An American Tragedy (1925) Theodore Dreiser (1871-1945)
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1dreiser theodore an american tragedy
write! She must go, maybe. But how to get the money! What to do when she got there. How to get the courage--the faith--to endure it. Yet again, neither Asa nor Frank nor Julia must know. Asa, with his protesting and yet somehow careworn faith, his weak eyes and weakening body. And must Frank and Julia, now just starting out in life, be saddled with this? Marked thus?
Merciful God! Would her troubles never end? She turned, her big, work-worn hands trembling slightly, shaking the paper she held, while Esta, who sympathized greatly with her mother these days because of all she had been compelled to endure, stood by. She looked so tired at times, and now to be racked by this! Yet, as she knew, her mother was the strongest in the family--so erect, so square-shouldered, defiant--a veritable soul pilot in her cross-grained, uniformed way.
"Mamma, I just can't believe it can be Clyde," was all Esta could say now. "It just can't be, can it?"
But Mrs. Griffiths merely continued to stare at that ominous headline, then swiftly ran her gray-blue eyes over the room. Her broad face was blanched and dignified by an enormous strain and an enormous pain. Her erring, misguided, no doubt unfortunate, son, with all his wild dreams of getting on and up, was in danger of death, of being electrocuted for a crime--for murder! He had killed some one--a poor working-girl, the paper said.
"Ssh!" she whispered, putting one finger to her own lips as a sign. "He" (indicating Asa) "must not know yet, anyhow. We must wire first, or write. You can have the answers come to you, maybe. I will give you the money. But I must sit down somewhere now for a minute. I feel a little weak. I'll sit here. Let me have the Bible."
On the small dresser was a Gideon Bible, which, sitting on the edge of the commonplace iron bed, she now opened instinctively at Psalms 3 and 4.
"Lord, how are they increased that trouble." "Hear me, when I call, O God of my righteousness."
And then reading on silently, even placidly apparently, through 6, 8, 10, 13, 23, 91, while Esta stood by in silent amazement and misery.
"Oh, Mamma, I just can't believe it. Oh, this is too terrible!" But Mrs. Griffiths read on. It was as if, and in spite of all this, she had been able to retreat into some still, silent place, where, for the time being at least, no evil human ill could reach her. Then at last, quite calmly closing the book, and rising, she went on:
"Now, we must think out what to say and who to send that telegram to--I mean to Clyde, of course--at that place, wherever it is-- Bridgeburg," she added, looking at the paper, and then interpolating from the Bible--"By terrible things in righteousness wilt thou answer us, O God!" "Or, maybe, those two lawyers--their names are there. I'm afraid to wire Asa's brother for fear he'll wire back to him." (Then: 'Thou art my bulwark and my strength. In Thee will I trust.') "But I suppose they would give it to him if we sent it care of that judge or those lawyers, don't you think? But it would be better if we could send it to him direct, I suppose. ('He leadeth me by the still waters.') Just say that I have read about him and still have faith and love for him, but he is to tell me the truth and what to do. If he needs money we will have to see what we can do, I suppose. ('He restoreth my soul.')"
And then, despite her sudden peace of the moment, she once more began wringing her large, rough hands. "Oh, it can't be true. Oh, dear, no! After all, he is my son. We all love him and have faith. We must say that. God will deliver him. Watch and pray. Have faith. Under his wings shalt thou trust."
She was so beside herself that she scarcely knew what she was saying. And Esta, at her side, was saying: "Yes, Mamma! Oh, of course! Yes, I will! I know he'll get it all right." But she, too, was saying to herself: "My God! My God! What could be worse than this--to be accused of murder! But, of course, it can't be true. It can't be true. If he should hear!" (She was thinking of her husband.) "And after Russell, too. And Clyde's trouble there in Kansas City. Poor Mamma. She has so much trouble."
Together, after a time, and avoiding Asa who was in an adjoining room helping with the cleaning, the two made their way to the general mission room below, where was silence and many placards which proclaimed the charity, the wisdom, and the sustaining righteousness of God.
Chapter 18 The telegram, worded in the spirit just described, was forthwith despatched care of Belknap and Jephson, who immediately counseled Clyde what to reply--that all was well with him; that he had the best of advice and would need no financial aid. Also that until his lawyers advised it, it would be best if no member of the family troubled to appear, since everything that could possibly be done to aid him was already being done. At the same time they wrote Mrs. Griffiths, assuring her of their interest in Clyde and advising her to let matters rest as they were for the present.
