Domesday Book Part 16

"But later on, Two years ago, when she came back to town From somewhere, I don't know, gone many months, Grown prettier, more desirable, I sent Some roses to her in a tender mood As if to say: We're grown up since that night, Have you forgotten it, as I remember How womanly you were, have grown to be?

She wrote me just a little note of thanks, And what is strange that very day I learned About your interest in her, learned besides It prospered for some months before. I turned My heart away for good, as a man might Who plunges and beholds the woman smile And take another's arm and walk away."

"So, that's your story, is it?" said Carl Eaton.

"Well, I had married her except for you!

That bunch of roses spoiled the girl for me.

You had Roy Green, dog-fennel, I had roses, And I am glad you sent them, otherwise I might have married her, to find at last A wife just like her mother is, myself Living her father's life, for something missed Or hated in me--not the want of money.

She liked me as the banker's son, be sure, And let me go unwillingly."

"But listen: I called on her the night you sent the roses, And there she had them on the center table, And twinkled with her eyes, and spoke of them, And said, I can remember it, you sent Such lovely roses to her, you and she Had been good friends for years--and now it seems You were not friends--I didn't know it then.

But think about it, John! What was this woman?

It's clear her fate, found dead there by the river, Is just the outward mirror of herself, And had to be. There's not a thing in life That is not first enacted in the heart.

Our fate is the reflection of the life Which goes on in the heart. That girl was doomed, Lived in her heart a life that found a birth, Grew up, committed matricide at last, Not that my love had saved her. But explain Why would she over-stress the roses, give Me understandings foreign to the truth?

For truth to tell, we were affianced then, There were your roses! But above it all Something she said p.r.i.c.ked like a rose's thorn, Something that grew to thought she cherished you, Kept memories sweet of you. If that were true, What was the past? What was I after all?

A second choice, as if I bought a car, But thought about a car I wanted more.

So I retired that night in serious thought."

"Yet if you'll credit me, I had not heard About this Alma Bell affair, or heard About her riding through the public streets With this Roy Green. I think I was away, I never heard it anyway, I know Until my mother told me, and she told me Next morning after I had found your roses.

I hadn't told my mother, nor a soul Before, that time that we two were engaged-- I didn't tell her then--I merely asked Would Elenor Murray please you as a daughter?

You should have seen my mother--how she gasped, And gestured losing breath, to say at last: 'Why, Carl, my boy, what are you thinking of?

You have not promised marriage to that girl?

Now tell me, have you?' Then I lied to her; And laughed a little, answered no, and asked, 'What do you know about her?'"

"Here's a joke, With terror in it, John, if you have told The truth to me--my mother tells me there That on a time John Campbell--that is you, And Elenor Murray rode into the country, And that at two o'clock, or so, the girl Is seen beside the gate post holding on, And reeling up the side-walk to her door.

The girl was tired, if you have told the truth.

My mother warms up to this scoundrel Green, And tops the matter off with Alma Bell.

And all the love I had for Elenor Murray Sours in my heart. And then I tell my mother The truth--of our engagement--promise her To break it off. I did so on that day.

Got back the solitaire--but Elenor Hung to me, asked my reasons, kept the ring Until I wrote so sternly she gave up Her hope and me."

"But worst of all, John Campbell-- If this be worst--this early episode So nipped my leaves and browned and curled them up To whisper sharply with their bitter edges, No one has seen a bridal wreath in me; Nor have I ever known a woman since That some a.n.a.lysis did not blow cool A rising admiration."

"Now to think This girl lies dead, and while we drink a beer You tell me that the story is a lie, The girl was good, walked ten miles through the dark To save her honor from a ruffian-- That's what you were, as you confess it now.

And if she did that, what is all this talk Of such a rat as Green, of Alma Bell?-- It isn't true."

"The only truth is this: I took a lasting poison from a lie, Which built the very cells of me to resist The thought of marriage--poison which remains.

I wonder should I tell the coroner?

No good in that--you might as well describe A cancer to prevent the malady In people yet to be. Let's have a beer.

John Campbell said: I learned from Elenor Murray The kind of woman I should take to wife, I married just the woman made for me."

