The Fate of the Jury/Part 1
THE FATE
OF THE JURY
I
Now after the inquest into Elenor Murray's
Death for some weeks the morbid strollers gazed
There by Starved Rock, where the lover Barrett Bays
Had held her in his arms, when syncope
Came on her for his anger, storm of words,
And where she fell to death, and lay till found.
Meanwhile the jurymen, Marion, Ritter, George,
Newfeldt and Maiworm, Borrow merged again
In the former ways of inconspicuous life.
And Coroner Merival absent from LeRoy
Saw Arielle at Madison.
Death for some weeks the morbid strollers gazed
There by Starved Rock, where the lover Barrett Bays
Had held her in his arms, when syncope
Came on her for his anger, storm of words,
And where she fell to death, and lay till found.
Meanwhile the jurymen, Marion, Ritter, George,
Newfeldt and Maiworm, Borrow merged again
In the former ways of inconspicuous life.
And Coroner Merival absent from LeRoy
Saw Arielle at Madison.
Saw Arielle at Madison.But that night
With the verdict signed, and all the others gone,
Marion for a moment stood and talked
With Merival, saying how strange it was
That Barrett Bays, who hated Elenor,
(Come to revulsion after her faithlessness
Awoke him to the truth that amorous madness
For Elenor had made him clothe the War
With goodness, Providence)—how strange it was
That Barrett Bays had surged with tenderness
For Elenor when she reeled from syncope,
And clasped her in his arms; when she had lived,
Or might have lived, if he had steeled his heart
And let her fall.
With the verdict signed, and all the others gone,
Marion for a moment stood and talked
With Merival, saying how strange it was
That Barrett Bays, who hated Elenor,
(Come to revulsion after her faithlessness
Awoke him to the truth that amorous madness
For Elenor had made him clothe the War
With goodness, Providence)—how strange it was
That Barrett Bays had surged with tenderness
For Elenor when she reeled from syncope,
And clasped her in his arms; when she had lived,
Or might have lived, if he had steeled his heart
And let her fall.
And let her fall.To which the coroner
Nodded approval, giving half his ear,
But with his fancy turned to Arielle
In speculation of her face and voice,
Her ways, to be revealed in twenty hours,
To him led to her by this Elenor Murray,
This inquest which had stirred the countryside,
And prompted Arielle to write a note
To Merival about the spiritual side
Of Elenor Murray, as the proof disclosed
Her inner life, all published in the press
From day to day. So dreaming Arielle
The coroner half listened to his friend,
Then said good night, and tucked himself in bed;
And passed to sleep forecasting Arielle.
Nodded approval, giving half his ear,
But with his fancy turned to Arielle
In speculation of her face and voice,
Her ways, to be revealed in twenty hours,
To him led to her by this Elenor Murray,
This inquest which had stirred the countryside,
And prompted Arielle to write a note
To Merival about the spiritual side
Of Elenor Murray, as the proof disclosed
Her inner life, all published in the press
From day to day. So dreaming Arielle
The coroner half listened to his friend,
Then said good night, and tucked himself in bed;
And passed to sleep forecasting Arielle.
At ten o'clock next morning Merival
Stood waiting at the station for the train,
Expectant, happy, rapt in revery.
Near was his chauffeur holding Boy, the dog,
The Airedale, looking like a bearded man—
Such large and knowing eyes which glowed beneath
Thatches of hair. What did this creature mean
Which came to him when first he left his bed
Worn with the inquest? Why did it find the mat
Before the entrance door, and lie thereon
Morn after morn until the servants fed it?
And why when once the servants let it in
Did it run straight to Merival and lick
His hand, and lie thereafter by his desk
As he wrote, with one eye watchful for the sign
That Merival was rising to walk away?
Why did it worship Merival?
Stood waiting at the station for the train,
Expectant, happy, rapt in revery.