Despite the fact that the Griffiths were thus restrained from appearing in the east, neither Belknap nor Jephson were averse to some news of the existence, whereabouts, faith and sympathy of Clyde's most immediate relatives creeping into the newspapers, since the latter were so persistent in referring to his isolation. And in this connection they were aided by the fact that his mother's telegram on being received in Bridgeburg was at once read by individuals who were particularly interested in the case and by them whispered to the public and the press, with the result that in Denver the family was at once sought out and interviewed. And shortly after, there was circulated in all the papers east and west a more or less complete account of the present state of Clyde's family, the nature of the mission conducted by them, as well as their narrow and highly individualistic religious beliefs and actions, even the statement that often in his early youth Clyde had been taken into the streets to sing and pray--a revelation which shocked Lycurgus and Twelfth Lake society about as much as it did him.
At the same time, Mrs. Griffiths, being an honest woman and whole- heartedly sincere in her faith and in the good of her work, did not hesitate to relate to reporter after reporter who called, all the details of the missionary work of her husband and herself in Denver and elsewhere. Also that neither Clyde nor any of the other children had ever enjoyed the opportunities that come to most. However, her boy, whatever the present charge might be, was not innately bad, and she could not believe that he was guilty of any such crime. It was all an unfortunate and accidental combination of circumstances which he would explain at the trial. However, whatever foolish thing he might have done, it was all to be attributed to an unfortunate accident which broke up the mission work in Kansas City a few years before and compelled the removal of the family from there to Denver, leaving Clyde to make his way alone. And it was because of advice from her that he had written her husband's rich brother in Lycurgus, which led to his going there--a series of statements which caused Clyde in his cell to tingle with a kind of prideful misery and resentment and forced him to write his mother and complain. Why need she always talk so much about the past and the work that she and his father were connected with, when she knew that he had never liked it and resented going on the streets? Many people didn't see it as she and his father did, particularly his uncle and cousin and all those rich people he had come to know, and who were able to make their way in so different and much more brilliant fashion. And now, as he said to himself, Sondra would most certainly read this--all that he had hoped to conceal.
Yet even in the face of all this, because of so much sincerity and force in his mother, he could not help but think of her with affection and respect, and because of her sure and unfailing love for him, with emotion. For in answer to his letter she wrote that she was sorry if she had hurt his feelings or injured him in any way. But must not the truth be shown always? The ways of God
were for the best and surely no harm could spring from service in His cause. He must not ask her to lie. But if he said the word, she would so gladly attempt to raise the necessary money and come to his aid--sit in his cell and plan with him--holding his hands--but as Clyde so well knew and thought at this time and which caused him to decide that she must not come yet--demanding of him the truth-- with those clear, steady blue eyes of hers looking into his own. He could not stand that now.
For, frowning directly before him, like a huge and basalt headland above a troubled and angry sea, was the trial itself, with all that it implied--the fierce assault of Mason which he could only confront, for the most part, with the lies framed for him by Jephson and Belknap. For, although he was constantly seeking to salve his conscience with the thought that at the last moment he had not had the courage to strike Roberta, nevertheless this other story was so terribly difficult for him to present and defend--a fact which both Belknap and Jephson realized and which caused the latter to appear most frequently at Clyde's cell door with the greeting: "Well, how's tricks to-day?"
The peculiarly rusty and disheveled and indifferently tailored character of Jephson's suits! The worn and disarranged effect of his dark brown soft hat, pulled low over his eyes! His long, bony, knotty hands, suggesting somehow an enormous tensile strength. And the hard, small blue eyes filled with a shrewd, determined cunning and courage, with which he was seeking to inoculate Clyde, and which somehow did inoculate him!
"Any more preachers around to-day? Any more country girls or Mason's boys?" For during this time, because of the enormous interest aroused by the pitiable death of Roberta, as well as the evidence of her rich and beautiful rival, Clyde was being visited by every type of shallow crime-or- sex-curious country bumpkin lawyer, doctor, merchant, yokel evangelist or minister, all friends or acquaintances of one or another of the officials of the city, and who, standing before his cell door betimes, and at the most unexpected moments, and after surveying him with curious, or resentful, or horrified eyes, asked such questions as: "Do you pray, brother? Do you get right down on your knees and pray?" (Clyde was reminded of his mother and father at such times.) Had he made his peace with God? Did he actually deny that he had killed Roberta Alden? In the case of three country girls: "Would you mind telling us the name of the girl you are supposed to be in love with, and where she is now? We won't tell any one. Will she appear at the trial?" Questions which Clyde could do no more than ignore, or if not, answer as equivocally or evasively or indifferently as possible. For although he was inclined to resent them, still was he not being constantly instructed by both Belknap and Jephson that for the good of his own cause he must try to appear genial and civil and optimistic? Then there came also newspaper men, or women, accompanied by artists or photographers, to interview and make studies of him. But with these, for the most part and on the advice of Belknap and Jephson he refused to communicate or said only what he was told to say.
