The Governor

I'm home at last. How long were you asleep?         I startled you. The time? It's midnight past.         Put on your slippers and your robe, my dear,         And make some coffee for me - what a night!         Yes, tell you? I shall tell you everything.         I must tell someone, and a wife should know         The workings of a governor's mind - no one         Could guess what turned the scale to save this man         Who would have died to-morrow, but for me.         That's fine. This coffee helps me. As I said         This night has been a trial. Well, you know         I told these lawyers they could come at eight,         And so they came. A seasoned lawyer one,         The other young and radical, both full         Of sentiment of some sort. And there you sit,         And do not say a word of disapproval.         You smile, which means you sun yourself within         The power I have, and yet do you approve?         This man committed brutal murder, did         A nameless horror; now he's saved from death.         The father and the mother of the girl,         The neighborhood, perhaps, in which she lived         Will roar against me, think that I was bought,         Or used by someone I'm indebted to         In politics. Oh no! It's really funny,         Since it is simpler than such things as these.         And no one, saving you, shall know the secret.         For there I sat and didn't say a word         To indicate, betray my thought; not when         The thing came out that moved me. Let them read         The doctor's affidavits, that this man         Was crazy when he killed the girl, and read         The transcript of the evidence on the trial.         They read and talked. At last the younger lawyer,         For sometime still, kept silent by the other,         Pops out with something, reads an affidavit,         As foreign to the matter as a story         Of melodrama color on the screen,         Which still contained a sentence that went home;         I felt my mind turn like a turn-table,         And click as when the switchman kicks the tongue         Of steel into the slot that holds the table.         And from my mind the engine, that's the problem,         Puffed, puffed and moved away, out on the track,         And disappeared upon its business. How         Is that for metaphor? Your coffee, dear,         Stirs up my fancy. But to tell the rest,         If my face changed expression, or my eye         Betrayed my thought, then I have no control         Of outward seeming. For they argued on         An hour or so thereafter. And I asked         Re-reading of the transcript where this man         Told of his maniac passion, of the night         He killed the girl, the doctors' testimony         I had re-read, and let these lawyers think         My interest centered there, and my decision         Was based upon such matters, and at last         The penalty commuted. When in truth         I tell you I had let the fellow hang         For all of this, except that I took fire         Because of something in this affidavit         Irrelevant to the issue, reaching me         In something only relevant to me.         O, well, all life is such. Our great decisions         Flame out of sparks, where roaring fires before,         Not touching our combustibles wholly failed         To flame or light us.         Now the secret hear.         Do you remember all the books I read         Two years ago upon heredity,         Foot-notes to evolution, the dynamics         Of living matter? Well, it wasn't that         That made me save this fellow. There you smile         For knowing how and when I got these books,         Who woke my interest in them. Never mind,         You don't know yet my reasons.          But I'll tell you:         And let you see a governor's mind at work.         When this young lawyer in this affidavit         Read to a certain place my mind strayed off         And lived a time past, you were present too.         It was that morning when I passed my crisis,         Had just dodged death, could scarcely speak, too weak         To lift a hand to feed myself, but needed         Vital replenishment of strength, and then         I got it in a bowl of oyster soup,         Rich cream at that. And as I live, my dear,         As this young lawyer read, I felt myself         In bed as I lay then, re-lived the weakness,         Could see the spoon that carried to my mouth         The appetizing soup, imagined there         The feelings I had then of getting fingers         Upon the rail of life again, how faint,         But with such clear degrees. Could see the hand         That held the spoon, the eyes that looked at me         In triumph for the victory of my strength,         Which battled, almost lost the prize of life.         It all came over me when this lawyer read:         Elenor Murray lately come from France         Found dead beside the river, was the cousin         Of this Fred Taylor, and had planned to come         To see the governor, death prevented her -         Suppose it had?         That affidavit, doubtless         Was read to me to move me for the fact         This man was kindred to a woman who         Served in the war, this lawyer was that cheap!         And isn't it as cheap to think that I         Could be persuaded by the circumstance         That Elenor Murray, she who nursed me once,         Was cousin to this fellow, if this lawyer         Knew this, and did he know it? I don't know.         Had Elenor Murray lived she would have come         To ask her cousin's life - I know her heart.         And at the last, I think this was the thing:         I thought I'd do exactly what I'd do         If she had lived and asked me, disregard         Her death, and act as if she lived, repay         Her dead hands, which in life had saved my life.         Now, dear, your eyes have tears - I know - believe me,         I had no romance with this Elenor Murray.         Good Lord, it's one o'clock, I must to bed....         You get my story Merival? Do you think,         A softness in the heart went to the brain         And softened that? Well now I stress two things:         I can't endure defeat, nor bear to see         An ardent spirit thwarted. What I've achieved         Has been through will that would not bend, and so         To see that in another wins my love,         And my support. Now take this Elenor Murray         She had a will like mine, she worked her way         As I have done. And just to hear that she         Had planned to see me, ask for clemency         For this condemned degenerate, made me say         Shall I let death defeat her? Take the breach         And make her death no matter in my course?         For as I live if she had come to me         I had done that I did. And why was that?         No romance! Never that! Yet human love         As friend can keep for friend in this our life         I felt for Elenor Murray - and for this:         It was her will that would not take defeat,         Devotion to her work, and in my case         This depth of friendship welling in her heart         For human beings, that I shared in - there         Gave tireless healing to her nursing hands         And saved my life. And for a life a life.         This criminal will live some years, we'll say,         Were better dead. All right. He'll cost the state         Say twenty thousand dollars. What is that         Contrasted with the cost to me, if I         Had let him hang? There is a bank account,         Economies in the realm of thought to watch.         And don't you think the souls - let's call them souls -         Of these avenging, law abiding folk,         These souls of the community all in all         Will be improved for hearing that I did         A human thing, and profit more therefrom         Than though that sense of balance in their souls         Struck for the thought of crime avenged, the law         Fulfilled and vindicated? Yes, it's true.         And Merival spoke up and said: "It's true,         I understand your story, and I'm glad.         It's like you and I'll tell my jury first,         And they will scatter it, what moved in you         And how this Elenor Murray saved a life."         *        *        *        *        *         The talk of waste in human life was constant         As Coroner Merival took evidence         At Elenor Murray's inquest. Everyone         Could think of waste in some one's life as well         As in his own.          John Scofield knew the girl,         Had worked for Arthur Fouche, her grandfather,         And knew what course his life took, how his fortune         Was wasted, dwindled down.         Remembering         A talk he heard between this Elenor Murray         And Arthur Fouche, her grandfather, he spoke         To Coroner Merival on the street one day: