The Glebe 1914/01 (Vol. 1, No. 4): Love of One's Neighbor
Part 2
TOURIST (ecstatically). Mary, pay attention to this! You have before you an ocular demonstration of the influence of the moon on living organisms. What a terrible tragedy to go out walking on a moonlit night and find suddenly that you have climbed to a place whence it is impossible to climb down or be taken down.
CORRESPONDENT (shouting). What feelings are you experiencing? I can't hear. Louder! Ah, so? Well, well! What a situation!
CROWD (interested). Listen, listen! Let's hear what his feelings are. How terrible!
CORRESPONDENT (writes in his note-book, tossing out detached remarks). Mortal terror numbs his limbs.--A cold shiver goes down his spinal column.--No hope.--Before his mental vision rises a picture of family bliss: Wife making sandwiches; his five children innocently lisping their love.--Grandma in the arm-chair with a tube to her ear, that is, grandpa in the arm-chair, with a tube to _his_ ear and grandma.--Deeply moved by the sympathy of the public.--His last wish before his death that the words he uttered with his last breath should be published in our newspapers--
MILITARY WOMAN (indignantly). My! He lies like a salesman.
MARY (wearily). Papa, children, look, he is starting to fall again.
TOURIST (angrily). Don't bother me. Such a tragedy is unfolding itself right before your very eyes--and you-- What are you making such big eyes for again?
CORRESPONDENT (shouting). Hold on fast. That's it! My last question: What message do you wish to leave for your fellow citizens before you depart for the better world?
UNKNOWN MAN. That they may all go to the devil.
CORRESPONDENT. What? Hm, yes-- (He writes quickly.) Ardent love--is a stanch opponent of the law granting equal rights to negroes. His last words: "Let the black niggers--"
PASTOR (out of breath, pushing through the crowd). Where is he? Ah, there! Poor young man. Has there been no clergyman here yet? No? Thank you. Am I the first?
CORRESPONDENT (writes). A touching dramatic moment.--A minister has arrived.--All are trembling on the verge of suspense. Many are shedding tears--
PASTOR. Excuse me, excuse me! Ladies and gentlemen, a lost soul wishes to make its peace with God-- (He shouts.) My son, don't you wish to make your peace with God? Confess your sins to me. I will grant you remission at once! What? I cannot hear?
CORRESPONDENT (writes). The air is shaken with the people's groans. The minister of the church exhorts the criminal, that is, the unfortunate man, in touching language.--The unfortunate creature with tears in his eyes thanks him in a faint voice--
UNKNOWN MAN (faintly). If you won't go away I will jump on your head. I weigh three hundred pounds. (All jump away frightened behind each other.)
VOICES. He is falling! He is falling!
TOURIST (agitatingly). Mary, Aleck, Jimmie.
POLICEMAN (energetically). Clear the place, please! Move on!
LADY. Nellie, go quick and tell your father he is falling.
PHOTOGRAPHER (in despair). Oh my, I am out of films (tosses madly about, looking pitifully at the unknown man). One minute, I'll go and get them. I have some in my overcoat pocket over there. (He walks a short distance, keeping his eyes fixed on the unknown man, and then returns.) I can't, I am afraid I'll miss it. Good heavens! They are over there in my overcoat. Just one minute, please. I'll fetch them right away. What a fix.
PASTOR. Hurry, my friend. Pull yourself together and try to hold out long enough to tell me at least your principal sins. You needn't mention the lesser ones.
TOURIST. What a tragedy?
CORRESPONDENT (writes). The criminal, that is, the unhappy man, makes a public confession and does penance. Terrible secrets revealed. He is a bank robber--blew up safes.
TOURIST (credulously). The scoundrel.
PASTOR (shouts). In the first place, have you killed? Secondly, have you stolen? Thirdly, have you committed adultery?
TOURIST. Mary, Jimmie, Katie, Aleck, Charlie, close your ears.
CORRESPONDENT (writing). Tremendous excitement in the crowd.--Shouts of indignation.
PASTOR (hurriedly). Fourthly, have you blasphemed? Fifthly, have you coveted your neighbor's ass, his ox, his slave, his wife? Sixthly--
PHOTOGRAPHER (alarmed). Ladies and gentlemen, an ass!
SECOND PHOTOGRAPHER. Where? I can't see it!
PHOTOGRAPHER (calmed). I thought I heard it.
PASTOR. I congratulate you, my son! I congratulate you! You have made your peace with God. Now you may rest easy--Oh, God, what do I see? The Salvation Army! Policeman, chase them away!
(Enter a Salvation Army band, men and women in uniforms. There are only three instruments, a drum, a violin and a piercingly shrill trumpet.)
