THE SECOND MAN.
... damn ...!
THE FIRST MAN.
... _damn_ ...!
_VII.--FROM THE MEMOIRS OF THE DEVIL_
_VII.--From the Memoirs of the Devil_
January 6.
And yet, and yet--is not all this contumely a part of my punishment? To
be reviled by the righteous as the author of all evil; worse still, to
be venerated by the wicked as the accomplice, nay, the instigator, of
their sins! A harsh, hard fate! But should I not rejoice that I have
been vouchsafed the strength to bear it, that the ultimate mercy is
mine? Should I not be full of calm, deep delight that I am blessed with
the resignation of the Psalmist (II Samuel XV, 26), the sublime grace of
the pious Hezekiah (II Kings XX, 19)? If Hezekiah could bear the cruel
visitation of his erring upon his sons, why should I, poor worm that I
am, repine?
January 8.
All afternoon I watched the damned filing in. With what horror that
spectacle must fill every right-thinking man! Sometimes I think that
the worst of all penalties of sin is this: that the sinful actually seem
to be glad of their sins (Psalms X, 4). I looked long and earnestly into
that endless procession of faces. In not one of them did I see any sign
of sorrow or repentance. They marched in defiantly, almost proudly. Ever
and anon I heard a snicker, sometimes a downright laugh: there was a
coarse buffoonery in the ranks. I turned aside at last, unable to bear
it longer. Here they will learn what their laughter is worth! (Eccl. II,
2.)
Among them I marked a female, young and fair. How true the words of
Solomon: "Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain!" (Proverbs XXXI, 30.)
I could not bring myself to put down upon these pages the whole record
of that wicked creature's shameless life. Truly it has been said that
"the lips of a strange woman drop as a honeycomb, and her mouth is
smoother than oil." (Proverbs V, 3.) One hears of such careers of
evil-doing and can scarcely credit them. Can it be that the children of
men are so deaf to all the warnings given them, so blind to the vast
certainty of their punishment, so ardent in seeking temptation, so
lacking in holy fire to resist it? Such thoughts fill me with the
utmost distress. Is not the command to a moral life plain enough? Are we
not told to "live soberly, righteously, and godly?" (Titus II, 11.) Are
we not solemnly warned to avoid the invitation of evil? (Proverbs I,
10.)
January 9.
I have had that strange woman before me and heard her miserable story.
It is as I thought. The child of a poor but pious mother, (a widow with
six children), she had every advantage of a virtuous, consecrated home.
The mother, earning $6 a week, gave 25 cents of it to foreign missions.
The daughter, at the tender age of 4, was already a regular attendant at
Sabbath-school. The good people of the church took a Christian interest
in the family, and one of them, a gentleman of considerable wealth, and
an earnest, diligent worker for righteousness, made it his special care
to befriend the girl. He took her into his office, treating her almost
as one of his own daughters. She served him in the capacity of
stenographer, receiving therefor the wage of $7.00 a week, a godsend to
that lowly household. How truly, indeed, it has been said: "Verily,
there is a reward for the righteous." (Psalms LVIII, 11.)
And now behold how powerful are the snares of evil. (Genesis VI, 12.)
There was that devout and saintly man, ripe in good works, a deacon and
pillar in the church, a steadfast friend to the needy and erring, a
stalwart supporter of his pastor in all forward-looking enterprises, a
tower of strength for righteousness in his community, the father of four
daughters. And there was that shameless creature, that evil woman, that
sinister temptress. With the noisome details I do not concern myself.
Suffice it to say that the vile arts of the hussy prevailed over that
noble and upright man--that she enticed him, by adroit appeals to his
sympathy, into taking her upon automobile rides, into dining with her
clandestinely in the private rooms of dubious hotels, and finally into
accompanying her upon a despicable, adulterous visit to Atlantic City.
And then, seeking to throw upon him the blame for what she chose to call
her "wrong," she held him up to public disgrace and worked her own
inexorable damnation by taking her miserable life. Well hath the
Preacher warned us against the woman whose "heart is snares and nets,
and her hands as bands." (Eccl. VII, 26.) Well do we know the wreck and
ruin that such agents of destruction can work upon the innocent and
trusting. (Revelations XXI, 8; I Corinthians VI, 18; Job XXXI, 12; Hosea
IV, 11: Proverbs VI, 26.)
January 11.