Near was his chauffeur holding Boy, the dog,
The Airedale, looking like a bearded man—
Such large and knowing eyes which glowed beneath
Thatches of hair. What did this creature mean
Which came to him when first he left his bed
Worn with the inquest? Why did it find the mat
Before the entrance door, and lie thereon
Morn after morn until the servants fed it?
And why when once the servants let it in
Did it run straight to Merival and lick
His hand, and lie thereafter by his desk
As he wrote, with one eye watchful for the sign
That Merival was rising to walk away?
Why did it worship Merival?
Why did it worship Merival?Now after days
Of Boy beside his desk, an angry man
Knocked at the door of Merival and said,
"I want my dog which you have won away."
"Is he your dog?"' asked Merival. And the man
Replied, "He is my brother's, to whom he came
Upon the streets of Ithaca, and he will follow
Any one who is kind to him, whom his fancy
Takes after for the time."
Of Boy beside his desk, an angry man
Knocked at the door of Merival and said,
"I want my dog which you have won away."
"Is he your dog?"' asked Merival. And the man
Replied, "He is my brother's, to whom he came
Upon the streets of Ithaca, and he will follow
Any one who is kind to him, whom his fancy
Takes after for the time."
Takes after for the time."So Merival said:
"That's not his nature; he is mine by right
Of strange affection, and I'll buy the dog."
So Merival then bought him, named him Boy;
And Boy was like a soul that finds its home.
"That's not his nature; he is mine by right
Of strange affection, and I'll buy the dog."
So Merival then bought him, named him Boy;
And Boy was like a soul that finds its home.
Now Merival was looking at the train,
And then at Boy; and he was wondering
If somehow Boy was symbol, prophecy
Of Arielle, who had sought him too; and if
Admitted to his life would bless it, while
He blessed her life in turn.
And then at Boy; and he was wondering
If somehow Boy was symbol, prophecy
Of Arielle, who had sought him too; and if
Admitted to his life would bless it, while
He blessed her life in turn.
He blessed her life in turn.A hurrying group
Of travelers on the platform choked the steps
Of the smoker, crowding laughingly for seats.
And there was Winthrop Marion taking up
The broken thread of life upon this train
Bound for Chicago. Finding seats together
These two fell talking. Marion from the window
Was pointing to the rainy April sky:
"Look Coroner, what lava blisters there
Of motionless clouds! And how the yellow greens
Of these first leaves besprinkle all the slate
Of that becalmed eruption."
Of travelers on the platform choked the steps
Of the smoker, crowding laughingly for seats.
And there was Winthrop Marion taking up
The broken thread of life upon this train
Bound for Chicago. Finding seats together
These two fell talking. Marion from the window
Was pointing to the rainy April sky:
"Look Coroner, what lava blisters there
Of motionless clouds! And how the yellow greens
Of these first leaves besprinkle all the slate
Of that becalmed eruption."
Of that becalmed eruption.""Yes, I see.
Still there is wind upon the earth. I woke
To find a dash of raindrops on the pane,
And the cherry blossoms beating snowy wings.
I always think of flying kites in April,
And sailing little boats upon a pond,
Where frogs are singing, as I used to do
In boyhood at Peru—what happy days!
Now I am back at work since we are done
With Elenor Murray and her tragedy;
And you seem traveling on pleasure bent."
Still there is wind upon the earth. I woke
To find a dash of raindrops on the pane,
And the cherry blossoms beating snowy wings.
I always think of flying kites in April,
And sailing little boats upon a pond,
Where frogs are singing, as I used to do
In boyhood at Peru—what happy days!
Now I am back at work since we are done
With Elenor Murray and her tragedy;
And you seem traveling on pleasure bent."
"A trip planned long ago, and taken now.
I think we lived the life of Elenor Murray,
And lived the lives of those who touched her life
In all these weeks of probing to the cause
Of Elenor Murray's death; and I am glad
To rest from all of it, and have a change."
