Domesday Book Part 27

"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 b.o.o.by 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 j.a.pan. 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 Pa.s.sed through my brain, as through a room a bat Flits in and out. I read the letter over: How could this letter pa.s.s the censor? Escape The censor's eye? But eagerness of pa.s.sion, 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 G.o.d 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 gla.s.s 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 h.e.l.l!

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?"