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Barrett Bays

by Edgar Lee Masters

"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.