We have resumed our evening services--an hour of quiet communion in the
failing light. The attendance, alas, is not as gratifying as it might
be, but the brethren who gather are filled with holy zeal. It is
inspiring to hear their eloquent confessions of guilt and wrongdoing,
their trembling protestations of contrition. Several of them are of long
experience and considerable proficiency in public speaking. One was
formerly a major in the Salvation Army. Another spent twenty years in
the Dunkard ministry, finally retiring to devote himself to lecturing on
the New Thought. A third was a Y. M. C. A. secretary in Iowa. A fourth
was the first man to lift his voice for sex hygiene west of the
Mississippi river.
All these men eventually succumbed to temptation, and hence they are
here, but I think that no one who has ever glimpsed their secret and
inmost souls (as I have during our hours of humble heart-searching
together) will fail to testify to their inherent purity of character.
After all, it is not what we do but what we have in our hearts that
reveals our true worth. (Joshua XXIV, 14.) As David so beautifully puts
it, it is "the imagination of the thoughts." (I Chronicles XXIII, 9.) I
love and trust these brethren. They are true and earnest Christians.
They loathe the temptation to which they succumbed, and deplore the
weakness that made them yield. How the memory at once turns to that
lovely passage in the Book of Job: "Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent
in dust and ashes." Where is there a more exquisite thought in all Holy
Writ?
January 14.
I have had that scarlet woman before me, and invited her to join us in
our inspiring evening gatherings. For reply she mocked me. Thus Paul was
mocked by the Athenians. Thus the children of Bethel mocked Elisha the
Prophet (II Kings II, 23). Thus the sinful show their contempt, not only
for righteousness itself, but also for its humblest agents and
advocates. Nevertheless, I held my temper before her. I indulged in no
vain and worldly recriminations. When she launched into her profane and
disgraceful tirade against that good and faithful brother, her
benefactor and victim, I held my peace. When she accused him of foully
destroying her, I returned her no harsh words. Instead, I merely read
aloud to her those inspiring words from Revelation XIV, 10: "And the
evil-doer shall be tormented with fire and brimstone in the presence of
the holy angels." And then I smiled upon her and bade her begone. Who am
I, that I should hold myself above the most miserable of sinners?
January 18.
Again that immoral woman. I had sent her a few Presbyterian tracts: "The
Way to Redemption," "The Story of a Missionary in Polynesia," "The White
Slave,"--inspiring and consecrated writings, all of them--comforting to
me in many a bitter hour. When she came in I thought it was to ask me to
pray with her. (II Chronicles VII, 14.) But her heart, it appears, is
still shut to the words of salvation. She renewed her unseemly
denunciation of her benefactor, and sought to overcome me with her
weeping. I found myself strangely drawn toward her--almost pitying her.
She approached me, her eyes suffused with tears, her red lips parted,
her hair flowing about her shoulders. I felt myself drawn to her. I
knew and understood the temptation of that great and good man. But by a
powerful effort of the will--or, should I say, by a sudden access of
grace?--I recovered and pushed her from me. And then, closing my eyes to
shut out the image of her, I pronounced those solemn and awful words:
"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord!" The effect was immediate: she
emitted a moan and departed. I had resisted her abhorrent blandishments.
(Proverbs I, 10.)
January 25.
I love the Book of Job. Where else in the Scriptures is there a more
striking picture of the fate that overtakes those who yield to sin?
"They meet with darkness in the day-time, and grope in the noon-day as
in the night" (Job V, 14). And further on: "They grope in the dark
without light, and he maketh them to stagger like a drunken man" (Job
XII, 25). I read these beautiful passages over and over again. They
comfort me.
January 28.
That shameless person once more. She sends back the tracts I gave
her--torn in halves.
February 3.
That American brother, the former Dunkard, thrilled us with his
eloquence at to-night's meeting. In all my days I have heard no more
affecting plea for right living. In words that almost seemed to be of
fire he set forth the duty of all of us to combat sin wherever we find
it, and to scourge the sinner until he foregoes his folly.
"It is not sufficient," he said, "that we keep our own hearts pure: we
must also purge the heart of our brother. And if he resist us, let no
false sympathy for him stay our hands. We are charged with the care and
oversight of his soul. He is in our keeping. Let us seek at first to
save him with gentleness, but if he draws back, let us unsheath the
sword! We must be deaf to his protests. We must not be deceived by his
casuistries. If he clings to his sinning, he must perish."
