Read Spoon River Anthology Page 17


  Compelled me to remove Dom Pedro—”

  Quick

  Before Jim Brown could finish, Jefferson Howard

  Obtained the floor and spake: “Ill suits the time

  For clownish words, and trivial is our cause

  If naught’s at stake but John Cabanis’ wrath,

  He who was erstwhile of the other side

  And came to us for vengeance. More’s at stake

  Than triumph for New England or Virginia.

  And whether rum be sold, or for two years

  As in the past two years, this town be dry

  Matters but little—Oh yes, revenue

  For sidewalks, sewers; that is well enough!

  I wish to God this fight were now inspired

  By other passion than to salve the pride

  Of John Cabanis or his daughter. Why

  Can never contests of great moment spring

  From worthy things, not little? Still, if men

  Must always act so, and if rum must be

  The symbol and the medium to release

  From life’s denial and from slavery,

  Then give me rum!”

  Exultant cries arose.

  Then, as George Trimble had o’ercome his fear

  And vacillation and begun to speak,

  The door creaked and the idiot, Willie Metcalf,

  Breathless and hatless, whiter than a sheet,

  Entered and cried: “The marshal’s on his way

  To arrest you all. And if you only knew

  Who’s coming here to-morrow; I was listening

  Beneath the window where the other side

  Are making plans.”

  So to a smaller room

  To hear the idiot’s secret some withdrew

  Selected by the Chair; the Chair himself

  And Jefferson Howard, Benjamin Pantier,

  And Wendell Bloyd, George Trimble, Adam Weirauch,

  Imanuel Ehrenhardt, Seth Compton, Godwin James

  And Enoch Dunlap, Hiram Scates, Roy Butler,

  Carl Hamblin, Roger Heston, Ernest Hyde

  And Penniwit, the artist, Kinsey Keene,

  And E. C. Culbertson and Franklin Jones,

  Benjamin Fraser, son of Benjamin Pantier

  By Daisy Fraser, some of lesser note,

  And secretly conferred.

  But in the hall

  Disorder reigned and when the marshal came

  And found it so, he marched the hoodlums out

  And locked them up.

  Meanwhile within a room

  Back in the basement of the church, with Blood

  Counseled the wisest heads. Judge Somers first,

  Deep learned in life, and next him, Elliott Hawkins

  And Lambert Hutchins; next him Thomas Rhodes

  And Editor Whedon; next him Garrison Standard,

  A traitor to the liberals, who with lip

  Upcurled in scorn and with a bitter sneer:

  “Such strife about an insult to a woman—

  A girl of eighteen”—Christian Dallmann too,

  And others unrecorded. Some there were

  Who frowned not on the cup but loathed the rule

  Democracy achieved thereby, the freedom

  And lust of life it symbolized.

  Now morn with snowy fingers up the sky

  Flung like an orange at a festival

  The ruddy sun, when from their hasty beds

  Poured forth the hostile forces, and the streets

  Resounded to the rattle of the wheels,

  That drove this way and that to gather in

  The tardy voters, and the cries of chieftains

  Who manned the battle. But at ten o’clock

  The liberals bellowed fraud, and at the polls

  The rival candidates growled and came to blows.

  Then proved the idiot’s tale of yester-eve

  A word of warning. Suddenly on the streets

  Walked hog-eyed Allen, terror of the hills

  That looked on Bernadotte ten miles removed.

  No man of this degenerate day could lift

  The boulders which he threw, and when he spoke

  The windows rattled, and beneath his brows,

  Thatched like a shed with bristling hair of black,

  His small eyes glistened like a maddened boar.

  And as he walked the boards creaked, as he walked

  A song of menace rumbled. Thus he came,

  The champion of A. D. Blood, commissioned

  To terrify the liberals. Many fled

  As when a hawk soars o’er the chicken yard.

  He passed the polls and with a playful hand

  Touched Brown, the giant, and he fell against,

  As though he were a child, the wall; so strong

  Was hog-eyed Allen. But the liberals smiled.

  For soon as hog-eyed Allen reached the walk,

  Close on his steps paced Bengal Mike, brought in

  By Kinsey Keene, the subtle-witted one,

  To match the hog-eyed Allen. He was scarce

  Three-fourths the other’s bulk, but steel his arms,

  And with a tiger’s heart. Two men he killed

  And many wounded in the days before,

  And no one feared.

  But when the hog-eyed one

  Saw Bengal Mike his countenance grew dark,

  The bristles o’er his red eyes twitched with rage,

  The song he rumbled lowered. Round and round

  The court-house paced he, followed stealthily

  By Bengal Mike, who jeered him every step:

  “Come, elephant, and fight! Come, hog-eyed coward!

  Come, face about and fight me, lumbering sneak!

  Come, beefy bully, hit me, if you can!

  Take out your gun, you duffer, give me reason

  To draw and kill you. Take your billy out;

  I’ll crack your boar’s head with a piece of brick!”

  But never a word the hog-eyed one returned,

  But trod about the court-house, followed both

  By troops of boys and watched by all the men.

