The Fate of the Jury/Part 3
III
"My father, following Jesus at the first,
Turned atheist, and left the ministry
To work for negro freedom. For the church
Proved slavery out of Moses and St. Paul.
So to the ascetics of no wine, no wealth,
This father added worship of John Brown
And through the darkness of the underground
Railroad conducted slaves. His studies ranged
About the ancient lowly, the laborers
Despoiled along the years. In science, too,
He wandered as an amateur, and his rebel
Spirit relumed itself on Volney's book
And Paine's, with poverty for self and family
Resulting, and with lifted brows from those
Who kept the beaten path of church and state.
Now I, a fit son of this father took
From birth his blood, replenished it as well,
And brightened it in this household air of hate
For priests and rulers, usurers; channeled it
To strange mutations, and to Jesuit shifts
Fitting the circumstance and my rising lusts.
"It was the day when tailors and rail-splitters,
And cradles in log cabins rose to fame.
So to be plain of dress, uncombed and free
In democratic manner seemed the role
Of goodness—but of genius better still.
For from the first I had great confidence,
Believed myself a genius. I had written
Prose bits of beauty, and at eighteen years
I held debate once at the County Fair
With Gibbs, the veteran speaker, the subject being
The tariff, and I routed Gibbs. Thereafter
The people talked about me far and wide,
About my uncombed hair whereof a lock
Strayed on my forehead, as Napoleon's did;
And about my simple dress and winning smile,
And wonder gift of words and reasoning.
And of my faultless ways in life, as thus:
I didn't use tobacco, nor handle wine,
Nor eat the flesh of beeves or even fowls;
And I had never known a woman yet,
But preached that love and love alone approved
Those rites which lacking love blasphemed the creed
Of Nature, not of God—there was no God;
Free love, of course, but love, as Shelley taught,
And Mary Wollstonecraft, the radical faith
Of love. Wherefore if you'll believe me, I
Came to the marriage bed at twenty-four
As pure as Galahad.
Turned atheist, and left the ministry
To work for negro freedom. For the church
Proved slavery out of Moses and St. Paul.
So to the ascetics of no wine, no wealth,
This father added worship of John Brown
And through the darkness of the underground
Railroad conducted slaves. His studies ranged
About the ancient lowly, the laborers
Despoiled along the years. In science, too,
He wandered as an amateur, and his rebel
Spirit relumed itself on Volney's book
And Paine's, with poverty for self and family
Resulting, and with lifted brows from those
Who kept the beaten path of church and state.
Now I, a fit son of this father took
From birth his blood, replenished it as well,
And brightened it in this household air of hate
For priests and rulers, usurers; channeled it
To strange mutations, and to Jesuit shifts
Fitting the circumstance and my rising lusts.
"It was the day when tailors and rail-splitters,
And cradles in log cabins rose to fame.
So to be plain of dress, uncombed and free
In democratic manner seemed the role
Of goodness—but of genius better still.
For from the first I had great confidence,
Believed myself a genius. I had written
Prose bits of beauty, and at eighteen years
I held debate once at the County Fair
With Gibbs, the veteran speaker, the subject being
The tariff, and I routed Gibbs. Thereafter
The people talked about me far and wide,
About my uncombed hair whereof a lock
Strayed on my forehead, as Napoleon's did;
And about my simple dress and winning smile,
And wonder gift of words and reasoning.
And of my faultless ways in life, as thus:
I didn't use tobacco, nor handle wine,
Nor eat the flesh of beeves or even fowls;
And I had never known a woman yet,
But preached that love and love alone approved
Those rites which lacking love blasphemed the creed
Of Nature, not of God—there was no God;
Free love, of course, but love, as Shelley taught,
And Mary Wollstonecraft, the radical faith
Of love. Wherefore if you'll believe me, I
Came to the marriage bed at twenty-four
As pure as Galahad.
As pure as Galahad."Meanwhile my gift
Of speaking and campaigning won me place
Serving the city on its legal staff.
The woman I married helped me study law,
And urged me to it, and pricked my laziness,
And read to me, and plagued me with her zeal
Until I passed the tests. Now at the first
I served the people. But impatient moods,
And skepticism of the mob which takes
The fruits of genius and dishonors them
Darkened the stupid Zionistic faith
I learned thus early. What's the use? Besides
Remembrance of my father's poverty
Loomed bigger as my knowledge of men and life
Grew in the law. I early learned to vow
That somehow, yet by honorable ways, I'd lift
Myself above my boyhood poverty.
While this phantasm flitted and took shape
The corporations noted me. They saw
My baggy trousers and my uncombed hair,
And the straying lock, the string tie, battered hat,
All natural accouterments with which to fool
The corneous hands of jurymen. Being hired
I left the people's cause, and used my tongue
And outward seeming of democracy
To save the corporations from rabble mulcts,
While making needful money for myself.