Cries of "Amen!" arose spontaneously from the little band of consecrated
workers. I have never heard a more triumphant call to that Service which
is the very heart's blood of righteousness. Who could listen to it, and
then stay his hand?
I looked for that scarlet creature. She was not there.
February 7.
I have seen her again. She came, I thought, in all humility. I received
her gently, quoting aloud the beautiful words of Paul in Colossians III,
12: "Put on therefore, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness,
humbleness of mind, meekness, long-suffering." And then I addressed her
in calm, encouraging tones: "Are you ready, woman, to put away your
evil-doing, and forswear your carnalities forevermore? Have you repented
of your black and terrible sin? Do you ask for mercy? Have you come in
sackcloth and ashes?"
The effect, alas, was not what I planned. Instead of yielding to my
entreaty and casting herself down for forgiveness, she yielded to her
pride and mocked me! And then, her heart still full of the evils of the
flesh, _she tried to tempt me_! She approached me. She lifted up her
face to mine. She smiled at me with abominable suggestiveness. She
touched me with her garment. She laid her hand upon my arm.... I felt my
resolution going from me. I was as one stricken with the palsy. My
tongue clave to the roof of my mouth. My hands trembled. I tried to push
her from me and could not....
February 10.
In all humility of spirit I set it down. The words burn the paper; the
fact haunts me like an evil dream. I yielded to that soulless and
abominable creature. I _kissed her_.... And then she laughed, making a
mock of me in my weakness, burning me with the hot iron of her scorn,
piercing my heart with the daggers of her reviling. Laughed, and slapped
my face! Laughed, and spat in my eye! Laughed, _and called me a
hypocrite_!...
They have taken her away. _Let her taste the fire!_ Let her sin receive
its meet and inexorable punishment! Let righteousness prevail! Let her
go with "the fearful and unbelieving, the abominable and murderers, the
white-slave traders and sorcerers." Off with her to that lake "which
burneth with fire and brimstone!" (Revelation XXI, 8.)....
Go, Jezebel! Go, Athaliah! Go, Painted One! Thy sins have found thee
out.
February 11.
I spoke myself at to-night's meeting--simple words, but I think their
message was not lost. We must wage forever the good fight. We must rout
the army of sin from its fortresses....
_VIII.--LITANIES FOR THE OVERLOOKED_
_VIII.--Litanies for the Overlooked_
_I.--For Americanos_
From scented hotel soap, and from the Boy Scouts; from home cooking, and
from pianos with mandolin attachments; from prohibition, and from Odd
Fellows' funerals; from Key West cigars, and from cold dinner plates;
from transcendentalism, and from the New Freedom; from fat women in
straight-front corsets, and from Philadelphia cream cheese; from _The
Star-Spangled Banner_, and from the International Sunday-school Lessons;
from rubber heels, and from the college spirit; from sulphate of
quinine, and from Boston baked beans; from chivalry, and from
laparotomy; from the dithyrambs of Herbert Kaufman, and from sport in
all its hideous forms; from women with pointed fingernails, and from men
with messianic delusions; from the retailers of smutty anecdotes about
the Jews, and from the Lake Mohonk Conference; from Congressmen, vice
crusaders, and the heresies of Henry Van Dyke; from jokes in the
_Ladies' Home Journal_, and from the Revised Statutes of the United
States; from Colonial Dames, and from men who boast that they take cold
shower-baths every morning; from the Drama League, and from malicious
animal magnetism; from ham and eggs, and from the _Weltanschauung_ of
Kansas; from the theory that a dark cigar is always a strong one, and
from the theory that a horse-hair put into a bottle of water will turn
into a snake; from campaigns against profanity, and from the Pentateuch;
from anti-vivisection, and from women who do not smoke; from
wine-openers, and from Methodists; from Armageddon, and from the belief
that a bloodhound never makes a mistake; from sarcerdotal
moving-pictures, and from virtuous chorus girls; from bungalows, and
from cornets in B flat; from canned soups, and from women who leave
everything to one's honor; from detachable cuffs, and from _Lohengrin_;
from unwilling motherhood, and from canary birds--good Lord, deliver us!
