned out on mortgages. But when he died + He owed two thousand dollars at the bank. + Where did the money go? Why, for ten years + When Arthur Fouche and son were partners, I + Saw what went on, and saw this boy buy cattle + When beef was high, sell cattle when it was low, + And lose each year a little. And I saw + This boy buy buggies, autos and machinery, + And lose the money trading. So it was, + This worthless boy had nothing in his head + To run a business, which used up the fortune + Of Arthur Fouche, and strangled Arthur Fouche, + As vines destroy an oak tree. Well, you know + When Arthur Fouche's will was opened up + They found this son was willed most everything-- + It's always so. The children who go out, + And make their way get nothing, and the son + Who stays at home by mother gets the swag. + And so this son was willed the family place + And sold it to that chiropractor--left + For California to remake his life, + And died there, after wasting all his life, + His father's fortune, too. + + So, now to show you + How age breaks down a mind and dulls a heart, + I'll tell you what I heard: + + This Elenor Murray + Was eighteen, just from High School, and one day + She came to see her grandfather and talked. + The old man always said he loved her most + Of all the grandchildren, and Mrs. Fouche + Told me a dozen times she thought as much + Of Elenor Murray as she did of any + Child of her own. Too bad they didn't show + Their love for her. + + I was in and out the room + Where Elenor Murray and her grandfather + Were talking on that day, was planing doors + That swelled and wouldn't close. There was no secret + About this talk of theirs that I could see, + And so I listened. + + Elenor began: + "If you can help me, grandpa, just a little + I can go through the university. + I can teach school in summer and can save + A little money by denying self. + If you can let me have two hundred dollars, + When school begins each year, divide it up, + If you prefer, and give me half in the fall, + And half in March, perhaps, I can get through. + And when I finish I shall go to work + And pay you back, I want it as a loan, + And do not ask it for a gift." She sat, + And fingered at her dress while asking him, + And Arthur Fouche looked at her. Come to think + He was toward eighty then. At last he said: + "I wish I could do what you ask me, Elenor, + But there are several things. You see, my child, + I have been through this thing of educating + A family of children, lived my life + In that regard, and so have done my part. + I sent your mother to St. Mary's, sent + The rest of them wherever they desired. + And that's what every father owes his children. + And when he does it, he has done his duty. + I'm sorry that your father cannot help you, + And I would help you, though I've done my duty + By those to whom I owed it; but you see + Your uncle and myself are partners buying + And selling cattle, and the business lags. + We do not profit much, and all the money + I have in bank is needed for this business. + We buy the cattle, and we buy the corn, + Then we run short of corn; and now and then + I have to ask the bank to lend us money, + And give my note. Last month I borrowed money!" + And so the old man talked. And as I looked + I saw the tears run down her cheeks. She sat + And looked as if she didn't believe him. + + No, + Why should she? For I do not understand + Why in a case like this, a man who's worth, + Say fifty thousand dollars couldn't spare + Two hundred dollars by the year. Let's see: + He might have bought less corn or cattle, gambled + On lucky sales of cattle--there's a way + To do a big thing when you have the eyes + To see how big it is; and as for me, + If money must be lost, I'd rather lose it + On Elenor Murray than on cattle. In fact, + That's where the money went, as I have said. + And Elenor Murray went away and earned + Two terms at college, and this worthless son + Ate up and spent the money. All of them, + The son and Arthur Fouche and Elenor Murray + Are gone to dust, now, like the garden things + That sprout up, fall and rot. + + At times it seems + All waste to me, no matter what you do + For self or others, unless you think of turnips + Which can't be much to turnips, but are good + For us who raise them. Here's my story then, + Good wishes to you, Coroner Merival. + + * * * * * + + Coroner Merival heard that Gottlieb Gerald + Knew Elenor Murray and her family life; + And knew her love for music, how she tried + To play on the piano. On an evening + He went with Winthrop Marion to the place,-- + Llewellyn George dropped in to hear, as well-- + Where Gottlieb Gerald sold pianos--dreamed, + Read Kant at times, a scholar, but a failure, + His life a waste in business. Gottlieb Gerald + Spoke to them in these words:-- + + + + +GOTTLIEB GERALD + + + I knew her, why of course. And you want me? + What can I say? I don't know how she died. + I know what people say. But if you want + To hear about her, as I knew the girl, + Sit down a minute. Wait, a customer!... + It was a fellow with a bill, these fellows + Who come for money make me smile. Good God! + Where shall I get the money, when pianos, + Such as I make, are devilish hard to sell? + Now listen to this tune! Dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm, + How's that for quality, sweet clear and pure? + Now listen to these chords I take from Bach! + Oh no, I never played much, just for self. + Well, you might say my passion for this work + Is due to this: I pick the wire strings, + The spruce boards and all that for instruments + That suit my ear at last. When I have built + A piano, then I sit and play upon it, + And find forgetfulness and rapture through it. + And well I need forgetfulness, for the bills + Are never paid, collectors always come. + I keep a little lawyer almost busy, + Lest some one get a judgment, levy a writ + Upon my prizes here, this one in chief. + Oh, well, I pay at last, I always pay, + But I must have my time. And in the days + When these collectors swarm too much I find + Oblivion in music, run my hands + Over the keys I've tuned. I wish I had + Some life of Cristofori, just to see + If he was dodging bills when tuning strings. + Perhaps that Silberman who made pianos + For Frederick the Great had money enough, + And needed no oblivion from bills. + You see I'm getting old now, sixty-eight; + And this I say, that life is far too short + For man to use his conquests and his wisdoms. + This spirit, mind, is a machine, piano, + And has its laws of harmony and use. + Well, it seems funny that a man just learns + The secrets of his being, how to love, + How to forget, what to select, what life + Is natural to him, and only living + According to one's nature is increase-- + All else is waste--when wind blows on your back, + Just as I sit sometimes when these collectors + Come in on me--and so you find it's Death, + Who levies on your life; no little lawyer + Can keep him off with stays of execution, + Or supersedeas, I think it is. + Well, as I said, a man must live his nature, + And dump the rules; this Christianity + Makes people wear steel corsets to grow straight, + And they don't grow so, for they scarcely breathe, + They're laced so tight; and all their vital organs + Are piled up and repressed until they groan. + Then what? They lace up tighter, till the blood + Stops in the veins and numbness comes upon them. + Oblivion it may be--but give me music! + + Oh yes, this girl, Elenor Murray, well + This talk about her home is half and half, + Part true, part false. Her daddy nips a little, + Has always done so. Like myself, the bills + Have always deviled him. But just the same + That home was not so bad. Some years ago, + She was a little girl of thirteen maybe, + Her father rented one of my pianos + For Elenor to learn on, and of course + The rent was always back, I didn't care, + Except for my collectors, and besides + She was so nice. So music hungry, practiced + So hard to learn, I used to let the rent + Run just as long as I could let it run. + And even then I used to feel ashamed + To ask her father for it. + + As I said + She was thirteen, and one Thanksgiving day + They asked me there to dinner, and I went, + Brushed off my other coat and shaved myself, + I looked all right, my shoes were polished too. + You'd never think I polished them to look + At these to-day. And now I tell you what + I saw myself: nice linen on the table, + And pretty silver, plated, I suppose; + Good glass-ware, and a dinner that was splendid, + Wine made from wild grapes spiced with cinnamon, + It had a kick, too. And the home was furnished + Like what you'd think: good carpets, chairs, a lounge, + Some pictures on the wall--all good enough. + And this girl was as lively as a cricket, + She was the liveliest thing I ever saw; + And that's what ailed her, if you want my word. + She had more life than she knew how to use, + And had not learned her own machine. + + And after + We had the dinner we came in the parlor. + And then her mother asked her to play something, + And she sat down and played tra-la; tra-la, + One of these waltzes, I remember now + As pretty as these verses in the paper + On love, or something sentimental. Yes, + She played it well. For I had rented them + One of my pets. They asked me then to play + And I tried out some Bach and other things, + And improvised. And Elenor stood by, + And asked what's that when I was improvising. + I laughed and said, Sonata of Starved Rock, + Or Deer Park Glen in Winter, anything-- + She looked at me with eyes as big as that. + + Well, as I said, the home was good enough. + Still like myself with these collectors, Elenor + Was bothered, drawn aside, and scratched no doubt + From walking through the briars. Just the same + The trouble with her life, if it was trouble, + And no musician would regard it trouble, + The trouble was her nature strove to be + All fire, and subtilize to the essence of fire, + Which was her nature's law, and Nature's law, + The only normal law, as I have found; + For so Canudo says, as I read lately, + Who gave me words for what I knew from life. + + Now if you want my theories I go on. + You do? All right. What was this Elenor Murray? + She was the lover, do you understand? + She had her lovers maybe, I don't know, + That's not the point with lovers, any more, + Than it's the point to have pianos--no! + Lovers, pianos are the self-same thing; + Instruments for the soul, the source of fire, + The crucible for flames that turn from red + To blue, then white, then fierce transparencies. + Then if the lover be not known by lovers + How is she known? Why think of Elenor Murray, + Who tries all things and educates herself, + Goes traveling, would sing and play, becomes + A member of a church with ritual, music, + Incense and color, things that steal the senses, + And bring oblivion. Don't you see the girl + Moving her soul to find her soul, and passing + Through loves and hatreds, seeking everywhere + Herself she loved, in others, agonizing + For hate of father, so they tell me now? + But first because she hated in herself + What lineaments of her father she saw in self. + And all the while, I think, she strove to conquer + This hatred, every hatred, sensing freedom + For her own soul through liberating self + From hatreds. So, you see how someone near, + Repugnant, disesteemed, may furnish strength + And vision, too, by gazing on that one + From day to day, not to be like that one: + And so our hatreds help us, those we hate + Become our saviors. + + Here's the problem now + In finding self, the soul--it's with ourselves, + Within ourselves throughout the ticklish quest + From first to last, and lovers and pianos + Are instruments of salvation, yet they take + The self but to the self, and say now find, + Explore and know. And then, as all before, + The problem is how much of mind to use, + How much of instinct, phototropic sense, + That turns instinctively to light--green worms + More plant than animal are eyes all over + Because their bodies know the light, no eyes + Where sight is centralized. I've found it now: + What is the intellect but eyes, where sight + Is gathered in two spheres? The more they're used + The darker is the body of the soul. + Now to digress, that's why the Germans lost, + They used the intellect too much; they took + The sea of life and tried to dam it in, + Or use it for canals or water power, + Or make a card-case system of it, maybe, + To keep collectors off, have all run smoothly, + And make a sure thing of it. + + To return + How much did Elenor Murray use her mind, + How much her instincts, leave herself alone + Let nature have its way? I think I know: + But first you have the artist soul; and next + The soul half artist, prisoned usually + In limitations where the soul, half artist + Between depressions and discouragements + Rises in hope and knocks. Why, I can tell them + The moment they touch keys or talk to me. + I hear their knuckles knocking on the walls, + Insuperable partitions made of wood, + When seeking tones or words; they have the hint, + But cannot open, manifest themselves. + So was it with this girl, she was all lover, + Half artist, what a torture for a soul, + And what escape for her! She could not play, + Had never played, no matter what the chance. + I think there is no curse like being dumb + When every waking moment, every dream + Keeps crying to speak out. This is her case: + The girl was dumb, like that dumb woman here + Whose dress caught fire, and in the dining room + Was burned to death while all her family + Were in the house, to whom she could not cry! + + You asked about her going to the war, + Her sacrifice in that, and if I think + She found expression there--yes, of a kind, + But not the kind she hungered for, not music. + She found adventure there, excitement too. + That uses up the soul's power, takes the place + Of better self-expression. But you see + I do not think self-immolation life, + I know it to be death. Now, look a minute: + Why did she join the church? why to forget! + Why did she go to war? why to forget. + And at the last, this thing called sacrifice + Rose up with meaning in her eyes. You see + They tell around here now she often said: + "I'm going to the war to be swept under." + Now comes your Christian idea: Let me die, + But die in service of the race, in giving + I waste myself for others, give myself! + Let God take notice, and reward the gift! + This is the failure's recourse often-times, + A prodigal flinging of the self--let God + Find what He can of good, or find all good. + I have abandoned all control, all thought + Of finding my soul otherwise, if here + I find my soul, a doubt that makes the gift + Not less abandoned. + + This is foolish talk + I know you think, I think it is myself, + At least in part. I know I'm right, however, + In guessing off the reason of her failure, + If failure it is. But pshaw, why talk of failure + About a woman born to live the life + She lived, which could not have been different, + Much different under any circumstance? + She might have married, had a home and children, + What of it? As it is she makes a story, + A flute sound in our symphony--all right! + And I confess, in spite of all I've said, + The profit, the success, may not be known + To any but one's self. Now look at me, + By all accounts I am a failure--look! + For forty years just making poor ends meet, + My love all spent in making good pianos. + I thrill all over picking spruce and wires, + And putting them together--all my love + Gone into this, no head at all for business. + I keep no books, they cheat me out of rent. + I don't know how to sell pianos, when + I sell one I have trouble oftentimes + In getting pay for it. But just the same + I sit here with myself, I know myself, + I've found myself, and when collectors come + I can say come to-morrow, turn about, + And run the scale, or improvise, and smile, + Forget the world! + + * * * * * + + The three arose and left. + Llewellyn George said: "That's a rarity, + That man is like a precious flower you find + Way off among the weeds and rocky soil, + Grown from a seed blown out of paradise; + I want to call again." + + So thus they knew + This much of Elenor Murray's music life. + But on a day a party talk at tea, + Of Elenor Murray and her singing voice + And how she tried to train it--just a riffle + Which passed unknown of Merival. For you know + Your name may come up in a thousand places + At earth's ends, though you live, and do not die + And make a great sensation for a day. + And all unknown to Merival for good + This talk of Lilli Alm and Ludwig Haibt: + + + + +LILLI ALM + + + In Lola Schaefer's studio in the Tower, + Tea being served to painters, poets, singers, + Herr Ludwig Haibt, a none too welcome guest, + Of vital body, brisk, too loud of voice, + And Lilli Alm crossed swords. + + It came about + When Ludwig Haibt said: "Have you read the papers + About this Elenor Murray?" And then said: + "I tried to train her voice--she was a failure." + And Lilli Alm who taught the art of song + Looked at him half contemptuous and said: + "Why did she fail?" To which Herr Ludwig answered + "She tried too hard. She made her throat too tense, + And made its muscles stiff by too much thought, + Anxiety for song, the vocal triumph." + + "O, yes, I understand," said Lilli Aim. + Then stabbing him she added, "since you dropped + The Perfect Institute, and dropped the idea + Which stresses training muscles of the tongue, + And all that thing, be fair and shoulder half + The failure of poor Elenor Murray on + Your system's failure. For I chanced to know + The girl myself. She started work with me, + And I am sure that if I had been able-- + With time enough I could have done it too-- + To rid her mind of muscles and to fix + The thought alone of music in her mind, + She would have sung. Now listen, Ludwig Haibt, + You've come around to see that song's the thing. + I take a pupil and I say to her: + The mind must fix itself on music, say + I would make song, pure tones and beautiful; + That comes from spirit, from the Plato rapture, + Which gets the idea. It is well to know + Some physiology, I grant, to know + When, how to move the vocal organs, feel + How they are moving, through the ear to place + These organs in relation, and to know + The soft palate is drawn against the hard; + The tongue can take positions numerous, + Can be used at the root, a throaty voice; + Or with the tip, produce expressiveness. + But what must we avoid?--rigidity. + And if that girl was over-zealous, then + So much the more her teaching should have kept + Mind off the larynx and the tongue, and fixed + Upon the spiritual matters, so to give + The snake-like power of loosening, contracting + The muscles used for singing. Ludwig Haibt, + I can forgive your system, since abandoned, + I can't forgive your words to-day who say + This woman failed for trying over much, + When I know that your system made her throw + An energy truly wonderful on muscles; + And when I think of your book where you said: + The singing voice is the result, observe + Of physical conditions, like the strings + Or tubes of brass. While granting that it's well + To know the art of tuning up the strings, + And how to place them; after all the art + Of tuning and of placing comes from mind, + The idea, and the art of making song + Is just the breathing of the perfect spirit + Upon the strings. The throat is but the leaves, + Let them be flexible, the mouth's the flower, + The tone the perfume. And your olden way + Of harping on the larynx--well, since you + Turned from it, I'm ungenerous perhaps + To scold you thus to-day. + + But this I say, + Let us be frank as teachers: Take the fetich + Of breathing and see how you cripple talent, + Or take that matter of the laryngyscope, + Whereby you photograph a singer's throat, + Caruso's, Galli Curci's at the moment + Of greatest beauty in song, and thus preserve + In photographs before you how the muscles + Looked and were placed that moment. Then attempt + To get the like effect by placing them + In similar fashion. Oh, you know, Herr Ludwig, + These fetiches go by. One thing remains: + The idea in the soul of beauty, music, + The hope to give it forth. + + Alas! to think + So many souls are wasted while we teach + This thing or that. The strong survive, of course. + But take this Elenor Murray--why, that girl + Was just a flame, I never saw such hunger + For self-development, and beauty, richness, + In all experience in life--I knew her, + That's why I say so--take her as I say, + And put her to a practice--yours we'll say-- + Where this great zeal she had is turned and pressed + Upon the physical, just the very thing + To make her throat constrict, and fill her up + With over anxiety and make her fail. + When had she come to me at first this passion + Directed to the beauty, the idea + Had put her soul at ease to ease her body, + Which gradually and beautifully had answered + That flame of hers. + + Well, Ludwig Haibt, you're punished + For wasting several years upon a system + Since put away as half erroneous, + If not quite worthless. But I must confess, + Since I have censured you, to my own sin. + This girl ran out of money, came to me + And told me so. To which I said: "Too bad, + You will have money later, when you do, + Come back to me." She stood a silent moment, + Her hand upon the knob, I saw her tears, + Just little dim tears, then she said good-bye + And vanished from me. + + Well, I now repent. + I who have thought of beauty all my life, + And taught the art of sound made beautiful, + Let slip a chance for beauty--why, I think, + A beauty just as great as song! You see + I had a chance to serve a hungering soul-- + I could have said just let the money go, + Or let it go until you get the money. + I let that chance for beauty slip. Even now + I see poor Elenor Murray at the door, + Who paused, no doubt, in hope that I would say + What I thought not to say. + + So, Ludwig Haibt, + We are a poor lot--let us have some tea! + "We are a poor lot," Ludwig Haibt replied. + "But since this is confessional, I absolve you, + If you'll permit me, from your sin. Will you + Absolve me, if I say I'm sorry too? + I'll tell you something, it is really true:-- + I changed my system more I think because + Of what I learned from teaching Elenor Murray + Than on account of any other person. + She demonstrated better where my system + Was lacking than all pupils that I had. + And so I changed it; and of course I say + The thing is music, just as poets say + The thing is beauty, not the rhyme and words, + With which they bring it, instruments that's all, + And not the thing--but beauty." + + So they talked, + Forgave each other. And that very day + Two priests were talking of confessionals + A mile or so from the Tower, where Lilli Alm + And Ludwig Haibt were having tea. You say + The coroner was ignorant of this! + What is the part it plays with Elenor Murray? + Or with the inquest? Wait a little yet + And see if Merival has told to him + What thing of value touching Elenor Murray + Is lodged in Father Whimsett's heart or words. + + + + +FATHER WHIMSETT + + + Looking like Raphael's Perugino, eyes + So slightly, subtly aquiline, as brown + As a buck-eye, amorous, flamed, but lightly dimmed + Through thought of self while sitting for the artist; + A nose well bridged with bone for will, the nostrils + Distended as if sniffing diaphanous fire; + A very bow for lips, the under lip + Rich, kissable like a woman's; heavy cheeks + Propped with a rounded tower of flesh for neck: + Thus Perugino looked, says Raphael, + And thus looked Father Whimsett at his desk, + With vertical creases, where the nose and brow + Together come, between the eye-brows slanting + Unequally, half clown-wise, half Mephisto, + With just a touch of that abandoned humor, + And laughter at the world, the race of men, + Mephisto had for mischief, which the priest + Has for a sense which looks upon the dream + And smiles, yet pities those who move in it. + And Father Whimsett smokes and reads and smiles. + He soon will hold confessional. For days + he has heard nothing but complaints of lovers, + And searched for nullities, impediments, + Through which to give sore stricken hearts relief: + There was the youth too drunk to know he married + A woman never baptized. Now the youth + Has found another--oh this is the one! + And comes and says: Oh, holy father, help me, + May I be free to marry her I love, + And get the church's blessing when a court + Dissolves the civil contract? Holy Father, + I knew not what I did, cannot remember + Where I was married, when, my mind's a blank-- + It was the drink, you know. + + And so it goes, + The will is eyeless through concupiscence, + And that absolves the soul that's penitent. + And Father Whimsett reads his Latin books, + Searches for subtleties for faithful souls, + Whereby the faithful souls may have their wish, + Yet keep the gospel, too. + + These Latin books + Leave him fatigued, but not fatigued to turn + Plotinus, Xenophon, Boccacio, + Ars Amatoria and Remedia Amoris. + And just this moment Father Whimsett reads + Catullus, killing time, before he hears + Confession, gets the music of Catullus + Along the light that enters at the eye: + Etherial strings plucked by the intellect + To vibrate to the inner ear. At times + He must re-light his half-forgot cigar. + And while the music of the Latin verse, + Which is an echo, as he stops to light + His half-forgot cigar, is wafted through + His meditation, as a tune is heard + After the keys are stayed, it blends, becomes + The soul, interpretation of these stories, + Which lovers tell him in these later days. + And now the clock upon the mantel chimes + The quarter of the hour. Up goes Catullus + By Ovid on the shelf. The dead cigar + Is thrown away. He rises from the chair-- + When Father Conway enters, just to visit + Some idle moments, smoke and have a talk. + And Father Whimsett takes his seat again, + Waves Father Conway to a comfort chair, + Says "Have a smoke," and Father Conway smokes, + And sees Catullus, says you read Catullus, + And lays the morning _Times_ upon the table, + And says to Father Whimsett: "Every day + The _Times_ has stories better than Catullus, + And episodes which Horace would have used. + I wish we had a poet who would take + This city of Chicago, write it up, + The old Chicago, and the new Chicago, + The race track, old cafés and gambling places, + The prize fights, wrestling matches, sporting houses, + As Horace wrote up Rome. Or if we had + A Virgil he would find an epic theme + In this American matter, typical + Of our America, one phase or more + Concerning Elenor Murray. Here to-day + There is a story, of some letters found + In Arthur Fouche's mansion, under the floor, + Sensational, dramatic. + + Father Whimsett + Looked steadily at Father Conway, blew + A funnel of tobacco smoke and said: + I scarcely read the _Times_ these days, too busy-- + I've had a run of rich confessionals. + The war is ended, but they still come on, + And most are lovers in the coils of love. + I had one yesterday that made me think + Of one I had a year ago last spring, + The point was this: they say forgive me father, + For I have sinned, then as the case proceeds + A greater sin comes forth, I mean the sin + Of saying sin is good, cannot be sin: + I loved the man, or how can love be sin? + Well, as a human soul I see the point, + But have no option, must lay to and say + Acknowledgment, contrition and the promise + To sin no more, is necessary to + Win absolution. Now to show the matter, + Here comes a woman, says I leave for France + To serve, to die. I have a premonition + That I shall die abroad; or if I live, + I have had fears, I shall be taken, wronged, + So driven by this honor to destroy + Myself, goes on and says, I tell you all + These fears of mine that you may search my heart, + More gladly may absolve me. Then she says, + These fears worked in my soul until I took + The step which I confess, before I leave. + I wait and she proceeds: + + "O, holy father, + There is a man whom I have loved for years, + These five years past, such hopeless, happy years. + I love him and he loves me, holy father. + He holds me sacred as his wife, he loves me + With the most holy love. It cannot be + That any love like ours is guilty love, + Can have no other quality than good, + If it be love." + + Well, here's a pretty soul + To sit in the confessional! So I say, + Why do you come to me? Loving your sin, + Confessing it, denying it in one breath, + Leaves you in sin without forgiveness. + Well, then she tacks about and says "I sinned, + And I am sorry. Wait a minute, father, + And see the flesh and spirit mixed again." + She wants to tell me all, I let her go. + And so she says: "His wife's an invalid, + Has been no wife to him. Besides," she says-- + Now watch this thrust to pierce my holy shield-- + "She is not in the church's eye his wife, + She never was baptized"--I almost laughed, + But answered her, You think adultery + Is less adultery in a case like this? + "Well, no," she says, "but could he be divorced + The church would marry us." Go on, I said, + And then she paused a little and went on: + "I said I loved this man, and it is true, + And years ago I gave myself to him, + And then his wife found out there was a woman-- + But not that I was the woman--years ago + At confirmation I confessed it all, + Need only say this time I gave him up, + And crushed him out with work--was chaste for years. + And then I met a man, a different man + Who stirred me otherwise, kept after me. + At last I weakened, sinned three months ago, + And suffered for it. For he took me, left me. + As if he wanted body of me alone, + And was not pleased with that. And after that, + I think that I was mad, a furious passion + Was kindled by this second man, and left + With nothing to employ its flame. Two weeks + Went by, he did not seek me out, none knew + The hour of our departure. Then I thought + How little I had been to this first lover, + And of the years when I denied him--so + To recompense his love, to serve him, father, + Yes, to allay this passion newly raised + By this new lover, whom I thought I loved, + I went to my old lover, free of will, + And took his lips and said to him, O take me, + I am yours to do with as you choose to-night. + He turned as pale as snow and shook with fear, + His heart beat in his throat. I terrified him + With this great will of mine in this small body. + I went on while he stood there by the window, + His back toward me. Make me wholly yours, + Take no precaution, prudence throw away + As mean, unworthy. Let your life precede, + Forestall the intruder's, if one be. And if + A child must be, yours shall it be." + + "He turned, + And took me in his arms...." + + "And so to make + As nearly as might be a marriage, father, + I took--but let me tell you: I had thought + His wife might die at any time, so thinking + During these years I had bought bridal things; + A veil, embroideries, silk lingerie. + And I took to our room my negligee, + Boudoir cap, satin slippers, so to make + All beautiful as we were married, father. + How have I sinned? I cannot deem it wrong. + Do I not soil my soul with penitence, + And smut this loveliness with penitence? + Can I regret my work, nor take a hurt + Upon my very soul? How keep it clean + Confessing what I did (if I thought so) + As evil and unclean?" + + The devil again + Entered with casuistry, as you perceive. + And so to make an end, I said to her, + You must bring to this sacrament a heart + Contrite and humble, promise me beside + To sin no more. The case is in your hands, + You can confess with lips, deny with heart, + God only knows, I don't, it's on your soul + To speak the truth or lie to me. Confess + And I'll absolve you.--For in truth my heart + Was touched by what she said, her lovely voice. + + But now the story deepened. For she said, + I have not told you all. And she renewed: + "Suppose you pack your trunk and have your lunch, + Go to the station, but no train arrives, + And there you wait and wait, until you're hungry, + And nothing to do but wait, no place to lunch, + You cannot leave the station, lest the train + Should come while you are gone. Well, so it was, + The weeks went by, and still we were not called. + And I had closed my old life, sat and waited + The time of leaving to begin new life. + And after I had sinned with my first lover, + Parted from him, said farewell, ended it, + Could not go back to him, at least could think + Of no way to return that would not dull + The hour we lived together, look, this man, + This second lover looks me up again + And overwhelms me with a flaming passion. + It seemed he had thought over what I was, + Become all fire for me. He came to me, + And said, I love you, love you, looked at me, + And I could see the love-light in his eyes, + The light that woman knows. Well, I was weak, + Lonely and bored. He stirred my love besides; + And then a curious thought came in my brain: + The spirit is not found save through the flesh, + O holy father, and I thought to self, + Bring, as you may, these trials close together + In point of time and see where spirit is, + Where flesh directs to spirit most. And so + I went with him again, and found in truth + I loved him, he was mine and I was his, + We two were for each other, my old lover + Was just my love's beginning, not my love + Fully and wholly, rapturously, this man + Body and spirit harmonized with me. + I found him through the love of my old lover, + And knew by contrast, memory of the two + And this immediate comparison + Of spirits and of bodies, that this man + Who left me, whom I turned from to the first, + As I have tried to tell you, was the one. + O holy father, he is married, too. + And as I leave for France this ends as well; + No child in me from either. I confess + That I have sinned most grievously, I repent + And promise I shall sin no more." + + And so, + I gave her absolution. Well, you see + The church was dark, but I knew who it was, + I knew the voice. She left. Another penitent + Entered with a story. What is this? + Here is a woman who's promiscuous. + Tried number one and then tries number two, + And comes and tells me, she has taken proof, + Weighed evidence of spirit and of body, + And thinks she knows at last, affirms as much. + Such conduct will not do, that's plain enough, + Not even if the truth of love is known + This way, no other way. + + Then Father Conway + Began as follows: "I've a case like that, + A woman married, but she found her husband + Was just the cup of Tantulus and so...." + + But Father Whimsett said, "Why, look at that, + I'm over-due a quarter of an hour. + Come in to-morrow, father, tell me then." + The two priests rose and left the room together. + + + + +JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON + + + Carl Eaton and John Campbell both were raised + With Elenor Murray in LeRoy. The mother + Of Eaton lived there; but these boys had gone, + Now grown to manhood to Chicago, where + They kept the old days of companionship. + And Mrs. Eaton saw the coroner, + And told him how she saved her son from Elenor, + And broke their troth--because upon a time + Elenor Murray, though betrothed, to Carl + Went riding with John Campbell, and returned + At two o'clock in the morning, drunk, and stood + Helpless and weary, holding to the gate. + For which she broke the engagement of her son + To Elenor Murray. That was truth to her, + And truth to Merival, for the time, at least. + But this John Campbell and Carl Eaton meet + One evening at a table drinking beer, + And talk about the inquest, Elenor; + Since much is published in the _Times_ to stir + Their memories of her. And John speaks up: + "Well, Carl, now Elenor Murray is no more, + And we are friends so long, I'd like to know + What do you think of her?" + + "About the time, + That May before she finished High School, Elenor + Broke loose, ran wild, do you remember, Carl? + She had some trouble in her home, I heard-- + She told me so. That Alma Bell affair + Made all the fellows wonder, as you know, + What kind of game she was, if she was game + For me, or you, or anyone. Besides + She had flirting eye, a winning laugh, + And she was eighteen, and a cherry ripe. + This Alma Bell affair and ills at home + Made her spurt up and dart out like a fuse + Which burns to powder wet and powder heated + Until it burns; she burned, you see, and stopped + When principles or something quenched the flame. + I walked with her from school a time or two, + When she was hinting, flirting with her eyes, + I know it now, but what a dunce I was, + As most men when they're twenty." + + "Well, now listen! + A little later on an evening, + I see her buggy riding with Roy Green, + That rake, do you remember him, deadbeat, + Half drunkard then, corrupted piece of flesh? + She sat up in defiance by his side, + Her chin stuck out to tell the staring ones: + Go talk or censure to your heart's content. + And people stood and stared to see her pass + And shook their heads and wondered." + + "Afterward + I learned from her this was the night at home + Her father and her mother had a quarrel. + Her mother asked her father to buy Elenor + A new dress for commencement, and the father + Was drinking and rebuffed her, so they quarreled. + And rode with him to shame her father, coming + After a long ride in the country home + At ten o'clock or so." + + "Well, then I thought, + If she will ride with Roy Green, I go back + To hinting and to flirting eyes and guess + The girl will ride with me, or something more. + So I begin to circle round the girl, + And walk with her, and take her riding too. + She drops Roy Green for me--what does he care? + He's had enough of her or never cared-- + Which is it? there's the secret for a man + As long as women interest him--who knows + What the precedent fellow was to her? + Roy Green takes to another and another. + He died a year ago, as you'll remember, + What were his secrets, agony? he seemed + A man to me who lived and never thought." + + "So Elenor Murray went with me. Oh, well, + She gave me kisses, let me hold her tight, + We used to stop along the country ways + And kiss as long as we had breath to kiss, + And she would gasp and tremble." + + "Then, at last + A chum I had began to laugh at me, + For, I was now in love with Elenor Murray. + Don't let her make a fool of you, he said, + No girl who ever traveled with Roy Green + Was not what he desired her, nor, before + The kind of girl he wanted. Don't you know + Roy Green is laughing at you in his sleeve, + And boasts that Elenor Murray was all his? + You see that stung me, for I thought at twenty + Girls do not go so far, that only women + Who sell themselves do so, or now and then + A girl who is betrayed by hopes of marriage. + And here was thrust upon me something devilish: + The fair girl that I loved was wise already, + And fooling me, and drinking in my love + In mockery of me. This was my first + Heart sickness, jaundice of the soul--dear me! + And how I suffered, lay awake of nights, + And wondered, doubted, hoped, or cursed myself, + And cursed the girl as well. And I would think + Of flirting eyes and hints and how she came + To me before she went with this Roy Green. + And I would hear the older men give hints + About their conquests, speak of ways and signs + From which to tell a woman. On the train + Hear drummers boast and drop apothogems; + The woman who drinks with you will be yours; + Or she who gives herself to you will give + To someone else; you know the kind of talk? + Where wisdom of the sort is averaged up, + But misses finer instances, the beauties + Among the million phases of the thing. + And, so at last I thought the girl was game. + And had been snared, already. Why should I + Be just a cooing dove, why not a hawk? + We were out riding on a summer's night, + A moon and all the rest, the scent of flowers, + And many kisses, as on other times. + At last with this sole object in my mind + Long concentrated, purposed, all at once + I found myself turned violent, with hands + At grapple, twisting, forcing, and this girl + In terror pleading with me. In a moment + When I took time for breath, she said to me: + 'I will not ride with you--you let me out.' + To which I said: 'You'll do what I desire + Or you can walk ten miles back to LeRoy, + And find Roy Green, you like him better, maybe.' + And she said: 'Let me out,' and she jumped out, + And would not ride with me another step, + Though I repented saying, come and ride. + I think it was a mile or more I drove + The horse slowed up to keep her company, + And then I cracked the whip and hurried on, + And left her walking, looked from time to time + To see her in the roadway, then drove on + And reached LeRoy, which Elenor reached that morning + At one or two." + + "Well, then what was the riddle? + Was she in love with Roy Green yet, was she + But playing with me, was I crude, left handed, + Had she changed over, was she trying me + To fasten in the hook of matrimony, + Or was she good, and all this corner talk + Of Roy Green just the dirt of dirty minds? + You know the speculations, and you know + How they befuddle one at twenty years. + And sometimes I would grieve for what I did; + Then harden and laugh down my softness. But + At last I wrote a note to Elenor Murray + And sent it with a bouquet--but no word + Came back from Elenor Murray. Then I thought: + Here is a girl who rides with that Roy Green + And what would he be with her for, I ask? + And if she wants to make a cause of war + Out of an attitude she half provoked, + Why let her--and moreover let her go. + And so I dropped the matter, since she dropped + My friendship from that night." + + "But later on, + Two years ago, when she came back to town + From somewhere, I don't know, gone many months, + Grown prettier, more desirable, I sent + Some roses to her in a tender mood + As if to say: We're grown up since that night, + Have you forgotten it, as I remember + How womanly you were, have grown to be? + She wrote me just a little note of thanks, + And what is strange that very day I learned + About your interest in her, learned besides + It prospered for some months before. I turned + My heart away for good, as a man might + Who plunges and beholds the woman smile + And take another's arm and walk away." + "So, that's your story, is it?" said Carl Eaton. + "Well, I had married her except for you! + That bunch of roses spoiled the girl for me. + You had Roy Green, dog-fennel, I had roses, + And I am glad you sent them, otherwise + I might have married her, to find at last + A wife just like her mother is, myself + Living her father's life, for something missed + Or hated in me--not the want of money. + She liked me as the banker's son, be sure, + And let me go unwillingly." + + "But listen: + I called on her the night you sent the roses, + And there she had them on the center table, + And twinkled with her eyes, and spoke of them, + And said, I can remember it, you sent + Such lovely roses to her, you and she + Had been good friends for years--and now it seems + You were not friends--I didn't know it then. + But think about it, John! What was this woman? + It's clear her fate, found dead there by the river, + Is just the outward mirror of herself, + And had to be. There's not a thing in life + That is not first enacted in the heart. + Our fate is the reflection of the life + Which goes on in the heart. That girl was doomed, + Lived in her heart a life that found a birth, + Grew up, committed matricide at last, + Not that my love had saved her. But explain + Why would she over-stress the roses, give + Me understandings foreign to the truth? + For truth to tell, we were affianced then, + There were your roses! But above it all + Something she said pricked like a rose's thorn, + Something that grew to thought she cherished you, + Kept memories sweet of you. If that were true, + What was the past? What was I after all? + A second choice, as if I bought a car, + But thought about a car I wanted more. + So I retired that night in serious thought." + + "Yet if you'll credit me, I had not heard + About this Alma Bell affair, or heard + About her riding through the public streets + With this Roy Green. I think I was away, + I never heard it anyway, I know + Until my mother told me, and she told me + Next morning after I had found your roses. + I hadn't told my mother, nor a soul + Before, that time that we two were engaged-- + I didn't tell her then--I merely asked + Would Elenor Murray please you as a daughter? + You should have seen my mother--how she gasped, + And gestured losing breath, to say at last: + 'Why, Carl, my boy, what are you thinking of? + You have not promised marriage to that girl? + Now tell me, have you?' Then I lied to her; + And laughed a little, answered no, and asked, + 'What do you know about her?'" + + "Here's a joke, + With terror in it, John, if you have told + The truth to me--my mother tells me there + That on a time John Campbell--that is you, + And Elenor Murray rode into the country, + And that at two o'clock, or so, the girl + Is seen beside the gate post holding on, + And reeling up the side-walk to her door. + The girl was tired, if you have told the truth. + My mother warms up to this scoundrel Green, + And tops the matter off with Alma Bell. + And all the love I had for Elenor Murray + Sours in my heart. And then I tell my mother + The truth--of our engagement--promise her + To break it off. I did so on that day. + Got back the solitaire--but Elenor + Hung to me, asked my reasons, kept the ring + Until I wrote so sternly she gave up + Her hope and me." + + "But worst of all, John Campbell-- + If this be worst--this early episode + So nipped my leaves and browned and curled them up + To whisper sharply with their bitter edges, + No one has seen a bridal wreath in me; + Nor have I ever known a woman since + That some analysis did not blow cool + A rising admiration." + + "Now to think + This girl lies dead, and while we drink a beer + You tell me that the story is a lie, + The girl was good, walked ten miles through the dark + To save her honor from a ruffian-- + That's what you were, as you confess it now. + And if she did that, what is all this talk + Of such a rat as Green, of Alma Bell?-- + It isn't true." + + "The only truth is this: + I took a lasting poison from a lie, + Which built the very cells of me to resist + The thought of marriage--poison which remains. + I wonder should I tell the coroner? + No good in that--you might as well describe + A cancer to prevent the malady + In people yet to be. Let's have a beer. + John Campbell said: I learned from Elenor Murray + The kind of woman I should take to wife, + I married just the woman made for me." + + "If you can say so on your death bed, John, + Then Elenor Murray did one man a good, + Whatever ill she did to other men. + See, I keep rapping for that waiter--I + Would like another beer, and so would you." + + * * * * * + + So now it's clear the story is not true + Which Mrs. Eaton told the coroner. + And when the coroner told the jurymen + What Mrs. Eaton told him, Winthrop Marion + Skilled in the work of running down a tale + Said: "I can look up Eaton, Campbell too, + And verify or contradict this thing. + We have departed far afield in this, + It has no bearing on the cause of death. + But none of us have liked to see, the girl's + Good name, integrity of spirit lie + In shadow by this story." Merival + Was glad to have these two men interviewed + By Winthrop Marion; so he found them, talked, + And brought their stories back, as told above + Which made the soul of Elenor Murray clear.... + + * * * * * + + Paul Roberts was a man of sixty years, + Who lived and ran a magazine at LeRoy. + _The Dawn_ he called it; financed by a fund + Left Roberts by a millionaire, who believed + The fund would widen knowledge through the use + Of Roberts, student of the Eastern wisdom. + This Roberts loathed the war, but kept his peace + Because the law compelled it. Took this time + To fight the Christian faith, and show the age + Submerged in Christian ethics, weak and false. + He knew this Elenor Murray from a child, + And knew her rearing, schooling, knew the air + She breathed in at LeRoy. And in _The Dawn_ + Printed this essay:-- + + "We have seen," he writes, + "Astonishing revealments, inventories + Taken of souls, all coming from the death + Of Elenor Murray, and the inquest held + To ascertain her death. Perhaps fantastic + This thing may be, but scarcely more fantastic + Than rubbing amber, watching frogs' legs twitch, + From which the light of cities came, the power + That hauls the coaches over mountain tops. + We would do well to laugh at nothing, watch + With interested eye the capering souls + Too moved to walk straight. If a wire grounds + And interpenetrates the granite blocks + With viewless fire, horses shod with steel, + Walking along the granite blocks will leap + Like mad things in the air. Well, so we leap + Before we know the cause. Let sound minds laugh. + + First you agree no man has looked on God; + And I contend the souls who found God, told + Too little of their triumph. But I hold + Man shall find God and know, shall see at last + What man's soul is, and where it tends, the use + It was made for. And after that? Forever + There's progress while there's life, all devolution + Returns to progress. + + As to worship, God + They had their amber days, days of frogs' legs. + And yet before I trace the Christian growth + From seed to blossom, let me prophesy: + The light upon the lotus blossom pauses, + Has paused these centuries and waits to move + Westward and mingle with the light that shines + Upon the Occident. What did Christ do + But carry the Hebraic thrift and prudence + Of matter and of spirit, half-corrupted + By wisdom of the market to these races + That crowd in Europe, in the Western World? + Now you have seen such things as chemistry, + And mongering in steel, the use of fire + Made perfect in swift wheels, and swifter wings, + Until the realm of matter seems subdued, + Thought with her foot upon the dragon's head, + And using him to serve. This western world + Massing its powers these centuries to bring + Comfort and happiness and length of days, + And pushing commerce, trade to pile up gold, + Knows not its soul as yet, nor God. But here + I prophesy: Suppose the Hindu lore, + Which has gone farther with the soul of man + Than we have gone with business, has card cased + The soul's addresses, introduced a system + In the soul's business, just suppose this lore + And great perfection in things spiritual + Should by some process wed the great perfection + Of this our western world, and we should have + Mastery of spirit and of matter, too? + Might not that progress start as one result + Of this great war? + + Let's see from whence we came. + I take the Hebrew faith, the very frog legs + Of our theology--no use to say + It has no place with us. Your ministers + Preach from the Pentateuch, its decalogue + Is all our ethic nearly; and our life + Is suckled by the Hebrews; don't the Jews + Control our business, while our business rules + Our spirits far too much? + + Now let us see + What food our spirits feed on. Palestine + Is just a little country, fights for life + Against a greater prowess, skill in arms. + So as the will does not give up, but hopes + For vengeance and for wiping out of wrongs + The Jews conceive a God who will dry up + His people's tears and let them laugh again! + Hence in Jehovah's mouth they put these words: + My word shall stand forever, you shall eat + The riches of the Gentiles, suck their milk. + Your ploughman shall the alien be, the stranger + Shall feed your flock, and I will make you fat + With milk and honey. I will give you power, + Dominion, leadership, glory forever. + My wrath is on all nations to avenge + Israel's sorrow and humiliation. + My sword is bathed in heaven, filled with blood + To come upon Idumea, to stretch out + Upon it stones of emptiness, confusion. + Her fortresses shall be the habitation + Of dragons and a court for owls. I smite + The proud Assyrian and make them dead. + In fury, and in anger do I tread + On Zion's enemies, their worm shall die not, + Nor shall their fire be quenched. I shall stir up + Jealousy like a man of war, put on + The garments of my vengeance, and repay + To adversaries fury. For my word + Shall stand to preach good tidings to the meek, + And liberty to captives, and to chains + The opening of prisons. + + Don't you see + Our western culture in such words as these? + Your proselytes, and business man, reformer + Nourished upon them, using them in life? + But then you say Christ came with final truth, + And put away Jehovah. Let us see. + What shall become of those who turn from Christ, + Not that their souls failed, only that they turned, + Did not believe, accept, found in him little + To live by, grow by? This is what Christ said: + Ye vipers in the last day ye shall see + The sun turned dark, the moon made blood. Behold! + I come in clouds of glory and of power + To judge the quick and judge the dead. Mine own + Shall enter into blessedness. But to those + Evil who scorned me, I shall say, depart + Accursed into everlasting fire. + And quick the gates of heaven shall be shut, + And I shall reign in heaven with mine own + And let my fire of wrath consume the world. + + But then you say, what of his love and doctrine? + Not the old decalogue by him renewed, + But new wine to the Jews, if not in the world + Unknown before. Look close and you shall see + A book of double entries, balanced columns, + Business in matters spiritual, prudential + Rules for life's conduct. Yes, be merciful + But to obtain your mercy; yes, forgive + That you may be forgiven; honor your parents + That your days may be long. Blest are the meek + For they shall inherit the earth. Rejoice, for great + Is your reward in heaven if they say + All manner of evil of you, persecute you. + Do you not see the rule of compensation + Shot through it all? And if you love your neighbor, + And all men do so, then you have the state + Composed to such a level of peace, no man + Need fear the breaker in, unless you keep + This mood of love for preaching, for a rule + While business in the Occident goes on + Under Jehovah's Hebrew manual. + What is it all? The meek inherit the earth + For being meek; you turn the other cheek + And fill your enemy with shame to strike + A cheek that does not harden to return + The blow received. But too much in our life + The cheek is turned, the hand not made a fist, + But opened out to pick a pocket with, + While the other cheek is turned. Now, at the last + Has not this war put by resist not evil? + Which was the way of Jesus to the end, + Even to buffetings and the crown of thorns; + Even the cross and death?--we put it by: + We would not let protagonists thereof + So much as hint the doctrine, which is to say, + Though it be written over Jesus' life, + And be his spirit's essence, we see through + The fallacy of that preachment, cannot live + In this world by it. + + Well, let me be plain. + Races like men find truth in living life, + Find thereby what is food and what is poison. + These are the phylogenetics spiritual. + But meanwhile there's the light upon the lotus + Which waits to mingle with the light that shines + Upon the Occident, take Jesus' light + Where it is bright enough to mix with it + And show no duller splendor? + + I look back + Upon the Jew and Jesus, on the Thora + The gospel, dogmatism, poetry, + The Messianic hope and will and grace, + Jesus the Son of God, and one with God. + The outer theocracy, the Kingdom of God within you, + St. Paul with metaphysics, St. Augustine + Babbling of sin in Cicero's rhetoric, + The popes with their intrigues and millions slain + O ghastly waste, if not O ghastly failure, + Beside which all the tragedies of time + To set up doctrines, rulerships, and say: + Are not a finger scratched. O monstrous hate + Born of enfolding love! O martyrdom + Of our poor world for ages, incurable madness + Bred in the blood, and mixed in the forms of thought, + Still maddening, maiming, crucifying, killing + The fast appearing sons of men. Go ask + What man you will who has lived up to forty + And see if you find not the Christian creed + Has not in some way gyved his life and bolted + Body or spirit to a wall, to make + The man live not by nature, but a doctrine + Evolved from thought that disregards man's life. + But oh this hunger of the mind for answers + And hunger of the heart for life, the heart + Thrown to the dogs of thought. What shall we do? + I see a way, have hope. + + The blessed Lord + Says, ye deluded by unwisdom say: + This day is won, this purpose gained, this wealth + Made mine, to-morrow safe--behold + My enemy is slain, I am well-born-- + O ye deluded ones, slaves of desire, + Self-satisfied and stubborn, filled with pride, + Power, lust and wrath--haters of me, the gate + Of hell is triple, bitter is the womb + In which ye sink deluded, birth on birth, + These not renouncing. But O soul attend, + Yield not to impotence, shake off your fears, + Be steadfast, balanced, free from hate and anger, + Balanced in pleasure and pain, and active, + Yet disregarding action's fruits--be friendly, + Compassionate, forgiving, self-controlled, + Resolute, not shrinking from the world, + But mixing in its toils as fate may say; + Pure, expert, passionless, desire in leash, + Renouncing good and evil, to friend and foe, + In fame and ignominy destitute + Of that attachment which disturbs the vision + And labor of the soul. By these to fix + Eyes undistracted on me, the supreme + And Sole Reality. And O remember + Thou soul, thou shalt not sin who workest through + Thy Karma as its nature may command. + Strive with thy sin and it shall make the muscles, + And strength to take thee to another height. + But cleave to the practice of thy soul forever, + Also to wisdom better still than practice, + To meditation, better still than wisdom, + To renunciation, better than meditation, + Beholding Me in all things, in all things + Me who would have you peace of soul attain, + And soul's perfection. + + Well, I say here lies + Profounder truth and purer than the words + That Jesus spoke. Let's take forgiveness: + Forgive your enemies, he said, and bless + Them even that hate you. What did Jesus do? + Did he forgive the thief upon the cross, + Who railed at him? He did forgive the hands + Who crucified him, but he had a reason: + They knew not what they did; well, as for that + Who knows the thing he does? Did he forgive + Judas Iscariot? Did he forgive + Poor Peter by specific words? You see + In instances like these the idealist, + Passionate and inexorable who sets up + His soul against the world, but do you see + The esoteric wisdom which takes note + Of the soul's health, just for the sake of health, + And leaves the outward recompense alone? + + Yes, what has Jesus done but make a realm + Of outward law and force to strain and bind + The sons of men to this thing and to that, + Bring the fanatic and the dogmatist + In every neighborhood in America. + And radical with axes after trees, + And clergymen with curses on the fig trees? + And even bring this Kaiser and his dream + Of God's will in him to destroy his foes, + And launch the war therefor, to make his realm + And Christian culture paramount in time. + When all the while 'tis clear life does not yield + Proof positive of exoteric things. + Why the great truth of life is this, I think: + The soul has freedom to create its world + Of beauty, truth, to make the world as truth + Or beauty, build philosophies, religions, + And live by them, through them. It does not matter + Whether they're true, the significant thing is this: + The soul has freedom to create, to take + The void of unintelligible air, or thought + The world at large, and of it make the food, + Impulse and meaning for its life. I say + Life is for nothing else, truth is not ours; + That only ours which we create, by which + We live and grow, and so we come again + By this path of my own to India. + + What shall we do, you ask, if business dies, + If the western world, the world for socialism + Lops off its leaves and branches, and the sap + Is thrown back in the trunk unused, or if + This light upon the lotus quiets us + And makes us mind entirely? Well, I say, + Men have not lived, enjoyed enough before. + Our strength has gone to get the means for strength. + We roll the rock of business up, and see + The rock roll down, and roll it up again. + And if the new day does not give us work + In finding what our minds are, how to use them, + And how to live more beautifully, I miss + A guess I often make. + + But now to close: + Only the blind have failed to see how truly + This Elenor Murray worked her Karma out. + And how she put forth strength to cure her weakness, + And went her vital way, and toiled and died. + Peace to all worlds, and peace to Elenor Murray. + + * * * * * + + The coroner had heard that Elenor Murray + Once crossed the Arctic Circle. What of that? + She traveled, it was proved. What happened there? + What hunter after secrets could find out? + But on a day the name of Elenor Murray + Is handled by two men who sit and talk + In Fairbanks, and the talk is in these words: + + + + +AT FAIRBANKS + + + Bill, look here! Here's the _Times_. You see this picture, + Read if you like a little later. You never + Heard how I came to Fairbanks, chanced to stay. + It's eight years now. You see in nineteen eleven + I lived in Hammond, Indiana, thought + I'd like a trip, see mountains, see Alaska, + Perhaps find fortune or a woman--well + You know from your experience how it is. + It was July and from the train I saw + The Canadian Rockies, stopped at Banff a day, + At Lake Louise, and so forth. At Vancouver + Found travelers feasting, Englishmen in drink, + Flirtations budding, coming into flower; + And eager spirits waiting for the boat. + Up to this time I hadn't made a friend, + Stalked silently about along the streets, + Drank Scotch like all the rest, as much besides. + + Well, then we took the steamship _Princess Alice_ + And started up the Inland Channel--great! + Got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal + Cradles of the north, began at once + To find the mystery, silence, see clear stars, + The whites and blacks and greens along the shores. + And still I had no friend, was quite alone. + Just as I came on deck I saw a face, + Looked, stared perhaps. Her eyes went over me, + Would not look at me. At the dinner table + She sat far down from me, I could not see her, + But made a point to rise when she arose, + Did all I could to catch her eye--no use. + So things went and I gave up--still I wondered + Why she had no companion. Was she married? + Was husband waiting her, at Skagway?--well + I fancied something of the sort, at last, + And as I said, gave up. + + But on a morning + I rose to see the sun rise, all the sky + First as a giant pansy, petals flung + In violet toward the zenith streaked with fire; + The silver of the snows change under light, + Mottled with shadows of the mountain tops + Like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn. + At last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven, + The sun just peeks and gilds the porcelain + Of snow with purest gold. And in the valleys + Darkness remains, Orician ebony + Is not more black. You've seen this too, I know, + And recognize my picture. There I stood, + Believed I was alone, then heard a voice, + "Is it not beautiful?" and looked around, + And saw my girl, who had avoided me, + Would not make friends before. This is her picture, + Name, Elenor Murray. So the matter started. + I had my seat at table changed and sat + Next to my girl to talk with her. We walked + The deck together. Then she said to me + Her home was in Chicago, so it is + Travelers abroad discover they are neighbors + When they are home. She had been teaching school, + And saved her money for this trip, had planned + To go as far as Fairbanks. As for me, + I thought I'd stop with Skagway--Oh this life! + Your hat blows off, you chase it, bump a woman, + Then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted, + And marry later. + + As we steamed along + She was the happiest spirit on the deck. + The Wrangell Narrows almost drove her wild, + There where the mountains are like circus tents, + Big show, menagerie and all the rest, + But white as cotton with perennial snow. + We swum past aisles of pine trees where a stream + Rushed down in terraces of hoary foam. + The nights were glorious. We drank and ate + And danced when there was dancing. + + Well, at first, + She seemed a little school ma'am, quaint, demure, + Meticulous and puritanical. + And then she seemed a school ma'am out to have + A time, so far away, where none would know, + And like a woman who had heard of life + And had a teasing interest in its wonder, + Too long caged up. At last my vision blurred: + I did not know her, lost my first impressions + Amid succeeding phases which she showed. + + But when we came to Skagway, then I saw + Another Elenor Murray. How she danced + And tripped from place to place--such energy! + She almost wore me out with seeing sights. + But now behold! The White Pass she must see + Upon the principle of missing nothing-- + But oh the grave of "Soapy" Smith, the outlaw, + The gambler and the heeler, that for her! + We went four miles and found the cemetery, + The grave of "Soapy" Smith.--Came back to town + Where she would see the buildings where they played + Stud poker, Keno, in the riotous days. + Time came for her to go. She looked at me + And said "Come on to Fairbanks." As for that, + I'd had enough, was ready to return, + But sensed an honorarium, so I said, + "You might induce me," with a pregnant tone. + That moment we were walking 'cross the street, + She stopped a moment, shook from head to heels, + And said, "No man has talked to me that way." + I dropped the matter. She renewed it--said, + "Why do you hurry back? What calls you back? + Come on to Fairbanks, see the gardens there, + That tag the blizzards with their rosy hands + And romp amid the snows." She smiled at me. + Well, then I thought--why not? And smiled her back, + And on we went to Fairbanks, where my hat + Blows off, as I shall tell you. + + For a day + We did the town together, and that night + I thought to win her. First we dined together, + Had many drinks, my little school ma'am drank + Of everything I ordered, had a place + For more than I could drink. And truth to tell + At bed time I was woozy, ten o'clock. + We had not registered. And so I said, + "I'm Mr. Kelly and you're Mrs. Kelly." + She shook her head. And so to make an end + I could not win her, signed my name in full; + She did the same, we said good night and parted. + + Next morning when I woke, felt none too good, + Got up at last and met her down at breakfast; + Tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee; + Got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand + Upon my head and said, "Your head is hot, + You have a fever." Well, I lolled around + And tried to fight it off till noon--no good. + By this time I was sick, lay down to rest. + By night I could not lift my head--in short, + I lay there for a month, and all the time + She cared for me just like a mother would. + They moved me to a suite, she took the room + That opened into mine, by night and day + She nursed me, cheered me, read to me. At last + When I sat up, was soon to be about, + She said to me, "I'm going on to Nome, + St. Michael first. They tell me that you cross + The Arctic Circle going to St. Michael, + And I must cross the Arctic Circle--think + To come this far and miss it. I must see + The Indian villages." And there again + I saw, but clearer than before, the spirit + Adventuresome and restless, what you call + The heart American. I said to her, + "I'm not too well, I'm lonely,--yes, and more-- + I'm fond of you, you have been good to me, + Stay with me here.--She darted in and out + The room where I was lying, doing things, + And broke my pleadings just like icicles + You shoot against a wall. + + But here she was, + A month in Fairbanks, living at expense, + Said "I am short of money--lend me some, + I'll go to Nome, return to you and then + We'll ship together for the States." + + You see + I really owed her money for her care, + Her loss in staying--then I loved the girl, + Had played all cards but one--I played it now: + "Come back and marry me." Her eyes looked down. + "I will be fair with you," she said, "and think. + Away from you I can make up my mind + If I have love enough to marry you." + I gave her money and she went away, + And for some weeks I had a splendid hell + Of loneliness and longing, you might know, + A stranger in Alaska, here in Fairbanks, + In love besides, and mulling in my mind + Our days and nights upon the steamer _Alice_, + Our ramblings in the Northland. + + Weeks went by, + No letter and no girl. I found my health + Was vigorous again. One morning walking + I kicked a twenty dollar gold piece up + Right on the side-walk. Picked it up and said: + "An omen of good luck, a letter soon! + Perhaps this town has something for me!" Well, + I thought I'd get a job to pass the time + While waiting for my girl. I got the job + And here I am to-day; I've flourished here, + Worked to the top in Fairbanks in eight years, + And thus my hat blew off. + + What of the girl? + Six weeks or more a letter came from her, + She crossed the Arctic Circle, went to Nome, + Sailed back to 'Frisco where she wrote to me. + Sent all the money back I loaned to her, + And thanked me for the honor I had done her + In asking her in marriage, but had thought + The matter over, could not marry me, + Thought in the circumstances it was useless + To come to Fairbanks, see me, tell me so. + + Now, Bill, I'm egotist enough to think + This girl could do no better. Now it seems + She's dead and never married--why not me? + Why did she ditch me? So I thought about it, + Was piqued of course, concluded in the end + There was another man. A woman's no + Means she has someone else, expects to have, + More suited to her fancy. Then one morning + As I awoke with thoughts of her as usual + Right in my mind there plumped an incident + On shipboard when she asked me if I knew + A certain man in Chicago. At the time + The question passed amid our running talk, + And made no memory. But you watch and see + A woman when she asks you if you know + A certain man, the chances are the man + Is something in her life. So now I lay + And thought there is a man, and that's the man; + His name is stored away, I'll dig it up + Out of the cells subliminal--so I thought + But could not bring it back. + + I found at last + The telephone directory of Chicago, + And searched and searched the names from A to Z. + Some mornings would pronounce a name and think + That is the name, then throw the name away-- + It did not fit the echo in my brain. + + But now at last--look here! Eight years are gone, + I'm healed of Elenor Murray, married too; + And read about her death here in the _Times_, + And turn the pages over--column five-- + Chicago startled by a suicide-- + Gregory Wenner kills himself--behold + The name, at last, she spoke! + + * * * * * + + So much for waters in Alaska. Now + Turn eyes upon the waters nearer home. + Anton Sosnowski has a fateful day + And Winthrop Marion runs the story down, + And learns Sosnowski read the _Times_ the day, + He broke from brooding to a dreadful deed; + Sosnowski saw the face of Elenor Murray + And Rufus Fox upon the self-same page, + And afterwards was known to show a clipping + Concerning Elenor Murray and the banner + Of Joan of Arc, the words she wrote and folded + Within the banner: to be brave, nor flinch. + + + + +ANTON SOSNOWSKI + + + Anton Sosnowski, from the Shakspeare School + Where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts, + The day now done, sits by a smeared up table + Munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him + The evening paper spread, held down or turned + By claw-like hands, covered with shiny scars. + He broods upon the war news, and his fate + Which keeps him from the war, looks up and sees + His scarred face in the mirror over the wainscot; + His lashless eyes and browless brows and head + With patches of thin hair. And then he mutters + Hot curses to himself and turns the paper + And curses Germany, and asks revenge + For Poland's wrongs. + + And what is this he sees? + The picture of his ruin and his hate, + Wert Rufus Fox! This leader of the bar + Is made the counselor of the city, now + The city takes gas, cars and telephones + And runs them for the people. So this man + Grown rich through machinations against the people, + Who fought the people all his life before, + Abettor, aider, thinker for the slickers + Regraters and forestallers and engrossers, + Is now the friend, adviser of the city, + Which he so balked and thwarted, growing rich, + Feared, noted, bowed to for the very treason + For which he is so hated, yet deferred to. + + And Anton looks upon the picture, reads + About the great man's ancestry here printed, + And all the great achievements of his life; + Once president of the bar association, + And member of this club and of that club. + Contributor to charities and art, + A founder of a library, a vestryman. + And Anton looks upon the picture, trembles + Before the picture's eyes. They are the eyes + Of Innocent the Tenth, with cruelty + And cunning added--eyes that see all things + And boulder jaws that crush all things--the jaws + That place themselves at front of drifts, are placed + By that world irony which mocks the good, + And gives the glory and the victory + To strength and greed. + + Anton Sosnowski looks + Long at the picture, then at his own hands, + And laughs maniacally as he takes the mug + With both hands like a bird with frozen claws, + These broken, burned off hands which handle bread + As they were wooden rakes. And in a mirror + Beside the table in the wall, smeared over + With steam from red-hots, kraut and cookery, + Of smoking fats, fixed by the dust in blurs, + And streaks, he sees his own face, horrible + For scars and splotches as of leprosy; + The eyes that have no lashes and no brows; + The bullet head that has no hair, the ears + Burnt off at top. + + So comes it to this Pole + Who sees beside the picture of the lawyer + The clear cut face of Elenor Murray--yes, + She gave her spirit to the war, is dead, + Her life is being sifted now. But Fox + Lives for more honors, and by honors covers + His days of evil. + + Thus Sosnowski broods, + And lives again that moment of hell when fire + Burst like a geyser from a vat where gas + Had gathered in his ignorance; being sent + To light a drying stove within the vat, + A work not his, who was the engineer. + The gas exploded as he struck the match, + And like an insect fixed upon a pin + And held before a flame, hands, face and body + Were burned and broken as his body shot + Up and against the brewery wall. What next? + The wearisome and tangled ways of courts + With Rufus Fox for foe, four trials in all + Where juries disagreed who heard the law + Erroneously given by the court. + At last a verdict favorable, and a court + Sitting above the forum where he won + To say, as there's no evidence to show + Just how the gas got in the vat, Sosnowski + Must go for life with broken hands unhelped. + And that the fact alone of gas therein + Though naught to show his fault had brought it there, + The mere explosion did not speak a fault + Against the brewery. + + Out from court he went + To use a broom with crumpled hands, and look + For life in mirrors at his ghastly face. + And brood until suspicion grew to truth + That Rufus Fox had compassed juries, courts; + And read of Rufus Fox, who day by day + Was featured in the press for noble deeds, + For Art or Charity, for notable dinners, + Guests, travels and what not. + + So now the Pole + Reading of Elenor Murray, cursed himself + That he could brood and wait--for what?--and grow + More weak of will for brooding, while this woman + Had gone to war and served and ended it, + Yet he lived on, and could not go to war; + Saw only days of sweeping with these hands, + And every day his face within the mirror, + And every afternoon this glass of beer, + And coarse bread, and these thoughts. + And every day some story to arouse + His sense of justice; how the generous + Give and pass on, and how the selfish live + And gather honors. But Sosnowski thought + If I could do a flaming thing to show + What courts are ours, what matter if I die? + What if they took their quick-lime and erased + My flesh and bones, expunged my very name, + And made its syllables forbidden?--still + If I brought in a new day for the courts, + Have I not served? he thought. Sosnowski rose + And to the bar, drank whiskey, then went out. + + That afternoon Elihu Rufus Fox + Came home to dress for a dinner to be given + For English notables in town--to rest + After a bath, and found himself alone, + His wife at Red Cross work. And there alone, + Collarless, lounging, in a comfort chair, + Poring on Wordsworth's poems--all at once + Before he hears the door turned, rather feels + A foot-fall and a presence, hears too soon + A pistol shot, looks up and sees Sosnowski, + Who fires again, but misses; grabs the man, + Disarms him, flings him down, and finding blood + Upon his shirt sleeve, sees his hand is hit, + No other damage--then the pistol takes, + And covering Sosnowski, looks at him. + And after several seconds gets the face + Which gradually comes forth from memories + Of many cases, knows the man at last. + And studying Sosnowski, Rufus Fox + Divines what drove the fellow to this deed. + And in these moments Rufus Fox beholds + His life and work, and how he made the law + A thing to use, how he had builded friendships + In clubs and churches, courted politicians, + And played with secret powers, and compromised + Causes and truths for power and capital + To draw on as a lawyer, so to win + Favorable judgments when his skill was hired + By those who wished to win, who had to win + To keep the social order undisturbed + And wealth where it was wrenched to. + + And Rufus Fox + Knew that this trembling wreck before him knew + About this course of life at making law + And using law, and using those who sit + To administer the law. And then he said: + "Why did you do this?" + + And Sosnowski spoke: + "I meant to kill you--where's your right to live + When millions have been killed to make the world + A safer place for liberty? Where's your right + To live and have more honors, be the man + To guide the city, now that telephones, + Gas, railways have been taken by the city? + I meant to kill you just to help the poor + Who go to court. For had I killed you here + My story would be known, no matter if + They buried me in lime, and made my name + A word no man could speak. Now I have failed. + And since you have the pistol, point it at me + And kill me now--for if you tell the world + You killed me in defense of self, the world + Will never doubt you, for the world believes you + And will not doubt your word, whatever it is." + + And Rufus Fox replied: "Your mind is turned + For thinking of your case, when you should know + This country is a place of laws, and law + Must have its way, no matter who is hurt. + Now I must turn you over to the courts, + And let you feel the hard hand of the law." + Just then the wife of Rufus Fox came in, + And saw her husband with his granite jaws, + And lowering countenance, blood on his shirt, + The pistol in his hand, the scarred Sosnowski, + Facing the lawyer. + + Seeing that her husband + Had no wound but a hand clipped of the skin, + And learning what the story was, she saw + It was no time to let Sosnowski's wrong + Come out to cloud the glory of her husband, + Now that in a new day he had come to stand + With progress, fairer terms of life--to let + The corpse of a dead day be brought beside + The fresh and breathing life of brighter truth. + Quickly she called the butler, gave him charge + Over Sosnowski, who was taken out, + Held in the kitchen, while the two conferred, + The husband and the wife. + + To him she said, + They two alone now: "I can see your plan + To turn this fellow over to the law. + It will not do, my dear, it will not do. + For though I have been sharer in your life, + Partaker of its spoils and fruits, I see + This man is just a ghost of a dead day + Of your past life, perhaps, in which I shared. + But that dead life I would not resurrect + In memory even, it has passed us by, + You shall not live it more, no more shall I. + The war has changed the world--the harvest coming + Will have its tares no doubt, but the old tares + Have been cut out and burned, wholly, I trust. + And just to think you used that sharpened talent + For getting money, place, in the old regime, + To place you where to-day? Why, where you must + Use all your talents for the common good. + A barter takes two parties, and the traffic + Whereby the giants of the era gone-- + (You are a giant rising on the wreck + Of programs and of plots)--made riches for + Themselves and those they served, is gone as well. + Since gradually no one is left to serve + Or have an interest but the state or city, + The community which is all and should be all. + So here you are at last despite yourself, + Changed not in mind perhaps, but changed in place, + Work, interest, taking pride too in the work; + And speaking with your outer mind, at least + Praise for the day and work. + + I am at fault, + And take no virtue to myself--I lived + Your life with you and coveted the things + Your labors brought me. All is changed for me. + I would be poorer than this wretched Pole + Rather than go back to the day that's dead, + Or reassume the moods I lived them through. + What can we do now to undo the past, + Those days of self-indulgence, ostentation, + False prestige, witless pride, that waste of time, + Money and spirit, haunted by ennui + Insatiable emotion, thirst for change. + At least we can do this: We can set up + The race's progress and our country's glory + As standards for our work each day, go on + Perhaps in ignorance, misguided faith; + And let the end approve our poor attempts. + Now to begin, I ask two things of you: + If you or anyone who did your will + Wronged this poor Pole, make good the wrong at once. + And for the sake of bigness let him go. + For your own name's sake, let the fellow go. + Do you so promise me?" + + And Rufus Fox, + Who looked a thunder cloud of wrath and power + Before the mirror tying his white tie, + All this time silent--only spoke these words: + "Go tell the butler to keep guard on him + And hold him till we come from dinner." + + The wife + Looked at the red black face of Rufus Fox + There in the mirror, which like Lao's mirror + Reflected what his mind was, then went out + Gently to her bidding, found Sosnowski + Laughing and talking with the second maid, + Watched over by the butler, quite himself, + His pent up anger half discharged, his grudge + In part relieved. + + There was a garrulous ancient at LeRoy + Who traced all evils to monopoly + In land, all social cures to single tax. + He tried to button-hole the coroner + And tell him what he thought of Elenor Murray. + But Merival escaped. And then this man, + Consider Freeland named, got in a group + And talked his mind out of the case, the land + And what makes poverty and waste in lives: + + + + +CONSIDER FREELAND + + + Look at that tract of land there--five good acres + Held out of use these thirty years and more. + They keep a cow there. See! the cow's there now. + She can't eat up the grass, there is so much. + And in these thirty years these houses here, + Here, all around here have been built. This lot + Is worth five times the worth it had before + These houses were built round it. + + Well, by God, + I am in part responsible for this. + I started out to be a first rate lawyer. + Was I first rate lawyer? Well, I won + These acres for the Burtons in the day + When I could tell you what is gavel kind, + Advowsons, corodies, frank tenements, + Scutage, escheats, feoffments, heriots, + Remainders and reversions, and mortmain, + Tale special and tale general, tale female, + Fees absolute, conditional, copyholds; + And used to stand and argue with the courts + The difference 'twixt a purchase, limitation, + The rule in Shelley's case. + + And so it was + In my good days I won these acres here + For old man Kingston's daughter, who in turn + Bound it with limitation for the life + Of selfish sons, who keep a caretaker, + Who keeps a cow upon it. There's the cow! + The land has had no use for thirty years. + The children are kept off it. Elenor Murray, + This girl whose death makes such a stir, one time + Was playing there--but that's another story. + I only say for the present, these five acres + Made Elenor Murray's life a thing of waste + As much as anything, and a damn sight more. + For think a minute! + + Kingston had a daughter + Married to Colonel Burton in Kentucky. + And Kingston's son was in the Civil War. + But just before the war, the Burtons deeded + These acres here, which she inherited + From old man Kingston, to this Captain Kingston, + The son aforesaid of Old Kingston. Well, + The deed upon its face was absolute, + But really was a deed in trust. + + The Captain + Held title for a year or two, and then + An hour before he fought at Shiloh, made + A will, and willed acres to his wife, + Fee simple and forever. Now you'd think + That contemplating death, he'd make a deed + Giving these acres back to Mrs. Burton, + The sister who had trusted him. I don't know + What comes in people's heads, but I believe + The want of money is the root of evil, + As well as love of money; for this Captain + Perhaps would make provision for his wife + And infant son, thought that the chiefest thing + No matter how he did it, being poor, + Willed this land as he did. But anyway + He willed it so, went into Shiloh's battle, + And fell dead on the field. + + What happened then? + They took this will to probate. As I said + I was a lawyer then, you may believe it, + Was hired by the Burtons to reclaim + These acres from the Widow Kingston's clutch, + Under this wicked will. And so I argued + The will had not been witnessed according to law. + Got beat upon that point in the lower court, + But won upon it in the upper courts. + Then next I filed a bill to set aside + This deed the Burtons made to Captain Kingston-- + Oh, I was full of schemes, expedients, + In those days, I can tell you. Widow Kingston + Came back and filed a cross bill, asked the court + To confirm the title in her son and her + As heirs of Captain Kingston, let the will + Go out of thought and reckoning. Here's the issue; + You understand the case, no doubt. We fought + Through all the courts. I lost in the lower court, + As I lost on the will. There was the deed: + For love and affection and one dollar we + Convey and warrant lots from one to ten + In the city of LeRoy, to Captain Kingston + To be his own forever. + + How to go + Behind such words and show the actual trust + Inhering in the deed, that was the job. + But here I was resourceful as before, + Found witnesses to testify they heard + This Captain Kingston say he held the acres + In trust for Mrs. Burton--but I lost + Before the chancellor, had to appeal, + But won on the appeal, and thus restored + These acres to the Burtons. And for this + What did I get? Three hundred lousy dollars. + That's why I smoke a pipe; that's also why + I quit the business when I saw the business + Was making ready to quit me. By God, + My life is waste so far as it was used + By this law business, and no coroner + Need hold an inquest on me to find out + What waste was in my life--God damn the law! + + Well, then I go my way, and take my fee, + And pay my bills. The Burtons have the land, + And turn a cow upon it. See how nice + A playground it would be. I've seen ten sets + Of children try to play there--hey! you hear, + The caretaker come out, get off of there! + And then the children scamper, climb the fence. + + Well, after while the Burtons die. The will + Leaves these five acres to their sons for life, + Remainder to the children of the sons. + The sons are living yet at middle life, + These acres have been tied up twenty years, + They may be tied up thirty years beside: + The sons can't sell it, and their children can't, + Only the cow can use it, as it stands. + It grows more valuable as the people come here, + And bring in being Elenor Murrays, children, + And make the land around it populous. + That's what makes poverty, this holding land, + It makes the taxes harder on the poor, + It makes work scarcer, and it takes your girls + And boys and throws them into life half made, + Half ready for the battle. Is a country + Free where the laws permit such things? Your priests, + Your addle-headed preachers mouthing Christ + And morals, prohibition, laws to force + People to be good, to save the girls, + When every half-wit knows environment + Takes natures, made unstable in these homes + Of poverty and does the trick. + + That baronet + Who mocked our freedom, sailing back for England + And said: Your Liberty Statue in the harbor + Is just a joke, that baronet is right, + While such conditions thrive. + + Well, look at me + Who for three hundred dollars take a part + In making a cow pasture for a cow + For fifty years or so. I hate myself. + And were the Burtons better than this Kingston? + Kingston would will away what was not his. + The Burtons took what is the gift of God, + As much as air, and fenced it out of use-- + Save for the cow aforesaid--for the lives + Of sons in being. + + Oh, I know you think + I have a grudge. I have. + + This Elenor Murray + Was ten years old I think, this law suit ended + Twelve years or so, and I was running down, + Was tippling just a little every day; + And I came by this lot one afternoon + When school was out, a sunny afternoon. + The children had no place except the street + To play in; they were standing by the fence, + The cow was way across the lot, and Elenor + Was looking through the fence, some boys and girls + Standing around her, and I said to them: + "Why don't you climb the fence and play in there?" + And Elenor--she always was a leader, + And not afraid of anything, said: "Come on," + And in a jiffy climbed the fence, the children, + Some quicker and some slower, followed her. + Some said "They don't allow it." Elenor + Stood on the fence, flung up her arms and crowed, + And said "What can they do? He says to do it," + Pointing at me. And in a moment all of them + Were playing and were shouting in the lot. + And I stood there and watched them half malicious, + And half in pleasure watching them at play. + Then I heard "hey!" the care-taker ran out. + And said "Get out of there, I will arrest you." + He drove them out and as they jumped the fence + Some said, "He told us to," pointing at me. + And Elenor Murray said "Why, what a lie!" + And then the care-taker grabbed Elenor Murray + And said, "You are the wildest of them all." + I spoke up, saying, "Leave that child alone. + I won this God damn land for those you serve, + They use it for a cow and nothing else, + And let these children run about the streets, + When there are grass and dandelions there + In plenty for these children, and the cow, + And space enough to play in without bothering + That solitary cow." I took his hands + Away from Elenor Murray; he and I + Came face to face with clenched fists--but at last + He walked away; the children scampered off. + + Next day, however, they arrested me + For aiding in a _trespass clausam fregit_, + And fined me twenty dollars and the costs. + Since then the cow has all her way in there. + And Elenor Murray left this rotten place, + Went to the war, came home and died, and proved + She had the sense to leave so vile a world. + + * * * * * + + George Joslin ending up his days with dreams + Of youth in Europe, travels, and with talk, + Stirred to a recollection of a face + He saw in Paris fifty years before, + Because the face resembled Elenor Murray's, + Explored his drawers and boxes, where he kept + Mementos, treasures of the olden days. + And found a pamphlet, came to Merival, + With certain recollections, and with theories + Of Elenor Murray:-- + + + + +GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN + + + Here, Coroner Merival, look at this picture! + Whom does it look like? Eyes too crystalline, + A head like Byron's, tender mouth, and neck, + Slender and white, a pathos as of smiles + And tears kept back by courage. Yes, you know + It looks like Elenor Murray. + + Well, you see + I read each day about the inquest--good! + Dig out the truth, begin a system here + Of making family records, let us see + If we can do for people when we know + How best to do it, what is done for stock. + So build up Illinois, the nation too. + I read about you daily. And last night + When Elenor Murray's picture in the _Times_ + Looked at me, I began to think, Good Lord, + Where have I seen that face before? I thought + Through more than fifty years departed, sent + My mind through Europe and America + In all my travels, meetings, episodes. + I could not think. At last I opened up + A box of pamphlets, photographs, mementos, + Picked up since 1860, and behold + I find this pamphlet of La Belle Menken. + Here is your Elenor Murray born again, + As here might be your blackbird of this year + With spots of red upon his wings, the same + As last year's blackbird, like a pansy springing + Out of the April of this year, repeating + The color, form of one you saw last year. + Repeating and the same, but not the same; + No two alike, you know. I'll come to that. + + Well, then, La Menken--as a boy in Paris + I saw La Menken, I'll return to this. + But just as Elenor Murray has her life + Shadowed and symbolized by our Starved Rock-- + And everyone has something in his life + Which takes him, makes him, is the image too + Of fate prefigured--La Menken has Mazeppa, + Her notable first part as actress, emblem + Of spirit, character, and of omen too + Of years to come, the thrill of life, the end. + + Who is La Menken? Symbol of America, + One phase of spirit! She was venturesome, + Resourceful, daring, hopeful, confident, + And as she wrote of self, a vagabond, + A dweller in tents, a reveler, and a flame + Aspiring but disreputable, coming up + With leaves that shamed her stalk, could not be shed, + But stuck out heavy veined and muddy hued + In time of blossom. There are souls, you know, + Who have shed shapeless immaturities, + Betrayals of the seed before the blossom + Comes to proclaim a beauty, a perfection; + Or risen with their stalk, until such leaves + Were hidden in the grass or soil--not she, + Nor even your Elenor Murray, as I read her. + But being America and American, + Brings good and bad together, blossom and leaves + With prodigal recklessness, in vital health + And unselective taste and vision mixed + Of beauty and of truth. + + Who was La Menken? + She's born in Louisiana in thirty-five, + Left fatherless at seven--mother takes her + And puts her in the ballet at New Orleans. + She dances then from Texas clear to Cuba; + Then gives up dancing, studies tragedy, + And plays Bianca! Fourteen years of age + Weds Menken, who's a Jew, divorced from him; + Then falls in love with Heenan, pugilist. + They quarrel and separate--it's in this pamphlet + Just as I tell you; you can take it, Coroner. + Now something happens, nothing in her birth + Or place of birth to prophesy her life + Like Starved Rock to this Elenor--being grown, + A hand instead is darted from the curtain + That hangs between to-day, to-morrow, sticks + A symbol on her heart and whispers to her: + You're this, my woman. Well, the thing was this: + She played Mazeppa: take your dummy off, + And lash me to the horse. They were afraid, + But she prevailed, was nearly killed the first night, + And after that succeeded, was the rage + And for her years remaining found herself + Lashed to the wild horse of ungoverned will, + Which ran and wandered, till she knew herself + With stronger will than vision, passion stronger + Than spirit to judge; the richness of the world, + Love, beauty, living, greater than her power. + And all the time she had the appetite + To eat, devour it all. Grown sick at last, + She diagnosed her case, wrote to a friend: + The soul and body do not fit each other-- + A human spirit in a horse's flesh. + This is your Elenor Murray, in a way. + But to return to pansies, run your hand + Over a bed of pansies; here's a pansy + With petals stunted, here's another one + All perfect but one petal, here's another + Too streaked or mottled--all are pansies though. + And here is one full petaled, strikes the eye + With perfect color, markings. Elenor Murray + Has something of the color and the form + Of this La Menken, but is less a pansy, + And Sappho, Rachel, Bernhardt are the flowers + La Menken strove to be, and could not be, + Ended with being only of their kind. + And now there's pity for this Elenor Murray, + And people wept when poor La Menken died. + Both lived and had their way. I hate this pity, + It makes you overlook there are two hours: + The hour of joy, the hour of finding out + Your joy was all mistake, or led to pain. + We who inspect these lives behold the pain, + And see the error, do not keep in mind + The hour of rapture, and the pride, indeed + With which your Elenor Murrays and La Menkens + Have lived that hour, elation, pride and scorn + For any other way--"this is the life" + I hear them say. + + Well, now I go along. + La Menken fills her purse with gold--she sends + Her pugilist away, tries once again + And weds a humorist, an Orpheus Kerr-- + And plays before the miners out in 'Frisco, + And Sacramento, gathers in the eagles. + She goes to Europe then--with husband? No! + James Barkley is her fellow on the voyage. + She lands in London, takes a gorgeous suite + In London's grandest hostlery, entertains + Charles Dickens, Prince Baerto and Charles Read, + The Duke of Wellington and Swinburne, Sand + And Jenny Lind; and has a liveried coachman; + And for a crest a horse's head surmounting + Four aces, if you please. And plays Mazeppa, + And piles the money up. + + Then next is Paris. + And there I saw her, 1866, + When Louis Napoleon and the King of Greece, + The Prince Imperial were in a box. + + She wandered to Vienna, there was ill, + Came back to Paris, died, a stranger's grave + In Pere la Chaise was given, afterwards + Exhumed in Mont Parnasse was buried, got + A little stone with these words carved upon it: + "Thou Knowest" meaning God knew, while herself + Knew nothing of herself. + + But when in Paris + They sold her picture taken with her arms + Around Dumas, and photographs made up + Of postures ludicrous, obscene as well, + Of her and great Dumas, I have them home. + Can show you sometime. Well she loved Dumas, + Inscribed a book of poems to Charles Dickens, + By his permission, mark you--don't you see + Your Elenor Murray here? This Elenor Murray + A miniature imperfect of La Menken? + She loved sensation, all her senses thrilled her; + A delicate soul too weighted by the flesh; + A coquette, quick of wit, intuitive, + Kind, generous, unaffected, mystical, + Teased by the divine in life, and melancholy, + Of deep emotion sometimes. One has said + She had a nature spiritual, religious + Which warred upon the flesh and fell in battle; + Just as your Elenor Murray joined the church, + And did not keep the faith, if truth be told. + + Now look, here is a letter in this pamphlet + La Menken writes a poet--for she hunts + For seers and for poets, lofty souls. + And who does that? A woman wholly bad? + Why no, a woman to be given life + Fit for her spirit in another realm + By God who will take notice, I believe. + Now listen if you will! "I know your soul. + It has met mine somewhere in starry space. + And you must often meet me, vagabond + Of fancy without aim, a dweller in tents + Disreputable before the just. Just think + I am a linguist, write some poems too, + Can paint a little, model clay as well. + And yet for all these gropings of my soul + I am a vagabond, of little use. + My body and my soul are in a scramble + And do not fit each other--let them carve + Those words upon my stone, but also these + Thou Knowest, for God knows me, knows I love + Whatever is good and beautiful in life; + And that my soul has sought them without rest. + Farewell, my friend, my spirit is with you, + Vienna is too horrible, but know Paris + Then die content." + + Now, Coroner Merival, + You're not the only man who wants to see, + Will work to make America a republic + Of splendors, freedoms, happiness, success. + Though I am seventy-six, cannot do much, + Save talk, as I am talking now, bring forth + Proofs, revelations from the years I've lived. + I care not how you view the lives of people, + As pansy beds or what not, lift your faith + So high above the pansy bed it sees + The streaked and stunted pansies filling in + The pattern that the perfect pansies outline, + Therefore are smiling, even indifferent + To this poor conscious pansy, dying at last + Because it could not be the flower it wished. + My heart to Elenor Murray and La Menken + Goes out in sorrow, even while I know + They shook their leaves in April, laughed and thrilled, + And either did not know, or did not care + The growing time was precious, and if wasted + Could never be regained. Look at La Menken + At seven years put in the ballet corps; + And look at Elenor Murray getting smut + Out of experience that made her wise. + What shall we do about it?--let it go? + And say there is no help, or say a republic, + Set up a hundred years ago, raised to the helm + Of rulership as president a list + Of men more able than the emperors, + Kings, rulers of the world, and statesmen too + The equal of the greatest, money makers, + And domineers of finance and economies + Phenomenal in time--say, I repeat + A country like this one must let its children + Waste as they wasted in the darker years + Of Europe. Shall we let these trivial minds + Who see salvation, progress in restraint, + Pre-empt the field of moulding human life? + Or shall we take a hand, and put our minds + Upon the task, as recently we built + An army for the war, equipped and fed it, + An army better than all other armies, + More powerful, more apt of hand and brain, + Of thin tall youths, who did stop but said + Like poor La Menken, strap me to the horse + I'll do it if I die--so giving to peace + The skill and genius which we use in war, + Though it cost twenty billion, and why not? + Why every dollar, every drop of blood + For war like this to guard democracy, + And not so much or more to build the land, + Improve our blood, make individual + America and her race? And first to rout + Poverty and disease, give youth its chance, + And therapeutic guidance. Soldier boys + Have huts for recreation, clergymen, + And is it more, less worth to furnish hands + Intimate, hearts intimate for the use + Of your La Menkens, Elenor Murrays, youths + Who feel such vigor in their restless wings + They tumble out of crowded nests and fly + To fall in thickets, dash themselves against + Walls, trees? + + I have a vision, Coroner, + Of a new Republic, brighter than the sun, + A new race, loftier faith, this land of ours + Made over as to people, boys and girls, + Conserved like forests, water power or mines; + Watched, tested, put to best use, keen economies + Practiced in spirits, waste of human life, + Hope, aspiration, talent, virtues, powers, + Avoided by a science, science of life, + Of spirit, what you will. Enough of war, + And billions for the flag--all well enough! + Some billions now to make democracy + Democracy in truth with us, and life + Not helter-skelter, hitting as it may, + And missing much, as this La Menken did. + I'm not convinced we must have stunted pansies, + That have no use but just to piece the pattern. + Let's try, and if we try and fail, why then + Our human duty ends, the God in us + Will have it just this way, no other way. + And then we may accept so poor a world, + A republic so unfinished. + + * * * * * + + Will Paget is another writer of letters + To Coroner Merival. The coroner + Spends evenings reading letters, keeps a file + Where he preserves them. And the blasphemy + Of Paget makes him laugh. He has an evening + And reads this letter to the jurymen: + + + + +WILL PAGET ON DEMOS AND HOGOS + + + To Coroner Merival, greetings, but a voice + Dissentient from much that goes the rounds, + Concerning Elenor Murray. Here's my word: + Give men and women freedom, save the land + From dull theocracy--the theo, what? + A blend of Demos and Jehovah! Say, + Bring back your despots, bring your Louis Fourteenths, + And give them thrones of gold and ivory + From where with leaded sceptres they may whack + King Demos driven forth. You know the face? + The temples are like sea shells, hollows out, + Which narrow close the space for cortex cells. + There would be little brow if hair remained; + But hair is gone, because the dandruff came. + The eyes are close together like a weasel's; + The jaws are heavy, that is character; + The mouth is thin and wide to gobble chicken; + The paunch is heavy for the chickens eaten. + Throned high upon a soap box Demos rules, + And mumbles decalogues: Thou shalt not read, + Save what I tell you, never books that tell + Of men and women as they live and are. + Thou shalt not see the dramas which portray + The evil passions and satiric moods + Which mock this Christian nation and its hope. + Thou shalt not drink, not even wine or beer. + Thou shalt not play at cards, or see the races. + Thou shalt not be divorced! Thou shalt not play. + Thou shalt not bow to graven images + Of beauty cut in marble, fused in bronze. + Behold my name is Demos, King of Kings, + My name is legion, I am many, come + Out of the sea where many hogs were drowned, + And now the ruler of hogocracy, + Where in the name of freedom hungry snouts + Root up the truffles in your great republic, + And crunch with heavy jaws the legs and arms + Of people who fall over in the pen. + Hierarchies in my name are planted under + Your states political to sprout and take + The new world's soil,--religious freedom this!-- + Thought must be free--unless your thought objects + To such dominion, and to literal faith + In an old book that never had a place + Except beside the Koran, Zarathustra. + So here is your theocracy and here + The land of Boredom. Do you wonder now + That people cry for war? You see that God + Frowns on all games but war. You shall not play + Or kindle spirit with a rapture save + A moral end's in view. All joy is sin, + Where joy stands for itself alone, nor asks + Consent to be, save for itself. But war + Waged to put down the wrong, it's always that; + To vindicate God's truths, all wars are such, + Is game that lets the spirit play, is backed + By God and moral reasons, therefore war, + A game disguised as business, cosmic work + For great millenniums, no less relieves + The boredom of theocracies. But if + Your men and women had the chance to play, + Be free and spend superfluous energies, + In what I call the greatest game, that's Life, + Have life more freely, deeply, and you say + How would you like a war and lose a leg, + Or come from battle sick for all your years? + You would say no, unless you saw an issue, + Stripped clean of Christian twaddle, as we'll say + The Greeks beheld the Persians. Well, behold + All honest paganism in such things discarded + For God who comes in glory, trampling presses + Filled up with grapes of wrath. + + Now hear me out: + I knew we'd have a war, it wasn't only + That your hogocracy was grunting war + We'd fight Japan, take Mexico--remember + How dancing flourished madly in the land; + Then think of savages who dance the Ghost Dance, + And cattle lowing, rushing in a panic, + There's psychic secrets here. But then at last + What can you do with life? You're well and strong, + Flushed with desire, mad with appetites, + You turn this way and find a sign forbidden, + You turn that way and find the door is closed. + Hogocracy, King Demos say, go back, + Find work, develop character, restrain, + Draw up your belt a little tighter, hunger + And thirst diminish with a tighter belt. + And none to say, take off the belt and eat, + Here's water for you. + + Well, you have a war. + We used to say in foot ball kick their shins, + And gouge their eyes out--when our shins were kicked + We hollered foul and ouch. There was the south + Who called us mud-sills in this freer north, + And mouthed democracy; and as for that + Their churches made of God a battle leader, + An idea come from Palestine; oh, yes, + They soon would wipe us up, they were the people. + But when we slaughtered them they hollered ouch. + And why not? For a gun and uniform, + And bands that play are rapturous enough. + But when you get a bullet through the heart, + The game is not so funny as it was. + That's why I hated Germany and hate her, + And feel we could not let this German culture + Spread over earth. That culture was but this: + Life must have an expression and a game, + And war's the game, besides the prize is great + In land and treasure, commerce, let us play, + It lets the people's passions have a vent + When fires of life burn hot and hotter under + The kettle and the lid is clamped by work, + Dull duty, daily routine, inhibitions. + Before this Elenor Murray woke to life + LeRoy was stirring, but the stir was play. + It was a Gretna Green, and pleasure boats + Ran up and down the river--on the streets + You heard the cry of barkers, in the park + The band was playing, and you heard the ring + Of registers at fountains and buffets. + All this was shabby maybe, but observe + There are those souls who see the wrath of God + As blackest background to the light of soul: + And when the thunder rumbles and the storm + Comes up with lightning then they say to men + Who laugh in bar-rooms, "Have a care, blasphemers, + You may be struck by lightning"--here's the root + From which this mood ascetic comes to leaf + In all theocracies, and throws a shadow + Upon all freedom. + + Look at us to-day. + They say to me, see what a town we have: + The men at work, smoke coming from the chimneys, + The banks full up of money, business good, + The workmen sober, going home at night, + No rowdy barkers and no bands a-playing, + No drinking and no gaming and no vice. + No marriages contracted to be broken. + Look how LeRoy is quiet, sane and clean! + And I reply, you like the stir of work, + But not the stir of play; your chimneys smoke, + Your banks have money. Let me look behind + The door that closes on your man at home, + The wife and children there, what shall I find? + A sick man looks to health as it were all, + But when the fever leaves him and he feels + The store of strength in muscles slumbering + And waiting to be used, then something else + Than health is needful, he must have a way + To voice the life within him, and he wonders + Why health seemed so desirable before, + And all sufficient to him. + + Take this girl: + Why do you marvel that she rode at night + With any man who came along? Good God, + If I were born a woman and they put me + In a theocracy, hogocracy, + I'd do the first thing that came in my mind + To give my soul expression. Don't you think + You're something of a bully and a coward + To ask such model living from this girl + When you, my grunting hogos, run the land + And bring us scandals like the times of Grant, + And poisoned beef sold to the soldier boys, + When we were warring Spain, and all this stuff + Concerning loot and plunder, malversation, + That riots in your cities, printed daily? + I roll the panoramic story out + To Washington the great--what do I see? + It's tangle foot, the sticky smear is dry; + But I can find wings, legs and heads, remember + How little flies and big were buzzing once + Of God and duty, country, virtue, faith; + And beating wings, already gummed with sweet, + Until their little bellies touched the glue, + They sought to fill their bellies with--at last + Long silence, which is history, scroll rolled up + And spoken of in sacred whispers. + + Well, + I'm glad that Elenor Murray had her fling, + If that be really true. I understand + What drove her to the war. I think she knew + Too much to marry, settle down and live + Under the rule of Demos or of Hogos. + I wish we had a dozen Elenor Murrays + In every village in this land of Demos + To down Theocracy, which is just as bad + As Prussianism, is no different + From Prussianism. And I fear but this + As fruitage of the war: that men and women + Will have burnt on their souls the words ceramic + That war's the thing, and this theocracy, + Where generous outlets for the soul are stopped + Will keep the words in mind. When boredom comes, + And grows intolerable, you'll see the land + Go forth to war to get a thrill and live-- + Unless we work for freedom, for delight + And self-expression. + + * * * * * + + Dwight Henry is another writer of letters, + Stirred by the Murray inquest; writes a screed + "The House that Jack Built," read by Merival + To entertain his jury, in these words: + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT + + + Why don't they come to me to find the cause + Of Elenor Murray's death? The house is first; + That is the world, and Jack is God, you know; + The malt is linen, purple, wine and food, + The rats that get the malt are nobles, lords, + Those who had feudal dues and hunting rights, + And privileges, first nights, all the rest. + The cats are your Voltaires, Rousseaus; the dogs, + Your jailers, Louis, Fredericks and such. + And O, you blessed cow, you common people, + Whom maidens all forlorn attend and milk. + Here is your Elenor Murray who gives hands, + Brain, heart and spirit to the task of milking, + And straining milk that other lips may drink, + Revive and flourish, wedding, if she weds, + The tattered man in church, which is your priest + Shaven and shorn, and wakened with the sun + By the cock, theology that keeps the house + Well timed and ruled for honor unto Jack, + Who must have order, rising on the hour, + And ceremony for his house. + + If rats + Had never lived, or left the malt alone, + This girl had lived. Let's trace the story down: + We went to France to fight, we go to France + To get the origin of Elenor's death. + It's 1750, say, the malt of France + And Europe, too, is over-run by rats; + The nobles and the clergy own the land, + Exact the taxes, drink the luscious milk + Of the crumpled horns. But cats come slinking by + Called Diderot, Voltaire, Rousseau. Now look! + Cat Diderot goes after war and taxes, + The slave trade, privilege, the merchant stomach. + In England, too, there is a sly grimalkin, + Who poisons rats with most malicious thoughts, + And bears the name of Adam--Adam Smith, + By Jack named Adam just to signify + His sinful nature. But the cat Voltaire + Says Adam never fell, that man is good, + An honest merchant better than a king, + And shaven priests are worse than parasites. + He rubs his glossy coat against the legs + Of Quakers, loving natures, loathes the trade + Of war, and runs with velvet feet across + The whole of Europe, scaring rats to death. + The cat Rousseau is instinct like a cat, + And purrs that man born free is still in chains + Here in this house that Jack built. Consequence? + There is such squeaking, running of the rats, + The cats in North America wake up + And drive the English rats out; then the dogs + Grow cautious of the cats, poor simple Louis + Convokes a French assembly to preserve + The malt against the rats and give the cow + Whose milk is growing blue and thin some malt. + And all at once rats, cats and dogs, the cow, + The shaven priest, the maiden all forlorn, + The tattered man, the cock, are in a hubbub + Of squeaking, caterwauling, barking, lowing, + With cock-a-doodles, curses, prayers and shrieks + Ascending from the melee. In a word, + You have a revolution. + + All at once + A mastiff dog appears and barks: "Be still." + And in a way in France's room in the house + Brings order for a time. He grabs the fabric + Of the Holy Roman Empire, tears it up, + Sends for the shaven priest from Rome and bites + His shrunken calves; trots off to Jena where + He whips the Prussian dogs, but wakes them too + To breed and multiply, grow strong to fight + All other dogs in Jack's house, bite to death + The maidens all forlorn, like Elenor Murray. + + This mastiff, otherwise Napoleon called, + Is downed at last by dogs from everywhere. + They're rid of him--but still the house of Jack + Is better than it was, the rats are thick, + But cats grow more abundant, malt is served + More generously to the cow. The Prussian dogs + Discover malt's the thing, also the cow + Must have her malt, or else the milk gives out. + But all the while the Prussian dogs grow strong, + Well taught and angered by Napoleon. + And some of them would set the house in order + After the manner of America. + But many wish to fight, get larger rooms, + Then set the whole in order. At Sadowa + They whip the Austrian dogs, and once again + A mastiff comes, a Bismarck, builds a suite + From north to south, and forces Austria + To huddle in the kitchen, use the outhouse + Where Huns and Magyars, Bulgars and the rest + Keep Babel under Jack who split their tongues + To make them hate each other and suspect, + Not understanding what the other says. + This very Babel was the cause of death + Of Elenor Murray, if I chose to stop + And go no further with the story. + + Next + Our mastiff Bismarck thinks of Luneville, + And would avenge it, grabs the throat of France, + And downs her; at Versailles growls and carries + An emperor of Germany to the throne. + Then pants and wags his tail, and little dreams + A dachshund in an early day to come + Will drive him from the kennel and the bone + He loves to crunch and suck. + + This dachshund is + In one foot crippled, rabies from his sires + Lies dormant in him, in a day of heat + Froth from his mouth will break, his eyes will roll + Like buttons made of pearl with glints of green. + Already he feels envy of the dogs + Who wear brass collars, bay the moon of Jack, + And roam at will about the house of Jack, + The English, plainer said. This envy takes + The form of zeal for country, so he trots + About the house, gets secrets for reforms + For Germany, would have his lesser dogs + All merchants, traders sleek and prosperous, + Achieve a noble breed to rule the house. + And so he puts his rooms in order, while + The other dogs look on with much concern + And growing fear. + + The business of the house + In every room is over malt; the cow + Must be well fed for milk. And if you have + No feudal dues, outlandish taxes, still + The game of old goes on, has only changed + Its dominant form. Grimalkin, Adam Smith + Spied all the rats, and all the tricks of rats, + Saw in his day the rats crawl hawser ropes + And get on ships, embark for Indias, + And get the malt; and now the merchant ships + For China bound, for Africa, for the Isles + Of farthest seas take rats, who slip aboard + And eat their fill before the patient cow, + Milked daily as before can lick her tongue + Against a mouthful of the precious stuff. + You have your eastern question, and your Congo. + France wants Morocco, gives to Germany + Possessions in the Congo for Morocco. + The dogs jump into China, even we + Take part and put the Boxers down, lay hands + Upon the Philippines, and Egypt falls + To England, all are building battle ships. + The dachshund barking he is crowded out, + Encircled, as he says, builds up the army, + And patriot cocks are crowing everywhere, + Until the house of Jack with snarls and growls, + The fuff, fuff, fuff of cats seems on the eve + Of pandemonium. The Germans think + The Slavs want Europe, and the Slavs are sure + The Germans want it, and it's all for malt. + Meantime the Balkan Babel leads to war. + The Slavic peoples do not like the rule + Of Austro-Hungary, but the latter found + No way except to rule the Slavs and rule + Southeastern Europe, being crowded out + By mastiff Bismarck. And again there's Jack + Who made confusion of the Balkan tongues. + And so the house awaits events that look + As if Jack willed them, anyway a thing + That may be put on Jack. It comes at last. + All have been armed for malt. A crazy man + Has armed himself and shoots a king to be, + The Archduke Francis, on the Serbian soil, + Then Austria moves on Serbia, Russia moves + To succor Serbia, France is pledged to help + The Russians, but our dachshund has a bond + With Austria and rushes to her aid. + Then England must protect the channel, yes, + France must be saved--and here you have your war. + + And now for Elenor Murray. Top of brain + Where ideals float like clouds, we owed to France + A debt, but had we paid it, if the dog, + The dachshund, mad at last, had left our ships + To freedom of the seas? Say what you will, + This England is the smartest thing in time, + Can never fall, be conquered while she keeps + That mind of hers, those eyes that see all things, + Spies or no spies, knows every secret hatched + In every corner of the house of Jack. + And with one language spoken by more souls + Than any tongue, leads minds by written words; + Writes treaties, compacts which forstall the sword, + And makes it futile when it's drawn against her.... + You cuff your enemy at school or make + A naso-digital gesture, coming home + You fear your enemy, so walk beside + The gentle teacher; if your enemy + Throws clods at you, he hits the teacher. Well, + 'Twas wise to hide munitions back of skirts, + And frocks of little children, most unwise + For Dachshund William to destroy the skirts + And frocks to sink munitions, since the wearers + Happened to be Americans. William fell + Jumping about his room and spilled the clock, + Raked off the mantel; broke his billikens, + His images of Jack by doing this. + For, seeing this, we rise; ten million youths + Take guns for war, and many Elenor Murrays + Swept out of placid places by the ripples + Cross seas to serve. + + This girl was French in part, + In spirit was American. Look back + Do you not see Voltaire lay hold of her, + Hands out of tombs and spirits, from the skies + Lead her to Europe? Trace the causes back + To Adam, or the dwellers of the lakes, + It is enough to see the souls that stirred + The Revolution of the French which drove + The ancient evils from the house of Jack. + It is enough to hope that from this war + The vestiges of feudal wrongs shall lie + In Jack's great dust-pan, swept therein and thrown + In garbage cans by maidens all forlorn, + The Fates we'll call them now, lame goddesses, + Hags halt, far sighted, seeing distant things, + Near things but poorly--this is much to hope! + But if we get a freedom that is free + For Elenor Murrays, maidens all forlorn, + And tattered men, and so prevent the wars, + Already budding in this pact of peace, + This war is good, and Elenor Murray's life + Not waste, but gain. + + Now for a final mood, + As it were second sight. I open the door, + Walk from the house of Jack, look at the roof, + The chimneys, over them see depths of blue. + Jack's house becomes a little ark that sails, + Tosses and bobbles in an infinite sea. + And all events of evil, war and strife, + The pain and folly, test of this and that, + The groping from one thing to something else, + Old systems turned to new, old eras dead, + New eras rising, these are ripples all + Moving from some place in the eternal sea + Where Jack is throwing stones,--these ripples lap + Against the house of Jack, or toss it so + The occupants go reeling here and there, + Laugh, scowl, grow sick, tread on each other's toes. + While all the time the sea is most concerned + With tides and currents, little with the house, + Ignore this Elenor Murray or Voltaire, + Who living and who dying reproduce + Ripples upon the pools of time and place, + That knew them; and so on where neither eye + Nor mind can trace the ripples vanishing + In ether, realms of spirit, what you choose! + + * * * * * + + Now on a day when Merival was talking + More evidence at the inquest, he is brought + The card of Mary Black, associate + Of Elenor Murray in the hospital + Of France, and asks the coroner to hear + What Elenor Murray suffered in the war. + And Merival consents and has her sworn; + She testifies as follows to the jury: + + Poor girl, she had an end! She seems to me + A torch stuck in a bank of clay, snuffed out, + Her warmth and splendor wasted. Never girl + Had such an ordeal and a fate before. + She was the lucky one at first, and then + Evils and enemies flocked down upon her, + And beat her to the earth. + + But when we sailed + You never saw so radiant a soul, + While most of us were troubled, for you know + Some were in gloom, had quarreled with their beaux, + Who did not say farewell. And there were some + Who talked for weeks ahead of seeing beaux + And having dinners with them who missed out. + + We were a tearful, a deserted lot. + And some were apprehensive--well you know! + But Elenor, she had a beau devoted + Who sent her off with messages and love, + And comforts for her service in the war. + And so her face was lighted, she was gay, + And said to us: "How wonderful it is + To serve, to nurse, to play our little part + For country, for democracy." And to me + She said: "My heart is brimming over with love. + Now I can work and nurse, now use my hands + To soothe and heal, which burn to finger tips, + With flame for service." + + Oh she had the will, + The courage, resolution; but at last + They broke her down. And this is how it was: + Her love for someone gave her zeal and grace + For watching, working, caring for the sick. + Her heart was in the cause too--but this love + Gave beauty, passion to it. All her men + Stretched out to kiss her hands. It may be true + The wounded soldier is a grateful soul. + But in her case they felt a warmer flame, + A greater tenderness. So she won her spurs, + And honors, was beloved, she had a brain, + A fine intelligence. Then at the height + Of her success, she disobeyed a doctor-- + He was a pigmy--Elenor knew more + Than he did, but you know the discipline: + War looses all the hatreds, meanest traits + Together with the noblest, so she crumpled, + Was disciplined for this. About this time + A letter to the head nurse came--there was + A Miriam Fay, who by some wretched fate + Was always after Elenor--it was she + Who wrote the letter, and the letter said + To keep a watch on Elenor, lest she snag + Some officer or soldier. Elenor, + Who had no caution, venturesome and brave, + Wrote letters more than frank to one she loved + Whose tenor leaked out through the censorship. + Her lover sent her telegrams, all opened, + And read first by the head nurse. So at last + Too much was known, and Elenor was eyed, + And whispers ran around. Those ugly girls, + Who never had a man, were wagging tongues, + And still her service was so radiant, + So generous and skillful she survived, + Helped by the officers, the leading doctors, + Who liked her and defended her, perhaps + In hopes of winning her--you know the game! + It was through them she went to Nice; but when + She came back to her duty all was ready + To catch her and destroy her--envy played + Its part, as you can see. + + Our unit broke, + And some of us were sent to Germany, + And some of us to other places--all + Went with some chum, associate. But Elenor, + Who was cut off from every one she knew, + And shipped out like an animal to be + With strangers, nurses, doctors, wholly strange. + The head nurse passed the word along to watch her. + And thus it was her spirit, once aflame + For service and for country, fed and brightened + By love for someone, thus was left to burn + In darkness and in filth. + + The hospital + Was cold, the rain poured, and the mud was frightful-- + Poor Elenor was writing me--the food + Was hardly fit to eat. To make it worse + They put her on night duty for a month. + Smallpox broke out and they were quarantined. + A nurse she chose to be her friend was stricken + With smallpox, died and left her all alone. + One rainy morning she heard guns and knew + A soldier had been stood against the wall. + He was a boy from Texas, driven mad + By horror and by drink, had killed a Frenchman. + She had the case of crazy men at night, + And one of them got loose and knocked her down, + And would have killed her, had an orderly + Not come in time. And she was cold at night, + Sat bundled up so much she scarce could walk + There in that ward on duty. Everywhere + They thwarted her and crossed her, she was nagged, + Brow-beaten, driven, hunted and besought + For favors, for the word was well around + She was the kind who could be captured--false, + The girl was good whatever she had done. + All this she suffered, and her lover now + Had cast her off, it seems, had ceased to write, + Had gone back to America--even then + They did not wholly break her. + + But I ask + What soldier or what nurse retained his faith, + The splendor of his flame? I wish to God + They'd pass a law and make it death to write + Or speak of war as glory, or as good. + What good can come of hatred, greed and murder? + War licenses these passions, legalizes + All infamies. They talk of cruelties-- + We shot the German captives--and I nursed + A boy who shot a German, with two others + Rushed on the fallen fellow, ran him through, + Through eyes and throat with bayonets. The world + Is better, is it? And if Indians scalped + Our women for the British, and if Sherman + Cut through the south with sword and flame, to-day + Such terrors should not be, we are improved! + Yes, hate and lust have changed, and maniac rage, + And rum has lost its potency to fire + A nerve that sickens at the bloody work + Where men are butchered as you shoot and slash + An animal for food! + + Well, now suppose + The preachers who preach Jesus meek and mild, + But fulminate for slaughter, when the game + Of money turns its thumbs down; if your statesmen + With hardened arteries and hardened hearts, + Who make a cult of patriotism, gain + Their offices and livelihood thereby; + Your emperors and kings and chancellors, + Who glorify themselves and win sometimes + Lands for their people; and your editors + Who whip the mob to fury, bellies fat, + Grown cynical, and rich, who cannot lose, + No matter what we suffer--if we nurses, + And soldiers fail; your patriotic shouters + Of murder and of madness, von Bernhardis, + Treitschkes, making pawns of human life + To shape a destiny they can't control-- + Your bankers and your merchants--all the gang + Who shout for war and pay the orators, + Arrange the music--if I say--this crowd + Finds us, the nurses and the soldiers, cold, + Our fire of youth and faith beyond command, + Too wise to be enlisted or enslaved, + What will they do who shout for war so much? + + And haven't we, the nurses and the soldiers + Written some million stories for the eyes + Of boys and girls to read these fifty years? + And if they read and understand, no war + Can come again. They can't have war without + The spirit of your Elenor Murrays--no! + + * * * * * + + So Mary Black went on, and Merival + Gave liberty to her to talk her mind. + The jury smiled or looked intense for words + So graphic of the horrors of the war. + Then David Barrow asked: "Who is the man + That used to write to Elenor, went away?" + And Mary Black replied, "We do not know; + I do not know a girl who ever knew. + I only know that Elenor wept and grieved, + And did her duty like a little soldier. + It was some man who came to France, because + The word went round he had gone back, and left + The service, or the service there in France + Had left. Some said he'd gone to England, some + America. He must have been an American, + Or rather in America when she sailed, + Because she went off happy. In New York + Saw much of him before we sailed." + + And then + The Reverend Maiworm juryman spoke up-- + This Mary Black had left the witness chair-- + And asked if Gregory Wenner went to France. + The coroner thought not, but would inquire. + + * * * * * + + Jane Fisher was a friend of Elenor Murray's + And held the secret of a pack of letters + Which Elenor Murray left. And on a day + She talks with Susan Hamilton, a friend. + Jane Fisher has composed a letter to + A lawyer in New York, who has the letters-- + At least it seems so--and to get the letters, + And so fulfill the trust which Elenor + Had left to Jane. Meantime the coroner + Had heard somehow about the letters, or + That Jane knows something--she is anxious now, + And in a flurry, does not wish to go + Down to LeRoy and tell her story. So + She talks with Susan Hamilton like this: + + + + +JANE FISHER + + + Jane Fisher says to Susan Hamilton, + That Coroner has no excuse to bring + You, me before him. There are many too + Who could throw light on Elenor Murray's life + Besides the witnesses he calls to tell + The cause of death: could he call us and hear + About the traits we know, he should have us. + What do we know of Elenor Murray's death? + Why, not a thing, unless her death began + With Simeon Strong and Gregory Wenner--then + I could say something, for she told me much + About her plan to marry Simeon Strong, + And could have done so but for Gregory Wenner, + Whose fault of life combined with fault of hers + To break the faith of Simeon Strong in her. + And so what have we? Gregory Wenner's love + Poisons the love of Simeon Strong, from that + Poor Elenor Murray falls into decline; + From that, re-acts to nursing and religion, + Which leads her to the war; and from the war + Some other causes come, I know not what; + I wish I knew. And Elenor Murray dies, + Is killed or has a normal end of life. + + But, Susan, Elenor Murray feasted richly + While life was with her, spite of all the pain. + If you could choose, be Elenor Murray or + Our schoolmate, Mary Marsh, which would you be? + Elenor Murray had imagination, + And courage to sustain it; Mary Marsh + Had no imagination, was afraid, + Could not envision life in Europe, married + And living there in England, threw her chance + Away to live in England, was content, + And otherwise not happy but to lift + Her habitation from the west of town + And settle on the south side, wed a man + Whose steadiness and business sense made sure + A prosperous uniformity of life. + Life does not enter at your door and seek you, + And pour her gifts into your lap. She drops + The chances and the riches here and there. + They find them who fly forth, as faring birds + Know northern marshes, rice fields in the south; + While the dull turtle waddles in his mud. + The bird is slain perhaps, the turtle lives, + But which has known the thrills? + + Well, on a time + Elenor Murray, Janet Stearns, myself + Thought we would see Seattle and Vancouver, + We had saved money teaching school that year-- + The plan was Elenor Murray's. So we sailed + To 'Frisco from Los Angeles, saw 'Frisco + By daylight, but to see the town by night + Was Elenor Murray's wish, and up to now + We had no men, had found none. Elenor said, + "Let's go to Palo Alto, find some men." + We landed in a blinding sun, and walked + About the desolate campus, but no men. + And Janet and myself were tired and hot; + But Elenor, who never knew fatigue, + Went searching here and there, and left us sitting + Under a palm tree waiting. Hours went by, + Two hours, I think, when she came down the walk + A man on either side. She brought them up + And introduced them. They were gay and young, + Students with money. Then the fun began: + We wished to see the place, must hurry back + To keep engagements in the city--whew! + How Elenor Murray baited hooks for us + With words about the city and our plans; + What fun we three had had already there! + Until at last these fellows begged to come, + Return with us to 'Frisco, be allowed + To join our party. "Could we manage it?" + Asked Elenor Murray, "do you think we can?" + We fell into the play and talked it over, + Considered this and that, resolved the thing, + And said at last to come, and come they did.... + Well, such a time in 'Frisco. For you see + Our money had been figured down to cents + For what we planned to do. These fellows helped, + We scarcely had seen 'Frisco but for them. + They bought our dinners, paid our way about + Through China Town and so forth, but we kept + Our staterooms on the boat, slept on the boat. + And after three days' feasting sailed away + With bouquets for each one of us. + + But this girl + Could never get enough, must on and on + See more, have more sensations, never tired. + And when we saw Vancouver then the dream + Of going to Alaska entered her. + I had no money, Janet had no money + To help her out, and Elenor was short. + We begged her not to try it--what a will! + She set her jaw and said she meant to go. + And when we missed her for a day, behold + We find her, she's a cashier in a store, + And earning money there to take the trip. + Our boat was going back, we left her there. + I see her next when school commences, ruling + Her room of pupils at Los Angeles. + The summer after this she wandered east, + Was now engaged to Simeon Strong, but writing + To Gregory Wenner, saw him in Chicago. + She traveled to New York, he followed her. + She was a girl who had to live her life, + Could not live through another, found no man + Whose life sufficed for hers, must live herself, + Be individual. + + And en route for France + She wrote me from New York, was seeing much + Of Margery, an aunt--I never knew her, + But sensed an evil in her, and a mind + That used the will of Elenor Murray--how + Or why, I knew not. But she wrote to me + This Margery had brought her lawyer in, + There in New York to draw a document, + And put some letters in a safety box. + Whose letters? Gregory Wenner's? I don't know. + She told me much of secrets, but of letters + That needed for their preciousness a box, + A lawyer to arrange the matter, nothing. + For if there was another man, she felt + Too shamed, no doubt, to tell me:--"This is he, + The love I sought, the great reality," + When she had said as much of Gregory Wenner. + But now a deeper matter: with this letter + She sent a formal writing giving me + Charge of these letters, if she died to give + The letters to the writer. I'm to know + The identity of the writer, so she planned + When I obtain them. How about this lawyer, + And Margery the aunt? What shall I do? + Write to this lawyer what my duty is + Appointed me of her, go to New York? + + I must do something, for this lawyer has, + As I believe, no knowledge of my place + In this affair. Who has the box's key? + This lawyer, or the aunt--I have no key-- + And if they have the key, or one of them, + And enter, take the letters, look! our friend + Gets stains upon her memory; or the man + Who wrote the letters finds embarrassment. + Somehow, I think, these letters hold a secret, + The deepest of her life and cruelest, + And figured in her death. My dearest friend, + What if they brought me to the coroner, + If I should get these letters, and they learned + I had them, this relation to our Elenor! + Yet how can I neglect to write this lawyer + And tell him Elenor Murray gave to me + This power of disposition? + + Come what may + I must write to this lawyer. Here I write + To get the letters, and obey the wish + Of our dear friend. Our friend who never could + Carry her ventures to success, but always + Just at the prosperous moment wrecked her hope. + She really wished to marry Simeon Strong. + Then why imperil such a wish by keeping + This Gregory Wenner friendship living, go + About with Gregory Wenner, fill the heart + Of Simeon Strong with doubt? + + Oh well, my friend, + We wonder at each other, I at you, + And you at me, for doing this or that. + And yet I think no man or woman acts + Without a certain logic in the act + Of nature or of circumstance. + + Look here, + This letter to the lawyer. Will it do? + I think so. If it brings the letters--well! + If not, I'll get them somehow, it must be, + I loved her, faults and all, and so did you.... + + So while Jane Fisher pondered on her duty, + But didn't write the letter to the lawyer, + Who had the charge of Elenor Murray's letters, + The lawyer, Henry Baker, in New York + Finds great perplexity. Sometimes a case + Walks in a lawyer's office, makes his future, + Or wrecks his health, or brings him face to face + With some one rising from the mass of things, + Faces and circumstance, that ends his life. + So Henry Baker took such chances, taking + The custody of these letters. + + James Rex Hunter + Is partner of this Baker, sees at last + Merival and tells him how it was + With Baker at the last; he died because + Of Elenor Murray's letters, Hunter told + The coroner at the Waldorf. Dramatized + His talk with Lawyer Baker in these words:-- + + + + +HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK + + + One partner may consult another--James, + Here is a matter you must help me with, + It's coming to a head. + + Well, to be plain, + And to begin at the beginning first, + I knew a woman up on Sixty-third, + Have known her since I got her a divorce, + Married, divorced, before--last night we quarreled, + I must do something, hear me and advise. + + She is a woman notable for eyes + Bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem + Like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light + Shows spectrally almost in squares and circles. + Her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh, + A feaster and a liver, thinks and plans + Of money, how to get it. And this husband + Whom she divorced last summer went away, + And left her to get on as best she could. + All legal matters settled, we went driving-- + This story can be skipped. + + Last night we dined, + Afterward went to her apartment. First + She told me at the dinner that her niece + Named Elenor Murray died some days ago. + I sensed what she was after--here's the point:-- + She followed up the theme when we returned + To her apartment, where we quarreled. You see + I would not do her bidding, left her mad, + In silent wrath after some bitter words. + I managed her divorce as I have said, + Then I stepped in as lover, months had passed. + When Elenor Murray came here to New York, + I met her at the apartment of the aunt + Whose name is Margery Camp. Before, she said + Her niece was here, was happy and in love + But sorrowful for leaving, just the talk + That has no meaning till you see the subject + Or afterwards, perhaps; it passes in + One ear and out the other. Then at last + One afternoon I met this Elenor Murray + When I go up to call on Margery Camp. + The staging of the matter is like this: + The niece looks fagged, is sitting on the couch, + Has loosed her collar for her throat to feel + The air about it, for the day is hot. + And Margery Camp goes out, brings in a pitcher + Of absinthe cocktails, so we drink. I sit, + Begin to study what is done, and look + This Elenor Murray over, get the thought + That somehow Margery Camp has taken Elenor + In her control for something, has begun + To use her, manage her, is coiling her + With dominant will or cunning. Then I look, + See Margery Camp observing Elenor Murray, + Who drinks the absinthe, and in Margery's eyes + I see these parallelograms of light + Just like a vase of crockery, there she stands, + Her face like ivory, and laughs and shows + Her marvelous teeth, smooths with her shapely hands + The skirt upon her hips. Somehow I feel + She is a soul who watches passion work. + Then Elenor Murray rouses, gets her spirits + Out of the absinthe, rises and exclaims: + "I'm better now;" and Margery Camp speaks up, + Poor child, in intonation like a doll + That speaks from reeds of steel, no sympathy + Or meaning in the words. The interview + Seems spooky to me, cold and sinister. + We drink again and then we drink again. + And what with her fatigue and lowered spirits, + This Elenor Murray drifts in talk and mood + With so much drink. At last this Margery Camp + Says suddenly: "You'll have to help my niece, + There is a matter you must manage for her, + We've talked it over; in a day or two + Before she goes away, we'll come to you." + I took them out to dinner, after dinner + Drove Margery Camp to her apartment, then + Went down with Elenor Murray to her place. + + Then in a day or two, one afternoon + Margery Camp and Elenor Murray came + Here to my office with a bundle, which + This Margery Camp was carrying, rather large. + And Margery Camp was bright and keen as winter. + But Elenor Murray seemed a little dull, + Abstracted as of drink, or thought perhaps. + After the greeting and preliminaries, + Margery said to Elenor: "Better tell + What we have come for, get it done and go." + Then Elenor Murray said: "Here are some letters, + I've tied them in this package, and I wish + To put them in a safety box, give you + One key and keep the other, leave with you + A sealed instruction, which, in case I die, + While over-seas, you may break open, read + And follow, if you will." She handed me + A writing signed by her which merely read + What I have told you--here it is--you see: + "When legal proof is furnished I am dead, + Break open the sealed letter which will give + Instruction for you." So I took the trust, + Went with these women to a vault and placed + The letters in the box, gave her a key, + Kept one myself. They left. At dinner time + I joined them, saw more evidence of the will + Of Margery Camp controlling Elenor's. + Which seemed in part an older woman's power + Against a younger woman's, and in part + Something less innocent. We ate and drank, + I took them to their places as before, + And didn't see this Elenor again. + + But now last night when I see Margery + She says at once, "My niece is dead;" goes on + To say, no other than herself has care + Or interest in her, was estranged from father, + And mother too, herself the closest heart + In all the world, and therefore she must look + After the memory of the niece, and adds: + "She came to you through me, I picked you out + To do this business." So she went along + With this and that, advancing and retreating + To catch me, bind me. Well, I saw her game, + Sat non-committal, sipping wine, but keeping + The wits she hoped I'd lose, as I could see. + + After the dinner we went to her place + And there she said these letters might contain + Something to smudge the memory of her niece, + She wished she had insisted on the plan + Of having one of the keys, the sealed instruction + Made out and left with her; being her aunt, + The closest heart in the world to Elenor Murray, + That would have been the right way. But she said + Her niece was willful and secretive, too, + Not over wise, but now that she was dead + It was her duty to reform the plan, + Do what was best, and take control herself. + + So working to the point by devious ways + She said at last: "You must give me the key, + The sealed instruction: I'll go to the box, + And get the letters, do with them as Elenor + Directed in the letter; for I think, + Cannot believe it different, that my niece + Has left these letters with me, so directs + In that sealed letter." "Then if that be true, + Why give the key to me, the letter?--no + This is a trust, a lawyer would betray, + A sacred trust to do what you request." + I saw her growing angry. Then I added: + "I have no proof your niece is dead:" "My word + Is good enough," she answered, "we are friends, + You are my lover, as I thought; my word + Should be sufficient." And she kept at me + Until I said: "I can't give you the key, + And if I did they would not let you in, + You are not registered as a deputy + To use the key." She did not understand, + Did not believe me, but she tacked about, + And said: "You can do this, take me along + When you go to the vault and open the box, + And break the letter open which she gave." + I only answered: "If I find your niece + Has given these letters to you, you shall have + The letters, but I think the letters go + Back to the writer, and if that's the case, + I'll send them to the writer." + + Here at last + She lost control, took off her mask and stormed: + "We'll see about it. You will scarcely care + To have the matter aired in court. I'll see + A lawyer, bring a suit and try it out, + And see if I, the aunt, am not entitled + To have my niece's letters and effects, + Whatever's in the package. I am tired + And cannot see you longer. Take five days + To think the matter over. If you come + And do what I request, no suit, but if + You still refuse, the courts can settle it." + And so I left her. + + In a day or two + I read of Elenor Murray's death. It seems + The coroner investigates her death. + She died mysteriously. Well, then I break + The sealed instruction, look! I am to send + The package to Jane Fisher, in Chicago. + We know, of course, Jane Fisher did not write + The letters, that the letters are a man's. + What is the inference? Why, that Elenor Murray + Pretended to comply, obey her aunt, + Yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish + The aunt or me to know who wrote the letters. + Feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt, + Yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt + Beyond her finding out, if I observe + The trust imposed, keep hands of Margery Camp + From getting at the letters. + + Now two things: + Suppose the writer of the letters killed + This Elenor Murray, is somehow involved + In Elenor Murray's death? If that's the case, + Should not these letters reach the coroner? + To help enforce the law is higher trust + Than doing what a client has commanded. + And secondly, if Margery Camp should sue, + My wife will learn the secret, bring divorce. + Three days remain before the woman's threat + Is ripe to execute. Think over this. + We'll talk again--I really need advice.... + + * * * * * + + So Hunter told the coroner. Then resumed + The matter was a simple thing: I said + To telegraph the coroner. You are right: + Those letters give a clue perhaps, your trust + Is first to see the law enforced. And yet + I saw he was confused and drinking too, + For fear his wife would learn of Margery Camp. + I added, for that matter open the box, + Take out the letters, find who wrote them, send + A telegram to the coroner giving the name + Of the writer of the letters. Well, he nodded, + Seemed to consent to anything I said. + And Hunter left me, leaving me in doubt + What he would do. And what is next? Next day + He's in the hospital and has pneumonia. + I take a cab to see him, but I find + He is too sick to see, is out of mind. + In three days he is dead. His wife comes in + And tells me worry killed him--knows the truth + About this Margery Camp, oh, so she said. + Had sent a lawyer to her husband asking + For certain letters of an Elenor Murray. + And that her husband stood between the fire + Of some exposure by this Margery Camp, + Or suffering these letters to be used + By Margery Camp against the writer for + A bit of money. This was Mrs. Hunter's + Interpretation. Well, the fact is clear + That Hunter feared this Margery Camp--was scared + About his wife who in some way had learned + just at this time of Margery Camp--I think + Was called up, written to. Between it all + Poor Hunter's worry, far too fast a life, + He broke and died. And now you know it all. + I've learned no client enters at your door + And nothing casual happens in the day + That may not change your life, or bring you death. + And Hunter in a liaison with Margery + Is brought within the scope of Elenor's + Life and takes his mortal hurt and dies. + + * * * * * + + So much for riffles in New York. We turn + Back to LeRoy and see the riffles there, + See all of them together. Loveridge Chase + Receives a letter from a New York friend, + A secret service man who trails and spies + On Henry Baker, knows about the letters, + And writes to Loveridge Chase and says to him: + "That Elenor Murray dying near LeRoy + Left letters in New York. I trailed the aunt + Of Elenor Murray, Margery Camp. Also + A lawyer, Henry Baker, who controls + A box with letters left by Elenor Murray-- + So for the story. Why not join with me + And get these letters? There is money in it, + Perhaps, who knows? I work for Mrs. Hunter-- + She wants the letters placed where they belong, + And wants the man who killed this Elenor Murray + Punished as he should be. Go see the coroner + And get the work of bringing back the letters." + And Chase came to the coroner and spoke: + + + + +LOVERIDGE CHASE + + + Here is the secret of the death of Elenor, + From what I learn of her, from what I know + In living, knowing women, I am clear + About this Elenor Murray. Give me power + To get the letters, power to give a bond + To indemnify the company, for you know + Letters belong to him who writes the letters; + And if the company is given bond + It will surrender them, and then you'll know + What man she loved, this Gregory Wenner or + Some other man, and if some other man, + Whether he caused her death. + + The coroner + And Loveridge Chase sat in the coroner's office + And talked the matter over. And the coroner, + Who knew this Loveridge Chase, was wondering + Why Loveridge Chase had taken up the work + Of secret service, followed it, and asked, + "How did you come to give your brains to this, + Who could do other things?" And Loveridge said: + "A woman made me, I went round the world + As jackie once, was brought into this world + By a mother good and wise, but took from her, + My father, someone, sense of chivalry + Too noble for this world, a pity too, + Abused too much by women. I came back, + Was hired in a bank; had I gone on + By this time had been up in banking circles, + But something happened. You can guess, I think + It was a woman, was my wife Leone. + It matters nothing here, except I knew + This Elenor Murray through my wife. These two + Were schoolmates, even chums. I'll get these letters + If you commission me. The fact is this: + I think this Elenor Murray and Leone + Were kindred spirits, and it does me good + Now that I'm living thus without a wife + To ferret out this matter of Elenor Murray, + Perhaps this way, or somewhere on the way, + Find news of my Leone; what life she lives, + And where she is. I'm curious still, you see." + Then Coroner Merival, who had not heard + Of Elenor Murray's letters in New York + Before this talk of Loveridge Chase, who heard + This story and analysis of Leone + Mixed in with other talk, and got a light + On Elenor Murray, said: "I know your work, + Know you as well, have confidence in you, + Make ready to go, and bring the letters back." + + And on the day that Loveridge Chase departs + To get the letters in New York, Bernard, + A veteran of Belleau, married that day + To Amy Whidden, on a lofty dune + At Millers, Indiana, with his bride-- + Long quiet, tells her something of the war. + These soldiers cannot speak what they have lived. + But Elenor Murray helps him; for the talk + Of Elenor Murray runs the rounds, so many + Stations whence the talk is sent:--the men + Or women who had known her, came in touch + Somehow with her. These newly wedded two + Go out to see blue water, yellow sand, + And watch the white caps pat the sky, and hear + The intermittent whispers of the waves. + And here Bernard, the soldier, tells his bride + Of Elenor Murray and their days at Nice: + + + + +AT NICE + + + Dear, let me tell you, safe beside you now, + Your hand in mine, here from this peak of sand, + Under this pine tree, where the wild grapes spill + Their fragrance on the lake breeze, from that oak + Half buried in the sand, devoured by sand-- + The water of the lake is just as blue + As the sea is there at Nice, the caps as white + As foam around Mont Boron, Cap Ferrat. + Here let me tell you things you do not know, + I could not write, repeat what well you know, + How love of you sustained me, never changed, + But through a love was brighter, flame of the torch + I bore for you in battle, as an incense + Cast in a flame awakes the deeper essence + Of fire and makes it mount. + + And I am here-- + Here now with you at last--the war is over-- + I have this aching side, these languid mornings, + And pray for that old strength which never knew + Fatigue or pain--but I am here with you, + You are my bride now, I have earned you, dear. + I fought the fight, endured the endless days + When rain fell, days of absence, and the days + Of danger when my only prayer was this: + Give me, O God, to see you once again. + This is the deepest rapture, tragedy + Of this our life, beyond our minds to fathom, + A thing to stand in awe of, touch in reverence, + That we--we mortals, find in one another + Such source of ecstasy, of pain. My love, + I lay there in the hospital so weak, + Flopping my hands upon the coverlet, + And praying God to live. In such an hour + To be away from you! There are no words + To speak the weary hours of fear and thought, + In such an absence, facing death, perhaps, + A burial in France, with thoughts of you, + Mourning some years, perhaps, healed partly then + And wedded to another; then at last + Myself forgot, or nearly so, and life + Taking you on with duties, house and children; + And my poor self forgotten, gone to dust, + Wasted along the soil of France. + + Thank God, + I'm here with you--it's real, all this is true: + The roar of the water, sand-hills, infinite sky, + The gulls, the distant smoke, the smell of grapes, + The haze of amethyst behind us there, + In those ravines of stunted oak and pine. + All this is real. This is America. + The very air we find from coast to coast, + The sensible air for lungs seems freer here. + I had no sooner landed in New York + Than my arms said stretch out, there's room to stretch. + I walked along the streets so happy, light + Of heart and heard the newsboys, shop-girls talk: + "O, what a cheese he is," or "beat it now"-- + I can't describe the thrill I had to hear + This loose abandoned slang spilled all around, + Like coppers soiled from handling, but so real, + And having power to purchase memories + Of what I loved and lost awhile, my land! + Well, then I wanted roast-beef, corn on cob, + And had them in an hour at early lunch. + I telegraphed you, gave New York a day, + And came to you. We are together now, + We do not dream, do we? We are together + After the war, to live our lives and grow + And make of love, experience, life more rich. + That's what you say to me--it shall be so. + + Now I will tell you what I promised to tell + About my illness and the battle--well, + I wrote you of my illness, only hinted + About the care I had, that is the point; + 'Twas care alone that saved me, I was ill + Beyond all words to tell. And all the while + I suffered, fearing I would die; but then + I could not bear to think I should not rise + To join my fellows, battle once again, + And charge across the trenches, take no part + In crushing down the Prussian. For I knew + He would be crushed at last. I could not bear + To think I should not take a hand in that, + Be there when he lay fallen, victory + From voice to voice should pass along the lines. + Well, for some weeks I lay there, and at last + Words dropped around me that the time was near + For blows to count--would I be there to strike? + Could I get well in time? And every day + A sweet voice said: "You're better, oh it's great + How you are growing stronger; yesterday + Your fever was but one degree, to-day + It is a little higher. You must rest, + Not think so much! It may be normal perhaps + To-morrow or the next day. In a week + You will be up and gaining, and the battle + Will not be fought before then, I am sure, + And not until you're well and strong again." + And thus it went from day to day. Such hands + Washed my hot face and bathed me, tucked me in, + And fed me too. And once I said to her: + "I love a girl, I must get well to fight, + I must get well to go to her." And she, + It was the nurse I spoke to, took my hand, + And turned away with tears. You see it's there + We see the big things, nothing else, the things + That stand out like the mountains, lesser things + Are lost like little hillocks under the shadows + Of great emotions, hopes, realities. + Well, so it went. And on a day she leaned + Above my face to smooth the pillow out. + And from her heart a golden locket fell, + And dangled by the silver chain. The locket + Flew open and I saw a face within it, + That is I saw there was a face, but saw + No eyes or hair, saw nothing to limn out + The face so I would know it. + + Then I said: + "You have a lover, nurse." She straightened up + And questioned me: "Have you been ill before? + Do you know of the care a nurse can give, + And what she can withhold?" I answered "Yes." + And then she asked: "Have you felt in my hands + Great tenderness, solicitude, even prayer?"-- + Here, sweetheart, do not let your eyes get moist, + I'll tell you everything, for you must see + How spirits work together, love to love + Passes and does its work. + + Well, it was true, + I felt her tenderness, which was like prayer, + And so I answered her: "If I get well, + You will have cured me with your human love." + And then she said: "Our unit reached this place + When there was neither stoves nor lights. At night + We went to bed by candles. Stumbled around + Amid the trunks and beds by candle light. + Well, one of us would light a candle, then + Each, one by one, the others lighted theirs + From this one down the room. And so we passed + The light along. And as a candle died, + The others burned, to which the light was passed. + Well, now," she said, "that is a figure of love: + We get the flame from someone, light another, + Make brighter light by holding flame to flame-- + Sometimes we searched for something, held two candles + Together for a greater light. And so, + My soldier, I have given you the care + That comes from love--of country and the cause, + But brightened, warmed by one from whom the flame + Was passed to me, a love that took my hand + And warmed it, made it tender for that love, + Which said pour out and serve, take love for him + And use it in the cause, by using hands + To bathe, to soothe, to smooth a pillow down, + To heal, sustain." + + The truth is, dearest heart, + I had not lived, I think, except for her. + And there we were: I filled with love for you, + And therefore praying to get well and fight, + Be worthy of your love, and there she was + With love for someone, striving with that love + To nurse me through and give me well and strong + To battle in the cause. + + Then I got well + And joined my company. She took my hand + As I departed, closed her eyes and said: + "May God be with you." + + Well, it was Belleau, + That jungle of machine guns, like a thicket + Of rattle snakes. And there was just one thing + To clean that thicket out--we had to charge, + And so we yelled and charged. No soldier knows + How one survives in such a charge as that. + You simply yell and charge; the bullets fall + Like drops of rain around you pitter-pat; + And on you go and think: where will it get me, + The stomach or the heart or through the head? + What will it be like, sudden blackness, pain, + No pain at all? And so you charge the nests. + The fellows fell around us like tenpins, + Dropped guns, or flung them up, fell on their faces, + Or toppled backward, pitched ahead and flung + Their helmets off in pitching. And at last + I found myself half-dazed, as in a dream, + Right in a nest, two Boches facing me, + And then I saw this locket, as I saw it + Fall from her breast, it might have been a glint + Of metal, flash of firing, I don't know. + I only know I ran my bayonet + Through one of them; he fell, I stuck the other, + Then something stung my side. When I awoke + I lay upon a cot, and heard the nurses + Discuss the peace, the armistice was signed, + The war was over. Well, and in a way + We won the war, I won the war, as one + Who did his part, at least. + + Then I got up, + But I was weak and dazed. They said to me + I should not cross the ocean in the winter, + My lungs might get infected; anyway, + The flu was raging. So they sent me down + To Nice upon a furlough, as I wrote. + I could not write you all I saw and heard, + It was all lovely and all memorable. + + But first before I picture Nice to you, + My days at Nice, lest you have doubts and fears + When I reveal to you I saw this nurse + First on the Promenade des Anglais there, + Saw much of her in Nice, I saw at once + She was that Elenor Murray whom they found + Along the river dead; and for the rest + To make all clear, I'll tell you everything. + You see I didn't write you of this girl + And what we did there, lest you might suspect + Some vagrant mood in me concealed or glossed, + Which ended in betrayal of our love. + Eyes should look into eyes to supplement + The words of truth with light of truth, where nothing + Of thoughts that hide have chance to slip and crawl + Through eyes averted, twinklings, change of light, + Or if they do, reveal themselves, as snakes + Are seen when winding into coverts of grass. + + Well, then we met upon the promenade. + She ran toward me, kissed me--oh so glad. + I told her of the battle, of my wound. + And for herself it seemed she had been ill, + Off duty for a month before she came + To Nice for health; she said as much to me. + I think she had been ill, yet I could sense, + Or seemed to sense a mystery, I don't know, + Behind her illness. Yet you understand + How it was natural we should be happy + To meet again, in Nice, too. For you see + The army life develops comradeship. + And when we meet the old life rises up + And wakes its thrills and memories. It seemed + She had been there some days when I arrived + And knew the place, and said, "I'll show you Nice." + There was a major she was waiting for, + As it turned out. He came there in a week, + We had some walks together, all the three, + And then I lost them. + + But before he came + We did the bright cafés and Monte Carlo, + And here my little nurse showed something else + Besides the tender hands, the prayerful soul. + She had been taking egg-nogs, so she said, + But now she took to wine, and drink she could + Beyond all men I know. I had to stop + Or fall beneath the table, leaving her + To order more. And she would sit and weave + From right to left hip in a rhythmic way, + And cast her eyes obliquely right and left. + It was this way: The music set her thrilling, + And keeping time this way. She loved to go + Where we could see cocotes, adventurers; + Where red vitality was feasting, drinking, + And dropping gold upon the gaming table. + We sunned ourselves within the Jardin Public, + And walked the beach between the bathing places + Where they dry orange peel to make perfumes. + And in that golden sunshine by the sea + Caught whiffs of lemon blossoms, and each day + I bought her at the stands acacia, + Or red anemones--I tell you all-- + There was no moment that my thought betrayed + Your heart, dear one. She had been good to me. + I saw that she was hungry for these things, + For rapture, so I gave them--you don't mind, + It came to nothing, dearest. + + But at last + A different Elenor Murray than I knew + There in the hospital took shape before me. + That serving soul, that maid of humble tasks, + And sacrifice for others, and that face + Of waitress or of ingenue, day by day + Assumed sophistication, looks and lines + Of knowledge in the world, experience + in places of patrician ways. She knew + New York as well as I, cafés and shops; + Dropped pregnant hints at times that made me think + What more she knew, what she was holding back. + Until at last all she had done for me + Seemed just what mortals do to earn their bread + In any calling, made more generous, maybe, + By something in a moment's mood. In truth + The ideal showed the clogged pores in the skin + Under the light she stood in. For you know + When we see people happy we can say + Those tears were not all tears--we pitied more + Than we were wise to pity--that's the feeling: + Most men are Puritans in this, I think. + A woman dancing, drinking, makes you laugh, + And half despise yourself for great emotion + When seeing her in prayer or reverent thought. + But now I come to something more concrete: + The day before the major came we lunched + Where we could see the Mediterranean, + The clubs, hotels and villas. There she sat + All dressed in white, a knitted jacket of silk + Matching the leaves upon the trees, and looked + As fashionable as the rest. The waiter came. + She did not take the card nor order from it, + Was nonchalant, familiar, said at last: + "We want some Epernay. You have it doubtless." + The waiter bowed. I looked at Elenor, + That was the character of revealing things + I saw from day to day. For truth to tell + This Epernay might well have been charged water + For all I knew. I asked her, and she said: + "Delicious wine, not strong." And so we lunched, + And the music stormed, and lunchers gabbled, smoked, + And dandies ogled. And this Epernay + Worked in our blood and Elenor rattled on. + And she was flinging eyes from right to left + And moving rhythmically from hip to hip, + And with a finger beating out the time. + Somehow our hands touched, then she closed her eyes, + Her body shook a little and grew limp. + "What is the matter?" Then she raised her eyes + And looked me through an instant. What, my dear, + You won't hear any more? Oh, very well, + That's all, there is no more. + + But after while + When things got quieter, the lunchers thinned, + The music ended, and the wine grown tame + Within our veins, she told me on a time + Some years before she was confirmed, and thought + She'd take the veil, and for two years or more + Was all absorbed in pious thoughts and works. + "But how we learn and change," she added then, + "In training we see bodies, learn to know + How thirst and hunger, needs of body cry + For daily care, become materialists, + Unmoralists a little in the sense + That any book, or theories of the soul + Should tie the body from its natural needs. + Though I accept the faith, no less than ever, + That God is and the Savior is and spirit + Is no less real than body, has its needs, + Separate or through the body." + + Oh, that girl! + She made me guess and wonder. But next day + I had a fresh surprise, the major came + And she was changed completely. I forgot, + I must tell you what happened after lunch. + We rose and she grew impish, stood and laughed + As if the secret of the laugh was hers + Beyond the concrete matter of the laugh. + She said, "I'll show you something beautiful." + We started out to see it, walked the road + Around the foot of Castle Hill. You know + The wind blows gustily at Nice; and so + All of a sudden went my hat, way up, + Far off, and instantly such laughter rose, + And boisterous shouts that made me think at once + I had been tricked, somehow. It is this way: + The gamins loiter there to watch the victims + Who lose their hats. And Elenor sat down, + And laughed until she cried. I do not know, + Perhaps I was not amorous enough + At luncheon and she pranked me for revenge. + Well, then the major came, he took my place. + I was the third one in the party now, + But saw them every day. What did we do? + No Monte Carlo now, nor ordering + Without the card, she was completely changed, + Demure again, all words of lovely things: + The war had changed the world, had lifted up + The spirit of man to visions, and the major + Adored her, drank it in. And we explored + Limpia and the Old Town, looked aloft + At Mont Cau d'Aspremont, picked hellebore, + And orchids in the gorges, saw St. Pons, + The Valley of Hepaticas, sunned ourselves + Within the Jardin Public, where the children + Play riotously; and Elenor would draw + A straying child to her and say: "You darling." + I saw her do this once and dry her eyes + And to the major say: "They are so lovely, + I had to give up teaching school, the children + Stirred my emotions till I could not bear + To be among them." And to make an end, + I spent the parts of three days with these two. + And on the last day we went to the summit + Of the Corinche Road, and saw the sea and Europe + Spread out before us--oh, you cannot know + The beauty of it, dear, until you see it. + And Elenor sat down as in a trance, + And looked and did not speak for minutes. Then + She said: "How pure a place this is--it's nature, + And I can worship here, this makes you hate + The cafés and the pleasures of the town." + What was this woman, dear, what was her soul? + Or was she half and half? Oh, after all, + I am a hostile mixture, so are you. + + And so I drifted out, and only stayed + A day or two beyond that afternoon. + I took a last walk on the Promenade; + At last saw just ahead of me these two, + His arm was fast in hers, they sauntered on + As if in serious talk. As I came up, + I greeted them and said good-bye again. + + Where is the major? Did the major steal + The heart of Elenor Murray, speed her death? + They could have married. Why did she return? + Or did the major follow her? Well, dear, + Here is the story, truthful to a fault. + My soul is yours, I kept it true to you. + Hear how the waters roar upon the sand! + I close my eyes and almost can believe + We are together on the Corniche Road. + + * * * * * + + Well, it may never be that Merival + Heard from Bernard of Elenor at Nice, + Although he knew it sometime, knew as well + Her service in the war had nerved the men + And by that much had put the Germans down. + America at the fateful moment lent + Her strength to bring the war's end. Elenor + Was one of many to cross seas and bring + Life strength against the emperor, once secure, + And throned in power against such phagocytes + As Elenor Murray, Bernard, even kings. + And sawing wood at Amerongen all + He thought of was of brains and monstrous hearts + Which sent the phagocytes from America, + England and France to eat him up at last. + + One day an American soldier, so 'tis said + Someone told Merival, was walking near + The house at Amerongen, saw a man + With drooped mustache and whitened beard approach, + Two mastiffs walked beside him. As he passed + Unrecognized, the soldier to a mate + Spoke up and said: "What hellish dogs are those?-- + Like Bismarck used to have; I saw a picture + Of Bismarck with his dogs." The drooped mustache + Turned nervously and took the soldiers in, + Then strode ahead. The emperor was stunned + To hear an American soldier use a knife + As sharp as that. + + But Elenor at Nice + Walked with the major as Bernard has told. + And this is wrinkled water, dark and far + From Merival, unknown to him. He hears, + And this alone, she went from Nice to Florence, + Was ill there in a convent, we shall see. + This is the tale that Irma Leese related + To Coroner Merival in a leisure hour: + + + + +THE MAJOR AND ELENOR MURRAY AT NICE + + + Elenor Murray and Petain, the major, + The Promenade des Anglais walked at Nice. + A cloud was over him, and in her heart + A growing grief. + + He knew her at the hospital, + First saw her face among a little group + Of faces at a grave when rain was falling, + The burial of a nurse, when Elenor's face + Was bathed in tears and strained with agony. + And after that he saw her in the wards; + Heard soldiers, whom she nursed, say as she passed, + Dear little soul, sweet soul, or take her hand + In gratitude and kiss it. + + But as a stream + Flows with clear water even with the filth + Of scum, debris that drifts beside the current + Of crystal water, nor corrupts it, keeps + Its poisoned, heavier medium apart, + So at the hospital where the nurses' hands + Poured sacrifice, heroic love, the filth + Of envy, anger, malice, plots, intrigue + Kept pace with pure devotion, noble work + For suffering and the cause. + + The major helped + To free the rules for Elenor Murray so + She might recuperate at Nice, and said: + "Go and await me, I shall join you there. + For in my trouble I must have a friend, + A woman to assuage me, give me light, + And ever since I saw you by that grave, + And saw you cross yourself, and bow your head + And watched your services along the wards + Among the sick and dying, I have felt + The soul of you, its human tenderness, + Its prodigal power of giving, pouring forth + Itself for others. And you seem a soul + Where nothing of our human frailty + Has come to dim the flame that burns in you, + You are all light, I think." + + And Elenor Murray + Looked down and said: "There is no soul like that. + This hospital, the war itself, reflects + The good and bad together of our souls. + You are a boy--oh such a boy to see + All good in me." + + And Major Petain said: + "At least you have not found dishonor here + As I have found it, for a lust of flesh + A weakness and a trespass." + + This was after + The hospital was noisy with the talk + Of Major Petain and his shame, the hand + Of discipline lay on him. + + Elenor Murray + Looked steadily in his eyes, but only said: + "We mortals know each other but a little, + Nor guess each other's secrets." And she glanced + A moment at the tragedy that had come + To her at Paris on her furlough there, + And of its train of sorrows, even now + Her broken health and failure in the work + As consequence to that, and how it brought + The breaking of her passionate will and dream + To serve and not to fail--she glanced at this + A moment as she faced him, looked at him. + Then as she turned away: "There is one thing + That I must tell you, it is fitting now, + I love and am beloved. But if you come + To Nice and I can help you, come, if talk + And any poor advice of mine can help." + + So Major Petain, Elenor Murray walked + The Promenade at Nice, arm fast in arm. + And Major Petain to relieve his heart + Told all the tragedy that had come to him: + + "Duty to France was first with me where love + Was paramount with you, if I divine + Your heart, America's, at least a love + Unmixed of other feelings as may be. + What could you find here, if you seek no husband, + Even in seeing France so partially? + What in adventure, lures to bring you here, + Where peril, labor are? You either came + To expiate your soul, or as you say, + To make more worthy of this man beloved + Back in America your love for him. + Dear idealist, I give my faith to you, + And all your words. But as I said 'twas duty, + Then dreams of freedom, Europe's chains struck off, + The menace of the German crushed to earth + That fired me as a soldier, trained to go + When France should need me. So it is you saw + France go about this business calm and stern, + And patient for the prize, or if 'twere lost + Then brave to meet the future as France met + The arduous years that followed Metz, Sedan." + + "But had I been American to the core, + Would I have put the sweet temptation by? + However flamed with zeal had I said no + When lips like hers were offered? Oh, you see + Whatever sun-light gilds the mountain tops + Rich grass grows in the valleys, herds will feed, + Though rising suns put glories on the heights. + And herds will run and stumble over rocks, + Break fences and encounter beasts of prey + To get the grass that's sweetest." + + "To begin + I met her there in Paris. In a trice + We loved each other, wrote, made vows, she pledged + The consummation. There was danger here, + Great danger, as you know, for her and me. + And yet it never stopped us, gave us fear. + And then I schemed and got her through the lines, + Took all the chances." + + "Danger was not all: + There was my knowledge of her husband's love, + His life immaculate, his daily letters. + He put by woman chances that arose + With saying, I am married, am beloved, + I love my wife, all said so earnestly + We could not joke him, though behind his back + Some said: He trusts her, but he'd better watch; + At least no sense of passing good things by. + I sat with him at mess, I saw him read + The letters that she wrote him, face of light + Devouring eyes. The others rallied him; + But I was like a man who knows a plot + To take another's life, but keeps the secret, + Eats with the victim, does not warn him, makes + Himself thereby a party to the plot. + Or like a man who knows a fellow man + Has some insidious disease beginning, + And hears him speak with unconcern of it, + And does not tell him what to do, you know, + And let him go to death. And just for her, + The rapture of a secret love I choked + All risings of an honest manhood, mercy, + Honor with self and him. Oh, well you know + The isolation, hunger of us soldiers, + I only need to hint of these. But now + I see these well endured for sake of peace + And quiet memory." + + "For here we stood + Just 'round the corner in that long arcade + That runs between our building, next to yours. + And this is what I hear--the husband's voice, + Which well I knew, the officer's in command: + 'Why have you brought your wife here?' asked the officer. + 'Pardon, I have not done so,' said the husband. + 'You're adding falsehood to the offense; you know + The rules forbid your wife to pass the lines.' + 'Pardon, I have not brought her,' he exclaimed + In passionate earnestness. + + "Well, there we stood. + My sweetheart, but his wife, was turned to snow, + As white and cold. I got in readiness + To kill the husband. How could we escape? + I thought the husband had been sent away; + Her coming had been timed with his departure, + Arriving afterward, and we had failed. + But as for that, before our feet could stir, + The officer said, 'Come now, I'll prove your lie,' + And in a twinkling, taking a dozen steps + They turned into the arcade, there they were, + The officer was shaking him and saying, + 'You lie! You lie!' + + "All happened in a moment, + The humbled, ruined fellow saw the truth, + And blew his brains out on the very spot! + And made a wonder, gossip for you girls-- + And here I am." + + So Major Petain finished. + Then Elenor Murray said: "Let's watch the sea." + And as they sat in silence, as he turned + To look upon her face, he saw the tears, + Hanging like dew drops on her lashes, drip + And course her cheeks. "My friend, you weep for me," + The major said at last, "my gratitude + For tears like these." "I weep," said Elenor Murray, + "For you, but for myself. What can I say? + Nothing, my friend, your soul must find its way. + Only this word: I'll go to mass with you, + I'll sit beside you, pray with you, for you, + And do you pray for me." + + And then she paused. + The long wash of the sea filled in the silence. + And then she said again, "I'll go with you, + Where we may pray, each for the other pray. + I have a sorrow, too, as deep as yours." + + + + +THE CONVENT + + + Elenor Murray stole away from Nice + Before her furlough ended, tense to see + Something of Italy, and planned to go + To Genoa, explore the ancient town + Of Christopher Columbus, if she might + Elude the regulation, as she did, + In leaving Nice for Italy. But for her + Always the dream, and always the defeat + Of what she dreamed. + + She found herself in Florence + And saw the city. But the weariness + Of labor and her illness came again + At intervals, and on such days she lay + And heard the hours toll, wished for death and wept, + Being alone and sorrowful. + + On a morning + She rose and looked for galleries, came at last + Into the Via Gino Capponi + And saw a little church and entered in, + And saw amid the darkness of the church + A woman kneeling, knelt beside the woman, + And put her hand upon the woman's forehead + To find that it was wrinkled, strange to say + A scar upon the forehead, like a cross.... + Elenor Murray rose and walked away, + Sobs gathering in her throat, her body weak, + And reeled against the wall, for so it seemed, + Against which hung thick curtains, velvet, red, + A little grimed and worn. And as she leaned + Against the curtains, clung to them, she felt + A giving, parted them, and found a door, + Pushed on the door which yielded, opened it + And saw a yard before her. + + It was walled. + A garden of old urns and ancient growths, + Some flowering plants around the wall. + + Before her + And in the garden's center stood a statue, + With outstretched arms, the Virgin without the child. + And suddenly on Elenor Murray came + Great sorrow like a madness, seeing there + The pitying Virgin, stretching arms to her. + And so she ran along the pebbly walk, + Fell fainting at the Virgin's feet and lay + Unconscious in the garden. + + When she woke + Two nuns were standing by, and one was dressed + In purest white, and held within her hands + A tray of gold, and on the tray of gold + There was a glass of wine, and in a cup + Some broth of beef, and on a plate of gold + A wafer. + + And the other nun was dressed + In purest white, but over her shoulders lay + A cape of blue, blue as the sky of Florence + Above the garden wall. + + Then as she saw + The nuns before her, in the interval + Of gathering thought, re-limning life again + From wonder if she had not died, and these + Were guides or ministrants of another world, + The nun with cape of blue to Elenor + Said: "Drink this wine, this broth;" and Elenor + Drank and arose, being lifted up by them, + And taken through the convent door and given + A little room as white and clean as light, + And a bed of snowy linen. + + Then they said: + "This is the Convent where we send up prayers, + Prayers for the souls who do not pray for self-- + Rest, child, and be at peace; and if there be + Friends you would tell that you are here, then we + Will send the word for you, sleep now and rest." + And listening to their voices Elenor slept. + And when she woke a nurse was at her side, + And food was served her, broths and fruit. Each day + A doctor came to tell her all was well, + And health would soon return. + + So for a month + Elenor Murray lay and heard the bells, + And breathed the fragrance of the flowering city + That floated through her window, in the stillness + Of the convent dreamed, and said to self: This place + Is good to die in, who is there to tell + That I am here? There was no one. To them + She gave her name, but said: "Till I am well + Let me remain, and if I die, some place + Must be for me for burial, put me there. + And if I live to go again to France + And join my unit, let me have a writing + That I did not desert, was stricken here + And could not leave. For while I stole away + From Nice to get a glimpse of Italy, + I might have done so in my furlough time, + And not stayed over it." And to Elenor + The nuns said: "We will help you, but for now + Rest and put by anxieties." + + On a day + Elenor Murray made confessional. + And to the nuns told bit by bit her life, + Her childhood, schooling, travels, work in the war, + What fate had followed her, what sufferings. + And Sister Mary, she who saw her first, + And held the tray of gold with wine and broth, + Sat often with her, read to her, and said: + "Letters will go ahead of you to clear + Your absence over time--be not afraid, + All will be well." + + And so when Elenor Murray + Arose to leave she found all things prepared: + A cab to take her to the train, compartments + Reserved for her from place to place, her fare + And tickets paid for, till at last she came + To Brest and joined her unit, in three days + Looked at the rolling waters as the ship + Drove to America--such a coming home! + To what and whom? + + * * * * * + + Loveridge Chase returned and brought the letters + To Coroner Merival from New York. That day + The chemical analysis was finished, showed + No ricin and no poison. Elenor Murray + Died how? What were the circumstances? Then + When Coroner Merival broke the seals of wax, + And cut the twine that bound the package, found + The man was Barrett Bays who wrote the letters-- + There were a hundred--then he cast about + To lay his hands on Barrett Bays, and found + That Barrett Bays lived in Chicago, taught, + Was a professor, aged some forty years. + Why did this Barrett Bays emerge not, speak, + Come forward? Was it simply to conceal + A passion written in these letters here + For his sake or his wife's? Or was it guilt + For some complicity in Elenor's death? + And on this day the coroner had a letter + From Margery Camp which said: "Where's Barrett Bays? + Why have you not arrested him? He knows + Something, perhaps about the death of Elenor." + So Coroner Merival sent process forth + To bring in Barrett Bays, _non est inventus_. + He had not visited his place of teaching, + Been seen in haunts accustomed for some days-- + Not since the death of Elenor Murray, none + Knew where to find him, and none seemed to know + What lay between this man and Elenor Murray. + This was the more suspicious. Then the _Times_ + Made headlines of the letters, published some + Wherein this Barrett Bays had written Elenor: + "You are my hope in life, my morning star, + My love at last, my all." From coast to coast + The word was flashed about this Barrett Bays; + And Mrs. Bays at Martha's Vineyard read, + Turned up her nose, continued on the round + Of gaieties, but to a chum relieved + Her loathing with these words: "Another woman, + He's soiled himself at last." + + And Barrett Bays, + Who roughed it in the Adirondacks, hoped + The inquest's end would leave him undisclosed + In Elenor Murray's life, though wracked with fear + About the letters in the vault, some day + To be unearthed, or taken, it might be, + By Margery Camp for uses sinister-- + He reading that the letters had been given + To Coroner Merival, and seeing his name + Printed in every sheet, saw no escape + In any nook of earth, returned and walked + In Merival's office: trembling, white as snow. + + So Barrett Bays was sworn, before the jury + Sat and replied to questions, said he knew + Elenor Murray in the fall before + She went to France, saw much of her for weeks; + Had written her these letters before she left. + Had followed her in the war, and gone to France, + Had seen her for some days in Paris when + She had a furlough. Had come back and parted + With Elenor Murray, broken with her, found + A cause for crushing out his love for her. + Came back to win forgetfulness, had written + No word to her since leaving Paris--let + Her letters lie unanswered; brought her letters, + And gave them to the coroner. Then he told + Of the day before her death, and how she came + By motor to Chicago with her aunt, + Named Irma Leese, and telephoned him, begged + An hour for talk. "Come meet me by the river," + She had said. And so went to meet her. Then he told + Why he relented, after he had left her + In Paris with no word beside this one: + "This is the end." Now he was curious + To know what she would say, what could be said + Beyond what she had written--so he went + Out of a curious but hardened heart. + + + + +BARRETT BAYS + + + "I was walking by the river," Barrett said, + "When she arrived. I took her hand, no kiss, + A silence for some minutes as we walked. + Then we began to take up point by point, + For she was concentrated on the hope + Of clearing up all doubtful things that we + Might start anew, clear visioned, perfect friends, + More perfect for mistakes and clouds. Her will + Was passionate beyond all other wills, + And when she set her mind upon a course + She could not be diverted, or if so, + Her failure kept her brooding. What with me + She wanted after what had stunned my faith + I knew not, save she loved me. For in truth + I have no money, and no prospects either + To tempt cupidity." + + "Well; first we talked-- + You must be patient with me, gentlemen, + You see my nerves--they're weakened--but I'll try + To tell you all--well then--a glass of water-- + At first we talked but trifles. Silences + Came on us like great calms between the stir + Of ineffectual breezes, like this day + In August growing sultry as the sun + Rose upward. She was striving to break down + The hard corrosion of my thought, and I + Could not surrender. Till at last, I said: + 'That day in Paris when you stood revealed + Can never be forgotten. Once I killed + A love with hatred for a woman who + Betrayed me, as you did. And you can kill + A love with hatred but you kill your soul + While killing love. And so with you I kept + All hatred from my heart, but cannot keep + A poisonous doubt of you from blood and brain.'... + I learned in Paris, (to be clear on this), + That after she had given herself to me + She fell back in the arms of Gregory Wenner. + And here as we were walking I revealed + My agony, my anger, emptied out + My heart of all its bitterness. At last + When she protested it was natural + For her to do what she had done, the act + As natural as breathing, taking food, + Not signifying faithlessness nor love-- + Though she admitted had she loved me then + She had not done so--I grew tense with rage, + A serpent which grows stiff and rears its head + To strike its enemy was what I seemed + To myself then, and so I said to her + In voice controlled and low, but deadly clear, + 'What are you but a whore--you are a whore!' + Murderous words no doubt, but do you hear + She justified herself with Gregory Wenner; + Yes, justified herself when she had written + And asked forgiveness--yes, brought me out + To meet her by the river. And for what? + I said you whore, she shook from head to heels, + And toppled, but I caught her in my arms, + And held her up, she paled, head rolled around, + Her eyes set, mouth fell open, all at once + I saw that she was dead, or syncope + Profound had come upon her. Elenor, + What is the matter? Love came back to me, + Love there with Death. I laid her on the ground. + I found her dead. + + "If I had any thought + There in that awful moment, it was this: + To run away, escape, could I maintain + An innocent presence there, be clear of fault? + And if I had that thought, as I believe, + I had no other; all my mind's a blank + Until I find myself at one o'clock + Disrobing in my room, too full of drink, + And trying to remember. + + "With the morning + I lay in bed and thought: Did Irma Leese + Know anything of me, or did she know + That Elenor went out to meet a man? + And if she did not know, who could disclose + That I was with her? No one saw us there. + Could I not wait from day to day and see + What turn the news would take? For at the last + I did not kill her. If the inquest showed + Her death was natural, as it was, for all + Of me, why then my secret might be hidden + In Elenor Murray's grave. And if they found + That I was with her, brought me in the court, + I could make clear my innocence. And thus + I watched the papers, gambled with the chance + Of never being known in this affair. + Does this sound like a coward? Put yourself + In my place in that horror. Think of me + With all these psychic shell shocks--first the war, + Its great emotions, then this Elenor." + + And thus he spoke and twisted hands, and twitched, + And ended suddenly. Then David Borrow, + And Winthrop Marion with the coroner + Shot questions at him till he woke, regained + A memory, concentration: Who are you? + What was your youth? Your love life? What your wife? + Where did you meet this Elenor at the first? + Why did you go to France? In Paris what + Happened to break your balance? Tell us all. + For as they eyed him, he looked down, away, + Stirred restless in the chair. And was it truth + He told of meeting Elenor, her death? + Guilt like a guise was on his face. And one-- + This Isaac Newfeldt, juryman, whispered, "Look, + That man is guilty, let us fly the questions + Like arrows at him till we bring him down." + And as they flew the arrows he came to + And spoke as follows:-- + + "First, I am a heart + That from my youth has sought for love and hungered. + And Elenor Murray's heart had hungered too, + Which drew our hearts together, made our love + As it were mystical, more real. I was + A boy who sought for beauty, hope and faith + In woman's love; at fourteen met a girl + Who carried me to ecstasy till I walked + In dreamland, stepping clouds. She loved me too. + I could not cure my heart, have always felt + A dull pain for that girl. She died, you know. + I found another, rather made myself + Discover my ideal in her, until + My heart was sure she was the one. And then + I woke up from this trance, went to another + Still searching; always searching, reaching now + An early cynicism, how to play with hearts, + Extract their beauty, pass to someone else. + I was a little tired now, seemed to know + There is no wonder woman, just a woman + Somewhere to be a wife. And then I met + The woman whom I married, thought to solve + My problem with the average things of life; + The satisfaction of insistent sex, + A home, a regular program, turn to work, + Forget the dream, the quest. What did I find? + A woman who exhausted me and bored me, + Stirred never a thought, a fancy, brought no friends, + No pleasures or diversions, took from me + All that I had to give of mind and heart, + Purse, or what not. And she was barren too, + And restless; by that restlessness relieved + The boredom of our life; it took her off + In travels here and there. And I was glad + To have her absent, but it still is true + There is a hell in marriage, when it keeps + Delights of freedom off, all other women + Not willing to intrigue, pass distantly + Your married man; but on the other hand + What was my marriage with a wife away + Six months or more of every year? And when + I said to her, divorce me, she would say, + You want your freedom to get married--well, + The other woman shall not have you, if + There is another woman, as I think. + And so the years went by. I'm thirty-five + And meet a woman, play light heartedly, + She is past thirty, understands nor asks + A serious love. It's summer and we jaunt + About the country, for my wife's away. + As usual, in the fall returns, and then + My woman says, the holiday is over, + Go back to work, and I'll go back to work. + I cannot give her up, would still go on + For this delight so sweet to me. By will + I hold her, stir the fire up to inflame + Her hands for me, make love to her in short + And find myself in love, beholding in her + All beauties and all virtues. Well, at first + What did I care what she had been before, + Whose mistress, sweetheart? Now I cared and asked + Fidelity from her, and this she pledged. + And so a settled life seemed come to us, + We had found happiness. But on a day + I caught her in unfaithfulness. A man + She knew before she knew me crossed her path. + Why do they do this, even while their lips + Are wet with kisses given you? I think + A woman may be true in marriage, never + In any free relationship. And then + I left her, killed the love I had with hate. + Hate is an energy with which to save + A heart knocked over by a blow like this. + To forgive this wrong is never to forget, + But always to remember, with increasing + Sorrow and dreams invest the ruined love. + And so I turned to hate, came from the flames + As hard and glittering as crockery ware, + And went my way with gallant gestures, winning + An hour of rapture where it came to me. + And all the time my wife was much away, + Yet left me in this state where I was kept + From serious love if I had found the woman. + A pterodactyl in my life and soul: + Had wings, could fly, but slumbered in the mud. + Was neither bird nor beast; as social being + Was neither bachelor nor married man. + + The years went on with work, day after day + Arising to the task, night after night + Returning for the rest with which to rise, + Forever following the mad illusion, + The dream, the expected friend, the great event + Which should change life, and never finding it. + And all the while I see myself consumed, + Sapped somehow by this wife and hating her; + Then fearful for myself for hating her, + Then melting into generosities + For hating her. And so tossed back and forth + Between such passions, also never at peace + From the dream of love, the woman and the mate + I stagger, amble, hurtle through the years, + And reach that summer of two years ago + When life began to change. It was this way: + My wife is home, for a wonder, and my friend, + Most sympathetic, nearest, comes to dine. + He casts his comprehending eyes about, + Takes all things in. As we go down to town, + And afterward at luncheon, when alone + He says to me: she is a worthy woman, + Beautiful, too, there is no other woman + To make you happier, the fault is yours, + At least in part, remove your part of the fault, + To woo her, give yourself, find good in her. + Go take a trip. For neither man nor woman + Yields everything till wooed, tried out, beloved. + Bring all your energies to the trial of her. + She will respond, unfold, repay your work. + + He won me with his words. I said to her, + Let's summer at Lake Placid--so we went. + I tried his plan, did all I could, no use. + The woman is not mine, was never mine, + Was meant for someone else. And in despair, + In wrath as well, I left her and came back + And telephoned a woman that I knew + To dine with me. She came, was glad and gay, + But as she drew her gloves off let me see + A solitaire. What, you? I said to her, + You leave me too? She smiled and answered me; + Marriage may be the horror that you think, + And yet we all must try it once, and Charles + Is nearest my ideal of any man. + I have been very ill since last we met, + Had not survived except for skillful hands, + And Charles was good to me, with heart and purse. + My illness took my savings. I repay + His goodness with my hand. I love him too. + You do not care to lose me. As for that + I know one who will more than take my place; + She is the nurse who nursed me back to health, + I'll have you meet her, I can get her now. + She rose and telephoned. In half an hour + Elenor Murray joined us, dined with us. + I watched her as she entered, did not see + A single wonder in her, cannot now + Remember how she looked, what dress she wore, + What hat in point of color, anything. + After the dinner I rode home with them, + Saw Elenor at luncheon next day. So + The intimacy began." + + "She was alone, + Unsettled and unhappy, pressed for funds. + She had, it seemed, nursed Janet without pay + Till Charles made good at last the weekly wage; + Since Janet's illness had no work to do. + I was alone and bored, she came to me + Almost at first as woman never came + To me before, so radiant, sympathetic, + Admiring, so devoted with a heart + That soothed and strove to help me. Strange to say + These manifests of spirit, ministrations + Bespoke the woman who has found a man, + And never knew a man before. She seemed + An old maid jubilant for a man at last, + And truth to tell I took her rapturous ways + With just a little reticence, and shrinking + Of spirit lest her hands would touch too close + My spirit which misvalued hers, withdraw + Itself from hers with hidden smiles that she + Could find so much in me. She did not change, + Retreat, draw in; advanced, poured out, gave more + And wooed me, till I feared if I should take + Her body she would follow me, grow mad + And shameless for her love." + + "But as for that + That next day while at luncheon, frank and bold, + I spoke right out to her and then she shook + From head to foot, and made her knife in hand + Rattle the plate for trembling, turned as pale + As the table linen. Afterward as we met, + Having begun so, I renewed the word, + Half smiling to behold her so perturbed, + And serious, and gradually toning down + Pursuit of her this way, as I perceived + Her interest growing and her clinging ways, + Her ardor, huddling to me, great devotion; + Rapt words of friendship, offers of herself + For me or mine for nothing were we ill + And needed her." + + "These currents flowed along. + Hers plunged and sparkled, mine was slow for thought. + A doubt of her, or fear, till on a night + When nothing had been said of this before, + Quite suddenly when nearing home she shrank, + Involved herself in shrinking in the corner + Of the cab's seat, and spoke up: 'Take me now, + I'm yours to-night, will do what you desire, + Whatever you desire.' I acted then, + Seemed overjoyed, was puzzled just the same, + And almost feared her. As I said before, + I feared she might pursue me, trouble me + After a hold like this,--and yet I said: + 'Go get your satchel, meet me in an hour.' + I let her out, drove to the club, and thought; + Then telephoned her, business had come up, + I could not meet her, but would telephone + To-morrow." + + "And to-morrow when it came + Brought ridicule and taunting from myself: + To have pursued this woman, for two months, + And if half-heartedly, you've made her think + Your heart was wholly in it, now she yields, + Bestows herself. You fly, you are a fool; + A village pastor playing Don Juan, + A booby costumed as a gallant--pooh! + Go take your chance. I telephoned her then, + That night she met me." + + "Here was my surprise: + All semblance of the old maid fell away, + Like robes as she disrobed. She brought with her + Accoutrements of slippers, caps of lace, + And oriental perfumes languorous. + The hour had been all heaven had I sensed, + Sensed without thinking consciously a play, + Dramatics, acting, like an old maid who + Resorts to tricks of dress she fancies wins + A gallant of experience, fancies only + And knows not, being fancied so appears + Half ludicrous." + + "But so our woe began. + That morning we had breakfast in our room, + And I was thinking, in an absent way + Responded to her laughter, joyous ways. + For I was thinking of my life again, + Of love that still eluded me, was bored + Because I sat there, did not have the spirit + To share her buoyancy--or was it such? + Did she not ripple merriment to hide + Her disappointment, wake me if she could? + And spite of what I thought of her before + That she had known another man or men, + I thought now I was first. And to let down, + Slope off the event, our parting for the day + Have no abruptness, I invited her + To luncheon, when I left her 'twas to meet + Again at noon. We met and parted then. + So now it seemed a thing achieved. Two weeks + Elapsed before I telephoned her. Then + The story we repeated as before, + Same room and all. But meantime we had sat + Some moments over tea, the orchestra + Played Chopin for her." + + "Then she handed me + A little box, I opened it and found + A locket too ornate, her picture in it, + A little flag." + + "So in that moment there + Love came to me for Elenor Murray. Music, + That poor pathetic locket, and her way + So humble, so devoted, and the thought + Of those months past, wherein she never swerved + From ways of love, in spite of all my moods, + Half-hearted, distant--these combined at once, + And with a flame that rose up silently + Consumed my heart with love." + + "She went away, + And left me hungering, lonely. She returned, + And saw at last dubieties no more, + The answering light for her within my eyes." + + "I must recur a little here to say + That at the first, first meeting it may be, + With Janet, there at tea, she said to me + She had signed for the war, would go to France, + To nurse the soldiers. You cannot remember + What people say at first, before you know, + Have interest in them. Also at that time + I had no interest in the war, believed + The war would end before we took a hand. + The war lay out of me, objectified + Like news of earthquakes in Japan. And then + As time went on she said: 'I do not know + What day I shall be called, the time's at hand.' + I loathed the Germans then; but loathed the war, + The hatred, lying, which it bred, the filth + Spewed over Europe, from the war, on us + At last. I loathed it all, and saw + The spirit of the world debauched and fouled + With blood and falsehood." + + "Elenor found in me + Cold water for her zeal, and even asked: + 'Are you pro-German?--no!' I tried to say + What stirred in me, she did not comprehend, + And went her way with saying: 'I shall serve, + O, glorious privilege to serve, to give, + And since this love of ours is tragedy, + Cannot be blessed with children, or with home, + It will be better if I die, am swept + Under the tide of war with work.' This girl + Exhausted me with ardors, spoken faiths, + And zeal which never tired, until at last + I longed for her to go and make an end. + What better way to end it?" + + "April came, + One day she telephoned me that to-morrow + She left for France. We met that night and walked + A wind swept boulevard by the lake, and she + Was luminous, a spirit; tucked herself + Under my coat, adored me, said to me: + 'If I survive I shall return to you, + To serve you, help you, be your friend for life, + And sacrifice my womanhood for you. + You cannot marry me, in spite of that + If I can be your comfort, give you peace, + That will be marriage, all that God intends + As marriage for me. You have blessed me, dear, + With hope and happiness. And oh at last + You did behold the war as good, you give me, + You send me to the war. I serve for you, + I serve the country in your name, your love, + So blessed for you, your love.'" + + "That night at two + I woke somehow as if an angel stood + Beside the bed in light, beneficence, + And found her head close to my heart--she woke + At once with me, spoke dreamily 'Dear heart,' + Then turned to sleep again. I loved her then." + + "She left next day. An olden mood came back + Which said, the end has come, and it is best. + I left the city too, breathed freer then, + Sought new companionships. But in three days + My heart was sinking, sickness of the heart, + Nostalgia took me. How to fight it off + Became the daily problem; work, diversions + Seemed best for cures. The malady progressed + Beyond the remedies. My wife came back, + Divined my trouble, laughed. And every day + The papers pounded nerves with battle news; + The bands were playing, soldiers marched the streets. + And taggers on the corner every day + Reminded you of suffering and of want. + And orators were talking where you ate: + Bonds must be bought--war--war was everywhere. + There was no place remote to hide from it, + And rest from its insistence. Then began + Elenor Murray's letters sent from France, + Which told of what she did, and always said: + 'Would you were with me, serving in the war. + If you could come and serve; they need you, dear; + You could do much.' Until at last the war + Which had lain out of me, objectified, + Became a part of me, I saw the war, + And felt the war through her, and every tune + And every marching soldier, every word + Spoken by orators said Elenor Murray. + At dining places, theatres, pursued + By this one thought of war and Elenor Murray; + In every drawing room pursued, pursued + In quiet places by the memories. + I had no rest. The war and love of her + Had taken body of me, soul of me, + With madness, ecstasy, and nameless longing, + Hunger and hope, fear and despair--but love + For Elenor Murray with intenser flame + Ran round it all." + + "At last all other things: + Place in the world, my business, and my home, + My wife if she be counted, sunk away + To nothingness. I stood stripped of the past, + Saw nothing but the war and Elenor, + Saw nothing but the day of finding her + In France, and serving there to be with her, + Or near where I could see her, go to her, + Perhaps if she was ill or needed me. + And so I went to France, began to serve, + Went in the ordnance. In that ecstasy + Of war, religion, love, found happiness; + Became a part of the event, and cured + My languors, boredom, longing, in the work; + And saw the war as greatest good, the hand + Of God through all of it to bring the world + Beauty and Freedom, a millennium + Of Peace and Justice." + + "So the days went by + With work and waiting, waiting for the hour + When Elenor should have a furlough, come + To Paris, see me. And she came at last." + + "Before she came she wrote me, told me where + To meet her first. 'At two o'clock,' she wrote, + 'Be on the landing back of the piano' + Of a hotel she named. An ominous thought + Passed through my brain, as through a room a bat + Flits in and out. I read the letter over: + How could this letter pass the censor? Escape + The censor's eye? But eagerness of passion, + And longing, love, submerged such thoughts as these. + I walked the streets and waited, loitered through + The Garden of the Tuilleries, watched the clocks, + The lagging minutes, counted with their strokes. + And then at last the longed for hour arrived. + I reached the landing--what a meeting place! + With pillars, curtains hiding us, a nook + No one could see us in, unless he spied. + And she was here, was standing by the corner + Of the piano, very pale and worn, + Looked down, not at me, pathos over her + Like autumn light. I took her in my arms, + She could not speak, it seemed. I could not speak. + Dumb sobs filled heart and throat of us. And then + I held her from me, looked at her, re-clasped + Her head against my breast, with choking breath + That was half whisper, half a cry, I said, + 'I love you, love you, now at last we're here + Together, oh, my love!' She put her lips + Against my throat and kissed it: 'Oh, my love, + You really love me, now I know and see, + My soul, my dear one,' Elenor breathed up + The words against my throat." + + "We took a suite: + Soft rugs upon the floor, a bed built up, + And canopied with satin, on the wall + Some battle pictures, one of Bonaparte, + A bottle of crystal water on a stand + And roses in a bowl--the room was sweet + With odors, and so comfortable. Here we stood. + 'It's Paris, dear,' she said, 'we are together; + You're serving in the war, how glorious! + We love each other, life is good--so good!' + That afternoon we saw the city a little, + So many things occurred to prophesy, + Interpret." + + "And that night we saw the moon, + One star above the Arc de Triomphe, over + The chariot of bronze and leaping horses. + Dined merrily and slept and woke together + Beneath that satin canopy." + + "In brief, + The days went by with laughter and with love. + We watched the Seine from bridges, in a spell + There at Versailles in the Temple of Love + Sat in the fading day." + + "Upon the lawn + She took her diary from her bag and read + What she had done in France; years past as well. + Began to tell me of a Simeon Strong + Whom she was pledged to marry years before. + How jealousy of Simeon Strong destroyed + His love, and all because in innocence + She had received some roses from a friend. + That led to other men that she had known + Who wished to marry her, as she said. But most + She talked of Simeon Strong; then of a man + Who had absorbed her life until she went + In training as a nurse, a married man, + Whom she had put away, himself forgetting + A hopeless love he crushed. Until at last + I said, no more, my dear--The past is dead, + What is the past to me? It could not be + That you could live and never meet a man + To love you, whom you loved. And then at last + She put the diary in her bag, we walked + And scanned the village from the heights; the train + Took back for Paris, went to dine, be gay. + This afternoon was the last, this night the last. + To-morrow she was going back to work, + And I was to resume my duties too, + Both hopeful for another meeting soon, + The war's end, a re-union, some solution + Of what was now a problem hard to bear." + + "We left our dinner early, she was tired, + There in our room again we clung together, + Grieved for the morrow. Sadness fell upon us, + Her eyes were veiled, her voice was low, her speech + Was brief and nebulous. She soon disrobed, + Lay with her hair spread out upon the pillow, + One hand above the coverlet." + + "And soon + Was lying with head turned from me. I sat + And read to man my grief. You see the war + Blew to intenser flame all moods, all love, + All grief at parting, fear, or doubt. At last + As I looked up to see her I could see + Her breast with sleep arise and fall. The silence + Of night was on the city, even her breath + I heard as she was sleeping--for myself + I wondered what I was and why I was, + What world is this and why, and if there be + God who creates us to this life, then why + This agony of living, peace or war; + This agony which grows greater, never less, + And multiplies its sources with the days, + Increases its perplexities with time, + And gives the soul no rest. And why this love, + This woman in my life. The mystery + Of my own torture asked to be explained. + And why I married whom I married, why + She was content to stand far off and watch + My crucifixion. Why?" + + "And with these thoughts + Came thought of changing them. A wonder slipped + About her diary in my brain. I paused, + Said to myself, you have no right to spy + Upon such secret records, yet indeed + A devilish sense of curiosity + Came as relaxment to my graver mood, + As one will fetch up laughter to dispel + Thoughts that cannot be quelled or made to take + The form of action, clarity. I arose + Took from her bag the diary, turned to see + What entry she had made when first she came + And gave herself to me. And look! The page + Just opposite from this had words to show + She gave herself to Gregory Wenner just + The week that followed on the week in which + She gave herself to me." + + "A glass of water, + Before I can proceed!"... + + "I reeled and struck + The bed post. She awoke. I thought that death + Had come with apoplexy, could not see, + And in a spell vertiginous, with hands + That shook and could not find the post, stood there + Palsied from head to foot. Quick, she divined + The event, the horror anyway, sprang out, + And saw the diary lying at my feet. + Before I gained control of self, could catch + Or hold her hands, she seized it, threw it out + The window on the street, and flung herself + Face down upon the bed." + + "Oh awful hell! + What other entries did I miss, what shames + Recorded since she left me, here in France? + What was she then? A woman of one sin, + Or many sins, her life filled up with treason, + Since I had left her?" + + "And now think of me: + This monstrous war had entered me through her, + Its passion, beauty, promise came through her + Into my blood and spirit, swept me forth + From country, life I knew, all settled things. + I had gone mad through her, and from her lips + Had caught the poison of the war, its hate, + Its yellow sentiment, its sickly dreams, + Its lying ideals, and its gilded filth. + And here she lay before me, like a snake + That having struck, by instinct now is limp; + By instinct knows its fangs have done their work, + And merely lies and rests." + + "I went to her, + Pulled down her hands from eyes and shook her hard: + What is this? Tell me all?" + + "She only said: + 'You have seen all, know all.'" + + "'You do not mean + That was the first and last with him?' She said, + 'That is the truth.' 'You lie,' I answered her. + 'You lie and all your course has been a lie: + Your words that asked me to be true to you, + That I could break your heart. The breasts you showed + Flowering because of me, as you declared; + Our intimacy of bodies in the dance + Now first permitted you because of love; + Your plaints for truth and for fidelity, + Your fears, a practiced veteran in the game, + All simulated. And your prayer to God + For me, our love, your protests for the war, + For service, sacrifice, your mother hunger, + Are all elaborate lies, hypocrisies, + Studied in coolest cruelty, and mockery + Of every lovely thing, if there can be + A holy thing in life, as there cannot, + As you have proven it. The diary's gone-- + And let it go--you kept it from my eyes + Which shows that there was more. What are you then, + A whore, that's all, a masquerading whore, + Not worthy of the hand that plies her trade + In openness, without deceit. For if + This was the first and only time with him + Here is dissimulation month by month + By word of mouth, in letters by the score; + And here your willingness to take my soul + And feed upon it. Knowing that my soul + Through what I thought was love was caught and whirled + To faith in the war, and faith in you as one + Who symbolized the war as good, as means + Of goodness for the world--and this deceit, + Insane, remorseless, conscienceless, is worse + Than what you did with him. I could forgive + Disloyalty like that, but this deceit + Is unforgivable. I go,' I said. + I turned to leave. She rose up from the bed, + 'Forgive! Forgive!' she pleaded, 'I was mad, + Be fair! Be fair! You took me, turned from me, + Seemed not to want me, so I went to him. + I cried the whole day long when first I gave + Myself to you, for thinking you had found + All that you wanted, left me, did not care + To see me any more. I swear to you + I have been faithful to you since that day + When we heard Chopin played, and I could see + You loved me, and I loved you. O be fair!'"... + + Then Barrett Bays shook like an animal + That starves and freezes. And the jury looked + And waited till he got control of self + And spoke again his horror and his grief:-- + "I left her, went upon the silent streets, + And walked the night through half insane, I think. + Cannot remember what I saw that night, + Have only blurs of buildings, arches, towers, + Remember dawn at last, returning strength, + And taking rolls and coffee, all my spirit + Grown clear and hard as crystal, with a will + As sharp as steel to find reality: + To see life as it is and face its terrors, + And never feel a tremor, bat an eye. + Drink any cup to find the truth, and be + A pioneer in a world made new again, + Stripped of the husks, bring new faith to the world, + Of souls devoted to themselves to make + Souls truer, more developed, wise and fair! + Write down the creed of service, and write in + Self-culture, self-dependence, throw away + The testaments of Jesus, old and new, + Save as they speak and help the river life + To mould our truer beings; the rest discard + Which teaches compensation, to forgive + That you may be forgiven, mercy show + That mercy may be yours, and love your neighbor, + Love so to gain--all balances like this + Of doctrine for the spirit false and vile, + Corrupted with such calculating filth; + And if you'd be the greatest, be the servant-- + When one to be the greatest must be great + In self, a light, a harmony in self, + Perfected by the inner law, the works + Done for the sake of beauty, for the self + Without the hope of gain except the soul, + Your one possession, grows a perfect thing + If tended, studied, disciplined. While all + This ethic of the war, the sickly creed + Which Elenor Murray mouthed, but hides the will + Which struggles still, would live, lies to itself, + Lies to its neighbor and the world, and leaves + Our life upon a wall of rotting rock + Of village mortals, patriotism, lies!" + + "And as for that, what did I see in Paris + But human nature working in the war + As everywhere it works in peace? Cabals, + And jealousies and hatreds, greed alert; + Ambition, cruelty, strife piled on strife; + No peace in labor that was done for peace; + Hypocrisy elaborate and rampant. + Saw at first hand what coiled about the breast + Of Florence Nightingale when she suffered, strove + In the Crimean War, struck down by envy, + Or nearly so. Oh, is it human nature, + That fights like maggots in the rotting carcass? + Or is it human nature tortured, bound + By artificial doctrines, creeds which all + Pretend belief in, really doubt, resist + And cannot live by?" + + "If I had a thought + Of charity toward this woman then + It was that she, a little mind, had tried + To live the faith against her nature, used + A woman's cunning to get on in life. + For as I said it was her lies that hurt. + And had she lied, had she been living free, + Unshackled of our system, faith and cult, + American or Christian, what you will? + + "She was a woman free or bound, but women + Enslave and rule by sex. The female tigers + Howl in the jungle when their dugs are dry + For meat to suckle cubs. And Germany + Of bullet heads and bristling pompadours, + And wives made humble, cowed by basso brutes, + Had women to enslave the brutes with sex, + And make them seek possessions, land and food + For breeding women and for broods." + + "And now + If women make the wars, yet nurse the sick, + The wounded in the wars, when peace results, + What peace will be, except a peace that fools + The gaping idealist, all souls in truth + But souls like mine? A peace that leaves the world + Just where it was with women in command + Who, weak but cunning, clinging to the faith + Of Christ, therefore as organized and made + A part, if not the whole of western culture. + Away with all of this! Blow down the mists, + The rainbows, give us air and cloudless skies. + Give water to our fevered eyes, give strength + To see what is and live it, tear away + These clumsy scaffoldings, by which the mystics, + Ascetics, mad-men all St. Stylites + Would rise above the world of body, brain, + Thirst, hunger, living, nature! Let us free + The soul of man from sophists, logic spinners, + The mad-magicians who would conjure death, + Yet fear him most themselves, the coward hearts + Who mouth eternal bliss, yet cling to earth + And keep away from heaven." + + "For it's true + Nature, or God, gives birth and also death. + And power has never come to draw the sting + Of death or make it pleasant, creed nor faith + Prevents disease, old age and death at last. + This truth is here and we must face it, or + Lie to ourselves and cloud our brains with lies, + Postponements and illusions, childish hopes! + But lie most childish is the Christian myth + Of Adam's fall, by which disease and death + Entered the world, until the Savior came + And conquered death. He did? But people die, + Some millions slaughtered in the war! They live + In heaven, say your Elenor Murrays, well, + Who knows this? If you know it, why drop tears + For people better off? How ludicrous + The patch-work is! I leave it, turn again + To what man in this world can do with life + Made free of superstition, rules and faiths, + That make him lie to self and to his fellows."... + + And Barrett Bays, now warmed up to his work, + Grown calmer, stronger, mind returned, that found + Full courage for the thought, the word to say it + Recurred to Elenor Murray, analyzed:-- + And now a final word: "This Elenor Murray, + What was she, just a woman, a little life + Swept in the war and broken? If no more, + She is not worth these words: She is the symbol + Of our America, perhaps this world + This side of India, of America + At least she is the symbol. What was she? + A restlessness, a hunger, and a zeal; + A hope for goodness, and a tenderness; + A love, a sorrow, and a venturing will; + A dreamer fooled but dreaming still, a vision + That followed lures that fled her, generous, loving, + But also avid and insatiable; + An egoism chained and starved too long + That breaks away and runs; a cruelty, + A wilfulness, a dealer in false weights, + And measures of herself, her duty, others, + A lust, a slick hypocrisy and a faith + Faithless and hollow. But at last I say + She taught me, saved me for myself, and turned + My steps upon the path of making self + As much as I can make myself--my thanks + To Elenor Murray!" + + "For that day I saw + The war for what it was, and saw myself + An artificial factor, working there + Because of Elenor Murray--what a fool! + I was not really needed, like too many + Was just pretending, though I did not know + That I was just pretending, saw myself + Swept in this mad procession by a woman; + And through myself I saw the howling mob + Back in America that shouted hate, + In God's name, all the carriers of flags, + The superheated patriots who did nothing, + Gave nothing but the clapping of their hands, + And shouts for freedom of the seas. The souls + Who hated freedom on the sea or earth, + Had, as the vile majority, set up + Intolerable tyrannies in America, + America that launched herself without + A God or faith, but in the name of man + And for humanity, so long accursed + By Gods and priests--the vile majority! + Which in the war, and through the war went on + With other tyrannies as to meat and drink, + Thought, speech, the mind in living--here was I + One of the vile majority through a woman-- + And serving in the war because of her, + And meretricious sentiments of her. + You see I had the madness of the world, + Was just as crazy as America. + And like America must wake from madness + And suffer, and regret, and build again. + My soul was soiled, you see. And now I saw + How she had pressed her lips against my soul + And sapped my spirit in the name of beauty + She simulated; for a loyalty + Her lips averred; how as a courtesan + She had made soft my tissues, like an apple + Handled too much; how vision of me went + Into her life sucked forth; how never a word + Which ever came from her interpreted + In terms of worth the war; how she had coiled + Her serpent loins about me; how she draped + Herself in ardors borrowed; how my arms + Were mottled from the needle's scar where she + Had shot the opiates of her lying soul; + How asking truth, she was herself untrue; + How she, adventuress in the war, had sought + From lust grown stale, renewal of herself. + And then at last I saw her scullery brows + Fail out and fade beside the Republic's face, + And leave me free upon the hills, who saw, + Strong, seeking cleanliness in truth, her hand + Which sought the cup worn smooth by leper lips + Dipped in the fountain where the thirst of many + Passionate pilgrims had been quenched, + Not lifted up by me, nor yet befriended + By the cleaner cup I offered. Now you think + That I am hard. Philosophy is hard, + And I philosophize, admit as well + That I have failed, am full of faults myself, + All faults, we'll say, but one, I trust and pray + The fault of falsehood and hypocrisy."... + + "I gave my work in Paris up--that day + Made ready to return, but with this thought + To use my wisdom for the war, do work + For America that had no touch of her, + No flavor of her nature, far removed + From the symphony of sex, be masculine, + Alone, and self-sufficient, needing nothing, + No hand, no kiss, no mate, pure thought alone + Directed to this work. I found the work + And gave it all my energy." + + "From then + I wrote her nothing, though she wrote to me + These more than hundred letters--here they are! + Since you have mine brought to you from New York + All written before she went to France, I think + You should have hers to make the woman out + And read her as she wrote herself to me. + The rest is brief. She cabled when she sailed, + And wrote me from New York. While at LeRoy + With Irma Leese she wrote me. Then that day + She telephoned me when she motored here + With Irma Leese, and said: 'Forgive, forgive, + O see me, come to me, or let me come + To you, you cannot crush me out. These months + Of silence, what are they? Eternity + Makes nothing of these months. I love you, never + In all eternity shall cease to love you, + Love makes you mine, and you must come to me + Now or hereafter.'" + + "And you see at last + My soul was clear again, as clean and cold + As our March days, as clear too, and the war + Stood off envisioned for the thing it was. + Peace now had come, which helped our eyes to see + What dread event the war was. So to see + This woman with these eyes of mine, made true + And unpersuadable of her plaints and ways + I gave consent and went." + + "Arriving first, + I walked along the river till she came. + And as I saw her, I looked through the tricks + Of dress she played to win me, I could see + How she arrayed herself before the mirror, + Adjusting this or that to make herself + Victorious in the meeting. But my eyes + Were wizard eyes for her, and this she knew, + Began at first to writhe, change color, flap + Her nervous hands in gestures half controlled. + I only said, 'Good morning,' took her hand, + She tried to kiss me, but I drew away. + 'I have been true,' she said, 'I love you, dear, + If I was false and did not love you, why + Would I pursue you, write you, all against + Your coldness and your silence? O believe me, + The war and you have changed me. I have served, + Served hard among the sufferers in the war, + Sustained by love for you. I come to you + And give my life to you, take it and use, + Keep me your secret joy. I do not dream + Of winning you in marriage. Here and now + I humble self to you, ask nothing of you, + Except your kindness, love again, if love + Can come again to you--O this must be! + It is my due who love you, with my soul, + My body.'" + + "'No,' I said, 'I can forgive + All things but lying and hypocrisy.'... + How could I trust her? She had kept from me + The diary, threw it from the window, what + Was life of her in France? Should I expunge + This Gregory Wenner, what was life of her + In France, I ask. And so I said to her: + 'I have no confidence in you'--O well + I told the jury all. But quick at once + She showed to me, that if I could forgive + Her course of lying, she was changed to me, + The war had changed her, she was hard and wild, + Schooled in the ways of soldiers, and in war. + That beauty of her womanhood was gone, + Transmuted into waywardness, distaste + For simple ways, for quiet, loveliness. + The adventuress in her was magnified, + Cleared up and set, she had become a shrike, + A spar hawk, and I loathed her for these ways + Which she revealed, dropping her gentleness + When it had failed her. Yes, I saw in her + The war at last; its lying and its hate, + Its special pleading, and its double dealing, + Its lust, its greed, its covert purposes, + Its passion out of hell which obelised + Such noble things in man. Its crooked uses + Of lofty spirits, flaming fires of youth, + Young dreamers, lovers. And at last she said, + As I have told the jury, what she did + Was natural, and I cursed her. Then she shook, + Turned pale, and reeled, I caught her, held her up, + She died right in my arms! And this is all; + Except that had I killed her and should spend + My days in prison for it, I am free, + My spirit being free." + + "Who was this woman? + This Elenor Murray was America; + Corrupt, deceived, deceiving, self-deceived, + Half-disciplined, half-lettered, crude and smart, + Enslaved yet wanting freedom, brave and coarse, + Cowardly, shabby, hypocritical, + Generous, loving, noble, full of prayer, + Scorning, embracing rituals, recreant + To Christ so much professed; adventuresome; + Curious, mediocre, venal, hungry + For money, place, experience, restless, no + Repose, restraint; before the world made up + To act and sport ideals, go abroad + To bring the world its freedom, having choked + Freedom at home--the girl was this because + These things were bred in her, she breathed them in + Here where she lived and grew." + + Then Barrett Bays stepped down + And said, "If this is all, I'd like to go." + Then David Borrow whispered in the ear + Of Merival, and Merival conferred + With Ritter and Llewellyn George and said: + "We may need you again, a deputy + Will take you to my house, and for the time + Keep you in custody." + + The deputy + Came in and led him from the jury room. + + + + +ELENOR MURRAY + + + Coroner Merival took the hundred letters + Which Elenor Murray wrote to Barrett Bays, + Found some of them unopened, as he said, + And read them to the jury. Day by day + She made a record of her life, and wrote + Her life out hour by hour, that he might know. + The hundredth letter was the last she wrote. + And this the Coroner found unopened, cut + The envelope and read it in these words: + + "You see I am at Nice. If you have read + The other letters that I wrote you since + Our parting there in Paris, you will know + About my illness; but I write you now + Some other details." + + "I went back to work + So troubled and depressed about you, dear, + About myself as well. I thought of you, + Your suffering and doubt, perhaps your hate. + And since you do not write me, not a line + Have written since we parted, it may be + Hatred has entered you to make distrust + Less hard to bear. But in no waking hour, + And in no hour of sleep when I have dreamed, + Have you been from my mind. I love you, dear, + Shall always love you, all eternity + Cannot exhaust my love, no change shall come + To change my love. And yet to love you so, + And have no recompense but silence, thoughts + Of your contempt for me, make exquisite + The suffering of my spirit. Could I sing + My sorrow would enchant the world, or write, + I might regain your love with beauty born + Out of this agony." + + "When I returned + I had three typhoid cases given me. + And with that passion which you see in me + I gave myself to save them, took this love + Which fills my heart for you and nursed them with it; + Said to myself to keep me on my feet + When I was staggering from fatigue, 'Give now + Out of this love, it may be God's own gift + With which you may restore these boys to health. + What matter if he love you not.' And so + For twelve hours day by day I waged with death + A slowly winning battle." + + "As they rallied, + But when my strength was almost spent--what comes? + This Miriam Fay writes odiously to me. + She has heard something of our love, or sensed + Some dereliction, since she learned that I + Had not been to confessional. Anyway + She writes me, writes our head-nurse. All at once + A cloud of vile suspicion, like a dust + Blown from an alley takes my breath away, + And blinds my eyes. With all these things piled up, + My labors and my sorrow, your neglect, + My fears of a dishonorable discharge + From service, which I love, I faint, collapse, + Have streptococcus of the throat, and lie + Two weeks in fever, sleepless, and with thoughts + Of you, and what may happen, my disgrace. + But suffering brought me friends, the officers + Perhaps had heard the scandal, but they knew + My heart was in the work. The major who + Was the attending doctor of these boys + I broke myself with nursing, cared for me, + And cheered me with his praise. And so it was + Your little soldier, still I call myself, + Your little soldier, though you own me not, + Turned failure into victory, won by pain + Befriending hands. The major kept me here + And intercepted my discharge, procured + My furlough here in Nice." + + "I rose from bed, + Went back to work, in nine days failed again, + This time with influenza; for three weeks + Was ill enough to die, for all the while + My fever raged, my heart was hurting too, + Because of you. When I got up again + I looked a ghost, was weaker than a child, + At last came here to Nice." + + "This is the hundredth + Letter that I've written since we parted. + My heart is tired, dear, I shall write no more. + You shall have silence for your silence, yet + When I am silent, trust me none the less, + Believe I love you. If you say that I + Have hidden secrets, have not told you all, + The diary flung away to keep my life + Beyond your eye's inspection, still I say + Where is your right to know what lips I've kissed, + What hopes or dreams I cherished in the past + Before I knew you. If you still accuse + My spirit of deceit, hypocrisy + In lifting up my flower of love to you + Fresh, as it seemed, with morning dew, not tears, + I have my own defense for that, you'll see. + Or lastly, if your love is turned to gall + Because, as you discovered, body of love + Was given to Gregory Wenner, after you + Had come to me in love and chosen me + As servant of you in the war, I write + To clear myself to you respecting that, + And re-insist 'twas body of love alone, + Not love I gave, and what I gave was given + Because you won me, left me, did not claim + As wholly yours what you had won. But now, + As I have hope of life beyond the grave, + As I love God, though serving Him but ill, + I say to you, I have been wholly yours + In spirit and in body since the day + I gave to you the locket, sat with you + And heard the waltz of Chopin, six days after + I went with Gregory Wenner. I explain + Why I did this, shall mention it no more; + You must be satisfied or go your way + In bitterness and hatred." + + "But first, my love, + As spirits equal and with equal rights, + Or privilege of equal wrongs, have I + Demanded former purity of you? + I have repelled revealments of your past; + Have never questioned of your marriage, asked, + Which might be juster, rights withdrawn from her; + May rightly think, since you and she have life + In one abode together, that you live + As marriage warrants. And above it all + Have I not written you to go your way, + Find pleasures where you could, have only begged + That you keep out of love, continue to give + Your love to me? And why? Be cynical, + And think I gave you freedom as a gallant + That I might with a quiet conscience take + Such freedom for myself. It is not true: + I've learned the human body, know the male, + And know his life is motile, does not rest, + And wait, as woman's does, cannot do so. + So understanding have put down distaste, + That you should fare in freedom, in my heart + Have wished that love or ideals might sustain + Your spirit; but if not, my heart is filled + With happiness, if you love me. Take these thoughts + And with them solve your sorrow for my past, + Your loathing of it, if you feel that way + However bad it be, whatever sins + Imagination in you stirred depicts + As being in my past." + + "Men have been known + Whom women made fifth husbands, more than that. + Not my case, I'll say that, and if you face + Reality, and put all passion love + Where nature puts it by the side of love + Which custom favors, you have only left + The matter of the truth to grasp, believe, + See clearly and accept: Do I swear true + I love you, and since loving you am faithful, + Cannot be otherwise, nor wish to be?" + + "Dear, listen and be fair. You did not love me + When first I came to you. You did not ask, + Because of love, a faithfulness; in truth + You did not ask a faithfulness at all. + But then and theretofore you treated me + As woman to be won, a happiness + To be achieved and put aside. Be fair, + This was your mood. But if you loved me then, + Or soon thereafter loved me, as I know, + What should I do? I loved you, am a woman. + At last behold your love, am lifted, thrilled. + See what I thought was love before was nothing; + Know I was never loved before you loved me; + And know as well I never loved before; + Know all the former raptures of my heart + As buds in March closed hard and scentless, never + The June before for my heart! O, my love, + What should I do when this most priceless gift + Was held up like a crown within your hands + To place upon my brows--what should I do? + Take you aside and say, here is the truth, + Here's Gregory Wenner--what's the good of that? + How had it benefited you or me, + Increased your love, or founded it upon + A surer rock than beauty? Hideous truth! + Useless too often, childish in such case. + You would have suffered, turned from me, and lost + The rapture which I gave you, and if rapture + Be not a prize, where in this world so much + Of ugliness and agony prevails, + I do not know our life." + + "But just suppose + I gave you rapture, beauty--you concede + I gave you these, that's why you suffer so: + You choose to think them spurious since you found + I knew this Gregory Wenner, are they so? + They are as real in spite of Gregory Wenner + As if my lips had been a cradled child's. + But just suppose, as I began to say, + You never had discovered Gregory Wenner, + And had the rapture, beauty which you had, + How stands the case? Was I not justified + In hiding Gregory Wenner to preserve + The beauty and the rapture which you craved? + Dear, it was love of beauty which impelled + What you have called deceit, it was my woman's + Passionate hope to give the man she loved + The beauty which he saw in her that inspired + My acting, as you phrase it, an elaborate + Hypocrisy, an ugly word from you!... + But listen, dear, how spirit works in love: + When you beheld me pure, I would be pure; + As virginal, I would be virginal; + As innocent, I would be innocent; + As truthful, constant, so I would be these + Though to be truthful, constant when I loved you + Came to me like my breath, as natural. + So I would be all things to you for love, + Fill full your dreams, your vision of my soul + For now and future days, but make myself + In days before I knew you what you thought, + Believed and cherished. Hence if you combine + The thought that what I was did not concern you, + With fear that if you knew, your heart would change; + And with these join that passionate zeal of love + To be your lover, wholly beautiful, + You have the exposition of my soul + In its elaborate deceit,--your words." + + "Some fifty years ago a man and woman + Are talking in a room, say certain things, + We were not there! We two are with each other + Somewhere, and fifty years from now, we two + Will look to after souls who were not there + Like figures in a crystal globe; I mean + To lift to light the wounds of brooding love, + And show you that the world contains events + Of which we live in ignorance, if we know + They hurt us with their mystery, coming near + In our soul's cycle, somehow. But the dead, + And what they lived, what are they?--what the things + Of our dead selves to selves who are alive, + And live the hour that's given us?" + + "What's your past + To me, beloved, if your soul and body + Are mine to-day, not only mine, but made + By living more my own, more rich for me, + More truly harmonized with me? Believe me + You are my highest hope made real at last, + The climax of my love life, I accept + Whatever passed in rooms in years gone by; + Whatever contacts, raptures, pains or hopes + As schooling of your soul to make it precious, + And for my worship, my advancement, kneel + And thank the God of mysteries and wisdom + Who made you for me, let me find you, love you!" + + "Now of myself a word. In years to come + These words I write will seem all truth to you, + Their prism colors, violet and red, + Will fade away and leave them in the light + Arranged and reasonable and wholly true. + Then you will read the words: I found you, dear, + After a life of pain; and you will see + My spirit like a blossom that you watch + From budding to unfolding, knowing thus + How it matured from day to day. I say + My life has been all pain, I see at first + A father and a mother linked in strife. + Am thrown upon my girlhood's strength to teach, + Earn money for my schooling, would know French; + I studied Greek a little, gave it up, + Distractions, duties, came too fast for me. + I longed to sing, took lessons, lack of money + Ended the lessons. But above it all + My heart was like an altar lit with flame, + Aspired to heaven, asked for sacrifice, + For incense to be bright, more beautiful + For beauty's sake. And in my soul's despair, + And just to use this vital flame, I turned + To God, the church. You must be stone to hear + Such words as these and not relent, an image + Of basalt which I pray to not to see + And not to hear! But listen! look at me, + Did I become a drifter, wholly fail? + Did I become a common woman, turn + To common life and ways? Can you dispute + My eyes were fixed upon a lovelier life, + Have never gaze withdrawn from loveliness? + Did I give up, or break, turn to the flesh, + Pleasures, the solace of the senses--No! + Where some take drink to ease their hurts and dull + Their disappointments, I renewed my will + To sacrifice and service, work, who saw + These things in essence may be drink as well, + And bring the end, oblivion while you live, + But bring supremacy instead of failure, + Collapse, disgust and fears. Think what you will + Of me for Gregory Wenner, and imagine + The worst you may, I stand here as I am, + With my life proven! And to end the pain + I went to nurse the soldiers in the war + With thoughts that if I died in service, good! + Not that I gladly give up life, I love it. + But life must be surrendered; let it be + In service, as some end it up in drink, + Or opium or lust. Beloved heart, + I know my will is stronger than my vision, + That passion masters judgment; that my love + For love and life and beauty are too much + For gifts like mine; I know that I am dumb, + Songless, without articulate words--but still + My very dumbness is a kind of speech + Which some day will flood down your deafened rocks, + And sweep my meaning over you." + + "Well, now + Why did I turn to Gregory from you? + I did not love you or I had not done it. + You did not love me or I had not done it. + I loved him once, he had been good to me. + He was an old familiar friend and touch.... + Farewell, if it must be, but save me grief, + The greatest agony: Be brave and strong, + Be all that God requires your soul to be, + O, give me not this cup of poison--this: + That I have been your cause of bitterness; + Have stopped your growth and introverted you, + Given you eyes that see but lies and lust + In human nature, evil in the world-- + Eyes that God meant to see the good and strive + For goodness. If I drove you from the war, + Made you distrust its purpose and its faith, + Triumphant over selfishness and wrong, + Oh, leave me with the hope that peace will come, + And vision once again to bless your life. + Behold me as America, taught but half, + Wayward and thoughtless, fighting for a chance; + Denied its ordered youth, thrown into life + But half prepared, so seeking to emerge + Out of a tangled blood, and out of the earth + A creature of the earth that strives to win + A soul, a voice. Behold me thus--forgive! + Take from my life the beauty that you found, + Nothing can kill that beauty if you press + Its blossom to your heart, and with it rise + To nobleness, to duty, give your life + To our America." + + "The Lord bless you, + And make his face to shine upon you, and + Be gracious to you. The Lord lift up his countenance + Upon you, give you peace, both now and ever + More. Amen!" + + * * * * * + + So Elenor's letters ended + The evidence. The afternoon was spent. + The inquest was adjourned till ten o'clock + Next morning. They arose and left the room.... + And Merival half-ill went home. Next day + He lounged with books and had the doctor in, + And read his mail, more letters, articles + About the inquest, Elenor. And from France + A little package came. And here at last + Is Elenor Murray's diary! Merival turns + And finds the entries true to Barrett Bays; + Some word, a letter too from France which says: + The sender learned the name by tracing out + A number in the diary, heard the news + Of Elenor Murray from the paper at home + In Illinois. And of the diary this: + He got it from a poilu who was struck + By this same diary on the cheek. A slap + That stung him, since the diary had been thrown + By Elenor Murray from the second story. + This poilu, being tipsy, raved and thought + Some challenger had struck him. Roaring so + He's taken in. Some weeks elapse, he meets + Our soldiers from the States, and shows the diary, + And tells the story, has the diary read + By this American, gives up the diary + For certain drinks. And this American + Has sent it to the coroner. + + A letter + To Merival from an old maiden aunt, + Who's given her life to teaching, pensioned now + And visiting at Madison, Wisconsin. + Aunt Cynthia writes to Merival and says: + "I know you are fatigued, a little tired + With troubles of the lower plane of life. + Quit thinking of the war and Elenor Murray. + Each soul should use its own divinity + By mastering nature outward and within. + Do this by work or worship, Soul's control, + Philosophy, by one or more or all. + Above them all be free. This is religion, + And all of it. Books, temples, dogmas, rituals + Or forms are details only. By these means + Find God within you, prove that you and God + Are one, not several, justify the ways + Of God to man, to speak the western way. + I wish you could be here while I am here + With Arielle, she is a soul, a woman. + You need a woman in your life, my dear-- + I met her in Calcutta five years since, + She and her husband toured the world--and now + She is a widow these two years. I started + Arielle in the wisdom of the East. + That avid mind of hers devours all things. + She is an adept, but she thinks her sense + Of fun and human nature as the source + Of laughter and of tears keep her from being + A mystic, though she uses Hindu thought + And practice for her soul." + + "I'd like to send + Some pictures of her, if she'd let me do it: + Arielle with her dogs upon the lawn, + Her arms about their necks. Or Arielle + About her flowers. I've another one, + Arielle on her favorite horse: another, + Arielle by her window, hand extended, + The very soul of rhythm; and another, + Arielle laughing like a rising sun, + No one can laugh as she does. For you see + Her outward soul is love, her inward soul + Is wisdom and that makes her what she is: + A Robin Goodfellow, a Puck, a girl, + A prankish wit, a spirit of bright tears, + A queenly woman, clothed in majesty, + A rapture and a solace, comrade, friend, + A lover of old women such as I; + A mother to young children, for she keeps + A brood of orphans in her little town. + She is a will as disciplined as steel, + Has suffered and grown wise. Her tenderness + Is hidden under words so brief and pure + You cannot sense the tenderness in all + Until you read them over many times. + She is a lady bountiful, who gives + As prodigally as nature, and she asks + No gifts from you, but gets them anyway, + Because all spirits pour themselves to her. + If I were taking for America + A symbol, it would be my Arielle + And not your Elenor Murray." + + "Here's her life! + Her father died when she was just a child, + Leaving a modest fortune to a widow, + Arielle's mother, also other children. + After a time the mother went to England + And settled down in Sussex. There the mother + Was married to a scoundrel, mad-man, genius, + Who tyrannized the household, whipped the children. + So Arielle at fourteen ran away. + She pined for her Wisconsin and America. + She went to Madison, or near the place, + And taught school in the country, much the same + As Elenor Murray did. + + "Now here is something: + Behold our world, humanity, the groups + Of people into states, communities, + Full up of powers and virtues, aid and light-- + Friends, helpers, understanders of the soul. + It may be just the status of enlightment, + But I think there are brothers of the light, + And powers around us; for if Elenor Murray + Half-fails, is broken, here is Arielle + Who with the surer instinct finds the springs + Of health and life. And so, I say, if I + Had daughters, and were dying, leaving them, + I should not fear; for I should know the world + Would care for them and give them everything + They had the strength to take." + + "Here's Arielle. + She teaches school and studies--O that wag-- + She posts herself in Shakespeare, forms a class + Of women thrice her age and teaches them, + Adds that way to her earnings. Just in time-- + Such things are always opportune, a man + Comes by and sees her spirit, says to her + You may read Plato, and she reads and passes + To Kant and Schopenhauer. So it goes + Until by twenty all her brain is seething + With knowledge and with dreams. She is beloved + By all the people of the country-side, + Besought and honored--yet she keeps to self, + Has hardly means enough, since now she sends + Some help to mother who has been despoiled, + Abandoned by the mad-man." + + "Then one spring + A paper in Milwaukee gives a prize, + A trip to Europe, to the one who gets + The most subscriptions in a given time-- + And Arielle who has so many friends-- + Achievement brings achievement, friends bring friends-- + Finds rallying support and wins the prize. + Is off to Europe where she meets the man + She married when returned." + + "He is a youth + Of beauty and of promise, yet a soul + Who riots in the sunlight, honey of life. + And gets his wings gummed in the poisonous sweet. + And Arielle one morning wakes to find + A horror on her hands: her husband's found + Dead in a house of ill-fame. She is calm + Out of that rhythm, sense of beauty which + Makes her a power, all her deeds a song. + She lays the body under the dancing muses + There in the wondrous library and flings + A purple robe across it, kneels and lays + Her sunny head against it, says a prayer. + She had been constant, loyal even to dreams, + To this wild youth, whose errant ways she knew. + Now don't you see the contrast? I refrain + From judging Elenor Murray, but I say + One thing is beautiful and one is not. + And Arielle is beautiful as a spirit, + And Elenor is somewhat beautiful, + But streaked and mottled, too. Say what you will + Of freedom, nature, body's rights, no less + Honor and constancy are beautiful, + And truth most beautiful. And Arielle + Could kneel beside the body of her dead, + Who had neglected her so constantly, + And say a prayer of thankfulness that she + Had honored him throughout those seven years + Of married life--she prayed so--why, she says + That prayer was worth a thousand stolen raptures + Offered her in the years of life between." + + "Now here she was at thirty + Left to a mansion there in Madison. + Her husband lived there; it was life, you know, + For her to meet one of her neighborhood + In Europe, though a stranger until then. + And here is Arielle in her mansion, priestess + Amid her treasures, beauties, for this man + Has left her many thousands, and she lives + Among her books and flowers, rides and walks, + And frolics with her dogs, and entertains."... + + And as the Coroner folded the letter out + A letter from this Arielle fell, which read: + "We have an aunt in common, Cynthia. + I know her better than you do, I think, + And love her better too. You men go off + With wandering and business, leave these aunts, + And precious kindred to be found by souls + Who are more kindred, maybe. I have heard + Most everything about you, of your youth + Your schooling, shall I say your sorrow too? + Admire your life, have studied Elenor, + As I have had the chance or got the word. + And what your aunt writes in advice I like, + Approve of and commend to you. You see + I leap right over social rules to write, + And speak my mind. So many friends I've made + By searching out and asking. Why delay? + Time slips away like moving clouds, but Life + Says to the wise make haste. Is there a soul + You'd like to know? Then signal it. I light + From every peak a beacon fire, my peaks + Are new found heights of vision, reaching them + I either see a beacon light, or flash + A beacon light. And thus it was I found + Your Cynthia and mine, and now I write. + I have a book to send you, show that way + How much I value your good citizenship, + Your work as coroner. I had the thought + Of coroners as something like horse doctors-- + Your aunt says you're as polished as a surgeon. + When I was ripe for Shakespeare some one brought + His books to me; when I was ripe for Kant, + I found him through a friend. I know about you, + I sense you too, and I believe you need + The spiritual uplifting of the Gita. + You haven't read it, have you? No! you haven't. + I wish that Elenor Murray might have read it. + I grieve about that girl, you can't imagine + How much I grieve. Nov write me, coroner, + What is your final judgment of the girl." + + "I have so many friends who love me, always + New friends come by to give me wisdom--you + Can teach me, I believe, a man like you + So versed in life. You must have learned new things + Exploring in the life of Elenor Murray. + I was about to write you several times. + I loved that girl from all I heard of her. + She must have had some faculty or fault + That thwarted her, and left her, so to speak, + Just looking into promised lands, but never + Possessing or enjoying them--poor girl! + And here she flung her spirit in the war + And wrecked herself--it makes me sorrowful. + I went to Europe through a prize I won, + And saw the notable places--but this girl + Who hungered just as much as I, saw nothing + Or little, gave her time to labor, nursing-- + It is most pitiful, if you'll believe me + I've wept about your Eleanor. Write me now + What is your final judgment of the girl?"... + + So Merival read these letters, fell asleep. + Next day was weaker, had a fever too, + And took to bed at last. He had to fight + Six weeks or more for life. When he was up + And strong enough he called the jury in + And at his house they talked the case and supped. + + + + +THE JURY DELIBERATES + + + The jurymen are seated here and there + In Merival's great library. They smoke, + And drink a little beer or Scotch. Arise + At times to read the evidence taken down, + And typed for reference. Before them lie + Elenor Murray's letters, all the letters + Written to Merival--there's Alma Bell's, + And Miriam Fay's, letters anonymous. + The article of Roberts in the _Dawn_, + That one of Demos, Hogos; a daily file + Of Lowell's _Times_--Lowell has festered now + Some weeks, a felon-finger in a stall. + And where is Barrett Bays? In Kankakee + Where Elenor Murray's ancestor was kept. + The strain and shame had broken him; a fear + Fell on him of a consequence when the coroner + Still kept him with a deputy. He grew wild, + Attacked the deputy, began to wander + And show some several selves. A multiple + Spirit of devils had him. Dr. Burke + Went over him and found him mad. + + And now + The jury meet amid a rapid shift + Of changes, mist and cloud. The man is sick + Who administers the country. Has come back + To laud the pact of peace; his auditors + Turn silently away, whole states assemble + To hear and turn away, sometimes to heckle. + And if a mattoid emperor caused the war, + And Elenor Murrays put the emperor down, + The emperor, could he laugh at all, can laugh + To see a country, bent to spend its last + Dollar, its blood to the last drop, having spent + Enough of these, go mad as Barrett Bays. + And like a headless man, seen in a dream, + Go capering in an ecstasy of doubt, + Regret and disillusion. He can laugh + To see the pact, which took the great estate, + Once his and God's, and wrapt it as with snakes + That stung and sucked, rejected in the land + That sent these Elenor Murrays to make free + The world from despotism. See that very land + Crop despotisms--so the jury sees + Convened to end the case of Elenor Murray.... + + And Rev. Maiworm, juryman, gives his thought + To conquest of the world for Christ, and says + The churches must unite to free the world + From war and sin. Result? Why less and less + Homes like the Murray home, where husband, wife, + Live in dissension. More and more of schools + For Elenor Murrays. Happy marriages + Will be the rule, our Elenors will find + Good husbands, quiet hearths, a competence. + And Isaac Newfeldt said: "You talk pish-posh. + You go about at snipping withered leaves, + And picking blasted petals--take the root, + Get at the soil--you cannot end these wars + Until you solve the feeding problem. Quit + Relying on your magic to make bread + With five loaves broken, raise a bigger crop + Of wheat, and get it to the mouths of men. + And as for sin--what is it?--All of sin + Lies in the customs, comes from how you view + The bread and butter matter; all your gods + And sons of God are guardians of the status + Of business and of money; sin a thing + Which contradicts, or threatens banks and wharves. + And as for that your churches now control + As much as human nature can digest + A dominance like that. And what's the state + Of things in Christendom? Why, wars, and want + And many Elenor Murrays. Tyrannies + Are like as pea and pea; you shall not drink, + Or read, or talk, or trade, are from one pod. + What would I do? Why, socialize the world, + Then leave men free to live or die, let nature + Go decimating as she will, and weed + The worthless with disease or alcohol-- + You won't see much of that, however, if + You socialize the world." + + And David Barrow + Spoke up and said: "No ism is enough. + The question is, Is life worth living, good + Or bad? If bad, I think that Elenor Murray had + As good a life as any. Here we've sat + These weeks and heard these stories--nothing new; + And as to waste, our time is wasted here, + If there were better things to do; and yet + Perhaps there is no better. I've enjoyed + This work, association. Well, you're told + To judge not, and that means to judge not man; + You are not told to judge not God. And so + I judge Him. And again your Elenor Murrays, + Your human being cannot will his way, + But God's omnipotent, and where He fails + He should be censured. Why does He allow + A world like this, and suffer earthquakes, storms, + The sinking of _Titanics_, cancers? Why + Suffer these wars, this war?--Talk of the riffles + That flowed from Elenor Murray--here's a wave + Of tidal power, stirred by a greedy coot + Who called himself an emperor! And look + Our land, America, is ruined, slopped + For good, or for our lives with filth and stench; + So that to live here takes what strength you have, + None left for living, as a man should live. + And this America once free and fair + Is now the hatefulest, commonest group of men, + Women and children in the Occident. + What's life here now? Why, boredom, nothing else.... + Why pity Elenor Murray? Gottlieb Gerald + Told of her home life; it was good enough, + Average American, or better. Schools + She had in plenty, what would she have done + With courses to the end in music, art? + She was not happy. Elenor had a brain, + And brains and happiness are at enmity. + And if the world goes on some thousand years, + The race as much advanced beyond us now + In feeling, thought, as we are now beyond + Pinthecanthropus, say, why, all will see + What I see now;--'twere better if the race + Had never risen. All analogies + Of nature show that death of man is death. + He plants his seed and dies, the resurrection + Is not the man, but is the child that grows + From sperm he sows. The grain of wheat that sprouts + Is not the stalk that bore it. Now suppose + We get the secret in a thousand years, + Can prove that death's the end, analogies + Put by with amber, frogs' legs--tell me then + What opiate will still the shrieks of men? + But some of us know now, and I am one. + There is no heaven for me; and as for those + Who make a heaven to get out of this-- + You gentlemen who call life good, the world + The work of God's perfection; yet invent + A heaven to rest in from this world of woe-- + You do not wish to go there; and resort + To cures and Christian Science to stay here! + Which shows you are not sure. And thus we have + Your Christian saying at heart that life is bad, + And heaven is good, but not so good and sure + That you will hurry to it. Why, I'll prove + The Christian pessimist, as well as I. + He says life is so bad it has no meaning, + Unless there be a future; and I say + Life's bad, and if no future, then is worse. + And as it has no future, is a hell. + This girl was soaked in opiates to the last. + Religion, love for Barrett Bays, believed + That God is love. Love is a word to me + That has no meaning but in terms of man. + And if a man cause war, or suffer war, + When he could stop it, do we say he loves? + Why call God love who can prevent a war? + To chasten us, to better, purge our sins? + Well, if it be then we are bettered, purged + When William Hohenzollern goes to war + And makes the whole world crazy." + + "Understand + I do not mock, I pity man and life. + No man has sat here who has suffered more, + Seeing the life of Elenor Murray, through + Her life beholding life, our country's life. + I pity man and life. I curse the scheme + Which wakes the senseless clay to lips that bleed, + And eyes that weep, and hearts that agonize, + Then in an instant make them clay again! + And for it all no reason, that the reason + Can bring to light to stand the light." + + "And yet + I'd make life better, food and shelter better + And wider happiness, and fuller love. + We're travelers on a ship that has no bourne + But rocks, for us. On such a ship 'twere wise + To have the daily comforts, foolish course + To neither eat, nor sleep, keep warm, nor sing. + But only walk the rainy deck and wait. + The little opiates of happiness + Would make the sailing better, though we know + The trip is nowhere and the rocks will sink + The portless steamer." + + "Is it portless?" asked + Llewellyn George, "you're leaping to a thought, + And overlook a world of intimations, + And hints of truth. I grant you take this race + That lives to-day, and make the world a boat + There is no port for us as human lives + In this our life. But look, you see the race + Has climbed, a mountain trail, and looks below + From certain heights to-day at man the beast. + We scan a half a million years of man + From caves to temples, gestures, beacon fires + To wireless. Call that mechanical, + And power developed over tools. But here + Is mystery beyond these.--What of powers, + Devotions, aspirations, sacred flame + Which masters nature, worships life, defies + Death to obstruct it, hungers for the right, + The truth, hates wrong, and by that passion wills + All art, all beauty, goodness, and creates + Those living waters of increasing life + By which man lives, and has to-day the means + Of fuller living. Here's a realm of richness, + Beyond and separate from material things, + Your aeroplanes or conquests. Now I put + This question to you, David Barrow, what + But God who is and has some end for life, + And gives it meaning, though we see it not-- + What is it in the heart of man which lifts, + Sustains him to the truth, the harmony, + The beauty say of loyalty, or truth + Or art, or science? lighting lamps for men + To walk by, men who hate the lamps, the hand + That lights? What is this spirit, but the spirit + Of Something which moves through us, to an end, + And by its constancy in man made constant + Proclaims an end? There's Bruno, Socrates, + There's Washington who might have lost his life, + Why do these men cling to the vision, hope? + When neither poverty, nor jeers, nor flames, + Nor cups of poison stay? Who say thereby + That death is nothing, but this life of ours, + Which can be shaped to truth and harmony, + And rising flame of spirit, giving light, + Is everything worth while, must be lived so + And if not lived so, then there's death indeed, + By turning from the voice that says that man + Must still aspire. And why aspire if death + Ends us, the scheme? And all this realm of spirit, + Of love for truth and beauty, is the play + Of shadows on the tomb?" + + "Now take this girl: + She knew before she sailed to France, this man, + This Barrett Bays was mad about her--knew + She could stay here and have him, live with him, + And thus achieve a happiness. And she knew + To leave him was to make a chance to lose him. + But then you say she knew he'd tire of her, + And left for France. And still that happiness + Before he tired would be hers. You see + This spirit I'd delineate working here: + To sacrifice and by the sacrifice + Rise to a bigger spirit, make it truer; + Then bring that truer spirit to her love + For Barrett Bays, and not just loll and slop + In love to-day. Why does she wish to give + A finer spirit to this Barrett Bays? + And to that end take life in hand? It's this: + My Something, God at work. You say it's woman + In sublimate of passion--call it that. + Why sublimate a passion? All her life + This girl aspires--you think to win a man? + But win a man with what? With finest self + Make this her contribution to these riches, + Which Bruno and the others filled so full. + You see this Something going on, but races + Come up, express themselves and pass away; + But yet this Something manifests itself + Through souls like Elenor Murray's--fills her life + With fuller meanings, maybe at the last + This Something will reveal itself so clear + That men like David Barrow can perceive. + And Love, this spirit, twin of Death, you see + Love slays this girl, but Love remains to slay, + Lift up, drive on and slay. I call Death twin + Of Love, and why? Because two things alone + Make what we are and live, first Love the flame, + And Death the cap that snuffs it. Is it bread + That keeps us dancing, skating like these bugs + That play criss-cross on evening waters?--no! + It's bread to get more life to give more love, + Bring to some heart a fuller life, receive + A fuller life for having given life. + This force of love may look demonical. + It tears, destroys, and crushes, chokes and kills, + Is always stretching hands to Death its twin. + And yet it is creation and creates, + Feeds roses, jonquils, columbines, gardenias, + As well as thistles, cockle burrs and thorns. + This is the force to which the girl's alert, + And sensitive, is shaken by its power, + Driven, uplifted, purified; a doll + Of paper dancing on magnetic plates; + And by that passion lusts for Death himself, + For union with another, sacrifice, + Beauty, and she aspires and toils, and turns + To God, the symptom always of this nature. + My fellow-jurymen, you'll never see, + Or learn so well about another soul + That had this Love force deeper in her flesh, + Her spirit, suffered more. Why do we suffer? + What is this love force? 'Tis the child of blood + Of madness, as this Elenor is the seed + Of that old grandma, who was mad, and cousin + Of Taylor who did murder. What is this + But human spirit flamed and subtleized + Until it is a poison and a food; + A madness but a clearest sanity; + A vision and a blindness, all as if + When nature goes so far, refines so much + Her balance has been broken, if the Something + Makes not a genius or a giant soul. + And so we suffer. But why do we suffer? + Well, not as Barrow said, that life is bad; + A failure and a fraud. Not suffering + That points to dust, defeat, is painfulest; + But suffering that points to skies and realms + Above us, whence we came, or where we go, + That suffering is most poignant, as it is + Significant as well, and rapturous too. + The pain that thrills us for the singing Flame + Of Love, the force creative, that's the pain! + And those must suffer most to whom the sounds + Of music or of words, or scents, or scenes + Recall lost realms. No soul can understand + Music or words in whom there is not stirred + A recollection--that is genius too: + A memory, and reliving hours we lived + Before we looked upon this world of man."... + + Then Winthrop Marion said: "I like your talk, + Llewellyn George, but still what killed the girl? + What was the cause of death of Elenor Murray? + She died from syncope, that's clear enough. + The doctors tell us that in syncope + The victim should be laid down, not held up. + And Barrett Bays, the bungler, held her up + When she was stricken--like the man, I think! + Well, Coroner, suppose we make a verdict, + And say we find that had this Barrett Bays + Sustained this Elenor Murray in the war, + And in her life, with friendship, and with faith + She had not died. Suppose we further find + That when he took her, held her in his arms + When she had syncope, he was dull or crazed, + And missed a chance to save her. We could find + That had he laid her down when she was stricken + She might have lived--I knew that much myself. + And we could find that had he never driven + This woman from his arms, but kept her there, + Before said day of August 7th, no doubt + She had not died on August 7th. In short, + He held her up, and should have laid her down, + And drove her from him when she needed arms + To hold her up. And so we find her death + Was due to Barrett Bays--we censure him, + Would hold him to the courts--that cannot be-- + And so we hold him up for memory + Contemptuous, and say his bitter words + Brought on the syncope, so long prepared + By what he did. We write his course unfeeling, + Weak, selfish, petty, flowing from the craze + Of sexual jealousy, made worse by war, + And universal madness, erethism + Of hellish war. And, gentlemen, one thing: + Paul Robert's article in the _Dawn_ suggests + Some things I credit, knowing them. We get + Our notions of uncleanness from the Jews, + The Pentateuch. There are no women here, + And I can talk;--you know the ancient Jews + Deemed sex unclean, and only to be touched + At sufferance of Jehovah; birth unclean, + A mother needing purification after + Her hour of giving birth. You know their laws + Concerning adultery. Well, they've tainted us + In spite of Greece. Now look at Elenor Murray: + What if she went with Gregory Wenner. Hell! + Did that contaminate her, change her flesh, + Or change her spirit? All this evidence + Shows that it did not. But it changed this man, + Because his mind was slime where snakes could breed. + But now what do we see? That woman is + Essential genius, man just mechanism + Of conscious thought and strength. This Elenor + Is wiser, being nature, than this man, + And lives a life that puts this Barrett Bays + To shame and laughter. Look at her: She's brave, + Devoted, loyal, true and dutiful, + She's will to life, and through it senses God, + And seeks to serve the cosmic soul. I think + This jury should start now to raise a fund + To erect a statue of her in the park + To keep her name and labors fresh in mind + To those who shall come after." + + "And I'll sign + A verdict in these words, but understand + Such things are _Coram non judice_; still + We can chip in our money, start the fund + To build this monument." + + Ritter interrupted. + The banker said: "I'll start it with a hundred," + And so the fund was started. + + Marion + Resumed to speak of riffles: "In Chicago + There's less than half the people speaking English, + The rest is Babel: Germans, Russians, Poles + And all the tongues, much rippling going on, + And if we couldn't trace the riffles out + From Elenor Murray, We must give this up. + One thing is sure: Look out for England, if + America shall grow a separate soul. + You may have congresses, and presidents, + These states, but if America is a realm. + Of tribute as to thought, America + Is just a province. And it's past the time + When we should be ourselves, we've wasted time, + And grafted alien things upon our bole. + A Domesday of the minds that think and know + In our America would give us hope, + We have them in abundance. What I hate + Is that crude Demos which shouts down the minds, + Outvotes them, takes these silly lies that move + The populace and makes them into laws, + And makes a village of a great republic." + + And Merival listened as the jurymen + Philosophied the case of Elenor Murray, + And life at large. And having listened spoke: + "I like the words Llewellyn George has said. + Love is a sea which wrecks and sinks our craft, + But re-creates the hands that build again; + And like a tidal wave which sponges out + An island or a city, lifts and leaves + Fresh seeds and forms of beauty on the peaks. + The whinchat in the mud upon its claws, + Storm driven from its course to sea, brings life + Of animal and plant to virgin shores, + And islands strange and new. These happenings + Of Elenor Murray carry beauty forth, + Unhurt amid the storm-cloud, darkness, fire, + To lives and eras. And our country too, + So ruined and so weltering, like a ball + Of mud made in a missile by a god + May bear, no less, a pearl at core, a truth, + A liberty, a genius, beauty,--thrown + In mischief by the god, and staining walls + Of this our temple; in a day to be + Dried up, cracks open, and the pearl appears + To be set in a precious time beyond + Our time and vision. This is what I mean: + Call Elenor egoist, and make her work, + And life the means of rich return to her + In exaltation, pride;--a missile of mud, + It carries still the pearl of her, the seed + Of finer spirits. We must open eyes + To see inside the mud-ball. If it be + We conquered slavery of the negro through, + Because of economic forces, yet + We conquered it. Trade, cotton, were the mud + Upon the whinchat's claws containing seeds + Of liberties to be, and carried forth + In mid seas of the future to sunny isles, + More blest than ours. And as for this, you know + The English blotted slavery from their books + And left their books unbalanced in point of cash, + But balanced richly in a manhood gain. + I warn you, David Barrow, pessimist, + Against a general slur on life and man. + Deride the Christian ethic, if you choose, + You must retain its word of benevolence; + Or better, you must honor man, whose heart + Leaps up to its benevolence, from whose heart + The Christian doctrine of benevolence + Did issue to this world. If Christian doctrine + Be man-made, not a miracle, as it is + All man-made, still it's out of generous fire + Of human spirit; that's the thing divine.... + Now how is Elenor Murray wonderful + To me viewed through this mass of evidence? + Why, as the soul maternal, out of which + All goodness, beauty, and benevolence, + All aspiration, sacrifice, all death + For truth and liberty blesses life of us. + This soul maternal, passion to create + New life and guide it into happiness, + Is Mother Mary of all tenderness, + All charity, all vision, rises up + From its obscurity and primal force + Of romance, passion and the child, to realms, + Democracies, republics; never flags + To make them brighter, freer, so to spread + Its ecstasy to all, and take in turn + Redoubled ecstasy! The tragedy + Is that this Elenor for her mother gift + Is cursed and tortured, sent a wanderer; + And in her death must find much clinging mud + Around the pearl of her. If that be mud, + Which we have heard, around her, is it mud + That weights the soul of America, the pure + Dream of our founders? Larger Athens, where + All things should be heard gladly and considered, + And men should grow, be forced to grow, because + Not driven or restrained by usages, + Or laws of mad majorities, but left + At their own peril to work out their lives.... + Well, gentlemen, I'll tell you what I've learned. + What is a man or woman but a sperm + Accreted into largeness? Still a sperm + In likeness, being brain and spinal cord, + Fed by the glands, the thyroid and the rest, + Whose secrets we are ignorant of. We know + That when they fail our minds fail. But the glands + Are visible and clear: but in us whirl + Emotions; fear, disgust, murder or wrath, + Traced back to animals as moods of flight + Repulsion, curiosity, all the rest. + Now what are these but levers of our machine? + Elenor Murray teaches this to me: + Build up a science of these levers, learn + To handle fear, disgust, anger, wonder. + They teach us physiology; who teaches + The use of instincts and emotions, powers? + All learning may be that, but what is that? + Why just a spread of food, where after nibbling + You learn what you can eat, and what is good + For you to eat. You'll see a different world + When this philosophy of levers rules."... + + Then Merival tacked round and said: "I'll show + The riffles in my life from Elenor Murray: + The politicians give me notice now + I cannot be the coroner again. + I didn't want to be, but I had planned + To go to Congress, and they say to that + We do not want you. So my circle turns, + And riffles back to breeding better hogs, + And finer cattle. Here's the verdict, sign + Your names, and I'll return it to the clerk. + + + + +THE VERDICT + + + "An inquisition taken for the people + Of the State of Illinois here at LeRoy, + County aforesaid, on the 7th of August, + Anna Domini, nineteen hundred nineteen, + Before me, William Merival, coroner + For the said County, viewing here the body + Of Elenor Murray lying dead, upon + The oath of six good lawful men, the same + Of the said County, being duly sworn + To inquire for the said people into all + The circumstances of her death, the said + Elenor Murray, and by whom the same + Was brought about, and in what manner, when, + And where she came to death, do say upon + Their oaths, that Elenor Murray lying dead + In the office of the coroner at LeRoy + Came to her death on August 7th aforesaid + Upon the east shore of the Illinois River + A mile above Starved Rock, from syncope, + While in the company of Barrett Bays, + Who held her in his arms when she was seized, + And should have laid her down when she was seized + To give her heart a chance to resume its beat." + + * * * * * + + The jury signed the verdict and arose + And said good-night to Merival, went their way. + Next day the coroner went to Madison + To look on Arielle, who had written him. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Domesday Book, by Edgar Lee Masters + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOMESDAY BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 35991-8.txt or 35991-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/9/9/35991/ + +Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Domesday Book + +Author: Edgar Lee Masters + +Release Date: April 29, 2011 [EBook #35991] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOMESDAY BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<p class="center"><span class="giant">DOMESDAY BOOK</span></p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p> +<div class="verts"> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big"><span class="smcap">By</span> EDGAR LEE MASTERS</span></p> + + +<p class="center">SOME PRESS OPINIONS</p> + +<p>“One of the greatest books of the present century.”—<i>Nation.</i></p> + +<p>“The ‘Spoon River Anthology’ has certain qualities essential to +greatness—originality of conception and treatment, a daring that would +soar to the stars, an instant felicity and facility of expression.”—C. E. +<span class="smcap">Lawrence</span> in <i>The Daily Chronicle</i>.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Edgar Lee Masters will become a classic ... so close-packed is the +book’s pregnant wit, so outspoken its language, so destructive of cant and +pharisaism and the veneer of the proprieties, so piercingly true in +insight.”—<span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span> in <i>The Manchester Guardian</i>.</p> + +<p>“It is a remarkable book and it grips.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>“This book is of a quality that will endure.... Mr. Masters has been +daring with the certainty of success.”—<i>Liverpool Daily Post.</i></p> + +<p>“A quite remarkable volume of verse ... quite masterly.”—<i>Sphere.</i></p> + +<p>“Its reality, ingenuity, irony, insight, and vision are +unique.”—<i>Bookman.</i></p></div> + + +<p> </p><p> </p><p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">DOMESDAY BOOK</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">BY<br /> +<span class="big">EDGAR LEE MASTERS</span><br /> +AUTHOR OF “SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY,” ETC.</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">LONDON<br />EVELEIGH NASH COMPANY<br /> +LIMITED<br />1921</p> + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright in the U. S. A.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> +<p class="center"><i>Printed in the United States of America</i></p> + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<p class="center">TO MY FATHER<br />HARDIN WALLACE MASTERS<br /> +SPLENDID INDIVIDUAL OF<br />A PASSING SPECIES—AN AMERICAN</p> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Domesday Book</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Birth of Elenor Murray</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Finding of the Body</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Coroner</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Henry Murray</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mrs. Murray</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Alma Bell to the Coroner</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gregory Wenner</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Mrs. Gregory Wenner</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dr. Trace to the Coroner</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Irma Leese</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Miriam Fay’s Letter</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Archibald Lowell</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Widow Fortelka</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rev. Percy Ferguson</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Dr. Burke</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Charles Warren, the Sheriff</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Governor</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Scofield</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Gottlieb Gerald</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Lilli Alm</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Father Whimsett</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_179">179</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">John Campbell and Carl Eaton</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_188">188</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">At Fairbanks</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_210">210</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Anton Sosnowski</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_219">219</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Consider Freeland</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">George Joslin on La Menken</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_237">237</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Will Paget on Demos and Hogos</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_247">247</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The House that Jack Built</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jane Fisher</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_270">270</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Henry Baker, at New York</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Loveridge Chase</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_286">286</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">At Nice</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_289">289</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Major and Elenor Murray at Nice</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_305">305</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Convent</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_312">312</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Barrett Bays</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Elenor Murray</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_356">356</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Jury Deliberates</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_377">377</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Verdict</span></td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_395">395</a></td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="giant">DOMESDAY BOOK</span></p> + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<h2>DOMESDAY BOOK</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Take any life you choose and study it:<br /> +It gladdens, troubles, changes many lives.<br /> +The life goes out, how many things result?<br /> +Fate drops a stone, and to the utmost shores<br /> +The circles spread.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Now, such a book were endless,</span><br /> +If every circle, riffle should be traced<br /> +Of any life—and so of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Whose life was humble and whose death was tragic.<br /> +And yet behold the riffles spread, the lives<br /> +That are affected, and the secrets gained<br /> +Of lives she never knew of, as for that.<br /> +For even the world could not contain the books<br /> +That should be written, if all deeds were traced,<br /> +Effects, results, gains, losses, of her life,<br /> +And of her death.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Concretely said, in brief,</span><br /> +A man and woman have produced this child;<br /> +What was the child’s pre-natal circumstance?<br /> +How did her birth affect the father, mother?<br /> +What did their friends, old women, relatives<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>Take from the child in feeling, joy or pain?<br /> +What of her childhood friends, her days at school,<br /> +Her teachers, girlhood sweethearts, lovers later,<br /> +When she became a woman? What of these?<br /> +And what of those who got effects because<br /> +They knew this Elenor Murray?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Then she dies.</span><br /> +Read how the human secrets are exposed<br /> +In many lives because she died—not all<br /> +Lives, by her death affected, written here.<br /> +The reader may trace out such other riffles<br /> +As come to him—this book must have an end.<br /> +<br /> +Enough is shown to show what could be told<br /> +If we should write a world of books. In brief<br /> +One feature of the plot elaborates<br /> +The closeness of one life, however humble<br /> +With every life upon this globe. In truth<br /> +I sit here in Chicago, housed and fed,<br /> +And think the world secure, at peace, the clock<br /> +Just striking three, in Europe striking eight:<br /> +And in some province, in some palace, hut,<br /> +Some words are spoken, or a fisticuff<br /> +Results between two brawlers, and for that<br /> +A blue-eyed boy, my grandson, we may say,<br /> +Not even yet in seed, but to be born<br /> +A half a century hence, is by those words,<br /> +That fisticuff, drawn into war in Europe,<br /> +Shrieks from a bullet through the groin, and lies<br /> +Under the sod of France.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But to return</span><br /> +To Elenor Murray, I have made a book<br /> +Called Domesday Book, a census spiritual<br /> +Taken of our America, or in part<br /> +Taken, not wholly taken, it may be.<br /> +For William Merival, the coroner,<br /> +Who probed the death of Elenor Murray goes<br /> +As far as may be, and beyond his power,<br /> +In diagnosis of America,<br /> +While finding out the cause of death. In short<br /> +Becomes a William the Conqueror that way<br /> +In making up a Domesday Book for us....<br /> +Of this a little later. But before<br /> +We touch upon the Domesday book of old,<br /> +We take up Elenor Murray, show her birth;<br /> +Then skip all time between and show her death;<br /> +Then take up Coroner Merival—who was he?<br /> +Then trace the life of Elenor Murray through<br /> +The witnesses at the inquest on the body<br /> +Of Elenor Murray;—also letters written,<br /> +And essays written, conversations heard,<br /> +But all evoked by Elenor Murray’s death.<br /> +And by the way trace riffles here and there....<br /> +A word now on the Domesday book of old:<br /> +Remember not a book of doom, but a book<br /> +Of houses; domus, house, so domus book.<br /> +And this book of the death of Elenor Murray<br /> +Is not a book of doom, though showing too<br /> +How fate was woven round her, and the souls<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>That touched her soul; but is a house book too<br /> +Of riches, poverty, and weakness, strength<br /> +Of this our country.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">If you take St. Luke</span><br /> +You find an angel came to Mary, said:<br /> +Hail! thou art highly favored, shalt conceive,<br /> +Bring forth a son, a king for David’s throne:—<br /> +So tracing life before the life was born.<br /> +We do the same for Elenor Murray, though<br /> +No man or angel said to Elenor’s mother:<br /> +You have found favor, you are blessed of God,<br /> +You shall conceive, bring forth a daughter blest,<br /> +And blessing you. Quite otherwise the case,<br /> +As being blest or blessing, something like<br /> +Perhaps, in that desire, or flame of life,<br /> +Which gifts new souls with passion, strength and love....<br /> +This is the manner of the girl’s conception,<br /> +And of her birth:—...</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE BIRTH OF ELENOR MURRAY</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 8em;">What are the mortal facts</span><br /> +With which we deal? The man is thirty years,<br /> +Most vital, in a richness physical,<br /> +Of musical heart and feeling; and the woman<br /> +Is twenty-eight, a cradle warm and rich<br /> +For life to grow in.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And the time is this:</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>This Henry Murray has a mood of peace,<br /> +A splendor as of June, has for the time<br /> +Quelled anarchy within him, come to law,<br /> +Sees life a thing of beauty, happiness,<br /> +And fortune glow before him. And the mother,<br /> +Sunning her feathers in his genial light,<br /> +Takes longing and has hope. For body’s season<br /> +The blood of youth leaps in them like a fountain,<br /> +And splashes musically in the crystal pool<br /> +Of quiet days and hours. They rise refreshed,<br /> +Feel all the sun’s strength flow through muscles, nerves;<br /> +Extract from food no poison, only health;<br /> +Are sensitive to simple things, the turn<br /> +Of leaves on trees, flowers springing, robins’ songs.<br /> +<br /> +Now such a time must prosper love’s desire,<br /> +Fed gently, tended wisely, left to mount<br /> +In flame and light. A prospering fate occurs<br /> +To send this Henry Murray from his wife,<br /> +And keep him absent for a month—inspire<br /> +A daily letter, written of the joys,<br /> +And hopes they have together, and omit,<br /> +Forgotten for the time, old aches, despairs,<br /> +Forebodings for the future.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">What results?</span><br /> +For thirty days her youth, and youthful blood<br /> +Under the stimulus of absence, letters,<br /> +And growing longing, laves and soothes and feeds,<br /> +Like streams that nourish fields, her body’s being.<br /> +Enriches cells to plumpness, dim, asleep,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>Which stretch, expand and turn, the prototype<br /> +Of a baby newly born; which after the cry<br /> +At midnight, taking breath an hour before,—<br /> +That cry which is of things most tragical,<br /> +The tragedy most poignant—sleeps and rests,<br /> +And flicks its little fingers, with closed eyes<br /> +Senses with visions of unopened leaves<br /> +This monstrous and external sphere, the world,<br /> +And what moves in it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">So she thinks of him,</span><br /> +And longs for his return, and as she longs<br /> +The rivers of her body run and ripple,<br /> +Refresh and quicken her. The morning’s light<br /> +Flutters upon the ceiling, and she lies<br /> +And stretches drowsily in the breaking slumber<br /> +Of fluctuant emotion, calls to him<br /> +With spirit and flesh, until his very name<br /> +Seems like to form in sound, while lips are closed,<br /> +And tongue is motionless, beyond herself,<br /> +And in the middle spaces of the room<br /> +Calls back to her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Henry Murray caught,</span><br /> +In letters, which she sent him, all she felt,<br /> +Re-kindled it and sped it back to her.<br /> +Then came a lover’s fancy in his brain:<br /> +He would return unlooked for—who, the god,<br /> +Inspired the fancy?—find her in what mood<br /> +She might be in his absence, where no blur<br /> +Of expectation of his coming changed<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>Her color, flame of spirit. And he bought<br /> +Some chablis and a cake, slipped noiselessly<br /> +Into the chamber where she lay asleep,<br /> +And had a light upon her face before<br /> +She woke and saw him.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">How she cried her joy!</span><br /> +And put her arms around him, burned away<br /> +In one great moment from a goblet of fire,<br /> +Which over-flowed, whatever she had felt<br /> +Of shrinking or distaste, or loveless hands<br /> +At any time before, and burned it there<br /> +Till even the ashes sparkled, blew away<br /> +In incense and in light.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">She rose and slipped</span><br /> +A robe on and her slippers; drew a stand<br /> +Between them for the chablis and the cake.<br /> +And drank and ate with him, and showed her teeth,<br /> +While laughing, shaking curls, and flinging back<br /> +Her head for rapture, and in little crows.<br /> +<br /> +And thus the wine caught up the resting cells,<br /> +And flung them in the current, and their blood<br /> +Flows silently and swiftly, running deep;<br /> +And their two hearts beat like the rhythmic chimes<br /> +Of little bells of steel made blue by flame,<br /> +Because their lives are ready now, and life<br /> +Cries out to life for life to be. The fire,<br /> +Lit in the altar of their eyes, is blind<br /> +For mysteries that urge, the blood of them<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>In separate streams would mingle, hurried on<br /> +By energy from the heights of ancient mountains;<br /> +The God himself, and Life, the Gift of God.<br /> +<br /> +And as result the hurrying microcosms<br /> +Out of their beings sweep, seek out, embrace,<br /> +Dance for the rapture of freedom, being loosed;<br /> +Unite, achieve their destiny, find the cradle<br /> +Of sleep and growth, take up the cryptic task<br /> +Of maturation and of fashioning;<br /> +Where no light is except the light of God<br /> +To light the human spirit, which emerges<br /> +From nothing that man knows; and where a face,<br /> +To be a woman’s or a man’s takes form:<br /> +Hands that shall gladden, lips that shall enthrall<br /> +With songs or kisses, hands and lips, perhaps,<br /> +To hurt and poison. All is with the fates,<br /> +And all beyond us.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Now the seed is sown,</span><br /> +The flower must grow and blossom. Something comes,<br /> +Perhaps, to whisper something in the ear<br /> +That will exert itself against the mass<br /> +That grows, proliferates; but for the rest<br /> +The task is done. One thing remains alone:<br /> +It is a daughter, woman, that you bear,<br /> +A whisper says to her—It is her wish—<br /> +Her wish materializes in a voice<br /> +Which says: the name of Elenor is sweet,<br /> +Choose that for her—Elenor, which is light,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>The light of Helen, but a lesser light<br /> +In this our larger world; a light to shine,<br /> +And lure amid the tangled woodland ways<br /> +Of this our life; a firefly beating wings<br /> +Here, there amid the thickets of hard days.<br /> +And to go out at last, as all lights do,<br /> +And leave a memory, perhaps, but leave<br /> +No meaning to be known of any man....<br /> +So Elenor Murray is conceived and born.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +But now this Elenor Murray being born,<br /> +We start not with her life, but with her death,<br /> +The finding of her body by the river.<br /> +And then as Coroner Merival takes proof<br /> +Her life comes forth, until the Coroner<br /> +Traces it to the moment of her death.<br /> +And thus both life and death of her are known.<br /> +This the beginning of the mystery:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>FINDING OF THE BODY</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Elenor Murray, daughter of Henry Murray,<br /> +The druggist at LeRoy, a village near<br /> +The shadow of Starved Rock, this Elenor<br /> +But recently returned from France, a heart<br /> +Who gave her service in the world at war,<br /> +Was found along the river’s shore, a mile<br /> +Above Starved Rock, on August 7th, the day<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>Year 1679, LaSalle set sail<br /> +For Michilmackinac to reach Green Bay<br /> +In the <i>Griffin</i>, in the winter snow and sleet,<br /> +Reaching “Lone Cliff,” Starved Rock its later name,<br /> +Also La Vantum, village of the tribe<br /> +Called Illini.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">This may be taken to speak</span><br /> +The symbol of her life and fate. For first<br /> +This Elenor Murray comes into this life,<br /> +And lives her youth where the Rock’s shadow falls,<br /> +As if to say her life should starve and lie<br /> +Beneath a shadow, wandering in the world,<br /> +As Cavalier LaSalle did, born at Rouen,<br /> +Shot down on Trinity River, Texas. She<br /> +Searches for life and conquest of herself<br /> +With the same sleepless spirit of LaSalle;<br /> +And comes back to the shadow of the Rock,<br /> +And dies beneath its shadow. Cause of death?<br /> +Was she like Sieur LaSalle shot down, or choked,<br /> +Struck, poisoned? Let the coroner decide.<br /> +Who, hearing of the matter, takes the body<br /> +And brings it to LeRoy, is taking proofs;<br /> +Lets doctors cut the body, probe and peer<br /> +To find the cause of death.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And so this morning</span><br /> +Of August 7th, as a hunter walks—<br /> +Looking for rabbits maybe, aimless hunting—<br /> +Over the meadow where the Illini’s<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>La Vantum stood two hundred years before,<br /> +Gun over arm in readiness for game,<br /> +Sees some two hundred paces to the south<br /> +Bright colors, red and blue; thinks off the bat<br /> +A human body lies there, hurries on<br /> +And finds the girl’s dead body, hatless head,<br /> +The hat some paces off, as if she fell<br /> +In such way that the hat dashed off. Her arms<br /> +Lying outstretched, the body half on side,<br /> +The face upturned to heaven, open eyes<br /> +That might have seen Starved Rock until the eyes<br /> +Sank down in darkness where no image comes.<br /> +<br /> +This hunter knew the body, bent and looked;<br /> +Gave forth a gasp of horror, leaned and touched<br /> +The cold hand of the dead: saw in her pocket,<br /> +Sticking above the pocket’s edge a banner,<br /> +And took it forth, saw it was Joan of Arc<br /> +In helmet and cuirass, kneeling in prayer.<br /> +And in the banner a paper with these words:<br /> +“To be brave, and not to flinch.” And standing there<br /> +This hunter knew that Elenor Murray came<br /> +Some days before from France, was visiting<br /> +An aunt, named Irma Leese beyond LeRoy.<br /> +What was she doing by the river’s shore?<br /> +He saw no mark upon her, and no blood;<br /> +No pistol by her, nothing disarranged<br /> +Of hair or clothing, showing struggle—nothing<br /> +To indicate the death she met. Who saw her<br /> +Before or when she died? How long had death<br /> +Been on her eyes? Some hours, or over-night.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span><br /> +The hunter touched her hand, already stiff;<br /> +And saw the dew upon her hair and brow,<br /> +And a blue deadness in her eyes, like pebbles.<br /> +The lips were black, and bottle flies had come<br /> +To feed upon her tongue. ’Tis ten o’clock,<br /> +The coolness of the August night unchanged<br /> +By this spent sun of August. And the moon<br /> +Lies dead and wasted there beyond Starved Rock.<br /> +The moon was beautiful last night! To walk<br /> +Beside the river under the August moon<br /> +Took Elenor Murray’s fancy, as he thinks.<br /> +Then thinking of the aunt of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Who should be notified, the hunter runs<br /> +To tell the aunt—but there’s the coroner—<br /> +Is there not law the coroner should know?<br /> +Should not the body lie, as it was found,<br /> +Until the coroner takes charge of it?<br /> +Should not he stand on guard? And so he runs,<br /> +And from a farmer’s house by telephone<br /> +Sends word to Coroner Merival. Then returns<br /> +And guards the body.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Here is riffle first:</span><br /> +The coroner sat with his traveling bags,<br /> +Was closing up his desk, had planned a trip<br /> +With boon companions, they were with him there;<br /> +The auto waited at the door to take them<br /> +To catch the train for northern Michigan.<br /> +He closed the desk and they arose to go.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>Just then the telephone began to ring,<br /> +The hunter at the other end was talking,<br /> +And told of Elenor Murray. Merival<br /> +Turned to his friends and said: “The jig is up.<br /> +Here is an inquest, and of moment too.<br /> +I cannot go, but you jump in the car,<br /> +And go—you’ll catch the train if you speed up.”<br /> +They begged him to permit his deputy<br /> +To hold the inquest. Merival said “no,”<br /> +And waived them off. They left. He got a car<br /> +And hurried to the place where Eleanor lay....<br /> +Now who was Merival the Coroner?<br /> +For we shall know of Elenor through him,<br /> +And know her better, knowing Merival.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE CORONER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Merival, of a mother fair and good,<br /> +A father sound in body and in mind,<br /> +Rich through three thousand acres left to him<br /> +By that same father dying, mother dead<br /> +These many years, a bachelor, lived alone<br /> +In the rambling house his father built of stone<br /> +Cut from the quarry near at hand, above<br /> +The river’s bend, before it meets the island<br /> +Where Starved Rock rises.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Here he had returned,</span><br /> +After his Harvard days, took up the task<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>Of these three thousand acres, while his father<br /> +Aging, relaxed his hand. From farm to farm<br /> +Rode daily, kept the books, bred cattle, sheep,<br /> +Raised seed corn, tried the secrets of DeVries,<br /> +And Burbank in plant breeding.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Day by day,</span><br /> +His duties ended, he sat at a window<br /> +In a great room of books where lofty shelves<br /> +Were packed with cracking covers; newer books<br /> +Flowed over on the tables, round the globes<br /> +And statuettes of bronze. Upon the wall<br /> +The portraits hung of father and of mother,<br /> +And two moose heads above the mantel stared,<br /> +The trophies of a hunt in youth.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">So Merival</span><br /> +At a bay window sat in the great room,<br /> +Felt and beheld the stream of life and thought<br /> +Flow round and through him, to a sound in key<br /> +With his own consciousness, the murmurous voice<br /> +Of his own soul.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Along a lawn that sloped</span><br /> +Some hundred feet to the river he would muse.<br /> +Or through the oaks and elms and silver birches<br /> +Between the plots of flowers and rows of box<br /> +Look at the distant scene of hilly woodlands.<br /> +And why no woman in his life, no face<br /> +Smiling from out the summer house of roses,<br /> +Such riotous flames against the distant green?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>And why no sons and daughters, strong and fair,<br /> +To use these horses, ponies, tramp the fields,<br /> +Shout from the tennis court, swim, skate and row?<br /> +He asked himself the question many times,<br /> +And gave himself the answer. It was this:<br /> +<br /> +At twenty-five a woman crossed his path—<br /> +Let’s have the story as the world believes it,<br /> +Then have the truth. She was betrothed to him,<br /> +But went to France to study, died in France.<br /> +And so he mourned her, kept her face enshrined,<br /> +Was wedded to her spirit, could not brook<br /> +The coming of another face to blur<br /> +This face of faces! So the story went<br /> +Around the country. But his grief was not<br /> +The grief they told. The pang that gnawed his heart,<br /> +And took his spirit, dulled his man’s desire<br /> +Took root in shame, defeat, rejected love.<br /> +He had gone east to meet her and to wed her,<br /> +Now turned his thirtieth year; when he arrived<br /> +He found his dear bride flown, a note for him,<br /> +Left with the mother, saying she had flown,<br /> +And could not marry him, it would not do,<br /> +She did not love him as a woman should<br /> +Who makes a pact for life; her heart was set<br /> +For now upon her music, she was off<br /> +To France for study, wished him well, in truth—<br /> +Some woman waited him who was his mate....<br /> +So Merival read over many times<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>The letter, tried to find a secret hope<br /> +Lodged back of words—was this a woman’s way<br /> +To lure him further, win him to more depths?<br /> +He half resolved to follow her to France;<br /> +Then as he thought of what he was himself<br /> +In riches, breeding, place, and manliness<br /> +His egotism rose, fed by the hurt:<br /> +She might stay on in France for aught he cared!<br /> +What was she, anyway, that she could lose<br /> +Such happiness and love? for he had given<br /> +In a great passion out of a passionate heart<br /> +All that was in him—who was she to spurn<br /> +A gift like this? Yet always in his heart<br /> +Stirred something which by him was love and hate.<br /> +And when the word came she had died, the word<br /> +She loved a maestro, and the word like gas,<br /> +Which poisons, creeps and is not known, that death<br /> +Came to her somehow through a lawless love,<br /> +Or broken love, disaster of some sort,<br /> +His spirit withered with its bitterness.<br /> +And in the years to come he feared to give<br /> +With unreserve his heart, his leaves withheld<br /> +From possible frost, dreamed on and drifted on<br /> +Afraid to venture, having scarcely strength<br /> +To seek and try, endure defeat again.<br /> +<br /> +Thus was his youth unsatisfied, and as hope<br /> +Of something yet to be to fill his hope<br /> +Died not, but with each dawn awoke to move<br /> +Its wings, his youth continued past his years.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>The very cry of youth, which would not cease<br /> +Kept all the dreams and passions of his youth<br /> +Wakeful, expectant—kept his face and frame<br /> +Rosy and agile as he neared the mark<br /> +Of fifty years.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But every day he sat</span><br /> +As one who waited. What would come to him?<br /> +What soul would seek him in this room of books?<br /> +But yet no soul he found when he went forth,<br /> +Breaking his solitude, to towns.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">What waste</span><br /> +Thought Merival, of spirit, but what waste<br /> +Of spirit in the lives he knew! What homes<br /> +Where children starve for bread, or starve for love,<br /> +Half satisfied, half-schooled are driven forth<br /> +With aspirations broken, or with hopes<br /> +Or talents bent or blasted! O, what wives<br /> +Drag through the cheerless days, what marriages<br /> +Cling and exhaust to death, and warp and stain<br /> +The children! If a business, like this farm,<br /> +Were run on like economy, a year<br /> +Would see its ruin! But he thought, at last,<br /> +Of spiritual economy, so to save<br /> +The lives of men and women, use their powers<br /> +To ends that suit.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And thus when on a time</span><br /> +A miner lost his life there at LeRoy,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>And when the inquest found the man was killed<br /> +Through carelessness of self, while full of drink,<br /> +Merival, knowing that the drink was caused<br /> +By hopeless toil and by a bitter grief<br /> +Touching a daughter, who had strayed and died,<br /> +First wondered if in cases like to this<br /> +Good might result, if there was brought to light<br /> +All secret things; and in the course of time,<br /> +If many deaths were probed, a store of truth<br /> +Might not be gathered which some genius hand<br /> +Could use to work out laws, instructions, systems<br /> +For saving and for using wasting spirits,<br /> +So wasted in the chaos, in the senseless<br /> +Turmoil and madness of this reckless life,<br /> +Which treats the spirit as the cheapest thing,<br /> +Since it is so abundant.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Thoughts like these</span><br /> +Led Merival to run for coroner.<br /> +The people wondered why he sought the office.<br /> +But when they gave it to him, and he used<br /> +His private purse to seek for secret faults,<br /> +In lives grown insupportable, for causes<br /> +Which prompted suicide, the people wondered,<br /> +The people murmured sometimes, and his foes<br /> +Mocked or traduced his purpose.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Merival</span><br /> +The coroner is now two years in office<br /> +When Henry Murray’s daughter Elenor<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>Found by the river, gives him work to do<br /> +In searching out her life’s fate, cause of death,<br /> +How, in what manner, and by whom or what<br /> +Said Elenor’s dead body came to death;<br /> +And of all things which might concern the same,<br /> +With all the circumstances pertinent,<br /> +Material or in anywise related,<br /> +Or anywise connected with said death.<br /> +And as in other cases Merival<br /> +Construed the words of law, as written above:<br /> +All circumstances material or related,<br /> +Or anywise connected with said death,<br /> +To give him power as coroner to probe<br /> +To ultimate secrets, causes intimate<br /> +In birth, environment, crises of the soul,<br /> +Grief, disappointment, hopes deferred or ruined.<br /> +So now he exercised his power to strip<br /> +This woman’s life of vestments, to lay bare<br /> +Her soul, though other souls should run and rave<br /> +For nakedness and shame.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">So Merival</span><br /> +Returning from the river with the body<br /> +Of Elenor Murray thought about the woman;<br /> +Recalled her school days in LeRoy—the night<br /> +When she was graduated at the High School; thought<br /> +About her father, mother, girlhood friends;<br /> +And stories of her youth came back to him.<br /> +The whispers of her leaving home, the trips<br /> +She took, her father’s loveless ways. And wonder<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>For what she did and made of self, possessed<br /> +His thinking; and the fancy grew in him<br /> +No chance for like appraisal had been his<br /> +Of human worth and waste, this man who knew<br /> +Both life and books. And lately he had read<br /> +The history of King William and his book.<br /> +And even the night before this Elenor’s body<br /> +Was found beside the river—this he read,<br /> +Perhaps, he thought, was reading it when Elenor<br /> +Was struck down or was choked. How strange the hour<br /> +Whose separate place finds Merival with a book,<br /> +And Elenor with death, brings them together,<br /> +And for result blends book and death!... He knew<br /> +By Domesday Book King William had a record<br /> +Of all the crown’s possessions, had the names<br /> +Of all land-holders, had the means of knowing<br /> +The kingdom’s strength for war; it gave the data<br /> +How to increase the kingdom’s revenue.<br /> +It was a record in a case of titles,<br /> +Disputed or at issue to appeal to.<br /> +So Merival could say: My inquests show<br /> +The country’s wealth or poverty in souls,<br /> +And what the country’s strength is, who by right<br /> +May claim his share-ship in the country’s life;<br /> +How to increase the country’s glory, power.<br /> +Why not a Domesday Book in which are shown<br /> +A certain country’s tenures spiritual?<br /> +And if great William held great council once<br /> +To make inquiry of the nation’s wealth,<br /> +Shall not I as a coroner in America,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>Inquiring of a woman’s death, make record<br /> +Of lives which have touched hers, what lives she touched;<br /> +And how her death by surest logic touched<br /> +This life or that, was cause of causes, proved<br /> +The event that made events?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">So Merival</span><br /> +Brought in a jury for the inquest work<br /> +As follows: Winthrop Marion, learned and mellow,<br /> +A journalist in Chicago, keeping still<br /> +His residence at LeRoy. And David Borrow,<br /> +A sunny pessimist of varied life,<br /> +Ingenious thought, a lawyer widely read.<br /> +And Samuel Ritter, owner of the bank,<br /> +A classmate of the coroner at Harvard.<br /> +Llewellyn George, but lately come from China,<br /> +A traveler, intellectual, anti-social<br /> +Searcher for life and beauty, devotee<br /> +Of such diversities as Nietzsche, Plato.<br /> +Also a Reverend Maiworm noted for<br /> +Charitable deeds and dreams. And Isaac Newfeldt<br /> +Who in his youth had studied Adam Smith,<br /> +And since had studied tariffs, lands and money,<br /> +Economies of nations.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And because</span><br /> +They were the friends of Merival, and admired<br /> +His life and work, they dropped their several tasks<br /> +To serve as jurymen.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">The hunter came</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>And told his story: how he found the body,<br /> +What hour it was, and how the body lay;<br /> +About the banner in the woman’s pocket,<br /> +Which Coroner Merival had taken, seen,<br /> +And wondered over. For if Elenor<br /> +Was not a Joan too, why treasure this?<br /> +Did she take Joan’s spirit for her guide?<br /> +And write these words: “To be brave and not to flinch”?<br /> +She wrote them; for her father said: “It’s true<br /> +That is her writing,” when he saw the girl<br /> +First brought to Merival’s office.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Merival</span><br /> +Amid this business gets a telegram:<br /> +Tom Norman drowned, one of the men with whom<br /> +He planned this trip to Michigan. Later word<br /> +Tom Norman and the other, Wilbur Horne<br /> +Are in a motor-boat. Tom rises up<br /> +To get the can of bait and pitches out,<br /> +His friend leaps out to help him. But the boat<br /> +Goes on, the engine going, there they fight<br /> +For life amid the waves. Tom has been hurt,<br /> +Somehow in falling, cannot save himself,<br /> +And tells his friend to leave him, swim away.<br /> +His friend is forced at last to swim away,<br /> +And makes the mile to shore by hardest work.<br /> +Tom Norman, dead, leaves wife and children caught<br /> +In business tangles which he left to build<br /> +New strength, to disentangle, on the trip.<br /> +The rumor goes that Tom was full of drink,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>Thus lost his life. But if our Elenor Murray<br /> +Had not been found beside the river, what<br /> +Had happened? If the coroner had been there,<br /> +And run the engine, steered the boat beside<br /> +The drowning man, and Wilbur Horne—what drink<br /> +Had caused the death of Norman? Or again,<br /> +Perhaps the death of Elenor saved the life<br /> +Of Merival, by keeping him at home<br /> +And safe from boats and waters.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Anyway,</span><br /> +As Elenor Murray’s body has no marks,<br /> +And shows no cause of death, the coroner<br /> +Sends out for Dr. Trace and talks to him<br /> +Of things that end us, says to Dr. Trace<br /> +Perform the autopsy on Elenor Murray.<br /> +And while the autopsy was being made<br /> +By Dr. Trace, he calls the witnesses<br /> +The father first of Elenor Murray, who<br /> +Tells Merival this story:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>HENRY MURRAY</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Henry Murray, father of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Willing to tell the coroner Merival<br /> +All things about himself, about his wife,<br /> +All things as well about his daughter, touching<br /> +Her growth, and home life, if the coroner<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Would hear him privately, save on such things<br /> +Strictly relating to the inquest, went<br /> +To Coroner Merival’s office and thus spoke:<br /> +I was born here some sixty years ago,<br /> +Was nurtured in these common schools, too poor<br /> +To satisfy a longing for a college.<br /> +Felt myself gifted with some gifts of mind,<br /> +Some fineness of perception, thought, began<br /> +By twenty years to gather books and read<br /> +Some history, philosophy and science.<br /> +Had vague ambitions, analyzed perhaps,<br /> +To learn, be wise.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Now if you study me,</span><br /> +Look at my face, you’ll see some trace of her:<br /> +My brow is hers, my mouth is hers, my eyes<br /> +Of lighter color are yet hers, this way<br /> +I have of laughing, as I saw inside<br /> +The matter deeper cause for laughter, hers.<br /> +And my jaw hers betokening a will,<br /> +Hers too, with chin that mitigates the will,<br /> +Shading to softness as hers did.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Our minds</span><br /> +Had something too in common: first this will<br /> +Which tempted fate to bend it, break it too—<br /> +I know not why in her case or in mine.<br /> +But when my will is bent I grow morose,<br /> +And when it’s broken, I become a scourge<br /> +To all around me. Yes, I’ve visited<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>A life-time’s wrath upon my wife. This daughter<br /> +When finding will subdued did not give up,<br /> +But took the will for something else—went on<br /> +By ways more prosperous; but alas! poor me!<br /> +I hold on when defeated, and lie down<br /> +When I am beaten, growling, ruminate<br /> +Upon my failure, think of nothing else.<br /> +But truth to tell, while we two were opposed,<br /> +This daughter and myself, while temperaments<br /> +Kept us at sword’s points, while I saw in her<br /> +Traits of myself I liked not, also traits<br /> +Of the child’s mother which I loathe, because<br /> +They have undone me, helped at least—no less<br /> +I see this child as better than myself,<br /> +And better than her mother, so admire.<br /> +Also I never trusted her; as a child<br /> +She would rush in relating lying wonders;<br /> +She feigned emotions, purposes and moods;<br /> +She was a little actress from the first,<br /> +And all her high resolves from first to last<br /> +Seemed but a robe with flowing sleeves in which<br /> +Her hands could hide some theft, some secret spoil.<br /> +When she was fourteen I could see in her<br /> +The passionate nature of her mother—well<br /> +You know a father’s feelings when he sees<br /> +His daughter sensed by youths and lusty men<br /> +As one of the kind for capture. It’s a theme<br /> +A father cannot talk of with his daughter.<br /> +He may say, “have a care,” or “I forbid<br /> +Your strolling, riding with these boys at night.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>But if the daughter stands and eyes the father,<br /> +As she did me with flaming eyes, then goes<br /> +Her way in secret, lies about her ways,<br /> +The father can but wonder, watch or brood,<br /> +Or switch her maybe, for I switched her once,<br /> +And found it did no good. I needed here<br /> +The mother’s aid, but no, her mother saw<br /> +Herself in the girl, and said she knew the girl,<br /> +That I was too suspicious, out of touch<br /> +With a young girl’s life, desire for happiness.<br /> +But when this Alma Bell affair came up,<br /> +And the school principal took pains to say<br /> +My daughter was too reckless of her name<br /> +In strolling and in riding, then my wife<br /> +Howled at me like a tigress: whip that man!<br /> +And as my daughter cried, and my wife screeched,<br /> +And called me coward if I let him go,<br /> +I rushed out to the street and finding him<br /> +Beat up his face, though almost dropping dead<br /> +From my exertion. Well, the aftermath<br /> +Was worse for me, not only by the talk,<br /> +But in my mind who saw no gratitude<br /> +In daughter or in mother for my deed.<br /> +The daughter from that day took up a course<br /> +More secret from my eyes, more variant<br /> +From any wish I had. We stood apart,<br /> +And grew apart thereafter. And from that day<br /> +My wife grew worse in temper, worse in nerves.<br /> +And though the people say she is my slave,<br /> +That I alone, of all who live, have conquered<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>Her spirit, still what despotism works<br /> +Free of reprisals, or of breakings-forth<br /> +When hands are here, not there?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">But to return:</span><br /> +One takes up something for a livelihood,<br /> +And dreams he’ll leave it later, when in time<br /> +His plans mature; and as he earns and lives,<br /> +With some time for his plans, hopes for the day<br /> +When he may step forth from his olden life<br /> +Into a new life made thus gradually,<br /> +I hoped to be a lawyer; but to live<br /> +I started as a drug clerk—look to-day<br /> +I own that little drug store—here I am<br /> +With drugs my years through, drugged myself at last.<br /> +And as a clerk I met my wife—went mad<br /> +About her, and I see in Elenor<br /> +Her mother’s gift for making fools of men.<br /> +Why, I can scarce explain it, it’s the flesh,<br /> +But then it’s spirit too. Such flaming up<br /> +As came from flames like ours, but more of hers<br /> +Burned in the children. Yes, it might be well<br /> +For theorists in heredity to think<br /> +About the matter.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, but how about</span><br /> +The flames that make the children? For this woman<br /> +Too surely ruined me and sapped my life.<br /> +You hear much of the vampire, but what wife<br /> +Has not more chance for eating up a man?<br /> +She has him daily, has him fast for years.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>A man can shake a vampire off, but how<br /> +To shake a wife off, when the children come,<br /> +And you must leave your place, your livelihood<br /> +To shake her off? And if you shake her off<br /> +Where do you go? what do you do? and how?<br /> +You see ’twas love that caught me, yet even so<br /> +I had resisted love had I not seen<br /> +A chance to rise through marriage. It was this:<br /> +You know, of course, my wife was Elenor Fouche,<br /> +Daughter of Arthur, thought to be so rich.<br /> +And I had hopes to patch my fortunes up<br /> +In this alliance, and become a lawyer.<br /> +What happened? Why they helped me not at all.<br /> +The children came, and I was chained to work,<br /> +To clothe and feed a family—all the while<br /> +My soul combusted with this aspiration,<br /> +And my good nature went to ashes, dampened<br /> +By secret tears which filtered through as lye.<br /> +Then finally, when my wife’s father died,<br /> +After our marriage, twenty years or so,<br /> +His fortune came to nothing, all she got<br /> +Went to that little house we live in here—<br /> +It needs paint now, the porch has rotten boards—<br /> +And I was forced to see these children learn<br /> +What public schools could teach, and even as I<br /> +Left school half taught, and never went to college,<br /> +So did these children, saving Elenor,<br /> +Who saw two years of college—earned herself<br /> +By teaching. I choke up, just wait a minute!<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>What depths of calmness may a man come to<br /> +As father, who can think of this and be<br /> +Quiet about his heart? His heart will hurt,<br /> +Move, as it were, as a worm does with its pain.<br /> +And these days now, when trembling hands and head<br /> +Foretell decline, or worse, and make me think<br /> +As face to face with God, most earnestly,<br /> +Most eager for the truth, I wonder much<br /> +If I misjudged this daughter, canvass her<br /> +Myself to see if I had power to do<br /> +A better part by her. That is the way<br /> +This daughter has got in my soul. At first<br /> +She incubates in me as force unknown,<br /> +A spirit strange yet kindred, in my life;<br /> +And we are hostile and yet drawn together;<br /> +But when we’re drawn together see and feel<br /> +These oppositions. Next she’s in my life—<br /> +The second stage of the fever—as dislike,<br /> +Repugnance, and I wish her out of sight,<br /> +Out of my life. Then comes these ugly things,<br /> +Like Alma Bell, and rumors from away<br /> +Where she is teaching, and I put her out<br /> +Of life and thought the more, and wonder why<br /> +I fathered such a nature, whence it came.<br /> +Well, then the fever goes and I am weak,<br /> +Repentant it may be, delirious visions<br /> +That haunted me in fever plague me yet,<br /> +Even while I think them visions, nothing else.<br /> +So I grow pitiful and blame myself<br /> +For any part I had in her mistakes,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>Sorrows and struggles, and I curse myself<br /> +That I was powerless to help her more—<br /> +Thus is she like a fever in my life.<br /> +<br /> +Well, then the child grows up. But as a child<br /> +She dances, laughs and sings. At three years springs<br /> +For minutes and for minutes on her toes,<br /> +Like skipping rope, clapping her hands the while,<br /> +Her blue eyes twinkling, and her milk-white teeth<br /> +Glistening as she gurgled, shouted, laughed—<br /> +There never was such vital strength. I give<br /> +The pictures as my memory took them. Next<br /> +I see her looking side-ways at me, as if<br /> +She studied me, avoided me. The child<br /> +Is now ten years of age; and now I know<br /> +She smelled the rats that made the family hearth<br /> +A place for scampering; the horrors of our home.<br /> +She thought I brought the rats and kept them there,<br /> +These rats of bickering, anger, strife at home.<br /> +I knew she blamed me for her mother’s moods<br /> +Who dragged about the kitchen day by day,<br /> +Sad faced and silent. So the upshot was<br /> +I had two enemies in the house, where once<br /> +I had but one, her mother. This made worse<br /> +The state for both, and worse the state for me.<br /> +And so it goes. Then next there’s Alma Bell.<br /> +The following year my daughter finished up<br /> +The High School—and we sit—my wife and I<br /> +To see the exercises. And that summer Elenor,<br /> +Now eighteen and a woman, goes about—<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>I don’t know what she does, sometimes I see<br /> +Some young man with her walking. But at home,<br /> +When I come in, the mother and the daughter<br /> +Put pedals on their talk, or change the theme—<br /> +I am shut out.