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Part 3 Chapter 34
The scene was the executive chamber of the newly elected Governor of the State of New York some three weeksafter the news conveyed to Clyde by McMillan. After many preliminary and futile efforts on the part of Belknapand Jephson to obtain a commutation of the sentence of Clyde from death to life imprisonment (the customaryfiling of a plea for clemency, together with such comments as they had to make in regard to the way the evidencehad been misinterpreted and the illegality of introducing the letters of Roberta in their original form, to all ofwhich Governor Waltham, an ex-district attorney and judge from the southern part of the state, had beenconscientiously compelled to reply that he could see no reason for interfering) there was now before GovernorWaltham Mrs. Griffiths together with the Reverend McMillan. For, moved by the widespread interest in the finaldisposition of Clyde's case, as well as the fact that his mother, because of her unshaken devotion to him, andhaving learned of the decision of the Court of Appeals, had once more returned to Auburn and since then hadbeen appealing to the newspapers, as well as to himself through letters for a correct understanding of theextenuating circumstances surrounding her son's downfall, and because she herself had repeatedly appealed to him for a personal interview in which she should be allowed to present her deepest convictions in regard to allthis, the Governor had at last consented to see her. It could do no harm. Besides it would tend to soothe her. Alsovariable public sentiment, whatever its convictions in any given case, was usually on the side of the form orgesture of clemency--without, however, any violence to its convictions. And, in this case, if one could judge bythe newspapers, the public was convinced that Clyde was guilty. On the other hand, Mrs. Griffiths, owing to herown long meditations in regard to Clyde, Roberta, his sufferings during and since the trial, the fact that accordingto the Reverend McMillan he had at last been won to a deep contrition and a spiritual union with his Creatorwhatever his original sin, was now more than ever convinced that humanity and even justice demanded that atleast he be allowed to live. And so standing before the Governor, a tall, sober and somewhat somber man who,never in all his life had even so much as sensed the fevers or fires that Clyde had known, yet who, being adecidedly affectionate father and husband, could very well sense what Mrs. Griffiths' present emotions must be.
Yet greatly exercised by the compulsion which the facts, as he understood them, as well as a deep-seated andunchangeable submission to law and order, thrust upon him. Like the pardon clerk before him, he had read all theevidence submitted to the Court of Appeals, as well as the latest briefs submitted by Belknap and Jephson. Buton what grounds could he--David Waltham, and without any new or varying data of any kind--just areinterpretation of the evidence as already passed upon--venture to change Clyde's death sentence to lifeimprisonment? Had not a jury, as well as the Court of Appeals, already said he should die?
In consequence, as Mrs. Griffiths began her plea, her voice shaky--retracing as best she could the story ofClyde's life, his virtues, the fact that at no time ever had he been a bad or cruel boy--that Roberta, if not Miss X,was not entirely guiltless in the matter--he merely gazed at her deeply moved. The love and devotion of such amother! Her agony in this hour; her faith that her son could not be as evil as the proven facts seemed to indicateto him and every one else. "Oh, my dear Governor, how can the sacrifice of my son's life now, and whenspiritually he has purged his soul of sin and is ready to devote himself to the work of God, repay the state for theloss of that poor, dear girl's life, whether it was accidentally or otherwise taken--how can it? Can not the millionsof people of the state of New York be merciful? Cannot you as their representative exercise the mercy that theymay feel?"Her voice broke--she could not go on. Instead she turned her back and began to cry silently, while Waltham,shaken by an emotion he could not master, merely stood there. This poor woman! So obviously honest andsincere. Then the Reverend McMillan, seeing his opportunity, now entering his plea. Clyde had changed. Hecould not speak as to his life before--but since his incarceration--or for the last year, at least, he had come into anew understanding of life, duty, his obligations to man and God. If but the death sentence could be commuted tolife imprisonment-And the Governor, who was a very earnest and conscientious man, listened with all attention to McMillan,whom, as he saw and concluded was decidedly an intense and vital and highly idealistic person. No question inhis own mind but what the words of this man--whatever they were, would be true--in so far as his ownunderstanding would permit the conception of a truth.
"But you, personally, Mr. McMillan," the Governor at last found voice to say, "because of your long contact withhim in the prison there--do you know of any material fact not introduced at the trial which would in any way tendto invalidate or weaken any phase of the testimony offered at the trial? As you must know this is a legalproceeding. I cannot act upon sentiment alone--and especially in the face of the unanimous decision of two separate courts."He looked directly at McMillan, who, pale and dumb, now gazed at him in return. For now upon his word--uponhis shoulders apparently was being placed the burden of deciding as to Clyde's guilt or innocence. But could hedo that? Had he not decided, after due meditation as to Clyde's confessions, that he was guilty before God andthe law? And could he now--for mercy's sake--and in the face of his deepest spiritual conviction, alter his reportof his conviction? Would that be true--white, valuable before the Lord? And as instantly deciding that he, Clyde'sspiritual adviser, must not in any way be invalidated in his spiritual worth to Clyde. "Ye are the salt of the earth;but if the salt have lost his savor, wherewith shall it be salted?" And forthwith he declared: "As his spiritualadvisor I have entered only upon the spiritual, not the legal aspect of his life." And thereupon Waltham at oncedeciding, from something in McMillan's manner that he, like all others, apparently, was satisfied as to Clyde'sguilt. And so, finally finding courage to say to Mrs. Griffiths: "Unless some definite evidence such as I have notyet seen and which will affect the legality of these two findings can be brought me, I have no alternative, Mrs.
Griffiths, but to allow the verdict as written to stand. I am very sorry--oh, more than I can tell you. But if the lawis to be respected its decisions can never be altered except for reasons that in themselves are full of legal merit. Iwish I could decide differently. I do indeed. My heart and my prayers go with you."He pressed a button. His secretary entered. It was plain that the interview was ended. Mrs. Griffiths, violentlyshaken and deeply depressed by the peculiar silence and evasion of McMillan at the crucial moment of thisinterview when the Governor had asked such an all important and direct question as to the guilt of her son, wasstill unable to say a word more. But now what? Which way? To whom to turn? God, and God only. She andClyde must find in their Creator the solace for his failure and death in this world. And as she was thinking andstill weeping, the Reverend McMillan approached and gently led her from the room.
When she was gone the Governor finally turned to his secretary:
"Never in my life have I faced a sadder duty. It will always be with me." He turned and gazed out upon a snowyFebruary landscape.
And after this but two more weeks of life for Clyde, during which time, and because of his ultimate decisionconveyed to him first by McMillan, but in company with his mother, from whose face Clyde could read all, evenbefore McMillan spoke, and from whom he heard all once more as to his need of refuge and peace in God, hisSavior, he now walked up and down his cell, unable to rest for any length of time anywhere. For, because of thisfinal completely convincing sensation, that very soon he was to die, he felt the need, even now of retracing hisunhappy life. His youth. Kansas City. Chicago. Lycurgus. Roberta and Sondra. How swiftly they and all that wasconnected with them passed in review. The few, brief, bright intense moments. His desire for more--more--thatintense desire he had felt there in Lycurgus after Sondra came and now this, this! And now even this wasending--this--this--Why, he had scarcely lived at all as yet--and these last two years so miserably between thesecrushing walls. And of this life but fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight of the filtering and nowfeverish days left. They were going--going. But life--life--how was one to do without that--the beauty of thedays-- of the sun and rain--of work love, energy, desire. Oh, he really did not want to die. He did not. Why say tohim so constantly as his mother and the Reverend McMillan now did to resolve all his care in divine mercy andthink only of God, when now, now, was all? And yet the Reverend McMillan insisting that only in Christ and thehereafter was real peace. Oh, yes--but just the same, before the Governor might he not have said--might he not have said that he was not guilty--or at least not entirely guilty--if only he had seen it that way--that time--andthen--then--why then the Governor might have commuted his sentence to life imprisonment--might he not? Forhe had asked his mother what the Reverend McMillan had said to the Governor--(yet without saying to her thathe had ever confessed all to him), and she had replied that he had told him how sincerely he had humbled himselfbefore the Lord--but not that he was not guilty. And Clyde, feeling how strange it was that the ReverendMcMillan could not conscientiously bring himself to do more than that for him. How sad. How hopeless. Wouldno one ever understand--or give him credit for his human--if all too human and perhaps wrong hungers--yet fromwhich so many others--along with himself suffered?
