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Part 3 Chapter 31
In the meantime, however, Asa's condition had remained serious, and it was four entire months before it waspossible for him to sit up again or for Mrs. Griffiths to dream of resuming her lecturing scheme. But by that time,public interest in her and her son's fate was considerably reduced. No Denver paper was interested to finance herreturn for anything she could do for them. And as for the public in the vicinity of the crime, it remembered Mrs.
　　Griffiths and her son most clearly, and in so far as she was concerned, sympathetically--but only, on the otherhand, to think of him as one who probably was guilty and in that case, being properly punished for his crime-thatit would be as well if an appeal were not taken--or--if it were--that it be refused. These guilty criminals withtheir interminable appeals!
　　And with Clyde where he was, more and more executions--although as he found--and to his invariable horror, noone ever became used to such things there; farmhand Mowrer for the slaying of his former employer; officerRiordan for the slaying of his wife--and a fine upstanding officer too but a minute before his death; andafterwards, within the month, the going of the Chinaman, who seemed, for some reason, to endure a long time(and without a word in parting to any one--although it was well known that he spoke a few words of English).
　　And after him Larry Donahue, the overseas soldier--with a grand call--just before the door closed behind: "Goodbyboys. Good luck."And after him again--but, oh--that was so hard; so much closer to Clyde--so depleting to his strength to think ofbearing this deadly life here without--Miller Nicholson--no less. For after five months in which they had beenable to walk and talk and call to each other from time to time from their cells and Nicholson had begun to advisehim as to books to read--as well as one important point in connection with his own case--on appeal--or in theevent of any second trial, i.e.,--that the admission of Roberta's letters as evidence, as they stood, at least, bedesperately fought on the ground that the emotional force of them was detrimental in the case of any juryanywhere, to a calm unbiased consideration of the material facts presented by them--and that instead of theletters being admitted as they stood they should be digested for the facts alone and that digest--and that onlyoffered to the jury. "If your lawyers can get the Court of Appeals to agree to the soundness of that you will winyour case sure."And Clyde at once, after inducing a personal visit on the part of Jephson, laying this suggestion before him and hearing him say that it was sound and that he and Belknap would assuredly incorporate it in their appeal.
　　Yet not so long after that the guard, after locking his door on returning from the courtyard whispered, with a nodin the direction of Nicholson's cell, "His next. Did he tell you? Within three days."And at once Clyde shriveling--the news playing upon him as an icy and congealing breath. For he had just comefrom the courtyard with him where they had walked and talked of another man who had just been brought in--aHungarian of Utica who was convicted of burning his paramour--in a furnace--then confessing it--a huge, rough,dark, ignorant man with a face like a gargoyle. And Nicholson saying he was more animal than man, he wassure. Yet no word about himself. And in THREE DAYS! And he could walk and talk as though there wasnothing to happen, although, according to the guard, he had been notified the night before.
　　And the next day the same--walking and talking as though nothing had happened--looking up at the sky andbreathing the air. Yet Clyde, his companion, too sick and feverish--too awed and terrified from merely thinkingon it all night to be able to say much of anything as he walked but thinking: "And he can walk here. And be socalm. What sort of a man is this?" and feeling enormously overawed and weakened.
　　The following morning Nicholson did not appear--but remained in his cell destroying many letters he hadreceived from many places. And near noon, calling to Clyde who was two cells removed from him on the otherside: "I'm sending you something to remember me by." But not a word as to his going.
　　And then the guard bringing two books--Robinson Crusoe and the Arabian Nights. That night Nicholson'sremoval from his cell--and the next morning before dawn the curtains; the same procession passing through,which was by now an old story to Clyde. But somehow this was so different--so intimate--so cruel. And as hepassed, calling: "God bless you all. I hope you have good luck and get out." And then that terrible stillness thatfollowed the passing of each man.
　　And Clyde thereafter--lonely--terribly so. Now there was no one here--no one--in whom he was interested. Hecould only sit and read--and think--or pretend to be interested in what these others said, for he could not really beinterested in what they said. His was a mind that, freed from the miseries that had now befallen him, wasnaturally more drawn to romance than to reality. Where he read at all he preferred the light, romantic novel thatpictured some such world as he would have liked to share, to anything that even approximated the hard reality ofthe world without, let alone this. Now what was going to become of him eventually? So alone was he! Onlyletters from his mother, brother and sisters. And Asa getting no better, and his mother not able to return as yet-thingswere so difficult there in Denver. She was seeking a religious school in which to teach somewhere--whilenursing Asa. But she was asking the Rev. Duncan McMillan, a young minister whom she had encountered inSyracuse, in the course of her work there, to come and see him. He was so spiritual and so kindly. And she wassure, if he would but come, that Clyde would find him a helpful and a strong support in these, his dark and wearyhours when she could no longer be with him herself.
　　For while Mrs. Griffiths was first canvassing the churches and ministers of this section for aid for her son, andgetting very little from any quarter, she had met the Rev. Duncan McMillan in Syracuse, where he wasconducting an independent, non-sectarian church. He was a young, and like herself or Asa, unordained ministeror evangelist of, however, far stronger and more effective temperament religiously. At the time Mrs. Griffiths appeared on the scene, he had already read much concerning Clyde and Roberta--and was fairly well satisfiedthat, by the verdict arrived at, justice had probably been done. However, because of her great sorrow andtroubled search for aid he was greatly moved.
　　He, himself, was a devoted son. And possessing a highly poetic and emotional though so far repressed orsublimated sex nature, he was one who, out of many in this northern region, had been touched and stirred by thecrime of which Clyde was presumed to be guilty. Those highly emotional and tortured letters of Roberta's! Herseemingly sad life at Lycurgus and Biltz! How often he had thought of those before ever he had encounteredMrs. Griffiths. The simple and worthy virtues which Roberta and her family had seemingly represented in thatromantic, pretty country world from which they had derived. Unquestionably Clyde was guilty. And yet here,suddenly, Mrs. Griffiths, very lorn and miserable and maintaining her son's innocence. At the same time therewas Clyde in his cell doomed to die. Was it possible that by any strange freak or circumstance--a legal mistakehad been made and Clyde was not as guilty as he appeared?
　　The temperament of McMillan was exceptional--tense, exotic. A present hour St. Bernard, Savonarola, St.
　　Simeon, Peter the Hermit. Thinking of life, thought, all forms and social structures as the word, the expression,the breath of God. No less. Yet room for the Devil and his anger--the expelled Lucifer--going to and fro in theearth. Yet, thinking on the Beatitudes, on the Sermon on the Mount, on St. John and his direct seeing andinterpretation of Christ and God. "He that is not with me is against me; and he that gathereth not with me,scattereth." A strange, strong, tense, confused, merciful and too, after his fashion beautiful soul; sorrowing withmisery yearning toward an impossible justice.
　　Mrs. Griffiths in her talks with him had maintained that he was to remember that Roberta was not whollyguiltless. Had she not sinned with her son? And how was he to exculpate her entirely? A great legal mistake. Herson was being most unjustly executed--and by the pitiful but none-the-less romantic and poetic letters of this girlwhich should never have been poured forth upon a jury of men at all. They were, as she now maintained,incapable of judging justly or fairly where anything sad in connection with a romantic and pretty girl wasconcerned. She had found that to be true in her mission work.
　　And this idea now appealed to the Rev. Duncan as important and very likely true. And perhaps, as she nowcontended, if only some powerful and righteous emissary of God would visit Clyde and through the force of hisfaith and God's word make him see--which she was sure he did not yet, and which she in her troubled state, andbecause she was his mother, could not make him,--the blackness and terror of his sin with Roberta as it related tohis immortal soul here and hereafter,--then in gratitude to, reverence and faith in God, would be washed away,all his iniquity, would it not? For irrespective of whether he had committed the crime now charged against himor not--and she was convinced that he had not--was he not, nevertheless, in the shadow of the electric chair--indanger at any time through death (even before a decision should be reached) of being called before his maker-andwith the deadly sin of adultery, to say nothing of all his lies and false conduct, not only in connection withRoberta but that other girl there in Lycurgus, upon him? And by conversion and contrition should he not bepurged of this? If only his soul were saved--she and he too would be at peace in this world.
　　And after a first and later a second pleading letter from Mrs. Griffiths, in which, after she had arrived at Denver,she set forth Clyde's loneliness and need of counsel and aid, the Rev. Duncan setting forth for Auburn. And oncethere--having made it clear to the warden what his true purpose was--the spiritual salvation of Clyde's soul, for his own, as well as his mother and God's sake, he was at once admitted to the death house and to Clyde'spresence-- the very door of his cell, where he paused and looked through, observing Clyde lying most wretchedlyon his cot trying to read. And then McMillan outlining his tall, thin figure against the bars and withoutintroduction of any kind, beginning, his head bowed in prayer:
　　"Have mercy upon me, O God, according to Thy loving-kindness; according unto the multitude of Thy tendermercies, blot out my transgressions.""Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin.""For I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me.""Against Thee, Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight, that Thou mightest be justified whenThou speakest and be clear when Thou judgest.""Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.""Behold, Thou desireth truth in the inward parts; and in the hidden part Thou shalt make me to know wisdom.""Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.""Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.""Hide Thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.""Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.""Cast me not away from Thy presence; and take not Thy holy spirit away from me.""Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation, and uphold me with Thy free spirit.""Then will I teach transgressors Thy ways; and sinners will be converted unto Thee.""Deliver me from blood guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation, and my tongue shall sing aloud of Thyrighteousness.""O Lord, open Thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise.""For Thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it; Thou delightest not in burnt offering.""The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise."He paused--but only after he had intoned, and in a most sonorous and really beautiful voice the entire 51st Psalm.
　　And then looking up, because Clyde, much astonished, had first sat up and then risen--and curiously enticed by the clean and youthful and vigorous if pale figure had approached nearer the cell door, he now added:
　　"I bring you, Clyde, the mercy and the salvation of your God. He has called on me and I have come. He has sentme that I may say unto you though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white--like snow. Though they be red,like crimson, they shall be as wool. Come now, let us reason together with the Lord."He paused and stared at Clyde tenderly. A warm, youthful, half smile, half romantic, played about his lips. Heliked the youth and refinement of Clyde, who, on his part was plainly taken by this exceptional figure. Anotherreligionist, of course. But the Protestant chaplain who was here was nothing like this man--neither so arrestingnor attractive.
　　"Duncan McMillan is my name," he said, "and I come from the work of the Lord in Syracuse. He has sent me-justas he sent your mother to me. She has told me all that she believes. I have read all that you have said. And Iknow why you are here. But it is to bring you spiritual joy and gladness that I am here."And he suddenly quoted from Psalms 13:2, "'How shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart,daily.' That is from Psalms 13:2. And here is another thing that now comes to me as something that I should sayto you. It is from the Bible, too--the Tenth Psalm: 'He hath said in his heart, I shall not be moved, for I shallnever be in adversity.' But you are in adversity, you see. We all are, who live in sin. And here is another thingthat comes to me, just now to say. It is from Psalm 10:11: 'He hath said in his heart, God hath forgotten. Hehideth His face.' And I am told to say to you that He does not hide His face. Rather I am told to quote this to youfrom the Eighteenth Psalm: 'They prevented me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my stay. He sentfrom above, He took me, He drew me out of many waters.'
　　"'He delivered me from my strong enemy.
　　"'And from them which hated me, for they were too many for me.
　　"'He brought me forth also unto a large place.
　　"'He delivered me because He delighted in me.'
　　"Clyde, those are all words addressed to you. They come to me here to say to you just as though they were beingwhispered to me. I am but the mouthpiece for these words spoken direct to you. Take counsel with your ownheart. Turn from the shadow to the light. Let us break these bonds of misery and gloom; chase these shadows andthis darkness. You have sinned. The Lord can and will forgive. Repent. Join with Him who has shaped the worldand keeps it. He will not spurn your faith; He will not neglect your prayers. Turn--in yourself--in the confines ofthis cell--and say: 'Lord, help me. Lord, hear Thou my prayer. Lord, lighten mine eyes!'
　　"Do you think there is no God--and that He will not answer you? Pray. In your trouble turn to Him--not me--orany other. But to Him. Pray. Speak to Him. Call to Him. Tell Him the truth and ask for help. As surely as you arehere before me--and if in your heart you truly repent of any evil you have done--TRULY, TRULY, you will hearand feel Him. He will take your hand. He will enter this cell and your soul. You will know Him by the peace andthe light that will fill your mind and heart. Pray. And if you need me again to help you in any way--to pray with you--or to do you any service of any kind--to cheer you in your loneliness--you have only to send for me; dropme a card. I have promised your mother and I will do what I can. The warden has my address." He paused,serious and conclusive in his tone--because up to this time, Clyde had looked more curious and astonished thananything else.
　　At the same time because of Clyde's extreme youthfulness and a certain air of lonely dependence which markedhim ever since his mother and Nicholson had gone: "I'll always be in easy reach. I have a lot of religious workover in Syracuse but I'll be glad to drop it at any time that I can really do anything more for you." And here heturned as if to go.
　　But Clyde, now taken by him--his vital, confident and kindly manner--so different to the tense, fearful and yetlonely life here, called after him: "Oh, don't go just yet. Please don't. It's very nice of you to come and see me andI'm obliged to you. My mother wrote me you might. You see, it's very lonely here. I haven't thought much ofwhat you were saying, perhaps, because I haven't felt as guilty as some think I am. But I've been sorry enough.
　　And certainly any one in here pays a good deal." His eyes looked very sad and strained.
　　And at once, McMillan, now deeply touched for the first time replied: "Clyde, you needn't worry. I'll come to seeyou again within a week, because now I see you need me. I'm not asking you to pray because I think you areguilty of the death of Roberta Alden. I don't know. You haven't told me. Only you and God know what your sinsand your sorrows are. But I do know you need spiritual help and He will give you that--oh, fully. 'The Lord willbe a refuge for the oppressed; a refuge in time of trouble.'"He smiled as though he were now really fond of Clyde. And Clyde feeling this and being intrigued by it, repliedthat there wasn't anything just then that he wanted to say except to tell his mother that he was all right--and makeher feel a little better about him, maybe, if he could. Her letters were very sad, he thought. She worried too muchabout him. Besides he, himself, wasn't feeling so very good--not a little run down and worried these days. Whowouldn't be in his position? Indeed, if only he could win to spiritual peace through prayer, he would be glad to doit. His mother had always urged him to pray--but up to now he was sorry to say he hadn't followed her advicevery much. He looked very distrait and gloomy--the marked prison pallor having long since settled on his face.
　　And the Reverend Duncan, now very much touched by his state, replied: "Well, don't worry, Clyde.
　　Enlightenment and peace are surely going to come to you. I can see that. You have a Bible there, I see. Open itanywhere in Psalms and read. The 51st, 91st, 23rd. Open to St. John. Read it all--over and over. Think and pray-andthink on all the things about you--the moon, the stars, the sun, the trees, the sea--your own beating heart,your body and strength--and ask yourself who made them. How did they come to be? Then, if you can't explainthem, ask yourself if the one who made them and you--whoever he is, whatever he is, wherever he is, isn't strongand wise enough and kind enough to help you when you need help--provide you with light and peace andguidance, when you need them. Just ask yourself what of the Maker of all this certain reality. And then askHim--the Creator of it all--to tell you how and what to do. Don't doubt. Just ask and see. Ask in the night--in theday. Bow your head and pray and see. Verily, He will not fail you. I know because I have that peace."He stared at Clyde convincingly--then smiled and departed. And Clyde, leaning against his cell door, began towonder. The Creator! His Creator! The Creator of the World! . . . Ask and see--!