"You can talk all you want," suggested Jephson, genially, "so long as you don't say anything. And the stiff upper lip, you know. And the smile that won't come off, see? Not failing to go over that list, are you?" (He had provided Clyde with a long list of possible questions which no doubt would be asked him on the stand and which he was to answer according to answers typewritten beneath them, or to suggest something better. They all related to the trip to Big Bittern, his reason for the extra hat, his change of heart-- why, when, where.) "That's your litany, you know." And then he might light a cigarette without ever offering one to Clyde, since for the sake of a reputation for sobriety he was not to smoke here.
And for a time, after each visit, Clyde finding himself believing that he could and would do exactly as Jephson had said--walk briskly and smartly into court--bear up against every one, every eye, even that of Mason himself--forget that he was afraid of him, even when on the witness stand-- forget all the terror of those many facts in Mason's possession, which he was to explain with this list of answers--forget Roberta and her last cry, and all the heartache and misery that went with the loss of Sondra and her bright world.
Yet, with the night having once more fallen, or the day dragging on with only the lean and bearded Kraut or the sly and evasive Sissel, or both, hanging about, or coming to the door to say, "Howdy!" or to discuss something that had occurred in town, or to play chess, or checkers, Clyde growing more and more moody and deciding, maybe, that there was no real hope for him after all.
For how alone he was, except for his attorneys and mother and brother and sisters! Never a word from Sondra, of course. For along with her recovery to some extent from her original shock and horror, she was now thinking somewhat differently of him--that after all it was for love of her, perhaps, that he had slain Roberta and made himself the pariah and victim that he now was. Yet, because of the immense prejudice and horror expressed by the world, she was by no means able to think of venturing to send him a word. Was he not a murderer? And in addition, that miserable western family of his, pictured as street preachers, and he, too,--or as a singing and praying boy from a mission! Yet occasionally returning in thought, and this quite in spite of herself, to his eager, unreasoning and seemingly consuming enthusiasm for her. (How deeply he must have cared to venture upon so deadly a deed!) And hence wondering whether at some time, once this case was less violently before the public eye, it might not be possible to communicate with him in some guarded and unsigned way, just to let him know, perhaps, that because of his great love for her she desired him to know that he was not entirely forgotten. Yet as instantly deciding, NO, no--her parents--if they should learn--or guess--or the public, or her one- time associates. Not now, oh, not now at least. Maybe later if he were set free--or--or--convicted--she couldn't tell. Yet suffering heartaches for the most part--as much as she detested and abhorred the horrible crime by which he had sought to win her.
And in the interim, Clyde in his cell, walking to and fro, or looking out on the dull square through the heavily barred windows, or reading and re-reading the newspapers, or nervously turning the pages of magazines or books furnished by his counsel, or playing chess or checkers, or eating his meals, which, by special arrangement on the part of Belknap and Jephson (made at the request of his uncle), consisted of better dishes than were usually furnished to the ordinary prisoner.
Yet with the iterated and reiterated thought, based on the seemingly irreparable and irreconcilable loss of Sondra, as to whether it was possible for him to go on with this--make this, as he at times saw it, almost useless fight.
At times, in the middle of the night or just before dawn, with all the prison silent--dreams--a ghastly picture of all that he most feared and that dispelled every trace of courage and drove him instantly to his feet, his heart pounding wildly, his eyes strained, a cold damp upon his face and hands. That chair, somewhere in the State penitentiary. He had read of it--how men died in it. And then he would walk up and down, thinking how, how, in case it did not come about as Jephson felt so sure that it would--in case he was convicted and a new trial refused--then, well--then, might one be able to break out of such a jail as this, maybe, and run away? These old brick walls. How thick were they? But was it possible that with a hammer or a stone, or something that some one might bring him--his brother Frank, or his sister Julia, or Ratterer, or Hegglund--if only he could get in communication with some one of them and get him or her to bring him something of the kind-- If only he could get a saw, to saw those bars! And then run, run, as he should have in those woods up there that time! But how? And whither?
