Part 6

"When Corinne Was nineteen, very beautiful and vital, Red-cheeked, a dancer, bubbling like new wine, A catch, as you may know, you see this house Was full of laughter then, so many children. We had our parties, too, and young men thought, Each one of us would have a dowry splendid-- A young man from Chicago came along, A lawyer there, but lately come from Pittsburgh To practice, win his way. I knew this man. He was a handsome dog with curly hair, Blue eyes and sturdy figure. Well, Corinne Quite lost her heart. He came here to a dance, And so the game commenced. And father thought The fellow was not right, but all of us, Your mother and myself said, yes he is, And we conspired to help Corinne and smooth The path of confidence. But later on Corinne was not so buoyant, would not talk With me, your mother freely. Then at last Her eyes were sometimes red; we knew she wept. And, then Corinne was sent away. Well, here You'll guess the rest. Her health was breaking down, That's true enough; the world could think its thoughts, And say his love grew cold, or she found out The black-leg that he was, and he was that. But Elenor, the truth was more than that, Corinne had been betrayed, she went away To right herself--these letters prove the case, Which all the gossips, busy as they were, Could not make out. The paper at LeRoy Had printed that she went to pay a visit To relatives in the east. Three months or so She came back well and rosy. But meanwhile Your grandfather had paid this shabby scoundrel A sum of money, I forget the sum, To get these letters of your Aunt Corinne-- These letters here. This matter leaked, of course. And then we let the story take this form And moulded it a little to this form: The fellow was a scoundrel--this was proved When he took money to return her letters. They were love letters, they had been engaged, She thought him worthy, found herself deceived Proved, too, by taking money, when at first He looked with honorable eyes to young Corinne, And won her trust. And so Corinne lived here Ten years or more, at thirty married the judge, Her senior thirty years, and went away. She bore a child and died--look Elenor Here are the letters which she took and nailed Beneath the garret floor. We'll read them through, And then I'll burn them."

Irma Leese rose up And put the letters in her desk and said: "Let's ride along the river." So they rode, But as they rode, the day being clear and mild The fancy took them to Chicago, where They lunched and spent the afternoon, returning At ten o'clock that night.

And the next morning When Irma Leese expected Elenor To rise and join her, asked for her, a maid Told Irma Leese that Elenor had gone To walk somewhere. And all that day she waited. But as night came, she fancied Elenor Had gone to see her mother, once rose up To telephone, then stopped because she felt Elenor might have plans she would not wish Her mother to get wind of--let it go. But when night came, she wondered, fell asleep With wondering and worry.

But next morning As she was waiting for the car to come To motor to LeRoy, and see her sister, Elenor's mother, in a casual way, Learn if her niece was there, and waiting read The letters of Corinne, the telephone Rang in an ominous way, and Irma Leese Sprang up to answer, got the tragic word Of Elenor Murray found beside the river. Left all the letters spilled upon her desk And motored to the river, to LeRoy Where Coroner Merival took the body.

Just As Irma Leese departed, in the room A sullen maid revengeful for the fact She was discharged, was leaving in a day, Entered and saw the letters, read a little, And gathered them, went to her room and packed Her telescope and left, went to LeRoy, And gave a letter to this one and that, Until the servant maids and carpenters And some lubricous fellows at LeRoy Who made companions of these serving maids, Had each a letter of the dead Corinne, Which showed at last, after some twenty years, Of silence and oblivion, to LeRoy With memory to refresh, that poor Corinne Had given her love, herself, had been betrayed, Abandoned by a scoundrel.

Merival, The Coroner, when told about the letters, For soon the tongues were wagging in LeRoy, Went here and there to find them, till he learned What quality of love the dead Corinne Had given to this man. Then shook his head, Resolved to see if he could not unearth In Elenor Murray's life some faithless lover Who sought her death.

The letters' riffle crawled Through shadows of the waters of LeRoy Until it looked a snake, was seen as such In Tokio by Franklin Hollister, The son of dead Corinne; it seemed a snake: He heard the coroner through neglect or malice Had let the letters scatter--not the truth;-- The coroner had gathered up the letters, Befriending Irma Leese; she got them back Through Merival. The riffle's just the same. And hence this man in Tokio is crazed For shame and fear--for fear the girl he loves Will hear his mother's story and break off Her marriage promise.