　　And yet--there was still lingering here in him that old contempt of his for religion and its fruits ,--the constantand yet fruitless prayers and exhortations of his father and mother. Was he going to turn to religion now, solelybecause he was in difficulties and frightened like these others? He hoped not. Not like that, anyway.
　　Just the same the mood, as well as the temperament of the Reverend Duncan McMillan--his young, forceful,convinced and dramatic body, face, eyes, now intrigued and then moved Clyde as no religionist or minister in allhis life before ever had. He was interested, arrested and charmed by the man's faith--whether at once or not atall--ever--he could come to put the reliance in it that plainly this man did.
第三十一章
不过那时节,阿萨的病情还很严重,等到他能在病床上坐得起来,或是说格里菲思太太有可能重新思考她的演讲计划,已有整整四个月时间过去了.那时候,公众对她和她儿子的命运早已兴趣大减了.丹佛没有一家报社愿意资助她再回去,给他们写点什么报道.至于肇事地点附近公众,他们对格里菲思太太母子俩倒是记得挺清楚,对她个人也很同情——不过,另一方面,他们几乎一致认为克莱德是犯了罪的,因此现在受到了应有的惩罚——所以,他们认为最好不要上诉——如果要上诉,那也应该予以驳回.这些罪犯动不动上诉,简直是没完没了!
克莱德牢房那里,一个接一个地被处决——他每次都是深为惊愕地发现,没有一个人能对这类事安之若素.雇农莫勒因为杀害昔日东家被处死了.警官赖尔登因为杀死妻子,也被处决了——但在临终前一分钟,他还是不愧为赳赳一武夫哩.随后,不到一个月,就轮到了他对面那个中国人,此人好象不知为了什么缘故,时间拖了很久(临走时,他对谁也没有说什么——虽然大伙儿明明知道他能说点英语).接下来是拉里·多纳休,那个曾经派往海外去过的士兵——在他身后那一道门快关上以前,他竟然斗胆地大声嚷嚷:"再见吧,伙计们.祝你们走运!"
在他以后,又有——可是,啊——这对克莱德来说可真难过呀;因为此人跟克莱德如此亲密——一想到不能再跟他在一起,自己也就没有力量在这里捱过简直是要命的狱中生活.此人——正是米勒·尼科尔森.因为,在这五个月里,他们往往在一起放风、聊天,有时坐在各自牢房里相互交谈.而且,尼科尔森劝过他该看些什么书——还给他出了一个重要的点子:不论在上诉或是复审的时候,务必拚命反对,别让罗伯达那些信原封不动当作证据.其理由是:那些信所具有的感情力量,将使任何地方任何一个陪审团都不能对那些信里所提到的事实平心静气、公正无私地作出估量.那些信不应该原封不动地当作证据,而是仅仅摘录里头事实就可以了——而且,这份摘录,也是仅仅提交给陪审团的."如果说你的辩护律师能使上诉法院赞同这个办法是正确的话,那末,你的案子就准能打赢."
于是,克莱德马上要求亲自跟杰夫森晤面,向他转达了上面这个意见.并且听杰夫森说,这个意见很有道理,他跟贝尔纳普拟定的上诉书里,一定会把它包括进去.
可是,打这以后没有多久,有一天,他刚从院子里放风回来,狱警给他牢门上锁时,一面冲尼科尔森的牢房点点头,一面低声说:"下一个轮到他了.他跟你说过没有?三天之内."
克莱德马上瑟瑟冷颤——这消息好象一股砭人肌骨的寒气向他袭来.因为他跟此人刚才一起从院子里回来,在那里他们一起放风时还谈到新收押的一个犯人——来自尤蒂卡的一个匈牙利人.后者把他的情妇——放在一只炉子里——给活活烧死了,后来自己也供认不讳了——一个身材魁伟、粗野无知的黑大汉,面貌长得特别古怪.尼科尔森说,毫无疑问,此人与其说是人,还不如说是一头野兽.可是他自己的事,却只字不提.而且还是在三天之内呀!可他照样还能放风、聊天,好象压根儿什么事都没有;虽然,据狱警说,头天晚上就已经通知他了.
转天,照旧还是那样——放风、聊天,好象压根儿什么事情都没有——还抬头望望天,吸吸新鲜空气.然而,克莱德这个跟他作伴的人,心里太难过,太焦灼——想了整整一个通宵,觉得太畏惧和太可怖了,虽然跟此人并排走着,什么话也说不出来,只是一个劲儿在揣摸:"可他照样还能在这里放风.而且那么泰然自若.他究竟是怎样一种人啊?"一种深深的敬畏之情控制了他.
第二天早上,尼科尔森没有露面——只是待在自己牢房里,把许多地方寄给他的信都销毁了.将近正午时分,他冲对面相隔两间牢房的克莱德大声喊道:"我要送点东西给你作为留念."不过,有关他的大限一事,还是只字不提.
接着,狱警转交给克莱德的是两本书——《鲁滨孙漂流记》和《天方夜谭》.当天晚上,尼科尔森被移押到老死牢去了——转天拂晓前,门帘放下来了;同样一支行列从走廊里踩着沉重脚步拖曳过去——这时克莱德对此也早就习以为常了.不过,这一回不知怎的跟过去总不一样——特别深沉——特别残酷啊.他走过的时候,还大声嚷道:"朋友们,但愿上帝保佑你们.我希望你们走运,从这儿出去."随后是每人临终前常有的一片可怕的沉寂.
在这以后,克莱德觉得——孑然一身——孤单得怪可怕的.如今,在这里再也没有一个人——没有一个——他有兴趣接近的人了.他只好坐下来,看看书——暗自琢磨,——或是佯装出对周围这些人的话很感兴趣的样子.其实,他们的话压根儿引不起他的兴趣来.他现在思想上可以不去想自己不幸的命运了,自然而然地被故事而不是现实所吸引.他喜欢读一些笔调轻松、罗曼蒂克的小说,里头描写的正是他梦寐以求的世界,而不喜欢任何哪怕只是跟外部世界的冷酷现实大致接近的描写,更不用说接近他在这里的铁窗生涯了.前头等待着他的是什么呢!他是那么孤零零的!只有母亲和弟妹们的一些来信,而且阿萨还不见好转,他母亲暂时还回不来——丹佛家境又是那么困难啊.她正在寻摸一个事由,一面到某个神学校任教,一面护理阿萨.不过,她正在请求邓肯·麦克米伦牧师常来看看他.此人是一个年轻牧师,是她在锡拉丘兹演讲时候遇到的.他既为圣灵所嘉佑,心地又是非常善良.她相信,要是这位牧师能常来看他,那末,在他这么黑暗困顿之际,她自己又不能跟他在一起,克莱德一定会觉得此人对他很有帮助,可以成为他精神上的坚强支柱.
当格里菲思太太为了营救儿子,向附近各处教堂和牧师寻求帮助的时候,并没有得到成功,可是,她在锡拉丘兹却遇到了邓肯·麦克米伦牧师.他在那里主持一个独立的、不属于任何教派的教堂.他这个年轻人,跟她和阿萨一样,是个未经授予神职的牧师,或可称为福音传教士,不过,宗教热情更要强烈得多.远在格里菲思太太出头露面以前,他早已看过很多有关克莱德和罗伯达的报道,并且相当满意地认为,通过这么一个判决,也许正义得到了伸张.但是对于格里菲思太太满怀悲伤,四出奔告,寻求声援,他又深为感动.
他自己就是一个忠心耿耿的儿子.由于他具有一种高度诗意、易动感情(但过去深受压抑,或是加以纯化了的性欲)的天性,他如同这个北方地区很多人一样,对克莱德被控所犯的罪行,也是在感情上很受震动.罗伯达那些充满激情和痛苦的信呀!她在莱柯格斯和比尔茨时多么凄惨的生活呀!这一切在他跟格里菲思太太邂逅以前,不知有多少回他都想到过.看来罗伯达和她的家庭,正好代表了他们出生的那个充满诗意的美丽乡村那里质朴、崇高的道德.毫无疑问,克莱德是有罪的.殊不知孤苦伶仃的格里菲思太太突然出现在这里,坚持说她的儿子是无辜的.同时,克莱德却关押在牢房里,注定要死.这可能是根据什么奇怪的反常行为成事态,法庭竟然错判了,其实,克莱德从表面上看是并没有罪的,是吧?
麦克米伦的脾性特别——桀骜不驯,不知道妥协,堪称当今的圣·伯纳德、萨沃那罗拉、圣·西米恩、隐士彼得①.人生、思想,以及所有一切的组织和社会结构,在他看来,都是上帝的语言,上帝的表现和呼吸.就是这样.不过,他认为,魔鬼及其愤慨还是有它们的地方的——这个从天堂里被赶出来的撒旦,在地球上来回转悠着.可他心心念念想到的,只是耶稣的八福词②、登山宝训③、圣·约翰和他直接看见耶稣,以及他对基督和上帝的解释④."不与我相合的,就是敌我的,不同我收聚的,就是分散的."⑤这是一个离奇、坚强、紧张、纷乱、仁慈、具有自己独特之美的灵魂;为苦难而悲伤,并渴望一种在人世间难以得到的正义.
①本段前后提到的诸人名,多半为基督教历史上的圣徒.
②详见《圣经·新约·马太福音》第5章.
③耶稣登山训众,说"虚心的人"等八种人有福了,故称"八福词".
④约翰说:恩典和真理,都是由耶稣来的,从来没有人看见上帝.次日约翰看见耶稣来到了他那里.详见《圣经·新约·约翰福音》第1章第17、18、29节.
⑤引自《圣经·新约·马太福音》第12章第30节.
格里菲思太太跟他谈话时坚称,他应该记住罗伯达并不是完全没有罪的.难道说她不是跟她的儿子一起犯的罪吗?他怎能完全替她开脱罪责呢?是法庭铸成了大错.她的儿子极不公道地被判处死刑——都是由于这个姑娘那些令人动怜、罗曼蒂克、富于诗意的信所造成的.那些信压根儿不该都抛给全是须眉汉子的陪审团.格里菲思太太认为,凡是涉及一个罗曼蒂克的漂亮姑娘的惨案,这些须眉汉子就不可能公正无私地作出判断了.她在自己的传道活动中也发现这样的情况.
上面这种说法,邓肯牧师觉得既重要又很可能确实如此.据她那时说,要是有哪一位富有权威而又正直的上帝的使者能去探望克莱德,以自己的信念和上帝的话语的力量,让他认识到一个她深知他至今还不明白的道理——至于她本人呢,一是她已心烦意乱,二是作为他的母亲,所以未能向他说明这个道理——就他不朽的灵魂在今生来世来说,他跟罗伯达那种罪孽该有多么邪恶、可怕.这样,也许他会在上帝跟前满怀崇敬、虔信和感恩之情,让自己的全部罪恶通通洗净涤尽,可不是吗?要知道反正不管他犯没有犯过目下控告他的罪名——而她则坚信他没有犯过——可是,在电椅的阴影下——他不是随时有碰上一死的危险,(甚至是在最后判决以前)被召唤到主的跟前吗?身上还要背着那通奸的死罪,更不用说他不仅是在罗伯达跟前,而且还在莱柯格斯另一个姑娘跟前所有那些扯谎、负心的言行.难道说他不能通过改信基督教或是忏悔把所有这一切罪恶洗净涤尽吗?只要能拯救他的灵魂——那她和他也就能在今生今世得到安宁了.
邓肯牧师先后接到格里菲思太太第一封、第二封向他恳求的信,就在她到达丹佛后发出的这些信里,陈述了克莱德如何孤单,急需开导和帮助.于是,邓肯牧师就动身去奥伯恩了.一到那里,他首先向典狱长说明自己真正的来意——是要拯救克莱德的灵魂,为了他自己的安宁,也为了他母亲的安宁,为了上帝的荣光.因此,他马上得到准许,可以进入死牢,径直来到克莱德牢房.他在牢房门口停住了,往里头一望,只见克莱德怪可怜地躺在小床上,拚命想看看书.随后,麦克米伦这一瘦高个儿,正贴在钉上铁条的牢门上,并没做什么自我介绍,就低下头来,开始祈祷:
"上帝啊,求你按你的慈爱怜恤我,按你丰盛的慈悲,涂抹我的过犯."
"求你将我的罪孽洗除净尽,并清除我的罪."
"因为我知道我的过犯,我的罪常在我面前.""我向你犯罪,惟独得罪了你,在你眼前行了这恶,以致你责备我的时候,显为公义,判断我的时候,显为清正.""我是在罪孽里生的.在我母亲怀胎的时候,就有了罪."
"你所喜爱的,是内里诚实,你在我隐密处,必使我得智慧."
"求你用牛膝草洁净我,我就干净.求你洗涤我,我就比雪更白."
"求你使我得听欢喜快乐的声音,使你所压伤的骨头,可以踊跃."
"求你掩面不看我的罪,涂抹我一切的罪孽."
"上帝啊,求你为我造清洁的心,使我里面重新有正直的灵."
"不要丢弃我,使我离开你的面.不要从我收回你的圣灵."
"求你使我仍得救恩之乐,赐我乐意的灵扶持我."
"我就把你的道指教有过犯的人.罪人必归顺你.""上帝啊,你是拯救我的上帝.求你救我脱离流人血的罪.
我的舌头就高声歌唱你的公义."
"主啊,求你使我嘴唇张开,我的口便传扬赞美你的话.""你本不喜爱祭物.若喜爱,我就献上.燔祭你也不喜悦.""上帝所要的祭,就是忧伤的灵.上帝啊,忧伤痛悔的心,你必不轻看."
他刚用响亮而又非常优美的声调念完了《诗篇》①第五十一篇全文以后,就沉吟不语了.随后,他昂起头来.因为这时克莱德深感惊诧,先是挺直腰背坐好,接着站了起来——说来也怪,他被这个仪态端庄、精力饱满而又面色苍白的人吸引住了——稍后,他走到牢房门口,麦克米伦这才找补着说:
①参见《圣经·旧约·诗篇》第51篇第1—17节.
"克莱德,我给你带来了你的上帝的仁慈和拯救.他召唤我,于是我就上这儿来了.他差遣我来,好让我跟你说,'你们的罪虽象朱红,必变成雪白.虽红如丹颜,必白如羊毛.'好吧,现在上帝与我们同在.让我们一起议论议论."
他顿了片刻,亲切地瞅着克莱德.他的唇边露出热忱、年轻、半是罗曼蒂克、半是莞尔而笑的神情.克莱德年轻、温文尔雅,他很喜欢;而克莱德呢,显然也被这个特殊人物吸引住了.当然罗,又是一个新的牧师.不过,监狱里的那位新教牧师,简直没法跟麦克米伦相比——既不是那么惹眼,也不是那么吸引人.
"我叫邓肯·麦克米伦,"他说,"我来自锡拉丘兹,我在那里致力于弘扬上帝荣光.这是他差遣我来,正如他差遣你母亲上我那儿去一样.她所相信的一切,全跟我说了.你自己所说过的话,我从报上也都看过了.为什么你会在这里,这我也知道.不过,我上这里来,就是要给你精神上的喜悦和快乐."蓦然间,他援引了《诗篇》第十三篇第二节:"'我心里筹算,终日愁苦,要到几时呢?'这是《诗篇》第十三篇第二节的话.此刻,我又想到一段话,应该跟你说一说.那也是《圣经》上的——《诗篇》第十篇:'他心里说,我必不动摇,世世代代不遭灾难.'①可是,你知道,你正是在患难之中.我们这些有罪之人,也都在所难免.不过,现在我又想起了一件事要说一说.那是《诗篇》第十篇第十一节:'他心里说,上帝竟忘记了.他掩面.'可是,上帝要我告诉你,他可没有把脸掩盖起来.上帝倒是要我把《诗篇》第十八篇告诉你:'我遭遇灾难的日子,他们来攻击我.但耶和华是我的依靠②.他从高天伸手抓住我,把我从大水中拉上来③.
