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.
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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_.