  All day, they walked the square. But when Apollo

  Stood with reluctant look above the hills

  As fain to see the end, and all the votes

  Were cast, and closed the polls, before the door

  Of Trainor’s drug store Bengal Mike, in tones

  That echoed through the village, bawled the taunt:

  “Who was your mother, hog-eyed?” In a trice,

  As when a wild boar turns upon the hound

  That through the brakes upon an August day

  Has gashed him with its teeth, the hog-eyed one

  Rushed with his giant arms on Bengal Mike

  And grabbed him by the throat. Then rose to heaven

  The frightened cries of boys, and yells of men

  Forth rushing to the street. And Bengal Mike

  Moved this way and now that, drew in his head

  As if his neck to shorten, and bent down

  To break the death grip of the hog-eyed one;

  ’Twixt guttural wrath and fast-expiring strength

  Striking his fists against the invulnerable chest

  Of hog-eyed Allen. Then, when some came in

  To part them, others stayed them, and the fight

  Spread among dozens; many valiant souls

  Went down from clubs and bricks.

  But tell me, Muse,

  What god or goddess rescued Bengal Mike?

  With one last, mighty struggle did he grasp

  The murderous hands and turning kick his foe.

  Then, as if struck by lightning, vanished all

  The strength from hog-eyed Allen, at his side

  Sank limp those giant arms and o’er his face

  Dread pallor and the sweat of anguish spread.

  And those great knees, invincible but late,

  Shook to his weight. And quickl
y as the lion

  Leaps on its wounded prey, did Bengal Mike

  Smite with a rock the temple of his foe,

  And down he sank and darkness o’er his eyes

  Passed like a cloud.

  As when the woodman fells

  Some giant oak upon a summer’s day

  And all the songsters of the forest shrill,

  And one great hawk that has his nestling young

  Amid the topmost branches croaks, as crash

  The leafy branches through the tangled boughs

  Of brother oaks, so fell the hog-eyed one

  Amid the lamentations of the friends

  Of A. D. Blood.

  Just then, four lusty men

  Bore the town marshal, on whose iron face

  The purple pall of death already lay,

  To Trainor’s drug store, shot by Jack McGuire.

  And cries went up of “Lynch him!” and the sound

  Of running feet from every side was heard

  Bent on the

  EPILOGUE

  (The graveyard of Spoon River. Two voices are heard behind a screen decorated with diabolical and angelic figures in various allegorical relations. A faint light shows dimly through the screen as if it were woven of leaves, branches and shadows.)

  FIRST VOICE:

  A game of checkers?

  SECOND VOICE:

  Well, I don’t mind.

  FIRST VOICE:

  I move the Will.

  SECOND VOICE:

  You’re playing it blind.

  FIRST VOICE:

  Then here’s the Soul.

  SECOND VOICE:

  Checked by the Will.

  FIRST VOICE:

  Eternal Good!

  SECOND VOICE:

  And Eternal Ill.

  FIRST VOICE:

  I haste for the King row.

  SECOND VOICE:

  Save your breath.

  FIRST VOICE:

  I was moving Life.

  SECOND VOICE:

  You’re checked by Death.

  FIRST VOICE:

  Very good, here’s Moses.

  SECOND VOICE:

  And here’s the Jew.

  FIRST VOICE:

  My next move is Jesus.

  SECOND VOICE:

  St. Paul for you!

  FIRST VOICE:

  Yes, but St. Peter—

  SECOND VOICE:

  You might have foreseen—

  FIRST VOICE:

  You’re in the King row—

  SECOND VOICE:

  With Constantine!

  FIRST VOICE:

  I’ll go back to Athens.

  SECOND VOICE:

  Well, here’s the Persian.

  FIRST VOICE:

  All right, the Bible.

  SECOND VOICE:

  Pray now, what version?

  FIRST VOICE:

  I take up Buddha.

  SECOND VOICE:

  It never will work.

  FIRST VOICE:

  From the corner Mahomet.

  SECOND VOICE:

  I move the Turk.

  FIRST VOICE:

  The game is tangled; where are we now?

  SECOND VOICE:

  You’re dreaming worlds. I’m in the King row.

  Move as you will, if I can’t wreck you

  I’ll thwart you, harry you, rout you, check you.

  FIRST VOICE:

  I’m tired. I’ll send for my Son to play.

  I think he can beat you finally—

  SECOND VOICE:

  Eh?

  FIRST VOICE:

  I must preside at the stars’ convention.

  SECOND VOICE:

  Very well, my lord, but I beg to mention

  I’ll give this game my direct attention.

  FIRST VOICE:

  A game indeed! But Truth is my quest.

  SECOND VOICE:

  Beaten, you walk away with a jest.

  I strike the table, I scatter the checkers.

  (A rattle of a falling table and checkers flying over a floor.)

  Aha! You armies and iron deckers,

  Races and states in a cataclysm—

  Now for a day of atheism!

  (The screen vanishes and BEELZEBUB* steps forward carrying a trumpet, which he blows faintly. Immediately LOKI* and YOGARINDRA* start up from the shadows of night.)