I think we lived the life of Elenor Murray,
And lived the lives of those who touched her life
In all these weeks of probing to the cause
Of Elenor Murray's death; and I am glad
To rest from all of it, and have a change."
"Some one has said that one is less a man
For opening his heart to let the world
Look in. But is it so? And if it be
How is it fair to open other hearts,
And keep your own, as if a sanctity
Surrounded it, because it is your own?
Last night I thought of this: We seven men,
Yourself as coroner, and we as jurymen
Should tell in some appropriate form the thing
Most critical in our lives, and out of which
As root our lives shot into stems or leaves
And blossoms, if they blossomed; or what rust,
Rot or decay assailed them to the death."
The coroner paused a moment, said, "How strange.
I had a dream about this very thing,
Last night it was. I dreamed I took you all
To Cuba, to Matanzas, to the cave
A few miles from Matanzas; and we walked
Down, down a thousand feet, until we stood
Beneath the ocean's floor, which dripped the clay
Of ceilings and of walls with shuddering sweat.
But on we went, each lighted by a candle
Of brownish wax, exploring, till we felt
The ventricles of the earth, how warm and still,
Not beating, or we did not feel the beat,
Being at center of the heart of earth.
Now here's the terror. As we started back
We faced a sunken ceiling, we were trapped;
Stood there before the fresh earth of collapse,
Whole tons of cruel, senseless, monstrous clay
Which barred escape, made hopeless the outer air;
While what remained in this hermetic grave
Was scant already, and fed our desperate hearts
To faster beats. I knocked upon the clay.
What use? Through yards of putty stuff like this
What knock could vibrate to the other side?
No sound was on our side, although I beat
The clay with fists, and all of you did so.
So we who knew the fate of Elenor Murray
Thus quickly knew our own: Some thousand feet
From the entrance of the cave; some thousand feet
Below the ocean's floor, and naught to do
But wait for death. Who knew that we were there?
No one, it seemed. And if they did, long hours,
Days even would elapse till spades could dig
These tons away. Thus speechless we stood aghast;
Until at last the Rev. Maiworm whimpered
An idiot prayer and wept a little too,
Seeing that paradise was near to him.
But you spoke up and said, 'This serves us right;
If we had never sat upon that jury
This trip to see Matanzas had not been,
Led by the coroner who probed the life,
And death of Elenor Murray. And I propose
Since all her secrets were exposed by us
For the whole vile world to know that we sit here.
And while we wait for death, write of ourselves
As freely as we wrote of Elenor Murray
By having witnesses testify and sign
Their depositions of her inmost life;
The ripples in her life have rippled us
Down to this cave where we are trapped.'
For opening his heart to let the world
Look in. But is it so? And if it be
How is it fair to open other hearts,
And keep your own, as if a sanctity
Surrounded it, because it is your own?
Last night I thought of this: We seven men,
Yourself as coroner, and we as jurymen
Should tell in some appropriate form the thing
Most critical in our lives, and out of which
As root our lives shot into stems or leaves
And blossoms, if they blossomed; or what rust,
Rot or decay assailed them to the death."
The coroner paused a moment, said, "How strange.
I had a dream about this very thing,
Last night it was. I dreamed I took you all
To Cuba, to Matanzas, to the cave
A few miles from Matanzas; and we walked
Down, down a thousand feet, until we stood
Beneath the ocean's floor, which dripped the clay
Of ceilings and of walls with shuddering sweat.
But on we went, each lighted by a candle
Of brownish wax, exploring, till we felt
The ventricles of the earth, how warm and still,
Not beating, or we did not feel the beat,
Being at center of the heart of earth.
Now here's the terror. As we started back
We faced a sunken ceiling, we were trapped;
Stood there before the fresh earth of collapse,
Whole tons of cruel, senseless, monstrous clay
Which barred escape, made hopeless the outer air;
While what remained in this hermetic grave
Was scant already, and fed our desperate hearts
To faster beats. I knocked upon the clay.
