Part 74 (2/2)

The opening words of the poet were absolutely strange and unconventional, but spoken quite simply and in very short sentences.

In the first instance it had been decided that reporters were not to be admitted to this Conference. Eventually that decision had been altered and a gentleman representing the princ.i.p.al Press Agency, together with a couple of a.s.sistants, sat at a small table just below the platform.

It is from the shorthand transcript of the Press Agent and his colleagues that the few words Gilbert Lothian spoke have been arranged and set down here.

Those who were present have read the words over and over again.

They have remembered the gusts of emotion, of fear, of gladness--all wafted from the wings of tragedy, and perhaps illuminated by the light of Heaven, that pa.s.sed through the Edward Hall on this afternoon.

... He was speaking.

”I have only a very few words to say. I want what I say to remain in your minds. I am speaking to you, as I am speaking, for that reason. I beg and pray that this will be of help. You see--” he made an infinitely pathetic gesture of his hands and a wan smile came upon his face--”You see you will be able to use my confession for the sake of others. That is the reason----”

Here Lothian stopped. His face became whiter than ever. His hand went up to his throat as if there was some obstruction there.

Bishop Moultrie handed him a gla.s.s of water. He took it, with a hand that trembled exceedingly. He drank a little but spilt more than he drank.

The black clothed figure of the Priest half rose and took the gla.s.s from the poet. All the people there sat very still. Some of them saw the Priest hold up something before the speaker's face--a little bronze something. A Crucifix.

The Bishop covered his face with his hands and never looked up again.

Gilbert went on. ”You have come here,” he said, ”to make a combined effort to kill alcoholism. I have come to show you in one single instance what alcoholism means.”

Some one right at the back of the hall gave a loud hysterical sob.

The speaker trembled, recovered himself by a great effort and went on.

”I had everything;” he said with difficulty, ”G.o.d gave me everything, almost. I had money to live in comfort; I achieved a certain sort of fame; my life, my private life, was surrounded by the most angelic and loving care.”

His figure swayed, his voice fainted into a whisper.

Dr. Morton Sims had now covered his face with his hands.

Mrs. Julia Daly was staring at the speaker. Her eyes were just interrogation. There was no horror upon her face. Her lips were parted.

The man continued.

”Drink,” he said, ”began in me, caught me up, twisted me, destroyed me.

The terrible False Ego, which many of you must know of, entered into my mind, dominated, and destroyed it.

”I was possessed of a devil. All decent thoughts, all the natural happinesses of my station, all the gifts and pleasant outlooks upon life which G.o.d had given went, not gradually, but swiftly away.

Something that was not myself came into me and made me move, and walk, and talk as a minion of h.e.l.l.

”I do not know what measure of responsibility remained to me when I did what I did. But this I know, that I have been and am the blackest, most hideous criminal that lives to-day.”

The man's voice was trembling dreadfully now, quite unconsciously his left hand was gripping the shoulder of the Abbot of Mullion. His eyes blazed, his voice was so forlorn, so hopeless and poignant that there was not a sound among the several hundreds there.

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