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And in the fall I learn</span><br /> +From some outsider that she’s teaching school,<br /> +And later people laugh and talk to me<br /> +About her feat of cowing certain Czechs,<br /> +Who broke her discipline in school.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Well, then</span><br /> +Two years go on that have no memory,<br /> +Just like sick days in bed when you lie there<br /> +And wake and sleep and wait. But finally<br /> +Her mother says: “To-night our Elenor<br /> +Leaves for Los Angeles.” And then the mother,<br /> +To hide a sob, coughs nervously and leaves<br /> +The room where I am, for the kitchen—I<br /> +Sit with the evening paper, let it fall,<br /> +Then hold it up to read again and try<br /> +To say to self, “All right, what if she goes?”<br /> +The evening meal goes hard, for Elenor<br /> +Shines forth in kindness for me, talks and laughs—<br /> +I choke again.... She says to me if God<br /> +Had meant her for a better youth, then God<br /> +Had given her a better youth; she thanks me<br /> +For making High School possible to her,<br /> +And says all will be well—she will earn money<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>To go to college, that she will gain strength<br /> +By helping self—Just think, my friend, to hear<br /> +Such words, which in their kindness proved my failure,<br /> +When I had hoped, aspired, when I had given<br /> +My very soul, whether I liked this daughter,<br /> +Or liked her not, out of a generous hand,<br /> +Large hearted in its carelessness to give<br /> +A daughter of such mind a place in life,<br /> +And schooling for the place.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">The meal was over.</span><br /> +We stood there silent; then her face grew wet<br /> +With tears, as wet as blossoms soaked with rain.<br /> +She took my hand and took her mother’s hand,<br /> +And put our hands together—then she said:<br /> +“Be friends, be friends,” and hurried from the room,<br /> +Her mother following. I stepped out-doors,<br /> +And stood what seemed a minute, entered again,<br /> +Walked to the front room, from the window saw<br /> +Elenor and her mother in the street.<br /> +The girl was gone! How could I follow them?<br /> +They had not asked me. So I stood and saw<br /> +The canvas telescope her mother carried.<br /> +They disappeared. I went back to my store,<br /> +Came back at nine o’clock, lighted a match<br /> +And saw my wife in bed, cloths on her eyes.<br /> +She turned her face to the wall, and didn’t speak.<br /> +<br /> +Next morning at the breakfast table she,<br /> +Complaining of a stiff arm, said: “that satchel<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>Was weighted down with books, my arm is stiff—<br /> +Elenor took French books to study French.<br /> +When she can pay a teacher, she will learn<br /> +How to pronounce the words, but by herself<br /> +She’ll learn the grammar, how to read.” She knew<br /> +How words like that would hurt!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">I merely said:</span><br /> +“A happy home is better than knowing French,”<br /> +And went off to my store.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But coroner,</span><br /> +Search for the men in her life. When she came<br /> +Back from the West after three years, I knew<br /> +By look of her eyes that some one filled her life,<br /> +Had taken her life and body. What if I<br /> +Had failed as father in the way I failed?<br /> +And what if our home was not home to her?<br /> +She could have married—why not? If a girl<br /> +Can fascinate the men—I know she could—<br /> +She can have marriage, if she wants to marry.<br /> +Unless she runs to men already married,<br /> +And if she does so, don’t you make her out<br /> +As loose and bad?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Well, what is more to tell?</span><br /> +She learned French, seemed to know the ways of the world,<br /> +Knew books, knew how to dress, gave evidence<br /> +Of contact with refinements; letters came<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>When she was here at intervals inscribed<br /> +In writing of elite ones, gifted maybe.<br /> +And she was filial and kind to me,<br /> +Most kind toward her mother, gave us things<br /> +At Christmas time. But still her way was such<br /> +That I as well had been familiar with her<br /> +As with some formal lady visiting.<br /> +She came back here before she went to France,<br /> +Staid two days with us. Once upon the porch<br /> +She turned to me and said: “I wish to honor<br /> +Mother and you by serving in the war.<br /> +You must rejoice that I can serve—you must!<br /> +But most I wish to honor America,<br /> +This land of promise, of fulfillment, too,<br /> +Which proves to all the world that men and women<br /> +Are born alike of God, at least that riches<br /> +And classes formed in pride have neither hearts,<br /> +Nor minds above the souls of those who work.<br /> +This land that reared me is my dearest love,<br /> +I go to serve the country.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Pardon me!</span><br /> +A man of my age in an hour like this<br /> +Must cry a little—wait till I can say<br /> +The last words that she said to me.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">She put</span><br /> +Her arms about me, then she said to me:<br /> +“I am so glad my life and place in life<br /> +Were such that I was forced to rise or sink,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>To strive or fail. God has been good to me,<br /> +Who gifted me with spirit to aspire.”<br /> +I go back to my store now. In these days,<br /> +Last days, of course, I try to be a husband,<br /> +Try to be kinder to the mother of Elenor.<br /> +Death is not far off, and that makes us think.<br /> +We may be over soft or penitent;<br /> +Forgive where we should hate still, being soft;<br /> +And fade off from the wrongs, we brooded on;<br /> +And cease to care life has been badly lived,<br /> +From first to last. But none the less our vision<br /> +Seems clearer as we end this trivial life.<br /> +And so I try to be a kinder husband<br /> +To Elenor’s mother.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">So spoke Henry Murray</span><br /> +To Merival; a stenographer took down<br /> +His words, and they were written out and shown<br /> +The jury. Afterward the mother came<br /> +And told her story to the coroner,<br /> +Also reported, written out, and shown<br /> +The jury. But it happened thus with her:<br /> +She waited in the coroner’s outer room<br /> +Until her husband told his story, then<br /> +With eyes upon the floor, passing her husband,<br /> +The two in silence passing, as he left<br /> +The coroner’s office, spoke amid her sighs,<br /> +Her breath long drawn at intervals, looking down<br /> +The while she spoke:</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<h2>MRS. MURRAY</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 9em;">I think, she said at first,</span><br /> +My daughter did not kill herself. I’m sure<br /> +Someone did violence to her, your tests,<br /> +Examination will prove violence.<br /> +It would be like her fate to meet with such:<br /> +Poor child, unfortunate from birth, at least<br /> +Unfortunate in fortune, peace and joy.<br /> +Or else if she met with no violence,<br /> +Some sudden crisis of her woman’s heart<br /> +Came on her by the river, the result<br /> +Of strains and labors in the war in France.<br /> +I’ll tell you why I say this: First I knew<br /> +She had come near me from New York, there came<br /> +A letter from her, saying she had come<br /> +To visit with her aunt there near LeRoy,<br /> +And rest and get the country air. She said<br /> +To keep it secret, not to tell her father;<br /> +That she was in no frame of mind to come<br /> +And be with us, and see her father, see<br /> +Our life, which is the same as it was when<br /> +She was a child and after. But she said<br /> +To come to her. And so the day before<br /> +They found her by the river I went over<br /> +And saw her for the day. She seemed most gay,<br /> +Gave me the presents which she brought from France,<br /> +Told me of many things, but rather more<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>By way of half told things than something told<br /> +Continuously, you know. She had grown fairer,<br /> +She had a majesty of countenance,<br /> +A luminous glory shone about her face,<br /> +Her voice was softer, eyes looked tenderer.<br /> +She held my hands so lovingly when we met.<br /> +She kissed me with such silent, speaking love.<br /> +But then she laughed and told me funny stories.<br /> +She seemed all hope, and said she’d rest awhile<br /> +Before she made a plan for life again.<br /> +And when we parted, she said: “Mother, think<br /> +What trip you’d like to take. I’ve saved some money,<br /> +And you must have a trip, a rest, construct<br /> +Yourself anew for life.” So, as I said,<br /> +She came to death by violence, or else<br /> +She had some weakness that she hid from me<br /> +Which came upon her quickly.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">For the rest,</span><br /> +Suppose I told you all my life, and told<br /> +What was my waste in life and what in hers,<br /> +How I have lived, and how poor Elenor<br /> +Was raised or half-raised—what’s the good of that?<br /> +Are not there rooms of books, of tales and poems<br /> +And histories to show all secrets of life?<br /> +Does anyone live now, or learn a thing<br /> +Not lived and learned a thousand times before?<br /> +The trouble is these secrets are locked up<br /> +In books and might as well be locked in graves,<br /> +Since they mean nothing till you live yourself.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>And I suppose the race will live and suffer<br /> +As long as leaves put forth in spring, live over<br /> +The very sorrows, horrors that we live.<br /> +Wisdom is here, but how to learn that wisdom,<br /> +And use it while life’s worth the living, that’s<br /> +The thing to be desired. But let it go.<br /> +If any soul can profit by my life,<br /> +Or by my Elenor’s, I trust he may,<br /> +And help him to it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Coroner Merival,</span><br /> +Even the children in this neighborhood<br /> +Know something of my husband and of me,<br /> +Our struggle and unhappiness, even the children<br /> +Hear Alma Bell’s name mentioned with a look.<br /> +And if you went about here to inquire<br /> +About my Elenor, you’d find them saying<br /> +She was a wonder girl, or this or that.<br /> +But then you’d feel a closing up of speech,<br /> +As if a door closed softly, just a way<br /> +To indicate that something else was there,<br /> +Somewhere in the person’s room of thoughts.<br /> +This is the truth, since I was told a man<br /> +Came here to ask about her, when she asked<br /> +To serve in France, the matter of Alma Bell<br /> +Traced down and probed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">It being true, therefore,</span><br /> +That you and all the rest know of my life,<br /> +Our life at home, it matters nothing then<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>That I go on and tell you what I think<br /> +Made sorrow for us, what our waste was, tell you<br /> +How the yarn knotted as we took the skein<br /> +And wound it to a ball, and made the ball<br /> +So hardly knotted that the yarn held fast<br /> +Would not unwind for knitting.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Well, you know</span><br /> +My father Arthur Fouche, my mother too.<br /> +They reared me with the greatest care. You know<br /> +They sent me to St. Mary’s, where I learned<br /> +Fine things, to be a lady—learned to dance,<br /> +To play on the piano, sing a little;<br /> +Learned French, Italian, learned to know good books,<br /> +The beauty of a poem or a tale;<br /> +Learned elegance of manners, how to walk,<br /> +Stand, breathe, keep well, be radiant and strong,<br /> +And so in all to make life beautiful,<br /> +Become the helpful wife of some strong man,<br /> +The mother of fine children. Well, at school<br /> +We girls were guarded from the men, and so<br /> +We went to town surrounded by our teachers,<br /> +And only saw the boys when some girl’s brother<br /> +Came to the school to visit, perhaps a girl<br /> +Consent had of her parents to receive<br /> +A beau sometimes. But then I had no beau;<br /> +And had I had my father would have kept him<br /> +Away from me at school.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">For truth to tell</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>When I had finished school, came back to home<br /> +They kept the men away, there was no man<br /> +Quite good enough to call. Now here begins<br /> +My fate, as you will see; their very care<br /> +To make me what they wished, to have my life<br /> +Grow safely, prosperously, was my undoing.<br /> +I had a sister named Corinne who suffered<br /> +Because of that; my father guarded me<br /> +Against all strolling lovers, unknown men.<br /> +But here was Henry Murray, whom they knew,<br /> +And trusted too; and though they never dreamed<br /> +I’d marry him, they trusted him to call.<br /> +He seemed a quiet, diligent young man,<br /> +Aspiring in the world. And so they thought<br /> +They’d solve my loneliness and restless spirits<br /> +By opening the door to him. My fate!<br /> +They let him call upon me twice a month.<br /> +He was in love with me before this started,<br /> +That’s why he tried to call. But as for me,<br /> +He was a man, that’s all, a being only<br /> +In the world to talk to, help my loneliness.<br /> +I had no love for him, no more than I<br /> +Had love for father’s tenant on the farm.<br /> +And what I knew of marriage, what it means<br /> +Was what a child knows. If you’ll credit me<br /> +I thought a man and woman slept together,<br /> +Lay side by side, and somehow, I don’t know,<br /> +That children came.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">But then I was so vital,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>Rebellious, hungering for freedom, that<br /> +No chance was too indifferent to put by<br /> +What offered freedom from the prison home,<br /> +The watchfulness of father and of mother,<br /> +The rigor of my discipline. And in truth<br /> +No other man came by, no prospect showed<br /> +Of going on a visit, finding life<br /> +Some other place. And so it came about,<br /> +After I knew this man two months, one night<br /> +I made a rope of sheets, down from my window<br /> +Descended to his arms, eloped in short,<br /> +And married Henry Murray, and found out<br /> +What marriage is, believe me. Well, I think<br /> +The time will come when marriage will be known<br /> +Before the parties tie themselves for life.<br /> +How do you know a man, or know a woman<br /> +Until the flesh instructs you? Do you know<br /> +A man until you see him face to face?<br /> +Or know what texture is his hand until<br /> +You touch his hand? Well, lastly no one knows<br /> +Whether a man is mate for you before<br /> +You mate with him. I hope to see the day<br /> +When men and women, to try out their souls<br /> +Will live together, learning A. B. C.’s<br /> +Of life before they write their fates for life.<br /> +<br /> +Our story started then. To sate their rage<br /> +My father and my mother cut me off,<br /> +And so we had bread problems from the first.<br /> +He made but little clerking in the store,<br /> +Besides his mind was on the law and books.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>These were the early tangles of our yarn.<br /> +And I grew worried as the children came,<br /> +Two sons at first, and I was far from well,<br /> +One died at five years, and I almost died<br /> +For grief at this. But down below all things,<br /> +Far down below all tune or scheme of sound,<br /> +Where no rests were, but only ceaseless dirge,<br /> +Was my heart’s <i>de profundis</i>, crying out<br /> +My thirst for love, not thirst for his, but thirst<br /> +For love that quenched it. But the only water<br /> +That passed my lips was desert water, poisoned<br /> +By arsenic from his rocks. My soul grew bitter,<br /> +Then sweetened under the cross, grew bitter again.<br /> +My life lay raving on the desert sands.<br /> +To speak more plainly, sleep deserted me.<br /> +I could not sleep for thought, and for a will<br /> +That could not bend, but hoped that death or something<br /> +Would take him from me, bring me love before<br /> +My face was withered, as it is to-day.<br /> +At last the doctor found me growing mad<br /> +For lack of sleep. Why was I so, he asked.<br /> +You must give up this psychic work and quit<br /> +This psychic writing, let the spirits go.<br /> +Well, it was true that years before I found<br /> +I heard and saw with higher power, received<br /> +Deep messages from spirits, from my boy<br /> +Who passed away. And as to this, who knows?—<br /> +Surely no doctor—of this psychic power.<br /> +You may be called neurotic, what is that?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>Perhaps it is the soul become so fine<br /> +It leaves the body, or shakes down the body<br /> +With energy too subtle for the body.<br /> +But I was sleepless for these years, at last<br /> +The secret lost of sleep, for seven days<br /> +And seven nights could find no sleep, until<br /> +I lay upon the lawn and pushed my head,<br /> +As a dog does around, around, around.<br /> +There was a devil in me, at one with me,<br /> +And neither to be put out, nor yet subdued<br /> +By help outside, and nothing to be done<br /> +Except to find escape by knife, or pistol,<br /> +And thus get sleep. Escape! Oh, that’s the word!<br /> +There’s something in the soul that says escape!<br /> +Fly, fly from something, and in truth, my friend,<br /> +Life’s restlessness, however healthful it be,<br /> +Is motived by this urge to fly, escape:<br /> +Well, to go on, they gave me everything,<br /> +At last they gave me chloral, but no sleep!<br /> +And finally I closed my eyes and quick<br /> +The secret came to me, as one might find,<br /> +After forgetting how, to swim, or walk,<br /> +After a sickness, and for just two minutes<br /> +I slept, and then I got the secret back,<br /> +And later slept.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">So I possessed myself.</span><br /> +But for these years sleep but two hours or so.<br /> +Why do I wake? The spirits let me sleep.<br /> +Oh, no it is my longing that will rest not,<br /> +These thoughts of him that rest not, and this love<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>That never has been satisfied, this heart<br /> +So empty all these years; the bitterness<br /> +Of living face to face with one you loathe,<br /> +Yet pity, while you hate yourself for feeling<br /> +Such bitterness toward another soul,<br /> +As wretched as your own. But then as well<br /> +I could not sleep for Elenor, for her fate,<br /> +Never to have a chance in life. I saw<br /> +Our poverty made surer; year by year<br /> +Slip by with chances slipping.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Oh, that child!</span><br /> +When I first felt her lips that sucked my breasts<br /> +My heart went muffled like a bird that tries<br /> +To pour its whole song in one note and fails<br /> +Out of its very ecstasy. A daughter,<br /> +A little daughter at my breast, a soul<br /> +Of a woman to be! I knew her spirit then,<br /> +Felt all my love and longing in her lips,<br /> +Felt all my passion, purity of desire<br /> +In those sweet lips that sucked my breasts. Oh, rapture,<br /> +Oh highest rapture God had given me<br /> +To see her roll upon my arm and smile,<br /> +Full fed, the milk that gurgled from her lips!<br /> +Such blue eyes—oh, my child! My child! my child!<br /> +I have no hope now of this life—no hope<br /> +Except to take you to my breast again.<br /> +God will be good and give you to me, or<br /> +God will bring sleep to me, a sleep so still<br /> +I shall not miss you, Elenor.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">I go on.</span><br /> +I see her when she first began to walk.<br /> +She ran at first, just like a baby quail.<br /> +She never walked. She danced into this life.<br /> +She used to dance for minutes on her toes.<br /> +My starved heart bore her vital in some way.<br /> +My hope which would not die had made her gay,<br /> +And unafraid and venturesome and hopeful.<br /> +She did not know what sadness was, or fear,<br /> +Or anything but laughter, play and fun.<br /> +Not till she grew to ten years and could see<br /> +The place in life that God had given her<br /> +Between my life and his; and then I saw<br /> +A thoughtfulness come over her, as a cloud<br /> +Passes across the sun, and makes one place<br /> +A shadow while the landscape lies in light:<br /> +So quietness would come over her, with smiles<br /> +Around her quietness and sunniest laughter<br /> +Fast following on her quietness.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, you know</span><br /> +She went to school here as the others did.<br /> +But who knew that I grieved to see her lose<br /> +A schooling at St. Mary’s, have no chance?<br /> +No chance save what she earned herself? What girl<br /> +Has earned the money for two years in college<br /> +Beside my Elenor in this neighborhood?<br /> +There is not one! But then if books and schooling<br /> +Be things prerequisite for success in life,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>Why should we have a social scheme that clings<br /> +To marriage and the home, when such a soul<br /> +Is turned into the world from such a home,<br /> +With schooling so inadequate? If the state<br /> +May take our sons and daughters for its use<br /> +In war, in peace, why let the state raise up<br /> +And school these sons and daughters, let the home<br /> +Go to full ruin from half ruin now,<br /> +And let us who have failed in choosing mates<br /> +Re-choose, without that fear of children’s fate<br /> +Which haunts us now.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">For look at Elenor!</span><br /> +Why did she never marry? Any man<br /> +Had made his life rich had he married her.<br /> +But in this present scheme of things such women<br /> +Move in a life where men are mostly less<br /> +In mind and heart than they are—and the men<br /> +Who are their equals never come to them,<br /> +Or come to them too seldom, or if they come<br /> +Are blind and do not know these Elenors.<br /> +And she had character enough to live<br /> +In single life, refuse the lesser chance,<br /> +Since she found not the great one, as I think.<br /> +But let it pass—I’m sure she was beloved,<br /> +And more than once, I’m sure. But I am sure<br /> +She was too wise for errors crude and common.<br /> +And if she had a love that stopped her heart,<br /> +She knew beforehand all, and met her fate<br /> +Bravely, and wrote that “To be brave and not<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>To flinch,” to keep before her soul her faith<br /> +Deep down within it, lest she might forget it<br /> +Among her crowded thoughts.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">She went to the war.</span><br /> +She came to see me before she went, and said<br /> +She owed her courage and her restless spirit<br /> +To me, her will to live, her love of life,<br /> +Her power to sacrifice and serve, to me.<br /> +She put her arms about my neck and kissed me,<br /> +Said I had been a mother to her, being<br /> +A mother if no more; wished she had brought<br /> +More happiness to me, material things,<br /> +Delight in life.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Of course her work took strength.</span><br /> +Her life was sapped by service in the war,<br /> +She died for country, for America,<br /> +As much as any soldier. So I say<br /> +If her life came to any waste, what waste<br /> +May her heroic life and death prevent?<br /> +The world has spent two hundred billion dollars<br /> +To put an egotist and strutting despot<br /> +Out of the power he used to tyrannize<br /> +Over his people with a tyranny<br /> +Political in chief, to take away<br /> +The glittering dominion of a crown.<br /> +I want some good to us out of this war,<br /> +And some emancipation. Let me tell you:<br /> +I know a worse thing than a German king:<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>It is the social scourge of poverty,<br /> +Which cripples, slays the husband and the wife,<br /> +And sends the children forth in life half formed.<br /> +I know a tyranny more insidious<br /> +Than any William had, it is the tyranny<br /> +Of superstition, customs, laws and rules;<br /> +The tyranny of the church, the tyranny<br /> +Of marriage, and the tyranny of beliefs<br /> +Concerning right and wrong, of good and evil;<br /> +The tyranny of taboos, the despotism<br /> +That rules our spirits with commands and threats:<br /> +Ghosts of dead faiths and creeds, ghosts of the past.<br /> +The tyranny, in short, that starves and chains<br /> +Imprisons, scourges, crucifies the soul,<br /> +Which only asks the chance to live and love,<br /> +Freely as it wishes, which will live so<br /> +If you take Poverty and chuck him out.<br /> +Then make the main thing inner growth, take rules,<br /> +Conventions and religion (save it be<br /> +The worship of God in spirit without hands<br /> +And without temples sacraments) the babble<br /> +Of moralists, the rant and flummery<br /> +Of preachers and of priests, and chuck them out.<br /> +These things produce your waste and suffering.<br /> +You tell a soul it sins and make it suffer,<br /> +Spend years in impotence and twilight thought.<br /> +You punish where no punishment should be,<br /> +Weaken and break the soul. You weight the soul<br /> +With idols and with symbols meaningless,<br /> +When God gave but three things: the earth and air<br /> +And mind to know them, live in freedom by them.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>Well, I would have America become<br /> +As free as any soul has ever dreamed her,<br /> +And if America does not get strength<br /> +To free herself, now that the war is over.<br /> +Then Elenor Murray’s spirit has not won<br /> +The thing she died for.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">So I go my way,</span><br /> +Back to get supper, I who live, shall die<br /> +In America as it is—Rise up and change it<br /> +For mothers of the future Elenors.<br /> +<br /> +By now the press was full of Elenor Murray.<br /> +And far and near, wherever she was known,<br /> +Had lived, or taught, or studied, tongues were loosed<br /> +In episodes or stories of the girl.<br /> +The coroner on the street was button-holed,<br /> +Received marked articles and letters, some<br /> +Anonymous, some crazy. David Borrow<br /> +Who helped this Alma Bell as lawyer, friend,<br /> +Found in his mail a note from Alma Bell,<br /> +Enclosed with one much longer, written for<br /> +The coroner to read.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">When Merival</span><br /> +Had read it, then he said to Borrow: “Read<br /> +This letter to the other jurors.” So<br /> +He read it to them, as they sat one night,<br /> +Invited to the home of Merival<br /> +To drink a little wine and have a smoke,<br /> +And talk about the case.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> +<h2>ALMA BELL TO THE CORONER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>What my name is, or where I live, or if<br /> +I am that Alma Bell whose name is broached<br /> +With Elenor Murray’s who shall know from this?<br /> +My hand-writing I hide in type, I send<br /> +This letter through a friend who will not tell.<br /> +But first, since no chance ever yet was mine<br /> +To speak my heart out, since if I had tried<br /> +These fifteen years ago to tell my heart,<br /> +I must have failed for lack of words and mind,<br /> +I speak my heart out now. I knew the soul<br /> +Of Elenor Murray, knew it at the time,<br /> +Have verified my knowledge in these years,<br /> +Who have not lost her, have kept touch with her<br /> +In letters, know the splendid sacrifice<br /> +She made in the war. She was a human soul<br /> +Earth is not blest with often.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">First I say</span><br /> +I knew her when she first came to my class<br /> +Turned seventeen just then—such blue-bell eyes,<br /> +And such a cataract of dark brown hair,<br /> +And such a brow, sweet lips, and such a way<br /> +Of talking with a cunning gasp, as if<br /> +To catch breath for the words. And such a sense<br /> +Of fitness, beauty, delicacy. But more<br /> +Such vital power that shook her silver nerves,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>And made her dim to others; but to me<br /> +She was all sanity of soul, her body,<br /> +The instruments of life, were overborne<br /> +By that great flame of hers. And if her music<br /> +Fell sometimes into discord, which I doubt,<br /> +It was her heart-strings which could not vibrate<br /> +For human weakness, what the soul of her<br /> +Struck for response; and when the strings so failed<br /> +She was more grieved than I, or anyone,<br /> +Who listened and expected more.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Well, then</span><br /> +What was my love? I am not loath to tell.<br /> +I could not touch her hand without a thrill,<br /> +Nor kiss her lips but I felt purified,<br /> +Exalted in some way. And if fatigue,<br /> +The hopeless, daily ills of teaching brought<br /> +My spirit to distress, and if I went,<br /> +As oftentimes I did, to call upon her<br /> +After the school hours, as I heard her step<br /> +Responding to my knock, my heart went up,<br /> +Her face framed by the opened door—what peace<br /> +Was mine to see it, peace ineffable<br /> +And rest were mine to sit with her and hear<br /> +That voice of hers where breath was caught for words,<br /> +That cunning gasp and pause!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">I loved her then,</span><br /> +Have loved her always, love her now no less.<br /> +I feel her spirit somehow, can take out<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>Her letters, photograph, and find a joy<br /> +That such a soul lived, was in truth my soul,<br /> +Must always be my soul.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">What was this love?</span><br /> +Why only this, shame nature if you will:<br /> +But since man’s body is not man’s alone,<br /> +Nor woman’s body wholly feminine,<br /> +A biologic truth, our body’s souls<br /> +Are neither masculine nor feminine,<br /> +But part and part; from whence our souls play forth<br /> +Part masculine, part feminine—this woman<br /> +Had that of body first which made her soul,<br /> +Or made her soul play in its way, and I<br /> +Had that of body which made soul of me<br /> +Play in its way. Our music met, that’s all,<br /> +And harmonized. The flesh’s explanation<br /> +Is not important, nor to tell whence comes<br /> +A love in the heart—the thing is love at last:<br /> +Love which unites and comforts, glorifies,<br /> +Enlarges spirit, woos to generous life,<br /> +Invites to sacrifice, to service, clothes<br /> +This poor dull earth with glory, makes the dawn<br /> +An hour of high resolve, the night a hope<br /> +For dawn for fuller life, the day a time<br /> +For working out the soul in terms of love.<br /> +This was my love for Elenor Murray—this<br /> +Her love for me, I think. Her sacrifice<br /> +In the war I traced to our love—all the good<br /> +Her life set into being, into motion<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>Has in it something of this love of ours.<br /> +How good is God who gives us love, the lens<br /> +Through which we see the beauty, hid from eyes<br /> +That have no love, no lens.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Then what are spirits?</span><br /> +Effluvia material of our bodies?<br /> +Or is the spirit all—the body nothing,<br /> +Since every atom, particle of matter<br /> +With its interstices of soul, divides<br /> +Until there is no matter, only soul?<br /> +But what is love but of the soul—what flesh<br /> +Knows love but through the soul? May it not be<br /> +As soul learns love through flesh, it may at last,<br /> +Helped on its way by flesh, discard the flesh:—<br /> +As cured men leave their crutches—and go on<br /> +Loving with spirits. For it seems to me<br /> +I must find Elenor Murray as a spirit,<br /> +Myself a spirit, love her as I loved her<br /> +These years on earth, but with a clearer fire,<br /> +Flame that is separate from fuel, burning<br /> +Eternal through itself.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And here a word:</span><br /> +My love for Elenor Murray never had<br /> +Other expression than the look of eyes,<br /> +The spiritual thrill of listening to her voice,<br /> +A hand clasp, kiss upon the lips at best,<br /> +Better to find her soul, as Plato says.<br /> +<br /> +Too true I left LeRoy under a cloud,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>Because of love for Elenor Murray—yet<br /> +Not lawless love, I write now to make clear<br /> +What love was mine—and you must understand.<br /> +But let me tell how life has dealt with me,<br /> +Then judge my purpose, dream, the quality<br /> +Of Elenor Murray judge, who in some way,<br /> +Somehow has drawn me onward, upward too,<br /> +I hope, as I have striven.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">I did fear</span><br /> +Her safety, and her future, did reprove<br /> +Her conduct, its appearance, rather more<br /> +In dread of gossip, dread of ways to follow<br /> +From such free ways begun at seventeen,<br /> +In innocence, out of a vital heart.<br /> +But when a bud is opening what stray bees<br /> +Come to drag pollen over it, and set<br /> +Life going to the end in the fruit of life!<br /> +O, my wish was to keep her for some love<br /> +To ripen in a rich maturity.<br /> +My care proved useless—or shall I say so?<br /> +Or anyone say so? since no mind knows<br /> +What failure here may somewhere prove a gain.<br /> +<br /> +There was that man who came into her life<br /> +With heart unsatisfied, bound to a woman<br /> +He wedded early. Elenor Murray’s love<br /> +Destroyed this man by human measurements.<br /> +And he destroyed her, so they say. But yet<br /> +She poured her love upon him, lit her soul<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>With brighter flames for love of him. At last<br /> +She knew no thing but love and sacrifice.<br /> +She wrote me last her life was just one pain,<br /> +Had always been so from the first, and now<br /> +She wished to fling her spirit in the war,<br /> +Give, serve, nor count the cost, win death and God<br /> +In service in the war—O, loveliest soul<br /> +I pray and pray to meet you once again!<br /> +So was her life a ruin, was it waste?<br /> +She was a prodigal flower that never shut<br /> +Its petals, even in darkness, let her soul<br /> +Escape when, where it would.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">But to myself:</span><br /> +I dragged myself to England from LeRoy<br /> +And plunged in life, philosophies of life,<br /> +Spinoza and what not, read poetry,<br /> +Heard music too, Tschaikowsky, Wagner, all<br /> +Who tried to make sound tell the secret thing<br /> +That drove me wild in searching love. And lovers<br /> +I had one after the other, having fallen<br /> +To that belief the way is by the body.<br /> +But I was fooled and grew by slow degrees.<br /> +And then there came a wild man in my life,<br /> +A vagabond, a madman, genius—well,<br /> +We both went mad, and I smashed everything,<br /> +And ran away, threw all the world for him,<br /> +Only to find myself worn out, half dead<br /> +At last, as it were out of delirium.<br /> +And for four years sat by the sea, or made<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>Visits to Paris, where I met the man<br /> +I married. Then how strange! I gave myself<br /> +Wholly to bearing children, just to find<br /> +Some explanation of myself, some work<br /> +Wholly absorbing, lives to take my love.<br /> +And here I was instructed, found a step<br /> +For my poor feet to mount by. Though submerged,<br /> +Alone too much, my husband not the mate<br /> +I dreamed of, hearing echoes in my dreams<br /> +Of London and of Paris, sometimes voices<br /> +Of lovers lost and vanished; still I’ve found<br /> +A peace sometimes, a stay, too, in the innocence<br /> +And helplessness of children.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">But you see,</span><br /> +In spite of all we do, however high<br /> +And fiercely mounts desire, life imposes<br /> +Repression, sacrifice, renunciation.<br /> +And our poor souls fall muddied in the ditch,<br /> +Or take the discipline and live life out.<br /> +So Elenor Murray lived and did not fail.<br /> +And so it was the knowledge of her life<br /> +Kept me in spite of failures at the task<br /> +Of holding to my self.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">These two months passed</span><br /> +I found I had not killed desire—found<br /> +Among a group a chance to try again<br /> +For happiness, but knew it was not there.<br /> +Then to my children I came back and said:<br /> +“Free once again through suffering.” So I prayed:<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>“Come to me flame of spirit, fire of worship,<br /> +Bright fire of song; if I but be myself,<br /> +Work through my fate, you shall be mine at last.”...<br /> +Then was it that I heard from Elenor Murray—<br /> +Such letters, such outpourings of herself!<br /> +Poor woman leaving love that could not be<br /> +More than it was; how wise she was to fly,<br /> +And use that love for service, as she did;<br /> +Extract its purest essence for the war,<br /> +And ease death with it, merging love and death<br /> +Into that mystic union, seen at last<br /> +By Elenor Murray.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">When I heard she came</span><br /> +All broken from the war, and died somehow<br /> +There by the river, then she seemed to me<br /> +More near—I seemed to feel her; little zephyrs<br /> +Blowing about my face, when I sat looking<br /> +Over the sea in my rose bower, seemed<br /> +The exhalation of her soul that caught<br /> +Its breath for words. I see her in my dreams—<br /> +O, my pure soul, what have you been to me,<br /> +What must you be hereafter!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">But my friend,</span><br /> +And I must call you friend, whose strength in life<br /> +Drives you to find economies of spirit,<br /> +And save the waste of spirit, you must find<br /> +Whatever waste there was of Elenor Murray<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>Of love or faith, or time, or strength, great gain<br /> +In spite of early chances, father, mother,<br /> +Too loveless, negligent, or ignorant;<br /> +Her mother instinct never blessed with children.<br /> +I sometimes think no life is without use—<br /> +For even weeds that sow themselves, frost reaped<br /> +And matted on the ground, enrich the soil,<br /> +Or feed some life. Our eyes must see the end<br /> +Of what these growths are for, before we say<br /> +Where waste is and where gain.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Coroner Merival woke to scan the <i>Times</i>,<br /> +And read the story of the suicide<br /> +Of Gregory Wenner, circle big enough<br /> +From Elenor Murray’s death, but unobserved<br /> +Of Merival, until he heard the hint<br /> +Of Dr. Trace, who made the autopsy,<br /> +That Gregory Wenner might have caused the death<br /> +Of Eleanor Murray, or at least was near<br /> +When Elenor Murray died. Here is the story<br /> +Worked out by Merival as he went about<br /> +Unearthing secrets, asking here and there<br /> +What Gregory Wenner was to Elenor Murray.<br /> +The coroner had a friend who was the friend<br /> +Of Mrs. Wenner. Acting on the hint<br /> +Of Dr. Trace he found this friend and learned<br /> +What follows here of Gregory Wenner, then<br /> +What Mrs. Wenner learned in coming home<br /> +To bury Gregory Wenner. What he learned<br /> +The coroner told the jury. Here’s the life<br /> +Of Gregory Wenner first:</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h2>GREGORY WENNER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Gregory Wenner’s brother married the mother<br /> +Of Alma Bell, the daughter of a marriage<br /> +The mother made before. Kinship enough<br /> +To justify a call on Wenner’s power<br /> +When Alma Bell was face to face with shame.<br /> +And Gregory Wenner went to help the girl,<br /> +And for a moment looked on Elenor Murray<br /> +Who left the school-room passing through the hall,<br /> +A girl of seventeen. He left his business<br /> +Of massing millions in the city, to help<br /> +Poor Alma Bell, and three years afterward<br /> +In the Garden of the Gods he saw again<br /> +The face of Elenor Murray—what a fate<br /> +For Gregory Wenner!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">But when Alma Bell</span><br /> +Wrote him for help his mind was roiled with cares:<br /> +A money magnate had signed up a loan<br /> +For half a million, to which Wenner added<br /> +That much beside, earned since his thirtieth year,<br /> +Now forty-two, with which to build a block<br /> +Of sixteen stories on a piece of ground<br /> +Leased in the loop for nine and ninety years.<br /> +But now a crabbed miser, much away,<br /> +Following the sun, and reached through agents, lawyers,<br /> +Owning the land next to the Wenner land,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>Refused to have the sixteen story wall<br /> +Adjoin his wall, without he might select<br /> +His son-in-law as architect to plan<br /> +The sixteen-story block of Gregory Wenner.<br /> +And Gregory Wenner caught in such a trap,<br /> +The loan already bargained for and bound<br /> +In a hard money lender’s giant grasp,<br /> +Consented to the terms, let son-in-law<br /> +Make plans and supervise the work.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Five years</span><br /> +Go by before the evil blossoms fully;<br /> +But here’s the bud: Gregory Wenner spent<br /> +His half-a-million on the building, also<br /> +Four hundred thousand of the promised loan,<br /> +Made by the money magnate—then behold<br /> +The money magnate said: “You cannot have<br /> +Another dollar, for the bonds you give<br /> +Are scarcely worth the sum delivered now<br /> +Pursuant to the contract. I have learned<br /> +Your architect has blundered, in five years<br /> +Your building will be leaning, soon enough<br /> +It will be wrecked by order of the city.”<br /> +And Gregory Wenner found he spoke the truth.<br /> +But went ahead to finish up the building,<br /> +And raked and scraped, fell back on friends for loans,<br /> +Mortgaged his home for money, just to finish<br /> +This sixteen-story building, kept a hope<br /> +The future would reclaim him.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Gregory Wenner</span><br /> +Who seemed so powerful in his place in life<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>Had all along this cancer in his life:<br /> +He owned the building, but he owed the money,<br /> +And all the time the building took a slant,<br /> +By just a little every year. And time<br /> +Made matters worse for him, increased his foes<br /> +As he stood for the city in its warfares<br /> +Against the surface railways, telephones;<br /> +And earned thereby the wrath of money lenders,<br /> +Who made it hard for him to raise a loan,<br /> +Who needed loans habitually. Besides<br /> +He had the trouble of an invalid wife<br /> +Who went from hospitals to sanitariums,<br /> +And traveled south, and went in search of health.<br /> +<br /> + +Now Gregory Wenner reaches forty-five,<br /> +He’s fought a mighty battle, but grows tired.<br /> +The building leans a little more each year.<br /> +And money, as before, is hard to get.<br /> +And yet he lives and keeps a hope.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">At last</span><br /> +He does not feel so well, has dizzy spells.<br /> +The doctor recommends a change of scene.<br /> +And Gregory Wenner starts to see the west.<br /> +He visits Denver. Then upon a day<br /> +He walks about the Garden of the Gods,<br /> +And sees a girl who stands alone and looks<br /> +About the Garden’s wonders. Then he sees<br /> +The girl is Elenor Murray, who has grown<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>To twenty-years, who looks that seventeen<br /> +When first he saw her. He remembers her,<br /> +And speaks of Alma Bell, that Alma Bell<br /> +Is kindred to him. Where is Alma Bell,<br /> +He has not heard about her in these years?<br /> +And Elenor Murray colors, and says: “Look,<br /> +There is a white cloud on the mountain top.”<br /> +And thus the talk commences.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Shows forth the vital spirit that is hers.<br /> +She dances on her toes and crows in wonder,<br /> +Flings up her arms in rapture. What a world<br /> +Of beauty and of hope! For not her life<br /> +Of teaching school, a school of Czechs and Poles<br /> +There near LeRoy, since she left school and taught,<br /> +These two years now, nor arid life at home,<br /> +Her father sullen and her mother saddened;<br /> +Nor yet that talk of Alma Bell and her<br /> +That like a corpse’s gas has scented her,<br /> +And made her struggles harder in LeRoy—<br /> +Not these have quenched her flame, or made it burn<br /> +Less brightly. Though at last she left LeRoy<br /> +To fly old things, the dreary home, begin<br /> +A new life teaching in Los Angeles.<br /> +Gregory Wenner studies her and thinks<br /> +That Alma Bell was right to reprimand<br /> +Elenor Murray for her reckless ways<br /> +Of strolling and of riding. And perhaps<br /> +Real things were back of ways to be construed<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>In innocence or wisdom—for who knows?<br /> +His thought ran. Such a pretty face, blue eyes,<br /> +And such a buoyant spirit.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">So they wandered</span><br /> +About the Garden of the Gods, and took<br /> +A meal together at the restaurant.<br /> +And as they talked, he told her of himself,<br /> +About his wife long ill, this trip for health—<br /> +She sensed a music sadness in his soul.<br /> +And Gregory Wenner heard her tell her life<br /> +Of teaching, of the arid home, the shadow<br /> +That fell on her at ten years, when she saw<br /> +The hopeless, loveless life of father, mother.<br /> +And his great hunger, and his solitude<br /> +Reached for the soothing hand of Elenor Murray,<br /> +And Elenor Murray having life to give<br /> +By her maternal strength and instinct gave.<br /> +The man began to laugh, forgot his health,<br /> +The leaning building, and the money lenders,<br /> +And found his void of spirit growing things—<br /> +He loved this girl. And Elenor Murray seeing<br /> +This strong man with his love, and seeing too<br /> +How she could help him, with that venturesome<br /> +And prodigal emotion which was hers<br /> +Flung all herself to help him, being a soul<br /> +Who tried all things in courage, staked her heart<br /> +On good to come.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">They took the train together.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>They stopped at Santa Cruz, and on the rocks<br /> +Heard the Pacific dash himself and watched<br /> +The moon upon the water, breathed the scent<br /> +Of oriental flowerings. There at last<br /> +Under the spell of nature Gregory Wenner<br /> +Bowed down his head upon his breast and shook<br /> +For those long years of striving and of haggling,<br /> +And for this girl, but mostly for a love<br /> +That filled him now. And when he spoke again<br /> +Of his starved life, his homeless years, the girl,<br /> +Her mind resolved through thinking she could serve<br /> +This man and bring him happiness, but with heart<br /> +Flaming to heaven with the miracle<br /> +Of love for him, down looking at her hands<br /> +Which fingered nervously her dress’s hem,<br /> +Said with that gasp which made her voice so sweet:<br /> +“Do what you will with me, to ease your heart<br /> +And help your life.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And Gregory Wenner shaken,</span><br /> +Astonished and made mad with ecstasy<br /> +Pressed her brown head against his breast and wept.<br /> +And there at Santa Cruz they lived a week,<br /> +Till Elenor Murray went to take her school,<br /> +He to the north en route for home.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Five years</span><br /> +Had passed since then. And on this day poor Wenner<br /> +Looks from a little office at his building<br /> +Visibly leaning now, the building lost,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>The bonds foreclosed; this is the very day<br /> +A court gives a receiver charge of it.<br /> +And he, these several months reduced to deals<br /> +In casual properties, in trivial trades,<br /> +Hard pressed for money, has gone up and down<br /> +Pursuing prospects, possibilities,<br /> +Scanning each day financial sheets and looking<br /> +For clues to lead to money. And he finds<br /> +His strength and hope not what they were before.<br /> +His wife is living on, no whit restored.<br /> +And Gregory Wenner thinks, would they not say<br /> +I killed myself because I lost my building,<br /> +If I should kill myself, and leave a note<br /> +That business worries drove me to the deed,<br /> +My building this day taken, a receiver<br /> +In charge of what I builded out of my dream.<br /> +And yet he said to self, that would be false:<br /> +It’s Elenor Murray’s death that makes this life<br /> +So hard to bear, and thoughts of Elenor Murray<br /> +Make life a torture. First that I had to live<br /> +Without her as my wife, and next the fact<br /> +That I have taken all her life’s thought, ruined<br /> +Her chance for home and marriage; that I have seen<br /> +Elenor Murray struggle in the world,<br /> +And go forth to the war with just the thought<br /> +To serve, if it should kill her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Then his mind</span><br /> +Ran over these five years when Elenor Murray<br /> +Throughout gave such devotion, constant thought,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>Filled all his mind and heart, and kept her voice<br /> +Singing or talking in his memory’s ear,<br /> +In absence with long letters, when together<br /> +With passionate utterances of love. The girl<br /> +Loved Gregory Wenner, but the girl had found<br /> +A comfort for her spiritual solitude,<br /> +And got a strength in taking Wenner’s strength.<br /> +For at the last one soul lives on another.<br /> +And Elenor Murray could not live except<br /> +She had a soul to live for, and a soul<br /> +On which to pour her passion, taking back<br /> +The passion of that soul in recompense.<br /> +Gregory Wenner served her power and genius<br /> +For giving and for taking so to live,<br /> +Achieve and flame; and found them in some moods<br /> +Somehow demoniac when his spirits sank,<br /> +And drink was all that kept him on his feet.<br /> +And so when Elenor Murray came to him<br /> +And said this life of teaching was too much,<br /> +Could not be longer borne, he thought the time<br /> +Had come to end the hopeless love. He raised<br /> +The money by the hardest means to pay<br /> +Elenor Murray’s training as a nurse,<br /> +By this to set her free from teaching school,<br /> +And then he set about to crush the girl<br /> +Out of his life.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">For Gregory Wenner saw</span><br /> +Between this passion and his failing thought,<br /> +And gray hairs coming, fortune slip like sand.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>And saw his mind diffuse itself in worries,<br /> +In longing for her: found himself at times<br /> +Too much in need of drink, and shrank to see<br /> +What wishes rose that death might take his wife,<br /> +And let him marry Elenor Murray, cure<br /> +His life with having her beside him, dreaming<br /> +That somehow Elenor Murray could restore<br /> +His will and vision, by her passion’s touch,<br /> +And mother instinct make him whole again.<br /> +But if he could not have her for his wife,<br /> +And since the girl absorbed him in this life<br /> +Of separation which made longing greater,<br /> +Just as it lacked the medium to discharge<br /> +The great emotion it created, Wenner<br /> +Caught up his shreds of strength to crush her out<br /> +Of his life, told her so, when he had raised<br /> +The money for her training. For he saw<br /> +How ruin may overtake a man, and ruin<br /> +Pass by the woman, whom the world would judge<br /> +As ruined long ago. But look, he thought,<br /> +I pity her, not for our sin, if it be,<br /> +But that I have absorbed her life; and yet<br /> +The girl is mastering life, while I fall down.<br /> +She has absorbed me, if the wrong lies here.<br /> +And thus his thought went round.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">And Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Accepted what he said and went her way<br /> +With words like these: “My love and prayers are yours<br /> +While life is with us.” Then she turned to study,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>And toiled each day till night brought such fatigue<br /> +That sleep fell on her. Was it to forget?<br /> +And meanwhile she embraced the faith and poured<br /> +Her passion driven by a rapturous will<br /> +Into religion, trod her path in silence,<br /> +Save for a card at Christmas time for him,<br /> +Sometimes a little message from some place<br /> +Whereto her duty called her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Gregory Wenner</span><br /> +Stands at the window of his desolate office,<br /> +And looks out on his sixteen-story building<br /> +Irrevocably lost this day. His mind runs back<br /> +To that day in the Garden of the Gods,<br /> +That night at Santa Cruz, and then his eyes<br /> +Made piercing sharp by sorrow cleave the clay<br /> +That lies upon the face of Elenor Murray,<br /> +And see the flesh of her the worms have now.<br /> +How strange, he thinks, to flit into this life<br /> +Singing and radiant, to suffer, toil,<br /> +To serve in the war, return to girlhood’s scenes,<br /> +To die, to be a memory for a day,<br /> +Then be forgotten. O, this life of ours.<br /> +Why is not God ashamed for graveyards, why<br /> +So thoughtless of our passion he lets play<br /> +This tragedy.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And Gregory Wenner thought</span><br /> +About the day he stood here, even as now<br /> +And heard a step, a voice, and looked around<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>Saw Elenor Murray, felt her arms again,<br /> +Her kiss upon his cheek, and saw her face<br /> +As light was beating on it, heard her gasp<br /> +In ecstasy for going to the war,<br /> +To which that day she gave her pledge. And heard<br /> +Her words of consecration. Heard her say,<br /> +As though she were that passionate Heloise<br /> +Brought into life again: “All I have done<br /> +Was done for love of you, all I have asked<br /> +Was only you, not what belonged to you.<br /> +I did not hope for marriage or for gifts.<br /> +I have not gratified my will, desires,<br /> +But yours I sought to gratify. I have longed<br /> +To be yours wholly, I have kept for self<br /> +Nothing, have lived for you, have lived for you<br /> +These years when you thought best to crush me out.<br /> +And now though there’s a secret in my heart,<br /> +Not wholly known to me, still I can know it<br /> +By seeing you again, I think, by touching<br /> +Your hand again. Your life has tortured me,<br /> +Both for itself, and since I could not give<br /> +Out of my heart enough to make your life<br /> +A way of peace, a way of happiness.”<br /> +<br /> +Then Gregory Wenner thought how she looked down<br /> +And said: “Since I go to the war, would God<br /> +Look with disfavor on us if you took me<br /> +In your arms wholly once again? My friend,<br /> +Not with the thought to leave me soon, but sleeping<br /> +Like mates, as birds do, making sleep so sweet<br /> +Close to each other as God means we should.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>I mingle love of God with love of you,<br /> +And in the night-time I can pray for you<br /> +With you beside me, find God closer then.<br /> +Who knows, you may take strength from such an hour.”<br /> +Then Gregory Wenner lived that night again,<br /> +And the next morning when she rose and shook,<br /> +As it were night gathered dew upon fresh wings,<br /> +The vital water from her glowing flesh.<br /> +And shook her hair out, laughed and said to him:<br /> +“Courage and peace, my friend.” And how they passed<br /> +Among the multitude, when he took her hand<br /> +And said farewell, and hastened to this room<br /> +To seek for chances in another day,<br /> +And never saw her more.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And all these thoughts</span><br /> +Coming on Gregory Wenner swept his soul<br /> +Till it seemed like a skiff in mid-sea under<br /> +A sky unreckoning, where neither bread,<br /> +Nor water, save salt water, were for lips.<br /> +And over him descended a blank light<br /> +Of life’s futility, since now this hour<br /> +Life dropped the mask and showed him just a skull.<br /> +And a strange fluttering of the nerves came on him,<br /> +So that he clutched the window frame, lest he<br /> +Spring from the window to the street below.<br /> +And he was seized with fear that said to fly,<br /> +Go somewhere, find some one, so to draw out<br /> +This madness which was one with him and in him,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>And which some one in pity must relieve,<br /> +Something must cure. And in this sudden horror<br /> +Of self, this ebbing of the tides of life,<br /> +Leaving his shores to visions, where he saw<br /> +Horrible creatures stir amid the slime,<br /> +Gregory Wenner hurried from the room<br /> +And walked the streets to find his thought again<br /> +Wherewith to judge if he should kill himself<br /> +Or look to find a path in life once more.<br /> +<br /> +And Gregory Wenner sitting in his club<br /> +Wrote to his brother thus: “I cannot live<br /> +Now that my business is so tangled up,<br /> +Bury my body by my father’s side.”<br /> +Next day the papers headlined Gregory Wenner:<br /> +“Loss of a building drives to suicide.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Elenor Murray’s death kills Gregory Wenner<br /> +And Gregory Wenner dying make a riffle<br /> +In Mrs. Wenner’s life—reveals to her<br /> +A secret long concealed:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>MRS. GREGORY WENNER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Gregory Wenner’s wife was by the sea<br /> +When Gregory Wenner killed himself, half sick<br /> +And half malingering, and otiose.<br /> +She wept, sent for a doctor to be braced,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>Induced a friend to travel with her west<br /> +To bury Gregory Wenner; did not know<br /> +That Gregory Wenner was in money straits<br /> +Until she read the paper, or had lost<br /> +His building in the loop. The man had kept<br /> +His worries from her ailing ears, was glad<br /> +To keep her traveling, or taking cures.<br /> +<br /> +She came and buried Gregory Wenner; found<br /> +His fortune just a shell, the building lost,<br /> +A little money in the bank, a store<br /> +Far out on Lake Street, forty worthless acres<br /> +In northern Indiana, twenty lots<br /> +In some Montana village. Here she was,<br /> +A widow, penniless, an invalid.<br /> +The crude reality of things awoke<br /> +A strength she did not dream was hers. And then<br /> +She went to Gregory Wenner’s barren office<br /> +To collect the things he had, get in his safe<br /> +For papers and effects.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">She had to pay</span><br /> +An expert to reveal the combination,<br /> +And throw the bolts. And there she sat a day,<br /> +And emptied pigeon holes and searched and read.<br /> +And in one pigeon hole she found a box,<br /> +And in the box a lock of hair wrapped up<br /> +In tissue paper, fragrant powder lying<br /> +Around the paper—in the box a card<br /> +With woman’s writing on it, just the words<br /> +“For my beloved”; but no name or date.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>Who was this woman mused the widow there?<br /> +She did not know the name. She did not know<br /> +Her eyes had seen this Elenor Murray once<br /> +When Elenor Murray came with Gregory Wenner<br /> +To dinner at his home to face the wife.<br /> +For Elenor Murray in a mood of strength,<br /> +After her confirmation and communion,<br /> +Had said to Gregory Wenner: “Now the end<br /> +Has come to this, our love, I think it best<br /> +If she should ever learn I am the woman<br /> +Who in New York spent summer days with you,<br /> +And later in Chicago, in that summer,<br /> +She will remember what my eyes will show<br /> +When we stand face to face, and I give proof<br /> +That I am changed, repentant.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">For the wife</span><br /> +Had listened to a friend who came to tell<br /> +She saw this Gregory Wenner in New York<br /> +From day to day in gardens and cafes,<br /> +And by the sea romancing with a girl.<br /> +And later Mrs. Wenner found a book,<br /> +Which Gregory Wenner cherished—with the words<br /> +Beloved, and the date. And now she knew<br /> +The hand that wrote the card here in this box,<br /> +The hand that wrote the inscription in the book<br /> +Were one—but still she did not know the woman.<br /> +No doubt the woman of that summer’s flame,<br /> +Whom Gregory Wenner promised not to see<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>When she brought out the book and told him all<br /> +She learned of his philandering in New York.<br /> +And Elenor Murray’s body was decaying<br /> +In darkness, under earth there at LeRoy<br /> +While Mrs. Wenner read, and did not know<br /> +The hand that wrote the card lay blue and green,<br /> +Half hidden in the foldings of the shroud,<br /> +And all that country stirred for Elenor Murray,<br /> +Of which the widow absent in the east<br /> +Had never heard.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And Mrs. Wenner found</span><br /> +Beside the box and lock of hair three letters,<br /> +And sat and read them. Through her eyes and brain<br /> +This meaning and this sound of blood and soul,<br /> +Like an old record with a diamond needle.<br /> +Passed music like:—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“The days go swiftly by</span><br /> +With study and with work. I am too tired<br /> +At night to think. I read anatomy,<br /> +Materia medica and other things,<br /> +And do the work an undergraduate<br /> +Is called upon to do. And every week<br /> +I spend three afternoons with the nuns and sew,<br /> +And care for children of the poor whose mothers<br /> +Are earning bread away. I go to church<br /> +And talk with Mother Janet. And I pray<br /> +At morning and at night for you, and ask<br /> +For strength to live without you and for light<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>To understand why love of you is mine,<br /> +And why you are not mine, and whether God<br /> +Will give you to me some day if I prove<br /> +My womanhood is worthy of you, dear.<br /> +And sometimes when our days of bliss come back<br /> +And flood me with their warmth and blinding light<br /> +I take my little crucifix and kiss it,<br /> +And plunge in work to take me out of self,<br /> +Some service to another. So it is,<br /> +This sewing and this caring for the children<br /> +Stills memory and gives me strength to live,<br /> +And pass the days, go on. I shall not draw<br /> +Upon your thought with letters, still I ask<br /> +Your thought of me sometimes. Would it be much<br /> +If once a year you sent me a bouquet<br /> +To prove to me that you remember, sweet,<br /> +Still cherish me a little, give me faith<br /> +That in this riddle world there is a hand,<br /> +Which spite of separation, thinks and touches<br /> +Blossoms that I touch afterward? Dear heart,<br /> +I have starved out and killed that reckless mood<br /> +Which would have taken you and run away.<br /> +Oh, if you knew that this means killing, too,<br /> +The child I want—our child. You have a cross<br /> +No less than I, beloved, even if love<br /> +Of me has passed and eased the agony<br /> +I thought you knew—your cross is heavy, dear,<br /> +Bound, but not wedded to her, never to know<br /> +The life of marriage with her. Yet be brave,<br /> +Be noble, dear, be always what God made you,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>A great heart, patient, gentle, sacrificing,<br /> +Bring comfort to her tedious days, forbear<br /> +When she is petulant, for if you do,<br /> +I know God will reward you, give you peace.<br /> +I pray for strength for you, that never again<br /> +May you distress her as you did, I did<br /> +When she found there was someone. Lest she know<br /> +Destroy this letter, all I ever write,<br /> +So that her mind may never fix itself<br /> +Upon a definite person, on myself.<br /> +But still remaining vague may better pass<br /> +To lighter shadows, nothingness at last.<br /> +I try to think I sinned, have so confessed<br /> +To get forgiveness at my first communion.<br /> +And yet a vestige of a thought in me<br /> +Will not submit, confess the sin. Well, dear,<br /> +You can awake at midnight, at the pause<br /> +Of duty in the day, merry or sad,<br /> +Light hearted or discouraged, if you chance,<br /> +To think of me, remember I send prayers<br /> +To God for you each day—oh may His light<br /> +Shine on your face!”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">So Widow Wenner read,</span><br /> +And wondered of the writer, since no name<br /> +Was signed; and wept a little, dried her eyes<br /> +And flushed with anger, said, “adulteress,<br /> +Adulteress who played the game of pity,<br /> +And wove about my husband’s heart the spell<br /> +Of masculine sympathy for a sorrowing woman,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>A trick as old as Eden. And who knows<br /> +But all the money went here in the end?<br /> +For if a woman plunges from her aim<br /> +To piety, devotion such as this,<br /> +She will plunge back to sin, unstable heart,<br /> +That swings from self-denial to indulgence<br /> +And spends itself in both.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Then Widow Wenner</span><br /> +Took up the second letter:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“I have signed</span><br /> +To go to France to-day. I wrote you once<br /> +I planned to take the veil, become a nun.<br /> +But now the war has changed my thought. I see<br /> +In service for my country fuller life,<br /> +More useful sacrifice and greater work<br /> +Than ever I could have, being a nun.<br /> +The cause is so momentous. Think, my dear,<br /> +This woman who still thinks of you will be<br /> +A factor in this war for liberty,<br /> +A soldier serving soldiers, giving strength,<br /> +Health, hope and spirit to the soldier boys<br /> +Who fall, must be restored to fight again.<br /> +I’ve thrown my soul in this, am all aflame.<br /> +You should have seen me when I took the oath,<br /> +And raised my hand and pledged my word to serve,<br /> +Support the law. I want to think of you<br /> +As proud of me for doing this—be proud,<br /> +Be grateful, too, that I have strength and will<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>To give myself to this. And if it chance,<br /> +As almost I am hoping, that the work<br /> +Should break me, sweep me under, think of me<br /> +As one who died for country, as I shall<br /> +As truly as the soldiers slain in battle.<br /> +I leave to-morrow, will be at a camp<br /> +Some weeks before I sail. I telephoned you<br /> +This morning twice, they said you would return<br /> +By two-o’clock at least. I write instead.<br /> +But I shall come to see you, if I can<br /> +Sometime this afternoon, and if I don’t,<br /> +This letter then must answer. Peace be with you.<br /> +To-day I’m very happy. Write to me,<br /> +Or if you do not think it best, all right,<br /> +I’ll understand. Before I sail I’ll send<br /> +A message to you—for the time farewell.”<br /> +<br /> +Then Widow Wenner read the telegram<br /> +The third and last communication: “Sail<br /> +To-day, to-morrow, very soon, I know.<br /> +My memories of you are happy ones.<br /> +A fond adieu.” This telegram was signed<br /> +By Elenor Murray. Widow Wenner knew<br /> +The name at last, sat petrified to think<br /> +This was the girl who brazened through the dinner<br /> +Some years ago when Gregory Wenner brought<br /> +This woman to his home—“the shameless trull,”<br /> +Said Mrs. Wenner, “harlot, impudent jade,<br /> +To think my husband is dead, would she were dead—<br /> +I could be happy if I knew a bomb<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>Or vile disease had got her.” Then she looked<br /> +In other pigeon holes, and found in one<br /> +A photograph of Elenor Murray, knew<br /> +The face that looked across the dinner table.<br /> +And in the pigeon hole she found some verses<br /> +Clipped from a magazine, and tucked away<br /> +The letters, verses, telegram in her bag,<br /> +Closed up the safe and left.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Next day at breakfast</span><br /> +She scanned the morning <i>Times</i>, her eyes were wide<br /> +For reading of the Elenor Murray inquest.<br /> +“Well, God is just,” she murmured, “God is just.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +All this was learned of Gregory Wenner. Even<br /> +If Gregory Wenner killed the girl, the man<br /> +Was dead now. Could he kill her and return<br /> +And kill himself? The coroner had gone,<br /> +The jury too, to view the spot where lay<br /> +Elenor Murray’s body. It was clear<br /> +A man had walked here. Was it Gregory Wenner?<br /> +The hunter who came up and found the body?<br /> +This hunter was a harmless, honest soul<br /> +Could not have killed her, passed the grill of questions<br /> +From David Borrow, skilled examiner,<br /> +The coroner, the jurors. But meantime<br /> +If Gregory Wenner killed this Elenor Murray<br /> +How did he do it? Dr. Trace has made<br /> +His autopsy and comes and makes report<br /> +To the coroner and the jury in these words:—</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<h2>DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I cannot tell you, Coroner, the cause<br /> +Of death of Elenor Murray, not until<br /> +My chemical analysis is finished.<br /> +Here is the woman’s heart sealed in this jar,<br /> +I weighed it, weight nine ounces, if she had<br /> +A hemolysis, cannot tell you now<br /> +What caused the hemolysis. Since you say<br /> +She took no castor oil, that you can learn<br /> +From Irma Leese, or any witness, still<br /> +A chemical analysis may show<br /> +The presence of ricin,—and that she took<br /> +A dose of oil not pure. Her throat betrayed<br /> +Slight inflammation; but in brief, I wait<br /> +My chemical analysis.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Let’s exclude</span><br /> +The things we know and narrow down the facts.<br /> +She lay there by the river, death had come<br /> +Some twenty hours before. No stick or stone,<br /> +No weapon near her, bottle, poison box,<br /> +No bruise upon her, in her mouth no dust,<br /> +No foreign bodies in her nostrils, neck<br /> +Without a mark, no punctures, cuts or scars<br /> +Upon her anywhere, no water in lungs,<br /> +No mud, sand, straws or weeds in hands, the nails<br /> +Clean, as if freshly manicured.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Again</span><br /> +No evidence of rape. I first examined<br /> +The genitals <i>in situ</i>, found them sound.<br /> +The girl had lived, was not a virgin, still<br /> +Had temperately indulged, and not at all<br /> +In recent months, no evidence at all<br /> +Of conjugation willingly or not,<br /> +The day of death. But still I lifted out<br /> +The ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus,<br /> +The vagina and vulvae. Opened up<br /> +The mammals, found no milk. No pregnancy<br /> +Existed, sealed these organs up to test<br /> +For poison later, as we doctors know<br /> +Sometimes a poison’s introduced <i>per vaginam</i>.<br /> +<br /> +I sealed the brain up too, shall make a test<br /> +Of blood and serum for urea; death<br /> +Comes suddenly from that, you find no lesion,<br /> +Must take a piece of brain and cut it up,<br /> +Pour boiling water on it, break the brain<br /> +To finer pieces, pour the water off,<br /> +Digest the piece of brain in other water,<br /> +Repeat four times, the solutions mix together,<br /> +Dry in an oven, treat with ether, at last<br /> +The residue put on a slide of glass<br /> +With nitric acid, let it stand awhile,<br /> +Then take your microscope—if there’s urea<br /> +You’ll see the crystals—very beautiful!<br /> +A cobra’s beautiful, but scarce can kill<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>As quick as these.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Likewise I have sealed up</span><br /> +The stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines,<br /> +So many poisons have no microscopic<br /> +Appearance that convinces, opium,<br /> +Hyoscyamus, belladonna fool us;<br /> +But as the stomach had no inflammation,<br /> +It was not chloral, ether took her off,<br /> +Which we can smell, to boot. But I can find<br /> +Strychnia, if it killed her; though you know<br /> +That case in England sixty years ago,<br /> +Where the analysis did not disclose<br /> +Strychnia, though they hung a man for giving<br /> +That poison to a fellow.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">To recur</span><br /> +I’m down to this: Perhaps a hemolysis—<br /> +But what produced it? If I find no ricin<br /> +I turn to streptococcus, deadly snake,<br /> +Or shall I call him tiger? For I think<br /> +The microscopic world of living things<br /> +Is just a little jungle, filled with tigers,<br /> +Snakes, lions, what you will, with teeth and claws,<br /> +The perfect miniatures of these monstrous foes.<br /> +Sweet words come from the lips and tender hands<br /> +Like Elenor Murray’s, minister, nor know<br /> +The jungle has been roused in throat or lungs;<br /> +And shapes venene begin to crawl and eat<br /> +The ruddy apples of the blood, eject<br /> +Their triple venomous excreta in<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>The channels of the body.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">There’s the heart,</span><br /> +Which may be weakened by a streptococcus.<br /> +But if she had a syncope and fell<br /> +She must have bruised her body or her head.<br /> +And if she had a syncope, was held up,<br /> +Who held her up? That might have cost her life:<br /> +To be held up in syncope. You know<br /> +You lay a person down in syncope,<br /> +And oftentimes the heart resumes its beat.<br /> +Perhaps she was held up until she died,<br /> +Then laid there by the river, so no bruise.<br /> +So many theories come to me. But again,<br /> +I say to you, look for a man. Run down<br /> +All clues of Gregory Wenner. He is dead—<br /> +Loss of a building drives to suicide—<br /> +The papers say, but still it may be true<br /> +He was with Elenor Murray when she died,<br /> +Pushed her, we’ll say, or struck her in a way<br /> +To leave no mark, a tap upon the heart<br /> +That shocked the muscles more or less obscure<br /> +That bind the auricles and ventricles,<br /> +And killed her. Then he flies away in fear,<br /> +Aghast at what he does, and kills himself.<br /> +Look for a man, I say. It must be true,<br /> +She went so secretly to walk that morning<br /> +To meet a man—why would she walk alone?<br /> +<br /> +So while you hunt the man, I’ll look for ricin,<br /> +And with my chemicals end up the search.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>I never saw a heart more beautiful,<br /> +Just look at it. We doctors all agreed<br /> +This Elenor Murray might have lived to ninety<br /> +Except for jungles, poison, sudden shock.<br /> +I take my bottle with the heart of Elenor<br /> +And go about my way. It beat in France,<br /> +It beat for France and for America,<br /> +But what is truer, somewhere was a man<br /> +For whom it beat!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +When Irma Leese, the Aunt of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Appeared before the coroner she told<br /> +Of Elenor Murray’s visit, of the morning<br /> +She left to walk, was never seen again.<br /> +And brought the coroner some letters sent<br /> +By Elenor from France. What follows now<br /> +Is what the coroner, or the jury heard<br /> +From Irma Leese, from letters drawn—beside<br /> +The riffle that the death of Elenor Murray<br /> +Sent round the life of Irma Leese, which spread<br /> +To Tokio and touched a man, the son<br /> +Of Irma Leese’s sister, dead Corinne,<br /> +The mother of this man in Tokio.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>IRMA LEESE</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Elenor Murray landing in New York,<br /> +After a weary voyage, none too well,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>Staid in the city for a week and then<br /> +Upon a telegram from Irma Leese,<br /> +Born Irma Fouche, her aunt who lived alone<br /> +This summer in the Fouche house near LeRoy,<br /> +Came west to visit Irma Leese and rest.<br /> +<br /> +For Elenor Murray had not been herself<br /> +Since that hard spring when in the hospital,<br /> +Caring for soldiers stricken with the flu,<br /> +She took bronchitis, after weeks in bed<br /> +Rose weak and shaky, crept to health again<br /> +Through egg-nogs, easy strolls about Bordeaux.<br /> +And later went to Nice upon a furlough<br /> +To get her strength again.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But while she saw</span><br /> +Her vital flame burn brightly, as of old<br /> +On favored days, yet for the rest the flame<br /> +Sputtered or sank a little. So she thought<br /> +How good it might be to go west and stroll<br /> +About the lovely country of LeRoy,<br /> +And hear the whispering cedars by a window<br /> +In the Fouche mansion where this Irma Leese,<br /> +Her aunt, was summering. So she telegraphed,<br /> +And being welcomed, went.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">This stately house,</span><br /> +Built sixty years before by Arthur Fouche,<br /> +A brick home with a mansard roof, an oriel<br /> +That looked between the cedars, and a porch<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>With great Ionic columns, from the street<br /> +Stood distantly amid ten acres of lawn,<br /> +Trees, flower plots—belonged to Irma Leese,<br /> +Who had reclaimed it from a chiropractor,<br /> +To cleanse the name of Fouche from that indignity,<br /> +And bring it in the family again,<br /> +Since she had spent her girlhood, womanhood<br /> +To twenty years amid its twenty rooms.<br /> +For Irma Leese at twenty years had married<br /> +And found herself at twenty-five a widow,<br /> +With money left her, then had tried again,<br /> +And after years dissolved the second pact,<br /> +And made a settlement, was rich in fact,<br /> +Now forty-two. Five years before had come<br /> +And found the house she loved a sanitarium,<br /> +A chiropractor’s home. And as she stood<br /> +Beside the fence and saw the oriel,<br /> +Remembered all her happiness on this lawn<br /> +With brothers and with sisters, one of whom<br /> +Was Elenor Murray’s mother, then she willed<br /> +To buy the place and spend some summers here.<br /> +And here she was the summer Elenor Murray<br /> +Returned from France.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And Irma Leese had said:</span><br /> +“Here is your room, it has the oriel,<br /> +And there’s the river and the hills for you.<br /> +Have breakfast in your room what hour you will,<br /> +Rise when you will. We’ll drive and walk and rest,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>Run to Chicago when we have a mind.<br /> +I have a splendid chauffeur now and maids.<br /> +You must grow strong and well.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">And Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Gasped out her happiness for the pretty room,<br /> +And stood and viewed the river and the hills,<br /> +And wept a little on the gentle shoulder<br /> +Of Irma Leese.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And so the days had passed</span><br /> +Of walking, driving, resting, many talks;<br /> +For Elenor Murray spoke to Irma Leese<br /> +Of tragic and of rapturous days in France,<br /> +And Irma Leese, though she had lived full years,<br /> +Had scarcely lived as much as Elenor Murray,<br /> +And could not hear enough from Elenor Murray<br /> +Of the war and France, but mostly she would urge<br /> +Her niece to tell of what affairs of love<br /> +Had come to her. And Elenor Murray told<br /> +Of Gregory Wenner, save she did not tell<br /> +The final secret, with a gesture touched<br /> +The story off by saying: It was hopeless,<br /> +I went into religion to forget.<br /> +But on a day she said to Irma Leese:<br /> +“I almost met my fate at Nice,” then sketched<br /> +A hurried picture of a brief romance.<br /> +But Elenor Murray told her nothing else<br /> +Of loves or men. But all the while the aunt<br /> +Weighed Elenor Murray, on a day exclaimed:<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>“I see myself in you, and you are like<br /> +Your Aunt Corinne who died in ninety-two.<br /> +I’ll tell you all about your Aunt Corinne<br /> +Some day when we are talking, but I see<br /> +You have the Fouche blood—we are lovers all.<br /> +Your mother is a lover, Elenor,<br /> +If you would know it.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“O, your Aunt Corinne</span><br /> +She was most beautiful, but unfortunate.<br /> +Her husband was past sixty when she married,<br /> +And she was thirty-two. He was distinguished,<br /> +Had money and all that, but youth is all,<br /> +Is everything for love, and she was young,<br /> +And he was old.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">A week or two had passed</span><br /> +Since Elenor Murray came to Irma Leese,<br /> +When on a morning fire broke from the eaves<br /> +And menaced all the house; but maids and gardeners<br /> +With buckets saved the house, while Elenor Murray<br /> +And Irma Leese dipped water from the barrels<br /> +That stood along the ell.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">A week from that</span><br /> +A carpenter was working at the eaves<br /> +Along the ell, and in the garret knelt<br /> +To pry up boards and patch. When as he pried<br /> +A board up, he beheld between the rafters<br /> +A package of old letters stained and frayed,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>Tied with a little ribbon almost dust.<br /> +And when he went down-stairs, delivered it<br /> +To Irma Leese and said: Here are some letters<br /> +I found up in the garret under the floor,<br /> +I pried up in my work.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Then Irma Leese</span><br /> +Looked at the letters, saw her sister’s hand,<br /> +Corinne’s upon the letters, opened, read,<br /> +And saw the story which she knew before<br /> +Brought back in this uncanny way, the hand<br /> +Which wrote the letters six and twenty years<br /> +Turned back to dust. And when her niece came in<br /> +She showed the letters, said, “I’ll let you read,<br /> +I’ll tell you all about them”:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“When Corinne</span><br /> +Was nineteen, very beautiful and vital,<br /> +Red-cheeked, a dancer, bubbling like new wine,<br /> +A catch, as you may know, you see this house<br /> +Was full of laughter then, so many children.<br /> +We had our parties, too, and young men thought,<br /> +Each one of us would have a dowry splendid—<br /> +A young man from Chicago came along,<br /> +A lawyer there, but lately come from Pittsburgh<br /> +To practice, win his way. I knew this man.<br /> +He was a handsome dog with curly hair,<br /> +Blue eyes and sturdy figure. Well, Corinne<br /> +Quite lost her heart. He came here to a dance,<br /> +And so the game commenced. And father thought<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>The fellow was not right, but all of us,<br /> +Your mother and myself said, yes he is,<br /> +And we conspired to help Corinne and smooth<br /> +The path of confidence. But later on<br /> +Corinne was not so buoyant, would not talk<br /> +With me, your mother freely. Then at last<br /> +Her eyes were sometimes red; we knew she wept.<br /> +And, then Corinne was sent away. Well, here<br /> +You’ll guess the rest. Her health was breaking down,<br /> +That’s true enough; the world could think its thoughts,<br /> +And say his love grew cold, or she found out<br /> +The black-leg that he was, and he was that.<br /> +But Elenor, the truth was more than that,<br /> +Corinne had been betrayed, she went away<br /> +To right herself—these letters prove the case,<br /> +Which all the gossips, busy as they were,<br /> +Could not make out. The paper at LeRoy<br /> +Had printed that she went to pay a visit<br /> +To relatives in the east. Three months or so<br /> +She came back well and rosy. But meanwhile<br /> +Your grandfather had paid this shabby scoundrel<br /> +A sum of money, I forget the sum,<br /> +To get these letters of your Aunt Corinne—<br /> +These letters here. This matter leaked, of course.<br /> +And then we let the story take this form<br /> +And moulded it a little to this form:<br /> +The fellow was a scoundrel—this was proved<br /> +When he took money to return her letters.<br /> +They were love letters, they had been engaged,<br /> +She thought him worthy, found herself deceived<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>Proved, too, by taking money, when at first<br /> +He looked with honorable eyes to young Corinne,<br /> +And won her trust. And so Corinne lived here<br /> +Ten years or more, at thirty married the judge,<br /> +Her senior thirty years, and went away.<br /> +She bore a child and died—look Elenor<br /> +Here are the letters which she took and nailed<br /> +Beneath the garret floor. We’ll read them through,<br /> +And then I’ll burn them.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Irma Leese rose up</span><br /> +And put the letters in her desk and said:<br /> +“Let’s ride along the river.” So they rode,<br /> +But as they rode, the day being clear and mild<br /> +The fancy took them to Chicago, where<br /> +They lunched and spent the afternoon, returning<br /> +At ten o’clock that night.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And the next morning</span><br /> +When Irma Leese expected Elenor<br /> +To rise and join her, asked for her, a maid<br /> +Told Irma Leese that Elenor had gone<br /> +To walk somewhere. And all that day she waited.<br /> +But as night came, she fancied Elenor<br /> +Had gone to see her mother, once rose up<br /> +To telephone, then stopped because she felt<br /> +Elenor might have plans she would not wish<br /> +Her mother to get wind of—let it go.<br /> +But when night came, she wondered, fell asleep<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>With wondering and worry.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But next morning</span><br /> +As she was waiting for the car to come<br /> +To motor to LeRoy, and see her sister,<br /> +Elenor’s mother, in a casual way,<br /> +Learn if her niece was there, and waiting read<br /> +The letters of Corinne, the telephone<br /> +Rang in an ominous way, and Irma Leese<br /> +Sprang up to answer, got the tragic word<br /> +Of Elenor Murray found beside the river.<br /> +Left all the letters spilled upon her desk<br /> +And motored to the river, to LeRoy<br /> +Where Coroner Merival took the body.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Just</span><br /> +As Irma Leese departed, in the room<br /> +A sullen maid revengeful for the fact<br /> +She was discharged, was leaving in a day,<br /> +Entered and saw the letters, read a little,<br /> +And gathered them, went to her room and packed<br /> +Her telescope and left, went to LeRoy,<br /> +And gave a letter to this one and that,<br /> +Until the servant maids and carpenters<br /> +And some lubricous fellows at LeRoy<br /> +Who made companions of these serving maids,<br /> +Had each a letter of the dead Corinne,<br /> +Which showed at last, after some twenty years,<br /> +Of silence and oblivion, to LeRoy<br /> +With memory to refresh, that poor Corinne<br /> +Had given her love, herself, had been betrayed,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>Abandoned by a scoundrel.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Merival,</span><br /> +The Coroner, when told about the letters,<br /> +For soon the tongues were wagging in LeRoy,<br /> +Went here and there to find them, till he learned<br /> +What quality of love the dead Corinne<br /> +Had given to this man. Then shook his head,<br /> +Resolved to see if he could not unearth<br /> +In Elenor Murray’s life some faithless lover<br /> +Who sought her death.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">The letters’ riffle crawled</span><br /> +Through shadows of the waters of LeRoy<br /> +Until it looked a snake, was seen as such<br /> +In Tokio by Franklin Hollister,<br /> +The son of dead Corinne; it seemed a snake:<br /> +He heard the coroner through neglect or malice<br /> +Had let the letters scatter—not the truth;—<br /> +The coroner had gathered up the letters,<br /> +Befriending Irma Leese; she got them back<br /> +Through Merival. The riffle’s just the same.<br /> +And hence this man in Tokio is crazed<br /> +For shame and fear—for fear the girl he loves<br /> +Will hear his mother’s story and break off<br /> +Her marriage promise.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">So in reckless rage</span><br /> +He posts a letter off to Lawyer Hood,<br /> +Chicago, Illinois—the coroner<br /> +Gets all the story through this Lawyer Hood,<br /> +Long after Elenor’s inquest is at end.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>Meantime he cools, is wiser, thinks it bad<br /> +To stir the scandal with a suit at law.<br /> +And then when cooled he hears from Lawyer Hood<br /> +Who tells him what the truth is. So it ends.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +These letters and the greenish wave that coiled<br /> +At Tokio is beyond the coroner’s eye<br /> +Fixed on the water where the pebble fell:—<br /> +This death of Elenor, circles close at hand<br /> +Engage his interest. Now he seeks to learn<br /> +About her training and religious life.<br /> +And hears of Miriam Fay, a friend he thinks,<br /> +And confidant of her religious life,<br /> +Head woman of the school where Elenor<br /> +Learned chemistry, materia medica,<br /> +Anatomy, to fit her for the work<br /> +Of nursing. And he writes this Miriam Fay<br /> +And Miriam Fay responds. The letter comes<br /> +Before the jury. Here is what she wrote:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>MIRIAM FAY’S LETTER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Elenor Murray asked to go in training<br /> +And came to see me, but the school was full,<br /> +We could not take her. Then she asked to stand<br /> +Upon a list and wait, I put her off.<br /> +She came back, and she came back, till at last<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>I took her application; then she came<br /> +And pushed herself and asked when she could come,<br /> +And start to train. At last I laughed and said:<br /> +“Well, come to-morrow.” I had never seen<br /> +Such eagerness, persistence. So she came.<br /> +She tried to make a friend of me, perhaps<br /> +Since it was best, I being in command.<br /> +But anyway she wooed me, tried to please me.<br /> +And spite of everything I grew to love her,<br /> +Though I distrusted her. But yet again<br /> +I had belief in her best self, though doubting<br /> +The girl somehow. But when I learned the girl<br /> +Had never had religious discipline,<br /> +Her father without faith, her mother too,<br /> +Her want of moral sense, I understood.<br /> +She lacked stability of spirit, to-day<br /> +She would be one thing, something else the next.<br /> +Shot up in fire, which failed and died away<br /> +And I began to see her fraternize<br /> +With girls who had her traits, too full of life<br /> +To be what they should be, unstable too,<br /> +Much like herself.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Not long before she came</span><br /> +Into the training school, six months, perhaps,<br /> +She had some tragedy, I don’t know what,<br /> +Had been quite ill in body and in mind.<br /> +When she went into training I could see<br /> +Her purpose to wear down herself, forget<br /> +In weariness of body, something lived.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>She was alert and dutiful and sunny,<br /> +Kept all the rules, was studious, led the class,<br /> +Excelled, I think, in studies of the nerves,<br /> +The mind grown sick.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">As we grew better friends,</span><br /> +More intimate, she talked about religion,<br /> +And sacred subjects, asked about the church.<br /> +I gave her books to read, encouraged her,<br /> +Asked her to make her peace with God, and set<br /> +Her feet in pious paths. At last she said<br /> +She wished to be baptized, confirmed. I made<br /> +The plans for her, she was baptized, confirmed,<br /> +Went to confessional, and seemed renewed<br /> +In spirit by conversion. For at once<br /> +Her zeal was like a flame at Pentecost,<br /> +She almost took the veil, but missing that,<br /> +She followed out the discipline to the letter,<br /> +Kept all the feast days, went to mass, communion,<br /> +Did works of charity; indeed, I think<br /> +She spent her spare hours all in all at sewing<br /> +There with the sisters for the poor. She had,<br /> +When she came to me, jewelry of value,<br /> +A diamond solitaire, some other things.<br /> +I missed them, and she said she sold them, gave<br /> +The money to a home for friendless children.<br /> +And I remember when she said her father<br /> +Had wronged, misvalued her; but now her love,<br /> +Made more abundant by the love of Christ,<br /> +Had brought her to forgiveness. All her mood<br /> +Was of humility and sacrifice.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span><br /> +One time I saw her at the convent, sitting<br /> +Upon a foot-stool at the gracious feet<br /> +Of the Mother Superior, sewing for the poor;<br /> +Hair parted in the middle, curls combed out.<br /> +Then was it that I missed her jewelry.<br /> +She looked just like a poor maid, humble, patient,<br /> +Head bent above her sewing, eyes averted.<br /> +The room was silent with religious thought.<br /> +I loved her then and pitied her. But now<br /> +I think she had that in her which at times<br /> +Made her a flagellant, at other times<br /> +A rioter. She used the church to drag<br /> +Her life from something, took it for a bladder<br /> +To float her soul when it was perilled. First,<br /> +She did not sell her jewelry; this ring,<br /> +Too brilliant for forgetting, or to pass<br /> +Unnoticed when she wore it, showed again<br /> +Upon her finger after she had come<br /> +Out of her training, was a graduate.<br /> +She had a faculty for getting in<br /> +Where elegance and riches were. She went<br /> +Among the great ones, when she found a way,<br /> +And traveled with them where she learned the life<br /> +Of notables, aristocrats. It was there,<br /> +Or when from duty free and feasting, gadding<br /> +The ring showed on her finger.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">In two years</span><br /> +She dropped the church. New friends made in the school,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>New interests, work that took her energies<br /> +And this religious flare had cured her up<br /> +Of what was killing her when first I knew her.<br /> +There was another thing that drew her back<br /> +To flesh, away from spirit: She saw bodies,<br /> +And handled bodies as a nurse, forgot<br /> +The body is the spirit’s temple, fell<br /> +To some materialism of thought. And now<br /> +Avoided me, was much away, of course,<br /> +On duty here and there. I tried to hold her,<br /> +Protect and guide her, wrote to her at times<br /> +To make confession, take communion. She<br /> +Ignored these letters. But I heard her say<br /> +The body was as natural as the soul,<br /> +And just as natural its desires. She kept<br /> +Out of the wreck of faith one thing alone,<br /> +If she kept that: She could endure to hear<br /> +God’s name profaned, but would not stand to hear<br /> +The Savior’s spoken in irreverence.<br /> +She was afraid, no doubt. Or to be just,<br /> +The tender love of Christ, his sacrifice,<br /> +Perhaps had won her wholly—let it go,<br /> +I’ll say that much for her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Why am I harsh?</span><br /> +Because I saw the good in her all streaked<br /> +With so much evil, evil known and lived<br /> +In knowledge of it, clung to none the less,<br /> +Unstable as water, how could she succeed?<br /> +Untruthful, how could confidence be hers?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>I sometimes think she joined the church to mask<br /> +A secret life, renewed forgiven sins.<br /> +After she cloaked herself with piety.<br /> +Perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do,<br /> +And how to do it, using these detours<br /> +Of piety to throw us off, who else<br /> +Had seen what doors she entered, whence she came.<br /> +She wronged the church, I think, made it a screen<br /> +To stand behind for kisses, to look from<br /> +Inviting kisses. Then, as I have said,<br /> +She took materialism from her work,<br /> +And so renewed her sins. She drank, I think,<br /> +And smoked and feasted; but as for the rest,<br /> +The smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame<br /> +Or fire at least where there is smoke.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">You ask</span><br /> +What took her to the war? Why only this:<br /> +Adventure, chance of marriage, amorous conquests—<br /> +The girl was mad for men, although I saw<br /> +Her smoke obscured the flame, I never saw her<br /> +Except with robins far too tame or lame<br /> +To interest her, and robins prove to me<br /> +The hawk is somewhere, waits for night to join<br /> +His playmate when the robins are at rest.<br /> +You see the girl has madness in her, flies<br /> +From exaltation up to ecstasy.<br /> +Feeds on emotion, never has enough.<br /> +Tries all things, states of spirit, even beliefs.<br /> +Passes from lust (I think) to celibacy,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>Feasts, fasts, eats, starves, has raptures then inflicts<br /> +The whip upon her back, is penitent,<br /> +Then proud, is humble, then is arrogant,<br /> +Looks down demurely, stares you out of face,<br /> +But runs the world around. For in point of fact,<br /> +She traveled much, knew cities and their ways;<br /> +And when I used to see her at the convent<br /> +So meek, clothed like a sewing maid, at once<br /> +The pictures that she showed me of herself<br /> +At seaside places or on boulevards,<br /> +Her beauty clothed in linen or in silk,<br /> +Came back to mind, and I would resurrect<br /> +The fragments of our talks in which I saw<br /> +How she knew foods and drinks and restaurants,<br /> +And fashionable shops. This girl could fool the elect—<br /> +She fooled me for a time. I found her out.<br /> +Did she aspire? Perhaps, if you believe<br /> +It’s aspiration to seek out the rich,<br /> +And ape them. Not for me. Of course she went<br /> +To get adventure in the war, perhaps<br /> +She got too much. But as to waste of life,<br /> +She might have been a quiet, noble woman<br /> +Keeping her place in life, not trying to rise<br /> +Out of her class—too useless—in her class<br /> +Making herself all worthy, serviceable.<br /> +You’ll find ’twas pride that slew her. Very like<br /> +She found a rich man, tried to hold him, lost<br /> +Her honor and her life in consequence.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +When Merival showed this letter to the jury,<br /> +Marion the juryman spoke up:<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>“You know that type of woman—saintly hag!<br /> +I wouldn’t take her word about a thing<br /> +By way of inference, or analysis.<br /> +They had some trouble, she and Elenor<br /> +You may be sure.” And Merival replied:<br /> +“Take it for what it’s worth. I leave you now<br /> +To see the man who owns the <i>Daily Times</i>.<br /> +He’s turned upon our inquest, did you see<br /> +The jab he gives me? I can jab as well.”<br /> +So Merival went out and took with him<br /> +A riffle in the waters of circumstance<br /> +Set up by Elenor Murray’s death to one<br /> +Remote, secure in greatness—to the man<br /> +Who ran the <i>Times</i>.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>ARCHIBALD LOWELL</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Archibald Lowell, owner of the <i>Times</i><br /> +Lived six months of the year at Sunnyside,<br /> +His Gothic castle near LeRoy, so named<br /> +Because no sun was in him, it may be.<br /> +His wife was much away when on this earth<br /> +At cures, in travel, fighting psychic ills,<br /> +Approaching madness, dying nerves. They said<br /> +Her heart was starved for living with a man<br /> +So cold and silent. Thirty years she lived<br /> +Bound to this man, in restless agony,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>And as she could not free her life from his,<br /> +Nor keep it living with him, on a day<br /> +She stuck a gas hose in her mouth and drank<br /> +Her lungs full of the lethal stuff and died.<br /> +That was the very day the hunter found<br /> +Elenor Murray’s body near the river.<br /> +A servant saw this Mrs. Lowell lying<br /> +A copy of the <i>Times</i> clutched in her hand,<br /> +Which published that a slip of paper found<br /> +In Elenor Murray’s pocket had these words<br /> +“To be brave and not to flinch.” And was she brave,<br /> +And nerved to end it by these words of Elenor?<br /> +But Archibald, the husband, could not bear<br /> +To have the death by suicide made known.<br /> +He laid the body out, as if his wife<br /> +Had gone to bed as usual, turned a jet<br /> +And left it, just as if his wife had failed<br /> +To fully turn it, then went in the room;<br /> +Then called the servants, did not know that one<br /> +Had seen her with the <i>Times</i> clutched in her hand.<br /> +He thought the matter hidden. Merival,<br /> +All occupied with Elenor Murray’s death<br /> +Gave to a deputy the Lowell inquest.<br /> +But later what this servant saw was told<br /> +To Merival.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And now no more alone</span><br /> +Than when his wife lived, Lowell passed the days<br /> +At Sunnyside, as he had done for years.<br /> +He sat alone, and paced the rooms alone,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>With hands behind him clasped, in fear and wonder<br /> +Of life and what life is. He rode about,<br /> +And viewed his blooded cattle on the hills.<br /> +But what were all these rooms and acres to him<br /> +With no face near him but the servants, gardeners?<br /> +Sometimes he wished he had a child to draw<br /> +Upon his fabulous income, growing more<br /> +Since all his life was centered in the <i>Times</i><br /> +To swell its revenues, and in the process<br /> +His spirit was more fully in the <i>Times</i><br /> +Than in his body. There were eyes who saw<br /> +How deftly was his spirit woven in it<br /> +Until it was a scarf to bind and choke<br /> +The public throat, or stifle honest thought<br /> +Like a soft pillow offered for the head,<br /> +But used to smother. There were eyes who saw<br /> +The working of its ways emasculate,<br /> +Its tones of gray, where flame had been the thing,<br /> +Its timorous steps, while spying on the public,<br /> +To learn the public’s thought. Its cautious pauses,<br /> +With foot uplifted, ears pricked up to hear<br /> +A step fall, twig break. Platitudes in progress—<br /> +With sugar coat of righteousness and order,<br /> +Respectability.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Did the public make it?</span><br /> +Or did it make the public, that it fitted<br /> +With such exactness in the communal life?<br /> +Some thousands thought it fair—what should they think<br /> +When it played neutral in the matter of news<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>To both sides of the question, though at last<br /> +It turned the judge, and chose the better side,<br /> +Determined from the first, a secret plan,<br /> +And cunning way to turn the public scale?<br /> +Some thousands liked the kind of news it printed<br /> +Where no sensation flourished—smallest type<br /> +That fixed attention for the staring eyes<br /> +Needed for type so small. But others knew<br /> +It led the people by its fair pretensions,<br /> +And used them in the end. In any case<br /> +This editor played hand-ball in this way:<br /> +The advertisers tossed the ball, the readers<br /> +Caught it and tossed it to the advertisers:<br /> +And as the readers multiplied, the columns<br /> +Of advertising grew, and Lowell’s thought<br /> +Was how to play the one against the other,<br /> +And fill his purse.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">It was an ingrown mind,</span><br /> +And growing more ingrown with time. Afraid<br /> +Of crowds and streets, uncomfortable in clubs,<br /> +No warmth in hands to touch his fellows’ hands,<br /> +Keeping aloof from politicians, loathing<br /> +The human alderman who bails the thief;<br /> +The little scamp who pares a little profit,<br /> +And grafts upon a branch that takes no harm.<br /> +He loved the active spirit, if it worked,<br /> +And feared the active spirit, if it played.<br /> +This Lowell hid himself from favor seekers,<br /> +Such letters filtered to him through a sieve<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>Of secretaries. If he had a friend,<br /> +Who was a mind to him as well, perhaps<br /> +It was a certain lawyer, but who knew?<br /> +And cursed with monophobia, none the less<br /> +This Lowell lived alone there near LeRoy,<br /> +Surrounded by his servants, at his desk<br /> +A secretary named McGill, who took<br /> +Such letters, editorials as he spoke.<br /> +His life was nearly waste. A peanut stand<br /> +Should be as much remembered as the <i>Times</i>,<br /> +When fifty years are passed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And every month</span><br /> +The circulation manager came down<br /> +To tell the great man of the gain or loss<br /> +The paper made that month in circulation,<br /> +In advertising, chiefly. Lowell took<br /> +The audit sheets and studied them, and gave<br /> +Steel bullet words of order this or that.<br /> +He took the dividends, and put them—where?<br /> +God knew alone.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">He went to church sometimes,</span><br /> +On certain Sundays, for a pious mother<br /> +Had reared him so, and sat there like a corpse,<br /> +A desiccated soul, so dry the moss<br /> +Upon his teeth was dry.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">And on a day,</span><br /> +His wife now in the earth a week or so,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>Himself not well, the doctor there to quiet<br /> +His fears of sudden death, pains in the chest,<br /> +His manager had come—was made to wait<br /> +Until the doctor finished—brought the sheets<br /> +Which showed the advertising, circulation.<br /> +And Lowell studied them and said at last:<br /> +“That new reporter makes the Murray inquest<br /> +A thing of interest, does the public like it?”<br /> +To which the manager: “It sells the paper.”<br /> +And then the great man: “It has served its use.<br /> +Now being nearly over, print these words:<br /> +The Murray inquest shows to what a length<br /> +Fantastic wit can go, it should be stopped.”<br /> +An editorial later might be well:<br /> +Comment upon a father and a mother<br /> +Invaded in their privacy, and life<br /> +In intimate relations dragged to view<br /> +To sate the curious eye.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Next day the <i>Times</i></span><br /> +Rebuked the coroner in these words. And then<br /> +Merival sent word: “I come to see you,<br /> +Or else you come to see me, or by process<br /> +If you refuse.” And so the editor<br /> +Invited Merival to Sunnyside<br /> +To talk the matter out. This was the talk:<br /> +First Merival went over all the ground<br /> +In mild locution, what he sought to do.<br /> +How as departments in the war had studied<br /> +Disease and what not, tabulated facts,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>He wished to make a start for knowing lives,<br /> +And finding remedies for lives. It’s true<br /> +Not much might be accomplished, also true<br /> +The poet and the novelist gave thought,<br /> +Analysis to lives, yet who could tell<br /> +What system might grow up to find the fault<br /> +In marriage as it is, in rearing children<br /> +In motherhood, in homes; for Merival<br /> +By way of wit said to this dullest man:<br /> +“I know of mother and of home, of heaven<br /> +I’ve yet to learn.” Whereat the great man winced,<br /> +To hear the home and motherhood so slurred,<br /> +And briefly said the <i>Times</i> would go its way<br /> +To serve the public interests, and to foster<br /> +American ideals as he conceived them.<br /> +Then Merival who knew the great man’s nature,<br /> +How small it was and barren, cold and dull,<br /> +And wedded to small things, to gold, and fear<br /> +Of change, and knew the life the woman lived,—<br /> +These seven days in the earth—with such a man,<br /> +Just by a zephyr of intangible thought<br /> +Veered round the talk to her, to voice a wonder<br /> +About the jet left turned, his deputy<br /> +Had overlooked a hose which she could drink<br /> +Gas from a jet. “You needn’t touch the jet.<br /> +Just leave it as she left it—hide the hose,<br /> +And leave the gas on, put the woman in bed.”<br /> +“This deputy,” said Merival, “was slack<br /> +And let a verdict pass of accident.”<br /> +“Oh yes” said Merival, “your servant told<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>About the hose, the <i>Times</i> clutched in her hand.<br /> +And may I test this jet, while I am here?<br /> +Go up to see and test it?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Whereupon</span><br /> +The great man with wide eyes stared in the eyes<br /> +Of Merival, was speechless for a moment,<br /> +Not knowing what to say, while Merival<br /> +Read something in his eyes, saw in his eyes<br /> +The secret beat to cover, saw the man<br /> +Turn head away which shook a little, saw<br /> +His chest expand for breath, and heard at last<br /> +The editor in four steel bullet words,<br /> +“It is not necessary.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Merival</span><br /> +Had trapped the solitary fox—arose<br /> +And going said: “If it was suicide<br /> +The inquest must be changed.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">The editor</span><br /> +Looked through the window at the coroner<br /> +Walking the gravel walk, and saw his hand<br /> +Unlatch the iron gate, and saw him pass<br /> +From view behind the trees.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Then horror rose</span><br /> +Within his brain, a nameless horror took<br /> +The heart of him, for fear this coroner<br /> +Would dig this secret up, and show the world<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>The dead face of the woman self-destroyed,<br /> +And of the talk, which would not come to him,<br /> +To poison air he breathed no less, of why<br /> +This woman took her life; if for ill health<br /> +Then why ill health? O, well he knew at heart<br /> +What he had done to break her, starve her life.<br /> +And now accused himself too much for words,<br /> +Ways, temperament of him that murdered her,<br /> +For lovelessness, and for deliberate hands<br /> +That pushed her off and down.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">He rode that day</span><br /> +To see his cattle, overlook the work,<br /> +But when night came with silence and the cry<br /> +Of night-hawks, and the elegy of leaves<br /> +Beneath the stars that looked so cold at him<br /> +As he turned seeking sleep, the dreaded pain<br /> +Grew stronger in his breast. Dawn came at last<br /> +And then the stir and voices of the maids.<br /> +And after breakfast in the carven room<br /> +Archibald Lowell standing by the mantel<br /> +In his great library, felt sudden pain;<br /> +Saw sudden darkness, nothing saw at once,<br /> +Lying upon the marble of the hearth;<br /> +His great head cut which struck the post of brass<br /> +In the hearth’s railing—only a little blood!<br /> +Archibald Lowell being dead at last;<br /> +The <i>Times</i> left to the holders of the stock<br /> +Who kept his policy, and kept the <i>Times</i><br /> +As if the great man lived.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And Merival</span><br /> +Taking the doctor’s word that death was caused<br /> +By angina pectoris, let it drop.<br /> +And went his way with Elenor Murray’s case.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So Lowell’s dead and buried; had to die,<br /> +But not through Elenor Murray. That’s the Fate<br /> +That laughs at greatness, little things that sneak<br /> +From alien neighborhoods of life and kill.<br /> +And Lowell leaves a will, to which a boy—<br /> +Who sold the <i>Times</i> once, afterward the <i>Star</i>—<br /> +Is alien as this Elenor to the man<br /> +Who owned the <i>Times</i>. But still is brought in touch<br /> +With Lowell’s will, because this Lowell died<br /> +Before he died. And Merival learns the facts<br /> +And brings them to the jury in these words:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>WIDOW FORTELKA</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Marie Fortelka, widow, mother of Josef,<br /> +Now seventeen, an invalid at home<br /> +In a house, in Halstead Street, his running side<br /> +Aching with broken ribs, read in the <i>Times</i><br /> +Of Lowell’s death the editor, dressed herself<br /> +To call on William Rummler, legal mind<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>For Lowell and the <i>Times</i>.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">It was a day</span><br /> +When fog hung over the city, and she thought<br /> +Of fogs in Germany whence she came, and thought<br /> +Of hard conditions there when she was young.<br /> +Then as her boy, this Josef, coughed, she looked<br /> +And felt a pang at heart, a rise of wrath,<br /> +And heard him moan for broken ribs and lungs<br /> +That had been bruised or mashed. America,<br /> +Oh yes, America, she said to self,<br /> +How is it different from the land I left?<br /> +And then her husband’s memory came to mind:<br /> +How he had fled his country to be free,<br /> +And come to Philadelphia, with the thrill<br /> +Of new life found, looked at the famous Hall<br /> +Which gave the Declaration, cried and laughed<br /> +And said: “The country’s free, and I am here,<br /> +I am free now, a man, no more a slave.”<br /> +What did he find? A job, but prices high.<br /> +Wages decreased in winter, then a strike.<br /> +He joined the union, found himself in jail<br /> +For passing hand-bills which announced the strike,<br /> +And asked the public to take note, and punish<br /> +The corporation, not to trade with it,<br /> +For its injustice toward the laborers.<br /> +And in the court he heard the judge decide:<br /> +“Free speech cannot be used to gain the ends<br /> +Of ruin by conspiracy like this<br /> +Against a business. Men from foreign lands,<br /> +Of despot rule and poverty, who come<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>For liberty and means of life among us<br /> +Must learn that liberty is ordered liberty,<br /> +And is not license, freedom to commit<br /> +Injury to another.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">So in jail</span><br /> +He lay his thirty days out, went to work<br /> +Where he could find it, found the union smashed,<br /> +Himself compelled to take what job he could,<br /> +What wages he was offered. And his children<br /> +Kept coming year by year till there were eight,<br /> +And Josef was but ten. And then he died<br /> +And left this helpless family, and the boy<br /> +Sold papers on the street, ten years of age,<br /> +The widow washed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And first he sold the <i>Times</i></span><br /> +And helped to spread the doctrines of the <i>Times</i><br /> +Of ordered liberty and epicene<br /> +Reforms of this or that. But when the <i>Star</i><br /> +With millions back of it broke in the field<br /> +He changed and sold the <i>Star</i>, too bad for him—<br /> +Discovered something:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Josef did not know</span><br /> +The corners of the street are free to all,<br /> +Or free to none, where newsboys stood and sold,<br /> +And kept their stands, or rather where the powers<br /> +That kept the great conspiracy of the press<br /> +Controlled the stands, and to prevent the <i>Star</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>From gaining foot-hold. Not upon this corner<br /> +Nor on that corner, any corner in short<br /> +Shall newsboys sell the <i>Star</i>. But Josef felt,<br /> +Being a boy, indifferent to the rules,<br /> +Well founded, true or false, that all the corners<br /> +Were free to all, and for his daring, strength<br /> +Had been selected, picked to sell the <i>Star</i>,<br /> +And break the ground, gain place upon the stands.<br /> +He had been warned from corners, chased and boxed<br /> +By heavy fists from corners more than once<br /> +Before the day they felled him. On that day<br /> +A monster bully, once a pugilist,<br /> +Came on him selling the <i>Star</i> and knocked him down,<br /> +Kicked in his ribs and broke a leg and cracked<br /> +His little skull.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And so they took him home</span><br /> +To Widow Fortelka and the sisters, brothers,<br /> +Whose bread he earned. And there he lay and moaned,<br /> +And when he sat up had a little cough,<br /> +Was short of breath.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And on this foggy day</span><br /> +When Widow Fortelka reads in the <i>Times</i><br /> +That Lowell, the editor, is dead, he sits<br /> +With feet wrapped in a quilt and gets his breath<br /> +With open mouth, his face is brightly flushed;<br /> +A fetid sweetness fills the air of the room<br /> +That from his open mouth comes. Josef lingers<br /> +A few weeks yet—he has tuberculosis.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>And so his mother looks at him, resolves<br /> +To call this day on William Rummler, see<br /> +If Lowell’s death has changed the state of things;<br /> +And if the legal mind will not relent<br /> +Now that the mind that fed it lies in death.<br /> +It’s true enough, she thinks, I was dismissed,<br /> +And sent away for good, but never mind.<br /> +It can’t be true this pugilist went farther<br /> +Than the authority of his hiring, that’s<br /> +The talk this lawyer gave her, used a word<br /> +She could not keep in mind—the lawyer said<br /> +<i>Respondeat superior</i> in this case<br /> +Was not in point—and if it could be proved<br /> +This pugilist was hired by the <i>Times</i>,<br /> +No one could prove the <i>Times</i> had hired him<br /> +To beat a boy, commit a crime. Well, then<br /> +“What was he hired for?” the widow asked.<br /> +And then she talked with newsboys, and they said<br /> +The papers had their sluggers, all of them,<br /> +Even the <i>Star</i>, and that was just a move<br /> +In getting circulation, keeping it.<br /> +And all these sluggers watched the stands and drove<br /> +The newsboys selling <i>Stars</i> away.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">No matter,</span><br /> +She could not argue with this lawyer Rummler,<br /> +Who said: “You must excuse me, go away,<br /> +I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”<br /> +<br /> +Now Widow Fortelka had never heard<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>Of Elenor Murray, had not read a line<br /> +Of Elenor Murray’s death beside the river.<br /> +She was as ignorant of the interview<br /> +Between the coroner and this editor<br /> +Who died next morning fearing Merival<br /> +Would dig up Mrs. Lowell and expose<br /> +Her suicide, as conferences of spirits<br /> +Directing matters in another world.<br /> +Her thought was moulded no less by the riffles<br /> +That spread from Elenor Murray and her death.<br /> +And she resolved to see this lawyer Rummler,<br /> +And try again to get a settlement<br /> +To help her dying boy. And so she went.<br /> +<br /> +That morning Rummler coming into town<br /> +Had met a cynic friend upon the train<br /> +Who used his tongue as freely as his mood<br /> +Moved him to use it. So he said to Rummler:<br /> +“I see your client died—a hell of a life<br /> +That fellow lived, a critic in our midst<br /> +Both hated and caressed. And I suppose<br /> +You drew his will and know it, I will bet,<br /> +If he left anything to charity,<br /> +Or to the city, it is some narcotic<br /> +To keep things as they are, the ailing body<br /> +To dull and bring forgetfulness of pain.<br /> +He was a fine albino of the soul,<br /> +No pigment in his genesis to give<br /> +Color to hair or eyes, he had no gonads.”<br /> +And William Rummler laughed and said, “You’ll see<br /> +What Lowell did when I probate the will.”<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>Then William Rummler thought that very moment<br /> +Of plans whereby his legal mind could thrive<br /> +Upon the building of the big hotel<br /> +To Lowell’s memory, for perpetual use<br /> +Of the Y. M. C. A., the seminary, too,<br /> +In Moody’s memory for an orthodox<br /> +Instruction in the bible.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">With such things</span><br /> +In mind, this William Rummler opened the door,<br /> +And stepped into his office, got a shock<br /> +From seeing Widow Fortelka on the bench,<br /> +Where clients waited, waiting there for him.<br /> +She rose and greeted him, and William Rummler<br /> +Who in a stronger moment might have said:<br /> +“You must excuse me, I have told you, madam,<br /> +I can do nothing for you,” let her follow<br /> +Into his private office and sit down<br /> +And there renew her suit.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">She said to him:</span><br /> +“My boy is dying now, I think his ribs<br /> +Were driven in his lungs and punctured them.<br /> +He coughs the worst stuff up you ever saw.<br /> +And has an awful fever, sweats his clothes<br /> +Right through, is breathless, cannot live a month.<br /> +And I know you can help me. Mr. Lowell,<br /> +So you told me, refused a settlement,<br /> +Because this pugilist was never hired<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>To beat my boy, or any boy; for fear<br /> +It would be an admission, and be talked of,<br /> +And lead another to demand some money.<br /> +But now he’s dead, and surely you are free<br /> +To help me some, so that this month or two,<br /> +While my boy Joe is dying he can have<br /> +What milk he wants and food, and when he dies,<br /> +A decent coffin, burial. Then perhaps<br /> +There will be something left to help me with—<br /> +I wash to feed the children, as you know.”<br /> +<br /> +And William Rummler looked at her and thought<br /> +For one brief moment with his lawyer mind<br /> +About this horror, while the widow wept,<br /> +And as she wept a culprit mood was his<br /> +For thinking of the truth, for well he knew<br /> +This slugger had been hired for such deeds,<br /> +And here was one result. And in his pain<br /> +The cynic words his friend had said to him<br /> +Upon the train began to stir, and then<br /> +He felt a rush of feeling, blood, and thought<br /> +Of clause thirteen in Lowell’s will, which gave<br /> +The trustees power, and he was chief trustee,<br /> +To give some worthy charity once a year,<br /> +Not to exceed a thousand dollars. So<br /> +He thought to self, “This is a charity.<br /> +I will advance the money, get it back<br /> +As soon as I probate the will.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">At last</span><br /> +He broke this moment’s musing and spoke up:<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>“Your case appeals to me. You may step out,<br /> +And wait till I prepare the papers, then<br /> +I’ll have a check made for a thousand dollars.”<br /> +<br /> +Widow Fortelka rose up and took<br /> +The crucifix she wore and kissed it, wept<br /> +And left the room.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Now here’s the case of Percy Ferguson<br /> +You’d think his life was safe from Elenor Murray.<br /> +No preacher ever ran a prettier boat<br /> +Than Percy Ferguson, all painted white<br /> +With polished railings, flying at the fore<br /> +The red and white and blue. Such little waves<br /> +Set dancing by the death of Elenor Murray<br /> +To sink so fine a boat, and leave the Reverend<br /> +To swim to shore! he couldn’t walk the waves!</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>REV. PERCY FERGUSON</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The Rev. Percy Ferguson, patrician<br /> +Vicar of Christ, companion of the strong,<br /> +And member of the inner shrine, where men<br /> +Observe the rituals of the golden calf;<br /> +A dilettante, and writer for the press<br /> +Upon such themes as optimism, order,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>Obedience, beauty, law, while Elenor Murray’s<br /> +Life was being weighed by Merival<br /> +Preached in disparagement of Merival<br /> +Upon a fatal Sunday, as it chanced,<br /> +Too near to doom’s day for the clergyman.<br /> +For, as the word had gone about that waste<br /> +In lives preoccupied this Merival,<br /> +And many talked of waste, and spoke a life<br /> +Where waste had been in whole or part—the pulpit<br /> +Should take a hand, thought Ferguson. And so<br /> +The Reverend Percy Ferguson preached thus<br /> +To a great audience and fashionable:<br /> +“The hour’s need is a firmer faith in Christ,<br /> +A closer hold on God, belief again<br /> +In sin’s reality; the age’s vice<br /> +Is laughter over sin, the attitude<br /> +That sin is not!” And then to prove that sin<br /> +Is something real, he spoke of money sins<br /> +That bring the money panics, of the beauty<br /> +That lust corrupts, wound up with Athen’s story,<br /> +Which sin decayed. And touching on this waste,<br /> +Which was the current talk, what is this waste<br /> +Except a sin in life, the moral law<br /> +Transgressed, God mocked, the order of man’s life,<br /> +And God’s will disobeyed? Show me a life<br /> +That lives through Christ and none shall find a waste.<br /> +This clergyman some fifteen years before<br /> +Went on a hunt for Alma Bell, who taught<br /> +The art department of the school, and found<br /> +Enough to scare the school directors that<br /> +She burned with lawless love for Elenor Murray.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span><br /> +And made it seem the teacher’s reprimand<br /> +In school of Elenor Murray for her ways<br /> +Of strolling, riding with young men at night,<br /> +Was moved by jealousy of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Being herself in love with Elenor Murray.<br /> +This clergyman laid what he found before<br /> +The school directors, Alma Bell was sent<br /> +Out of the school her way, and disappeared....<br /> +But now, though fifteen years had passed, the story<br /> +Of Alma Bell and Elenor Murray crept<br /> +Like poisonous mist, scarce seen, around LeRoy.<br /> +It had been so always. And all these years<br /> +No one would touch or talk in open words<br /> +The loathsome matter, since girls grown to women,<br /> +And married in the town might have their names<br /> +Relinked to Alma Bell’s. And was it true<br /> +That Elenor Murray strayed as a young girl<br /> +In those far days of strolls and buggy rides?<br /> +<br /> +But after Percy Ferguson had thundered<br /> +Against the inquest, Warren Henderson,<br /> +A banker of the city, who had dealt<br /> +In paper of the clergyman, and knew<br /> +The clergyman had interests near Victoria,<br /> +Was playing at the money game, and knew<br /> +He tottered on the brink, and held to hands<br /> +That feared to hold him longer—Henderson,<br /> +A wise man, cynical, contemptuous<br /> +Of frocks so sure of ways to avoid the waste,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>So unforgiving of the tangled moods<br /> +And baffled eyes of men; contemptuous<br /> +Of frocks so avid for the downy beds,<br /> +Place, honors, money, admiration, praise,<br /> +Much wished to see the clergyman come down<br /> +And lay his life beside the other sinners.<br /> +But more he knew, admired this Alma Bell,<br /> +Did not believe she burned with guilty love<br /> +For Elenor Murray, thought the moral hunt<br /> +Or Alma Bell had made a waste of life,<br /> +As ignorance might pluck a flower for thinking<br /> +It was a weed; on Elenor Murray too<br /> +Had brought a waste, by scenting up her life<br /> +With something faint but ineradicable.<br /> +And Warren Henderson would have revenge,<br /> +And waited till old Jacob Bangs should fix<br /> +His name to paper once again of Ferguson’s<br /> +To tell old Jacob Bangs he should be wary,<br /> +Since banks and agencies were tremulous<br /> +With hints of failure at Victoria.<br /> +<br /> +So meeting Jacob Bangs the banker told him<br /> +What things were bruited, and warned the man<br /> +To fix his name no more to Ferguson’s paper.<br /> +It was the very day the clergyman<br /> +Sought Jacob Bangs to get his signature<br /> +Upon a note for money at the bank.<br /> +And Jacob Bangs was silent and evasive,<br /> +Demurred a little and refused at last.<br /> +Which sent the anxious clergyman adrift<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>To look for other help. He looked and looked,<br /> +And found no other help. Associates<br /> +Depending more on men than God, fell down,<br /> +And in a day the bubble burst. The <i>Times</i><br /> +Had columns of the story.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">In a week,</span><br /> +At Sunday service Percy Ferguson<br /> +Stood in the pulpit to confess his sin,<br /> +The Murray jury sat and fed their joy<br /> +For hearing Ferguson confess his sin.<br /> +This is the way he did it:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“First, my friends,</span><br /> +I do not say I have betrayed the trust<br /> +My friends have given me. Some years ago<br /> +I thought to make provision for my wife,<br /> +I wished to start some certain young men right.<br /> +I had another plan I can’t disclose,<br /> +Not selfish, you’ll believe me. So I took<br /> +My savings made as lecturer and writer<br /> +And put them in this venture. I’m ashamed<br /> +To say how great those savings were, in view<br /> +Of what the poor earn, those who work with hands!<br /> +Ashamed too, when I think these savings grew<br /> +Because I spoke the things the rich desired.<br /> +And squared my words with what the strong would have—<br /> +Therein Christ was betrayed. The end has come.<br /> +I too have been betrayed, my confidence<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>Wronged by my fellows in the enterprise.<br /> +I hope to pay my debts. Hard poverty<br /> +Has come to me to bring me back to Christ.”<br /> +<br /> +“But listen now: These years I lived perturbed,<br /> +Lest this life which I grew into would mould<br /> +Young men and ministers, lead them astray<br /> +To public life, sensation, lecture platforms,<br /> +Prosperity, away from Christ-like service,<br /> +Obscure and gentle. To those souls I owe<br /> +My heart’s confession: I have loved my books<br /> +More than the poor, position more than service,<br /> +Office and honor over love of men;<br /> +Lived thus when all my strength belonged to thought,<br /> +To work for schools, the sick, the poor, the friendless,<br /> +To boys and girls with hungry minds. My friends,<br /> +Here I abase my soul before God’s throne,<br /> +And ask forgiveness for the pious zeal<br /> +With which I smote the soul of Alma Bell,<br /> +And smudged the robe of Elenor Murray. God,<br /> +Thou, who has taken Elenor Murray home,<br /> +After great service in the war, O grant<br /> +Thy servant yet to kneel before the soul<br /> +Of Elenor Murray. For who am I to judge?<br /> +What was I then to judge? who coveted honors,<br /> +When solitude, where I might dwell apart,<br /> +And listen to the voice of God was mine,<br /> +By calling and for seeking. I have broken<br /> +The oath I took to take no purse or scrip.<br /> +I have loved money, even while I knew<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>No servant of Christ can work for Christ and strive<br /> +For money. And if anywhere there be<br /> +A noble boy who would become a minister,<br /> +Who has heard me, or read my books, and grown<br /> +Thereby to cherish secular ideas<br /> +Of Christ’s work in the world, to him I say:<br /> +Repent the thought, reject me; there are men<br /> +And women missionaries, here, abroad,<br /> +And nameless workers in poor settlements<br /> +Whose latchets to stoop down and to unloose<br /> +I am unworthy.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“Gift of life too short!</span><br /> +O, beautiful gift of God, too brief at best,<br /> +For all a man can do, how have I wasted<br /> +This precious gift! How wasted it in pride,<br /> +In seeking out the powerful, the great,<br /> +The hands with honors, gold to give—when nothing<br /> +Is profitable to a servant of the Christ<br /> +Except to shepherd Christ’s poor. O, young men,<br /> +Interpret not your ministry in terms<br /> +Of intellect alone, forefront the heart,<br /> +That at the end of life you may look up<br /> +And say to God: Behind these are the sheep<br /> +Thou gavest me, and not a one is lost.”<br /> +<br /> +“As to my enemies, for enemies<br /> +A clergyman must have whose fault is mine,<br /> +Plato would have us harden hearts to sorrow.<br /> +And Zeno roofs of slate for souls to slide<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>The storm of evil—Christ in sorrow did<br /> +For evil good. For me, my prayer is this,<br /> +My faith as well, that I may be perfected<br /> +Through suffering.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">That ended the confession.</span><br /> +Then “Love Divine, All Love Excelling” sounded.<br /> +The congregation rose, and some went up<br /> +To take the pastor’s hand, but others left<br /> +To think the matter over.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">For some said:</span><br /> +“He married fortunate.” And others said:<br /> +“We know through Jacob Bangs he has investments<br /> +In wheat lands, what’s the truth? In any case<br /> +What avarice is this that made him anxious<br /> +About the comfort of his wife and family?<br /> +The thing won’t work. He’s only middle way<br /> +In solving his soul’s problem. This confession<br /> +Is just a poor beginning.” Others said:<br /> +“He drove out Alma Bell, let’s drive him out.”<br /> +And others said: “you note we never heard<br /> +About this speculation till it failed,<br /> +And he was brought to grief. If it had prospered<br /> +The man had never told, what do you think?”<br /> +But in a year as health failed, Ferguson<br /> +Took leave of absence, and the silence of life<br /> +Which closes over men, however noisy<br /> +With sermons, lectures, covered him. His riffle<br /> +Died out in distant waters.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span><br /> +There was a Doctor Burke lived at LeRoy,<br /> +Neurologist and student. On a night<br /> +When Merival had the jury at his house,<br /> +Llewellyn George was telling of his travels<br /> +In China and Japan, had mutual friends<br /> +With Franklin Hollister, the cousin of Elenor,<br /> +And son of dead Corinne, who hid her letters<br /> +Under the eaves. The talk went wide and far.<br /> +For David Borrow, sunny pessimist,<br /> +Thrust logic words at Maiworm, the juryman;<br /> +And said our life was bad, and must be so,<br /> +While Maiworm trusted God, said life was good.<br /> +And Winthrop Marion let play his wit,<br /> +The riches of his reading over all.<br /> +Thus as they talked this Doctor Burke came in.<br /> +“You’ll pardon this intrusion, I’ll go on<br /> +If this is secret business. Let me say<br /> +This inquest holds my interest and I’ve come<br /> +To tell of Elenor’s ancestry.” Thus he spoke.<br /> +“There’ll be another time if I must go.”<br /> +And Merival spoke up and said: “why stay<br /> +And tell us what you know, or think,” and so<br /> +The coroner and jury sat and heard:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>DR. BURKE</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>You’ve heard of potters’ wheels and potters’ hands.<br /> +I had a dream that told the human tale<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>As well as potters’ wheels or potters’ hands.<br /> +I saw a great hand slopping plasmic jelly<br /> +Around the low sides of a giant bowl.<br /> +A drop would fly upon the giant table,<br /> +And quick the drop would twist up into form,<br /> +Become homonculus and wave its hands,<br /> +Brandish a little pistol, shoot a creature,<br /> +Upspringing from another drop of plasm,<br /> +Slopped on the giant table. Other drops,<br /> +Flying as water from a grinding stone,<br /> +Out of the giant bowl, took little crowns<br /> +And put them on their heads and mounted thrones,<br /> +And lorded little armies. Some became<br /> +Half-drooped and sickly things, like poisoned flies.<br /> +And others stood on lighted faggots, others<br /> +Fed and commanded, others served and starved,<br /> +But many joined the throng of animate drops,<br /> +And hurried on the phantom quest.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">You see,</span><br /> +Whether you call it potter’s hand or hand<br /> +That stirs, to no end, jelly in the bowl,<br /> +You have the force outside and not inside.<br /> +Invest it with a malice, wanton humor,<br /> +Which likes to see the plasmic jelly slop,<br /> +And rain in drops upon the giant table,<br /> +And does not care what happens in the world,<br /> +That giant table.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">All such dreams are wrong,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>My dream is wrong, my waking thought is right.<br /> +Man can subdue the giant hand that stirs,<br /> +Or turns the wheel, and so these visions err.<br /> +For as this farmer, lately come to town,<br /> +Picks out the finest corn seeds, and so crops<br /> +A finer corn, let’s look to human seed,<br /> +And raise a purer stock; let’s learn of him,<br /> +Who does not put defective grains aside<br /> +For planting in the spring, but puts aside<br /> +The best for planting. For I’d like to see<br /> +As much care taken with the human stock<br /> +As men now take of corn, race-horses, hogs.<br /> +You, Coroner Merival are right, I think.<br /> +If we conserve our forests, waterways,<br /> +Why not the stream of human life, which wastes<br /> +Because its source is wasted, fouled.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Perhaps</span><br /> +Our coroner has started something good,<br /> +And brought to public mind what might result<br /> +If every man kept record of the traits<br /> +Known in his family for the future use<br /> +Of those to come in choosing mates.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Behold,</span><br /> +Your moralists and churchmen with your rules<br /> +Brought down from Palestine, which says that life<br /> +Though tainted, maddened, must not be controlled,<br /> +Diverted, headed off, while life in corn,<br /> +And life in hogs, that feed the life of man<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>Should be made better for the life of man—<br /> +Behold, I say, some hundred millions spent<br /> +On paupers, epileptics, deaf and blind;<br /> +On feeble minded, invalids, the insane—<br /> +Behold, I say, this cost in gold alone,<br /> +Leave for the time the tragedy of souls,<br /> +Who suffer or must see such suffering,<br /> +And then turn back to what? The hand that stirs,<br /> +The potter’s hand? Why, no—the marriage counter<br /> +Where this same state in Christian charity<br /> +Spending its millions, lets the fault begin,<br /> +And says to epileptics and what not:—<br /> +“Go breed your kind, for Jesus came to earth,<br /> +And we will house and feed your progeny,<br /> +Or hang, incarcerate your murderous spawn,<br /> +As it may happen.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And all the time we know</span><br /> +As small grains fruit in small grains, even man<br /> +In fifty matters of pathology<br /> +Transmits what’s in him, blindness, imbecility,<br /> +Hysteria, susceptibilities<br /> +To cancer and tuberculosis. Also<br /> +The soil that sprouts the giant weed of madness—<br /> +There’s soil which will not sprout them, occupied<br /> +Too full by blossoms, healthy trees.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">We know</span><br /> +Such things as these—Well, I would sterilize,<br /> +Or segregate these shriveled seeds and keep<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>The soil of life for seeds select, and take<br /> +The church and Jesus, if he’s in the way,<br /> +And say: “You stand aside, and let me raise<br /> +A better and a better breed of men.”<br /> +Quit, shut your sniveling charities; have mercy<br /> +Not on these paupers, imbeciles, diseased ones,<br /> +But on the progeny you let them breed.<br /> +And thereby sponge the greatest waste away,<br /> +And source of life’s immeasurable tragedies.<br /> +Avaunt you potter hands and potter wheels!<br /> +God is within us, not without us, we<br /> +Are given souls to know and see and guide<br /> +Ourselves and those to come, souls that compute<br /> +The calculus of beauties, talents, traits,<br /> +And show us that the good in seed strives on<br /> +To master stocks; that even poisoned blood,<br /> +And minds in chemic turmoils, mixed with blood<br /> +And minds in harmony, work clean at last—<br /> +Else how may normal man to-day be such<br /> +With some eight billion ancestors behind,<br /> +And something in him of the blood of all<br /> +Who lived five hundred years ago or so,<br /> +Who were diseased with alcohol and pork,<br /> +And poverty? But oh these centuries<br /> +Of agony and waste! Let’s stop it now!<br /> +And since this God within us gives us choice<br /> +To let the dirty plasma flow or dam it,<br /> +To give the channel to the silver stream<br /> +Of starry power, which shall we do? Now choose<br /> +Between your race of drunkards, imbeciles,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>Lunatics and neurotics, or the race<br /> +Of those who sing and write, or measure space,<br /> +Build temples, bridges, calculate the stars,<br /> +Live long and sanely.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, I take my son,</span><br /> +I could have prophesied his eyes, through knowing<br /> +The color of my mother’s, father’s eyes,<br /> +The color of his mother’s parent’s eyes.<br /> +I could have told his hair.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">There’s subtler things.</span><br /> +My father died before this son was born;<br /> +Why does this son smack lips and turn his hand<br /> +Just like my father did? Not imitation—<br /> +He never saw him, and I do not do so.<br /> +Refine the matter where you will, how far<br /> +You choose to go, it is not eyes and hair,<br /> +Chins, shape of head, of limbs, or shape of hands,<br /> +Nor even features, look of eyes, nor sound<br /> +Of voice that we inherit, but the traits<br /> +Of inner senses, spiritual gifts, and secret<br /> +Beauties and powers of spirit; which result<br /> +Not solely by the compound of the souls<br /> +Through conjugating cells, but in the fusion<br /> +Something arises like an unknown X<br /> +And starts another wonder in the soul,<br /> +That comes from souls compounded.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Coroner</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>You have done well to study Elenor Murray.<br /> +How do I view the matter? To begin<br /> +Here is a man who looks upon a woman,<br /> +Desires her, so they marry, up they step<br /> +Before the marriage counter, buy a license<br /> +To live together, propagate their kind.<br /> +No questions asked. I’ll later come to that.<br /> +This couple has four children, Elenor<br /> +Is second to be born. I knew this girl,<br /> +I cared for her at times when she was young—<br /> +Well, for the picture general, she matures<br /> +Goes teaching school, leaves home, goes far away,<br /> +Has restlessness and longings, ups and downs<br /> +Of ecstasy and depression, has a will<br /> +Which drives her onward, dreams that call to her.<br /> +Goes to the war at last to sacrifice<br /> +Her life in duty, and the root of this<br /> +Is masochistic (though I love the flower),<br /> +Comes back and dies. I call her not a drop<br /> +Slopped from the giant bowl; she is a growth<br /> +Proceeding on clear lines, if we could know,<br /> +From cells that joined, and had within themselves<br /> +The quality of the stream whose source I see<br /> +As far as grandparents. And now to this:<br /> +<br /> +We all know what her father, mother are.<br /> +No doubt the marriage counter could have seen—<br /> +Or asked what was not visible. But who knows<br /> +About the father’s parents, or the mother’s?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>I chance to know.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">The father drinks, you say?</span><br /> +Well, he drank little when this child was born,<br /> +Had he drunk much, it is the nerves which crave<br /> +The solace of the cup, and not the cup<br /> +Which passes from the parent to the child.<br /> +His father and his mother were good blood,<br /> +Steady, industrious; and just because<br /> +His father and his mother had the will<br /> +To fight privation, and the lonely days<br /> +Of pioneering, so this son had will<br /> +To fight, aspire, but at the last to growl,<br /> +And darken in that drug store prison, take<br /> +To drink at times in anger for a will<br /> +That was so balked.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, then your marriage counter</span><br /> +Could scarcely ask: What is your aim in life?<br /> +You clerk now in a drug store, you aspire<br /> +To be a lawyer, if you find yourself<br /> +Stopped on your way by poverty, the work<br /> +Of clerking to earn bread, you will break down,<br /> +And so affect your progeny. So, you see,<br /> +For all of that the daughter Elenor<br /> +Was born when this ambition had its hope,<br /> +Not when it tangled up in hopelessness;<br /> +And therefore is thrown out of the account.<br /> +The father must be passed and given license<br /> +To wed this woman. How about the mother?<br /> +You never knew the mother of the mother.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>She had great power of life and power of soul,<br /> +Lived to be eighty-seven, to the last<br /> +Was tense, high voiced, excitable, ecstatic,<br /> +Top full of visions, dreams, and plans for life.<br /> +But worse than that at fifty lost her mind,<br /> +Was two years kept at Kankakee, quite mad,<br /> +Grieving for fancied wrongs against her husband<br /> +Some five years dead, and praying to keep down<br /> +Desire for men. Her malady was sensed<br /> +When she began to wander here and there,<br /> +In shops and public places, in the church,<br /> +Wherever she could meet with men, one man<br /> +Particularly to whom she made advances<br /> +Unwomanly and strange. And so at last<br /> +She turned her whole mind to the church, became<br /> +Religion mad, grew mystical, believed<br /> +That Jesus Christ had taken her to spouse.<br /> +They kept her in confinement for two years.<br /> +The rage died down at last, and she came home.<br /> +But to the last was nervous, tense, high keyed.<br /> +And then her mind failed totally, she died<br /> +At eighty-seven here.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Now I could take</span><br /> +Some certain symbols A and a, and show<br /> +Out of the laws that Mendel found for us,<br /> +What chances Elenor Murray had to live<br /> +Free of the madness, clear or in dilute,<br /> +Diminished or made over, which came down<br /> +From this old woman to her. It’s enough<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>To see in Elenor Murray certain traits,<br /> +Passions and powers, ecstasies and sorrows.<br /> +And from them life’s misfortunes, and to see<br /> +They tally, take the color of the soul<br /> +Of this old woman, back of her. Even to see<br /> +In Elenor Murray’s mother states of soul,<br /> +And states of nerves, passed on to Elenor Murray<br /> +Directly by her mother.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">But you say,</span><br /> +Since many say so, here’s a woman’s soul<br /> +Most beautiful and serviceable in the world<br /> +And she confutes you, in your logic chopping,<br /> +Materialistic program, who would give<br /> +The marriage counter power to pick the corn seed<br /> +For future planting:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">No, I say to this.</span><br /> +What does it come to? She had will enough,<br /> +And aspiration, struck out for herself,<br /> +Learned for herself, did service in the war,<br /> +As many did, and died—all very good.<br /> +But not so good that we could quite afford<br /> +To take the chances on some other things<br /> +Which might have come from her. Well, to begin<br /> +Putting aside an autopsy, she died<br /> +Because this neural weakness, so derived,<br /> +Caught in such stress of life proved far too much<br /> +For one so organized; a stress of life<br /> +Which others could live through, and have lived through.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>The world had Elenor Murray, and she died<br /> +Before she was a cost.—But just suppose<br /> +No war had been to aureole her life—<br /> +And she had lived here and gone mad at last<br /> +Become a charge upon the state? Or yet,<br /> +As she was love-mad, by the common word,<br /> +And as she had neurotic tendencies,<br /> +Would seek neurotic types therefore, suppose<br /> +She had with some neurotic made a marriage,<br /> +And brought upon us types worse than themselves;<br /> +Given us the symbol double A instead<br /> +Of big and little a, where are you then?<br /> +You have some suicides, or murders maybe,<br /> +Some crimes in sex, some madness on your hands,<br /> +For which to tax the strong to raise, and raise<br /> +Some millions every year.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Are we so mad</span><br /> +For beauty, sacrifice and heroism,<br /> +So hungry for the stimulus of these<br /> +That we cannot discern and fairly appraise<br /> +What Elenor Murray was, what to the world<br /> +She brought, for which we overlook the harm<br /> +She might have done the world? Not if we think!<br /> +And if we think, she will not seem God’s flower<br /> +Made spotted, pale or streaked by cross of breed,<br /> +A wonder and a richness in the world;<br /> +But she will seem a blossom which to these<br /> +Added a novel poison with the power<br /> +To spread her poison! And we may dispense<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>With what she did and what she tried to do,<br /> +No longer sentimentalists, to keep<br /> +The chances growing in the world to bring<br /> +A better race of men.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Then Doctor Burke</span><br /> +Left off philosophy and asked: “How many<br /> +Of you who hear me, know that Elenor Murray<br /> +Was distant cousin to this necrophile,<br /> +This Taylor boy, I call him boy, though twenty,<br /> +Who got the rope for that detested murder<br /> +Of a young girl—Oh yes, let’s save the seed<br /> +Of stock like this!”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">But only David Borrow</span><br /> +Knew Elenor was cousin to this boy.<br /> +And Merival spoke up: “What is to-day?<br /> +It’s Thursday, it’s to-morrow that he hangs.<br /> +I’ll go now to the jail to see this boy.”<br /> +“He hangs at nine o’clock,” said Dr. Burke.<br /> +And Merival got up to go. The party<br /> +Broke up, departed. At the jail he saw<br /> +The wretched creature doomed to die. And turned<br /> +Half sick from seeing how he tossed and looked<br /> +With glassy eyes. The sheriff had gone out.<br /> +And Merival could see him, get the case.<br /> +Next afternoon they met, the sheriff told<br /> +This story to the coroner.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I have seen twenty men hanged, hung myself<br /> +Two in this jail, with whom I talked the night<br /> +Before they had the rope, knotted behind<br /> +The ear to break the neck. These two I hanged,<br /> +One guilty and defiant, taking chops,<br /> +Four cups of coffee just an hour before<br /> +We swung him off; the other trembling, pale,<br /> +Protesting innocence, but guilty too—<br /> +Both wore the same look in the middle watch.<br /> +I tell you what it is: You take a steer,<br /> +And windlass him to where the butcher stands<br /> +With hammer ready for the blow and knife<br /> +To slit the throat after the hammer falls,<br /> +Well, there’s a moment when the steer is standing<br /> +Head, neck strained side-ways, eyes rolled side-ways too,<br /> +Fixed, bright seen this way, but another way<br /> +A film seems spreading on them. That’s the look.<br /> +They wear a corpse-like pallor, and their tongues<br /> +Are loose, sprawl in their mouths, lie paralyzed<br /> +Against their teeth, or fall back in their throats<br /> +Which make them cough and stop for words and close<br /> +Dry lips with little pops.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">There’s something else:</span><br /> +Their minds are out of them, like a rubber band<br /> +Stretched from the place it’s pinned, about to break.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>And all the time they try to draw it back,<br /> +And give it utterance with that sprawling tongue,<br /> +And lips too dry for words. They hold it tight<br /> +As a woman giving birth holds to the sheet<br /> +Tied to the bed’s head, pulls the sheet to end<br /> +The agony and the reluctance of the child<br /> +That pauses, dreads to enter in this world.<br /> +<br /> +So was it with Fred Taylor. But before<br /> +The high Court shook his hope, he talked to me<br /> +Freely and fully, saying many times<br /> +What could the world expect of him beside<br /> +Some violence or murder? He had borrowed<br /> +The books his lawyers used to fight for him,<br /> +And read for hours and days about heredity.<br /> +And in our talks he said: mix red and violet,<br /> +You have the color purple. Strike two notes,<br /> +You have a certain chord, and nature made me<br /> +By rules as mathematical as they use<br /> +In mixing drugs or gases. Then he’d say:<br /> +Look at this table, and he’d show to me<br /> +A diagram of chickens, how blue fowls<br /> +Come from a cross of black with one of white<br /> +With black splashed feathers. Look at the blues, he’d say.<br /> +They mate, and of four chickens, two are blue,<br /> +And one is black and one is white. These blues<br /> +Produce in that proportion. But the black<br /> +And white have chickens white and black, you see<br /> +In equal numbers. Don’t you see that I<br /> +Was caught in mathematics, jotted down<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>Upon a slate before I came to earth?<br /> +They could have picked my forbears; on a slate<br /> +Forecast my soul, its tendencies, if they<br /> +Had been that devilish. And so he talked.<br /> +<br /> +Well, then he heard that Elenor Murray died,<br /> +And told me that her grandmother, that woman<br /> +Known for her queerness and her lively soul<br /> +To eighty years and more, was grandmother<br /> +To his father, and this Elenor Murray cousin<br /> +To his father. There you have it, he exclaimed,<br /> +She killed herself, and I know why, he said<br /> +She loved someone. This love is in our blood,<br /> +And overflows, or spurts between the logs<br /> +You dam it with, or fully stayed grows green<br /> +With summer scum, breeds frogs and spotted snakes.<br /> +<br /> +He was a study and I studied him.<br /> +I’d sit beside his cell and read some words<br /> +From his confession, ask why did you this?<br /> +His crime was monstrous, but he won me over.<br /> +I wished to help the boy, for boy he was<br /> +Just nineteen, and I pitied him. At last<br /> +His story seemed as clear as when you see<br /> +The truth behind poor words that say as much<br /> +As words can say—you see, you get the truth<br /> +And know it, even if you never pass<br /> +The truth to others.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Lord! This girl he killed</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>Knew not the power she played with. Why she sat<br /> +Like a child upon the asp’s nest picking flowers.<br /> +Or as a child will pet a mad dog. Look<br /> +You come into my life, what do you bring?<br /> +Why, everything that made your life, all pains,<br /> +All raptures, disappointments, wisdom learned<br /> +You bring to me. But do you show them, no!<br /> +You hide them maybe, some of them, and leave<br /> +Myself to learn you by the hardest means,<br /> +And bing! A something in you, or in me,<br /> +Out of a past explodes, or better still<br /> +Extends a claw from out the buttoned coat<br /> +And rips a face.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">So this poor girl was killed,</span><br /> +And by an innocent coquetry evoked<br /> +The claw that tore her breast away.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">One day</span><br /> +As I passed by his cell I stopped and sat.<br /> +What was the first thing entering in your mind<br /> +From which you trace your act? And he said: “Well<br /> +Almost from the beginning all my mind<br /> +Was on her from the moment I awaked<br /> +Until I slept, and often I awoke<br /> +At two or three o’clock with thoughts of her.<br /> +And through the day I thought of nothing else;<br /> +Sometimes I could not eat. At school my thought<br /> +Stretched out of me to her, could not be pulled<br /> +Back to the lesson. I could read a page<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>As it were Greek, not understand a word.<br /> +But just the moment I was with her then<br /> +My soul re-entered me, I was at peace,<br /> +And happy, oh so happy! In the days<br /> +When we were separated my unrest<br /> +Took this form: that I must be with her, or<br /> +If that could not be, then some other place<br /> +Was better than the place I was—I strained,<br /> +Lived in a constant strain, found no content<br /> +With anything or place, could find no peace<br /> +Except with her.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“Right from the first I had</span><br /> +Two minds, two hearts concerning her, and one<br /> +Was confidence, and one was doubt, one love,<br /> +One hatred. And one purpose was to serve her,<br /> +Guard her and care for her, one said destroy,<br /> +Ruin or kill her. Sitting by her side,<br /> +Except as I shall say I loved her, trusted her,<br /> +Away from her, I doubted her and hated her.<br /> +But at the dances when I saw her smile<br /> +Up at another man, the storming blood<br /> +Roared in my brain for wondering about<br /> +The words they said. He might be holding her<br /> +Too close to him; or as I watched I saw<br /> +His knee indent her skirt between her knees,<br /> +That might be when she smiled. Then going home<br /> +I’d ask her what he said. She’d only smile<br /> +And keep a silence that I could not open<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>With any pry of questions.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“Well, we quarreled,</span><br /> +About this boy she danced with. So I said:<br /> +I’ll leave her, never see her, I’ll go find<br /> +Another girl, forget her. Sunday next<br /> +I saw her driving with this fellow. I<br /> +Was walking in the road, they passed me laughing,<br /> +She turned about and waved her hand at me.<br /> +That night I lay awake and tossed and thought:<br /> +Where are they now? What are they doing now?<br /> +He’s kissing her upon the lips I’ve kissed,<br /> +Or worse, perhaps, I have been fooled, she lies<br /> +Within his arms and gives him what for love<br /> +I never asked her, never dared to ask.”<br /> +This brought Fred Taylor’s story to the murder,<br /> +In point of madness, anyway. Some business<br /> +Broke in our visit here. Another time<br /> +I sat with him and questioned him again<br /> +About the night he killed her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“Well,” he said,</span><br /> +“I told you that we quarreled. So I fought<br /> +To free myself of thought of her—no use.<br /> +I tried another girl, it wouldn’t work.<br /> +For at the dance I took this girl to, I<br /> +Saw Gertrude with this fellow, and the madness<br /> +Came over me in blackness, hurricanes,<br /> +Until I found myself in front of her,<br /> +Where she was seated, asking for a dance.<br /> +She smiled and rose and danced with me. And then<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>As the dance ended, May I come to see you,<br /> +I’m sorry for my words, came from my tongue,<br /> +In spite of will. She laughed and said to me:<br /> +‘If you’ll behave yourself.’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“I went to see her,</span><br /> +But came away more wretched than I went.<br /> +She seemed to have sweet secrets, in her silence<br /> +And eyes too calm the secrets hid themselves.<br /> +At first I could not summon up the strength<br /> +To ask her questions, but at last I did.<br /> +And then she only shook her head and laughed,<br /> +And spoke of something else. She had a way<br /> +Of mixing up the subjects, till my mind<br /> +Forgot the very thing I wished to know,<br /> +Or dulled its edges so, if I remembered<br /> +I could not ask it so to bring the answer<br /> +I wished from her. I came away so weak<br /> +I scarce could walk, fell into sleep at once,<br /> +But woke at three o’clock, and could not sleep.”<br /> +<br /> +“Before this quarrel we had been engaged<br /> +And at this evening’s end I brought it up:<br /> +‘What shall we do? Are you engaged to me?<br /> +Will you renew it?’ And she said to me:<br /> +‘We still are young, it’s better to be free.<br /> +Let’s play and dance. Be gay, for if you will<br /> +I’ll go with you, but when you’re gloomy, dear,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>You are not company for a girl.’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“Dear me!</span><br /> +Here was I five feet nine, and could have crushed<br /> +Her little body with my giant arms.<br /> +And yet in strength that counts, the mind that moves<br /> +The body, but much more can move itself,<br /> +And other minds, she was a spirit power,<br /> +And I but just a derrick slowly swung<br /> +By an engine smaller, noisy with its chug,<br /> +And cloudy with its smoke bituminous.<br /> +That night, however, she engaged to go<br /> +To dance with me a week hence. But meanwhile<br /> +The hellish thing comes, on the morning after.<br /> +Thus chum of mine, who testified, John Luce<br /> +Came to me with the story that this man<br /> +That Gertrude danced with, told him—O my God—<br /> +That Gertrude hinted she would come across,<br /> +Give him the final bliss. That was the proof<br /> +They brought out in the trial, as you know.<br /> +The fellow said it, damn him—whether she<br /> +Made such a promise, who knows? Would to God<br /> +I knew before you hang me. There I stood<br /> +And heard this story, felt my arteries<br /> +Lock as you’d let canal gates down, my heart<br /> +Beat for deliverance from the bolted streams.<br /> +That night I could not sleep, but found a book,<br /> +Just think of this for fate! Under my eyes<br /> +There comes an ancient story out of Egypt:<br /> +Thyamis fearing he would die and lose<br /> +The lovely Chariclea, strikes her dead,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>Then kills himself, some thousands of years ago.<br /> +It’s all forgotten now, I say to self,<br /> +Who cares, what matters it, the thing was done<br /> +And served its end. The story stuck with me.<br /> +But the next night and the next night I stole out<br /> +To spy on Gertrude, by the path in the grass<br /> +Lay for long hours. And on the third night saw<br /> +At half-past eight or nine this fellow come<br /> +And take her walking in the darkness—where?<br /> +I could have touched them as they walked the path,<br /> +But could not follow for the moon which rose.<br /> +Besides I lost them.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“Well, the time approached</span><br /> +Of the dance, and still I brooded, then resolved.<br /> +My hatred now was level with the cauldron,<br /> +With bubbles crackling. So the spade I took,<br /> +Hidden beneath the seat may show forethought,<br /> +They caught the jury with that argument,<br /> +And forethought does it show, but who made me<br /> +To have such forethought?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“Then I called for her</span><br /> +And took her to the dance. I was most gay,<br /> +Because the load was lifted from my mind,<br /> +And I had found relief. And so we danced.<br /> +And she danced with this fellow. I was calm,<br /> +Believed somehow he had not had her yet.<br /> +And if his knee touched hers—why let it go.<br /> +Nothing beyond shall happen, even this<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>Shall not be any more.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“We started home.