_II.--For Hypochondriacs_
From adenoids, and from chronic desquamative nephritis; from Shiga's
_bacillus_, and from hysterotrachelorrhaphy; from mitral insufficiency,
and from Cheyne-Stokes breathing; from the _streptococcus pyogenes_, and
from splanchnoptosis; from warts, wens, and the _spirochæte pallida_;
from exophthalmic goitre, and from septicopyemia; from poisoning by
sewer-gas, and from the _bacillus coli communis_; from anthrax, and from
von Recklinghausen's disease; from recurrent paralysis of the laryngeal
nerve, and from pityriasis versicolor; from mania-à-potu, and from
nephrorrhaphy; from the _leptothrix_, and from colds in the head; from
tape-worms, from jiggers and from scurvy; from endocarditis, and from
Romberg's masticatory spasm; from hypertrophic stenosis of the pylorus,
and from fits; from the _bacillus botulinus_, and from salaam
convulsions; from cerebral monoplegia, and from morphinism; from
anaphylaxis, and from neuralgia in the eyeball; from dropsy, and from
dum-dum fever; from autumnal catarrh, from coryza vasomotoria, from
idiosyncratic coryza, from pollen catarrh, from rhinitis sympathetica,
from rose cold, from _catarrhus æstivus_, from periodic hyperesthetic
rhinitis, from _heuasthma_, from _catarrhe d' été_ and from
hay-fever--good Lord, deliver us!
_III.--For Music Lovers_
From all piano-players save Paderewski, Godowski and Mark Hambourg; and
from the _William Tell_ and _1812_ overtures; and from bad imitations of
Victor Herbert by Victor Herbert; and from persons who express
astonishment that Dr. Karl Muck, being a German, is devoid of all bulge,
corporation, paunch or leap-tick; and from the saxophone, the piccolo,
the cornet and the bagpipes; and from the theory that America has no
folk-music; and from all symphonic poems by English composers; and from
the tall, willing, horse-chested, ham-handed, quasi-gifted ladies who
stagger to their legs in gloomy drawing rooms after bad dinners and
poison the air with Tosti's _Good-bye_; and from the low prehensile,
godless laryngologists who prostitute their art to the saving of tenors
who are happily threatened with loss of voice; and from clarinet
cadenzas more than two inches in length; and from the first two acts of
_Il Trovatore_; and from such fluffy, xanthous whiskers as Lohengrins
wear; and from sentimental old maids who sink into senility lamenting
that Brahms never wrote an opera; and from programme music, with or
without notes; and from Swiss bell-ringers, Vincent D'Indy, the Paris
Opera, and Elgar's _Salut d'Amour_; and from the doctrine that Massenet
was a greater composer than Dvorák; and from Italian bands and
_Schnellpostdoppelschraubendampfer_ orchestras; and from Raff's
_Cavatina_ and all of Tschaikowsky except ten per centum; and from prima
donna conductors who change their programmes without notice, and so get
all the musical critics into a sweat; and from the abandoned hussies who
sue tenors for breach of promise; and from all alleged musicians who do
not shrivel to the size of five-cent cigars whenever they think of old
Josef Haydn--good Lord, deliver us!
_IV.--For Hangmen_
From clients who delay the exercises by pausing to make long and
irrelevant speeches from the scaffold, or to sing depressing Methodist
hymns; and from medical examiners who forget their stethoscopes, and
clamor for waits while messenger boys are sent for them; and from
official witnesses who faint at the last minute, and have to be hauled
out by the deputy sheriffs; and from undertakers who keep looking at
their watches and hinting obscenely that they have other engagements at
10:30; and from spiritual advisers who crowd up at the last minute and
fall through the trap with the condemned--good Lord, deliver us!