SALVATION ARMY MAN (frantically beating his drum and shouting in a nasal voice). Brethren and sisters--
PASTOR (shouting even louder in a still more nasal voice in an effort to drown the other's). He has already confessed. Bear witness, ladies and gentlemen, that he has confessed and made his peace with heaven.
SALVATION ARMY WOMAN (climbing on a rock and shrieking). I once wandered in the dark just as this sinner and I lived a bad life and was a drunkard, but when the light of truth--
A VOICE. Why, she is drunk now.
PASTOR. Policeman, didn't he confess and make his peace with heaven?
(The Salvation Army man continues to beat his drum frantically; the rest begin to drawl a song. Shouts, laughter, whistling. Singing in the café, and calls of "Waiter!" in all languages. The bewildered policemen tear themselves away from the pastor, who is pulling them somewhere; the photographers turn and twist about as if the seats were burning under them. An English lady comes riding in on a donkey, who, stopping suddenly, sprawls out his legs and refuses to go farther, adding his noise to the rest. Gradually the noise subsides. The Salvation Army band solemnly withdraws, and the pastor, waving his hands, follows them.)
FIRST ENGLISH TOURIST (to the other). How impolite! This crowd doesn't know how to behave itself.
SECOND ENGLISH TOURIST. Come, let's go away from here.
FIRST ENGLISH TOURIST. One minute. (He shouts.) Listen, won't you hurry up and fall?
SECOND ENGLISH TOURIST. What are you saying, Sir William?
FIRST ENGLISH TOURIST (shouting). Don't you see that's what they are waiting for? As a gentleman you should grant them this pleasure and so escape the humiliation of undergoing tortures before this mob.
SECOND ENGLISH TOURIST. Sir William.
TOURIST (ecstatically). See? It's true. Aleck, Jimmie, it's true. What a tragedy!
SEVERAL TOURISTS (going for the Englishman). How dare you?
FIRST ENGLISH TOURIST (shoving them aside). Hurry up and fall! Do you hear? If you haven't the backbone I'll help you out with a pistol shot.
VOICES. That red-haired devil has gone clear out of his mind.
POLICEMAN (seizing the Englishman's hand). You have no right to do it, it's against the law. I'll arrest you.
SOME TOURISTS. A barbarous nation!
(The unknown man shouts something. Excitement below.)
VOICES. Hear, hear, hear!
UNKNOWN MAN (aloud). Take that jackass away to the devil. He wants to shoot me. And tell the boss that I can't stand it any longer.
VOICES. What's that? What boss? He is losing his mind, the poor man.
TOURIST. Aleck! Mary! This is a mad scene. Jimmie, you remember Hamlet? Quick.
UNKNOWN MAN (angrily). Tell him my spinal column is broken.
MARY (wearily). Papa, children, he's beginning to kick with his legs.
KATE. Is that what is called convulsions, papa?
TOURIST (rapturously). I don't know. I think it is. What a tragedy?
ALECK (glumly). You fool! You keep cramming and cramming and you don't know that the right name for that is agony. And you wear eye-glasses, too. I can't bear it any longer, papa.
TOURIST. Think of it, children. A man is about to fall down to his death and he is bothering about his spinal column.
(There is a noise. A man in a white vest, very much frightened, enters, almost dragged by angry tourists. He smiles, bows on all sides, stretches out his arms, now running forward as he is pushed, now trying to escape in the crowd, but is seized and pulled again.)
VOICES. A bare-faced deception! It is an outrage. Policeman, policeman, he must be taught a lesson!
OTHER VOICES. What is it? What deception? What is it all about? They have caught a thief!
THE MAN IN THE WHITE VEST (bowing and smiling). It's a joke, ladies and gentlemen, a joke, that's all. The people were bored, so I wanted to provide a little amusement for them.
UNKNOWN MAN (angrily). Boss!
THE MAN IN THE WHITE VEST. Wait a while, wait a while.
UNKNOWN MAN. Do you expect me to stay here until the Second Advent? The agreement was till twelve o'clock. What time is it now?
TALL TOURIST (indignantly). Do you hear, ladies and gentlemen? This scoundrel, this man here in the white vest hired that other scoundrel up there and just simply tied him to the rock.
VOICES. Is he tied?
TALL TOURIST. Yes, he is tied and he can't fall. We are excited and worrying, but he couldn't fall even if he tried.
UNKNOWN MAN. What else do you want? Do you think I am going to break my neck for your measly ten dollars? Boss, I can't stand it any more. One man wanted to shoot me. The pastor preached me for two hours. This is not in the agreement.
ALECK. Father, I told you that Baedecker lies. You believe everything anybody tells you and drag us about without eating.
MAN IN THE WHITE VEST. The people were bored. My only desire was to amuse the people.