"'他救我脱离我的劲敌.④
"'和那些恨我的人,因为他们比我强盛.⑤
"'他又领我到广宽之处.
①引自《圣经·旧约·诗篇》第10篇第6节.
②同上第18篇第18节.
③同上第18篇第16节.
④同上第18篇第17节.
⑤同上第18篇第17节.
"'他救拔我,因他喜悦我.'①
①同上第18篇第19节.
"克莱德,所有这些话,都是对你说的.这些话是我灵机一动,想要跟你说一说,就象有人跟我在低声耳语,撺掇我要这么说似的.我不过是转达直接跟你说的这些话的喉舌罢了.跟你自己的良心好好考虑考虑吧.从背阴处转向光明吧.让我们把这些苦难和忧郁的锁链砸烂,把这些阴影和黑暗驱散吧.你是犯过罪的.主能够宽恕你,而且也已经宽恕了你.忏悔吧.快到创造世界、治理世界的主身边去.他不会蔑视你的信念;他也不会不理会你的祈祷.要面向主——在你心里——在这间牢房四壁以内——说:'主啊,帮助我.主啊,请听我的祈祷.主啊,让我的眼睛看见光明!'
"你以为没有上帝——他不会回答你吧?祈祷吧.在你患难的时候,只要向他请求——不是向我请求——也不是向别人请求.而是向他请求.祈祷吧.跟他说话.呼唤他.把真相告诉他,请求他帮助.如果你在心里确实对过去做过的任何罪恶表示悔过的话,那末,你就会真的、真的听到他,摸到他,如同此刻你的的确确在我面前一模一样.他会拿起你的手.他会进入这间牢房,进入你�

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Part 3 Chapter 32
The personal conviction and force of such an individual as the Reverend McMillan, while in one sense an oldstory to Clyde and not anything which so late as eighteen months before could have moved him in any way(since all his life he had been accustomed to something like it), still here, under these circumstances, affectedhim differently. Incarcerated, withdrawn from the world, compelled by the highly circumscribed nature of thisdeath house life to find solace or relief in his own thoughts, Clyde's, like every other temperament similarlylimited, was compelled to devote itself either to the past, the present or the future. But the past was so painful tocontemplate at any point. It seared. and burned. And the present (his immediate surroundings) as well as thefuture with its deadly fear of what was certain to happen in case his appeal failed, were two phases equallyfrightful to his waking consciousness.
　　What followed then was what invariably follows in the wake of every tortured consciousness. From what itdreads or hates, yet knows or feels to be unescapable, it takes refuge in that which may be hoped for--or at leastimagined. But what was to be hoped for or imagined? Because of the new suggestion offered by Nicholson, anew trial was all that he had to look forward to, in which case, and assuming himself to be acquitted thereafter,he could go far, far away--to Australia--or Africa--or Mexico--or some such place as that, where, under adifferent name--his old connections and ambitions relating to that superior social life that had so recentlyintrigued him, laid aside, he might recover himself in some small way. But directly in the path of that hopefulimagining, of course, stood the death's head figure of a refusal on the part of the Court of Appeals to grant him anew trial. Why not--after that jury at Bridgeburg? And then--as in that dream in which he turned from the tangleof snakes to face the tramping rhinoceros with its two horns--he was confronted by that awful thing in theadjoining room--that chair! That chair! Its straps and its flashes which so regularly dimmed the lights in thisroom. He could not bear to think of his entering there--ever. And yet supposing his appeal was refused! Away!
　　He would like to think no more about it.
　　But then, apart from that what was there to think of? It was that very question that up to the time of the arrival ofthe Rev. Duncan McMillan, with his plea for a direct and certainly (as he insisted) fruitful appeal to the Creatorof all things, that had been definitely torturing Clyde. Yet see--how simple was his solution!
　　"It was given unto you to know the Peace of God," he insisted, quoting Paul and thereafter sentences fromCorinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, on how easy it was--if Clyde would but repeat and pray as he had asked himto--for him to know and delight in the "peace that passeth all understanding." It was with him, all around him. He had but to seek; confess the miseries and errors of his heart, and express contrition. "Ask, and ye shall receive;seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For EVERY ONE that asketh, receiveth; and hethat seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. For what man is there of you whom, if his sonask bread, will give him a stone; or, if he ask fish, will give him a serpent?" So he quoted, beautifully andearnestly.
　　And yet before Clyde always was the example of his father and mother. What had they? It had not availed themmuch--praying. Neither, as he noticed here, did it appear to avail or aid these other condemned men, the majorityof whom lent themselves to the pleas or prayers of either priest or rabbi or minister, one and the other of whomwas about daily. Yet were they not led to their death just the same--and complaining or protesting, or mad likeCutrone, or indifferent? As for himself, up to this he had not been interested by any of these. Bunk. Notions. Ofwhat? He could not say. Nevertheless, here was the appealing Rev. Duncan McMillan. His mild, serene eyes. Hissweet voice. His faith. It moved and intrigued Clyde deeply. Could there--could there? He was so lonely--sodespairing--so very much in need of help.
　　Was it not also true (the teaching of the Rev. McMillan-- influencing him to that extent at least) that if he had leda better life--had paid more attention to what his mother had said and taught--not gone into that house ofprostitution in Kansas City--or pursued Hortense Briggs in the evil way that he had--or after her, Roberta--hadbeen content to work and save, as no doubt most men were--would he not be better off than he now was? Butthen again, there was the fact or truth of those very strong impulses and desires within himself that were so very,very hard to overcome. He had thought of those, too, and then of the fact that many other people like his mother,his uncle, his cousin, and this minister here, did not seem to be troubled by them. And yet also he was given toimagining at times that perhaps it was because of superior mental and moral courage in the face of passions anddesires, equivalent to his own, which led these others to do so much better. He was perhaps just willfullydevoting himself to these other thoughts and ways, as his mother and McMillan and most every one else whomhe had heard talk since his arrest seemed to think.
　　What did it all mean? Was there a God? Did He interfere in the affairs of men as Mr. McMillan was nowcontending? Was it possible that one could turn to Him, or at least some creative power, in some such hour asthis and when one had always ignored Him before, and ask for aid? Decidedly one needed aid under suchcircumstances--so alone and ordered and controlled by law--not man--since these, all of them, were the veriestservants of the law. But would this mysterious power be likely to grant aid? Did it really exist and hear theprayers of men? The Rev. McMillan insisted yes. "He hath said God hath forgotten; He hideth His face. But Hehas not forgotten. He has not hidden His face." But was that true? Was there anything to it? Tortured by the needof some mental if not material support in the face of his great danger, Clyde was now doing what every otherhuman in related circumstances invariably does--seeking, and yet in the most indirect and involute and all butunconscious way, the presence or existence at least of some superhuman or supernatural personality or powerthat could and would aid him in some way--beginning to veer--however slightly or unconsciously as yet,--towardthe personalization and humanization of forces, of which, except in the guise of religion, he had not the faintestconception. "The Heavens declare the Glory of God, and the Firmament sheweth His handiwork." He recalledthat as a placard in one of his mother's mission windows. And another which read: "For He is Thy life and Thylength of Days." Just the same--and far from it as yet, even in the face of his sudden predisposition toward theRev. Duncan McMillan, was he seriously moved to assume that in religion of any kind was he likely to findsurcease from his present miseries?
　　And yet the weeks and months going by--the Rev. McMillan calling regularly thereafter, every two weeks at thelongest, sometimes every week and inquiring after his state, listening to his wants, advising him as to his healthand peace of mind. And Clyde, anxious to retain his interest and visits, gradually, more and more, yieldinghimself to his friendship and influence. That high spirituality. That beautiful voice. And quoting always suchsoothing things. "Brethren NOW are we the children of God. And it doth not yet appear what we shall be; but weknow that when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. And every man that has thishope in him purifieth himself even as He is pure.""Hereby know that we dwell in Him and He in us, because He hath given us of His spirit.""For ye are bought with a price.""Of His own will begot He us with the word of truth, and we should be a kind of first fruits of His creatures. Andevery good and every perfect gift is from above and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is novariableness, neither shadow of turning.""Draw nigh unto God and He will draw nigh unto you."He was inclined, at times, to feel that there might be peace and strength--aid, even--who could say, in appealingto this power. It was the force and the earnestness of the Rev. McMillan operating upon him.
　　And yet, the question of repentance--and with it confession. But to whom? The Rev. Duncan McMillan, ofcourse. He seemed to feel that it was necessary for Clyde to purge his soul to him--or some one like him--amaterial and yet spiritual emissary of God. But just there was the trouble. For there was all of that falsetestimony he had given in the trial, yet on which had been based his appeal. To go back on that now, and whenhis appeal was pending. Better wait, had he not, until he saw how that appeal had eventuated.
　　But, ah, how shabby, false, fleeting, insincere. To imagine that any God would bother with a person who soughtto dicker in such a way. No, no. That was not right either. What would the Rev. McMillan think of him if heknew what he was thinking?
　　But again there was the troubling question in his own mind as to his real guilt--the amount of it. True there wasno doubt that he had plotted to kill Roberta there at first--a most dreadful thing as he now saw it. For thecomplications and the fever in connection with his desire for Sondra having subsided somewhat, it was possibleon occasion now for him to reason without the desperate sting and tang of the mental state that had characterizedhim at the time when he was so immediately in touch with her. Those terrible, troubled days when in spite ofhimself--as he now understood it (Belknap's argument having cleared it up for him) he had burned with that wildfever which was not unakin in its manifestations to a form of insanity. The beautiful Sondra! The gloriousSondra! The witchery and fire of her smile then! Even now that dreadful fever was not entirely out but onlysmoldering-- smothered by all of the dreadful things that had since happened to him.
　　Also, it must be said on his behalf now, must it not--that never, under any other circumstances, would he havesuccumbed to any such terrible thought or plot as that--to kill any one--let alone a girl like Roberta--unless he had been so infatuated--lunatic, even. But had not the jury there at Bridgeburg listened to that plea withcontempt? And would the Court of Appeals think differently? He feared not. And yet was it not true? Or was heall wrong? Or what? Could the Rev. McMillan or any one else to whom he would explain tell him as to that? Hewould like to talk to him about it--confess everything perhaps, in order to get himself clear on all this. Further,there was the fact that having plotted for Sondra's sake (and God, if no one else, knew that) he still had not beenable to execute it. And that had not been brought out in the trial, because the false form of defense used permittedno explanation of the real truth then--and yet it was a mitigating circumstance, was it not--or would the Rev.
　　McMillan think so? A lie had to be used, as Jephson saw it. But did that make it any the less true?
　　There were phases of this thing, the tangles and doubts involved in that dark, savage plot of his, as he now sawand brooded on it, which were not so easily to be disposed of. Perhaps the two worst were, first, that in bringingRoberta there to that point on that lake--that lone spot--and then growing so weak and furious with himselfbecause of his own incapacity to do evil, he had frightened her into rising and trying to come to him. And that inthe first instance made it possible for her to be thus accidentally struck by him and so made him, in part at least,guilty of that blow--or did it?--a murderous, sinful blow in that sense. Maybe. What would the Rev. McMillansay to that? And since because of that she had fallen into the water, was he not guilty of her falling? It was athought that troubled him very much now--his constructive share of guilt in all that. Regardless of whatOberwaltzer had said there at the trial in regard to his swimming away from her--that if she had accidentallyfallen in the water, it was no crime on his part, supposing he refused to rescue her,--still, as he now saw it, andespecially when taken in connection with all that he had thought in regard to Roberta up to that moment, it was acrime just the same, was it not? Wouldn't God--McMillan--think so? And unquestionably, as Mason had soshrewdly pointed out at the trial, he might have saved her. And would have too, no doubt, if she had beenSondra--or even the Roberta of the summer before. Besides, the fear of her dragging him down had been nodecent fear. (It was at nights in his bunk at this time that he argued and reasoned with himself, seeing thatMcMillan was urging him now to repent and make peace with his God.) Yes, he would have to admit that tohimself. Decidedly and instantly he would have sought to save her life, if it had been Sondra. And such being thecase, he would have to confess that--if he confessed at all to the Rev. McMillan--or to whomever else one toldthe truth--when one did tell it--the public at large perhaps. But such a confession once made, would it not surelyand truly lead to his conviction? And did he want to convict himself now and so die?
　　No, no, better wait a while perhaps--at least until the Court of Appeals had passed on his case. Why jeopardizehis case when God already knew what the truth was? Truly, truly he was sorry. He could see how terrible all thiswas now--how much misery and heartache, apart from the death of Roberta, he had caused. But still--still--wasnot life sweet? Oh, if he could only get out! Oh, if he could only go away from here--never to see or hear or feelanything more of this terrible terror that now hung over him. The slow coming dark--the slow coming dawn. Thelong night! The sighs--the groans. The tortures by day and by night until it seemed at times as though he shouldgo mad; and would perhaps except for McMillan, who now appeared devoted to him--so kind, appealing andreassuring, too, at times. He would just like to sit down some day--here or somewhere--and tell him all and gethim to say how really guilty, if at all, he thought him to be--and if so guilty to get him to pray for him. At timeshe felt so sure that his mother's and the Rev. Duncan McMillan's prayers would do him so much more good withthis God than any prayers of his own would. Somehow he couldn't pray yet. And at times hearing McMillanpray, softly and melodiously, his voice entering through the bars--or, reading from Galatians, Thessalonians,Corinthians, he felt as though he must tell him everything, and soon.
　　But the days going by until finally one day six weeks after--and when because of his silence in regard to himself,the Rev. Duncan was beginning to despair of ever affecting him in any way toward his proper contrition andsalvation--a letter or note from Sondra. It came through the warden's office and by the hand of the Rev. PrestonGuilford, the Protestant chaplain of the prison, but was not signed. It was, however, on good paper, and becausethe rule of the prison so requiring had been opened and read. Nevertheless, on account of the nature of thecontents which seemed to both the warden and the Rev. Guilford to be more charitable and punitive thanotherwise, and because plainly, if not verifiably, it was from that Miss X of repute or notoriety in connectionwith his trial, it was decided, after due deliberation, that Clyde should be permitted to read it--even that it wasbest that he should. Perhaps it would prove of value as a lesson. The way of the transgressor. And so it washanded to him at the close of a late fall day--after a long and dreary summer had passed (soon a year since he hadentered here). And he taking it. And although it was typewritten with no date nor place on the envelope, whichwas postmarked New York--yet sensing somehow that it might be from her. And growing decidedly nervous--somuch so that his hand trembled slightly. And then reading--over and over and over--during many days thereafter:
　　"Clyde--This is so that you will not think that some one once dear to you has utterly forgotten you. She hassuffered much, too. And though she can never understand how you could have done as you did, still, even now,although she is never to see you again, she is not without sorrow and sympathy and wishes you freedom andhappiness."But no signature--no trace of her own handwriting. She was afraid to sign her name and she was too remote fromhim in her mood now to let him know where she was. New York! But it might have been sent there fromanywhere to mail. And she would not let him know--would never let him know--even though he died here later,as well he might. His last hope--the last trace of his dream vanished. Forever! It was at that moment, as whennight at last falls upon the faintest remaining gleam of dusk in the west. A dim, weakening tinge of pink--andthen the dark.