So in reckless rage He posts a letter off to Lawyer Hood, Chicago, Illinois--the coroner Gets all the story through this Lawyer Hood, Long after Elenor's inquest is at end. Meantime he cools, is wiser, thinks it bad To stir the scandal with a suit at law. And then when cooled he hears from Lawyer Hood Who tells him what the truth is. So it ends.

* * * * *

These letters and the greenish wave that coiled At Tokio is beyond the coroner's eye Fixed on the water where the pebble fell:-- This death of Elenor, circles close at hand Engage his interest. Now he seeks to learn About her training and religious life. And hears of Miriam Fay, a friend he thinks, And confidant of her religious life, Head woman of the school where Elenor Learned chemistry, materia medica, Anatomy, to fit her for the work Of nursing. And he writes this Miriam Fay And Miriam Fay responds. The letter comes Before the jury. Here is what she wrote:--

MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER

Elenor Murray asked to go in training And came to see me, but the school was full, We could not take her. Then she asked to stand Upon a list and wait, I put her off. She came back, and she came back, till at last I took her application; then she came And pushed herself and asked when she could come, And start to train. At last I laughed and said: "Well, come to-morrow." I had never seen Such eagerness, persistence. So she came. She tried to make a friend of me, perhaps Since it was best, I being in command. But anyway she wooed me, tried to please me. And spite of everything I grew to love her, Though I distrusted her. But yet again I had belief in her best self, though doubting The girl somehow. But when I learned the girl Had never had religious discipline, Her father without faith, her mother too, Her want of moral sense, I understood. She lacked stability of spirit, to-day She would be one thing, something else the next. Shot up in fire, which failed and died away And I began to see her fraternize With girls who had her traits, too full of life To be what they should be, unstable too, Much like herself.

Not long before she came Into the training school, six months, perhaps, She had some tragedy, I don't know what, Had been quite ill in body and in mind. When she went into training I could see Her purpose to wear down herself, forget In weariness of body, something lived. She was alert and dutiful and sunny, Kept all the rules, was studious, led the class, Excelled, I think, in studies of the nerves, The mind grown sick.

As we grew better friends, More intimate, she talked about religion, And sacred subjects, asked about the church. I gave her books to read, encouraged her, Asked her to make her peace with God, and set Her feet in pious paths. At last she said She wished to be baptized, confirmed. I made The plans for her, she was baptized, confirmed, Went to confessional, and seemed renewed In spirit by conversion. For at once Her zeal was like a flame at Pentecost, She almost took the veil, but missing that, She followed out the discipline to the letter, Kept all the feast days, went to mass, communion, Did works of charity; indeed, I think She spent her spare hours all in all at sewing There with the sisters for the poor. She had, When she came to me, jewelry of value, A diamond solitaire, some other things. I missed them, and she said she sold them, gave The money to a home for friendless children. And I remember when she said her father Had wronged, misvalued her; but now her love, Made more abundant by the love of Christ, Had brought her to forgiveness. All her mood Was of humility and sacrifice.

One time I saw her at the convent, sitting Upon a foot-stool at the gracious feet Of the Mother Superior, sewing for the poor; Hair parted in the middle, curls combed out. Then was it that I missed her jewelry. She looked just like a poor maid, humble, patient, Head bent above her sewing, eyes averted. The room was silent with religious thought. I loved her then and pitied her. But now I think she had that in her which at times Made her a flagellant, at other times A rioter. She used the church to drag Her life from something, took it for a bladder To float her soul when it was perilled. First, She did not sell her jewelry; this ring, Too brilliant for forgetting, or to pass Unnoticed when she wore it, showed again Upon her finger after she had come Out of her training, was a graduate. She had a faculty for getting in Where elegance and riches were. She went Among the great ones, when she found a way, And traveled with them where she learned the life Of notables, aristocrats. It was there, Or when from duty free and feasting, gadding The ring showed on her finger.

