章节正文
economists and bourgeois philosophers, nor behind the skirts of
subsidized preachers, professors, and editors.
Why, goodness me, a hundred years ago, fifty years ago, five years
ago, in these United States, assault and battery was not a civil
capital crime. But this year, the year of Our Lord 1913, in the
State of California, they hanged Jake Oppenheimer for such an
offence, and to-morrow, for the civil capital crime of punching a
man on the nose, they are going to take me out and hang me. Query:
Doesn't it require a long time for the ape and the tiger to die when
such statutes are spread on the statute book of California in the
nineteen-hundred-and-thirteenth year after Christ? Lord, Lord, they
only crucified Christ. They have done far worse to Jake Oppenheimer
and me. . . .
As Ed Morrell once rapped to me with his knuckles: "The worst
possible use you can put a man to is to hang him." No, I have
little respect for capital punishment. Not only is it a dirty game,
degrading to the hangdogs who personally perpetrate it for a wage,
but it is degrading to the commonwealth that tolerates it, votes for
it, and pays the taxes for its maintenance. Capital punishment is
so SILLY, so stupid, so horribly unscientific. "To be hanged by the
neck until dead" is society's quaint phraseology . . .
Morning is come--my last morning. I slept like a babe throughout
the night. I slept so peacefully that once the death-watch got a
fright. He thought I had suffocated myself in my blankets. The
poor man's alarm was pitiful. His bread and butter was at stake.
Had it truly been so, it would have meant a black mark against him,
perhaps discharge and the outlook for an unemployed man is bitter
just at present. They tell me that Europe began liquidating two
years ago, and that now the United States has begun. That means
either a business crisis or a quiet panic and that the armies of the
unemployed will be large next winter, the bread-lines long. . . .
I have had my breakfast. It seemed a silly thing to do, but I ate
it heartily. The Warden came with a quart of whiskey. I presented
it to Murderers Row with my compliments. The Warden, poor man, is
afraid, if I be not drunk, that I shall make a mess of the function
and cast reflection on his management . . .
They have put on me the shirt without a collar. . .
It seems I am a very important man this day. Quite a lot of people
are suddenly interested in me. . . .
The doctor has just gone. He has taken my pulse. I asked him to.
It is normal. . . .
I write these random thoughts, and, a sheet at a time, they start on
their secret way out beyond the walls. . . .
I am the calmest man in the prison. I am like a child about to
start on a journey. I am eager to be gone, curious for the new
places I shall see. This fear of the lesser death is ridiculous to
one who has gone into the dark so often and lived again. . . .
The Warden with a quart of champagne. I have dispatched it down
Murderers Row. Queer, isn't it, that I am so considered this last
day. It must be that these men who are to kill me are themselves
afraid of death. To quote Jake Oppenheimer: I, who am about to
die, must seem to them something God-awful. . . .
Ed Morrell has just sent word in to me. They tell me he has paced
up and down all night outside the prison wall. Being an ex-convict,
they have red-taped him out of seeing me to say good-bye. Savages?
I don't know. Possibly just children. I'll wager most of them will
be afraid to be alone in the dark to-night after stretching my neck.
But Ed Morrell's message: "My hand is in yours, old pal. I know
you'll swing off game." . . .
The reporters have just left. I'll see them next, and last time,
from the scaffold, ere the hangman hides my face in the black cap.
They will be looking curiously sick. Queer young fellows. Some
show that they have been drinking. Two or three look sick with
foreknowledge of what they have to witness. It seems easier to be
hanged than to look on. . . .
My last lines. It seems I am delaying the procession. My cell is
quite crowded with officials and dignitaries. They are all nervous.
They want it over. Without a doubt, some of them have dinner
engagements. I am really offending them by writing these few words.
The priest has again preferred his request to be with me to the end.
The poor man--why should I deny him that solace? I have consented,
and he now appears quite cheerful. Such small things make some men
happy! I could stop and laugh for a hearty five minutes, if they
were not in such a hurry.
Here I close. I can only repeat myself. There is no death. Life
is spirit, and spirit cannot die. Only the flesh dies and passes,
ever a-crawl with the chemic ferment that informs it, ever plastic,
ever crystallizing, only to melt into the flux and to crystallize
into fresh and diverse forms that are ephemeral and that melt back
into the flux. Spirit alone endures and continues to build upon
itself through successive and endless incarnations as it works
upward toward the light. What shall I be when I live again? I
wonder. I wonder. . . .
