Miriam Fay's Letter

Elenor Murray asked to go in training         And came to see me, but the school was full,         We could not take her. Then she asked to stand         Upon a list and wait, I put her off.         She came back, and she came back, till at last         I took her application; then she came         And pushed herself and asked when she could come,         And start to train. At last I laughed and said:         "Well, come to-morrow." I had never seen         Such eagerness, persistence. So she came.         She tried to make a friend of me, perhaps         Since it was best, I being in command.         But anyway she wooed me, tried to please me.         And spite of everything I grew to love her,         Though I distrusted her. But yet again         I had belief in her best self, though doubting         The girl somehow. But when I learned the girl         Had never had religious discipline,         Her father without faith, her mother too,         Her want of moral sense, I understood.         She lacked stability of spirit, to-day         She would be one thing, something else the next.         Shot up in fire, which failed and died away         And I began to see her fraternize         With girls who had her traits, too full of life         To be what they should be, unstable too,         Much like herself.             Not long before she came         Into the training school, six months, perhaps,         She had some tragedy, I don't know what,         Had been quite ill in body and in mind.         When she went into training I could see         Her purpose to wear down herself, forget         In weariness of body, something lived.         She was alert and dutiful and sunny,         Kept all the rules, was studious, led the class,         Excelled, I think, in studies of the nerves,         The mind grown sick.          As we grew better friends,         More intimate, she talked about religion,         And sacred subjects, asked about the church.         I gave her books to read, encouraged her,         Asked her to make her peace with God, and set         Her feet in pious paths. At last she said         She wished to be baptized, confirmed. I made         The plans for her, she was baptized, confirmed,         Went to confessional, and seemed renewed         In spirit by conversion. For at once         Her zeal was like a flame at Pentecost,         She almost took the veil, but missing that,         She followed out the discipline to the letter,         Kept all the feast days, went to mass, communion,         Did works of charity; indeed, I think         She spent her spare hours all in all at sewing         There with the sisters for the poor. She had,         When she came to me, jewelry of value,         A diamond solitaire, some other things.         I missed them, and she said she sold them, gave         The money to a home for friendless children.         And I remember when she said her father         Had wronged, misvalued her; but now her love,         Made more abundant by the love of Christ,         Had brought her to forgiveness. All her mood         Was of humility and sacrifice.         One time I saw her at the convent, sitting         Upon a foot-stool at the gracious feet         Of the Mother Superior, sewing for the poor;         Hair parted in the middle, curls combed out.         Then was it that I missed her jewelry.         She looked just like a poor maid, humble, patient,         Head bent above her sewing, eyes averted.         The room was silent with religious thought.         I loved her then and pitied her. But now         I think she had that in her which at times         Made her a flagellant, at other times         A rioter. She used the church to drag         Her life from something, took it for a bladder         To float her soul when it was perilled. First,         She did not sell her jewelry; this ring,         Too brilliant for forgetting, or to pass         Unnoticed when she wore it, showed again         Upon her finger after she had come         Out of her training, was a graduate.         She had a faculty for getting in         Where elegance and riches were. She went         Among the great ones, when she found a way,         And traveled with them where she learned the life         Of notables, aristocrats. It was there,         Or when from duty free and feasting, gadding         The ring showed on her finger.             In two years         She dropped the church. New friends made in the school,         New interests, work that took her energies         And this religious flare had cured her up         Of what was killing her when first I knew her.         There was another thing that drew her back         To flesh, away from spirit: She saw bodies,         And handled bodies as a nurse, forgot         The body is the spirit's temple, fell         To some materialism of thought. And now         Avoided me, was much away, of course,         On duty here and there. I tried to hold her,         Protect and guide her, wrote to her at times         To make confession, take communion. She         Ignored these letters. But I heard her say         The body was as natural as the soul,         And just as natural its desires. She kept         Out of the wreck of faith one thing alone,         If she kept that: She could endure to hear         God's name profaned, but would not stand to hear         The Savior's spoken in irreverence.         She was afraid, no doubt. Or to be just,         The tender love of Christ, his sacrifice,         Perhaps had won her wholly - let it go,         I'll say that much for her.          Why am I harsh?         Because I saw the good in her all streaked         With so much evil, evil known and lived         In knowledge of it, clung to none the less,         Unstable as water, how could she succeed?         Untruthful, how could confidence be hers?         I sometimes think she joined the church to mask         A secret life, renewed forgiven sins.         After she cloaked herself with piety.         Perhaps, at least, when she saw what to do,         And how to do it, using these detours         Of piety to throw us off, who else         Had seen what doors she entered, whence she came.         She wronged the church, I think, made it a screen         To stand behind for kisses, to look from         Inviting kisses. Then, as I have said,         She took materialism from her work,         And so renewed her sins. She drank, I think,         And smoked and feasted; but as for the rest,         The smoke obscured the flame, but there is flame         Or fire at least where there is smoke.             You ask         What took her to the war? Why only this:         Adventure, chance of marriage, amorous conquests -         The girl was mad for men, although I saw         Her smoke obscured the flame, I never saw her         Except with robins far too tame or lame         To interest her, and robins prove to me         The hawk is somewhere, waits for night to join         His playmate when the robins are at rest.         You see the girl has madness in her, flies         From exaltation up to ecstasy.         Feeds on emotion, never has enough.         Tries all things, states of spirit, even beliefs.         Passes from lust (I think) to celibacy,         Feasts, fasts, eats, starves, has raptures then inflicts         The whip upon her back, is penitent,         Then proud, is humble, then is arrogant,         Looks down demurely, stares you out of face,         But runs the world around. For in point of fact,         She traveled much, knew cities and their ways;         And when I used to see her at the convent         So meek, clothed like a sewing maid, at once         The pictures that she showed me of herself         At seaside places or on boulevards,         Her beauty clothed in linen or in silk,         Came back to mind, and I would resurrect         The fragments of our talks in which I saw         How she knew foods and drinks and restaurants,         And fashionable shops. This girl could fool the elect -         She fooled me for a time. I found her out.         Did she aspire? Perhaps, if you believe         It's aspiration to seek out the rich,         And ape them. Not for me. Of course she went         To get adventure in the war, perhaps         She got too much. But as to waste of life,         She might have been a quiet, noble woman         Keeping her place in life, not trying to rise         Out of her class - too useless - in her class         Making herself all worthy, serviceable.         You'll find 'twas pride that slew her. Very like         She found a rich man, tried to hold him, lost         Her honor and her life in consequence.         *        *        *        *        *         When Merival showed this letter to the jury,         Marion the juryman spoke up:         "You know that type of woman - saintly hag!         I wouldn't take her word about a thing         By way of inference, or analysis.         They had some trouble, she and Elenor         You may be sure." And Merival replied:         "Take it for what it's worth. I leave you now         To see the man who owns the Daily Times.         He's turned upon our inquest, did you see         The jab he gives me? I can jab as well."         So Merival went out and took with him         A riffle in the waters of circumstance         Set up by Elenor Murray's death to one         Remote, secure in greatness - to the man         Who ran the Times.