But worse yet, if anything, Mrs. Griffiths, because of what the Reverend McMillan had said--or failed to say, inanswer to the final question asked by Governor Waltham--and although subsequently in answer to an inquiry ofher own, he had repeated the statement, she was staggered by the thought that perhaps, after all, Clyde was asguilty as at first she had feared. And because of that asking at one point:
"Clyde, if there is anything you have not confessed, you must confess it before you go.""I have confessed everything to God and to Mr. McMillan, Mother. Isn't that enough?""No, Clyde. You have told the world that you are innocent. But if you are not you must say so.""But if my conscience tells me that I am right, is not that enough?""No, not if God's word says differently, Clyde," replied Mrs. Griffiths nervously--and with great inward spiritualtorture. But he chose to say nothing further at that time. How could he discuss with his mother or the world thestrange shadings which in his confession and subsequent talks with the Reverend McMillan he had not been ableto solve. It was not to be done.
And because of that refusal on her son's part to confide in her, Mrs. Griffiths, tortured, not only spiritually butpersonally. Her own son--and so near death and not willing to say what already apparently he had said to Mr.
McMillan. Would not God ever be done with this testing her? And yet on account of what McMillan had alreadysaid,--that he considered Clyde, whatever his past sins, contrite and clean before the Lord--a youth truly ready tomeet his Maker--she was prone to rest. The Lord was great! He was merciful. In His bosom was peace. Whatwas death--what life--to one whose heart and mind were at peace with Him? It was nothing. A few years (howvery few) and she and Asa and after them, his brothers and sisters, would come to join him--and all his miserieshere would be forgotten. But without peace in the Lord--the full and beautiful realization of His presence, love,care and mercy. . . ! She was tremulous at moments now in her spiritual exaltation--no longer quite normal--asClyde could see and feel. But also by her prayers and anxiety as to his spiritual welfare, he was also able to seehow little, really, she had ever understood of his true moods and aspirations. He had longed for so much there inKansas City and he had had so little. Things--just things--had seemed very important to him--and he had soresented being taken out on the street as he had been, before all the other boys and girls, many of whom had allthe things that he so craved, and when he would have been glad to have been anywhere else in the world than outthere--on the street! That mission life that to his mother was so wonderful, yet, to him, so dreary! But was itwrong for him to feel so? Had it been? Would the Lord resent it now? And, maybe, she was right as to herthoughts about him. Unquestionably he would have been better off if he had followed her advice. But how strange it was, that to his own mother, and even now in these closing hours, when above all things he cravedsympathy--but more than sympathy, true and deep understanding--even now--and as much as she loved andsympathized with, and was seeking to aid him with all her strength in her stern and self-sacrificing way,--still hecould not turn to her now and tell her, his own mother, just how it all happened. It was as though there was anunsurmountable wall or impenetrable barrier between them, built by the lack of understanding--for it was justthat. She would never understand his craving for ease and luxury, for beauty, for love--his particular kind of lovethat went with show, pleasure, wealth, position, his eager and immutable aspirations and desires. She could notunderstand these things. She would look on all of it as sin--evil, selfishness. And in connection with all the fatalsteps involving Roberta and Sondra, as adultery--unchastity--murder, even. And she would and did expect him tobe terribly sorry and wholly repentant, when, even now, and for all he had said to the Reverend McMillan and toher, he could not feel so--not wholly so--although great was his desire now to take refuge in God, but better yet,if it were only possible, in her own understanding and sympathetic heart. If it were only possible.
Lord, it was all so terrible! He was so alone, even in these last few and elusive hours (the swift passing of thedays), with his mother and also the Reverend McMillan here with him, but neither understanding.
But, apart from all this and much worse, he was locked up here and they would not let him go. There was asystem--a horrible routine system--as long since he had come to feel it to be so. It was iron. It movedautomatically like a machine without the aid or the hearts of men. These guards! They with their letters, theirinquiries, their pleasant and yet really hollow words, their trips to do little favors, or to take the men in and out ofthe yard or to their baths--they were iron, too--mere machines, automatons, pushing and pushing and yetrestraining and restraining one--within these walls, as ready to kill as to favor in case of opposition-- but pushing,pushing, pushing--always toward that little door over there, from which there was no escape--no escape--just onand on-- until at last they would push him through it never to return! NEVER TO RETURN!
Each time he thought of this he arose and walked the floor. Afterwards, usually, he resumed the puzzle of hisown guilt. He tried to think of Roberta and the evil he had done her, to read the Bible--even--lying on his face onthe iron cot--repeating over and over: "Lord, give me peace. Lord, give me light. Lord, give me strength to resistany evil thoughts that I should not have. I know I am not wholly white. Oh, no. I know I plotted evil. Yes, yes, Iknow that. I confess. But must I really die now? Is there no help? Will you not help me, Lord? Will you notmanifest yourself, as my mother says you will--for me? Will you get the Governor to change my sentence beforethe final moment to life imprisonment? Will you get the Reverend McMillan to change his views and go to him,and my mother, too? I will drive out all sinful thoughts. I will be different. Oh, yes, I will, if you will only spareme. Do not let me die now--so soon. Do not. I will pray. Yes, I will. Give me the strength to understand andbelieve--and pray. Oh, do!"It was like this in those short, horrible days between the return of his mother and the Reverend McMillan fromtheir final visit to the Governor and in his last hour that Clyde thought and prayed--yet finally in a kind ofpsychic terror, evoked by his uncertainty as to the meaning of the hereafter, his certainty of death, and the faithand emotions of his mother, as well as those of the Reverend McMillan, who was about every day with hisinterpretations of divine mercy and his exhortations as to the necessity of complete faith and reliance upon it, he,himself coming at last to believe, not only must he have faith but that he had it--and peace--complete and secure.
In that state, and at the request of the Reverend McMillan, and his mother, finally composing, with the personalaid and supervision of McMillan, who changed some of the sentences in his presence and with his consent, an address to the world, and more particularly to young men of his own years, which read:
In the shadow of the Valley of Death it is my desire to do everything that would remove any doubt as to myhaving found Jesus Christ, the personal Savior and unfailing friend. My one regret at this time is that I have notgiven Him the preeminence in my life while I had the opportunity to work for Him.
If I could only say some one thing that would draw young men to Him I would deem it the greatest privilege evergranted me. But all I can now say is, "I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keepthat which I have committed unto Him against that day" [a quotation that McMillan had familiarized him with].
If the young men of this country could only know the joy and pleasure of a Christian life, I know they would doall in their power to become earnest, active Christians, and would strive to live as Christ would have them live.
There is not one thing I have left undone which will bar me from facing my God, knowing that my sins areforgiven, for I have been free and frank in my talks with my spiritual adviser, and God knows where I stand.
My task is done, the victory won.
CLYDE GRIFFITHS.
Having written this--a statement so unlike all the previous rebellious moods that had characterized him that evennow he was, not a little impressed by the difference, handing it to McMillan, who, heartened by this triumph,exclaimed: "And the victory IS won, Clyde. 'This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise.' You have His word.