In two years She dropped the church. New friends made in the school, New interests, work that took her energies And this religious flare had cured her up Of what was killing her when first I knew her. There was another thing that drew her back To flesh, away from spirit: She saw bodies, And handled bodies as a nurse, forgot The body is the spirit's temple, fell To some materialism of thought. And now Avoided me, was much away, of course, On duty here and there. I tried to hold her, Protect and guide her, wrote to her at times To make confession, take communion. She Ignored these letters. But I heard her say The body was as natural as the soul, And just as natural its desires. She kept Out of the wreck of faith one thing alone, If she kept that: She could endure to hear God's name profaned, but would not stand to hear The Savior's spoken in irreverence. She was afraid, no doubt. Or to be just, The tender love of Christ, his sacrifice, Perhaps had won her wholly--let it go, I'll say that much for her.

Why am I harsh? Because I saw the good in her all streaked With so much evil, evil known and lived In knowledge of it, clung to none the less, Unstable as water, how could she succeed? Untruthful, how could confidence be hers? I sometimes think she joined the church to mask A secret life, renewed forgiven sins. After she cloaked herself with piety. Perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do, And how to do it, using these detours Of piety to throw us off, who else Had seen what doors she entered, whence she came. She wronged the church, I think, made it a screen To stand behind for kisses, to look from Inviting kisses. Then, as I have said, She took materialism from her work, And so renewed her sins. She drank, I think, And smoked and feasted; but as for the rest, The smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame Or fire at least where there is smoke.

You ask What took her to the war? Why only this: Adventure, chance of marriage, amorous conquests-- The girl was mad for men, although I saw Her smoke obscured the flame, I never saw her Except with robins far too tame or lame To interest her, and robins prove to me The hawk is somewhere, waits for night to join His playmate when the robins are at rest. You see the girl has madness in her, flies From exaltation up to ecstasy. Feeds on emotion, never has enough. Tries all things, states of spirit, even beliefs. Passes from lust (I think) to celibacy, Feasts, fasts, eats, starves, has raptures then inflicts The whip upon her back, is penitent, Then proud, is humble, then is arrogant, Looks down demurely, stares you out of face, But runs the world around. For in point of fact, She traveled much, knew cities and their ways; And when I used to see her at the convent So meek, clothed like a sewing maid, at once The pictures that she showed me of herself At seaside places or on boulevards, Her beauty clothed in linen or in silk, Came back to mind, and I would resurrect The fragments of our talks in which I saw How she knew foods and drinks and restaurants, And fashionable shops. This girl could fool the elect-- She fooled me for a time. I found her out. Did she aspire? Perhaps, if you believe It's aspiration to seek out the rich, And ape them. Not for me. Of course she went To get adventure in the war, perhaps She got too much. But as to waste of life, She might have been a quiet, noble woman Keeping her place in life, not trying to rise Out of her class--too useless--in her class Making herself all worthy, serviceable. You'll find 'twas pride that slew her. Very like She found a rich man, tried to hold him, lost Her honor and her life in consequence.

* * * * *

When Merival showed this letter to the jury, Marion the juryman spoke up: "You know that type of woman--saintly hag! I wouldn't take her word about a thing By way of inference, or analysis. They had some trouble, she and Elenor You may be sure." And Merival replied: "Take it for what it's worth. I leave you now To see the man who owns the _Daily Times_. He's turned upon our inquest, did you see The jab he gives me? I can jab as well." So Merival went out and took with him A riffle in the waters of circumstance Set up by Elenor Murray's death to one Remote, secure in greatness--to the man Who ran the _Times_.

ARCHIBALD LOWELL

Archibald Lowell, owner of the _Times_ Lived six months of the year at Sunnyside, His Gothic castle near LeRoy, so named Because no sun was in him, it may be. His wife was much away when on this earth At cures, in travel, fighting psychic ills, Approaching madness, dying nerves. They said Her heart was starved for living with a man So cold and silent. Thirty years she lived Bound to this man, in restless agony, And as she could not free her life from his, Nor keep it living with him, on a day She stuck a gas hose in her mouth and drank Her lungs full of the lethal stuff and died. That was the very day the hunter found Elenor Murray's body near the river. A servant saw this Mrs. Lowell lying A copy of the _Times_ clutched in her hand, Which published that a slip of paper found In Elenor Murray's pocket had these words "To be brave and not to flinch." And was she brave, And nerved to end it by these words of Elenor? But Archibald, the husband, could not bear To have the death by suicide made known. He laid the body out, as if his wife Had gone to bed as usual, turned a jet And left it, just as if his wife had failed To fully turn it, then went in the room; Then called the servants, did not know that one Had seen her with the _Times_ clutched in her hand. He thought the matter hidden. Merival, All occupied with Elenor Murray's death Gave to a deputy the Lowell inquest. But later what this servant saw was told To Merival.