MILITARY WOMAN. What is the matter? I don't understand a thing. Why isn't he going to fall? Who, then, is going to fall?
TOURIST. I don't understand a thing either. Of course he's got to fall!
JAMES. You never understand anything, father. Weren't you told that he's tied to the rock?
ALECK. You can't convince him. He loves every Baedecker more than his own children.
JAMES. A nice father!
TOURIST. Silence!
MILITARY WOMAN. What is the matter? He must fall.
TALL TOURIST. The idea! What a deception. You'll have to explain this.
MAN IN THE WHITE VEST. The people were bored. Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but wishing to accommodate you--give you a few hours of pleasant excitement--elevate your spirits--inspire you with altruistic sentiments--
ENGLISHMAN. Is the café yours?
MAN IN THE WHITE VEST. Yes.
ENGLISHMAN. And is the hotel below also yours?
GENTLEMAN. Yes. The people were bored--
CORRESPONDENT (writing). The proprietor of the café, desiring to increase his profits from the sale of alcoholic beverages, exploits the best human sentiments.--The people's indignation--
UNKNOWN MAN (angrily). Boss, will you have me taken off at once or won't you?
HOTEL KEEPER. What do you want up there? Aren't you satisfied? Didn't I have you taken off at night?
UNKNOWN MAN. Well, I should say so. You think I'd be hanging here nights, too!
HOTEL OWNER. Then you can stand it a few minutes longer. The people are bored--
TALL TOURIST. Say, have you any idea of what you have done? Do you realize the enormity of it? You are scoundrels, who for your own sordid personal ends have impiously exploited the finest human sentiment, love of one's neighbor. You have caused us to undergo fear and suffering. You have poisoned our hearts with pity. And now, what is the upshot of it all? The upshot is that this scamp, your vile accomplice, is bound to the rock and not only will he not fall as everybody expects, but he _can't_.
MILITARY WOMAN. What is the matter? He has got to fall.
TOURIST. Policeman! Policeman!
(The pastor enters, out of breath.)
PASTOR. What? Is he still living? Oh, there he is! What fakirs those Salvationists are.
VOICES. Don't you know that he is bound?
PASTOR. Bound! Bound to what? To life? Well, we are all bound to life until death snaps the cord. But whether he is bound or not bound, I reconciled him with heaven, and that's enough. But those fakirs--
TOURIST. Policeman! Policeman, you must draw up an official report. There is no way out of it.
MILITARY WOMAN (going for the hotel owner). I will not allow myself to be fooled. I saw an aeronaut drop from the clouds and go crash upon a roof. I saw a tiger tear a woman to pieces--
PHOTOGRAPHER. I spoiled three films photographing that scamp. You will have to answer for this, sir. I will hold you responsible.
TOURIST. An official report! An official report! Such a bare-faced deception. Mary, Jimmie, Aleck, Charlie, call a policeman.
HOTEL KEEPER (drawing back, in despair). But, I can't make him fall if he doesn't want to. I did everything in my power, ladies and gentlemen!
MILITARY WOMAN. I will not allow it.
HOTEL KEEPER. Excuse me. I promise you on my word of honor that the next time he will fall. But he doesn't want to, to-day.
UNKNOWN MAN. What's that? What did you say about the next time?
HOTEL KEEPER. You shut up there!
UNKNOWN MAN. For ten dollars?
PASTOR. Pray, what impudence! I just made his peace with heaven when he was in danger of his life. You have heard him threatening to fall on my head, haven't you? And still he is dissatisfied. Adulterer, thief, murderer, coveter of your neighbor's ass--
PHOTOGRAPHER. Ladies and gentlemen, an ass!
SECOND PHOTOGRAPHER. Where, where is an ass?
PHOTOGRAPHER (calmed). I thought I heard one.
SECOND PHOTOGRAPHER. It is you who are an ass. I have become cross-eyed on account of your shouting: "An ass! An ass!"
MARY (wearily). Papa, children, look! A policeman is coming.
(Excitement and noise. On one side a crowd pulling a policeman, on the other the hotel keeper; both keep crying: "Excuse me! Excuse me!")
TOURIST. Policeman, there he is, the fakir, the swindler.
PASTOR. Policeman, there he is, the adulterer, the murderer, the coveter of his neighbor's ass--
POLICEMAN. Excuse me, excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. We will bring him to his senses in short order and make him confess.
HOTEL KEEPER. I can't make him fall if he doesn't want to.
POLICEMAN. Hey, you, young man out there! Can you fall or can't you? Confess!
UNKNOWN MAN (sullenly). I don't want to fall!
VOICES. Aha, he has confessed. What a scoundrel!