Your soul and your body belong to Him. Praised, everlastingly, be His name."And then so wrought up was he by this triumph, taking both Clyde's hands in his and kissing them and thenfolding him in his arms: "My son, my son, in whom I am well pleased. In you God has truly manifested Histruth. His power to save. I see it. I feel it. Your address to the world is really His own voice to the world." Andthen pocketing the note with the understanding that it was to be issued after Clyde's death--not before. And yetClyde having written this, still dubious at moments. Was he truly saved? The time was so short? Could he relyon God with that absolute security which he had just announced now characterized him? Could he? Life was sostrange. The future so obscure. Was there really a life after death--a God by whom he would be welcomed as theReverend McMillan and his own mother insisted? Was there?
In the midst of this, two days before his death and in a final burst of panic, Mrs. Griffiths wiring the Hon. DavidWaltham: "Can you say before your God that you have no doubt of Clyde's guilt? Please wire. If you cannot,then his blood will be upon your head. His mother." And Robert Fessler, the secretary to the Governor replyingby wire: "Governor Waltham does not think himself justified in interfering with the decision of the Court ofAppeals."At last the final day--the final hour--Clyde's transfer to a cell in the old death house, where, after a shave and abath, he was furnished with black trousers, a white shirt without a collar, to be opened at the neck afterwards,new felt slippers and gray socks. So accoutered, he was allowed once more to meet his mother and McMillan,who, from six o'clock in the evening preceding the morning of his death until four of the final morning, were permitted to remain near him to counsel with him as to the love and mercy of God. And then at four the wardenappearing to say that it was time, he feared, that Mrs. Griffiths depart leaving Clyde in the care of Mr. McMillan.
(The sad compulsion of the law, as he explained.) And then Clyde's final farewell to his mother, before which,and in between the silences and painful twistings of heart strings, he had managed to say:
"Mama, you must believe that I die resigned and content. It won't be hard. God has heard my prayers. He hasgiven me strength and peace." But to himself adding: "Had he?"And Mrs. Griffiths exclaiming: "My son! My son, I know, I know. I have faith too. I know that my Redeemerliveth and that He is yours. Though we die--yet shall we live!" She was looking heavenward, and seemedtransfixed. Yet as suddenly turning to Clyde and gathering him in her arms and holding him long and firmly toher, whispering: "My son--my baby--" And her voice broke and trailed off into breathlessness--and her strengthseemed to be going all to him, until she felt she must leave or fall--And so she turned quickly and unsteadily tothe warden, who was waiting for her to lead her to Auburn friends of McMillan's.
And then in the dark of this midwinter morning--the final moment--with the guards coming, first to slit his righttrouser leg for the metal plate and then going to draw the curtains before the cells: "It is time, I fear. Courage, myson." It was the Reverend McMillan--now accompanied by the Reverend Gibson, who, seeing the prison guardsapproaching, was then addressing Clyde.
And Clyde now getting up from his cot, on which, beside the Reverend McMillan, he had been listening to thereading of John, 14, 15, 16: "Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God--believe also in me." And thenthe final walk with the Reverend McMillan on his right hand and the Reverend Gibson on his left--the guardsfront and rear. But with, instead of the customary prayers, the Reverend McMillan announcing: "Humbleyourselves under the mighty hand of God that He may exalt you in due time. Cast all your care upon Him for Hecareth for you. Be at peace. Wise and righteous are His ways, who hath called us into His eternal glory by ChristJesus, after that we have suffered a little. I am the way, the truth and the life--no man cometh unto the Father butby me."But various voices--as Clyde entered the first door to cross to the chair room, calling: "Good-by, Clyde." AndClyde, with enough earthly thought and strength to reply: "Good-by, all." But his voice sounding so strange andweak, even to himself, so far distant as though it emanated from another being walking alongside of him, and notfrom himself. And his feet were walking, but automatically, it seemed. And he was conscious of that familiarshuffle--shuffle--as they pushed him on and on toward that door. Now it was here; now it was being opened.
There it was--at last--the chair he had so often seen in his dreams--that he so dreaded--to which he was nowcompelled to go. He was being pushed toward that--into that--on-- on--through the door which was now open--toreceive him--but which was as quickly closed again on all the earthly life he had ever known.
It was the Reverend McMillan, who, gray and weary--a quarter of an hour later, walked desolately--and even alittle uncertainly--as one who is physically very weak--through the cold doors of the prison. It was so faint--soweak--so gray as yet--this late winter day--and so like himself now. Dead! He, Clyde, had walked so nervouslyand yet somehow trustingly beside him but a few minutes before--and now he was dead. The law! Prisons such as this. Strong, evil men who scoffed betimes where Clyde had prayed. That confession! Had he decided truly-withthe wisdom of God, as God gave him to see wisdom? Had he? Clyde's eyes! He, himself--the ReverendMcMillan had all but fainted beside him as that cap was adjusted to his head--that current turned on--and he hadhad to be assisted, sick and trembling, from the room--he upon whom Clyde had relied. And he had asked Godfor strength,--was asking it.
He walked along the silent street--only to be compelled to pause and lean against a tree--leafless in the winter--sobare and bleak. Clyde's eyes! That look as he sank limply into that terrible chair, his eyes fixed nervously and, ashe thought, appealingly and dazedly upon him and the group surrounding him.
Had he done right? Had his decision before Governor Waltham been truly sound, fair or merciful? Should hehave said to him--that perhaps--perhaps--there had been those other influences playing upon him? . . . Was henever to have mental peace again, perhaps?
"I know my Redeemer liveth and that He will keep him against that day."And then he walked and walked hours before he could present himself to Clyde's mother, who, on her knees inthe home of the Rev. and Mrs. Francis Gault, Salvationists of Auburn, had been, since four-thirty, praying forthe soul of her son whom she still tried to visualize as in the arms of his Maker.
"I know in whom I have believed," was a part of her prayer.
SOUVENIRDusk, of a summer night.
And the tall walls of the commercial heart of the city of San Francisco--tall and gray in the evening shade.
And up a broad street from the south of Market--now comparatively hushed after the din of the day, a little bandof five--a man of about sixty, short, stout, yet cadaverous as to the flesh of his face--and more especially aboutthe pale, dim eyes--and with bushy white hair protruding from under a worn, round felt hat--a most unimportantand exhausted looking person, who carried a small, portable organ such as is customarily used by streetpreachers and singers. And by his side, a woman not more than five years his junior--taller, not so broad, butsolid of frame and vigorous--with snow white hair and wearing an unrelieved costume of black--dress, bonnet,shoes. And her face broader and more characterful than her husband's, but more definitely seamed with lines ofmisery and suffering. At her side, again, carrying a Bible and several hymn books--a boy of not more than sevenor eight--very round-eyed and alert, who, because of some sympathetic understanding between him and hiselderly companion, seemed to desire to walk close to her--a brisk and smart stepping--although none-too-welldressed boy. With these three, again, but walking independently behind, a faded and unattractive woman oftwenty-seven or eight and another woman of about fifty--apparently, because of their close resemblance, motherand daughter.
It was hot, with the sweet languor of a Pacific summer about it all. At Market, the great thoroughfare which theyhad reached--and because of threading throngs of automobiles and various lines of cars passing in oppositedirections, they awaited the signal of the traffic officer.
"Russell, stay close now." It was the wife speaking. "Better take hold of my hand.""It seems to me," commented the husband, very feeble and yet serene, "that the traffic here grows worse all thetime."The cars clanged their bells. The automobiles barked and snorted. But the little group seemed entirelyunconscious of anything save a set purpose to make its way across the street.
"Street preachers," observed a passing bank clerk to his cashier girl friend.
"Sure--I see them up here nearly every Wednesday.""Gee, it's pretty tough on the little kid, I should think. He's pretty small to be dragged around on the streets, don'tyou think, Ella?""Well, I'll say so. I'd hate to see a brother of mine in on any such game. What kind of a life is that for a kidanyhow?" commented Ella as they passed on.