"If you can say so on your death bed, John, Then Elenor Murray did one man a good, Whatever ill she did to other men.

See, I keep rapping for that waiter--I Would like another beer, and so would you."

So now it's clear the story is not true Which Mrs. Eaton told the coroner.

And when the coroner told the jurymen What Mrs. Eaton told him, Winthrop Marion Skilled in the work of running down a tale Said: "I can look up Eaton, Campbell too, And verify or contradict this thing.

We have departed far afield in this, It has no bearing on the cause of death.

But none of us have liked to see, the girl's Good name, integrity of spirit lie In shadow by this story." Merival Was glad to have these two men interviewed By Winthrop Marion; so he found them, talked, And brought their stories back, as told above Which made the soul of Elenor Murray clear....

Paul Roberts was a man of sixty years, Who lived and ran a magazine at LeRoy.

_The Dawn_ he called it; financed by a fund Left Roberts by a millionaire, who believed The fund would widen knowledge through the use Of Roberts, student of the Eastern wisdom.

This Roberts loathed the war, but kept his peace Because the law compelled it. Took this time To fight the Christian faith, and show the age Submerged in Christian ethics, weak and false.

He knew this Elenor Murray from a child, And knew her rearing, schooling, knew the air She breathed in at LeRoy. And in _The Dawn_ Printed this essay:--

"We have seen," he writes, "Astonishing revealments, inventories Taken of souls, all coming from the death Of Elenor Murray, and the inquest held To ascertain her death. Perhaps fantastic This thing may be, but scarcely more fantastic Than rubbing amber, watching frogs' legs twitch, From which the light of cities came, the power That hauls the coaches over mountain tops.

We would do well to laugh at nothing, watch With interested eye the capering souls Too moved to walk straight. If a wire grounds And interpenetrates the granite blocks With viewless fire, horses shod with steel, Walking along the granite blocks will leap Like mad things in the air. Well, so we leap Before we know the cause. Let sound minds laugh.

First you agree no man has looked on G.o.d; And I contend the souls who found G.o.d, told Too little of their triumph. But I hold Man shall find G.o.d and know, shall see at last What man's soul is, and where it tends, the use It was made for. And after that? Forever There's progress while there's life, all devolution Returns to progress.

As to worship, G.o.d They had their amber days, days of frogs' legs.

And yet before I trace the Christian growth From seed to blossom, let me prophesy: The light upon the lotus blossom pauses, Has paused these centuries and waits to move Westward and mingle with the light that shines Upon the Occident. What did Christ do But carry the Hebraic thrift and prudence Of matter and of spirit, half-corrupted By wisdom of the market to these races That crowd in Europe, in the Western World?

Now you have seen such things as chemistry, And mongering in steel, the use of fire Made perfect in swift wheels, and swifter wings, Until the realm of matter seems subdued, Thought with her foot upon the dragon's head, And using him to serve. This western world Ma.s.sing its powers these centuries to bring Comfort and happiness and length of days, And pushing commerce, trade to pile up gold, Knows not its soul as yet, nor G.o.d. But here I prophesy: Suppose the Hindu lore, Which has gone farther with the soul of man Than we have gone with business, has card cased The soul's addresses, introduced a system In the soul's business, just suppose this lore And great perfection in things spiritual Should by some process wed the great perfection Of this our western world, and we should have Mastery of spirit and of matter, too?

Might not that progress start as one result Of this great war?

Let's see from whence we came.

I take the Hebrew faith, the very frog legs Of our theology--no use to say It has no place with us. Your ministers Preach from the Pentateuch, its decalogue Is all our ethic nearly; and our life Is suckled by the Hebrews; don't the Jews Control our business, while our business rules Our spirits far too much?

Now let us see What food our spirits feed on. Palestine Is just a little country, fights for life Against a greater prowess, skill in arms.

So as the will does not give up, but hopes For vengeance and for wiping out of wrongs The Jews conceive a G.o.d who will dry up His people's tears and let them laugh again!

Hence in Jehovah's mouth they put these words: My word shall stand forever, you shall eat The riches of the Gentiles, suck their milk.

Your ploughman shall the alien be, the stranger Shall feed your flock, and I will make you fat With milk and honey. I will give you power, Dominion, leadership, glory forever.