What use? Through yards of putty stuff like this
What knock could vibrate to the other side?
No sound was on our side, although I beat
The clay with fists, and all of you did so.
So we who knew the fate of Elenor Murray
Thus quickly knew our own: Some thousand feet
From the entrance of the cave; some thousand feet
Below the ocean's floor, and naught to do
But wait for death. Who knew that we were there?
No one, it seemed. And if they did, long hours,
Days even would elapse till spades could dig
These tons away. Thus speechless we stood aghast;
Until at last the Rev. Maiworm whimpered
An idiot prayer and wept a little too,
Seeing that paradise was near to him.
But you spoke up and said, 'This serves us right;
If we had never sat upon that jury
This trip to see Matanzas had not been,
Led by the coroner who probed the life,
And death of Elenor Murray. And I propose
Since all her secrets were exposed by us
For the whole vile world to know that we sit here.
And while we wait for death, write of ourselves
As freely as we wrote of Elenor Murray
By having witnesses testify and sign
Their depositions of her inmost life;
The ripples in her life have rippled us
Down to this cave where we are trapped.'
Down to this cave where we are trapped.'"Just then
I opened my eyes and found my nose was buried
Under the pillows where I could not breathe."
And Marion returned, "I have a plan:
Let each of us write down the realest thing
We've lived, our secret never told in life,
Something we hid always, could never tell;
The thing no less that colored all our deeds;
To change the figure, the thing that entered in
The whole mad music of our lives, was both
The overtone and undertone, but still
Was mostly undetected by the world.
I'll do this. When I die the rest of you
May gather and have read what I have written;
So with the others too."
I opened my eyes and found my nose was buried
Under the pillows where I could not breathe."
And Marion returned, "I have a plan:
Let each of us write down the realest thing
We've lived, our secret never told in life,
Something we hid always, could never tell;
The thing no less that colored all our deeds;
To change the figure, the thing that entered in
The whole mad music of our lives, was both
The overtone and undertone, but still
Was mostly undetected by the world.
I'll do this. When I die the rest of you
May gather and have read what I have written;
So with the others too."
So with the others too."The coroner said,
"But one of us surviving all the rest
No one will be to hear his story told."
"But one of us surviving all the rest
No one will be to hear his story told."
"So much the better, maybe," Marion laughed,
"So much the better, let the lucky man,
If it be luck to live, and keep his heart
Unknown, unlocked, die unrevealed to us.
The world will know it, and it may be good.
For what is civilization but a record,
A treasury of secrets which men bequeath
Who live and tell their stories, which may guide
New generations, give them hints to live
By pointing ways of life? And he who dies
And leaves no record has not given his mite;
And he who dies and leaves a false report
Misguides and fools, and so perpetuates
Dead eras of untruth or make-believe.
Men should be bees, but ever swarming, not
Swarming upon occasion like the bees.
I sense the stir of life, the mystic drone
Of peoples massed as cultures, or as breeds,
And with the heat of life secreting wax
With which to build the future. Now it is
A new day dawns, I hope it will be fair,
More bright than all before, though ushered in
By war around the world, and ended with
The death of Elenor Murray and her like.
As sometimes thunderstorms at four o'clock,
Which bomb the dome of heaven, shatter clouds
That might obscure the sun.
"So much the better, let the lucky man,
If it be luck to live, and keep his heart
Unknown, unlocked, die unrevealed to us.
The world will know it, and it may be good.
For what is civilization but a record,
A treasury of secrets which men bequeath
Who live and tell their stories, which may guide
New generations, give them hints to live
By pointing ways of life? And he who dies
And leaves no record has not given his mite;
And he who dies and leaves a false report
Misguides and fools, and so perpetuates
Dead eras of untruth or make-believe.
Men should be bees, but ever swarming, not
Swarming upon occasion like the bees.