Having crossed the street and reached the first intersection beyond, they paused and looked around as thoughthey had reached their destination--the man putting down his organ which he proceeded to open--setting up, ashe did so, a small but adequate music rack. At the same time his wife, taking from her grandson the severalhymnals and the Bible he carried, gave the Bible as well as a hymnal to her husband, put one on the organ andgave one to each of the remaining group including one for herself. The husband looked somewhat vacantly abouthim--yet, none-the-less with a seeming wide-eyed assurance, and began with:
"We will begin with 276 tonight. 'How firm a foundation.' All right, Miss Schoof."At this the younger of the two women--very parched and spare--angular and homely--to whom life had deniedquite all--seated herself upon the yellow camp chair and after arranging the stops and turning the leaves of thebook, began playing the chosen hymn, to the tune of which they all joined in.
By this time various homeward bound individuals of diverse occupations and interests noticing this small groupso advantageously disposed near the principal thoroughfare of the city, hesitated a moment,--either to eye themaskance or to ascertain the character of their work. And as they sang, the nondescript and indifferent streetaudience gazed, held by the peculiarity of such an unimportant group publicly raising its voice against the vastskepticism and apathy of life. That gray and flabby and ineffectual old man, in his worn and baggy blue suit.
This robust and yet uncouth and weary and white-haired woman; this fresh and unsoiled and unspoiled anduncomprehending boy. What was he doing here? And again that neglected and thin spinster and her equally thinand distrait looking mother. Of the group, the wife stood out in the eyes of the passers-by as having the force anddetermination which, however blind or erroneous, makes for self-preservation, if not real success in life. She, more than any of the others, stood up with an ignorant, yet somehow respectable air of conviction. And asseveral of the many who chanced to pause, watched her, her hymn-book dropped to her side, her glance directedstraight before her into space, each said on his way: "Well, here is one, who, whatever her defects, probably doeswhat she believes as nearly as possible." A kind of hard, fighting faith in the wisdom and mercy of the definiteoverruling and watchful and merciful power which she proclaimed was written in her every feature and gesture.
The song was followed with a long prayer and by the wife; then a sermon by the husband, testimonies by theothers--all that God had done for them. Then the return march to the hall, the hymnals having been gathered, theorgan folded and lifted by a strap over the husband's shoulder. And as they walked--it was the husband thatcommented: "A fine night. It seemed to me they were a little more attentive than usual.""Oh, yes," returned the younger woman that had played the organ. "At least eleven took tracts. And one oldgentleman asked me where the mission was and when we held services.""Praise the Lord," commented the man.
And then at last the mission itself--"The Star of Hope. Bethel Independent Mission, Meetings every Wednesdayand Saturday night, 8 to 10. Sundays at 11, 3, 8. Everybody welcome." And under this legend in eachwindow--"God is Love." And below that again in smaller type: "How long since you wrote to Mother.""Kin' I have a dime, grandma? I wana' go up to the corner and git an ice-cream cone." It was the boy asking.
"Yes, I guess so, Russell. But listen to me. You are to come right back.""Yes, I will, grandma, sure. You know me."He took the dime that his Grandmother had extracted from a deep pocket in her dress and ran with it to the ice-cream vendor.
Her darling boy. The light and color of her declining years. She must be kind to him, more liberal with him, notrestrain him too much, as maybe, maybe, she had-- She looked affectionately and yet a little vacantly after him ashe ran. "For HIS sake."The small company, minus Russell, entered the yellow, unprepossessing door and disappeared.
The End
第三十四章
地点是纽约州新当选的州长办公室,时间是在麦克米伦牧师把那个消息告知克莱德以后大约过了三个星期.尽管贝尔纳普和杰夫森曾经不遗余力,企图将克莱德的死刑改为无期徒刑,但还是枉然徒劳(照例提出请求从宽处理,连同他们认为证据已被曲解和非法照本宣读罗伯达的那些信等等意见也一并递上;沃尔瑟姆州长以前在本州南部担任过地方检察官和法官,认为自己有责任答复他们说,他觉得没有加以干预的理由).所以,格里菲思太太和麦克米伦牧师,现在就一起来到了沃尔瑟姆州长跟前.鉴于公众对克莱德一案最后处理普遍表示关注,同时,克莱德母亲出于自己对儿子毫不动摇的眷爱,得知上诉法院的判决以后,就回到奥伯恩,自此以后不断给各报刊以及本州州长本人写信呼吁,要求对有关她儿子减刑的情况予以正确的认识.而且,正是由于她向州长一再呼吁,要求跟他面谈,陈述她对这个问题持有坚定不移的信念,因此,州长终于同意接见她,觉得这事并不会有什么坏处.再说,这样也好让她消消心中的气.此外,公众情绪也是易于改变的,尽管他们对某某一个案件持有自己深信不疑的意见,但只要不跟他们的信念发行抵触,往往都会倒向某种从宽处理的方式或是姿态那一边的.就以本案来说,如果有人根据各报刊来判断,公众的确会相信克莱德是有罪的.可是,另一方面,格里菲思太太,对于一些情况进行了长时间的沉思默想——对于克莱德和罗伯达,对于克莱德在法庭上受审时和受审以后的痛苦,以及麦克米伦牧师所说的,不管克莱德当初犯过什么罪,经过劝说以后,他终于能够深深地忏悔了,在思想上和他的创世主合二为一了——现在比过去更加确信,根据人道甚至正义原则,克莱德至少应该被允许活下去.现在,她伫立在身材高大、不苟言笑,而又有点儿忧郁的州长跟前.反正克莱德心里燃烧过的那种烈火般的狂热激情,州长他一辈子从来都没有体验过.不过,作为一位堪称楷模的父亲和丈夫,他倒是很能设身处地体察格里菲思太太此时此刻的思想感情.但他又对本人不能不受到制约而深感苦恼,一是因为他已了解到本案中那些错综复杂的事实,二是因为要遵循那些根深蒂固、无法改变的守法观念.他跟主管赦免事宜的书记官一样,对呈报上诉法院的全部证据,以及贝尔纳普和杰夫森最近递交的案情摘要,都仔细审阅过了.无奈没有什么新的材料,或是足以改变案情性质的材料,仅仅就早已作过鉴定的证据重新解释一番罢了,那末,他,戴维·沃尔瑟姆凭什么理由,冒着风险,要把克莱德的死刑改成无期徒刑呢?陪审团和上诉法院不是都说过应该对他判处死刑吗?
于是,格里菲思太太开始提出她的恳求,她用颤抖的声音追述了克莱德一生的经历和他的品质;说他是个好孩子,从来没有做过坏事或是残忍的事——又说,姑且先不提某某小姐,罗伯达本人对这件事也并不是完全无罪呀.州长只是瞪着两眼直瞅她,心里非常感动.好一位慈母的拳拳之心啊!此时此刻,她心里该有多大苦楚啊.她坚信她的儿子不可能犯了这样的罪,尽管似乎已经铁证如山,在他沃尔瑟姆以及所有的人看来已是昭然若揭."啊,我亲爱的州长,现在你怎么能把我儿子的生命夺走,正当他已经涤尽自己灵魂中的罪孽,准备为上帝的事业献身的时候——难道说这样一来您就为了那个可怜而又可爱的姑娘之死让本州得到补偿了吗?也不管它是无意之中造成的,还是别的什么造成的——那怎么行呢?难道说纽约州好几百万人就不能心肠仁慈些吗?难道说你,作为他们的代表,就不能把他们也许怀有的仁慈变成事实吗?"
她的嗓子嘶哑了——说不下去了.她身了侧转过去,呜咽哭泣起来.沃尔瑟姆也身不由己,异常激动,只是茫然若失地伫立在那里.这个可怜的女人!分明是那么坦率、那么诚挚.接着,麦克米伦就抓紧时机,马上提出自己的恳求.克莱德已经大变了.至于他过去的生活,他不想妄加评论——但是,从他入狱以来——或是至少在过去这一年里,他对人生,对自己的职责,以及自己对人类和上帝应尽的义务,都已经有了新的认识.只要能把死刑改为无期徒刑——
州长是个非常善良而又小心谨慎的人,全神贯注地在倾听麦克米伦说话.据他判断,麦克米伦显然是个热情的、精力饱满而具有高尚理想色彩的人.他一刻都不怀疑这个人所说的话;不管他说什么都是真实的,因为他是根据自己所理解的真理这个概念来说的.