So throve I for a time. But soon my masters
Used me enough. Antagonists at last
Taunted the string tie and the uncombed hair,
And made me naked in my sponsorships
Before the juries, whence my magic fled;
And being jobless I set up an office
And turned a tribune, to myself alone
And to the people responsible. I hung
About my office walls the pictured faces
Of those who strove and sacrificed for men,
John Brown, and Tolstoy, Engels, Marx and George,
Bruno and Paine. And for a hint of art
A mezzotint of William Morris, and one
Of Gabriel Rossetti, etchings not a few
Of Roman forums, landscapes, and the like.
Then as the Roycroft furniture was raging
And decorations, I bought heavy chairs
Of oak with leather bottoms hugely stuffed,
And desks and tables of fumed and massive squares.
I painted the office walls Pompeian red
And ebon black the door frames, windowpanes.
Sitting amid these emblems and these charms.
I soon received the multitude, the halt,
The blind, the laborers, the crazed, the dreamers,
Free lovers, socialists, and fanatic men
Who creedless or with creeds arrayed themselves
Against the strength of capital. And these
I sent with counsel to the fray, too cautious
To lead them save when money was in sight.
Retaining the while their confidence by work
For which I charged them nothing. Yet I throve:
The corporations found me still their friend.
I would not harm the people, but I'd see
That fairness was accomplished between the people
And wealth, which could be done when I adjusted
Their quarrels in fairness, neither allowing the mob
To overreach the strong, nor letting the strong
Oppress the weak. For which I charged the weak
No fees at all; the strong could pay me well
And never feel it; and meanwhile 'twas none
Of the weak's business that my pay arose
Out of the gratitude of banks and trusts,
Or what it was.
Of speaking and campaigning won me place
Serving the city on its legal staff.
The woman I married helped me study law,
And urged me to it, and pricked my laziness,
And read to me, and plagued me with her zeal
Until I passed the tests. Now at the first
I served the people. But impatient moods,
And skepticism of the mob which takes
The fruits of genius and dishonors them
Darkened the stupid Zionistic faith
I learned thus early. What's the use? Besides
Remembrance of my father's poverty
Loomed bigger as my knowledge of men and life
Grew in the law. I early learned to vow
That somehow, yet by honorable ways, I'd lift
Myself above my boyhood poverty.
While this phantasm flitted and took shape
The corporations noted me. They saw
My baggy trousers and my uncombed hair,
And the straying lock, the string tie, battered hat,
All natural accouterments with which to fool
The corneous hands of jurymen. Being hired
I left the people's cause, and used my tongue
And outward seeming of democracy
To save the corporations from rabble mulcts,
While making needful money for myself.
So throve I for a time. But soon my masters
Used me enough. Antagonists at last
Taunted the string tie and the uncombed hair,
And made me naked in my sponsorships
Before the juries, whence my magic fled;
And being jobless I set up an office
And turned a tribune, to myself alone
And to the people responsible. I hung
About my office walls the pictured faces
Of those who strove and sacrificed for men,
John Brown, and Tolstoy, Engels, Marx and George,
Bruno and Paine. And for a hint of art
A mezzotint of William Morris, and one
Of Gabriel Rossetti, etchings not a few
Of Roman forums, landscapes, and the like.
Then as the Roycroft furniture was raging
And decorations, I bought heavy chairs
Of oak with leather bottoms hugely stuffed,
And desks and tables of fumed and massive squares.
I painted the office walls Pompeian red
And ebon black the door frames, windowpanes.
Sitting amid these emblems and these charms.
I soon received the multitude, the halt,
The blind, the laborers, the crazed, the dreamers,
Free lovers, socialists, and fanatic men
Who creedless or with creeds arrayed themselves
Against the strength of capital. And these
I sent with counsel to the fray, too cautious
To lead them save when money was in sight.
Retaining the while their confidence by work
For which I charged them nothing. Yet I throve:
The corporations found me still their friend.
I would not harm the people, but I'd see
That fairness was accomplished between the people
And wealth, which could be done when I adjusted
Their quarrels in fairness, neither allowing the mob
To overreach the strong, nor letting the strong
Oppress the weak. For which I charged the weak
No fees at all; the strong could pay me well
And never feel it; and meanwhile 'twas none
Of the weak's business that my pay arose
Out of the gratitude of banks and trusts,
Or what it was.
Or what it was."So I went lecturing
At night on single tax and socialism,
And nurturing bodies who essayed to fix
Just taxes on the rich. But when the suits
Were pressed to fix them then I stood aside,
And waited till the corporations asked me
To call my rabble army from the field,
And compromise on justice.
At night on single tax and socialism,
And nurturing bodies who essayed to fix
Just taxes on the rich. But when the suits
Were pressed to fix them then I stood aside,
And waited till the corporations asked me
To call my rabble army from the field,
And compromise on justice.
