Part 5 (2/2)
I have not one single beautiful memory in my life. I have nothing in my life that, when I think of it, does not make me _writhe_.
To all that I have lived, and known, and seen, I have but one word, one cry--Away! Away! Let me get away from it! Let me get away from cities, let me get away from men, let me out of my cage! Let me go with my G.o.d, let me forget it all--put it away forever and ever! Let me no longer have to plot and plan, to cringe and whimper, to barter my vision and my hours for bread!
Who knows what I suffer--who has any idea of it? To have a soul like a burning fire, to be hungry and swift as the Autumn wind, to have a heart as hot as the wild bird's, and wings as eager--and to be chained here in this seething h.e.l.l of selfishness, this orgy of folly.
Ah, and then I shut my hands together. No, I am not weak, I do not spend my time chafing thus! I have fought it out so far--
”I was ever a fighter, so one fight more!”
I will go back, and I will hammer and hammer again--grimly--savagely--day by day. And out of the furnace of my soul I will forge a weapon that will set me free in the end--I think.
May 4th.
I wrote a little poem once. I remembered two lines of it--a nature description; they were not great lines, but there flashed over me to-day an application of them that was a stroke of genius, I believe. I was pa.s.sing the Stock Exchange. It was a very busy day. I climbed one of the pillars, in spirit, and wrote high above the portals:
Where savage beasts through forest midnight roam, Seeking in sorrow for each other's joy.
May 5th.
A dreadful thing is unbelief! A dreadful thing it is to be an infidel!
--That is what all men cry nowadays--there is so much infidelity in the world--it is the curse of our modern society--it is everywhere--it is all-prevailing!
I had a strange experience to-day, Sunday. I went into a church, and high up by the altar, dressed in solemn garb and offering prayers to G.o.d--I saw an infidel!
He preached a sermon. The theme of his sermon was ”Liberalism.”
”These men,” cried the preacher, ”are blinding our eyes to our salvation, they are undermining, day by day, our faith! They tell us that the sacred word of G.o.d is 'literature'! And they show us more 'literature'; but oh, my friends, what new _Bible_ have they shown us!”
As I got up and went out of that church, I whispered: ”What a dreadful thing it is to be an infidel!”
Oh Dante and Goethe and Shakespeare--oh Wordsworth and Sh.e.l.ley and Emerson!
Oh thrice-anointed and holy spirits! What a dreadful thing it is to be an infidel!
What a dreadful thing it is to believe in a Bible, and not to believe in literature--to believe in a Bible and not to believe in a G.o.d!
You think that this world lives upon the revelation of two thousand years ago! Fool--this world lives as your body lives by the beating of its heart--upon the revelation and the effort of each instant of its life. And to-day or to-morrow the great Revealer might send to some lonely thinker in his garret a new word that would scatter to dust and ashes all laws and all duties that now are known to men.
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