"不过,请您个人来谈一谈,麦克米伦先生,"州长最后开了腔说,"因为您在监狱那里跟他有过长时间的接触——您知道不知道有任何实质性的事实是在庭审时没有提到过的,可以把这些或那些见证材料的性质加以改变,或是给予推翻?谅您一定知道,这是个诉讼程序.我可不能单凭个人感情用事——特别是在两处法院作出一致的判决以后."
他两眼直瞅着麦克米伦,这个脸色苍白、哑口无言的人也回看他一眼.因为现在要决定克莱德有罪还是无罪,这一重任显然已落到了他肩上,就凭他的一句话了.不过叫他该怎么办呢?难道说他长时间对克莱德忏悔一事进行思考以后,不是认定克莱德在上帝和法律面前都是有罪的吗?现在他能——为了仁慈的缘故——就不顾自己心中深信不疑的想法,突然改变说法吗?这样做——在主的面前,是虔诚的、纯洁的和令人钦佩的吗?麦克米伦马上认为:他,作为克莱德的宗教顾问,应该完全保持自己在克莱德心目中的宗教权威."你们是世上的盐,盐若失了味,怎能叫他再咸呢?"①于是,他就马上回答州长说:"作为他的宗教顾问,我开始考虑的,只是他一生中有关灵魂方面,而不是法律方面的问题."沃尔瑟姆一听这句话,就从麦克米伦的态度中断定他显然跟所有其他的人一样,也相信克莱德是有罪的.所以,最后他终于鼓足勇气对格里菲思太太说:"在我还没有掌握到过去我从没有见到过的、非常确切的证据,以至于使我怀疑这两次判决的合法性以前,我是毫无选择余地的,格里菲思太太,只能听任已经作出的判决仍然有效.对此,我心里感到非常难过——啊,简直是说不出的难过.不过,要是我们希望人们尊重法律的话,那末,没有充分的合法根据,永远也不能改变依法作出的决定.我心里也巴不得自己能向您作出另一种决定来,说真的,我就是巴不得能这样.
①引自《圣经·新约·马太福音》第5章第13节.
我心里将为您和您儿子祈祷."
他摁了一下电铃.他的秘书走了进来.显然,会见就到此为止了.格里菲思太太简直连一句话都说不出来;正当这次谈话的关键时刻,州长向麦克米伦提出了有关她儿子是否有罪这个绝顶重要的问题时,他却很古怪地先是保持缄默,继而模棱两可,支吾搪塞,这使她不由得深为震惊和沮丧.不过,现在该怎么办呢?该往哪儿去?求谁呢?上帝,而且只有上帝,为了克莱德饱受的苦难和面临的死亡,她和他必须向他们的创世主寻求安慰.当她正这样暗自寻思,还在悄悄地哭泣的时候,麦克米伦牧师走了过来,小心翼翼地搀扶她走出了州长办公室.
等她走后,州长终于扭过头去,对他的秘书说:
"我一辈子从没有碰到过比这更惨的事了.叫我永远忘不了."说罢,他掉过头去,凝望着窗外二月里的雪景.
在这以后,克莱德的生命就只剩下两个星期时间了.在这期间,麦克米伦首先把这最后的终审判决告诉了他,不过,当时是由他母亲陪着一起来的.麦克米伦还没有开口,克莱德一见母亲的脸色,心里就什么都明白了;后来,他又听麦克米伦说他应该向上帝——他的救世主寻求庇护,寻求灵魂安宁.于是,他就在牢房里老是踱来踱去,简直一刻都安静不下来.由于最后确悉他没有多久就要命归西天,他觉得自己即便在此时此刻,还有必要回顾一下个人不幸的一生.他的少年时代.堪萨斯城.芝加哥.莱柯格斯.罗伯达和桑德拉.这些,连同与这些有关的一切,都在他记忆里一一闪过.那些绝无仅有的、短暂而欢快的紧张的时刻啊.他那不知餍足——不知餍足——的欲望啊,他在莱柯格斯跟桑德拉邂逅以后所激起的那种热切的欲望啊.而紧接着就是这个、这个现在!殊不知就连这个现在也快到尽头了——这个——这个——可恨他至今压根儿还没有体面地生活过呢——而且,最近这两年又是关在令人窒息的监狱里,多惨啊.他这飘忽不定、如今惶惶不可终日的一生,在这里只剩下十四天、十三天、十二天、十一天、十天、九天、八天了.而且眼看着一天天正在逝去——正在逝去啊.可是,生命——生命——人怎能没有生命呢——白昼——太阳、细雨——工作、爱情、活力、愿望,该有多美呀.啊,说真的,他可不愿意死啊.他可不愿意.既然现在最重要,现在就是一切,那他母亲和麦克米伦牧师为什么老是对他念叨着说,他应该心心念念企盼神的仁慈,只要想念上帝就得了?而麦克米伦牧师还坚持认为,只有在基督那儿,在阴曹冥府才有真正的安宁.啊,是的——不过,不管怎么说,难道在州长面前他不该说话吗——难道他不能说克莱德无罪吗——或是至少说他不完全是有罪的——当时只要他有这么个看法——在那时——那末——那末——啊,那时,州长也许会把他的死刑改成无期徒刑呢——不是他说不定就会那么办吗?因为,他问过他母亲,当时麦克米伦对州长说过些什么——(但并没有告诉她,说自己一切都向他忏悔过了),她回答说,他告诉州长,说克莱德在主的面前是十分虔诚——不过并没有说他没有罪.克莱德觉得:麦克米伦牧师竟然不肯为他更多出力,该有多奇怪.多伤心.多绝望!难道说人们就永远不了解——或是不承认他的那些合乎人性——如果说是太合乎人性甚至也许是邪恶的、如饥似渴的欲望吗?不过,有许许多多人不也跟他一样被这些欲望折磨着吗?
但是,如果一定要说还有比这更糟的事,那就是格里菲思太太得知:麦克米伦牧师在回答沃尔瑟姆州长提出那个具有决定性的问题时,只说了几句话——确切地说,他压根儿没有说别的话——后来他在回答她提问时,也只不过是把自己那几句话又重复念叨了一遍.这样,她转念一想,不由得大吃一惊:归根到底,克莱德也许是有罪的,如同她一开头所担惊受怕的一样.因此,她有一次就这样问他:
"克莱德,如果说你还有哪些事情没有忏悔过,那末,你在大限来到以前非得忏悔不可."
"我什么都向上帝和麦克米伦先生忏悔过了,妈妈.难道说这还不够吗?"
"不,克莱德.你跟人们说过你是无辜的.但是,如果说你并不是无辜的,那你就应该说真话嘛."
"不过,要是我的良心告诉我,我是对的,这难道说还不够吗?"
"不,克莱德,如果上帝说的是另一个说法,那就不够了,"
格里菲思太太惴惴不安地说——她在内心深处感到极端痛苦.不过,这时他再也不愿说下去了.他怎么能跟他母亲或是芸芸众生一起讨论那些稀奇古怪、模糊不清的问题呢.就是他在向麦克米伦牧师忏悔时和随后几次谈话时,也都一直解决不了.这已是无法可想的了.