And compromise on justice."By this time
A great discovery! Yes, I loved my wife
No more. My office long had swarmed with women
Drawn by my eloquence, my tenderness
For suffering and poverty, by my smile,
My great humanity, my winsome wit,
My learning and my genius. And gradually
Adulterous ways had caught me, which my craft
For splitting reasons justified. What's the wrong?
So simple a thing as this. And I had smiled
Some virgins into yielding. And some others
Grown pregnant I had helped. But once it took
Some thousands of my money to avoid
A scandal, though in truth a scandal was
Merely a nothing, if you were not placed
In some conspicuous role in life like mine.
Loving my wife no more, I came to her
Asking divorce. And naturally she asked me
If I had gratitude or not for ail
She did for me and for my lawyership.
I had and said so, but it was not fine,
It was not noble, nor to her womanhood
The honor it deserved for us to live
As man and wife together in this case,
Such as it was. She yielded to my reasons,
And wept and made me weep, and so we parted.
A great discovery! Yes, I loved my wife
No more. My office long had swarmed with women
Drawn by my eloquence, my tenderness
For suffering and poverty, by my smile,
My great humanity, my winsome wit,
My learning and my genius. And gradually
Adulterous ways had caught me, which my craft
For splitting reasons justified. What's the wrong?
So simple a thing as this. And I had smiled
Some virgins into yielding. And some others
Grown pregnant I had helped. But once it took
Some thousands of my money to avoid
A scandal, though in truth a scandal was
Merely a nothing, if you were not placed
In some conspicuous role in life like mine.
Loving my wife no more, I came to her
Asking divorce. And naturally she asked me
If I had gratitude or not for ail
She did for me and for my lawyership.
I had and said so, but it was not fine,
It was not noble, nor to her womanhood
The honor it deserved for us to live
As man and wife together in this case,
Such as it was. She yielded to my reasons,
And wept and made me weep, and so we parted.
"Now I had time and money whereon to write
My long reflected book called Love Your Enemies,
Derived somewhat from Tolstoy, it may be,
But giving reasons out of Jesus Christ
Against the game of war and hanging men,
And all retaliation of the law, or that
Of man and man. And so to write this book
I chose a small apartment and set up
In studious bachelorhood. The city's magnates
Accounted me a radical and queer,
But still an honest soul, a simple heart.
And as so often I had helped them out
Of communistic broils and saved them loss,
They paid me back with tips upon the market,
Which following I soon grew very rich,
And thus was able to befriend the poor
By legal aid, and write my cherished book
Without anxiety on the score of means
To live the while. But the apartment which I rented
Was not among the rich, but in the ghetto,
Among the poor, who seeing me pass the streets
Sad faced and weary for labors given now
To right the world's wrongs, men and women touched
My coat or hand, and hailed me as their friend.
But those who saw my rooms here in the ghetto,
Saw paintings on the walls Pompeian red,
And bronzes on the shelves of many books,
And Persian rugs. And others invited to feast
Drank precious wine as even I drank it now,
Having seen through the ascetic fallacy
Of prohibition. And I had learned to smoke,
First awkwardly grown more than forty then.
But later I consumed great quantities
Of cigarettes, and flicked the ashes well.
So was it when my lady callers came
Along the filthy streets glad to escape
Into my sumptuous rooms. And many nights
Helen and Kate and Lilly and Beatrice
Sat draped around my feet to hear me read
'The Ballad of Reading Gaol' or Omar Khayyam
And upward gaze upon me, on that brow
So full and noble, on that lawless lock
That fell across it, giving sigh for sigh,
Hearing my golden voice the verses drawl,
While tears of pity coursed my weary cheeks!
Nor did they note my finger nails, but rather
The boyish way I held my cigarette.
At other times I got my manuscript
And read them how all war was made by usurers;
And how all hangings by the law were only
Brutal revenge; and how the world would rise
To light at once if men would but forgive,
And love each other. Then the evening over
Helen and Kate and Lilly and Beatrice
Stole forth, but one of them returned at last,
Having deceived the others, left unchosen
For this night's dedication.
My long reflected book called Love Your Enemies,
Derived somewhat from Tolstoy, it may be,
But giving reasons out of Jesus Christ
Against the game of war and hanging men,
And all retaliation of the law, or that
Of man and man. And so to write this book
I chose a small apartment and set up
In studious bachelorhood. The city's magnates
Accounted me a radical and queer,
But still an honest soul, a simple heart.
And as so often I had helped them out
Of communistic broils and saved them loss,
They paid me back with tips upon the market,
Which following I soon grew very rich,
And thus was able to befriend the poor
By legal aid, and write my cherished book
Without anxiety on the score of means
To live the while. But the apartment which I rented
Was not among the rich, but in the ghetto,
Among the poor, who seeing me pass the streets
Sad faced and weary for labors given now
To right the world's wrongs, men and women touched
My coat or hand, and hailed me as their friend.