　　He seated himself on his cot. The wretched stripes of his uniform and his gray felt shoes took his eye. A felon.
　　These stripes. These shoes. This cell. This uncertain, threatening prospect so very terrible to contemplate at anytime. And then this letter. So this was the end of all that wonderful dream! And for this he had sought sodesperately to disengage himself from Roberta--even to the point of deciding to slay her. This! This! He toyedwith the letter, then held it quite still. Where was she now? Who in love with, maybe? She had had time tochange perhaps. She had only been captivated by him a little, maybe. And then that terrible revelation inconnection with him had destroyed forever, no doubt, all sentiment in connection with him. She was free. Shehad beauty--wealth. Now some other-He got up and walked to his cell door to still a great pain. Over the way, in that cell the Chinaman had onceoccupied, was a Negro--Wash Higgins. He had stabbed a waiter in a restaurant, so it was said, who had refusedhim food and then insulted him. And next to him was a young Jew. He had killed the proprietor of a jewelrystore in trying to rob it. But he was very broken and collapsed now that he was here to die--sitting for the mostpart all day on his cot, his head in his hands. Clyde could see both now from where he stood--the Jew holding hishead. But the Negro on his cot, one leg above the other, smoking--and singing--"Oh, big wheel ro-a-lin' . . . hmp! Oh, big wheel ro-a-lin' . . . hmp! Oh, big wheel ro-a-lin' . . . hmp! Foh me! Fohme!"And then Clyde, unable to get away from his own thoughts, turning again.
　　Condemned to die! He. And this was the end as to Sondra. He could feel it. Farewell. "Although she is never tosee you again." He threw himself on his couch--not to weep but to rest--he felt so weary. Lycurgus. Fourth Lake.
　　Bear Lake. Laughter--kisses--smiles. What was to have been in the fall of the preceding year. And now--a yearlater.
　　But then,--that young Jew. There was some religious chant into which he fell when his mental tortures would nolonger endure silence. And oh, how sad. Many of the prisoners had cried out against it. And yet, oh, howappropriate now, somehow.
　　"I have been evil. I have been unkind. I have lied. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have been unfaithful. My heart has beenwicked. I have joined with those who have done evil things. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have stolen. I have been false. I havebeen cruel! Oh! Oh! Oh!"And the voice of Big Tom Rooney sentenced for killing Thomas Tighe, a rival for the hand of an underworldgirl. "For Christ's sake! I know you feel bad. But so do I. Oh, for God's sake, don't do that!"Clyde, on his cot, his thoughts responding rhythmically to the chant of the Jew--and joining with him silently--"Ihave been evil. I have been unkind. I have lied. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have been unfaithful. My heart has been wicked. Ihave joined with those who have done evil things. Oh! Oh! Oh! I have been false. I have been cruel. I havesought to murder. Oh! Oh! Oh! And for what? A vain--impossible dream! Oh! Oh! Oh! . . . Oh! Oh! Oh! . . ."When the guard, an hour later, placed his supper on the shelf in the door, he made no move. Food! And when theguard returned in another thirty minutes, there it was, still untouched, as was the Jew's--and was taken away insilence. Guards knew when blue devils had seized the inmates of these cages. They couldn't eat. And there weretimes, too, when even guards couldn't eat.
第三十二章
要是在一年半以前,类似麦克米伦牧师这么一个人及其坚定的信仰和精神力量,未必会对克莱德有任何触动(因为他自幼起早已耳濡目染过这类事了),可在此时此地对他的影响就迥然不同了.现在他羁于铁窗,与世隔绝,而且死牢里生活上管制甚严,不得不从个人沉思默想之中寻求安慰或解脱.克莱德有如遭受同样厄运的人一样,只好一门心思去想想自己的过去、现在或是将来.可是一想到过去,太痛苦了.如同烈火炙烤.而现在(他眼前的遭际),还有令人发指的将来——万一上诉被驳回,最心寒的事势必发生.反正现在和将来他都清醒地意识到同样可怕.
随之而来不可避免地如同神志清醒的人备受折磨那样,为了逃避自己害怕的、或者憎恨的,但又知道躲不了的事,偏偏要到希望中——或者至少也是幻想中去聊以自慰.但克莱德所希望和幻想的又是什么呢?由于尼科尔森出了那个新主意,他唯一能指望的就是复审——果能如此,并且假定说他能无罪获释的话,那他就不妨跑到很远、很远的地方——到澳大利亚——或是到非洲去——或是到墨西哥去——或是到任何类似地方去,在那里,另换一个名字——抛掉跟上流社会优越生活有关的旧关系和虚荣心(不久前这些还使他那样入迷),也许多少能安分守己地开始过新生活.不过话又说回来,在这条尚存一线希望的幻想之路上,当然,还存在着死亡的影子:上诉法院拒绝复审.为什么不会拒绝呢——因为已由布里奇伯格陪审团判决过了.于是——有如他梦里见过前面有一堆凶蛇,自己刚扭回头去不看,却又撞见了长着两只猗角的犀牛冲他而来——横在他眼前的,还有隔壁房间里那个令人毛骨悚然的东西——那张电椅!那张电椅!上面的带子,还有那让监狱里灯光照例发暗的电源.一想到有朝一日,万一会跨进隔壁房间,对他来说该有多么难受.不过,要是他上诉的请求被驳回呢!不!他再也不愿想这件事了.
不过,抛开这件事,还有什么别的好想呢?这个问题一直在折磨着克莱德,直至邓肯·麦克米伦牧师来到,要他直接向万物的创造主恳求,(据牧师坚称)这样是肯定会有效果的.
瞧,邓肯牧师解决问题的办法多么简单!
"上帝所赐出人意外的平安."①他硬是援引了保罗的话.后来,他又援引了《哥林多书》、《加拉太书》、《以弗所书》②里的话,说只要克莱德能照他的吩咐不断祈祷,那末,克莱德要体味和喜爱那"高过所有大智大慧的平安",该有多么容易.这种平安跟他同在,就在他周围.他只要去寻找,承认自己心中的惨痛过错,表示悔恨就得了."你们祈求,就给你们.寻找,就寻见.叩门,就给你们开门.因为凡祈求的,就得着.寻找的,就寻见;叩门的,就给他开门.你们中间,谁有儿子求饼,反给他石头呢.求鱼,反给他蛇呢."③他就是那样以拳拳之心援引了《圣经》里的话.
①引自《圣经·新约·腓立比书》第4章第7节.
②以上诸篇均见《圣经·新约》.
③引自《圣经·新约·马太福音》第7章第7至10节.
可是摆在克莱德面前的,始终是他父母的例子.他们活了一辈子,找到了什么呢?祈祷——并不特别帮他们忙.在这里,他发觉,对他的那些同监犯人来说,看来祈祷也帮不了什么忙,他们绝大多数洗耳恭听过神父、拉比或是牧师(他们每天总有人轮流到监狱里来)的恳求或是祈祷.可他们到时候还不是照样被提出去死——有的人大发牢骚,有的人大声抗议,有的人象卡特龙尼那样发了疯,有的人倒是满不在乎,可不是吗?至于克莱德呢,到目前为止,他对这些神父里头哪一个都不感兴趣.全是一派胡言.痴心妄想罢了.那是为什么呢?这个他却说不上来.可眼前是这么一个富有感染力的邓肯·麦克米伦牧师.瞧他那温和而又安详的眼睛.他那悦耳动听的声音.他那信仰.它感动了克莱德,把他深深地吸引住了.也许有可能——也许有可能?他是那么孤零零的——那么绝望——那么迫切需要别人帮助.
难道说这不也是很真实(麦克米伦牧师的劝导——至少已使他受到这样的影响):要是他过去能过上一种正派一些的生活——多一些听从他母亲所说的和开导的那些话——没有逛过堪萨斯城那家妓院——没有那么死乞白赖地去追求霍丹斯·布里格斯,或是继她之后的罗伯达——而是正如绝大多数人那样,安心工作,省吃俭用,那末,他的处境不是会比眼前好得多吗?可是,另一方面,他与生俱有的那些极其强烈的冲动和欲念,很难加以制服,这既是事实,也是千真万确的.这些也都促使他思考过,而且还想到过,事实上,有很多人,比如他的母亲、伯父、堂兄和眼前的这位牧师,他们好象并没有被类似这些东西所困扰呀.然而,有时候他一个闪念又想到:那些象他那样的情欲和欲念,也许他们都很熟悉,不过,正是因为他们能凭借自己卓越的精神和道德力量,所以处理起来也就非常容易了.也许他过去只是一心沉溺于这些思想感情之中.从他的母亲、麦克米伦和他被捕后听到的别人谈吐里,看来都有这种想法.
这一切到底意味着什么呢?有上帝吗?他真象麦克米伦先生此刻所说的那样干预凡夫俗子的事情吗?过去你从来也不虔信他的,难道说在眼前这种时刻就能向他,或至少是向一个无所不能的力量,祈求帮助吗?当然,在类似这样的情况下,你是需要帮助的——你是那么孤零零的,一切都受到法律——而不是人——的支配和管制——而你周围所有这些人,其实只不过是法律的奴隶罢了.不过,这个神秘的力量乐意帮助吗?果真有这个神秘的力量吗?能听到人们的祈祷吗?麦克米伦牧师一个劲儿说能听到."他心里说,上帝竟忘记了;他掩面.可他并没有忘记.他可并没有掩面."①但这是真实的吗?可以相信它吗?面临着死的灾难,克莱德正因渴求某种精神上(如果说不是物质上)的支持而遭受折磨,克莱德正在做的,正是任何一个人在类似情况下必定会做的——就是在寻求,只不过通过最间接的、错综复杂的、简直是无意识的方式在寻求某种能够和乐意以什么方式来拯救他的超人或是超自然的人格或是力量是否会出现,或则至少是存在着——而且他已开始转移方向——哪怕还是不够坚定,或是无意识地——转向这些力量的化身和合乎人性的原则,对于这种力量,除了以宗教的形式出现的以外,他一无所知."诸天述说上帝的荣耀.苍穹传扬他的手段."②他想起母亲的传道馆里一块
窗上就有这么一块小牌子.另外还有一块小牌子说:"因为他是你的生命,你的寿命."不过尽管这样——哪怕是他对邓肯·麦克米伦牧师突然有了好感,他还远没有真的感动得认为说不定自己可以通过任何形式的宗教来摆脱他眼前种种的不幸.
①参见《圣经·旧约·诗篇》第10篇第11节.
②引自《圣经·旧约·诗篇》第19篇第1节.
可是眼看着日子却论周、论月地过去了——麦克米伦牧师来过以后,倒是还经常来探监的(时间最长两周一次,有时一周一次),问问他的感觉,听听他有什么想法,而且对他身心的康宁也提出了一些劝告.克莱德深怕失去牧师对他的关怀,不再来探望他,也就越来越乐于接受他的友情和影响.那种崇高的精神境界.那种美妙动人的声音.他总是援引那些令人宽慰的话."亲爱的弟兄啊,我们现在是上帝的儿女,将来如何,还未显明.但我们知道主若显现,我们必要象他.因为必得见他的真体.凡向他有这指望的,就洁净自己,象他洁净一样.①"上帝将他的灵赐给我们,从此就知道我们是住在他里面,他也住在我们里面."②
"因为你们是重价买来的."③
"他按自己的旨意,用真道生了我们,叫我们在他所造的万物中,好象初熟的果子.各样美善的恩赐,和各样全备的赏赐,都是从上头来的.从众光之父那里降下来的.在他并没有改变,也没有转动的影儿.④
①引自《圣经·新约·约翰一书》第3章第2节.
②同上第4章第13节.
③参见《圣经·新约·哥林多前书》第6章第20节.
④引自《圣经·新约·雅各书》第1章第17、18节.
"你们亲近上帝,上帝就必亲近你们."①
①同上第4章第8节.
有时,克莱德好象觉得向这个力量呼吁以后,也许能得到安宁和勇气——甚至还能得到帮助——有谁说得准呢.这是麦克米伦牧师的毅力和至诚正在他身上起作用呀.
不过还有悔悟问题——随之而来就得忏悔.可是向谁忏悔呢?当然罗,向麦克米伦牧师.他仿佛认为克莱德必须在他面前——或是在象他一类的人——既具有上帝的精神又具有血肉之躯的使者面前把灵魂洗涤干净.可是,麻烦正出在这里.因为,他在受审时作了那么多伪证,而他的上诉就是以这些伪证作为基础的.现在就把这些伪证收回吗?上诉已在待批了.最好还是等一等,等他知道上诉有什么结果再说,可不是吗?
唉,瞧他有多么寒伧,多么虚伪,多么善变,多么不诚恳.不妨想象一下,这么一个斤斤较量、净做小买卖的人,上帝会特别惠予照顾吗?不,不.那也是要不得的.麦克米伦牧师要是知道他心里在想些什么,又会对他作何感想?
可是,他心里又有这么一个恼人的问题,就是有关他的具体罪行——量罪时该有多大.不错,他一开头就策划要在那里杀害罗伯达的,这是毫无疑问的——如今他才认识到,这是一件极其骇人的事,因为他渴求桑德拉时那种神魂颠倒和狂热劲儿现在已多少有所减退.有时,他已经能够冷静思考了,不象往日里跟她碰面时心里老是感到强烈的剧痛味道.现也他明白了.(经贝尔纳普辩护时一说,他心里就透亮了)在那些可
怕而烦恼的日子里,他身不由己地被那种从表现来看已经迹近精神病的狂热燃烧起来.美丽的桑德拉!了不起的桑德拉!那时,她的一颦一笑多么火热,而又富有魔力!即便到现在,那种可怕的烈焰并没有完全熄灭,还是在冒烟——只是被最近以来他遇到的所有可怕的事件熄灭了.
不过,还得替他说句公道话,可不是吗——那就是说,不论在什么情况下,他脑子里决不会冒出这么一种可怕的念头或是阴谋来——去杀害哪一个人——更不必说是象罗伯达那样一个姑娘了——除非他是迷了心窍——乃至于成了疯子.不过,那种辩护布里奇伯格陪审团听了,不是觉得根本不予考虑吗?上诉法院会有不同的想法吗?恐怕不会.不过,难道这不是真实的吗?难道说是他全都错了?还是怎么的?这事要是他详细解释给麦克米伦牧师听,或者不论是谁听,他们能向他回答这个问题吗?他要把这事对麦克米伦牧师说了——也许对一切全都坦白承认,把自己在所有这些事上的情况都讲清楚.再说,还有这一事实:为桑德拉而把阴谋策划好以后(这事尽管人们不知道,但上帝是知道的),到头来他并没有能耐付诸实行.而且,在庭审时并没有提到这一点,因为那时候采用了说假话的方式进行辩护,就不允许按照事实真相来解释的——不过,这是可使罪行减轻的情节,可不是吗——麦克米伦牧师会不会就这么想呢?当时杰夫森硬是要他撒谎的.不过,那么一来,难道说事实真相也就不成其为事实真相了吗?