Footnotes:
{1} Since the execution of Professor Darrell Standing, at which
time the manuscript of his memoirs came into our hands, we have
written to Mr. Hosea Salsburty, Curator of the Philadelphia Museum,
and, in reply, have received confirmation of the existence of the
oar and the pamphlet.--THE EDITOR.
End
subsidized preachers, professors, and editors.
Why, goodness me, a hundred years ago, fifty years ago, five years
ago, in these United States, assault and battery was not a civil
capital crime. But this year, the year of Our Lord 1913, in the
State of California, they hanged Jake Oppenheimer for such an
offence, and to-morrow, for the civil capital crime of punching a
man on the nose, they are going to take me out and hang me. Query:
Doesn't it require a long time for the ape and the tiger to die when
such statutes are spread on the statute book of California in the
nineteen-hundred-and-thirteenth year after Christ? Lord, Lord, they
only crucified Christ. They have done far worse to Jake Oppenheimer
and me. . . .
As Ed Morrell once rapped to me with his knuckles: "The worst
possible use you can put a man to is to hang him." No, I have
little respect for capital punishment. Not only is it a dirty game,
degrading to the hangdogs who personally perpetrate it for a wage,
but it is degrading to the commonwealth that tolerates it, votes for
it, and pays the taxes for its maintenance. Capital punishment is
so SILLY, so stupid, so horribly unscientific. "To be hanged by the
neck until dead" is society's quaint phraseology . . .
Morning is come--my last morning. I slept like a babe throughout
the night. I slept so peacefully that once the death-watch got a
fright. He thought I had suffocated myself in my blankets. The
poor man's alarm was pitiful. His bread and butter was at stake.
Had it truly been so, it would have meant a black mark against him,
perhaps discharge and the outlook for an unemployed man is bitter
just at present. They tell me that Europe began liquidating two
years ago, and that now the United States has begun. That means
either a business crisis or a quiet panic and that the armies of the
unemployed will be large next winter, the bread-lines long. . . .
I have had my breakfast. It seemed a silly thing to do, but I ate
it heartily. The Warden came with a quart of whiskey. I presented
it to Murderers Row with my compliments. The Warden, poor man, is
afraid, if I be not drunk, that I shall make a mess of the function
and cast reflection on his management . . .
They have put on me the shirt without a collar. . .
It seems I am a very important man this day. Quite a lot of people
are suddenly interested in me. . . .
The doctor has just gone. He has taken my pulse. I asked him to.
It is normal. . . .
I write these random thoughts, and, a sheet at a time, they start on
their secret way out beyond the walls. . . .
I am the calmest man in the prison. I am like a child about to
start on a journey. I am eager to be gone, curious for the new
places I shall see. This fear of the lesser death is ridiculous to
one who has gone into the dark so often and lived again. . . .
The Warden with a quart of champagne. I have dispatched it down
Murderers Row. Queer, isn't it, that I am so considered this last
day. It must be that these men who are to kill me are themselves
afraid of death. To quote Jake Oppenheimer: I, who am about to
die, must seem to them something God-awful. . . .
Ed Morrell has just sent word in to me. They tell me he has paced
up and down all night outside the prison wall. Being an ex-convict,
they have red-taped him out of seeing me to say good-bye. Savages?
I don't know. Possibly just children. I'll wager most of them will
be afraid to be alone in the dark to-night after stretching my neck.
But Ed Morrell's message: "My hand is in yours, old pal. I know
you'll swing off game." . . .
The reporters have just left. I'll see them next, and last time,
from the scaffold, ere the hangman hides my face in the black cap.
They will be looking curiously sick. Queer young fellows. Some
show that they have been drinking. Two or three look sick with
foreknowledge of what they have to witness. It seems easier to be
hanged than to look on. . . .
My last lines. It seems I am delaying the procession. My cell is
quite crowded with officials and dignitaries. They are all nervous.
They want it over. Without a doubt, some of them have dinner
engagements. I am really offending them by writing these few words.
The priest has again preferred his request to be with me to the end.
The poor man--why should I deny him that solace? I have consented,
and he now appears quite cheerful. Such small things make some men
happy! I could stop and laugh for a hearty five minutes, if they
were not in such a hurry.