</span><br /> +Before we reached that clump of woods I asked her<br /> +If she would marry me. She laughed at me.<br /> +I asked her if she loved that other man.<br /> +She said you are a silly boy, and laughed.<br /> +And then I asked her if she’d marry me,<br /> +And if she would not, why she would not do it.<br /> +We came up to the woods and she was silent,<br /> +I could not make her speak. I stopped the horse.<br /> +She sat all quiet, I could see her face<br /> +Under the brilliance of the moon. I saw<br /> +A thin smile on her face—and then I struck her,<br /> +And from the floor grabbed up the iron wrench,<br /> +And struck her, took her out and laid her down,<br /> +And did what was too horrible, they say,<br /> +To do and keep my life. To finish up<br /> +I reached back for the iron wrench, first felt<br /> +Her breast to find her heart, no use of wrench,<br /> +She was already dead. I took the spade,<br /> +Scraped off the leaves between two trees and dug,<br /> +And buried her and said: ‘My Chariclea<br /> +No man shall have you.’ Then I drove till morning,<br /> +And after some days reached Missouri, where<br /> +They caught me.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">So Fred Taylor told me all,</span><br /> +Filled in the full confession that he made,<br /> +And which they used in court, with looks and words,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>Scarce to be reproduced; but to the last<br /> +He said the mathematics of his birth<br /> +Accounted for his deed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Is it not true?</span><br /> +If you resolved the question that the jury<br /> +Resolved, did he know right from wrong, did he<br /> +Know what he did, the jury answered truly<br /> +To give the rope to him. Or if you say<br /> +These mathematics may be true, and still<br /> +A man like that is better out of way,<br /> +And saying so become the very spirit,<br /> +And reason which slew Gertrude, disregarding<br /> +The devil of heredity which clutched him,<br /> +As he put by the reason we obey,<br /> +It may be well enough, I do not know.<br /> +<br /> +Now for last night before this morning fixed<br /> +To swing him off. His lawyers went to see<br /> +The governor to win reprieval, perhaps<br /> +A commutation. I could see his eyes<br /> +Had two lights in them; one was like a lantern<br /> +With the globe greased, which showed he could not see<br /> +Himself in death tomorrow—what is that<br /> +In the soul that cannot see itself in death?<br /> +No to-morrow, continuation, the wall, the end!<br /> +And yet this very smear upon the globe<br /> +Was death’s half fleshless hand which rubbed across<br /> +His senses and his hope. The other light<br /> +Was weirdly bright for terror, expectation<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>Of good news from the governor.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">For his lawyers</span><br /> +Were in these hours petitioning. He would ask:<br /> +“No news? No word? What is the time?” His tongue<br /> +Would fall back in his throat, we saw the strain<br /> +Of his stretched soul. He’d sit upon his couch<br /> +Hands clasped, head down. Arise and hold the bars,<br /> +Himself fling on the couch face down and shake.<br /> +But when he heard the hammers ring that nail<br /> +The scaffold into shape, he whirled around<br /> +Like a rat in a cage. And when the sand bag fell,<br /> +That tested out the rope, a muffled thug,<br /> +And the rope creaked, he started up and moaned<br /> +“You’re getting ready,” and his body shivered,<br /> +His white hands could not hold the bars, he reeled<br /> +And fell upon the couch again.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Suppose</span><br /> +There was no whiskey and no morphia,<br /> +Except for what the parsons think fit use,<br /> +A poor weak fellow—not a Socrates—<br /> +Must march the gallows, walk with every nerve<br /> +Up-bristled like a hair in fright. This night<br /> +Was much too horrible for me. At last<br /> +I had the doctor dope him unaware,<br /> +And for a time he slept.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But when the dawn</span><br /> +Looked through the little windows near the ceiling<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>Cob-webbed and grimed, with light like sanded water,<br /> +And echoes started in the corridors<br /> +Of feet and objects moved, then all at once<br /> +He sprang up from his sleep, and gave a groan,<br /> +Half yell, that shook us all.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">A clergyman</span><br /> +Came soon to pray with him, and he grew calmer,<br /> +And said: “O pray for her, but pray for me<br /> +That I may see her, when this riddle-world<br /> +No longer stands between us, slipped from her<br /> +And soon from me.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">For breakfast he took coffee,</span><br /> +A piece of toast, no more. The sickening hour<br /> +Approaches—he is sitting on his couch,<br /> +Bent over, head in hands, dazed, or in prayer.<br /> +My deputy reads the warrant—while I stand<br /> +At one side so to hear, but not to see.<br /> +And then my clerk comes quickly through the door<br /> +That opens from the office in the jail;<br /> +Runs up the iron steps, all out of breath,<br /> +And almost shouts: “The governor telephones<br /> +To stop; the sentence is commuted.” Then<br /> +I grew as weak as the culprit—took the warrant,<br /> +And stepped up to the cell’s door, coughed, inhaled,<br /> +And after getting breath I said: “Good news,<br /> +The governor has saved you.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Then he laughed,</span><br /> +Half fell against the bars, and like a rag<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>Sank in a heap.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">I don’t know to this day</span><br /> +What moved the governor. For crazy men<br /> +Are hanged sometimes. To-day he leaves the jail.<br /> +We take him where the criminal insane<br /> +Are housed at our expense.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So Merival heard the sheriff. As he knew<br /> +The governor’s mind, and how the governor<br /> +Gave heed to public thought, or what is deemed<br /> +The public thought, what’s printed in the press,<br /> +He wondered at the governor. For no crime<br /> +Had stirred the county like this crime. And if<br /> +A jury and the courts adjudged this boy<br /> +Of nineteen in his mind, what was the right<br /> +Of interference by the governor?<br /> +So Merival was puzzled. They were chums,<br /> +The governor and Merival in old days.<br /> +Had known club-life together, ate and drank<br /> +Together in the days when Merival<br /> +Came to Chicago living down the hurt<br /> +He took from her who left him. In those days<br /> +The governor was struggling, Merival<br /> +Had helped with friends and purse—and later helped<br /> +The governor’s ambition from the time<br /> +He went to congress. So the two were friends<br /> +With memories and secrets for the stuff<br /> +Of friendship, glad renewal of the surge<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>Of lasting friendship when they met.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">And now</span><br /> +He sensed a secret, meant to bring it forth.<br /> +And telegraphed the governor, who said:<br /> +“I’ll see you in Chicago.” Merival<br /> +Went up to see the governor and talk.<br /> +They had not met for months for leisured talk.<br /> +And now the governor said: “I’ll tell you all,<br /> +And make it like a drama. I’ll bring in<br /> +My wife who figured in this murder case.<br /> +It was this way: It’s nearly one o’clock,<br /> +I’m back from hearing lawyers plead. I wish<br /> +To make this vivid so you’ll get my mind.<br /> +I tell you what I said to her. It’s this:”</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE GOVERNOR</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I’m home at last. How long were you asleep?<br /> +I startled you. The time? It’s midnight past.<br /> +Put on your slippers and your robe, my dear,<br /> +And make some coffee for me—what a night!<br /> +Yes, tell you? I shall tell you everything.<br /> +I must tell someone, and a wife should know<br /> +The workings of a governor’s mind—no one<br /> +Could guess what turned the scale to save this man<br /> +Who would have died to-morrow, but for me.<br /> +That’s fine. This coffee helps me. As I said<br /> +This night has been a trial. Well, you know<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>I told these lawyers they could come at eight,<br /> +And so they came. A seasoned lawyer one,<br /> +The other young and radical, both full<br /> +Of sentiment of some sort. And there you sit,<br /> +And do not say a word of disapproval.<br /> +You smile, which means you sun yourself within<br /> +The power I have, and yet do you approve?<br /> +This man committed brutal murder, did<br /> +A nameless horror; now he’s saved from death.<br /> +The father and the mother of the girl,<br /> +The neighborhood, perhaps, in which she lived<br /> +Will roar against me, think that I was bought,<br /> +Or used by someone I’m indebted to<br /> +In politics. Oh no! It’s really funny,<br /> +Since it is simpler than such things as these.<br /> +And no one, saving you, shall know the secret.<br /> +For there I sat and didn’t say a word<br /> +To indicate, betray my thought; not when<br /> +The thing came out that moved me. Let them read<br /> +The doctor’s affidavits, that this man<br /> +Was crazy when he killed the girl, and read<br /> +The transcript of the evidence on the trial.<br /> +They read and talked. At last the younger lawyer,<br /> +For sometime still, kept silent by the other,<br /> +Pops out with something, reads an affidavit,<br /> +As foreign to the matter as a story<br /> +Of melodrama color on the screen,<br /> +Which still contained a sentence that went home;<br /> +I felt my mind turn like a turn-table,<br /> +And click as when the switchman kicks the tongue<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>Of steel into the slot that holds the table.<br /> +And from my mind the engine, that’s the problem,<br /> +Puffed, puffed and moved away, out on the track,<br /> +And disappeared upon its business. How<br /> +Is that for metaphor? Your coffee, dear,<br /> +Stirs up my fancy. But to tell the rest,<br /> +If my face changed expression, or my eye<br /> +Betrayed my thought, then I have no control<br /> +Of outward seeming. For they argued on<br /> +An hour or so thereafter. And I asked<br /> +Re-reading of the transcript where this man<br /> +Told of his maniac passion, of the night<br /> +He killed the girl, the doctors’ testimony<br /> +I had re-read, and let these lawyers think<br /> +My interest centered there, and my decision<br /> +Was based upon such matters, and at last<br /> +The penalty commuted. When in truth<br /> +I tell you I had let the fellow hang<br /> +For all of this, except that I took fire<br /> +Because of something in this affidavit<br /> +Irrelevant to the issue, reaching me<br /> +In something only relevant to me.<br /> +O, well, all life is such. Our great decisions<br /> +Flame out of sparks, where roaring fires before,<br /> +Not touching our combustibles wholly failed<br /> +To flame or light us.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Now the secret hear.</span><br /> +Do you remember all the books I read<br /> +Two years ago upon heredity,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>Foot-notes to evolution, the dynamics<br /> +Of living matter? Well, it wasn’t that<br /> +That made me save this fellow. There you smile<br /> +For knowing how and when I got these books,<br /> +Who woke my interest in them. Never mind,<br /> +You don’t know yet my reasons.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">But I’ll tell you:</span><br /> +And let you see a governor’s mind at work.<br /> +When this young lawyer in this affidavit<br /> +Read to a certain place my mind strayed off<br /> +And lived a time past, you were present too.<br /> +It was that morning when I passed my crisis,<br /> +Had just dodged death, could scarcely speak, too weak<br /> +To lift a hand to feed myself, but needed<br /> +Vital replenishment of strength, and then<br /> +I got it in a bowl of oyster soup,<br /> +Rich cream at that. And as I live, my dear,<br /> +As this young lawyer read, I felt myself<br /> +In bed as I lay then, re-lived the weakness,<br /> +Could see the spoon that carried to my mouth<br /> +The appetizing soup, imagined there<br /> +The feelings I had then of getting fingers<br /> +Upon the rail of life again, how faint,<br /> +But with such clear degrees. Could see the hand<br /> +That held the spoon, the eyes that looked at me<br /> +In triumph for the victory of my strength,<br /> +Which battled, almost lost the prize of life.<br /> +It all came over me when this lawyer read:<br /> +Elenor Murray lately come from France<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>Found dead beside the river, was the cousin<br /> +Of this Fred Taylor, and had planned to come<br /> +To see the governor, death prevented her—<br /> +Suppose it had?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">That affidavit, doubtless</span><br /> +Was read to me to move me for the fact<br /> +This man was kindred to a woman who<br /> +Served in the war, this lawyer was that cheap!<br /> +And isn’t it as cheap to think that I<br /> +Could be persuaded by the circumstance<br /> +That Elenor Murray, she who nursed me once,<br /> +Was cousin to this fellow, if this lawyer<br /> +Knew this, and did he know it? I don’t know.<br /> +Had Elenor Murray lived she would have come<br /> +To ask her cousin’s life—I know her heart.<br /> +And at the last, I think this was the thing:<br /> +I thought I’d do exactly what I’d do<br /> +If she had lived and asked me, disregard<br /> +Her death, and act as if she lived, repay<br /> +Her dead hands, which in life had saved my life.<br /> +<br /> +Now, dear, your eyes have tears—I know—believe me,<br /> +I had no romance with this Elenor Murray.<br /> +Good Lord, it’s one o’clock, I must to bed....<br /> +<br /> +You get my story Merival? Do you think,<br /> +A softness in the heart went to the brain<br /> +And softened that? Well now I stress two things:<br /> +I can’t endure defeat, nor bear to see<br /> +An ardent spirit thwarted. What I’ve achieved<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>Has been through will that would not bend, and so<br /> +To see that in another wins my love,<br /> +And my support. Now take this Elenor Murray<br /> +She had a will like mine, she worked her way<br /> +As I have done. And just to hear that she<br /> +Had planned to see me, ask for clemency<br /> +For this condemned degenerate, made me say<br /> +Shall I let death defeat her? Take the breach<br /> +And make her death no matter in my course?<br /> +For as I live if she had come to me<br /> +I had done that I did. And why was that?<br /> +No romance! Never that! Yet human love<br /> +As friend can keep for friend in this our life<br /> +I felt for Elenor Murray—and for this:<br /> +It was her will that would not take defeat,<br /> +Devotion to her work, and in my case<br /> +This depth of friendship welling in her heart<br /> +For human beings, that I shared in—there<br /> +Gave tireless healing to her nursing hands<br /> +And saved my life. And for a life a life.<br /> +This criminal will live some years, we’ll say,<br /> +Were better dead. All right. He’ll cost the state<br /> +Say twenty thousand dollars. What is that<br /> +Contrasted with the cost to me, if I<br /> +Had let him hang? There is a bank account,<br /> +Economies in the realm of thought to watch.<br /> +And don’t you think the souls—let’s call them souls—<br /> +Of these avenging, law abiding folk,<br /> +These souls of the community all in all<br /> +Will be improved for hearing that I did<br /> +A human thing, and profit more therefrom<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>Than though that sense of balance in their souls<br /> +Struck for the thought of crime avenged, the law<br /> +Fulfilled and vindicated? Yes, it’s true.<br /> +And Merival spoke up and said: “It’s true,<br /> +I understand your story, and I’m glad.<br /> +It’s like you and I’ll tell my jury first,<br /> +And they will scatter it, what moved in you<br /> +And how this Elenor Murray saved a life.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +The talk of waste in human life was constant<br /> +As Coroner Merival took evidence<br /> +At Elenor Murray’s inquest. Everyone<br /> +Could think of waste in some one’s life as well<br /> +As in his own.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">John Scofield knew the girl,</span><br /> +Had worked for Arthur Fouche, her grandfather,<br /> +And knew what course his life took, how his fortune<br /> +Was wasted, dwindled down.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Remembering</span><br /> +A talk he heard between this Elenor Murray<br /> +And Arthur Fouche, her grandfather, he spoke<br /> +To Coroner Merival on the street one day:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>JOHN SCOFIELD</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>You see I worked for Arthur Fouche, he said,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>Until the year before he died; I knew<br /> +That worthless son of his who lived with him,<br /> +Born when his mother was past bearing time,<br /> +So born a weakling. When he came from college<br /> +He married soon and came to mother’s hearth,<br /> +And brought his bride. I heard the old man say:<br /> +“A man should have his own place when he marries,<br /> +Not settle in the family nest”; I heard<br /> +The old man offer him a place, or offer<br /> +To buy a place for him. This baby boy<br /> +Ran quick to mother, cried and asked to stay.<br /> +What happened then? What always happens. Soon<br /> +This son began to edge upon the father,<br /> +And take the reins a little, Arthur Fouche<br /> +Was growing old. And at the last the son<br /> +Controlled the bank account and ran the farms;<br /> +And Mrs. Fouche gave up her place at table<br /> +To daughter-in-law, no longer served or poured<br /> +The coffee—so you see how humble beggars<br /> +Become the masters, it is always so.<br /> +Now this I know: When this boy came from school<br /> +And brought his wife back to the family place,<br /> +Old Arthur Fouche had twenty thousand dollars<br /> +On saving in the bank, and lots of money<br /> +Loaned out on mortgages. But when he died<br /> +He owed two thousand dollars at the bank.<br /> +Where did the money go? Why, for ten years<br /> +When Arthur Fouche and son were partners, I<br /> +Saw what went on, and saw this boy buy cattle<br /> +When beef was high, sell cattle when it was low,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>And lose each year a little. And I saw<br /> +This boy buy buggies, autos and machinery,<br /> +And lose the money trading. So it was,<br /> +This worthless boy had nothing in his head<br /> +To run a business, which used up the fortune<br /> +Of Arthur Fouche, and strangled Arthur Fouche,<br /> +As vines destroy an oak tree. Well, you know<br /> +When Arthur Fouche’s will was opened up<br /> +They found this son was willed most everything—<br /> +It’s always so. The children who go out,<br /> +And make their way get nothing, and the son<br /> +Who stays at home by mother gets the swag.<br /> +And so this son was willed the family place<br /> +And sold it to that chiropractor—left<br /> +For California to remake his life,<br /> +And died there, after wasting all his life,<br /> +His father’s fortune, too.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">So, now to show you</span><br /> +How age breaks down a mind and dulls a heart,<br /> +I’ll tell you what I heard:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">This Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Was eighteen, just from High School, and one day<br /> +She came to see her grandfather and talked.<br /> +The old man always said he loved her most<br /> +Of all the grandchildren, and Mrs. Fouche<br /> +Told me a dozen times she thought as much<br /> +Of Elenor Murray as she did of any<br /> +Child of her own. Too bad they didn’t show<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Their love for her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">I was in and out the room</span><br /> +Where Elenor Murray and her grandfather<br /> +Were talking on that day, was planing doors<br /> +That swelled and wouldn’t close. There was no secret<br /> +About this talk of theirs that I could see,<br /> +And so I listened.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Elenor began:</span><br /> +“If you can help me, grandpa, just a little<br /> +I can go through the university.<br /> +I can teach school in summer and can save<br /> +A little money by denying self.<br /> +If you can let me have two hundred dollars,<br /> +When school begins each year, divide it up,<br /> +If you prefer, and give me half in the fall,<br /> +And half in March, perhaps, I can get through.<br /> +And when I finish I shall go to work<br /> +And pay you back, I want it as a loan,<br /> +And do not ask it for a gift.” She sat,<br /> +And fingered at her dress while asking him,<br /> +And Arthur Fouche looked at her. Come to think<br /> +He was toward eighty then. At last he said:<br /> +“I wish I could do what you ask me, Elenor,<br /> +But there are several things. You see, my child,<br /> +I have been through this thing of educating<br /> +A family of children, lived my life<br /> +In that regard, and so have done my part.<br /> +I sent your mother to St. Mary’s, sent<br /> +The rest of them wherever they desired.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>And that’s what every father owes his children.<br /> +And when he does it, he has done his duty.<br /> +I’m sorry that your father cannot help you,<br /> +And I would help you, though I’ve done my duty<br /> +By those to whom I owed it; but you see<br /> +Your uncle and myself are partners buying<br /> +And selling cattle, and the business lags.<br /> +We do not profit much, and all the money<br /> +I have in bank is needed for this business.<br /> +We buy the cattle, and we buy the corn,<br /> +Then we run short of corn; and now and then<br /> +I have to ask the bank to lend us money,<br /> +And give my note. Last month I borrowed money!”<br /> +And so the old man talked. And as I looked<br /> +I saw the tears run down her cheeks. She sat<br /> +And looked as if she didn’t believe him.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">No,</span><br /> +Why should she? For I do not understand<br /> +Why in a case like this, a man who’s worth,<br /> +Say fifty thousand dollars couldn’t spare<br /> +Two hundred dollars by the year. Let’s see:<br /> +He might have bought less corn or cattle, gambled<br /> +On lucky sales of cattle—there’s a way<br /> +To do a big thing when you have the eyes<br /> +To see how big it is; and as for me,<br /> +If money must be lost, I’d rather lose it<br /> +On Elenor Murray than on cattle. In fact,<br /> +That’s where the money went, as I have said.<br /> +And Elenor Murray went away and earned<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>Two terms at college, and this worthless son<br /> +Ate up and spent the money. All of them,<br /> +The son and Arthur Fouche and Elenor Murray<br /> +Are gone to dust, now, like the garden things<br /> +That sprout up, fall and rot.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">At times it seems</span><br /> +All waste to me, no matter what you do<br /> +For self or others, unless you think of turnips<br /> +Which can’t be much to turnips, but are good<br /> +For us who raise them. Here’s my story then,<br /> +Good wishes to you, Coroner Merival.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Coroner Merival heard that Gottlieb Gerald<br /> +Knew Elenor Murray and her family life;<br /> +And knew her love for music, how she tried<br /> +To play on the piano. On an evening<br /> +He went with Winthrop Marion to the place,—<br /> +Llewellyn George dropped in to hear, as well—<br /> +Where Gottlieb Gerald sold pianos—dreamed,<br /> +Read Kant at times, a scholar, but a failure,<br /> +His life a waste in business. Gottlieb Gerald<br /> +Spoke to them in these words:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>GOTTLIEB GERALD</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I knew her, why of course. And you want me?<br /> +What can I say? I don’t know how she died.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>I know what people say. But if you want<br /> +To hear about her, as I knew the girl,<br /> +Sit down a minute. Wait, a customer!...<br /> +It was a fellow with a bill, these fellows<br /> +Who come for money make me smile. Good God!<br /> +Where shall I get the money, when pianos,<br /> +Such as I make, are devilish hard to sell?<br /> +Now listen to this tune! Dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm,<br /> +How’s that for quality, sweet clear and pure?<br /> +Now listen to these chords I take from Bach!<br /> +Oh no, I never played much, just for self.<br /> +Well, you might say my passion for this work<br /> +Is due to this: I pick the wire strings,<br /> +The spruce boards and all that for instruments<br /> +That suit my ear at last. When I have built<br /> +A piano, then I sit and play upon it,<br /> +And find forgetfulness and rapture through it.<br /> +And well I need forgetfulness, for the bills<br /> +Are never paid, collectors always come.<br /> +I keep a little lawyer almost busy,<br /> +Lest some one get a judgment, levy a writ<br /> +Upon my prizes here, this one in chief.<br /> +Oh, well, I pay at last, I always pay,<br /> +But I must have my time. And in the days<br /> +When these collectors swarm too much I find<br /> +Oblivion in music, run my hands<br /> +Over the keys I’ve tuned. I wish I had<br /> +Some life of Cristofori, just to see<br /> +If he was dodging bills when tuning strings.<br /> +Perhaps that Silberman who made pianos<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>For Frederick the Great had money enough,<br /> +And needed no oblivion from bills.<br /> +You see I’m getting old now, sixty-eight;<br /> +And this I say, that life is far too short<br /> +For man to use his conquests and his wisdoms.<br /> +This spirit, mind, is a machine, piano,<br /> +And has its laws of harmony and use.<br /> +Well, it seems funny that a man just learns<br /> +The secrets of his being, how to love,<br /> +How to forget, what to select, what life<br /> +Is natural to him, and only living<br /> +According to one’s nature is increase—<br /> +All else is waste—when wind blows on your back,<br /> +Just as I sit sometimes when these collectors<br /> +Come in on me—and so you find it’s Death,<br /> +Who levies on your life; no little lawyer<br /> +Can keep him off with stays of execution,<br /> +Or supersedeas, I think it is.<br /> +Well, as I said, a man must live his nature,<br /> +And dump the rules; this Christianity<br /> +Makes people wear steel corsets to grow straight,<br /> +And they don’t grow so, for they scarcely breathe,<br /> +They’re laced so tight; and all their vital organs<br /> +Are piled up and repressed until they groan.<br /> +Then what? They lace up tighter, till the blood<br /> +Stops in the veins and numbness comes upon them.<br /> +Oblivion it may be—but give me music!<br /> +<br /> +Oh yes, this girl, Elenor Murray, well<br /> +This talk about her home is half and half,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>Part true, part false. Her daddy nips a little,<br /> +Has always done so. Like myself, the bills<br /> +Have always deviled him. But just the same<br /> +That home was not so bad. Some years ago,<br /> +She was a little girl of thirteen maybe,<br /> +Her father rented one of my pianos<br /> +For Elenor to learn on, and of course<br /> +The rent was always back, I didn’t care,<br /> +Except for my collectors, and besides<br /> +She was so nice. So music hungry, practiced<br /> +So hard to learn, I used to let the rent<br /> +Run just as long as I could let it run.<br /> +And even then I used to feel ashamed<br /> +To ask her father for it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">As I said</span><br /> +She was thirteen, and one Thanksgiving day<br /> +They asked me there to dinner, and I went,<br /> +Brushed off my other coat and shaved myself,<br /> +I looked all right, my shoes were polished too.<br /> +You’d never think I polished them to look<br /> +At these to-day. And now I tell you what<br /> +I saw myself: nice linen on the table,<br /> +And pretty silver, plated, I suppose;<br /> +Good glass-ware, and a dinner that was splendid,<br /> +Wine made from wild grapes spiced with cinnamon,<br /> +It had a kick, too. And the home was furnished<br /> +Like what you’d think: good carpets, chairs, a lounge,<br /> +Some pictures on the wall—all good enough.<br /> +And this girl was as lively as a cricket,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>She was the liveliest thing I ever saw;<br /> +And that’s what ailed her, if you want my word.<br /> +She had more life than she knew how to use,<br /> +And had not learned her own machine.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">And after</span><br /> +We had the dinner we came in the parlor.<br /> +And then her mother asked her to play something,<br /> +And she sat down and played tra-la; tra-la,<br /> +One of these waltzes, I remember now<br /> +As pretty as these verses in the paper<br /> +On love, or something sentimental. Yes,<br /> +She played it well. For I had rented them<br /> +One of my pets. They asked me then to play<br /> +And I tried out some Bach and other things,<br /> +And improvised. And Elenor stood by,<br /> +And asked what’s that when I was improvising.<br /> +I laughed and said, Sonata of Starved Rock,<br /> +Or Deer Park Glen in Winter, anything—<br /> +She looked at me with eyes as big as that.<br /> +<br /> +Well, as I said, the home was good enough.<br /> +Still like myself with these collectors, Elenor<br /> +Was bothered, drawn aside, and scratched no doubt<br /> +From walking through the briars. Just the same<br /> +The trouble with her life, if it was trouble,<br /> +And no musician would regard it trouble,<br /> +The trouble was her nature strove to be<br /> +All fire, and subtilize to the essence of fire,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>Which was her nature’s law, and Nature’s law,<br /> +The only normal law, as I have found;<br /> +For so Canudo says, as I read lately,<br /> +Who gave me words for what I knew from life.<br /> +<br /> +Now if you want my theories I go on.<br /> +You do? All right. What was this Elenor Murray?<br /> +She was the lover, do you understand?<br /> +She had her lovers maybe, I don’t know,<br /> +That’s not the point with lovers, any more,<br /> +Than it’s the point to have pianos—no!<br /> +Lovers, pianos are the self-same thing;<br /> +Instruments for the soul, the source of fire,<br /> +The crucible for flames that turn from red<br /> +To blue, then white, then fierce transparencies.<br /> +Then if the lover be not known by lovers<br /> +How is she known? Why think of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Who tries all things and educates herself,<br /> +Goes traveling, would sing and play, becomes<br /> +A member of a church with ritual, music,<br /> +Incense and color, things that steal the senses,<br /> +And bring oblivion. Don’t you see the girl<br /> +Moving her soul to find her soul, and passing<br /> +Through loves and hatreds, seeking everywhere<br /> +Herself she loved, in others, agonizing<br /> +For hate of father, so they tell me now?<br /> +But first because she hated in herself<br /> +What lineaments of her father she saw in self.<br /> +And all the while, I think, she strove to conquer<br /> +This hatred, every hatred, sensing freedom<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>For her own soul through liberating self<br /> +From hatreds. So, you see how someone near,<br /> +Repugnant, disesteemed, may furnish strength<br /> +And vision, too, by gazing on that one<br /> +From day to day, not to be like that one:<br /> +And so our hatreds help us, those we hate<br /> +Become our saviors.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Here’s the problem now</span><br /> +In finding self, the soul—it’s with ourselves,<br /> +Within ourselves throughout the ticklish quest<br /> +From first to last, and lovers and pianos<br /> +Are instruments of salvation, yet they take<br /> +The self but to the self, and say now find,<br /> +Explore and know. And then, as all before,<br /> +The problem is how much of mind to use,<br /> +How much of instinct, phototropic sense,<br /> +That turns instinctively to light—green worms<br /> +More plant than animal are eyes all over<br /> +Because their bodies know the light, no eyes<br /> +Where sight is centralized. I’ve found it now:<br /> +What is the intellect but eyes, where sight<br /> +Is gathered in two spheres? The more they’re used<br /> +The darker is the body of the soul.<br /> +Now to digress, that’s why the Germans lost,<br /> +They used the intellect too much; they took<br /> +The sea of life and tried to dam it in,<br /> +Or use it for canals or water power,<br /> +Or make a card-case system of it, maybe,<br /> +To keep collectors off, have all run smoothly,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>And make a sure thing of it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">To return</span><br /> +How much did Elenor Murray use her mind,<br /> +How much her instincts, leave herself alone<br /> +Let nature have its way? I think I know:<br /> +But first you have the artist soul; and next<br /> +The soul half artist, prisoned usually<br /> +In limitations where the soul, half artist<br /> +Between depressions and discouragements<br /> +Rises in hope and knocks. Why, I can tell them<br /> +The moment they touch keys or talk to me.<br /> +I hear their knuckles knocking on the walls,<br /> +Insuperable partitions made of wood,<br /> +When seeking tones or words; they have the hint,<br /> +But cannot open, manifest themselves.<br /> +So was it with this girl, she was all lover,<br /> +Half artist, what a torture for a soul,<br /> +And what escape for her! She could not play,<br /> +Had never played, no matter what the chance.<br /> +I think there is no curse like being dumb<br /> +When every waking moment, every dream<br /> +Keeps crying to speak out. This is her case:<br /> +The girl was dumb, like that dumb woman here<br /> +Whose dress caught fire, and in the dining room<br /> +Was burned to death while all her family<br /> +Were in the house, to whom she could not cry!<br /> +<br /> +You asked about her going to the war,<br /> +Her sacrifice in that, and if I think<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>She found expression there—yes, of a kind,<br /> +But not the kind she hungered for, not music.<br /> +She found adventure there, excitement too.<br /> +That uses up the soul’s power, takes the place<br /> +Of better self-expression. But you see<br /> +I do not think self-immolation life,<br /> +I know it to be death. Now, look a minute:<br /> +Why did she join the church? why to forget!<br /> +Why did she go to war? why to forget.<br /> +And at the last, this thing called sacrifice<br /> +Rose up with meaning in her eyes. You see<br /> +They tell around here now she often said:<br /> +“I’m going to the war to be swept under.”<br /> +Now comes your Christian idea: Let me die,<br /> +But die in service of the race, in giving<br /> +I waste myself for others, give myself!<br /> +Let God take notice, and reward the gift!<br /> +This is the failure’s recourse often-times,<br /> +A prodigal flinging of the self—let God<br /> +Find what He can of good, or find all good.<br /> +I have abandoned all control, all thought<br /> +Of finding my soul otherwise, if here<br /> +I find my soul, a doubt that makes the gift<br /> +Not less abandoned.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">This is foolish talk</span><br /> +I know you think, I think it is myself,<br /> +At least in part. I know I’m right, however,<br /> +In guessing off the reason of her failure,<br /> +If failure it is. But pshaw, why talk of failure<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>About a woman born to live the life<br /> +She lived, which could not have been different,<br /> +Much different under any circumstance?<br /> +She might have married, had a home and children,<br /> +What of it? As it is she makes a story,<br /> +A flute sound in our symphony—all right!<br /> +And I confess, in spite of all I’ve said,<br /> +The profit, the success, may not be known<br /> +To any but one’s self. Now look at me,<br /> +By all accounts I am a failure—look!<br /> +For forty years just making poor ends meet,<br /> +My love all spent in making good pianos.<br /> +I thrill all over picking spruce and wires,<br /> +And putting them together—all my love<br /> +Gone into this, no head at all for business.<br /> +I keep no books, they cheat me out of rent.<br /> +I don’t know how to sell pianos, when<br /> +I sell one I have trouble oftentimes<br /> +In getting pay for it. But just the same<br /> +I sit here with myself, I know myself,<br /> +I’ve found myself, and when collectors come<br /> +I can say come to-morrow, turn about,<br /> +And run the scale, or improvise, and smile,<br /> +Forget the world!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">The three arose and left.</span><br /> +Llewellyn George said: “That’s a rarity,<br /> +That man is like a precious flower you find<br /> +Way off among the weeds and rocky soil,<br /> +Grown from a seed blown out of paradise;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>I want to call again.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">So thus they knew</span><br /> +This much of Elenor Murray’s music life.<br /> +But on a day a party talk at tea,<br /> +Of Elenor Murray and her singing voice<br /> +And how she tried to train it—just a riffle<br /> +Which passed unknown of Merival. For you know<br /> +Your name may come up in a thousand places<br /> +At earth’s ends, though you live, and do not die<br /> +And make a great sensation for a day.<br /> +And all unknown to Merival for good<br /> +This talk of Lilli Alm and Ludwig Haibt:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>LILLI ALM</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>In Lola Schaefer’s studio in the Tower,<br /> +Tea being served to painters, poets, singers,<br /> +Herr Ludwig Haibt, a none too welcome guest,<br /> +Of vital body, brisk, too loud of voice,<br /> +And Lilli Alm crossed swords.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">It came about</span><br /> +When Ludwig Haibt said: “Have you read the papers<br /> +About this Elenor Murray?” And then said:<br /> +“I tried to train her voice—she was a failure.”<br /> +And Lilli Alm who taught the art of song<br /> +Looked at him half contemptuous and said:<br /> +“Why did she fail?” To which Herr Ludwig answered<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>“She tried too hard. She made her throat too tense,<br /> +And made its muscles stiff by too much thought,<br /> +Anxiety for song, the vocal triumph.”<br /> +<br /> +“O, yes, I understand,” said Lilli Aim.<br /> +Then stabbing him she added, “since you dropped<br /> +The Perfect Institute, and dropped the idea<br /> +Which stresses training muscles of the tongue,<br /> +And all that thing, be fair and shoulder half<br /> +The failure of poor Elenor Murray on<br /> +Your system’s failure. For I chanced to know<br /> +The girl myself. She started work with me,<br /> +And I am sure that if I had been able—<br /> +With time enough I could have done it too—<br /> +To rid her mind of muscles and to fix<br /> +The thought alone of music in her mind,<br /> +She would have sung. Now listen, Ludwig Haibt,<br /> +You’ve come around to see that song’s the thing.<br /> +I take a pupil and I say to her:<br /> +The mind must fix itself on music, say<br /> +I would make song, pure tones and beautiful;<br /> +That comes from spirit, from the Plato rapture,<br /> +Which gets the idea. It is well to know<br /> +Some physiology, I grant, to know<br /> +When, how to move the vocal organs, feel<br /> +How they are moving, through the ear to place<br /> +These organs in relation, and to know<br /> +The soft palate is drawn against the hard;<br /> +The tongue can take positions numerous,<br /> +Can be used at the root, a throaty voice;<br /> +Or with the tip, produce expressiveness.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>But what must we avoid?—rigidity.<br /> +And if that girl was over-zealous, then<br /> +So much the more her teaching should have kept<br /> +Mind off the larynx and the tongue, and fixed<br /> +Upon the spiritual matters, so to give<br /> +The snake-like power of loosening, contracting<br /> +The muscles used for singing. Ludwig Haibt,<br /> +I can forgive your system, since abandoned,<br /> +I can’t forgive your words to-day who say<br /> +This woman failed for trying over much,<br /> +When I know that your system made her throw<br /> +An energy truly wonderful on muscles;<br /> +And when I think of your book where you said:<br /> +The singing voice is the result, observe<br /> +Of physical conditions, like the strings<br /> +Or tubes of brass. While granting that it’s well<br /> +To know the art of tuning up the strings,<br /> +And how to place them; after all the art<br /> +Of tuning and of placing comes from mind,<br /> +The idea, and the art of making song<br /> +Is just the breathing of the perfect spirit<br /> +Upon the strings. The throat is but the leaves,<br /> +Let them be flexible, the mouth’s the flower,<br /> +The tone the perfume. And your olden way<br /> +Of harping on the larynx—well, since you<br /> +Turned from it, I’m ungenerous perhaps<br /> +To scold you thus to-day.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But this I say,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>Let us be frank as teachers: Take the fetich<br /> +Of breathing and see how you cripple talent,<br /> +Or take that matter of the laryngyscope,<br /> +Whereby you photograph a singer’s throat,<br /> +Caruso’s, Galli Curci’s at the moment<br /> +Of greatest beauty in song, and thus preserve<br /> +In photographs before you how the muscles<br /> +Looked and were placed that moment. Then attempt<br /> +To get the like effect by placing them<br /> +In similar fashion. Oh, you know, Herr Ludwig,<br /> +These fetiches go by. One thing remains:<br /> +The idea in the soul of beauty, music,<br /> +The hope to give it forth.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Alas! to think</span><br /> +So many souls are wasted while we teach<br /> +This thing or that. The strong survive, of course.<br /> +But take this Elenor Murray—why, that girl<br /> +Was just a flame, I never saw such hunger<br /> +For self-development, and beauty, richness,<br /> +In all experience in life—I knew her,<br /> +That’s why I say so—take her as I say,<br /> +And put her to a practice—yours we’ll say—<br /> +Where this great zeal she had is turned and pressed<br /> +Upon the physical, just the very thing<br /> +To make her throat constrict, and fill her up<br /> +With over anxiety and make her fail.<br /> +When had she come to me at first this passion<br /> +Directed to the beauty, the idea<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>Had put her soul at ease to ease her body,<br /> +Which gradually and beautifully had answered<br /> +That flame of hers.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Well, Ludwig Haibt, you’re punished</span><br /> +For wasting several years upon a system<br /> +Since put away as half erroneous,<br /> +If not quite worthless. But I must confess,<br /> +Since I have censured you, to my own sin.<br /> +This girl ran out of money, came to me<br /> +And told me so. To which I said: “Too bad,<br /> +You will have money later, when you do,<br /> +Come back to me.” She stood a silent moment,<br /> +Her hand upon the knob, I saw her tears,<br /> +Just little dim tears, then she said good-bye<br /> +And vanished from me.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, I now repent.</span><br /> +I who have thought of beauty all my life,<br /> +And taught the art of sound made beautiful,<br /> +Let slip a chance for beauty—why, I think,<br /> +A beauty just as great as song! You see<br /> +I had a chance to serve a hungering soul—<br /> +I could have said just let the money go,<br /> +Or let it go until you get the money.<br /> +I let that chance for beauty slip. Even now<br /> +I see poor Elenor Murray at the door,<br /> +Who paused, no doubt, in hope that I would say<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>What I thought not to say.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">So, Ludwig Haibt,</span><br /> +We are a poor lot—let us have some tea!<br /> +“We are a poor lot,” Ludwig Haibt replied.<br /> +“But since this is confessional, I absolve you,<br /> +If you’ll permit me, from your sin. Will you<br /> +Absolve me, if I say I’m sorry too?<br /> +I’ll tell you something, it is really true:—<br /> +I changed my system more I think because<br /> +Of what I learned from teaching Elenor Murray<br /> +Than on account of any other person.<br /> +She demonstrated better where my system<br /> +Was lacking than all pupils that I had.<br /> +And so I changed it; and of course I say<br /> +The thing is music, just as poets say<br /> +The thing is beauty, not the rhyme and words,<br /> +With which they bring it, instruments that’s all,<br /> +And not the thing—but beauty.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">So they talked,</span><br /> +Forgave each other. And that very day<br /> +Two priests were talking of confessionals<br /> +A mile or so from the Tower, where Lilli Alm<br /> +And Ludwig Haibt were having tea. You say<br /> +The coroner was ignorant of this!<br /> +What is the part it plays with Elenor Murray?<br /> +Or with the inquest? Wait a little yet<br /> +And see if Merival has told to him<br /> +What thing of value touching Elenor Murray<br /> +Is lodged in Father Whimsett’s heart or words.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> +<h2>FATHER WHIMSETT</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Looking like Raphael’s Perugino, eyes<br /> +So slightly, subtly aquiline, as brown<br /> +As a buck-eye, amorous, flamed, but lightly dimmed<br /> +Through thought of self while sitting for the artist;<br /> +A nose well bridged with bone for will, the nostrils<br /> +Distended as if sniffing diaphanous fire;<br /> +A very bow for lips, the under lip<br /> +Rich, kissable like a woman’s; heavy cheeks<br /> +Propped with a rounded tower of flesh for neck:<br /> +Thus Perugino looked, says Raphael,<br /> +And thus looked Father Whimsett at his desk,<br /> +With vertical creases, where the nose and brow<br /> +Together come, between the eye-brows slanting<br /> +Unequally, half clown-wise, half Mephisto,<br /> +With just a touch of that abandoned humor,<br /> +And laughter at the world, the race of men,<br /> +Mephisto had for mischief, which the priest<br /> +Has for a sense which looks upon the dream<br /> +And smiles, yet pities those who move in it.<br /> +And Father Whimsett smokes and reads and smiles.<br /> +He soon will hold confessional. For days<br /> +he has heard nothing but complaints of lovers,<br /> +And searched for nullities, impediments,<br /> +Through which to give sore stricken hearts relief:<br /> +There was the youth too drunk to know he married<br /> +A woman never baptized. Now the youth<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>Has found another—oh this is the one!<br /> +And comes and says: Oh, holy father, help me,<br /> +May I be free to marry her I love,<br /> +And get the church’s blessing when a court<br /> +Dissolves the civil contract? Holy Father,<br /> +I knew not what I did, cannot remember<br /> +Where I was married, when, my mind’s a blank—<br /> +It was the drink, you know.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And so it goes,</span><br /> +The will is eyeless through concupiscence,<br /> +And that absolves the soul that’s penitent.<br /> +And Father Whimsett reads his Latin books,<br /> +Searches for subtleties for faithful souls,<br /> +Whereby the faithful souls may have their wish,<br /> +Yet keep the gospel, too.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">These Latin books</span><br /> +Leave him fatigued, but not fatigued to turn<br /> +Plotinus, Xenophon, Boccacio,<br /> +Ars Amatoria and Remedia Amoris.<br /> +And just this moment Father Whimsett reads<br /> +Catullus, killing time, before he hears<br /> +Confession, gets the music of Catullus<br /> +Along the light that enters at the eye:<br /> +Etherial strings plucked by the intellect<br /> +To vibrate to the inner ear. At times<br /> +He must re-light his half-forgot cigar.<br /> +And while the music of the Latin verse,<br /> +Which is an echo, as he stops to light<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>His half-forgot cigar, is wafted through<br /> +His meditation, as a tune is heard<br /> +After the keys are stayed, it blends, becomes<br /> +The soul, interpretation of these stories,<br /> +Which lovers tell him in these later days.<br /> +And now the clock upon the mantel chimes<br /> +The quarter of the hour. Up goes Catullus<br /> +By Ovid on the shelf. The dead cigar<br /> +Is thrown away. He rises from the chair—<br /> +When Father Conway enters, just to visit<br /> +Some idle moments, smoke and have a talk.<br /> +And Father Whimsett takes his seat again,<br /> +Waves Father Conway to a comfort chair,<br /> +Says “Have a smoke,” and Father Conway smokes,<br /> +And sees Catullus, says you read Catullus,<br /> +And lays the morning <i>Times</i> upon the table,<br /> +And says to Father Whimsett: “Every day<br /> +The <i>Times</i> has stories better than Catullus,<br /> +And episodes which Horace would have used.<br /> +I wish we had a poet who would take<br /> +This city of Chicago, write it up,<br /> +The old Chicago, and the new Chicago,<br /> +The race track, old cafés and gambling places,<br /> +The prize fights, wrestling matches, sporting houses,<br /> +As Horace wrote up Rome. Or if we had<br /> +A Virgil he would find an epic theme<br /> +In this American matter, typical<br /> +Of our America, one phase or more<br /> +Concerning Elenor Murray. Here to-day<br /> +There is a story, of some letters found<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>In Arthur Fouche’s mansion, under the floor,<br /> +Sensational, dramatic.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Father Whimsett</span><br /> +Looked steadily at Father Conway, blew<br /> +A funnel of tobacco smoke and said:<br /> +I scarcely read the <i>Times</i> these days, too busy—<br /> +I’ve had a run of rich confessionals.<br /> +The war is ended, but they still come on,<br /> +And most are lovers in the coils of love.<br /> +I had one yesterday that made me think<br /> +Of one I had a year ago last spring,<br /> +The point was this: they say forgive me father,<br /> +For I have sinned, then as the case proceeds<br /> +A greater sin comes forth, I mean the sin<br /> +Of saying sin is good, cannot be sin:<br /> +I loved the man, or how can love be sin?<br /> +Well, as a human soul I see the point,<br /> +But have no option, must lay to and say<br /> +Acknowledgment, contrition and the promise<br /> +To sin no more, is necessary to<br /> +Win absolution. Now to show the matter,<br /> +Here comes a woman, says I leave for France<br /> +To serve, to die. I have a premonition<br /> +That I shall die abroad; or if I live,<br /> +I have had fears, I shall be taken, wronged,<br /> +So driven by this honor to destroy<br /> +Myself, goes on and says, I tell you all<br /> +These fears of mine that you may search my heart,<br /> +More gladly may absolve me. Then she says,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>These fears worked in my soul until I took<br /> +The step which I confess, before I leave.<br /> +I wait and she proceeds:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“O, holy father,</span><br /> +There is a man whom I have loved for years,<br /> +These five years past, such hopeless, happy years.<br /> +I love him and he loves me, holy father.<br /> +He holds me sacred as his wife, he loves me<br /> +With the most holy love. It cannot be<br /> +That any love like ours is guilty love,<br /> +Can have no other quality than good,<br /> +If it be love.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Well, here’s a pretty soul</span><br /> +To sit in the confessional! So I say,<br /> +Why do you come to me? Loving your sin,<br /> +Confessing it, denying it in one breath,<br /> +Leaves you in sin without forgiveness.<br /> +Well, then she tacks about and says “I sinned,<br /> +And I am sorry. Wait a minute, father,<br /> +And see the flesh and spirit mixed again.”<br /> +She wants to tell me all, I let her go.<br /> +And so she says: “His wife’s an invalid,<br /> +Has been no wife to him. Besides,” she says—<br /> +Now watch this thrust to pierce my holy shield—<br /> +“She is not in the church’s eye his wife,<br /> +She never was baptized”—I almost laughed,<br /> +But answered her, You think adultery<br /> +Is less adultery in a case like this?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>“Well, no,” she says, “but could he be divorced<br /> +The church would marry us.” Go on, I said,<br /> +And then she paused a little and went on:<br /> +“I said I loved this man, and it is true,<br /> +And years ago I gave myself to him,<br /> +And then his wife found out there was a woman—<br /> +But not that I was the woman—years ago<br /> +At confirmation I confessed it all,<br /> +Need only say this time I gave him up,<br /> +And crushed him out with work—was chaste for years.<br /> +And then I met a man, a different man<br /> +Who stirred me otherwise, kept after me.<br /> +At last I weakened, sinned three months ago,<br /> +And suffered for it. For he took me, left me.<br /> +As if he wanted body of me alone,<br /> +And was not pleased with that. And after that,<br /> +I think that I was mad, a furious passion<br /> +Was kindled by this second man, and left<br /> +With nothing to employ its flame. Two weeks<br /> +Went by, he did not seek me out, none knew<br /> +The hour of our departure. Then I thought<br /> +How little I had been to this first lover,<br /> +And of the years when I denied him—so<br /> +To recompense his love, to serve him, father,<br /> +Yes, to allay this passion newly raised<br /> +By this new lover, whom I thought I loved,<br /> +I went to my old lover, free of will,<br /> +And took his lips and said to him, O take me,<br /> +I am yours to do with as you choose to-night.<br /> +He turned as pale as snow and shook with fear,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>His heart beat in his throat. I terrified him<br /> +With this great will of mine in this small body.<br /> +I went on while he stood there by the window,<br /> +His back toward me. Make me wholly yours,<br /> +Take no precaution, prudence throw away<br /> +As mean, unworthy. Let your life precede,<br /> +Forestall the intruder’s, if one be. And if<br /> +A child must be, yours shall it be.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“He turned,</span><br /> +And took me in his arms....”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“And so to make</span><br /> +As nearly as might be a marriage, father,<br /> +I took—but let me tell you: I had thought<br /> +His wife might die at any time, so thinking<br /> +During these years I had bought bridal things;<br /> +A veil, embroideries, silk lingerie.<br /> +And I took to our room my negligee,<br /> +Boudoir cap, satin slippers, so to make<br /> +All beautiful as we were married, father.<br /> +How have I sinned? I cannot deem it wrong.<br /> +Do I not soil my soul with penitence,<br /> +And smut this loveliness with penitence?<br /> +Can I regret my work, nor take a hurt<br /> +Upon my very soul? How keep it clean<br /> +Confessing what I did (if I thought so)<br /> +As evil and unclean?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">The devil again</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>Entered with casuistry, as you perceive.<br /> +And so to make an end, I said to her,<br /> +You must bring to this sacrament a heart<br /> +Contrite and humble, promise me beside<br /> +To sin no more. The case is in your hands,<br /> +You can confess with lips, deny with heart,<br /> +God only knows, I don’t, it’s on your soul<br /> +To speak the truth or lie to me. Confess<br /> +And I’ll absolve you.—For in truth my heart<br /> +Was touched by what she said, her lovely voice.<br /> +<br /> +But now the story deepened. For she said,<br /> +I have not told you all. And she renewed:<br /> +“Suppose you pack your trunk and have your lunch,<br /> +Go to the station, but no train arrives,<br /> +And there you wait and wait, until you’re hungry,<br /> +And nothing to do but wait, no place to lunch,<br /> +You cannot leave the station, lest the train<br /> +Should come while you are gone. Well, so it was,<br /> +The weeks went by, and still we were not called.<br /> +And I had closed my old life, sat and waited<br /> +The time of leaving to begin new life.<br /> +And after I had sinned with my first lover,<br /> +Parted from him, said farewell, ended it,<br /> +Could not go back to him, at least could think<br /> +Of no way to return that would not dull<br /> +The hour we lived together, look, this man,<br /> +This second lover looks me up again<br /> +And overwhelms me with a flaming passion.<br /> +It seemed he had thought over what I was,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>Become all fire for me. He came to me,<br /> +And said, I love you, love you, looked at me,<br /> +And I could see the love-light in his eyes,<br /> +The light that woman knows. Well, I was weak,<br /> +Lonely and bored. He stirred my love besides;<br /> +And then a curious thought came in my brain:<br /> +The spirit is not found save through the flesh,<br /> +O holy father, and I thought to self,<br /> +Bring, as you may, these trials close together<br /> +In point of time and see where spirit is,<br /> +Where flesh directs to spirit most. And so<br /> +I went with him again, and found in truth<br /> +I loved him, he was mine and I was his,<br /> +We two were for each other, my old lover<br /> +Was just my love’s beginning, not my love<br /> +Fully and wholly, rapturously, this man<br /> +Body and spirit harmonized with me.<br /> +I found him through the love of my old lover,<br /> +And knew by contrast, memory of the two<br /> +And this immediate comparison<br /> +Of spirits and of bodies, that this man<br /> +Who left me, whom I turned from to the first,<br /> +As I have tried to tell you, was the one.<br /> +O holy father, he is married, too.<br /> +And as I leave for France this ends as well;<br /> +No child in me from either. I confess<br /> +That I have sinned most grievously, I repent<br /> +And promise I shall sin no more.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And so,</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>I gave her absolution. Well, you see<br /> +The church was dark, but I knew who it was,<br /> +I knew the voice. She left. Another penitent<br /> +Entered with a story. What is this?<br /> +Here is a woman who’s promiscuous.<br /> +Tried number one and then tries number two,<br /> +And comes and tells me, she has taken proof,<br /> +Weighed evidence of spirit and of body,<br /> +And thinks she knows at last, affirms as much.<br /> +Such conduct will not do, that’s plain enough,<br /> +Not even if the truth of love is known<br /> +This way, no other way.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Then Father Conway</span><br /> +Began as follows: “I’ve a case like that,<br /> +A woman married, but she found her husband<br /> +Was just the cup of Tantulus and so....”<br /> +<br /> +But Father Whimsett said, “Why, look at that,<br /> +I’m over-due a quarter of an hour.<br /> +Come in to-morrow, father, tell me then.”<br /> +The two priests rose and left the room together.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Carl Eaton and John Campbell both were raised<br /> +With Elenor Murray in LeRoy. The mother<br /> +Of Eaton lived there; but these boys had gone,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>Now grown to manhood to Chicago, where<br /> +They kept the old days of companionship.<br /> +And Mrs. Eaton saw the coroner,<br /> +And told him how she saved her son from Elenor,<br /> +And broke their troth—because upon a time<br /> +Elenor Murray, though betrothed, to Carl<br /> +Went riding with John Campbell, and returned<br /> +At two o’clock in the morning, drunk, and stood<br /> +Helpless and weary, holding to the gate.<br /> +For which she broke the engagement of her son<br /> +To Elenor Murray. That was truth to her,<br /> +And truth to Merival, for the time, at least.<br /> +But this John Campbell and Carl Eaton meet<br /> +One evening at a table drinking beer,<br /> +And talk about the inquest, Elenor;<br /> +Since much is published in the <i>Times</i> to stir<br /> +Their memories of her. And John speaks up:<br /> +“Well, Carl, now Elenor Murray is no more,<br /> +And we are friends so long, I’d like to know<br /> +What do you think of her?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“About the time,</span><br /> +That May before she finished High School, Elenor<br /> +Broke loose, ran wild, do you remember, Carl?<br /> +She had some trouble in her home, I heard—<br /> +She told me so. That Alma Bell affair<br /> +Made all the fellows wonder, as you know,<br /> +What kind of game she was, if she was game<br /> +For me, or you, or anyone. Besides<br /> +She had flirting eye, a winning laugh,<br /> +And she was eighteen, and a cherry ripe.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>This Alma Bell affair and ills at home<br /> +Made her spurt up and dart out like a fuse<br /> +Which burns to powder wet and powder heated<br /> +Until it burns; she burned, you see, and stopped<br /> +When principles or something quenched the flame.<br /> +I walked with her from school a time or two,<br /> +When she was hinting, flirting with her eyes,<br /> +I know it now, but what a dunce I was,<br /> +As most men when they’re twenty.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">“Well, now listen!</span><br /> +A little later on an evening,<br /> +I see her buggy riding with Roy Green,<br /> +That rake, do you remember him, deadbeat,<br /> +Half drunkard then, corrupted piece of flesh?<br /> +She sat up in defiance by his side,<br /> +Her chin stuck out to tell the staring ones:<br /> +Go talk or censure to your heart’s content.<br /> +And people stood and stared to see her pass<br /> +And shook their heads and wondered.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">“Afterward</span><br /> +I learned from her this was the night at home<br /> +Her father and her mother had a quarrel.<br /> +Her mother asked her father to buy Elenor<br /> +A new dress for commencement, and the father<br /> +Was drinking and rebuffed her, so they quarreled.<br /> +And rode with him to shame her father, coming<br /> +After a long ride in the country home<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>At ten o’clock or so.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“Well, then I thought,</span><br /> +If she will ride with Roy Green, I go back<br /> +To hinting and to flirting eyes and guess<br /> +The girl will ride with me, or something more.<br /> +So I begin to circle round the girl,<br /> +And walk with her, and take her riding too.<br /> +She drops Roy Green for me—what does he care?<br /> +He’s had enough of her or never cared—<br /> +Which is it? there’s the secret for a man<br /> +As long as women interest him—who knows<br /> +What the precedent fellow was to her?<br /> +Roy Green takes to another and another.<br /> +He died a year ago, as you’ll remember,<br /> +What were his secrets, agony? he seemed<br /> +A man to me who lived and never thought.”<br /> +<br /> +“So Elenor Murray went with me. Oh, well,<br /> +She gave me kisses, let me hold her tight,<br /> +We used to stop along the country ways<br /> +And kiss as long as we had breath to kiss,<br /> +And she would gasp and tremble.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“Then, at last</span><br /> +A chum I had began to laugh at me,<br /> +For, I was now in love with Elenor Murray.<br /> +Don’t let her make a fool of you, he said,<br /> +No girl who ever traveled with Roy Green<br /> +Was not what he desired her, nor, before<br /> +The kind of girl he wanted. Don’t you know<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>Roy Green is laughing at you in his sleeve,<br /> +And boasts that Elenor Murray was all his?<br /> +You see that stung me, for I thought at twenty<br /> +Girls do not go so far, that only women<br /> +Who sell themselves do so, or now and then<br /> +A girl who is betrayed by hopes of marriage.<br /> +And here was thrust upon me something devilish:<br /> +The fair girl that I loved was wise already,<br /> +And fooling me, and drinking in my love<br /> +In mockery of me. This was my first<br /> +Heart sickness, jaundice of the soul—dear me!<br /> +And how I suffered, lay awake of nights,<br /> +And wondered, doubted, hoped, or cursed myself,<br /> +And cursed the girl as well. And I would think<br /> +Of flirting eyes and hints and how she came<br /> +To me before she went with this Roy Green.<br /> +And I would hear the older men give hints<br /> +About their conquests, speak of ways and signs<br /> +From which to tell a woman. On the train<br /> +Hear drummers boast and drop apothogems;<br /> +The woman who drinks with you will be yours;<br /> +Or she who gives herself to you will give<br /> +To someone else; you know the kind of talk?<br /> +Where wisdom of the sort is averaged up,<br /> +But misses finer instances, the beauties<br /> +Among the million phases of the thing.<br /> +And, so at last I thought the girl was game.<br /> +And had been snared, already. Why should I<br /> +Be just a cooing dove, why not a hawk?<br /> +We were out riding on a summer’s night,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>A moon and all the rest, the scent of flowers,<br /> +And many kisses, as on other times.<br /> +At last with this sole object in my mind<br /> +Long concentrated, purposed, all at once<br /> +I found myself turned violent, with hands<br /> +At grapple, twisting, forcing, and this girl<br /> +In terror pleading with me. In a moment<br /> +When I took time for breath, she said to me:<br /> +‘I will not ride with you—you let me out.’<br /> +To which I said: ‘You’ll do what I desire<br /> +Or you can walk ten miles back to LeRoy,<br /> +And find Roy Green, you like him better, maybe.’<br /> +And she said: ‘Let me out,’ and she jumped out,<br /> +And would not ride with me another step,<br /> +Though I repented saying, come and ride.<br /> +I think it was a mile or more I drove<br /> +The horse slowed up to keep her company,<br /> +And then I cracked the whip and hurried on,<br /> +And left her walking, looked from time to time<br /> +To see her in the roadway, then drove on<br /> +And reached LeRoy, which Elenor reached that morning<br /> +At one or two.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">“Well, then what was the riddle?</span><br /> +Was she in love with Roy Green yet, was she<br /> +But playing with me, was I crude, left handed,<br /> +Had she changed over, was she trying me<br /> +To fasten in the hook of matrimony,<br /> +Or was she good, and all this corner talk<br /> +Of Roy Green just the dirt of dirty minds?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>You know the speculations, and you know<br /> +How they befuddle one at twenty years.<br /> +And sometimes I would grieve for what I did;<br /> +Then harden and laugh down my softness. But<br /> +At last I wrote a note to Elenor Murray<br /> +And sent it with a bouquet—but no word<br /> +Came back from Elenor Murray. Then I thought:<br /> +Here is a girl who rides with that Roy Green<br /> +And what would he be with her for, I ask?<br /> +And if she wants to make a cause of war<br /> +Out of an attitude she half provoked,<br /> +Why let her—and moreover let her go.<br /> +And so I dropped the matter, since she dropped<br /> +My friendship from that night.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“But later on,</span><br /> +Two years ago, when she came back to town<br /> +From somewhere, I don’t know, gone many months,<br /> +Grown prettier, more desirable, I sent<br /> +Some roses to her in a tender mood<br /> +As if to say: We’re grown up since that night,<br /> +Have you forgotten it, as I remember<br /> +How womanly you were, have grown to be?<br /> +She wrote me just a little note of thanks,<br /> +And what is strange that very day I learned<br /> +About your interest in her, learned besides<br /> +It prospered for some months before. I turned<br /> +My heart away for good, as a man might<br /> +Who plunges and beholds the woman smile<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>And take another’s arm and walk away.”<br /> +“So, that’s your story, is it?” said Carl Eaton.<br /> +“Well, I had married her except for you!<br /> +That bunch of roses spoiled the girl for me.<br /> +You had Roy Green, dog-fennel, I had roses,<br /> +And I am glad you sent them, otherwise<br /> +I might have married her, to find at last<br /> +A wife just like her mother is, myself<br /> +Living her father’s life, for something missed<br /> +Or hated in me—not the want of money.<br /> +She liked me as the banker’s son, be sure,<br /> +And let me go unwillingly.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“But listen:</span><br /> +I called on her the night you sent the roses,<br /> +And there she had them on the center table,<br /> +And twinkled with her eyes, and spoke of them,<br /> +And said, I can remember it, you sent<br /> +Such lovely roses to her, you and she<br /> +Had been good friends for years—and now it seems<br /> +You were not friends—I didn’t know it then.<br /> +But think about it, John! What was this woman?<br /> +It’s clear her fate, found dead there by the river,<br /> +Is just the outward mirror of herself,<br /> +And had to be. There’s not a thing in life<br /> +That is not first enacted in the heart.<br /> +Our fate is the reflection of the life<br /> +Which goes on in the heart. That girl was doomed,<br /> +Lived in her heart a life that found a birth,<br /> +Grew up, committed matricide at last,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>Not that my love had saved her. But explain<br /> +Why would she over-stress the roses, give<br /> +Me understandings foreign to the truth?<br /> +For truth to tell, we were affianced then,<br /> +There were your roses! But above it all<br /> +Something she said pricked like a rose’s thorn,<br /> +Something that grew to thought she cherished you,<br /> +Kept memories sweet of you. If that were true,<br /> +What was the past? What was I after all?<br /> +A second choice, as if I bought a car,<br /> +But thought about a car I wanted more.<br /> +So I retired that night in serious thought.”<br /> +<br /> +“Yet if you’ll credit me, I had not heard<br /> +About this Alma Bell affair, or heard<br /> +About her riding through the public streets<br /> +With this Roy Green. I think I was away,<br /> +I never heard it anyway, I know<br /> +Until my mother told me, and she told me<br /> +Next morning after I had found your roses.<br /> +I hadn’t told my mother, nor a soul<br /> +Before, that time that we two were engaged—<br /> +I didn’t tell her then—I merely asked<br /> +Would Elenor Murray please you as a daughter?<br /> +You should have seen my mother—how she gasped,<br /> +And gestured losing breath, to say at last:<br /> +‘Why, Carl, my boy, what are you thinking of?<br /> +You have not promised marriage to that girl?<br /> +Now tell me, have you?’ Then I lied to her;<br /> +And laughed a little, answered no, and asked,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>‘What do you know about her?’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“Here’s a joke,</span><br /> +With terror in it, John, if you have told<br /> +The truth to me—my mother tells me there<br /> +That on a time John Campbell—that is you,<br /> +And Elenor Murray rode into the country,<br /> +And that at two o’clock, or so, the girl<br /> +Is seen beside the gate post holding on,<br /> +And reeling up the side-walk to her door.<br /> +The girl was tired, if you have told the truth.<br /> +My mother warms up to this scoundrel Green,<br /> +And tops the matter off with Alma Bell.<br /> +And all the love I had for Elenor Murray<br /> +Sours in my heart. And then I tell my mother<br /> +The truth—of our engagement—promise her<br /> +To break it off. I did so on that day.<br /> +Got back the solitaire—but Elenor<br /> +Hung to me, asked my reasons, kept the ring<br /> +Until I wrote so sternly she gave up<br /> +Her hope and me.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“But worst of all, John Campbell—</span><br /> +If this be worst—this early episode<br /> +So nipped my leaves and browned and curled them up<br /> +To whisper sharply with their bitter edges,<br /> +No one has seen a bridal wreath in me;<br /> +Nor have I ever known a woman since<br /> +That some analysis did not blow cool<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>A rising admiration.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Now to think</span><br /> +This girl lies dead, and while we drink a beer<br /> +You tell me that the story is a lie,<br /> +The girl was good, walked ten miles through the dark<br /> +To save her honor from a ruffian—<br /> +That’s what you were, as you confess it now.<br /> +And if she did that, what is all this talk<br /> +Of such a rat as Green, of Alma Bell?—<br /> +It isn’t true.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">“The only truth is this:</span><br /> +I took a lasting poison from a lie,<br /> +Which built the very cells of me to resist<br /> +The thought of marriage—poison which remains.<br /> +I wonder should I tell the coroner?<br /> +No good in that—you might as well describe<br /> +A cancer to prevent the malady<br /> +In people yet to be. Let’s have a beer.<br /> +John Campbell said: I learned from Elenor Murray<br /> +The kind of woman I should take to wife,<br /> +I married just the woman made for me.”<br /> +<br /> +“If you can say so on your death bed, John,<br /> +Then Elenor Murray did one man a good,<br /> +Whatever ill she did to other men.<br /> +See, I keep rapping for that waiter—I<br /> +Would like another beer, and so would you.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So now it’s clear the story is not true<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>Which Mrs. Eaton told the coroner.<br /> +And when the coroner told the jurymen<br /> +What Mrs. Eaton told him, Winthrop Marion<br /> +Skilled in the work of running down a tale<br /> +Said: “I can look up Eaton, Campbell too,<br /> +And verify or contradict this thing.<br /> +We have departed far afield in this,<br /> +It has no bearing on the cause of death.<br /> +But none of us have liked to see, the girl’s<br /> +Good name, integrity of spirit lie<br /> +In shadow by this story.” Merival<br /> +Was glad to have these two men interviewed<br /> +By Winthrop Marion; so he found them, talked,<br /> +And brought their stories back, as told above<br /> +Which made the soul of Elenor Murray clear....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Paul Roberts was a man of sixty years,<br /> +Who lived and ran a magazine at LeRoy.<br /> +<i>The Dawn</i> he called it; financed by a fund<br /> +Left Roberts by a millionaire, who believed<br /> +The fund would widen knowledge through the use<br /> +Of Roberts, student of the Eastern wisdom.<br /> +This Roberts loathed the war, but kept his peace<br /> +Because the law compelled it. Took this time<br /> +To fight the Christian faith, and show the age<br /> +Submerged in Christian ethics, weak and false.<br /> +He knew this Elenor Murray from a child,<br /> +And knew her rearing, schooling, knew the air<br /> +She breathed in at LeRoy. And in <i>The Dawn</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>Printed this essay:—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“We have seen,” he writes,</span><br /> +“Astonishing revealments, inventories<br /> +Taken of souls, all coming from the death<br /> +Of Elenor Murray, and the inquest held<br /> +To ascertain her death. Perhaps fantastic<br /> +This thing may be, but scarcely more fantastic<br /> +Than rubbing amber, watching frogs’ legs twitch,<br /> +From which the light of cities came, the power<br /> +That hauls the coaches over mountain tops.<br /> +We would do well to laugh at nothing, watch<br /> +With interested eye the capering souls<br /> +Too moved to walk straight. If a wire grounds<br /> +And interpenetrates the granite blocks<br /> +With viewless fire, horses shod with steel,<br /> +Walking along the granite blocks will leap<br /> +Like mad things in the air. Well, so we leap<br /> +Before we know the cause. Let sound minds laugh.<br /> +<br /> +First you agree no man has looked on God;<br /> +And I contend the souls who found God, told<br /> +Too little of their triumph. But I hold<br /> +Man shall find God and know, shall see at last<br /> +What man’s soul is, and where it tends, the use<br /> +It was made for. And after that? Forever<br /> +There’s progress while there’s life, all devolution<br /> +Returns to progress.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">As to worship, God</span><br /> +They had their amber days, days of frogs’ legs.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>And yet before I trace the Christian growth<br /> +From seed to blossom, let me prophesy:<br /> +The light upon the lotus blossom pauses,<br /> +Has paused these centuries and waits to move<br /> +Westward and mingle with the light that shines<br /> +Upon the Occident. What did Christ do<br /> +But carry the Hebraic thrift and prudence<br /> +Of matter and of spirit, half-corrupted<br /> +By wisdom of the market to these races<br /> +That crowd in Europe, in the Western World?<br /> +Now you have seen such things as chemistry,<br /> +And mongering in steel, the use of fire<br /> +Made perfect in swift wheels, and swifter wings,<br /> +Until the realm of matter seems subdued,<br /> +Thought with her foot upon the dragon’s head,<br /> +And using him to serve. This western world<br /> +Massing its powers these centuries to bring<br /> +Comfort and happiness and length of days,<br /> +And pushing commerce, trade to pile up gold,<br /> +Knows not its soul as yet, nor God. But here<br /> +I prophesy: Suppose the Hindu lore,<br /> +Which has gone farther with the soul of man<br /> +Than we have gone with business, has card cased<br /> +The soul’s addresses, introduced a system<br /> +In the soul’s business, just suppose this lore<br /> +And great perfection in things spiritual<br /> +Should by some process wed the great perfection<br /> +Of this our western world, and we should have<br /> +Mastery of spirit and of matter, too?<br /> +Might not that progress start as one result<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>Of this great war?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Let’s see from whence we came.</span><br /> +I take the Hebrew faith, the very frog legs<br /> +Of our theology—no use to say<br /> +It has no place with us. Your ministers<br /> +Preach from the Pentateuch, its decalogue<br /> +Is all our ethic nearly; and our life<br /> +Is suckled by the Hebrews; don’t the Jews<br /> +Control our business, while our business rules<br /> +Our spirits far too much?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Now let us see</span><br /> +What food our spirits feed on. Palestine<br /> +Is just a little country, fights for life<br /> +Against a greater prowess, skill in arms.<br /> +So as the will does not give up, but hopes<br /> +For vengeance and for wiping out of wrongs<br /> +The Jews conceive a God who will dry up<br /> +His people’s tears and let them laugh again!<br /> +Hence in Jehovah’s mouth they put these words:<br /> +My word shall stand forever, you shall eat<br /> +The riches of the Gentiles, suck their milk.<br /> +Your ploughman shall the alien be, the stranger<br /> +Shall feed your flock, and I will make you fat<br /> +With milk and honey. I will give you power,<br /> +Dominion, leadership, glory forever.<br /> +My wrath is on all nations to avenge<br /> +Israel’s sorrow and humiliation.<br /> +My sword is bathed in heaven, filled with blood<br /> +To come upon Idumea, to stretch out<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>Upon it stones of emptiness, confusion.<br /> +Her fortresses shall be the habitation<br /> +Of dragons and a court for owls. I smite<br /> +The proud Assyrian and make them dead.<br /> +In fury, and in anger do I tread<br /> +On Zion’s enemies, their worm shall die not,<br /> +Nor shall their fire be quenched. I shall stir up<br /> +Jealousy like a man of war, put on<br /> +The garments of my vengeance, and repay<br /> +To adversaries fury. For my word<br /> +Shall stand to preach good tidings to the meek,<br /> +And liberty to captives, and to chains<br /> +The opening of prisons.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Don’t you see</span><br /> +Our western culture in such words as these?<br /> +Your proselytes, and business man, reformer<br /> +Nourished upon them, using them in life?<br /> +But then you say Christ came with final truth,<br /> +And put away Jehovah. Let us see.<br /> +What shall become of those who turn from Christ,<br /> +Not that their souls failed, only that they turned,<br /> +Did not believe, accept, found in him little<br /> +To live by, grow by? This is what Christ said:<br /> +Ye vipers in the last day ye shall see<br /> +The sun turned dark, the moon made blood. Behold!<br /> +I come in clouds of glory and of power<br /> +To judge the quick and judge the dead. Mine own<br /> +Shall enter into blessedness. But to those<br /> +Evil who scorned me, I shall say, depart<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>Accursed into everlasting fire.<br /> +And quick the gates of heaven shall be shut,<br /> +And I shall reign in heaven with mine own<br /> +And let my fire of wrath consume the world.<br /> +<br /> +But then you say, what of his love and doctrine?<br /> +Not the old decalogue by him renewed,<br /> +But new wine to the Jews, if not in the world<br /> +Unknown before. Look close and you shall see<br /> +A book of double entries, balanced columns,<br /> +Business in matters spiritual, prudential<br /> +Rules for life’s conduct. Yes, be merciful<br /> +But to obtain your mercy; yes, forgive<br /> +That you may be forgiven; honor your parents<br /> +That your days may be long. Blest are the meek<br /> +For they shall inherit the earth. Rejoice, for great<br /> +Is your reward in heaven if they say<br /> +All manner of evil of you, persecute you.<br /> +Do you not see the rule of compensation<br /> +Shot through it all? And if you love your neighbor,<br /> +And all men do so, then you have the state<br /> +Composed to such a level of peace, no man<br /> +Need fear the breaker in, unless you keep<br /> +This mood of love for preaching, for a rule<br /> +While business in the Occident goes on<br /> +Under Jehovah’s Hebrew manual.<br /> +What is it all? The meek inherit the earth<br /> +For being meek; you turn the other cheek<br /> +And fill your enemy with shame to strike<br /> +A cheek that does not harden to return<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>The blow received. But too much in our life<br /> +The cheek is turned, the hand not made a fist,<br /> +But opened out to pick a pocket with,<br /> +While the other cheek is turned. Now, at the last<br /> +Has not this war put by resist not evil?<br /> +Which was the way of Jesus to the end,<br /> +Even to buffetings and the crown of thorns;<br /> +Even the cross and death?—we put it by:<br /> +We would not let protagonists thereof<br /> +So much as hint the doctrine, which is to say,<br /> +Though it be written over Jesus’ life,<br /> +And be his spirit’s essence, we see through<br /> +The fallacy of that preachment, cannot live<br /> +In this world by it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Well, let me be plain.</span><br /> +Races like men find truth in living life,<br /> +Find thereby what is food and what is poison.<br /> +These are the phylogenetics spiritual.<br /> +But meanwhile there’s the light upon the lotus<br /> +Which waits to mingle with the light that shines<br /> +Upon the Occident, take Jesus’ light<br /> +Where it is bright enough to mix with it<br /> +And show no duller splendor?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">I look back</span><br /> +Upon the Jew and Jesus, on the Thora<br /> +The gospel, dogmatism, poetry,<br /> +The Messianic hope and will and grace,<br /> +Jesus the Son of God, and one with God.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>The outer theocracy, the Kingdom of God within you,<br /> +St. Paul with metaphysics, St. Augustine<br /> +Babbling of sin in Cicero’s rhetoric,<br /> +The popes with their intrigues and millions slain<br /> +O ghastly waste, if not O ghastly failure,<br /> +Beside which all the tragedies of time<br /> +To set up doctrines, rulerships, and say:<br /> +Are not a finger scratched. O monstrous hate<br /> +Born of enfolding love! O martyrdom<br /> +Of our poor world for ages, incurable madness<br /> +Bred in the blood, and mixed in the forms of thought,<br /> +Still maddening, maiming, crucifying, killing<br /> +The fast appearing sons of men. Go ask<br /> +What man you will who has lived up to forty<br /> +And see if you find not the Christian creed<br /> +Has not in some way gyved his life and bolted<br /> +Body or spirit to a wall, to make<br /> +The man live not by nature, but a doctrine<br /> +Evolved from thought that disregards man’s life.<br /> +But oh this hunger of the mind for answers<br /> +And hunger of the heart for life, the heart<br /> +Thrown to the dogs of thought. What shall we do?<br /> +I see a way, have hope.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">The blessed Lord</span><br /> +Says, ye deluded by unwisdom say:<br /> +This day is won, this purpose gained, this wealth<br /> +Made mine, to-morrow safe—behold<br /> +My enemy is slain, I am well-born—<br /> +O ye deluded ones, slaves of desire,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>Self-satisfied and stubborn, filled with pride,<br /> +Power, lust and wrath—haters of me, the gate<br /> +Of hell is triple, bitter is the womb<br /> +In which ye sink deluded, birth on birth,<br /> +These not renouncing. But O soul attend,<br /> +Yield not to impotence, shake off your fears,<br /> +Be steadfast, balanced, free from hate and anger,<br /> +Balanced in pleasure and pain, and active,<br /> +Yet disregarding action’s fruits—be friendly,<br /> +Compassionate, forgiving, self-controlled,<br /> +Resolute, not shrinking from the world,<br /> +But mixing in its toils as fate may say;<br /> +Pure, expert, passionless, desire in leash,<br /> +Renouncing good and evil, to friend and foe,<br /> +In fame and ignominy destitute<br /> +Of that attachment which disturbs the vision<br /> +And labor of the soul. By these to fix<br /> +Eyes undistracted on me, the supreme<br /> +And Sole Reality. And O remember<br /> +Thou soul, thou shalt not sin who workest through<br /> +Thy Karma as its nature may command.<br /> +Strive with thy sin and it shall make the muscles,<br /> +And strength to take thee to another height.<br /> +But cleave to the practice of thy soul forever,<br /> +Also to wisdom better still than practice,<br /> +To meditation, better still than wisdom,<br /> +To renunciation, better than meditation,<br /> +Beholding Me in all things, in all things<br /> +Me who would have you peace of soul attain,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>And soul’s perfection.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, I say here lies</span><br /> +Profounder truth and purer than the words<br /> +That Jesus spoke. Let’s take forgiveness:<br /> +Forgive your enemies, he said, and bless<br /> +Them even that hate you. What did Jesus do?<br /> +Did he forgive the thief upon the cross,<br /> +Who railed at him? He did forgive the hands<br /> +Who crucified him, but he had a reason:<br /> +They knew not what they did; well, as for that<br /> +Who knows the thing he does? Did he forgive<br /> +Judas Iscariot? Did he forgive<br /> +Poor Peter by specific words? You see<br /> +In instances like these the idealist,<br /> +Passionate and inexorable who sets up<br /> +His soul against the world, but do you see<br /> +The esoteric wisdom which takes note<br /> +Of the soul’s health, just for the sake of health,<br /> +And leaves the outward recompense alone?<br /> +<br /> +Yes, what has Jesus done but make a realm<br /> +Of outward law and force to strain and bind<br /> +The sons of men to this thing and to that,<br /> +Bring the fanatic and the dogmatist<br /> +In every neighborhood in America.<br /> +And radical with axes after trees,<br /> +And clergymen with curses on the fig trees?<br /> +And even bring this Kaiser and his dream<br /> +Of God’s will in him to destroy his foes,<br /> +And launch the war therefor, to make his realm<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>And Christian culture paramount in time.<br /> +When all the while ’tis clear life does not yield<br /> +Proof positive of exoteric things.<br /> +Why the great truth of life is this, I think:<br /> +The soul has freedom to create its world<br /> +Of beauty, truth, to make the world as truth<br /> +Or beauty, build philosophies, religions,<br /> +And live by them, through them. It does not matter<br /> +Whether they’re true, the significant thing is this:<br /> +The soul has freedom to create, to take<br /> +The void of unintelligible air, or thought<br /> +The world at large, and of it make the food,<br /> +Impulse and meaning for its life. I say<br /> +Life is for nothing else, truth is not ours;<br /> +That only ours which we create, by which<br /> +We live and grow, and so we come again<br /> +By this path of my own to India.<br /> +<br /> +What shall we do, you ask, if business dies,<br /> +If the western world, the world for socialism<br /> +Lops off its leaves and branches, and the sap<br /> +Is thrown back in the trunk unused, or if<br /> +This light upon the lotus quiets us<br /> +And makes us mind entirely? Well, I say,<br /> +Men have not lived, enjoyed enough before.<br /> +Our strength has gone to get the means for strength.<br /> +We roll the rock of business up, and see<br /> +The rock roll down, and roll it up again.<br /> +And if the new day does not give us work<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>In finding what our minds are, how to use them,<br /> +And how to live more beautifully, I miss<br /> +A guess I often make.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">But now to close:</span><br /> +Only the blind have failed to see how truly<br /> +This Elenor Murray worked her Karma out.<br /> +And how she put forth strength to cure her weakness,<br /> +And went her vital way, and toiled and died.<br /> +Peace to all worlds, and peace to Elenor Murray.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +The coroner had heard that Elenor Murray<br /> +Once crossed the Arctic Circle. What of that?<br /> +She traveled, it was proved. What happened there?<br /> +What hunter after secrets could find out?<br /> +But on a day the name of Elenor Murray<br /> +Is handled by two men who sit and talk<br /> +In Fairbanks, and the talk is in these words:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>AT FAIRBANKS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Bill, look here! Here’s the <i>Times</i>. You see this picture,<br /> +Read if you like a little later. You never<br /> +Heard how I came to Fairbanks, chanced to stay.<br /> +It’s eight years now. You see in nineteen eleven<br /> +I lived in Hammond, Indiana, thought<br /> +I’d like a trip, see mountains, see Alaska,<br /> +Perhaps find fortune or a woman—well<br /> +You know from your experience how it is.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>It was July and from the train I saw<br /> +The Canadian Rockies, stopped at Banff a day,<br /> +At Lake Louise, and so forth. At Vancouver<br /> +Found travelers feasting, Englishmen in drink,<br /> +Flirtations budding, coming into flower;<br /> +And eager spirits waiting for the boat.<br /> +Up to this time I hadn’t made a friend,<br /> +Stalked silently about along the streets,<br /> +Drank Scotch like all the rest, as much besides.<br /> +<br /> +Well, then we took the steamship <i>Princess Alice</i><br /> +And started up the Inland Channel—great!<br /> +Got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal<br /> +Cradles of the north, began at once<br /> +To find the mystery, silence, see clear stars,<br /> +The whites and blacks and greens along the shores.<br /> +And still I had no friend, was quite alone.<br /> +Just as I came on deck I saw a face,<br /> +Looked, stared perhaps. Her eyes went over me,<br /> +Would not look at me. At the dinner table<br /> +She sat far down from me, I could not see her,<br /> +But made a point to rise when she arose,<br /> +Did all I could to catch her eye—no use.<br /> +So things went and I gave up—still I wondered<br /> +Why she had no companion. Was she married?<br /> +Was husband waiting her, at Skagway?—well<br /> +I fancied something of the sort, at last,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>And as I said, gave up.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">But on a morning</span><br /> +I rose to see the sun rise, all the sky<br /> +First as a giant pansy, petals flung<br /> +In violet toward the zenith streaked with fire;<br /> +The silver of the snows change under light,<br /> +Mottled with shadows of the mountain tops<br /> +Like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn.<br /> +At last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven,<br /> +The sun just peeks and gilds the porcelain<br /> +Of snow with purest gold. And in the valleys<br /> +Darkness remains, Orician ebony<br /> +Is not more black. You’ve seen this too, I know,<br /> +And recognize my picture. There I stood,<br /> +Believed I was alone, then heard a voice,<br /> +“Is it not beautiful?” and looked around,<br /> +And saw my girl, who had avoided me,<br /> +Would not make friends before. This is her picture,<br /> +Name, Elenor Murray. So the matter started.<br /> +I had my seat at table changed and sat<br /> +Next to my girl to talk with her. We walked<br /> +The deck together. Then she said to me<br /> +Her home was in Chicago, so it is<br /> +Travelers abroad discover they are neighbors<br /> +When they are home. She had been teaching school,<br /> +And saved her money for this trip, had planned<br /> +To go as far as Fairbanks. As for me,<br /> +I thought I’d stop with Skagway—Oh this life!<br /> +Your hat blows off, you chase it, bump a woman,<br /> +Then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>And marry later.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">As we steamed along</span><br /> +She was the happiest spirit on the deck.<br /> +The Wrangell Narrows almost drove her wild,<br /> +There where the mountains are like circus tents,<br /> +Big show, menagerie and all the rest,<br /> +But white as cotton with perennial snow.<br /> +We swum past aisles of pine trees where a stream<br /> +Rushed down in terraces of hoary foam.<br /> +The nights were glorious. We drank and ate<br /> +And danced when there was dancing.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">Well, at first,</span><br /> +She seemed a little school ma’am, quaint, demure,<br /> +Meticulous and puritanical.<br /> +And then she seemed a school ma’am out to have<br /> +A time, so far away, where none would know,<br /> +And like a woman who had heard of life<br /> +And had a teasing interest in its wonder,<br /> +Too long caged up. At last my vision blurred:<br /> +I did not know her, lost my first impressions<br /> +Amid succeeding phases which she showed.<br /> +<br /> +But when we came to Skagway, then I saw<br /> +Another Elenor Murray. How she danced<br /> +And tripped from place to place—such energy!<br /> +She almost wore me out with seeing sights.<br /> +But now behold! The White Pass she must see<br /> +Upon the principle of missing nothing—<br /> +But oh the grave of “Soapy” Smith, the outlaw,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>The gambler and the heeler, that for her!<br /> +We went four miles and found the cemetery,<br /> +The grave of “Soapy” Smith.—Came back to town<br /> +Where she would see the buildings where they played<br /> +Stud poker, Keno, in the riotous days.<br /> +Time came for her to go. She looked at me<br /> +And said “Come on to Fairbanks.” As for that,<br /> +I’d had enough, was ready to return,<br /> +But sensed an honorarium, so I said,<br /> +“You might induce me,” with a pregnant tone.<br /> +That moment we were walking ’cross the street,<br /> +She stopped a moment, shook from head to heels,<br /> +And said, “No man has talked to me that way.”<br /> +I dropped the matter. She renewed it—said,<br /> +“Why do you hurry back? What calls you back?<br /> +Come on to Fairbanks, see the gardens there,<br /> +That tag the blizzards with their rosy hands<br /> +And romp amid the snows.” She smiled at me.<br /> +Well, then I thought—why not? And smiled her back,<br /> +And on we went to Fairbanks, where my hat<br /> +Blows off, as I shall tell you.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">For a day</span><br /> +We did the town together, and that night<br /> +I thought to win her. First we dined together,<br /> +Had many drinks, my little school ma’am drank<br /> +Of everything I ordered, had a place<br /> +For more than I could drink. And truth to tell<br /> +At bed time I was woozy, ten o’clock.<br /> +We had not registered. And so I said,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>“I’m Mr. Kelly and you’re Mrs. Kelly.”<br /> +She shook her head. And so to make an end<br /> +I could not win her, signed my name in full;<br /> +She did the same, we said good night and parted.<br /> +<br /> +Next morning when I woke, felt none too good,<br /> +Got up at last and met her down at breakfast;<br /> +Tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee;<br /> +Got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand<br /> +Upon my head and said, “Your head is hot,<br /> +You have a fever.” Well, I lolled around<br /> +And tried to fight it off till noon—no good.<br /> +By this time I was sick, lay down to rest.<br /> +By night I could not lift my head—in short,<br /> +I lay there for a month, and all the time<br /> +She cared for me just like a mother would.<br /> +They moved me to a suite, she took the room<br /> +That opened into mine, by night and day<br /> +She nursed me, cheered me, read to me. At last<br /> +When I sat up, was soon to be about,<br /> +She said to me, “I’m going on to Nome,<br /> +St. Michael first. They tell me that you cross<br /> +The Arctic Circle going to St. Michael,<br /> +And I must cross the Arctic Circle—think<br /> +To come this far and miss it. I must see<br /> +The Indian villages.” And there again<br /> +I saw, but clearer than before, the spirit<br /> +Adventuresome and restless, what you call<br /> +The heart American. I said to her,<br /> +“I’m not too well, I’m lonely,—yes, and more—<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>I’m fond of you, you have been good to me,<br /> +Stay with me here.—She darted in and out<br /> +The room where I was lying, doing things,<br /> +And broke my pleadings just like icicles<br /> +You shoot against a wall.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But here she was,</span><br /> +A month in Fairbanks, living at expense,<br /> +Said “I am short of money—lend me some,<br /> +I’ll go to Nome, return to you and then<br /> +We’ll ship together for the States.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">You see</span><br /> +I really owed her money for her care,<br /> +Her loss in staying—then I loved the girl,<br /> +Had played all cards but one—I played it now:<br /> +“Come back and marry me.” Her eyes looked down.<br /> +“I will be fair with you,” she said, “and think.<br /> +Away from you I can make up my mind<br /> +If I have love enough to marry you.”<br /> +I gave her money and she went away,<br /> +And for some weeks I had a splendid hell<br /> +Of loneliness and longing, you might know,<br /> +A stranger in Alaska, here in Fairbanks,<br /> +In love besides, and mulling in my mind<br /> +Our days and nights upon the steamer <i>Alice</i>,<br /> +Our ramblings in the Northland.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Weeks went by,</span><br /> +No letter and no girl. I found my health<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>Was vigorous again. One morning walking<br /> +I kicked a twenty dollar gold piece up<br /> +Right on the side-walk. Picked it up and said:<br /> +“An omen of good luck, a letter soon!<br /> +Perhaps this town has something for me!” Well,<br /> +I thought I’d get a job to pass the time<br /> +While waiting for my girl. I got the job<br /> +And here I am to-day; I’ve flourished here,<br /> +Worked to the top in Fairbanks in eight years,<br /> +And thus my hat blew off.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">What of the girl?</span><br /> +Six weeks or more a letter came from her,<br /> +She crossed the Arctic Circle, went to Nome,<br /> +Sailed back to ’Frisco where she wrote to me.<br /> +Sent all the money back I loaned to her,<br /> +And thanked me for the honor I had done her<br /> +In asking her in marriage, but had thought<br /> +The matter over, could not marry me,<br /> +Thought in the circumstances it was useless<br /> +To come to Fairbanks, see me, tell me so.<br /> +<br /> +Now, Bill, I’m egotist enough to think<br /> +This girl could do no better. Now it seems<br /> +She’s dead and never married—why not me?<br /> +Why did she ditch me? So I thought about it,<br /> +Was piqued of course, concluded in the end<br /> +There was another man. A woman’s no<br /> +Means she has someone else, expects to have,<br /> +More suited to her fancy. Then one morning<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>As I awoke with thoughts of her as usual<br /> +Right in my mind there plumped an incident<br /> +On shipboard when she asked me if I knew<br /> +A certain man in Chicago. At the time<br /> +The question passed amid our running talk,<br /> +And made no memory. But you watch and see<br /> +A woman when she asks you if you know<br /> +A certain man, the chances are the man<br /> +Is something in her life. So now I lay<br /> +And thought there is a man, and that’s the man;<br /> +His name is stored away, I’ll dig it up<br /> +Out of the cells subliminal—so I thought<br /> +But could not bring it back.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">I found at last</span><br /> +The telephone directory of Chicago,<br /> +And searched and searched the names from A to Z.<br /> +Some mornings would pronounce a name and think<br /> +That is the name, then throw the name away—<br /> +It did not fit the echo in my brain.<br /> +<br /> +But now at last—look here! Eight years are gone,<br /> +I’m healed of Elenor Murray, married too;<br /> +And read about her death here in the <i>Times</i>,<br /> +And turn the pages over—column five—<br /> +Chicago startled by a suicide—<br /> +Gregory Wenner kills himself—behold<br /> +The name, at last, she spoke!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So much for waters in Alaska. Now<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>Turn eyes upon the waters nearer home.<br /> +Anton Sosnowski has a fateful day<br /> +And Winthrop Marion runs the story down,<br /> +And learns Sosnowski read the <i>Times</i> the day,<br /> +He broke from brooding to a dreadful deed;<br /> +Sosnowski saw the face of Elenor Murray<br /> +And Rufus Fox upon the self-same page,<br /> +And afterwards was known to show a clipping<br /> +Concerning Elenor Murray and the banner<br /> +Of Joan of Arc, the words she wrote and folded<br /> +Within the banner: to be brave, nor flinch.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>ANTON SOSNOWSKI</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Anton Sosnowski, from the Shakspeare School<br /> +Where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts,<br /> +The day now done, sits by a smeared up table<br /> +Munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him<br /> +The evening paper spread, held down or turned<br /> +By claw-like hands, covered with shiny scars.<br /> +He broods upon the war news, and his fate<br /> +Which keeps him from the war, looks up and sees<br /> +His scarred face in the mirror over the wainscot;<br /> +His lashless eyes and browless brows and head<br /> +With patches of thin hair. And then he mutters<br /> +Hot curses to himself and turns the paper<br /> +And curses Germany, and asks revenge<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>For Poland’s wrongs.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And what is this he sees?</span><br /> +The picture of his ruin and his hate,<br /> +Wert Rufus Fox! This leader of the bar<br /> +Is made the counselor of the city, now<br /> +The city takes gas, cars and telephones<br /> +And runs them for the people. So this man<br /> +Grown rich through machinations against the people,<br /> +Who fought the people all his life before,<br /> +Abettor, aider, thinker for the slickers<br /> +Regraters and forestallers and engrossers,<br /> +Is now the friend, adviser of the city,<br /> +Which he so balked and thwarted, growing rich,<br /> +Feared, noted, bowed to for the very treason<br /> +For which he is so hated, yet deferred to.<br /> +<br /> +And Anton looks upon the picture, reads<br /> +About the great man’s ancestry here printed,<br /> +And all the great achievements of his life;<br /> +Once president of the bar association,<br /> +And member of this club and of that club.<br /> +Contributor to charities and art,<br /> +A founder of a library, a vestryman.<br /> +And Anton looks upon the picture, trembles<br /> +Before the picture’s eyes. They are the eyes<br /> +Of Innocent the Tenth, with cruelty<br /> +And cunning added—eyes that see all things<br /> +And boulder jaws that crush all things—the jaws<br /> +That place themselves at front of drifts, are placed<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>By that world irony which mocks the good,<br /> +And gives the glory and the victory<br /> +To strength and greed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Anton Sosnowski looks</span><br /> +Long at the picture, then at his own hands,<br /> +And laughs maniacally as he takes the mug<br /> +With both hands like a bird with frozen claws,<br /> +These broken, burned off hands which handle bread<br /> +As they were wooden rakes. And in a mirror<br /> +Beside the table in the wall, smeared over<br /> +With steam from red-hots, kraut and cookery,<br /> +Of smoking fats, fixed by the dust in blurs,<br /> +And streaks, he sees his own face, horrible<br /> +For scars and splotches as of leprosy;<br /> +The eyes that have no lashes and no brows;<br /> +The bullet head that has no hair, the ears<br /> +Burnt off at top.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">So comes it to this Pole</span><br /> +Who sees beside the picture of the lawyer<br /> +The clear cut face of Elenor Murray—yes,<br /> +She gave her spirit to the war, is dead,<br /> +Her life is being sifted now. But Fox<br /> +Lives for more honors, and by honors covers<br /> +His days of evil.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Thus Sosnowski broods,</span><br /> +And lives again that moment of hell when fire<br /> +Burst like a geyser from a vat where gas<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>Had gathered in his ignorance; being sent<br /> +To light a drying stove within the vat,<br /> +A work not his, who was the engineer.<br /> +The gas exploded as he struck the match,<br /> +And like an insect fixed upon a pin<br /> +And held before a flame, hands, face and body<br /> +Were burned and broken as his body shot<br /> +Up and against the brewery wall. What next?<br /> +The wearisome and tangled ways of courts<br /> +With Rufus Fox for foe, four trials in all<br /> +Where juries disagreed who heard the law<br /> +Erroneously given by the court.<br /> +At last a verdict favorable, and a court<br /> +Sitting above the forum where he won<br /> +To say, as there’s no evidence to show<br /> +Just how the gas got in the vat, Sosnowski<br /> +Must go for life with broken hands unhelped.<br /> +And that the fact alone of gas therein<br /> +Though naught to show his fault had brought it there,<br /> +The mere explosion did not speak a fault<br /> +Against the brewery.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Out from court he went</span><br /> +To use a broom with crumpled hands, and look<br /> +For life in mirrors at his ghastly face.<br /> +And brood until suspicion grew to truth<br /> +That Rufus Fox had compassed juries, courts;<br /> +And read of Rufus Fox, who day by day<br /> +Was featured in the press for noble deeds,<br /> +For Art or Charity, for notable dinners,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>Guests, travels and what not.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">So now the Pole</span><br /> +Reading of Elenor Murray, cursed himself<br /> +That he could brood and wait—for what?—and grow<br /> +More weak of will for brooding, while this woman<br /> +Had gone to war and served and ended it,<br /> +Yet he lived on, and could not go to war;<br /> +Saw only days of sweeping with these hands,<br /> +And every day his face within the mirror,<br /> +And every afternoon this glass of beer,<br /> +And coarse bread, and these thoughts.<br /> +And every day some story to arouse<br /> +His sense of justice; how the generous<br /> +Give and pass on, and how the selfish live<br /> +And gather honors. But Sosnowski thought<br /> +If I could do a flaming thing to show<br /> +What courts are ours, what matter if I die?<br /> +What if they took their quick-lime and erased<br /> +My flesh and bones, expunged my very name,<br /> +And made its syllables forbidden?—still<br /> +If I brought in a new day for the courts,<br /> +Have I not served? he thought. Sosnowski rose<br /> +And to the bar, drank whiskey, then went out.<br /> +<br /> +That afternoon Elihu Rufus Fox<br /> +Came home to dress for a dinner to be given<br /> +For English notables in town—to rest<br /> +After a bath, and found himself alone,<br /> +His wife at Red Cross work. And there alone,<br /> +Collarless, lounging, in a comfort chair,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>Poring on Wordsworth’s poems—all at once<br /> +Before he hears the door turned, rather feels<br /> +A foot-fall and a presence, hears too soon<br /> +A pistol shot, looks up and sees Sosnowski,<br /> +Who fires again, but misses; grabs the man,<br /> +Disarms him, flings him down, and finding blood<br /> +Upon his shirt sleeve, sees his hand is hit,<br /> +No other damage—then the pistol takes,<br /> +And covering Sosnowski, looks at him.<br /> +And after several seconds gets the face<br /> +Which gradually comes forth from memories<br /> +Of many cases, knows the man at last.<br /> +And studying Sosnowski, Rufus Fox<br /> +Divines what drove the fellow to this deed.<br /> +And in these moments Rufus Fox beholds<br /> +His life and work, and how he made the law<br /> +A thing to use, how he had builded friendships<br /> +In clubs and churches, courted politicians,<br /> +And played with secret powers, and compromised<br /> +Causes and truths for power and capital<br /> +To draw on as a lawyer, so to win<br /> +Favorable judgments when his skill was hired<br /> +By those who wished to win, who had to win<br /> +To keep the social order undisturbed<br /> +And wealth where it was wrenched to.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">And Rufus Fox</span><br /> +Knew that this trembling wreck before him knew<br /> +About this course of life at making law<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>And using law, and using those who sit<br /> +To administer the law. And then he said:<br /> +“Why did you do this?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">And Sosnowski spoke:</span><br /> +“I meant to kill you—where’s your right to live<br /> +When millions have been killed to make the world<br /> +A safer place for liberty? Where’s your right<br /> +To live and have more honors, be the man<br /> +To guide the city, now that telephones,<br /> +Gas, railways have been taken by the city?<br /> +I meant to kill you just to help the poor<br /> +Who go to court. For had I killed you here<br /> +My story would be known, no matter if<br /> +They buried me in lime, and made my name<br /> +A word no man could speak. Now I have failed.<br /> +And since you have the pistol, point it at me<br /> +And kill me now—for if you tell the world<br /> +You killed me in defense of self, the world<br /> +Will never doubt you, for the world believes you<br /> +And will not doubt your word, whatever it is.”<br /> +<br /> +And Rufus Fox replied: “Your mind is turned<br /> +For thinking of your case, when you should know<br /> +This country is a place of laws, and law<br /> +Must have its way, no matter who is hurt.<br /> +Now I must turn you over to the courts,<br /> +And let you feel the hard hand of the law.”<br /> +Just then the wife of Rufus Fox came in,<br /> +And saw her husband with his granite jaws,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>And lowering countenance, blood on his shirt,<br /> +The pistol in his hand, the scarred Sosnowski,<br /> +Facing the lawyer.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Seeing that her husband</span><br /> +Had no wound but a hand clipped of the skin,<br /> +And learning what the story was, she saw<br /> +It was no time to let Sosnowski’s wrong<br /> +Come out to cloud the glory of her husband,<br /> +Now that in a new day he had come to stand<br /> +With progress, fairer terms of life—to let<br /> +The corpse of a dead day be brought beside<br /> +The fresh and breathing life of brighter truth.<br /> +Quickly she called the butler, gave him charge<br /> +Over Sosnowski, who was taken out,<br /> +Held in the kitchen, while the two conferred,<br /> +The husband and the wife.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">To him she said,</span><br /> +They two alone now: “I can see your plan<br /> +To turn this fellow over to the law.<br /> +It will not do, my dear, it will not do.<br /> +For though I have been sharer in your life,<br /> +Partaker of its spoils and fruits, I see<br /> +This man is just a ghost of a dead day<br /> +Of your past life, perhaps, in which I shared.<br /> +But that dead life I would not resurrect<br /> +In memory even, it has passed us by,<br /> +You shall not live it more, no more shall I.<br /> +The war has changed the world—the harvest coming<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>Will have its tares no doubt, but the old tares<br /> +Have been cut out and burned, wholly, I trust.<br /> +And just to think you used that sharpened talent<br /> +For getting money, place, in the old regime,<br /> +To place you where to-day? Why, where you must<br /> +Use all your talents for the common good.<br /> +A barter takes two parties, and the traffic<br /> +Whereby the giants of the era gone—<br /> +(You are a giant rising on the wreck<br /> +Of programs and of plots)—made riches for<br /> +Themselves and those they served, is gone as well.<br /> +Since gradually no one is left to serve<br /> +Or have an interest but the state or city,<br /> +The community which is all and should be all.<br /> +So here you are at last despite yourself,<br /> +Changed not in mind perhaps, but changed in place,<br /> +Work, interest, taking pride too in the work;<br /> +And speaking with your outer mind, at least<br /> +Praise for the day and work.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">I am at fault,</span><br /> +And take no virtue to myself—I lived<br /> +Your life with you and coveted the things<br /> +Your labors brought me. All is changed for me.<br /> +I would be poorer than this wretched Pole<br /> +Rather than go back to the day that’s dead,<br /> +Or reassume the moods I lived them through.<br /> +What can we do now to undo the past,<br /> +Those days of self-indulgence, ostentation,<br /> +False prestige, witless pride, that waste of time,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>Money and spirit, haunted by ennui<br /> +Insatiable emotion, thirst for change.<br /> +At least we can do this: We can set up<br /> +The race’s progress and our country’s glory<br /> +As standards for our work each day, go on<br /> +Perhaps in ignorance, misguided faith;<br /> +And let the end approve our poor attempts.<br /> +Now to begin, I ask two things of you:<br /> +If you or anyone who did your will<br /> +Wronged this poor Pole, make good the wrong at once.<br /> +And for the sake of bigness let him go.<br /> +For your own name’s sake, let the fellow go.<br /> +Do you so promise me?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And Rufus Fox,</span><br /> +Who looked a thunder cloud of wrath and power<br /> +Before the mirror tying his white tie,<br /> +All this time silent—only spoke these words:<br /> +“Go tell the butler to keep guard on him<br /> +And hold him till we come from dinner.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">The wife</span><br /> +Looked at the red black face of Rufus Fox<br /> +There in the mirror, which like Lao’s mirror<br /> +Reflected what his mind was, then went out<br /> +Gently to her bidding, found Sosnowski<br /> +Laughing and talking with the second maid,<br /> +Watched over by the butler, quite himself,<br /> +His pent up anger half discharged, his grudge<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>In part relieved.<br /> +<br /> +There was a garrulous ancient at LeRoy<br /> +Who traced all evils to monopoly<br /> +In land, all social cures to single tax.<br /> +He tried to button-hole the coroner<br /> +And tell him what he thought of Elenor Murray.<br /> +But Merival escaped. And then this man,<br /> +Consider Freeland named, got in a group<br /> +And talked his mind out of the case, the land<br /> +And what makes poverty and waste in lives:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>CONSIDER FREELAND</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Look at that tract of land there—five good acres<br /> +Held out of use these thirty years and more.<br /> +They keep a cow there. See! the cow’s there now.<br /> +She can’t eat up the grass, there is so much.<br /> +And in these thirty years these houses here,<br /> +Here, all around here have been built. This lot<br /> +Is worth five times the worth it had before<br /> +These houses were built round it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Well, by God,</span><br /> +I am in part responsible for this.<br /> +I started out to be a first rate lawyer.<br /> +Was I first rate lawyer? Well, I won<br /> +These acres for the Burtons in the day<br /> +When I could tell you what is gavel kind,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>Advowsons, corodies, frank tenements,<br /> +Scutage, escheats, feoffments, heriots,<br /> +Remainders and reversions, and mortmain,<br /> +Tale special and tale general, tale female,<br /> +Fees absolute, conditional, copyholds;<br /> +And used to stand and argue with the courts<br /> +The difference ’twixt a purchase, limitation,<br /> +The rule in Shelley’s case.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And so it was</span><br /> +In my good days I won these acres here<br /> +For old man Kingston’s daughter, who in turn<br /> +Bound it with limitation for the life<br /> +Of selfish sons, who keep a caretaker,<br /> +Who keeps a cow upon it. There’s the cow!<br /> +The land has had no use for thirty years.<br /> +The children are kept off it. Elenor Murray,<br /> +This girl whose death makes such a stir, one time<br /> +Was playing there—but that’s another story.<br /> +I only say for the present, these five acres<br /> +Made Elenor Murray’s life a thing of waste<br /> +As much as anything, and a damn sight more.<br /> +For think a minute!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Kingston had a daughter</span><br /> +Married to Colonel Burton in Kentucky.<br /> +And Kingston’s son was in the Civil War.<br /> +But just before the war, the Burtons deeded<br /> +These acres here, which she inherited<br /> +From old man Kingston, to this Captain Kingston,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>The son aforesaid of Old Kingston. Well,<br /> +The deed upon its face was absolute,<br /> +But really was a deed in trust.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">The Captain</span><br /> +Held title for a year or two, and then<br /> +An hour before he fought at Shiloh, made<br /> +A will, and willed acres to his wife,<br /> +Fee simple and forever. Now you’d think<br /> +That contemplating death, he’d make a deed<br /> +Giving these acres back to Mrs. Burton,<br /> +The sister who had trusted him. I don’t know<br /> +What comes in people’s heads, but I believe<br /> +The want of money is the root of evil,<br /> +As well as love of money; for this Captain<br /> +Perhaps would make provision for his wife<br /> +And infant son, thought that the chiefest thing<br /> +No matter how he did it, being poor,<br /> +Willed this land as he did. But anyway<br /> +He willed it so, went into Shiloh’s battle,<br /> +And fell dead on the field.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">What happened then?</span><br /> +They took this will to probate. As I said<br /> +I was a lawyer then, you may believe it,<br /> +Was hired by the Burtons to reclaim<br /> +These acres from the Widow Kingston’s clutch,<br /> +Under this wicked will. And so I argued<br /> +The will had not been witnessed according to law.<br /> +Got beat upon that point in the lower court,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>But won upon it in the upper courts.<br /> +Then next I filed a bill to set aside<br /> +This deed the Burtons made to Captain Kingston—<br /> +Oh, I was full of schemes, expedients,<br /> +In those days, I can tell you. Widow Kingston<br /> +Came back and filed a cross bill, asked the court<br /> +To confirm the title in her son and her<br /> +As heirs of Captain Kingston, let the will<br /> +Go out of thought and reckoning. Here’s the issue;<br /> +You understand the case, no doubt. We fought<br /> +Through all the courts. I lost in the lower court,<br /> +As I lost on the will. There was the deed:<br /> +For love and affection and one dollar we<br /> +Convey and warrant lots from one to ten<br /> +In the city of LeRoy, to Captain Kingston<br /> +To be his own forever.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">How to go</span><br /> +Behind such words and show the actual trust<br /> +Inhering in the deed, that was the job.<br /> +But here I was resourceful as before,<br /> +Found witnesses to testify they heard<br /> +This Captain Kingston say he held the acres<br /> +In trust for Mrs. Burton—but I lost<br /> +Before the chancellor, had to appeal,<br /> +But won on the appeal, and thus restored<br /> +These acres to the Burtons. And for this<br /> +What did I get? Three hundred lousy dollars.<br /> +That’s why I smoke a pipe; that’s also why<br /> +I quit the business when I saw the business<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>Was making ready to quit me. By God,<br /> +My life is waste so far as it was used<br /> +By this law business, and no coroner<br /> +Need hold an inquest on me to find out<br /> +What waste was in my life—God damn the law!<br /> +<br /> +Well, then I go my way, and take my fee,<br /> +And pay my bills. The Burtons have the land,<br /> +And turn a cow upon it. See how nice<br /> +A playground it would be. I’ve seen ten sets<br /> +Of children try to play there—hey! you hear,<br /> +The caretaker come out, get off of there!<br /> +And then the children scamper, climb the fence.<br /> +<br /> +Well, after while the Burtons die. The will<br /> +Leaves these five acres to their sons for life,<br /> +Remainder to the children of the sons.<br /> +The sons are living yet at middle life,<br /> +These acres have been tied up twenty years,<br /> +They may be tied up thirty years beside:<br /> +The sons can’t sell it, and their children can’t,<br /> +Only the cow can use it, as it stands.<br /> +It grows more valuable as the people come here,<br /> +And bring in being Elenor Murrays, children,<br /> +And make the land around it populous.<br /> +That’s what makes poverty, this holding land,<br /> +It makes the taxes harder on the poor,<br /> +It makes work scarcer, and it takes your girls<br /> +And boys and throws them into life half made,<br /> +Half ready for the battle. Is a country<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>Free where the laws permit such things? Your priests,<br /> +Your addle-headed preachers mouthing Christ<br /> +And morals, prohibition, laws to force<br /> +People to be good, to save the girls,<br /> +When every half-wit knows environment<br /> +Takes natures, made unstable in these homes<br /> +Of poverty and does the trick.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">That baronet</span><br /> +Who mocked our freedom, sailing back for England<br /> +And said: Your Liberty Statue in the harbor<br /> +Is just a joke, that baronet is right,<br /> +While such conditions thrive.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Well, look at me</span><br /> +Who for three hundred dollars take a part<br /> +In making a cow pasture for a cow<br /> +For fifty years or so. I hate myself.<br /> +And were the Burtons better than this Kingston?<br /> +Kingston would will away what was not his.<br /> +The Burtons took what is the gift of God,<br /> +As much as air, and fenced it out of use—<br /> +Save for the cow aforesaid—for the lives<br /> +Of sons in being.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Oh, I know you think</span><br /> +I have a grudge. I have.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">This Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Was ten years old I think, this law suit ended<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>Twelve years or so, and I was running down,<br /> +Was tippling just a little every day;<br /> +And I came by this lot one afternoon<br /> +When school was out, a sunny afternoon.<br /> +The children had no place except the street<br /> +To play in; they were standing by the fence,<br /> +The cow was way across the lot, and Elenor<br /> +Was looking through the fence, some boys and girls<br /> +Standing around her, and I said to them:<br /> +“Why don’t you climb the fence and play in there?”<br /> +And Elenor—she always was a leader,<br /> +And not afraid of anything, said: “Come on,”<br /> +And in a jiffy climbed the fence, the children,<br /> +Some quicker and some slower, followed her.<br /> +Some said “They don’t allow it.” Elenor<br /> +Stood on the fence, flung up her arms and crowed,<br /> +And said “What can they do? He says to do it,”<br /> +Pointing at me. And in a moment all of them<br /> +Were playing and were shouting in the lot.<br /> +And I stood there and watched them half malicious,<br /> +And half in pleasure watching them at play.<br /> +Then I heard “hey!” the care-taker ran out.<br /> +And said “Get out of there, I will arrest you.”<br /> +He drove them out and as they jumped the fence<br /> +Some said, “He told us to,” pointing at me.<br /> +And Elenor Murray said “Why, what a lie!”<br /> +And then the care-taker grabbed Elenor Murray<br /> +And said, “You are the wildest of them all.”<br /> +I spoke up, saying, “Leave that child alone.<br /> +I won this God damn land for those you serve,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>They use it for a cow and nothing else,<br /> +And let these children run about the streets,<br /> +When there are grass and dandelions there<br /> +In plenty for these children, and the cow,<br /> +And space enough to play in without bothering<br /> +That solitary cow.” I took his hands<br /> +Away from Elenor Murray; he and I<br /> +Came face to face with clenched fists—but at last<br /> +He walked away; the children scampered off.<br /> +<br /> +Next day, however, they arrested me<br /> +For aiding in a <i>trespass clausam fregit</i>,<br /> +And fined me twenty dollars and the costs.<br /> +Since then the cow has all her way in there.<br /> +And Elenor Murray left this rotten place,<br /> +Went to the war, came home and died, and proved<br /> +She had the sense to leave so vile a world.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +George Joslin ending up his days with dreams<br /> +Of youth in Europe, travels, and with talk,<br /> +Stirred to a recollection of a face<br /> +He saw in Paris fifty years before,<br /> +Because the face resembled Elenor Murray’s,<br /> +Explored his drawers and boxes, where he kept<br /> +Mementos, treasures of the olden days.<br /> +And found a pamphlet, came to Merival,<br /> +With certain recollections, and with theories<br /> +Of Elenor Murray:—</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> +<h2>GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Here, Coroner Merival, look at this picture!<br /> +Whom does it look like? Eyes too crystalline,<br /> +A head like Byron’s, tender mouth, and neck,<br /> +Slender and white, a pathos as of smiles<br /> +And tears kept back by courage. Yes, you know<br /> +It looks like Elenor Murray.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Well, you see</span><br /> +I read each day about the inquest—good!<br /> +Dig out the truth, begin a system here<br /> +Of making family records, let us see<br /> +If we can do for people when we know<br /> +How best to do it, what is done for stock.<br /> +So build up Illinois, the nation too.<br /> +I read about you daily. And last night<br /> +When Elenor Murray’s picture in the <i>Times</i><br /> +Looked at me, I began to think, Good Lord,<br /> +Where have I seen that face before? I thought<br /> +Through more than fifty years departed, sent<br /> +My mind through Europe and America<br /> +In all my travels, meetings, episodes.<br /> +I could not think. At last I opened up<br /> +A box of pamphlets, photographs, mementos,<br /> +Picked up since 1860, and behold<br /> +I find this pamphlet of La Belle Menken.<br /> +Here is your Elenor Murray born again,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>As here might be your blackbird of this year<br /> +With spots of red upon his wings, the same<br /> +As last year’s blackbird, like a pansy springing<br /> +Out of the April of this year, repeating<br /> +The color, form of one you saw last year.<br /> +Repeating and the same, but not the same;<br /> +No two alike, you know. I’ll come to that.<br /> +<br /> +Well, then, La Menken—as a boy in Paris<br /> +I saw La Menken, I’ll return to this.<br /> +But just as Elenor Murray has her life<br /> +Shadowed and symbolized by our Starved Rock—<br /> +And everyone has something in his life<br /> +Which takes him, makes him, is the image too<br /> +Of fate prefigured—La Menken has Mazeppa,<br /> +Her notable first part as actress, emblem<br /> +Of spirit, character, and of omen too<br /> +Of years to come, the thrill of life, the end.<br /> +<br /> +Who is La Menken? Symbol of America,<br /> +One phase of spirit! She was venturesome,<br /> +Resourceful, daring, hopeful, confident,<br /> +And as she wrote of self, a vagabond,<br /> +A dweller in tents, a reveler, and a flame<br /> +Aspiring but disreputable, coming up<br /> +With leaves that shamed her stalk, could not be shed,<br /> +But stuck out heavy veined and muddy hued<br /> +In time of blossom. There are souls, you know,<br /> +Who have shed shapeless immaturities,<br /> +Betrayals of the seed before the blossom<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>Comes to proclaim a beauty, a perfection;<br /> +Or risen with their stalk, until such leaves<br /> +Were hidden in the grass or soil—not she,<br /> +Nor even your Elenor Murray, as I read her.<br /> +But being America and American,<br /> +Brings good and bad together, blossom and leaves<br /> +With prodigal recklessness, in vital health<br /> +And unselective taste and vision mixed<br /> +Of beauty and of truth.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Who was La Menken?</span><br /> +She’s born in Louisiana in thirty-five,<br /> +Left fatherless at seven—mother takes her<br /> +And puts her in the ballet at New Orleans.<br /> +She dances then from Texas clear to Cuba;<br /> +Then gives up dancing, studies tragedy,<br /> +And plays Bianca! Fourteen years of age<br /> +Weds Menken, who’s a Jew, divorced from him;<br /> +Then falls in love with Heenan, pugilist.<br /> +They quarrel and separate—it’s in this pamphlet<br /> +Just as I tell you; you can take it, Coroner.<br /> +Now something happens, nothing in her birth<br /> +Or place of birth to prophesy her life<br /> +Like Starved Rock to this Elenor—being grown,<br /> +A hand instead is darted from the curtain<br /> +That hangs between to-day, to-morrow, sticks<br /> +A symbol on her heart and whispers to her:<br /> +You’re this, my woman. Well, the thing was this:<br /> +She played Mazeppa: take your dummy off,<br /> +And lash me to the horse. They were afraid,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>But she prevailed, was nearly killed the first night,<br /> +And after that succeeded, was the rage<br /> +And for her years remaining found herself<br /> +Lashed to the wild horse of ungoverned will,<br /> +Which ran and wandered, till she knew herself<br /> +With stronger will than vision, passion stronger<br /> +Than spirit to judge; the richness of the world,<br /> +Love, beauty, living, greater than her power.<br /> +And all the time she had the appetite<br /> +To eat, devour it all. Grown sick at last,<br /> +She diagnosed her case, wrote to a friend:<br /> +The soul and body do not fit each other—<br /> +A human spirit in a horse’s flesh.<br /> +This is your Elenor Murray, in a way.<br /> +But to return to pansies, run your hand<br /> +Over a bed of pansies; here’s a pansy<br /> +With petals stunted, here’s another one<br /> +All perfect but one petal, here’s another<br /> +Too streaked or mottled—all are pansies though.<br /> +And here is one full petaled, strikes the eye<br /> +With perfect color, markings. Elenor Murray<br /> +Has something of the color and the form<br /> +Of this La Menken, but is less a pansy,<br /> +And Sappho, Rachel, Bernhardt are the flowers<br /> +La Menken strove to be, and could not be,<br /> +Ended with being only of their kind.<br /> +And now there’s pity for this Elenor Murray,<br /> +And people wept when poor La Menken died.<br /> +Both lived and had their way. I hate this pity,<br /> +It makes you overlook there are two hours:<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>The hour of joy, the hour of finding out<br /> +Your joy was all mistake, or led to pain.<br /> +We who inspect these lives behold the pain,<br /> +And see the error, do not keep in mind<br /> +The hour of rapture, and the pride, indeed<br /> +With which your Elenor Murrays and La Menkens<br /> +Have lived that hour, elation, pride and scorn<br /> +For any other way—“this is the life”<br /> +I hear them say.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Well, now I go along.</span><br /> +La Menken fills her purse with gold—she sends<br /> +Her pugilist away, tries once again<br /> +And weds a humorist, an Orpheus Kerr—<br /> +And plays before the miners out in ’Frisco,<br /> +And Sacramento, gathers in the eagles.<br /> +She goes to Europe then—with husband? No!<br /> +James Barkley is her fellow on the voyage.<br /> +She lands in London, takes a gorgeous suite<br /> +In London’s grandest hostlery, entertains<br /> +Charles Dickens, Prince Baerto and Charles Read,<br /> +The Duke of Wellington and Swinburne, Sand<br /> +And Jenny Lind; and has a liveried coachman;<br /> +And for a crest a horse’s head surmounting<br /> +Four aces, if you please. And plays Mazeppa,<br /> +And piles the money up.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Then next is Paris.</span><br /> +And there I saw her, 1866,<br /> +When Louis Napoleon and the King of Greece,<br /> +The Prince Imperial were in a box.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span><br /> +She wandered to Vienna, there was ill,<br /> +Came back to Paris, died, a stranger’s grave<br /> +In Pere la Chaise was given, afterwards<br /> +Exhumed in Mont Parnasse was buried, got<br /> +A little stone with these words carved upon it:<br /> +“Thou Knowest” meaning God knew, while herself<br /> +Knew nothing of herself.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">But when in Paris</span><br /> +They sold her picture taken with her arms<br /> +Around Dumas, and photographs made up<br /> +Of postures ludicrous, obscene as well,<br /> +Of her and great Dumas, I have them home.<br /> +Can show you sometime. Well she loved Dumas,<br /> +Inscribed a book of poems to Charles Dickens,<br /> +By his permission, mark you—don’t you see<br /> +Your Elenor Murray here? This Elenor Murray<br /> +A miniature imperfect of La Menken?<br /> +She loved sensation, all her senses thrilled her;<br /> +A delicate soul too weighted by the flesh;<br /> +A coquette, quick of wit, intuitive,<br /> +Kind, generous, unaffected, mystical,<br /> +Teased by the divine in life, and melancholy,<br /> +Of deep emotion sometimes. One has said<br /> +She had a nature spiritual, religious<br /> +Which warred upon the flesh and fell in battle;<br /> +Just as your Elenor Murray joined the church,<br /> +And did not keep the faith, if truth be told.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span><br /> +Now look, here is a letter in this pamphlet<br /> +La Menken writes a poet—for she hunts<br /> +For seers and for poets, lofty souls.<br /> +And who does that? A woman wholly bad?<br /> +Why no, a woman to be given life<br /> +Fit for her spirit in another realm<br /> +By God who will take notice, I believe.<br /> +Now listen if you will! “I know your soul.<br /> +It has met mine somewhere in starry space.<br /> +And you must often meet me, vagabond<br /> +Of fancy without aim, a dweller in tents<br /> +Disreputable before the just. Just think<br /> +I am a linguist, write some poems too,<br /> +Can paint a little, model clay as well.<br /> +And yet for all these gropings of my soul<br /> +I am a vagabond, of little use.<br /> +My body and my soul are in a scramble<br /> +And do not fit each other—let them carve<br /> +Those words upon my stone, but also these<br /> +Thou Knowest, for God knows me, knows I love<br /> +Whatever is good and beautiful in life;<br /> +And that my soul has sought them without rest.<br /> +Farewell, my friend, my spirit is with you,<br /> +Vienna is too horrible, but know Paris<br /> +Then die content.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Now, Coroner Merival,</span><br /> +You’re not the only man who wants to see,<br /> +Will work to make America a republic<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>Of splendors, freedoms, happiness, success.<br /> +Though I am seventy-six, cannot do much,<br /> +Save talk, as I am talking now, bring forth<br /> +Proofs, revelations from the years I’ve lived.<br /> +I care not how you view the lives of people,<br /> +As pansy beds or what not, lift your faith<br /> +So high above the pansy bed it sees<br /> +The streaked and stunted pansies filling in<br /> +The pattern that the perfect pansies outline,<br /> +Therefore are smiling, even indifferent<br /> +To this poor conscious pansy, dying at last<br /> +Because it could not be the flower it wished.<br /> +My heart to Elenor Murray and La Menken<br /> +Goes out in sorrow, even while I know<br /> +They shook their leaves in April, laughed and thrilled,<br /> +And either did not know, or did not care<br /> +The growing time was precious, and if wasted<br /> +Could never be regained. Look at La Menken<br /> +At seven years put in the ballet corps;<br /> +And look at Elenor Murray getting smut<br /> +Out of experience that made her wise.<br /> +What shall we do about it?—let it go?<br /> +And say there is no help, or say a republic,<br /> +Set up a hundred years ago, raised to the helm<br /> +Of rulership as president a list<br /> +Of men more able than the emperors,<br /> +Kings, rulers of the world, and statesmen too<br /> +The equal of the greatest, money makers,<br /> +And domineers of finance and economies<br /> +Phenomenal in time—say, I repeat<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>A country like this one must let its children<br /> +Waste as they wasted in the darker years<br /> +Of Europe. Shall we let these trivial minds<br /> +Who see salvation, progress in restraint,<br /> +Pre-empt the field of moulding human life?<br /> +Or shall we take a hand, and put our minds<br /> +Upon the task, as recently we built<br /> +An army for the war, equipped and fed it,<br /> +An army better than all other armies,<br /> +More powerful, more apt of hand and brain,<br /> +Of thin tall youths, who did stop but said<br /> +Like poor La Menken, strap me to the horse<br /> +I’ll do it if I die—so giving to peace<br /> +The skill and genius which we use in war,<br /> +Though it cost twenty billion, and why not?<br /> +Why every dollar, every drop of blood<br /> +For war like this to guard democracy,<br /> +And not so much or more to build the land,<br /> +Improve our blood, make individual<br /> +America and her race? And first to rout<br /> +Poverty and disease, give youth its chance,<br /> +And therapeutic guidance. Soldier boys<br /> +Have huts for recreation, clergymen,<br /> +And is it more, less worth to furnish hands<br /> +Intimate, hearts intimate for the use<br /> +Of your La Menkens, Elenor Murrays, youths<br /> +Who feel such vigor in their restless wings<br /> +They tumble out of crowded nests and fly<br /> +To fall in thickets, dash themselves against<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>Walls, trees?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">I have a vision, Coroner,</span><br /> +Of a new Republic, brighter than the sun,<br /> +A new race, loftier faith, this land of ours<br /> +Made over as to people, boys and girls,<br /> +Conserved like forests, water power or mines;<br /> +Watched, tested, put to best use, keen economies<br /> +Practiced in spirits, waste of human life,<br /> +Hope, aspiration, talent, virtues, powers,<br /> +Avoided by a science, science of life,<br /> +Of spirit, what you will. Enough of war,<br /> +And billions for the flag—all well enough!<br /> +Some billions now to make democracy<br /> +Democracy in truth with us, and life<br /> +Not helter-skelter, hitting as it may,<br /> +And missing much, as this La Menken did.<br /> +I’m not convinced we must have stunted pansies,<br /> +That have no use but just to piece the pattern.<br /> +Let’s try, and if we try and fail, why then<br /> +Our human duty ends, the God in us<br /> +Will have it just this way, no other way.<br /> +And then we may accept so poor a world,<br /> +A republic so unfinished.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Will Paget is another writer of letters<br /> +To Coroner Merival. The coroner<br /> +Spends evenings reading letters, keeps a file<br /> +Where he preserves them. And the blasphemy<br /> +Of Paget makes him laugh. He has an evening<br /> +And reads this letter to the jurymen:</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> +<h2>WILL PAGET ON DEMOS AND HOGOS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>To Coroner Merival, greetings, but a voice<br /> +Dissentient from much that goes the rounds,<br /> +Concerning Elenor Murray. Here’s my word:<br /> +Give men and women freedom, save the land<br /> +From dull theocracy—the theo, what?<br /> +A blend of Demos and Jehovah! Say,<br /> +Bring back your despots, bring your Louis Fourteenths,<br /> +And give them thrones of gold and ivory<br /> +From where with leaded sceptres they may whack<br /> +King Demos driven forth. You know the face?<br /> +The temples are like sea shells, hollows out,<br /> +Which narrow close the space for cortex cells.<br /> +There would be little brow if hair remained;<br /> +But hair is gone, because the dandruff came.<br /> +The eyes are close together like a weasel’s;<br /> +The jaws are heavy, that is character;<br /> +The mouth is thin and wide to gobble chicken;<br /> +The paunch is heavy for the chickens eaten.<br /> +Throned high upon a soap box Demos rules,<br /> +And mumbles decalogues: Thou shalt not read,<br /> +Save what I tell you, never books that tell<br /> +Of men and women as they live and are.<br /> +Thou shalt not see the dramas which portray<br /> +The evil passions and satiric moods<br /> +Which mock this Christian nation and its hope.<br /> +Thou shalt not drink, not even wine or beer.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>Thou shalt not play at cards, or see the races.<br /> +Thou shalt not be divorced! Thou shalt not play.<br /> +Thou shalt not bow to graven images<br /> +Of beauty cut in marble, fused in bronze.<br /> +Behold my name is Demos, King of Kings,<br /> +My name is legion, I am many, come<br /> +Out of the sea where many hogs were drowned,<br /> +And now the ruler of hogocracy,<br /> +Where in the name of freedom hungry snouts<br /> +Root up the truffles in your great republic,<br /> +And crunch with heavy jaws the legs and arms<br /> +Of people who fall over in the pen.<br /> +Hierarchies in my name are planted under<br /> +Your states political to sprout and take<br /> +The new world’s soil,—religious freedom this!—<br /> +Thought must be free—unless your thought objects<br /> +To such dominion, and to literal faith<br /> +In an old book that never had a place<br /> +Except beside the Koran, Zarathustra.<br /> +So here is your theocracy and here<br /> +The land of Boredom. Do you wonder now<br /> +That people cry for war? You see that God<br /> +Frowns on all games but war. You shall not play<br /> +Or kindle spirit with a rapture save<br /> +A moral end’s in view. All joy is sin,<br /> +Where joy stands for itself alone, nor asks<br /> +Consent to be, save for itself. But war<br /> +Waged to put down the wrong, it’s always that;<br /> +To vindicate God’s truths, all wars are such,<br /> +Is game that lets the spirit play, is backed<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>By God and moral reasons, therefore war,<br /> +A game disguised as business, cosmic work<br /> +For great millenniums, no less relieves<br /> +The boredom of theocracies. But if<br /> +Your men and women had the chance to play,<br /> +Be free and spend superfluous energies,<br /> +In what I call the greatest game, that’s Life,<br /> +Have life more freely, deeply, and you say<br /> +How would you like a war and lose a leg,<br /> +Or come from battle sick for all your years?<br /> +You would say no, unless you saw an issue,<br /> +Stripped clean of Christian twaddle, as we’ll say<br /> +The Greeks beheld the Persians. Well, behold<br /> +All honest paganism in such things discarded<br /> +For God who comes in glory, trampling presses<br /> +Filled up with grapes of wrath.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Now hear me out:</span><br /> +I knew we’d have a war, it wasn’t only<br /> +That your hogocracy was grunting war<br /> +We’d fight Japan, take Mexico—remember<br /> +How dancing flourished madly in the land;<br /> +Then think of savages who dance the Ghost Dance,<br /> +And cattle lowing, rushing in a panic,<br /> +There’s psychic secrets here. But then at last<br /> +What can you do with life? You’re well and strong,<br /> +Flushed with desire, mad with appetites,<br /> +You turn this way and find a sign forbidden,<br /> +You turn that way and find the door is closed.<br /> +Hogocracy, King Demos say, go back,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>Find work, develop character, restrain,<br /> +Draw up your belt a little tighter, hunger<br /> +And thirst diminish with a tighter belt.<br /> +And none to say, take off the belt and eat,<br /> +Here’s water for you.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, you have a war.</span><br /> +We used to say in foot ball kick their shins,<br /> +And gouge their eyes out—when our shins were kicked<br /> +We hollered foul and ouch. There was the south<br /> +Who called us mud-sills in this freer north,<br /> +And mouthed democracy; and as for that<br /> +Their churches made of God a battle leader,<br /> +An idea come from Palestine; oh, yes,<br /> +They soon would wipe us up, they were the people.<br /> +But when we slaughtered them they hollered ouch.<br /> +And why not? For a gun and uniform,<br /> +And bands that play are rapturous enough.<br /> +But when you get a bullet through the heart,<br /> +The game is not so funny as it was.<br /> +That’s why I hated Germany and hate her,<br /> +And feel we could not let this German culture<br /> +Spread over earth. That culture was but this:<br /> +Life must have an expression and a game,<br /> +And war’s the game, besides the prize is great<br /> +In land and treasure, commerce, let us play,<br /> +It lets the people’s passions have a vent<br /> +When fires of life burn hot and hotter under<br /> +The kettle and the lid is clamped by work,<br /> +Dull duty, daily routine, inhibitions.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>Before this Elenor Murray woke to life<br /> +LeRoy was stirring, but the stir was play.<br /> +It was a Gretna Green, and pleasure boats<br /> +Ran up and down the river—on the streets<br /> +You heard the cry of barkers, in the park<br /> +The band was playing, and you heard the ring<br /> +Of registers at fountains and buffets.<br /> +All this was shabby maybe, but observe<br /> +There are those souls who see the wrath of God<br /> +As blackest background to the light of soul:<br /> +And when the thunder rumbles and the storm<br /> +Comes up with lightning then they say to men<br /> +Who laugh in bar-rooms, “Have a care, blasphemers,<br /> +You may be struck by lightning”—here’s the root<br /> +From which this mood ascetic comes to leaf<br /> +In all theocracies, and throws a shadow<br /> +Upon all freedom.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Look at us to-day.</span><br /> +They say to me, see what a town we have:<br /> +The men at work, smoke coming from the chimneys,<br /> +The banks full up of money, business good,<br /> +The workmen sober, going home at night,<br /> +No rowdy barkers and no bands a-playing,<br /> +No drinking and no gaming and no vice.<br /> +No marriages contracted to be broken.<br /> +Look how LeRoy is quiet, sane and clean!<br /> +And I reply, you like the stir of work,<br /> +But not the stir of play; your chimneys smoke,<br /> +Your banks have money. Let me look behind<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>The door that closes on your man at home,<br /> +The wife and children there, what shall I find?<br /> +A sick man looks to health as it were all,<br /> +But when the fever leaves him and he feels<br /> +The store of strength in muscles slumbering<br /> +And waiting to be used, then something else<br /> +Than health is needful, he must have a way<br /> +To voice the life within him, and he wonders<br /> +Why health seemed so desirable before,<br /> +And all sufficient to him.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Take this girl:</span><br /> +Why do you marvel that she rode at night<br /> +With any man who came along? Good God,<br /> +If I were born a woman and they put me<br /> +In a theocracy, hogocracy,<br /> +I’d do the first thing that came in my mind<br /> +To give my soul expression. Don’t you think<br /> +You’re something of a bully and a coward<br /> +To ask such model living from this girl<br /> +When you, my grunting hogos, run the land<br /> +And bring us scandals like the times of Grant,<br /> +And poisoned beef sold to the soldier boys,<br /> +When we were warring Spain, and all this stuff<br /> +Concerning loot and plunder, malversation,<br /> +That riots in your cities, printed daily?<br /> +I roll the panoramic story out<br /> +To Washington the great—what do I see?<br /> +It’s tangle foot, the sticky smear is dry;<br /> +But I can find wings, legs and heads, remember<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>How little flies and big were buzzing once<br /> +Of God and duty, country, virtue, faith;<br /> +And beating wings, already gummed with sweet,<br /> +Until their little bellies touched the glue,<br /> +They sought to fill their bellies with—at last<br /> +Long silence, which is history, scroll rolled up<br /> +And spoken of in sacred whispers.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Well,</span><br /> +I’m glad that Elenor Murray had her fling,<br /> +If that be really true. I understand<br /> +What drove her to the war. I think she knew<br /> +Too much to marry, settle down and live<br /> +Under the rule of Demos or of Hogos.<br /> +I wish we had a dozen Elenor Murrays<br /> +In every village in this land of Demos<br /> +To down Theocracy, which is just as bad<br /> +As Prussianism, is no different<br /> +From Prussianism. And I fear but this<br /> +As fruitage of the war: that men and women<br /> +Will have burnt on their souls the words ceramic<br /> +That war’s the thing, and this theocracy,<br /> +Where generous outlets for the soul are stopped<br /> +Will keep the words in mind. When boredom comes,<br /> +And grows intolerable, you’ll see the land<br /> +Go forth to war to get a thrill and live—<br /> +Unless we work for freedom, for delight<br /> +And self-expression.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br />Dwight Henry is another writer of letters,<br /> +Stirred by the Murray inquest; writes a screed<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>“The House that Jack Built,” read by Merival<br /> +To entertain his jury, in these words:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Why don’t they come to me to find the cause<br /> +Of Elenor Murray’s death? The house is first;<br /> +That is the world, and Jack is God, you know;<br /> +The malt is linen, purple, wine and food,<br /> +The rats that get the malt are nobles, lords,<br /> +Those who had feudal dues and hunting rights,<br /> +And privileges, first nights, all the rest.<br /> +The cats are your Voltaires, Rousseaus; the dogs,<br /> +Your jailers, Louis, Fredericks and such.<br /> +And O, you blessed cow, you common people,<br /> +Whom maidens all forlorn attend and milk.<br /> +Here is your Elenor Murray who gives hands,<br /> +Brain, heart and spirit to the task of milking,<br /> +And straining milk that other lips may drink,<br /> +Revive and flourish, wedding, if she weds,<br /> +The tattered man in church, which is your priest<br /> +Shaven and shorn, and wakened with the sun<br /> +By the cock, theology that keeps the house<br /> +Well timed and ruled for honor unto Jack,<br /> +Who must have order, rising on the hour,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>And ceremony for his house.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">If rats</span><br /> +Had never lived, or left the malt alone,<br /> +This girl had lived. Let’s trace the story down:<br /> +We went to France to fight, we go to France<br /> +To get the origin of Elenor’s death.<br /> +It’s 1750, say, the malt of France<br /> +And Europe, too, is over-run by rats;<br /> +The nobles and the clergy own the land,<br /> +Exact the taxes, drink the luscious milk<br /> +Of the crumpled horns. But cats come slinking by<br /> +Called Diderot, Voltaire, Rousseau. Now look!<br /> +Cat Diderot goes after war and taxes,<br /> +The slave trade, privilege, the merchant stomach.<br /> +In England, too, there is a sly grimalkin,<br /> +Who poisons rats with most malicious thoughts,<br /> +And bears the name of Adam—Adam Smith,<br /> +By Jack named Adam just to signify<br /> +His sinful nature. But the cat Voltaire<br /> +Says Adam never fell, that man is good,<br /> +An honest merchant better than a king,<br /> +And shaven priests are worse than parasites.<br /> +He rubs his glossy coat against the legs<br /> +Of Quakers, loving natures, loathes the trade<br /> +Of war, and runs with velvet feet across<br /> +The whole of Europe, scaring rats to death.<br /> +The cat Rousseau is instinct like a cat,<br /> +And purrs that man born free is still in chains<br /> +Here in this house that Jack built. Consequence?<br /> +There is such squeaking, running of the rats,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>The cats in North America wake up<br /> +And drive the English rats out; then the dogs<br /> +Grow cautious of the cats, poor simple Louis<br /> +Convokes a French assembly to preserve<br /> +The malt against the rats and give the cow<br /> +Whose milk is growing blue and thin some malt.<br /> +And all at once rats, cats and dogs, the cow,<br /> +The shaven priest, the maiden all forlorn,<br /> +The tattered man, the cock, are in a hubbub<br /> +Of squeaking, caterwauling, barking, lowing,<br /> +With cock-a-doodles, curses, prayers and shrieks<br /> +Ascending from the melee. In a word,<br /> +You have a revolution.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">All at once</span><br /> +A mastiff dog appears and barks: “Be still.”<br /> +And in a way in France’s room in the house<br /> +Brings order for a time. He grabs the fabric<br /> +Of the Holy Roman Empire, tears it up,<br /> +Sends for the shaven priest from Rome and bites<br /> +His shrunken calves; trots off to Jena where<br /> +He whips the Prussian dogs, but wakes them too<br /> +To breed and multiply, grow strong to fight<br /> +All other dogs in Jack’s house, bite to death<br /> +The maidens all forlorn, like Elenor Murray.<br /> +<br /> +This mastiff, otherwise Napoleon called,<br /> +Is downed at last by dogs from everywhere.<br /> +They’re rid of him—but still the house of Jack<br /> +Is better than it was, the rats are thick,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>But cats grow more abundant, malt is served<br /> +More generously to the cow. The Prussian dogs<br /> +Discover malt’s the thing, also the cow<br /> +Must have her malt, or else the milk gives out.<br /> +But all the while the Prussian dogs grow strong,<br /> +Well taught and angered by Napoleon.<br /> +And some of them would set the house in order<br /> +After the manner of America.<br /> +But many wish to fight, get larger rooms,<br /> +Then set the whole in order. At Sadowa<br /> +They whip the Austrian dogs, and once again<br /> +A mastiff comes, a Bismarck, builds a suite<br /> +From north to south, and forces Austria<br /> +To huddle in the kitchen, use the outhouse<br /> +Where Huns and Magyars, Bulgars and the rest<br /> +Keep Babel under Jack who split their tongues<br /> +To make them hate each other and suspect,<br /> +Not understanding what the other says.<br /> +This very Babel was the cause of death<br /> +Of Elenor Murray, if I chose to stop<br /> +And go no further with the story.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">Next</span><br /> +Our mastiff Bismarck thinks of Luneville,<br /> +And would avenge it, grabs the throat of France,<br /> +And downs her; at Versailles growls and carries<br /> +An emperor of Germany to the throne.<br /> +Then pants and wags his tail, and little dreams<br /> +A dachshund in an early day to come<br /> +Will drive him from the kennel and the bone<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>He loves to crunch and suck.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">This dachshund is</span><br /> +In one foot crippled, rabies from his sires<br /> +Lies dormant in him, in a day of heat<br /> +Froth from his mouth will break, his eyes will roll<br /> +Like buttons made of pearl with glints of green.<br /> +Already he feels envy of the dogs<br /> +Who wear brass collars, bay the moon of Jack,<br /> +And roam at will about the house of Jack,<br /> +The English, plainer said. This envy takes<br /> +The form of zeal for country, so he trots<br /> +About the house, gets secrets for reforms<br /> +For Germany, would have his lesser dogs<br /> +All merchants, traders sleek and prosperous,<br /> +Achieve a noble breed to rule the house.<br /> +And so he puts his rooms in order, while<br /> +The other dogs look on with much concern<br /> +And growing fear.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">The business of the house</span><br /> +In every room is over malt; the cow<br /> +Must be well fed for milk. And if you have<br /> +No feudal dues, outlandish taxes, still<br /> +The game of old goes on, has only changed<br /> +Its dominant form. Grimalkin, Adam Smith<br /> +Spied all the rats, and all the tricks of rats,<br /> +Saw in his day the rats crawl hawser ropes<br /> +And get on ships, embark for Indias,<br /> +And get the malt; and now the merchant ships<br /> +For China bound, for Africa, for the Isles<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>Of farthest seas take rats, who slip aboard<br /> +And eat their fill before the patient cow,<br /> +Milked daily as before can lick her tongue<br /> +Against a mouthful of the precious stuff.<br /> +You have your eastern question, and your Congo.<br /> +France wants Morocco, gives to Germany<br /> +Possessions in the Congo for Morocco.<br /> +The dogs jump into China, even we<br /> +Take part and put the Boxers down, lay hands<br /> +Upon the Philippines, and Egypt falls<br /> +To England, all are building battle ships.<br /> +The dachshund barking he is crowded out,<br /> +Encircled, as he says, builds up the army,<br /> +And patriot cocks are crowing everywhere,<br /> +Until the house of Jack with snarls and growls,<br /> +The fuff, fuff, fuff of cats seems on the eve<br /> +Of pandemonium. The Germans think<br /> +The Slavs want Europe, and the Slavs are sure<br /> +The Germans want it, and it’s all for malt.<br /> +Meantime the Balkan Babel leads to war.<br /> +The Slavic peoples do not like the rule<br /> +Of Austro-Hungary, but the latter found<br /> +No way except to rule the Slavs and rule<br /> +Southeastern Europe, being crowded out<br /> +By mastiff Bismarck. And again there’s Jack<br /> +Who made confusion of the Balkan tongues.<br /> +And so the house awaits events that look<br /> +As if Jack willed them, anyway a thing<br /> +That may be put on Jack. It comes at last.<br /> +All have been armed for malt. A crazy man<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>Has armed himself and shoots a king to be,<br /> +The Archduke Francis, on the Serbian soil,<br /> +Then Austria moves on Serbia, Russia moves<br /> +To succor Serbia, France is pledged to help<br /> +The Russians, but our dachshund has a bond<br /> +With Austria and rushes to her aid.<br /> +Then England must protect the channel, yes,<br /> +France must be saved—and here you have your war.<br /> +<br /> +And now for Elenor Murray. Top of brain<br /> +Where ideals float like clouds, we owed to France<br /> +A debt, but had we paid it, if the dog,<br /> +The dachshund, mad at last, had left our ships<br /> +To freedom of the seas? Say what you will,<br /> +This England is the smartest thing in time,<br /> +Can never fall, be conquered while she keeps<br /> +That mind of hers, those eyes that see all things,<br /> +Spies or no spies, knows every secret hatched<br /> +In every corner of the house of Jack.<br /> +And with one language spoken by more souls<br /> +Than any tongue, leads minds by written words;<br /> +Writes treaties, compacts which forstall the sword,<br /> +And makes it futile when it’s drawn against her....<br /> +You cuff your enemy at school or make<br /> +A naso-digital gesture, coming home<br /> +You fear your enemy, so walk beside<br /> +The gentle teacher; if your enemy<br /> +Throws clods at you, he hits the teacher. Well,<br /> +’Twas wise to hide munitions back of skirts,<br /> +And frocks of little children, most unwise<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>For Dachshund William to destroy the skirts<br /> +And frocks to sink munitions, since the wearers<br /> +Happened to be Americans. William fell<br /> +Jumping about his room and spilled the clock,<br /> +Raked off the mantel; broke his billikens,<br /> +His images of Jack by doing this.<br /> +For, seeing this, we rise; ten million youths<br /> +Take guns for war, and many Elenor Murrays<br /> +Swept out of placid places by the ripples<br /> +Cross seas to serve.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">This girl was French in part,</span><br /> +In spirit was American. Look back<br /> +Do you not see Voltaire lay hold of her,<br /> +Hands out of tombs and spirits, from the skies<br /> +Lead her to Europe? Trace the causes back<br /> +To Adam, or the dwellers of the lakes,<br /> +It is enough to see the souls that stirred<br /> +The Revolution of the French which drove<br /> +The ancient evils from the house of Jack.<br /> +It is enough to hope that from this war<br /> +The vestiges of feudal wrongs shall lie<br /> +In Jack’s great dust-pan, swept therein and thrown<br /> +In garbage cans by maidens all forlorn,<br /> +The Fates we’ll call them now, lame goddesses,<br /> +Hags halt, far sighted, seeing distant things,<br /> +Near things but poorly—this is much to hope!<br /> +But if we get a freedom that is free<br /> +For Elenor Murrays, maidens all forlorn,<br /> +And tattered men, and so prevent the wars,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>Already budding in this pact of peace,<br /> +This war is good, and Elenor Murray’s life<br /> +Not waste, but gain.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Now for a final mood,</span><br /> +As it were second sight. I open the door,<br /> +Walk from the house of Jack, look at the roof,<br /> +The chimneys, over them see depths of blue.<br /> +Jack’s house becomes a little ark that sails,<br /> +Tosses and bobbles in an infinite sea.<br /> +And all events of evil, war and strife,<br /> +The pain and folly, test of this and that,<br /> +The groping from one thing to something else,<br /> +Old systems turned to new, old eras dead,<br /> +New eras rising, these are ripples all<br /> +Moving from some place in the eternal sea<br /> +Where Jack is throwing stones,—these ripples lap<br /> +Against the house of Jack, or toss it so<br /> +The occupants go reeling here and there,<br /> +Laugh, scowl, grow sick, tread on each other’s toes.