But those who saw my rooms here in the ghetto,
Saw paintings on the walls Pompeian red,
And bronzes on the shelves of many books,
And Persian rugs. And others invited to feast
Drank precious wine as even I drank it now,
Having seen through the ascetic fallacy
Of prohibition. And I had learned to smoke,
First awkwardly grown more than forty then.
But later I consumed great quantities
Of cigarettes, and flicked the ashes well.
So was it when my lady callers came
Along the filthy streets glad to escape
Into my sumptuous rooms. And many nights
Helen and Kate and Lilly and Beatrice
Sat draped around my feet to hear me read
'The Ballad of Reading Gaol' or Omar Khayyam
And upward gaze upon me, on that brow
So full and noble, on that lawless lock
That fell across it, giving sigh for sigh,
Hearing my golden voice the verses drawl,
While tears of pity coursed my weary cheeks!
Nor did they note my finger nails, but rather
The boyish way I held my cigarette.
At other times I got my manuscript
And read them how all war was made by usurers;
And how all hangings by the law were only
Brutal revenge; and how the world would rise
To light at once if men would but forgive,
And love each other. Then the evening over
Helen and Kate and Lilly and Beatrice
Stole forth, but one of them returned at last,
Having deceived the others, left unchosen
For this night's dedication.
For this night's dedication."But with the years
Feeding so greedily I ruined fields
That might have fed my prudence for all life.
And faction after faction fell away
Proving my leadership a dangerous spell.
Labor divined my passion, which was gold,
And lost their causes because I stole away
When danger threatened me. And those in jail
For preaching what I preached discovered me
Standing afar in safety, as they were soldiers
Led to attack, but by the captain left
To fight alone, while safe behind a tree
The captain stood. And frowsy idealists
Who married Jewesses when 'The Melting Pot'
Captured the stage, and I went lecturing
And urged such intermarriage as a cure
For racial hates, awoke to see that I
Married no Jewess, but took unto myself
A lady of patrician family,
Deserting Helen and Kate and Beatrice.
So woke the youthful dreamer who had married
A negro woman, to that altar led
By my philosophy and private word.
Feeding so greedily I ruined fields
That might have fed my prudence for all life.
And faction after faction fell away
Proving my leadership a dangerous spell.
Labor divined my passion, which was gold,
And lost their causes because I stole away
When danger threatened me. And those in jail
For preaching what I preached discovered me
Standing afar in safety, as they were soldiers
Led to attack, but by the captain left
To fight alone, while safe behind a tree
The captain stood. And frowsy idealists
Who married Jewesses when 'The Melting Pot'
Captured the stage, and I went lecturing
And urged such intermarriage as a cure
For racial hates, awoke to see that I
Married no Jewess, but took unto myself
A lady of patrician family,
Deserting Helen and Kate and Beatrice.
So woke the youthful dreamer who had married
A negro woman, to that altar led
By my philosophy and private word.
"Charmed life you think? Wonder I was not killed!
Some thought it came from following the creed
Of Love Your Enemies; and some believed
I had a mastery of mind which ruled
Men and events belonging to an age
Made to my hand. How, many asked, could I
Oppose the railroads as I did, yet keep
Their friendship? Or was it fear of me
That kept it? And the despots who controlled
The surface lines might wag their heads and say
They did not like my socialistic scheme
For giving the city ownership of cars,
Yet honest thought was not to be despised.
And when a dreaming idealist was made
The mayor to take over all the cars
For operation by the city, they
Preserved respectful silence when they saw
This mayor to my hands commit the work
Of winning through the courts the surface lines.
Then I with sad face and with weary hands
Toiled for the city, while the cynics said
I filled my purse with rake-offs from the dives,
And poker rooms. Not true! They missed the trail.
They never guessed the reason I resigned.
How they did speculate! Some enemies
Whispered the mayor stopped my privilege
Laid on the poker rooms and dives, while some
Proved I was hampered in this street car work
By folly of the mayor, a doctrinaire,
And justified the resignation, saying
That all my striving, all my work was vain.
Well, so it was. I tried. I ditched the game.
I ditched it, wrote Mark Tapeley, you remember
That satire on the mayor. This I did
Thereby forgetting, being exasperate,
My creed of loving enemies. Yet unscathed
To other work I passed. Idealists
Scattered and broken by my resignation
Were stupefied with wrath, and could not speak
If they had had a forum, which they had not;
While on the other hand the street car despots
Smiled at my resignation and were still.
Some thought it came from following the creed
Of Love Your Enemies; and some believed
I had a mastery of mind which ruled
Men and events belonging to an age
Made to my hand. How, many asked, could I
Oppose the railroads as I did, yet keep
Their friendship? Or was it fear of me
That kept it? And the despots who controlled
The surface lines might wag their heads and say
They did not like my socialistic scheme
For giving the city ownership of cars,
Yet honest thought was not to be despised.