因为儿子已经不信任她了,格里菲思太太不仅作为一名神职人员,而且作为一个母亲,都对这一打击感到非常痛苦.她的亲生儿子——在临近死亡的时刻,还不愿把他看来早就对麦克米伦先生说过的话告诉她.难道说上帝永远要这样考验她吗?反正麦克米伦是说过那些话的,就是说——不管克莱德过去罪孽有多大——他认为,现在克莱德已在主的面前忏悔过了,变得洁净了——而且,说真的,这个年轻人已准备去见创世主了——她一想起麦克米伦那些话,心里也就感到有些宽慰了.主是伟大的!他是仁慈的.在他的怀抱里,你可以得到安宁.在一个全心全意皈依上帝的人看来,死算得上什么——而生又算得上什么呢?什么也都不是.过不了几年(不会多久的),她跟阿萨,而且在他们以后,还有克莱德的弟弟、姐妹们,也都会跟着他去的——他在人世间的全部苦难也都被人们遗忘了.不过,要是得不到主的谅解——那末也就不能充分透彻体会到他的永在、他的爱、他的关怀、他的仁慈啊……!这时,她由于宗教狂的神魂颠倒,曾有好几次浑身上下颤栗——显得很不正常——连克莱德也看到和感觉到了.不过,再从她为他心灵上的幸福不断祈祷和心焦如焚来说,他也看得出:实际上,她对儿子真正的心愿从来都是了解得很少的.过去在堪萨斯城的时候,他心里梦想过那么多的东西,可他能享有的却是那么少.那些东西——就是那些东西呗——在他看来该有多么重要——他觉得最痛苦的是小时候自己常被带到街头,站在那里让许许多多男孩子、女孩子看.而他心中多么渴望得到的那些东西,很多孩子却全都有了.那时候,他觉得,哪怕是天涯海角,反正只要不去那里——站街头,该有多么开心啊!这种传教士生涯,在他母亲看来可真了不起,但在他看来却是太乏味了!他有这么一种想法,难道说是错了吗?一贯错了吗?主现在会对他恼火吗?也许母亲对他的种种想法都是正确的吧.毫无疑问,他要是听从了她的劝告,恐怕现在也就会幸福得多了.可是,多么奇怪,眼看着母亲那么疼爱他,同情他,并以不折不挠和自我牺牲精神全力以赴去营救他——但是现下,在他一生的最后时刻,正当他最最渴望得到人们同情——而且还要得到比同情更多的——人们真正深切的理解——即便是在眼前这么一个时刻,他依然不相信他亲生的母亲,不肯把当时真相告诉他亲生的母亲.在他们母子俩中间,仿佛隔着不可逾越的一堵墙,或是怎么也穿不过的一道屏障,全是缺乏相互理解所造成的——原因就在这里.她怎么都不会了解他是何等渴求舒适、奢华、美和爱情——而且还有他心驰神往的、跟爱摆谱儿、寻欢作乐、金钱地位联系在一起的那种爱情——以及他热切追求、怎么也改变不了的那些渴望和欲念.这些东西她都是无法理解的.也许她会把这一切全都看作罪孽——邪恶、自私.说不定还会把他跟罗伯达和桑德拉有关的极其不幸的一言一行,通通视为通奸行为——下流淫荡——甚至是谋杀勾当,而且,她还真的指望他会有深切悲痛,彻底忏悔的表现,殊不知即使在此时此刻,尽管他对麦克米伦牧师和她都说过那些话,他的思想感情并不见得就是那样——压根儿不是那样,虽然,现在他何等热切希望在上帝那里得到庇护,不过要是可能的话,能在母亲的了解和同情心里得到庇护,岂不是更好吗?但愿能这样就好了.
老天哪,这一切该有多可怕!他是那样孤苦伶仃,即使在瞬息即逝的最后几个钟头里(日子正在飞也似的逝去啊),尽管他母亲和麦克米伦牧师都在他身边,可是他们两人都不了解他.
不过,先撇开这一切不谈,还有更糟的事:他已被关押在这里,不会被允许离开,这里有一套制度——一套令人可怕的、成为例行公事的制度——他早就知道了.这是铁面无情的制度.它能自动运转,象一台机器一样,用不着人们的帮助或是人们的同情心.这些狱警!他们这些人,忠于法律的字面意义,有时也会审问人,说些言不由衷的讨好话,跑跑腿做点好事,或者把犯人先是押到院子里放风,过后再押回牢房去,或是押着犯人去洗澡——他们还是铁面无情的——仅仅是一些机器,一些机器人,一个劲儿推啊推的,管啊管的——把犯人管押在这些监狱围墙里,他们时刻准备着,只要一出现反抗,就会随时效劳,随时杀人——一个劲儿推啊,推啊,不停地推啊——永远把人推向——那一头那个小门,从那里休想逃命——休想逃命——只能往前走.往前走呀走——一直到最后,把他推进那个小门,永远一去不复返!永远一去不复返!他一想到这里,就站起来,在牢房里踱来踱去.后来,他往往又想到了自己是不是有罪这个谜.他竭尽全力去想罗伯达和他对她造的孽,还让自己去念《圣经》——甚至让自己脸儿朝下,伏在铁床上——一遍又一遍地重复念道:"主啊.给我安宁.主啊,给我光.主啊,给我力量,让我能抵抗我不应该有的一切邪念.我知道我的良心并不是完全洁白的.啊,不.我知道我策划过坏事.是的,是的,这我知道.我承认.不过,难道说我真的非死不可吗?难道说就不能指望人们帮助吗?主啊,难道你不能帮助我吗?难道你不能象妈妈所说的那样给我显示一下你的神威吗?你就不能下令,让州长在那最后时刻来临以前把死刑改为无期徒刑吗?你就不能吩咐麦克米伦牧师改变他的观点,到州长那儿去说说情吗?(说不定我母亲也会一起去的)我要把所有罪恶的念头从脑海里通通撵出去.我会变成另一个人.啊,是的,我是会的,只要你拯救了我.别让我现在就死——那么早就死了.千万别这样啊.我是愿意祈祷的.是的,我是愿意的.给我力量,好让我去理解、信仰——并且祈祷.主啊,给我吧!"
自从他母亲和麦克米伦牧师跟州长进行具有决定性的晤面回来以后,一直到他生命的最后一刻,在这些短暂而可怕的日子里,克莱德心里琢磨过的和祈祷过的,就是象以上这些——可是,到最后,他心里对日益逼近的大限、自己必死无疑,以及阴曹冥府都感到极端恐惧,而这种恐惧心理,再加上他母亲和麦克米伦牧师的信念和情感(这位麦克米伦牧师啊,每天都来到克莱德身边,向他劝说神是满怀仁慈的,因此他必须虔心笃信上帝),使他自己也终于相信:不但他必须具有信仰,而且他已经有了信仰——心中还得到了安宁——一种完全可靠的安宁.在这么一种心态之下,克莱德应麦克米伦牧师和他母亲的请求,终于向芸芸众生、特别是向他同龄的年轻人写了一份书面声明(这是在麦克米伦亲自帮助和监督之下写成的,麦克米伦牧师还当着他的面,并征得他的同意以后,把其中几句话修改过了),全文如下:
在死亡谷的阴影之下,我将竭尽全力,摒除任何疑虑说:我已经皈依耶稣基督,我的救星和忠贞不渝的朋友.
现在我唯一感到遗憾的是:我生前虽有机会为他效劳,但我并没有把自己的一生全都奉献给他.
如果我只说一句话就使年轻人靠近他,那末,我认为这就是给我的最大的天惠神赐了.不过,现在我能说的只有这句话:"我知道我所信的是谁,也深信他能保全我所交付给他的,直到那日."①［这句引文是因为麦克米伦经常给他念叨的,所以他也记熟了.］
①引自《圣经·新约·提摩太后书》第1章第12节.
我知道,我国的年轻人只要能意识到基督徒生活真正的乐趣,他们就会竭尽全力,成为真正积极的基督徒,并且努力遵循基督的吩咐去生活.
没有一件会阻止我面对上帝的事我没有完成.我知道,我的罪孽已经得到了宽恕,因为我跟我的精神顾问谈话时,都是推心置腹,无话不谈的,而且上帝知道我站在怎样的位置.