<br /> +While all the time the sea is most concerned<br /> +With tides and currents, little with the house,<br /> +Ignore this Elenor Murray or Voltaire,<br /> +Who living and who dying reproduce<br /> +Ripples upon the pools of time and place,<br /> +That knew them; and so on where neither eye<br /> +Nor mind can trace the ripples vanishing<br /> +In ether, realms of spirit, what you choose!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Now on a day when Merival was talking<br /> +More evidence at the inquest, he is brought<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>The card of Mary Black, associate<br /> +Of Elenor Murray in the hospital<br /> +Of France, and asks the coroner to hear<br /> +What Elenor Murray suffered in the war.<br /> +And Merival consents and has her sworn;<br /> +She testifies as follows to the jury:<br /> +<br /> +Poor girl, she had an end! She seems to me<br /> +A torch stuck in a bank of clay, snuffed out,<br /> +Her warmth and splendor wasted. Never girl<br /> +Had such an ordeal and a fate before.<br /> +She was the lucky one at first, and then<br /> +Evils and enemies flocked down upon her,<br /> +And beat her to the earth.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">But when we sailed</span><br /> +You never saw so radiant a soul,<br /> +While most of us were troubled, for you know<br /> +Some were in gloom, had quarreled with their beaux,<br /> +Who did not say farewell. And there were some<br /> +Who talked for weeks ahead of seeing beaux<br /> +And having dinners with them who missed out.<br /> +<br /> +We were a tearful, a deserted lot.<br /> +And some were apprehensive—well you know!<br /> +But Elenor, she had a beau devoted<br /> +Who sent her off with messages and love,<br /> +And comforts for her service in the war.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>And so her face was lighted, she was gay,<br /> +And said to us: “How wonderful it is<br /> +To serve, to nurse, to play our little part<br /> +For country, for democracy.” And to me<br /> +She said: “My heart is brimming over with love.<br /> +Now I can work and nurse, now use my hands<br /> +To soothe and heal, which burn to finger tips,<br /> +With flame for service.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Oh she had the will,</span><br /> +The courage, resolution; but at last<br /> +They broke her down. And this is how it was:<br /> +Her love for someone gave her zeal and grace<br /> +For watching, working, caring for the sick.<br /> +Her heart was in the cause too—but this love<br /> +Gave beauty, passion to it. All her men<br /> +Stretched out to kiss her hands. It may be true<br /> +The wounded soldier is a grateful soul.<br /> +But in her case they felt a warmer flame,<br /> +A greater tenderness. So she won her spurs,<br /> +And honors, was beloved, she had a brain,<br /> +A fine intelligence. Then at the height<br /> +Of her success, she disobeyed a doctor—<br /> +He was a pigmy—Elenor knew more<br /> +Than he did, but you know the discipline:<br /> +War looses all the hatreds, meanest traits<br /> +Together with the noblest, so she crumpled,<br /> +Was disciplined for this. About this time<br /> +A letter to the head nurse came—there was<br /> +A Miriam Fay, who by some wretched fate<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>Was always after Elenor—it was she<br /> +Who wrote the letter, and the letter said<br /> +To keep a watch on Elenor, lest she snag<br /> +Some officer or soldier. Elenor,<br /> +Who had no caution, venturesome and brave,<br /> +Wrote letters more than frank to one she loved<br /> +Whose tenor leaked out through the censorship.<br /> +Her lover sent her telegrams, all opened,<br /> +And read first by the head nurse. So at last<br /> +Too much was known, and Elenor was eyed,<br /> +And whispers ran around. Those ugly girls,<br /> +Who never had a man, were wagging tongues,<br /> +And still her service was so radiant,<br /> +So generous and skillful she survived,<br /> +Helped by the officers, the leading doctors,<br /> +Who liked her and defended her, perhaps<br /> +In hopes of winning her—you know the game!<br /> +It was through them she went to Nice; but when<br /> +She came back to her duty all was ready<br /> +To catch her and destroy her—envy played<br /> +Its part, as you can see.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Our unit broke,</span><br /> +And some of us were sent to Germany,<br /> +And some of us to other places—all<br /> +Went with some chum, associate. But Elenor,<br /> +Who was cut off from every one she knew,<br /> +And shipped out like an animal to be<br /> +With strangers, nurses, doctors, wholly strange.<br /> +The head nurse passed the word along to watch her.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>And thus it was her spirit, once aflame<br /> +For service and for country, fed and brightened<br /> +By love for someone, thus was left to burn<br /> +In darkness and in filth.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">The hospital</span><br /> +Was cold, the rain poured, and the mud was frightful—<br /> +Poor Elenor was writing me—the food<br /> +Was hardly fit to eat. To make it worse<br /> +They put her on night duty for a month.<br /> +Smallpox broke out and they were quarantined.<br /> +A nurse she chose to be her friend was stricken<br /> +With smallpox, died and left her all alone.<br /> +One rainy morning she heard guns and knew<br /> +A soldier had been stood against the wall.<br /> +He was a boy from Texas, driven mad<br /> +By horror and by drink, had killed a Frenchman.<br /> +She had the case of crazy men at night,<br /> +And one of them got loose and knocked her down,<br /> +And would have killed her, had an orderly<br /> +Not come in time. And she was cold at night,<br /> +Sat bundled up so much she scarce could walk<br /> +There in that ward on duty. Everywhere<br /> +They thwarted her and crossed her, she was nagged,<br /> +Brow-beaten, driven, hunted and besought<br /> +For favors, for the word was well around<br /> +She was the kind who could be captured—false,<br /> +The girl was good whatever she had done.<br /> +All this she suffered, and her lover now<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span>Had cast her off, it seems, had ceased to write,<br /> +Had gone back to America—even then<br /> +They did not wholly break her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">But I ask</span><br /> +What soldier or what nurse retained his faith,<br /> +The splendor of his flame? I wish to God<br /> +They’d pass a law and make it death to write<br /> +Or speak of war as glory, or as good.<br /> +What good can come of hatred, greed and murder?<br /> +War licenses these passions, legalizes<br /> +All infamies. They talk of cruelties—<br /> +We shot the German captives—and I nursed<br /> +A boy who shot a German, with two others<br /> +Rushed on the fallen fellow, ran him through,<br /> +Through eyes and throat with bayonets. The world<br /> +Is better, is it? And if Indians scalped<br /> +Our women for the British, and if Sherman<br /> +Cut through the south with sword and flame, to-day<br /> +Such terrors should not be, we are improved!<br /> +Yes, hate and lust have changed, and maniac rage,<br /> +And rum has lost its potency to fire<br /> +A nerve that sickens at the bloody work<br /> +Where men are butchered as you shoot and slash<br /> +An animal for food!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Well, now suppose</span><br /> +The preachers who preach Jesus meek and mild,<br /> +But fulminate for slaughter, when the game<br /> +Of money turns its thumbs down; if your statesmen<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>With hardened arteries and hardened hearts,<br /> +Who make a cult of patriotism, gain<br /> +Their offices and livelihood thereby;<br /> +Your emperors and kings and chancellors,<br /> +Who glorify themselves and win sometimes<br /> +Lands for their people; and your editors<br /> +Who whip the mob to fury, bellies fat,<br /> +Grown cynical, and rich, who cannot lose,<br /> +No matter what we suffer—if we nurses,<br /> +And soldiers fail; your patriotic shouters<br /> +Of murder and of madness, von Bernhardis,<br /> +Treitschkes, making pawns of human life<br /> +To shape a destiny they can’t control—<br /> +Your bankers and your merchants—all the gang<br /> +Who shout for war and pay the orators,<br /> +Arrange the music—if I say—this crowd<br /> +Finds us, the nurses and the soldiers, cold,<br /> +Our fire of youth and faith beyond command,<br /> +Too wise to be enlisted or enslaved,<br /> +What will they do who shout for war so much?<br /> +<br /> +And haven’t we, the nurses and the soldiers<br /> +Written some million stories for the eyes<br /> +Of boys and girls to read these fifty years?<br /> +And if they read and understand, no war<br /> +Can come again. They can’t have war without<br /> +The spirit of your Elenor Murrays—no!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So Mary Black went on, and Merival<br /> +Gave liberty to her to talk her mind.<br /> +The jury smiled or looked intense for words<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>So graphic of the horrors of the war.<br /> +Then David Barrow asked: “Who is the man<br /> +That used to write to Elenor, went away?”<br /> +And Mary Black replied, “We do not know;<br /> +I do not know a girl who ever knew.<br /> +I only know that Elenor wept and grieved,<br /> +And did her duty like a little soldier.<br /> +It was some man who came to France, because<br /> +The word went round he had gone back, and left<br /> +The service, or the service there in France<br /> +Had left. Some said he’d gone to England, some<br /> +America. He must have been an American,<br /> +Or rather in America when she sailed,<br /> +Because she went off happy. In New York<br /> +Saw much of him before we sailed.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">And then</span><br /> +The Reverend Maiworm juryman spoke up—<br /> +This Mary Black had left the witness chair—<br /> +And asked if Gregory Wenner went to France.<br /> +The coroner thought not, but would inquire.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Jane Fisher was a friend of Elenor Murray’s<br /> +And held the secret of a pack of letters<br /> +Which Elenor Murray left. And on a day<br /> +She talks with Susan Hamilton, a friend.<br /> +Jane Fisher has composed a letter to<br /> +A lawyer in New York, who has the letters—<br /> +At least it seems so—and to get the letters,<br /> +And so fulfill the trust which Elenor<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>Had left to Jane. Meantime the coroner<br /> +Had heard somehow about the letters, or<br /> +That Jane knows something—she is anxious now,<br /> +And in a flurry, does not wish to go<br /> +Down to LeRoy and tell her story. So<br /> +She talks with Susan Hamilton like this:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>JANE FISHER</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Jane Fisher says to Susan Hamilton,<br /> +That Coroner has no excuse to bring<br /> +You, me before him. There are many too<br /> +Who could throw light on Elenor Murray’s life<br /> +Besides the witnesses he calls to tell<br /> +The cause of death: could he call us and hear<br /> +About the traits we know, he should have us.<br /> +What do we know of Elenor Murray’s death?<br /> +Why, not a thing, unless her death began<br /> +With Simeon Strong and Gregory Wenner—then<br /> +I could say something, for she told me much<br /> +About her plan to marry Simeon Strong,<br /> +And could have done so but for Gregory Wenner,<br /> +Whose fault of life combined with fault of hers<br /> +To break the faith of Simeon Strong in her.<br /> +And so what have we? Gregory Wenner’s love<br /> +Poisons the love of Simeon Strong, from that<br /> +Poor Elenor Murray falls into decline;<br /> +From that, re-acts to nursing and religion,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>Which leads her to the war; and from the war<br /> +Some other causes come, I know not what;<br /> +I wish I knew. And Elenor Murray dies,<br /> +Is killed or has a normal end of life.<br /> +<br /> +But, Susan, Elenor Murray feasted richly<br /> +While life was with her, spite of all the pain.<br /> +If you could choose, be Elenor Murray or<br /> +Our schoolmate, Mary Marsh, which would you be?<br /> +Elenor Murray had imagination,<br /> +And courage to sustain it; Mary Marsh<br /> +Had no imagination, was afraid,<br /> +Could not envision life in Europe, married<br /> +And living there in England, threw her chance<br /> +Away to live in England, was content,<br /> +And otherwise not happy but to lift<br /> +Her habitation from the west of town<br /> +And settle on the south side, wed a man<br /> +Whose steadiness and business sense made sure<br /> +A prosperous uniformity of life.<br /> +Life does not enter at your door and seek you,<br /> +And pour her gifts into your lap. She drops<br /> +The chances and the riches here and there.<br /> +They find them who fly forth, as faring birds<br /> +Know northern marshes, rice fields in the south;<br /> +While the dull turtle waddles in his mud.<br /> +The bird is slain perhaps, the turtle lives,<br /> +But which has known the thrills?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Well, on a time</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>Elenor Murray, Janet Stearns, myself<br /> +Thought we would see Seattle and Vancouver,<br /> +We had saved money teaching school that year—<br /> +The plan was Elenor Murray’s. So we sailed<br /> +To ’Frisco from Los Angeles, saw ’Frisco<br /> +By daylight, but to see the town by night<br /> +Was Elenor Murray’s wish, and up to now<br /> +We had no men, had found none. Elenor said,<br /> +“Let’s go to Palo Alto, find some men.”<br /> +We landed in a blinding sun, and walked<br /> +About the desolate campus, but no men.<br /> +And Janet and myself were tired and hot;<br /> +But Elenor, who never knew fatigue,<br /> +Went searching here and there, and left us sitting<br /> +Under a palm tree waiting. Hours went by,<br /> +Two hours, I think, when she came down the walk<br /> +A man on either side. She brought them up<br /> +And introduced them. They were gay and young,<br /> +Students with money. Then the fun began:<br /> +We wished to see the place, must hurry back<br /> +To keep engagements in the city—whew!<br /> +How Elenor Murray baited hooks for us<br /> +With words about the city and our plans;<br /> +What fun we three had had already there!<br /> +Until at last these fellows begged to come,<br /> +Return with us to ’Frisco, be allowed<br /> +To join our party. “Could we manage it?”<br /> +Asked Elenor Murray, “do you think we can?”<br /> +We fell into the play and talked it over,<br /> +Considered this and that, resolved the thing,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>And said at last to come, and come they did....<br /> +Well, such a time in ’Frisco. For you see<br /> +Our money had been figured down to cents<br /> +For what we planned to do. These fellows helped,<br /> +We scarcely had seen ’Frisco but for them.<br /> +They bought our dinners, paid our way about<br /> +Through China Town and so forth, but we kept<br /> +Our staterooms on the boat, slept on the boat.<br /> +And after three days’ feasting sailed away<br /> +With bouquets for each one of us.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">But this girl</span><br /> +Could never get enough, must on and on<br /> +See more, have more sensations, never tired.<br /> +And when we saw Vancouver then the dream<br /> +Of going to Alaska entered her.<br /> +I had no money, Janet had no money<br /> +To help her out, and Elenor was short.<br /> +We begged her not to try it—what a will!<br /> +She set her jaw and said she meant to go.<br /> +And when we missed her for a day, behold<br /> +We find her, she’s a cashier in a store,<br /> +And earning money there to take the trip.<br /> +Our boat was going back, we left her there.<br /> +I see her next when school commences, ruling<br /> +Her room of pupils at Los Angeles.<br /> +The summer after this she wandered east,<br /> +Was now engaged to Simeon Strong, but writing<br /> +To Gregory Wenner, saw him in Chicago.<br /> +She traveled to New York, he followed her.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>She was a girl who had to live her life,<br /> +Could not live through another, found no man<br /> +Whose life sufficed for hers, must live herself,<br /> +Be individual.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">And en route for France</span><br /> +She wrote me from New York, was seeing much<br /> +Of Margery, an aunt—I never knew her,<br /> +But sensed an evil in her, and a mind<br /> +That used the will of Elenor Murray—how<br /> +Or why, I knew not. But she wrote to me<br /> +This Margery had brought her lawyer in,<br /> +There in New York to draw a document,<br /> +And put some letters in a safety box.<br /> +Whose letters? Gregory Wenner’s? I don’t know.<br /> +She told me much of secrets, but of letters<br /> +That needed for their preciousness a box,<br /> +A lawyer to arrange the matter, nothing.<br /> +For if there was another man, she felt<br /> +Too shamed, no doubt, to tell me:—“This is he,<br /> +The love I sought, the great reality,”<br /> +When she had said as much of Gregory Wenner.<br /> +But now a deeper matter: with this letter<br /> +She sent a formal writing giving me<br /> +Charge of these letters, if she died to give<br /> +The letters to the writer. I’m to know<br /> +The identity of the writer, so she planned<br /> +When I obtain them. How about this lawyer,<br /> +And Margery the aunt? What shall I do?<br /> +Write to this lawyer what my duty is<br /> +Appointed me of her, go to New York?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span><br /> +I must do something, for this lawyer has,<br /> +As I believe, no knowledge of my place<br /> +In this affair. Who has the box’s key?<br /> +This lawyer, or the aunt—I have no key—<br /> +And if they have the key, or one of them,<br /> +And enter, take the letters, look! our friend<br /> +Gets stains upon her memory; or the man<br /> +Who wrote the letters finds embarrassment.<br /> +Somehow, I think, these letters hold a secret,<br /> +The deepest of her life and cruelest,<br /> +And figured in her death. My dearest friend,<br /> +What if they brought me to the coroner,<br /> +If I should get these letters, and they learned<br /> +I had them, this relation to our Elenor!<br /> +Yet how can I neglect to write this lawyer<br /> +And tell him Elenor Murray gave to me<br /> +This power of disposition?<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Come what may</span><br /> +I must write to this lawyer. Here I write<br /> +To get the letters, and obey the wish<br /> +Of our dear friend. Our friend who never could<br /> +Carry her ventures to success, but always<br /> +Just at the prosperous moment wrecked her hope.<br /> +She really wished to marry Simeon Strong.<br /> +Then why imperil such a wish by keeping<br /> +This Gregory Wenner friendship living, go<br /> +About with Gregory Wenner, fill the heart<br /> +Of Simeon Strong with doubt?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Oh well, my friend,</span><br /> +We wonder at each other, I at you,<br /> +And you at me, for doing this or that.<br /> +And yet I think no man or woman acts<br /> +Without a certain logic in the act<br /> +Of nature or of circumstance.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Look here,</span><br /> +This letter to the lawyer. Will it do?<br /> +I think so. If it brings the letters—well!<br /> +If not, I’ll get them somehow, it must be,<br /> +I loved her, faults and all, and so did you....<br /> +<br /> +So while Jane Fisher pondered on her duty,<br /> +But didn’t write the letter to the lawyer,<br /> +Who had the charge of Elenor Murray’s letters,<br /> +The lawyer, Henry Baker, in New York<br /> +Finds great perplexity. Sometimes a case<br /> +Walks in a lawyer’s office, makes his future,<br /> +Or wrecks his health, or brings him face to face<br /> +With some one rising from the mass of things,<br /> +Faces and circumstance, that ends his life.<br /> +So Henry Baker took such chances, taking<br /> +The custody of these letters.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">James Rex Hunter</span><br /> +Is partner of this Baker, sees at last<br /> +Merival and tells him how it was<br /> +With Baker at the last; he died because<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>Of Elenor Murray’s letters, Hunter told<br /> +The coroner at the Waldorf. Dramatized<br /> +His talk with Lawyer Baker in these words:—</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>One partner may consult another—James,<br /> +Here is a matter you must help me with,<br /> +It’s coming to a head.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Well, to be plain,</span><br /> +And to begin at the beginning first,<br /> +I knew a woman up on Sixty-third,<br /> +Have known her since I got her a divorce,<br /> +Married, divorced, before—last night we quarreled,<br /> +I must do something, hear me and advise.<br /> +<br /> +She is a woman notable for eyes<br /> +Bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem<br /> +Like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light<br /> +Shows spectrally almost in squares and circles.<br /> +Her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh,<br /> +A feaster and a liver, thinks and plans<br /> +Of money, how to get it. And this husband<br /> +Whom she divorced last summer went away,<br /> +And left her to get on as best she could.<br /> +All legal matters settled, we went driving—<br /> +This story can be skipped.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Last night we dined,</span><br /> +Afterward went to her apartment. First<br /> +She told me at the dinner that her niece<br /> +Named Elenor Murray died some days ago.<br /> +I sensed what she was after—here’s the point:—<br /> +She followed up the theme when we returned<br /> +To her apartment, where we quarreled. You see<br /> +I would not do her bidding, left her mad,<br /> +In silent wrath after some bitter words.<br /> +I managed her divorce as I have said,<br /> +Then I stepped in as lover, months had passed.<br /> +When Elenor Murray came here to New York,<br /> +I met her at the apartment of the aunt<br /> +Whose name is Margery Camp. Before, she said<br /> +Her niece was here, was happy and in love<br /> +But sorrowful for leaving, just the talk<br /> +That has no meaning till you see the subject<br /> +Or afterwards, perhaps; it passes in<br /> +One ear and out the other. Then at last<br /> +One afternoon I met this Elenor Murray<br /> +When I go up to call on Margery Camp.<br /> +The staging of the matter is like this:<br /> +The niece looks fagged, is sitting on the couch,<br /> +Has loosed her collar for her throat to feel<br /> +The air about it, for the day is hot.<br /> +And Margery Camp goes out, brings in a pitcher<br /> +Of absinthe cocktails, so we drink. I sit,<br /> +Begin to study what is done, and look<br /> +This Elenor Murray over, get the thought<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>That somehow Margery Camp has taken Elenor<br /> +In her control for something, has begun<br /> +To use her, manage her, is coiling her<br /> +With dominant will or cunning. Then I look,<br /> +See Margery Camp observing Elenor Murray,<br /> +Who drinks the absinthe, and in Margery’s eyes<br /> +I see these parallelograms of light<br /> +Just like a vase of crockery, there she stands,<br /> +Her face like ivory, and laughs and shows<br /> +Her marvelous teeth, smooths with her shapely hands<br /> +The skirt upon her hips. Somehow I feel<br /> +She is a soul who watches passion work.<br /> +Then Elenor Murray rouses, gets her spirits<br /> +Out of the absinthe, rises and exclaims:<br /> +“I’m better now;” and Margery Camp speaks up,<br /> +Poor child, in intonation like a doll<br /> +That speaks from reeds of steel, no sympathy<br /> +Or meaning in the words. The interview<br /> +Seems spooky to me, cold and sinister.<br /> +We drink again and then we drink again.<br /> +And what with her fatigue and lowered spirits,<br /> +This Elenor Murray drifts in talk and mood<br /> +With so much drink. At last this Margery Camp<br /> +Says suddenly: “You’ll have to help my niece,<br /> +There is a matter you must manage for her,<br /> +We’ve talked it over; in a day or two<br /> +Before she goes away, we’ll come to you.”<br /> +I took them out to dinner, after dinner<br /> +Drove Margery Camp to her apartment, then<br /> +Went down with Elenor Murray to her place.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span><br /> +Then in a day or two, one afternoon<br /> +Margery Camp and Elenor Murray came<br /> +Here to my office with a bundle, which<br /> +This Margery Camp was carrying, rather large.<br /> +And Margery Camp was bright and keen as winter.<br /> +But Elenor Murray seemed a little dull,<br /> +Abstracted as of drink, or thought perhaps.<br /> +After the greeting and preliminaries,<br /> +Margery said to Elenor: “Better tell<br /> +What we have come for, get it done and go.”<br /> +Then Elenor Murray said: “Here are some letters,<br /> +I’ve tied them in this package, and I wish<br /> +To put them in a safety box, give you<br /> +One key and keep the other, leave with you<br /> +A sealed instruction, which, in case I die,<br /> +While over-seas, you may break open, read<br /> +And follow, if you will.” She handed me<br /> +A writing signed by her which merely read<br /> +What I have told you—here it is—you see:<br /> +“When legal proof is furnished I am dead,<br /> +Break open the sealed letter which will give<br /> +Instruction for you.” So I took the trust,<br /> +Went with these women to a vault and placed<br /> +The letters in the box, gave her a key,<br /> +Kept one myself. They left. At dinner time<br /> +I joined them, saw more evidence of the will<br /> +Of Margery Camp controlling Elenor’s.<br /> +Which seemed in part an older woman’s power<br /> +Against a younger woman’s, and in part<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>Something less innocent. We ate and drank,<br /> +I took them to their places as before,<br /> +And didn’t see this Elenor again.<br /> +<br /> +But now last night when I see Margery<br /> +She says at once, “My niece is dead;” goes on<br /> +To say, no other than herself has care<br /> +Or interest in her, was estranged from father,<br /> +And mother too, herself the closest heart<br /> +In all the world, and therefore she must look<br /> +After the memory of the niece, and adds:<br /> +“She came to you through me, I picked you out<br /> +To do this business.” So she went along<br /> +With this and that, advancing and retreating<br /> +To catch me, bind me. Well, I saw her game,<br /> +Sat non-committal, sipping wine, but keeping<br /> +The wits she hoped I’d lose, as I could see.<br /> +<br /> +After the dinner we went to her place<br /> +And there she said these letters might contain<br /> +Something to smudge the memory of her niece,<br /> +She wished she had insisted on the plan<br /> +Of having one of the keys, the sealed instruction<br /> +Made out and left with her; being her aunt,<br /> +The closest heart in the world to Elenor Murray,<br /> +That would have been the right way. But she said<br /> +Her niece was willful and secretive, too,<br /> +Not over wise, but now that she was dead<br /> +It was her duty to reform the plan,<br /> +Do what was best, and take control herself.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span><br /> +So working to the point by devious ways<br /> +She said at last: “You must give me the key,<br /> +The sealed instruction: I’ll go to the box,<br /> +And get the letters, do with them as Elenor<br /> +Directed in the letter; for I think,<br /> +Cannot believe it different, that my niece<br /> +Has left these letters with me, so directs<br /> +In that sealed letter.” “Then if that be true,<br /> +Why give the key to me, the letter?—no<br /> +This is a trust, a lawyer would betray,<br /> +A sacred trust to do what you request.”<br /> +I saw her growing angry. Then I added:<br /> +“I have no proof your niece is dead:” “My word<br /> +Is good enough,” she answered, “we are friends,<br /> +You are my lover, as I thought; my word<br /> +Should be sufficient.” And she kept at me<br /> +Until I said: “I can’t give you the key,<br /> +And if I did they would not let you in,<br /> +You are not registered as a deputy<br /> +To use the key.” She did not understand,<br /> +Did not believe me, but she tacked about,<br /> +And said: “You can do this, take me along<br /> +When you go to the vault and open the box,<br /> +And break the letter open which she gave.”<br /> +I only answered: “If I find your niece<br /> +Has given these letters to you, you shall have<br /> +The letters, but I think the letters go<br /> +Back to the writer, and if that’s the case,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>I’ll send them to the writer.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Here at last</span><br /> +She lost control, took off her mask and stormed:<br /> +“We’ll see about it. You will scarcely care<br /> +To have the matter aired in court. I’ll see<br /> +A lawyer, bring a suit and try it out,<br /> +And see if I, the aunt, am not entitled<br /> +To have my niece’s letters and effects,<br /> +Whatever’s in the package. I am tired<br /> +And cannot see you longer. Take five days<br /> +To think the matter over. If you come<br /> +And do what I request, no suit, but if<br /> +You still refuse, the courts can settle it.”<br /> +And so I left her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">In a day or two</span><br /> +I read of Elenor Murray’s death. It seems<br /> +The coroner investigates her death.<br /> +She died mysteriously. Well, then I break<br /> +The sealed instruction, look! I am to send<br /> +The package to Jane Fisher, in Chicago.<br /> +We know, of course, Jane Fisher did not write<br /> +The letters, that the letters are a man’s.<br /> +What is the inference? Why, that Elenor Murray<br /> +Pretended to comply, obey her aunt,<br /> +Yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish<br /> +The aunt or me to know who wrote the letters.<br /> +Feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt,<br /> +Yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>Beyond her finding out, if I observe<br /> +The trust imposed, keep hands of Margery Camp<br /> +From getting at the letters.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Now two things:</span><br /> +Suppose the writer of the letters killed<br /> +This Elenor Murray, is somehow involved<br /> +In Elenor Murray’s death? If that’s the case,<br /> +Should not these letters reach the coroner?<br /> +To help enforce the law is higher trust<br /> +Than doing what a client has commanded.<br /> +And secondly, if Margery Camp should sue,<br /> +My wife will learn the secret, bring divorce.<br /> +Three days remain before the woman’s threat<br /> +Is ripe to execute. Think over this.<br /> +We’ll talk again—I really need advice....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So Hunter told the coroner. Then resumed<br /> +The matter was a simple thing: I said<br /> +To telegraph the coroner. You are right:<br /> +Those letters give a clue perhaps, your trust<br /> +Is first to see the law enforced. And yet<br /> +I saw he was confused and drinking too,<br /> +For fear his wife would learn of Margery Camp.<br /> +I added, for that matter open the box,<br /> +Take out the letters, find who wrote them, send<br /> +A telegram to the coroner giving the name<br /> +Of the writer of the letters. Well, he nodded,<br /> +Seemed to consent to anything I said.<br /> +And Hunter left me, leaving me in doubt<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>What he would do. And what is next? Next day<br /> +He’s in the hospital and has pneumonia.<br /> +I take a cab to see him, but I find<br /> +He is too sick to see, is out of mind.<br /> +In three days he is dead. His wife comes in<br /> +And tells me worry killed him—knows the truth<br /> +About this Margery Camp, oh, so she said.<br /> +Had sent a lawyer to her husband asking<br /> +For certain letters of an Elenor Murray.<br /> +And that her husband stood between the fire<br /> +Of some exposure by this Margery Camp,<br /> +Or suffering these letters to be used<br /> +By Margery Camp against the writer for<br /> +A bit of money. This was Mrs. Hunter’s<br /> +Interpretation. Well, the fact is clear<br /> +That Hunter feared this Margery Camp—was scared<br /> +About his wife who in some way had learned<br /> +just at this time of Margery Camp—I think<br /> +Was called up, written to. Between it all<br /> +Poor Hunter’s worry, far too fast a life,<br /> +He broke and died. And now you know it all.<br /> +I’ve learned no client enters at your door<br /> +And nothing casual happens in the day<br /> +That may not change your life, or bring you death.<br /> +And Hunter in a liaison with Margery<br /> +Is brought within the scope of Elenor’s<br /> +Life and takes his mortal hurt and dies.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +So much for riffles in New York. We turn<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>Back to LeRoy and see the riffles there,<br /> +See all of them together. Loveridge Chase<br /> +Receives a letter from a New York friend,<br /> +A secret service man who trails and spies<br /> +On Henry Baker, knows about the letters,<br /> +And writes to Loveridge Chase and says to him:<br /> +“That Elenor Murray dying near LeRoy<br /> +Left letters in New York. I trailed the aunt<br /> +Of Elenor Murray, Margery Camp. Also<br /> +A lawyer, Henry Baker, who controls<br /> +A box with letters left by Elenor Murray—<br /> +So for the story. Why not join with me<br /> +And get these letters? There is money in it,<br /> +Perhaps, who knows? I work for Mrs. Hunter—<br /> +She wants the letters placed where they belong,<br /> +And wants the man who killed this Elenor Murray<br /> +Punished as he should be. Go see the coroner<br /> +And get the work of bringing back the letters.”<br /> +And Chase came to the coroner and spoke:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>LOVERIDGE CHASE</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Here is the secret of the death of Elenor,<br /> +From what I learn of her, from what I know<br /> +In living, knowing women, I am clear<br /> +About this Elenor Murray. Give me power<br /> +To get the letters, power to give a bond<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>To indemnify the company, for you know<br /> +Letters belong to him who writes the letters;<br /> +And if the company is given bond<br /> +It will surrender them, and then you’ll know<br /> +What man she loved, this Gregory Wenner or<br /> +Some other man, and if some other man,<br /> +Whether he caused her death.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">The coroner</span><br /> +And Loveridge Chase sat in the coroner’s office<br /> +And talked the matter over. And the coroner,<br /> +Who knew this Loveridge Chase, was wondering<br /> +Why Loveridge Chase had taken up the work<br /> +Of secret service, followed it, and asked,<br /> +“How did you come to give your brains to this,<br /> +Who could do other things?” And Loveridge said:<br /> +“A woman made me, I went round the world<br /> +As jackie once, was brought into this world<br /> +By a mother good and wise, but took from her,<br /> +My father, someone, sense of chivalry<br /> +Too noble for this world, a pity too,<br /> +Abused too much by women. I came back,<br /> +Was hired in a bank; had I gone on<br /> +By this time had been up in banking circles,<br /> +But something happened. You can guess, I think<br /> +It was a woman, was my wife Leone.<br /> +It matters nothing here, except I knew<br /> +This Elenor Murray through my wife. These two<br /> +Were schoolmates, even chums. I’ll get these letters<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>If you commission me. The fact is this:<br /> +I think this Elenor Murray and Leone<br /> +Were kindred spirits, and it does me good<br /> +Now that I’m living thus without a wife<br /> +To ferret out this matter of Elenor Murray,<br /> +Perhaps this way, or somewhere on the way,<br /> +Find news of my Leone; what life she lives,<br /> +And where she is. I’m curious still, you see.”<br /> +Then Coroner Merival, who had not heard<br /> +Of Elenor Murray’s letters in New York<br /> +Before this talk of Loveridge Chase, who heard<br /> +This story and analysis of Leone<br /> +Mixed in with other talk, and got a light<br /> +On Elenor Murray, said: “I know your work,<br /> +Know you as well, have confidence in you,<br /> +Make ready to go, and bring the letters back.”<br /> +<br /> +And on the day that Loveridge Chase departs<br /> +To get the letters in New York, Bernard,<br /> +A veteran of Belleau, married that day<br /> +To Amy Whidden, on a lofty dune<br /> +At Millers, Indiana, with his bride—<br /> +Long quiet, tells her something of the war.<br /> +These soldiers cannot speak what they have lived.<br /> +But Elenor Murray helps him; for the talk<br /> +Of Elenor Murray runs the rounds, so many<br /> +Stations whence the talk is sent:—the men<br /> +Or women who had known her, came in touch<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>Somehow with her. These newly wedded two<br /> +Go out to see blue water, yellow sand,<br /> +And watch the white caps pat the sky, and hear<br /> +The intermittent whispers of the waves.<br /> +And here Bernard, the soldier, tells his bride<br /> +Of Elenor Murray and their days at Nice:</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>AT NICE</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Dear, let me tell you, safe beside you now,<br /> +Your hand in mine, here from this peak of sand,<br /> +Under this pine tree, where the wild grapes spill<br /> +Their fragrance on the lake breeze, from that oak<br /> +Half buried in the sand, devoured by sand—<br /> +The water of the lake is just as blue<br /> +As the sea is there at Nice, the caps as white<br /> +As foam around Mont Boron, Cap Ferrat.<br /> +Here let me tell you things you do not know,<br /> +I could not write, repeat what well you know,<br /> +How love of you sustained me, never changed,<br /> +But through a love was brighter, flame of the torch<br /> +I bore for you in battle, as an incense<br /> +Cast in a flame awakes the deeper essence<br /> +Of fire and makes it mount.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And I am here—</span><br /> +Here now with you at last—the war is over—<br /> +I have this aching side, these languid mornings,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>And pray for that old strength which never knew<br /> +Fatigue or pain—but I am here with you,<br /> +You are my bride now, I have earned you, dear.<br /> +I fought the fight, endured the endless days<br /> +When rain fell, days of absence, and the days<br /> +Of danger when my only prayer was this:<br /> +Give me, O God, to see you once again.<br /> +This is the deepest rapture, tragedy<br /> +Of this our life, beyond our minds to fathom,<br /> +A thing to stand in awe of, touch in reverence,<br /> +That we—we mortals, find in one another<br /> +Such source of ecstasy, of pain. My love,<br /> +I lay there in the hospital so weak,<br /> +Flopping my hands upon the coverlet,<br /> +And praying God to live. In such an hour<br /> +To be away from you! There are no words<br /> +To speak the weary hours of fear and thought,<br /> +In such an absence, facing death, perhaps,<br /> +A burial in France, with thoughts of you,<br /> +Mourning some years, perhaps, healed partly then<br /> +And wedded to another; then at last<br /> +Myself forgot, or nearly so, and life<br /> +Taking you on with duties, house and children;<br /> +And my poor self forgotten, gone to dust,<br /> +Wasted along the soil of France.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">Thank God,</span><br /> +I’m here with you—it’s real, all this is true:<br /> +The roar of the water, sand-hills, infinite sky,<br /> +The gulls, the distant smoke, the smell of grapes,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>The haze of amethyst behind us there,<br /> +In those ravines of stunted oak and pine.<br /> +All this is real. This is America.<br /> +The very air we find from coast to coast,<br /> +The sensible air for lungs seems freer here.<br /> +I had no sooner landed in New York<br /> +Than my arms said stretch out, there’s room to stretch.<br /> +I walked along the streets so happy, light<br /> +Of heart and heard the newsboys, shop-girls talk:<br /> +“O, what a cheese he is,” or “beat it now”—<br /> +I can’t describe the thrill I had to hear<br /> +This loose abandoned slang spilled all around,<br /> +Like coppers soiled from handling, but so real,<br /> +And having power to purchase memories<br /> +Of what I loved and lost awhile, my land!<br /> +Well, then I wanted roast-beef, corn on cob,<br /> +And had them in an hour at early lunch.<br /> +I telegraphed you, gave New York a day,<br /> +And came to you. We are together now,<br /> +We do not dream, do we? We are together<br /> +After the war, to live our lives and grow<br /> +And make of love, experience, life more rich.<br /> +That’s what you say to me—it shall be so.<br /> +<br /> +Now I will tell you what I promised to tell<br /> +About my illness and the battle—well,<br /> +I wrote you of my illness, only hinted<br /> +About the care I had, that is the point;<br /> +’Twas care alone that saved me, I was ill<br /> +Beyond all words to tell. And all the while<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>I suffered, fearing I would die; but then<br /> +I could not bear to think I should not rise<br /> +To join my fellows, battle once again,<br /> +And charge across the trenches, take no part<br /> +In crushing down the Prussian. For I knew<br /> +He would be crushed at last. I could not bear<br /> +To think I should not take a hand in that,<br /> +Be there when he lay fallen, victory<br /> +From voice to voice should pass along the lines.<br /> +Well, for some weeks I lay there, and at last<br /> +Words dropped around me that the time was near<br /> +For blows to count—would I be there to strike?<br /> +Could I get well in time? And every day<br /> +A sweet voice said: “You’re better, oh it’s great<br /> +How you are growing stronger; yesterday<br /> +Your fever was but one degree, to-day<br /> +It is a little higher. You must rest,<br /> +Not think so much! It may be normal perhaps<br /> +To-morrow or the next day. In a week<br /> +You will be up and gaining, and the battle<br /> +Will not be fought before then, I am sure,<br /> +And not until you’re well and strong again.”<br /> +And thus it went from day to day. Such hands<br /> +Washed my hot face and bathed me, tucked me in,<br /> +And fed me too. And once I said to her:<br /> +“I love a girl, I must get well to fight,<br /> +I must get well to go to her.” And she,<br /> +It was the nurse I spoke to, took my hand,<br /> +And turned away with tears. You see it’s there<br /> +We see the big things, nothing else, the things<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>That stand out like the mountains, lesser things<br /> +Are lost like little hillocks under the shadows<br /> +Of great emotions, hopes, realities.<br /> +Well, so it went. And on a day she leaned<br /> +Above my face to smooth the pillow out.<br /> +And from her heart a golden locket fell,<br /> +And dangled by the silver chain. The locket<br /> +Flew open and I saw a face within it,<br /> +That is I saw there was a face, but saw<br /> +No eyes or hair, saw nothing to limn out<br /> +The face so I would know it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Then I said:</span><br /> +“You have a lover, nurse.” She straightened up<br /> +And questioned me: “Have you been ill before?<br /> +Do you know of the care a nurse can give,<br /> +And what she can withhold?” I answered “Yes.”<br /> +And then she asked: “Have you felt in my hands<br /> +Great tenderness, solicitude, even prayer?”—<br /> +Here, sweetheart, do not let your eyes get moist,<br /> +I’ll tell you everything, for you must see<br /> +How spirits work together, love to love<br /> +Passes and does its work.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Well, it was true,</span><br /> +I felt her tenderness, which was like prayer,<br /> +And so I answered her: “If I get well,<br /> +You will have cured me with your human love.”<br /> +And then she said: “Our unit reached this place<br /> +When there was neither stoves nor lights. At night<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>We went to bed by candles. Stumbled around<br /> +Amid the trunks and beds by candle light.<br /> +Well, one of us would light a candle, then<br /> +Each, one by one, the others lighted theirs<br /> +From this one down the room. And so we passed<br /> +The light along. And as a candle died,<br /> +The others burned, to which the light was passed.<br /> +Well, now,” she said, “that is a figure of love:<br /> +We get the flame from someone, light another,<br /> +Make brighter light by holding flame to flame—<br /> +Sometimes we searched for something, held two candles<br /> +Together for a greater light. And so,<br /> +My soldier, I have given you the care<br /> +That comes from love—of country and the cause,<br /> +But brightened, warmed by one from whom the flame<br /> +Was passed to me, a love that took my hand<br /> +And warmed it, made it tender for that love,<br /> +Which said pour out and serve, take love for him<br /> +And use it in the cause, by using hands<br /> +To bathe, to soothe, to smooth a pillow down,<br /> +To heal, sustain.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">The truth is, dearest heart,</span><br /> +I had not lived, I think, except for her.<br /> +And there we were: I filled with love for you,<br /> +And therefore praying to get well and fight,<br /> +Be worthy of your love, and there she was<br /> +With love for someone, striving with that love<br /> +To nurse me through and give me well and strong<br /> +To battle in the cause.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">Then I got well</span><br /> +And joined my company. She took my hand<br /> +As I departed, closed her eyes and said:<br /> +“May God be with you.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Well, it was Belleau,</span><br /> +That jungle of machine guns, like a thicket<br /> +Of rattle snakes. And there was just one thing<br /> +To clean that thicket out—we had to charge,<br /> +And so we yelled and charged. No soldier knows<br /> +How one survives in such a charge as that.<br /> +You simply yell and charge; the bullets fall<br /> +Like drops of rain around you pitter-pat;<br /> +And on you go and think: where will it get me,<br /> +The stomach or the heart or through the head?<br /> +What will it be like, sudden blackness, pain,<br /> +No pain at all? And so you charge the nests.<br /> +The fellows fell around us like tenpins,<br /> +Dropped guns, or flung them up, fell on their faces,<br /> +Or toppled backward, pitched ahead and flung<br /> +Their helmets off in pitching. And at last<br /> +I found myself half-dazed, as in a dream,<br /> +Right in a nest, two Boches facing me,<br /> +And then I saw this locket, as I saw it<br /> +Fall from her breast, it might have been a glint<br /> +Of metal, flash of firing, I don’t know.<br /> +I only know I ran my bayonet<br /> +Through one of them; he fell, I stuck the other,<br /> +Then something stung my side. When I awoke<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>I lay upon a cot, and heard the nurses<br /> +Discuss the peace, the armistice was signed,<br /> +The war was over. Well, and in a way<br /> +We won the war, I won the war, as one<br /> +Who did his part, at least.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Then I got up,</span><br /> +But I was weak and dazed. They said to me<br /> +I should not cross the ocean in the winter,<br /> +My lungs might get infected; anyway,<br /> +The flu was raging. So they sent me down<br /> +To Nice upon a furlough, as I wrote.<br /> +I could not write you all I saw and heard,<br /> +It was all lovely and all memorable.<br /> +<br /> +But first before I picture Nice to you,<br /> +My days at Nice, lest you have doubts and fears<br /> +When I reveal to you I saw this nurse<br /> +First on the Promenade des Anglais there,<br /> +Saw much of her in Nice, I saw at once<br /> +She was that Elenor Murray whom they found<br /> +Along the river dead; and for the rest<br /> +To make all clear, I’ll tell you everything.<br /> +You see I didn’t write you of this girl<br /> +And what we did there, lest you might suspect<br /> +Some vagrant mood in me concealed or glossed,<br /> +Which ended in betrayal of our love.<br /> +Eyes should look into eyes to supplement<br /> +The words of truth with light of truth, where nothing<br /> +Of thoughts that hide have chance to slip and crawl<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>Through eyes averted, twinklings, change of light,<br /> +Or if they do, reveal themselves, as snakes<br /> +Are seen when winding into coverts of grass.<br /> +<br /> +Well, then we met upon the promenade.<br /> +She ran toward me, kissed me—oh so glad.<br /> +I told her of the battle, of my wound.<br /> +And for herself it seemed she had been ill,<br /> +Off duty for a month before she came<br /> +To Nice for health; she said as much to me.<br /> +I think she had been ill, yet I could sense,<br /> +Or seemed to sense a mystery, I don’t know,<br /> +Behind her illness. Yet you understand<br /> +How it was natural we should be happy<br /> +To meet again, in Nice, too. For you see<br /> +The army life develops comradeship.<br /> +And when we meet the old life rises up<br /> +And wakes its thrills and memories. It seemed<br /> +She had been there some days when I arrived<br /> +And knew the place, and said, “I’ll show you Nice.”<br /> +There was a major she was waiting for,<br /> +As it turned out. He came there in a week,<br /> +We had some walks together, all the three,<br /> +And then I lost them.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">But before he came</span><br /> +We did the bright cafés and Monte Carlo,<br /> +And here my little nurse showed something else<br /> +Besides the tender hands, the prayerful soul.<br /> +She had been taking egg-nogs, so she said,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>But now she took to wine, and drink she could<br /> +Beyond all men I know. I had to stop<br /> +Or fall beneath the table, leaving her<br /> +To order more. And she would sit and weave<br /> +From right to left hip in a rhythmic way,<br /> +And cast her eyes obliquely right and left.<br /> +It was this way: The music set her thrilling,<br /> +And keeping time this way. She loved to go<br /> +Where we could see cocotes, adventurers;<br /> +Where red vitality was feasting, drinking,<br /> +And dropping gold upon the gaming table.<br /> +We sunned ourselves within the Jardin Public,<br /> +And walked the beach between the bathing places<br /> +Where they dry orange peel to make perfumes.<br /> +And in that golden sunshine by the sea<br /> +Caught whiffs of lemon blossoms, and each day<br /> +I bought her at the stands acacia,<br /> +Or red anemones—I tell you all—<br /> +There was no moment that my thought betrayed<br /> +Your heart, dear one. She had been good to me.<br /> +I saw that she was hungry for these things,<br /> +For rapture, so I gave them—you don’t mind,<br /> +It came to nothing, dearest.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But at last</span><br /> +A different Elenor Murray than I knew<br /> +There in the hospital took shape before me.<br /> +That serving soul, that maid of humble tasks,<br /> +And sacrifice for others, and that face<br /> +Of waitress or of ingenue, day by day<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>Assumed sophistication, looks and lines<br /> +Of knowledge in the world, experience<br /> +in places of patrician ways. She knew<br /> +New York as well as I, cafés and shops;<br /> +Dropped pregnant hints at times that made me think<br /> +What more she knew, what she was holding back.<br /> +Until at last all she had done for me<br /> +Seemed just what mortals do to earn their bread<br /> +In any calling, made more generous, maybe,<br /> +By something in a moment’s mood. In truth<br /> +The ideal showed the clogged pores in the skin<br /> +Under the light she stood in. For you know<br /> +When we see people happy we can say<br /> +Those tears were not all tears—we pitied more<br /> +Than we were wise to pity—that’s the feeling:<br /> +Most men are Puritans in this, I think.<br /> +A woman dancing, drinking, makes you laugh,<br /> +And half despise yourself for great emotion<br /> +When seeing her in prayer or reverent thought.<br /> +But now I come to something more concrete:<br /> +The day before the major came we lunched<br /> +Where we could see the Mediterranean,<br /> +The clubs, hotels and villas. There she sat<br /> +All dressed in white, a knitted jacket of silk<br /> +Matching the leaves upon the trees, and looked<br /> +As fashionable as the rest. The waiter came.<br /> +She did not take the card nor order from it,<br /> +Was nonchalant, familiar, said at last:<br /> +“We want some Epernay. You have it doubtless.”<br /> +The waiter bowed. I looked at Elenor,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>That was the character of revealing things<br /> +I saw from day to day. For truth to tell<br /> +This Epernay might well have been charged water<br /> +For all I knew. I asked her, and she said:<br /> +“Delicious wine, not strong.” And so we lunched,<br /> +And the music stormed, and lunchers gabbled, smoked,<br /> +And dandies ogled. And this Epernay<br /> +Worked in our blood and Elenor rattled on.<br /> +And she was flinging eyes from right to left<br /> +And moving rhythmically from hip to hip,<br /> +And with a finger beating out the time.<br /> +Somehow our hands touched, then she closed her eyes,<br /> +Her body shook a little and grew limp.<br /> +“What is the matter?” Then she raised her eyes<br /> +And looked me through an instant. What, my dear,<br /> +You won’t hear any more? Oh, very well,<br /> +That’s all, there is no more.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">But after while</span><br /> +When things got quieter, the lunchers thinned,<br /> +The music ended, and the wine grown tame<br /> +Within our veins, she told me on a time<br /> +Some years before she was confirmed, and thought<br /> +She’d take the veil, and for two years or more<br /> +Was all absorbed in pious thoughts and works.<br /> +“But how we learn and change,” she added then,<br /> +“In training we see bodies, learn to know<br /> +How thirst and hunger, needs of body cry<br /> +For daily care, become materialists,<br /> +Unmoralists a little in the sense<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>That any book, or theories of the soul<br /> +Should tie the body from its natural needs.<br /> +Though I accept the faith, no less than ever,<br /> +That God is and the Savior is and spirit<br /> +Is no less real than body, has its needs,<br /> +Separate or through the body.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Oh, that girl!</span><br /> +She made me guess and wonder. But next day<br /> +I had a fresh surprise, the major came<br /> +And she was changed completely. I forgot,<br /> +I must tell you what happened after lunch.<br /> +We rose and she grew impish, stood and laughed<br /> +As if the secret of the laugh was hers<br /> +Beyond the concrete matter of the laugh.<br /> +She said, “I’ll show you something beautiful.”<br /> +We started out to see it, walked the road<br /> +Around the foot of Castle Hill. You know<br /> +The wind blows gustily at Nice; and so<br /> +All of a sudden went my hat, way up,<br /> +Far off, and instantly such laughter rose,<br /> +And boisterous shouts that made me think at once<br /> +I had been tricked, somehow. It is this way:<br /> +The gamins loiter there to watch the victims<br /> +Who lose their hats. And Elenor sat down,<br /> +And laughed until she cried. I do not know,<br /> +Perhaps I was not amorous enough<br /> +At luncheon and she pranked me for revenge.<br /> +Well, then the major came, he took my place.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>I was the third one in the party now,<br /> +But saw them every day. What did we do?<br /> +No Monte Carlo now, nor ordering<br /> +Without the card, she was completely changed,<br /> +Demure again, all words of lovely things:<br /> +The war had changed the world, had lifted up<br /> +The spirit of man to visions, and the major<br /> +Adored her, drank it in. And we explored<br /> +Limpia and the Old Town, looked aloft<br /> +At Mont Cau d’Aspremont, picked hellebore,<br /> +And orchids in the gorges, saw St. Pons,<br /> +The Valley of Hepaticas, sunned ourselves<br /> +Within the Jardin Public, where the children<br /> +Play riotously; and Elenor would draw<br /> +A straying child to her and say: “You darling.”<br /> +I saw her do this once and dry her eyes<br /> +And to the major say: “They are so lovely,<br /> +I had to give up teaching school, the children<br /> +Stirred my emotions till I could not bear<br /> +To be among them.” And to make an end,<br /> +I spent the parts of three days with these two.<br /> +And on the last day we went to the summit<br /> +Of the Corinche Road, and saw the sea and Europe<br /> +Spread out before us—oh, you cannot know<br /> +The beauty of it, dear, until you see it.<br /> +And Elenor sat down as in a trance,<br /> +And looked and did not speak for minutes. Then<br /> +She said: “How pure a place this is—it’s nature,<br /> +And I can worship here, this makes you hate<br /> +The cafés and the pleasures of the town.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>What was this woman, dear, what was her soul?<br /> +Or was she half and half? Oh, after all,<br /> +I am a hostile mixture, so are you.<br /> +<br /> +And so I drifted out, and only stayed<br /> +A day or two beyond that afternoon.<br /> +I took a last walk on the Promenade;<br /> +At last saw just ahead of me these two,<br /> +His arm was fast in hers, they sauntered on<br /> +As if in serious talk. As I came up,<br /> +I greeted them and said good-bye again.<br /> +<br /> +Where is the major? Did the major steal<br /> +The heart of Elenor Murray, speed her death?<br /> +They could have married. Why did she return?<br /> +Or did the major follow her? Well, dear,<br /> +Here is the story, truthful to a fault.<br /> +My soul is yours, I kept it true to you.<br /> +Hear how the waters roar upon the sand!<br /> +I close my eyes and almost can believe<br /> +We are together on the Corniche Road.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Well, it may never be that Merival<br /> +Heard from Bernard of Elenor at Nice,<br /> +Although he knew it sometime, knew as well<br /> +Her service in the war had nerved the men<br /> +And by that much had put the Germans down.<br /> +America at the fateful moment lent<br /> +Her strength to bring the war’s end. Elenor<br /> +Was one of many to cross seas and bring<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>Life strength against the emperor, once secure,<br /> +And throned in power against such phagocytes<br /> +As Elenor Murray, Bernard, even kings.<br /> +And sawing wood at Amerongen all<br /> +He thought of was of brains and monstrous hearts<br /> +Which sent the phagocytes from America,<br /> +England and France to eat him up at last.<br /> +<br /> +One day an American soldier, so ’tis said<br /> +Someone told Merival, was walking near<br /> +The house at Amerongen, saw a man<br /> +With drooped mustache and whitened beard approach,<br /> +Two mastiffs walked beside him. As he passed<br /> +Unrecognized, the soldier to a mate<br /> +Spoke up and said: “What hellish dogs are those?—<br /> +Like Bismarck used to have; I saw a picture<br /> +Of Bismarck with his dogs.” The drooped mustache<br /> +Turned nervously and took the soldiers in,<br /> +Then strode ahead. The emperor was stunned<br /> +To hear an American soldier use a knife<br /> +As sharp as that.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">But Elenor at Nice</span><br /> +Walked with the major as Bernard has told.<br /> +And this is wrinkled water, dark and far<br /> +From Merival, unknown to him. He hears,<br /> +And this alone, she went from Nice to Florence,<br /> +Was ill there in a convent, we shall see.<br /> +This is the tale that Irma Leese related<br /> +To Coroner Merival in a leisure hour:</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE MAJOR AND ELENOR MURRAY AT NICE</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Elenor Murray and Petain, the major,<br /> +The Promenade des Anglais walked at Nice.<br /> +A cloud was over him, and in her heart<br /> +A growing grief.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">He knew her at the hospital,</span><br /> +First saw her face among a little group<br /> +Of faces at a grave when rain was falling,<br /> +The burial of a nurse, when Elenor’s face<br /> +Was bathed in tears and strained with agony.<br /> +And after that he saw her in the wards;<br /> +Heard soldiers, whom she nursed, say as she passed,<br /> +Dear little soul, sweet soul, or take her hand<br /> +In gratitude and kiss it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">But as a stream</span><br /> +Flows with clear water even with the filth<br /> +Of scum, debris that drifts beside the current<br /> +Of crystal water, nor corrupts it, keeps<br /> +Its poisoned, heavier medium apart,<br /> +So at the hospital where the nurses’ hands<br /> +Poured sacrifice, heroic love, the filth<br /> +Of envy, anger, malice, plots, intrigue<br /> +Kept pace with pure devotion, noble work<br /> +For suffering and the cause.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">The major helped</span><br /> +To free the rules for Elenor Murray so<br /> +She might recuperate at Nice, and said:<br /> +“Go and await me, I shall join you there.<br /> +For in my trouble I must have a friend,<br /> +A woman to assuage me, give me light,<br /> +And ever since I saw you by that grave,<br /> +And saw you cross yourself, and bow your head<br /> +And watched your services along the wards<br /> +Among the sick and dying, I have felt<br /> +The soul of you, its human tenderness,<br /> +Its prodigal power of giving, pouring forth<br /> +Itself for others. And you seem a soul<br /> +Where nothing of our human frailty<br /> +Has come to dim the flame that burns in you,<br /> +You are all light, I think.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Looked down and said: “There is no soul like that.<br /> +This hospital, the war itself, reflects<br /> +The good and bad together of our souls.<br /> +You are a boy—oh such a boy to see<br /> +All good in me.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And Major Petain said:</span><br /> +“At least you have not found dishonor here<br /> +As I have found it, for a lust of flesh<br /> +A weakness and a trespass.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">This was after</span><br /> +The hospital was noisy with the talk<br /> +Of Major Petain and his shame, the hand<br /> +Of discipline lay on him.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Looked steadily in his eyes, but only said:<br /> +“We mortals know each other but a little,<br /> +Nor guess each other’s secrets.” And she glanced<br /> +A moment at the tragedy that had come<br /> +To her at Paris on her furlough there,<br /> +And of its train of sorrows, even now<br /> +Her broken health and failure in the work<br /> +As consequence to that, and how it brought<br /> +The breaking of her passionate will and dream<br /> +To serve and not to fail—she glanced at this<br /> +A moment as she faced him, looked at him.<br /> +Then as she turned away: “There is one thing<br /> +That I must tell you, it is fitting now,<br /> +I love and am beloved. But if you come<br /> +To Nice and I can help you, come, if talk<br /> +And any poor advice of mine can help.”<br /> +<br /> +So Major Petain, Elenor Murray walked<br /> +The Promenade at Nice, arm fast in arm.<br /> +And Major Petain to relieve his heart<br /> +Told all the tragedy that had come to him:<br /> +<br /> +“Duty to France was first with me where love<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>Was paramount with you, if I divine<br /> +Your heart, America’s, at least a love<br /> +Unmixed of other feelings as may be.<br /> +What could you find here, if you seek no husband,<br /> +Even in seeing France so partially?<br /> +What in adventure, lures to bring you here,<br /> +Where peril, labor are? You either came<br /> +To expiate your soul, or as you say,<br /> +To make more worthy of this man beloved<br /> +Back in America your love for him.<br /> +Dear idealist, I give my faith to you,<br /> +And all your words. But as I said ’twas duty,<br /> +Then dreams of freedom, Europe’s chains struck off,<br /> +The menace of the German crushed to earth<br /> +That fired me as a soldier, trained to go<br /> +When France should need me. So it is you saw<br /> +France go about this business calm and stern,<br /> +And patient for the prize, or if ’twere lost<br /> +Then brave to meet the future as France met<br /> +The arduous years that followed Metz, Sedan.”<br /> +<br /> +“But had I been American to the core,<br /> +Would I have put the sweet temptation by?<br /> +However flamed with zeal had I said no<br /> +When lips like hers were offered? Oh, you see<br /> +Whatever sun-light gilds the mountain tops<br /> +Rich grass grows in the valleys, herds will feed,<br /> +Though rising suns put glories on the heights.<br /> +And herds will run and stumble over rocks,<br /> +Break fences and encounter beasts of prey<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>To get the grass that’s sweetest.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“To begin</span><br /> +I met her there in Paris. In a trice<br /> +We loved each other, wrote, made vows, she pledged<br /> +The consummation. There was danger here,<br /> +Great danger, as you know, for her and me.<br /> +And yet it never stopped us, gave us fear.<br /> +And then I schemed and got her through the lines,<br /> +Took all the chances.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Danger was not all:</span><br /> +There was my knowledge of her husband’s love,<br /> +His life immaculate, his daily letters.<br /> +He put by woman chances that arose<br /> +With saying, I am married, am beloved,<br /> +I love my wife, all said so earnestly<br /> +We could not joke him, though behind his back<br /> +Some said: He trusts her, but he’d better watch;<br /> +At least no sense of passing good things by.<br /> +I sat with him at mess, I saw him read<br /> +The letters that she wrote him, face of light<br /> +Devouring eyes. The others rallied him;<br /> +But I was like a man who knows a plot<br /> +To take another’s life, but keeps the secret,<br /> +Eats with the victim, does not warn him, makes<br /> +Himself thereby a party to the plot.<br /> +Or like a man who knows a fellow man<br /> +Has some insidious disease beginning,<br /> +And hears him speak with unconcern of it,<br /> +And does not tell him what to do, you know,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>And let him go to death. And just for her,<br /> +The rapture of a secret love I choked<br /> +All risings of an honest manhood, mercy,<br /> +Honor with self and him. Oh, well you know<br /> +The isolation, hunger of us soldiers,<br /> +I only need to hint of these. But now<br /> +I see these well endured for sake of peace<br /> +And quiet memory.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“For here we stood</span><br /> +Just ’round the corner in that long arcade<br /> +That runs between our building, next to yours.<br /> +And this is what I hear—the husband’s voice,<br /> +Which well I knew, the officer’s in command:<br /> +‘Why have you brought your wife here?’ asked the officer.<br /> +‘Pardon, I have not done so,’ said the husband.<br /> +‘You’re adding falsehood to the offense; you know<br /> +The rules forbid your wife to pass the lines.’<br /> +‘Pardon, I have not brought her,’ he exclaimed<br /> +In passionate earnestness.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“Well, there we stood.</span><br /> +My sweetheart, but his wife, was turned to snow,<br /> +As white and cold. I got in readiness<br /> +To kill the husband. How could we escape?<br /> +I thought the husband had been sent away;<br /> +Her coming had been timed with his departure,<br /> +Arriving afterward, and we had failed.<br /> +But as for that, before our feet could stir,<br /> +The officer said, ‘Come now, I’ll prove your lie,’<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>And in a twinkling, taking a dozen steps<br /> +They turned into the arcade, there they were,<br /> +The officer was shaking him and saying,<br /> +‘You lie! You lie!’<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“All happened in a moment,</span><br /> +The humbled, ruined fellow saw the truth,<br /> +And blew his brains out on the very spot!<br /> +And made a wonder, gossip for you girls—<br /> +And here I am.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So Major Petain finished.</span><br /> +Then Elenor Murray said: “Let’s watch the sea.”<br /> +And as they sat in silence, as he turned<br /> +To look upon her face, he saw the tears,<br /> +Hanging like dew drops on her lashes, drip<br /> +And course her cheeks. “My friend, you weep for me,”<br /> +The major said at last, “my gratitude<br /> +For tears like these.” “I weep,” said Elenor Murray,<br /> +“For you, but for myself. What can I say?<br /> +Nothing, my friend, your soul must find its way.<br /> +Only this word: I’ll go to mass with you,<br /> +I’ll sit beside you, pray with you, for you,<br /> +And do you pray for me.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">And then she paused.</span><br /> +The long wash of the sea filled in the silence.<br /> +And then she said again, “I’ll go with you,<br /> +Where we may pray, each for the other pray.<br /> +I have a sorrow, too, as deep as yours.”</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE CONVENT</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Elenor Murray stole away from Nice<br /> +Before her furlough ended, tense to see<br /> +Something of Italy, and planned to go<br /> +To Genoa, explore the ancient town<br /> +Of Christopher Columbus, if she might<br /> +Elude the regulation, as she did,<br /> +In leaving Nice for Italy. But for her<br /> +Always the dream, and always the defeat<br /> +Of what she dreamed.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">She found herself in Florence</span><br /> +And saw the city. But the weariness<br /> +Of labor and her illness came again<br /> +At intervals, and on such days she lay<br /> +And heard the hours toll, wished for death and wept,<br /> +Being alone and sorrowful.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">On a morning</span><br /> +She rose and looked for galleries, came at last<br /> +Into the Via Gino Capponi<br /> +And saw a little church and entered in,<br /> +And saw amid the darkness of the church<br /> +A woman kneeling, knelt beside the woman,<br /> +And put her hand upon the woman’s forehead<br /> +To find that it was wrinkled, strange to say<br /> +A scar upon the forehead, like a cross....<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>Elenor Murray rose and walked away,<br /> +Sobs gathering in her throat, her body weak,<br /> +And reeled against the wall, for so it seemed,<br /> +Against which hung thick curtains, velvet, red,<br /> +A little grimed and worn. And as she leaned<br /> +Against the curtains, clung to them, she felt<br /> +A giving, parted them, and found a door,<br /> +Pushed on the door which yielded, opened it<br /> +And saw a yard before her.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">It was walled.</span><br /> +A garden of old urns and ancient growths,<br /> +Some flowering plants around the wall.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">Before her</span><br /> +And in the garden’s center stood a statue,<br /> +With outstretched arms, the Virgin without the child.<br /> +And suddenly on Elenor Murray came<br /> +Great sorrow like a madness, seeing there<br /> +The pitying Virgin, stretching arms to her.<br /> +And so she ran along the pebbly walk,<br /> +Fell fainting at the Virgin’s feet and lay<br /> +Unconscious in the garden.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">When she woke</span><br /> +Two nuns were standing by, and one was dressed<br /> +In purest white, and held within her hands<br /> +A tray of gold, and on the tray of gold<br /> +There was a glass of wine, and in a cup<br /> +Some broth of beef, and on a plate of gold<br /> +A wafer.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">And the other nun was dressed</span><br /> +In purest white, but over her shoulders lay<br /> +A cape of blue, blue as the sky of Florence<br /> +Above the garden wall.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">Then as she saw</span><br /> +The nuns before her, in the interval<br /> +Of gathering thought, re-limning life again<br /> +From wonder if she had not died, and these<br /> +Were guides or ministrants of another world,<br /> +The nun with cape of blue to Elenor<br /> +Said: “Drink this wine, this broth;” and Elenor<br /> +Drank and arose, being lifted up by them,<br /> +And taken through the convent door and given<br /> +A little room as white and clean as light,<br /> +And a bed of snowy linen.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Then they said:</span><br /> +“This is the Convent where we send up prayers,<br /> +Prayers for the souls who do not pray for self—<br /> +Rest, child, and be at peace; and if there be<br /> +Friends you would tell that you are here, then we<br /> +Will send the word for you, sleep now and rest.”<br /> +And listening to their voices Elenor slept.<br /> +And when she woke a nurse was at her side,<br /> +And food was served her, broths and fruit. Each day<br /> +A doctor came to tell her all was well,<br /> +And health would soon return.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">So for a month</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>Elenor Murray lay and heard the bells,<br /> +And breathed the fragrance of the flowering city<br /> +That floated through her window, in the stillness<br /> +Of the convent dreamed, and said to self: This place<br /> +Is good to die in, who is there to tell<br /> +That I am here? There was no one. To them<br /> +She gave her name, but said: “Till I am well<br /> +Let me remain, and if I die, some place<br /> +Must be for me for burial, put me there.<br /> +And if I live to go again to France<br /> +And join my unit, let me have a writing<br /> +That I did not desert, was stricken here<br /> +And could not leave. For while I stole away<br /> +From Nice to get a glimpse of Italy,<br /> +I might have done so in my furlough time,<br /> +And not stayed over it.” And to Elenor<br /> +The nuns said: “We will help you, but for now<br /> +Rest and put by anxieties.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">On a day</span><br /> +Elenor Murray made confessional.<br /> +And to the nuns told bit by bit her life,<br /> +Her childhood, schooling, travels, work in the war,<br /> +What fate had followed her, what sufferings.<br /> +And Sister Mary, she who saw her first,<br /> +And held the tray of gold with wine and broth,<br /> +Sat often with her, read to her, and said:<br /> +“Letters will go ahead of you to clear<br /> +Your absence over time—be not afraid,<br /> +All will be well.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">And so when Elenor Murray</span><br /> +Arose to leave she found all things prepared:<br /> +A cab to take her to the train, compartments<br /> +Reserved for her from place to place, her fare<br /> +And tickets paid for, till at last she came<br /> +To Brest and joined her unit, in three days<br /> +Looked at the rolling waters as the ship<br /> +Drove to America—such a coming home!<br /> +To what and whom?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +Loveridge Chase returned and brought the letters<br /> +To Coroner Merival from New York. That day<br /> +The chemical analysis was finished, showed<br /> +No ricin and no poison. Elenor Murray<br /> +Died how? What were the circumstances? Then<br /> +When Coroner Merival broke the seals of wax,<br /> +And cut the twine that bound the package, found<br /> +The man was Barrett Bays who wrote the letters—<br /> +There were a hundred—then he cast about<br /> +To lay his hands on Barrett Bays, and found<br /> +That Barrett Bays lived in Chicago, taught,<br /> +Was a professor, aged some forty years.<br /> +Why did this Barrett Bays emerge not, speak,<br /> +Come forward? Was it simply to conceal<br /> +A passion written in these letters here<br /> +For his sake or his wife’s? Or was it guilt<br /> +For some complicity in Elenor’s death?<br /> +And on this day the coroner had a letter<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>From Margery Camp which said: “Where’s Barrett Bays?<br /> +Why have you not arrested him? He knows<br /> +Something, perhaps about the death of Elenor.”<br /> +So Coroner Merival sent process forth<br /> +To bring in Barrett Bays, <i>non est inventus</i>.<br /> +He had not visited his place of teaching,<br /> +Been seen in haunts accustomed for some days—<br /> +Not since the death of Elenor Murray, none<br /> +Knew where to find him, and none seemed to know<br /> +What lay between this man and Elenor Murray.<br /> +This was the more suspicious. Then the <i>Times</i><br /> +Made headlines of the letters, published some<br /> +Wherein this Barrett Bays had written Elenor:<br /> +“You are my hope in life, my morning star,<br /> +My love at last, my all.” From coast to coast<br /> +The word was flashed about this Barrett Bays;<br /> +And Mrs. Bays at Martha’s Vineyard read,<br /> +Turned up her nose, continued on the round<br /> +Of gaieties, but to a chum relieved<br /> +Her loathing with these words: “Another woman,<br /> +He’s soiled himself at last.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And Barrett Bays,</span><br /> +Who roughed it in the Adirondacks, hoped<br /> +The inquest’s end would leave him undisclosed<br /> +In Elenor Murray’s life, though wracked with fear<br /> +About the letters in the vault, some day<br /> +To be unearthed, or taken, it might be,<br /> +By Margery Camp for uses sinister—<br /> +He reading that the letters had been given<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>To Coroner Merival, and seeing his name<br /> +Printed in every sheet, saw no escape<br /> +In any nook of earth, returned and walked<br /> +In Merival’s office: trembling, white as snow.<br /> +<br /> +So Barrett Bays was sworn, before the jury<br /> +Sat and replied to questions, said he knew<br /> +Elenor Murray in the fall before<br /> +She went to France, saw much of her for weeks;<br /> +Had written her these letters before she left.<br /> +Had followed her in the war, and gone to France,<br /> +Had seen her for some days in Paris when<br /> +She had a furlough. Had come back and parted<br /> +With Elenor Murray, broken with her, found<br /> +A cause for crushing out his love for her.<br /> +Came back to win forgetfulness, had written<br /> +No word to her since leaving Paris—let<br /> +Her letters lie unanswered; brought her letters,<br /> +And gave them to the coroner. Then he told<br /> +Of the day before her death, and how she came<br /> +By motor to Chicago with her aunt,<br /> +Named Irma Leese, and telephoned him, begged<br /> +An hour for talk. “Come meet me by the river,”<br /> +She had said. And so went to meet her. Then he told<br /> +Why he relented, after he had left her<br /> +In Paris with no word beside this one:<br /> +“This is the end.” Now he was curious<br /> +To know what she would say, what could be said<br /> +Beyond what she had written—so he went<br /> +Out of a curious but hardened heart.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p> +<h2>BARRETT BAYS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“I was walking by the river,” Barrett said,<br /> +“When she arrived. I took her hand, no kiss,<br /> +A silence for some minutes as we walked.<br /> +Then we began to take up point by point,<br /> +For she was concentrated on the hope<br /> +Of clearing up all doubtful things that we<br /> +Might start anew, clear visioned, perfect friends,<br /> +More perfect for mistakes and clouds. Her will<br /> +Was passionate beyond all other wills,<br /> +And when she set her mind upon a course<br /> +She could not be diverted, or if so,<br /> +Her failure kept her brooding. What with me<br /> +She wanted after what had stunned my faith<br /> +I knew not, save she loved me. For in truth<br /> +I have no money, and no prospects either<br /> +To tempt cupidity.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“Well; first we talked—</span><br /> +You must be patient with me, gentlemen,<br /> +You see my nerves—they’re weakened—but I’ll try<br /> +To tell you all—well then—a glass of water—<br /> +At first we talked but trifles. Silences<br /> +Came on us like great calms between the stir<br /> +Of ineffectual breezes, like this day<br /> +In August growing sultry as the sun<br /> +Rose upward. She was striving to break down<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>The hard corrosion of my thought, and I<br /> +Could not surrender. Till at last, I said:<br /> +‘That day in Paris when you stood revealed<br /> +Can never be forgotten. Once I killed<br /> +A love with hatred for a woman who<br /> +Betrayed me, as you did. And you can kill<br /> +A love with hatred but you kill your soul<br /> +While killing love. And so with you I kept<br /> +All hatred from my heart, but cannot keep<br /> +A poisonous doubt of you from blood and brain.’...<br /> +I learned in Paris, (to be clear on this),<br /> +That after she had given herself to me<br /> +She fell back in the arms of Gregory Wenner.<br /> +And here as we were walking I revealed<br /> +My agony, my anger, emptied out<br /> +My heart of all its bitterness. At last<br /> +When she protested it was natural<br /> +For her to do what she had done, the act<br /> +As natural as breathing, taking food,<br /> +Not signifying faithlessness nor love—<br /> +Though she admitted had she loved me then<br /> +She had not done so—I grew tense with rage,<br /> +A serpent which grows stiff and rears its head<br /> +To strike its enemy was what I seemed<br /> +To myself then, and so I said to her<br /> +In voice controlled and low, but deadly clear,<br /> +‘What are you but a whore—you are a whore!’<br /> +Murderous words no doubt, but do you hear<br /> +She justified herself with Gregory Wenner;<br /> +Yes, justified herself when she had written<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>And asked forgiveness—yes, brought me out<br /> +To meet her by the river. And for what?<br /> +I said you whore, she shook from head to heels,<br /> +And toppled, but I caught her in my arms,<br /> +And held her up, she paled, head rolled around,<br /> +Her eyes set, mouth fell open, all at once<br /> +I saw that she was dead, or syncope<br /> +Profound had come upon her. Elenor,<br /> +What is the matter? Love came back to me,<br /> +Love there with Death. I laid her on the ground.<br /> +I found her dead.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">“If I had any thought</span><br /> +There in that awful moment, it was this:<br /> +To run away, escape, could I maintain<br /> +An innocent presence there, be clear of fault?<br /> +And if I had that thought, as I believe,<br /> +I had no other; all my mind’s a blank<br /> +Until I find myself at one o’clock<br /> +Disrobing in my room, too full of drink,<br /> +And trying to remember.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“With the morning</span><br /> +I lay in bed and thought: Did Irma Leese<br /> +Know anything of me, or did she know<br /> +That Elenor went out to meet a man?<br /> +And if she did not know, who could disclose<br /> +That I was with her? No one saw us there.<br /> +Could I not wait from day to day and see<br /> +What turn the news would take? For at the last<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>I did not kill her. If the inquest showed<br /> +Her death was natural, as it was, for all<br /> +Of me, why then my secret might be hidden<br /> +In Elenor Murray’s grave. And if they found<br /> +That I was with her, brought me in the court,<br /> +I could make clear my innocence. And thus<br /> +I watched the papers, gambled with the chance<br /> +Of never being known in this affair.<br /> +Does this sound like a coward? Put yourself<br /> +In my place in that horror. Think of me<br /> +With all these psychic shell shocks—first the war,<br /> +Its great emotions, then this Elenor.”<br /> +<br /> +And thus he spoke and twisted hands, and twitched,<br /> +And ended suddenly. Then David Borrow,<br /> +And Winthrop Marion with the coroner<br /> +Shot questions at him till he woke, regained<br /> +A memory, concentration: Who are you?<br /> +What was your youth? Your love life? What your wife?<br /> +Where did you meet this Elenor at the first?<br /> +Why did you go to France? In Paris what<br /> +Happened to break your balance? Tell us all.<br /> +For as they eyed him, he looked down, away,<br /> +Stirred restless in the chair. And was it truth<br /> +He told of meeting Elenor, her death?<br /> +Guilt like a guise was on his face. And one—<br /> +This Isaac Newfeldt, juryman, whispered, “Look,<br /> +That man is guilty, let us fly the questions<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>Like arrows at him till we bring him down.”<br /> +And as they flew the arrows he came to<br /> +And spoke as follows:—<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“First, I am a heart</span><br /> +That from my youth has sought for love and hungered.<br /> +And Elenor Murray’s heart had hungered too,<br /> +Which drew our hearts together, made our love<br /> +As it were mystical, more real. I was<br /> +A boy who sought for beauty, hope and faith<br /> +In woman’s love; at fourteen met a girl<br /> +Who carried me to ecstasy till I walked<br /> +In dreamland, stepping clouds. She loved me too.<br /> +I could not cure my heart, have always felt<br /> +A dull pain for that girl. She died, you know.<br /> +I found another, rather made myself<br /> +Discover my ideal in her, until<br /> +My heart was sure she was the one. And then<br /> +I woke up from this trance, went to another<br /> +Still searching; always searching, reaching now<br /> +An early cynicism, how to play with hearts,<br /> +Extract their beauty, pass to someone else.<br /> +I was a little tired now, seemed to know<br /> +There is no wonder woman, just a woman<br /> +Somewhere to be a wife. And then I met<br /> +The woman whom I married, thought to solve<br /> +My problem with the average things of life;<br /> +The satisfaction of insistent sex,<br /> +A home, a regular program, turn to work,<br /> +Forget the dream, the quest. What did I find?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>A woman who exhausted me and bored me,<br /> +Stirred never a thought, a fancy, brought no friends,<br /> +No pleasures or diversions, took from me<br /> +All that I had to give of mind and heart,<br /> +Purse, or what not. And she was barren too,<br /> +And restless; by that restlessness relieved<br /> +The boredom of our life; it took her off<br /> +In travels here and there. And I was glad<br /> +To have her absent, but it still is true<br /> +There is a hell in marriage, when it keeps<br /> +Delights of freedom off, all other women<br /> +Not willing to intrigue, pass distantly<br /> +Your married man; but on the other hand<br /> +What was my marriage with a wife away<br /> +Six months or more of every year? And when<br /> +I said to her, divorce me, she would say,<br /> +You want your freedom to get married—well,<br /> +The other woman shall not have you, if<br /> +There is another woman, as I think.<br /> +And so the years went by. I’m thirty-five<br /> +And meet a woman, play light heartedly,<br /> +She is past thirty, understands nor asks<br /> +A serious love. It’s summer and we jaunt<br /> +About the country, for my wife’s away.<br /> +As usual, in the fall returns, and then<br /> +My woman says, the holiday is over,<br /> +Go back to work, and I’ll go back to work.<br /> +I cannot give her up, would still go on<br /> +For this delight so sweet to me. By will<br /> +I hold her, stir the fire up to inflame<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>Her hands for me, make love to her in short<br /> +And find myself in love, beholding in her<br /> +All beauties and all virtues. Well, at first<br /> +What did I care what she had been before,<br /> +Whose mistress, sweetheart? Now I cared and asked<br /> +Fidelity from her, and this she pledged.<br /> +And so a settled life seemed come to us,<br /> +We had found happiness. But on a day<br /> +I caught her in unfaithfulness. A man<br /> +She knew before she knew me crossed her path.<br /> +Why do they do this, even while their lips<br /> +Are wet with kisses given you? I think<br /> +A woman may be true in marriage, never<br /> +In any free relationship. And then<br /> +I left her, killed the love I had with hate.<br /> +Hate is an energy with which to save<br /> +A heart knocked over by a blow like this.<br /> +To forgive this wrong is never to forget,<br /> +But always to remember, with increasing<br /> +Sorrow and dreams invest the ruined love.<br /> +And so I turned to hate, came from the flames<br /> +As hard and glittering as crockery ware,<br /> +And went my way with gallant gestures, winning<br /> +An hour of rapture where it came to me.<br /> +And all the time my wife was much away,<br /> +Yet left me in this state where I was kept<br /> +From serious love if I had found the woman.<br /> +A pterodactyl in my life and soul:<br /> +Had wings, could fly, but slumbered in the mud.<br /> +Was neither bird nor beast; as social being<br /> +Was neither bachelor nor married man.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span><br /> +The years went on with work, day after day<br /> +Arising to the task, night after night<br /> +Returning for the rest with which to rise,<br /> +Forever following the mad illusion,<br /> +The dream, the expected friend, the great event<br /> +Which should change life, and never finding it.<br /> +And all the while I see myself consumed,<br /> +Sapped somehow by this wife and hating her;<br /> +Then fearful for myself for hating her,<br /> +Then melting into generosities<br /> +For hating her. And so tossed back and forth<br /> +Between such passions, also never at peace<br /> +From the dream of love, the woman and the mate<br /> +I stagger, amble, hurtle through the years,<br /> +And reach that summer of two years ago<br /> +When life began to change. It was this way:<br /> +My wife is home, for a wonder, and my friend,<br /> +Most sympathetic, nearest, comes to dine.<br /> +He casts his comprehending eyes about,<br /> +Takes all things in. As we go down to town,<br /> +And afterward at luncheon, when alone<br /> +He says to me: she is a worthy woman,<br /> +Beautiful, too, there is no other woman<br /> +To make you happier, the fault is yours,<br /> +At least in part, remove your part of the fault,<br /> +To woo her, give yourself, find good in her.<br /> +Go take a trip. For neither man nor woman<br /> +Yields everything till wooed, tried out, beloved.<br /> +Bring all your energies to the trial of her.<br /> +She will respond, unfold, repay your work.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span><br /> +He won me with his words. I said to her,<br /> +Let’s summer at Lake Placid—so we went.<br /> +I tried his plan, did all I could, no use.<br /> +The woman is not mine, was never mine,<br /> +Was meant for someone else. And in despair,<br /> +In wrath as well, I left her and came back<br /> +And telephoned a woman that I knew<br /> +To dine with me. She came, was glad and gay,<br /> +But as she drew her gloves off let me see<br /> +A solitaire. What, you? I said to her,<br /> +You leave me too? She smiled and answered me;<br /> +Marriage may be the horror that you think,<br /> +And yet we all must try it once, and Charles<br /> +Is nearest my ideal of any man.<br /> +I have been very ill since last we met,<br /> +Had not survived except for skillful hands,<br /> +And Charles was good to me, with heart and purse.<br /> +My illness took my savings. I repay<br /> +His goodness with my hand. I love him too.<br /> +You do not care to lose me. As for that<br /> +I know one who will more than take my place;<br /> +She is the nurse who nursed me back to health,<br /> +I’ll have you meet her, I can get her now.<br /> +She rose and telephoned. In half an hour<br /> +Elenor Murray joined us, dined with us.<br /> +I watched her as she entered, did not see<br /> +A single wonder in her, cannot now<br /> +Remember how she looked, what dress she wore,<br /> +What hat in point of color, anything.<br /> +After the dinner I rode home with them,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>Saw Elenor at luncheon next day. So<br /> +The intimacy began.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“She was alone,</span><br /> +Unsettled and unhappy, pressed for funds.<br /> +She had, it seemed, nursed Janet without pay<br /> +Till Charles made good at last the weekly wage;<br /> +Since Janet’s illness had no work to do.<br /> +I was alone and bored, she came to me<br /> +Almost at first as woman never came<br /> +To me before, so radiant, sympathetic,<br /> +Admiring, so devoted with a heart<br /> +That soothed and strove to help me. Strange to say<br /> +These manifests of spirit, ministrations<br /> +Bespoke the woman who has found a man,<br /> +And never knew a man before. She seemed<br /> +An old maid jubilant for a man at last,<br /> +And truth to tell I took her rapturous ways<br /> +With just a little reticence, and shrinking<br /> +Of spirit lest her hands would touch too close<br /> +My spirit which misvalued hers, withdraw<br /> +Itself from hers with hidden smiles that she<br /> +Could find so much in me. She did not change,<br /> +Retreat, draw in; advanced, poured out, gave more<br /> +And wooed me, till I feared if I should take<br /> +Her body she would follow me, grow mad<br /> +And shameless for her love.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“But as for that</span><br /> +That next day while at luncheon, frank and bold,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>I spoke right out to her and then she shook<br /> +From head to foot, and made her knife in hand<br /> +Rattle the plate for trembling, turned as pale<br /> +As the table linen. Afterward as we met,<br /> +Having begun so, I renewed the word,<br /> +Half smiling to behold her so perturbed,<br /> +And serious, and gradually toning down<br /> +Pursuit of her this way, as I perceived<br /> +Her interest growing and her clinging ways,<br /> +Her ardor, huddling to me, great devotion;<br /> +Rapt words of friendship, offers of herself<br /> +For me or mine for nothing were we ill<br /> +And needed her.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“These currents flowed along.</span><br /> +Hers plunged and sparkled, mine was slow for thought.<br /> +A doubt of her, or fear, till on a night<br /> +When nothing had been said of this before,<br /> +Quite suddenly when nearing home she shrank,<br /> +Involved herself in shrinking in the corner<br /> +Of the cab’s seat, and spoke up: ‘Take me now,<br /> +I’m yours to-night, will do what you desire,<br /> +Whatever you desire.’ I acted then,<br /> +Seemed overjoyed, was puzzled just the same,<br /> +And almost feared her. As I said before,<br /> +I feared she might pursue me, trouble me<br /> +After a hold like this,—and yet I said:<br /> +‘Go get your satchel, meet me in an hour.’<br /> +I let her out, drove to the club, and thought;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>Then telephoned her, business had come up,<br /> +I could not meet her, but would telephone<br /> +To-morrow.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">“And to-morrow when it came</span><br /> +Brought ridicule and taunting from myself:<br /> +To have pursued this woman, for two months,<br /> +And if half-heartedly, you’ve made her think<br /> +Your heart was wholly in it, now she yields,<br /> +Bestows herself. You fly, you are a fool;<br /> +A village pastor playing Don Juan,<br /> +A booby costumed as a gallant—pooh!<br /> +Go take your chance. I telephoned her then,<br /> +That night she met me.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Here was my surprise:</span><br /> +All semblance of the old maid fell away,<br /> +Like robes as she disrobed. She brought with her<br /> +Accoutrements of slippers, caps of lace,<br /> +And oriental perfumes languorous.<br /> +The hour had been all heaven had I sensed,<br /> +Sensed without thinking consciously a play,<br /> +Dramatics, acting, like an old maid who<br /> +Resorts to tricks of dress she fancies wins<br /> +A gallant of experience, fancies only<br /> +And knows not, being fancied so appears<br /> +Half ludicrous.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">“But so our woe began.</span><br /> +That morning we had breakfast in our room,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>And I was thinking, in an absent way<br /> +Responded to her laughter, joyous ways.<br /> +For I was thinking of my life again,<br /> +Of love that still eluded me, was bored<br /> +Because I sat there, did not have the spirit<br /> +To share her buoyancy—or was it such?<br /> +Did she not ripple merriment to hide<br /> +Her disappointment, wake me if she could?<br /> +And spite of what I thought of her before<br /> +That she had known another man or men,<br /> +I thought now I was first. And to let down,<br /> +Slope off the event, our parting for the day<br /> +Have no abruptness, I invited her<br /> +To luncheon, when I left her ’twas to meet<br /> +Again at noon. We met and parted then.<br /> +So now it seemed a thing achieved. Two weeks<br /> +Elapsed before I telephoned her. Then<br /> +The story we repeated as before,<br /> +Same room and all. But meantime we had sat<br /> +Some moments over tea, the orchestra<br /> +Played Chopin for her.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Then she handed me</span><br /> +A little box, I opened it and found<br /> +A locket too ornate, her picture in it,<br /> +A little flag.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">“So in that moment there</span><br /> +Love came to me for Elenor Murray. Music,<br /> +That poor pathetic locket, and her way<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>So humble, so devoted, and the thought<br /> +Of those months past, wherein she never swerved<br /> +From ways of love, in spite of all my moods,<br /> +Half-hearted, distant—these combined at once,<br /> +And with a flame that rose up silently<br /> +Consumed my heart with love.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“She went away,</span><br /> +And left me hungering, lonely. She returned,<br /> +And saw at last dubieties no more,<br /> +The answering light for her within my eyes.”<br /> +<br /> +“I must recur a little here to say<br /> +That at the first, first meeting it may be,<br /> +With Janet, there at tea, she said to me<br /> +She had signed for the war, would go to France,<br /> +To nurse the soldiers. You cannot remember<br /> +What people say at first, before you know,<br /> +Have interest in them. Also at that time<br /> +I had no interest in the war, believed<br /> +The war would end before we took a hand.<br /> +The war lay out of me, objectified<br /> +Like news of earthquakes in Japan. And then<br /> +As time went on she said: ‘I do not know<br /> +What day I shall be called, the time’s at hand.’<br /> +I loathed the Germans then; but loathed the war,<br /> +The hatred, lying, which it bred, the filth<br /> +Spewed over Europe, from the war, on us<br /> +At last. I loathed it all, and saw<br /> +The spirit of the world debauched and fouled<br /> +With blood and falsehood.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“Elenor found in me</span><br /> +Cold water for her zeal, and even asked:<br /> +‘Are you pro-German?—no!’ I tried to say<br /> +What stirred in me, she did not comprehend,<br /> +And went her way with saying: ‘I shall serve,<br /> +O, glorious privilege to serve, to give,<br /> +And since this love of ours is tragedy,<br /> +Cannot be blessed with children, or with home,<br /> +It will be better if I die, am swept<br /> +Under the tide of war with work.’ This girl<br /> +Exhausted me with ardors, spoken faiths,<br /> +And zeal which never tired, until at last<br /> +I longed for her to go and make an end.<br /> +What better way to end it?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“April came,</span><br /> +One day she telephoned me that to-morrow<br /> +She left for France. We met that night and walked<br /> +A wind swept boulevard by the lake, and she<br /> +Was luminous, a spirit; tucked herself<br /> +Under my coat, adored me, said to me:<br /> +‘If I survive I shall return to you,<br /> +To serve you, help you, be your friend for life,<br /> +And sacrifice my womanhood for you.<br /> +You cannot marry me, in spite of that<br /> +If I can be your comfort, give you peace,<br /> +That will be marriage, all that God intends<br /> +As marriage for me. You have blessed me, dear,<br /> +With hope and happiness. And oh at last<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>You did behold the war as good, you give me,<br /> +You send me to the war. I serve for you,<br /> +I serve the country in your name, your love,<br /> +So blessed for you, your love.’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">“That night at two</span><br /> +I woke somehow as if an angel stood<br /> +Beside the bed in light, beneficence,<br /> +And found her head close to my heart—she woke<br /> +At once with me, spoke dreamily ‘Dear heart,’<br /> +Then turned to sleep again. I loved her then.”<br /> +<br /> +“She left next day. An olden mood came back<br /> +Which said, the end has come, and it is best.<br /> +I left the city too, breathed freer then,<br /> +Sought new companionships. But in three days<br /> +My heart was sinking, sickness of the heart,<br /> +Nostalgia took me. How to fight it off<br /> +Became the daily problem; work, diversions<br /> +Seemed best for cures. The malady progressed<br /> +Beyond the remedies. My wife came back,<br /> +Divined my trouble, laughed. And every day<br /> +The papers pounded nerves with battle news;<br /> +The bands were playing, soldiers marched the streets.<br /> +And taggers on the corner every day<br /> +Reminded you of suffering and of want.<br /> +And orators were talking where you ate:<br /> +Bonds must be bought—war—war was everywhere.<br /> +There was no place remote to hide from it,<br /> +And rest from its insistence. Then began<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>Elenor Murray’s letters sent from France,<br /> +Which told of what she did, and always said:<br /> +‘Would you were with me, serving in the war.<br /> +If you could come and serve; they need you, dear;<br /> +You could do much.’ Until at last the war<br /> +Which had lain out of me, objectified,<br /> +Became a part of me, I saw the war,<br /> +And felt the war through her, and every tune<br /> +And every marching soldier, every word<br /> +Spoken by orators said Elenor Murray.<br /> +At dining places, theatres, pursued<br /> +By this one thought of war and Elenor Murray;<br /> +In every drawing room pursued, pursued<br /> +In quiet places by the memories.<br /> +I had no rest. The war and love of her<br /> +Had taken body of me, soul of me,<br /> +With madness, ecstasy, and nameless longing,<br /> +Hunger and hope, fear and despair—but love<br /> +For Elenor Murray with intenser flame<br /> +Ran round it all.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“At last all other things:</span><br /> +Place in the world, my business, and my home,<br /> +My wife if she be counted, sunk away<br /> +To nothingness. I stood stripped of the past,<br /> +Saw nothing but the war and Elenor,<br /> +Saw nothing but the day of finding her<br /> +In France, and serving there to be with her,<br /> +Or near where I could see her, go to her,<br /> +Perhaps if she was ill or needed me.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>And so I went to France, began to serve,<br /> +Went in the ordnance. In that ecstasy<br /> +Of war, religion, love, found happiness;<br /> +Became a part of the event, and cured<br /> +My languors, boredom, longing, in the work;<br /> +And saw the war as greatest good, the hand<br /> +Of God through all of it to bring the world<br /> +Beauty and Freedom, a millennium<br /> +Of Peace and Justice.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“So the days went by</span><br /> +With work and waiting, waiting for the hour<br /> +When Elenor should have a furlough, come<br /> +To Paris, see me. And she came at last.”<br /> +<br /> +“Before she came she wrote me, told me where<br /> +To meet her first. ‘At two o’clock,’ she wrote,<br /> +‘Be on the landing back of the piano’<br /> +Of a hotel she named. An ominous thought<br /> +Passed through my brain, as through a room a bat<br /> +Flits in and out. I read the letter over:<br /> +How could this letter pass the censor? Escape<br /> +The censor’s eye? But eagerness of passion,<br /> +And longing, love, submerged such thoughts as these.<br /> +I walked the streets and waited, loitered through<br /> +The Garden of the Tuilleries, watched the clocks,<br /> +The lagging minutes, counted with their strokes.<br /> +And then at last the longed for hour arrived.<br /> +I reached the landing—what a meeting place!<br /> +With pillars, curtains hiding us, a nook<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>No one could see us in, unless he spied.<br /> +And she was here, was standing by the corner<br /> +Of the piano, very pale and worn,<br /> +Looked down, not at me, pathos over her<br /> +Like autumn light. I took her in my arms,<br /> +She could not speak, it seemed. I could not speak.<br /> +Dumb sobs filled heart and throat of us. And then<br /> +I held her from me, looked at her, re-clasped<br /> +Her head against my breast, with choking breath<br /> +That was half whisper, half a cry, I said,<br /> +‘I love you, love you, now at last we’re here<br /> +Together, oh, my love!’ She put her lips<br /> +Against my throat and kissed it: ‘Oh, my love,<br /> +You really love me, now I know and see,<br /> +My soul, my dear one,’ Elenor breathed up<br /> +The words against my throat.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">“We took a suite:</span><br /> +Soft rugs upon the floor, a bed built up,<br /> +And canopied with satin, on the wall<br /> +Some battle pictures, one of Bonaparte,<br /> +A bottle of crystal water on a stand<br /> +And roses in a bowl—the room was sweet<br /> +With odors, and so comfortable. Here we stood.<br /> +‘It’s Paris, dear,’ she said, ‘we are together;<br /> +You’re serving in the war, how glorious!<br /> +We love each other, life is good—so good!’<br /> +That afternoon we saw the city a little,<br /> +So many things occurred to prophesy,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>Interpret.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">“And that night we saw the moon,</span><br /> +One star above the Arc de Triomphe, over<br /> +The chariot of bronze and leaping horses.<br /> +Dined merrily and slept and woke together<br /> +Beneath that satin canopy.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“In brief,</span><br /> +The days went by with laughter and with love.<br /> +We watched the Seine from bridges, in a spell<br /> +There at Versailles in the Temple of Love<br /> +Sat in the fading day.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Upon the lawn</span><br /> +She took her diary from her bag and read<br /> +What she had done in France; years past as well.<br /> +Began to tell me of a Simeon Strong<br /> +Whom she was pledged to marry years before.<br /> +How jealousy of Simeon Strong destroyed<br /> +His love, and all because in innocence<br /> +She had received some roses from a friend.<br /> +That led to other men that she had known<br /> +Who wished to marry her, as she said. But most<br /> +She talked of Simeon Strong; then of a man<br /> +Who had absorbed her life until she went<br /> +In training as a nurse, a married man,<br /> +Whom she had put away, himself forgetting<br /> +A hopeless love he crushed. Until at last<br /> +I said, no more, my dear—The past is dead,<br /> +What is the past to me? It could not be<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>That you could live and never meet a man<br /> +To love you, whom you loved. And then at last<br /> +She put the diary in her bag, we walked<br /> +And scanned the village from the heights; the train<br /> +Took back for Paris, went to dine, be gay.<br /> +This afternoon was the last, this night the last.<br /> +To-morrow she was going back to work,<br /> +And I was to resume my duties too,<br /> +Both hopeful for another meeting soon,<br /> +The war’s end, a re-union, some solution<br /> +Of what was now a problem hard to bear.”<br /> +<br /> +“We left our dinner early, she was tired,<br /> +There in our room again we clung together,<br /> +Grieved for the morrow. Sadness fell upon us,<br /> +Her eyes were veiled, her voice was low, her speech<br /> +Was brief and nebulous. She soon disrobed,<br /> +Lay with her hair spread out upon the pillow,<br /> +One hand above the coverlet.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“And soon</span><br /> +Was lying with head turned from me. I sat<br /> +And read to man my grief. You see the war<br /> +Blew to intenser flame all moods, all love,<br /> +All grief at parting, fear, or doubt. At last<br /> +As I looked up to see her I could see<br /> +Her breast with sleep arise and fall. The silence<br /> +Of night was on the city, even her breath<br /> +I heard as she was sleeping—for myself<br /> +I wondered what I was and why I was,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>What world is this and why, and if there be<br /> +God who creates us to this life, then why<br /> +This agony of living, peace or war;<br /> +This agony which grows greater, never less,<br /> +And multiplies its sources with the days,<br /> +Increases its perplexities with time,<br /> +And gives the soul no rest. And why this love,<br /> +This woman in my life. The mystery<br /> +Of my own torture asked to be explained.<br /> +And why I married whom I married, why<br /> +She was content to stand far off and watch<br /> +My crucifixion. Why?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“And with these thoughts</span><br /> +Came thought of changing them. A wonder slipped<br /> +About her diary in my brain. I paused,<br /> +Said to myself, you have no right to spy<br /> +Upon such secret records, yet indeed<br /> +A devilish sense of curiosity<br /> +Came as relaxment to my graver mood,<br /> +As one will fetch up laughter to dispel<br /> +Thoughts that cannot be quelled or made to take<br /> +The form of action, clarity. I arose<br /> +Took from her bag the diary, turned to see<br /> +What entry she had made when first she came<br /> +And gave herself to me. And look! The page<br /> +Just opposite from this had words to show<br /> +She gave herself to Gregory Wenner just<br /> +The week that followed on the week in which<br /> +She gave herself to me.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“A glass of water,</span><br /> +Before I can proceed!”...<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“I reeled and struck</span><br /> +The bed post. She awoke. I thought that death<br /> +Had come with apoplexy, could not see,<br /> +And in a spell vertiginous, with hands<br /> +That shook and could not find the post, stood there<br /> +Palsied from head to foot. Quick, she divined<br /> +The event, the horror anyway, sprang out,<br /> +And saw the diary lying at my feet.<br /> +Before I gained control of self, could catch<br /> +Or hold her hands, she seized it, threw it out<br /> +The window on the street, and flung herself<br /> +Face down upon the bed.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“Oh awful hell!</span><br /> +What other entries did I miss, what shames<br /> +Recorded since she left me, here in France?<br /> +What was she then? A woman of one sin,<br /> +Or many sins, her life filled up with treason,<br /> +Since I had left her?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“And now think of me:</span><br /> +This monstrous war had entered me through her,<br /> +Its passion, beauty, promise came through her<br /> +Into my blood and spirit, swept me forth<br /> +From country, life I knew, all settled things.<br /> +I had gone mad through her, and from her lips<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>Had caught the poison of the war, its hate,<br /> +Its yellow sentiment, its sickly dreams,<br /> +Its lying ideals, and its gilded filth.<br /> +And here she lay before me, like a snake<br /> +That having struck, by instinct now is limp;<br /> +By instinct knows its fangs have done their work,<br /> +And merely lies and rests.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“I went to her,</span><br /> +Pulled down her hands from eyes and shook her hard:<br /> +What is this? Tell me all?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“She only said:</span><br /> +‘You have seen all, know all.’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“‘You do not mean</span><br /> +That was the first and last with him?’ She said,<br /> +‘That is the truth.’ ‘You lie,’ I answered her.<br /> +‘You lie and all your course has been a lie:<br /> +Your words that asked me to be true to you,<br /> +That I could break your heart. The breasts you showed<br /> +Flowering because of me, as you declared;<br /> +Our intimacy of bodies in the dance<br /> +Now first permitted you because of love;<br /> +Your plaints for truth and for fidelity,<br /> +Your fears, a practiced veteran in the game,<br /> +All simulated. And your prayer to God<br /> +For me, our love, your protests for the war,<br /> +For service, sacrifice, your mother hunger,<br /> +Are all elaborate lies, hypocrisies,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>Studied in coolest cruelty, and mockery<br /> +Of every lovely thing, if there can be<br /> +A holy thing in life, as there cannot,<br /> +As you have proven it. The diary’s gone—<br /> +And let it go—you kept it from my eyes<br /> +Which shows that there was more. What are you then,<br /> +A whore, that’s all, a masquerading whore,<br /> +Not worthy of the hand that plies her trade<br /> +In openness, without deceit. For if<br /> +This was the first and only time with him<br /> +Here is dissimulation month by month<br /> +By word of mouth, in letters by the score;<br /> +And here your willingness to take my soul<br /> +And feed upon it. Knowing that my soul<br /> +Through what I thought was love was caught and whirled<br /> +To faith in the war, and faith in you as one<br /> +Who symbolized the war as good, as means<br /> +Of goodness for the world—and this deceit,<br /> +Insane, remorseless, conscienceless, is worse<br /> +Than what you did with him. I could forgive<br /> +Disloyalty like that, but this deceit<br /> +Is unforgivable. I go,’ I said.<br /> +I turned to leave. She rose up from the bed,<br /> +‘Forgive! Forgive!’ she pleaded, ‘I was mad,<br /> +Be fair! Be fair! You took me, turned from me,<br /> +Seemed not to want me, so I went to him.<br /> +I cried the whole day long when first I gave<br /> +Myself to you, for thinking you had found<br /> +All that you wanted, left me, did not care<br /> +To see me any more. I swear to you<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>I have been faithful to you since that day<br /> +When we heard Chopin played, and I could see<br /> +You loved me, and I loved you. O be fair!’”...<br /> +<br /> +Then Barrett Bays shook like an animal<br /> +That starves and freezes. And the jury looked<br /> +And waited till he got control of self<br /> +And spoke again his horror and his grief:—<br /> +“I left her, went upon the silent streets,<br /> +And walked the night through half insane, I think.<br /> +Cannot remember what I saw that night,<br /> +Have only blurs of buildings, arches, towers,<br /> +Remember dawn at last, returning strength,<br /> +And taking rolls and coffee, all my spirit<br /> +Grown clear and hard as crystal, with a will<br /> +As sharp as steel to find reality:<br /> +To see life as it is and face its terrors,<br /> +And never feel a tremor, bat an eye.<br /> +Drink any cup to find the truth, and be<br /> +A pioneer in a world made new again,<br /> +Stripped of the husks, bring new faith to the world,<br /> +Of souls devoted to themselves to make<br /> +Souls truer, more developed, wise and fair!<br /> +Write down the creed of service, and write in<br /> +Self-culture, self-dependence, throw away<br /> +The testaments of Jesus, old and new,<br /> +Save as they speak and help the river life<br /> +To mould our truer beings; the rest discard<br /> +Which teaches compensation, to forgive<br /> +That you may be forgiven, mercy show<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>That mercy may be yours, and love your neighbor,<br /> +Love so to gain—all balances like this<br /> +Of doctrine for the spirit false and vile,<br /> +Corrupted with such calculating filth;<br /> +And if you’d be the greatest, be the servant—<br /> +When one to be the greatest must be great<br /> +In self, a light, a harmony in self,<br /> +Perfected by the inner law, the works<br /> +Done for the sake of beauty, for the self<br /> +Without the hope of gain except the soul,<br /> +Your one possession, grows a perfect thing<br /> +If tended, studied, disciplined. While all<br /> +This ethic of the war, the sickly creed<br /> +Which Elenor Murray mouthed, but hides the will<br /> +Which struggles still, would live, lies to itself,<br /> +Lies to its neighbor and the world, and leaves<br /> +Our life upon a wall of rotting rock<br /> +Of village mortals, patriotism, lies!”<br /> +<br /> +“And as for that, what did I see in Paris<br /> +But human nature working in the war<br /> +As everywhere it works in peace? Cabals,<br /> +And jealousies and hatreds, greed alert;<br /> +Ambition, cruelty, strife piled on strife;<br /> +No peace in labor that was done for peace;<br /> +Hypocrisy elaborate and rampant.<br /> +Saw at first hand what coiled about the breast<br /> +Of Florence Nightingale when she suffered, strove<br /> +In the Crimean War, struck down by envy,<br /> +Or nearly so. Oh, is it human nature,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>That fights like maggots in the rotting carcass?<br /> +Or is it human nature tortured, bound<br /> +By artificial doctrines, creeds which all<br /> +Pretend belief in, really doubt, resist<br /> +And cannot live by?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“If I had a thought</span><br /> +Of charity toward this woman then<br /> +It was that she, a little mind, had tried<br /> +To live the faith against her nature, used<br /> +A woman’s cunning to get on in life.<br /> +For as I said it was her lies that hurt.<br /> +And had she lied, had she been living free,<br /> +Unshackled of our system, faith and cult,<br /> +American or Christian, what you will?<br /> +<br /> +“She was a woman free or bound, but women<br /> +Enslave and rule by sex. The female tigers<br /> +Howl in the jungle when their dugs are dry<br /> +For meat to suckle cubs. And Germany<br /> +Of bullet heads and bristling pompadours,<br /> +And wives made humble, cowed by basso brutes,<br /> +Had women to enslave the brutes with sex,<br /> +And make them seek possessions, land and food<br /> +For breeding women and for broods.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">“And now</span><br /> +If women make the wars, yet nurse the sick,<br /> +The wounded in the wars, when peace results,<br /> +What peace will be, except a peace that fools<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span>The gaping idealist, all souls in truth<br /> +But souls like mine? A peace that leaves the world<br /> +Just where it was with women in command<br /> +Who, weak but cunning, clinging to the faith<br /> +Of Christ, therefore as organized and made<br /> +A part, if not the whole of western culture.<br /> +Away with all of this! Blow down the mists,<br /> +The rainbows, give us air and cloudless skies.<br /> +Give water to our fevered eyes, give strength<br /> +To see what is and live it, tear away<br /> +These clumsy scaffoldings, by which the mystics,<br /> +Ascetics, mad-men all St. Stylites<br /> +Would rise above the world of body, brain,<br /> +Thirst, hunger, living, nature! Let us free<br /> +The soul of man from sophists, logic spinners,<br /> +The mad-magicians who would conjure death,<br /> +Yet fear him most themselves, the coward hearts<br /> +Who mouth eternal bliss, yet cling to earth<br /> +And keep away from heaven.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“For it’s true</span><br /> +Nature, or God, gives birth and also death.<br /> +And power has never come to draw the sting<br /> +Of death or make it pleasant, creed nor faith<br /> +Prevents disease, old age and death at last.<br /> +This truth is here and we must face it, or<br /> +Lie to ourselves and cloud our brains with lies,<br /> +Postponements and illusions, childish hopes!<br /> +But lie most childish is the Christian myth<br /> +Of Adam’s fall, by which disease and death<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>Entered the world, until the Savior came<br /> +And conquered death. He did? But people die,<br /> +Some millions slaughtered in the war! They live<br /> +In heaven, say your Elenor Murrays, well,<br /> +Who knows this? If you know it, why drop tears<br /> +For people better off? How ludicrous<br /> +The patch-work is! I leave it, turn again<br /> +To what man in this world can do with life<br /> +Made free of superstition, rules and faiths,<br /> +That make him lie to self and to his fellows.”...<br /> +<br /> +And Barrett Bays, now warmed up to his work,<br /> +Grown calmer, stronger, mind returned, that found<br /> +Full courage for the thought, the word to say it<br /> +Recurred to Elenor Murray, analyzed:—<br /> +And now a final word: “This Elenor Murray,<br /> +What was she, just a woman, a little life<br /> +Swept in the war and broken? If no more,<br /> +She is not worth these words: She is the symbol<br /> +Of our America, perhaps this world<br /> +This side of India, of America<br /> +At least she is the symbol. What was she?<br /> +A restlessness, a hunger, and a zeal;<br /> +A hope for goodness, and a tenderness;<br /> +A love, a sorrow, and a venturing will;<br /> +A dreamer fooled but dreaming still, a vision<br /> +That followed lures that fled her, generous, loving,<br /> +But also avid and insatiable;<br /> +An egoism chained and starved too long<br /> +That breaks away and runs; a cruelty,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>A wilfulness, a dealer in false weights,<br /> +And measures of herself, her duty, others,<br /> +A lust, a slick hypocrisy and a faith<br /> +Faithless and hollow. But at last I say<br /> +She taught me, saved me for myself, and turned<br /> +My steps upon the path of making self<br /> +As much as I can make myself—my thanks<br /> +To Elenor Murray!”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“For that day I saw</span><br /> +The war for what it was, and saw myself<br /> +An artificial factor, working there<br /> +Because of Elenor Murray—what a fool!<br /> +I was not really needed, like too many<br /> +Was just pretending, though I did not know<br /> +That I was just pretending, saw myself<br /> +Swept in this mad procession by a woman;<br /> +And through myself I saw the howling mob<br /> +Back in America that shouted hate,<br /> +In God’s name, all the carriers of flags,<br /> +The superheated patriots who did nothing,<br /> +Gave nothing but the clapping of their hands,<br /> +And shouts for freedom of the seas. The souls<br /> +Who hated freedom on the sea or earth,<br /> +Had, as the vile majority, set up<br /> +Intolerable tyrannies in America,<br /> +America that launched herself without<br /> +A God or faith, but in the name of man<br /> +And for humanity, so long accursed<br /> +By Gods and priests—the vile majority!<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>Which in the war, and through the war went on<br /> +With other tyrannies as to meat and drink,<br /> +Thought, speech, the mind in living—here was I<br /> +One of the vile majority through a woman—<br /> +And serving in the war because of her,<br /> +And meretricious sentiments of her.<br /> +You see I had the madness of the world,<br /> +Was just as crazy as America.<br /> +And like America must wake from madness<br /> +And suffer, and regret, and build again.<br /> +My soul was soiled, you see. And now I saw<br /> +How she had pressed her lips against my soul<br /> +And sapped my spirit in the name of beauty<br /> +She simulated; for a loyalty<br /> +Her lips averred; how as a courtesan<br /> +She had made soft my tissues, like an apple<br /> +Handled too much; how vision of me went<br /> +Into her life sucked forth; how never a word<br /> +Which ever came from her interpreted<br /> +In terms of worth the war; how she had coiled<br /> +Her serpent loins about me; how she draped<br /> +Herself in ardors borrowed; how my arms<br /> +Were mottled from the needle’s scar where she<br /> +Had shot the opiates of her lying soul;<br /> +How asking truth, she was herself untrue;<br /> +How she, adventuress in the war, had sought<br /> +From lust grown stale, renewal of herself.<br /> +And then at last I saw her scullery brows<br /> +Fail out and fade beside the Republic’s face,<br /> +And leave me free upon the hills, who saw,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>Strong, seeking cleanliness in truth, her hand<br /> +Which sought the cup worn smooth by leper lips<br /> +Dipped in the fountain where the thirst of many<br /> +Passionate pilgrims had been quenched,<br /> +Not lifted up by me, nor yet befriended<br /> +By the cleaner cup I offered. Now you think<br /> +That I am hard. Philosophy is hard,<br /> +And I philosophize, admit as well<br /> +That I have failed, am full of faults myself,<br /> +All faults, we’ll say, but one, I trust and pray<br /> +The fault of falsehood and hypocrisy.”...<br /> +<br /> +“I gave my work in Paris up—that day<br /> +Made ready to return, but with this thought<br /> +To use my wisdom for the war, do work<br /> +For America that had no touch of her,<br /> +No flavor of her nature, far removed<br /> +From the symphony of sex, be masculine,<br /> +Alone, and self-sufficient, needing nothing,<br /> +No hand, no kiss, no mate, pure thought alone<br /> +Directed to this work. I found the work<br /> +And gave it all my energy.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“From then</span><br /> +I wrote her nothing, though she wrote to me<br /> +These more than hundred letters—here they are!<br /> +Since you have mine brought to you from New York<br /> +All written before she went to France, I think<br /> +You should have hers to make the woman out<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>And read her as she wrote herself to me.<br /> +The rest is brief. She cabled when she sailed,<br /> +And wrote me from New York. While at LeRoy<br /> +With Irma Leese she wrote me. Then that day<br /> +She telephoned me when she motored here<br /> +With Irma Leese, and said: ‘Forgive, forgive,<br /> +O see me, come to me, or let me come<br /> +To you, you cannot crush me out. These months<br /> +Of silence, what are they? Eternity<br /> +Makes nothing of these months. I love you, never<br /> +In all eternity shall cease to love you,<br /> +Love makes you mine, and you must come to me<br /> +Now or hereafter.’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“And you see at last</span><br /> +My soul was clear again, as clean and cold<br /> +As our March days, as clear too, and the war<br /> +Stood off envisioned for the thing it was.<br /> +Peace now had come, which helped our eyes to see<br /> +What dread event the war was. So to see<br /> +This woman with these eyes of mine, made true<br /> +And unpersuadable of her plaints and ways<br /> +I gave consent and went.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“Arriving first,</span><br /> +I walked along the river till she came.<br /> +And as I saw her, I looked through the tricks<br /> +Of dress she played to win me, I could see<br /> +How she arrayed herself before the mirror,<br /> +Adjusting this or that to make herself<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>Victorious in the meeting. But my eyes<br /> +Were wizard eyes for her, and this she knew,<br /> +Began at first to writhe, change color, flap<br /> +Her nervous hands in gestures half controlled.<br /> +I only said, ‘Good morning,’ took her hand,<br /> +She tried to kiss me, but I drew away.<br /> +‘I have been true,’ she said, ‘I love you, dear,<br /> +If I was false and did not love you, why<br /> +Would I pursue you, write you, all against<br /> +Your coldness and your silence? O believe me,<br /> +The war and you have changed me. I have served,<br /> +Served hard among the sufferers in the war,<br /> +Sustained by love for you. I come to you<br /> +And give my life to you, take it and use,<br /> +Keep me your secret joy. I do not dream<br /> +Of winning you in marriage. Here and now<br /> +I humble self to you, ask nothing of you,<br /> +Except your kindness, love again, if love<br /> +Can come again to you—O this must be!<br /> +It is my due who love you, with my soul,<br /> +My body.’”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">“‘No,’ I said, ‘I can forgive</span><br /> +All things but lying and hypocrisy.’...<br /> +How could I trust her? She had kept from me<br /> +The diary, threw it from the window, what<br /> +Was life of her in France? Should I expunge<br /> +This Gregory Wenner, what was life of her<br /> +In France, I ask. And so I said to her:<br /> +‘I have no confidence in you’—O well<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span>I told the jury all. But quick at once<br /> +She showed to me, that if I could forgive<br /> +Her course of lying, she was changed to me,<br /> +The war had changed her, she was hard and wild,<br /> +Schooled in the ways of soldiers, and in war.<br /> +That beauty of her womanhood was gone,<br /> +Transmuted into waywardness, distaste<br /> +For simple ways, for quiet, loveliness.<br /> +The adventuress in her was magnified,<br /> +Cleared up and set, she had become a shrike,<br /> +A spar hawk, and I loathed her for these ways<br /> +Which she revealed, dropping her gentleness<br /> +When it had failed her. Yes, I saw in her<br /> +The war at last; its lying and its hate,<br /> +Its special pleading, and its double dealing,<br /> +Its lust, its greed, its covert purposes,<br /> +Its passion out of hell which obelised<br /> +Such noble things in man. Its crooked uses<br /> +Of lofty spirits, flaming fires of youth,<br /> +Young dreamers, lovers. And at last she said,<br /> +As I have told the jury, what she did<br /> +Was natural, and I cursed her. Then she shook,<br /> +Turned pale, and reeled, I caught her, held her up,<br /> +She died right in my arms! And this is all;<br /> +Except that had I killed her and should spend<br /> +My days in prison for it, I am free,<br /> +My spirit being free.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“Who was this woman?</span><br /> +This Elenor Murray was America;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>Corrupt, deceived, deceiving, self-deceived,<br /> +Half-disciplined, half-lettered, crude and smart,<br /> +Enslaved yet wanting freedom, brave and coarse,<br /> +Cowardly, shabby, hypocritical,<br /> +Generous, loving, noble, full of prayer,<br /> +Scorning, embracing rituals, recreant<br /> +To Christ so much professed; adventuresome;<br /> +Curious, mediocre, venal, hungry<br /> +For money, place, experience, restless, no<br /> +Repose, restraint; before the world made up<br /> +To act and sport ideals, go abroad<br /> +To bring the world its freedom, having choked<br /> +Freedom at home—the girl was this because<br /> +These things were bred in her, she breathed them in<br /> +Here where she lived and grew.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Then Barrett Bays stepped down</span><br /> +And said, “If this is all, I’d like to go.”<br /> +Then David Borrow whispered in the ear<br /> +Of Merival, and Merival conferred<br /> +With Ritter and Llewellyn George and said:<br /> +“We may need you again, a deputy<br /> +Will take you to my house, and for the time<br /> +Keep you in custody.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">The deputy</span><br /> +Came in and led him from the jury room.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p> +<h2>ELENOR MURRAY</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Coroner Merival took the hundred letters<br /> +Which Elenor Murray wrote to Barrett Bays,<br /> +Found some of them unopened, as he said,<br /> +And read them to the jury. Day by day<br /> +She made a record of her life, and wrote<br /> +Her life out hour by hour, that he might know.<br /> +The hundredth letter was the last she wrote.<br /> +And this the Coroner found unopened, cut<br /> +The envelope and read it in these words:<br /> +<br /> +“You see I am at Nice. If you have read<br /> +The other letters that I wrote you since<br /> +Our parting there in Paris, you will know<br /> +About my illness; but I write you now<br /> +Some other details.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“I went back to work</span><br /> +So troubled and depressed about you, dear,<br /> +About myself as well. I thought of you,<br /> +Your suffering and doubt, perhaps your hate.<br /> +And since you do not write me, not a line<br /> +Have written since we parted, it may be<br /> +Hatred has entered you to make distrust<br /> +Less hard to bear. But in no waking hour,<br /> +And in no hour of sleep when I have dreamed,<br /> +Have you been from my mind. I love you, dear,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span>Shall always love you, all eternity<br /> +Cannot exhaust my love, no change shall come<br /> +To change my love. And yet to love you so,<br /> +And have no recompense but silence, thoughts<br /> +Of your contempt for me, make exquisite<br /> +The suffering of my spirit. Could I sing<br /> +My sorrow would enchant the world, or write,<br /> +I might regain your love with beauty born<br /> +Out of this agony.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“When I returned</span><br /> +I had three typhoid cases given me.<br /> +And with that passion which you see in me<br /> +I gave myself to save them, took this love<br /> +Which fills my heart for you and nursed them with it;<br /> +Said to myself to keep me on my feet<br /> +When I was staggering from fatigue, ‘Give now<br /> +Out of this love, it may be God’s own gift<br /> +With which you may restore these boys to health.<br /> +What matter if he love you not.’ And so<br /> +For twelve hours day by day I waged with death<br /> +A slowly winning battle.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“As they rallied,</span><br /> +But when my strength was almost spent—what comes?<br /> +This Miriam Fay writes odiously to me.<br /> +She has heard something of our love, or sensed<br /> +Some dereliction, since she learned that I<br /> +Had not been to confessional. Anyway<br /> +She writes me, writes our head-nurse. All at once<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>A cloud of vile suspicion, like a dust<br /> +Blown from an alley takes my breath away,<br /> +And blinds my eyes. With all these things piled up,<br /> +My labors and my sorrow, your neglect,<br /> +My fears of a dishonorable discharge<br /> +From service, which I love, I faint, collapse,<br /> +Have streptococcus of the throat, and lie<br /> +Two weeks in fever, sleepless, and with thoughts<br /> +Of you, and what may happen, my disgrace.<br /> +But suffering brought me friends, the officers<br /> +Perhaps had heard the scandal, but they knew<br /> +My heart was in the work. The major who<br /> +Was the attending doctor of these boys<br /> +I broke myself with nursing, cared for me,<br /> +And cheered me with his praise. And so it was<br /> +Your little soldier, still I call myself,<br /> +Your little soldier, though you own me not,<br /> +Turned failure into victory, won by pain<br /> +Befriending hands. The major kept me here<br /> +And intercepted my discharge, procured<br /> +My furlough here in Nice.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“I rose from bed,</span><br /> +Went back to work, in nine days failed again,<br /> +This time with influenza; for three weeks<br /> +Was ill enough to die, for all the while<br /> +My fever raged, my heart was hurting too,<br /> +Because of you. When I got up again<br /> +I looked a ghost, was weaker than a child,<br /> +At last came here to Nice.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“This is the hundredth</span><br /> +Letter that I’ve written since we parted.<br /> +My heart is tired, dear, I shall write no more.<br /> +You shall have silence for your silence, yet<br /> +When I am silent, trust me none the less,<br /> +Believe I love you. If you say that I<br /> +Have hidden secrets, have not told you all,<br /> +The diary flung away to keep my life<br /> +Beyond your eye’s inspection, still I say<br /> +Where is your right to know what lips I’ve kissed,<br /> +What hopes or dreams I cherished in the past<br /> +Before I knew you. If you still accuse<br /> +My spirit of deceit, hypocrisy<br /> +In lifting up my flower of love to you<br /> +Fresh, as it seemed, with morning dew, not tears,<br /> +I have my own defense for that, you’ll see.<br /> +Or lastly, if your love is turned to gall<br /> +Because, as you discovered, body of love<br /> +Was given to Gregory Wenner, after you<br /> +Had come to me in love and chosen me<br /> +As servant of you in the war, I write<br /> +To clear myself to you respecting that,<br /> +And re-insist ’twas body of love alone,<br /> +Not love I gave, and what I gave was given<br /> +Because you won me, left me, did not claim<br /> +As wholly yours what you had won. But now,<br /> +As I have hope of life beyond the grave,<br /> +As I love God, though serving Him but ill,<br /> +I say to you, I have been wholly yours<br /> +In spirit and in body since the day<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>I gave to you the locket, sat with you<br /> +And heard the waltz of Chopin, six days after<br /> +I went with Gregory Wenner. I explain<br /> +Why I did this, shall mention it no more;<br /> +You must be satisfied or go your way<br /> +In bitterness and hatred.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“But first, my love,</span><br /> +As spirits equal and with equal rights,<br /> +Or privilege of equal wrongs, have I<br /> +Demanded former purity of you?<br /> +I have repelled revealments of your past;<br /> +Have never questioned of your marriage, asked,<br /> +Which might be juster, rights withdrawn from her;<br /> +May rightly think, since you and she have life<br /> +In one abode together, that you live<br /> +As marriage warrants. And above it all<br /> +Have I not written you to go your way,<br /> +Find pleasures where you could, have only begged<br /> +That you keep out of love, continue to give<br /> +Your love to me? And why? Be cynical,<br /> +And think I gave you freedom as a gallant<br /> +That I might with a quiet conscience take<br /> +Such freedom for myself. It is not true:<br /> +I’ve learned the human body, know the male,<br /> +And know his life is motile, does not rest,<br /> +And wait, as woman’s does, cannot do so.<br /> +So understanding have put down distaste,<br /> +That you should fare in freedom, in my heart<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span>Have wished that love or ideals might sustain<br /> +Your spirit; but if not, my heart is filled<br /> +With happiness, if you love me. Take these thoughts<br /> +And with them solve your sorrow for my past,<br /> +Your loathing of it, if you feel that way<br /> +However bad it be, whatever sins<br /> +Imagination in you stirred depicts<br /> +As being in my past.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">“Men have been known</span><br /> +Whom women made fifth husbands, more than that.<br /> +Not my case, I’ll say that, and if you face<br /> +Reality, and put all passion love<br /> +Where nature puts it by the side of love<br /> +Which custom favors, you have only left<br /> +The matter of the truth to grasp, believe,<br /> +See clearly and accept: Do I swear true<br /> +I love you, and since loving you am faithful,<br /> +Cannot be otherwise, nor wish to be?”<br /> +<br /> +“Dear, listen and be fair. You did not love me<br /> +When first I came to you. You did not ask,<br /> +Because of love, a faithfulness; in truth<br /> +You did not ask a faithfulness at all.<br /> +But then and theretofore you treated me<br /> +As woman to be won, a happiness<br /> +To be achieved and put aside. Be fair,<br /> +This was your mood. But if you loved me then,<br /> +Or soon thereafter loved me, as I know,<br /> +What should I do? I loved you, am a woman.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>At last behold your love, am lifted, thrilled.<br /> +See what I thought was love before was nothing;<br /> +Know I was never loved before you loved me;<br /> +And know as well I never loved before;<br /> +Know all the former raptures of my heart<br /> +As buds in March closed hard and scentless, never<br /> +The June before for my heart! O, my love,<br /> +What should I do when this most priceless gift<br /> +Was held up like a crown within your hands<br /> +To place upon my brows—what should I do?<br /> +Take you aside and say, here is the truth,<br /> +Here’s Gregory Wenner—what’s the good of that?<br /> +How had it benefited you or me,<br /> +Increased your love, or founded it upon<br /> +A surer rock than beauty? Hideous truth!<br /> +Useless too often, childish in such case.<br /> +You would have suffered, turned from me, and lost<br /> +The rapture which I gave you, and if rapture<br /> +Be not a prize, where in this world so much<br /> +Of ugliness and agony prevails,<br /> +I do not know our life.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“But just suppose</span><br /> +I gave you rapture, beauty—you concede<br /> +I gave you these, that’s why you suffer so:<br /> +You choose to think them spurious since you found<br /> +I knew this Gregory Wenner, are they so?<br /> +They are as real in spite of Gregory Wenner<br /> +As if my lips had been a cradled child’s.<br /> +But just suppose, as I began to say,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span>You never had discovered Gregory Wenner,<br /> +And had the rapture, beauty which you had,<br /> +How stands the case? Was I not justified<br /> +In hiding Gregory Wenner to preserve<br /> +The beauty and the rapture which you craved?<br /> +Dear, it was love of beauty which impelled<br /> +What you have called deceit, it was my woman’s<br /> +Passionate hope to give the man she loved<br /> +The beauty which he saw in her that inspired<br /> +My acting, as you phrase it, an elaborate<br /> +Hypocrisy, an ugly word from you!...<br /> +But listen, dear, how spirit works in love:<br /> +When you beheld me pure, I would be pure;<br /> +As virginal, I would be virginal;<br /> +As innocent, I would be innocent;<br /> +As truthful, constant, so I would be these<br /> +Though to be truthful, constant when I loved you<br /> +Came to me like my breath, as natural.<br /> +So I would be all things to you for love,<br /> +Fill full your dreams, your vision of my soul<br /> +For now and future days, but make myself<br /> +In days before I knew you what you thought,<br /> +Believed and cherished. Hence if you combine<br /> +The thought that what I was did not concern you,<br /> +With fear that if you knew, your heart would change;<br /> +And with these join that passionate zeal of love<br /> +To be your lover, wholly beautiful,<br /> +You have the exposition of my soul<br /> +In its elaborate deceit,—your words.”<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span>“Some fifty years ago a man and woman<br /> +Are talking in a room, say certain things,<br /> +We were not there! We two are with each other<br /> +Somewhere, and fifty years from now, we two<br /> +Will look to after souls who were not there<br /> +Like figures in a crystal globe; I mean<br /> +To lift to light the wounds of brooding love,<br /> +And show you that the world contains events<br /> +Of which we live in ignorance, if we know<br /> +They hurt us with their mystery, coming near<br /> +In our soul’s cycle, somehow. But the dead,<br /> +And what they lived, what are they?—what the things<br /> +Of our dead selves to selves who are alive,<br /> +And live the hour that’s given us?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“What’s your past</span><br /> +To me, beloved, if your soul and body<br /> +Are mine to-day, not only mine, but made<br /> +By living more my own, more rich for me,<br /> +More truly harmonized with me? Believe me<br /> +You are my highest hope made real at last,<br /> +The climax of my love life, I accept<br /> +Whatever passed in rooms in years gone by;<br /> +Whatever contacts, raptures, pains or hopes<br /> +As schooling of your soul to make it precious,<br /> +And for my worship, my advancement, kneel<br /> +And thank the God of mysteries and wisdom<br /> +Who made you for me, let me find you, love you!”<br /> +<br /> +“Now of myself a word. In years to come<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>These words I write will seem all truth to you,<br /> +Their prism colors, violet and red,<br /> +Will fade away and leave them in the light<br /> +Arranged and reasonable and wholly true.<br /> +Then you will read the words: I found you, dear,<br /> +After a life of pain; and you will see<br /> +My spirit like a blossom that you watch<br /> +From budding to unfolding, knowing thus<br /> +How it matured from day to day. I say<br /> +My life has been all pain, I see at first<br /> +A father and a mother linked in strife.<br /> +Am thrown upon my girlhood’s strength to teach,<br /> +Earn money for my schooling, would know French;<br /> +I studied Greek a little, gave it up,<br /> +Distractions, duties, came too fast for me.<br /> +I longed to sing, took lessons, lack of money<br /> +Ended the lessons. But above it all<br /> +My heart was like an altar lit with flame,<br /> +Aspired to heaven, asked for sacrifice,<br /> +For incense to be bright, more beautiful<br /> +For beauty’s sake. And in my soul’s despair,<br /> +And just to use this vital flame, I turned<br /> +To God, the church. You must be stone to hear<br /> +Such words as these and not relent, an image<br /> +Of basalt which I pray to not to see<br /> +And not to hear! But listen! look at me,<br /> +Did I become a drifter, wholly fail?<br /> +Did I become a common woman, turn<br /> +To common life and ways? Can you dispute<br /> +My eyes were fixed upon a lovelier life,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span>Have never gaze withdrawn from loveliness?<br /> +Did I give up, or break, turn to the flesh,<br /> +Pleasures, the solace of the senses—No!<br /> +Where some take drink to ease their hurts and dull<br /> +Their disappointments, I renewed my will<br /> +To sacrifice and service, work, who saw<br /> +These things in essence may be drink as well,<br /> +And bring the end, oblivion while you live,<br /> +But bring supremacy instead of failure,<br /> +Collapse, disgust and fears. Think what you will<br /> +Of me for Gregory Wenner, and imagine<br /> +The worst you may, I stand here as I am,<br /> +With my life proven! And to end the pain<br /> +I went to nurse the soldiers in the war<br /> +With thoughts that if I died in service, good!<br /> +Not that I gladly give up life, I love it.<br /> +But life must be surrendered; let it be<br /> +In service, as some end it up in drink,<br /> +Or opium or lust. Beloved heart,<br /> +I know my will is stronger than my vision,<br /> +That passion masters judgment; that my love<br /> +For love and life and beauty are too much<br /> +For gifts like mine; I know that I am dumb,<br /> +Songless, without articulate words—but still<br /> +My very dumbness is a kind of speech<br /> +Which some day will flood down your deafened rocks,<br /> +And sweep my meaning over you.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“Well, now</span><br /> +Why did I turn to Gregory from you?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span>I did not love you or I had not done it.<br /> +You did not love me or I had not done it.<br /> +I loved him once, he had been good to me.<br /> +He was an old familiar friend and touch....<br /> +Farewell, if it must be, but save me grief,<br /> +The greatest agony: Be brave and strong,<br /> +Be all that God requires your soul to be,<br /> +O, give me not this cup of poison—this:<br /> +That I have been your cause of bitterness;<br /> +Have stopped your growth and introverted you,<br /> +Given you eyes that see but lies and lust<br /> +In human nature, evil in the world—<br /> +Eyes that God meant to see the good and strive<br /> +For goodness. If I drove you from the war,<br /> +Made you distrust its purpose and its faith,<br /> +Triumphant over selfishness and wrong,<br /> +Oh, leave me with the hope that peace will come,<br /> +And vision once again to bless your life.<br /> +Behold me as America, taught but half,<br /> +Wayward and thoughtless, fighting for a chance;<br /> +Denied its ordered youth, thrown into life<br /> +But half prepared, so seeking to emerge<br /> +Out of a tangled blood, and out of the earth<br /> +A creature of the earth that strives to win<br /> +A soul, a voice. Behold me thus—forgive!<br /> +Take from my life the beauty that you found,<br /> +Nothing can kill that beauty if you press<br /> +Its blossom to your heart, and with it rise<br /> +To nobleness, to duty, give your life<br /> +To our America.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">“The Lord bless you,</span><br /> +And make his face to shine upon you, and<br /> +Be gracious to you. The Lord lift up his countenance<br /> +Upon you, give you peace, both now and ever<br /> +More. Amen!”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">So Elenor’s letters ended</span><br /> +The evidence. The afternoon was spent.<br /> +The inquest was adjourned till ten o’clock<br /> +Next morning. They arose and left the room....<br /> +And Merival half-ill went home. Next day<br /> +He lounged with books and had the doctor in,<br /> +And read his mail, more letters, articles<br /> +About the inquest, Elenor. And from France<br /> +A little package came. And here at last<br /> +Is Elenor Murray’s diary! Merival turns<br /> +And finds the entries true to Barrett Bays;<br /> +Some word, a letter too from France which says:<br /> +The sender learned the name by tracing out<br /> +A number in the diary, heard the news<br /> +Of Elenor Murray from the paper at home<br /> +In Illinois. And of the diary this:<br /> +He got it from a poilu who was struck<br /> +By this same diary on the cheek. A slap<br /> +That stung him, since the diary had been thrown<br /> +By Elenor Murray from the second story.<br /> +This poilu, being tipsy, raved and thought<br /> +Some challenger had struck him. Roaring so<br /> +He’s taken in. Some weeks elapse, he meets<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>Our soldiers from the States, and shows the diary,<br /> +And tells the story, has the diary read<br /> +By this American, gives up the diary<br /> +For certain drinks. And this American<br /> +Has sent it to the coroner.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">A letter</span><br /> +To Merival from an old maiden aunt,<br /> +Who’s given her life to teaching, pensioned now<br /> +And visiting at Madison, Wisconsin.<br /> +Aunt Cynthia writes to Merival and says:<br /> +“I know you are fatigued, a little tired<br /> +With troubles of the lower plane of life.<br /> +Quit thinking of the war and Elenor Murray.<br /> +Each soul should use its own divinity<br /> +By mastering nature outward and within.<br /> +Do this by work or worship, Soul’s control,<br /> +Philosophy, by one or more or all.<br /> +Above them all be free. This is religion,<br /> +And all of it. Books, temples, dogmas, rituals<br /> +Or forms are details only. By these means<br /> +Find God within you, prove that you and God<br /> +Are one, not several, justify the ways<br /> +Of God to man, to speak the western way.<br /> +I wish you could be here while I am here<br /> +With Arielle, she is a soul, a woman.<br /> +You need a woman in your life, my dear—<br /> +I met her in Calcutta five years since,<br /> +She and her husband toured the world—and now<br /> +She is a widow these two years. I started<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>Arielle in the wisdom of the East.<br /> +That avid mind of hers devours all things.<br /> +She is an adept, but she thinks her sense<br /> +Of fun and human nature as the source<br /> +Of laughter and of tears keep her from being<br /> +A mystic, though she uses Hindu thought<br /> +And practice for her soul.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“I’d like to send</span><br /> +Some pictures of her, if she’d let me do it:<br /> +Arielle with her dogs upon the lawn,<br /> +Her arms about their necks. Or Arielle<br /> +About her flowers. I’ve another one,<br /> +Arielle on her favorite horse: another,<br /> +Arielle by her window, hand extended,<br /> +The very soul of rhythm; and another,<br /> +Arielle laughing like a rising sun,<br /> +No one can laugh as she does. For you see<br /> +Her outward soul is love, her inward soul<br /> +Is wisdom and that makes her what she is:<br /> +A Robin Goodfellow, a Puck, a girl,<br /> +A prankish wit, a spirit of bright tears,<br /> +A queenly woman, clothed in majesty,<br /> +A rapture and a solace, comrade, friend,<br /> +A lover of old women such as I;<br /> +A mother to young children, for she keeps<br /> +A brood of orphans in her little town.<br /> +She is a will as disciplined as steel,<br /> +Has suffered and grown wise. Her tenderness<br /> +Is hidden under words so brief and pure<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span>You cannot sense the tenderness in all<br /> +Until you read them over many times.<br /> +She is a lady bountiful, who gives<br /> +As prodigally as nature, and she asks<br /> +No gifts from you, but gets them anyway,<br /> +Because all spirits pour themselves to her.<br /> +If I were taking for America<br /> +A symbol, it would be my Arielle<br /> +And not your Elenor Murray.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">“Here’s her life!</span><br /> +Her father died when she was just a child,<br /> +Leaving a modest fortune to a widow,<br /> +Arielle’s mother, also other children.<br /> +After a time the mother went to England<br /> +And settled down in Sussex. There the mother<br /> +Was married to a scoundrel, mad-man, genius,<br /> +Who tyrannized the household, whipped the children.<br /> +So Arielle at fourteen ran away.<br /> +She pined for her Wisconsin and America.<br /> +She went to Madison, or near the place,<br /> +And taught school in the country, much the same<br /> +As Elenor Murray did.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Now here is something:</span><br /> +Behold our world, humanity, the groups<br /> +Of people into states, communities,<br /> +Full up of powers and virtues, aid and light—<br /> +Friends, helpers, understanders of the soul.<br /> +It may be just the status of enlightment,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span>But I think there are brothers of the light,<br /> +And powers around us; for if Elenor Murray<br /> +Half-fails, is broken, here is Arielle<br /> +Who with the surer instinct finds the springs<br /> +Of health and life. And so, I say, if I<br /> +Had daughters, and were dying, leaving them,<br /> +I should not fear; for I should know the world<br /> +Would care for them and give them everything<br /> +They had the strength to take.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">“Here’s Arielle.</span><br /> +She teaches school and studies—O that wag—<br /> +She posts herself in Shakespeare, forms a class<br /> +Of women thrice her age and teaches them,<br /> +Adds that way to her earnings. Just in time—<br /> +Such things are always opportune, a man<br /> +Comes by and sees her spirit, says to her<br /> +You may read Plato, and she reads and passes<br /> +To Kant and Schopenhauer. So it goes<br /> +Until by twenty all her brain is seething<br /> +With knowledge and with dreams. She is beloved<br /> +By all the people of the country-side,<br /> +Besought and honored—yet she keeps to self,<br /> +Has hardly means enough, since now she sends<br /> +Some help to mother who has been despoiled,<br /> +Abandoned by the mad-man.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“Then one spring</span><br /> +A paper in Milwaukee gives a prize,<br /> +A trip to Europe, to the one who gets<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span>The most subscriptions in a given time—<br /> +And Arielle who has so many friends—<br /> +Achievement brings achievement, friends bring friends—<br /> +Finds rallying support and wins the prize.<br /> +Is off to Europe where she meets the man<br /> +She married when returned.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">“He is a youth</span><br /> +Of beauty and of promise, yet a soul<br /> +Who riots in the sunlight, honey of life.<br /> +And gets his wings gummed in the poisonous sweet.<br /> +And Arielle one morning wakes to find<br /> +A horror on her hands: her husband’s found<br /> +Dead in a house of ill-fame. She is calm<br /> +Out of that rhythm, sense of beauty which<br /> +Makes her a power, all her deeds a song.<br /> +She lays the body under the dancing muses<br /> +There in the wondrous library and flings<br /> +A purple robe across it, kneels and lays<br /> +Her sunny head against it, says a prayer.<br /> +She had been constant, loyal even to dreams,<br /> +To this wild youth, whose errant ways she knew.<br /> +Now don’t you see the contrast? I refrain<br /> +From judging Elenor Murray, but I say<br /> +One thing is beautiful and one is not.<br /> +And Arielle is beautiful as a spirit,<br /> +And Elenor is somewhat beautiful,<br /> +But streaked and mottled, too. Say what you will<br /> +Of freedom, nature, body’s rights, no less<br /> +Honor and constancy are beautiful,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span>And truth most beautiful. And Arielle<br /> +Could kneel beside the body of her dead,<br /> +Who had neglected her so constantly,<br /> +And say a prayer of thankfulness that she<br /> +Had honored him throughout those seven years<br /> +Of married life—she prayed so—why, she says<br /> +That prayer was worth a thousand stolen raptures<br /> +Offered her in the years of life between.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">“Now here she was at thirty</span><br /> +Left to a mansion there in Madison.<br /> +Her husband lived there; it was life, you know,<br /> +For her to meet one of her neighborhood<br /> +In Europe, though a stranger until then.<br /> +And here is Arielle in her mansion, priestess<br /> +Amid her treasures, beauties, for this man<br /> +Has left her many thousands, and she lives<br /> +Among her books and flowers, rides and walks,<br /> +And frolics with her dogs, and entertains.”...<br /> +<br /> +And as the Coroner folded the letter out<br /> +A letter from this Arielle fell, which read:<br /> +“We have an aunt in common, Cynthia.<br /> +I know her better than you do, I think,<br /> +And love her better too. You men go off<br /> +With wandering and business, leave these aunts,<br /> +And precious kindred to be found by souls<br /> +Who are more kindred, maybe. I have heard<br /> +Most everything about you, of your youth<br /> +Your schooling, shall I say your sorrow too?<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span>Admire your life, have studied Elenor,<br /> +As I have had the chance or got the word.<br /> +And what your aunt writes in advice I like,<br /> +Approve of and commend to you. You see<br /> +I leap right over social rules to write,<br /> +And speak my mind. So many friends I’ve made<br /> +By searching out and asking. Why delay?<br /> +Time slips away like moving clouds, but Life<br /> +Says to the wise make haste. Is there a soul<br /> +You’d like to know? Then signal it. I light<br /> +From every peak a beacon fire, my peaks<br /> +Are new found heights of vision, reaching them<br /> +I either see a beacon light, or flash<br /> +A beacon light. And thus it was I found<br /> +Your Cynthia and mine, and now I write.<br /> +I have a book to send you, show that way<br /> +How much I value your good citizenship,<br /> +Your work as coroner. I had the thought<br /> +Of coroners as something like horse doctors—<br /> +Your aunt says you’re as polished as a surgeon.<br /> +When I was ripe for Shakespeare some one brought<br /> +His books to me; when I was ripe for Kant,<br /> +I found him through a friend. I know about you,<br /> +I sense you too, and I believe you need<br /> +The spiritual uplifting of the Gita.<br /> +You haven’t read it, have you? No! you haven’t.<br /> +I wish that Elenor Murray might have read it.<br /> +I grieve about that girl, you can’t imagine<br /> +How much I grieve. Nov write me, coroner,<br /> +What is your final judgment of the girl.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span><br /> +“I have so many friends who love me, always<br /> +New friends come by to give me wisdom—you<br /> +Can teach me, I believe, a man like you<br /> +So versed in life. You must have learned new things<br /> +Exploring in the life of Elenor Murray.<br /> +I was about to write you several times.<br /> +I loved that girl from all I heard of her.<br /> +She must have had some faculty or fault<br /> +That thwarted her, and left her, so to speak,<br /> +Just looking into promised lands, but never<br /> +Possessing or enjoying them—poor girl!<br /> +And here she flung her spirit in the war<br /> +And wrecked herself—it makes me sorrowful.<br /> +I went to Europe through a prize I won,<br /> +And saw the notable places—but this girl<br /> +Who hungered just as much as I, saw nothing<br /> +Or little, gave her time to labor, nursing—<br /> +It is most pitiful, if you’ll believe me<br /> +I’ve wept about your Eleanor. Write me now<br /> +What is your final judgment of the girl?”...<br /> +<br /> +So Merival read these letters, fell asleep.<br /> +Next day was weaker, had a fever too,<br /> +And took to bed at last. He had to fight<br /> +Six weeks or more for life. When he was up<br /> +And strong enough he called the jury in<br /> +And at his house they talked the case and supped.</td></tr></table> + + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE JURY DELIBERATES</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The jurymen are seated here and there<br /> +In Merival’s great library. They smoke,<br /> +And drink a little beer or Scotch. Arise<br /> +At times to read the evidence taken down,<br /> +And typed for reference. Before them lie<br /> +Elenor Murray’s letters, all the letters<br /> +Written to Merival—there’s Alma Bell’s,<br /> +And Miriam Fay’s, letters anonymous.<br /> +The article of Roberts in the <i>Dawn</i>,<br /> +That one of Demos, Hogos; a daily file<br /> +Of Lowell’s <i>Times</i>—Lowell has festered now<br /> +Some weeks, a felon-finger in a stall.<br /> +And where is Barrett Bays? In Kankakee<br /> +Where Elenor Murray’s ancestor was kept.<br /> +The strain and shame had broken him; a fear<br /> +Fell on him of a consequence when the coroner<br /> +Still kept him with a deputy. He grew wild,<br /> +Attacked the deputy, began to wander<br /> +And show some several selves. A multiple<br /> +Spirit of devils had him. Dr. Burke<br /> +Went over him and found him mad.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">And now</span><br /> +The jury meet amid a rapid shift<br /> +Of changes, mist and cloud. The man is sick<br /> +Who administers the country. Has come back<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span>To laud the pact of peace; his auditors<br /> +Turn silently away, whole states assemble<br /> +To hear and turn away, sometimes to heckle.<br /> +And if a mattoid emperor caused the war,<br /> +And Elenor Murrays put the emperor down,<br /> +The emperor, could he laugh at all, can laugh<br /> +To see a country, bent to spend its last<br /> +Dollar, its blood to the last drop, having spent<br /> +Enough of these, go mad as Barrett Bays.<br /> +And like a headless man, seen in a dream,<br /> +Go capering in an ecstasy of doubt,<br /> +Regret and disillusion. He can laugh<br /> +To see the pact, which took the great estate,<br /> +Once his and God’s, and wrapt it as with snakes<br /> +That stung and sucked, rejected in the land<br /> +That sent these Elenor Murrays to make free<br /> +The world from despotism. See that very land<br /> +Crop despotisms—so the jury sees<br /> +Convened to end the case of Elenor Murray....<br /> +<br /> +And Rev. Maiworm, juryman, gives his thought<br /> +To conquest of the world for Christ, and says<br /> +The churches must unite to free the world<br /> +From war and sin. Result? Why less and less<br /> +Homes like the Murray home, where husband, wife,<br /> +Live in dissension. More and more of schools<br /> +For Elenor Murrays. Happy marriages<br /> +Will be the rule, our Elenors will find<br /> +Good husbands, quiet hearths, a competence.<br /> +And Isaac Newfeldt said: “You talk pish-posh.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span>You go about at snipping withered leaves,<br /> +And picking blasted petals—take the root,<br /> +Get at the soil—you cannot end these wars<br /> +Until you solve the feeding problem. Quit<br /> +Relying on your magic to make bread<br /> +With five loaves broken, raise a bigger crop<br /> +Of wheat, and get it to the mouths of men.<br /> +And as for sin—what is it?—All of sin<br /> +Lies in the customs, comes from how you view<br /> +The bread and butter matter; all your gods<br /> +And sons of God are guardians of the status<br /> +Of business and of money; sin a thing<br /> +Which contradicts, or threatens banks and wharves.