现在,他回想他这个险恶、残酷的阴谋时方才明白,其中有些部分,存在某些纠缠不清和疑惑不定的难点,要把它们交代清楚可真不易.最严重的也许有两点:第一,把罗伯达带到湖上那么一个荒凉的地点,然后,突然感到自己没能耐做坏事,就胆怯荏弱,对自己感到非常恼火,吓得罗伯达站了起来,想朝他这边走过去.这么一来,先是让她有可能被他在无意之中给砸了一下,而他因为这一砸至少在某种程度上说有了罪——到底是不是呢?——从这个意义上来看,那是致命、有罪的一砸.也许是这样的.麦克米伦牧师对这事会怎么说呢?再说,既然她因为这么一砸掉到湖里去了,那末,他对她落水一事不是也有罪吗?现在他一想到自己对造成这一悲剧事实上有罪,就觉得非常苦恼.不管奥伯沃泽在审问中对当时他从她身边游开去一事说过些什么话——说如果她是在无意之中落水的,那末,即使是他不肯去搭救她,就他这一方面来说,也是无罪可言——可是,现在他觉得,尤其是有关他跟罗伯达的全部关系,他都想过了,毕竟还是有罪,可不是?难道说上帝——麦克米伦——不是也会这么想吗?而且,梅森在审问时早就一针见血地指出:毫无疑问,本来他也许是能把她救起来的.如果她是桑德拉——或者甚至是去年夏天的罗伯达,毫无疑问,他也一定会把她救起来的.再说,害怕她把他拖下水,这种想法也是很见不得人的.(在麦克米伦敦促他悔过,同上帝和解以后,有好多个夜晚他躺在床上,就是这样自己跟自己说理、辩论的.)是的,这些他都得向自己承认.如果这是桑德拉的话,当然,他马上会想办法去救她的命.既然是这样,那他应该就这一事表示忏悔——如果他决定向麦克米伦忏悔的话——或则向不管是哪一个人吐露真情的话——只要真的要讲——说不定甚至还要向公众讲.可是,他一旦决定这么忏悔了,会不会导致他势必被定罪不可呢?难道说现在他乐意给自己定罪,就此把自己性命也都送掉吗?
不,不,也许最好还是等一等——至少等到上诉法院对他的案子作出决定以后再说.反正真相上帝早已知道了,干什么要让他的案子冒风险呢?他确实是难过极了.现在,他已经认识到这一切该有多可怕——除了罗伯达惨死以外,他还造成了多么巨大的痛苦和灾难.不过——不过——生活不还是那么美好吗?啊,要是他能逃出去该有多好!啊,只要他能离开这里——永远不再看到、听到、感受到如今笼罩着他的这一片可怕的恐怖该有多好.这姗姗来迟的薄暮——这姗姗来迟的拂晓.这漫漫的长夜呀!那些长叹短吁——那些呻吟哭泣.那日日夜夜持续不断的折磨,有时看来他好象真的快要发疯了.要不是麦克米伦眼下看来对他恩爱有加——那么和蔼,有时还能吸引住他,让他得到不少宽慰,说不定他早已发疯了.他真巴不得有一天能跟他坐在一起——不管是在这里或是别的什么地方,把一切都告诉他,听他说说,究竟他是不是真的有罪,如果说真的有罪,就要麦克米伦为他祈祷.克莱德有时分明感觉到:他母亲和麦克米伦的庇佑祈祷,在这个上帝面前,比他自己的祈祷要灵验得多.不知怎的,现在他还祈祷不成.有时,他听到麦克米伦在祈祷,那声音如此柔和,如此和谐,穿透铁栏杆向他传过来——或是他读《加拉太书》、《帖撒罗尼迦书》、《哥林多书》①上那些话,那时他觉得,好象他非得把一切都告诉这个牧师,而且尽可能早一些.
①参见《圣经·新约全书》有关章节.
可是眼看着日子一天天过去,直到六个星期以后的某一天——当时邓肯牧师因为克莱德一直闭口不谈自己的事,正开始绝望,觉得自己无法引导他真心忏悔,从而使他的灵魂得到拯救——突然间,桑德拉来了一封信,说得确切些,是一张便条.那是通过典狱长办公室送来的,由这座监狱的新教牧师普雷斯顿·吉尔福德交给他的,只是信上并没有署名.信纸倒是挺好看的,而且,按照监狱的规定,已被拆开,看过了.不过,这封信的内容,在典狱长和吉尔福德牧师看来,都认为除了同情和责备以外,没有什么其他内容.而且,一望可知这封信是他的案子里一再提到过的那个名闻遐迩的、也可以说声名狼藉的某某小姐寄来的,尽管一时还无法加以证明.因此,经过相当长时间考虑以后,就决定不妨给克莱德看看,他们甚至还认为应该给他看看才好.也许可以给他上有益的一课.罪犯的出路.所以,待到漫长而慵倦的夏天已经过去了(这时,他入狱快要满一年了),在暮秋的某一天傍黑时分,信才交给了他.他手里拿着这封信.尽管这封信是用打字机打的,信封上既没有发信日期,也没有发信地址,只是盖上了纽约的邮戳——可是不知怎的,他还是本能地感到,这也许是她寄来的.于是,他一下子变得非常紧张——甚至连手都在微微颤抖了.接下来他就看信——在这以后好�

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Part 3 Chapter 33
The depression resulting even after two days was apparent to the Reverend McMillan, who was concerned toknow why. More recently, he had been led to believe by Clyde's manner, his visits, if not the fact that the totalityof his preachments, had not been greeted with as much warmth as he would have liked, that by degrees Clydewas being won to his own spiritual viewpoint. With no little success, as it had seemed to him, he had counseledClyde as to the folly of depression and despair. "What! Was not the peace of God within his grasp and for theasking. To one who sought God and found Him, as he surely would, if he sought, there could be no sorrow, butonly joy. 'Hereby know we that we dwell in Him, and He in us, because He hath given us of His spirit.'" So hepreached or read,--until finally--two weeks after receiving the letter from Sondra and because of the deepdepression into which he had sunk on account of it, Clyde was finally moved to request of him that he try toinduce the warden to allow him to be taken to some other cell or room apart from this room or cell which seemedto Clyde to be filled with too many of his tortured thoughts, in order that he might talk with him and get hisadvice. As he told the Reverend McMillan, he did not appear to be able to solve his true responsibility in connection with all that had so recently occurred in his life, and because of which he seemed not to be able tofind that peace of mind of which McMillan talked so much. Perhaps . . . ,--there must be something wrong withhis viewpoint. Actually he would like to go over the offense of which he was convicted and see if there wasanything wrong in his understanding of it. He was not so sure now. And McMillan, greatly stirred,--an enormousspiritual triumph, this--as he saw it--the true reward of faith and prayer, at once proceeding to the warden, whowas glad enough to be of service in such a cause. And he permitted the use of one of the cells in the old deathhouse for as long as he should require, and with no guard between himself and Clyde--one only remaining in thegeneral hall outside.
　　And there Clyde began the story of his relations with Roberta and Sondra. Yet because of all that had been setforth at the trial, merely referring to most of the evidence--apart from his defense--the change of heart, as so;afterwards dwelling more particularly on the fatal adventure with Roberta in the boat. Did the ReverendMcMillan--because of the original plotting--and hence the original intent--think him guilty?--especially in viewof his obsession over Sondra--all his dreams in regard to her--did that truly constitute murder? He was askingthis because, as he said, it was as he had done--not as his testimony at the trial had indicated that he had done. Itwas a lie that he had experienced a change of heart. His attorneys had counseled that defense as best, since theydid not feel that he was guilty, and had thought that plan the quickest route to liberty. But it was a lie. Inconnection with his mental state also there in the boat, before and after her rising and attempting to come tohim,--and that blow, and after,--he had not told the truth either--quite. That unintentional blow, as he now wishedto explain, since it affected his efforts at religious meditation,--a desire to present himself honestly to his Creator,if at all (he did not then explain that as yet he had scarcely attempted to so present himself)--there was more to itthan he had been able yet to make clear, even to himself. In fact even now to himself there was much that wasevasive and even insoluble about it. He had said that there had been no anger--that there had been a change ofheart. But there had been no change of heart. In fact, just before she had risen to come to him, there had been acomplex troubled state, bordering, as he now saw it, almost upon trance or palsy, and due--but he could scarcelysay to what it was due, exactly. He had thought at first--or afterwards--that it was partly due to pity for Roberta-or,at least the shame of so much cruelty in connection with her--his plan to strike her. At the same time therewas anger, too,--hate maybe--because of her determination to force him to do what he did not wish to do.
　　Thirdly--yet he was not so sure as to that--(he had thought about it so long and yet he was not sure even now)-theremight have been fear as to the consequences of such an evil deed--although, just at that time, as it seemedto him now, he was not thinking of the consequences--or of anything save his inability to do as he had come todo--and feeling angry as to that.
　　Yet in the blow--the accidental blow that had followed upon her rising and attempting to come to him, had beensome anger against her for wanting to come near him at all. And that it was perhaps--he was truly not sure, evennow, that had given that blow its so destructive force. It was so afterward, anyhow, that he was compelled tothink of it. And yet there was also the truth that in rising he was seeking to save her--even in spite of his hate.
　　That he was also, for the moment at least, sorry for that blow. Again, though, once the boat had upset and bothwere in the water--in all that confusion, and when she was drowning, he had been moved by the thought: "Donothing." For thus he would be rid of her. Yes, he had so thought. But again, there was the fact that all through,as Mr. Belknap and Mr. Jephson had pointed out, he had been swayed by his obsession for Miss X, the supermotivating force in connection with all of this. But now, did the Reverend McMillan, considering all that wentbefore and all that came after--the fact that the unintentional blow still had had anger in it--angry dissatisfactionwith her--really--and that afterwards he had not gone to her rescue--as now--honestly and truly as he was trying to show--did he think that that constituted murder--mortal blood guilt for which spiritually, as well as legally, hemight be said to deserve death? Did he? He would like to know for his own soul's peace--so that he could pray,maybe.
　　The Reverend McMillan hearing all this--and never in his life before having heard or having had passed to himso intricate and elusive and strange a problem--and because of Clyde's faith in and regard for him, enormouslyimpressed. And now sitting before him quite still and pondering most deeply, sadly and even nervously--soserious and important was this request for an opinion--something which, as he knew, Clyde was counting on togive him earthly and spiritual peace. But, none-the-less, the Reverend McMillan was himself too puzzled toanswer so quickly.
　　"Up to the time you went in that boat with her, Clyde, you had not changed in your mood toward her--yourintention to--to--"The Reverend McMillan's face was gray and drawn. His eyes were sad. He had been listening, as he now felt, toa sad and terrible story--an evil and cruel self-torturing and destroying story. This young boy--really--! His hot,restless heart which plainly for the lack of so many things which he, the Reverend McMillan, had never wantedfor, had rebelled. And because of that rebellion had sinned mortally and was condemned to die. Indeed his reasonwas as intensely troubled as his heart was moved.
　　"No, I had not.""You were, as you say, angry with yourself for being so weak as not to be able to do what you had planned todo.""In a way it was like that, yes. But then I was sorry, too, you see. And maybe afraid. I'm not exactly sure now.
　　Maybe not, either."The Reverend McMillan shook his head. So strange! So evasive! So evil! And yet-"But at the same time, as you say, you were angry with her for having driven you to that point.""Yes.""Where you were compelled to wrestle with so terrible a problem?""Yes.""Tst! Tst! Tst! And so you thought of striking her.""Yes, I did.""But you could not.""No.""Praised be the mercy of God. Yet in the blow that you did strike--unintentionally--as you say--there was stillsome anger against her. That was why the blow was so--so severe. You did not want her to come near you.""No, I didn't. I think I didn't, anyhow. I'm not quite sure. It may be that I wasn't quite right. Anyhow--all workedup, I guess--sick almost. I--I--" In his uniform--his hair cropped so close, Clyde sat there, trying honestly now tothink how it really was (exactly) and greatly troubled by his inability to demonstrate to himself even--either hisguilt or his lack of guilt. Was he--or was he not? And the Reverend McMillan--himself intensely strained,muttering: "Wide is the gate and broad the way that leadeth to destruction." And yet finally adding: "But you didrise to save her.""Yes, afterwards, I got up. I meant to catch her after she fell back. That was what upset the boat.""And you did really want to catch her?""I don't know. At the moment I guess I did. Anyhow I felt sorry, I think.""But can you say now truly and positively, as your Creator sees you, that you were sorry--or that you wanted tosave her then?""It all happened so quick, you see," began Clyde nervously--hopelessly, almost, "that I'm not just sure. No, Idon't know that I was so very sorry. No. I really don't know, you see, now. Sometimes I think maybe I was, alittle, sometimes not, maybe. But after she was gone and I was on shore, I felt sorry--a little. But I was sort ofglad, too, you know, to be free, and yet frightened, too--You see--""Yes, I know. You were going to that Miss X. But out there, when she was in the water--?""No.""You did not want to go to her rescue?""No.""Tst! Tst! Tst! You felt no sorrow? No shame? Then?""Yes, shame, maybe. Maybe sorrow, too, a little. I knew it was terrible. I felt that it was, of course. But still--yousee--""Yes, I know. That Miss X. You wanted to get away.""Yes--but mostly I was frightened, and I didn't want to help her.""Yes! Yes! Tst! Tst! Tst! If she drowned you could go to that Miss X. You thought of that?" The Reverend McMillan's lips were tightly and sadly compressed.
　　"Yes.""My son! My son! In your heart was murder then.""Yes, yes," Clyde said reflectively. "I have thought since it must have been that way."The Reverend McMillan paused and to hearten himself for this task began to pray--but silently--and to himself:
　　"Our Father who art in Heaven--hallowed be Thy name. Thy Kingdom come, Thy will be done--on earth as it isin Heaven." He stirred again after a time.
　　"Ah, Clyde. The mercy of God is equal to every sin. I know it. He sent His own son to die for the evil of theworld. It must be so--if you will but repent. But that thought! That deed! You have much to pray for, my son-much.
　　Oh, yes. For in the sight of God, I fear,--yes--And yet--I must pray for enlightenment. This is a strangeand terrible story. There are so many phases. It may be but pray. Pray with me now that you and I may havelight." He bowed his head. He sat for minutes in silence--while Clyde, also, in silence and troubled doubt, satbefore him. Then, after a time he began:
　　"Oh, Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger; neither chasten me in Thy hot displeasure. Have mercy on me, O Lord,for I am weak. Heal me in my shame and sorrow for my soul is wounded and dark in Thy sight. Oh, let thewickedness of my heart pass. Lead me, O God, into Thy righteousness. Let the wickedness of my heart pass andremember it not."Clyde--his head down--sat still--very still. He, himself, was at last shaken and mournful. No doubt his sin wasvery great. Very, very terrible! And yet--But then, the Reverend McMillan ceasing and rising, he, too, rose, thewhile McMillan added: "But I must go now. I must think--pray. This has troubled and touched me deeply. Oh,very, Lord. And you--my son--you return and pray--alone. Repent. Ask of God on your knees His forgivenessand He will hear you. Yes, He will. And to-morrow--or as soon as I honestly can--I will come again. But do notdespair. Pray always--for in prayer alone, prayer and contrition, is salvation. Rest in the strength of Him whoholds the world in the hollow of His hand. In His abounding strength and mercy, is peace and forgiveness. Oh,yes."He struck the iron door with a small key ring that he carried and at once the guard, hearing it, returned.
　　Then having escorted Clyde to his cell and seen him once more shut within that restraining cage, he took his owndeparture, heavily and miserably burdened with all that he had heard. And Clyde was left to brood on all he hadsaid--and how it had affected McMillan, as well as himself. His new friend's stricken mood. The obvious painand horror with which he viewed it all. Was he really and truly guilty? Did he really and truly deserve to die forthis? Was that what the Reverend McMillan would decide? And in the face of all his tenderness and mercy?