And when a dreaming idealist was made
The mayor to take over all the cars
For operation by the city, they
Preserved respectful silence when they saw
This mayor to my hands commit the work
Of winning through the courts the surface lines.
Then I with sad face and with weary hands
Toiled for the city, while the cynics said
I filled my purse with rake-offs from the dives,
And poker rooms. Not true! They missed the trail.
They never guessed the reason I resigned.
How they did speculate! Some enemies
Whispered the mayor stopped my privilege
Laid on the poker rooms and dives, while some
Proved I was hampered in this street car work
By folly of the mayor, a doctrinaire,
And justified the resignation, saying
That all my striving, all my work was vain.
Well, so it was. I tried. I ditched the game.
I ditched it, wrote Mark Tapeley, you remember
That satire on the mayor. This I did
Thereby forgetting, being exasperate,
My creed of loving enemies. Yet unscathed
To other work I passed. Idealists
Scattered and broken by my resignation
Were stupefied with wrath, and could not speak
If they had had a forum, which they had not;
While on the other hand the street car despots
Smiled at my resignation and were still.
"Arriving at fifty you recall that I
Met great disaster. That popular cause arose
Which needed what I seemed to be: a faith,
A resolution, integrity and courage,
Which I had lost, or never had in truth.
I was the best the populares could find.
And as I needed money, having lost
Huge sums upon the market, I was glad
To use the populares to raise for me
Great moneys for the cause and for myself.
But being slumped in energy and zeal,
And faith, the purring panthers of old faults
And weaknesses sprang on me, and you know
What I was charged with, how I wiggled out,
Dragging my wounds. And how my ruined name
Went like a filthy litter everywhere.
So stripped of money, even health at first
I found myself upon the lowest round
Trying to climb the ladder once again.
Meanwhile in torture for a wife, but fearing
To exercise the right I long had preached
Of free divorce, lest with my lowered name
Divorce would sink it past recovery,
I let her torture me with querulous talk,
And fang me with accusals. So it went
Till that great capital which rules the world,
And ever has ruled it since the Red Shield House
Of Frankfort gave to usury the scepter,
Held once by captains and imagination,
Brought the World's War. There was my chance. I saw
That once again I could reclothe, renew
My name and fortune, by joining in the shouts
For war, and to destroy your enemies
And not forgive them. So my book forgetting
I stoned the Stephens of Good Will and Peace.
And doing so I won applause again,
And friendship of great capital, and praise
As fast as linotypes by money driven
Could cast in type for panegyric words.
And money flowed to me coined from the blood
Of boys deluded on the fields of France.
So I grew richer and more famed than when
I played the populares against the rich,
And America gripped firmly by the gold
Stolen by Spain from Cuzco and which flowed
To India and was stolen thence by England,
And which was made the unit power by banks
And conquered at last America, this America
Took me delighted to its breast again
Forgetting not my whimsies and my faults,
My errant genius, but remembering
My eloquence and wisdom as its friend.
Met great disaster. That popular cause arose
Which needed what I seemed to be: a faith,
A resolution, integrity and courage,
Which I had lost, or never had in truth.
I was the best the populares could find.
And as I needed money, having lost
Huge sums upon the market, I was glad
To use the populares to raise for me
Great moneys for the cause and for myself.
But being slumped in energy and zeal,
And faith, the purring panthers of old faults
And weaknesses sprang on me, and you know
What I was charged with, how I wiggled out,
Dragging my wounds. And how my ruined name
Went like a filthy litter everywhere.
So stripped of money, even health at first
I found myself upon the lowest round
Trying to climb the ladder once again.
Meanwhile in torture for a wife, but fearing
To exercise the right I long had preached
Of free divorce, lest with my lowered name
Divorce would sink it past recovery,
I let her torture me with querulous talk,
And fang me with accusals. So it went
Till that great capital which rules the world,
And ever has ruled it since the Red Shield House
Of Frankfort gave to usury the scepter,
Held once by captains and imagination,
Brought the World's War. There was my chance. I saw
That once again I could reclothe, renew
My name and fortune, by joining in the shouts
For war, and to destroy your enemies
And not forgive them. So my book forgetting
I stoned the Stephens of Good Will and Peace.
And doing so I won applause again,
And friendship of great capital, and praise
As fast as linotypes by money driven
Could cast in type for panegyric words.
And money flowed to me coined from the blood
Of boys deluded on the fields of France.
So I grew richer and more famed than when
I played the populares against the rich,
And America gripped firmly by the gold
Stolen by Spain from Cuzco and which flowed
To India and was stolen thence by England,
And which was made the unit power by banks
And conquered at last America, this America
Took me delighted to its breast again
Forgetting not my whimsies and my faults,
My errant genius, but remembering
My eloquence and wisdom as its friend.