<br /> +And as for that your churches now control<br /> +As much as human nature can digest<br /> +A dominance like that. And what’s the state<br /> +Of things in Christendom? Why, wars, and want<br /> +And many Elenor Murrays. Tyrannies<br /> +Are like as pea and pea; you shall not drink,<br /> +Or read, or talk, or trade, are from one pod.<br /> +What would I do? Why, socialize the world,<br /> +Then leave men free to live or die, let nature<br /> +Go decimating as she will, and weed<br /> +The worthless with disease or alcohol—<br /> +You won’t see much of that, however, if<br /> +You socialize the world.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And David Barrow</span><br /> +Spoke up and said: “No ism is enough.<br /> +The question is, Is life worth living, good<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span>Or bad? If bad, I think that Elenor Murray had<br /> +As good a life as any. Here we’ve sat<br /> +These weeks and heard these stories—nothing new;<br /> +And as to waste, our time is wasted here,<br /> +If there were better things to do; and yet<br /> +Perhaps there is no better. I’ve enjoyed<br /> +This work, association. Well, you’re told<br /> +To judge not, and that means to judge not man;<br /> +You are not told to judge not God. And so<br /> +I judge Him. And again your Elenor Murrays,<br /> +Your human being cannot will his way,<br /> +But God’s omnipotent, and where He fails<br /> +He should be censured. Why does He allow<br /> +A world like this, and suffer earthquakes, storms,<br /> +The sinking of <i>Titanics</i>, cancers? Why<br /> +Suffer these wars, this war?—Talk of the riffles<br /> +That flowed from Elenor Murray—here’s a wave<br /> +Of tidal power, stirred by a greedy coot<br /> +Who called himself an emperor! And look<br /> +Our land, America, is ruined, slopped<br /> +For good, or for our lives with filth and stench;<br /> +So that to live here takes what strength you have,<br /> +None left for living, as a man should live.<br /> +And this America once free and fair<br /> +Is now the hatefulest, commonest group of men,<br /> +Women and children in the Occident.<br /> +What’s life here now? Why, boredom, nothing else....<br /> +Why pity Elenor Murray? Gottlieb Gerald<br /> +Told of her home life; it was good enough,<br /> +Average American, or better. Schools<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span>She had in plenty, what would she have done<br /> +With courses to the end in music, art?<br /> +She was not happy. Elenor had a brain,<br /> +And brains and happiness are at enmity.<br /> +And if the world goes on some thousand years,<br /> +The race as much advanced beyond us now<br /> +In feeling, thought, as we are now beyond<br /> +Pinthecanthropus, say, why, all will see<br /> +What I see now;—’twere better if the race<br /> +Had never risen. All analogies<br /> +Of nature show that death of man is death.<br /> +He plants his seed and dies, the resurrection<br /> +Is not the man, but is the child that grows<br /> +From sperm he sows. The grain of wheat that sprouts<br /> +Is not the stalk that bore it. Now suppose<br /> +We get the secret in a thousand years,<br /> +Can prove that death’s the end, analogies<br /> +Put by with amber, frogs’ legs—tell me then<br /> +What opiate will still the shrieks of men?<br /> +But some of us know now, and I am one.<br /> +There is no heaven for me; and as for those<br /> +Who make a heaven to get out of this—<br /> +You gentlemen who call life good, the world<br /> +The work of God’s perfection; yet invent<br /> +A heaven to rest in from this world of woe—<br /> +You do not wish to go there; and resort<br /> +To cures and Christian Science to stay here!<br /> +Which shows you are not sure. And thus we have<br /> +Your Christian saying at heart that life is bad,<br /> +And heaven is good, but not so good and sure<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span>That you will hurry to it. Why, I’ll prove<br /> +The Christian pessimist, as well as I.<br /> +He says life is so bad it has no meaning,<br /> +Unless there be a future; and I say<br /> +Life’s bad, and if no future, then is worse.<br /> +And as it has no future, is a hell.<br /> +This girl was soaked in opiates to the last.<br /> +Religion, love for Barrett Bays, believed<br /> +That God is love. Love is a word to me<br /> +That has no meaning but in terms of man.<br /> +And if a man cause war, or suffer war,<br /> +When he could stop it, do we say he loves?<br /> +Why call God love who can prevent a war?<br /> +To chasten us, to better, purge our sins?<br /> +Well, if it be then we are bettered, purged<br /> +When William Hohenzollern goes to war<br /> +And makes the whole world crazy.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“Understand</span><br /> +I do not mock, I pity man and life.<br /> +No man has sat here who has suffered more,<br /> +Seeing the life of Elenor Murray, through<br /> +Her life beholding life, our country’s life.<br /> +I pity man and life. I curse the scheme<br /> +Which wakes the senseless clay to lips that bleed,<br /> +And eyes that weep, and hearts that agonize,<br /> +Then in an instant make them clay again!<br /> +And for it all no reason, that the reason<br /> +Can bring to light to stand the light.”<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;">“And yet</span><br /> +I’d make life better, food and shelter better<br /> +And wider happiness, and fuller love.<br /> +We’re travelers on a ship that has no bourne<br /> +But rocks, for us. On such a ship ’twere wise<br /> +To have the daily comforts, foolish course<br /> +To neither eat, nor sleep, keep warm, nor sing.<br /> +But only walk the rainy deck and wait.<br /> +The little opiates of happiness<br /> +Would make the sailing better, though we know<br /> +The trip is nowhere and the rocks will sink<br /> +The portless steamer.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">“Is it portless?” asked</span><br /> +Llewellyn George, “you’re leaping to a thought,<br /> +And overlook a world of intimations,<br /> +And hints of truth. I grant you take this race<br /> +That lives to-day, and make the world a boat<br /> +There is no port for us as human lives<br /> +In this our life. But look, you see the race<br /> +Has climbed, a mountain trail, and looks below<br /> +From certain heights to-day at man the beast.<br /> +We scan a half a million years of man<br /> +From caves to temples, gestures, beacon fires<br /> +To wireless. Call that mechanical,<br /> +And power developed over tools. But here<br /> +Is mystery beyond these.—What of powers,<br /> +Devotions, aspirations, sacred flame<br /> +Which masters nature, worships life, defies<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span>Death to obstruct it, hungers for the right,<br /> +The truth, hates wrong, and by that passion wills<br /> +All art, all beauty, goodness, and creates<br /> +Those living waters of increasing life<br /> +By which man lives, and has to-day the means<br /> +Of fuller living. Here’s a realm of richness,<br /> +Beyond and separate from material things,<br /> +Your aeroplanes or conquests. Now I put<br /> +This question to you, David Barrow, what<br /> +But God who is and has some end for life,<br /> +And gives it meaning, though we see it not—<br /> +What is it in the heart of man which lifts,<br /> +Sustains him to the truth, the harmony,<br /> +The beauty say of loyalty, or truth<br /> +Or art, or science? lighting lamps for men<br /> +To walk by, men who hate the lamps, the hand<br /> +That lights? What is this spirit, but the spirit<br /> +Of Something which moves through us, to an end,<br /> +And by its constancy in man made constant<br /> +Proclaims an end? There’s Bruno, Socrates,<br /> +There’s Washington who might have lost his life,<br /> +Why do these men cling to the vision, hope?<br /> +When neither poverty, nor jeers, nor flames,<br /> +Nor cups of poison stay? Who say thereby<br /> +That death is nothing, but this life of ours,<br /> +Which can be shaped to truth and harmony,<br /> +And rising flame of spirit, giving light,<br /> +Is everything worth while, must be lived so<br /> +And if not lived so, then there’s death indeed,<br /> +By turning from the voice that says that man<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span>Must still aspire. And why aspire if death<br /> +Ends us, the scheme? And all this realm of spirit,<br /> +Of love for truth and beauty, is the play<br /> +Of shadows on the tomb?”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">“Now take this girl:</span><br /> +She knew before she sailed to France, this man,<br /> +This Barrett Bays was mad about her—knew<br /> +She could stay here and have him, live with him,<br /> +And thus achieve a happiness. And she knew<br /> +To leave him was to make a chance to lose him.<br /> +But then you say she knew he’d tire of her,<br /> +And left for France. And still that happiness<br /> +Before he tired would be hers. You see<br /> +This spirit I’d delineate working here:<br /> +To sacrifice and by the sacrifice<br /> +Rise to a bigger spirit, make it truer;<br /> +Then bring that truer spirit to her love<br /> +For Barrett Bays, and not just loll and slop<br /> +In love to-day. Why does she wish to give<br /> +A finer spirit to this Barrett Bays?<br /> +And to that end take life in hand? It’s this:<br /> +My Something, God at work. You say it’s woman<br /> +In sublimate of passion—call it that.<br /> +Why sublimate a passion? All her life<br /> +This girl aspires—you think to win a man?<br /> +But win a man with what? With finest self<br /> +Make this her contribution to these riches,<br /> +Which Bruno and the others filled so full.<br /> +You see this Something going on, but races<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span>Come up, express themselves and pass away;<br /> +But yet this Something manifests itself<br /> +Through souls like Elenor Murray’s—fills her life<br /> +With fuller meanings, maybe at the last<br /> +This Something will reveal itself so clear<br /> +That men like David Barrow can perceive.<br /> +And Love, this spirit, twin of Death, you see<br /> +Love slays this girl, but Love remains to slay,<br /> +Lift up, drive on and slay. I call Death twin<br /> +Of Love, and why? Because two things alone<br /> +Make what we are and live, first Love the flame,<br /> +And Death the cap that snuffs it. Is it bread<br /> +That keeps us dancing, skating like these bugs<br /> +That play criss-cross on evening waters?—no!<br /> +It’s bread to get more life to give more love,<br /> +Bring to some heart a fuller life, receive<br /> +A fuller life for having given life.<br /> +This force of love may look demonical.<br /> +It tears, destroys, and crushes, chokes and kills,<br /> +Is always stretching hands to Death its twin.<br /> +And yet it is creation and creates,<br /> +Feeds roses, jonquils, columbines, gardenias,<br /> +As well as thistles, cockle burrs and thorns.<br /> +This is the force to which the girl’s alert,<br /> +And sensitive, is shaken by its power,<br /> +Driven, uplifted, purified; a doll<br /> +Of paper dancing on magnetic plates;<br /> +And by that passion lusts for Death himself,<br /> +For union with another, sacrifice,<br /> +Beauty, and she aspires and toils, and turns<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span>To God, the symptom always of this nature.<br /> +My fellow-jurymen, you’ll never see,<br /> +Or learn so well about another soul<br /> +That had this Love force deeper in her flesh,<br /> +Her spirit, suffered more. Why do we suffer?<br /> +What is this love force? ’Tis the child of blood<br /> +Of madness, as this Elenor is the seed<br /> +Of that old grandma, who was mad, and cousin<br /> +Of Taylor who did murder. What is this<br /> +But human spirit flamed and subtleized<br /> +Until it is a poison and a food;<br /> +A madness but a clearest sanity;<br /> +A vision and a blindness, all as if<br /> +When nature goes so far, refines so much<br /> +Her balance has been broken, if the Something<br /> +Makes not a genius or a giant soul.<br /> +And so we suffer. But why do we suffer?<br /> +Well, not as Barrow said, that life is bad;<br /> +A failure and a fraud. Not suffering<br /> +That points to dust, defeat, is painfulest;<br /> +But suffering that points to skies and realms<br /> +Above us, whence we came, or where we go,<br /> +That suffering is most poignant, as it is<br /> +Significant as well, and rapturous too.<br /> +The pain that thrills us for the singing Flame<br /> +Of Love, the force creative, that’s the pain!<br /> +And those must suffer most to whom the sounds<br /> +Of music or of words, or scents, or scenes<br /> +Recall lost realms. No soul can understand<br /> +Music or words in whom there is not stirred<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span>A recollection—that is genius too:<br /> +A memory, and reliving hours we lived<br /> +Before we looked upon this world of man.”...<br /> +<br /> +Then Winthrop Marion said: “I like your talk,<br /> +Llewellyn George, but still what killed the girl?<br /> +What was the cause of death of Elenor Murray?<br /> +She died from syncope, that’s clear enough.<br /> +The doctors tell us that in syncope<br /> +The victim should be laid down, not held up.<br /> +And Barrett Bays, the bungler, held her up<br /> +When she was stricken—like the man, I think!<br /> +Well, Coroner, suppose we make a verdict,<br /> +And say we find that had this Barrett Bays<br /> +Sustained this Elenor Murray in the war,<br /> +And in her life, with friendship, and with faith<br /> +She had not died. Suppose we further find<br /> +That when he took her, held her in his arms<br /> +When she had syncope, he was dull or crazed,<br /> +And missed a chance to save her. We could find<br /> +That had he laid her down when she was stricken<br /> +She might have lived—I knew that much myself.<br /> +And we could find that had he never driven<br /> +This woman from his arms, but kept her there,<br /> +Before said day of August 7th, no doubt<br /> +She had not died on August 7th. In short,<br /> +He held her up, and should have laid her down,<br /> +And drove her from him when she needed arms<br /> +To hold her up. And so we find her death<br /> +Was due to Barrett Bays—we censure him,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span>Would hold him to the courts—that cannot be—<br /> +And so we hold him up for memory<br /> +Contemptuous, and say his bitter words<br /> +Brought on the syncope, so long prepared<br /> +By what he did. We write his course unfeeling,<br /> +Weak, selfish, petty, flowing from the craze<br /> +Of sexual jealousy, made worse by war,<br /> +And universal madness, erethism<br /> +Of hellish war. And, gentlemen, one thing:<br /> +Paul Robert’s article in the <i>Dawn</i> suggests<br /> +Some things I credit, knowing them. We get<br /> +Our notions of uncleanness from the Jews,<br /> +The Pentateuch. There are no women here,<br /> +And I can talk;—you know the ancient Jews<br /> +Deemed sex unclean, and only to be touched<br /> +At sufferance of Jehovah; birth unclean,<br /> +A mother needing purification after<br /> +Her hour of giving birth. You know their laws<br /> +Concerning adultery. Well, they’ve tainted us<br /> +In spite of Greece. Now look at Elenor Murray:<br /> +What if she went with Gregory Wenner. Hell!<br /> +Did that contaminate her, change her flesh,<br /> +Or change her spirit? All this evidence<br /> +Shows that it did not. But it changed this man,<br /> +Because his mind was slime where snakes could breed.<br /> +But now what do we see? That woman is<br /> +Essential genius, man just mechanism<br /> +Of conscious thought and strength. This Elenor<br /> +Is wiser, being nature, than this man,<br /> +And lives a life that puts this Barrett Bays<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span>To shame and laughter. Look at her: She’s brave,<br /> +Devoted, loyal, true and dutiful,<br /> +She’s will to life, and through it senses God,<br /> +And seeks to serve the cosmic soul. I think<br /> +This jury should start now to raise a fund<br /> +To erect a statue of her in the park<br /> +To keep her name and labors fresh in mind<br /> +To those who shall come after.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 14em;">“And I’ll sign</span><br /> +A verdict in these words, but understand<br /> +Such things are <i>Coram non judice</i>; still<br /> +We can chip in our money, start the fund<br /> +To build this monument.”<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Ritter interrupted.</span><br /> +The banker said: “I’ll start it with a hundred,”<br /> +And so the fund was started.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Marion</span><br /> +Resumed to speak of riffles: “In Chicago<br /> +There’s less than half the people speaking English,<br /> +The rest is Babel: Germans, Russians, Poles<br /> +And all the tongues, much rippling going on,<br /> +And if we couldn’t trace the riffles out<br /> +From Elenor Murray, We must give this up.<br /> +One thing is sure: Look out for England, if<br /> +America shall grow a separate soul.<br /> +You may have congresses, and presidents,<br /> +These states, but if America is a realm.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span>Of tribute as to thought, America<br /> +Is just a province. And it’s past the time<br /> +When we should be ourselves, we’ve wasted time,<br /> +And grafted alien things upon our bole.<br /> +A Domesday of the minds that think and know<br /> +In our America would give us hope,<br /> +We have them in abundance. What I hate<br /> +Is that crude Demos which shouts down the minds,<br /> +Outvotes them, takes these silly lies that move<br /> +The populace and makes them into laws,<br /> +And makes a village of a great republic.”<br /> +<br /> +And Merival listened as the jurymen<br /> +Philosophied the case of Elenor Murray,<br /> +And life at large. And having listened spoke:<br /> +“I like the words Llewellyn George has said.<br /> +Love is a sea which wrecks and sinks our craft,<br /> +But re-creates the hands that build again;<br /> +And like a tidal wave which sponges out<br /> +An island or a city, lifts and leaves<br /> +Fresh seeds and forms of beauty on the peaks.<br /> +The whinchat in the mud upon its claws,<br /> +Storm driven from its course to sea, brings life<br /> +Of animal and plant to virgin shores,<br /> +And islands strange and new. These happenings<br /> +Of Elenor Murray carry beauty forth,<br /> +Unhurt amid the storm-cloud, darkness, fire,<br /> +To lives and eras. And our country too,<br /> +So ruined and so weltering, like a ball<br /> +Of mud made in a missile by a god<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span>May bear, no less, a pearl at core, a truth,<br /> +A liberty, a genius, beauty,—thrown<br /> +In mischief by the god, and staining walls<br /> +Of this our temple; in a day to be<br /> +Dried up, cracks open, and the pearl appears<br /> +To be set in a precious time beyond<br /> +Our time and vision. This is what I mean:<br /> +Call Elenor egoist, and make her work,<br /> +And life the means of rich return to her<br /> +In exaltation, pride;—a missile of mud,<br /> +It carries still the pearl of her, the seed<br /> +Of finer spirits. We must open eyes<br /> +To see inside the mud-ball. If it be<br /> +We conquered slavery of the negro through,<br /> +Because of economic forces, yet<br /> +We conquered it. Trade, cotton, were the mud<br /> +Upon the whinchat’s claws containing seeds<br /> +Of liberties to be, and carried forth<br /> +In mid seas of the future to sunny isles,<br /> +More blest than ours. And as for this, you know<br /> +The English blotted slavery from their books<br /> +And left their books unbalanced in point of cash,<br /> +But balanced richly in a manhood gain.<br /> +I warn you, David Barrow, pessimist,<br /> +Against a general slur on life and man.<br /> +Deride the Christian ethic, if you choose,<br /> +You must retain its word of benevolence;<br /> +Or better, you must honor man, whose heart<br /> +Leaps up to its benevolence, from whose heart<br /> +The Christian doctrine of benevolence<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span>Did issue to this world. If Christian doctrine<br /> +Be man-made, not a miracle, as it is<br /> +All man-made, still it’s out of generous fire<br /> +Of human spirit; that’s the thing divine....<br /> +Now how is Elenor Murray wonderful<br /> +To me viewed through this mass of evidence?<br /> +Why, as the soul maternal, out of which<br /> +All goodness, beauty, and benevolence,<br /> +All aspiration, sacrifice, all death<br /> +For truth and liberty blesses life of us.<br /> +This soul maternal, passion to create<br /> +New life and guide it into happiness,<br /> +Is Mother Mary of all tenderness,<br /> +All charity, all vision, rises up<br /> +From its obscurity and primal force<br /> +Of romance, passion and the child, to realms,<br /> +Democracies, republics; never flags<br /> +To make them brighter, freer, so to spread<br /> +Its ecstasy to all, and take in turn<br /> +Redoubled ecstasy! The tragedy<br /> +Is that this Elenor for her mother gift<br /> +Is cursed and tortured, sent a wanderer;<br /> +And in her death must find much clinging mud<br /> +Around the pearl of her. If that be mud,<br /> +Which we have heard, around her, is it mud<br /> +That weights the soul of America, the pure<br /> +Dream of our founders? Larger Athens, where<br /> +All things should be heard gladly and considered,<br /> +And men should grow, be forced to grow, because<br /> +Not driven or restrained by usages,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span>Or laws of mad majorities, but left<br /> +At their own peril to work out their lives....<br /> +Well, gentlemen, I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.<br /> +What is a man or woman but a sperm<br /> +Accreted into largeness? Still a sperm<br /> +In likeness, being brain and spinal cord,<br /> +Fed by the glands, the thyroid and the rest,<br /> +Whose secrets we are ignorant of. We know<br /> +That when they fail our minds fail. But the glands<br /> +Are visible and clear: but in us whirl<br /> +Emotions; fear, disgust, murder or wrath,<br /> +Traced back to animals as moods of flight<br /> +Repulsion, curiosity, all the rest.<br /> +Now what are these but levers of our machine?<br /> +Elenor Murray teaches this to me:<br /> +Build up a science of these levers, learn<br /> +To handle fear, disgust, anger, wonder.<br /> +They teach us physiology; who teaches<br /> +The use of instincts and emotions, powers?<br /> +All learning may be that, but what is that?<br /> +Why just a spread of food, where after nibbling<br /> +You learn what you can eat, and what is good<br /> +For you to eat. You’ll see a different world<br /> +When this philosophy of levers rules.”...<br /> +<br /> +Then Merival tacked round and said: “I’ll show<br /> +The riffles in my life from Elenor Murray:<br /> +The politicians give me notice now<br /> +I cannot be the coroner again.<br /> +I didn’t want to be, but I had planned<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span>To go to Congress, and they say to that<br /> +We do not want you. So my circle turns,<br /> +And riffles back to breeding better hogs,<br /> +And finer cattle. Here’s the verdict, sign<br /> +Your names, and I’ll return it to the clerk.</td></tr></table> + + +<p> </p><p> </p> +<hr style="width: 50%;" /> +<h2>THE VERDICT</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>“An inquisition taken for the people<br /> +Of the State of Illinois here at LeRoy,<br /> +County aforesaid, on the 7th of August,<br /> +Anna Domini, nineteen hundred nineteen,<br /> +Before me, William Merival, coroner<br /> +For the said County, viewing here the body<br /> +Of Elenor Murray lying dead, upon<br /> +The oath of six good lawful men, the same<br /> +Of the said County, being duly sworn<br /> +To inquire for the said people into all<br /> +The circumstances of her death, the said<br /> +Elenor Murray, and by whom the same<br /> +Was brought about, and in what manner, when,<br /> +And where she came to death, do say upon<br /> +Their oaths, that Elenor Murray lying dead<br /> +In the office of the coroner at LeRoy<br /> +Came to her death on August 7th aforesaid<br /> +Upon the east shore of the Illinois River<br /> +A mile above Starved Rock, from syncope,<br /> +While in the company of Barrett Bays,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span>Who held her in his arms when she was seized,<br /> +And should have laid her down when she was seized<br /> +To give her heart a chance to resume its beat.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">————</span><br /> +The jury signed the verdict and arose<br /> +And said good-night to Merival, went their way.<br /> +Next day the coroner went to Madison<br /> +To look on Arielle, who had written him.</td></tr></table> + + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Domesday Book, by Edgar Lee Masters + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOMESDAY BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 35991-h.htm or 35991-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/9/9/35991/ + +Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Domesday Book + +Author: Edgar Lee Masters + +Release Date: April 29, 2011 [EBook #35991] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOMESDAY BOOK *** + + + + +Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive.) + + + + + + + + + +DOMESDAY BOOK + + + + +SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY + +BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS + + +SOME PRESS OPINIONS + +"One of the greatest books of the present century."--_Nation._ + +"The 'Spoon River Anthology' has certain qualities essential to +greatness--originality of conception and treatment, a daring that would +soar to the stars, an instant felicity and facility of expression."--C. E. +LAWRENCE in _The Daily Chronicle_. + +"Mr. Edgar Lee Masters will become a classic ... so close-packed is the +book's pregnant wit, so outspoken its language, so destructive of cant and +pharisaism and the veneer of the proprieties, so piercingly true in +insight."--EDWARD GARNETT in _The Manchester Guardian_. + +"It is a remarkable book and it grips."--_Daily Telegraph._ + +"This book is of a quality that will endure.... Mr. Masters has been +daring with the certainty of success."--_Liverpool Daily Post._ + +"A quite remarkable volume of verse ... quite masterly."--_Sphere._ + +"Its reality, ingenuity, irony, insight, and vision are +unique."--_Bookman._ + + + + + DOMESDAY BOOK + + + BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS + AUTHOR OF "SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY," ETC. + + + LONDON + EVELEIGH NASH COMPANY + LIMITED + 1921 + + + + + COPYRIGHT IN THE U. S. A. + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + _Printed in the United States of America_ + + + + + TO MY FATHER + HARDIN WALLACE MASTERS + SPLENDID INDIVIDUAL OF + A PASSING SPECIES--AN AMERICAN + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + DOMESDAY BOOK 1 + + THE BIRTH OF ELENOR MURRAY 4 + + FINDING OF THE BODY 9 + + THE CORONER 13 + + HENRY MURRAY 23 + + MRS. MURRAY 36 + + ALMA BELL TO THE CORONER 50 + + GREGORY WENNER 59 + + MRS. GREGORY WENNER 71 + + DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER 80 + + IRMA LEESE 84 + + MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER 94 + + ARCHIBALD LOWELL 101 + + WIDOW FORTELKA 110 + + REV. PERCY FERGUSON 118 + + DR. BURKE 126 + + CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF 138 + + THE GOVERNOR 152 + + JOHN SCOFIELD 158 + + GOTTLIEB GERALD 163 + + LILLI ALM 173 + + FATHER WHIMSETT 179 + + JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON 188 + + AT FAIRBANKS 210 + + ANTON SOSNOWSKI 219 + + CONSIDER FREELAND 229 + + GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN 237 + + WILL PAGET ON DEMOS AND HOGOS 247 + + THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT 254 + + JANE FISHER 270 + + HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK 277 + + LOVERIDGE CHASE 286 + + AT NICE 289 + + THE MAJOR AND ELENOR MURRAY AT NICE 305 + + THE CONVENT 312 + + BARRETT BAYS 319 + + ELENOR MURRAY 356 + + THE JURY DELIBERATES 377 + + THE VERDICT 395 + + + + +DOMESDAY BOOK + + + + +DOMESDAY BOOK + + + Take any life you choose and study it: + It gladdens, troubles, changes many lives. + The life goes out, how many things result? + Fate drops a stone, and to the utmost shores + The circles spread. + + Now, such a book were endless, + If every circle, riffle should be traced + Of any life--and so of Elenor Murray, + Whose life was humble and whose death was tragic. + And yet behold the riffles spread, the lives + That are affected, and the secrets gained + Of lives she never knew of, as for that. + For even the world could not contain the books + That should be written, if all deeds were traced, + Effects, results, gains, losses, of her life, + And of her death. + + Concretely said, in brief, + A man and woman have produced this child; + What was the child's pre-natal circumstance? + How did her birth affect the father, mother? + What did their friends, old women, relatives + Take from the child in feeling, joy or pain? + What of her childhood friends, her days at school, + Her teachers, girlhood sweethearts, lovers later, + When she became a woman? What of these? + And what of those who got effects because + They knew this Elenor Murray? + + Then she dies. + Read how the human secrets are exposed + In many lives because she died--not all + Lives, by her death affected, written here. + The reader may trace out such other riffles + As come to him--this book must have an end. + + Enough is shown to show what could be told + If we should write a world of books. In brief + One feature of the plot elaborates + The closeness of one life, however humble + With every life upon this globe. In truth + I sit here in Chicago, housed and fed, + And think the world secure, at peace, the clock + Just striking three, in Europe striking eight: + And in some province, in some palace, hut, + Some words are spoken, or a fisticuff + Results between two brawlers, and for that + A blue-eyed boy, my grandson, we may say, + Not even yet in seed, but to be born + A half a century hence, is by those words, + That fisticuff, drawn into war in Europe, + Shrieks from a bullet through the groin, and lies + Under the sod of France. + + But to return + To Elenor Murray, I have made a book + Called Domesday Book, a census spiritual + Taken of our America, or in part + Taken, not wholly taken, it may be. + For William Merival, the coroner, + Who probed the death of Elenor Murray goes + As far as may be, and beyond his power, + In diagnosis of America, + While finding out the cause of death. In short + Becomes a William the Conqueror that way + In making up a Domesday Book for us.... + Of this a little later. But before + We touch upon the Domesday book of old, + We take up Elenor Murray, show her birth; + Then skip all time between and show her death; + Then take up Coroner Merival--who was he? + Then trace the life of Elenor Murray through + The witnesses at the inquest on the body + Of Elenor Murray;--also letters written, + And essays written, conversations heard, + But all evoked by Elenor Murray's death. + And by the way trace riffles here and there.... + A word now on the Domesday book of old: + Remember not a book of doom, but a book + Of houses; domus, house, so domus book. + And this book of the death of Elenor Murray + Is not a book of doom, though showing too + How fate was woven round her, and the souls + That touched her soul; but is a house book too + Of riches, poverty, and weakness, strength + Of this our country. + + If you take St. Luke + You find an angel came to Mary, said: + Hail! thou art highly favored, shalt conceive, + Bring forth a son, a king for David's throne:-- + So tracing life before the life was born. + We do the same for Elenor Murray, though + No man or angel said to Elenor's mother: + You have found favor, you are blessed of God, + You shall conceive, bring forth a daughter blest, + And blessing you. Quite otherwise the case, + As being blest or blessing, something like + Perhaps, in that desire, or flame of life, + Which gifts new souls with passion, strength and love.... + This is the manner of the girl's conception, + And of her birth:--... + + + + +THE BIRTH OF ELENOR MURRAY + + + What are the mortal facts + With which we deal? The man is thirty years, + Most vital, in a richness physical, + Of musical heart and feeling; and the woman + Is twenty-eight, a cradle warm and rich + For life to grow in. + + And the time is this: + This Henry Murray has a mood of peace, + A splendor as of June, has for the time + Quelled anarchy within him, come to law, + Sees life a thing of beauty, happiness, + And fortune glow before him. And the mother, + Sunning her feathers in his genial light, + Takes longing and has hope. For body's season + The blood of youth leaps in them like a fountain, + And splashes musically in the crystal pool + Of quiet days and hours. They rise refreshed, + Feel all the sun's strength flow through muscles, nerves; + Extract from food no poison, only health; + Are sensitive to simple things, the turn + Of leaves on trees, flowers springing, robins' songs. + + Now such a time must prosper love's desire, + Fed gently, tended wisely, left to mount + In flame and light. A prospering fate occurs + To send this Henry Murray from his wife, + And keep him absent for a month--inspire + A daily letter, written of the joys, + And hopes they have together, and omit, + Forgotten for the time, old aches, despairs, + Forebodings for the future. + + What results? + For thirty days her youth, and youthful blood + Under the stimulus of absence, letters, + And growing longing, laves and soothes and feeds, + Like streams that nourish fields, her body's being. + Enriches cells to plumpness, dim, asleep, + Which stretch, expand and turn, the prototype + Of a baby newly born; which after the cry + At midnight, taking breath an hour before,-- + That cry which is of things most tragical, + The tragedy most poignant--sleeps and rests, + And flicks its little fingers, with closed eyes + Senses with visions of unopened leaves + This monstrous and external sphere, the world, + And what moves in it. + + So she thinks of him, + And longs for his return, and as she longs + The rivers of her body run and ripple, + Refresh and quicken her. The morning's light + Flutters upon the ceiling, and she lies + And stretches drowsily in the breaking slumber + Of fluctuant emotion, calls to him + With spirit and flesh, until his very name + Seems like to form in sound, while lips are closed, + And tongue is motionless, beyond herself, + And in the middle spaces of the room + Calls back to her. + + And Henry Murray caught, + In letters, which she sent him, all she felt, + Re-kindled it and sped it back to her. + Then came a lover's fancy in his brain: + He would return unlooked for--who, the god, + Inspired the fancy?--find her in what mood + She might be in his absence, where no blur + Of expectation of his coming changed + Her color, flame of spirit. And he bought + Some chablis and a cake, slipped noiselessly + Into the chamber where she lay asleep, + And had a light upon her face before + She woke and saw him. + + How she cried her joy! + And put her arms around him, burned away + In one great moment from a goblet of fire, + Which over-flowed, whatever she had felt + Of shrinking or distaste, or loveless hands + At any time before, and burned it there + Till even the ashes sparkled, blew away + In incense and in light. + + She rose and slipped + A robe on and her slippers; drew a stand + Between them for the chablis and the cake. + And drank and ate with him, and showed her teeth, + While laughing, shaking curls, and flinging back + Her head for rapture, and in little crows. + + And thus the wine caught up the resting cells, + And flung them in the current, and their blood + Flows silently and swiftly, running deep; + And their two hearts beat like the rhythmic chimes + Of little bells of steel made blue by flame, + Because their lives are ready now, and life + Cries out to life for life to be. The fire, + Lit in the altar of their eyes, is blind + For mysteries that urge, the blood of them + In separate streams would mingle, hurried on + By energy from the heights of ancient mountains; + The God himself, and Life, the Gift of God. + + And as result the hurrying microcosms + Out of their beings sweep, seek out, embrace, + Dance for the rapture of freedom, being loosed; + Unite, achieve their destiny, find the cradle + Of sleep and growth, take up the cryptic task + Of maturation and of fashioning; + Where no light is except the light of God + To light the human spirit, which emerges + From nothing that man knows; and where a face, + To be a woman's or a man's takes form: + Hands that shall gladden, lips that shall enthrall + With songs or kisses, hands and lips, perhaps, + To hurt and poison. All is with the fates, + And all beyond us. + + Now the seed is sown, + The flower must grow and blossom. Something comes, + Perhaps, to whisper something in the ear + That will exert itself against the mass + That grows, proliferates; but for the rest + The task is done. One thing remains alone: + It is a daughter, woman, that you bear, + A whisper says to her--It is her wish-- + Her wish materializes in a voice + Which says: the name of Elenor is sweet, + Choose that for her--Elenor, which is light, + The light of Helen, but a lesser light + In this our larger world; a light to shine, + And lure amid the tangled woodland ways + Of this our life; a firefly beating wings + Here, there amid the thickets of hard days. + And to go out at last, as all lights do, + And leave a memory, perhaps, but leave + No meaning to be known of any man.... + So Elenor Murray is conceived and born. + + * * * * * + + But now this Elenor Murray being born, + We start not with her life, but with her death, + The finding of her body by the river. + And then as Coroner Merival takes proof + Her life comes forth, until the Coroner + Traces it to the moment of her death. + And thus both life and death of her are known. + This the beginning of the mystery:-- + + + + +FINDING OF THE BODY + + + Elenor Murray, daughter of Henry Murray, + The druggist at LeRoy, a village near + The shadow of Starved Rock, this Elenor + But recently returned from France, a heart + Who gave her service in the world at war, + Was found along the river's shore, a mile + Above Starved Rock, on August 7th, the day + Year 1679, LaSalle set sail + For Michilmackinac to reach Green Bay + In the _Griffin_, in the winter snow and sleet, + Reaching "Lone Cliff," Starved Rock its later name, + Also La Vantum, village of the tribe + Called Illini. + + This may be taken to speak + The symbol of her life and fate. For first + This Elenor Murray comes into this life, + And lives her youth where the Rock's shadow falls, + As if to say her life should starve and lie + Beneath a shadow, wandering in the world, + As Cavalier LaSalle did, born at Rouen, + Shot down on Trinity River, Texas. She + Searches for life and conquest of herself + With the same sleepless spirit of LaSalle; + And comes back to the shadow of the Rock, + And dies beneath its shadow. Cause of death? + Was she like Sieur LaSalle shot down, or choked, + Struck, poisoned? Let the coroner decide. + Who, hearing of the matter, takes the body + And brings it to LeRoy, is taking proofs; + Lets doctors cut the body, probe and peer + To find the cause of death. + + And so this morning + Of August 7th, as a hunter walks-- + Looking for rabbits maybe, aimless hunting-- + Over the meadow where the Illini's + La Vantum stood two hundred years before, + Gun over arm in readiness for game, + Sees some two hundred paces to the south + Bright colors, red and blue; thinks off the bat + A human body lies there, hurries on + And finds the girl's dead body, hatless head, + The hat some paces off, as if she fell + In such way that the hat dashed off. Her arms + Lying outstretched, the body half on side, + The face upturned to heaven, open eyes + That might have seen Starved Rock until the eyes + Sank down in darkness where no image comes. + + This hunter knew the body, bent and looked; + Gave forth a gasp of horror, leaned and touched + The cold hand of the dead: saw in her pocket, + Sticking above the pocket's edge a banner, + And took it forth, saw it was Joan of Arc + In helmet and cuirass, kneeling in prayer. + And in the banner a paper with these words: + "To be brave, and not to flinch." And standing there + This hunter knew that Elenor Murray came + Some days before from France, was visiting + An aunt, named Irma Leese beyond LeRoy. + What was she doing by the river's shore? + He saw no mark upon her, and no blood; + No pistol by her, nothing disarranged + Of hair or clothing, showing struggle--nothing + To indicate the death she met. Who saw her + Before or when she died? How long had death + Been on her eyes? Some hours, or over-night. + + The hunter touched her hand, already stiff; + And saw the dew upon her hair and brow, + And a blue deadness in her eyes, like pebbles. + The lips were black, and bottle flies had come + To feed upon her tongue. 'Tis ten o'clock, + The coolness of the August night unchanged + By this spent sun of August. And the moon + Lies dead and wasted there beyond Starved Rock. + The moon was beautiful last night! To walk + Beside the river under the August moon + Took Elenor Murray's fancy, as he thinks. + Then thinking of the aunt of Elenor Murray, + Who should be notified, the hunter runs + To tell the aunt--but there's the coroner-- + Is there not law the coroner should know? + Should not the body lie, as it was found, + Until the coroner takes charge of it? + Should not he stand on guard? And so he runs, + And from a farmer's house by telephone + Sends word to Coroner Merival. Then returns + And guards the body. + + Here is riffle first: + The coroner sat with his traveling bags, + Was closing up his desk, had planned a trip + With boon companions, they were with him there; + The auto waited at the door to take them + To catch the train for northern Michigan. + He closed the desk and they arose to go. + Just then the telephone began to ring, + The hunter at the other end was talking, + And told of Elenor Murray. Merival + Turned to his friends and said: "The jig is up. + Here is an inquest, and of moment too. + I cannot go, but you jump in the car, + And go--you'll catch the train if you speed up." + They begged him to permit his deputy + To hold the inquest. Merival said "no," + And waived them off. They left. He got a car + And hurried to the place where Eleanor lay.... + Now who was Merival the Coroner? + For we shall know of Elenor through him, + And know her better, knowing Merival. + + + + +THE CORONER + + + Merival, of a mother fair and good, + A father sound in body and in mind, + Rich through three thousand acres left to him + By that same father dying, mother dead + These many years, a bachelor, lived alone + In the rambling house his father built of stone + Cut from the quarry near at hand, above + The river's bend, before it meets the island + Where Starved Rock rises. + + Here he had returned, + After his Harvard days, took up the task + Of these three thousand acres, while his father + Aging, relaxed his hand. From farm to farm + Rode daily, kept the books, bred cattle, sheep, + Raised seed corn, tried the secrets of DeVries, + And Burbank in plant breeding. + + Day by day, + His duties ended, he sat at a window + In a great room of books where lofty shelves + Were packed with cracking covers; newer books + Flowed over on the tables, round the globes + And statuettes of bronze. Upon the wall + The portraits hung of father and of mother, + And two moose heads above the mantel stared, + The trophies of a hunt in youth. + + So Merival + At a bay window sat in the great room, + Felt and beheld the stream of life and thought + Flow round and through him, to a sound in key + With his own consciousness, the murmurous voice + Of his own soul. + + Along a lawn that sloped + Some hundred feet to the river he would muse. + Or through the oaks and elms and silver birches + Between the plots of flowers and rows of box + Look at the distant scene of hilly woodlands. + And why no woman in his life, no face + Smiling from out the summer house of roses, + Such riotous flames against the distant green? + And why no sons and daughters, strong and fair, + To use these horses, ponies, tramp the fields, + Shout from the tennis court, swim, skate and row? + He asked himself the question many times, + And gave himself the answer. It was this: + + At twenty-five a woman crossed his path-- + Let's have the story as the world believes it, + Then have the truth. She was betrothed to him, + But went to France to study, died in France. + And so he mourned her, kept her face enshrined, + Was wedded to her spirit, could not brook + The coming of another face to blur + This face of faces! So the story went + Around the country. But his grief was not + The grief they told. The pang that gnawed his heart, + And took his spirit, dulled his man's desire + Took root in shame, defeat, rejected love. + He had gone east to meet her and to wed her, + Now turned his thirtieth year; when he arrived + He found his dear bride flown, a note for him, + Left with the mother, saying she had flown, + And could not marry him, it would not do, + She did not love him as a woman should + Who makes a pact for life; her heart was set + For now upon her music, she was off + To France for study, wished him well, in truth-- + Some woman waited him who was his mate.... + So Merival read over many times + The letter, tried to find a secret hope + Lodged back of words--was this a woman's way + To lure him further, win him to more depths? + He half resolved to follow her to France; + Then as he thought of what he was himself + In riches, breeding, place, and manliness + His egotism rose, fed by the hurt: + She might stay on in France for aught he cared! + What was she, anyway, that she could lose + Such happiness and love? for he had given + In a great passion out of a passionate heart + All that was in him--who was she to spurn + A gift like this? Yet always in his heart + Stirred something which by him was love and hate. + And when the word came she had died, the word + She loved a maestro, and the word like gas, + Which poisons, creeps and is not known, that death + Came to her somehow through a lawless love, + Or broken love, disaster of some sort, + His spirit withered with its bitterness. + And in the years to come he feared to give + With unreserve his heart, his leaves withheld + From possible frost, dreamed on and drifted on + Afraid to venture, having scarcely strength + To seek and try, endure defeat again. + + Thus was his youth unsatisfied, and as hope + Of something yet to be to fill his hope + Died not, but with each dawn awoke to move + Its wings, his youth continued past his years. + The very cry of youth, which would not cease + Kept all the dreams and passions of his youth + Wakeful, expectant--kept his face and frame + Rosy and agile as he neared the mark + Of fifty years. + + But every day he sat + As one who waited. What would come to him? + What soul would seek him in this room of books? + But yet no soul he found when he went forth, + Breaking his solitude, to towns. + + What waste + Thought Merival, of spirit, but what waste + Of spirit in the lives he knew! What homes + Where children starve for bread, or starve for love, + Half satisfied, half-schooled are driven forth + With aspirations broken, or with hopes + Or talents bent or blasted! O, what wives + Drag through the cheerless days, what marriages + Cling and exhaust to death, and warp and stain + The children! If a business, like this farm, + Were run on like economy, a year + Would see its ruin! But he thought, at last, + Of spiritual economy, so to save + The lives of men and women, use their powers + To ends that suit. + + And thus when on a time + A miner lost his life there at LeRoy, + And when the inquest found the man was killed + Through carelessness of self, while full of drink, + Merival, knowing that the drink was caused + By hopeless toil and by a bitter grief + Touching a daughter, who had strayed and died, + First wondered if in cases like to this + Good might result, if there was brought to light + All secret things; and in the course of time, + If many deaths were probed, a store of truth + Might not be gathered which some genius hand + Could use to work out laws, instructions, systems + For saving and for using wasting spirits, + So wasted in the chaos, in the senseless + Turmoil and madness of this reckless life, + Which treats the spirit as the cheapest thing, + Since it is so abundant. + + Thoughts like these + Led Merival to run for coroner. + The people wondered why he sought the office. + But when they gave it to him, and he used + His private purse to seek for secret faults, + In lives grown insupportable, for causes + Which prompted suicide, the people wondered, + The people murmured sometimes, and his foes + Mocked or traduced his purpose. + + Merival + The coroner is now two years in office + When Henry Murray's daughter Elenor + Found by the river, gives him work to do + In searching out her life's fate, cause of death, + How, in what manner, and by whom or what + Said Elenor's dead body came to death; + And of all things which might concern the same, + With all the circumstances pertinent, + Material or in anywise related, + Or anywise connected with said death. + And as in other cases Merival + Construed the words of law, as written above: + All circumstances material or related, + Or anywise connected with said death, + To give him power as coroner to probe + To ultimate secrets, causes intimate + In birth, environment, crises of the soul, + Grief, disappointment, hopes deferred or ruined. + So now he exercised his power to strip + This woman's life of vestments, to lay bare + Her soul, though other souls should run and rave + For nakedness and shame. + + So Merival + Returning from the river with the body + Of Elenor Murray thought about the woman; + Recalled her school days in LeRoy--the night + When she was graduated at the High School; thought + About her father, mother, girlhood friends; + And stories of her youth came back to him. + The whispers of her leaving home, the trips + She took, her father's loveless ways. And wonder + For what she did and made of self, possessed + His thinking; and the fancy grew in him + No chance for like appraisal had been his + Of human worth and waste, this man who knew + Both life and books. And lately he had read + The history of King William and his book. + And even the night before this Elenor's body + Was found beside the river--this he read, + Perhaps, he thought, was reading it when Elenor + Was struck down or was choked. How strange the hour + Whose separate place finds Merival with a book, + And Elenor with death, brings them together, + And for result blends book and death!... He knew + By Domesday Book King William had a record + Of all the crown's possessions, had the names + Of all land-holders, had the means of knowing + The kingdom's strength for war; it gave the data + How to increase the kingdom's revenue. + It was a record in a case of titles, + Disputed or at issue to appeal to. + So Merival could say: My inquests show + The country's wealth or poverty in souls, + And what the country's strength is, who by right + May claim his share-ship in the country's life; + How to increase the country's glory, power. + Why not a Domesday Book in which are shown + A certain country's tenures spiritual? + And if great William held great council once + To make inquiry of the nation's wealth, + Shall not I as a coroner in America, + Inquiring of a woman's death, make record + Of lives which have touched hers, what lives she touched; + And how her death by surest logic touched + This life or that, was cause of causes, proved + The event that made events? + + So Merival + Brought in a jury for the inquest work + As follows: Winthrop Marion, learned and mellow, + A journalist in Chicago, keeping still + His residence at LeRoy. And David Borrow, + A sunny pessimist of varied life, + Ingenious thought, a lawyer widely read. + And Samuel Ritter, owner of the bank, + A classmate of the coroner at Harvard. + Llewellyn George, but lately come from China, + A traveler, intellectual, anti-social + Searcher for life and beauty, devotee + Of such diversities as Nietzsche, Plato. + Also a Reverend Maiworm noted for + Charitable deeds and dreams. And Isaac Newfeldt + Who in his youth had studied Adam Smith, + And since had studied tariffs, lands and money, + Economies of nations. + + And because + They were the friends of Merival, and admired + His life and work, they dropped their several tasks + To serve as jurymen. + + The hunter came + And told his story: how he found the body, + What hour it was, and how the body lay; + About the banner in the woman's pocket, + Which Coroner Merival had taken, seen, + And wondered over. For if Elenor + Was not a Joan too, why treasure this? + Did she take Joan's spirit for her guide? + And write these words: "To be brave and not to flinch"? + She wrote them; for her father said: "It's true + That is her writing," when he saw the girl + First brought to Merival's office. + + Merival + Amid this business gets a telegram: + Tom Norman drowned, one of the men with whom + He planned this trip to Michigan. Later word + Tom Norman and the other, Wilbur Horne + Are in a motor-boat. Tom rises up + To get the can of bait and pitches out, + His friend leaps out to help him. But the boat + Goes on, the engine going, there they fight + For life amid the waves. Tom has been hurt, + Somehow in falling, cannot save himself, + And tells his friend to leave him, swim away. + His friend is forced at last to swim away, + And makes the mile to shore by hardest work. + Tom Norman, dead, leaves wife and children caught + In business tangles which he left to build + New strength, to disentangle, on the trip. + The rumor goes that Tom was full of drink, + Thus lost his life. But if our Elenor Murray + Had not been found beside the river, what + Had happened? If the coroner had been there, + And run the engine, steered the boat beside + The drowning man, and Wilbur Horne--what drink + Had caused the death of Norman? Or again, + Perhaps the death of Elenor saved the life + Of Merival, by keeping him at home + And safe from boats and waters. + + Anyway, + As Elenor Murray's body has no marks, + And shows no cause of death, the coroner + Sends out for Dr. Trace and talks to him + Of things that end us, says to Dr. Trace + Perform the autopsy on Elenor Murray. + And while the autopsy was being made + By Dr. Trace, he calls the witnesses + The father first of Elenor Murray, who + Tells Merival this story: + + + + +HENRY MURRAY + + + Henry Murray, father of Elenor Murray, + Willing to tell the coroner Merival + All things about himself, about his wife, + All things as well about his daughter, touching + Her growth, and home life, if the coroner + Would hear him privately, save on such things + Strictly relating to the inquest, went + To Coroner Merival's office and thus spoke: + I was born here some sixty years ago, + Was nurtured in these common schools, too poor + To satisfy a longing for a college. + Felt myself gifted with some gifts of mind, + Some fineness of perception, thought, began + By twenty years to gather books and read + Some history, philosophy and science. + Had vague ambitions, analyzed perhaps, + To learn, be wise. + + Now if you study me, + Look at my face, you'll see some trace of her: + My brow is hers, my mouth is hers, my eyes + Of lighter color are yet hers, this way + I have of laughing, as I saw inside + The matter deeper cause for laughter, hers. + And my jaw hers betokening a will, + Hers too, with chin that mitigates the will, + Shading to softness as hers did. + + Our minds + Had something too in common: first this will + Which tempted fate to bend it, break it too-- + I know not why in her case or in mine. + But when my will is bent I grow morose, + And when it's broken, I become a scourge + To all around me. Yes, I've visited + A life-time's wrath upon my wife. This daughter + When finding will subdued did not give up, + But took the will for something else--went on + By ways more prosperous; but alas! poor me! + I hold on when defeated, and lie down + When I am beaten, growling, ruminate + Upon my failure, think of nothing else. + But truth to tell, while we two were opposed, + This daughter and myself, while temperaments + Kept us at sword's points, while I saw in her + Traits of myself I liked not, also traits + Of the child's mother which I loathe, because + They have undone me, helped at least--no less + I see this child as better than myself, + And better than her mother, so admire. + Also I never trusted her; as a child + She would rush in relating lying wonders; + She feigned emotions, purposes and moods; + She was a little actress from the first, + And all her high resolves from first to last + Seemed but a robe with flowing sleeves in which + Her hands could hide some theft, some secret spoil. + When she was fourteen I could see in her + The passionate nature of her mother--well + You know a father's feelings when he sees + His daughter sensed by youths and lusty men + As one of the kind for capture. It's a theme + A father cannot talk of with his daughter. + He may say, "have a care," or "I forbid + Your strolling, riding with these boys at night." + But if the daughter stands and eyes the father, + As she did me with flaming eyes, then goes + Her way in secret, lies about her ways, + The father can but wonder, watch or brood, + Or switch her maybe, for I switched her once, + And found it did no good. I needed here + The mother's aid, but no, her mother saw + Herself in the girl, and said she knew the girl, + That I was too suspicious, out of touch + With a young girl's life, desire for happiness. + But when this Alma Bell affair came up, + And the school principal took pains to say + My daughter was too reckless of her name + In strolling and in riding, then my wife + Howled at me like a tigress: whip that man! + And as my daughter cried, and my wife screeched, + And called me coward if I let him go, + I rushed out to the street and finding him + Beat up his face, though almost dropping dead + From my exertion. Well, the aftermath + Was worse for me, not only by the talk, + But in my mind who saw no gratitude + In daughter or in mother for my deed. + The daughter from that day took up a course + More secret from my eyes, more variant + From any wish I had. We stood apart, + And grew apart thereafter. And from that day + My wife grew worse in temper, worse in nerves. + And though the people say she is my slave, + That I alone, of all who live, have conquered + Her spirit, still what despotism works + Free of reprisals, or of breakings-forth + When hands are here, not there? + + But to return: + One takes up something for a livelihood, + And dreams he'll leave it later, when in time + His plans mature; and as he earns and lives, + With some time for his plans, hopes for the day + When he may step forth from his olden life + Into a new life made thus gradually, + I hoped to be a lawyer; but to live + I started as a drug clerk--look to-day + I own that little drug store--here I am + With drugs my years through, drugged myself at last. + And as a clerk I met my wife--went mad + About her, and I see in Elenor + Her mother's gift for making fools of men. + Why, I can scarce explain it, it's the flesh, + But then it's spirit too. Such flaming up + As came from flames like ours, but more of hers + Burned in the children. Yes, it might be well + For theorists in heredity to think + About the matter. + + Well, but how about + The flames that make the children? For this woman + Too surely ruined me and sapped my life. + You hear much of the vampire, but what wife + Has not more chance for eating up a man? + She has him daily, has him fast for years. + + A man can shake a vampire off, but how + To shake a wife off, when the children come, + And you must leave your place, your livelihood + To shake her off? And if you shake her off + Where do you go? what do you do? and how? + You see 'twas love that caught me, yet even so + I had resisted love had I not seen + A chance to rise through marriage. It was this: + You know, of course, my wife was Elenor Fouche, + Daughter of Arthur, thought to be so rich. + And I had hopes to patch my fortunes up + In this alliance, and become a lawyer. + What happened? Why they helped me not at all. + The children came, and I was chained to work, + To clothe and feed a family--all the while + My soul combusted with this aspiration, + And my good nature went to ashes, dampened + By secret tears which filtered through as lye. + Then finally, when my wife's father died, + After our marriage, twenty years or so, + His fortune came to nothing, all she got + Went to that little house we live in here-- + It needs paint now, the porch has rotten boards-- + And I was forced to see these children learn + What public schools could teach, and even as I + Left school half taught, and never went to college, + So did these children, saving Elenor, + Who saw two years of college--earned herself + By teaching. I choke up, just wait a minute! + What depths of calmness may a man come to + As father, who can think of this and be + Quiet about his heart? His heart will hurt, + Move, as it were, as a worm does with its pain. + And these days now, when trembling hands and head + Foretell decline, or worse, and make me think + As face to face with God, most earnestly, + Most eager for the truth, I wonder much + If I misjudged this daughter, canvass her + Myself to see if I had power to do + A better part by her. That is the way + This daughter has got in my soul. At first + She incubates in me as force unknown, + A spirit strange yet kindred, in my life; + And we are hostile and yet drawn together; + But when we're drawn together see and feel + These oppositions. Next she's in my life-- + The second stage of the fever--as dislike, + Repugnance, and I wish her out of sight, + Out of my life. Then comes these ugly things, + Like Alma Bell, and rumors from away + Where she is teaching, and I put her out + Of life and thought the more, and wonder why + I fathered such a nature, whence it came. + Well, then the fever goes and I am weak, + Repentant it may be, delirious visions + That haunted me in fever plague me yet, + Even while I think them visions, nothing else. + So I grow pitiful and blame myself + For any part I had in her mistakes, + Sorrows and struggles, and I curse myself + That I was powerless to help her more-- + Thus is she like a fever in my life. + + Well, then the child grows up. But as a child + She dances, laughs and sings. At three years springs + For minutes and for minutes on her toes, + Like skipping rope, clapping her hands the while, + Her blue eyes twinkling, and her milk-white teeth + Glistening as she gurgled, shouted, laughed-- + There never was such vital strength. I give + The pictures as my memory took them. Next + I see her looking side-ways at me, as if + She studied me, avoided me. The child + Is now ten years of age; and now I know + She smelled the rats that made the family hearth + A place for scampering; the horrors of our home. + She thought I brought the rats and kept them there, + These rats of bickering, anger, strife at home. + I knew she blamed me for her mother's moods + Who dragged about the kitchen day by day, + Sad faced and silent. So the upshot was + I had two enemies in the house, where once + I had but one, her mother. This made worse + The state for both, and worse the state for me. + And so it goes. Then next there's Alma Bell. + The following year my daughter finished up + The High School--and we sit--my wife and I + To see the exercises. And that summer Elenor, + Now eighteen and a woman, goes about-- + I don't know what she does, sometimes I see + Some young man with her walking. But at home, + When I come in, the mother and the daughter + Put pedals on their talk, or change the theme-- + I am shut out. + + And in the fall I learn + From some outsider that she's teaching school, + And later people laugh and talk to me + About her feat of cowing certain Czechs, + Who broke her discipline in school. + + Well, then + Two years go on that have no memory, + Just like sick days in bed when you lie there + And wake and sleep and wait. But finally + Her mother says: "To-night our Elenor + Leaves for Los Angeles." And then the mother, + To hide a sob, coughs nervously and leaves + The room where I am, for the kitchen--I + Sit with the evening paper, let it fall, + Then hold it up to read again and try + To say to self, "All right, what if she goes?" + The evening meal goes hard, for Elenor + Shines forth in kindness for me, talks and laughs-- + I choke again.... She says to me if God + Had meant her for a better youth, then God + Had given her a better youth; she thanks me + For making High School possible to her, + And says all will be well--she will earn money + To go to college, that she will gain strength + By helping self--Just think, my friend, to hear + Such words, which in their kindness proved my failure, + When I had hoped, aspired, when I had given + My very soul, whether I liked this daughter, + Or liked her not, out of a generous hand, + Large hearted in its carelessness to give + A daughter of such mind a place in life, + And schooling for the place. + + The meal was over. + We stood there silent; then her face grew wet + With tears, as wet as blossoms soaked with rain. + She took my hand and took her mother's hand, + And put our hands together--then she said: + "Be friends, be friends," and hurried from the room, + Her mother following. I stepped out-doors, + And stood what seemed a minute, entered again, + Walked to the front room, from the window saw + Elenor and her mother in the street. + The girl was gone! How could I follow them? + They had not asked me. So I stood and saw + The canvas telescope her mother carried. + They disappeared. I went back to my store, + Came back at nine o'clock, lighted a match + And saw my wife in bed, cloths on her eyes. + She turned her face to the wall, and didn't speak. + + Next morning at the breakfast table she, + Complaining of a stiff arm, said: "that satchel + Was weighted down with books, my arm is stiff-- + Elenor took French books to study French. + When she can pay a teacher, she will learn + How to pronounce the words, but by herself + She'll learn the grammar, how to read." She knew + How words like that would hurt! + + I merely said: + "A happy home is better than knowing French," + And went off to my store. + + But coroner, + Search for the men in her life. When she came + Back from the West after three years, I knew + By look of her eyes that some one filled her life, + Had taken her life and body. What if I + Had failed as father in the way I failed? + And what if our home was not home to her? + She could have married--why not? If a girl + Can fascinate the men--I know she could-- + She can have marriage, if she wants to marry. + Unless she runs to men already married, + And if she does so, don't you make her out + As loose and bad? + + Well, what is more to tell? + She learned French, seemed to know the ways of the world, + Knew books, knew how to dress, gave evidence + Of contact with refinements; letters came + When she was here at intervals inscribed + In writing of elite ones, gifted maybe. + And she was filial and kind to me, + Most kind toward her mother, gave us things + At Christmas time. But still her way was such + That I as well had been familiar with her + As with some formal lady visiting. + She came back here before she went to France, + Staid two days with us. Once upon the porch + She turned to me and said: "I wish to honor + Mother and you by serving in the war. + You must rejoice that I can serve--you must! + But most I wish to honor America, + This land of promise, of fulfillment, too, + Which proves to all the world that men and women + Are born alike of God, at least that riches + And classes formed in pride have neither hearts, + Nor minds above the souls of those who work. + This land that reared me is my dearest love, + I go to serve the country." + + Pardon me! + A man of my age in an hour like this + Must cry a little--wait till I can say + The last words that she said to me. + + She put + Her arms about me, then she said to me: + "I am so glad my life and place in life + Were such that I was forced to rise or sink, + To strive or fail. God has been good to me, + Who gifted me with spirit to aspire." + I go back to my store now. In these days, + Last days, of course, I try to be a husband, + Try to be kinder to the mother of Elenor. + Death is not far off, and that makes us think. + We may be over soft or penitent; + Forgive where we should hate still, being soft; + And fade off from the wrongs, we brooded on; + And cease to care life has been badly lived, + From first to last. But none the less our vision + Seems clearer as we end this trivial life. + And so I try to be a kinder husband + To Elenor's mother. + + So spoke Henry Murray + To Merival; a stenographer took down + His words, and they were written out and shown + The jury. Afterward the mother came + And told her story to the coroner, + Also reported, written out, and shown + The jury. But it happened thus with her: + She waited in the coroner's outer room + Until her husband told his story, then + With eyes upon the floor, passing her husband, + The two in silence passing, as he left + The coroner's office, spoke amid her sighs, + Her breath long drawn at intervals, looking down + The while she spoke: + + + + +MRS. MURRAY + + + I think, she said at first, + My daughter did not kill herself. I'm sure + Someone did violence to her, your tests, + Examination will prove violence. + It would be like her fate to meet with such: + Poor child, unfortunate from birth, at least + Unfortunate in fortune, peace and joy. + Or else if she met with no violence, + Some sudden crisis of her woman's heart + Came on her by the river, the result + Of strains and labors in the war in France. + I'll tell you why I say this: First I knew + She had come near me from New York, there came + A letter from her, saying she had come + To visit with her aunt there near LeRoy, + And rest and get the country air. She said + To keep it secret, not to tell her father; + That she was in no frame of mind to come + And be with us, and see her father, see + Our life, which is the same as it was when + She was a child and after. But she said + To come to her. And so the day before + They found her by the river I went over + And saw her for the day. She seemed most gay, + Gave me the presents which she brought from France, + Told me of many things, but rather more + By way of half told things than something told + Continuously, you know. She had grown fairer, + She had a majesty of countenance, + A luminous glory shone about her face, + Her voice was softer, eyes looked tenderer. + She held my hands so lovingly when we met. + She kissed me with such silent, speaking love. + But then she laughed and told me funny stories. + She seemed all hope, and said she'd rest awhile + Before she made a plan for life again. + And when we parted, she said: "Mother, think + What trip you'd like to take. I've saved some money, + And you must have a trip, a rest, construct + Yourself anew for life." So, as I said, + She came to death by violence, or else + She had some weakness that she hid from me + Which came upon her quickly. + + For the rest, + Suppose I told you all my life, and told + What was my waste in life and what in hers, + How I have lived, and how poor Elenor + Was raised or half-raised--what's the good of that? + Are not there rooms of books, of tales and poems + And histories to show all secrets of life? + Does anyone live now, or learn a thing + Not lived and learned a thousand times before? + The trouble is these secrets are locked up + In books and might as well be locked in graves, + Since they mean nothing till you live yourself. + And I suppose the race will live and suffer + As long as leaves put forth in spring, live over + The very sorrows, horrors that we live. + Wisdom is here, but how to learn that wisdom, + And use it while life's worth the living, that's + The thing to be desired. But let it go. + If any soul can profit by my life, + Or by my Elenor's, I trust he may, + And help him to it. + + Coroner Merival, + Even the children in this neighborhood + Know something of my husband and of me, + Our struggle and unhappiness, even the children + Hear Alma Bell's name mentioned with a look. + And if you went about here to inquire + About my Elenor, you'd find them saying + She was a wonder girl, or this or that. + But then you'd feel a closing up of speech, + As if a door closed softly, just a way + To indicate that something else was there, + Somewhere in the person's room of thoughts. + This is the truth, since I was told a man + Came here to ask about her, when she asked + To serve in France, the matter of Alma Bell + Traced down and probed. + + It being true, therefore, + That you and all the rest know of my life, + Our life at home, it matters nothing then + That I go on and tell you what I think + Made sorrow for us, what our waste was, tell you + How the yarn knotted as we took the skein + And wound it to a ball, and made the ball + So hardly knotted that the yarn held fast + Would not unwind for knitting. + + Well, you know + My father Arthur Fouche, my mother too. + They reared me with the greatest care. You know + They sent me to St. Mary's, where I learned + Fine things, to be a lady--learned to dance, + To play on the piano, sing a little; + Learned French, Italian, learned to know good books, + The beauty of a poem or a tale; + Learned elegance of manners, how to walk, + Stand, breathe, keep well, be radiant and strong, + And so in all to make life beautiful, + Become the helpful wife of some strong man, + The mother of fine children. Well, at school + We girls were guarded from the men, and so + We went to town surrounded by our teachers, + And only saw the boys when some girl's brother + Came to the school to visit, perhaps a girl + Consent had of her parents to receive + A beau sometimes. But then I had no beau; + And had I had my father would have kept him + Away from me at school. + + For truth to tell + When I had finished school, came back to home + They kept the men away, there was no man + Quite good enough to call. Now here begins + My fate, as you will see; their very care + To make me what they wished, to have my life + Grow safely, prosperously, was my undoing. + I had a sister named Corinne who suffered + Because of that; my father guarded me + Against all strolling lovers, unknown men. + But here was Henry Murray, whom they knew, + And trusted too; and though they never dreamed + I'd marry him, they trusted him to call. + He seemed a quiet, diligent young man, + Aspiring in the world. And so they thought + They'd solve my loneliness and restless spirits + By opening the door to him. My fate! + They let him call upon me twice a month. + He was in love with me before this started, + That's why he tried to call. But as for me, + He was a man, that's all, a being only + In the world to talk to, help my loneliness. + I had no love for him, no more than I + Had love for father's tenant on the farm. + And what I knew of marriage, what it means + Was what a child knows. If you'll credit me + I thought a man and woman slept together, + Lay side by side, and somehow, I don't know, + That children came. + + But then I was so vital, + Rebellious, hungering for freedom, that + No chance was too indifferent to put by + What offered freedom from the prison home, + The watchfulness of father and of mother, + The rigor of my discipline. And in truth + No other man came by, no prospect showed + Of going on a visit, finding life + Some other place. And so it came about, + After I knew this man two months, one night + I made a rope of sheets, down from my window + Descended to his arms, eloped in short, + And married Henry Murray, and found out + What marriage is, believe me. Well, I think + The time will come when marriage will be known + Before the parties tie themselves for life. + How do you know a man, or know a woman + Until the flesh instructs you? Do you know + A man until you see him face to face? + Or know what texture is his hand until + You touch his hand? Well, lastly no one knows + Whether a man is mate for you before + You mate with him. I hope to see the day + When men and women, to try out their souls + Will live together, learning A. B. C.'s + Of life before they write their fates for life. + + Our story started then. To sate their rage + My father and my mother cut me off, + And so we had bread problems from the first. + He made but little clerking in the store, + Besides his mind was on the law and books. + These were the early tangles of our yarn. + And I grew worried as the children came, + Two sons at first, and I was far from well, + One died at five years, and I almost died + For grief at this. But down below all things, + Far down below all tune or scheme of sound, + Where no rests were, but only ceaseless dirge, + Was my heart's _de profundis_, crying out + My thirst for love, not thirst for his, but thirst + For love that quenched it. But the only water + That passed my lips was desert water, poisoned + By arsenic from his rocks. My soul grew bitter, + Then sweetened under the cross, grew bitter again. + My life lay raving on the desert sands. + To speak more plainly, sleep deserted me. + I could not sleep for thought, and for a will + That could not bend, but hoped that death or something + Would take him from me, bring me love before + My face was withered, as it is to-day. + At last the doctor found me growing mad + For lack of sleep. Why was I so, he asked. + You must give up this psychic work and quit + This psychic writing, let the spirits go. + Well, it was true that years before I found + I heard and saw with higher power, received + Deep messages from spirits, from my boy + Who passed away. And as to this, who knows?-- + Surely no doctor--of this psychic power. + You may be called neurotic, what is that? + Perhaps it is the soul become so fine + It leaves the body, or shakes down the body + With energy too subtle for the body. + But I was sleepless for these years, at last + The secret lost of sleep, for seven days + And seven nights could find no sleep, until + I lay upon the lawn and pushed my head, + As a dog does around, around, around. + There was a devil in me, at one with me, + And neither to be put out, nor yet subdued + By help outside, and nothing to be done + Except to find escape by knife, or pistol, + And thus get sleep. Escape! Oh, that's the word! + There's something in the soul that says escape! + Fly, fly from something, and in truth, my friend, + Life's restlessness, however healthful it be, + Is motived by this urge to fly, escape: + Well, to go on, they gave me everything, + At last they gave me chloral, but no sleep! + And finally I closed my eyes and quick + The secret came to me, as one might find, + After forgetting how, to swim, or walk, + After a sickness, and for just two minutes + I slept, and then I got the secret back, + And later slept. + + So I possessed myself. + But for these years sleep but two hours or so. + Why do I wake? The spirits let me sleep. + Oh, no it is my longing that will rest not, + These thoughts of him that rest not, and this love + That never has been satisfied, this heart + So empty all these years; the bitterness + Of living face to face with one you loathe, + Yet pity, while you hate yourself for feeling + Such bitterness toward another soul, + As wretched as your own. But then as well + I could not sleep for Elenor, for her fate, + Never to have a chance in life. I saw + Our poverty made surer; year by year + Slip by with chances slipping. + + Oh, that child! + When I first felt her lips that sucked my breasts + My heart went muffled like a bird that tries + To pour its whole song in one note and fails + Out of its very ecstasy. A daughter, + A little daughter at my breast, a soul + Of a woman to be! I knew her spirit then, + Felt all my love and longing in her lips, + Felt all my passion, purity of desire + In those sweet lips that sucked my breasts. Oh, rapture, + Oh highest rapture God had given me + To see her roll upon my arm and smile, + Full fed, the milk that gurgled from her lips! + Such blue eyes--oh, my child! My child! my child! + I have no hope now of this life--no hope + Except to take you to my breast again. + God will be good and give you to me, or + God will bring sleep to me, a sleep so still + I shall not miss you, Elenor. + + I go on. + I see her when she first began to walk. + She ran at first, just like a baby quail. + She never walked. She danced into this life. + She used to dance for minutes on her toes. + My starved heart bore her vital in some way. + My hope which would not die had made her gay, + And unafraid and venturesome and hopeful. + She did not know what sadness was, or fear, + Or anything but laughter, play and fun. + Not till she grew to ten years and could see + The place in life that God had given her + Between my life and his; and then I saw + A thoughtfulness come over her, as a cloud + Passes across the sun, and makes one place + A shadow while the landscape lies in light: + So quietness would come over her, with smiles + Around her quietness and sunniest laughter + Fast following on her quietness. + + Well, you know + She went to school here as the others did. + But who knew that I grieved to see her lose + A schooling at St. Mary's, have no chance? + No chance save what she earned herself? What girl + Has earned the money for two years in college + Beside my Elenor in this neighborhood? + There is not one! But then if books and schooling + Be things prerequisite for success in life, + Why should we have a social scheme that clings + To marriage and the home, when such a soul + Is turned into the world from such a home, + With schooling so inadequate? If the state + May take our sons and daughters for its use + In war, in peace, why let the state raise up + And school these sons and daughters, let the home + Go to full ruin from half ruin now, + And let us who have failed in choosing mates + Re-choose, without that fear of children's fate + Which haunts us now. + + For look at Elenor! + Why did she never marry? Any man + Had made his life rich had he married her. + But in this present scheme of things such women + Move in a life where men are mostly less + In mind and heart than they are--and the men + Who are their equals never come to them, + Or come to them too seldom, or if they come + Are blind and do not know these Elenors. + And she had character enough to live + In single life, refuse the lesser chance, + Since she found not the great one, as I think. + But let it pass--I'm sure she was beloved, + And more than once, I'm sure. But I am sure + She was too wise for errors crude and common. + And if she had a love that stopped her heart, + She knew beforehand all, and met her fate + Bravely, and wrote that "To be brave and not + To flinch," to keep before her soul her faith + Deep down within it, lest she might forget it + Among her crowded thoughts. + + She went to the war. + She came to see me before she went, and said + She owed her courage and her restless spirit + To me, her will to live, her love of life, + Her power to sacrifice and serve, to me. + She put her arms about my neck and kissed me, + Said I had been a mother to her, being + A mother if no more; wished she had brought + More happiness to me, material things, + Delight in life. + + Of course her work took strength. + Her life was sapped by service in the war, + She died for country, for America, + As much as any soldier. So I say + If her life came to any waste, what waste + May her heroic life and death prevent? + The world has spent two hundred billion dollars + To put an egotist and strutting despot + Out of the power he used to tyrannize + Over his people with a tyranny + Political in chief, to take away + The glittering dominion of a crown. + I want some good to us out of this war, + And some emancipation. Let me tell you: + I know a worse thing than a German king: + It is the social scourge of poverty, + Which cripples, slays the husband and the wife, + And sends the children forth in life half formed. + I know a tyranny more insidious + Than any William had, it is the tyranny + Of superstition, customs, laws and rules; + The tyranny of the church, the tyranny + Of marriage, and the tyranny of beliefs + Concerning right and wrong, of good and evil; + The tyranny of taboos, the despotism + That rules our spirits with commands and threats: + Ghosts of dead faiths and creeds, ghosts of the past. + The tyranny, in short, that starves and chains + Imprisons, scourges, crucifies the soul, + Which only asks the chance to live and love, + Freely as it wishes, which will live so + If you take Poverty and chuck him out. + Then make the main thing inner growth, take rules, + Conventions and religion (save it be + The worship of God in spirit without hands + And without temples sacraments) the babble + Of moralists, the rant and flummery + Of preachers and of priests, and chuck them out. + These things produce your waste and suffering. + You tell a soul it sins and make it suffer, + Spend years in impotence and twilight thought. + You punish where no punishment should be, + Weaken and break the soul. You weight the soul + With idols and with symbols meaningless, + When God gave but three things: the earth and air + And mind to know them, live in freedom by them. + + Well, I would have America become + As free as any soul has ever dreamed her, + And if America does not get strength + To free herself, now that the war is over. + Then Elenor Murray's spirit has not won + The thing she died for. + + So I go my way, + Back to get supper, I who live, shall die + In America as it is--Rise up and change it + For mothers of the future Elenors. + + By now the press was full of Elenor Murray. + And far and near, wherever she was known, + Had lived, or taught, or studied, tongues were loosed + In episodes or stories of the girl. + The coroner on the street was button-holed, + Received marked articles and letters, some + Anonymous, some crazy. David Borrow + Who helped this Alma Bell as lawyer, friend, + Found in his mail a note from Alma Bell, + Enclosed with one much longer, written for + The coroner to read. + + When Merival + Had read it, then he said to Borrow: "Read + This letter to the other jurors." So + He read it to them, as they sat one night, + Invited to the home of Merival + To drink a little wine and have a smoke, + And talk about the case. + + + + +ALMA BELL TO THE CORONER + + + What my name is, or where I live, or if + I am that Alma Bell whose name is broached + With Elenor Murray's who shall know from this? + My hand-writing I hide in type, I send + This letter through a friend who will not tell. + But first, since no chance ever yet was mine + To speak my heart out, since if I had tried + These fifteen years ago to tell my heart, + I must have failed for lack of words and mind, + I speak my heart out now. I knew the soul + Of Elenor Murray, knew it at the time, + Have verified my knowledge in these years, + Who have not lost her, have kept touch with her + In letters, know the splendid sacrifice + She made in the war. She was a human soul + Earth is not blest with often. + + First I say + I knew her when she first came to my class + Turned seventeen just then--such blue-bell eyes, + And such a cataract of dark brown hair, + And such a brow, sweet lips, and such a way + Of talking with a cunning gasp, as if + To catch breath for the words. And such a sense + Of fitness, beauty, delicacy. But more + Such vital power that shook her silver nerves, + And made her dim to others; but to me + She was all sanity of soul, her body, + The instruments of life, were overborne + By that great flame of hers. And if her music + Fell sometimes into discord, which I doubt, + It was her heart-strings which could not vibrate + For human weakness, what the soul of her + Struck for response; and when the strings so failed + She was more grieved than I, or anyone, + Who listened and expected more. + + Well, then + What was my love? I am not loath to tell. + I could not touch her hand without a thrill, + Nor kiss her lips but I felt purified, + Exalted in some way. And if fatigue, + The hopeless, daily ills of teaching brought + My spirit to distress, and if I went, + As oftentimes I did, to call upon her + After the school hours, as I heard her step + Responding to my knock, my heart went up, + Her face framed by the opened door--what peace + Was mine to see it, peace ineffable + And rest were mine to sit with her and hear + That voice of hers where breath was caught for words, + That cunning gasp and pause! + + I loved her then, + Have loved her always, love her now no less. + I feel her spirit somehow, can take out + Her letters, photograph, and find a joy + That such a soul lived, was in truth my soul, + Must always be my soul. + + What was this love? + Why only this, shame nature if you will: + But since man's body is not man's alone, + Nor woman's body wholly feminine, + A biologic truth, our body's souls + Are neither masculine nor feminine, + But part and part; from whence our souls play forth + Part masculine, part feminine--this woman + Had that of body first which made her soul, + Or made her soul play in its way, and I + Had that of body which made soul of me + Play in its way. Our music met, that's all, + And harmonized. The flesh's explanation + Is not important, nor to tell whence comes + A love in the heart--the thing is love at last: + Love which unites and comforts, glorifies, + Enlarges spirit, woos to generous life, + Invites to sacrifice, to service, clothes + This poor dull earth with glory, makes the dawn + An hour of high resolve, the night a hope + For dawn for fuller life, the day a time + For working out the soul in terms of love. + This was my love for Elenor Murray--this + Her love for me, I think. Her sacrifice + In the war I traced to our love--all the good + Her life set into being, into motion + Has in it something of this love of ours. + How good is God who gives us love, the lens + Through which we see the beauty, hid from eyes + That have no love, no lens. + + Then what are spirits? + Effluvia material of our bodies? + Or is the spirit all--the body nothing, + Since every atom, particle of matter + With its interstices of soul, divides + Until there is no matter, only soul? + But what is love but of the soul--what flesh + Knows love but through the soul? May it not be + As soul learns love through flesh, it may at last, + Helped on its way by flesh, discard the flesh:-- + As cured men leave their crutches--and go on + Loving with spirits. For it seems to me + I must find Elenor Murray as a spirit, + Myself a spirit, love her as I loved her + These years on earth, but with a clearer fire, + Flame that is separate from fuel, burning + Eternal through itself. + + And here a word: + My love for Elenor Murray never had + Other expression than the look of eyes, + The spiritual thrill of listening to her voice, + A hand clasp, kiss upon the lips at best, + Better to find her soul, as Plato says. + + Too true I left LeRoy under a cloud, + Because of love for Elenor Murray--yet + Not lawless love, I write now to make clear + What love was mine--and you must understand. + But let me tell how life has dealt with me, + Then judge my purpose, dream, the quality + Of Elenor Murray judge, who in some way, + Somehow has drawn me onward, upward too, + I hope, as I have striven. + + I did fear + Her safety, and her future, did reprove + Her conduct, its appearance, rather more + In dread of gossip, dread of ways to follow + From such free ways begun at seventeen, + In innocence, out of a vital heart. + But when a bud is opening what stray bees + Come to drag pollen over it, and set + Life going to the end in the fruit of life! + O, my wish was to keep her for some love + To ripen in a rich maturity. + My care proved useless--or shall I say so? + Or anyone say so? since no mind knows + What failure here may somewhere prove a gain. + + There was that man who came into her life + With heart unsatisfied, bound to a woman + He wedded early. Elenor Murray's love + Destroyed this man by human measurements. + And he destroyed her, so they say. But yet + She poured her love upon him, lit her soul + With brighter flames for love of him. At last + She knew no thing but love and sacrifice. + She wrote me last her life was just one pain, + Had always been so from the first, and now + She wished to fling her spirit in the war, + Give, serve, nor count the cost, win death and God + In service in the war--O, loveliest soul + I pray and pray to meet you once again! + So was her life a ruin, was it waste? + She was a prodigal flower that never shut + Its petals, even in darkness, let her soul + Escape when, where it would. + + But to myself: + I dragged myself to England from LeRoy + And plunged in life, philosophies of life, + Spinoza and what not, read poetry, + Heard music too, Tschaikowsky, Wagner, all + Who tried to make sound tell the secret thing + That drove me wild in searching love. And lovers + I had one after the other, having fallen + To that belief the way is by the body. + But I was fooled and grew by slow degrees. + And then there came a wild man in my life, + A vagabond, a madman, genius--well, + We both went mad, and I smashed everything, + And ran away, threw all the world for him, + Only to find myself worn out, half dead + At last, as it were out of delirium. + And for four years sat by the sea, or made + Visits to Paris, where I met the man + I married. Then how strange! I gave myself + Wholly to bearing children, just to find + Some explanation of myself, some work + Wholly absorbing, lives to take my love. + And here I was instructed, found a step + For my poor feet to mount by. Though submerged, + Alone too much, my husband not the mate + I dreamed of, hearing echoes in my dreams + Of London and of Paris, sometimes voices + Of lovers lost and vanished; still I've found + A peace sometimes, a stay, too, in the innocence + And helplessness of children. + + But you see, + In spite of all we do, however high + And fiercely mounts desire, life imposes + Repression, sacrifice, renunciation. + And our poor souls fall muddied in the ditch, + Or take the discipline and live life out. + So Elenor Murray lived and did not fail. + And so it was the knowledge of her life + Kept me in spite of failures at the task + Of holding to my self. + + These two months passed + I found I had not killed desire--found + Among a group a chance to try again + For happiness, but knew it was not there. + Then to my children I came back and said: + "Free once again through suffering." So I prayed: + "Come to me flame of spirit, fire of worship, + Bright fire of song; if I but be myself, + Work through my fate, you shall be mine at last."... + Then was it that I heard from Elenor Murray-- + Such letters, such outpourings of herself! + Poor woman leaving love that could not be + More than it was; how wise she was to fly, + And use that love for service, as she did; + Extract its purest essence for the war, + And ease death with it, merging love and death + Into that mystic union, seen at last + By Elenor Murray. + + When I heard she came + All broken from the war, and died somehow + There by the river, then she seemed to me + More near--I seemed to feel her; little zephyrs + Blowing about my face, when I sat looking + Over the sea in my rose bower, seemed + The exhalation of her soul that caught + Its breath for words. I see her in my dreams-- + O, my pure soul, what have you been to me, + What must you be hereafter! + + But my friend, + And I must call you friend, whose strength in life + Drives you to find economies of spirit, + And save the waste of spirit, you must find + Whatever waste there was of Elenor Murray + Of love or faith, or time, or strength, great gain + In spite of early chances, father, mother, + Too loveless, negligent, or ignorant; + Her mother instinct never blessed with children. + I sometimes think no life is without use-- + For even weeds that sow themselves, frost reaped + And matted on the ground, enrich the soil, + Or feed some life. Our eyes must see the end + Of what these growths are for, before we say + Where waste is and where gain. + + * * * * * + + Coroner Merival woke to scan the _Times_, + And read the story of the suicide + Of Gregory Wenner, circle big enough + From Elenor Murray's death, but unobserved + Of Merival, until he heard the hint + Of Dr. Trace, who made the autopsy, + That Gregory Wenner might have caused the death + Of Eleanor Murray, or at least was near + When Elenor Murray died. Here is the story + Worked out by Merival as he went about + Unearthing secrets, asking here and there + What Gregory Wenner was to Elenor Murray. + The coroner had a friend who was the friend + Of Mrs. Wenner. Acting on the hint + Of Dr. Trace he found this friend and learned + What follows here of Gregory Wenner, then + What Mrs. Wenner learned in coming home + To bury Gregory Wenner. What he learned + The coroner told the jury. Here's the life + Of Gregory Wenner first: + + + + +GREGORY WENNER + + + Gregory Wenner's brother married the mother + Of Alma Bell, the daughter of a marriage + The mother made before. Kinship enough + To justify a call on Wenner's power + When Alma Bell was face to face with shame. + And Gregory Wenner went to help the girl, + And for a moment looked on Elenor Murray + Who left the school-room passing through the hall, + A girl of seventeen. He left his business + Of massing millions in the city, to help + Poor Alma Bell, and three years afterward + In the Garden of the Gods he saw again + The face of Elenor Murray--what a fate + For Gregory Wenner! + + But when Alma Bell + Wrote him for help his mind was roiled with cares: + A money magnate had signed up a loan + For half a million, to which Wenner added + That much beside, earned since his thirtieth year, + Now forty-two, with which to build a block + Of sixteen stories on a piece of ground + Leased in the loop for nine and ninety years. + But now a crabbed miser, much away, + Following the sun, and reached through agents, lawyers, + Owning the land next to the Wenner land, + Refused to have the sixteen story wall + Adjoin his wall, without he might select + His son-in-law as architect to plan + The sixteen-story block of Gregory Wenner. + And Gregory Wenner caught in such a trap, + The loan already bargained for and bound + In a hard money lender's giant grasp, + Consented to the terms, let son-in-law + Make plans and supervise the work. + + Five years + Go by before the evil blossoms fully; + But here's the bud: Gregory Wenner spent + His half-a-million on the building, also + Four hundred thousand of the promised loan, + Made by the money magnate--then behold + The money magnate said: "You cannot have + Another dollar, for the bonds you give + Are scarcely worth the sum delivered now + Pursuant to the contract. I have learned + Your architect has blundered, in five years + Your building will be leaning, soon enough + It will be wrecked by order of the city." + And Gregory Wenner found he spoke the truth. + But went ahead to finish up the building, + And raked and scraped, fell back on friends for loans, + Mortgaged his home for money, just to finish + This sixteen-story building, kept a hope + The future would reclaim him. + + Gregory Wenner + Who seemed so powerful in his place in life + Had all along this cancer in his life: + He owned the building, but he owed the money, + And all the time the building took a slant, + By just a little every year. And time + Made matters worse for him, increased his foes + As he stood for the city in its warfares + Against the surface railways, telephones; + And earned thereby the wrath of money lenders, + Who made it hard for him to raise a loan, + Who needed loans habitually. Besides + He had the trouble of an invalid wife + Who went from hospitals to sanitariums, + And traveled south, and went in search of health. + + Now Gregory Wenner reaches forty-five, + He's fought a mighty battle, but grows tired. + The building leans a little more each year. + And money, as before, is hard to get. + And yet he lives and keeps a hope. + + At last + He does not feel so well, has dizzy spells. + The doctor recommends a change of scene. + And Gregory Wenner starts to see the west. + He visits Denver. Then upon a day + He walks about the Garden of the Gods, + And sees a girl who stands alone and looks + About the Garden's wonders. Then he sees + The girl is Elenor Murray, who has grown + To twenty-years, who looks that seventeen + When first he saw her. He remembers her, + And speaks of Alma Bell, that Alma Bell + Is kindred to him. Where is Alma Bell, + He has not heard about her in these years? + And Elenor Murray colors, and says: "Look, + There is a white cloud on the mountain top." + And thus the talk commences. + + Elenor Murray + Shows forth the vital spirit that is hers. + She dances on her toes and crows in wonder, + Flings up her arms in rapture. What a world + Of beauty and of hope! For not her life + Of teaching school, a school of Czechs and Poles + There near LeRoy, since she left school and taught, + These two years now, nor arid life at home, + Her father sullen and her mother saddened; + Nor yet that talk of Alma Bell and her + That like a corpse's gas has scented her, + And made her struggles harder in LeRoy-- + Not these have quenched her flame, or made it burn + Less brightly. Though at last she left LeRoy + To fly old things, the dreary home, begin + A new life teaching in Los Angeles. + Gregory Wenner studies her and thinks + That Alma Bell was right to reprimand + Elenor Murray for her reckless ways + Of strolling and of riding. And perhaps + Real things were back of ways to be construed + In innocence or wisdom--for who knows? + His thought ran. Such a pretty face, blue eyes, + And such a buoyant spirit. + + So they wandered + About the Garden of the Gods, and took + A meal together at the restaurant. + And as they talked, he told her of himself, + About his wife long ill, this trip for health-- + She sensed a music sadness in his soul. + And Gregory Wenner heard her tell her life + Of teaching, of the arid home, the shadow + That fell on her at ten years, when she saw + The hopeless, loveless life of father, mother. + And his great hunger, and his solitude + Reached for the soothing hand of Elenor Murray, + And Elenor Murray having life to give + By her maternal strength and instinct gave. + The man began to laugh, forgot his health, + The leaning building, and the money lenders, + And found his void of spirit growing things-- + He loved this girl. And Elenor Murray seeing + This strong man with his love, and seeing too + How she could help him, with that venturesome + And prodigal emotion which was hers + Flung all herself to help him, being a soul + Who tried all things in courage, staked her heart + On good to come. + + They took the train together. + They stopped at Santa Cruz, and on the rocks + Heard the Pacific dash himself and watched + The moon upon the water, breathed the scent + Of oriental flowerings. There at last + Under the spell of nature Gregory Wenner + Bowed down his head upon his breast and shook + For those long years of striving and of haggling, + And for this girl, but mostly for a love + That filled him now. And when he spoke again + Of his starved life, his homeless years, the girl, + Her mind resolved through thinking she could serve + This man and bring him happiness, but with heart + Flaming to heaven with the miracle + Of love for him, down looking at her hands + Which fingered nervously her dress's hem, + Said with that gasp which made her voice so sweet: + "Do what you will with me, to ease your heart + And help your life." + + And Gregory Wenner shaken, + Astonished and made mad with ecstasy + Pressed her brown head against his breast and wept. + And there at Santa Cruz they lived a week, + Till Elenor Murray went to take her school, + He to the north en route for home. + + Five years + Had passed since then. And on this day poor Wenner + Looks from a little office at his building + Visibly leaning now, the building lost, + The bonds foreclosed; this is the very day + A court gives a receiver charge of it. + And he, these several months reduced to deals + In casual properties, in trivial trades, + Hard pressed for money, has gone up and down + Pursuing prospects, possibilities, + Scanning each day financial sheets and looking + For clues to lead to money. And he finds + His strength and hope not what they were before. + His wife is living on, no whit restored. + And Gregory Wenner thinks, would they not say + I killed myself because I lost my building, + If I should kill myself, and leave a note + That business worries drove me to the deed, + My building this day taken, a receiver + In charge of what I builded out of my dream. + And yet he said to self, that would be false: + It's Elenor Murray's death that makes this life + So hard to bear, and thoughts of Elenor Murray + Make life a torture. First that I had to live + Without her as my wife, and next the fact + That I have taken all her life's thought, ruined + Her chance for home and marriage; that I have seen + Elenor Murray struggle in the world, + And go forth to the war with just the thought + To serve, if it should kill her. + + Then his mind + Ran over these five years when Elenor Murray + Throughout gave such devotion, constant thought, + Filled all his mind and heart, and kept her voice + Singing or talking in his memory's ear, + In absence with long letters, when together + With passionate utterances of love. The girl + Loved Gregory Wenner, but the girl had found + A comfort for her spiritual solitude, + And got a strength in taking Wenner's strength. + For at the last one soul lives on another. + And Elenor Murray could not live except + She had a soul to live for, and a soul + On which to pour her passion, taking back + The passion of that soul in recompense. + Gregory Wenner served her power and genius + For giving and for taking so to live, + Achieve and flame; and found them in some moods + Somehow demoniac when his spirits sank, + And drink was all that kept him on his feet. + And so when Elenor Murray came to him + And said this life of teaching was too much, + Could not be longer borne, he thought the time + Had come to end the hopeless love. He raised + The money by the hardest means to pay + Elenor Murray's training as a nurse, + By this to set her free from teaching school, + And then he set about to crush the girl + Out of his life. + + For Gregory Wenner saw + Between this passion and his failing thought, + And gray hairs coming, fortune slip like sand. + And saw his mind diffuse itself in worries, + In longing for her: found himself at times + Too much in need of drink, and shrank to see + What wishes rose that death might take his wife, + And let him marry Elenor Murray, cure + His life with having her beside him, dreaming + That somehow Elenor Murray could restore + His will and vision, by her passion's touch, + And mother instinct make him whole again. + But if he could not have her for his wife, + And since the girl absorbed him in this life + Of separation which made longing greater, + Just as it lacked the medium to discharge + The great emotion it created, Wenner + Caught up his shreds of strength to crush her out + Of his life, told her so, when he had raised + The money for her training. For he saw + How ruin may overtake a man, and ruin + Pass by the woman, whom the world would judge + As ruined long ago. But look, he thought, + I pity her, not for our sin, if it be, + But that I have absorbed her life; and yet + The girl is mastering life, while I fall down. + She has absorbed me, if the wrong lies here. + And thus his thought went round. + + And Elenor Murray + Accepted what he said and went her way + With words like these: "My love and prayers are yours + While life is with us." Then she turned to study, + And toiled each day till night brought such fatigue + That sleep fell on her. Was it to forget? + And meanwhile she embraced the faith and poured + Her passion driven by a rapturous will + Into religion, trod her path in silence, + Save for a card at Christmas time for him, + Sometimes a little message from some place + Whereto her duty called her. + + Gregory Wenner + Stands at the window of his desolate office, + And looks out on his sixteen-story building + Irrevocably lost this day. His mind runs back + To that day in the Garden of the Gods, + That night at Santa Cruz, and then his eyes + Made piercing sharp by sorrow cleave the clay + That lies upon the face of Elenor Murray, + And see the flesh of her the worms have now. + How strange, he thinks, to flit into this life + Singing and radiant, to suffer, toil, + To serve in the war, return to girlhood's scenes, + To die, to be a memory for a day, + Then be forgotten. O, this life of ours. + Why is not God ashamed for graveyards, why + So thoughtless of our passion he lets play + This tragedy. + + And Gregory Wenner thought + About the day he stood here, even as now + And heard a step, a voice, and looked around + Saw Elenor Murray, felt her arms again, + Her kiss upon his cheek, and saw her face + As light was beating on it, heard her gasp + In ecstasy for going to the war, + To which that day she gave her pledge. And heard + Her words of consecration. Heard her say, + As though she were that passionate Heloise + Brought into life again: "All I have done + Was done for love of you, all I have asked + Was only you, not what belonged to you. + I did not hope for marriage or for gifts. + I have not gratified my will, desires, + But yours I sought to gratify. I have longed + To be yours wholly, I have kept for self + Nothing, have lived for you, have lived for you + These years when you thought best to crush me out. + And now though there's a secret in my heart, + Not wholly known to me, still I can know it + By seeing you again, I think, by touching + Your hand again. Your life has tortured me, + Both for itself, and since I could not give + Out of my heart enough to make your life + A way of peace, a way of happiness." + + Then Gregory Wenner thought how she looked down + And said: "Since I go to the war, would God + Look with disfavor on us if you took me + In your arms wholly once again? My friend, + Not with the thought to leave me soon, but sleeping + Like mates, as birds do, making sleep so sweet + Close to each other as God means we should. + I mingle love of God with love of you, + And in the night-time I can pray for you + With you beside me, find God closer then. + Who knows, you may take strength from such an hour." + Then Gregory Wenner lived that night again, + And the next morning when she rose and shook, + As it were night gathered dew upon fresh wings, + The vital water from her glowing flesh. + And shook her hair out, laughed and said to him: + "Courage and peace, my friend." And how they passed + Among the multitude, when he took her hand + And said farewell, and hastened to this room + To seek for chances in another day, + And never saw her more. + + And all these thoughts + Coming on Gregory Wenner swept his soul + Till it seemed like a skiff in mid-sea under + A sky unreckoning, where neither bread, + Nor water, save salt water, were for lips. + And over him descended a blank light + Of life's futility, since now this hour + Life dropped the mask and showed him just a skull. + And a strange fluttering of the nerves came on him, + So that he clutched the window frame, lest he + Spring from the window to the street below. + And he was seized with fear that said to fly, + Go somewhere, find some one, so to draw out + This madness which was one with him and in him, + And which some one in pity must relieve, + Something must cure. And in this sudden horror + Of self, this ebbing of the tides of life, + Leaving his shores to visions, where he saw + Horrible creatures stir amid the slime, + Gregory Wenner hurried from the room + And walked the streets to find his thought again + Wherewith to judge if he should kill himself + Or look to find a path in life once more. + + And Gregory Wenner sitting in his club + Wrote to his brother thus: "I cannot live + Now that my business is so tangled up, + Bury my body by my father's side." + Next day the papers headlined Gregory Wenner: + "Loss of a building drives to suicide." + + * * * * * + + Elenor Murray's death kills Gregory Wenner + And Gregory Wenner dying make a riffle + In Mrs. Wenner's life--reveals to her + A secret long concealed:-- + + + + +MRS. GREGORY WENNER + + + Gregory Wenner's wife was by the sea + When Gregory Wenner killed himself, half sick + And half malingering, and otiose. + She wept, sent for a doctor to be braced, + Induced a friend to travel with her west + To bury Gregory Wenner; did not know + That Gregory Wenner was in money straits + Until she read the paper, or had lost + His building in the loop. The man had kept + His worries from her ailing ears, was glad + To keep her traveling, or taking cures. + + She came and buried Gregory Wenner; found + His fortune just a shell, the building lost, + A little money in the bank, a store + Far out on Lake Street, forty worthless acres + In northern Indiana, twenty lots + In some Montana village. Here she was, + A widow, penniless, an invalid. + The crude reality of things awoke + A strength she did not dream was hers. And then + She went to Gregory Wenner's barren office + To collect the things he had, get in his safe + For papers and effects. + + She had to pay + An expert to reveal the combination, + And throw the bolts. And there she sat a day, + And emptied pigeon holes and searched and read. + And in one pigeon hole she found a box, + And in the box a lock of hair wrapped up + In tissue paper, fragrant powder lying + Around the paper--in the box a card + With woman's writing on it, just the words + "For my beloved"; but no name or date. + + Who was this woman mused the widow there? + She did not know the name. She did not know + Her eyes had seen this Elenor Murray once + When Elenor Murray came with Gregory Wenner + To dinner at his home to face the wife. + For Elenor Murray in a mood of strength, + After her confirmation and communion, + Had said to Gregory Wenner: "Now the end + Has come to this, our love, I think it best + If she should ever learn I am the woman + Who in New York spent summer days with you, + And later in Chicago, in that summer, + She will remember what my eyes will show + When we stand face to face, and I give proof + That I am changed, repentant." + + For the wife + Had listened to a friend who came to tell + She saw this Gregory Wenner in New York + From day to day in gardens and cafes, + And by the sea romancing with a girl. + And later Mrs. Wenner found a book, + Which Gregory Wenner cherished--with the words + Beloved, and the date. And now she knew + The hand that wrote the card here in this box, + The hand that wrote the inscription in the book + Were one--but still she did not know the woman. + No doubt the woman of that summer's flame, + Whom Gregory Wenner promised not to see + When she brought out the book and told him all + She learned of his philandering in New York. + And Elenor Murray's body was decaying + In darkness, under earth there at LeRoy + While Mrs. Wenner read, and did not know + The hand that wrote the card lay blue and green, + Half hidden in the foldings of the shroud, + And all that country stirred for Elenor Murray, + Of which the widow absent in the east + Had never heard. + + And Mrs. Wenner found + Beside the box and lock of hair three letters, + And sat and read them. Through her eyes and brain + This meaning and this sound of blood and soul, + Like an old record with a diamond needle. + Passed music like:-- + + "The days go swiftly by + With study and with work. I am too tired + At night to think. I read anatomy, + Materia medica and other things, + And do the work an undergraduate + Is called upon to do. And every week + I spend three afternoons with the nuns and sew, + And care for children of the poor whose mothers + Are earning bread away. I go to church + And talk with Mother Janet. And I pray + At morning and at night for you, and ask + For strength to live without you and for light + To understand why love of you is mine, + And why you are not mine, and whether God + Will give you to me some day if I prove + My womanhood is worthy of you, dear. + And sometimes when our days of bliss come back + And flood me with their warmth and blinding light + I take my little crucifix and kiss it, + And plunge in work to take me out of self, + Some service to another. So it is, + This sewing and this caring for the children + Stills memory and gives me strength to live, + And pass the days, go on. I shall not draw + Upon your thought with letters, still I ask + Your thought of me sometimes. Would it be much + If once a year you sent me a bouquet + To prove to me that you remember, sweet, + Still cherish me a little, give me faith + That in this riddle world there is a hand, + Which spite of separation, thinks and touches + Blossoms that I touch afterward? Dear heart, + I have starved out and killed that reckless mood + Which would have taken you and run away. + Oh, if you knew that this means killing, too, + The child I want--our child. You have a cross + No less than I, beloved, even if love + Of me has passed and eased the agony + I thought you knew--your cross is heavy, dear, + Bound, but not wedded to her, never to know + The life of marriage with her. Yet be brave, + Be noble, dear, be always what God made you, + A great heart, patient, gentle, sacrificing, + Bring comfort to her tedious days, forbear + When she is petulant, for if you do, + I know God will reward you, give you peace. + I pray for strength for you, that never again + May you distress her as you did, I did + When she found there was someone. Lest she know + Destroy this letter, all I ever write, + So that her mind may never fix itself + Upon a definite person, on myself. + But still remaining vague may better pass + To lighter shadows, nothingness at last. + I try to think I sinned, have so confessed + To get forgiveness at my first communion. + And yet a vestige of a thought in me + Will not submit, confess the sin. Well, dear, + You can awake at midnight, at the pause + Of duty in the day, merry or sad, + Light hearted or discouraged, if you chance, + To think of me, remember I send prayers + To God for you each day--oh may His light + Shine on your face!" + + So Widow Wenner read, + And wondered of the writer, since no name + Was signed; and wept a little, dried her eyes + And flushed with anger, said, "adulteress, + Adulteress who played the game of pity, + And wove about my husband's heart the spell + Of masculine sympathy for a sorrowing woman, + A trick as old as Eden. And who knows + But all the money went here in the end? + For if a woman plunges from her aim + To piety, devotion such as this, + She will plunge back to sin, unstable heart, + That swings from self-denial to indulgence + And spends itself in both." + + Then Widow Wenner + Took up the second letter: + + "I have signed + To go to France to-day. I wrote you once + I planned to take the veil, become a nun. + But now the war has changed my thought. I see + In service for my country fuller life, + More useful sacrifice and greater work + Than ever I could have, being a nun. + The cause is so momentous. Think, my dear, + This woman who still thinks of you will be + A factor in this war for liberty, + A soldier serving soldiers, giving strength, + Health, hope and spirit to the soldier boys + Who fall, must be restored to fight again. + I've thrown my soul in this, am all aflame. + You should have seen me when I took the oath, + And raised my hand and pledged my word to serve, + Support the law. I want to think of you + As proud of me for doing this--be proud, + Be grateful, too, that I have strength and will + To give myself to this. And if it chance, + As almost I am hoping, that the work + Should break me, sweep me under, think of me + As one who died for country, as I shall + As truly as the soldiers slain in battle. + I leave to-morrow, will be at a camp + Some weeks before I sail. I telephoned you + This morning twice, they said you would return + By two-o'clock at least. I write instead. + But I shall come to see you, if I can + Sometime this afternoon, and if I don't, + This letter then must answer. Peace be with you. + To-day I'm very happy. Write to me, + Or if you do not think it best, all right, + I'll understand. Before I sail I'll send + A message to you--for the time farewell." + + Then Widow Wenner read the telegram + The third and last communication: "Sail + To-day, to-morrow, very soon, I know. + My memories of you are happy ones. + A fond adieu." This telegram was signed + By Elenor Murray. Widow Wenner knew + The name at last, sat petrified to think + This was the girl who brazened through the dinner + Some years ago when Gregory Wenner brought + This woman to his home--"the shameless trull," + Said Mrs. Wenner, "harlot, impudent jade, + To think my husband is dead, would she were dead-- + I could be happy if I knew a bomb + Or vile disease had got her." Then she looked + In other pigeon holes, and found in one + A photograph of Elenor Murray, knew + The face that looked across the dinner table. + And in the pigeon hole she found some verses + Clipped from a magazine, and tucked away + The letters, verses, telegram in her bag, + Closed up the safe and left. + + Next day at breakfast + She scanned the morning _Times_, her eyes were wide + For reading of the Elenor Murray inquest. + "Well, God is just," she murmured, "God is just." + + * * * * * + + All this was learned of Gregory Wenner. Even + If Gregory Wenner killed the girl, the man + Was dead now. Could he kill her and return + And kill himself? The coroner had gone, + The jury too, to view the spot where lay + Elenor Murray's body. It was clear + A man had walked here. Was it Gregory Wenner? + The hunter who came up and found the body? + This hunter was a harmless, honest soul + Could not have killed her, passed the grill of questions + From David Borrow, skilled examiner, + The coroner, the jurors. But meantime + If Gregory Wenner killed this Elenor Murray + How did he do it? Dr. Trace has made + His autopsy and comes and makes report + To the coroner and the jury in these words:-- + + + + +DR. TRACE TO THE CORONER + + + I cannot tell you, Coroner, the cause + Of death of Elenor Murray, not until + My chemical analysis is finished. + Here is the woman's heart sealed in this jar, + I weighed it, weight nine ounces, if she had + A hemolysis, cannot tell you now + What caused the hemolysis. Since you say + She took no castor oil, that you can learn + From Irma Leese, or any witness, still + A chemical analysis may show + The presence of ricin,--and that she took + A dose of oil not pure. Her throat betrayed + Slight inflammation; but in brief, I wait + My chemical analysis. + + Let's exclude + The things we know and narrow down the facts. + She lay there by the river, death had come + Some twenty hours before. No stick or stone, + No weapon near her, bottle, poison box, + No bruise upon her, in her mouth no dust, + No foreign bodies in her nostrils, neck + Without a mark, no punctures, cuts or scars + Upon her anywhere, no water in lungs, + No mud, sand, straws or weeds in hands, the nails + Clean, as if freshly manicured. + + Again + No evidence of rape. I first examined + The genitals _in situ_, found them sound. + The girl had lived, was not a virgin, still + Had temperately indulged, and not at all + In recent months, no evidence at all + Of conjugation willingly or not, + The day of death. But still I lifted out + The ovaries, fallopian tubes and uterus, + The vagina and vulvae. Opened up + The mammals, found no milk. No pregnancy + Existed, sealed these organs up to test + For poison later, as we doctors know + Sometimes a poison's introduced _per vaginam_. + + I sealed the brain up too, shall make a test + Of blood and serum for urea; death + Comes suddenly from that, you find no lesion, + Must take a piece of brain and cut it up, + Pour boiling water on it, break the brain + To finer pieces, pour the water off, + Digest the piece of brain in other water, + Repeat four times, the solutions mix together, + Dry in an oven, treat with ether, at last + The residue put on a slide of glass + With nitric acid, let it stand awhile, + Then take your microscope--if there's urea + You'll see the crystals--very beautiful! + A cobra's beautiful, but scarce can kill + As quick as these. + + Likewise I have sealed up + The stomach, liver, kidneys, spleen, intestines, + So many poisons have no microscopic + Appearance that convinces, opium, + Hyoscyamus, belladonna fool us; + But as the stomach had no inflammation, + It was not chloral, ether took her off, + Which we can smell, to boot. But I can find + Strychnia, if it killed her; though you know + That case in England sixty years ago, + Where the analysis did not disclose + Strychnia, though they hung a man for giving + That poison to a fellow. + + To recur + I'm down to this: Perhaps a hemolysis-- + But what produced it? If I find no ricin + I turn to streptococcus, deadly snake, + Or shall I call him tiger? For I think + The microscopic world of living things + Is just a little jungle, filled with tigers, + Snakes, lions, what you will, with teeth and claws, + The perfect miniatures of these monstrous foes. + Sweet words come from the lips and tender hands + Like Elenor Murray's, minister, nor know + The jungle has been roused in throat or lungs; + And shapes venene begin to crawl and eat + The ruddy apples of the blood, eject + Their triple venomous excreta in + The channels of the body. + + There's the heart, + Which may be weakened by a streptococcus. + But if she had a syncope and fell + She must have bruised her body or her head. + And if she had a syncope, was held up, + Who held her up? That might have cost her life: + To be held up in syncope. You know + You lay a person down in syncope, + And oftentimes the heart resumes its beat. + Perhaps she was held up until she died, + Then laid there by the river, so no bruise. + So many theories come to me. But again, + I say to you, look for a man. Run down + All clues of Gregory Wenner. He is dead-- + Loss of a building drives to suicide-- + The papers say, but still it may be true + He was with Elenor Murray when she died, + Pushed her, we'll say, or struck her in a way + To leave no mark, a tap upon the heart + That shocked the muscles more or less obscure + That bind the auricles and ventricles, + And killed her. Then he flies away in fear, + Aghast at what he does, and kills himself. + Look for a man, I say. It must be true, + She went so secretly to walk that morning + To meet a man--why would she walk alone? + + So while you hunt the man, I'll look for ricin, + And with my chemicals end up the search. + I never saw a heart more beautiful, + Just look at it. We doctors all agreed + This Elenor Murray might have lived to ninety + Except for jungles, poison, sudden shock. + I take my bottle with the heart of Elenor + And go about my way. It beat in France, + It beat for France and for America, + But what is truer, somewhere was a man + For whom it beat! + + * * * * * + + When Irma Leese, the Aunt of Elenor Murray, + Appeared before the coroner she told + Of Elenor Murray's visit, of the morning + She left to walk, was never seen again. + And brought the coroner some letters sent + By Elenor from France. What follows now + Is what the coroner, or the jury heard + From Irma Leese, from letters drawn--beside + The riffle that the death of Elenor Murray + Sent round the life of Irma Leese, which spread + To Tokio and touched a man, the son + Of Irma Leese's sister, dead Corinne, + The mother of this man in Tokio. + + + + +IRMA LEESE + + + Elenor Murray landing in New York, + After a weary voyage, none too well, + Staid in the city for a week and then + Upon a telegram from Irma Leese, + Born Irma Fouche, her aunt who lived alone + This summer in the Fouche house near LeRoy, + Came west to visit Irma Leese and rest. + + For Elenor Murray had not been herself + Since that hard spring when in the hospital, + Caring for soldiers stricken with the flu, + She took bronchitis, after weeks in bed + Rose weak and shaky, crept to health again + Through egg-nogs, easy strolls about Bordeaux. + And later went to Nice upon a furlough + To get her strength again. + + But while she saw + Her vital flame burn brightly, as of old + On favored days, yet for the rest the flame + Sputtered or sank a little. So she thought + How good it might be to go west and stroll + About the lovely country of LeRoy, + And hear the whispering cedars by a window + In the Fouche mansion where this Irma Leese, + Her aunt, was summering. So she telegraphed, + And being welcomed, went. + + This stately house, + Built sixty years before by Arthur Fouche, + A brick home with a mansard roof, an oriel + That looked between the cedars, and a porch + With great Ionic columns, from the street + Stood distantly amid ten acres of lawn, + Trees, flower plots--belonged to Irma Leese, + Who had reclaimed it from a chiropractor, + To cleanse the name of Fouche from that indignity, + And bring it in the family again, + Since she had spent her girlhood, womanhood + To twenty years amid its twenty rooms. + For Irma Leese at twenty years had married + And found herself at twenty-five a widow, + With money left her, then had tried again, + And after years dissolved the second pact, + And made a settlement, was rich in fact, + Now forty-two. Five years before had come + And found the house she loved a sanitarium, + A chiropractor's home. And as she stood + Beside the fence and saw the oriel, + Remembered all her happiness on this lawn + With brothers and with sisters, one of whom + Was Elenor Murray's mother, then she willed + To buy the place and spend some summers here. + And here she was the summer Elenor Murray + Returned from France. + + And Irma Leese had said: + "Here is your room, it has the oriel, + And there's the river and the hills for you. + Have breakfast in your room what hour you will, + Rise when you will. We'll drive and walk and rest, + Run to Chicago when we have a mind. + I have a splendid chauffeur now and maids. + You must grow strong and well." + + And Elenor Murray + Gasped out her happiness for the pretty room, + And stood and viewed the river and the hills, + And wept a little on the gentle shoulder + Of Irma Leese. + + And so the days had passed + Of walking, driving, resting, many talks; + For Elenor Murray spoke to Irma Leese + Of tragic and of rapturous days in France, + And Irma Leese, though she had lived full years, + Had scarcely lived as much as Elenor Murray, + And could not hear enough from Elenor Murray + Of the war and France, but mostly she would urge + Her niece to tell of what affairs of love + Had come to her. And Elenor Murray told + Of Gregory Wenner, save she did not tell + The final secret, with a gesture touched + The story off by saying: It was hopeless, + I went into religion to forget. + But on a day she said to Irma Leese: + "I almost met my fate at Nice," then sketched + A hurried picture of a brief romance. + But Elenor Murray told her nothing else + Of loves or men. But all the while the aunt + Weighed Elenor Murray, on a day exclaimed: + "I see myself in you, and you are like + Your Aunt Corinne who died in ninety-two. + I'll tell you all about your Aunt Corinne + Some day when we are talking, but I see + You have the Fouche blood--we are lovers all. + Your mother is a lover, Elenor, + If you would know it." + + "O, your Aunt Corinne + She was most beautiful, but unfortunate. + Her husband was past sixty when she married, + And she was thirty-two. He was distinguished, + Had money and all that, but youth is all, + Is everything for love, and she was young, + And he was old." + + A week or two had passed + Since Elenor Murray came to Irma Leese, + When on a morning fire broke from the eaves + And menaced all the house; but maids and gardeners + With buckets saved the house, while Elenor Murray + And Irma Leese dipped water from the barrels + That stood along the ell. + + A week from that + A carpenter was working at the eaves + Along the ell, and in the garret knelt + To pry up boards and patch. When as he pried + A board up, he beheld between the rafters + A package of old letters stained and frayed, + Tied with a little ribbon almost dust. + And when he went down-stairs, delivered it + To Irma Leese and said: Here are some letters + I found up in the garret under the floor, + I pried up in my work. + + Then Irma Leese + Looked at the letters, saw her sister's hand, + Corinne's upon the letters, opened, read, + And saw the story which she knew before + Brought back in this uncanny way, the hand + Which wrote the letters six and twenty years + Turned back to dust. And when her niece came in + She showed the letters, said, "I'll let you read, + I'll tell you all about them": + + "When Corinne + Was nineteen, very beautiful and vital, + Red-cheeked, a dancer, bubbling like new wine, + A catch, as you may know, you see this house + Was full of laughter then, so many children. + We had our parties, too, and young men thought, + Each one of us would have a dowry splendid-- + A young man from Chicago came along, + A lawyer there, but lately come from Pittsburgh + To practice, win his way. I knew this man. + He was a handsome dog with curly hair, + Blue eyes and sturdy figure. Well, Corinne + Quite lost her heart. He came here to a dance, + And so the game commenced. And father thought + The fellow was not right, but all of us, + Your mother and myself said, yes he is, + And we conspired to help Corinne and smooth + The path of confidence. But later on + Corinne was not so buoyant, would not talk + With me, your mother freely. Then at last + Her eyes were sometimes red; we knew she wept. + And, then Corinne was sent away. Well, here + You'll guess the rest. Her health was breaking down, + That's true enough; the world could think its thoughts, + And say his love grew cold, or she found out + The black-leg that he was, and he was that. + But Elenor, the truth was more than that, + Corinne had been betrayed, she went away + To right herself--these letters prove the case, + Which all the gossips, busy as they were, + Could not make out. The paper at LeRoy + Had printed that she went to pay a visit + To relatives in the east. Three months or so + She came back well and rosy. But meanwhile + Your grandfather had paid this shabby scoundrel + A sum of money, I forget the sum, + To get these letters of your Aunt Corinne-- + These letters here. This matter leaked, of course. + And then we let the story take this form + And moulded it a little to this form: + The fellow was a scoundrel--this was proved + When he took money to return her letters. + They were love letters, they had been engaged, + She thought him worthy, found herself deceived + Proved, too, by taking money, when at first + He looked with honorable eyes to young Corinne, + And won her trust. And so Corinne lived here + Ten years or more, at thirty married the judge, + Her senior thirty years, and went away. + She bore a child and died--look Elenor + Here are the letters which she took and nailed + Beneath the garret floor. We'll read them through, + And then I'll burn them." + + Irma Leese rose up + And put the letters in her desk and said: + "Let's ride along the river." So they rode, + But as they rode, the day being clear and mild + The fancy took them to Chicago, where + They lunched and spent the afternoon, returning + At ten o'clock that night. + + And the next morning + When Irma Leese expected Elenor + To rise and join her, asked for her, a maid + Told Irma Leese that Elenor had gone + To walk somewhere. And all that day she waited. + But as night came, she fancied Elenor + Had gone to see her mother, once rose up + To telephone, then stopped because she felt + Elenor might have plans she would not wish + Her mother to get wind of--let it go. + But when night came, she wondered, fell asleep + With wondering and worry. + + But next morning + As she was waiting for the car to come + To motor to LeRoy, and see her sister, + Elenor's mother, in a casual way, + Learn if her niece was there, and waiting read + The letters of Corinne, the telephone + Rang in an ominous way, and Irma Leese + Sprang up to answer, got the tragic word + Of Elenor Murray found beside the river. + Left all the letters spilled upon her desk + And motored to the river, to LeRoy + Where Coroner Merival took the body. + + Just + As Irma Leese departed, in the room + A sullen maid revengeful for the fact + She was discharged, was leaving in a day, + Entered and saw the letters, read a little, + And gathered them, went to her room and packed + Her telescope and left, went to LeRoy, + And gave a letter to this one and that, + Until the servant maids and carpenters + And some lubricous fellows at LeRoy + Who made companions of these serving maids, + Had each a letter of the dead Corinne, + Which showed at last, after some twenty years, + Of silence and oblivion, to LeRoy + With memory to refresh, that poor Corinne + Had given her love, herself, had been betrayed, + Abandoned by a scoundrel. + + Merival, + The Coroner, when told about the letters, + For soon the tongues were wagging in LeRoy, + Went here and there to find them, till he learned + What quality of love the dead Corinne + Had given to this man. Then shook his head, + Resolved to see if he could not unearth + In Elenor Murray's life some faithless lover + Who sought her death. + + The letters' riffle crawled + Through shadows of the waters of LeRoy + Until it looked a snake, was seen as such + In Tokio by Franklin Hollister, + The son of dead Corinne; it seemed a snake: + He heard the coroner through neglect or malice + Had let the letters scatter--not the truth;-- + The coroner had gathered up the letters, + Befriending Irma Leese; she got them back + Through Merival. The riffle's just the same. + And hence this man in Tokio is crazed + For shame and fear--for fear the girl he loves + Will hear his mother's story and break off + Her marriage promise. + + So in reckless rage + He posts a letter off to Lawyer Hood, + Chicago, Illinois--the coroner + Gets all the story through this Lawyer Hood, + Long after Elenor's inquest is at end. + Meantime he cools, is wiser, thinks it bad + To stir the scandal with a suit at law. + And then when cooled he hears from Lawyer Hood + Who tells him what the truth is. So it ends. + + * * * * * + + These letters and the greenish wave that coiled + At Tokio is beyond the coroner's eye + Fixed on the water where the pebble fell:-- + This death of Elenor, circles close at hand + Engage his interest. Now he seeks to learn + About her training and religious life. + And hears of Miriam Fay, a friend he thinks, + And confidant of her religious life, + Head woman of the school where Elenor + Learned chemistry, materia medica, + Anatomy, to fit her for the work + Of nursing. And he writes this Miriam Fay + And Miriam Fay responds. The letter comes + Before the jury. Here is what she wrote:-- + + + + +MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER + + + Elenor Murray asked to go in training + And came to see me, but the school was full, + We could not take her. Then she asked to stand + Upon a list and wait, I put her off. + She came back, and she came back, till at last + I took her application; then she came + And pushed herself and asked when she could come, + And start to train. At last I laughed and said: + "Well, come to-morrow." I had never seen + Such eagerness, persistence. So she came. + She tried to make a friend of me, perhaps + Since it was best, I being in command. + But anyway she wooed me, tried to please me. + And spite of everything I grew to love her, + Though I distrusted her. But yet again + I had belief in her best self, though doubting + The girl somehow. But when I learned the girl + Had never had religious discipline, + Her father without faith, her mother too, + Her want of moral sense, I understood. + She lacked stability of spirit, to-day + She would be one thing, something else the next. + Shot up in fire, which failed and died away + And I began to see her fraternize + With girls who had her traits, too full of life + To be what they should be, unstable too, + Much like herself. + + Not long before she came + Into the training school, six months, perhaps, + She had some tragedy, I don't know what, + Had been quite ill in body and in mind. + When she went into training I could see + Her purpose to wear down herself, forget + In weariness of body, something lived. + She was alert and dutiful and sunny, + Kept all the rules, was studious, led the class, + Excelled, I think, in studies of the nerves, + The mind grown sick. + + As we grew better friends, + More intimate, she talked about religion, + And sacred subjects, asked about the church. + I gave her books to read, encouraged her, + Asked her to make her peace with God, and set + Her feet in pious paths. At last she said + She wished to be baptized, confirmed. I made + The plans for her, she was baptized, confirmed, + Went to confessional, and seemed renewed + In spirit by conversion. For at once + Her zeal was like a flame at Pentecost, + She almost took the veil, but missing that, + She followed out the discipline to the letter, + Kept all the feast days, went to mass, communion, + Did works of charity; indeed, I think + She spent her spare hours all in all at sewing + There with the sisters for the poor. She had, + When she came to me, jewelry of value, + A diamond solitaire, some other things. + I missed them, and she said she sold them, gave + The money to a home for friendless children. + And I remember when she said her father + Had wronged, misvalued her; but now her love, + Made more abundant by the love of Christ, + Had brought her to forgiveness. All her mood + Was of humility and sacrifice. + + One time I saw her at the convent, sitting + Upon a foot-stool at the gracious feet + Of the Mother Superior, sewing for the poor; + Hair parted in the middle, curls combed out. + Then was it that I missed her jewelry. + She looked just like a poor maid, humble, patient, + Head bent above her sewing, eyes averted. + The room was silent with religious thought. + I loved her then and pitied her. But now + I think she had that in her which at times + Made her a flagellant, at other times + A rioter. She used the church to drag + Her life from something, took it for a bladder + To float her soul when it was perilled. First, + She did not sell her jewelry; this ring, + Too brilliant for forgetting, or to pass + Unnoticed when she wore it, showed again + Upon her finger after she had come + Out of her training, was a graduate. + She had a faculty for getting in + Where elegance and riches were. She went + Among the great ones, when she found a way, + And traveled with them where she learned the life + Of notables, aristocrats. It was there, + Or when from duty free and feasting, gadding + The ring showed on her finger. + + In two years + She dropped the church. New friends made in the school, + New interests, work that took her energies + And this religious flare had cured her up + Of what was killing her when first I knew her. + There was another thing that drew her back + To flesh, away from spirit: She saw bodies, + And handled bodies as a nurse, forgot + The body is the spirit's temple, fell + To some materialism of thought. And now + Avoided me, was much away, of course, + On duty here and there. I tried to hold her, + Protect and guide her, wrote to her at times + To make confession, take communion. She + Ignored these letters. But I heard her say + The body was as natural as the soul, + And just as natural its desires. She kept + Out of the wreck of faith one thing alone, + If she kept that: She could endure to hear + God's name profaned, but would not stand to hear + The Savior's spoken in irreverence. + She was afraid, no doubt. Or to be just, + The tender love of Christ, his sacrifice, + Perhaps had won her wholly--let it go, + I'll say that much for her. + + Why am I harsh? + Because I saw the good in her all streaked + With so much evil, evil known and lived + In knowledge of it, clung to none the less, + Unstable as water, how could she succeed? + Untruthful, how could confidence be hers? + I sometimes think she joined the church to mask + A secret life, renewed forgiven sins. + After she cloaked herself with piety. + Perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do, + And how to do it, using these detours + Of piety to throw us off, who else + Had seen what doors she entered, whence she came. + She wronged the church, I think, made it a screen + To stand behind for kisses, to look from + Inviting kisses. Then, as I have said, + She took materialism from her work, + And so renewed her sins. She drank, I think, + And smoked and feasted; but as for the rest, + The smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame + Or fire at least where there is smoke. + + You ask + What took her to the war? Why only this: + Adventure, chance of marriage, amorous conquests-- + The girl was mad for men, although I saw + Her smoke obscured the flame, I never saw her + Except with robins far too tame or lame + To interest her, and robins prove to me + The hawk is somewhere, waits for night to join + His playmate when the robins are at rest. + You see the girl has madness in her, flies + From exaltation up to ecstasy. + Feeds on emotion, never has enough. + Tries all things, states of spirit, even beliefs. + Passes from lust (I think) to celibacy, + Feasts, fasts, eats, starves, has raptures then inflicts + The whip upon her back, is penitent, + Then proud, is humble, then is arrogant, + Looks down demurely, stares you out of face, + But runs the world around. For in point of fact, + She traveled much, knew cities and their ways; + And when I used to see her at the convent + So meek, clothed like a sewing maid, at once + The pictures that she showed me of herself + At seaside places or on boulevards, + Her beauty clothed in linen or in silk, + Came back to mind, and I would resurrect + The fragments of our talks in which I saw + How she knew foods and drinks and restaurants, + And fashionable shops. This girl could fool the elect-- + She fooled me for a time. I found her out. + Did she aspire? Perhaps, if you believe + It's aspiration to seek out the rich, + And ape them. Not for me. Of course she went + To get adventure in the war, perhaps + She got too much. But as to waste of life, + She might have been a quiet, noble woman + Keeping her place in life, not trying to rise + Out of her class--too useless--in her class + Making herself all worthy, serviceable. + You'll find 'twas pride that slew her. Very like + She found a rich man, tried to hold him, lost + Her honor and her life in consequence. + + * * * * * + + When Merival showed this letter to the jury, + Marion the juryman spoke up: + "You know that type of woman--saintly hag! + I wouldn't take her word about a thing + By way of inference, or analysis. + They had some trouble, she and Elenor + You may be sure." And Merival replied: + "Take it for what it's worth. I leave you now + To see the man who owns the _Daily Times_. + He's turned upon our inquest, did you see + The jab he gives me? I can jab as well." + So Merival went out and took with him + A riffle in the waters of circumstance + Set up by Elenor Murray's death to one + Remote, secure in greatness--to the man + Who ran the _Times_. + + + + +ARCHIBALD LOWELL + + + Archibald Lowell, owner of the _Times_ + Lived six months of the year at Sunnyside, + His Gothic castle near LeRoy, so named + Because no sun was in him, it may be. + His wife was much away when on this earth + At cures, in travel, fighting psychic ills, + Approaching madness, dying nerves. They said + Her heart was starved for living with a man + So cold and silent. Thirty years she lived + Bound to this man, in restless agony, + And as she could not free her life from his, + Nor keep it living with him, on a day + She stuck a gas hose in her mouth and drank + Her lungs full of the lethal stuff and died. + That was the very day the hunter found + Elenor Murray's body near the river. + A servant saw this Mrs. Lowell lying + A copy of the _Times_ clutched in her hand, + Which published that a slip of paper found + In Elenor Murray's pocket had these words + "To be brave and not to flinch." And was she brave, + And nerved to end it by these words of Elenor? + But Archibald, the husband, could not bear + To have the death by suicide made known. + He laid the body out, as if his wife + Had gone to bed as usual, turned a jet + And left it, just as if his wife had failed + To fully turn it, then went in the room; + Then called the servants, did not know that one + Had seen her with the _Times_ clutched in her hand. + He thought the matter hidden. Merival, + All occupied with Elenor Murray's death + Gave to a deputy the Lowell inquest. + But later what this servant saw was told + To Merival. + + And now no more alone + Than when his wife lived, Lowell passed the days + At Sunnyside, as he had done for years. + He sat alone, and paced the rooms alone, + With hands behind him clasped, in fear and wonder + Of life and what life is. He rode about, + And viewed his blooded cattle on the hills. + But what were all these rooms and acres to him + With no face near him but the servants, gardeners? + Sometimes he wished he had a child to draw + Upon his fabulous income, growing more + Since all his life was centered in the _Times_ + To swell its revenues, and in the process + His spirit was more fully in the _Times_ + Than in his body. There were eyes who saw + How deftly was his spirit woven in it + Until it was a scarf to bind and choke + The public throat, or stifle honest thought + Like a soft pillow offered for the head, + But used to smother. There were eyes who saw + The working of its ways emasculate, + Its tones of gray, where flame had been the thing, + Its timorous steps, while spying on the public, + To learn the public's thought. Its cautious pauses, + With foot uplifted, ears pricked up to hear + A step fall, twig break. Platitudes in progress-- + With sugar coat of righteousness and order, + Respectability. + + Did the public make it? + Or did it make the public, that it fitted + With such exactness in the communal life? + Some thousands thought it fair--what should they think + When it played neutral in the matter of news + To both sides of the question, though at last + It turned the judge, and chose the better side, + Determined from the first, a secret plan, + And cunning way to turn the public scale? + Some thousands liked the kind of news it printed + Where no sensation flourished--smallest type + That fixed attention for the staring eyes + Needed for type so small. But others knew + It led the people by its fair pretensions, + And used them in the end. In any case + This editor played hand-ball in this way: + The advertisers tossed the ball, the readers + Caught it and tossed it to the advertisers: + And as the readers multiplied, the columns + Of advertising grew, and Lowell's thought + Was how to play the one against the other, + And fill his purse. + + It was an ingrown mind, + And growing more ingrown with time. Afraid + Of crowds and streets, uncomfortable in clubs, + No warmth in hands to touch his fellows' hands, + Keeping aloof from politicians, loathing + The human alderman who bails the thief; + The little scamp who pares a little profit, + And grafts upon a branch that takes no harm. + He loved the active spirit, if it worked, + And feared the active spirit, if it played. + This Lowell hid himself from favor seekers, + Such letters filtered to him through a sieve + Of secretaries. If he had a friend, + Who was a mind to him as well, perhaps + It was a certain lawyer, but who knew? + And cursed with monophobia, none the less + This Lowell lived alone there near LeRoy, + Surrounded by his servants, at his desk + A secretary named McGill, who took + Such letters, editorials as he spoke. + His life was nearly waste. A peanut stand + Should be as much remembered as the _Times_, + When fifty years are passed. + + And every month + The circulation manager came down + To tell the great man of the gain or loss + The paper made that month in circulation, + In advertising, chiefly. Lowell took + The audit sheets and studied them, and gave + Steel bullet words of order this or that. + He took the dividends, and put them--where? + God knew alone. + + He went to church sometimes, + On certain Sundays, for a pious mother + Had reared him so, and sat there like a corpse, + A desiccated soul, so dry the moss + Upon his teeth was dry. + + And on a day, + His wife now in the earth a week or so, + Himself not well, the doctor there to quiet + His fears of sudden death, pains in the chest, + His manager had come--was made to wait + Until the doctor finished--brought the sheets + Which showed the advertising, circulation. + And Lowell studied them and said at last: + "That new reporter makes the Murray inquest + A thing of interest, does the public like it?" + To which the manager: "It sells the paper." + And then the great man: "It has served its use. + Now being nearly over, print these words: + The Murray inquest shows to what a length + Fantastic wit can go, it should be stopped." + An editorial later might be well: + Comment upon a father and a mother + Invaded in their privacy, and life + In intimate relations dragged to view + To sate the curious eye. + + Next day the _Times_ + Rebuked the coroner in these words. And then + Merival sent word: "I come to see you, + Or else you come to see me, or by process + If you refuse." And so the editor + Invited Merival to Sunnyside + To talk the matter out. This was the talk: + First Merival went over all the ground + In mild locution, what he sought to do. + How as departments in the war had studied + Disease and what not, tabulated facts, + He wished to make a start for knowing lives, + And finding remedies for lives. It's true + Not much might be accomplished, also true + The poet and the novelist gave thought, + Analysis to lives, yet who could tell + What system might grow up to find the fault + In marriage as it is, in rearing children + In motherhood, in homes; for Merival + By way of wit said to this dullest man: + "I know of mother and of home, of heaven + I've yet to learn." Whereat the great man winced, + To hear the home and motherhood so slurred, + And briefly said the _Times_ would go its way + To serve the public interests, and to foster + American ideals as he conceived them. + Then Merival who knew the great man's nature, + How small it was and barren, cold and dull, + And wedded to small things, to gold, and fear + Of change, and knew the life the woman lived,-- + These seven days in the earth--with such a man, + Just by a zephyr of intangible thought + Veered round the talk to her, to voice a wonder + About the jet left turned, his deputy + Had overlooked a hose which she could drink + Gas from a jet. "You needn't touch the jet. + Just leave it as she left it--hide the hose, + And leave the gas on, put the woman in bed." + "This deputy," said Merival, "was slack + And let a verdict pass of accident." + "Oh yes" said Merival, "your servant told + About the hose, the _Times_ clutched in her hand. + And may I test this jet, while I am here? + Go up to see and test it?" + + Whereupon + The great man with wide eyes stared in the eyes + Of Merival, was speechless for a moment, + Not knowing what to say, while Merival + Read something in his eyes, saw in his eyes + The secret beat to cover, saw the man + Turn head away which shook a little, saw + His chest expand for breath, and heard at last + The editor in four steel bullet words, + "It is not necessary." + + Merival + Had trapped the solitary fox--arose + And going said: "If it was suicide + The inquest must be changed." + + The editor + Looked through the window at the coroner + Walking the gravel walk, and saw his hand + Unlatch the iron gate, and saw him pass + From view behind the trees. + + Then horror rose + Within his brain, a nameless horror took + The heart of him, for fear this coroner + Would dig this secret up, and show the world + The dead face of the woman self-destroyed, + And of the talk, which would not come to him, + To poison air he breathed no less, of why + This woman took her life; if for ill health + Then why ill health? O, well he knew at heart + What he had done to break her, starve her life. + And now accused himself too much for words, + Ways, temperament of him that murdered her, + For lovelessness, and for deliberate hands + That pushed her off and down. + + He rode that day + To see his cattle, overlook the work, + But when night came with silence and the cry + Of night-hawks, and the elegy of leaves + Beneath the stars that looked so cold at him + As he turned seeking sleep, the dreaded pain + Grew stronger in his breast. Dawn came at last + And then the stir and voices of the maids. + And after breakfast in the carven room + Archibald Lowell standing by the mantel + In his great library, felt sudden pain; + Saw sudden darkness, nothing saw at once, + Lying upon the marble of the hearth; + His great head cut which struck the post of brass + In the hearth's railing--only a little blood! + Archibald Lowell being dead at last; + The _Times_ left to the holders of the stock + Who kept his policy, and kept the _Times_ + As if the great man lived. + + And Merival + Taking the doctor's word that death was caused + By angina pectoris, let it drop. + And went his way with Elenor Murray's case. + + * * * * * + + So Lowell's dead and buried; had to die, + But not through Elenor Murray. That's the Fate + That laughs at greatness, little things that sneak + From alien neighborhoods of life and kill. + And Lowell leaves a will, to which a boy-- + Who sold the _Times_ once, afterward the _Star_-- + Is alien as this Elenor to the man + Who owned the _Times_. But still is brought in touch + With Lowell's will, because this Lowell died + Before he died. And Merival learns the facts + And brings them to the jury in these words:-- + + + + +WIDOW FORTELKA + + + Marie Fortelka, widow, mother of Josef, + Now seventeen, an invalid at home + In a house, in Halstead Street, his running side + Aching with broken ribs, read in the _Times_ + Of Lowell's death the editor, dressed herself + To call on William Rummler, legal mind + For Lowell and the _Times_. + + It was a day + When fog hung over the city, and she thought + Of fogs in Germany whence she came, and thought + Of hard conditions there when she was young. + Then as her boy, this Josef, coughed, she looked + And felt a pang at heart, a rise of wrath, + And heard him moan for broken ribs and lungs + That had been bruised or mashed. America, + Oh yes, America, she said to self, + How is it different from the land I left? + And then her husband's memory came to mind: + How he had fled his country to be free, + And come to Philadelphia, with the thrill + Of new life found, looked at the famous Hall + Which gave the Declaration, cried and laughed + And said: "The country's free, and I am here, + I am free now, a man, no more a slave." + What did he find? A job, but prices high. + Wages decreased in winter, then a strike. + He joined the union, found himself in jail + For passing hand-bills which announced the strike, + And asked the public to take note, and punish + The corporation, not to trade with it, + For its injustice toward the laborers. + And in the court he heard the judge decide: + "Free speech cannot be used to gain the ends + Of ruin by conspiracy like this + Against a business. Men from foreign lands, + Of despot rule and poverty, who come + For liberty and means of life among us + Must learn that liberty is ordered liberty, + And is not license, freedom to commit + Injury to another." + + So in jail + He lay his thirty days out, went to work + Where he could find it, found the union smashed, + Himself compelled to take what job he could, + What wages he was offered. And his children + Kept coming year by year till there were eight, + And Josef was but ten. And then he died + And left this helpless family, and the boy + Sold papers on the street, ten years of age, + The widow washed. + + And first he sold the _Times_ + And helped to spread the doctrines of the _Times_ + Of ordered liberty and epicene + Reforms of this or that. But when the _Star_ + With millions back of it broke in the field + He changed and sold the _Star_, too bad for him-- + Discovered something: + + Josef did not know + The corners of the street are free to all, + Or free to none, where newsboys stood and sold, + And kept their stands, or rather where the powers + That kept the great conspiracy of the press + Controlled the stands, and to prevent the _Star_ + From gaining foot-hold. Not upon this corner + Nor on that corner, any corner in short + Shall newsboys sell the _Star_. But Josef felt, + Being a boy, indifferent to the rules, + Well founded, true or false, that all the corners + Were free to all, and for his daring, strength + Had been selected, picked to sell the _Star_, + And break the ground, gain place upon the stands. + He had been warned from corners, chased and boxed + By heavy fists from corners more than once + Before the day they felled him. On that day + A monster bully, once a pugilist, + Came on him selling the _Star_ and knocked him down, + Kicked in his ribs and broke a leg and cracked + His little skull. + + And so they took him home + To Widow Fortelka and the sisters, brothers, + Whose bread he earned. And there he lay and moaned, + And when he sat up had a little cough, + Was short of breath. + + And on this foggy day + When Widow Fortelka reads in the _Times_ + That Lowell, the editor, is dead, he sits + With feet wrapped in a quilt and gets his breath + With open mouth, his face is brightly flushed; + A fetid sweetness fills the air of the room + That from his open mouth comes. Josef lingers + A few weeks yet--he has tuberculosis. + And so his mother looks at him, resolves + To call this day on William Rummler, see + If Lowell's death has changed the state of things; + And if the legal mind will not relent + Now that the mind that fed it lies in death. + It's true enough, she thinks, I was dismissed, + And sent away for good, but never mind. + It can't be true this pugilist went farther + Than the authority of his hiring, that's + The talk this lawyer gave her, used a word + She could not keep in mind--the lawyer said + _Respondeat superior_ in this case + Was not in point--and if it could be proved + This pugilist was hired by the _Times_, + No one could prove the _Times_ had hired him + To beat a boy, commit a crime. Well, then + "What was he hired for?" the widow asked. + And then she talked with newsboys, and they said + The papers had their sluggers, all of them, + Even the _Star_, and that was just a move + In getting circulation, keeping it. + And all these sluggers watched the stands and drove + The newsboys selling _Stars_ away. + + No matter, + She could not argue with this lawyer Rummler, + Who said: "You must excuse me, go away, + I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do." + + Now Widow Fortelka had never heard + Of Elenor Murray, had not read a line + Of Elenor Murray's death beside the river. + She was as ignorant of the interview + Between the coroner and this editor + Who died next morning fearing Merival + Would dig up Mrs. Lowell and expose + Her suicide, as conferences of spirits + Directing matters in another world. + Her thought was moulded no less by the riffles + That spread from Elenor Murray and her death. + And she resolved to see this lawyer Rummler, + And try again to get a settlement + To help her dying boy. And so she went. + + That morning Rummler coming into town + Had met a cynic friend upon the train + Who used his tongue as freely as his mood + Moved him to use it. So he said to Rummler: + "I see your client died--a hell of a life + That fellow lived, a critic in our midst + Both hated and caressed. And I suppose + You drew his will and know it, I will bet, + If he left anything to charity, + Or to the city, it is some narcotic + To keep things as they are, the ailing body + To dull and bring forgetfulness of pain. + He was a fine albino of the soul, + No pigment in his genesis to give + Color to hair or eyes, he had no gonads." + And William Rummler laughed and said, "You'll see + What Lowell did when I probate the will." + + Then William Rummler thought that very moment + Of plans whereby his legal mind could thrive + Upon the building of the big hotel + To Lowell's memory, for perpetual use + Of the Y. M. C. A., the seminary, too, + In Moody's memory for an orthodox + Instruction in the bible. + + With such things + In mind, this William Rummler opened the door, + And stepped into his office, got a shock + From seeing Widow Fortelka on the bench, + Where clients waited, waiting there for him. + She rose and greeted him, and William Rummler + Who in a stronger moment might have said: + "You must excuse me, I have told you, madam, + I can do nothing for you," let her follow + Into his private office and sit down + And there renew her suit. + + She said to him: + "My boy is dying now, I think his ribs + Were driven in his lungs and punctured them. + He coughs the worst stuff up you ever saw. + And has an awful fever, sweats his clothes + Right through, is breathless, cannot live a month. + And I know you can help me. Mr. Lowell, + So you told me, refused a settlement, + Because this pugilist was never hired + To beat my boy, or any boy; for fear + It would be an admission, and be talked of, + And lead another to demand some money. + But now he's dead, and surely you are free + To help me some, so that this month or two, + While my boy Joe is dying he can have + What milk he wants and food, and when he dies, + A decent coffin, burial. Then perhaps + There will be something left to help me with-- + I wash to feed the children, as you know." + + And William Rummler looked at her and thought + For one brief moment with his lawyer mind + About this horror, while the widow wept, + And as she wept a culprit mood was his + For thinking of the truth, for well he knew + This slugger had been hired for such deeds, + And here was one result. And in his pain + The cynic words his friend had said to him + Upon the train began to stir, and then + He felt a rush of feeling, blood, and thought + Of clause thirteen in Lowell's will, which gave + The trustees power, and he was chief trustee, + To give some worthy charity once a year, + Not to exceed a thousand dollars. So + He thought to self, "This is a charity. + I will advance the money, get it back + As soon as I probate the will." + + At last + He broke this moment's musing and spoke up: + "Your case appeals to me. You may step out, + And wait till I prepare the papers, then + I'll have a check made for a thousand dollars." + + Widow Fortelka rose up and took + The crucifix she wore and kissed it, wept + And left the room. + + * * * * * + + Now here's the case of Percy Ferguson + You'd think his life was safe from Elenor Murray. + No preacher ever ran a prettier boat + Than Percy Ferguson, all painted white + With polished railings, flying at the fore + The red and white and blue. Such little waves + Set dancing by the death of Elenor Murray + To sink so fine a boat, and leave the Reverend + To swim to shore! he couldn't walk the waves! + + + + +REV. PERCY FERGUSON + + + The Rev. Percy Ferguson, patrician + Vicar of Christ, companion of the strong, + And member of the inner shrine, where men + Observe the rituals of the golden calf; + A dilettante, and writer for the press + Upon such themes as optimism, order, + Obedience, beauty, law, while Elenor Murray's + Life was being weighed by Merival + Preached in disparagement of Merival + Upon a fatal Sunday, as it chanced, + Too near to doom's day for the clergyman. + For, as the word had gone about that waste + In lives preoccupied this Merival, + And many talked of waste, and spoke a life + Where waste had been in whole or part--the pulpit + Should take a hand, thought Ferguson. And so + The Reverend Percy Ferguson preached thus + To a great audience and fashionable: + "The hour's need is a firmer faith in Christ, + A closer hold on God, belief again + In sin's reality; the age's vice + Is laughter over sin, the attitude + That sin is not!" And then to prove that sin + Is something real, he spoke of money sins + That bring the money panics, of the beauty + That lust corrupts, wound up with Athen's story, + Which sin decayed. And touching on this waste, + Which was the current talk, what is this waste + Except a sin in life, the moral law + Transgressed, God mocked, the order of man's life, + And God's will disobeyed? Show me a life + That lives through Christ and none shall find a waste. + This clergyman some fifteen years before + Went on a hunt for Alma Bell, who taught + The art department of the school, and found + Enough to scare the school directors that + She burned with lawless love for Elenor Murray. + + And made it seem the teacher's reprimand + In school of Elenor Murray for her ways + Of strolling, riding with young men at night, + Was moved by jealousy of Elenor Murray, + Being herself in love with Elenor Murray. + This clergyman laid what he found before + The school directors, Alma Bell was sent + Out of the school her way, and disappeared.... + But now, though fifteen years had passed, the story + Of Alma Bell and Elenor Murray crept + Like poisonous mist, scarce seen, around LeRoy. + It had been so always. And all these years + No one would touch or talk in open words + The loathsome matter, since girls grown to women, + And married in the town might have their names + Relinked to Alma Bell's. And was it true + That Elenor Murray strayed as a young girl + In those far days of strolls and buggy rides? + + But after Percy Ferguson had thundered + Against the inquest, Warren Henderson, + A banker of the city, who had dealt + In paper of the clergyman, and knew + The clergyman had interests near Victoria, + Was playing at the money game, and knew + He tottered on the brink, and held to hands + That feared to hold him longer--Henderson, + A wise man, cynical, contemptuous + Of frocks so sure of ways to avoid the waste, + So unforgiving of the tangled moods + And baffled eyes of men; contemptuous + Of frocks so avid for the downy beds, + Place, honors, money, admiration, praise, + Much wished to see the clergyman come down + And lay his life beside the other sinners. + But more he knew, admired this Alma Bell, + Did not believe she burned with guilty love + For Elenor Murray, thought the moral hunt + Or Alma Bell had made a waste of life, + As ignorance might pluck a flower for thinking + It was a weed; on Elenor Murray too + Had brought a waste, by scenting up her life + With something faint but ineradicable. + And Warren Henderson would have revenge, + And waited till old Jacob Bangs should fix + His name to paper once again of Ferguson's + To tell old Jacob Bangs he should be wary, + Since banks and agencies were tremulous + With hints of failure at Victoria. + + So meeting Jacob Bangs the banker told him + What things were bruited, and warned the man + To fix his name no more to Ferguson's paper. + It was the very day the clergyman + Sought Jacob Bangs to get his signature + Upon a note for money at the bank. + And Jacob Bangs was silent and evasive, + Demurred a little and refused at last. + Which sent the anxious clergyman adrift + To look for other help. He looked and looked, + And found no other help. Associates + Depending more on men than God, fell down, + And in a day the bubble burst. The _Times_ + Had columns of the story. + + In a week, + At Sunday service Percy Ferguson + Stood in the pulpit to confess his sin, + The Murray jury sat and fed their joy + For hearing Ferguson confess his sin. + This is the way he did it: + + "First, my friends, + I do not say I have betrayed the trust + My friends have given me. Some years ago + I thought to make provision for my wife, + I wished to start some certain young men right. + I had another plan I can't disclose, + Not selfish, you'll believe me. So I took + My savings made as lecturer and writer + And put them in this venture. I'm ashamed + To say how great those savings were, in view + Of what the poor earn, those who work with hands! + Ashamed too, when I think these savings grew + Because I spoke the things the rich desired. + And squared my words with what the strong would have-- + Therein Christ was betrayed. The end has come. + I too have been betrayed, my confidence + Wronged by my fellows in the enterprise. + I hope to pay my debts. Hard poverty + Has come to me to bring me back to Christ." + + "But listen now: These years I lived perturbed, + Lest this life which I grew into would mould + Young men and ministers, lead them astray + To public life, sensation, lecture platforms, + Prosperity, away from Christ-like service, + Obscure and gentle. To those souls I owe + My heart's confession: I have loved my books + More than the poor, position more than service, + Office and honor over love of men; + Lived thus when all my strength belonged to thought, + To work for schools, the sick, the poor, the friendless, + To boys and girls with hungry minds. My friends, + Here I abase my soul before God's throne, + And ask forgiveness for the pious zeal + With which I smote the soul of Alma Bell, + And smudged the robe of Elenor Murray. God, + Thou, who has taken Elenor Murray home, + After great service in the war, O grant + Thy servant yet to kneel before the soul + Of Elenor Murray. For who am I to judge? + What was I then to judge? who coveted honors, + When solitude, where I might dwell apart, + And listen to the voice of God was mine, + By calling and for seeking. I have broken + The oath I took to take no purse or scrip. + I have loved money, even while I knew + No servant of Christ can work for Christ and strive + For money. And if anywhere there be + A noble boy who would become a minister, + Who has heard me, or read my books, and grown + Thereby to cherish secular ideas + Of Christ's work in the world, to him I say: + Repent the thought, reject me; there are men + And women missionaries, here, abroad, + And nameless workers in poor settlements + Whose latchets to stoop down and to unloose + I am unworthy." + + "Gift of life too short! + O, beautiful gift of God, too brief at best, + For all a man can do, how have I wasted + This precious gift! How wasted it in pride, + In seeking out the powerful, the great, + The hands with honors, gold to give--when nothing + Is profitable to a servant of the Christ + Except to shepherd Christ's poor. O, young men, + Interpret not your ministry in terms + Of intellect alone, forefront the heart, + That at the end of life you may look up + And say to God: Behind these are the sheep + Thou gavest me, and not a one is lost." + + "As to my enemies, for enemies + A clergyman must have whose fault is mine, + Plato would have us harden hearts to sorrow. + And Zeno roofs of slate for souls to slide + The storm of evil--Christ in sorrow did + For evil good. For me, my prayer is this, + My faith as well, that I may be perfected + Through suffering." + + That ended the confession. + Then "Love Divine, All Love Excelling" sounded. + The congregation rose, and some went up + To take the pastor's hand, but others left + To think the matter over. + + For some said: + "He married fortunate." And others said: + "We know through Jacob Bangs he has investments + In wheat lands, what's the truth? In any case + What avarice is this that made him anxious + About the comfort of his wife and family? + The thing won't work. He's only middle way + In solving his soul's problem. This confession + Is just a poor beginning." Others said: + "He drove out Alma Bell, let's drive him out." + And others said: "you note we never heard + About this speculation till it failed, + And he was brought to grief. If it had prospered + The man had never told, what do you think?" + But in a year as health failed, Ferguson + Took leave of absence, and the silence of life + Which closes over men, however noisy + With sermons, lectures, covered him. His riffle + Died out in distant waters. + + There was a Doctor Burke lived at LeRoy, + Neurologist and student. On a night + When Merival had the jury at his house, + Llewellyn George was telling of his travels + In China and Japan, had mutual friends + With Franklin Hollister, the cousin of Elenor, + And son of dead Corinne, who hid her letters + Under the eaves. The talk went wide and far. + For David Borrow, sunny pessimist, + Thrust logic words at Maiworm, the juryman; + And said our life was bad, and must be so, + While Maiworm trusted God, said life was good. + And Winthrop Marion let play his wit, + The riches of his reading over all. + Thus as they talked this Doctor Burke came in. + "You'll pardon this intrusion, I'll go on + If this is secret business. Let me say + This inquest holds my interest and I've come + To tell of Elenor's ancestry." Thus he spoke. + "There'll be another time if I must go." + And Merival spoke up and said: "why stay + And tell us what you know, or think," and so + The coroner and jury sat and heard:-- + + + + +DR. BURKE + + + You've heard of potters' wheels and potters' hands. + I had a dream that told the human tale + As well as potters' wheels or potters' hands. + I saw a great hand slopping plasmic jelly + Around the low sides of a giant bowl. + A drop would fly upon the giant table, + And quick the drop would twist up into form, + Become homonculus and wave its hands, + Brandish a little pistol, shoot a creature, + Upspringing from another drop of plasm, + Slopped on the giant table. Other drops, + Flying as water from a grinding stone, + Out of the giant bowl, took little crowns + And put them on their heads and mounted thrones, + And lorded little armies. Some became + Half-drooped and sickly things, like poisoned flies. + And others stood on lighted faggots, others + Fed and commanded, others served and starved, + But many joined the throng of animate drops, + And hurried on the phantom quest. + + You see, + Whether you call it potter's hand or hand + That stirs, to no end, jelly in the bowl, + You have the force outside and not inside. + Invest it with a malice, wanton humor, + Which likes to see the plasmic jelly slop, + And rain in drops upon the giant table, + And does not care what happens in the world, + That giant table. + + All such dreams are wrong, + My dream is wrong, my waking thought is right. + Man can subdue the giant hand that stirs, + Or turns the wheel, and so these visions err. + For as this farmer, lately come to town, + Picks out the finest corn seeds, and so crops + A finer corn, let's look to human seed, + And raise a purer stock; let's learn of him, + Who does not put defective grains aside + For planting in the spring, but puts aside + The best for planting. For I'd like to see + As much care taken with the human stock + As men now take of corn, race-horses, hogs. + You, Coroner Merival are right, I think. + If we conserve our forests, waterways, + Why not the stream of human life, which wastes + Because its source is wasted, fouled. + + Perhaps + Our coroner has started something good, + And brought to public mind what might result + If every man kept record of the traits + Known in his family for the future use + Of those to come in choosing mates. + + Behold, + Your moralists and churchmen with your rules + Brought down from Palestine, which says that life + Though tainted, maddened, must not be controlled, + Diverted, headed off, while life in corn, + And life in hogs, that feed the life of man + Should be made better for the life of man-- + Behold, I say, some hundred millions spent + On paupers, epileptics, deaf and blind; + On feeble minded, invalids, the insane-- + Behold, I say, this cost in gold alone, + Leave for the time the tragedy of souls, + Who suffer or must see such suffering, + And then turn back to what? The hand that stirs, + The potter's hand? Why, no--the marriage counter + Where this same state in Christian charity + Spending its millions, lets the fault begin, + And says to epileptics and what not:-- + "Go breed your kind, for Jesus came to earth, + And we will house and feed your progeny, + Or hang, incarcerate your murderous spawn, + As it may happen." + + And all the time we know + As small grains fruit in small grains, even man + In fifty matters of pathology + Transmits what's in him, blindness, imbecility, + Hysteria, susceptibilities + To cancer and tuberculosis. Also + The soil that sprouts the giant weed of madness-- + There's soil which will not sprout them, occupied + Too full by blossoms, healthy trees. + + We know + Such things as these--Well, I would sterilize, + Or segregate these shriveled seeds and keep + The soil of life for seeds select, and take + The church and Jesus, if he's in the way, + And say: "You stand aside, and let me raise + A better and a better breed of men." + Quit, shut your sniveling charities; have mercy + Not on these paupers, imbeciles, diseased ones, + But on the progeny you let them breed. + And thereby sponge the greatest waste away, + And source of life's immeasurable tragedies. + Avaunt you potter hands and potter wheels! + God is within us, not without us, we + Are given souls to know and see and guide + Ourselves and those to come, souls that compute + The calculus of beauties, talents, traits, + And show us that the good in seed strives on + To master stocks; that even poisoned blood, + And minds in chemic turmoils, mixed with blood + And minds in harmony, work clean at last-- + Else how may normal man to-day be such + With some eight billion ancestors behind, + And something in him of the blood of all + Who lived five hundred years ago or so, + Who were diseased with alcohol and pork, + And poverty? But oh these centuries + Of agony and waste! Let's stop it now! + And since this God within us gives us choice + To let the dirty plasma flow or dam it, + To give the channel to the silver stream + Of starry power, which shall we do? Now choose + Between your race of drunkards, imbeciles, + Lunatics and neurotics, or the race + Of those who sing and write, or measure space, + Build temples, bridges, calculate the stars, + Live long and sanely. + + Well, I take my son, + I could have prophesied his eyes, through knowing + The color of my mother's, father's eyes, + The color of his mother's parent's eyes. + I could have told his hair. + + There's subtler things. + My father died before this son was born; + Why does this son smack lips and turn his hand + Just like my father did? Not imitation-- + He never saw him, and I do not do so. + Refine the matter where you will, how far + You choose to go, it is not eyes and hair, + Chins, shape of head, of limbs, or shape of hands, + Nor even features, look of eyes, nor sound + Of voice that we inherit, but the traits + Of inner senses, spiritual gifts, and secret + Beauties and powers of spirit; which result + Not solely by the compound of the souls + Through conjugating cells, but in the fusion + Something arises like an unknown X + And starts another wonder in the soul, + That comes from souls compounded. + + Coroner + You have done well to study Elenor Murray. + How do I view the matter? To begin + Here is a man who looks upon a woman, + Desires her, so they marry, up they step + Before the marriage counter, buy a license + To live together, propagate their kind. + No questions asked. I'll later come to that. + This couple has four children, Elenor + Is second to be born. I knew this girl, + I cared for her at times when she was young-- + Well, for the picture general, she matures + Goes teaching school, leaves home, goes far away, + Has restlessness and longings, ups and downs + Of ecstasy and depression, has a will + Which drives her onward, dreams that call to her. + Goes to the war at last to sacrifice + Her life in duty, and the root of this + Is masochistic (though I love the flower), + Comes back and dies. I call her not a drop + Slopped from the giant bowl; she is a growth + Proceeding on clear lines, if we could know, + From cells that joined, and had within themselves + The quality of the stream whose source I see + As far as grandparents. And now to this: + + We all know what her father, mother are. + No doubt the marriage counter could have seen-- + Or asked what was not visible. But who knows + About the father's parents, or the mother's? + I chance to know. + + The father drinks, you say? + Well, he drank little when this child was born, + Had he drunk much, it is the nerves which crave + The solace of the cup, and not the cup + Which passes from the parent to the child. + His father and his mother were good blood, + Steady, industrious; and just because + His father and his mother had the will + To fight privation, and the lonely days + Of pioneering, so this son had will + To fight, aspire, but at the last to growl, + And darken in that drug store prison, take + To drink at times in anger for a will + That was so balked. + + Well, then your marriage counter + Could scarcely ask: What is your aim in life? + You clerk now in a drug store, you aspire + To be a lawyer, if you find yourself + Stopped on your way by poverty, the work + Of clerking to earn bread, you will break down, + And so affect your progeny. So, you see, + For all of that the daughter Elenor + Was born when this ambition had its hope, + Not when it tangled up in hopelessness; + And therefore is thrown out of the account. + The father must be passed and given license + To wed this woman. How about the mother? + You never knew the mother of the mother. + She had great power of life and power of soul, + Lived to be eighty-seven, to the last + Was tense, high voiced, excitable, ecstatic, + Top full of visions, dreams, and plans for life. + But worse than that at fifty lost her mind, + Was two years kept at Kankakee, quite mad, + Grieving for fancied wrongs against her husband + Some five years dead, and praying to keep down + Desire for men. Her malady was sensed + When she began to wander here and there, + In shops and public places, in the church, + Wherever she could meet with men, one man + Particularly to whom she made advances + Unwomanly and strange. And so at last + She turned her whole mind to the church, became + Religion mad, grew mystical, believed + That Jesus Christ had taken her to spouse. + They kept her in confinement for two years. + The rage died down at last, and she came home. + But to the last was nervous, tense, high keyed. + And then her mind failed totally, she died + At eighty-seven here. + + Now I could take + Some certain symbols A and a, and show + Out of the laws that Mendel found for us, + What chances Elenor Murray had to live + Free of the madness, clear or in dilute, + Diminished or made over, which came down + From this old woman to her. It's enough + To see in Elenor Murray certain traits, + Passions and powers, ecstasies and sorrows. + And from them life's misfortunes, and to see + They tally, take the color of the soul + Of this old woman, back of her. Even to see + In Elenor Murray's mother states of soul, + And states of nerves, passed on to Elenor Murray + Directly by her mother. + + But you say, + Since many say so, here's a woman's soul + Most beautiful and serviceable in the world + And she confutes you, in your logic chopping, + Materialistic program, who would give + The marriage counter power to pick the corn seed + For future planting: + + No, I say to this. + What does it come to? She had will enough, + And aspiration, struck out for herself, + Learned for herself, did service in the war, + As many did, and died--all very good. + But not so good that we could quite afford + To take the chances on some other things + Which might have come from her. Well, to begin + Putting aside an autopsy, she died + Because this neural weakness, so derived, + Caught in such stress of life proved far too much + For one so organized; a stress of life + Which others could live through, and have lived through. + The world had Elenor Murray, and she died + Before she was a cost.