My wrath is on all nations to avenge Israel's sorrow and humiliation.

My sword is bathed in heaven, filled with blood To come upon Idumea, to stretch out Upon it stones of emptiness, confusion.

Her fortresses shall be the habitation Of dragons and a court for owls. I smite The proud a.s.syrian and make them dead.

In fury, and in anger do I tread On Zion's enemies, their worm shall die not, Nor shall their fire be quenched. I shall stir up Jealousy like a man of war, put on The garments of my vengeance, and repay To adversaries fury. For my word Shall stand to preach good tidings to the meek, And liberty to captives, and to chains The opening of prisons.

Don't you see Our western culture in such words as these?

Your proselytes, and business man, reformer Nourished upon them, using them in life?

But then you say Christ came with final truth, And put away Jehovah. Let us see.

What shall become of those who turn from Christ, Not that their souls failed, only that they turned, Did not believe, accept, found in him little To live by, grow by? This is what Christ said: Ye vipers in the last day ye shall see The sun turned dark, the moon made blood. Behold!

I come in clouds of glory and of power To judge the quick and judge the dead. Mine own Shall enter into blessedness. But to those Evil who scorned me, I shall say, depart Accursed into everlasting fire.

And quick the gates of heaven shall be shut, And I shall reign in heaven with mine own And let my fire of wrath consume the world.

But then you say, what of his love and doctrine?

Not the old decalogue by him renewed, But new wine to the Jews, if not in the world Unknown before. Look close and you shall see A book of double entries, balanced columns, Business in matters spiritual, prudential Rules for life's conduct. Yes, be merciful But to obtain your mercy; yes, forgive That you may be forgiven; honor your parents That your days may be long. Blest are the meek For they shall inherit the earth. Rejoice, for great Is your reward in heaven if they say All manner of evil of you, persecute you.

Do you not see the rule of compensation Shot through it all? And if you love your neighbor, And all men do so, then you have the state Composed to such a level of peace, no man Need fear the breaker in, unless you keep This mood of love for preaching, for a rule While business in the Occident goes on Under Jehovah's Hebrew manual.

What is it all? The meek inherit the earth For being meek; you turn the other cheek And fill your enemy with shame to strike A cheek that does not harden to return The blow received. But too much in our life The cheek is turned, the hand not made a fist, But opened out to pick a pocket with, While the other cheek is turned. Now, at the last Has not this war put by resist not evil?

Which was the way of Jesus to the end, Even to buffetings and the crown of thorns; Even the cross and death?--we put it by: We would not let protagonists thereof So much as hint the doctrine, which is to say, Though it be written over Jesus' life, And be his spirit's essence, we see through The fallacy of that preachment, cannot live In this world by it.

Well, let me be plain.

Races like men find truth in living life, Find thereby what is food and what is poison.

These are the phylogenetics spiritual.

But meanwhile there's the light upon the lotus Which waits to mingle with the light that shines Upon the Occident, take Jesus' light Where it is bright enough to mix with it And show no duller splendor?

I look back Upon the Jew and Jesus, on the Thora The gospel, dogmatism, poetry, The Messianic hope and will and grace, Jesus the Son of G.o.d, and one with G.o.d.

The outer theocracy, the Kingdom of G.o.d within you, St. Paul with metaphysics, St. Augustine Babbling of sin in Cicero's rhetoric, The popes with their intrigues and millions slain O ghastly waste, if not O ghastly failure, Beside which all the tragedies of time To set up doctrines, rulerships, and say: Are not a finger scratched. O monstrous hate Born of enfolding love! O martyrdom Of our poor world for ages, incurable madness Bred in the blood, and mixed in the forms of thought, Still maddening, maiming, crucifying, killing The fast appearing sons of men. Go ask What man you will who has lived up to forty And see if you find not the Christian creed Has not in some way gyved his life and bolted Body or spirit to a wall, to make The man live not by nature, but a doctrine Evolved from thought that disregards man's life.

But oh this hunger of the mind for answers And hunger of the heart for life, the heart Thrown to the dogs of thought. What shall we do?

I see a way, have hope.