"That was the man, so made by life, so formed
Out of my father's loins, my mother's womb,
Who sat for weeks and heard these witnesses
Tell what they knew of Elenor Murray. Then
What did we know not known before? All waste
Her life, all purposeless, as mine has been,
Strive as I would. Look at me! Don't you see
The purest hopes, the purest faiths abound
In me at first? That I had piercing eyes
To see through all illusions along the way,
And change my course to get the viable things
Which make life tolerable, whose fault was that?
That I spoke peace, believed in peace, and then
Had to surrender life or howl the war,
And send these Elenor Murrays and green boys
To serve and die, shall I be blamed for that?
Who gave me this acidulous reason fit
To turn inside or outside any faith,
Proving with equal points antitheses?
Why loving money did I love the people?
Why was I made unfitted to serve wealth,
Though with bagged trousers destined as a mask
To fool plebeians for a railroad's good?
And while the poor things thought my sympathies
Betrayed the railroad to their justices
I didn't do so, only compromised,
True to the inner truth there is no truth,
No gauge of justice? You can answer these
Questions as well as you could search the life
Of Elenor Murray. An hermaphrodite
Of nature, mind, I ranged the saints, I watched
The world of master realists in deeds;
And with these hemispheres which are my brain,
Being the microcosm of this world
Which on one side thinks hope, and on one side
Thinks doubt, love, hate, peace, strife—antinomies—
Good will, self-will, all through the human list
Of opposites—with these two hemispheres
I leaned sometimes to beauty, truth, so-called,
Which are as real as anything, but fool;
And then I walked where life is shown to be
The half insane, confused despair it is.
Where did I find the footing of least defeat?
Why, if I ate I ate; if I was roofed
Then I was roofed; if I was couched for love
I had delight. But if I tried to rise
And used my mind for making something dreamed
How should I do it, and with what regard,
Against this organism made to feed,
To fly the rain, to win an amorous hour;
But worse against innumerable hordes who make
Society, and whose collective sense
Sees food and roofs and amorous hours as all?
So prophets perish, and when youth was passed
I had no relish for the martyr stuff.
Glance at your Faust and see how real, how swift,
How fiery Goethe wrote of Margaret,
Of wine, of food, of dancing, murder, lust;
Then turn to the pale, thin atmosphere of song
At the very last with pater profundus, angels,
Pater seraphicus, all that theurgy
Of Margaret saved, Faust saved, where it is plain
He struggled with the task of making something
From nothing; taking Dante for a guide,
After discarding one plan, then another,
Opposed each way by this intransigent
Flesh sense which on its belly crawls, and climbs
The tree of knowledge only to find out
Wings needed, and being wingless must crawl down.
With Dante, too, while he was painting men
Stuck head first in hot pitch to punish them
For deeds he hated, he was life and flame;
But when he mounted up to paradise
The light is candles, the glory ciboria
Glancing the altar. . . .
Out of my father's loins, my mother's womb,
Who sat for weeks and heard these witnesses
Tell what they knew of Elenor Murray. Then
What did we know not known before? All waste
Her life, all purposeless, as mine has been,
Strive as I would. Look at me! Don't you see
The purest hopes, the purest faiths abound
In me at first? That I had piercing eyes
To see through all illusions along the way,
And change my course to get the viable things
Which make life tolerable, whose fault was that?
That I spoke peace, believed in peace, and then
Had to surrender life or howl the war,
And send these Elenor Murrays and green boys
To serve and die, shall I be blamed for that?
Who gave me this acidulous reason fit
To turn inside or outside any faith,
Proving with equal points antitheses?
Why loving money did I love the people?
Why was I made unfitted to serve wealth,
Though with bagged trousers destined as a mask
To fool plebeians for a railroad's good?
And while the poor things thought my sympathies
Betrayed the railroad to their justices
I didn't do so, only compromised,
True to the inner truth there is no truth,
No gauge of justice? You can answer these
Questions as well as you could search the life
Of Elenor Murray. An hermaphrodite
Of nature, mind, I ranged the saints, I watched
The world of master realists in deeds;
And with these hemispheres which are my brain,
Being the microcosm of this world
Which on one side thinks hope, and on one side
Thinks doubt, love, hate, peace, strife—antinomies—
Good will, self-will, all through the human list
Of opposites—with these two hemispheres
I leaned sometimes to beauty, truth, so-called,
Which are as real as anything, but fool;
And then I walked where life is shown to be
The half insane, confused despair it is.
Where did I find the footing of least defeat?
Why, if I ate I ate; if I was roofed
Then I was roofed; if I was couched for love
I had delight. But if I tried to rise
And used my mind for making something dreamed
How should I do it, and with what regard,
Against this organism made to feed,
To fly the rain, to win an amorous hour;
But worse against innumerable hordes who make
Society, and whose collective sense
Sees food and roofs and amorous hours as all?
So prophets perish, and when youth was passed
I had no relish for the martyr stuff.