　　And another week in which, moved by Clyde's seeming contrition, and all the confusing and extenuatingcircumstances of his story, and having wrestled most earnestly with every moral aspect of it, the ReverendMcMillan once more before his cell door--but only to say that however liberal or charitable his interpretation of the facts, as at last Clyde had truthfully pictured them, still he could not feel that either primarily or secondarilycould he be absolved from guilt for her death. He had plotted--had he not? He had not gone to her rescue whenhe might have. He had wished her dead and afterwards had not been sorry. In the blow that had brought about theupsetting of the boat had been some anger. Also in the mood that had not permitted him to strike. The facts thathe had been influenced by the beauty and position of Miss X to the plotting of this deed, and, after his evilrelations with Roberta, that she had been determined he should marry her, far from being points in extenuation ofhis actions, were really further evidence of his general earthly sin and guilt. Before the Lord then he had sinnedin many ways. In those dark days, alas, as Mr. McMillan saw it, he was little more than a compound ofselfishness and unhallowed desire and fornication against the evil of which Paul had thundered. It had endured tothe end and had not changed--until he had been taken by the law. He had not repented--not even there at BearLake where he had time for thought. And besides, had he not, from the beginning to end, bolstered it with falseand evil pretenses? Verily.
　　On the other hand, no doubt if he were sent to the chair now in the face of his first--and yet so clearmanifestation of contrition-- when now, for the first time he was beginning to grasp the enormity of his offense-itwould be but to compound crime with crime--the state in this instance being the aggressor. For, like the wardenand many others, McMillan was against capital punishment--preferring to compel the wrong-doer to serve thestate in some way. But, none-the-less, he felt himself compelled to acknowledge, Clyde was far from innocent.
　　Think as he would--and however much spiritually he desired to absolve him, was he not actually guilty?
　　In vain it was that McMillan now pointed out to Clyde that his awakened moral and spiritual understanding moreperfectly and beautifully fitted him for life and action than ever before. He was alone. He had no one whobelieved in him. NO ONE. He had no one, whom, in any of his troubled and tortured actions before that crimesaw anything but the darkest guilt apparently. And yet--and yet--(and this despite Sondra and the ReverendMcMillan and all the world for that matter, Mason, the jury at Bridgeburg, the Court of Appeals at Albany, if itshould decide to confirm the jury at Bridgeburg), he had a feeling in his heart that he was not as guilty as they allseemed to think. After all they had not been tortured as he had by Roberta with her determination that he marryher and thus ruin his whole life. They had not burned with that unquenchable passion for the Sondra of hisbeautiful dream as he had. They had not been harassed, tortured, mocked by the ill-fate of his early life andtraining, forced to sing and pray on the streets as he had in such a degrading way, when his whole heart and soulcried out for better things. How could they judge him, these people, all or any one of them, even his own mother,when they did not know what his own mental, physical and spiritual suffering had been? And as he lived throughit again in his thoughts at this moment the sting and mental poison of it was as real to him as ever. Even in theface of all the facts and as much as every one felt him to be guilty, there was something so deep within him thatseemed to cry out against it that, even now, at times, it startled him. Still--there was the Reverend McMillan--hewas a very fair and just and merciful man. Surely he saw all this from a higher light and better viewpoint than hisown. While at times he felt strongly that he was innocent, at others he felt that he must be guilty.
　　Oh, these evasive and tangled and torturesome thoughts!! Would he never be able--quite--to get the whole thingstraightened out in his own mind?
　　So Clyde not being able to take advantage truly of either the tenderness and faith and devotion of so good andpure a soul as the Reverend McMillan or the all merciful and all powerful God of whom here he stood as theambassador. What was he to do, really? How pray, resignedly, unreservedly, faithfully? And in that mood--and because of the urge of the Reverend Duncan, who was convinced by Clyde's confession that he must have beencompletely infused with the spirit of God, once more thumbing through the various passages and chapterspointed out to him--reading and re-reading the Psalms most familiar to him, seeking from their inspiration tocatch the necessary contrition--which once caught would give him that peace and strength which in those longand dreary hours he so much desired. Yet never quite catching it.
　　Parallel with all this, four more months passed. And at the end of that time--in January, 19--, the Court ofAppeals finding (Fulham, Jr., reviewing the evidence as offered by Belknap and Jephson)-- with Kincaid, Briggs,Truman and Dobshutter concurring, that Clyde was guilty as decided by the Cataraqui County jury andsentencing him to die at some time within the week beginning February 28th or six weeks later--and saying inconclusion:
　　"We are mindful that this is a case of circumstantial evidence and that the only eyewitness denies that death wasthe result of crime. But in obedience to the most exacting requirements of that manner of proof, the counsel forthe people, with very unusual thoroughness and ability has investigated and presented evidence of a greatnumber of circumstances for the purpose of truly solving the question of the defendant's guilt or innocence.
　　"We might think that the proof of some of these facts standing by themselves was subject to doubt by reason ofunsatisfactory or contradictory evidence, and that other occurrences might be so explained or interpreted as to bereconcilable with innocence. The defense--and very ably--sought to enforce this view.
　　"But taken all together and considered as a connected whole, they make such convincing proof of guilt that weare not able to escape from its force by any justifiable process of reasoning and we are compelled to say that notonly is the verdict not opposed to the weight of evidence, and to the proper inference to be drawn from it, butthat it is abundantly justified thereby. Decision of the lower court unanimously confirmed."On hearing this, McMillan, who was in Syracuse at the time, hurrying to Clyde in the hope that before the newswas conveyed officially, he should be there to encourage him spiritually, since, only with the aid of the Lord, ashe saw it--the eternal and ever present help in trouble--would Clyde be able to endure so heavy a blow. Andfinding him--for which he was most deeply grateful--wholly unaware of what had occurred, since no news ofany kind was conveyed to any condemned man until the warrant for his execution had arrived.
　　After a most tender and spiritual conversation--in which he quoted from Matthew, Paul and John as to theunimportance of this world--the true reality and joy of the next--Clyde was compelled to learn from McMillanthat the decision of the court had gone against him. And that though McMillan talked of an appeal to theGovernor which he--and some others whom he was sure to be able to influence would make--unless theGovernor chose to act, within six weeks, as Clyde knew, he would be compelled to die. And then, once the forceof that fact had finally burst on him--and while McMillan talked on about faith and the refuge which the mercyand wisdom of God provided--Clyde, standing before him with more courage and character showing in his faceand eyes than at any time previously in his brief and eager career.
　　"So they decided against me. Now I will have to go through that door after all,--like all those others. They'll drawthe curtains for me, too. Into that other room--then back across the passage--saying good-bye as I go, like thoseothers. I will not be here any more." He seemed to be going over each step in his mind--each step with which he was so familiar, only now, for the first time, he was living it for himself. Now, in the face of this dread news,which somehow was as fascinating as it was terrible, feeling not as distrait or weak as at first he had imagined hewould be. Rather, to his astonishment, considering all his previous terror in regard to this, thinking of what hewould do, what he would say, in an outwardly calm way.
　　Would he repeat prayers read to him by the Reverend McMillan here? No doubt. And maybe gladly, too. Andyet-In his momentary trance he was unconscious of the fact that the Reverend Duncan was whispering:
　　"But you see we haven't reached the end of this yet. There is a new Governor coming into office in January. Heis a very sensible and kindly man, I hear. In fact I know several people who know him--and it is my plan to seehim personally--as well as to have some other people whom I know write him on the strength of what I will tellthem."But from Clyde's look at the moment, as well as what he now said, he could tell that he was not listening.
　　"My mother. I suppose some one ought to telegraph her. She is going to feel very bad." And then: "I don'tsuppose they believed that those letters shouldn't have been introduced just as they were, did they? I thoughtmaybe they would." He was thinking of Nicholson.
　　"Don't worry, Clyde," replied the tortured and saddened McMillan, at this point more eager to take him in hisarms and comfort him than to say anything at all. "I have already telegraphed your mother. As for that decision--Iwill see your lawyers right away. Besides--as I say--I propose to see the Governor myself. He is a new man, yousee."Once more he was now repeating all that Clyde had not heard before.
第三十三章
即使是两天以后,克莱德那种颓丧的心态,麦克米伦牧师还是一眼就看出来了,因此很想了解一下原因何在.最近以来,根据克莱德的态度,他自然而然地深信无疑:他历次来监狱探望(如果说还不是指他宣扬的全部教义)所得到的反应,并不象他原先希望那么热烈,不过也看得出来,克莱德已在逐渐接受他的那一套宗教观点了.他觉得他规劝克莱德时说过颓丧和绝望都是很傻这类话,还是收效不小."怎么啦!天惠神赐的安宁不是唾手可得吗?只须开口要就行了.凡是寻找上帝而又找到了的人(反正他只要去寻找准能找到),见到的不是悲伤,只是欢乐.'上帝将他的灵赐给我们,从此就知道我们是住在他里面,他也住在我们里面.'①"他就是这么宣扬教义或是援引《圣经》上那些话——到后来——克莱德在接到桑德拉的信过了两周以后,因为这封信使他精神上一厥不振,万念俱灰,终于想到,不妨请麦克米伦牧师跟典狱长说一说,允许他住进别的一间牢房或是一个单间,反正离开这里远些(克莱德觉得自己痛苦的思绪简直太多了,充满了这间牢房),以便跟他谈谈,听取他的忠告.他跟麦克米伦牧师说,他对不久前自己碰到的所有一切遭际,究竟该负多大责任,看来还不能理解,因此,麦克米伦已经谈得很多的有关心灵的安宁,他好象怎么都找不到.也许——一定是他的观点出了什么差错.其实,他很愿意把他被指控并被定了罪一事从头至尾跟麦克米伦牧师谈一谈,看看自己在认识上有什么错误.如今,连他自己也不免有点儿半信半疑了.麦克米伦听后感动极了——据他看来,这对拯救灵魂来说是一次了不起的胜利——也是对信仰和祈祷的真正奖赏啊.他马上就去找典狱长,典狱长也很乐意为这事效劳.于是,麦克米伦获准可以使用老死牢里一间牢房(他需要使用多久,就可以使用多久).而且,麦克米伦跟克莱德晤面时,可以不受监视——只有一名狱警在外面过道里站岗值勤.
①引自《圣经·新约·约翰一书》第4章第13节.
在那里,克莱德向麦克米伦牧师和盘托出了自己跟罗伯达和桑德拉的关系.不过,因为所有这一切在庭审时都已讲过了,所以,他仅仅提到了一些最重要的证据——除了他自己的申辩以外,也就是所谓回心转意这一说法;过后,他特别详细讲到了自己跟罗伯达在小船上那个致命的插曲.既然他早就策划过——因此一开头也就有此意——他很想知道麦克米伦牧师的看法,他究竟是不是有罪呢?——特别是因为他对桑德拉如此倾倒,对她还抱有那么多的梦想——这是不是也构成了凶杀罪呢?据他说,他之所以这么提问,因为这就是他在当时实实在在的情况——而不是象他在庭审作证时所说的那样.说他回心转意,那才是谎话.是他的两位辩护律师给被告辩护琢磨出来的好点子,因为他们不认为他是有罪的,并且认为这一计划方案才是达到无罪获释的捷径.但那是弥天大谎.再说,当罗伯达站起来想向他这边走过来以前和以后,他在小船上的心态——还有那一砸,以及在这以后的情况——这些当时他也都没有把真相说出来——确切些说,不是全部真相.至于那无意之中的一砸,现在他倒是很想弄清楚的,因为它对于他对宗教默念的尝试——他要清清白白地去见(如果说一定要见的话)创世主的心愿——会有影响,(当时他没有说明,其实,他并不是想这样去见创世主的)——其中有很多地方他还不能完全弄清楚,即使对自己来说也一样.事实上,哪怕是现在他自己觉得还有很多地方是难以捉摸,乃至于解释不清的.他在法庭上说他对她并没有勃然大怒——还说他回心转意了.但是,他并没有回心转意.事实上,就在她站起来向他这边走过来以前,他已处于一种复杂、困惑的心态之中,正如现在他所说的,几乎陷入昏睡或是麻痹瘫痪了,但是由于——由于什么引起的,连他也都说不清楚.一开头,他——或薀妄后——都是这么认为,一方面是由于怜悯罗伯达——或者至少是觉得自己对她太残酷,竟然打算砸她而感到害臊.另一方面,也是由于动怒了——说不定还有仇恨——因为她硬是逼着他做他所不愿做的事.第三——其实,他对这一点还不敢那么肯定——(他对这一点思考了很久,可是即便现在,他还是不敢那么肯定)——也许对这么一起罪行的后果还是心里惧怕——虽然在那时候,就象他现在一样,他心里想到的不是那些后果——或是别的什么——而偏偏是他没有能耐做他后来终于做了的事情——因此才恼羞成怒.
不过,当她站起来,想朝他这边走过来时,在他无意的一砸之中,倒是对她有些恼火的,因为压根儿不要她向他这边走过来.也许正是因为这样——即使现在,他委实还不能肯定——这一砸才会有那么大的冲劲.不管怎么样,反正事后他不能不老是想到这件事.不过,那也是事实:当时他站起来,就是要想救她——尽管他心里还恨她哩.而且,他对那一砸——至少在那一刹那——还很难过.不过,小船一翻掉,他们俩都落了水的时候——在这一片混乱之中,她往湖底下沉的时候,他脑际确实掠过一个闪念:"随她去吧."因为这样他就可以趁此机会把她摆脱掉了.是的,当时他就是这么想的.不过,另外还有这么一个事实,贝尔纳普和杰夫森两位先生也都指出过:他自始至终神魂颠倒地迷恋着某某小姐,这才是造成这一惨剧的最主要原因.不过,现在麦克米伦牧师把前前后后的一切情况都考聼妄了——比方说,那无意之中的一砸,还是包含着恼怒的成分——对她是有忿怒不满的情绪——确实是这样的——还有,在这以后,他并没有去搭救她——现有——他已经老老实实——实话实说了——麦克米伦牧师是不是认为:那就构成了凶杀罪——致命的杀人罪,因此从良心上和法律上来看,也许他可以说是应该处以死刑?他是不是这样呢?他很希望知道,这是为了他自己灵魂的安宁——比方说,也许他就能祈祷了.
麦克米伦牧师听了这一切,感到非常震惊——他一辈子都没有听到过,或者有人给他讲过这么一个错综复杂、难以理解,而又稀奇古怪的问题——除此以外,克莱德对他又是那么信任,那么尊重.这时,他纹丝不动地坐在他面前,心里挺难过地,甚至紧张不安地陷入深思之中——这个要他发表意见的请求,是多么严峻、重要——他知道,克莱德就希望能从他的意见中得到尘世间和心灵上的安宁.可是尽管这样,麦克米伦牧师自己也感到困惑不解,没法马上回答他.
"在你跟她一起上小船以前,克莱德,你对她还没有变心——你存心想要——想要——"
麦克米伦牧师的脸是灰白而又憔悴,两眼充满了忧伤.这时,他觉得,他听到的是一个可悲而又可怕的故事——一个邪恶的残忍的自我折磨、自我毁灭的故事.这个年轻的孩子——说真的——!他的那颗炽热而焦躁不安的心,分明是因为缺少许许多多东西就起来反抗了,而那些东西,他麦克米伦牧师则是从来不缺的.而且,正是由于那种反抗,才造成了邪恶的后果,招来了杀身之祸,被判处死刑.说真的,麦克米伦牧师心里感到难过,思想上也是极端苦恼.
"不,我没有变心."
"据你说,你由于自己太软弱,没法照你设想过的计划去干,就对自己动火,是吧?"
"是的,有点儿是象那样的.不过,您知道,那时候我心里也难过.也许还害怕哩.现在我可说不准.也许是——也许不是."