我的任务已完成,得胜了.
克莱德·格里菲思
这篇东西写好后他就把它交给了麦克米伦.这个书面声明,跟他以往特有的那种一贯反抗的情绪很不一样,因此,对于这前后差异,即使在此时此刻,也不免让克莱德自己大吃一惊.麦克米伦满心高兴地嚷道:"真的,是得胜了,克莱德.'今日你要同我在乐园里了.'①他已经向你作了这样的保证.你的灵魂,你的躯体,都已经归了他的了.永远赞美他的名."
①引自《圣经·新约·路加福音》集23章第43节.
他对自己这次旗开得胜非常激动,握住克莱德的双手,一一亲吻过以后,便把他搂在自己怀里说:"我的孩子,我的孩子,我对你真有说不出的高兴.上帝果真在你身上显示了他的真理和他的拯救力量.这我已看到了.这个我感觉到了.你写给芸芸众生的书面声明,说真的,听得出就是上帝自己的声音."随后,他把那个纸条掖进口袋里,暗自寻思一定要等到克莱德死后,切莫提前发表.殊不知克莱德写好这篇东西以后,有时心里还是疑团未消.是不是他真的得救了呢?期限那么短?刚才他说过他可以绝对可靠地坚信上帝,行不行呢?他真的能行吗?人生真是够奇怪呀.展望未来——是那么一团漆黑.死后真的还有生命吗?真的还有一个上帝,会象麦克米伦牧师和他母亲一再说过的那样,前来欢迎他吗?说真的,有还是没有呀?
于是,格里菲思太太就在儿子临死前两天,突然惊恐万状,给尊敬的戴维·沃尔瑟姆发了一个电报:"您能在上帝面前说您对克莱德有罪一事丝毫也不怀疑?请电复.否则他的死应由您负责.他的母亲."州长的秘书罗伯特·费斯勒复电说:"沃尔瑟姆州长并不认为他有正当理由去干预上诉法院的判决."
到最后,最后一天——最后一小时——克莱德被押往老死牢的一间牢房.在那里,刮脸、洗澡以后,他得到一条黑裤子、一件无领白衬衫(事后将从脖子根撕开)、一双新毡拖鞋和一双灰色短袜.穿好以后,他得到许可,跟他母亲和麦克米伦再见一面.麦克米伦也已经获准,可以从他处决的前一天傍晚六点钟到次日凌晨四点,一直待在他身边,把上帝的爱和仁慈讲给他听.到四点钟的时候,典狱长过来说,格里菲思太太该走了,克莱德留给麦克米伦照料就得了.(据他解释,这是法律作出的令人遗憾的强制性规定.)于是,克莱德与他母亲作最后诀别.诀别前,虽然不时默默无言,心如刀绞,但他好不容易还是使劲儿说道:
"妈妈,你必须相信,我是心无怨言地去死的.我觉得死并不可怕啦.上帝已听到了我的祈祷.他已经给了我力量,让我灵魂得到安宁."可是,他却又暗自找补着说:"他到底给了没有呀?"
格里菲思太太大声嚷道:"我的孩子!我的孩子,我知道了,我知道了.这个我也相信.我知道我的救世主常在,他是属于你的.我们虽然死了——但是我们可以得到永生!"她站在那里,两眼仰望着天空,呆若木鸡.不料她突然朝克莱德扭过头去,把他搂在怀里,长时间地、紧紧地搂住他,还低声耳语道:"我的儿子——我的孩子——"她的嗓子眼嘶哑了,不一会儿就喘不上气来了——仿佛她浑身上下力气全都扑在他身上了.直到最后,她觉得自己如果不走,恐怕就会倒下来的,于是,她马上转过身来,步履蹒跚地朝典狱长那边走去.典狱长正在一边等着她,要领着她上麦克米伦在奥伯恩的朋友家去.
随后,就在仲冬的这一天凌晨,只见四周一片黑糊糊,那最后时刻终于来到了——狱警们走了过来,先在他右侧裤腿上切开一个狭长口子,以便安放金属片,接着把各个牢房的门帘——放了下来."怕是到时候了.拿出勇气来吧,我的孩子."这是麦克米伦牧师在说话,旁边还有吉布森牧师陪着.因为他看见监狱里的狱警朝这边走过来,就对克莱德这么说的.
克莱德这时正在床上听麦克米伦牧师在一旁念《约翰福音》第十四、十五、十六各章:"你们心里不要忧愁.你们信上帝,也当信我.①"于是,他便站了起来.接下来,就是走最后那一段路,麦克米伦牧师在他的右边,吉布森牧师在他的左边——前前后后都是狱警.不过,这时候,麦克米伦牧师没有念例行的祈祷文,而是宣告说:"你们要自卑,服在上帝大能的手下,到了时候他必叫你们升高.你们要将一切的忧虑卸给上帝,因为他顾念你们.①让你灵魂得到安息.他的路是智慧,正义,上帝曾在基督里召你们,得享他永远的荣耀,等你们暂受苦难之后,②我就是道路,真理,生命,若不藉着我,没有人能到父那里去.③"
①引自《圣经·新约·约翰福音》第14章第1节.
①引自《圣经·新约·彼得前书》第5章第6节.
②同上第10节.
③引自《圣经·新约·约翰福音》第14章第6节.
可是,当克莱德进入第一道门,向那个电椅室走去的时候,还听见有几个声音在大声嚷嚷:"再见了,克莱德."而克莱德少不了还有一些尘念和毅力,回答他们说:"再见,全体难友们."不过,这声音不知怎的却显得那么古怪,那么微弱,那么遥远,连他自己都觉得,仿佛是在他旁边走着的另一个人说出来的,而不是他自己的声音.而且,他的两条腿,虽然在走动,但好象是已安上自动行走装置似的.当他们推着他向前、向前,朝向那道门走去的时候,他听到了他很熟悉的一步一步拖着脚走的沙沙声.现在到了,门也敞开了,啊,他——终于——看到了——他在梦里动不动就看见的那张电椅——他是那么害怕——现在,他不得不朝它走过去.他是被推到那边去的——被推到那边去——朝前推——朝前推——推进了此时此刻正为了迎接他而敞开的那道门——殊不知门一下子又关上了,把他耳染目濡过的全部尘世生活都给留在门外了.
过了一刻钟以后,麦克米伦牧师灰不溜丢,疲惫不堪,脚步甚至还有点儿摇摇晃晃,仿佛是一个体质极端虚弱的人,穿过冷冰冰的监狱大门走了出来.这个仲冬的一天,是那么微弱——那么无力,那么灰暗——几乎跟他此时此刻的模样儿不相上下.死了!他——克莱德——几分钟以前还是那么惴惴不安,然而又带着几份信赖跟自己并排走着——可现在他已死了.这就是法律!还有象这一个一样的监狱.就在克莱德祈祷的地方,那些邪恶的强人有时却在嘲弄挖苦人.那次忏悔呀!上帝让他看见了智慧,那末,他是不是运用这智慧作出了正确的决定?他这样做了吗?克莱德的那一双眼睛呀!他,他本人——麦克米伦牧师——当那顶头盔一盖上克莱德的脑袋,电流一通,便几乎在克莱德身边昏了过去;他浑身颤栗,恶心要吐,必须被人搀扶着才能从那个房间走出来——而他正是克莱德那么信赖过的人呀.他已经向上帝祈祷请求给他力量——现在还在祈求.
他沿着那条沉寂的街道走去——有时不得不驻步不前,把身子靠在一棵树上——时值严冬,树叶子也没有了——光秃秃的,够触目凄凉的.克莱德的那一双眼睛呀!当他浑身瘫软地倒在那张可怕的电椅里的时候,你瞧,他那种眼色呀!他的那一双眼睛,是那么紧张不安地,而且据麦克米伦看来,又象是在祈求地、惶惑不解地直盯着他和他周围的那一伙人.