Glance at your Faust and see how real, how swift,
How fiery Goethe wrote of Margaret,
Of wine, of food, of dancing, murder, lust;
Then turn to the pale, thin atmosphere of song
At the very last with pater profundus, angels,
Pater seraphicus, all that theurgy
Of Margaret saved, Faust saved, where it is plain
He struggled with the task of making something
From nothing; taking Dante for a guide,
After discarding one plan, then another,
Opposed each way by this intransigent
Flesh sense which on its belly crawls, and climbs
The tree of knowledge only to find out
Wings needed, and being wingless must crawl down.
With Dante, too, while he was painting men
Stuck head first in hot pitch to punish them
For deeds he hated, he was life and flame;
But when he mounted up to paradise
The light is candles, the glory ciboria
Glancing the altar. . . .
Glancing the altar. . . .Why do I write this out?
Why shameless do I extrovert my heart
For you to see, for many to see, perhaps?
First I am known for what I really am,
And see it in the eyes of those I meet;
And though time might obscure these faults of mine,
And memory might preserve some good of me,
Still do I write this. Why? To show the world
That I obeyed necessity which inheres
In life's most trivial moments, I the child
Of the Civil War, and the spurious faith which fired
Its genesis and its fruits. I see at last,
Now life is closing, what was incident
And what was destiny in my life. Did I
Choose the America of the Civil War
For my birth time? Or prefer its aftermath
Of business, money, cities for my place?
Or gift myself with a fraudulent righteousness,
Or die self fooled in a Holy Ghost, or Soul
That seeks the good—such good as I perceived,
Such good in truth? No! I was but a flash
Of the inner symbol under the moving age
Which molded it and me, and which no man
Controls, and which is God, if there is God.
Now as an artifact which an Indian hides
I give my story, seeing a world all changed,
And seeing America which will never again
Produce my type of spirit—may God forbid."
Why shameless do I extrovert my heart
For you to see, for many to see, perhaps?
First I am known for what I really am,
And see it in the eyes of those I meet;
And though time might obscure these faults of mine,
And memory might preserve some good of me,
Still do I write this. Why? To show the world
That I obeyed necessity which inheres
In life's most trivial moments, I the child
Of the Civil War, and the spurious faith which fired
Its genesis and its fruits. I see at last,
Now life is closing, what was incident
And what was destiny in my life. Did I
Choose the America of the Civil War
For my birth time? Or prefer its aftermath
Of business, money, cities for my place?
Or gift myself with a fraudulent righteousness,
Or die self fooled in a Holy Ghost, or Soul
That seeks the good—such good as I perceived,
Such good in truth? No! I was but a flash
Of the inner symbol under the moving age
Which molded it and me, and which no man
Controls, and which is God, if there is God.
Now as an artifact which an Indian hides
I give my story, seeing a world all changed,
And seeing America which will never again
Produce my type of spirit—may God forbid."
Now as he read this Merival would pause
From time to time to weigh some emphasis
Of Borrow's, and looked before him steadily.
For all the while he thought of Arielle,
Chiefly when Borrow's words of eat and drink
For to-morrow you die occurred. These left him blank
And unpersuaded. Moreover hearing them
He felt new urge to go to Arielle
And stand by her for life whatever the cost.
Borrow had profited no whit by living
For self alone; it proved androgynous
Life which grew sterile, as though a soul runs out
Of stuff to live on, if it is not crossed
With honest duty, love for another soul.
Then Winthrop Marion made articulate
What Merival was thinking: "Borrow told
The truth when writing that; so far so good.
And I have thought these very things myself.
Not long ago I said to the coroner,
A man is loved when he takes what he wants,
Grabs, wrests it in despite of folks, or else
Gets what he wants without their help. Why not?
Well, hearing another utter such cynic stuff,
Sets it before you plainly. And I declare
That I was braced resisting with every word,
I've known this man for twenty years and more;
I know he meant to tell the truth. One sees
Through all this story a hurt and baffled heart
Lusting to live, for self-protection's sake
Dropping a truth too heavy to lug along."
"A sort of fallen and corrupted Christ,"
Said George, "but clearly product of the times
Where life is hard, despite the abundant food
Out of exhaustless soil; but communal good,
The virtue of rulers, social justice thrive
Not as the national aims, but as the words
Of Sunday rituals. Christ being god,
Man vile, and all incapable of good,
So he is pardonable failing to attain
The Christlike pieties—thus you have a mess;
And competition, trade, no wise impugned
By our religion, make an iron net
In which young souls like Borrow's are ensnared,
And dragged and dusted. Only a brushing off
For some occasion reveals them once again
Just as they were in youth."
From time to time to weigh some emphasis
Of Borrow's, and looked before him steadily.
For all the while he thought of Arielle,
Chiefly when Borrow's words of eat and drink
For to-morrow you die occurred. These left him blank
And unpersuaded. Moreover hearing them
He felt new urge to go to Arielle
And stand by her for life whatever the cost.