麦克米伦牧师直摇头.奇怪!这么难以理解!这么邪恶!
可是——
"据你说,因为是她把你逼到那样窘境,你就同时对她很恼火,是吧?"
"是的."
"逼得你非要解决这个如此恼人的问题,是吧?"
"是的."
"Tst!Tst!Tst!那时你就想到要砸她了."
"是的,我是想到了."
"可你下不了手."
"下不了手."
"感谢上帝仁慈为怀.不过,在你那一砸——无意的一砸之中——据你自己说——对她还有些恼火呢.所以说,这一砸就会有这么——这么冲劲.你果真不要她走近你身边,是吧?"
"是的,我果真不要.反正我想那时我是不要.我现在还说不准.也许那时候我有点儿神志不清.不管怎么说——我想是,我激动极了——差点儿要恶心了.我——我——"克莱德身穿囚服——头发剪成平头,那么短短的,坐在那里,一本正经地想要回忆清楚当时(确实)是什么样的,可他感到最苦恼的,是连自己也说不清——他到底是犯了罪,还是没有犯罪.他有罪——还是无罪?还有那位麦克米伦牧师呢——他本人也紧张极了,只好自言自语道:"引到灭亡,那门是宽的,路是大的."①但是后来他又找补着说:"不过你确实站起来要搭救她的."
①引自《圣经·新约·马太福音》第7章第13节.
"是的,后来,我是站起来了.我原来想在她还没有摔倒以前把她拉住的.这么一来没想到把小船给弄翻了."
"你真的想要拉住她吗?"
"我不知道.我想,在那一刹那,我是这么想的.我想,反正我心里觉得很难过."
"不过,现在你能不能就象在创世主跟前,真的肯定说:那时你心里觉得很难过——或是说当时你是想搭救她的?""您知道,这一切来得那么快,"克莱德不安地说——几乎很绝望,"所以,我简直也记不真切了.不,我也不知道当时自己究竟是不是很难过.不.您知道,说真的,我到现在还不明白哩.有的时候,我想,也许我是难过的,有一点儿难过.有的时候,我觉得也许并没有难过.不过,在她沉入湖底,我游到岸上以后,突然我心里感到——有一点儿——难过.但是,您知道,毕竟是自由了,我也有点儿高兴,可是我又害怕——您知道——"
"是的.我知道.你是想到某某小姐那里去呗.可是,当时她已经落水,你就离开——?"
"没有."
"可你并不想去搭救她吧?"
"不."
"Tst!Tst!Tst!那时候,你心里不觉得难过?不觉得害臊?"
"是的,也许觉得害臊.也许还觉得有一点儿难过.我知道,这一切多可怕.当然罗,我觉得,这一切多可怕.可是反正——您知道——"
"是的,我知道.那位某某小姐.你想要滑脚溜掉.""是的——不过主要是我吓懵了,而且我不想去搭救她.""是啊!是啊!Tst!Tst!Tst!要是她淹死了,你就可以到某某小姐那里去了.你想到的就是那些,是吗?"麦克米伦牧师的嘴唇伤心地紧闭着.
"是的."
"我的孩子!我的孩子!那意味着,你心里就犯有杀人罪了."
"是的,是的,"克莱德若有所思地说."后来我一直在想,当时一定就是那样的."
麦克米伦牧师沉吟不语,但是不一会儿,为了激励自己去完成这项任务,就开始祈祷——只不过是默默地祈祷——而且是独自祈祷:"我们在天上的父,愿人都尊你的名为圣.愿你的国降临.愿你的旨意行在地上,如同行在天上."①过了半晌,他仿佛才又苏醒过来.
"啊,克莱德,你听着.所有罪孽都能得到仁慈的上帝宽恕.这我可知道.他差遣他的儿子来,是为了世人赎罪而死的.你的罪孽一定会得到他的宽恕——只要你愿意忏悔.但那是一种意图呀!那又是一种行动呀!许多事情你应该好好祈祷求赦,我的孩子——事情还多着哩.啊,是的.因为,在上帝眼里,我怕只怕——是的——可是——我必须祷告,祈求上帝启示.这是一个离奇而可怕的故事.方方面面那么多.也许——反正只有祈祷吧.现在跟我一起祷告,祈求上帝把光赐给你和我吧."他低下了头,默默地坐了一会儿——克莱德也默默地坐在他跟前,被心中疑问苦恼着.过了一会儿,麦克米伦牧师才开始说道;
"耶和华啊,求你不要在怒中责备我;也不要在烈怒中惩罚我,耶和华啊,求你可怜我,因为我软弱.②在我羞耻悲痛的时候,求你医治我,因为我的心受了伤,在你眼前是漆黑一团的.啊,宽恕我心中的罪恶吧.凭你的公义,上帝啊,引领我.
啊,宽恕我心中的罪恶,别再记住它."
①引自《圣经·新约·马太福音》第6章第9、10节.
②引自《圣经·旧约·诗篇》第6篇第1、2节.
克莱德低下头,纹丝不动地坐着——一动也不动.如今,他自己终于也震惊了,满怀悲伤了.毫无疑问,他犯了滔天大罪,罪孽深重!而且还——可是麦克米伦牧师祷告完毕,站起身来,他也跟着站了起来.麦克米伦找补着说:

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Part 3 Chapter 34
The scene was the executive chamber of the newly elected Governor of the State of New York some three weeksafter the news conveyed to Clyde by McMillan. After many preliminary and futile efforts on the part of Belknapand Jephson to obtain a commutation of the sentence of Clyde from death to life imprisonment (the customaryfiling of a plea for clemency, together with such comments as they had to make in regard to the way the evidencehad been misinterpreted and the illegality of introducing the letters of Roberta in their original form, to all ofwhich Governor Waltham, an ex-district attorney and judge from the southern part of the state, had beenconscientiously compelled to reply that he could see no reason for interfering) there was now before GovernorWaltham Mrs. Griffiths together with the Reverend McMillan. For, moved by the widespread interest in the finaldisposition of Clyde's case, as well as the fact that his mother, because of her unshaken devotion to him, andhaving learned of the decision of the Court of Appeals, had once more returned to Auburn and since then hadbeen appealing to the newspapers, as well as to himself through letters for a correct understanding of theextenuating circumstances surrounding her son's downfall, and because she herself had repeatedly appealed to him for a personal interview in which she should be allowed to present her deepest convictions in regard to allthis, the Governor had at last consented to see her. It could do no harm. Besides it would tend to soothe her. Alsovariable public sentiment, whatever its convictions in any given case, was usually on the side of the form orgesture of clemency--without, however, any violence to its convictions. And, in this case, if one could judge bythe newspapers, the public was convinced that Clyde was guilty. On the other hand, Mrs. Griffiths, owing to herown long meditations in regard to Clyde, Roberta, his sufferings during and since the trial, the fact that accordingto the Reverend McMillan he had at last been won to a deep contrition and a spiritual union with his Creatorwhatever his original sin, was now more than ever convinced that humanity and even justice demanded that atleast he be allowed to live. And so standing before the Governor, a tall, sober and somewhat somber man who,never in all his life had even so much as sensed the fevers or fires that Clyde had known, yet who, being adecidedly affectionate father and husband, could very well sense what Mrs. Griffiths' present emotions must be.
　　Yet greatly exercised by the compulsion which the facts, as he understood them, as well as a deep-seated andunchangeable submission to law and order, thrust upon him. Like the pardon clerk before him, he had read all theevidence submitted to the Court of Appeals, as well as the latest briefs submitted by Belknap and Jephson. Buton what grounds could he--David Waltham, and without any new or varying data of any kind--just areinterpretation of the evidence as already passed upon--venture to change Clyde's death sentence to lifeimprisonment? Had not a jury, as well as the Court of Appeals, already said he should die?
　　In consequence, as Mrs. Griffiths began her plea, her voice shaky--retracing as best she could the story ofClyde's life, his virtues, the fact that at no time ever had he been a bad or cruel boy--that Roberta, if not Miss X,was not entirely guiltless in the matter--he merely gazed at her deeply moved. The love and devotion of such amother! Her agony in this hour; her faith that her son could not be as evil as the proven facts seemed to indicateto him and every one else. "Oh, my dear Governor, how can the sacrifice of my son's life now, and whenspiritually he has purged his soul of sin and is ready to devote himself to the work of God, repay the state for theloss of that poor, dear girl's life, whether it was accidentally or otherwise taken--how can it? Can not the millionsof people of the state of New York be merciful? Cannot you as their representative exercise the mercy that theymay feel?"Her voice broke--she could not go on. Instead she turned her back and began to cry silently, while Waltham,shaken by an emotion he could not master, merely stood there. This poor woman! So obviously honest andsincere. Then the Reverend McMillan, seeing his opportunity, now entering his plea. Clyde had changed. Hecould not speak as to his life before--but since his incarceration--or for the last year, at least, he had come into anew understanding of life, duty, his obligations to man and God. If but the death sentence could be commuted tolife imprisonment-And the Governor, who was a very earnest and conscientious man, listened with all attention to McMillan,whom, as he saw and concluded was decidedly an intense and vital and highly idealistic person. No question inhis own mind but what the words of this man--whatever they were, would be true--in so far as his ownunderstanding would permit the conception of a truth.
　　"But you, personally, Mr. McMillan," the Governor at last found voice to say, "because of your long contact withhim in the prison there--do you know of any material fact not introduced at the trial which would in any way tendto invalidate or weaken any phase of the testimony offered at the trial? As you must know this is a legalproceeding. I cannot act upon sentiment alone--and especially in the face of the unanimous decision of two separate courts."He looked directly at McMillan, who, pale and dumb, now gazed at him in return. For now upon his word--uponhis shoulders apparently was being placed the burden of deciding as to Clyde's guilt or innocence. But could hedo that? Had he not decided, after due meditation as to Clyde's confessions, that he was guilty before God andthe law? And could he now--for mercy's sake--and in the face of his deepest spiritual conviction, alter his reportof his conviction? Would that be true--white, valuable before the Lord? And as instantly deciding that he, Clyde'sspiritual adviser, must not in any way be invalidated in his spiritual worth to Clyde. "Ye are the salt of the earth;but if the salt have lost his savor, wherewith shall it be salted?" And forthwith he declared: "As his spiritualadvisor I have entered only upon the spiritual, not the legal aspect of his life." And thereupon Waltham at oncedeciding, from something in McMillan's manner that he, like all others, apparently, was satisfied as to Clyde'sguilt. And so, finally finding courage to say to Mrs. Griffiths: "Unless some definite evidence such as I have notyet seen and which will affect the legality of these two findings can be brought me, I have no alternative, Mrs.
　　Griffiths, but to allow the verdict as written to stand. I am very sorry--oh, more than I can tell you. But if the lawis to be respected its decisions can never be altered except for reasons that in themselves are full of legal merit. Iwish I could decide differently. I do indeed. My heart and my prayers go with you."He pressed a button. His secretary entered. It was plain that the interview was ended. Mrs. Griffiths, violentlyshaken and deeply depressed by the peculiar silence and evasion of McMillan at the crucial moment of thisinterview when the Governor had asked such an all important and direct question as to the guilt of her son, wasstill unable to say a word more. But now what? Which way? To whom to turn? God, and God only. She andClyde must find in their Creator the solace for his failure and death in this world. And as she was thinking andstill weeping, the Reverend McMillan approached and gently led her from the room.
　　When she was gone the Governor finally turned to his secretary:
　　"Never in my life have I faced a sadder duty. It will always be with me." He turned and gazed out upon a snowyFebruary landscape.
　　And after this but two more weeks of life for Clyde, during which time, and because of his ultimate decisionconveyed to him first by McMillan, but in company with his mother, from whose face Clyde could read all, evenbefore McMillan spoke, and from whom he heard all once more as to his need of refuge and peace in God, hisSavior, he now walked up and down his cell, unable to rest for any length of time anywhere. For, because of thisfinal completely convincing sensation, that very soon he was to die, he felt the need, even now of retracing hisunhappy life. His youth. Kansas City. Chicago. Lycurgus. Roberta and Sondra. How swiftly they and all that wasconnected with them passed in review. The few, brief, bright intense moments. His desire for more--more--thatintense desire he had felt there in Lycurgus after Sondra came and now this, this! And now even this wasending--this--this--Why, he had scarcely lived at all as yet--and these last two years so miserably between thesecrushing walls. And of this life but fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight of the filtering and nowfeverish days left. They were going--going. But life--life--how was one to do without that--the beauty of thedays-- of the sun and rain--of work love, energy, desire. Oh, he really did not want to die. He did not. Why say tohim so constantly as his mother and the Reverend McMillan now did to resolve all his care in divine mercy andthink only of God, when now, now, was all? And yet the Reverend McMillan insisting that only in Christ and thehereafter was real peace. Oh, yes--but just the same, before the Governor might he not have said--might he not have said that he was not guilty--or at least not entirely guilty--if only he had seen it that way--that time--andthen--then--why then the Governor might have commuted his sentence to life imprisonment--might he not? Forhe had asked his mother what the Reverend McMillan had said to the Governor--(yet without saying to her thathe had ever confessed all to him), and she had replied that he had told him how sincerely he had humbled himselfbefore the Lord--but not that he was not guilty. And Clyde, feeling how strange it was that the ReverendMcMillan could not conscientiously bring himself to do more than that for him. How sad. How hopeless. Wouldno one ever understand--or give him credit for his human--if all too human and perhaps wrong hungers--yet fromwhich so many others--along with himself suffered?
　　But worse yet, if anything, Mrs. Griffiths, because of what the Reverend McMillan had said--or failed to say, inanswer to the final question asked by Governor Waltham--and although subsequently in answer to an inquiry ofher own, he had repeated the statement, she was staggered by the thought that perhaps, after all, Clyde was asguilty as at first she had feared. And because of that asking at one point:
　　"Clyde, if there is anything you have not confessed, you must confess it before you go.""I have confessed everything to God and to Mr. McMillan, Mother. Isn't that enough?""No, Clyde. You have told the world that you are innocent. But if you are not you must say so.""But if my conscience tells me that I am right, is not that enough?""No, not if God's word says differently, Clyde," replied Mrs. Griffiths nervously--and with great inward spiritualtorture. But he chose to say nothing further at that time. How could he discuss with his mother or the world thestrange shadings which in his confession and subsequent talks with the Reverend McMillan he had not been ableto solve. It was not to be done.
　　And because of that refusal on her son's part to confide in her, Mrs. Griffiths, tortured, not only spiritually butpersonally. Her own son--and so near death and not willing to say what already apparently he had said to Mr.