他做得正确吗?他在沃尔瑟姆州长面前所作出的决定,真的是言之有理?公正或是仁慈吗?当时,他是不是应该回答州长——也许——也许——克莱德还受到过别的一些影响?
……难道说他心中也许从此再也得不到安宁?
"我知道我的救赎者活着,末了必站在地上."①
于是,他走啊走的,走了好几个钟头,才勉强打起精神来到克莱德母亲面前.从四点半开始,她一直在奥伯恩救世军牧师弗朗西斯·高尔特夫妇家里,两膝下跪,为她儿子的灵魂祈祷.她还竭力想在冥冥之中看到她的儿子正安息在他创世主的怀里.
"我知道我所信的是谁,②"——这是她祈祷中的一句话.
①引自《圣经·旧约·约伯记》第19章第25节.
②引自《圣经·新约·提摩太后书》第1章第12节.
追忆往事
一个暝色四合的夏日夜晚.
旧金山商业中心区,崇楼高墙,森然耸立在灰蒙蒙的暮霭中.
市场街南边一条宽敞的大街上——喧闹的白昼过去了,这时已经相当冷清,有一小拨五个人——一个大约六十岁上下的男子,个儿又矮又胖,脸容枯槁憔悴,一双黯淡无光的眼睛周围更是一片死灰色,浓密的白头发却从一顶圆形旧呢帽底下旁逸出来,这个其貌不扬、精神委顿的人,随身带着一台沿街传教与卖唱的人常用的手提小风琴.在他身边,是一个年龄至多比他小五岁的女人——个儿比他高,但体形没有他那么粗壮,不过身子骨结实,精力很充沛——一头雪白的头发,从头到脚都是黑色穿着打扮,从不替换——黑衣服、黑帽子和黑鞋子.她的脸盘比她丈夫的要大,而且看来更有个性,但是多灾多难的皱纹也显得更加突出.在她身旁拿着一本《圣经》和好几本赞美诗集的,是一个才不过七八岁的小男孩,眼睛滴溜滚圆,活泼伶俐,虽然身上穿着并不很好看、但是走路姿势漂亮,简直神极了,看得出他非常喜爱这位老人家,所以总是拚命紧贴看她身边走.同这三人在一起,但各自走在后边的,是一个时年二十七八岁,脸容憔悴,毫不引人注目的女人,另一个是约莫年过半百的女人,她们长得很象,一望可知是母女俩.
天气很热,可是弥散着太平洋沿岸夏日里常有的一丝儿恬适的倦意.他们来到了市场街这条通街大街,因为两头来往的汽车和各路电车穿梭一般川流不息,他们就暂时歇着,等交通警察打出的信号.
"拉塞尔,挨得近点儿,"这是妻子在说话."拉住我的手.""我觉得,"丈夫用非常微弱但很安详的声音说,"这儿的交通简直越来越糟了."
电车在丁丁当当地响着铃.汽车呜呜呜地在吼叫.不过,这一小拨人仿佛对此毫不在意,一门心思只想穿过大街.
"沿街传教的,"一个过路的银行职员对他的那位当出纳员的女朋友说.
"当然罗——几乎每个星期三,我总看到他们在这儿.""哦,依我看,那个小孩子可真是倒霉的.把他也拉到街上来,简直不象话.他毕竟年纪还太小,你说是吧,埃拉?"
"哦,我说也是.反正我可不乐意让我的兄弟也来搞这套玩意儿.这对小孩子来说,算是一种什么样的营生啊?"
这一拨人过了大街,来到了前面第一个交叉路口,就停下来,往四下里张望着,仿佛到达了目的地——那个男人把风琴放在地上,随手把它打开,还支起一只小小的差强人意的乐谱架.这时,他妻子从外孙手里接过他拿着的好几本赞美诗集和那本《圣经》,把《圣经》和一本赞美诗集递给她丈夫,另一本赞美诗集放在风琴上,其他的人包括她自己在内,也都是人手一本.丈夫仿佛有点儿茫然若失地举目四望——不过看来还是信心很大,就开了腔说:
"今儿晚上,我们先来第二百七十六首,《砥柱何其稳固》.
好吧.肖莱小姐."
两个女人里头比较年轻的一个,简直是又干瘪、又瘦削——不灵活、不好看——从来没有交过什么好运道.她就坐到那张黄色轻便折凳上,调好琴键之后,翻开乐谱,开始弹选定的那首赞美诗,他们大家也一块跟着唱了起来.
这时,各种不同职业、不同兴趣、正往家走的行人,发现这一小拨人正好位于大街附近,都驻步不前——迟疑地乜了一眼,想看看他们究竟要什么玩意儿的.在他们唱的时候,街头围观、无动于衷的各色人等,只是两眼直瞪着,见到如此微不足道的这一拨人竟然当众高唱,抗议人世间无处不有的怀疑与冷漠,都被这样的怪事给怔住了.那个苍白无力、窝窝囊囊的老头儿,身上穿的是蓝色破衣烂衫.这个身子骨结实,可是粗鲁、疲惫的白发女人,还带着这个稚嫩、纯洁、丝毫没有变坏、可是不懂事的小男孩.他来这儿干什么呢?还有那个没人理踩、瘦削的老处女,和她那个同样瘦削、但眼里却露出茫然若失的母亲.行人们都觉得,这一小拨人里头,只有那个妻子显得特别突出,具有那样一种魄力和决心,即使是盲目或错误的,使她一生交不上好运,好歹也能保住自己.她同另外几位相比,更多地流露出一种虽然无知,但不知怎的总能令人起敬的自信神态.许多驻步观望的人里头,有好几位仔细看着她,只见她把自己那本赞美诗放在身边,两眼直望着前方,他们就一边走一边说:"是的,她就是这样的人.不管她有什么样的缺点,也许会尽量按照自己的信仰去做的."她的一颦一笑、一举一动都说明:她对那个的的确确主宰一切、观照一切的天神是赞不绝口的,她对天神的智慧和仁慈也是坚信不移的.
赞美诗唱过以后,妻子念了一篇长长的祈祷文;接下来由丈夫布道,其他的人则作证说——上帝所做的一切,全都是为了他们.随后,他们先是把赞美诗集收起来,合上风琴,用一条皮带挎在丈夫肩头上,就往回走了.他们一边走,丈夫一边议论说:"今儿晚上很好.我觉得,人们注意力好象比往常更多一点儿了."
"哦,是啊,"那个弹琴的年纪较轻的女人回答说."至少有十一个人要小册子.还有一位老先生问我传道馆在哪儿,通常我们是什么时候做礼拜的."
"赞美上帝,"那个男人插话说.
不一会儿,传道馆终于到了——"希望之星.非英国国教徒独立传道馆.祈祷时间:每星期三、六,晚八至十时.星期日,十一时、三时、八时.欢迎参加."在这些字样下面,每个窗子上都有这么一句格言:"上帝就是爱,"底下还有一行小字:"你多久没给母亲写信了?"
"给我一毛钱,奶奶,好吧?我要奔到那边拐角上,买一个蛋卷冰淇淋."那个小男孩提出要求说.
"我看,好吧,拉塞尔.不过,你可得马上回来,听见没有?"
"好的,那当然,奶奶.您尽管放心."
奶奶从身上一个很深的口袋里掏出一毛钱,孩子接过了钱,就直奔卖冰淇淋的小贩而去.
她亲爱的孩子.她晚年的光明,晚年的华彩.她一定得好好对待他,对他不要太严厉,不要过分约束他,也许——也许——象她过去对——她就在那个奔跑的孩子后面,深情地、但不免有些茫然地凝望着."为了他的缘故."
除了拉塞尔之外,这小拨人一走进那寒伧的黄澄澄大门,影儿就不见了.
全书完
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