Borrow had profited no whit by living
For self alone; it proved androgynous
Life which grew sterile, as though a soul runs out
Of stuff to live on, if it is not crossed
With honest duty, love for another soul.
Then Winthrop Marion made articulate
What Merival was thinking: "Borrow told
The truth when writing that; so far so good.
And I have thought these very things myself.
Not long ago I said to the coroner,
A man is loved when he takes what he wants,
Grabs, wrests it in despite of folks, or else
Gets what he wants without their help. Why not?
Well, hearing another utter such cynic stuff,
Sets it before you plainly. And I declare
That I was braced resisting with every word,
I've known this man for twenty years and more;
I know he meant to tell the truth. One sees
Through all this story a hurt and baffled heart
Lusting to live, for self-protection's sake
Dropping a truth too heavy to lug along."
"A sort of fallen and corrupted Christ,"
Said George, "but clearly product of the times
Where life is hard, despite the abundant food
Out of exhaustless soil; but communal good,
The virtue of rulers, social justice thrive
Not as the national aims, but as the words
Of Sunday rituals. Christ being god,
Man vile, and all incapable of good,
So he is pardonable failing to attain
The Christlike pieties—thus you have a mess;
And competition, trade, no wise impugned
By our religion, make an iron net
In which young souls like Borrow's are ensnared,
And dragged and dusted. Only a brushing off
For some occasion reveals them once again
Just as they were in youth."
Just as they were in youth."Then Maiworm said,
"I'm sorry to confess you speak the truth.
Worse still for me these recent months have brought
Changed speculations. You remember how
I spoke when we as jurymen talked together,
Saying the conquest of the world for Christ
Would rid the world of war and sin, from which
Less homes like Elenor Murray's would ensue.
Well, after all, with war and sin expugned
These qualities of honor, gentleness,
High-mindedness, and aristocracy
Of taste and feeling might be unattained.
I'll have to see what I can say hereof
When I write out my story."
"I'm sorry to confess you speak the truth.
Worse still for me these recent months have brought
Changed speculations. You remember how
I spoke when we as jurymen talked together,
Saying the conquest of the world for Christ
Would rid the world of war and sin, from which
Less homes like Elenor Murray's would ensue.
Well, after all, with war and sin expugned
These qualities of honor, gentleness,
High-mindedness, and aristocracy
Of taste and feeling might be unattained.
I'll have to see what I can say hereof
When I write out my story."
When I write out my story."So they talked.
And Dr. Burke came in who stayed behind
The others when they left. And Merival
Starting the subject with that grandmother
Of Elenor Murray who at fifty lost
Her mind and for two years at Kankakee
Was kept confined, went on to puerperal
Insanity, by way, he made it seem,
Of ranging over the field discursively.
The doctor said at last: "You must assume
The brain to be the organ of the mind;
You must assume this, for it is the fact.
From which it follows, there's no mind insane
In a healthy brain. As for inheritance
The unstable nervous system is the thing
Which passes in the stream of life; the flesh
Which is susceptible to toxic foes
Of a good brain. Just keep the brain in mind,
Which must have blood—blood flowing normally,
For otherwise you faint, you lose your wits
Some minutes. Whence you see that pregnancy,
Anxiety, or danger seen ahead,
"Or moral shock can misdirect the blood,
And undermine the reason. In earlier days
We thought childbirth insanity arose
From some inheritable diathesis.
What have we found? Infection generally
Upsets such brains."
And Dr. Burke came in who stayed behind
The others when they left. And Merival
Starting the subject with that grandmother
Of Elenor Murray who at fifty lost
Her mind and for two years at Kankakee
Was kept confined, went on to puerperal
Insanity, by way, he made it seem,
Of ranging over the field discursively.
The doctor said at last: "You must assume
The brain to be the organ of the mind;
You must assume this, for it is the fact.
From which it follows, there's no mind insane
In a healthy brain. As for inheritance
The unstable nervous system is the thing
Which passes in the stream of life; the flesh
Which is susceptible to toxic foes
Of a good brain. Just keep the brain in mind,
Which must have blood—blood flowing normally,
For otherwise you faint, you lose your wits
Some minutes. Whence you see that pregnancy,
Anxiety, or danger seen ahead,
"Or moral shock can misdirect the blood,
And undermine the reason. In earlier days
We thought childbirth insanity arose
From some inheritable diathesis.
What have we found? Infection generally
Upsets such brains."
Now Merival stared at him.
He stared the mystery of Arielle,
The insoluble secret that surrounded her.
Silent he rose, and stood, then poured a drink;
Silent he sat again and sipped his Scotch.
He stared the mystery of Arielle,
The insoluble secret that surrounded her.
Silent he rose, and stood, then poured a drink;
Silent he sat again and sipped his Scotch.