　　McMillan. Would not God ever be done with this testing her? And yet on account of what McMillan had alreadysaid,--that he considered Clyde, whatever his past sins, contrite and clean before the Lord--a youth truly ready tomeet his Maker--she was prone to rest. The Lord was great! He was merciful. In His bosom was peace. Whatwas death--what life--to one whose heart and mind were at peace with Him? It was nothing. A few years (howvery few) and she and Asa and after them, his brothers and sisters, would come to join him--and all his miserieshere would be forgotten. But without peace in the Lord--the full and beautiful realization of His presence, love,care and mercy. . . ! She was tremulous at moments now in her spiritual exaltation--no longer quite normal--asClyde could see and feel. But also by her prayers and anxiety as to his spiritual welfare, he was also able to seehow little, really, she had ever understood of his true moods and aspirations. He had longed for so much there inKansas City and he had had so little. Things--just things--had seemed very important to him--and he had soresented being taken out on the street as he had been, before all the other boys and girls, many of whom had allthe things that he so craved, and when he would have been glad to have been anywhere else in the world than outthere--on the street! That mission life that to his mother was so wonderful, yet, to him, so dreary! But was itwrong for him to feel so? Had it been? Would the Lord resent it now? And, maybe, she was right as to herthoughts about him. Unquestionably he would have been better off if he had followed her advice. But how strange it was, that to his own mother, and even now in these closing hours, when above all things he cravedsympathy--but more than sympathy, true and deep understanding--even now--and as much as she loved andsympathized with, and was seeking to aid him with all her strength in her stern and self-sacrificing way,--still hecould not turn to her now and tell her, his own mother, just how it all happened. It was as though there was anunsurmountable wall or impenetrable barrier between them, built by the lack of understanding--for it was justthat. She would never understand his craving for ease and luxury, for beauty, for love--his particular kind of lovethat went with show, pleasure, wealth, position, his eager and immutable aspirations and desires. She could notunderstand these things. She would look on all of it as sin--evil, selfishness. And in connection with all the fatalsteps involving Roberta and Sondra, as adultery--unchastity--murder, even. And she would and did expect him tobe terribly sorry and wholly repentant, when, even now, and for all he had said to the Reverend McMillan and toher, he could not feel so--not wholly so--although great was his desire now to take refuge in God, but better yet,if it were only possible, in her own understanding and sympathetic heart. If it were only possible.
　　Lord, it was all so terrible! He was so alone, even in these last few and elusive hours (the swift passing of thedays), with his mother and also the Reverend McMillan here with him, but neither understanding.
　　But, apart from all this and much worse, he was locked up here and they would not let him go. There was asystem--a horrible routine system--as long since he had come to feel it to be so. It was iron. It movedautomatically like a machine without the aid or the hearts of men. These guards! They with their letters, theirinquiries, their pleasant and yet really hollow words, their trips to do little favors, or to take the men in and out ofthe yard or to their baths--they were iron, too--mere machines, automatons, pushing and pushing and yetrestraining and restraining one--within these walls, as ready to kill as to favor in case of opposition-- but pushing,pushing, pushing--always toward that little door over there, from which there was no escape--no escape--just onand on-- until at last they would push him through it never to return! NEVER TO RETURN!
　　Each time he thought of this he arose and walked the floor. Afterwards, usually, he resumed the puzzle of hisown guilt. He tried to think of Roberta and the evil he had done her, to read the Bible--even--lying on his face onthe iron cot--repeating over and over: "Lord, give me peace. Lord, give me light. Lord, give me strength to resistany evil thoughts that I should not have. I know I am not wholly white. Oh, no. I know I plotted evil. Yes, yes, Iknow that. I confess. But must I really die now? Is there no help? Will you not help me, Lord? Will you notmanifest yourself, as my mother says you will--for me? Will you get the Governor to change my sentence beforethe final moment to life imprisonment? Will you get the Reverend McMillan to change his views and go to him,and my mother, too? I will drive out all sinful thoughts. I will be different. Oh, yes, I will, if you will only spareme. Do not let me die now--so soon. Do not. I will pray. Yes, I will. Give me the strength to understand andbelieve--and pray. Oh, do!"It was like this in those short, horrible days between the return of his mother and the Reverend McMillan fromtheir final visit to the Governor and in his last hour that Clyde thought and prayed--yet finally in a kind ofpsychic terror, evoked by his uncertainty as to the meaning of the hereafter, his certainty of death, and the faithand emotions of his mother, as well as those of the Reverend McMillan, who was about every day with hisinterpretations of divine mercy and his exhortations as to the necessity of complete faith and reliance upon it, he,himself coming at last to believe, not only must he have faith but that he had it--and peace--complete and secure.
　　In that state, and at the request of the Reverend McMillan, and his mother, finally composing, with the personalaid and supervision of McMillan, who changed some of the sentences in his presence and with his consent, an address to the world, and more particularly to young men of his own years, which read:
　　In the shadow of the Valley of Death it is my desire to do everything that would remove any doubt as to myhaving found Jesus Christ, the personal Savior and unfailing friend. My one regret at this time is that I have notgiven Him the preeminence in my life while I had the opportunity to work for Him.
　　If I could only say some one thing that would draw young men to Him I would deem it the greatest privilege evergranted me. But all I can now say is, "I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keepthat which I have committed unto Him against that day" [a quotation that McMillan had familiarized him with].
　　If the young men of this country could only know the joy and pleasure of a Christian life, I know they would doall in their power to become earnest, active Christians, and would strive to live as Christ would have them live.
　　There is not one thing I have left undone which will bar me from facing my God, knowing that my sins areforgiven, for I have been free and frank in my talks with my spiritual adviser, and God knows where I stand.
　　My task is done, the victory won.
　　CLYDE GRIFFITHS.
　　Having written this--a statement so unlike all the previous rebellious moods that had characterized him that evennow he was, not a little impressed by the difference, handing it to McMillan, who, heartened by this triumph,exclaimed: "And the victory IS won, Clyde. 'This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.' You have His word.
　　Your soul and your body belong to Him. Praised, everlastingly, be His name."And then so wrought up was he by this triumph, taking both Clyde's hands in his and kissing them and thenfolding him in his arms: "My son, my son, in whom I am well pleased. In you God has truly manifested Histruth. His power to save. I see it. I feel it. Your address to the world is really His own voice to the world." Andthen pocketing the note with the understanding that it was to be issued after Clyde's death--not before. And yetClyde having written this, still dubious at moments. Was he truly saved? The time was so short? Could he relyon God with that absolute security which he had just announced now characterized him? Could he? Life was sostrange. The future so obscure. Was there really a life after death--a God by whom he would be welcomed as theReverend McMillan and his own mother insisted? Was there?
　　In the midst of this, two days before his death and in a final burst of panic, Mrs. Griffiths wiring the Hon. DavidWaltham: "Can you say before your God that you have no doubt of Clyde's guilt? Please wire. If you cannot,then his blood will be upon your head. His mother." And Robert Fessler, the secretary to the Governor replyingby wire: "Governor Waltham does not think himself justified in interfering with the decision of the Court ofAppeals."At last the final day--the final hour--Clyde's transfer to a cell in the old death house, where, after a shave and abath, he was furnished with black trousers, a white shirt without a collar, to be opened at the neck afterwards,new felt slippers and gray socks. So accoutered, he was allowed once more to meet his mother and McMillan,who, from six o'clock in the evening preceding the morning of his death until four of the final morning, were permitted to remain near him to counsel with him as to the love and mercy of God. And then at four the wardenappearing to say that it was time, he feared, that Mrs. Griffiths depart leaving Clyde in the care of Mr. McMillan.
　　(The sad compulsion of the law, as he explained.) And then Clyde's final farewell to his mother, before which,and in between the silences and painful twistings of heart strings, he had managed to say:
　　"Mama, you must believe that I die resigned and content. It won't be hard. God has heard my prayers. He hasgiven me strength and peace." But to himself adding: "Had he?"And Mrs. Griffiths exclaiming: "My son! My son, I know, I know. I have faith too. I know that my Redeemerliveth and that He is yours. Though we die--yet shall we live!" She was looking heavenward, and seemedtransfixed. Yet as suddenly turning to Clyde and gathering him in her arms and holding him long and firmly toher, whispering: "My son--my baby--" And her voice broke and trailed off into breathlessness--and her strengthseemed to be going all to him, until she felt she must leave or fall--And so she turned quickly and unsteadily tothe warden, who was waiting for her to lead her to Auburn friends of McMillan's.
　　And then in the dark of this midwinter morning--the final moment--with the guards coming, first to slit his righttrouser leg for the metal plate and then going to draw the curtains before the cells: "It is time, I fear. Courage, myson." It was the Reverend McMillan--now accompanied by the Reverend Gibson, who, seeing the prison guardsapproaching, was then addressing Clyde.
　　And Clyde now getting up from his cot, on which, beside the Reverend McMillan, he had been listening to thereading of John, 14, 15, 16: "Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God--believe also in me." And thenthe final walk with the Reverend McMillan on his right hand and the Reverend Gibson on his left--the guardsfront and rear. But with, instead of the customary prayers, the Reverend McMillan announcing: "Humbleyourselves under the mighty hand of God that He may exalt you in due time. Cast all your care upon Him for Hecareth for you. Be at peace. Wise and righteous are His ways, who hath called us into His eternal glory by ChristJesus, after that we have suffered a little. I am the way, the truth and the life--no man cometh unto the Father butby me."But various voices--as Clyde entered the first door to cross to the chair room, calling: "Good-by, Clyde." AndClyde, with enough earthly thought and strength to reply: "Good-by, all." But his voice sounding so strange andweak, even to himself, so far distant as though it emanated from another being walking alongside of him, and notfrom himself. And his feet were walking, but automatically, it seemed. And he was conscious of that familiarshuffle--shuffle--as they pushed him on and on toward that door. Now it was here; now it was being opened.
　　There it was--at last--the chair he had so often seen in his dreams--that he so dreaded--to which he was nowcompelled to go. He was being pushed toward that--into that--on-- on--through the door which was now open--toreceive him--but which was as quickly closed again on all the earthly life he had ever known.
　　It was the Reverend McMillan, who, gray and weary--a quarter of an hour later, walked desolately--and even alittle uncertainly--as one who is physically very weak--through the cold doors of the prison. It was so faint--soweak--so gray as yet--this late winter day--and so like himself now. Dead! He, Clyde, had walked so nervouslyand yet somehow trustingly beside him but a few minutes before--and now he was dead. The law! Prisons such as this. Strong, evil men who scoffed betimes where Clyde had prayed. That confession! Had he decided truly-withthe wisdom of God, as God gave him to see wisdom? Had he? Clyde's eyes! He, himself--the ReverendMcMillan had all but fainted beside him as that cap was adjusted to his head--that current turned on--and he hadhad to be assisted, sick and trembling, from the room--he upon whom Clyde had relied. And he had asked Godfor strength,--was asking it.
　　He walked along the silent street--only to be compelled to pause and lean against a tree--leafless in the winter--sobare and bleak. Clyde's eyes! That look as he sank limply into that terrible chair, his eyes fixed nervously and, ashe thought, appealingly and dazedly upon him and the group surrounding him.
　　Had he done right? Had his decision before Governor Waltham been truly sound, fair or merciful? Should hehave said to him--that perhaps--perhaps--there had been those other influences playing upon him? . . . Was henever to have mental peace again, perhaps?
　　"I know my Redeemer liveth and that He will keep him against that day."And then he walked and walked hours before he could present himself to Clyde's mother, who, on her knees inthe home of the Rev. and Mrs. Francis Gault, Salvationists of Auburn, had been, since four-thirty, praying forthe soul of her son whom she still tried to visualize as in the arms of his Maker.
　　"I know in whom I have believed," was a part of her prayer.
　　SOUVENIRDusk, of a summer night.
　　And the tall walls of the commercial heart of the city of San Francisco--tall and gray in the evening shade.
　　And up a broad street from the south of Market--now comparatively hushed after the din of the day, a little bandof five--a man of about sixty, short, stout, yet cadaverous as to the flesh of his face--and more especially aboutthe pale, dim eyes--and with bushy white hair protruding from under a worn, round felt hat--a most unimportantand exhausted looking person, who carried a small, portable organ such as is customarily used by streetpreachers and singers. And by his side, a woman not more than five years his junior--taller, not so broad, butsolid of frame and vigorous--with snow white hair and wearing an unrelieved costume of black--dress, bonnet,shoes. And her face broader and more characterful than her husband's, but more definitely seamed with lines ofmisery and suffering. At her side, again, carrying a Bible and several hymn books--a boy of not more than sevenor eight--very round-eyed and alert, who, because of some sympathetic understanding between him and hiselderly companion, seemed to desire to walk close to her--a brisk and smart stepping--although none-too-welldressed boy. With these three, again, but walking independently behind, a faded and unattractive woman oftwenty-seven or eight and another woman of about fifty--apparently, because of their close resemblance, motherand daughter.
　　It was hot, with the sweet languor of a Pacific summer about it all. At Market, the great thoroughfare which theyhad reached--and because of threading throngs of automobiles and various lines of cars passing in oppositedirections, they awaited the signal of the traffic officer.
　　"Russell, stay close now." It was the wife speaking. "Better take hold of my hand.""It seems to me," commented the husband, very feeble and yet serene, "that the traffic here grows worse all thetime."The cars clanged their bells. The automobiles barked and snorted. But the little group seemed entirelyunconscious of anything save a set purpose to make its way across the street.
　　"Street preachers," observed a passing bank clerk to his cashier girl friend.
　　"Sure--I see them up here nearly every Wednesday.""Gee, it's pretty tough on the little kid, I should think. He's pretty small to be dragged around on the streets, don'tyou think, Ella?""Well, I'll say so. I'd hate to see a brother of mine in on any such game. What kind of a life is that for a kidanyhow?" commented Ella as they passed on.
　　Having crossed the street and reached the first intersection beyond, they paused and looked around as thoughthey had reached their destination--the man putting down his organ which he proceeded to open--setting up, ashe did so, a small but adequate music rack. At the same time his wife, taking from her grandson the severalhymnals and the Bible he carried, gave the Bible as well as a hymnal to her husband, put one on the organ andgave one to each of the remaining group including one for herself. The husband looked somewhat vacantly abouthim--yet, none-the-less with a seeming wide-eyed assurance, and began with:
　　"We will begin with 276 tonight. 'How firm a foundation.' All right, Miss Schoof."At this the younger of the two women--very parched and spare--angular and homely--to whom life had deniedquite all--seated herself upon the yellow camp chair and after arranging the stops and turning the leaves of thebook, began playing the chosen hymn, to the tune of which they all joined in.
　　By this time various homeward bound individuals of diverse occupations and interests noticing this small groupso advantageously disposed near the principal thoroughfare of the city, hesitated a moment,--either to eye themaskance or to ascertain the character of their work. And as they sang, the nondescript and indifferent streetaudience gazed, held by the peculiarity of such an unimportant group publicly raising its voice against the vastskepticism and apathy of life. That gray and flabby and ineffectual old man, in his worn and baggy blue suit.
　　This robust and yet uncouth and weary and white-haired woman; this fresh and unsoiled and unspoiled anduncomprehending boy. What was he doing here? And again that neglected and thin spinster and her equally thinand distrait looking mother. Of the group, the wife stood out in the eyes of the passers-by as having the force anddetermination which, however blind or erroneous, makes for self-preservation, if not real success in life. She, more than any of the others, stood up with an ignorant, yet somehow respectable air of conviction. And asseveral of the many who chanced to pause, watched her, her hymn-book dropped to her side, her glance directedstraight before her into space, each said on his way: "Well, here is one, who, whatever her defects, probably doeswhat she believes as nearly as possible." A kind of hard, fighting faith in the wisdom and mercy of the definiteoverruling and watchful and merciful power which she proclaimed was written in her every feature and gesture.
　　The song was followed with a long prayer and by the wife; then a sermon by the husband, testimonies by theothers--all that God had done for them. Then the return march to the hall, the hymnals having been gathered, theorgan folded and lifted by a strap over the husband's shoulder. And as they walked--it was the husband thatcommented: "A fine night. It seemed to me they were a little more attentive than usual.""Oh, yes," returned the younger woman that had played the organ. "At least eleven took tracts. And one oldgentleman asked me where the mission was and when we held services.""Praise the Lord," commented the man.
　　And then at last the mission itself--"The Star of Hope. Bethel Independent Mission, Meetings every Wednesdayand Saturday night, 8 to 10. Sundays at 11, 3, 8. Everybody welcome." And under this legend in eachwindow--"God is Love." And below th

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