I sense the stir of life, the mystic drone
Of peoples massed as cultures, or as breeds,
And with the heat of life secreting wax
With which to build the future. Now it is
A new day dawns, I hope it will be fair,
More bright than all before, though ushered in
By war around the world, and ended with
The death of Elenor Murray and her like.
As sometimes thunderstorms at four o'clock,
Which bomb the dome of heaven, shatter clouds
That might obscure the sun.
That might obscure the sun."I'll go to work
To write my own confession. Who can tell
When I shall die, or who will be the first?
The world, or you, shall hear my secret told
With all fidelity and fullness too."
To write my own confession. Who can tell
When I shall die, or who will be the first?
The world, or you, shall hear my secret told
With all fidelity and fullness too."
"And mine," said Merival. "So see the rest,
Ritter and Borrow, Newfeldt, Maiworm, well,
I wonder what his reverence will say?—
And George, who will be truthfulness itself.
Two things obstruct: the diffidence that balks,
And so distorts; the eye which does not see,
Or gets the wrong perspective, and so makes
Too much of details till the central thing
Fades in a weak portrayal, almost lost.
Well, let us do our best. This neighborhood
Knows men no deeper lived than us, nor men
Who played a richer part than us who weighed
The life and death of Elenor Murray, while
In weighing them we tried to take a spiritual
Census of America; and set forth
America as it is, its good and bad,
Its failures and successes, and venturing
Directions for its future. You may be sure
That I shall not withhold a single word
Which makes my story understandable.
But it will be some days before I write,
Or weeks perhaps, since I shall take a rest;
And, who knows, bring to issue in my life
What is a massed confusion until now."
Ritter and Borrow, Newfeldt, Maiworm, well,
I wonder what his reverence will say?—
And George, who will be truthfulness itself.
Two things obstruct: the diffidence that balks,
And so distorts; the eye which does not see,
Or gets the wrong perspective, and so makes
Too much of details till the central thing
Fades in a weak portrayal, almost lost.
Well, let us do our best. This neighborhood
Knows men no deeper lived than us, nor men
Who played a richer part than us who weighed
The life and death of Elenor Murray, while
In weighing them we tried to take a spiritual
Census of America; and set forth
America as it is, its good and bad,
Its failures and successes, and venturing
Directions for its future. You may be sure
That I shall not withhold a single word
Which makes my story understandable.
But it will be some days before I write,
Or weeks perhaps, since I shall take a rest;
And, who knows, bring to issue in my life
What is a massed confusion until now."
Marign smiled and nodded with his eyes,
Half guessing the allusion of Merival.
At last, they reached Chicago, parted there.
And Marion hurried to his unwelcome task,
While Merival changed trains for Madison.
That evening at LeRoy the others heard
From Marion this plan of setting down,
And sealing until death their: secret lives,
Which being approved each man began at once
To study out and grasp his central clew,
For all were fifty and their lives were made.
There might be further growth, but out of flesh
And spirit fashioned now by what had made
That flesh and spirit as they were to-day.
If richer mellowness was yet to come,
So were the days of rot not far away.
To tell what stung the bud, or carked the fruit
No more to redden, but only to hang and fall
When Fate should shake the tree, would be enough.
Half guessing the allusion of Merival.
At last, they reached Chicago, parted there.
And Marion hurried to his unwelcome task,
While Merival changed trains for Madison.
That evening at LeRoy the others heard
From Marion this plan of setting down,
And sealing until death their: secret lives,
Which being approved each man began at once
To study out and grasp his central clew,
For all were fifty and their lives were made.
There might be further growth, but out of flesh
And spirit fashioned now by what had made
That flesh and spirit as they were to-day.
If richer mellowness was yet to come,
So were the days of rot not far away.
To tell what stung the bud, or carked the fruit
No more to redden, but only to hang and fall
When Fate should shake the tree, would be enough.