Chapter 19 OCTOBER 15--with gray clouds and a sharp, almost January wind that herded the fallen leaves into piles and then scurried them in crisp and windy gusts like flying birds here and there. And, in spite of the sense of struggle and tragedy in the minds of many, with an electric chair as the shadowy mental background to it all, a sense of holiday or festival, with hundreds of farmers, woodsmen, traders, entering in Fords and Buicks--farmer wives and husbands-- daughters and sons--even infants in arms. And then idling about the public square long before the time for court to convene, or, as the hour neared, congregating before the county jail in the hope of obtaining a glimpse of Clyde, or before the courthouse door nearest the jail, which was to be the one entrance to the courtroom for the public and Clyde, and from which position they could see and assure entrance into the courtroom itself when the time came. And a flock of pigeons parading rather dismally along the cornices and gutters of the upper floor and roof of the ancient court.
And with Mason and his staff--Burton Burleigh, Earl Newcomb, Zillah Saunders, and a young Bridgeburg law graduate by the name of Manigault--helping to arrange the order of evidence as well as direct or instruct the various witnesses and venire-men who were already collecting in the antechamber of the now almost nationally known attorney for the people. And with cries outside of: "Peanuts!" "Popcorn!" "Hot dogs!" "Get the story of Clyde Griffiths, with all the letters of Roberta Alden. Only twenty-five cents!" (This being a set of duplicate copies of Roberta's letters which had been stolen from Mason's office by an intimate of Burton Burleigh's and by him sold to a penny- dreadful publisher of Binghamton, who immediately issued them in pamphlet form together with an outline of "the great plot" and Roberta's and Clyde's pictures.)
And in the meantime, over in the reception or conference room of the jail, Alvin Belknap and Reuben Jephson, side by side with Clyde, neatly arrayed in the very suit he had sought to sink forever in the waters of Lower Twelfth Lake. And with a new tie and shirt and shoes added in order to present him in his Lycurgus best. Jephson, long and lean and shabbily dressed as usual, but with all of that iron and power that so impressed Clyde in every line of his figure and every movement or gesture of his body. Belknap--looking like an Albany beau--the one on whom was to fall the burden of the opening presentation of the case as well as the cross-examining, now saying: "Now you're not going to get frightened or show any evidence of nervousness at anything that may be said or done at any time, are you, Clyde? We're to be with you, you know, all through the trial. You sit right between us. And you're going to smile and look unconcerned or interested, just as you wish, but never fearful--but not too bold or gay, you know, so that they'd feel that you're not taking this thing seriously. You understand--just a pleasant, gentlemanly, and sympathetic manner all the time. And not frightened. For that will be certain to do us and you great harm. Since you're innocent, you have no real reason to be frightened--although you're sorry, of course. You understand all that, I know, by now."
"Yes, sir, I understand," replied Clyde. "I will do just as you say. Besides, I never struck her intentionally, and that's the truth. So why should I be afraid?" And here he looked at Jephson, on whom, for psychic reasons, he depended most. In fact the words he had just spoken were the very words which Jephson had so drilled into him during the two months just past. And catching the look, Jephson now drew closer and fixing Clyde with his gimlet and yet encouraging and sustaining blue eyes, began:
"You're not guilty! You're not guilty, Clyde, see? You understand that fully by now, and you must always believe and remember that, because it's true. You didn't intend to strike her, do you hear? You swear to that. You have sworn it to me and Belknap here, and we believe you. Now, it doesn't make the least bit of difference that because of the circumstances surrounding all this we are not going to be able to make the average jury see this or believe it just as you tell it. That's neither here nor there. I've told you that before. You know what the truth is--and so do we. BUT, in order to get justice for you, we've had to get up something else--a dummy or substitute for the real fact, which is that you didn't strike her intentionally, but which we cannot hope to make them see without disguising it in some way. You get that, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," replied Clyde, always over-awed and intrigued by this man. "And for that reason, as I've so often told you, we've invented this other story about a change of heart. It's not quite true as to time, but it is true that you did experience a change of heart there in the boat. And that's our justification. But they'd never believe that under all of the peculiar circumstances, so we're merely going to move that change of heart up a little, see? Make it before you ever went into that boat at all. And while we know it isn't true that way, still neither is the Download 1.94 Mb. Do'stlaringiz bilan baham: |
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