TALL TOURIST. Write down what I dictate, policeman-- "Desiring--for the sake of gain to exploit the sentiment of love of one's neighbor--the sacred feeling--a-a-a--"
TOURIST. Listen children, they are drawing up an official report. What exquisite choice of language!
TALL TOURIST. The sacred feeling which--
POLICEMAN (writing with painful effort, his tongue stuck out). Love of one's neighbor--the sacred feeling which--
MARY (wearily). Papa, children, look! An advertisement is coming.
(Enter musicians with trumpets and drums, a man at their head carrying on a long pole a huge placard with the picture of an absolutely bald head, and printed underneath: "I was bald.")
UNKNOWN MAN. Too late. They are drawing up a report here. You had better skidoo!
THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE (stopping and speaking in a loud voice). I had been bald from the day of my birth and for a long time thereafter. That miserable growth, which in my tenth year covered my scalp was more like wool than real hair. When I was married my skull was as bare as a pillow and my young bride--
TOURIST. What a tragedy! Newly married and with such a head! Can you realize how dreadful that is, children?
(All listen with interest, even the policeman stopping in his arduous task and inclining his ear with his pen in his hand.)
THE MAN CARRYING THE POLE (solemnly). And the time came when my matrimonial happiness literally hung by a hair. All the medicines recommended by quacks to make my hair grow--
TOURIST. Your note-book, Jimmie.
MILITARY WOMAN. But when is he going to fall?
HOTEL KEEPER (amiably). The next time, lady, the next time. I won't tie him so hard--you understand?
(Curtain.)
POETRY
A MAGAZINE OF VERSE
Edited by Harriet Monroe, 543 Cass St., Chicago, Ill.
POETRY, at the end of its first year, is no longer an experiment but an assured artistic success, a publication whose importance is authoritatively recognized, not only in this country, but in Great Britain and France as well. The field it has opened up is full of brilliant possibilities, encouraging the editors to hope for the enthusiastic support of a discriminating public.
POETRY endeavors to present the best verse now being written in English, quality alone being the test of acceptance.
POETRY is an effort to create an organ for the art. While the ordinary magazines must minister to a large public little interested in poetry, this magazine appeals to and will develop a public primarily interested in poetry as an art, potentially the highest, most complete human expression of truth and beauty. Thus it offers to poets a chance to be heard by their own audience, in their own place, without the limitations imposed by the popular magazines. And to lovers of poetry it offers each month a sheaf of new verse in delicate form uninterrupted by prose articles demanding a different mood.
If You Love Good Poetry, Subscribe--
POETRY 543 Cass Street, Chicago.
Send POETRY for one year ($1.50 enclosed) beginning
................................ to
Name ..............................
Address ...........................
THE INTERCOLLEGIATE SOCIALIST
Thought-Compelling, Admirably Written Quarterly of Socialism and the Socialist Movement
Among the year's contributors are:
Karl Kautsky, Jean Longuet, Keir Hardie, Morris Hillquit, Alexander Irvine, Helen L. Sumner, Sidney and Beatrice Webb, Prof. Vida D. Scudder, Upton Sinclair, William English Walling, Charles Zueblin, Ernest Poole, Howard Brubaker, Albert Edwards, Jessie W. Hughan, Caro Lloyd.
READ ITS REVIEW OF BOOKS!
SUBSCRIPTION, 25c. SINGLE COPY, 10c. 15 COPIES, $1.00.
INTERCOLLEGIATE SOCIALIST SOCIETY 105 WEST 40TH STREET - - NEW YORK CITY
THE INTERNATIONAL
A magazine for matured minds.
A magazine for those who dare to think.
A magazine for all true cosmopolites.
A magazine with a courage so fearless that it publishes the best.
Brieux, Schnitzler, Strindberg are only a few of the advanced thinkers who have appeared in the pages of THE INTERNATIONAL.
We have been in the vanguard of intellectual freedom.
We shall always be far ahead of our times.
You may glimpse the future by reading THE INTERNATIONAL.
George Sylvester Viereck, Editor. Leonard D. Abbott, Richard Le Gallienne, Associate Editors.
15 CENTS A COPY. $1.50 A YEAR.
MOODS PUBLISHING COMPANY 29 WEST 42ND STREET - - NEW YORK CITY
The February issue of THE GLEBE will present "Des Imagistes," an Anthology of the Imagistes, including Richard Aldington, Ford Madox Hueffer, Ezra Pound, and others.
Subscription price per year, $3.00
Transcriber's Notes
The original spelling was mostly preserved. A few obvious typographical errors were silently corrected. All other changes are listed here (before/after):
[p. 15]: ... is no nice and pleasant, and he has to fall. What a ... ... is so nice and pleasant, and he has to fall. What a ...