_V.--For Magazine Editors_
From Old Subscribers who write in to say that the current number is the
worst magazine printed since the days of the New York _Galaxy_; and from
elderly poetesses who have read all the popular text-books of sex
hygiene, and believe all the bosh in them about the white slave trade,
and so suspect the editor, and even the publisher, of sinister designs;
and from stories in which a rising young district attorney gets the dead
wood upon a burly political boss named Terrence O'Flaherty, and then
falls in love with Mignon, his daughter, and has to let him go; and from
stories in which a married lady, just about to sail for Capri with her
husband's old _Corpsbruder_, is dissuaded from her purpose by the news
that her husband has lost $700,000 in Wall Street and is on his way home
to weep on her shoulder; and from one-act plays in which young Cornelius
Van Suydam comes home from The Club at 11:55 P. M. on Christmas Eve,
dismisses Dodson, his Man, with the compliments of the season, and draws
up his chair before the open fire to dream of his girl, thus preparing
the way for the entrance of Maxwell, the starving burglar, and for the
scene in which Maxwell's little daughter, Fifi, following him up the
fire-escape, pleads with him to give up his evil courses; and from poems
about war in which it is argued that thousands of young men are always
killed, and that their mothers regret to hear of it; and from essays of
a sweet and whimsical character, in which the author refers to himself
as "we," and ends by quoting Bergson, Washington Irving or Agnes
Repplier; and from epigrams based on puns, good or bad; and from stories
beginning, "It was the autumn of the year 1950"; and from stories
embodying quotations from Omar Khayyam, and full of a mellow pessimism;
and from stories in which the gay nocturnal life of the Latin Quarter is
described by an author living in Dubuque, Iowa; and from stories of
thought transference, mental healing and haunted houses; and from
newspaper stories in which a cub reporter solves the mystery of the
Snodgrass murder and is promoted to dramatic critic on the field, or in
which a city editor who smokes a corn-cob pipe falls in love with a
sob-sister; and from stories about trained nurses, young dramatists,
baseball players, heroic locomotive engineers, settlement workers,
clergymen, yeggmen, cowboys, Italians, employés of the Hudson Bay
Company and great detectives; and from stories in which the dissolute
son of a department store owner tries to seduce a working girl in his
father's employ and then goes on the water wagon and marries her as a
tribute to her virtue; and from stories in which the members of a
yachting party are wrecked on a desert island in the South Pacific, and
the niece of the owner of the yacht falls in love with the bo'sun; and
from manuscripts accompanied by documents certifying that the incidents
and people described are real, though cleverly disguised; and from
authors who send in saucy notes when their offerings are returned with
insincere thanks; and from lady authors who appear with satirical
letters of introduction from the low, raffish rogues who edit rival
magazines--good Lord, deliver us!
_IX.--ASEPSIS_
_IX.--Asepsis. A Deduction in Scherzo Form_
CHARACTERS:
A CLERGYMAN
A BRIDE
FOUR BRIDESMAIDS
A BRIDEGROOM
A BEST MAN
THE USUAL CROWD
PLACE--_The surgical amphitheatre in a hospital._
TIME--_Noon of a fair day._
_Seats rising in curved tiers. The operating pit paved with white tiles.
The usual operating table has been pushed to one side, and in place of
it there is a small glass-topped bedside table. On it, a large roll of
aseptic cotton, several pads of gauze, a basin of bichloride, a pair of
clinical thermometers in a little glass of alcohol, a dish of green
soap, a beaker of two per cent. carbolic acid, and a microscope. In one
corner stands a sterilizer, steaming pleasantly like a tea kettle. There
are no decorations--no flowers, no white ribbons, no satin cushions. To
the left a door leads into the Anesthetic Room. A pungent smell of
ether, nitrous oxide, iodine, chlorine, wet laundry and scorched gauze.
Temperature: 98.6 degrees Fahr._
THE CLERGYMAN _is discovered standing behind the table in an expectant
attitude. He is in the long white coat of a surgeon, with his head
wrapped in white gauze and a gauze respirator over his mouth. His
chunkiness suggests a fat, middle-aged Episcopal rector, but it is
impossible to see either his face or his vestments. He wears rubber
gloves of a dirty orange color, evidently much used._ THE BRIDEGROOM
_and_ THE BEST MAN _have just emerged from the Anesthetic Room and are
standing before him. Both are dressed exactly as he is, save that_ THE
BRIDEGROOM'S _rubber gloves are white. The benches running up the
amphitheatre are filled with spectators, chiefly women. They are in
dingy oilskins, and most of them also wear respirators._
_After a long and uneasy pause_ THE BRIDE _comes in from the Anesthetic
Room on the arm of her_ FATHER, _with_ THE FOUR BRIDESMAIDS _following
by twos. She is dressed in what appears to be white linen, with a long
veil of aseptic gauze. The gauze testifies to its late and careful
sterilization by yellowish scorches. There is a white rubber glove upon_
THE BRIDE'S _right hand, but that belonging to her left hand has been
removed_. HER FATHER _is dressed like_ THE BEST MAN. THE FOUR
BRIDESMAIDS _are in the garb of surgical nurses, with their hair
completely concealed by turbans of gauze. As_ THE BRIDE _takes her place
before_ THE CLERGYMAN, _with_ THE BRIDEGROOM _at her right, there is a
faint, snuffling murmur among the spectators. It hushes suddenly as_ THE
CLERGYMAN _clears his throat_.
THE CLERGYMAN