  BEELZEBUB:

  Good evening, Loki!

  LOKI:

  The same to you!

  BEELZEBUB:

  And Yogarindra!

  YOGARINDRA:

  My greetings, too.

  LOKI:

  Whence came you, comrade?

  BEELZEBUB:

  From yonder screen.

  YOGARINDRA:

  And what were you doing?

  BEELZEBUB:

  Stirring His spleen.

  LOKI:

  How did you do it?

  BEELZEBUB:

  I made it rough

  In a game of checkers.

  LOKI:

  Good enough!

  YOGARINDRA:

  I thought I heard the sounds of a battle.

  BEELZEBUB:

  No doubt! I made the checkers rattle,

  Turning the table over and strewing

  The bits of wood like an army pursuing.

  YOGARINDRA:

  I have a game! Let us make a man.

  LOKI:

  My net is waiting him, if you can.

  YOGARINDRA:

  And here’s my mirror to fool him with—

  BEELZEBUB:

  Mystery, falsehood, creed and myth.

  LOKI:

  But no one can mold him, friend, but you.

  BEELZEBUB:

  Then to the sport without more ado.

  YOGARINDRA:

  Hurry the work ere it grow to day.

  BEELZEBUB:

  I set me to it. Where is the clay?

  (He scrapes the earth with his hands and begins to model.)

  Out of the dust,

  Out of the slime,

  A little rust,

  And a little lime.

  Muscle and gristle,

  Mucin, stone

  Brayed with a pestle,

  Fat and bone.

  Out of the marshes,

  Out of the vaults,

  Matter crushes

  Gas and salts.

  What is this you call a mind,

  Flitting, drifting, pale and blind,

  Soul of the swamp that rides the wind?

  Jack-o’-lantern, here you are!

  Dream of heaven, pine for a star,

  Chase your brothers to and fro,

  Back to the swamp at last you’ll go.

  Hilloo! Hilloo!

  THE VALLEY:

  Hilloo! Hilloo!

  (Beelzebub in scraping up the earth turns out a skull.)

  BEELZEBUB:

  Old one, old one.

  Now ere I break you

  Crush you and make you

  Clay for my use,

  Let me observe you:

  You were a bold one

  Flat at the dome of you,

  Heavy the base of you,

  False to the home of you,

  Strong was the face of you,

  Strange to all fears.

  Yet did the hair of you

  Hide what you were.

  Now to re-nerve you—

  (He crushes the skull between his hands and mixes it with the clay.)

  Now you are dust,

  Limestone and rust.

  I mold and I stir

  And make you again.

  THE VALLEY:

  Again? Again?

  (In the same manner BEELZEBUB has fashioned several figures, standing them against the trees.)

  LOKI:

  Now for the breath of life. As I remember

  You have done right to mold your creatures first,

  And stand them up.

  BEELZEBUB:

/>   From gravitation

  I make the will.

  YOGARINDRA:

  Out of sensation

  Comes his ill.

  Out of my mirror

  Springs his error.

  Who was so cruel

  To make him the slave

  Of me the sorceress, you the knave,

  And you the plotter to catch his thought,

  Whatever he did, whatever he sought?

  With a nature dual

  Of will and mind,

  A thing that sees, and a thing that’s blind.

  Come! to our dance! Something hated him

  Made us over him, therefore fated him.

  (They join hands and dance.)

  LOKI:

  Passion, reason, custom, ruels,

  Creeds of the churches, lore of the schools,

  Taint in the blood and strength of soul.

  Flesh too weak for the will’s control;

  Poverty, riches, pride of birth,

  Wailing, laughter, over the earth,

  Here I have you caught again,

  Enter my web, ye sons of men.

  YOGARINDRA:

  Look in my mirror! Isn’t it real?

  What do you think now, what do you feel?

  Here is treasure of gold heaped up;

  Here is wine in the festal cup.

  Tendrils blossoming, turned to whips,

  Love with her breasts and scarlet lips.

  Breathe in their nostrils.

  BEELZEBUB:

  Falsehood’s breath,

  Out of nothingness into death.

  Out of the mold, out of the rocks,

  Wonder, mockery, paradox!

  Soaring spirit, groveling flesh,

  Bait the trap, and spread the mesh.

  Give him hunger, lure him with truth,

  Give him the iris hopes of Youth.

  Starve him, shame him, fling him down,

  Whirled in the vortex of the town.

  Break him, age him, till he curse

  The idiot face of the universe.

  Over and over we mix the clay,—

  What was dust is alive to-day.

  THE THREE:

  Thus is the hell-born tangle wound

  Swiftly, swiftly round and round.

  BEELZEBUB:

  (Waving his trumpet.)

  You live! Away!

  ONE OF THE FIGURES:

  How strange and new!

  I am I, and another, too.

  ANOTHER FIGURE:

  I was a sun-dew’s leaf, but now

  What is this longing?—

  ANOTHER FIGURE:

  Earth below

  I was a seedling magnet-tipped

  Drawn down earth—

  ANOTHER FIGURE:

  And I was gripped