Here I close. I can only repeat myself. There is no death. Life
is spirit, and spirit cannot die. Only the flesh dies and passes,
ever a-crawl with the chemic ferment that informs it, ever plastic,
ever crystallizing, only to melt into the flux and to crystallize
into fresh and diverse forms that are ephemeral and that melt back
into the flux. Spirit alone endures and continues to build upon
itself through successive and endless incarnations as it works
upward toward the light. What shall I be when I live again? I
wonder. I wonder. . . .
Footnotes:
{1} Since the execution of Professor Darrell Standing, at which
time the manuscript of his memoirs came into our hands, we have
written to Mr. Hosea Salsburty, Curator of the Philadelphia Museum,
and, in reply, have received confirmation of the existence of the
oar and the pamphlet.--THE EDITOR.
End
- goodness [´gudnis]
n.优良；美德；精华 (初中英语单词) - assault [ə´sɔ:lt] vt.袭击；殴打 n.攻击 (初中英语单词)
- california [,kæli´fɔ:njə] n.加利福尼亚 (初中英语单词)
- christ [kraist] n.基督 int.天啊! (初中英语单词)
- punishment [´pʌniʃmənt] n.罚，刑罚 (初中英语单词)
- stupid [´stju:pid] a.愚蠢的；糊涂的 (初中英语单词)
- discharge [dis´tʃɑ:dʒ] vt.&n.卸货；释放；解雇 (初中英语单词)
- reflection [ri´flekʃən] n.反射；映象；想法 (初中英语单词)
- management [´mænidʒmənt] n.管理；处理；经营 (初中英语单词)
- collar [´kɔlə] n.衣领；(狗等的)项圈 (初中英语单词)
- normal [´nɔ:məl] a.正规的 n.正常状态 (初中英语单词)
- curiously [´kjuəriəsli] ad.好奇地；稀奇古怪地 (初中英语单词)
- witness [´witnis] n.见证人 vt.目击 (初中英语单词)
- procession [prə´seʃən] n.队伍 v.列队行进 (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- priest [pri:st] n.教士；牧师；神父 (初中英语单词)
- cheerful [´tʃiəful] a.快乐的；高兴的 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- existence [ig´zistəns] n.存在；生存；生活 (初中英语单词)
- battery [´bætəri] n.炮兵连；炮台；电池 (高中英语单词)
- personally [´pə:sənəli] ad.亲自；就个人来说 (高中英语单词)
- commonwealth [´kɔmənwelθ] n.国家；共和国；联邦 (高中英语单词)
- maintenance [´meintinəns] n.保持；主张；保养 (高中英语单词)
- quaint [kweint] a.离奇的；奇妙的 (高中英语单词)
- pitiful [´pitifəl] a.可怜的；慈悲的 (高中英语单词)
- crisis [´kraisis] n.转折点；危机 (高中英语单词)
- heartily [´hɑ:tili] ad.衷心地；亲切地 (高中英语单词)
- random [´rændəm] n.偶然的行动 (高中英语单词)
- ridiculous [ri´dikjuləs] a.荒谬的；可笑的 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- crowded [´kraudid] a.充(拥)满了的 (高中英语单词)
- hearty [´hɑ:ti] a.热忱的；强健的 (高中英语单词)
- successive [sək´sesiv] a.相继的；接连的 (高中英语单词)
- execution [,eksi´kju:ʃən] n.执行；演奏；表演 (高中英语单词)
- manuscript [´mænjuskript] a.手抄的 n.手稿 (高中英语单词)
- statute [´stætʃu:t] n.法令；章程；规定 (英语四级单词)
- outlook [´autluk] n.眺望；景色；展望 (英语四级单词)
- unemployed [,ʌnim´plɔid] a.闲着的，失业的 (英语四级单词)
- warden [´wɔ:dn] n.看守人；监护人 (英语四级单词)
- whiskey [´wiski] n.威士忌酒 =whisky (英语四级单词)
- lesser [´lesə] a.较小的；次要的 (英语四级单词)
- confirmation [,kɔnfə´meiʃən] n.证实；证据；确认 (英语四级单词)
- horribly [´hɔrəbli] ad.恐怖地 (英语六级单词)
- peacefully [´pisfuli] ad.平静地；安宁地 (英语六级单词)
- champagne [ʃæm´pein] n.香槟酒；微黄色 (英语六级单词)
- solace [´sɔləs] n.&vt.安慰(物)；缓和 (英语六级单词)
- ferment [fə´ment] n.&v.发酵；激动 (英语六级单词)
- diverse [dai´və:s] a.完全不同的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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