Domesday Book Part 28

"And now think of me: This monstrous war had entered me through her, Its pa.s.sion, 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 G.o.d 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 wh.o.r.e, that's all, a masquerading wh.o.r.e, 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 carca.s.s?

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 s.e.x. 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 ba.s.so brutes, Had women to enslave the brutes with s.e.x, 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 G.o.d, 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 superst.i.tion, 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, a.n.a.lyzed:-- 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 l.u.s.t, 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d or faith, but in the name of man And for humanity, so long accursed By G.o.ds 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 l.u.s.t 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 Pa.s.sionate 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 s.e.x, 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, Trans.m.u.ted 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 l.u.s.t, its greed, its covert purposes, Its pa.s.sion out of h.e.l.l which obelised Such n.o.ble 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 coa.r.s.e, Cowardly, shabby, hypocritical, Generous, loving, n.o.ble, 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 pa.s.sion 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 G.o.d'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."