--But just suppose + No war had been to aureole her life-- + And she had lived here and gone mad at last + Become a charge upon the state? Or yet, + As she was love-mad, by the common word, + And as she had neurotic tendencies, + Would seek neurotic types therefore, suppose + She had with some neurotic made a marriage, + And brought upon us types worse than themselves; + Given us the symbol double A instead + Of big and little a, where are you then? + You have some suicides, or murders maybe, + Some crimes in sex, some madness on your hands, + For which to tax the strong to raise, and raise + Some millions every year. + + Are we so mad + For beauty, sacrifice and heroism, + So hungry for the stimulus of these + That we cannot discern and fairly appraise + What Elenor Murray was, what to the world + She brought, for which we overlook the harm + She might have done the world? Not if we think! + And if we think, she will not seem God's flower + Made spotted, pale or streaked by cross of breed, + A wonder and a richness in the world; + But she will seem a blossom which to these + Added a novel poison with the power + To spread her poison! And we may dispense + With what she did and what she tried to do, + No longer sentimentalists, to keep + The chances growing in the world to bring + A better race of men. + + Then Doctor Burke + Left off philosophy and asked: "How many + Of you who hear me, know that Elenor Murray + Was distant cousin to this necrophile, + This Taylor boy, I call him boy, though twenty, + Who got the rope for that detested murder + Of a young girl--Oh yes, let's save the seed + Of stock like this!" + + But only David Borrow + Knew Elenor was cousin to this boy. + And Merival spoke up: "What is to-day? + It's Thursday, it's to-morrow that he hangs. + I'll go now to the jail to see this boy." + "He hangs at nine o'clock," said Dr. Burke. + And Merival got up to go. The party + Broke up, departed. At the jail he saw + The wretched creature doomed to die. And turned + Half sick from seeing how he tossed and looked + With glassy eyes. The sheriff had gone out. + And Merival could see him, get the case. + Next afternoon they met, the sheriff told + This story to the coroner. + + + + +CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF + + + I have seen twenty men hanged, hung myself + Two in this jail, with whom I talked the night + Before they had the rope, knotted behind + The ear to break the neck. These two I hanged, + One guilty and defiant, taking chops, + Four cups of coffee just an hour before + We swung him off; the other trembling, pale, + Protesting innocence, but guilty too-- + Both wore the same look in the middle watch. + I tell you what it is: You take a steer, + And windlass him to where the butcher stands + With hammer ready for the blow and knife + To slit the throat after the hammer falls, + Well, there's a moment when the steer is standing + Head, neck strained side-ways, eyes rolled side-ways too, + Fixed, bright seen this way, but another way + A film seems spreading on them. That's the look. + They wear a corpse-like pallor, and their tongues + Are loose, sprawl in their mouths, lie paralyzed + Against their teeth, or fall back in their throats + Which make them cough and stop for words and close + Dry lips with little pops. + + There's something else: + Their minds are out of them, like a rubber band + Stretched from the place it's pinned, about to break. + And all the time they try to draw it back, + And give it utterance with that sprawling tongue, + And lips too dry for words. They hold it tight + As a woman giving birth holds to the sheet + Tied to the bed's head, pulls the sheet to end + The agony and the reluctance of the child + That pauses, dreads to enter in this world. + + So was it with Fred Taylor. But before + The high Court shook his hope, he talked to me + Freely and fully, saying many times + What could the world expect of him beside + Some violence or murder? He had borrowed + The books his lawyers used to fight for him, + And read for hours and days about heredity. + And in our talks he said: mix red and violet, + You have the color purple. Strike two notes, + You have a certain chord, and nature made me + By rules as mathematical as they use + In mixing drugs or gases. Then he'd say: + Look at this table, and he'd show to me + A diagram of chickens, how blue fowls + Come from a cross of black with one of white + With black splashed feathers. Look at the blues, he'd say. + They mate, and of four chickens, two are blue, + And one is black and one is white. These blues + Produce in that proportion. But the black + And white have chickens white and black, you see + In equal numbers. Don't you see that I + Was caught in mathematics, jotted down + Upon a slate before I came to earth? + They could have picked my forbears; on a slate + Forecast my soul, its tendencies, if they + Had been that devilish. And so he talked. + + Well, then he heard that Elenor Murray died, + And told me that her grandmother, that woman + Known for her queerness and her lively soul + To eighty years and more, was grandmother + To his father, and this Elenor Murray cousin + To his father. There you have it, he exclaimed, + She killed herself, and I know why, he said + She loved someone. This love is in our blood, + And overflows, or spurts between the logs + You dam it with, or fully stayed grows green + With summer scum, breeds frogs and spotted snakes. + + He was a study and I studied him. + I'd sit beside his cell and read some words + From his confession, ask why did you this? + His crime was monstrous, but he won me over. + I wished to help the boy, for boy he was + Just nineteen, and I pitied him. At last + His story seemed as clear as when you see + The truth behind poor words that say as much + As words can say--you see, you get the truth + And know it, even if you never pass + The truth to others. + + Lord! This girl he killed + Knew not the power she played with. Why she sat + Like a child upon the asp's nest picking flowers. + Or as a child will pet a mad dog. Look + You come into my life, what do you bring? + Why, everything that made your life, all pains, + All raptures, disappointments, wisdom learned + You bring to me. But do you show them, no! + You hide them maybe, some of them, and leave + Myself to learn you by the hardest means, + And bing! A something in you, or in me, + Out of a past explodes, or better still + Extends a claw from out the buttoned coat + And rips a face. + + So this poor girl was killed, + And by an innocent coquetry evoked + The claw that tore her breast away. + + One day + As I passed by his cell I stopped and sat. + What was the first thing entering in your mind + From which you trace your act? And he said: "Well + Almost from the beginning all my mind + Was on her from the moment I awaked + Until I slept, and often I awoke + At two or three o'clock with thoughts of her. + And through the day I thought of nothing else; + Sometimes I could not eat. At school my thought + Stretched out of me to her, could not be pulled + Back to the lesson. I could read a page + As it were Greek, not understand a word. + But just the moment I was with her then + My soul re-entered me, I was at peace, + And happy, oh so happy! In the days + When we were separated my unrest + Took this form: that I must be with her, or + If that could not be, then some other place + Was better than the place I was--I strained, + Lived in a constant strain, found no content + With anything or place, could find no peace + Except with her." + + "Right from the first I had + Two minds, two hearts concerning her, and one + Was confidence, and one was doubt, one love, + One hatred. And one purpose was to serve her, + Guard her and care for her, one said destroy, + Ruin or kill her. Sitting by her side, + Except as I shall say I loved her, trusted her, + Away from her, I doubted her and hated her. + But at the dances when I saw her smile + Up at another man, the storming blood + Roared in my brain for wondering about + The words they said. He might be holding her + Too close to him; or as I watched I saw + His knee indent her skirt between her knees, + That might be when she smiled. Then going home + I'd ask her what he said. She'd only smile + And keep a silence that I could not open + With any pry of questions." + + "Well, we quarreled, + About this boy she danced with. So I said: + I'll leave her, never see her, I'll go find + Another girl, forget her. Sunday next + I saw her driving with this fellow. I + Was walking in the road, they passed me laughing, + She turned about and waved her hand at me. + That night I lay awake and tossed and thought: + Where are they now? What are they doing now? + He's kissing her upon the lips I've kissed, + Or worse, perhaps, I have been fooled, she lies + Within his arms and gives him what for love + I never asked her, never dared to ask." + This brought Fred Taylor's story to the murder, + In point of madness, anyway. Some business + Broke in our visit here. Another time + I sat with him and questioned him again + About the night he killed her. + + "Well," he said, + "I told you that we quarreled. So I fought + To free myself of thought of her--no use. + I tried another girl, it wouldn't work. + For at the dance I took this girl to, I + Saw Gertrude with this fellow, and the madness + Came over me in blackness, hurricanes, + Until I found myself in front of her, + Where she was seated, asking for a dance. + She smiled and rose and danced with me. And then + As the dance ended, May I come to see you, + I'm sorry for my words, came from my tongue, + In spite of will. She laughed and said to me: + 'If you'll behave yourself.'" + + "I went to see her, + But came away more wretched than I went. + She seemed to have sweet secrets, in her silence + And eyes too calm the secrets hid themselves. + At first I could not summon up the strength + To ask her questions, but at last I did. + And then she only shook her head and laughed, + And spoke of something else. She had a way + Of mixing up the subjects, till my mind + Forgot the very thing I wished to know, + Or dulled its edges so, if I remembered + I could not ask it so to bring the answer + I wished from her. I came away so weak + I scarce could walk, fell into sleep at once, + But woke at three o'clock, and could not sleep." + + "Before this quarrel we had been engaged + And at this evening's end I brought it up: + 'What shall we do? Are you engaged to me? + Will you renew it?' And she said to me: + 'We still are young, it's better to be free. + Let's play and dance. Be gay, for if you will + I'll go with you, but when you're gloomy, dear, + You are not company for a girl.'" + + "Dear me! + Here was I five feet nine, and could have crushed + Her little body with my giant arms. + And yet in strength that counts, the mind that moves + The body, but much more can move itself, + And other minds, she was a spirit power, + And I but just a derrick slowly swung + By an engine smaller, noisy with its chug, + And cloudy with its smoke bituminous. + That night, however, she engaged to go + To dance with me a week hence. But meanwhile + The hellish thing comes, on the morning after. + Thus chum of mine, who testified, John Luce + Came to me with the story that this man + That Gertrude danced with, told him--O my God-- + That Gertrude hinted she would come across, + Give him the final bliss. That was the proof + They brought out in the trial, as you know. + The fellow said it, damn him--whether she + Made such a promise, who knows? Would to God + I knew before you hang me. There I stood + And heard this story, felt my arteries + Lock as you'd let canal gates down, my heart + Beat for deliverance from the bolted streams. + That night I could not sleep, but found a book, + Just think of this for fate! Under my eyes + There comes an ancient story out of Egypt: + Thyamis fearing he would die and lose + The lovely Chariclea, strikes her dead, + Then kills himself, some thousands of years ago. + It's all forgotten now, I say to self, + Who cares, what matters it, the thing was done + And served its end. The story stuck with me. + But the next night and the next night I stole out + To spy on Gertrude, by the path in the grass + Lay for long hours. And on the third night saw + At half-past eight or nine this fellow come + And take her walking in the darkness--where? + I could have touched them as they walked the path, + But could not follow for the moon which rose. + Besides I lost them." + + "Well, the time approached + Of the dance, and still I brooded, then resolved. + My hatred now was level with the cauldron, + With bubbles crackling. So the spade I took, + Hidden beneath the seat may show forethought, + They caught the jury with that argument, + And forethought does it show, but who made me + To have such forethought?" + + "Then I called for her + And took her to the dance. I was most gay, + Because the load was lifted from my mind, + And I had found relief. And so we danced. + And she danced with this fellow. I was calm, + Believed somehow he had not had her yet. + And if his knee touched hers--why let it go. + Nothing beyond shall happen, even this + Shall not be any more." + + "We started home. + Before we reached that clump of woods I asked her + If she would marry me. She laughed at me. + I asked her if she loved that other man. + She said you are a silly boy, and laughed. + And then I asked her if she'd marry me, + And if she would not, why she would not do it. + We came up to the woods and she was silent, + I could not make her speak. I stopped the horse. + She sat all quiet, I could see her face + Under the brilliance of the moon. I saw + A thin smile on her face--and then I struck her, + And from the floor grabbed up the iron wrench, + And struck her, took her out and laid her down, + And did what was too horrible, they say, + To do and keep my life. To finish up + I reached back for the iron wrench, first felt + Her breast to find her heart, no use of wrench, + She was already dead. I took the spade, + Scraped off the leaves between two trees and dug, + And buried her and said: 'My Chariclea + No man shall have you.' Then I drove till morning, + And after some days reached Missouri, where + They caught me." + + So Fred Taylor told me all, + Filled in the full confession that he made, + And which they used in court, with looks and words, + Scarce to be reproduced; but to the last + He said the mathematics of his birth + Accounted for his deed. + + Is it not true? + If you resolved the question that the jury + Resolved, did he know right from wrong, did he + Know what he did, the jury answered truly + To give the rope to him. Or if you say + These mathematics may be true, and still + A man like that is better out of way, + And saying so become the very spirit, + And reason which slew Gertrude, disregarding + The devil of heredity which clutched him, + As he put by the reason we obey, + It may be well enough, I do not know. + + Now for last night before this morning fixed + To swing him off. His lawyers went to see + The governor to win reprieval, perhaps + A commutation. I could see his eyes + Had two lights in them; one was like a lantern + With the globe greased, which showed he could not see + Himself in death tomorrow--what is that + In the soul that cannot see itself in death? + No to-morrow, continuation, the wall, the end! + And yet this very smear upon the globe + Was death's half fleshless hand which rubbed across + His senses and his hope. The other light + Was weirdly bright for terror, expectation + Of good news from the governor. + + For his lawyers + Were in these hours petitioning. He would ask: + "No news? No word? What is the time?" His tongue + Would fall back in his throat, we saw the strain + Of his stretched soul. He'd sit upon his couch + Hands clasped, head down. Arise and hold the bars, + Himself fling on the couch face down and shake. + But when he heard the hammers ring that nail + The scaffold into shape, he whirled around + Like a rat in a cage. And when the sand bag fell, + That tested out the rope, a muffled thug, + And the rope creaked, he started up and moaned + "You're getting ready," and his body shivered, + His white hands could not hold the bars, he reeled + And fell upon the couch again. + + Suppose + There was no whiskey and no morphia, + Except for what the parsons think fit use, + A poor weak fellow--not a Socrates-- + Must march the gallows, walk with every nerve + Up-bristled like a hair in fright. This night + Was much too horrible for me. At last + I had the doctor dope him unaware, + And for a time he slept. + + But when the dawn + Looked through the little windows near the ceiling + Cob-webbed and grimed, with light like sanded water, + And echoes started in the corridors + Of feet and objects moved, then all at once + He sprang up from his sleep, and gave a groan, + Half yell, that shook us all. + + A clergyman + Came soon to pray with him, and he grew calmer, + And said: "O pray for her, but pray for me + That I may see her, when this riddle-world + No longer stands between us, slipped from her + And soon from me." + + For breakfast he took coffee, + A piece of toast, no more. The sickening hour + Approaches--he is sitting on his couch, + Bent over, head in hands, dazed, or in prayer. + My deputy reads the warrant--while I stand + At one side so to hear, but not to see. + And then my clerk comes quickly through the door + That opens from the office in the jail; + Runs up the iron steps, all out of breath, + And almost shouts: "The governor telephones + To stop; the sentence is commuted." Then + I grew as weak as the culprit--took the warrant, + And stepped up to the cell's door, coughed, inhaled, + And after getting breath I said: "Good news, + The governor has saved you." + + Then he laughed, + Half fell against the bars, and like a rag + Sank in a heap. + + I don't know to this day + What moved the governor. For crazy men + Are hanged sometimes. To-day he leaves the jail. + We take him where the criminal insane + Are housed at our expense. + + * * * * * + + So Merival heard the sheriff. As he knew + The governor's mind, and how the governor + Gave heed to public thought, or what is deemed + The public thought, what's printed in the press, + He wondered at the governor. For no crime + Had stirred the county like this crime. And if + A jury and the courts adjudged this boy + Of nineteen in his mind, what was the right + Of interference by the governor? + So Merival was puzzled. They were chums, + The governor and Merival in old days. + Had known club-life together, ate and drank + Together in the days when Merival + Came to Chicago living down the hurt + He took from her who left him. In those days + The governor was struggling, Merival + Had helped with friends and purse--and later helped + The governor's ambition from the time + He went to congress. So the two were friends + With memories and secrets for the stuff + Of friendship, glad renewal of the surge + Of lasting friendship when they met. + + And now + He sensed a secret, meant to bring it forth. + And telegraphed the governor, who said: + "I'll see you in Chicago." Merival + Went up to see the governor and talk. + They had not met for months for leisured talk. + And now the governor said: "I'll tell you all, + And make it like a drama. I'll bring in + My wife who figured in this murder case. + It was this way: It's nearly one o'clock, + I'm back from hearing lawyers plead. I wish + To make this vivid so you'll get my mind. + I tell you what I said to her. It's this:" + + + + +THE GOVERNOR + + + I'm home at last. How long were you asleep? + I startled you. The time? It's midnight past. + Put on your slippers and your robe, my dear, + And make some coffee for me--what a night! + Yes, tell you? I shall tell you everything. + I must tell someone, and a wife should know + The workings of a governor's mind--no one + Could guess what turned the scale to save this man + Who would have died to-morrow, but for me. + That's fine. This coffee helps me. As I said + This night has been a trial. Well, you know + I told these lawyers they could come at eight, + And so they came. A seasoned lawyer one, + The other young and radical, both full + Of sentiment of some sort. And there you sit, + And do not say a word of disapproval. + You smile, which means you sun yourself within + The power I have, and yet do you approve? + This man committed brutal murder, did + A nameless horror; now he's saved from death. + The father and the mother of the girl, + The neighborhood, perhaps, in which she lived + Will roar against me, think that I was bought, + Or used by someone I'm indebted to + In politics. Oh no! It's really funny, + Since it is simpler than such things as these. + And no one, saving you, shall know the secret. + For there I sat and didn't say a word + To indicate, betray my thought; not when + The thing came out that moved me. Let them read + The doctor's affidavits, that this man + Was crazy when he killed the girl, and read + The transcript of the evidence on the trial. + They read and talked. At last the younger lawyer, + For sometime still, kept silent by the other, + Pops out with something, reads an affidavit, + As foreign to the matter as a story + Of melodrama color on the screen, + Which still contained a sentence that went home; + I felt my mind turn like a turn-table, + And click as when the switchman kicks the tongue + Of steel into the slot that holds the table. + And from my mind the engine, that's the problem, + Puffed, puffed and moved away, out on the track, + And disappeared upon its business. How + Is that for metaphor? Your coffee, dear, + Stirs up my fancy. But to tell the rest, + If my face changed expression, or my eye + Betrayed my thought, then I have no control + Of outward seeming. For they argued on + An hour or so thereafter. And I asked + Re-reading of the transcript where this man + Told of his maniac passion, of the night + He killed the girl, the doctors' testimony + I had re-read, and let these lawyers think + My interest centered there, and my decision + Was based upon such matters, and at last + The penalty commuted. When in truth + I tell you I had let the fellow hang + For all of this, except that I took fire + Because of something in this affidavit + Irrelevant to the issue, reaching me + In something only relevant to me. + O, well, all life is such. Our great decisions + Flame out of sparks, where roaring fires before, + Not touching our combustibles wholly failed + To flame or light us. + + Now the secret hear. + Do you remember all the books I read + Two years ago upon heredity, + Foot-notes to evolution, the dynamics + Of living matter? Well, it wasn't that + That made me save this fellow. There you smile + For knowing how and when I got these books, + Who woke my interest in them. Never mind, + You don't know yet my reasons. + + But I'll tell you: + And let you see a governor's mind at work. + When this young lawyer in this affidavit + Read to a certain place my mind strayed off + And lived a time past, you were present too. + It was that morning when I passed my crisis, + Had just dodged death, could scarcely speak, too weak + To lift a hand to feed myself, but needed + Vital replenishment of strength, and then + I got it in a bowl of oyster soup, + Rich cream at that. And as I live, my dear, + As this young lawyer read, I felt myself + In bed as I lay then, re-lived the weakness, + Could see the spoon that carried to my mouth + The appetizing soup, imagined there + The feelings I had then of getting fingers + Upon the rail of life again, how faint, + But with such clear degrees. Could see the hand + That held the spoon, the eyes that looked at me + In triumph for the victory of my strength, + Which battled, almost lost the prize of life. + It all came over me when this lawyer read: + Elenor Murray lately come from France + Found dead beside the river, was the cousin + Of this Fred Taylor, and had planned to come + To see the governor, death prevented her-- + Suppose it had? + + That affidavit, doubtless + Was read to me to move me for the fact + This man was kindred to a woman who + Served in the war, this lawyer was that cheap! + And isn't it as cheap to think that I + Could be persuaded by the circumstance + That Elenor Murray, she who nursed me once, + Was cousin to this fellow, if this lawyer + Knew this, and did he know it? I don't know. + Had Elenor Murray lived she would have come + To ask her cousin's life--I know her heart. + And at the last, I think this was the thing: + I thought I'd do exactly what I'd do + If she had lived and asked me, disregard + Her death, and act as if she lived, repay + Her dead hands, which in life had saved my life. + + Now, dear, your eyes have tears--I know--believe me, + I had no romance with this Elenor Murray. + Good Lord, it's one o'clock, I must to bed.... + + You get my story Merival? Do you think, + A softness in the heart went to the brain + And softened that? Well now I stress two things: + I can't endure defeat, nor bear to see + An ardent spirit thwarted. What I've achieved + Has been through will that would not bend, and so + To see that in another wins my love, + And my support. Now take this Elenor Murray + She had a will like mine, she worked her way + As I have done. And just to hear that she + Had planned to see me, ask for clemency + For this condemned degenerate, made me say + Shall I let death defeat her? Take the breach + And make her death no matter in my course? + For as I live if she had come to me + I had done that I did. And why was that? + No romance! Never that! Yet human love + As friend can keep for friend in this our life + I felt for Elenor Murray--and for this: + It was her will that would not take defeat, + Devotion to her work, and in my case + This depth of friendship welling in her heart + For human beings, that I shared in--there + Gave tireless healing to her nursing hands + And saved my life. And for a life a life. + This criminal will live some years, we'll say, + Were better dead. All right. He'll cost the state + Say twenty thousand dollars. What is that + Contrasted with the cost to me, if I + Had let him hang? There is a bank account, + Economies in the realm of thought to watch. + And don't you think the souls--let's call them souls-- + Of these avenging, law abiding folk, + These souls of the community all in all + Will be improved for hearing that I did + A human thing, and profit more therefrom + Than though that sense of balance in their souls + Struck for the thought of crime avenged, the law + Fulfilled and vindicated? Yes, it's true. + And Merival spoke up and said: "It's true, + I understand your story, and I'm glad. + It's like you and I'll tell my jury first, + And they will scatter it, what moved in you + And how this Elenor Murray saved a life." + + * * * * * + + The talk of waste in human life was constant + As Coroner Merival took evidence + At Elenor Murray's inquest. Everyone + Could think of waste in some one's life as well + As in his own. + John Scofield knew the girl, + Had worked for Arthur Fouche, her grandfather, + And knew what course his life took, how his fortune + Was wasted, dwindled down. + + Remembering + A talk he heard between this Elenor Murray + And Arthur Fouche, her grandfather, he spoke + To Coroner Merival on the street one day: + + + + +JOHN SCOFIELD + + + You see I worked for Arthur Fouche, he said, + Until the year before he died; I knew + That worthless son of his who lived with him, + Born when his mother was past bearing time, + So born a weakling. When he came from college + He married soon and came to mother's hearth, + And brought his bride. I heard the old man say: + "A man should have his own place when he marries, + Not settle in the family nest"; I heard + The old man offer him a place, or offer + To buy a place for him. This baby boy + Ran quick to mother, cried and asked to stay. + What happened then? What always happens. Soon + This son began to edge upon the father, + And take the reins a little, Arthur Fouche + Was growing old. And at the last the son + Controlled the bank account and ran the farms; + And Mrs. Fouche gave up her place at table + To daughter-in-law, no longer served or poured + The coffee--so you see how humble beggars + Become the masters, it is always so. + Now this I know: When this boy came from school + And brought his wife back to the family place, + Old Arthur Fouche had twenty thousand dollars + On saving in the bank, and lots of money + Loaned out on mortgages. But when he died + He owed two thousand dollars at the bank. + Where did the money go? Why, for ten years + When Arthur Fouche and son were partners, I + Saw what went on, and saw this boy buy cattle + When beef was high, sell cattle when it was low, + And lose each year a little. And I saw + This boy buy buggies, autos and machinery, + And lose the money trading. So it was, + This worthless boy had nothing in his head + To run a business, which used up the fortune + Of Arthur Fouche, and strangled Arthur Fouche, + As vines destroy an oak tree. Well, you know + When Arthur Fouche's will was opened up + They found this son was willed most everything-- + It's always so. The children who go out, + And make their way get nothing, and the son + Who stays at home by mother gets the swag. + And so this son was willed the family place + And sold it to that chiropractor--left + For California to remake his life, + And died there, after wasting all his life, + His father's fortune, too. + + So, now to show you + How age breaks down a mind and dulls a heart, + I'll tell you what I heard: + + This Elenor Murray + Was eighteen, just from High School, and one day + She came to see her grandfather and talked. + The old man always said he loved her most + Of all the grandchildren, and Mrs. Fouche + Told me a dozen times she thought as much + Of Elenor Murray as she did of any + Child of her own. Too bad they didn't show + Their love for her. + + I was in and out the room + Where Elenor Murray and her grandfather + Were talking on that day, was planing doors + That swelled and wouldn't close. There was no secret + About this talk of theirs that I could see, + And so I listened. + + Elenor began: + "If you can help me, grandpa, just a little + I can go through the university. + I can teach school in summer and can save + A little money by denying self. + If you can let me have two hundred dollars, + When school begins each year, divide it up, + If you prefer, and give me half in the fall, + And half in March, perhaps, I can get through. + And when I finish I shall go to work + And pay you back, I want it as a loan, + And do not ask it for a gift." She sat, + And fingered at her dress while asking him, + And Arthur Fouche looked at her. Come to think + He was toward eighty then. At last he said: + "I wish I could do what you ask me, Elenor, + But there are several things. You see, my child, + I have been through this thing of educating + A family of children, lived my life + In that regard, and so have done my part. + I sent your mother to St. Mary's, sent + The rest of them wherever they desired. + And that's what every father owes his children. + And when he does it, he has done his duty. + I'm sorry that your father cannot help you, + And I would help you, though I've done my duty + By those to whom I owed it; but you see + Your uncle and myself are partners buying + And selling cattle, and the business lags. + We do not profit much, and all the money + I have in bank is needed for this business. + We buy the cattle, and we buy the corn, + Then we run short of corn; and now and then + I have to ask the bank to lend us money, + And give my note. Last month I borrowed money!" + And so the old man talked. And as I looked + I saw the tears run down her cheeks. She sat + And looked as if she didn't believe him. + + No, + Why should she? For I do not understand + Why in a case like this, a man who's worth, + Say fifty thousand dollars couldn't spare + Two hundred dollars by the year. Let's see: + He might have bought less corn or cattle, gambled + On lucky sales of cattle--there's a way + To do a big thing when you have the eyes + To see how big it is; and as for me, + If money must be lost, I'd rather lose it + On Elenor Murray than on cattle. In fact, + That's where the money went, as I have said. + And Elenor Murray went away and earned + Two terms at college, and this worthless son + Ate up and spent the money. All of them, + The son and Arthur Fouche and Elenor Murray + Are gone to dust, now, like the garden things + That sprout up, fall and rot. + + At times it seems + All waste to me, no matter what you do + For self or others, unless you think of turnips + Which can't be much to turnips, but are good + For us who raise them. Here's my story then, + Good wishes to you, Coroner Merival. + + * * * * * + + Coroner Merival heard that Gottlieb Gerald + Knew Elenor Murray and her family life; + And knew her love for music, how she tried + To play on the piano. On an evening + He went with Winthrop Marion to the place,-- + Llewellyn George dropped in to hear, as well-- + Where Gottlieb Gerald sold pianos--dreamed, + Read Kant at times, a scholar, but a failure, + His life a waste in business. Gottlieb Gerald + Spoke to them in these words:-- + + + + +GOTTLIEB GERALD + + + I knew her, why of course. And you want me? + What can I say? I don't know how she died. + I know what people say. But if you want + To hear about her, as I knew the girl, + Sit down a minute. Wait, a customer!... + It was a fellow with a bill, these fellows + Who come for money make me smile. Good God! + Where shall I get the money, when pianos, + Such as I make, are devilish hard to sell? + Now listen to this tune! Dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm, + How's that for quality, sweet clear and pure? + Now listen to these chords I take from Bach! + Oh no, I never played much, just for self. + Well, you might say my passion for this work + Is due to this: I pick the wire strings, + The spruce boards and all that for instruments + That suit my ear at last. When I have built + A piano, then I sit and play upon it, + And find forgetfulness and rapture through it. + And well I need forgetfulness, for the bills + Are never paid, collectors always come. + I keep a little lawyer almost busy, + Lest some one get a judgment, levy a writ + Upon my prizes here, this one in chief. + Oh, well, I pay at last, I always pay, + But I must have my time. And in the days + When these collectors swarm too much I find + Oblivion in music, run my hands + Over the keys I've tuned. I wish I had + Some life of Cristofori, just to see + If he was dodging bills when tuning strings. + Perhaps that Silberman who made pianos + For Frederick the Great had money enough, + And needed no oblivion from bills. + You see I'm getting old now, sixty-eight; + And this I say, that life is far too short + For man to use his conquests and his wisdoms. + This spirit, mind, is a machine, piano, + And has its laws of harmony and use. + Well, it seems funny that a man just learns + The secrets of his being, how to love, + How to forget, what to select, what life + Is natural to him, and only living + According to one's nature is increase-- + All else is waste--when wind blows on your back, + Just as I sit sometimes when these collectors + Come in on me--and so you find it's Death, + Who levies on your life; no little lawyer + Can keep him off with stays of execution, + Or supersedeas, I think it is. + Well, as I said, a man must live his nature, + And dump the rules; this Christianity + Makes people wear steel corsets to grow straight, + And they don't grow so, for they scarcely breathe, + They're laced so tight; and all their vital organs + Are piled up and repressed until they groan. + Then what? They lace up tighter, till the blood + Stops in the veins and numbness comes upon them. + Oblivion it may be--but give me music! + + Oh yes, this girl, Elenor Murray, well + This talk about her home is half and half, + Part true, part false. Her daddy nips a little, + Has always done so. Like myself, the bills + Have always deviled him. But just the same + That home was not so bad. Some years ago, + She was a little girl of thirteen maybe, + Her father rented one of my pianos + For Elenor to learn on, and of course + The rent was always back, I didn't care, + Except for my collectors, and besides + She was so nice. So music hungry, practiced + So hard to learn, I used to let the rent + Run just as long as I could let it run. + And even then I used to feel ashamed + To ask her father for it. + + As I said + She was thirteen, and one Thanksgiving day + They asked me there to dinner, and I went, + Brushed off my other coat and shaved myself, + I looked all right, my shoes were polished too. + You'd never think I polished them to look + At these to-day. And now I tell you what + I saw myself: nice linen on the table, + And pretty silver, plated, I suppose; + Good glass-ware, and a dinner that was splendid, + Wine made from wild grapes spiced with cinnamon, + It had a kick, too. And the home was furnished + Like what you'd think: good carpets, chairs, a lounge, + Some pictures on the wall--all good enough. + And this girl was as lively as a cricket, + She was the liveliest thing I ever saw; + And that's what ailed her, if you want my word. + She had more life than she knew how to use, + And had not learned her own machine. + + And after + We had the dinner we came in the parlor. + And then her mother asked her to play something, + And she sat down and played tra-la; tra-la, + One of these waltzes, I remember now + As pretty as these verses in the paper + On love, or something sentimental. Yes, + She played it well. For I had rented them + One of my pets. They asked me then to play + And I tried out some Bach and other things, + And improvised. And Elenor stood by, + And asked what's that when I was improvising. + I laughed and said, Sonata of Starved Rock, + Or Deer Park Glen in Winter, anything-- + She looked at me with eyes as big as that. + + Well, as I said, the home was good enough. + Still like myself with these collectors, Elenor + Was bothered, drawn aside, and scratched no doubt + From walking through the briars. Just the same + The trouble with her life, if it was trouble, + And no musician would regard it trouble, + The trouble was her nature strove to be + All fire, and subtilize to the essence of fire, + Which was her nature's law, and Nature's law, + The only normal law, as I have found; + For so Canudo says, as I read lately, + Who gave me words for what I knew from life. + + Now if you want my theories I go on. + You do? All right. What was this Elenor Murray? + She was the lover, do you understand? + She had her lovers maybe, I don't know, + That's not the point with lovers, any more, + Than it's the point to have pianos--no! + Lovers, pianos are the self-same thing; + Instruments for the soul, the source of fire, + The crucible for flames that turn from red + To blue, then white, then fierce transparencies. + Then if the lover be not known by lovers + How is she known? Why think of Elenor Murray, + Who tries all things and educates herself, + Goes traveling, would sing and play, becomes + A member of a church with ritual, music, + Incense and color, things that steal the senses, + And bring oblivion. Don't you see the girl + Moving her soul to find her soul, and passing + Through loves and hatreds, seeking everywhere + Herself she loved, in others, agonizing + For hate of father, so they tell me now? + But first because she hated in herself + What lineaments of her father she saw in self. + And all the while, I think, she strove to conquer + This hatred, every hatred, sensing freedom + For her own soul through liberating self + From hatreds. So, you see how someone near, + Repugnant, disesteemed, may furnish strength + And vision, too, by gazing on that one + From day to day, not to be like that one: + And so our hatreds help us, those we hate + Become our saviors. + + Here's the problem now + In finding self, the soul--it's with ourselves, + Within ourselves throughout the ticklish quest + From first to last, and lovers and pianos + Are instruments of salvation, yet they take + The self but to the self, and say now find, + Explore and know. And then, as all before, + The problem is how much of mind to use, + How much of instinct, phototropic sense, + That turns instinctively to light--green worms + More plant than animal are eyes all over + Because their bodies know the light, no eyes + Where sight is centralized. I've found it now: + What is the intellect but eyes, where sight + Is gathered in two spheres? The more they're used + The darker is the body of the soul. + Now to digress, that's why the Germans lost, + They used the intellect too much; they took + The sea of life and tried to dam it in, + Or use it for canals or water power, + Or make a card-case system of it, maybe, + To keep collectors off, have all run smoothly, + And make a sure thing of it. + + To return + How much did Elenor Murray use her mind, + How much her instincts, leave herself alone + Let nature have its way? I think I know: + But first you have the artist soul; and next + The soul half artist, prisoned usually + In limitations where the soul, half artist + Between depressions and discouragements + Rises in hope and knocks. Why, I can tell them + The moment they touch keys or talk to me. + I hear their knuckles knocking on the walls, + Insuperable partitions made of wood, + When seeking tones or words; they have the hint, + But cannot open, manifest themselves. + So was it with this girl, she was all lover, + Half artist, what a torture for a soul, + And what escape for her! She could not play, + Had never played, no matter what the chance. + I think there is no curse like being dumb + When every waking moment, every dream + Keeps crying to speak out. This is her case: + The girl was dumb, like that dumb woman here + Whose dress caught fire, and in the dining room + Was burned to death while all her family + Were in the house, to whom she could not cry! + + You asked about her going to the war, + Her sacrifice in that, and if I think + She found expression there--yes, of a kind, + But not the kind she hungered for, not music. + She found adventure there, excitement too. + That uses up the soul's power, takes the place + Of better self-expression. But you see + I do not think self-immolation life, + I know it to be death. Now, look a minute: + Why did she join the church? why to forget! + Why did she go to war? why to forget. + And at the last, this thing called sacrifice + Rose up with meaning in her eyes. You see + They tell around here now she often said: + "I'm going to the war to be swept under." + Now comes your Christian idea: Let me die, + But die in service of the race, in giving + I waste myself for others, give myself! + Let God take notice, and reward the gift! + This is the failure's recourse often-times, + A prodigal flinging of the self--let God + Find what He can of good, or find all good. + I have abandoned all control, all thought + Of finding my soul otherwise, if here + I find my soul, a doubt that makes the gift + Not less abandoned. + + This is foolish talk + I know you think, I think it is myself, + At least in part. I know I'm right, however, + In guessing off the reason of her failure, + If failure it is. But pshaw, why talk of failure + About a woman born to live the life + She lived, which could not have been different, + Much different under any circumstance? + She might have married, had a home and children, + What of it? As it is she makes a story, + A flute sound in our symphony--all right! + And I confess, in spite of all I've said, + The profit, the success, may not be known + To any but one's self. Now look at me, + By all accounts I am a failure--look! + For forty years just making poor ends meet, + My love all spent in making good pianos. + I thrill all over picking spruce and wires, + And putting them together--all my love + Gone into this, no head at all for business. + I keep no books, they cheat me out of rent. + I don't know how to sell pianos, when + I sell one I have trouble oftentimes + In getting pay for it. But just the same + I sit here with myself, I know myself, + I've found myself, and when collectors come + I can say come to-morrow, turn about, + And run the scale, or improvise, and smile, + Forget the world! + + * * * * * + + The three arose and left. + Llewellyn George said: "That's a rarity, + That man is like a precious flower you find + Way off among the weeds and rocky soil, + Grown from a seed blown out of paradise; + I want to call again." + + So thus they knew + This much of Elenor Murray's music life. + But on a day a party talk at tea, + Of Elenor Murray and her singing voice + And how she tried to train it--just a riffle + Which passed unknown of Merival. For you know + Your name may come up in a thousand places + At earth's ends, though you live, and do not die + And make a great sensation for a day. + And all unknown to Merival for good + This talk of Lilli Alm and Ludwig Haibt: + + + + +LILLI ALM + + + In Lola Schaefer's studio in the Tower, + Tea being served to painters, poets, singers, + Herr Ludwig Haibt, a none too welcome guest, + Of vital body, brisk, too loud of voice, + And Lilli Alm crossed swords. + + It came about + When Ludwig Haibt said: "Have you read the papers + About this Elenor Murray?" And then said: + "I tried to train her voice--she was a failure." + And Lilli Alm who taught the art of song + Looked at him half contemptuous and said: + "Why did she fail?" To which Herr Ludwig answered + "She tried too hard. She made her throat too tense, + And made its muscles stiff by too much thought, + Anxiety for song, the vocal triumph." + + "O, yes, I understand," said Lilli Aim. + Then stabbing him she added, "since you dropped + The Perfect Institute, and dropped the idea + Which stresses training muscles of the tongue, + And all that thing, be fair and shoulder half + The failure of poor Elenor Murray on + Your system's failure. For I chanced to know + The girl myself. She started work with me, + And I am sure that if I had been able-- + With time enough I could have done it too-- + To rid her mind of muscles and to fix + The thought alone of music in her mind, + She would have sung. Now listen, Ludwig Haibt, + You've come around to see that song's the thing. + I take a pupil and I say to her: + The mind must fix itself on music, say + I would make song, pure tones and beautiful; + That comes from spirit, from the Plato rapture, + Which gets the idea. It is well to know + Some physiology, I grant, to know + When, how to move the vocal organs, feel + How they are moving, through the ear to place + These organs in relation, and to know + The soft palate is drawn against the hard; + The tongue can take positions numerous, + Can be used at the root, a throaty voice; + Or with the tip, produce expressiveness. + But what must we avoid?--rigidity. + And if that girl was over-zealous, then + So much the more her teaching should have kept + Mind off the larynx and the tongue, and fixed + Upon the spiritual matters, so to give + The snake-like power of loosening, contracting + The muscles used for singing. Ludwig Haibt, + I can forgive your system, since abandoned, + I can't forgive your words to-day who say + This woman failed for trying over much, + When I know that your system made her throw + An energy truly wonderful on muscles; + And when I think of your book where you said: + The singing voice is the result, observe + Of physical conditions, like the strings + Or tubes of brass. While granting that it's well + To know the art of tuning up the strings, + And how to place them; after all the art + Of tuning and of placing comes from mind, + The idea, and the art of making song + Is just the breathing of the perfect spirit + Upon the strings. The throat is but the leaves, + Let them be flexible, the mouth's the flower, + The tone the perfume. And your olden way + Of harping on the larynx--well, since you + Turned from it, I'm ungenerous perhaps + To scold you thus to-day. + + But this I say, + Let us be frank as teachers: Take the fetich + Of breathing and see how you cripple talent, + Or take that matter of the laryngyscope, + Whereby you photograph a singer's throat, + Caruso's, Galli Curci's at the moment + Of greatest beauty in song, and thus preserve + In photographs before you how the muscles + Looked and were placed that moment. Then attempt + To get the like effect by placing them + In similar fashion. Oh, you know, Herr Ludwig, + These fetiches go by. One thing remains: + The idea in the soul of beauty, music, + The hope to give it forth. + + Alas! to think + So many souls are wasted while we teach + This thing or that. The strong survive, of course. + But take this Elenor Murray--why, that girl + Was just a flame, I never saw such hunger + For self-development, and beauty, richness, + In all experience in life--I knew her, + That's why I say so--take her as I say, + And put her to a practice--yours we'll say-- + Where this great zeal she had is turned and pressed + Upon the physical, just the very thing + To make her throat constrict, and fill her up + With over anxiety and make her fail. + When had she come to me at first this passion + Directed to the beauty, the idea + Had put her soul at ease to ease her body, + Which gradually and beautifully had answered + That flame of hers. + + Well, Ludwig Haibt, you're punished + For wasting several years upon a system + Since put away as half erroneous, + If not quite worthless. But I must confess, + Since I have censured you, to my own sin. + This girl ran out of money, came to me + And told me so. To which I said: "Too bad, + You will have money later, when you do, + Come back to me." She stood a silent moment, + Her hand upon the knob, I saw her tears, + Just little dim tears, then she said good-bye + And vanished from me. + + Well, I now repent. + I who have thought of beauty all my life, + And taught the art of sound made beautiful, + Let slip a chance for beauty--why, I think, + A beauty just as great as song! You see + I had a chance to serve a hungering soul-- + I could have said just let the money go, + Or let it go until you get the money. + I let that chance for beauty slip. Even now + I see poor Elenor Murray at the door, + Who paused, no doubt, in hope that I would say + What I thought not to say. + + So, Ludwig Haibt, + We are a poor lot--let us have some tea! + "We are a poor lot," Ludwig Haibt replied. + "But since this is confessional, I absolve you, + If you'll permit me, from your sin. Will you + Absolve me, if I say I'm sorry too? + I'll tell you something, it is really true:-- + I changed my system more I think because + Of what I learned from teaching Elenor Murray + Than on account of any other person. + She demonstrated better where my system + Was lacking than all pupils that I had. + And so I changed it; and of course I say + The thing is music, just as poets say + The thing is beauty, not the rhyme and words, + With which they bring it, instruments that's all, + And not the thing--but beauty." + + So they talked, + Forgave each other. And that very day + Two priests were talking of confessionals + A mile or so from the Tower, where Lilli Alm + And Ludwig Haibt were having tea. You say + The coroner was ignorant of this! + What is the part it plays with Elenor Murray? + Or with the inquest? Wait a little yet + And see if Merival has told to him + What thing of value touching Elenor Murray + Is lodged in Father Whimsett's heart or words. + + + + +FATHER WHIMSETT + + + Looking like Raphael's Perugino, eyes + So slightly, subtly aquiline, as brown + As a buck-eye, amorous, flamed, but lightly dimmed + Through thought of self while sitting for the artist; + A nose well bridged with bone for will, the nostrils + Distended as if sniffing diaphanous fire; + A very bow for lips, the under lip + Rich, kissable like a woman's; heavy cheeks + Propped with a rounded tower of flesh for neck: + Thus Perugino looked, says Raphael, + And thus looked Father Whimsett at his desk, + With vertical creases, where the nose and brow + Together come, between the eye-brows slanting + Unequally, half clown-wise, half Mephisto, + With just a touch of that abandoned humor, + And laughter at the world, the race of men, + Mephisto had for mischief, which the priest + Has for a sense which looks upon the dream + And smiles, yet pities those who move in it. + And Father Whimsett smokes and reads and smiles. + He soon will hold confessional. For days + he has heard nothing but complaints of lovers, + And searched for nullities, impediments, + Through which to give sore stricken hearts relief: + There was the youth too drunk to know he married + A woman never baptized. Now the youth + Has found another--oh this is the one! + And comes and says: Oh, holy father, help me, + May I be free to marry her I love, + And get the church's blessing when a court + Dissolves the civil contract? Holy Father, + I knew not what I did, cannot remember + Where I was married, when, my mind's a blank-- + It was the drink, you know. + + And so it goes, + The will is eyeless through concupiscence, + And that absolves the soul that's penitent. + And Father Whimsett reads his Latin books, + Searches for subtleties for faithful souls, + Whereby the faithful souls may have their wish, + Yet keep the gospel, too. + + These Latin books + Leave him fatigued, but not fatigued to turn + Plotinus, Xenophon, Boccacio, + Ars Amatoria and Remedia Amoris. + And just this moment Father Whimsett reads + Catullus, killing time, before he hears + Confession, gets the music of Catullus + Along the light that enters at the eye: + Etherial strings plucked by the intellect + To vibrate to the inner ear. At times + He must re-light his half-forgot cigar. + And while the music of the Latin verse, + Which is an echo, as he stops to light + His half-forgot cigar, is wafted through + His meditation, as a tune is heard + After the keys are stayed, it blends, becomes + The soul, interpretation of these stories, + Which lovers tell him in these later days. + And now the clock upon the mantel chimes + The quarter of the hour. Up goes Catullus + By Ovid on the shelf. The dead cigar + Is thrown away. He rises from the chair-- + When Father Conway enters, just to visit + Some idle moments, smoke and have a talk. + And Father Whimsett takes his seat again, + Waves Father Conway to a comfort chair, + Says "Have a smoke," and Father Conway smokes, + And sees Catullus, says you read Catullus, + And lays the morning _Times_ upon the table, + And says to Father Whimsett: "Every day + The _Times_ has stories better than Catullus, + And episodes which Horace would have used. + I wish we had a poet who would take + This city of Chicago, write it up, + The old Chicago, and the new Chicago, + The race track, old cafes and gambling places, + The prize fights, wrestling matches, sporting houses, + As Horace wrote up Rome. Or if we had + A Virgil he would find an epic theme + In this American matter, typical + Of our America, one phase or more + Concerning Elenor Murray. Here to-day + There is a story, of some letters found + In Arthur Fouche's mansion, under the floor, + Sensational, dramatic. + + Father Whimsett + Looked steadily at Father Conway, blew + A funnel of tobacco smoke and said: + I scarcely read the _Times_ these days, too busy-- + I've had a run of rich confessionals. + The war is ended, but they still come on, + And most are lovers in the coils of love. + I had one yesterday that made me think + Of one I had a year ago last spring, + The point was this: they say forgive me father, + For I have sinned, then as the case proceeds + A greater sin comes forth, I mean the sin + Of saying sin is good, cannot be sin: + I loved the man, or how can love be sin? + Well, as a human soul I see the point, + But have no option, must lay to and say + Acknowledgment, contrition and the promise + To sin no more, is necessary to + Win absolution. Now to show the matter, + Here comes a woman, says I leave for France + To serve, to die. I have a premonition + That I shall die abroad; or if I live, + I have had fears, I shall be taken, wronged, + So driven by this honor to destroy + Myself, goes on and says, I tell you all + These fears of mine that you may search my heart, + More gladly may absolve me. Then she says, + These fears worked in my soul until I took + The step which I confess, before I leave. + I wait and she proceeds: + + "O, holy father, + There is a man whom I have loved for years, + These five years past, such hopeless, happy years. + I love him and he loves me, holy father. + He holds me sacred as his wife, he loves me + With the most holy love. It cannot be + That any love like ours is guilty love, + Can have no other quality than good, + If it be love." + + Well, here's a pretty soul + To sit in the confessional! So I say, + Why do you come to me? Loving your sin, + Confessing it, denying it in one breath, + Leaves you in sin without forgiveness. + Well, then she tacks about and says "I sinned, + And I am sorry. Wait a minute, father, + And see the flesh and spirit mixed again." + She wants to tell me all, I let her go. + And so she says: "His wife's an invalid, + Has been no wife to him. Besides," she says-- + Now watch this thrust to pierce my holy shield-- + "She is not in the church's eye his wife, + She never was baptized"--I almost laughed, + But answered her, You think adultery + Is less adultery in a case like this? + "Well, no," she says, "but could he be divorced + The church would marry us." Go on, I said, + And then she paused a little and went on: + "I said I loved this man, and it is true, + And years ago I gave myself to him, + And then his wife found out there was a woman-- + But not that I was the woman--years ago + At confirmation I confessed it all, + Need only say this time I gave him up, + And crushed him out with work--was chaste for years. + And then I met a man, a different man + Who stirred me otherwise, kept after me. + At last I weakened, sinned three months ago, + And suffered for it. For he took me, left me. + As if he wanted body of me alone, + And was not pleased with that. And after that, + I think that I was mad, a furious passion + Was kindled by this second man, and left + With nothing to employ its flame. Two weeks + Went by, he did not seek me out, none knew + The hour of our departure. Then I thought + How little I had been to this first lover, + And of the years when I denied him--so + To recompense his love, to serve him, father, + Yes, to allay this passion newly raised + By this new lover, whom I thought I loved, + I went to my old lover, free of will, + And took his lips and said to him, O take me, + I am yours to do with as you choose to-night. + He turned as pale as snow and shook with fear, + His heart beat in his throat. I terrified him + With this great will of mine in this small body. + I went on while he stood there by the window, + His back toward me. Make me wholly yours, + Take no precaution, prudence throw away + As mean, unworthy. Let your life precede, + Forestall the intruder's, if one be. And if + A child must be, yours shall it be." + + "He turned, + And took me in his arms...." + + "And so to make + As nearly as might be a marriage, father, + I took--but let me tell you: I had thought + His wife might die at any time, so thinking + During these years I had bought bridal things; + A veil, embroideries, silk lingerie. + And I took to our room my negligee, + Boudoir cap, satin slippers, so to make + All beautiful as we were married, father. + How have I sinned? I cannot deem it wrong. + Do I not soil my soul with penitence, + And smut this loveliness with penitence? + Can I regret my work, nor take a hurt + Upon my very soul? How keep it clean + Confessing what I did (if I thought so) + As evil and unclean?" + + The devil again + Entered with casuistry, as you perceive. + And so to make an end, I said to her, + You must bring to this sacrament a heart + Contrite and humble, promise me beside + To sin no more. The case is in your hands, + You can confess with lips, deny with heart, + God only knows, I don't, it's on your soul + To speak the truth or lie to me. Confess + And I'll absolve you.--For in truth my heart + Was touched by what she said, her lovely voice. + + But now the story deepened. For she said, + I have not told you all. And she renewed: + "Suppose you pack your trunk and have your lunch, + Go to the station, but no train arrives, + And there you wait and wait, until you're hungry, + And nothing to do but wait, no place to lunch, + You cannot leave the station, lest the train + Should come while you are gone. Well, so it was, + The weeks went by, and still we were not called. + And I had closed my old life, sat and waited + The time of leaving to begin new life. + And after I had sinned with my first lover, + Parted from him, said farewell, ended it, + Could not go back to him, at least could think + Of no way to return that would not dull + The hour we lived together, look, this man, + This second lover looks me up again + And overwhelms me with a flaming passion. + It seemed he had thought over what I was, + Become all fire for me. He came to me, + And said, I love you, love you, looked at me, + And I could see the love-light in his eyes, + The light that woman knows. Well, I was weak, + Lonely and bored. He stirred my love besides; + And then a curious thought came in my brain: + The spirit is not found save through the flesh, + O holy father, and I thought to self, + Bring, as you may, these trials close together + In point of time and see where spirit is, + Where flesh directs to spirit most. And so + I went with him again, and found in truth + I loved him, he was mine and I was his, + We two were for each other, my old lover + Was just my love's beginning, not my love + Fully and wholly, rapturously, this man + Body and spirit harmonized with me. + I found him through the love of my old lover, + And knew by contrast, memory of the two + And this immediate comparison + Of spirits and of bodies, that this man + Who left me, whom I turned from to the first, + As I have tried to tell you, was the one. + O holy father, he is married, too. + And as I leave for France this ends as well; + No child in me from either. I confess + That I have sinned most grievously, I repent + And promise I shall sin no more." + + And so, + I gave her absolution. Well, you see + The church was dark, but I knew who it was, + I knew the voice. She left. Another penitent + Entered with a story. What is this? + Here is a woman who's promiscuous. + Tried number one and then tries number two, + And comes and tells me, she has taken proof, + Weighed evidence of spirit and of body, + And thinks she knows at last, affirms as much. + Such conduct will not do, that's plain enough, + Not even if the truth of love is known + This way, no other way. + + Then Father Conway + Began as follows: "I've a case like that, + A woman married, but she found her husband + Was just the cup of Tantulus and so...." + + But Father Whimsett said, "Why, look at that, + I'm over-due a quarter of an hour. + Come in to-morrow, father, tell me then." + The two priests rose and left the room together. + + + + +JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON + + + Carl Eaton and John Campbell both were raised + With Elenor Murray in LeRoy. The mother + Of Eaton lived there; but these boys had gone, + Now grown to manhood to Chicago, where + They kept the old days of companionship. + And Mrs. Eaton saw the coroner, + And told him how she saved her son from Elenor, + And broke their troth--because upon a time + Elenor Murray, though betrothed, to Carl + Went riding with John Campbell, and returned + At two o'clock in the morning, drunk, and stood + Helpless and weary, holding to the gate. + For which she broke the engagement of her son + To Elenor Murray. That was truth to her, + And truth to Merival, for the time, at least. + But this John Campbell and Carl Eaton meet + One evening at a table drinking beer, + And talk about the inquest, Elenor; + Since much is published in the _Times_ to stir + Their memories of her. And John speaks up: + "Well, Carl, now Elenor Murray is no more, + And we are friends so long, I'd like to know + What do you think of her?" + + "About the time, + That May before she finished High School, Elenor + Broke loose, ran wild, do you remember, Carl? + She had some trouble in her home, I heard-- + She told me so. That Alma Bell affair + Made all the fellows wonder, as you know, + What kind of game she was, if she was game + For me, or you, or anyone. Besides + She had flirting eye, a winning laugh, + And she was eighteen, and a cherry ripe. + This Alma Bell affair and ills at home + Made her spurt up and dart out like a fuse + Which burns to powder wet and powder heated + Until it burns; she burned, you see, and stopped + When principles or something quenched the flame. + I walked with her from school a time or two, + When she was hinting, flirting with her eyes, + I know it now, but what a dunce I was, + As most men when they're twenty." + + "Well, now listen! + A little later on an evening, + I see her buggy riding with Roy Green, + That rake, do you remember him, deadbeat, + Half drunkard then, corrupted piece of flesh? + She sat up in defiance by his side, + Her chin stuck out to tell the staring ones: + Go talk or censure to your heart's content. + And people stood and stared to see her pass + And shook their heads and wondered." + + "Afterward + I learned from her this was the night at home + Her father and her mother had a quarrel. + Her mother asked her father to buy Elenor + A new dress for commencement, and the father + Was drinking and rebuffed her, so they quarreled. + And rode with him to shame her father, coming + After a long ride in the country home + At ten o'clock or so." + + "Well, then I thought, + If she will ride with Roy Green, I go back + To hinting and to flirting eyes and guess + The girl will ride with me, or something more. + So I begin to circle round the girl, + And walk with her, and take her riding too. + She drops Roy Green for me--what does he care? + He's had enough of her or never cared-- + Which is it? there's the secret for a man + As long as women interest him--who knows + What the precedent fellow was to her? + Roy Green takes to another and another. + He died a year ago, as you'll remember, + What were his secrets, agony? he seemed + A man to me who lived and never thought." + + "So Elenor Murray went with me. Oh, well, + She gave me kisses, let me hold her tight, + We used to stop along the country ways + And kiss as long as we had breath to kiss, + And she would gasp and tremble." + + "Then, at last + A chum I had began to laugh at me, + For, I was now in love with Elenor Murray. + Don't let her make a fool of you, he said, + No girl who ever traveled with Roy Green + Was not what he desired her, nor, before + The kind of girl he wanted. Don't you know + Roy Green is laughing at you in his sleeve, + And boasts that Elenor Murray was all his? + You see that stung me, for I thought at twenty + Girls do not go so far, that only women + Who sell themselves do so, or now and then + A girl who is betrayed by hopes of marriage. + And here was thrust upon me something devilish: + The fair girl that I loved was wise already, + And fooling me, and drinking in my love + In mockery of me. This was my first + Heart sickness, jaundice of the soul--dear me! + And how I suffered, lay awake of nights, + And wondered, doubted, hoped, or cursed myself, + And cursed the girl as well. And I would think + Of flirting eyes and hints and how she came + To me before she went with this Roy Green. + And I would hear the older men give hints + About their conquests, speak of ways and signs + From which to tell a woman. On the train + Hear drummers boast and drop apothogems; + The woman who drinks with you will be yours; + Or she who gives herself to you will give + To someone else; you know the kind of talk? + Where wisdom of the sort is averaged up, + But misses finer instances, the beauties + Among the million phases of the thing. + And, so at last I thought the girl was game. + And had been snared, already. Why should I + Be just a cooing dove, why not a hawk? + We were out riding on a summer's night, + A moon and all the rest, the scent of flowers, + And many kisses, as on other times. + At last with this sole object in my mind + Long concentrated, purposed, all at once + I found myself turned violent, with hands + At grapple, twisting, forcing, and this girl + In terror pleading with me. In a moment + When I took time for breath, she said to me: + 'I will not ride with you--you let me out.' + To which I said: 'You'll do what I desire + Or you can walk ten miles back to LeRoy, + And find Roy Green, you like him better, maybe.' + And she said: 'Let me out,' and she jumped out, + And would not ride with me another step, + Though I repented saying, come and ride. + I think it was a mile or more I drove + The horse slowed up to keep her company, + And then I cracked the whip and hurried on, + And left her walking, looked from time to time + To see her in the roadway, then drove on + And reached LeRoy, which Elenor reached that morning + At one or two." + + "Well, then what was the riddle? + Was she in love with Roy Green yet, was she + But playing with me, was I crude, left handed, + Had she changed over, was she trying me + To fasten in the hook of matrimony, + Or was she good, and all this corner talk + Of Roy Green just the dirt of dirty minds? + You know the speculations, and you know + How they befuddle one at twenty years. + And sometimes I would grieve for what I did; + Then harden and laugh down my softness. But + At last I wrote a note to Elenor Murray + And sent it with a bouquet--but no word + Came back from Elenor Murray. Then I thought: + Here is a girl who rides with that Roy Green + And what would he be with her for, I ask? + And if she wants to make a cause of war + Out of an attitude she half provoked, + Why let her--and moreover let her go. + And so I dropped the matter, since she dropped + My friendship from that night." + + "But later on, + Two years ago, when she came back to town + From somewhere, I don't know, gone many months, + Grown prettier, more desirable, I sent + Some roses to her in a tender mood + As if to say: We're grown up since that night, + Have you forgotten it, as I remember + How womanly you were, have grown to be? + She wrote me just a little note of thanks, + And what is strange that very day I learned + About your interest in her, learned besides + It prospered for some months before. I turned + My heart away for good, as a man might + Who plunges and beholds the woman smile + And take another's arm and walk away." + "So, that's your story, is it?" said Carl Eaton. + "Well, I had married her except for you! + That bunch of roses spoiled the girl for me. + You had Roy Green, dog-fennel, I had roses, + And I am glad you sent them, otherwise + I might have married her, to find at last + A wife just like her mother is, myself + Living her father's life, for something missed + Or hated in me--not the want of money. + She liked me as the banker's son, be sure, + And let me go unwillingly." + + "But listen: + I called on her the night you sent the roses, + And there she had them on the center table, + And twinkled with her eyes, and spoke of them, + And said, I can remember it, you sent + Such lovely roses to her, you and she + Had been good friends for years--and now it seems + You were not friends--I didn't know it then. + But think about it, John! What was this woman? + It's clear her fate, found dead there by the river, + Is just the outward mirror of herself, + And had to be. There's not a thing in life + That is not first enacted in the heart. + Our fate is the reflection of the life + Which goes on in the heart. That girl was doomed, + Lived in her heart a life that found a birth, + Grew up, committed matricide at last, + Not that my love had saved her. But explain + Why would she over-stress the roses, give + Me understandings foreign to the truth? + For truth to tell, we were affianced then, + There were your roses! But above it all + Something she said pricked like a rose's thorn, + Something that grew to thought she cherished you, + Kept memories sweet of you. If that were true, + What was the past? What was I after all? + A second choice, as if I bought a car, + But thought about a car I wanted more. + So I retired that night in serious thought." + + "Yet if you'll credit me, I had not heard + About this Alma Bell affair, or heard + About her riding through the public streets + With this Roy Green. I think I was away, + I never heard it anyway, I know + Until my mother told me, and she told me + Next morning after I had found your roses. + I hadn't told my mother, nor a soul + Before, that time that we two were engaged-- + I didn't tell her then--I merely asked + Would Elenor Murray please you as a daughter? + You should have seen my mother--how she gasped, + And gestured losing breath, to say at last: + 'Why, Carl, my boy, what are you thinking of? + You have not promised marriage to that girl? + Now tell me, have you?' Then I lied to her; + And laughed a little, answered no, and asked, + 'What do you know about her?'" + + "Here's a joke, + With terror in it, John, if you have told + The truth to me--my mother tells me there + That on a time John Campbell--that is you, + And Elenor Murray rode into the country, + And that at two o'clock, or so, the girl + Is seen beside the gate post holding on, + And reeling up the side-walk to her door. + The girl was tired, if you have told the truth. + My mother warms up to this scoundrel Green, + And tops the matter off with Alma Bell. + And all the love I had for Elenor Murray + Sours in my heart. And then I tell my mother + The truth--of our engagement--promise her + To break it off. I did so on that day. + Got back the solitaire--but Elenor + Hung to me, asked my reasons, kept the ring + Until I wrote so sternly she gave up + Her hope and me." + + "But worst of all, John Campbell-- + If this be worst--this early episode + So nipped my leaves and browned and curled them up + To whisper sharply with their bitter edges, + No one has seen a bridal wreath in me; + Nor have I ever known a woman since + That some analysis did not blow cool + A rising admiration." + + "Now to think + This girl lies dead, and while we drink a beer + You tell me that the story is a lie, + The girl was good, walked ten miles through the dark + To save her honor from a ruffian-- + That's what you were, as you confess it now. + And if she did that, what is all this talk + Of such a rat as Green, of Alma Bell?-- + It isn't true." + + "The only truth is this: + I took a lasting poison from a lie, + Which built the very cells of me to resist + The thought of marriage--poison which remains. + I wonder should I tell the coroner? + No good in that--you might as well describe + A cancer to prevent the malady + In people yet to be. Let's have a beer. + John Campbell said: I learned from Elenor Murray + The kind of woman I should take to wife, + I married just the woman made for me." + + "If you can say so on your death bed, John, + Then Elenor Murray did one man a good, + Whatever ill she did to other men. + See, I keep rapping for that waiter--I + Would like another beer, and so would you." + + * * * * * + + So now it's clear the story is not true + Which Mrs. Eaton told the coroner. + And when the coroner told the jurymen + What Mrs. Eaton told him, Winthrop Marion + Skilled in the work of running down a tale + Said: "I can look up Eaton, Campbell too, + And verify or contradict this thing. + We have departed far afield in this, + It has no bearing on the cause of death. + But none of us have liked to see, the girl's + Good name, integrity of spirit lie + In shadow by this story." Merival + Was glad to have these two men interviewed + By Winthrop Marion; so he found them, talked, + And brought their stories back, as told above + Which made the soul of Elenor Murray clear.... + + * * * * * + + Paul Roberts was a man of sixty years, + Who lived and ran a magazine at LeRoy. + _The Dawn_ he called it; financed by a fund + Left Roberts by a millionaire, who believed + The fund would widen knowledge through the use + Of Roberts, student of the Eastern wisdom. + This Roberts loathed the war, but kept his peace + Because the law compelled it. Took this time + To fight the Christian faith, and show the age + Submerged in Christian ethics, weak and false. + He knew this Elenor Murray from a child, + And knew her rearing, schooling, knew the air + She breathed in at LeRoy. And in _The Dawn_ + Printed this essay:-- + + "We have seen," he writes, + "Astonishing revealments, inventories + Taken of souls, all coming from the death + Of Elenor Murray, and the inquest held + To ascertain her death. Perhaps fantastic + This thing may be, but scarcely more fantastic + Than rubbing amber, watching frogs' legs twitch, + From which the light of cities came, the power + That hauls the coaches over mountain tops. + We would do well to laugh at nothing, watch + With interested eye the capering souls + Too moved to walk straight. If a wire grounds + And interpenetrates the granite blocks + With viewless fire, horses shod with steel, + Walking along the granite blocks will leap + Like mad things in the air. Well, so we leap + Before we know the cause. Let sound minds laugh. + + First you agree no man has looked on God; + And I contend the souls who found God, told + Too little of their triumph. But I hold + Man shall find God and know, shall see at last + What man's soul is, and where it tends, the use + It was made for. And after that? Forever + There's progress while there's life, all devolution + Returns to progress. + + As to worship, God + They had their amber days, days of frogs' legs. + And yet before I trace the Christian growth + From seed to blossom, let me prophesy: + The light upon the lotus blossom pauses, + Has paused these centuries and waits to move + Westward and mingle with the light that shines + Upon the Occident. What did Christ do + But carry the Hebraic thrift and prudence + Of matter and of spirit, half-corrupted + By wisdom of the market to these races + That crowd in Europe, in the Western World? + Now you have seen such things as chemistry, + And mongering in steel, the use of fire + Made perfect in swift wheels, and swifter wings, + Until the realm of matter seems subdued, + Thought with her foot upon the dragon's head, + And using him to serve. This western world + Massing its powers these centuries to bring + Comfort and happiness and length of days, + And pushing commerce, trade to pile up gold, + Knows not its soul as yet, nor God. But here + I prophesy: Suppose the Hindu lore, + Which has gone farther with the soul of man + Than we have gone with business, has card cased + The soul's addresses, introduced a system + In the soul's business, just suppose this lore + And great perfection in things spiritual + Should by some process wed the great perfection + Of this our western world, and we should have + Mastery of spirit and of matter, too? + Might not that progress start as one result + Of this great war? + + Let's see from whence we came. + I take the Hebrew faith, the very frog legs + Of our theology--no use to say + It has no place with us. Your ministers + Preach from the Pentateuch, its decalogue + Is all our ethic nearly; and our life + Is suckled by the Hebrews; don't the Jews + Control our business, while our business rules + Our spirits far too much? + + Now let us see + What food our spirits feed on. Palestine + Is just a little country, fights for life + Against a greater prowess, skill in arms. + So as the will does not give up, but hopes + For vengeance and for wiping out of wrongs + The Jews conceive a God who will dry up + His people's tears and let them laugh again! + Hence in Jehovah's mouth they put these words: + My word shall stand forever, you shall eat + The riches of the Gentiles, suck their milk. + Your ploughman shall the alien be, the stranger + Shall feed your flock, and I will make you fat + With milk and honey. I will give you power, + Dominion, leadership, glory forever. + My wrath is on all nations to avenge + Israel's sorrow and humiliation. + My sword is bathed in heaven, filled with blood + To come upon Idumea, to stretch out + Upon it stones of emptiness, confusion. + Her fortresses shall be the habitation + Of dragons and a court for owls. I smite + The proud Assyrian and make them dead. + In fury, and in anger do I tread + On Zion's enemies, their worm shall die not, + Nor shall their fire be quenched. I shall stir up + Jealousy like a man of war, put on + The garments of my vengeance, and repay + To adversaries fury. For my word + Shall stand to preach good tidings to the meek, + And liberty to captives, and to chains + The opening of prisons. + + Don't you see + Our western culture in such words as these? + Your proselytes, and business man, reformer + Nourished upon them, using them in life? + But then you say Christ came with final truth, + And put away Jehovah. Let us see. + What shall become of those who turn from Christ, + Not that their souls failed, only that they turned, + Did not believe, accept, found in him little + To live by, grow by? This is what Christ said: + Ye vipers in the last day ye shall see + The sun turned dark, the moon made blood. Behold! + I come in clouds of glory and of power + To judge the quick and judge the dead. Mine own + Shall enter into blessedness. But to those + Evil who scorned me, I shall say, depart + Accursed into everlasting fire. + And quick the gates of heaven shall be shut, + And I shall reign in heaven with mine own + And let my fire of wrath consume the world. + + But then you say, what of his love and doctrine? + Not the old decalogue by him renewed, + But new wine to the Jews, if not in the world + Unknown before. Look close and you shall see + A book of double entries, balanced columns, + Business in matters spiritual, prudential + Rules for life's conduct. Yes, be merciful + But to obtain your mercy; yes, forgive + That you may be forgiven; honor your parents + That your days may be long. Blest are the meek + For they shall inherit the earth. Rejoice, for great + Is your reward in heaven if they say + All manner of evil of you, persecute you. + Do you not see the rule of compensation + Shot through it all? And if you love your neighbor, + And all men do so, then you have the state + Composed to such a level of peace, no man + Need fear the breaker in, unless you keep + This mood of love for preaching, for a rule + While business in the Occident goes on + Under Jehovah's Hebrew manual. + What is it all? The meek inherit the earth + For being meek; you turn the other cheek + And fill your enemy with shame to strike + A cheek that does not harden to return + The blow received. But too much in our life + The cheek is turned, the hand not made a fist, + But opened out to pick a pocket with, + While the other cheek is turned. Now, at the last + Has not this war put by resist not evil? + Which was the way of Jesus to the end, + Even to buffetings and the crown of thorns; + Even the cross and death?--we put it by: + We would not let protagonists thereof + So much as hint the doctrine, which is to say, + Though it be written over Jesus' life, + And be his spirit's essence, we see through + The fallacy of that preachment, cannot live + In this world by it. + + Well, let me be plain. + Races like men find truth in living life, + Find thereby what is food and what is poison. + These are the phylogenetics spiritual. + But meanwhile there's the light upon the lotus + Which waits to mingle with the light that shines + Upon the Occident, take Jesus' light + Where it is bright enough to mix with it + And show no duller splendor? + + I look back + Upon the Jew and Jesus, on the Thora + The gospel, dogmatism, poetry, + The Messianic hope and will and grace, + Jesus the Son of God, and one with God. + The outer theocracy, the Kingdom of God within you, + St. Paul with metaphysics, St. Augustine + Babbling of sin in Cicero's rhetoric, + The popes with their intrigues and millions slain + O ghastly waste, if not O ghastly failure, + Beside which all the tragedies of time + To set up doctrines, rulerships, and say: + Are not a finger scratched. O monstrous hate + Born of enfolding love! O martyrdom + Of our poor world for ages, incurable madness + Bred in the blood, and mixed in the forms of thought, + Still maddening, maiming, crucifying, killing + The fast appearing sons of men. Go ask + What man you will who has lived up to forty + And see if you find not the Christian creed + Has not in some way gyved his life and bolted + Body or spirit to a wall, to make + The man live not by nature, but a doctrine + Evolved from thought that disregards man's life. + But oh this hunger of the mind for answers + And hunger of the heart for life, the heart + Thrown to the dogs of thought. What shall we do? + I see a way, have hope. + + The blessed Lord + Says, ye deluded by unwisdom say: + This day is won, this purpose gained, this wealth + Made mine, to-morrow safe--behold + My enemy is slain, I am well-born-- + O ye deluded ones, slaves of desire, + Self-satisfied and stubborn, filled with pride, + Power, lust and wrath--haters of me, the gate + Of hell is triple, bitter is the womb + In which ye sink deluded, birth on birth, + These not renouncing. But O soul attend, + Yield not to impotence, shake off your fears, + Be steadfast, balanced, free from hate and anger, + Balanced in pleasure and pain, and active, + Yet disregarding action's fruits--be friendly, + Compassionate, forgiving, self-controlled, + Resolute, not shrinking from the world, + But mixing in its toils as fate may say; + Pure, expert, passionless, desire in leash, + Renouncing good and evil, to friend and foe, + In fame and ignominy destitute + Of that attachment which disturbs the vision + And labor of the soul. By these to fix + Eyes undistracted on me, the supreme + And Sole Reality. And O remember + Thou soul, thou shalt not sin who workest through + Thy Karma as its nature may command. + Strive with thy sin and it shall make the muscles, + And strength to take thee to another height. + But cleave to the practice of thy soul forever, + Also to wisdom better still than practice, + To meditation, better still than wisdom, + To renunciation, better than meditation, + Beholding Me in all things, in all things + Me who would have you peace of soul attain, + And soul's perfection. + + Well, I say here lies + Profounder truth and purer than the words + That Jesus spoke. Let's take forgiveness: + Forgive your enemies, he said, and bless + Them even that hate you. What did Jesus do? + Did he forgive the thief upon the cross, + Who railed at him? He did forgive the hands + Who crucified him, but he had a reason: + They knew not what they did; well, as for that + Who knows the thing he does? Did he forgive + Judas Iscariot? Did he forgive + Poor Peter by specific words? You see + In instances like these the idealist, + Passionate and inexorable who sets up + His soul against the world, but do you see + The esoteric wisdom which takes note + Of the soul's health, just for the sake of health, + And leaves the outward recompense alone? + + Yes, what has Jesus done but make a realm + Of outward law and force to strain and bind + The sons of men to this thing and to that, + Bring the fanatic and the dogmatist + In every neighborhood in America. + And radical with axes after trees, + And clergymen with curses on the fig trees? + And even bring this Kaiser and his dream + Of God's will in him to destroy his foes, + And launch the war therefor, to make his realm + And Christian culture paramount in time. + When all the while 'tis clear life does not yield + Proof positive of exoteric things. + Why the great truth of life is this, I think: + The soul has freedom to create its world + Of beauty, truth, to make the world as truth + Or beauty, build philosophies, religions, + And live by them, through them. It does not matter + Whether they're true, the significant thing is this: + The soul has freedom to create, to take + The void of unintelligible air, or thought + The world at large, and of it make the food, + Impulse and meaning for its life. I say + Life is for nothing else, truth is not ours; + That only ours which we create, by which + We live and grow, and so we come again + By this path of my own to India. + + What shall we do, you ask, if business dies, + If the western world, the world for socialism + Lops off its leaves and branches, and the sap + Is thrown back in the trunk unused, or if + This light upon the lotus quiets us + And makes us mind entirely? Well, I say, + Men have not lived, enjoyed enough before. + Our strength has gone to get the means for strength. + We roll the rock of business up, and see + The rock roll down, and roll it up again. + And if the new day does not give us work + In finding what our minds are, how to use them, + And how to live more beautifully, I miss + A guess I often make. + + But now to close: + Only the blind have failed to see how truly + This Elenor Murray worked her Karma out. + And how she put forth strength to cure her weakness, + And went her vital way, and toiled and died. + Peace to all worlds, and peace to Elenor Murray. + + * * * * * + + The coroner had heard that Elenor Murray + Once crossed the Arctic Circle. What of that? + She traveled, it was proved. What happened there? + What hunter after secrets could find out? + But on a day the name of Elenor Murray + Is handled by two men who sit and talk + In Fairbanks, and the talk is in these words: + + + + +AT FAIRBANKS + + + Bill, look here! Here's the _Times_. You see this picture, + Read if you like a little later. You never + Heard how I came to Fairbanks, chanced to stay. + It's eight years now. You see in nineteen eleven + I lived in Hammond, Indiana, thought + I'd like a trip, see mountains, see Alaska, + Perhaps find fortune or a woman--well + You know from your experience how it is. + It was July and from the train I saw + The Canadian Rockies, stopped at Banff a day, + At Lake Louise, and so forth. At Vancouver + Found travelers feasting, Englishmen in drink, + Flirtations budding, coming into flower; + And eager spirits waiting for the boat. + Up to this time I hadn't made a friend, + Stalked silently about along the streets, + Drank Scotch like all the rest, as much besides. + + Well, then we took the steamship _Princess Alice_ + And started up the Inland Channel--great! + Got on our cheeks the breezes from the crystal + Cradles of the north, began at once + To find the mystery, silence, see clear stars, + The whites and blacks and greens along the shores. + And still I had no friend, was quite alone. + Just as I came on deck I saw a face, + Looked, stared perhaps. Her eyes went over me, + Would not look at me. At the dinner table + She sat far down from me, I could not see her, + But made a point to rise when she arose, + Did all I could to catch her eye--no use. + So things went and I gave up--still I wondered + Why she had no companion. Was she married? + Was husband waiting her, at Skagway?--well + I fancied something of the sort, at last, + And as I said, gave up. + + But on a morning + I rose to see the sun rise, all the sky + First as a giant pansy, petals flung + In violet toward the zenith streaked with fire; + The silver of the snows change under light, + Mottled with shadows of the mountain tops + Like leaves that shadow, flutter on a lawn. + At last the topaz splendors shoot to heaven, + The sun just peeks and gilds the porcelain + Of snow with purest gold. And in the valleys + Darkness remains, Orician ebony + Is not more black. You've seen this too, I know, + And recognize my picture. There I stood, + Believed I was alone, then heard a voice, + "Is it not beautiful?" and looked around, + And saw my girl, who had avoided me, + Would not make friends before. This is her picture, + Name, Elenor Murray. So the matter started. + I had my seat at table changed and sat + Next to my girl to talk with her. We walked + The deck together. Then she said to me + Her home was in Chicago, so it is + Travelers abroad discover they are neighbors + When they are home. She had been teaching school, + And saved her money for this trip, had planned + To go as far as Fairbanks. As for me, + I thought I'd stop with Skagway--Oh this life! + Your hat blows off, you chase it, bump a woman, + Then beg her pardon, laugh and get acquainted, + And marry later. + + As we steamed along + She was the happiest spirit on the deck. + The Wrangell Narrows almost drove her wild, + There where the mountains are like circus tents, + Big show, menagerie and all the rest, + But white as cotton with perennial snow. + We swum past aisles of pine trees where a stream + Rushed down in terraces of hoary foam. + The nights were glorious. We drank and ate + And danced when there was dancing. + + Well, at first, + She seemed a little school ma'am, quaint, demure, + Meticulous and puritanical. + And then she seemed a school ma'am out to have + A time, so far away, where none would know, + And like a woman who had heard of life + And had a teasing interest in its wonder, + Too long caged up. At last my vision blurred: + I did not know her, lost my first impressions + Amid succeeding phases which she showed. + + But when we came to Skagway, then I saw + Another Elenor Murray. How she danced + And tripped from place to place--such energy! + She almost wore me out with seeing sights. + But now behold! The White Pass she must see + Upon the principle of missing nothing-- + But oh the grave of "Soapy" Smith, the outlaw, + The gambler and the heeler, that for her! + We went four miles and found the cemetery, + The grave of "Soapy" Smith.--Came back to town + Where she would see the buildings where they played + Stud poker, Keno, in the riotous days. + Time came for her to go. She looked at me + And said "Come on to Fairbanks." As for that, + I'd had enough, was ready to return, + But sensed an honorarium, so I said, + "You might induce me," with a pregnant tone. + That moment we were walking 'cross the street, + She stopped a moment, shook from head to heels, + And said, "No man has talked to me that way." + I dropped the matter. She renewed it--said, + "Why do you hurry back? What calls you back? + Come on to Fairbanks, see the gardens there, + That tag the blizzards with their rosy hands + And romp amid the snows." She smiled at me. + Well, then I thought--why not? And smiled her back, + And on we went to Fairbanks, where my hat + Blows off, as I shall tell you. + + For a day + We did the town together, and that night + I thought to win her. First we dined together, + Had many drinks, my little school ma'am drank + Of everything I ordered, had a place + For more than I could drink. And truth to tell + At bed time I was woozy, ten o'clock. + We had not registered. And so I said, + "I'm Mr. Kelly and you're Mrs. Kelly." + She shook her head. And so to make an end + I could not win her, signed my name in full; + She did the same, we said good night and parted. + + Next morning when I woke, felt none too good, + Got up at last and met her down at breakfast; + Tried eggs and toast, could only drink some coffee; + Got worse; in short, she saw it, put her hand + Upon my head and said, "Your head is hot, + You have a fever." Well, I lolled around + And tried to fight it off till noon--no good. + By this time I was sick, lay down to rest. + By night I could not lift my head--in short, + I lay there for a month, and all the time + She cared for me just like a mother would. + They moved me to a suite, she took the room + That opened into mine, by night and day + She nursed me, cheered me, read to me. At last + When I sat up, was soon to be about, + She said to me, "I'm going on to Nome, + St. Michael first. They tell me that you cross + The Arctic Circle going to St. Michael, + And I must cross the Arctic Circle--think + To come this far and miss it. I must see + The Indian villages." And there again + I saw, but clearer than before, the spirit + Adventuresome and restless, what you call + The heart American. I said to her, + "I'm not too well, I'm lonely,--yes, and more-- + I'm fond of you, you have been good to me, + Stay with me here.--She darted in and out + The room where I was lying, doing things, + And broke my pleadings just like icicles + You shoot against a wall. + + But here she was, + A month in Fairbanks, living at expense, + Said "I am short of money--lend me some, + I'll go to Nome, return to you and then + We'll ship together for the States." + + You see + I really owed her money for her care, + Her loss in staying--then I loved the girl, + Had played all cards but one--I played it now: + "Come back and marry me." Her eyes looked down. + "I will be fair with you," she said, "and think. + Away from you I can make up my mind + If I have love enough to marry you." + I gave her money and she went away, + And for some weeks I had a splendid hell + Of loneliness and longing, you might know, + A stranger in Alaska, here in Fairbanks, + In love besides, and mulling in my mind + Our days and nights upon the steamer _Alice_, + Our ramblings in the Northland. + + Weeks went by, + No letter and no girl. I found my health + Was vigorous again. One morning walking + I kicked a twenty dollar gold piece up + Right on the side-walk. Picked it up and said: + "An omen of good luck, a letter soon! + Perhaps this town has something for me!" Well, + I thought I'd get a job to pass the time + While waiting for my girl. I got the job + And here I am to-day; I've flourished here, + Worked to the top in Fairbanks in eight years, + And thus my hat blew off. + + What of the girl? + Six weeks or more a letter came from her, + She crossed the Arctic Circle, went to Nome, + Sailed back to 'Frisco where she wrote to me. + Sent all the money back I loaned to her, + And thanked me for the honor I had done her + In asking her in marriage, but had thought + The matter over, could not marry me, + Thought in the circumstances it was useless + To come to Fairbanks, see me, tell me so. + + Now, Bill, I'm egotist enough to think + This girl could do no better. Now it seems + She's dead and never married--why not me? + Why did she ditch me? So I thought about it, + Was piqued of course, concluded in the end + There was another man. A woman's no + Means she has someone else, expects to have, + More suited to her fancy. Then one morning + As I awoke with thoughts of her as usual + Right in my mind there plumped an incident + On shipboard when she asked me if I knew + A certain man in Chicago. At the time + The question passed amid our running talk, + And made no memory. But you watch and see + A woman when she asks you if you know + A certain man, the chances are the man + Is something in her life. So now I lay + And thought there is a man, and that's the man; + His name is stored away, I'll dig it up + Out of the cells subliminal--so I thought + But could not bring it back. + + I found at last + The telephone directory of Chicago, + And searched and searched the names from A to Z. + Some mornings would pronounce a name and think + That is the name, then throw the name away-- + It did not fit the echo in my brain. + + But now at last--look here! Eight years are gone, + I'm healed of Elenor Murray, married too; + And read about her death here in the _Times_, + And turn the pages over--column five-- + Chicago startled by a suicide-- + Gregory Wenner kills himself--behold + The name, at last, she spoke! + + * * * * * + + So much for waters in Alaska. Now + Turn eyes upon the waters nearer home. + Anton Sosnowski has a fateful day + And Winthrop Marion runs the story down, + And learns Sosnowski read the _Times_ the day, + He broke from brooding to a dreadful deed; + Sosnowski saw the face of Elenor Murray + And Rufus Fox upon the self-same page, + And afterwards was known to show a clipping + Concerning Elenor Murray and the banner + Of Joan of Arc, the words she wrote and folded + Within the banner: to be brave, nor flinch. + + + + +ANTON SOSNOWSKI + + + Anton Sosnowski, from the Shakspeare School + Where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts, + The day now done, sits by a smeared up table + Munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him + The evening paper spread, held down or turned + By claw-like hands, covered with shiny scars. + He broods upon the war news, and his fate + Which keeps him from the war, looks up and sees + His scarred face in the mirror over the wainscot; + His lashless eyes and browless brows and head + With patches of thin hair. And then he mutters + Hot curses to himself and turns the paper + And curses Germany, and asks revenge + For Poland's wrongs. + + And what is this he sees? + The picture of his ruin and his hate, + Wert Rufus Fox! This leader of the bar + Is made the counselor of the city, now + The city takes gas, cars and telephones + And runs them for the people. So this man + Grown rich through machinations against the people, + Who fought the people all his life before, + Abettor, aider, thinker for the slickers + Regraters and forestallers and engrossers, + Is now the friend, adviser of the city, + Which he so balked and thwarted, growing rich, + Feared, noted, bowed to for the very treason + For which he is so hated, yet deferred to. + + And Anton looks upon the picture, reads + About the great man's ancestry here printed, + And all the great achievements of his life; + Once president of the bar association, + And member of this club and of that club. + Contributor to charities and art, + A founder of a library, a vestryman. + And Anton looks upon the picture, trembles + Before the picture's eyes. They are the eyes + Of Innocent the Tenth, with cruelty + And cunning added--eyes that see all things + And boulder jaws that crush all things--the jaws + That place themselves at front of drifts, are placed + By that world irony which mocks the good, + And gives the glory and the victory + To strength and greed. + + Anton Sosnowski looks + Long at the picture, then at his own hands, + And laughs maniacally as he takes the mug + With both hands like a bird with frozen claws, + These broken, burned off hands which handle bread + As they were wooden rakes. And in a mirror + Beside the table in the wall, smeared over + With steam from red-hots, kraut and cookery, + Of smoking fats, fixed by the dust in blurs, + And streaks, he sees his own face, horrible + For scars and splotches as of leprosy; + The eyes that have no lashes and no brows; + The bullet head that has no hair, the ears + Burnt off at top. + + So comes it to this Pole + Who sees beside the picture of the lawyer + The clear cut face of Elenor Murray--yes, + She gave her spirit to the war, is dead, + Her life is being sifted now. But Fox + Lives for more honors, and by honors covers + His days of evil. + + Thus Sosnowski broods, + And lives again that moment of hell when fire + Burst like a geyser from a vat where gas + Had gathered in his ignorance; being sent + To light a drying stove within the vat, + A work not his, who was the engineer. + The gas exploded as he struck the match, + And like an insect fixed upon a pin + And held before a flame, hands, face and body + Were burned and broken as his body shot + Up and against the brewery wall. What next? + The wearisome and tangled ways of courts + With Rufus Fox for foe, four trials in all + Where juries disagreed who heard the law + Erroneously given by the court. + At last a verdict favorable, and a court + Sitting above the forum where he won + To say, as there's no evidence to show + Just how the gas got in the vat, Sosnowski + Must go for life with broken hands unhelped. + And that the fact alone of gas therein + Though naught to show his fault had brought it there, + The mere explosion did not speak a fault + Against the brewery. + + Out from court he went + To use a broom with crumpled hands, and look + For life in mirrors at his ghastly face. + And brood until suspicion grew to truth + That Rufus Fox had compassed juries, courts; + And read of Rufus Fox, who day by day + Was featured in the press for noble deeds, + For Art or Charity, for notable dinners, + Guests, travels and what not. + + So now the Pole + Reading of Elenor Murray, cursed himself + That he could brood and wait--for what?--and grow + More weak of will for brooding, while this woman + Had gone to war and served and ended it, + Yet he lived on, and could not go to war; + Saw only days of sweeping with these hands, + And every day his face within the mirror, + And every afternoon this glass of beer, + And coarse bread, and these thoughts. + And every day some story to arouse + His sense of justice; how the generous + Give and pass on, and how the selfish live + And gather honors. But Sosnowski thought + If I could do a flaming thing to show + What courts are ours, what matter if I die? + What if they took their quick-lime and erased + My flesh and bones, expunged my very name, + And made its syllables forbidden?--still + If I brought in a new day for the courts, + Have I not served? he thought. Sosnowski rose + And to the bar, drank whiskey, then went out. + + That afternoon Elihu Rufus Fox + Came home to dress for a dinner to be given + For English notables in town--to rest + After a bath, and found himself alone, + His wife at Red Cross work. And there alone, + Collarless, lounging, in a comfort chair, + Poring on Wordsworth's poems--all at once + Before he hears the door turned, rather feels + A foot-fall and a presence, hears too soon + A pistol shot, looks up and sees Sosnowski, + Who fires again, but misses; grabs the man, + Disarms him, flings him down, and finding blood + Upon his shirt sleeve, sees his hand is hit, + No other damage--then the pistol takes, + And covering Sosnowski, looks at him. + And after several seconds gets the face + Which gradually comes forth from memories + Of many cases, knows the man at last. + And studying Sosnowski, Rufus Fox + Divines what drove the fellow to this deed. + And in these moments Rufus Fox beholds + His life and work, and how he made the law + A thing to use, how he had builded friendships + In clubs and churches, courted politicians, + And played with secret powers, and compromised + Causes and truths for power and capital + To draw on as a lawyer, so to win + Favorable judgments when his skill was hired + By those who wished to win, who had to win + To keep the social order undisturbed + And wealth where it was wrenched to. + + And Rufus Fox + Knew that this trembling wreck before him knew + About this course of life at making law + And using law, and using those who sit + To administer the law. And then he said: + "Why did you do this?" + + And Sosnowski spoke: + "I meant to kill you--where's your right to live + When millions have been killed to make the world + A safer place for liberty? Where's your right + To live and have more honors, be the man + To guide the city, now that telephones, + Gas, railways have been taken by the city? + I meant to kill you just to help the poor + Who go to court. For had I killed you here + My story would be known, no matter if + They buried me in lime, and made my name + A word no man could speak. Now I have failed. + And since you have the pistol, point it at me + And kill me now--for if you tell the world + You killed me in defense of self, the world + Will never doubt you, for the world believes you + And will not doubt your word, whatever it is." + + And Rufus Fox replied: "Your mind is turned + For thinking of your case, when you should know + This country is a place of laws, and law + Must have its way, no matter who is hurt. + Now I must turn you over to the courts, + And let you feel the hard hand of the law." + Just then the wife of Rufus Fox came in, + And saw her husband with his granite jaws, + And lowering countenance, blood on his shirt, + The pistol in his hand, the scarred Sosnowski, + Facing the lawyer. + + Seeing that her husband + Had no wound but a hand clipped of the skin, + And learning what the story was, she saw + It was no time to let Sosnowski's wrong + Come out to cloud the glory of her husband, + Now that in a new day he had come to stand + With progress, fairer terms of life--to let + The corpse of a dead day be brought beside + The fresh and breathing life of brighter truth. + Quickly she called the butler, gave him charge + Over Sosnowski, who was taken out, + Held in the kitchen, while the two conferred, + The husband and the wife. + + To him she said, + They two alone now: "I can see your plan + To turn this fellow over to the law. + It will not do, my dear, it will not do. + For though I have been sharer in your life, + Partaker of its spoils and fruits, I see + This man is just a ghost of a dead day + Of your past life, perhaps, in which I shared. + But that dead life I would not resurrect + In memory even, it has passed us by, + You shall not live it more, no more shall I. + The war has changed the world--the harvest coming + Will have its tares no doubt, but the old tares + Have been cut out and burned, wholly, I trust. + And just to think you used that sharpened talent + For getting money, place, in the old regime, + To place you where to-day? Why, where you must + Use all your talents for the common good. + A barter takes two parties, and the traffic + Whereby the giants of the era gone-- + (You are a giant rising on the wreck + Of programs and of plots)--made riches for + Themselves and those they served, is gone as well. + Since gradually no one is left to serve + Or have an interest but the state or city, + The community which is all and should be all. + So here you are at last despite yourself, + Changed not in mind perhaps, but changed in place, + Work, interest, taking pride too in the work; + And speaking with your outer mind, at least + Praise for the day and work. + + I am at fault, + And take no virtue to myself--I lived + Your life with you and coveted the things + Your labors brought me. All is changed for me. + I would be poorer than this wretched Pole + Rather than go back to the day that's dead, + Or reassume the moods I lived them through. + What can we do now to undo the past, + Those days of self-indulgence, ostentation, + False prestige, witless pride, that waste of time, + Money and spirit, haunted by ennui + Insatiable emotion, thirst for change. + At least we can do this: We can set up + The race's progress and our country's glory + As standards for our work each day, go on + Perhaps in ignorance, misguided faith; + And let the end approve our poor attempts. + Now to begin, I ask two things of you: + If you or anyone who did your will + Wronged this poor Pole, make good the wrong at once. + And for the sake of bigness let him go. + For your own name's sake, let the fellow go. + Do you so promise me?" + + And Rufus Fox, + Who looked a thunder cloud of wrath and power + Before the mirror tying his white tie, + All this time silent--only spoke these words: + "Go tell the butler to keep guard on him + And hold him till we come from dinner." + + The wife + Looked at the red black face of Rufus Fox + There in the mirror, which like Lao's mirror + Reflected what his mind was, then went out + Gently to her bidding, found Sosnowski + Laughing and talking with the second maid, + Watched over by the butler, quite himself, + His pent up anger half discharged, his grudge + In part relieved. + + There was a garrulous ancient at LeRoy + Who traced all evils to monopoly + In land, all social cures to single tax. + He tried to button-hole the coroner + And tell him what he thought of Elenor Murray. + But Merival escaped. And then this man, + Consider Freeland named, got in a group + And talked his mind out of the case, the land + And what makes poverty and waste in lives: + + + + +CONSIDER FREELAND + + + Look at that tract of land there--five good acres + Held out of use these thirty years and more. + They keep a cow there. See! the cow's there now. + She can't eat up the grass, there is so much. + And in these thirty years these houses here, + Here, all around here have been built. This lot + Is worth five times the worth it had before + These houses were built round it. + + Well, by God, + I am in part responsible for this. + I started out to be a first rate lawyer. + Was I first rate lawyer? Well, I won + These acres for the Burtons in the day + When I could tell you what is gavel kind, + Advowsons, corodies, frank tenements, + Scutage, escheats, feoffments, heriots, + Remainders and reversions, and mortmain, + Tale special and tale general, tale female, + Fees absolute, conditional, copyholds; + And used to stand and argue with the courts + The difference 'twixt a purchase, limitation, + The rule in Shelley's case. + + And so it was + In my good days I won these acres here + For old man Kingston's daughter, who in turn + Bound it with limitation for the life + Of selfish sons, who keep a caretaker, + Who keeps a cow upon it. There's the cow! + The land has had no use for thirty years. + The children are kept off it. Elenor Murray, + This girl whose death makes such a stir, one time + Was playing there--but that's another story. + I only say for the present, these five acres + Made Elenor Murray's life a thing of waste + As much as anything, and a damn sight more. + For think a minute! + + Kingston had a daughter + Married to Colonel Burton in Kentucky. + And Kingston's son was in the Civil War. + But just before the war, the Burtons deeded + These acres here, which she inherited + From old man Kingston, to this Captain Kingston, + The son aforesaid of Old Kingston. Well, + The deed upon its face was absolute, + But really was a deed in trust. + + The Captain + Held title for a year or two, and then + An hour before he fought at Shiloh, made + A will, and willed acres to his wife, + Fee simple and forever. Now you'd think + That contemplating death, he'd make a deed + Giving these acres back to Mrs. Burton, + The sister who had trusted him. I don't know + What comes in people's heads, but I believe + The want of money is the root of evil, + As well as love of money; for this Captain + Perhaps would make provision for his wife + And infant son, thought that the chiefest thing + No matter how he did it, being poor, + Willed this land as he did. But anyway + He willed it so, went into Shiloh's battle, + And fell dead on the field. + + What happened then? + They took this will to probate. As I said + I was a lawyer then, you may believe it, + Was hired by the Burtons to reclaim + These acres from the Widow Kingston's clutch, + Under this wicked will. And so I argued + The will had not been witnessed according to law. + Got beat upon that point in the lower court, + But won upon it in the upper courts. + Then next I filed a bill to set aside + This deed the Burtons made to Captain Kingston-- + Oh, I was full of schemes, expedients, + In those days, I can tell you. Widow Kingston + Came back and filed a cross bill, asked the court + To confirm the title in her son and her + As heirs of Captain Kingston, let the will + Go out of thought and reckoning. Here's the issue; + You understand the case, no doubt. We fought + Through all the courts. I lost in the lower court, + As I lost on the will. There was the deed: + For love and affection and one dollar we + Convey and warrant lots from one to ten + In the city of LeRoy, to Captain Kingston + To be his own forever. + + How to go + Behind such words and show the actual trust + Inhering in the deed, that was the job. + But here I was resourceful as before, + Found witnesses to testify they heard + This Captain Kingston say he held the acres + In trust for Mrs. Burton--but I lost + Before the chancellor, had to appeal, + But won on the appeal, and thus restored + These acres to the Burtons. And for this + What did I get? Three hundred lousy dollars. + That's why I smoke a pipe; that's also why + I quit the business when I saw the business + Was making ready to quit me. By God, + My life is waste so far as it was used + By this law business, and no coroner + Need hold an inquest on me to find out + What waste was in my life--God damn the law! + + Well, then I go my way, and take my fee, + And pay my bills. The Burtons have the land, + And turn a cow upon it. See how nice + A playground it would be. I've seen ten sets + Of children try to play there--hey! you hear, + The caretaker come out, get off of there! + And then the children scamper, climb the fence. + + Well, after while the Burtons die. The will + Leaves these five acres to their sons for life, + Remainder to the children of the sons. + The sons are living yet at middle life, + These acres have been tied up twenty years, + They may be tied up thirty years beside: + The sons can't sell it, and their children can't, + Only the cow can use it, as it stands. + It grows more valuable as the people come here, + And bring in being Elenor Murrays, children, + And make the land around it populous. + That's what makes poverty, this holding land, + It makes the taxes harder on the poor, + It makes work scarcer, and it takes your girls + And boys and throws them into life half made, + Half ready for the battle. Is a country + Free where the laws permit such things? Your priests, + Your addle-headed preachers mouthing Christ + And morals, prohibition, laws to force + People to be good, to save the girls, + When every half-wit knows environment + Takes natures, made unstable in these homes + Of poverty and does the trick. + + That baronet + Who mocked our freedom, sailing back for England + And said: Your Liberty Statue in the harbor + Is just a joke, that baronet is right, + While such conditions thrive. + + Well, look at me + Who for three hundred dollars take a part + In making a cow pasture for a cow + For fifty years or so. I hate myself. + And were the Burtons better than this Kingston? + Kingston would will away what was not his. + The Burtons took what is the gift of God, + As much as air, and fenced it out of use-- + Save for the cow aforesaid--for the lives + Of sons in being. + + Oh, I know you think + I have a grudge. I have. + + This Elenor Murray + Was ten years old I think, this law suit ended + Twelve years or so, and I was running down, + Was tippling just a little every day; + And I came by this lot one afternoon + When school was out, a sunny afternoon. + The children had no place except the street + To play in; they were standing by the fence, + The cow was way across the lot, and Elenor + Was looking through the fence, some boys and girls + Standing around her, and I said to them: + "Why don't you climb the fence and play in there?" + And Elenor--she always was a leader, + And not afraid of anything, said: "Come on," + And in a jiffy climbed the fence, the children, + Some quicker and some slower, followed her. + Some said "They don't allow it." Elenor + Stood on the fence, flung up her arms and crowed, + And said "What can they do? He says to do it," + Pointing at me. And in a moment all of them + Were playing and were shouting in the lot. + And I stood there and watched them half malicious, + And half in pleasure watching them at play. + Then I heard "hey!" the care-taker ran out. + And said "Get out of there, I will arrest you." + He drove them out and as they jumped the fence + Some said, "He told us to," pointing at me. + And Elenor Murray said "Why, what a lie!" + And then the care-taker grabbed Elenor Murray + And said, "You are the wildest of them all." + I spoke up, saying, "Leave that child alone. + I won this God damn land for those you serve, + They use it for a cow and nothing else, + And let these children run about the streets, + When there are grass and dandelions there + In plenty for these children, and the cow, + And space enough to play in without bothering + That solitary cow." I took his hands + Away from Elenor Murray; he and I + Came face to face with clenched fists--but at last + He walked away; the children scampered off. + + Next day, however, they arrested me + For aiding in a _trespass clausam fregit_, + And fined me twenty dollars and the costs. + Since then the cow has all her way in there. + And Elenor Murray left this rotten place, + Went to the war, came home and died, and proved + She had the sense to leave so vile a world. + + * * * * * + + George Joslin ending up his days with dreams + Of youth in Europe, travels, and with talk, + Stirred to a recollection of a face + He saw in Paris fifty years before, + Because the face resembled Elenor Murray's, + Explored his drawers and boxes, where he kept + Mementos, treasures of the olden days. + And found a pamphlet, came to Merival, + With certain recollections, and with theories + Of Elenor Murray:-- + + + + +GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN + + + Here, Coroner Merival, look at this picture! + Whom does it look like? Eyes too crystalline, + A head like Byron's, tender mouth, and neck, + Slender and white, a pathos as of smiles + And tears kept back by courage. Yes, you know + It looks like Elenor Murray. + + Well, you see + I read each day about the inquest--good! + Dig out the truth, begin a system here + Of making family records, let us see + If we can do for people when we know + How best to do it, what is done for stock. + So build up Illinois, the nation too. + I read about you daily. And last night + When Elenor Murray's picture in the _Times_ + Looked at me, I began to think, Good Lord, + Where have I seen that face before? I thought + Through more than fifty years departed, sent + My mind through Europe and America + In all my travels, meetings, episodes. + I could not think. At last I opened up + A box of pamphlets, photographs, mementos, + Picked up since 1860, and behold + I find this pamphlet of La Belle Menken. + Here is your Elenor Murray born again, + As here might be your blackbird of this year + With spots of red upon his wings, the same + As last year's blackbird, like a pansy springing + Out of the April of this year, repeating + The color, form of one you saw last year. + Repeating and the same, but not the same; + No two alike, you know. I'll come to that. + + Well, then, La Menken--as a boy in Paris + I saw La Menken, I'll return to this. + But just as Elenor Murray has her life + Shadowed and symbolized by our Starved Rock-- + And everyone has something in his life + Which takes him, makes him, is the image too + Of fate prefigured--La Menken has Mazeppa, + Her notable first part as actress, emblem + Of spirit, character, and of omen too + Of years to come, the thrill of life, the end. + + Who is La Menken? Symbol of America, + One phase of spirit! She was venturesome, + Resourceful, daring, hopeful, confident, + And as she wrote of self, a vagabond, + A dweller in tents, a reveler, and a flame + Aspiring but disreputable, coming up + With leaves that shamed her stalk, could not be shed, + But stuck out heavy veined and muddy hued + In time of blossom. There are souls, you know, + Who have shed shapeless immaturities, + Betrayals of the seed before the blossom + Comes to proclaim a beauty, a perfection; + Or risen with their stalk, until such leaves + Were hidden in the grass or soil--not she, + Nor even your Elenor Murray, as I read her. + But being America and American, + Brings good and bad together, blossom and leaves + With prodigal recklessness, in vital health + And unselective taste and vision mixed + Of beauty and of truth. + + Who was La Menken? + She's born in Louisiana in thirty-five, + Left fatherless at seven--mother takes her + And puts her in the ballet at New Orleans. + She dances then from Texas clear to Cuba; + Then gives up dancing, studies tragedy, + And plays Bianca! Fourteen years of age + Weds Menken, who's a Jew, divorced from him; + Then falls in love with Heenan, pugilist. + They quarrel and separate--it's in this pamphlet + Just as I tell you; you can take it, Coroner. + Now something happens, nothing in her birth + Or place of birth to prophesy her life + Like Starved Rock to this Elenor--being grown, + A hand instead is darted from the curtain + That hangs between to-day, to-morrow, sticks + A symbol on her heart and whispers to her: + You're this, my woman. Well, the thing was this: + She played Mazeppa: take your dummy off, + And lash me to the horse. They were afraid, + But she prevailed, was nearly killed the first night, + And after that succeeded, was the rage + And for her years remaining found herself + Lashed to the wild horse of ungoverned will, + Which ran and wandered, till she knew herself + With stronger will than vision, passion stronger + Than spirit to judge; the richness of the world, + Love, beauty, living, greater than her power. + And all the time she had the appetite + To eat, devour it all. Grown sick at last, + She diagnosed her case, wrote to a friend: + The soul and body do not fit each other-- + A human spirit in a horse's flesh. + This is your Elenor Murray, in a way. + But to return to pansies, run your hand + Over a bed of pansies; here's a pansy + With petals stunted, here's another one + All perfect but one petal, here's another + Too streaked or mottled--all are pansies though. + And here is one full petaled, strikes the eye + With perfect color, markings. Elenor Murray + Has something of the color and the form + Of this La Menken, but is less a pansy, + And Sappho, Rachel, Bernhardt are the flowers + La Menken strove to be, and could not be, + Ended with being only of their kind. + And now there's pity for this Elenor Murray, + And people wept when poor La Menken died. + Both lived and had their way. I hate this pity, + It makes you overlook there are two hours: + The hour of joy, the hour of finding out + Your joy was all mistake, or led to pain. + We who inspect these lives behold the pain, + And see the error, do not keep in mind + The hour of rapture, and the pride, indeed + With which your Elenor Murrays and La Menkens + Have lived that hour, elation, pride and scorn + For any other way--"this is the life" + I hear them say. + + Well, now I go along. + La Menken fills her purse with gold--she sends + Her pugilist away, tries once again + And weds a humorist, an Orpheus Kerr-- + And plays before the miners out in 'Frisco, + And Sacramento, gathers in the eagles. + She goes to Europe then--with husband? No! + James Barkley is her fellow on the voyage. + She lands in London, takes a gorgeous suite + In London's grandest hostlery, entertains + Charles Dickens, Prince Baerto and Charles Read, + The Duke of Wellington and Swinburne, Sand + And Jenny Lind; and has a liveried coachman; + And for a crest a horse's head surmounting + Four aces, if you please. And plays Mazeppa, + And piles the money up. + + Then next is Paris. + And there I saw her, 1866, + When Louis Napoleon and the King of Greece, + The Prince Imperial were in a box. + + She wandered to Vienna, there was ill, + Came back to Paris, died, a stranger's grave + In Pere la Chaise was given, afterwards + Exhumed in Mont Parnasse was buried, got + A little stone with these words carved upon it: + "Thou Knowest" meaning God knew, while herself + Knew nothing of herself. + + But when in Paris + They sold her picture taken with her arms + Around Dumas, and photographs made up + Of postures ludicrous, obscene as well, + Of her and great Dumas, I have them home. + Can show you sometime. Well she loved Dumas, + Inscribed a book of poems to Charles Dickens, + By his permission, mark you--don't you see + Your Elenor Murray here? This Elenor Murray + A miniature imperfect of La Menken? + She loved sensation, all her senses thrilled her; + A delicate soul too weighted by the flesh; + A coquette, quick of wit, intuitive, + Kind, generous, unaffected, mystical, + Teased by the divine in life, and melancholy, + Of deep emotion sometimes. One has said + She had a nature spiritual, religious + Which warred upon the flesh and fell in battle; + Just as your Elenor Murray joined the church, + And did not keep the faith, if truth be told. + + Now look, here is a letter in this pamphlet + La Menken writes a poet--for she hunts + For seers and for poets, lofty souls. + And who does that? A woman wholly bad? + Why no, a woman to be given life + Fit for her spirit in another realm + By God who will take notice, I believe. + Now listen if you will! "I know your soul. + It has met mine somewhere in starry space. + And you must often meet me, vagabond + Of fancy without aim, a dweller in tents + Disreputable before the just. Just think + I am a linguist, write some poems too, + Can paint a little, model clay as well. + And yet for all these gropings of my soul + I am a vagabond, of little use. + My body and my soul are in a scramble + And do not fit each other--let them carve + Those words upon my stone, but also these + Thou Knowest, for God knows me, knows I love + Whatever is good and beautiful in life; + And that my soul has sought them without rest. + Farewell, my friend, my spirit is with you, + Vienna is too horrible, but know Paris + Then die content." + + Now, Coroner Merival, + You're not the only man who wants to see, + Will work to make America a republic + Of splendors, freedoms, happiness, success. + Though I am seventy-six, cannot do much, + Save talk, as I am talking now, bring forth + Proofs, revelations from the years I've lived. + I care not how you view the lives of people, + As pansy beds or what not, lift your faith + So high above the pansy bed it sees + The streaked and stunted pansies filling in + The pattern that the perfect pansies outline, + Therefore are smiling, even indifferent + To this poor conscious pansy, dying at last + Because it could not be the flower it wished. + My heart to Elenor Murray and La Menken + Goes out in sorrow, even while I know + They shook their leaves in April, laughed and thrilled, + And either did not know, or did not care + The growing time was precious, and if wasted + Could never be regained. Look at La Menken + At seven years put in the ballet corps; + And look at Elenor Murray getting smut + Out of experience that made her wise. + What shall we do about it?--let it go? + And say there is no help, or say a republic, + Set up a hundred years ago, raised to the helm + Of rulership as president a list + Of men more able than the emperors, + Kings, rulers of the world, and statesmen too + The equal of the greatest, money makers, + And domineers of finance and economies + Phenomenal in time--say, I repeat + A country like this one must let its children + Waste as they wasted in the darker years + Of Europe. Shall we let these trivial minds + Who see salvation, progress in restraint, + Pre-empt the field of moulding human life? + Or shall we take a hand, and put our minds + Upon the task, as recently we built + An army for the war, equipped and fed it, + An army better than all other armies, + More powerful, more apt of hand and brain, + Of thin tall youths, who did stop but said + Like poor La Menken, strap me to the horse + I'll do it if I die--so giving to peace + The skill and genius which we use in war, + Though it cost twenty billion, and why not? + Why every dollar, every drop of blood + For war like this to guard democracy, + And not so much or more to build the land, + Improve our blood, make individual + America and her race? And first to rout + Poverty and disease, give youth its chance, + And therapeutic guidance. Soldier boys + Have huts for recreation, clergymen, + And is it more, less worth to furnish hands + Intimate, hearts intimate for the use + Of your La Menkens, Elenor Murrays, youths + Who feel such vigor in their restless wings + They tumble out of crowded nests and fly + To fall in thickets, dash themselves against + Walls, trees? + + I have a vision, Coroner, + Of a new Republic, brighter than the sun, + A new race, loftier faith, this land of ours + Made over as to people, boys and girls, + Conserved like forests, water power or mines; + Watched, tested, put to best use, keen economies + Practiced in spirits, waste of human life, + Hope, aspiration, talent, virtues, powers, + Avoided by a science, science of life, + Of spirit, what you will. Enough of war, + And billions for the flag--all well enough! + Some billions now to make democracy + Democracy in truth with us, and life + Not helter-skelter, hitting as it may, + And missing much, as this La Menken did. + I'm not convinced we must have stunted pansies, + That have no use but just to piece the pattern. + Let's try, and if we try and fail, why then + Our human duty ends, the God in us + Will have it just this way, no other way. + And then we may accept so poor a world, + A republic so unfinished. + + * * * * * + + Will Paget is another writer of letters + To Coroner Merival. The coroner + Spends evenings reading letters, keeps a file + Where he preserves them. And the blasphemy + Of Paget makes him laugh. He has an evening + And reads this letter to the jurymen: + + + + +WILL PAGET ON DEMOS AND HOGOS + + + To Coroner Merival, greetings, but a voice + Dissentient from much that goes the rounds, + Concerning Elenor Murray. Here's my word: + Give men and women freedom, save the land + From dull theocracy--the theo, what? + A blend of Demos and Jehovah! Say, + Bring back your despots, bring your Louis Fourteenths, + And give them thrones of gold and ivory + From where with leaded sceptres they may whack + King Demos driven forth. You know the face? + The temples are like sea shells, hollows out, + Which narrow close the space for cortex cells. + There would be little brow if hair remained; + But hair is gone, because the dandruff came. + The eyes are close together like a weasel's; + The jaws are heavy, that is character; + The mouth is thin and wide to gobble chicken; + The paunch is heavy for the chickens eaten. + Throned high upon a soap box Demos rules, + And mumbles decalogues: Thou shalt not read, + Save what I tell you, never books that tell + Of men and women as they live and are. + Thou shalt not see the dramas which portray + The evil passions and satiric moods + Which mock this Christian nation and its hope. + Thou shalt not drink, not even wine or beer. + Thou shalt not play at cards, or see the races. + Thou shalt not be divorced! Thou shalt not play. + Thou shalt not bow to graven images + Of beauty cut in marble, fused in bronze. + Behold my name is Demos, King of Kings, + My name is legion, I am many, come + Out of the sea where many hogs were drowned, + And now the ruler of hogocracy, + Where in the name of freedom hungry snouts + Root up the truffles in your great republic, + And crunch with heavy jaws the legs and arms + Of people who fall over in the pen. + Hierarchies in my name are planted under + Your states political to sprout and take + The new world's soil,--religious freedom this!