And now no more alone Than when his wife lived, Lowell passed the days At Sunnyside, as he had done for years. He sat alone, and paced the rooms alone, With hands behind him clasped, in fear and wonder Of life and what life is. He rode about, And viewed his blooded cattle on the hills. But what were all these rooms and acres to him With no face near him but the servants, gardeners? Sometimes he wished he had a child to draw Upon his fabulous income, growing more Since all his life was centered in the _Times_ To swell its revenues, and in the process His spirit was more fully in the _Times_ Than in his body. There were eyes who saw How deftly was his spirit woven in it Until it was a scarf to bind and choke The public throat, or stifle honest thought Like a soft pillow offered for the head, But used to smother. There were eyes who saw The working of its ways emasculate, Its tones of gray, where flame had been the thing, Its timorous steps, while spying on the public, To learn the public's thought. Its cautious pauses, With foot uplifted, ears pricked up to hear A step fall, twig break. Platitudes in progress-- With sugar coat of righteousness and order, Respectability.

Did the public make it? Or did it make the public, that it fitted With such exactness in the communal life? Some thousands thought it fair--what should they think When it played neutral in the matter of news To both sides of the question, though at last It turned the judge, and chose the better side, Determined from the first, a secret plan, And cunning way to turn the public scale? Some thousands liked the kind of news it printed Where no sensation flourished--smallest type That fixed attention for the staring eyes Needed for type so small. But others knew It led the people by its fair pretensions, And used them in the end. In any case This editor played hand-ball in this way: The advertisers tossed the ball, the readers Caught it and tossed it to the advertisers: And as the readers multiplied, the columns Of advertising grew, and Lowell's thought Was how to play the one against the other, And fill his purse.

It was an ingrown mind, And growing more ingrown with time. Afraid Of crowds and streets, uncomfortable in clubs, No warmth in hands to touch his fellows' hands, Keeping aloof from politicians, loathing The human alderman who bails the thief; The little scamp who pares a little profit, And grafts upon a branch that takes no harm. He loved the active spirit, if it worked, And feared the active spirit, if it played. This Lowell hid himself from favor seekers, Such letters filtered to him through a sieve Of secretaries. If he had a friend, Who was a mind to him as well, perhaps It was a certain lawyer, but who knew? And cursed with monophobia, none the less This Lowell lived alone there near LeRoy, Surrounded by his servants, at his desk A secretary named McGill, who took Such letters, editorials as he spoke. His life was nearly waste. A peanut stand Should be as much remembered as the _Times_, When fifty years are passed.

And every month The circulation manager came down To tell the great man of the gain or loss The paper made that month in circulation, In advertising, chiefly. Lowell took The audit sheets and studied them, and gave Steel bullet words of order this or that. He took the dividends, and put them--where? God knew alone.

He went to church sometimes, On certain Sundays, for a pious mother Had reared him so, and sat there like a corpse, A desiccated soul, so dry the moss Upon his teeth was dry.

And on a day, His wife now in the earth a week or so, Himself not well, the doctor there to quiet His fears of sudden death, pains in the chest, His manager had come--was made to wait Until the doctor finished--brought the sheets Which showed the advertising, circulation. And Lowell studied them and said at last: "That new reporter makes the Murray inquest A thing of interest, does the public like it?" To which the manager: "It sells the paper." And then the great man: "It has served its use. Now being nearly over, print these words: The Murray inquest shows to what a length Fantastic wit can go, it should be stopped." An editorial later might be well: Comment upon a father and a mother Invaded in their privacy, and life In intimate relations dragged to view To sate the curious eye.