-- + Thought must be free--unless your thought objects + To such dominion, and to literal faith + In an old book that never had a place + Except beside the Koran, Zarathustra. + So here is your theocracy and here + The land of Boredom. Do you wonder now + That people cry for war? You see that God + Frowns on all games but war. You shall not play + Or kindle spirit with a rapture save + A moral end's in view. All joy is sin, + Where joy stands for itself alone, nor asks + Consent to be, save for itself. But war + Waged to put down the wrong, it's always that; + To vindicate God's truths, all wars are such, + Is game that lets the spirit play, is backed + By God and moral reasons, therefore war, + A game disguised as business, cosmic work + For great millenniums, no less relieves + The boredom of theocracies. But if + Your men and women had the chance to play, + Be free and spend superfluous energies, + In what I call the greatest game, that's Life, + Have life more freely, deeply, and you say + How would you like a war and lose a leg, + Or come from battle sick for all your years? + You would say no, unless you saw an issue, + Stripped clean of Christian twaddle, as we'll say + The Greeks beheld the Persians. Well, behold + All honest paganism in such things discarded + For God who comes in glory, trampling presses + Filled up with grapes of wrath. + + Now hear me out: + I knew we'd have a war, it wasn't only + That your hogocracy was grunting war + We'd fight Japan, take Mexico--remember + How dancing flourished madly in the land; + Then think of savages who dance the Ghost Dance, + And cattle lowing, rushing in a panic, + There's psychic secrets here. But then at last + What can you do with life? You're well and strong, + Flushed with desire, mad with appetites, + You turn this way and find a sign forbidden, + You turn that way and find the door is closed. + Hogocracy, King Demos say, go back, + Find work, develop character, restrain, + Draw up your belt a little tighter, hunger + And thirst diminish with a tighter belt. + And none to say, take off the belt and eat, + Here's water for you. + + Well, you have a war. + We used to say in foot ball kick their shins, + And gouge their eyes out--when our shins were kicked + We hollered foul and ouch. There was the south + Who called us mud-sills in this freer north, + And mouthed democracy; and as for that + Their churches made of God a battle leader, + An idea come from Palestine; oh, yes, + They soon would wipe us up, they were the people. + But when we slaughtered them they hollered ouch. + And why not? For a gun and uniform, + And bands that play are rapturous enough. + But when you get a bullet through the heart, + The game is not so funny as it was. + That's why I hated Germany and hate her, + And feel we could not let this German culture + Spread over earth. That culture was but this: + Life must have an expression and a game, + And war's the game, besides the prize is great + In land and treasure, commerce, let us play, + It lets the people's passions have a vent + When fires of life burn hot and hotter under + The kettle and the lid is clamped by work, + Dull duty, daily routine, inhibitions. + Before this Elenor Murray woke to life + LeRoy was stirring, but the stir was play. + It was a Gretna Green, and pleasure boats + Ran up and down the river--on the streets + You heard the cry of barkers, in the park + The band was playing, and you heard the ring + Of registers at fountains and buffets. + All this was shabby maybe, but observe + There are those souls who see the wrath of God + As blackest background to the light of soul: + And when the thunder rumbles and the storm + Comes up with lightning then they say to men + Who laugh in bar-rooms, "Have a care, blasphemers, + You may be struck by lightning"--here's the root + From which this mood ascetic comes to leaf + In all theocracies, and throws a shadow + Upon all freedom. + + Look at us to-day. + They say to me, see what a town we have: + The men at work, smoke coming from the chimneys, + The banks full up of money, business good, + The workmen sober, going home at night, + No rowdy barkers and no bands a-playing, + No drinking and no gaming and no vice. + No marriages contracted to be broken. + Look how LeRoy is quiet, sane and clean! + And I reply, you like the stir of work, + But not the stir of play; your chimneys smoke, + Your banks have money. Let me look behind + The door that closes on your man at home, + The wife and children there, what shall I find? + A sick man looks to health as it were all, + But when the fever leaves him and he feels + The store of strength in muscles slumbering + And waiting to be used, then something else + Than health is needful, he must have a way + To voice the life within him, and he wonders + Why health seemed so desirable before, + And all sufficient to him. + + Take this girl: + Why do you marvel that she rode at night + With any man who came along? Good God, + If I were born a woman and they put me + In a theocracy, hogocracy, + I'd do the first thing that came in my mind + To give my soul expression. Don't you think + You're something of a bully and a coward + To ask such model living from this girl + When you, my grunting hogos, run the land + And bring us scandals like the times of Grant, + And poisoned beef sold to the soldier boys, + When we were warring Spain, and all this stuff + Concerning loot and plunder, malversation, + That riots in your cities, printed daily? + I roll the panoramic story out + To Washington the great--what do I see? + It's tangle foot, the sticky smear is dry; + But I can find wings, legs and heads, remember + How little flies and big were buzzing once + Of God and duty, country, virtue, faith; + And beating wings, already gummed with sweet, + Until their little bellies touched the glue, + They sought to fill their bellies with--at last + Long silence, which is history, scroll rolled up + And spoken of in sacred whispers. + + Well, + I'm glad that Elenor Murray had her fling, + If that be really true. I understand + What drove her to the war. I think she knew + Too much to marry, settle down and live + Under the rule of Demos or of Hogos. + I wish we had a dozen Elenor Murrays + In every village in this land of Demos + To down Theocracy, which is just as bad + As Prussianism, is no different + From Prussianism. And I fear but this + As fruitage of the war: that men and women + Will have burnt on their souls the words ceramic + That war's the thing, and this theocracy, + Where generous outlets for the soul are stopped + Will keep the words in mind. When boredom comes, + And grows intolerable, you'll see the land + Go forth to war to get a thrill and live-- + Unless we work for freedom, for delight + And self-expression. + + * * * * * + + Dwight Henry is another writer of letters, + Stirred by the Murray inquest; writes a screed + "The House that Jack Built," read by Merival + To entertain his jury, in these words: + + + + +THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT + + + Why don't they come to me to find the cause + Of Elenor Murray's death? The house is first; + That is the world, and Jack is God, you know; + The malt is linen, purple, wine and food, + The rats that get the malt are nobles, lords, + Those who had feudal dues and hunting rights, + And privileges, first nights, all the rest. + The cats are your Voltaires, Rousseaus; the dogs, + Your jailers, Louis, Fredericks and such. + And O, you blessed cow, you common people, + Whom maidens all forlorn attend and milk. + Here is your Elenor Murray who gives hands, + Brain, heart and spirit to the task of milking, + And straining milk that other lips may drink, + Revive and flourish, wedding, if she weds, + The tattered man in church, which is your priest + Shaven and shorn, and wakened with the sun + By the cock, theology that keeps the house + Well timed and ruled for honor unto Jack, + Who must have order, rising on the hour, + And ceremony for his house. + + If rats + Had never lived, or left the malt alone, + This girl had lived. Let's trace the story down: + We went to France to fight, we go to France + To get the origin of Elenor's death. + It's 1750, say, the malt of France + And Europe, too, is over-run by rats; + The nobles and the clergy own the land, + Exact the taxes, drink the luscious milk + Of the crumpled horns. But cats come slinking by + Called Diderot, Voltaire, Rousseau. Now look! + Cat Diderot goes after war and taxes, + The slave trade, privilege, the merchant stomach. + In England, too, there is a sly grimalkin, + Who poisons rats with most malicious thoughts, + And bears the name of Adam--Adam Smith, + By Jack named Adam just to signify + His sinful nature. But the cat Voltaire + Says Adam never fell, that man is good, + An honest merchant better than a king, + And shaven priests are worse than parasites. + He rubs his glossy coat against the legs + Of Quakers, loving natures, loathes the trade + Of war, and runs with velvet feet across + The whole of Europe, scaring rats to death. + The cat Rousseau is instinct like a cat, + And purrs that man born free is still in chains + Here in this house that Jack built. Consequence? + There is such squeaking, running of the rats, + The cats in North America wake up + And drive the English rats out; then the dogs + Grow cautious of the cats, poor simple Louis + Convokes a French assembly to preserve + The malt against the rats and give the cow + Whose milk is growing blue and thin some malt. + And all at once rats, cats and dogs, the cow, + The shaven priest, the maiden all forlorn, + The tattered man, the cock, are in a hubbub + Of squeaking, caterwauling, barking, lowing, + With cock-a-doodles, curses, prayers and shrieks + Ascending from the melee. In a word, + You have a revolution. + + All at once + A mastiff dog appears and barks: "Be still." + And in a way in France's room in the house + Brings order for a time. He grabs the fabric + Of the Holy Roman Empire, tears it up, + Sends for the shaven priest from Rome and bites + His shrunken calves; trots off to Jena where + He whips the Prussian dogs, but wakes them too + To breed and multiply, grow strong to fight + All other dogs in Jack's house, bite to death + The maidens all forlorn, like Elenor Murray. + + This mastiff, otherwise Napoleon called, + Is downed at last by dogs from everywhere. + They're rid of him--but still the house of Jack + Is better than it was, the rats are thick, + But cats grow more abundant, malt is served + More generously to the cow. The Prussian dogs + Discover malt's the thing, also the cow + Must have her malt, or else the milk gives out. + But all the while the Prussian dogs grow strong, + Well taught and angered by Napoleon. + And some of them would set the house in order + After the manner of America. + But many wish to fight, get larger rooms, + Then set the whole in order. At Sadowa + They whip the Austrian dogs, and once again + A mastiff comes, a Bismarck, builds a suite + From north to south, and forces Austria + To huddle in the kitchen, use the outhouse + Where Huns and Magyars, Bulgars and the rest + Keep Babel under Jack who split their tongues + To make them hate each other and suspect, + Not understanding what the other says. + This very Babel was the cause of death + Of Elenor Murray, if I chose to stop + And go no further with the story. + + Next + Our mastiff Bismarck thinks of Luneville, + And would avenge it, grabs the throat of France, + And downs her; at Versailles growls and carries + An emperor of Germany to the throne. + Then pants and wags his tail, and little dreams + A dachshund in an early day to come + Will drive him from the kennel and the bone + He loves to crunch and suck. + + This dachshund is + In one foot crippled, rabies from his sires + Lies dormant in him, in a day of heat + Froth from his mouth will break, his eyes will roll + Like buttons made of pearl with glints of green. + Already he feels envy of the dogs + Who wear brass collars, bay the moon of Jack, + And roam at will about the house of Jack, + The English, plainer said. This envy takes + The form of zeal for country, so he trots + About the house, gets secrets for reforms + For Germany, would have his lesser dogs + All merchants, traders sleek and prosperous, + Achieve a noble breed to rule the house. + And so he puts his rooms in order, while + The other dogs look on with much concern + And growing fear. + + The business of the house + In every room is over malt; the cow + Must be well fed for milk. And if you have + No feudal dues, outlandish taxes, still + The game of old goes on, has only changed + Its dominant form. Grimalkin, Adam Smith + Spied all the rats, and all the tricks of rats, + Saw in his day the rats crawl hawser ropes + And get on ships, embark for Indias, + And get the malt; and now the merchant ships + For China bound, for Africa, for the Isles + Of farthest seas take rats, who slip aboard + And eat their fill before the patient cow, + Milked daily as before can lick her tongue + Against a mouthful of the precious stuff. + You have your eastern question, and your Congo. + France wants Morocco, gives to Germany + Possessions in the Congo for Morocco. + The dogs jump into China, even we + Take part and put the Boxers down, lay hands + Upon the Philippines, and Egypt falls + To England, all are building battle ships. + The dachshund barking he is crowded out, + Encircled, as he says, builds up the army, + And patriot cocks are crowing everywhere, + Until the house of Jack with snarls and growls, + The fuff, fuff, fuff of cats seems on the eve + Of pandemonium. The Germans think + The Slavs want Europe, and the Slavs are sure + The Germans want it, and it's all for malt. + Meantime the Balkan Babel leads to war. + The Slavic peoples do not like the rule + Of Austro-Hungary, but the latter found + No way except to rule the Slavs and rule + Southeastern Europe, being crowded out + By mastiff Bismarck. And again there's Jack + Who made confusion of the Balkan tongues. + And so the house awaits events that look + As if Jack willed them, anyway a thing + That may be put on Jack. It comes at last. + All have been armed for malt. A crazy man + Has armed himself and shoots a king to be, + The Archduke Francis, on the Serbian soil, + Then Austria moves on Serbia, Russia moves + To succor Serbia, France is pledged to help + The Russians, but our dachshund has a bond + With Austria and rushes to her aid. + Then England must protect the channel, yes, + France must be saved--and here you have your war. + + And now for Elenor Murray. Top of brain + Where ideals float like clouds, we owed to France + A debt, but had we paid it, if the dog, + The dachshund, mad at last, had left our ships + To freedom of the seas? Say what you will, + This England is the smartest thing in time, + Can never fall, be conquered while she keeps + That mind of hers, those eyes that see all things, + Spies or no spies, knows every secret hatched + In every corner of the house of Jack. + And with one language spoken by more souls + Than any tongue, leads minds by written words; + Writes treaties, compacts which forstall the sword, + And makes it futile when it's drawn against her.... + You cuff your enemy at school or make + A naso-digital gesture, coming home + You fear your enemy, so walk beside + The gentle teacher; if your enemy + Throws clods at you, he hits the teacher. Well, + 'Twas wise to hide munitions back of skirts, + And frocks of little children, most unwise + For Dachshund William to destroy the skirts + And frocks to sink munitions, since the wearers + Happened to be Americans. William fell + Jumping about his room and spilled the clock, + Raked off the mantel; broke his billikens, + His images of Jack by doing this. + For, seeing this, we rise; ten million youths + Take guns for war, and many Elenor Murrays + Swept out of placid places by the ripples + Cross seas to serve. + + This girl was French in part, + In spirit was American. Look back + Do you not see Voltaire lay hold of her, + Hands out of tombs and spirits, from the skies + Lead her to Europe? Trace the causes back + To Adam, or the dwellers of the lakes, + It is enough to see the souls that stirred + The Revolution of the French which drove + The ancient evils from the house of Jack. + It is enough to hope that from this war + The vestiges of feudal wrongs shall lie + In Jack's great dust-pan, swept therein and thrown + In garbage cans by maidens all forlorn, + The Fates we'll call them now, lame goddesses, + Hags halt, far sighted, seeing distant things, + Near things but poorly--this is much to hope! + But if we get a freedom that is free + For Elenor Murrays, maidens all forlorn, + And tattered men, and so prevent the wars, + Already budding in this pact of peace, + This war is good, and Elenor Murray's life + Not waste, but gain. + + Now for a final mood, + As it were second sight. I open the door, + Walk from the house of Jack, look at the roof, + The chimneys, over them see depths of blue. + Jack's house becomes a little ark that sails, + Tosses and bobbles in an infinite sea. + And all events of evil, war and strife, + The pain and folly, test of this and that, + The groping from one thing to something else, + Old systems turned to new, old eras dead, + New eras rising, these are ripples all + Moving from some place in the eternal sea + Where Jack is throwing stones,--these ripples lap + Against the house of Jack, or toss it so + The occupants go reeling here and there, + Laugh, scowl, grow sick, tread on each other's toes. + While all the time the sea is most concerned + With tides and currents, little with the house, + Ignore this Elenor Murray or Voltaire, + Who living and who dying reproduce + Ripples upon the pools of time and place, + That knew them; and so on where neither eye + Nor mind can trace the ripples vanishing + In ether, realms of spirit, what you choose! + + * * * * * + + Now on a day when Merival was talking + More evidence at the inquest, he is brought + The card of Mary Black, associate + Of Elenor Murray in the hospital + Of France, and asks the coroner to hear + What Elenor Murray suffered in the war. + And Merival consents and has her sworn; + She testifies as follows to the jury: + + Poor girl, she had an end! She seems to me + A torch stuck in a bank of clay, snuffed out, + Her warmth and splendor wasted. Never girl + Had such an ordeal and a fate before. + She was the lucky one at first, and then + Evils and enemies flocked down upon her, + And beat her to the earth. + + But when we sailed + You never saw so radiant a soul, + While most of us were troubled, for you know + Some were in gloom, had quarreled with their beaux, + Who did not say farewell. And there were some + Who talked for weeks ahead of seeing beaux + And having dinners with them who missed out. + + We were a tearful, a deserted lot. + And some were apprehensive--well you know! + But Elenor, she had a beau devoted + Who sent her off with messages and love, + And comforts for her service in the war. + And so her face was lighted, she was gay, + And said to us: "How wonderful it is + To serve, to nurse, to play our little part + For country, for democracy." And to me + She said: "My heart is brimming over with love. + Now I can work and nurse, now use my hands + To soothe and heal, which burn to finger tips, + With flame for service." + + Oh she had the will, + The courage, resolution; but at last + They broke her down. And this is how it was: + Her love for someone gave her zeal and grace + For watching, working, caring for the sick. + Her heart was in the cause too--but this love + Gave beauty, passion to it. All her men + Stretched out to kiss her hands. It may be true + The wounded soldier is a grateful soul. + But in her case they felt a warmer flame, + A greater tenderness. So she won her spurs, + And honors, was beloved, she had a brain, + A fine intelligence. Then at the height + Of her success, she disobeyed a doctor-- + He was a pigmy--Elenor knew more + Than he did, but you know the discipline: + War looses all the hatreds, meanest traits + Together with the noblest, so she crumpled, + Was disciplined for this. About this time + A letter to the head nurse came--there was + A Miriam Fay, who by some wretched fate + Was always after Elenor--it was she + Who wrote the letter, and the letter said + To keep a watch on Elenor, lest she snag + Some officer or soldier. Elenor, + Who had no caution, venturesome and brave, + Wrote letters more than frank to one she loved + Whose tenor leaked out through the censorship. + Her lover sent her telegrams, all opened, + And read first by the head nurse. So at last + Too much was known, and Elenor was eyed, + And whispers ran around. Those ugly girls, + Who never had a man, were wagging tongues, + And still her service was so radiant, + So generous and skillful she survived, + Helped by the officers, the leading doctors, + Who liked her and defended her, perhaps + In hopes of winning her--you know the game! + It was through them she went to Nice; but when + She came back to her duty all was ready + To catch her and destroy her--envy played + Its part, as you can see. + + Our unit broke, + And some of us were sent to Germany, + And some of us to other places--all + Went with some chum, associate. But Elenor, + Who was cut off from every one she knew, + And shipped out like an animal to be + With strangers, nurses, doctors, wholly strange. + The head nurse passed the word along to watch her. + And thus it was her spirit, once aflame + For service and for country, fed and brightened + By love for someone, thus was left to burn + In darkness and in filth. + + The hospital + Was cold, the rain poured, and the mud was frightful-- + Poor Elenor was writing me--the food + Was hardly fit to eat. To make it worse + They put her on night duty for a month. + Smallpox broke out and they were quarantined. + A nurse she chose to be her friend was stricken + With smallpox, died and left her all alone. + One rainy morning she heard guns and knew + A soldier had been stood against the wall. + He was a boy from Texas, driven mad + By horror and by drink, had killed a Frenchman. + She had the case of crazy men at night, + And one of them got loose and knocked her down, + And would have killed her, had an orderly + Not come in time. And she was cold at night, + Sat bundled up so much she scarce could walk + There in that ward on duty. Everywhere + They thwarted her and crossed her, she was nagged, + Brow-beaten, driven, hunted and besought + For favors, for the word was well around + She was the kind who could be captured--false, + The girl was good whatever she had done. + All this she suffered, and her lover now + Had cast her off, it seems, had ceased to write, + Had gone back to America--even then + They did not wholly break her. + + But I ask + What soldier or what nurse retained his faith, + The splendor of his flame? I wish to God + They'd pass a law and make it death to write + Or speak of war as glory, or as good. + What good can come of hatred, greed and murder? + War licenses these passions, legalizes + All infamies. They talk of cruelties-- + We shot the German captives--and I nursed + A boy who shot a German, with two others + Rushed on the fallen fellow, ran him through, + Through eyes and throat with bayonets. The world + Is better, is it? And if Indians scalped + Our women for the British, and if Sherman + Cut through the south with sword and flame, to-day + Such terrors should not be, we are improved! + Yes, hate and lust have changed, and maniac rage, + And rum has lost its potency to fire + A nerve that sickens at the bloody work + Where men are butchered as you shoot and slash + An animal for food! + + Well, now suppose + The preachers who preach Jesus meek and mild, + But fulminate for slaughter, when the game + Of money turns its thumbs down; if your statesmen + With hardened arteries and hardened hearts, + Who make a cult of patriotism, gain + Their offices and livelihood thereby; + Your emperors and kings and chancellors, + Who glorify themselves and win sometimes + Lands for their people; and your editors + Who whip the mob to fury, bellies fat, + Grown cynical, and rich, who cannot lose, + No matter what we suffer--if we nurses, + And soldiers fail; your patriotic shouters + Of murder and of madness, von Bernhardis, + Treitschkes, making pawns of human life + To shape a destiny they can't control-- + Your bankers and your merchants--all the gang + Who shout for war and pay the orators, + Arrange the music--if I say--this crowd + Finds us, the nurses and the soldiers, cold, + Our fire of youth and faith beyond command, + Too wise to be enlisted or enslaved, + What will they do who shout for war so much? + + And haven't we, the nurses and the soldiers + Written some million stories for the eyes + Of boys and girls to read these fifty years? + And if they read and understand, no war + Can come again. They can't have war without + The spirit of your Elenor Murrays--no! + + * * * * * + + So Mary Black went on, and Merival + Gave liberty to her to talk her mind. + The jury smiled or looked intense for words + So graphic of the horrors of the war. + Then David Barrow asked: "Who is the man + That used to write to Elenor, went away?" + And Mary Black replied, "We do not know; + I do not know a girl who ever knew. + I only know that Elenor wept and grieved, + And did her duty like a little soldier. + It was some man who came to France, because + The word went round he had gone back, and left + The service, or the service there in France + Had left. Some said he'd gone to England, some + America. He must have been an American, + Or rather in America when she sailed, + Because she went off happy. In New York + Saw much of him before we sailed." + + And then + The Reverend Maiworm juryman spoke up-- + This Mary Black had left the witness chair-- + And asked if Gregory Wenner went to France. + The coroner thought not, but would inquire. + + * * * * * + + Jane Fisher was a friend of Elenor Murray's + And held the secret of a pack of letters + Which Elenor Murray left. And on a day + She talks with Susan Hamilton, a friend. + Jane Fisher has composed a letter to + A lawyer in New York, who has the letters-- + At least it seems so--and to get the letters, + And so fulfill the trust which Elenor + Had left to Jane. Meantime the coroner + Had heard somehow about the letters, or + That Jane knows something--she is anxious now, + And in a flurry, does not wish to go + Down to LeRoy and tell her story. So + She talks with Susan Hamilton like this: + + + + +JANE FISHER + + + Jane Fisher says to Susan Hamilton, + That Coroner has no excuse to bring + You, me before him. There are many too + Who could throw light on Elenor Murray's life + Besides the witnesses he calls to tell + The cause of death: could he call us and hear + About the traits we know, he should have us. + What do we know of Elenor Murray's death? + Why, not a thing, unless her death began + With Simeon Strong and Gregory Wenner--then + I could say something, for she told me much + About her plan to marry Simeon Strong, + And could have done so but for Gregory Wenner, + Whose fault of life combined with fault of hers + To break the faith of Simeon Strong in her. + And so what have we? Gregory Wenner's love + Poisons the love of Simeon Strong, from that + Poor Elenor Murray falls into decline; + From that, re-acts to nursing and religion, + Which leads her to the war; and from the war + Some other causes come, I know not what; + I wish I knew. And Elenor Murray dies, + Is killed or has a normal end of life. + + But, Susan, Elenor Murray feasted richly + While life was with her, spite of all the pain. + If you could choose, be Elenor Murray or + Our schoolmate, Mary Marsh, which would you be? + Elenor Murray had imagination, + And courage to sustain it; Mary Marsh + Had no imagination, was afraid, + Could not envision life in Europe, married + And living there in England, threw her chance + Away to live in England, was content, + And otherwise not happy but to lift + Her habitation from the west of town + And settle on the south side, wed a man + Whose steadiness and business sense made sure + A prosperous uniformity of life. + Life does not enter at your door and seek you, + And pour her gifts into your lap. She drops + The chances and the riches here and there. + They find them who fly forth, as faring birds + Know northern marshes, rice fields in the south; + While the dull turtle waddles in his mud. + The bird is slain perhaps, the turtle lives, + But which has known the thrills? + + Well, on a time + Elenor Murray, Janet Stearns, myself + Thought we would see Seattle and Vancouver, + We had saved money teaching school that year-- + The plan was Elenor Murray's. So we sailed + To 'Frisco from Los Angeles, saw 'Frisco + By daylight, but to see the town by night + Was Elenor Murray's wish, and up to now + We had no men, had found none. Elenor said, + "Let's go to Palo Alto, find some men." + We landed in a blinding sun, and walked + About the desolate campus, but no men. + And Janet and myself were tired and hot; + But Elenor, who never knew fatigue, + Went searching here and there, and left us sitting + Under a palm tree waiting. Hours went by, + Two hours, I think, when she came down the walk + A man on either side. She brought them up + And introduced them. They were gay and young, + Students with money. Then the fun began: + We wished to see the place, must hurry back + To keep engagements in the city--whew! + How Elenor Murray baited hooks for us + With words about the city and our plans; + What fun we three had had already there! + Until at last these fellows begged to come, + Return with us to 'Frisco, be allowed + To join our party. "Could we manage it?" + Asked Elenor Murray, "do you think we can?" + We fell into the play and talked it over, + Considered this and that, resolved the thing, + And said at last to come, and come they did.... + Well, such a time in 'Frisco. For you see + Our money had been figured down to cents + For what we planned to do. These fellows helped, + We scarcely had seen 'Frisco but for them. + They bought our dinners, paid our way about + Through China Town and so forth, but we kept + Our staterooms on the boat, slept on the boat. + And after three days' feasting sailed away + With bouquets for each one of us. + + But this girl + Could never get enough, must on and on + See more, have more sensations, never tired. + And when we saw Vancouver then the dream + Of going to Alaska entered her. + I had no money, Janet had no money + To help her out, and Elenor was short. + We begged her not to try it--what a will! + She set her jaw and said she meant to go. + And when we missed her for a day, behold + We find her, she's a cashier in a store, + And earning money there to take the trip. + Our boat was going back, we left her there. + I see her next when school commences, ruling + Her room of pupils at Los Angeles. + The summer after this she wandered east, + Was now engaged to Simeon Strong, but writing + To Gregory Wenner, saw him in Chicago. + She traveled to New York, he followed her. + She was a girl who had to live her life, + Could not live through another, found no man + Whose life sufficed for hers, must live herself, + Be individual. + + And en route for France + She wrote me from New York, was seeing much + Of Margery, an aunt--I never knew her, + But sensed an evil in her, and a mind + That used the will of Elenor Murray--how + Or why, I knew not. But she wrote to me + This Margery had brought her lawyer in, + There in New York to draw a document, + And put some letters in a safety box. + Whose letters? Gregory Wenner's? I don't know. + She told me much of secrets, but of letters + That needed for their preciousness a box, + A lawyer to arrange the matter, nothing. + For if there was another man, she felt + Too shamed, no doubt, to tell me:--"This is he, + The love I sought, the great reality," + When she had said as much of Gregory Wenner. + But now a deeper matter: with this letter + She sent a formal writing giving me + Charge of these letters, if she died to give + The letters to the writer. I'm to know + The identity of the writer, so she planned + When I obtain them. How about this lawyer, + And Margery the aunt? What shall I do? + Write to this lawyer what my duty is + Appointed me of her, go to New York? + + I must do something, for this lawyer has, + As I believe, no knowledge of my place + In this affair. Who has the box's key? + This lawyer, or the aunt--I have no key-- + And if they have the key, or one of them, + And enter, take the letters, look! our friend + Gets stains upon her memory; or the man + Who wrote the letters finds embarrassment. + Somehow, I think, these letters hold a secret, + The deepest of her life and cruelest, + And figured in her death. My dearest friend, + What if they brought me to the coroner, + If I should get these letters, and they learned + I had them, this relation to our Elenor! + Yet how can I neglect to write this lawyer + And tell him Elenor Murray gave to me + This power of disposition? + + Come what may + I must write to this lawyer. Here I write + To get the letters, and obey the wish + Of our dear friend. Our friend who never could + Carry her ventures to success, but always + Just at the prosperous moment wrecked her hope. + She really wished to marry Simeon Strong. + Then why imperil such a wish by keeping + This Gregory Wenner friendship living, go + About with Gregory Wenner, fill the heart + Of Simeon Strong with doubt? + + Oh well, my friend, + We wonder at each other, I at you, + And you at me, for doing this or that. + And yet I think no man or woman acts + Without a certain logic in the act + Of nature or of circumstance. + + Look here, + This letter to the lawyer. Will it do? + I think so. If it brings the letters--well! + If not, I'll get them somehow, it must be, + I loved her, faults and all, and so did you.... + + So while Jane Fisher pondered on her duty, + But didn't write the letter to the lawyer, + Who had the charge of Elenor Murray's letters, + The lawyer, Henry Baker, in New York + Finds great perplexity. Sometimes a case + Walks in a lawyer's office, makes his future, + Or wrecks his health, or brings him face to face + With some one rising from the mass of things, + Faces and circumstance, that ends his life. + So Henry Baker took such chances, taking + The custody of these letters. + + James Rex Hunter + Is partner of this Baker, sees at last + Merival and tells him how it was + With Baker at the last; he died because + Of Elenor Murray's letters, Hunter told + The coroner at the Waldorf. Dramatized + His talk with Lawyer Baker in these words:-- + + + + +HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK + + + One partner may consult another--James, + Here is a matter you must help me with, + It's coming to a head. + + Well, to be plain, + And to begin at the beginning first, + I knew a woman up on Sixty-third, + Have known her since I got her a divorce, + Married, divorced, before--last night we quarreled, + I must do something, hear me and advise. + + She is a woman notable for eyes + Bright for their oblong lights in them; they seem + Like crockery vases, rookwood, where the light + Shows spectrally almost in squares and circles. + Her skin is fair, nose hooked, of amorous flesh, + A feaster and a liver, thinks and plans + Of money, how to get it. And this husband + Whom she divorced last summer went away, + And left her to get on as best she could. + All legal matters settled, we went driving-- + This story can be skipped. + + Last night we dined, + Afterward went to her apartment. First + She told me at the dinner that her niece + Named Elenor Murray died some days ago. + I sensed what she was after--here's the point:-- + She followed up the theme when we returned + To her apartment, where we quarreled. You see + I would not do her bidding, left her mad, + In silent wrath after some bitter words. + I managed her divorce as I have said, + Then I stepped in as lover, months had passed. + When Elenor Murray came here to New York, + I met her at the apartment of the aunt + Whose name is Margery Camp. Before, she said + Her niece was here, was happy and in love + But sorrowful for leaving, just the talk + That has no meaning till you see the subject + Or afterwards, perhaps; it passes in + One ear and out the other. Then at last + One afternoon I met this Elenor Murray + When I go up to call on Margery Camp. + The staging of the matter is like this: + The niece looks fagged, is sitting on the couch, + Has loosed her collar for her throat to feel + The air about it, for the day is hot. + And Margery Camp goes out, brings in a pitcher + Of absinthe cocktails, so we drink. I sit, + Begin to study what is done, and look + This Elenor Murray over, get the thought + That somehow Margery Camp has taken Elenor + In her control for something, has begun + To use her, manage her, is coiling her + With dominant will or cunning. Then I look, + See Margery Camp observing Elenor Murray, + Who drinks the absinthe, and in Margery's eyes + I see these parallelograms of light + Just like a vase of crockery, there she stands, + Her face like ivory, and laughs and shows + Her marvelous teeth, smooths with her shapely hands + The skirt upon her hips. Somehow I feel + She is a soul who watches passion work. + Then Elenor Murray rouses, gets her spirits + Out of the absinthe, rises and exclaims: + "I'm better now;" and Margery Camp speaks up, + Poor child, in intonation like a doll + That speaks from reeds of steel, no sympathy + Or meaning in the words. The interview + Seems spooky to me, cold and sinister. + We drink again and then we drink again. + And what with her fatigue and lowered spirits, + This Elenor Murray drifts in talk and mood + With so much drink. At last this Margery Camp + Says suddenly: "You'll have to help my niece, + There is a matter you must manage for her, + We've talked it over; in a day or two + Before she goes away, we'll come to you." + I took them out to dinner, after dinner + Drove Margery Camp to her apartment, then + Went down with Elenor Murray to her place. + + Then in a day or two, one afternoon + Margery Camp and Elenor Murray came + Here to my office with a bundle, which + This Margery Camp was carrying, rather large. + And Margery Camp was bright and keen as winter. + But Elenor Murray seemed a little dull, + Abstracted as of drink, or thought perhaps. + After the greeting and preliminaries, + Margery said to Elenor: "Better tell + What we have come for, get it done and go." + Then Elenor Murray said: "Here are some letters, + I've tied them in this package, and I wish + To put them in a safety box, give you + One key and keep the other, leave with you + A sealed instruction, which, in case I die, + While over-seas, you may break open, read + And follow, if you will." She handed me + A writing signed by her which merely read + What I have told you--here it is--you see: + "When legal proof is furnished I am dead, + Break open the sealed letter which will give + Instruction for you." So I took the trust, + Went with these women to a vault and placed + The letters in the box, gave her a key, + Kept one myself. They left. At dinner time + I joined them, saw more evidence of the will + Of Margery Camp controlling Elenor's. + Which seemed in part an older woman's power + Against a younger woman's, and in part + Something less innocent. We ate and drank, + I took them to their places as before, + And didn't see this Elenor again. + + But now last night when I see Margery + She says at once, "My niece is dead;" goes on + To say, no other than herself has care + Or interest in her, was estranged from father, + And mother too, herself the closest heart + In all the world, and therefore she must look + After the memory of the niece, and adds: + "She came to you through me, I picked you out + To do this business." So she went along + With this and that, advancing and retreating + To catch me, bind me. Well, I saw her game, + Sat non-committal, sipping wine, but keeping + The wits she hoped I'd lose, as I could see. + + After the dinner we went to her place + And there she said these letters might contain + Something to smudge the memory of her niece, + She wished she had insisted on the plan + Of having one of the keys, the sealed instruction + Made out and left with her; being her aunt, + The closest heart in the world to Elenor Murray, + That would have been the right way. But she said + Her niece was willful and secretive, too, + Not over wise, but now that she was dead + It was her duty to reform the plan, + Do what was best, and take control herself. + + So working to the point by devious ways + She said at last: "You must give me the key, + The sealed instruction: I'll go to the box, + And get the letters, do with them as Elenor + Directed in the letter; for I think, + Cannot believe it different, that my niece + Has left these letters with me, so directs + In that sealed letter." "Then if that be true, + Why give the key to me, the letter?--no + This is a trust, a lawyer would betray, + A sacred trust to do what you request." + I saw her growing angry. Then I added: + "I have no proof your niece is dead:" "My word + Is good enough," she answered, "we are friends, + You are my lover, as I thought; my word + Should be sufficient." And she kept at me + Until I said: "I can't give you the key, + And if I did they would not let you in, + You are not registered as a deputy + To use the key." She did not understand, + Did not believe me, but she tacked about, + And said: "You can do this, take me along + When you go to the vault and open the box, + And break the letter open which she gave." + I only answered: "If I find your niece + Has given these letters to you, you shall have + The letters, but I think the letters go + Back to the writer, and if that's the case, + I'll send them to the writer." + + Here at last + She lost control, took off her mask and stormed: + "We'll see about it. You will scarcely care + To have the matter aired in court. I'll see + A lawyer, bring a suit and try it out, + And see if I, the aunt, am not entitled + To have my niece's letters and effects, + Whatever's in the package. I am tired + And cannot see you longer. Take five days + To think the matter over. If you come + And do what I request, no suit, but if + You still refuse, the courts can settle it." + And so I left her. + + In a day or two + I read of Elenor Murray's death. It seems + The coroner investigates her death. + She died mysteriously. Well, then I break + The sealed instruction, look! I am to send + The package to Jane Fisher, in Chicago. + We know, of course, Jane Fisher did not write + The letters, that the letters are a man's. + What is the inference? Why, that Elenor Murray + Pretended to comply, obey her aunt, + Yet slipped between her fingers, did not wish + The aunt or me to know who wrote the letters. + Feigned full submission, frankness with the aunt, + Yet hid her secret, hid it from the aunt + Beyond her finding out, if I observe + The trust imposed, keep hands of Margery Camp + From getting at the letters. + + Now two things: + Suppose the writer of the letters killed + This Elenor Murray, is somehow involved + In Elenor Murray's death? If that's the case, + Should not these letters reach the coroner? + To help enforce the law is higher trust + Than doing what a client has commanded. + And secondly, if Margery Camp should sue, + My wife will learn the secret, bring divorce. + Three days remain before the woman's threat + Is ripe to execute. Think over this. + We'll talk again--I really need advice.... + + * * * * * + + So Hunter told the coroner. Then resumed + The matter was a simple thing: I said + To telegraph the coroner. You are right: + Those letters give a clue perhaps, your trust + Is first to see the law enforced. And yet + I saw he was confused and drinking too, + For fear his wife would learn of Margery Camp. + I added, for that matter open the box, + Take out the letters, find who wrote them, send + A telegram to the coroner giving the name + Of the writer of the letters. Well, he nodded, + Seemed to consent to anything I said. + And Hunter left me, leaving me in doubt + What he would do. And what is next? Next day + He's in the hospital and has pneumonia. + I take a cab to see him, but I find + He is too sick to see, is out of mind. + In three days he is dead. His wife comes in + And tells me worry killed him--knows the truth + About this Margery Camp, oh, so she said. + Had sent a lawyer to her husband asking + For certain letters of an Elenor Murray. + And that her husband stood between the fire + Of some exposure by this Margery Camp, + Or suffering these letters to be used + By Margery Camp against the writer for + A bit of money. This was Mrs. Hunter's + Interpretation. Well, the fact is clear + That Hunter feared this Margery Camp--was scared + About his wife who in some way had learned + just at this time of Margery Camp--I think + Was called up, written to. Between it all + Poor Hunter's worry, far too fast a life, + He broke and died. And now you know it all. + I've learned no client enters at your door + And nothing casual happens in the day + That may not change your life, or bring you death. + And Hunter in a liaison with Margery + Is brought within the scope of Elenor's + Life and takes his mortal hurt and dies. + + * * * * * + + So much for riffles in New York. We turn + Back to LeRoy and see the riffles there, + See all of them together. Loveridge Chase + Receives a letter from a New York friend, + A secret service man who trails and spies + On Henry Baker, knows about the letters, + And writes to Loveridge Chase and says to him: + "That Elenor Murray dying near LeRoy + Left letters in New York. I trailed the aunt + Of Elenor Murray, Margery Camp. Also + A lawyer, Henry Baker, who controls + A box with letters left by Elenor Murray-- + So for the story. Why not join with me + And get these letters? There is money in it, + Perhaps, who knows? I work for Mrs. Hunter-- + She wants the letters placed where they belong, + And wants the man who killed this Elenor Murray + Punished as he should be. Go see the coroner + And get the work of bringing back the letters." + And Chase came to the coroner and spoke: + + + + +LOVERIDGE CHASE + + + Here is the secret of the death of Elenor, + From what I learn of her, from what I know + In living, knowing women, I am clear + About this Elenor Murray. Give me power + To get the letters, power to give a bond + To indemnify the company, for you know + Letters belong to him who writes the letters; + And if the company is given bond + It will surrender them, and then you'll know + What man she loved, this Gregory Wenner or + Some other man, and if some other man, + Whether he caused her death. + + The coroner + And Loveridge Chase sat in the coroner's office + And talked the matter over. And the coroner, + Who knew this Loveridge Chase, was wondering + Why Loveridge Chase had taken up the work + Of secret service, followed it, and asked, + "How did you come to give your brains to this, + Who could do other things?" And Loveridge said: + "A woman made me, I went round the world + As jackie once, was brought into this world + By a mother good and wise, but took from her, + My father, someone, sense of chivalry + Too noble for this world, a pity too, + Abused too much by women. I came back, + Was hired in a bank; had I gone on + By this time had been up in banking circles, + But something happened. You can guess, I think + It was a woman, was my wife Leone. + It matters nothing here, except I knew + This Elenor Murray through my wife. These two + Were schoolmates, even chums. I'll get these letters + If you commission me. The fact is this: + I think this Elenor Murray and Leone + Were kindred spirits, and it does me good + Now that I'm living thus without a wife + To ferret out this matter of Elenor Murray, + Perhaps this way, or somewhere on the way, + Find news of my Leone; what life she lives, + And where she is. I'm curious still, you see." + Then Coroner Merival, who had not heard + Of Elenor Murray's letters in New York + Before this talk of Loveridge Chase, who heard + This story and analysis of Leone + Mixed in with other talk, and got a light + On Elenor Murray, said: "I know your work, + Know you as well, have confidence in you, + Make ready to go, and bring the letters back." + + And on the day that Loveridge Chase departs + To get the letters in New York, Bernard, + A veteran of Belleau, married that day + To Amy Whidden, on a lofty dune + At Millers, Indiana, with his bride-- + Long quiet, tells her something of the war. + These soldiers cannot speak what they have lived. + But Elenor Murray helps him; for the talk + Of Elenor Murray runs the rounds, so many + Stations whence the talk is sent:--the men + Or women who had known her, came in touch + Somehow with her. These newly wedded two + Go out to see blue water, yellow sand, + And watch the white caps pat the sky, and hear + The intermittent whispers of the waves. + And here Bernard, the soldier, tells his bride + Of Elenor Murray and their days at Nice: + + + + +AT NICE + + + Dear, let me tell you, safe beside you now, + Your hand in mine, here from this peak of sand, + Under this pine tree, where the wild grapes spill + Their fragrance on the lake breeze, from that oak + Half buried in the sand, devoured by sand-- + The water of the lake is just as blue + As the sea is there at Nice, the caps as white + As foam around Mont Boron, Cap Ferrat. + Here let me tell you things you do not know, + I could not write, repeat what well you know, + How love of you sustained me, never changed, + But through a love was brighter, flame of the torch + I bore for you in battle, as an incense + Cast in a flame awakes the deeper essence + Of fire and makes it mount. + + And I am here-- + Here now with you at last--the war is over-- + I have this aching side, these languid mornings, + And pray for that old strength which never knew + Fatigue or pain--but I am here with you, + You are my bride now, I have earned you, dear. + I fought the fight, endured the endless days + When rain fell, days of absence, and the days + Of danger when my only prayer was this: + Give me, O God, to see you once again. + This is the deepest rapture, tragedy + Of this our life, beyond our minds to fathom, + A thing to stand in awe of, touch in reverence, + That we--we mortals, find in one another + Such source of ecstasy, of pain. My love, + I lay there in the hospital so weak, + Flopping my hands upon the coverlet, + And praying God to live. In such an hour + To be away from you! There are no words + To speak the weary hours of fear and thought, + In such an absence, facing death, perhaps, + A burial in France, with thoughts of you, + Mourning some years, perhaps, healed partly then + And wedded to another; then at last + Myself forgot, or nearly so, and life + Taking you on with duties, house and children; + And my poor self forgotten, gone to dust, + Wasted along the soil of France. + + Thank God, + I'm here with you--it's real, all this is true: + The roar of the water, sand-hills, infinite sky, + The gulls, the distant smoke, the smell of grapes, + The haze of amethyst behind us there, + In those ravines of stunted oak and pine. + All this is real. This is America. + The very air we find from coast to coast, + The sensible air for lungs seems freer here. + I had no sooner landed in New York + Than my arms said stretch out, there's room to stretch. + I walked along the streets so happy, light + Of heart and heard the newsboys, shop-girls talk: + "O, what a cheese he is," or "beat it now"-- + I can't describe the thrill I had to hear + This loose abandoned slang spilled all around, + Like coppers soiled from handling, but so real, + And having power to purchase memories + Of what I loved and lost awhile, my land! + Well, then I wanted roast-beef, corn on cob, + And had them in an hour at early lunch. + I telegraphed you, gave New York a day, + And came to you. We are together now, + We do not dream, do we? We are together + After the war, to live our lives and grow + And make of love, experience, life more rich. + That's what you say to me--it shall be so. + + Now I will tell you what I promised to tell + About my illness and the battle--well, + I wrote you of my illness, only hinted + About the care I had, that is the point; + 'Twas care alone that saved me, I was ill + Beyond all words to tell. And all the while + I suffered, fearing I would die; but then + I could not bear to think I should not rise + To join my fellows, battle once again, + And charge across the trenches, take no part + In crushing down the Prussian. For I knew + He would be crushed at last. I could not bear + To think I should not take a hand in that, + Be there when he lay fallen, victory + From voice to voice should pass along the lines. + Well, for some weeks I lay there, and at last + Words dropped around me that the time was near + For blows to count--would I be there to strike? + Could I get well in time? And every day + A sweet voice said: "You're better, oh it's great + How you are growing stronger; yesterday + Your fever was but one degree, to-day + It is a little higher. You must rest, + Not think so much! It may be normal perhaps + To-morrow or the next day. In a week + You will be up and gaining, and the battle + Will not be fought before then, I am sure, + And not until you're well and strong again." + And thus it went from day to day. Such hands + Washed my hot face and bathed me, tucked me in, + And fed me too. And once I said to her: + "I love a girl, I must get well to fight, + I must get well to go to her." And she, + It was the nurse I spoke to, took my hand, + And turned away with tears. You see it's there + We see the big things, nothing else, the things + That stand out like the mountains, lesser things + Are lost like little hillocks under the shadows + Of great emotions, hopes, realities. + Well, so it went. And on a day she leaned + Above my face to smooth the pillow out. + And from her heart a golden locket fell, + And dangled by the silver chain. The locket + Flew open and I saw a face within it, + That is I saw there was a face, but saw + No eyes or hair, saw nothing to limn out + The face so I would know it. + + Then I said: + "You have a lover, nurse." She straightened up + And questioned me: "Have you been ill before? + Do you know of the care a nurse can give, + And what she can withhold?" I answered "Yes." + And then she asked: "Have you felt in my hands + Great tenderness, solicitude, even prayer?"-- + Here, sweetheart, do not let your eyes get moist, + I'll tell you everything, for you must see + How spirits work together, love to love + Passes and does its work. + + Well, it was true, + I felt her tenderness, which was like prayer, + And so I answered her: "If I get well, + You will have cured me with your human love." + And then she said: "Our unit reached this place + When there was neither stoves nor lights. At night + We went to bed by candles. Stumbled around + Amid the trunks and beds by candle light. + Well, one of us would light a candle, then + Each, one by one, the others lighted theirs + From this one down the room. And so we passed + The light along. And as a candle died, + The others burned, to which the light was passed. + Well, now," she said, "that is a figure of love: + We get the flame from someone, light another, + Make brighter light by holding flame to flame-- + Sometimes we searched for something, held two candles + Together for a greater light. And so, + My soldier, I have given you the care + That comes from love--of country and the cause, + But brightened, warmed by one from whom the flame + Was passed to me, a love that took my hand + And warmed it, made it tender for that love, + Which said pour out and serve, take love for him + And use it in the cause, by using hands + To bathe, to soothe, to smooth a pillow down, + To heal, sustain." + + The truth is, dearest heart, + I had not lived, I think, except for her. + And there we were: I filled with love for you, + And therefore praying to get well and fight, + Be worthy of your love, and there she was + With love for someone, striving with that love + To nurse me through and give me well and strong + To battle in the cause. + + Then I got well + And joined my company. She took my hand + As I departed, closed her eyes and said: + "May God be with you." + + Well, it was Belleau, + That jungle of machine guns, like a thicket + Of rattle snakes. And there was just one thing + To clean that thicket out--we had to charge, + And so we yelled and charged. No soldier knows + How one survives in such a charge as that. + You simply yell and charge; the bullets fall + Like drops of rain around you pitter-pat; + And on you go and think: where will it get me, + The stomach or the heart or through the head? + What will it be like, sudden blackness, pain, + No pain at all? And so you charge the nests. + The fellows fell around us like tenpins, + Dropped guns, or flung them up, fell on their faces, + Or toppled backward, pitched ahead and flung + Their helmets off in pitching. And at last + I found myself half-dazed, as in a dream, + Right in a nest, two Boches facing me, + And then I saw this locket, as I saw it + Fall from her breast, it might have been a glint + Of metal, flash of firing, I don't know. + I only know I ran my bayonet + Through one of them; he fell, I stuck the other, + Then something stung my side. When I awoke + I lay upon a cot, and heard the nurses + Discuss the peace, the armistice was signed, + The war was over. Well, and in a way + We won the war, I won the war, as one + Who did his part, at least. + + Then I got up, + But I was weak and dazed. They said to me + I should not cross the ocean in the winter, + My lungs might get infected; anyway, + The flu was raging. So they sent me down + To Nice upon a furlough, as I wrote. + I could not write you all I saw and heard, + It was all lovely and all memorable. + + But first before I picture Nice to you, + My days at Nice, lest you have doubts and fears + When I reveal to you I saw this nurse + First on the Promenade des Anglais there, + Saw much of her in Nice, I saw at once + She was that Elenor Murray whom they found + Along the river dead; and for the rest + To make all clear, I'll tell you everything. + You see I didn't write you of this girl + And what we did there, lest you might suspect + Some vagrant mood in me concealed or glossed, + Which ended in betrayal of our love. + Eyes should look into eyes to supplement + The words of truth with light of truth, where nothing + Of thoughts that hide have chance to slip and crawl + Through eyes averted, twinklings, change of light, + Or if they do, reveal themselves, as snakes + Are seen when winding into coverts of grass. + + Well, then we met upon the promenade. + She ran toward me, kissed me--oh so glad. + I told her of the battle, of my wound. + And for herself it seemed she had been ill, + Off duty for a month before she came + To Nice for health; she said as much to me. + I think she had been ill, yet I could sense, + Or seemed to sense a mystery, I don't know, + Behind her illness. Yet you understand + How it was natural we should be happy + To meet again, in Nice, too. For you see + The army life develops comradeship. + And when we meet the old life rises up + And wakes its thrills and memories. It seemed + She had been there some days when I arrived + And knew the place, and said, "I'll show you Nice." + There was a major she was waiting for, + As it turned out. He came there in a week, + We had some walks together, all the three, + And then I lost them. + + But before he came + We did the bright cafes and Monte Carlo, + And here my little nurse showed something else + Besides the tender hands, the prayerful soul. + She had been taking egg-nogs, so she said, + But now she took to wine, and drink she could + Beyond all men I know. I had to stop + Or fall beneath the table, leaving her + To order more. And she would sit and weave + From right to left hip in a rhythmic way, + And cast her eyes obliquely right and left. + It was this way: The music set her thrilling, + And keeping time this way. She loved to go + Where we could see cocotes, adventurers; + Where red vitality was feasting, drinking, + And dropping gold upon the gaming table. + We sunned ourselves within the Jardin Public, + And walked the beach between the bathing places + Where they dry orange peel to make perfumes. + And in that golden sunshine by the sea + Caught whiffs of lemon blossoms, and each day + I bought her at the stands acacia, + Or red anemones--I tell you all-- + There was no moment that my thought betrayed + Your heart, dear one. She had been good to me. + I saw that she was hungry for these things, + For rapture, so I gave them--you don't mind, + It came to nothing, dearest. + + But at last + A different Elenor Murray than I knew + There in the hospital took shape before me. + That serving soul, that maid of humble tasks, + And sacrifice for others, and that face + Of waitress or of ingenue, day by day + Assumed sophistication, looks and lines + Of knowledge in the world, experience + in places of patrician ways. She knew + New York as well as I, cafes and shops; + Dropped pregnant hints at times that made me think + What more she knew, what she was holding back. + Until at last all she had done for me + Seemed just what mortals do to earn their bread + In any calling, made more generous, maybe, + By something in a moment's mood. In truth + The ideal showed the clogged pores in the skin + Under the light she stood in. For you know + When we see people happy we can say + Those tears were not all tears--we pitied more + Than we were wise to pity--that's the feeling: + Most men are Puritans in this, I think. + A woman dancing, drinking, makes you laugh, + And half despise yourself for great emotion + When seeing her in prayer or reverent thought. + But now I come to something more concrete: + The day before the major came we lunched + Where we could see the Mediterranean, + The clubs, hotels and villas. There she sat + All dressed in white, a knitted jacket of silk + Matching the leaves upon the trees, and looked + As fashionable as the rest. The waiter came. + She did not take the card nor order from it, + Was nonchalant, familiar, said at last: + "We want some Epernay. You have it doubtless." + The waiter bowed. I looked at Elenor, + That was the character of revealing things + I saw from day to day. For truth to tell + This Epernay might well have been charged water + For all I knew. I asked her, and she said: + "Delicious wine, not strong." And so we lunched, + And the music stormed, and lunchers gabbled, smoked, + And dandies ogled. And this Epernay + Worked in our blood and Elenor rattled on. + And she was flinging eyes from right to left + And moving rhythmically from hip to hip, + And with a finger beating out the time. + Somehow our hands touched, then she closed her eyes, + Her body shook a little and grew limp. + "What is the matter?" Then she raised her eyes + And looked me through an instant. What, my dear, + You won't hear any more? Oh, very well, + That's all, there is no more. + + But after while + When things got quieter, the lunchers thinned, + The music ended, and the wine grown tame + Within our veins, she told me on a time + Some years before she was confirmed, and thought + She'd take the veil, and for two years or more + Was all absorbed in pious thoughts and works. + "But how we learn and change," she added then, + "In training we see bodies, learn to know + How thirst and hunger, needs of body cry + For daily care, become materialists, + Unmoralists a little in the sense + That any book, or theories of the soul + Should tie the body from its natural needs. + Though I accept the faith, no less than ever, + That God is and the Savior is and spirit + Is no less real than body, has its needs, + Separate or through the body." + + Oh, that girl! + She made me guess and wonder. But next day + I had a fresh surprise, the major came + And she was changed completely. I forgot, + I must tell you what happened after lunch. + We rose and she grew impish, stood and laughed + As if the secret of the laugh was hers + Beyond the concrete matter of the laugh. + She said, "I'll show you something beautiful." + We started out to see it, walked the road + Around the foot of Castle Hill. You know + The wind blows gustily at Nice; and so + All of a sudden went my hat, way up, + Far off, and instantly such laughter rose, + And boisterous shouts that made me think at once + I had been tricked, somehow. It is this way: + The gamins loiter there to watch the victims + Who lose their hats. And Elenor sat down, + And laughed until she cried. I do not know, + Perhaps I was not amorous enough + At luncheon and she pranked me for revenge. + Well, then the major came, he took my place. + I was the third one in the party now, + But saw them every day. What did we do? + No Monte Carlo now, nor ordering + Without the card, she was completely changed, + Demure again, all words of lovely things: + The war had changed the world, had lifted up + The spirit of man to visions, and the major + Adored her, drank it in. And we explored + Limpia and the Old Town, looked aloft + At Mont Cau d'Aspremont, picked hellebore, + And orchids in the gorges, saw St. Pons, + The Valley of Hepaticas, sunned ourselves + Within the Jardin Public, where the children + Play riotously; and Elenor would draw + A straying child to her and say: "You darling." + I saw her do this once and dry her eyes + And to the major say: "They are so lovely, + I had to give up teaching school, the children + Stirred my emotions till I could not bear + To be among them." And to make an end, + I spent the parts of three days with these two. + And on the last day we went to the summit + Of the Corinche Road, and saw the sea and Europe + Spread out before us--oh, you cannot know + The beauty of it, dear, until you see it. + And Elenor sat down as in a trance, + And looked and did not speak for minutes. Then + She said: "How pure a place this is--it's nature, + And I can worship here, this makes you hate + The cafes and the pleasures of the town." + What was this woman, dear, what was her soul? + Or was she half and half? Oh, after all, + I am a hostile mixture, so are you. + + And so I drifted out, and only stayed + A day or two beyond that afternoon. + I took a last walk on the Promenade; + At last saw just ahead of me these two, + His arm was fast in hers, they sauntered on + As if in serious talk. As I came up, + I greeted them and said good-bye again. + + Where is the major? Did the major steal + The heart of Elenor Murray, speed her death? + They could have married. Why did she return? + Or did the major follow her? Well, dear, + Here is the story, truthful to a fault. + My soul is yours, I kept it true to you. + Hear how the waters roar upon the sand! + I close my eyes and almost can believe + We are together on the Corniche Road. + + * * * * * + + Well, it may never be that Merival + Heard from Bernard of Elenor at Nice, + Although he knew it sometime, knew as well + Her service in the war had nerved the men + And by that much had put the Germans down. + America at the fateful moment lent + Her strength to bring the war's end. Elenor + Was one of many to cross seas and bring + Life strength against the emperor, once secure, + And throned in power against such phagocytes + As Elenor Murray, Bernard, even kings. + And sawing wood at Amerongen all + He thought of was of brains and monstrous hearts + Which sent the phagocytes from America, + England and France to eat him up at last. + + One day an American soldier, so 'tis said + Someone told Merival, was walking near + The house at Amerongen, saw a man + With drooped mustache and whitened beard approach, + Two mastiffs walked beside him. As he passed + Unrecognized, the soldier to a mate + Spoke up and said: "What hellish dogs are those?-- + Like Bismarck used to have; I saw a picture + Of Bismarck with his dogs." The drooped mustache + Turned nervously and took the soldiers in, + Then strode ahead. The emperor was stunned + To hear an American soldier use a knife + As sharp as that. + + But Elenor at Nice + Walked with the major as Bernard has told. + And this is wrinkled water, dark and far + From Merival, unknown to him. He hears, + And this alone, she went from Nice to Florence, + Was ill there in a convent, we shall see. + This is the tale that Irma Leese related + To Coroner Merival in a leisure hour: + + + + +THE MAJOR AND ELENOR MURRAY AT NICE + + + Elenor Murray and Petain, the major, + The Promenade des Anglais walked at Nice. + A cloud was over him, and in her heart + A growing grief. + + He knew her at the hospital, + First saw her face among a little group + Of faces at a grave when rain was falling, + The burial of a nurse, when Elenor's face + Was bathed in tears and strained with agony. + And after that he saw her in the wards; + Heard soldiers, whom she nursed, say as she passed, + Dear little soul, sweet soul, or take her hand + In gratitude and kiss it. + + But as a stream + Flows with clear water even with the filth + Of scum, debris that drifts beside the current + Of crystal water, nor corrupts it, keeps + Its poisoned, heavier medium apart, + So at the hospital where the nurses' hands + Poured sacrifice, heroic love, the filth + Of envy, anger, malice, plots, intrigue + Kept pace with pure devotion, noble work + For suffering and the cause. + + The major helped + To free the rules for Elenor Murray so + She might recuperate at Nice, and said: + "Go and await me, I shall join you there. + For in my trouble I must have a friend, + A woman to assuage me, give me light, + And ever since I saw you by that grave, + And saw you cross yourself, and bow your head + And watched your services along the wards + Among the sick and dying, I have felt + The soul of you, its human tenderness, + Its prodigal power of giving, pouring forth + Itself for others. And you seem a soul + Where nothing of our human frailty + Has come to dim the flame that burns in you, + You are all light, I think." + + And Elenor Murray + Looked down and said: "There is no soul like that. + This hospital, the war itself, reflects + The good and bad together of our souls. + You are a boy--oh such a boy to see + All good in me." + + And Major Petain said: + "At least you have not found dishonor here + As I have found it, for a lust of flesh + A weakness and a trespass." + + This was after + The hospital was noisy with the talk + Of Major Petain and his shame, the hand + Of discipline lay on him. + + Elenor Murray + Looked steadily in his eyes, but only said: + "We mortals know each other but a little, + Nor guess each other's secrets." And she glanced + A moment at the tragedy that had come + To her at Paris on her furlough there, + And of its train of sorrows, even now + Her broken health and failure in the work + As consequence to that, and how it brought + The breaking of her passionate will and dream + To serve and not to fail--she glanced at this + A moment as she faced him, looked at him. + Then as she turned away: "There is one thing + That I must tell you, it is fitting now, + I love and am beloved. But if you come + To Nice and I can help you, come, if talk + And any poor advice of mine can help." + + So Major Petain, Elenor Murray walked + The Promenade at Nice, arm fast in arm. + And Major Petain to relieve his heart + Told all the tragedy that had come to him: + + "Duty to France was first with me where love + Was paramount with you, if I divine + Your heart, America's, at least a love + Unmixed of other feelings as may be. + What could you find here, if you seek no husband, + Even in seeing France so partially? + What in adventure, lures to bring you here, + Where peril, labor are? You either came + To expiate your soul, or as you say, + To make more worthy of this man beloved + Back in America your love for him. + Dear idealist, I give my faith to you, + And all your words. But as I said 'twas duty, + Then dreams of freedom, Europe's chains struck off, + The menace of the German crushed to earth + That fired me as a soldier, trained to go + When France should need me. So it is you saw + France go about this business calm and stern, + And patient for the prize, or if 'twere lost + Then brave to meet the future as France met + The arduous years that followed Metz, Sedan." + + "But had I been American to the core, + Would I have put the sweet temptation by? + However flamed with zeal had I said no + When lips like hers were offered? Oh, you see + Whatever sun-light gilds the mountain tops + Rich grass grows in the valleys, herds will feed, + Though rising suns put glories on the heights. + And herds will run and stumble over rocks, + Break fences and encounter beasts of prey + To get the grass that's sweetest." + + "To begin + I met her there in Paris. In a trice + We loved each other, wrote, made vows, she pledged + The consummation. There was danger here, + Great danger, as you know, for her and me. + And yet it never stopped us, gave us fear. + And then I schemed and got her through the lines, + Took all the chances." + + "Danger was not all: + There was my knowledge of her husband's love, + His life immaculate, his daily letters. + He put by woman chances that arose + With saying, I am married, am beloved, + I love my wife, all said so earnestly + We could not joke him, though behind his back + Some said: He trusts her, but he'd better watch; + At least no sense of passing good things by. + I sat with him at mess, I saw him read + The letters that she wrote him, face of light + Devouring eyes. The others rallied him; + But I was like a man who knows a plot + To take another's life, but keeps the secret, + Eats with the victim, does not warn him, makes + Himself thereby a party to the plot. + Or like a man who knows a fellow man + Has some insidious disease beginning, + And hears him speak with unconcern of it, + And does not tell him what to do, you know, + And let him go to death. And just for her, + The rapture of a secret love I choked + All risings of an honest manhood, mercy, + Honor with self and him. Oh, well you know + The isolation, hunger of us soldiers, + I only need to hint of these. But now + I see these well endured for sake of peace + And quiet memory." + + "For here we stood + Just 'round the corner in that long arcade + That runs between our building, next to yours. + And this is what I hear--the husband's voice, + Which well I knew, the officer's in command: + 'Why have you brought your wife here?' asked the officer. + 'Pardon, I have not done so,' said the husband. + 'You're adding falsehood to the offense; you know + The rules forbid your wife to pass the lines.' + 'Pardon, I have not brought her,' he exclaimed + In passionate earnestness. + + "Well, there we stood. + My sweetheart, but his wife, was turned to snow, + As white and cold. I got in readiness + To kill the husband. How could we escape? + I thought the husband had been sent away; + Her coming had been timed with his departure, + Arriving afterward, and we had failed. + But as for that, before our feet could stir, + The officer said, 'Come now, I'll prove your lie,' + And in a twinkling, taking a dozen steps + They turned into the arcade, there they were, + The officer was shaking him and saying, + 'You lie! You lie!' + + "All happened in a moment, + The humbled, ruined fellow saw the truth, + And blew his brains out on the very spot! + And made a wonder, gossip for you girls-- + And here I am." + + So Major Petain finished. + Then Elenor Murray said: "Let's watch the sea." + And as they sat in silence, as he turned + To look upon her face, he saw the tears, + Hanging like dew drops on her lashes, drip + And course her cheeks. "My friend, you weep for me," + The major said at last, "my gratitude + For tears like these." "I weep," said Elenor Murray, + "For you, but for myself. What can I say? + Nothing, my friend, your soul must find its way. + Only this word: I'll go to mass with you, + I'll sit beside you, pray with you, for you, + And do you pray for me." + + And then she paused. + The long wash of the sea filled in the silence. + And then she said again, "I'll go with you, + Where we may pray, each for the other pray. + I have a sorrow, too, as deep as yours." + + + + +THE CONVENT + + + Elenor Murray stole away from Nice + Before her furlough ended, tense to see + Something of Italy, and planned to go + To Genoa, explore the ancient town + Of Christopher Columbus, if she might + Elude the regulation, as she did, + In leaving Nice for Italy. But for her + Always the dream, and always the defeat + Of what she dreamed. + + She found herself in Florence + And saw the city. But the weariness + Of labor and her illness came again + At intervals, and on such days she lay + And heard the hours toll, wished for death and wept, + Being alone and sorrowful. + + On a morning + She rose and looked for galleries, came at last + Into the Via Gino Capponi + And saw a little church and entered in, + And saw amid the darkness of the church + A woman kneeling, knelt beside the woman, + And put her hand upon the woman's forehead + To find that it was wrinkled, strange to say + A scar upon the forehead, like a cross.... + Elenor Murray rose and walked away, + Sobs gathering in her throat, her body weak, + And reeled against the wall, for so it seemed, + Against which hung thick curtains, velvet, red, + A little grimed and worn. And as she leaned + Against the curtains, clung to them, she felt + A giving, parted them, and found a door, + Pushed on the door which yielded, opened it + And saw a yard before her. + + It was walled. + A garden of old urns and ancient growths, + Some flowering plants around the wall. + + Before her + And in the garden's center stood a statue, + With outstretched arms, the Virgin without the child. + And suddenly on Elenor Murray came + Great sorrow like a madness, seeing there + The pitying Virgin, stretching arms to her. + And so she ran along the pebbly walk, + Fell fainting at the Virgin's feet and lay + Unconscious in the garden. + + When she woke + Two nuns were standing by, and one was dressed + In purest white, and held within her hands + A tray of gold, and on the tray of gold + There was a glass of wine, and in a cup + Some broth of beef, and on a plate of gold + A wafer. + + And the other nun was dressed + In purest white, but over her shoulders lay + A cape of blue, blue as the sky of Florence + Above the garden wall. + + Then as she saw + The nuns before her, in the interval + Of gathering thought, re-limning life again + From wonder if she had not died, and these + Were guides or ministrants of another world, + The nun with cape of blue to Elenor + Said: "Drink this wine, this broth;" and Elenor + Drank and arose, being lifted up by them, + And taken through the convent door and given + A little room as white and clean as light, + And a bed of snowy linen. + + Then they said: + "This is the Convent where we send up prayers, + Prayers for the souls who do not pray for self-- + Rest, child, and be at peace; and if there be + Friends you would tell that you are here, then we + Will send the word for you, sleep now and rest." + And listening to their voices Elenor slept. + And when she woke a nurse was at her side, + And food was served her, broths and fruit. Each day + A doctor came to tell her all was well, + And health would soon return. + + So for a month + Elenor Murray lay and heard the bells, + And breathed the fragrance of the flowering city + That floated through her window, in the stillness + Of the convent dreamed, and said to self: This place + Is good to die in, who is there to tell + That I am here? There was no one. To them + She gave her name, but said: "Till I am well + Let me remain, and if I die, some place + Must be for me for burial, put me there. + And if I live to go again to France + And join my unit, let me have a writing + That I did not desert, was stricken here + And could not leave. For while I stole away + From Nice to get a glimpse of Italy, + I might have done so in my furlough time, + And not stayed over it." And to Elenor + The nuns said: "We will help you, but for now + Rest and put by anxieties." + + On a day + Elenor Murray made confessional. + And to the nuns told bit by bit her life, + Her childhood, schooling, travels, work in the war, + What fate had followed her, what sufferings. + And Sister Mary, she who saw her first, + And held the tray of gold with wine and broth, + Sat often with her, read to her, and said: + "Letters will go ahead of you to clear + Your absence over time--be not afraid, + All will be well." + + And so when Elenor Murray + Arose to leave she found all things prepared: + A cab to take her to the train, compartments + Reserved for her from place to place, her fare + And tickets paid for, till at last she came + To Brest and joined her unit, in three days + Looked at the rolling waters as the ship + Drove to America--such a coming home! + To what and whom? + + * * * * * + + Loveridge Chase returned and brought the letters + To Coroner Merival from New York. That day + The chemical analysis was finished, showed + No ricin and no poison. Elenor Murray + Died how? What were the circumstances? Then + When Coroner Merival broke the seals of wax, + And cut the twine that bound the package, found + The man was Barrett Bays who wrote the letters-- + There were a hundred--then he cast about + To lay his hands on Barrett Bays, and found + That Barrett Bays lived in Chicago, taught, + Was a professor, aged some forty years. + Why did this Barrett Bays emerge not, speak, + Come forward? Was it simply to conceal + A passion written in these letters here + For his sake or his wife's? Or was it guilt + For some complicity in Elenor's death? + And on this day the coroner had a letter + From Margery Camp which said: "Where's Barrett Bays? + Why have you not arrested him? He knows + Something, perhaps about the death of Elenor." + So Coroner Merival sent process forth + To bring in Barrett Bays, _non est inventus_. + He had not visited his place of teaching, + Been seen in haunts accustomed for some days-- + Not since the death of Elenor Murray, none + Knew where to find him, and none seemed to know + What lay between this man and Elenor Murray. + This was the more suspicious. Then the _Times_ + Made headlines of the letters, published some + Wherein this Barrett Bays had written Elenor: + "You are my hope in life, my morning star, + My love at last, my all." From coast to coast + The word was flashed about this Barrett Bays; + And Mrs. Bays at Martha's Vineyard read, + Turned up her nose, continued on the round + Of gaieties, but to a chum relieved + Her loathing with these words: "Another woman, + He's soiled himself at last." + + And Barrett Bays, + Who roughed it in the Adirondacks, hoped + The inquest's end would leave him undisclosed + In Elenor Murray's life, though wracked with fear + About the letters in the vault, some day + To be unearthed, or taken, it might be, + By Margery Camp for uses sinister-- + He reading that the letters had been given + To Coroner Merival, and seeing his name + Printed in every sheet, saw no escape + In any nook of earth, returned and walked + In Merival's office: trembling, white as snow. + + So Barrett Bays was sworn, before the jury + Sat and replied to questions, said he knew + Elenor Murray in the fall before + She went to France, saw much of her for weeks; + Had written her these letters before she left. + Had followed her in the war, and gone to France, + Had seen her for some days in Paris when + She had a furlough. Had come back and parted + With Elenor Murray, broken with her, found + A cause for crushing out his love for her. + Came back to win forgetfulness, had written + No word to her since leaving Paris--let + Her letters lie unanswered; brought her letters, + And gave them to the coroner. Then he told + Of the day before her death, and how she came + By motor to Chicago with her aunt, + Named Irma Leese, and telephoned him, begged + An hour for talk. "Come meet me by the river," + She had said. And so went to meet her. Then he told + Why he relented, after he had left her + In Paris with no word beside this one: + "This is the end." Now he was curious + To know what she would say, what could be said + Beyond what she had written--so he went + Out of a curious but hardened heart. + + + + +BARRETT BAYS + + + "I was walking by the river," Barrett said, + "When she arrived. I took her hand, no kiss, + A silence for some minutes as we walked. + Then we began to take up point by point, + For she was concentrated on the hope + Of clearing up all doubtful things that we + Might start anew, clear visioned, perfect friends, + More perfect for mistakes and clouds. Her will + Was passionate beyond all other wills, + And when she set her mind upon a course + She could not be diverted, or if so, + Her failure kept her brooding. What with me + She wanted after what had stunned my faith + I knew not, save she loved me. For in truth + I have no money, and no prospects either + To tempt cupidity." + + "Well; first we talked-- + You must be patient with me, gentlemen, + You see my nerves--they're weakened--but I'll try + To tell you all--well then--a glass of water-- + At first we talked but trifles. Silences + Came on us like great calms between the stir + Of ineffectual breezes, like this day + In August growing sultry as the sun + Rose upward. She was striving to break down + The hard corrosion of my thought, and I + Could not surrender. Till at last, I said: + 'That day in Paris when you stood revealed + Can never be forgotten. Once I killed + A love with hatred for a woman who + Betrayed me, as you did. And you can kill + A love with hatred but you kill your soul + While killing love. And so with you I kept + All hatred from my heart, but cannot keep + A poisonous doubt of you from blood and brain.'... + I learned in Paris, (to be clear on this), + That after she had given herself to me + She fell back in the arms of Gregory Wenner. + And here as we were walking I revealed + My agony, my anger, emptied out + My heart of all its bitterness. At last + When she protested it was natural + For her to do what she had done, the act + As natural as breathing, taking food, + Not signifying faithlessness nor love-- + Though she admitted had she loved me then + She had not done so--I grew tense with rage, + A serpent which grows stiff and rears its head + To strike its enemy was what I seemed + To myself then, and so I said to her + In voice controlled and low, but deadly clear, + 'What are you but a whore--you are a whore!' + Murderous words no doubt, but do you hear + She justified herself with Gregory Wenner; + Yes, justified herself when she had written + And asked forgiveness--yes, brought me out + To meet her by the river. And for what? + I said you whore, she shook from head to heels, + And toppled, but I caught her in my arms, + And held her up, she paled, head rolled around, + Her eyes set, mouth fell open, all at once + I saw that she was dead, or syncope + Profound had come upon her. Elenor, + What is the matter? Love came back to me, + Love there with Death. I laid her on the ground. + I found her dead. + + "If I had any thought + There in that awful moment, it was this: + To run away, escape, could I maintain + An innocent presence there, be clear of fault? + And if I had that thought, as I believe, + I had no other; all my mind's a blank + Until I find myself at one o'clock + Disrobing in my room, too full of drink, + And trying to remember. + + "With the morning + I lay in bed and thought: Did Irma Leese + Know anything of me, or did she know + That Elenor went out to meet a man? + And if she did not know, who could disclose + That I was with her? No one saw us there. + Could I not wait from day to day and see + What turn the news would take? For at the last + I did not kill her. If the inquest showed + Her death was natural, as it was, for all + Of me, why then my secret might be hidden + In Elenor Murray's grave. And if they found + That I was with her, brought me in the court, + I could make clear my innocence. And thus + I watched the papers, gambled with the chance + Of never being known in this affair. + Does this sound like a coward? Put yourself + In my place in that horror. Think of me + With all these psychic shell shocks--first the war, + Its great emotions, then this Elenor." + + And thus he spoke and twisted hands, and twitched, + And ended suddenly. Then David Borrow, + And Winthrop Marion with the coroner + Shot questions at him till he woke, regained + A memory, concentration: Who are you? + What was your youth? Your love life? What your wife? + Where did you meet this Elenor at the first? + Why did you go to France? In Paris what + Happened to break your balance? Tell us all. + For as they eyed him, he looked down, away, + Stirred restless in the chair. And was it truth + He told of meeting Elenor, her death? + Guilt like a guise was on his face. And one-- + This Isaac Newfeldt, juryman, whispered, "Look, + That man is guilty, let us fly the questions + Like arrows at him till we bring him down." + And as they flew the arrows he came to + And spoke as follows:-- + + "First, I am a heart + That from my youth has sought for love and hungered. + And Elenor Murray's heart had hungered too, + Which drew our hearts together, made our love + As it were mystical, more real. I was + A boy who sought for beauty, hope and faith + In woman's love; at fourteen met a girl + Who carried me to ecstasy till I walked + In dreamland, stepping clouds. She loved me too. + I could not cure my heart, have always felt + A dull pain for that girl. She died, you know. + I found another, rather made myself + Discover my ideal in her, until + My heart was sure she was the one. And then + I woke up from this trance, went to another + Still searching; always searching, reaching now + An early cynicism, how to play with hearts, + Extract their beauty, pass to someone else. + I was a little tired now, seemed to know + There is no wonder woman, just a woman + Somewhere to be a wife. And then I met + The woman whom I married, thought to solve + My problem with the average things of life; + The satisfaction of insistent sex, + A home, a regular program, turn to work, + Forget the dream, the quest. What did I find? + A woman who exhausted me and bored me, + Stirred never a thought, a fancy, brought no friends, + No pleasures or diversions, took from me + All that I had to give of mind and heart, + Purse, or what not. And she was barren too, + And restless; by that restlessness relieved + The boredom of our life; it took her off + In travels here and there. And I was glad + To have her absent, but it still is true + There is a hell in marriage, when it keeps + Delights of freedom off, all other women + Not willing to intrigue, pass distantly + Your married man; but on the other hand + What was my marriage with a wife away + Six months or more of every year? And when + I said to her, divorce me, she would say, + You want your freedom to get married--well, + The other woman shall not have you, if + There is another woman, as I think. + And so the years went by. I'm thirty-five + And meet a woman, play light heartedly, + She is past thirty, understands nor asks + A serious love. It's summer and we jaunt + About the country, for my wife's away. + As usual, in the fall returns, and then + My woman says, the holiday is over, + Go back to work, and I'll go back to work. + I cannot give her up, would still go on + For this delight so sweet to me. By will + I hold her, stir the fire up to inflame + Her hands for me, make love to her in short + And find myself in love, beholding in her + All beauties and all virtues. Well, at first + What did I care what she had been before, + Whose mistress, sweetheart? Now I cared and asked + Fidelity from her, and this she pledged. + And so a settled life seemed come to us, + We had found happiness. But on a day + I caught her in unfaithfulness. A man + She knew before she knew me crossed her path. + Why do they do this, even while their lips + Are wet with kisses given you? I think + A woman may be true in marriage, never + In any free relationship. And then + I left her, killed the love I had with hate. + Hate is an energy with which to save + A heart knocked over by a blow like this. + To forgive this wrong is never to forget, + But always to remember, with increasing + Sorrow and dreams invest the ruined love. + And so I turned to hate, came from the flames + As hard and glittering as crockery ware, + And went my way with gallant gestures, winning + An hour of rapture where it came to me. + And all the time my wife was much away, + Yet left me in this state where I was kept + From serious love if I had found the woman. + A pterodactyl in my life and soul: + Had wings, could fly, but slumbered in the mud. + Was neither bird nor beast; as social being + Was neither bachelor nor married man. + + The years went on with work, day after day + Arising to the task, night after night + Returning for the rest with which to rise, + Forever following the mad illusion, + The dream, the expected friend, the great event + Which should change life, and never finding it. + And all the while I see myself consumed, + Sapped somehow by this wife and hating her; + Then fearful for myself for hating her, + Then melting into generosities + For hating her. And so tossed back and forth + Between such passions, also never at peace + From the dream of love, the woman and the mate + I stagger, amble, hurtle through the years, + And reach that summer of two years ago + When life began to change. It was this way: + My wife is home, for a wonder, and my friend, + Most sympathetic, nearest, comes to dine. + He casts his comprehending eyes about, + Takes all things in. As we go down to town, + And afterward at luncheon, when alone + He says to me: she is a worthy woman, + Beautiful, too, there is no other woman + To make you happier, the fault is yours, + At least in part, remove your part of the fault, + To woo her, give yourself, find good in her. + Go take a trip. For neither man nor woman + Yields everything till wooed, tried out, beloved. + Bring all your energies to the trial of her. + She will respond, unfold, repay your work. + + He won me with his words. I said to her, + Let's summer at Lake Placid--so we went. + I tried his plan, did all I could, no use. + The woman is not mine, was never mine, + Was meant for someone else. And in despair, + In wrath as well, I left her and came back + And telephoned a woman that I knew + To dine with me. She came, was glad and gay, + But as she drew her gloves off let me see + A solitaire. What, you? I said to her, + You leave me too? She smiled and answered me; + Marriage may be the horror that you think, + And yet we all must try it once, and Charles + Is nearest my ideal of any man. + I have been very ill since last we met, + Had not survived except for skillful hands, + And Charles was good to me, with heart and purse. + My illness took my savings. I repay + His goodness with my hand. I love him too. + You do not care to lose me. As for that + I know one who will more than take my place; + She is the nurse who nursed me back to health, + I'll have you meet her, I can get her now. + She rose and telephoned. In half an hour + Elenor Murray joined us, dined with us. + I watched her as she entered, did not see + A single wonder in her, cannot now + Remember how she looked, what dress she wore, + What hat in point of color, anything. + After the dinner I rode home with them, + Saw Elenor at luncheon next day. So + The intimacy began." + + "She was alone, + Unsettled and unhappy, pressed for funds. + She had, it seemed, nursed Janet without pay + Till Charles made good at last the weekly wage; + Since Janet's illness had no work to do. + I was alone and bored, she came to me + Almost at first as woman never came + To me before, so radiant, sympathetic, + Admiring, so devoted with a heart + That soothed and strove to help me. Strange to say + These manifests of spirit, ministrations + Bespoke the woman who has found a man, + And never knew a man before. She seemed + An old maid jubilant for a man at last, + And truth to tell I took her rapturous ways + With just a little reticence, and shrinking + Of spirit lest her hands would touch too close + My spirit which misvalued hers, withdraw + Itself from hers with hidden smiles that she + Could find so much in me. She did not change, + Retreat, draw in; advanced, poured out, gave more + And wooed me, till I feared if I should take + Her body she would follow me, grow mad + And shameless for her love." + + "But as for that + That next day while at luncheon, frank and bold, + I spoke right out to her and then she shook + From head to foot, and made her knife in hand + Rattle the plate for trembling, turned as pale + As the table linen. Afterward as we met, + Having begun so, I renewed the word, + Half smiling to behold her so perturbed, + And serious, and gradually toning down + Pursuit of her this way, as I perceived + Her interest growing and her clinging ways, + Her ardor, huddling to me, great devotion; + Rapt words of friendship, offers of herself + For me or mine for nothing were we ill + And needed her." + + "These currents flowed along. + Hers plunged and sparkled, mine was slow for thought. + A doubt of her, or fear, till on a night + When nothing had been said of this before, + Quite suddenly when nearing home she shrank, + Involved herself in shrinking in the corner + Of the cab's seat, and spoke up: 'Take me now, + I'm yours to-night, will do what you desire, + Whatever you desire.' I acted then, + Seemed overjoyed, was puzzled just the same, + And almost feared her. As I said before, + I feared she might pursue me, trouble me + After a hold like this,--and yet I said: + 'Go get your satchel, meet me in an hour.' + I let her out, drove to the club, and thought; + Then telephoned her, business had come up, + I could not meet her, but would telephone + To-morrow." + + "And to-morrow when it came + Brought ridicule and taunting from myself: + To have pursued this woman, for two months, + And if half-heartedly, you've made her think + Your heart was wholly in it, now she yields, + Bestows herself. You fly, you are a fool; + A village pastor playing Don Juan, + A booby costumed as a gallant--pooh! + Go take your chance. I telephoned her then, + That night she met me." + + "Here was my surprise: + All semblance of the old maid fell away, + Like robes as she disrobed. She brought with her + Accoutrements of slippers, caps of lace, + And oriental perfumes languorous. + The hour had been all heaven had I sensed, + Sensed without thinking consciously a play, + Dramatics, acting, like an old maid who + Resorts to tricks of dress she fancies wins + A gallant of experience, fancies only + And knows not, being fancied so appears + Half ludicrous." + + "But so our woe began. + That morning we had breakfast in our room, + And I was thinking, in an absent way + Responded to her laughter, joyous ways. + For I was thinking of my life again, + Of love that still eluded me, was bored + Because I sat there, did not have the spirit + To share her buoyancy--or was it such? + Did she not ripple merriment to hide + Her disappointment, wake me if she could? + And spite of what I thought of her before + That she had known another man or men, + I thought now I was first. And to let down, + Slope off the event, our parting for the day + Have no abruptness, I invited her + To luncheon, when I left her 'twas to meet + Again at noon. We met and parted then. + So now it seemed a thing achieved. Two weeks + Elapsed before I telephoned her. Then + The story we repeated as before, + Same room and all. But meantime we had sat + Some moments over tea, the orchestra + Played Chopin for her." + + "Then she handed me + A little box, I opened it and found + A locket too ornate, her picture in it, + A little flag." + + "So in that moment there + Love came to me for Elenor Murray. Music, + That poor pathetic locket, and her way + So humble, so devoted, and the thought + Of those months past, wherein she never swerved + From ways of love, in spite of all my moods, + Half-hearted, distant--these combined at once, + And with a flame that rose up silently + Consumed my heart with love." + + "She went away, + And left me hungering, lonely. She returned, + And saw at last dubieties no more, + The answering light for her within my eyes." + + "I must recur a little here to say + That at the first, first meeting it may be, + With Janet, there at tea, she said to me + She had signed for the war, would go to France, + To nurse the soldiers. You cannot remember + What people say at first, before you know, + Have interest in them. Also at that time + I had no interest in the war, believed + The war would end before we took a hand. + The war lay out of me, objectified + Like news of earthquakes in Japan. And then + As time went on she said: 'I do not know + What day I shall be called, the time's at hand.' + I loathed the Germans then; but loathed the war, + The hatred, lying, which it bred, the filth + Spewed over Europe, from the war, on us + At last. I loathed it all, and saw + The spirit of the world debauched and fouled + With blood and falsehood." + + "Elenor found in me + Cold water for her zeal, and even asked: + 'Are you pro-German?--no!' I tried to say + What stirred in me, she did not comprehend, + And went her way with saying: 'I shall serve, + O, glorious privilege to serve, to give, + And since this love of ours is tragedy, + Cannot be blessed with children, or with home, + It will be better if I die, am swept + Under the tide of war with work.' This girl + Exhausted me with ardors, spoken faiths, + And zeal which never tired, until at last + I longed for her to go and make an end. + What better way to end it?" + + "April came, + One day she telephoned me that to-morrow + She left for France. We met that night and walked + A wind swept boulevard by the lake, and she + Was luminous, a spirit; tucked herself + Under my coat, adored me, said to me: + 'If I survive I shall return to you, + To serve you, help you, be your friend for life, + And sacrifice my womanhood for you. + You cannot marry me, in spite of that + If I can be your comfort, give you peace, + That will be marriage, all that God intends + As marriage for me. You have blessed me, dear, + With hope and happiness. And oh at last + You did behold the war as good, you give me, + You send me to the war. I serve for you, + I serve the country in your name, your love, + So blessed for you, your love.'" + + "That night at two + I woke somehow as if an angel stood + Beside the bed in light, beneficence, + And found her head close to my heart--she woke + At once with me, spoke dreamily 'Dear heart,' + Then turned to sleep again. I loved her then." + + "She left next day. An olden mood came back + Which said, the end has come, and it is best. + I left the city too, breathed freer then, + Sought new companionships. But in three days + My heart was sinking, sickness of the heart, + Nostalgia took me. How to fight it off + Became the daily problem; work, diversions + Seemed best for cures. The malady progressed + Beyond the remedies. My wife came back, + Divined my trouble, laughed. And every day + The papers pounded nerves with battle news; + The bands were playing, soldiers marched the streets. + And taggers on the corner every day + Reminded you of suffering and of want. + And orators were talking where you ate: + Bonds must be bought--war--war was everywhere. + There was no place remote to hide from it, + And rest from its insistence. Then began + Elenor Murray's letters sent from France, + Which told of what she did, and always said: + 'Would you were with me, serving in the war. + If you could come and serve; they need you, dear; + You could do much.' Until at last the war + Which had lain out of me, objectified, + Became a part of me, I saw the war, + And felt the war through her, and every tune + And every marching soldier, every word + Spoken by orators said Elenor Murray. + At dining places, theatres, pursued + By this one thought of war and Elenor Murray; + In every drawing room pursued, pursued + In quiet places by the memories. + I had no rest. The war and love of her + Had taken body of me, soul of me, + With madness, ecstasy, and nameless longing, + Hunger and hope, fear and despair--but love + For Elenor Murray with intenser flame + Ran round it all." + + "At last all other things: + Place in the world, my business, and my home, + My wife if she be counted, sunk away + To nothingness. I stood stripped of the past, + Saw nothing but the war and Elenor, + Saw nothing but the day of finding her + In France, and serving there to be with her, + Or near where I could see her, go to her, + Perhaps if she was ill or needed me. + And so I went to France, began to serve, + Went in the ordnance. In that ecstasy + Of war, religion, love, found happiness; + Became a part of the event, and cured + My languors, boredom, longing, in the work; + And saw the war as greatest good, the hand + Of God through all of it to bring the world + Beauty and Freedom, a millennium + Of Peace and Justice." + + "So the days went by + With work and waiting, waiting for the hour + When Elenor should have a furlough, come + To Paris, see me. And she came at last." + + "Before she came she wrote me, told me where + To meet her first. 'At two o'clock,' she wrote, + 'Be on the landing back of the piano' + Of a hotel she named. An ominous thought + Passed through my brain, as through a room a bat + Flits in and out. I read the letter over: + How could this letter pass the censor? Escape + The censor's eye? But eagerness of passion, + And longing, love, submerged such thoughts as these. + I walked the streets and waited, loitered through + The Garden of the Tuilleries, watched the clocks, + The lagging minutes, counted with their strokes. + And then at last the longed for hour arrived. + I reached the landing--what a meeting place! + With pillars, curtains hiding us, a nook + No one could see us in, unless he spied. + And she was here, was standing by the corner + Of the piano, very pale and worn, + Looked down, not at me, pathos over her + Like autumn light. I took her in my arms, + She could not speak, it seemed. I could not speak. + Dumb sobs filled heart and throat of us. And then + I held her from me, looked at her, re-clasped + Her head against my breast, with choking breath + That was half whisper, half a cry, I said, + 'I love you, love you, now at last we're here + Together, oh, my love!' She put her lips + Against my throat and kissed it: 'Oh, my love, + You really love me, now I know and see, + My soul, my dear one,' Elenor breathed up + The words against my throat." + + "We took a suite: + Soft rugs upon the floor, a bed built up, + And canopied with satin, on the wall + Some battle pictures, one of Bonaparte, + A bottle of crystal water on a stand + And roses in a bowl--the room was sweet + With odors, and so comfortable. Here we stood. + 'It's Paris, dear,' she said, 'we are together; + You're serving in the war, how glorious! + We love each other, life is good--so good!' + That afternoon we saw the city a little, + So many things occurred to prophesy, + Interpret." + + "And that night we saw the moon, + One star above the Arc de Triomphe, over + The chariot of bronze and leaping horses. + Dined merrily and slept and woke together + Beneath that satin canopy." + + "In brief, + The days went by with laughter and with love. + We watched the Seine from bridges, in a spell + There at Versailles in the Temple of Love + Sat in the fading day." + + "Upon the lawn + She took her diary from her bag and read + What she had done in France; years past as well. + Began to tell me of a Simeon Strong + Whom she was pledged to marry years before. + How jealousy of Simeon Strong destroyed + His love, and all because in innocence + She had received some roses from a friend. + That led to other men that she had known + Who wished to marry her, as she said. But most + She talked of Simeon Strong; then of a man + Who had absorbed her life until she went + In training as a nurse, a married man, + Whom she had put away, himself forgetting + A hopeless love he crushed. Until at last + I said, no more, my dear--The past is dead, + What is the past to me? It could not be + That you could live and never meet a man + To love you, whom you loved. And then at last + She put the diary in her bag, we walked + And scanned the village from the heights; the train + Took back for Paris, went to dine, be gay. + This afternoon was the last, this night the last. + To-morrow she was going back to work, + And I was to resume my duties too, + Both hopeful for another meeting soon, + The war's end, a re-union, some solution + Of what was now a problem hard to bear." + + "We left our dinner early, she was tired, + There in our room again we clung together, + Grieved for the morrow. Sadness fell upon us, + Her eyes were veiled, her voice was low, her speech + Was brief and nebulous. She soon disrobed, + Lay with her hair spread out upon the pillow, + One hand above the coverlet." + + "And soon + Was lying with head turned from me. I sat + And read to man my grief. You see the war + Blew to intenser flame all moods, all love, + All grief at parting, fear, or doubt. At last + As I looked up to see her I could see + Her breast with sleep arise and fall. The silence + Of night was on the city, even her breath + I heard as she was sleeping--for myself + I wondered what I was and why I was, + What world is this and why, and if there be + God who creates us to this life, then why + This agony of living, peace or war; + This agony which grows greater, never less, + And multiplies its sources with the days, + Increases its perplexities with time, + And gives the soul no rest. And why this love, + This woman in my life. The mystery + Of my own torture asked to be explained. + And why I married whom I married, why + She was content to stand far off and watch + My crucifixion. Why?" + + "And with these thoughts + Came thought of changing them. A wonder slipped + About her diary in my brain. I paused, + Said to myself, you have no right to spy + Upon such secret records, yet indeed + A devilish sense of curiosity + Came as relaxment to my graver mood, + As one will fetch up laughter to dispel + Thoughts that cannot be quelled or made to take + The form of action, clarity. I arose + Took from her bag the diary, turned to see + What entry she had made when first she came + And gave herself to me. And look! The page + Just opposite from this had words to show + She gave herself to Gregory Wenner just + The week that followed on the week in which + She gave herself to me." + + "A glass of water, + Before I can proceed!"... + + "I reeled and struck + The bed post. She awoke. I thought that death + Had come with apoplexy, could not see, + And in a spell vertiginous, with hands + That shook and could not find the post, stood there + Palsied from head to foot. Quick, she divined + The event, the horror anyway, sprang out, + And saw the diary lying at my feet. + Before I gained control of self, could catch + Or hold her hands, she seized it, threw it out + The window on the street, and flung herself + Face down upon the bed." + + "Oh awful hell! + What other entries did I miss, what shames + Recorded since she left me, here in France? + What was she then? A woman of one sin, + Or many sins, her life filled up with treason, + Since I had left her?" + + "And now think of me: + This monstrous war had entered me through her, + Its passion, beauty, promise came through her + Into my blood and spirit, swept me forth + From country, life I knew, all settled things. + I had gone mad through her, and from her lips + Had caught the poison of the war, its hate, + Its yellow sentiment, its sickly dreams, + Its lying ideals, and its gilded filth. + And here she lay before me, like a snake + That having struck, by instinct now is limp; + By instinct knows its fangs have done their work, + And merely lies and rests." + + "I went to her, + Pulled down her hands from eyes and shook her hard: + What is this? Tell me all?" + + "She only said: + 'You have seen all, know all.'" + + "'You do not mean + That was the first and last with him?' She said, + 'That is the truth.' 'You lie,' I answered her. + 'You lie and all your course has been a lie: + Your words that asked me to be true to you, + That I could break your heart. The breasts you showed + Flowering because of me, as you declared; + Our intimacy of bodies in the dance + Now first permitted you because of love; + Your plaints for truth and for fidelity, + Your fears, a practiced veteran in the game, + All simulated. And your prayer to God + For me, our love, your protests for the war, + For service, sacrifice, your mother hunger, + Are all elaborate lies, hypocrisies, + Studied in coolest cruelty, and mockery + Of every lovely thing, if there can be + A holy thing in life, as there cannot, + As you have proven it. The diary's gone-- + And let it go--you kept it from my eyes + Which shows that there was more. What are you then, + A whore, that's all, a masquerading whore, + Not worthy of the hand that plies her trade + In openness, without deceit. For if + This was the first and only time with him + Here is dissimulation month by month + By word of mouth, in letters by the score; + And here your willingness to take my soul + And feed upon it. Knowing that my soul + Through what I thought was love was caught and whirled + To faith in the war, and faith in you as one + Who symbolized the war as good, as means + Of goodness for the world--and this deceit, + Insane, remorseless, conscienceless, is worse + Than what you did with him. I could forgive + Disloyalty like that, but this deceit + Is unforgivable. I go,' I said. + I turned to leave. She rose up from the bed, + 'Forgive! Forgive!' she pleaded, 'I was mad, + Be fair! Be fair! You took me, turned from me, + Seemed not to want me, so I went to him. + I cried the whole day long when first I gave + Myself to you, for thinking you had found + All that you wanted, left me, did not care + To see me any more. I swear to you + I have been faithful to you since that day + When we heard Chopin played, and I could see + You loved me, and I loved you. O be fair!'"... + + Then Barrett Bays shook like an animal + That starves and freezes. And the jury looked + And waited till he got control of self + And spoke again his horror and his grief:-- + "I left her, went upon the silent streets, + And walked the night through half insane, I think. + Cannot remember what I saw that night, + Have only blurs of buildings, arches, towers, + Remember dawn at last, returning strength, + And taking rolls and coffee, all my spirit + Grown clear and hard as crystal, with a will + As sharp as steel to find reality: + To see life as it is and face its terrors, + And never feel a tremor, bat an eye. + Drink any cup to find the truth, and be + A pioneer in a world made new again, + Stripped of the husks, bring new faith to the world, + Of souls devoted to themselves to make + Souls truer, more developed, wise and fair! + Write down the creed of service, and write in + Self-culture, self-dependence, throw away + The testaments of Jesus, old and new, + Save as they speak and help the river life + To mould our truer beings; the rest discard + Which teaches compensation, to forgive + That you may be forgiven, mercy show + That mercy may be yours, and love your neighbor, + Love so to gain--all balances like this + Of doctrine for the spirit false and vile, + Corrupted with such calculating filth; + And if you'd be the greatest, be the servant-- + When one to be the greatest must be great + In self, a light, a harmony in self, + Perfected by the inner law, the works + Done for the sake of beauty, for the self + Without the hope of gain except the soul, + Your one possession, grows a perfect thing + If tended, studied, disciplined. While all + This ethic of the war, the sickly creed + Which Elenor Murray mouthed, but hides the will + Which struggles still, would live, lies to itself, + Lies to its neighbor and the world, and leaves + Our life upon a wall of rotting rock + Of village mortals, patriotism, lies!" + + "And as for that, what did I see in Paris + But human nature working in the war + As everywhere it works in peace? Cabals, + And jealousies and hatreds, greed alert; + Ambition, cruelty, strife piled on strife; + No peace in labor that was done for peace; + Hypocrisy elaborate and rampant. + Saw at first hand what coiled about the breast + Of Florence Nightingale when she suffered, strove + In the Crimean War, struck down by envy, + Or nearly so. Oh, is it human nature, + That fights like maggots in the rotting carcass? + Or is it human nature tortured, bound + By artificial doctrines, creeds which all + Pretend belief in, really doubt, resist + And cannot live by?" + + "If I had a thought + Of charity toward this woman then + It was that she, a little mind, had tried + To live the faith against her nature, used + A woman's cunning to get on in life. + For as I said it was her lies that hurt. + And had she lied, had she been living free, + Unshackled of our system, faith and cult, + American or Christian, what you will? + + "She was a woman free or bound, but women + Enslave and rule by sex. The female tigers + Howl in the jungle when their dugs are dry + For meat to suckle cubs. And Germany + Of bullet heads and bristling pompadours, + And wives made humble, cowed by basso brutes, + Had women to enslave the brutes with sex, + And make them seek possessions, land and food + For breeding women and for broods." + + "And now + If women make the wars, yet nurse the sick, + The wounded in the wars, when peace results, + What peace will be, except a peace that fools + The gaping idealist, all souls in truth + But souls like mine? A peace that leaves the world + Just where it was with women in command + Who, weak but cunning, clinging to the faith + Of Christ, therefore as organized and made + A part, if not the whole of western culture. + Away with all of this! Blow down the mists, + The rainbows, give us air and cloudless skies. + Give water to our fevered eyes, give strength + To see what is and live it, tear away + These clumsy scaffoldings, by which the mystics, + Ascetics, mad-men all St. Stylites + Would rise above the world of body, brain, + Thirst, hunger, living, nature! Let us free + The soul of man from sophists, logic spinners, + The mad-magicians who would conjure death, + Yet fear him most themselves, the coward hearts + Who mouth eternal bliss, yet cling to earth + And keep away from heaven." + + "For it's true + Nature, or God, gives birth and also death. + And power has never come to draw the sting + Of death or make it pleasant, creed nor faith + Prevents disease, old age and death at last. + This truth is here and we must face it, or + Lie to ourselves and cloud our brains with lies, + Postponements and illusions, childish hopes! + But lie most childish is the Christian myth + Of Adam's fall, by which disease and death + Entered the world, until the Savior came + And conquered death. He did? But people die, + Some millions slaughtered in the war! They live + In heaven, say your Elenor Murrays, well, + Who knows this? If you know it, why drop tears + For people better off? How ludicrous + The patch-work is! I leave it, turn again + To what man in this world can do with life + Made free of superstition, rules and faiths, + That make him lie to self and to his fellows."... + + And Barrett Bays, now warmed up to his work, + Grown calmer, stronger, mind returned, that found + Full courage for the thought, the word to say it + Recurred to Elenor Murray, analyzed:-- + And now a final word: "This Elenor Murray, + What was she, just a woman, a little life + Swept in the war and broken? If no more, + She is not worth these words: She is the symbol + Of our America, perhaps this world + This side of India, of America + At least she is the symbol. What was she? + A restlessness, a hunger, and a zeal; + A hope for goodness, and a tenderness; + A love, a sorrow, and a venturing will; + A dreamer fooled but dreaming still, a vision + That followed lures that fled her, generous, loving, + But also avid and insatiable; + An egoism chained and starved too long + That breaks away and runs; a cruelty, + A wilfulness, a dealer in false weights, + And measures of herself, her duty, others, + A lust, a slick hypocrisy and a faith + Faithless and hollow. But at last I say + She taught me, saved me for myself, and turned + My steps upon the path of making self + As much as I can make myself--my thanks + To Elenor Murray!" + + "For that day I saw + The war for what it was, and saw myself + An artificial factor, working there + Because of Elenor Murray--what a fool! + I was not really needed, like too many + Was just pretending, though I did not know + That I was just pretending, saw myself + Swept in this mad procession by a woman; + And through myself I saw the howling mob + Back in America that shouted hate, + In God's name, all the carriers of flags, + The superheated patriots who did nothing, + Gave nothing but the clapping of their hands, + And shouts for freedom of the seas. The souls + Who hated freedom on the sea or earth, + Had, as the vile majority, set up + Intolerable tyrannies in America, + America that launched herself without + A God or faith, but in the name of man + And for humanity, so long accursed + By Gods and priests--the vile majority! + Which in the war, and through the war went on + With other tyrannies as to meat and drink, + Thought, speech, the mind in living--here was I + One of the vile majority through a woman-- + And serving in the war because of her, + And meretricious sentiments of her. + You see I had the madness of the world, + Was just as crazy as America. + And like America must wake from madness + And suffer, and regret, and build again. + My soul was soiled, you see. And now I saw + How she had pressed her lips against my soul + And sapped my spirit in the name of beauty + She simulated; for a loyalty + Her lips averred; how as a courtesan + She had made soft my tissues, like an apple + Handled too much; how vision of me went + Into her life sucked forth; how never a word + Which ever came from her interpreted + In terms of worth the war; how she had coiled + Her serpent loins about me; how she draped + Herself in ardors borrowed; how my arms + Were mottled from the needle's scar where she + Had shot the opiates of her lying soul; + How asking truth, she was herself untrue; + How she, adventuress in the war, had sought + From lust grown stale, renewal of herself. + And then at last I saw her scullery brows + Fail out and fade beside the Republic's face, + And leave me free upon the hills, who saw, + Strong, seeking cleanliness in truth, her hand + Which sought the cup worn smooth by leper lips + Dipped in the fountain where the thirst of many + Passionate pilgrims had been quenched, + Not lifted up by me, nor yet befriended + By the cleaner cup I offered. Now you think + That I am hard. Philosophy is hard, + And I philosophize, admit as well + That I have failed, am full of faults myself, + All faults, we'll say, but one, I trust and pray + The fault of falsehood and hypocrisy."... + + "I gave my work in Paris up--that day + Made ready to return, but with this thought + To use my wisdom for the war, do work + For America that had no touch of her, + No flavor of her nature, far removed + From the symphony of sex, be masculine, + Alone, and self-sufficient, needing nothing, + No hand, no kiss, no mate, pure thought alone + Directed to this work. I found the work + And gave it all my energy." + + "From then + I wrote her nothing, though she wrote to me + These more than hundred letters--here they are! + Since you have mine brought to you from New York + All written before she went to France, I think + You should have hers to make the woman out + And read her as she wrote herself to me. + The rest is brief. She cabled when she sailed, + And wrote me from New York. While at LeRoy + With Irma Leese she wrote me. Then that day + She telephoned me when she motored here + With Irma Leese, and said: 'Forgive, forgive, + O see me, come to me, or let me come + To you, you cannot crush me out. These months + Of silence, what are they? Eternity + Makes nothing of these months. I love you, never + In all eternity shall cease to love you, + Love makes you mine, and you must come to me + Now or hereafter.'" + + "And you see at last + My soul was clear again, as clean and cold + As our March days, as clear too, and the war + Stood off envisioned for the thing it was. + Peace now had come, which helped our eyes to see + What dread event the war was. So to see + This woman with these eyes of mine, made true + And unpersuadable of her plaints and ways + I gave consent and went." + + "Arriving first, + I walked along the river till she came. + And as I saw her, I looked through the tricks + Of dress she played to win me, I could see + How she arrayed herself before the mirror, + Adjusting this or that to make herself + Victorious in the meeting. But my eyes + Were wizard eyes for her, and this she knew, + Began at first to writhe, change color, flap + Her nervous hands in gestures half controlled. + I only said, 'Good morning,' took her hand, + She tried to kiss me, but I drew away. + 'I have been true,' she said, 'I love you, dear, + If I was false and did not love you, why + Would I pursue you, write you, all against + Your coldness and your silence? O believe me, + The war and you have changed me. I have served, + Served hard among the sufferers in the war, + Sustained by love for you. I come to you + And give my life to you, take it and use, + Keep me your secret joy. I do not dream + Of winning you in marriage. Here and now + I humble self to you, ask nothing of you, + Except your kindness, love again, if love + Can come again to you--O this must be! + It is my due who love you, with my soul, + My body.'" + + "'No,' I said, 'I can forgive + All things but lying and hypocrisy.'... + How could I trust her? She had kept from me + The diary, threw it from the window, what + Was life of her in France? Should I expunge + This Gregory Wenner, what was life of her + In France, I ask. And so I said to her: + 'I have no confidence in you'--O well + I told the jury all. But quick at once + She showed to me, that if I could forgive + Her course of lying, she was changed to me, + The war had changed her, she was hard and wild, + Schooled in the ways of soldiers, and in war. + That beauty of her womanhood was gone, + Transmuted into waywardness, distaste + For simple ways, for quiet, loveliness. + The adventuress in her was magnified, + Cleared up and set, she had become a shrike, + A spar hawk, and I loathed her for these ways + Which she revealed, dropping her gentleness + When it had failed her. Yes, I saw in her + The war at last; its lying and its hate, + Its special pleading, and its double dealing, + Its lust, its greed, its covert purposes, + Its passion out of hell which obelised + Such noble things in man. Its crooked uses + Of lofty spirits, flaming fires of youth, + Young dreamers, lovers. And at last she said, + As I have told the jury, what she did + Was natural, and I cursed her. Then she shook, + Turned pale, and reeled, I caught her, held her up, + She died right in my arms! And this is all; + Except that had I killed her and should spend + My days in prison for it, I am free, + My spirit being free." + + "Who was this woman? + This Elenor Murray was America; + Corrupt, deceived, deceiving, self-deceived, + Half-disciplined, half-lettered, crude and smart, + Enslaved yet wanting freedom, brave and coarse, + Cowardly, shabby, hypocritical, + Generous, loving, noble, full of prayer, + Scorning, embracing rituals, recreant + To Christ so much professed; adventuresome; + Curious, mediocre, venal, hungry + For money, place, experience, restless, no + Repose, restraint; before the world made up + To act and sport ideals, go abroad + To bring the world its freedom, having choked + Freedom at home--the girl was this because + These things were bred in her, she breathed them in + Here where she lived and grew." + + Then Barrett Bays stepped down + And said, "If this is all, I'd like to go." + Then David Borrow whispered in the ear + Of Merival, and Merival conferred + With Ritter and Llewellyn George and said: + "We may need you again, a deputy + Will take you to my house, and for the time + Keep you in custody." + + The deputy + Came in and led him from the jury room. + + + + +ELENOR MURRAY + + + Coroner Merival took the hundred letters + Which Elenor Murray wrote to Barrett Bays, + Found some of them unopened, as he said, + And read them to the jury. Day by day + She made a record of her life, and wrote + Her life out hour by hour, that he might know. + The hundredth letter was the last she wrote. + And this the Coroner found unopened, cut + The envelope and read it in these words: + + "You see I am at Nice. If you have read + The other letters that I wrote you since + Our parting there in Paris, you will know + About my illness; but I write you now + Some other details." + + "I went back to work + So troubled and depressed about you, dear, + About myself as well. I thought of you, + Your suffering and doubt, perhaps your hate. + And since you do not write me, not a line + Have written since we parted, it may be + Hatred has entered you to make distrust + Less hard to bear. But in no waking hour, + And in no hour of sleep when I have dreamed, + Have you been from my mind. I love you, dear, + Shall always love you, all eternity + Cannot exhaust my love, no change shall come + To change my love. And yet to love you so, + And have no recompense but silence, thoughts + Of your contempt for me, make exquisite + The suffering of my spirit. Could I sing + My sorrow would enchant the world, or write, + I might regain your love with beauty born + Out of this agony." + + "When I returned + I had three typhoid cases given me. + And with that passion which you see in me + I gave myself to save them, took this love + Which fills my heart for you and nursed them with it; + Said to myself to keep me on my feet + When I was staggering from fatigue, 'Give now + Out of this love, it may be God's own gift + With which you may restore these boys to health. + What matter if he love you not.' And so + For twelve hours day by day I waged with death + A slowly winning battle." + + "As they rallied, + But when my strength was almost spent--what comes? + This Miriam Fay writes odiously to me. + She has heard something of our love, or sensed + Some dereliction, since she learned that I + Had not been to confessional. Anyway + She writes me, writes our head-nurse. All at once + A cloud of vile suspicion, like a dust + Blown from an alley takes my breath away, + And blinds my eyes. With all these things piled up, + My labors and my sorrow, your neglect, + My fears of a dishonorable discharge + From service, which I love, I faint, collapse, + Have streptococcus of the throat, and lie + Two weeks in fever, sleepless, and with thoughts + Of you, and what may happen, my disgrace. + But suffering brought me friends, the officers + Perhaps had heard the scandal, but they knew + My heart was in the work. The major who + Was the attending doctor of these boys + I broke myself with nursing, cared for me, + And cheered me with his praise. And so it was + Your little soldier, still I call myself, + Your little soldier, though you own me not, + Turned failure into victory, won by pain + Befriending hands. The major kept me here + And intercepted my discharge, procured + My furlough here in Nice." + + "I rose from bed, + Went back to work, in nine days failed again, + This time with influenza; for three weeks + Was ill enough to die, for all the while + My fever raged, my heart was hurting too, + Because of you. When I got up again + I looked a ghost, was weaker than a child, + At last came here to Nice." + + "This is the hundredth + Letter that I've written since we parted. + My heart is tired, dear, I shall write no more. + You shall have silence for your silence, yet + When I am silent, trust me none the less, + Believe I love you. If you say that I + Have hidden secrets, have not told you all, + The diary flung away to keep my life + Beyond your eye's inspection, still I say + Where is your right to know what lips I've kissed, + What hopes or dreams I cherished in the past + Before I knew you. If you still accuse + My spirit of deceit, hypocrisy + In lifting up my flower of love to you + Fresh, as it seemed, with morning dew, not tears, + I have my own defense for that, you'll see. + Or lastly, if your love is turned to gall + Because, as you discovered, body of love + Was given to Gregory Wenner, after you + Had come to me in love and chosen me + As servant of you in the war, I write + To clear myself to you respecting that, + And re-insist 'twas body of love alone, + Not love I gave, and what I gave was given + Because you won me, left me, did not claim + As wholly yours what you had won. But now, + As I have hope of life beyond the grave, + As I love God, though serving Him but ill, + I say to you, I have been wholly yours + In spirit and in body since the day + I gave to you the locket, sat with you + And heard the waltz of Chopin, six days after + I went with Gregory Wenner. I explain + Why I did this, shall mention it no more; + You must be satisfied or go your way + In bitterness and hatred." + + "But first, my love, + As spirits equal and with equal rights, + Or privilege of equal wrongs, have I + Demanded former purity of you? + I have repelled revealments of your past; + Have never questioned of your marriage, asked, + Which might be juster, rights withdrawn from her; + May rightly think, since you and she have life + In one abode together, that you live + As marriage warrants. And above it all + Have I not written you to go your way, + Find pleasures where you could, have only begged + That you keep out of love, continue to give + Your love to me? And why? Be cynical, + And think I gave you freedom as a gallant + That I might with a quiet conscience take + Such freedom for myself. It is not true: + I've learned the human body, know the male, + And know his life is motile, does not rest, + And wait, as woman's does, cannot do so. + So understanding have put down distaste, + That you should fare in freedom, in my heart + Have wished that love or ideals might sustain + Your spirit; but if not, my heart is filled + With happiness, if you love me. Take these thoughts + And with them solve your sorrow for my past, + Your loathing of it, if you feel that way + However bad it be, whatever sins + Imagination in you stirred depicts + As being in my past." + + "Men have been known + Whom women made fifth husbands, more than that. + Not my case, I'll say that, and if you face + Reality, and put all passion love + Where nature puts it by the side of love + Which custom favors, you have only left + The matter of the truth to grasp, believe, + See clearly and accept: Do I swear true + I love you, and since loving you am faithful, + Cannot be otherwise, nor wish to be?" + + "Dear, listen and be fair. You did not love me + When first I came to you. You did not ask, + Because of love, a faithfulness; in truth + You did not ask a faithfulness at all. + But then and theretofore you treated me + As woman to be won, a happiness + To be achieved and put aside. Be fair, + This was your mood. But if you loved me then, + Or soon thereafter loved me, as I know, + What should I do? I loved you, am a woman. + At last behold your love, am lifted, thrilled. + See what I thought was love before was nothing; + Know I was never loved before you loved me; + And know as well I never loved before; + Know all the former raptures of my heart + As buds in March closed hard and scentless, never + The June before for my heart! O, my love, + What should I do when this most priceless gift + Was held up like a crown within your hands + To place upon my brows--what should I do? + Take you aside and say, here is the truth, + Here's Gregory Wenner--what's the good of that? + How had it benefited you or me, + Increased your love, or founded it upon + A surer rock than beauty? Hideous truth! + Useless too often, childish in such case. + You would have suffered, turned from me, and lost + The rapture which I gave you, and if rapture + Be not a prize, where in this world so much + Of ugliness and agony prevails, + I do not know our life." + + "But just suppose + I gave you rapture, beauty--you concede + I gave you these, that's why you suffer so: + You choose to think them spurious since you found + I knew this Gregory Wenner, are they so? + They are as real in spite of Gregory Wenner + As if my lips had been a cradled child's. + But just suppose, as I began to say, + You never had discovered Gregory Wenner, + And had the rapture, beauty which you had, + How stands the case? Was I not justified + In hiding Gregory Wenner to preserve + The beauty and the rapture which you craved? + Dear, it was love of beauty which impelled + What you have called deceit, it was my woman's + Passionate hope to give the man she loved + The beauty which he saw in her that inspired + My acting, as you phrase it, an elaborate + Hypocrisy, an ugly word from you!... + But listen, dear, how spirit works in love: + When you beheld me pure, I would be pure; + As virginal, I would be virginal; + As innocent, I would be innocent; + As truthful, constant, so I would be these + Though to be truthful, constant when I loved you + Came to me like my breath, as natural. + So I would be all things to you for love, + Fill full your dreams, your vision of my soul + For now and future days, but make myself + In days before I knew you what you thought, + Believed and cherished. Hence if you combine + The thought that what I was did not concern you, + With fear that if you knew, your heart would change; + And with these join that passionate zeal of love + To be your lover, wholly beautiful, + You have the exposition of my soul + In its elaborate deceit,--your words." + + "Some fifty years ago a man and woman + Are talking in a room, say certain things, + We were not there! We two are with each other + Somewhere, and fifty years from now, we two + Will look to after souls who were not there + Like figures in a crystal globe; I mean + To lift to light the wounds of brooding love, + And show you that the world contains events + Of which we live in ignorance, if we know + They hurt us with their mystery, coming near + In our soul's cycle, somehow. But the dead, + And what they lived, what are they?--what the things + Of our dead selves to selves who are alive, + And live the hour that's given us?" + + "What's your past + To me, beloved, if your soul and body + Are mine to-day, not only mine, but made + By living more my own, more rich for me, + More truly harmonized with me? Believe me + You are my highest hope made real at last, + The climax of my love life, I accept + Whatever passed in rooms in years gone by; + Whatever contacts, raptures, pains or hopes + As schooling of your soul to make it precious, + And for my worship, my advancement, kneel + And thank the God of mysteries and wisdom + Who made you for me, let me find you, love you!" + + "Now of myself a word. In years to come + These words I write will seem all truth to you, + Their prism colors, violet and red, + Will fade away and leave them in the light + Arranged and reasonable and wholly true. + Then you will read the words: I found you, dear, + After a life of pain; and you will see + My spirit like a blossom that you watch + From budding to unfolding, knowing thus + How it matured from day to day. I say + My life has been all pain, I see at first + A father and a mother linked in strife. + Am thrown upon my girlhood's strength to teach, + Earn money for my schooling, would know French; + I studied Greek a little, gave it up, + Distractions, duties, came too fast for me. + I longed to sing, took lessons, lack of money + Ended the lessons. But above it all + My heart was like an altar lit with flame, + Aspired to heaven, asked for sacrifice, + For incense to be bright, more beautiful + For beauty's sake. And in my soul's despair, + And just to use this vital flame, I turned + To God, the church. You must be stone to hear + Such words as these and not relent, an image + Of basalt which I pray to not to see + And not to hear! But listen! look at me, + Did I become a drifter, wholly fail? + Did I become a common woman, turn + To common life and ways? Can you dispute + My eyes were fixed upon a lovelier life, + Have never gaze withdrawn from loveliness? + Did I give up, or break, turn to the flesh, + Pleasures, the solace of the senses--No! + Where some take drink to ease their hurts and dull + Their disappointments, I renewed my will + To sacrifice and service, work, who saw + These things in essence may be drink as well, + And bring the end, oblivion while you live, + But bring supremacy instead of failure, + Collapse, disgust and fears. Think what you will + Of me for Gregory Wenner, and imagine + The worst you may, I stand here as I am, + With my life proven! And to end the pain + I went to nurse the soldiers in the war + With thoughts that if I died in service, good! + Not that I gladly give up life, I love it. + But life must be surrendered; let it be + In service, as some end it up in drink, + Or opium or lust. Beloved heart, + I know my will is stronger than my vision, + That passion masters judgment; that my love + For love and life and beauty are too much + For gifts like mine; I know that I am dumb, + Songless, without articulate words--but still + My very dumbness is a kind of speech + Which some day will flood down your deafened rocks, + And sweep my meaning over you." + + "Well, now + Why did I turn to Gregory from you? + I did not love you or I had not done it. + You did not love me or I had not done it. + I loved him once, he had been good to me. + He was an old familiar friend and touch.... + Farewell, if it must be, but save me grief, + The greatest agony: Be brave and strong, + Be all that God requires your soul to be, + O, give me not this cup of poison--this: + That I have been your cause of bitterness; + Have stopped your growth and introverted you, + Given you eyes that see but lies and lust + In human nature, evil in the world-- + Eyes that God meant to see the good and strive + For goodness. If I drove you from the war, + Made you distrust its purpose and its faith, + Triumphant over selfishness and wrong, + Oh, leave me with the hope that peace will come, + And vision once again to bless your life. + Behold me as America, taught but half, + Wayward and thoughtless, fighting for a chance; + Denied its ordered youth, thrown into life + But half prepared, so seeking to emerge + Out of a tangled blood, and out of the earth + A creature of the earth that strives to win + A soul, a voice. Behold me thus--forgive! + Take from my life the beauty that you found, + Nothing can kill that beauty if you press + Its blossom to your heart, and with it rise + To nobleness, to duty, give your life + To our America." + + "The Lord bless you, + And make his face to shine upon you, and + Be gracious to you. The Lord lift up his countenance + Upon you, give you peace, both now and ever + More. Amen!" + + * * * * * + + So Elenor's letters ended + The evidence. The afternoon was spent. + The inquest was adjourned till ten o'clock + Next morning. They arose and left the room.... + And Merival half-ill went home. Next day + He lounged with books and had the doctor in, + And read his mail, more letters, articles + About the inquest, Elenor. And from France + A little package came. And here at last + Is Elenor Murray's diary! Merival turns + And finds the entries true to Barrett Bays; + Some word, a letter too from France which says: + The sender learned the name by tracing out + A number in the diary, heard the news + Of Elenor Murray from the paper at home + In Illinois. And of the diary this: + He got it from a poilu who was struck + By this same diary on the cheek. A slap + That stung him, since the diary had been thrown + By Elenor Murray from the second story. + This poilu, being tipsy, raved and thought + Some challenger had struck him. Roaring so + He's taken in. Some weeks elapse, he meets + Our soldiers from the States, and shows the diary, + And tells the story, has the diary read + By this American, gives up the diary + For certain drinks. And this American + Has sent it to the coroner. + + A letter + To Merival from an old maiden aunt, + Who's given her life to teaching, pensioned now + And visiting at Madison, Wisconsin. + Aunt Cynthia writes to Merival and says: + "I know you are fatigued, a little tired + With troubles of the lower plane of life. + Quit thinking of the war and Elenor Murray. + Each soul should use its own divinity + By mastering nature outward and within. + Do this by work or worship, Soul's control, + Philosophy, by one or more or all. + Above them all be free. This is religion, + And all of it. Books, temples, dogmas, rituals + Or forms are details only. By these means + Find God within you, prove that you and God + Are one, not several, justify the ways + Of God to man, to speak the western way. + I wish you could be here while I am here + With Arielle, she is a soul, a woman. + You need a woman in your life, my dear-- + I met her in Calcutta five years since, + She and her husband toured the world--and now + She is a widow these two years. I started + Arielle in the wisdom of the East. + That avid mind of hers devours all things. + She is an adept, but she thinks her sense + Of fun and human nature as the source + Of laughter and of tears keep her from being + A mystic, though she uses Hindu thought + And practice for her soul." + + "I'd like to send + Some pictures of her, if she'd let me do it: + Arielle with her dogs upon the lawn, + Her arms about their necks. Or Arielle + About her flowers. I've another one, + Arielle on her favorite horse: another, + Arielle by her window, hand extended, + The very soul of rhythm; and another, + Arielle laughing like a rising sun, + No one can laugh as she does. For you see + Her outward soul is love, her inward soul + Is wisdom and that makes her what she is: + A Robin Goodfellow, a Puck, a girl, + A prankish wit, a spirit of bright tears, + A queenly woman, clothed in majesty, + A rapture and a solace, comrade, friend, + A lover of old women such as I; + A mother to young children, for she keeps + A brood of orphans in her little town. + She is a will as disciplined as steel, + Has suffered and grown wise. Her tenderness + Is hidden under words so brief and pure + You cannot sense the tenderness in all + Until you read them over many times. + She is a lady bountiful, who gives + As prodigally as nature, and she asks + No gifts from you, but gets them anyway, + Because all spirits pour themselves to her. + If I were taking for America + A symbol, it would be my Arielle + And not your Elenor Murray." + + "Here's her life! + Her father died when she was just a child, + Leaving a modest fortune to a widow, + Arielle's mother, also other children. + After a time the mother went to England + And settled down in Sussex. There the mother + Was married to a scoundrel, mad-man, genius, + Who tyrannized the household, whipped the children. + So Arielle at fourteen ran away. + She pined for her Wisconsin and America. + She went to Madison, or near the place, + And taught school in the country, much the same + As Elenor Murray did. + + "Now here is something: + Behold our world, humanity, the groups + Of people into states, communities, + Full up of powers and virtues, aid and light-- + Friends, helpers, understanders of the soul. + It may be just the status of enlightment, + But I think there are brothers of the light, + And powers around us; for if Elenor Murray + Half-fails, is broken, here is Arielle + Who with the surer instinct finds the springs + Of health and life. And so, I say, if I + Had daughters, and were dying, leaving them, + I should not fear; for I should know the world + Would care for them and give them everything + They had the strength to take." + + "Here's Arielle. + She teaches school and studies--O that wag-- + She posts herself in Shakespeare, forms a class + Of women thrice her age and teaches them, + Adds that way to her earnings. Just in time-- + Such things are always opportune, a man + Comes by and sees her spirit, says to her + You may read Plato, and she reads and passes + To Kant and Schopenhauer. So it goes + Until by twenty all her brain is seething + With knowledge and with dreams. She is beloved + By all the people of the country-side, + Besought and honored--yet she keeps to self, + Has hardly means enough, since now she sends + Some help to mother who has been despoiled, + Abandoned by the mad-man." + + "Then one spring + A paper in Milwaukee gives a prize, + A trip to Europe, to the one who gets + The most subscriptions in a given time-- + And Arielle who has so many friends-- + Achievement brings achievement, friends bring friends-- + Finds rallying support and wins the prize. + Is off to Europe where she meets the man + She married when returned." + + "He is a youth + Of beauty and of promise, yet a soul + Who riots in the sunlight, honey of life. + And gets his wings gummed in the poisonous sweet. + And Arielle one morning wakes to find + A horror on her hands: her husband's found + Dead in a house of ill-fame. She is calm + Out of that rhythm, sense of beauty which + Makes her a power, all her deeds a song. + She lays the body under the dancing muses + There in the wondrous library and flings + A purple robe across it, kneels and lays + Her sunny head against it, says a prayer. + She had been constant, loyal even to dreams, + To this wild youth, whose errant ways she knew. + Now don't you see the contrast? I refrain + From judging Elenor Murray, but I say + One thing is beautiful and one is not. + And Arielle is beautiful as a spirit, + And Elenor is somewhat beautiful, + But streaked and mottled, too. Say what you will + Of freedom, nature, body's rights, no less + Honor and constancy are beautiful, + And truth most beautiful. And Arielle + Could kneel beside the body of her dead, + Who had neglected her so constantly, + And say a prayer of thankfulness that she + Had honored him throughout those seven years + Of married life--she prayed so--why, she says + That prayer was worth a thousand stolen raptures + Offered her in the years of life between." + + "Now here she was at thirty + Left to a mansion there in Madison. + Her husband lived there; it was life, you know, + For her to meet one of her neighborhood + In Europe, though a stranger until then. + And here is Arielle in her mansion, priestess + Amid her treasures, beauties, for this man + Has left her many thousands, and she lives + Among her books and flowers, rides and walks, + And frolics with her dogs, and entertains."... + + And as the Coroner folded the letter out + A letter from this Arielle fell, which read: + "We have an aunt in common, Cynthia. + I know her better than you do, I think, + And love her better too. You men go off + With wandering and business, leave these aunts, + And precious kindred to be found by souls + Who are more kindred, maybe. I have heard + Most everything about you, of your youth + Your schooling, shall I say your sorrow too? + Admire your life, have studied Elenor, + As I have had the chance or got the word. + And what your aunt writes in advice I like, + Approve of and commend to you. You see + I leap right over social rules to write, + And speak my mind. So many friends I've made + By searching out and asking. Why delay? + Time slips away like moving clouds, but Life + Says to the wise make haste. Is there a soul + You'd like to know? Then signal it. I light + From every peak a beacon fire, my peaks + Are new found heights of vision, reaching them + I either see a beacon light, or flash + A beacon light. And thus it was I found + Your Cynthia and mine, and now I write. + I have a book to send you, show that way + How much I value your good citizenship, + Your work as coroner. I had the thought + Of coroners as something like horse doctors-- + Your aunt says you're as polished as a surgeon. + When I was ripe for Shakespeare some one brought + His books to me; when I was ripe for Kant, + I found him through a friend. I know about you, + I sense you too, and I believe you need + The spiritual uplifting of the Gita. + You haven't read it, have you? No! you haven't. + I wish that Elenor Murray might have read it. + I grieve about that girl, you can't imagine + How much I grieve. Nov write me, coroner, + What is your final judgment of the girl." + + "I have so many friends who love me, always + New friends come by to give me wisdom--you + Can teach me, I believe, a man like you + So versed in life. You must have learned new things + Exploring in the life of Elenor Murray. + I was about to write you several times. + I loved that girl from all I heard of her. + She must have had some faculty or fault + That thwarted her, and left her, so to speak, + Just looking into promised lands, but never + Possessing or enjoying them--poor girl! + And here she flung her spirit in the war + And wrecked herself--it makes me sorrowful. + I went to Europe through a prize I won, + And saw the notable places--but this girl + Who hungered just as much as I, saw nothing + Or little, gave her time to labor, nursing-- + It is most pitiful, if you'll believe me + I've wept about your Eleanor. Write me now + What is your final judgment of the girl?"... + + So Merival read these letters, fell asleep. + Next day was weaker, had a fever too, + And took to bed at last. He had to fight + Six weeks or more for life. When he was up + And strong enough he called the jury in + And at his house they talked the case and supped. + + + + +THE JURY DELIBERATES + + + The jurymen are seated here and there + In Merival's great library. They smoke, + And drink a little beer or Scotch. Arise + At times to read the evidence taken down, + And typed for reference. Before them lie + Elenor Murray's letters, all the letters + Written to Merival--there's Alma Bell's, + And Miriam Fay's, letters anonymous. + The article of Roberts in the _Dawn_, + That one of Demos, Hogos; a daily file + Of Lowell's _Times_--Lowell has festered now + Some weeks, a felon-finger in a stall. + And where is Barrett Bays? In Kankakee + Where Elenor Murray's ancestor was kept. + The strain and shame had broken him; a fear + Fell on him of a consequence when the coroner + Still kept him with a deputy. He grew wild, + Attacked the deputy, began to wander + And show some several selves. A multiple + Spirit of devils had him. Dr. Burke + Went over him and found him mad. + + And now + The jury meet amid a rapid shift + Of changes, mist and cloud. The man is sick + Who administers the country. Has come back + To laud the pact of peace; his auditors + Turn silently away, whole states assemble + To hear and turn away, sometimes to heckle. + And if a mattoid emperor caused the war, + And Elenor Murrays put the emperor down, + The emperor, could he laugh at all, can laugh + To see a country, bent to spend its last + Dollar, its blood to the last drop, having spent + Enough of these, go mad as Barrett Bays. + And like a headless man, seen in a dream, + Go capering in an ecstasy of doubt, + Regret and disillusion. He can laugh + To see the pact, which took the great estate, + Once his and God's, and wrapt it as with snakes + That stung and sucked, rejected in the land + That sent these Elenor Murrays to make free + The world from despotism. See that very land + Crop despotisms--so the jury sees + Convened to end the case of Elenor Murray.... + + And Rev. Maiworm, juryman, gives his thought + To conquest of the world for Christ, and says + The churches must unite to free the world + From war and sin. Result? Why less and less + Homes like the Murray home, where husband, wife, + Live in dissension. More and more of schools + For Elenor Murrays. Happy marriages + Will be the rule, our Elenors will find + Good husbands, quiet hearths, a competence. + And Isaac Newfeldt said: "You talk pish-posh. + You go about at snipping withered leaves, + And picking blasted petals--take the root, + Get at the soil--you cannot end these wars + Until you solve the feeding problem. Quit + Relying on your magic to make bread + With five loaves broken, raise a bigger crop + Of wheat, and get it to the mouths of men. + And as for sin--what is it?--All of sin + Lies in the customs, comes from how you view + The bread and butter matter; all your gods + And sons of God are guardians of the status + Of business and of money; sin a thing + Which contradicts, or threatens banks and wharves. + And as for that your churches now control + As much as human nature can digest + A dominance like that. And what's the state + Of things in Christendom? Why, wars, and want + And many Elenor Murrays. Tyrannies + Are like as pea and pea; you shall not drink, + Or read, or talk, or trade, are from one pod. + What would I do? Why, socialize the world, + Then leave men free to live or die, let nature + Go decimating as she will, and weed + The worthless with disease or alcohol-- + You won't see much of that, however, if + You socialize the world." + + And David Barrow + Spoke up and said: "No ism is enough. + The question is, Is life worth living, good + Or bad? If bad, I think that Elenor Murray had + As good a life as any. Here we've sat + These weeks and heard these stories--nothing new; + And as to waste, our time is wasted here, + If there were better things to do; and yet + Perhaps there is no better. I've enjoyed + This work, association. Well, you're told + To judge not, and that means to judge not man; + You are not told to judge not God. And so + I judge Him. And again your Elenor Murrays, + Your human being cannot will his way, + But God's omnipotent, and where He fails + He should be censured. Why does He allow + A world like this, and suffer earthquakes, storms, + The sinking of _Titanics_, cancers? Why + Suffer these wars, this war?--Talk of the riffles + That flowed from Elenor Murray--here's a wave + Of tidal power, stirred by a greedy coot + Who called himself an emperor! And look + Our land, America, is ruined, slopped + For good, or for our lives with filth and stench; + So that to live here takes what strength you have, + None left for living, as a man should live. + And this America once free and fair + Is now the hatefulest, commonest group of men, + Women and children in the Occident. + What's life here now? Why, boredom, nothing else.... + Why pity Elenor Murray? Gottlieb Gerald + Told of her home life; it was good enough, + Average American, or better. Schools + She had in plenty, what would she have done + With courses to the end in music, art? + She was not happy. Elenor had a brain, + And brains and happiness are at enmity. + And if the world goes on some thousand years, + The race as much advanced beyond us now + In feeling, thought, as we are now beyond + Pinthecanthropus, say, why, all will see + What I see now;--'twere better if the race + Had never risen. All analogies + Of nature show that death of man is death. + He plants his seed and dies, the resurrection + Is not the man, but is the child that grows + From sperm he sows. The grain of wheat that sprouts + Is not the stalk that bore it. Now suppose + We get the secret in a thousand years, + Can prove that death's the end, analogies + Put by with amber, frogs' legs--tell me then + What opiate will still the shrieks of men? + But some of us know now, and I am one. + There is no heaven for me; and as for those + Who make a heaven to get out of this-- + You gentlemen who call life good, the world + The work of God's perfection; yet invent + A heaven to rest in from this world of woe-- + You do not wish to go there; and resort + To cures and Christian Science to stay here! + Which shows you are not sure. And thus we have + Your Christian saying at heart that life is bad, + And heaven is good, but not so good and sure + That you will hurry to it. Why, I'll prove + The Christian pessimist, as well as I. + He says life is so bad it has no meaning, + Unless there be a future; and I say + Life's bad, and if no future, then is worse. + And as it has no future, is a hell. + This girl was soaked in opiates to the last. + Religion, love for Barrett Bays, believed + That God is love. Love is a word to me + That has no meaning but in terms of man. + And if a man cause war, or suffer war, + When he could stop it, do we say he loves? + Why call God love who can prevent a war? + To chasten us, to better, purge our sins? + Well, if it be then we are bettered, purged + When William Hohenzollern goes to war + And makes the whole world crazy." + + "Understand + I do not mock, I pity man and life. + No man has sat here who has suffered more, + Seeing the life of Elenor Murray, through + Her life beholding life, our country's life. + I pity man and life. I curse the scheme + Which wakes the senseless clay to lips that bleed, + And eyes that weep, and hearts that agonize, + Then in an instant make them clay again! + And for it all no reason, that the reason + Can bring to light to stand the light." + + "And yet + I'd make life better, food and shelter better + And wider happiness, and fuller love. + We're travelers on a ship that has no bourne + But rocks, for us. On such a ship 'twere wise + To have the daily comforts, foolish course + To neither eat, nor sleep, keep warm, nor sing. + But only walk the rainy deck and wait. + The little opiates of happiness + Would make the sailing better, though we know + The trip is nowhere and the rocks will sink + The portless steamer." + + "Is it portless?" asked + Llewellyn George, "you're leaping to a thought, + And overlook a world of intimations, + And hints of truth. I grant you take this race + That lives to-day, and make the world a boat + There is no port for us as human lives + In this our life. But look, you see the race + Has climbed, a mountain trail, and looks below + From certain heights to-day at man the beast. + We scan a half a million years of man + From caves to temples, gestures, beacon fires + To wireless. Call that mechanical, + And power developed over tools. But here + Is mystery beyond these.--What of powers, + Devotions, aspirations, sacred flame + Which masters nature, worships life, defies + Death to obstruct it, hungers for the right, + The truth, hates wrong, and by that passion wills + All art, all beauty, goodness, and creates + Those living waters of increasing life + By which man lives, and has to-day the means + Of fuller living. Here's a realm of richness, + Beyond and separate from material things, + Your aeroplanes or conquests. Now I put + This question to you, David Barrow, what + But God who is and has some end for life, + And gives it meaning, though we see it not-- + What is it in the heart of man which lifts, + Sustains him to the truth, the harmony, + The beauty say of loyalty, or truth + Or art, or science? lighting lamps for men + To walk by, men who hate the lamps, the hand + That lights? What is this spirit, but the spirit + Of Something which moves through us, to an end, + And by its constancy in man made constant + Proclaims an end? There's Bruno, Socrates, + There's Washington who might have lost his life, + Why do these men cling to the vision, hope? + When neither poverty, nor jeers, nor flames, + Nor cups of poison stay? Who say thereby + That death is nothing, but this life of ours, + Which can be shaped to truth and harmony, + And rising flame of spirit, giving light, + Is everything worth while, must be lived so + And if not lived so, then there's death indeed, + By turning from the voice that says that man + Must still aspire. And why aspire if death + Ends us, the scheme? And all this realm of spirit, + Of love for truth and beauty, is the play + Of shadows on the tomb?" + + "Now take this girl: + She knew before she sailed to France, this man, + This Barrett Bays was mad about her--knew + She could stay here and have him, live with him, + And thus achieve a happiness. And she knew + To leave him was to make a chance to lose him. + But then you say she knew he'd tire of her, + And left for France. And still that happiness + Before he tired would be hers. You see + This spirit I'd delineate working here: + To sacrifice and by the sacrifice + Rise to a bigger spirit, make it truer; + Then bring that truer spirit to her love + For Barrett Bays, and not just loll and slop + In love to-day. Why does she wish to give + A finer spirit to this Barrett Bays? + And to that end take life in hand? It's this: + My Something, God at work. You say it's woman + In sublimate of passion--call it that. + Why sublimate a passion? All her life + This girl aspires--you think to win a man? + But win a man with what? With finest self + Make this her contribution to these riches, + Which Bruno and the others filled so full. + You see this Something going on, but races + Come up, express themselves and pass away; + But yet this Something manifests itself + Through souls like Elenor Murray's--fills her life + With fuller meanings, maybe at the last + This Something will reveal itself so clear + That men like David Barrow can perceive. + And Love, this spirit, twin of Death, you see + Love slays this girl, but Love remains to slay, + Lift up, drive on and slay. I call Death twin + Of Love, and why? Because two things alone + Make what we are and live, first Love the flame, + And Death the cap that snuffs it. Is it bread + That keeps us dancing, skating like these bugs + That play criss-cross on evening waters?--no! + It's bread to get more life to give more love, + Bring to some heart a fuller life, receive + A fuller life for having given life. + This force of love may look demonical. + It tears, destroys, and crushes, chokes and kills, + Is always stretching hands to Death its twin. + And yet it is creation and creates, + Feeds roses, jonquils, columbines, gardenias, + As well as thistles, cockle burrs and thorns. + This is the force to which the girl's alert, + And sensitive, is shaken by its power, + Driven, uplifted, purified; a doll + Of paper dancing on magnetic plates; + And by that passion lusts for Death himself, + For union with another, sacrifice, + Beauty, and she aspires and toils, and turns + To God, the symptom always of this nature. + My fellow-jurymen, you'll never see, + Or learn so well about another soul + That had this Love force deeper in her flesh, + Her spirit, suffered more. Why do we suffer? + What is this love force? 'Tis the child of blood + Of madness, as this Elenor is the seed + Of that old grandma, who was mad, and cousin + Of Taylor who did murder. What is this + But human spirit flamed and subtleized + Until it is a poison and a food; + A madness but a clearest sanity; + A vision and a blindness, all as if + When nature goes so far, refines so much + Her balance has been broken, if the Something + Makes not a genius or a giant soul. + And so we suffer. But why do we suffer? + Well, not as Barrow said, that life is bad; + A failure and a fraud. Not suffering + That points to dust, defeat, is painfulest; + But suffering that points to skies and realms + Above us, whence we came, or where we go, + That suffering is most poignant, as it is + Significant as well, and rapturous too. + The pain that thrills us for the singing Flame + Of Love, the force creative, that's the pain! + And those must suffer most to whom the sounds + Of music or of words, or scents, or scenes + Recall lost realms. No soul can understand + Music or words in whom there is not stirred + A recollection--that is genius too: + A memory, and reliving hours we lived + Before we looked upon this world of man."... + + Then Winthrop Marion said: "I like your talk, + Llewellyn George, but still what killed the girl? + What was the cause of death of Elenor Murray? + She died from syncope, that's clear enough. + The doctors tell us that in syncope + The victim should be laid down, not held up. + And Barrett Bays, the bungler, held her up + When she was stricken--like the man, I think! + Well, Coroner, suppose we make a verdict, + And say we find that had this Barrett Bays + Sustained this Elenor Murray in the war, + And in her life, with friendship, and with faith + She had not died. Suppose we further find + That when he took her, held her in his arms + When she had syncope, he was dull or crazed, + And missed a chance to save her. We could find + That had he laid her down when she was stricken + She might have lived--I knew that much myself. + And we could find that had he never driven + This woman from his arms, but kept her there, + Before said day of August 7th, no doubt + She had not died on August 7th. In short, + He held her up, and should have laid her down, + And drove her from him when she needed arms + To hold her up. And so we find her death + Was due to Barrett Bays--we censure him, + Would hold him to the courts--that cannot be-- + And so we hold him up for memory + Contemptuous, and say his bitter words + Brought on the syncope, so long prepared + By what he did. We write his course unfeeling, + Weak, selfish, petty, flowing from the craze + Of sexual jealousy, made worse by war, + And universal madness, erethism + Of hellish war. And, gentlemen, one thing: + Paul Robert's article in the _Dawn_ suggests + Some things I credit, knowing them. We get + Our notions of uncleanness from the Jews, + The Pentateuch. There are no women here, + And I can talk;--you know the ancient Jews + Deemed sex unclean, and only to be touched + At sufferance of Jehovah; birth unclean, + A mother needing purification after + Her hour of giving birth. You know their laws + Concerning adultery. Well, they've tainted us + In spite of Greece. Now look at Elenor Murray: + What if she went with Gregory Wenner. Hell! + Did that contaminate her, change her flesh, + Or change her spirit? All this evidence + Shows that it did not. But it changed this man, + Because his mind was slime where snakes could breed. + But now what do we see? That woman is + Essential genius, man just mechanism + Of conscious thought and strength. This Elenor + Is wiser, being nature, than this man, + And lives a life that puts this Barrett Bays + To shame and laughter. Look at her: She's brave, + Devoted, loyal, true and dutiful, + She's will to life, and through it senses God, + And seeks to serve the cosmic soul. I think + This jury should start now to raise a fund + To erect a statue of her in the park + To keep her name and labors fresh in mind + To those who shall come after." + + "And I'll sign + A verdict in these words, but understand + Such things are _Coram non judice_; still + We can chip in our money, start the fund + To build this monument." + + Ritter interrupted. + The banker said: "I'll start it with a hundred," + And so the fund was started. + + Marion + Resumed to speak of riffles: "In Chicago + There's less than half the people speaking English, + The rest is Babel: Germans, Russians, Poles + And all the tongues, much rippling going on, + And if we couldn't trace the riffles out + From Elenor Murray, We must give this up. + One thing is sure: Look out for England, if + America shall grow a separate soul. + You may have congresses, and presidents, + These states, but if America is a realm. + Of tribute as to thought, America + Is just a province. And it's past the time + When we should be ourselves, we've wasted time, + And grafted alien things upon our bole. + A Domesday of the minds that think and know + In our America would give us hope, + We have them in abundance. What I hate + Is that crude Demos which shouts down the minds, + Outvotes them, takes these silly lies that move + The populace and makes them into laws, + And makes a village of a great republic." + + And Merival listened as the jurymen + Philosophied the case of Elenor Murray, + And life at large. And having listened spoke: + "I like the words Llewellyn George has said. + Love is a sea which wrecks and sinks our craft, + But re-creates the hands that build again; + And like a tidal wave which sponges out + An island or a city, lifts and leaves + Fresh seeds and forms of beauty on the peaks. + The whinchat in the mud upon its claws, + Storm driven from its course to sea, brings life + Of animal and plant to virgin shores, + And islands strange and new. These happenings + Of Elenor Murray carry beauty forth, + Unhurt amid the storm-cloud, darkness, fire, + To lives and eras. And our country too, + So ruined and so weltering, like a ball + Of mud made in a missile by a god + May bear, no less, a pearl at core, a truth, + A liberty, a genius, beauty,--thrown + In mischief by the god, and staining walls + Of this our temple; in a day to be + Dried up, cracks open, and the pearl appears + To be set in a precious time beyond + Our time and vision. This is what I mean: + Call Elenor egoist, and make her work, + And life the means of rich return to her + In exaltation, pride;--a missile of mud, + It carries still the pearl of her, the seed + Of finer spirits. We must open eyes + To see inside the mud-ball. If it be + We conquered slavery of the negro through, + Because of economic forces, yet + We conquered it. Trade, cotton, were the mud + Upon the whinchat's claws containing seeds + Of liberties to be, and carried forth + In mid seas of the future to sunny isles, + More blest than ours. And as for this, you know + The English blotted slavery from their books + And left their books unbalanced in point of cash, + But balanced richly in a manhood gain. + I warn you, David Barrow, pessimist, + Against a general slur on life and man. + Deride the Christian ethic, if you choose, + You must retain its word of benevolence; + Or better, you must honor man, whose heart + Leaps up to its benevolence, from whose heart + The Christian doctrine of benevolence + Did issue to this world. If Christian doctrine + Be man-made, not a miracle, as it is + All man-made, still it's out of generous fire + Of human spirit; that's the thing divine.... + Now how is Elenor Murray wonderful + To me viewed through this mass of evidence? + Why, as the soul maternal, out of which + All goodness, beauty, and benevolence, + All aspiration, sacrifice, all death + For truth and liberty blesses life of us. + This soul maternal, passion to create + New life and guide it into happiness, + Is Mother Mary of all tenderness, + All charity, all vision, rises up + From its obscurity and primal force + Of romance, passion and the child, to realms, + Democracies, republics; never flags + To make them brighter, freer, so to spread + Its ecstasy to all, and take in turn + Redoubled ecstasy! The tragedy + Is that this Elenor for her mother gift + Is cursed and tortured, sent a wanderer; + And in her death must find much clinging mud + Around the pearl of her. If that be mud, + Which we have heard, around her, is it mud + That weights the soul of America, the pure + Dream of our founders? Larger Athens, where + All things should be heard gladly and considered, + And men should grow, be forced to grow, because + Not driven or restrained by usages, + Or laws of mad majorities, but left + At their own peril to work out their lives.... + Well, gentlemen, I'll tell you what I've learned. + What is a man or woman but a sperm + Accreted into largeness? Still a sperm + In likeness, being brain and spinal cord, + Fed by the glands, the thyroid and the rest, + Whose secrets we are ignorant of. We know + That when they fail our minds fail. But the glands + Are visible and clear: but in us whirl + Emotions; fear, disgust, murder or wrath, + Traced back to animals as moods of flight + Repulsion, curiosity, all the rest. + Now what are these but levers of our machine? + Elenor Murray teaches this to me: + Build up a science of these levers, learn + To handle fear, disgust, anger, wonder. + They teach us physiology; who teaches + The use of instincts and emotions, powers? + All learning may be that, but what is that? + Why just a spread of food, where after nibbling + You learn what you can eat, and what is good + For you to eat. You'll see a different world + When this philosophy of levers rules."... + + Then Merival tacked round and said: "I'll show + The riffles in my life from Elenor Murray: + The politicians give me notice now + I cannot be the coroner again. + I didn't want to be, but I had planned + To go to Congress, and they say to that + We do not want you. So my circle turns, + And riffles back to breeding better hogs, + And finer cattle. Here's the verdict, sign + Your names, and I'll return it to the clerk. + + + + +THE VERDICT + + + "An inquisition taken for the people + Of the State of Illinois here at LeRoy, + County aforesaid, on the 7th of August, + Anna Domini, nineteen hundred nineteen, + Before me, William Merival, coroner + For the said County, viewing here the body + Of Elenor Murray lying dead, upon + The oath of six good lawful men, the same + Of the said County, being duly sworn + To inquire for the said people into all + The circumstances of her death, the said + Elenor Murray, and by whom the same + Was brought about, and in what manner, when, + And where she came to death, do say upon + Their oaths, that Elenor Murray lying dead + In the office of the coroner at LeRoy + Came to her death on August 7th aforesaid + Upon the east shore of the Illinois River + A mile above Starved Rock, from syncope, + While in the company of Barrett Bays, + Who held her in his arms when she was seized, + And should have laid her down when she was seized + To give her heart a chance to resume its beat." + + * * * * * + + The jury signed the verdict and arose + And said good-night to Merival, went their way. + Next day the coroner went to Madison + To look on Arielle, who had written him. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Domesday Book, by Edgar Lee Masters + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOMESDAY BOOK *** + +***** This file should be named 35991.txt or 35991.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/9/9/35991/ + +Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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