June 20, 2018:—Last night was presumably the time of the final closing of the halls, at precisely1 five minutes of twelve. So at five minutes of eight or thereabouts, one of the younger members of the Montague Rock family brings, with great secrecy2 and under special devices of disguise, a treasury3 of wine from beneath some cellar of his clan4 and distributes it to a carefully censored5 company in the Yellow Hall of the Mythical6 Velaska. The world begins to burn for those here assembled for their farewell dance. It so happens that Hurdenburg, intoxicated7 from the mere8 drink of victory, hears the noise as he passes. He mounts the stairs. He breaks past a guard who has himself had enough drink to make 210him too easy. But the remainder of the company have had enough to make them too stern and at the very sight of the “puritan” Hurdenburg, they turn to beasts. They have been saying, moreover, that they were going to hang the whole Board of Education and “every other damned hypocrite in town.” They have been denouncing, with some shrieks9, “the millions of rank hypocrites” with which America is beset10, hypocrites who banish11 the gold and the alcohol to the cellars and will not permit people to be “honest millionaires” and “honest drunkards” when they please. “What the town really needs,” they have been saying,—and Crawling Jim, slayer12 of Beau Nash, has been saying it the loudest,—is a vigilance committee. What the “holy city of Springfield needs is a committee to hang with ropes all people who attempt to regulate the religion or the habits of their neighbors.” By religion, Jim probably means the Singaporian religion but does not stress that point.
And so, at sight of Hurdenburg, the infamous13 minion14 of the wicked St. Friend, Hurdenburg drunk on political and ecclesiastical power, they make a rush for him, and, led by crawling Jim, this crew, in the masks of the Mythical Velaska, tie Surto Hurdenburg to a 211pillar. They drink more buried treasure, as they decide what to do with him. They formally and solemnly conclude that they will be merciful and not follow the well established American lynching custom of burning alive, though Hurdenburg, in this case, deserves such treatment. They untie15 him from the pillar, and carry him to the foot of a Golden Rain Tree of Democracy. Crawling Jim puts the noose16 in place. Then Hurdenburg is hanged by the neck till he is dead. And the merrymakers go back to the hall undisturbed and dance till five minutes before twelve and then the city police close the hall, according to expectations. The followers17 of the masked Velaska go home, apparently18 satisfied with one night’s work, most of them in the arms of one another and quite drunk with wine. It is toward morning a policeman finds Hurdenburg, cut down by an unknown hand, lying in the grass.
June 24:—All local papers, including The Boone Ax, roar about the lynching for one day, then proceed to minimize it as much as possible. So I will do the same in this chronicle, being loyal to my city. A Chicago paper of infamous repute is glad to “have something on” Springfield and sends down gloating reporters, who make the very worst of it, 212rehash Springfield’s political history for the last month, putting the ugliest face on everything, tracing through the city their own kind of history.
June 25:—Rumors19 of the threatened lynching of all the accepted leaders of the town are circulating from the City Hall, though the City Hall people are with the greatest impartiality20 included in the rumors. The Board of Education is not frightened. The city today proceeds to give Hurdenburg a wonderful funeral. This funeral seems to ring the doom21 of infamous Yellow Halls for all time. Saint Friend preaches a funeral sermon with tremendous fire.
June 26:—It appears that the bad bloods of the town are frantically22 devouring23 their own souls, or leaving. The city has been losing, since the election and the lynching, as much genius as it does deviltry. Sparrow Short who has been obliged to take down his pictures and hang them defiantly24 in his own studio, has turned into a profane25 old varlet, amazing to hear, and is inciting26 as many pupils of ours as possible to leave Springfield. He is himself threatening to leave. But he does not leave. “Certainly it is no hardship,” as the Sentimental27 Romanoff says, in 213The Boone Ax, “to see departing the most of those with a special talent for raising Cain.” And he remarks on what an awful row they would have made, had they been sent out of town. The coffee houses still exist. There is no denying that they are getting pretty lively, considering that nothing but coffee is dispensed28.
Rabbi Ezekiel, moreover, with all care to defer29 to the aged30 St. Friend in a personal way, declares that the photoplay movement, being no longer in alliance with questioned places, is destined31 to go forward with fresh life. He admits that the abolition32 of the halls is justified33, though he took no part in it. But he is a motion picture fan, whatever the turn of history.
June 27:—My whole feeling over the fights about the halls is that I have not had much chance, after Avanel’s promise to dance there with me. I have had only an evening or so.
As for the lynching, the court proceedings34 promise to drag on, as they always have in such cases. Everyone knows nothing will be done except postpone35. Everyone knows it was Jim, yet no one knows it, and the Janitor36 of the Yellow Hall is the only person whose name gets into the papers.
214June 28:—The Thibetan Boy, that the Romanoff dubbed37 the Muttering Thibetan, now swings into my life, and as though he were a guide sent from wonderland, with sealed orders just opened, he takes me the rounds of Springfield and the whole city becomes new. It is not a place of individual sinners and saints. The City’s architecture seems to breathe and live for him. The tiniest gargoyle38 takes on personality and citizenship39. All this morning he has been taking me through the gardens of Mother Grey. These gardens seem built rather than planted. The trees are green walls and roofs. I am amused to note there is no prejudice against dandelions, since, in a former existence, I had so many to dig up. They now make the carpets. He takes me into the temple studio of Joseph Bartholdi Michael, the Third, who is especially busy for young university student girls who expect to be June brides in the next two or three days. This studio is a place established for the innermost circles of the flower religion. Before each altar is a design to be set up and kept glorious in some new cottage. Several of these are for a new row of cottages near Washington Park called Bridal Row. The temple is full of the fluttering brides of tomorrow, seeing the last touches and consulting 215about what candles and incense40 to burn, and asking over and over what flowers are permitted by the Flower Religion Marriage Service, which is the one most preferred by the exquisites41 of 2018.
June 29:—Avanel and I have developed a favorite walk: the Lincoln’s monument region. We pass under many of the Golden Rain Trees and Ezekiel Oaks, to the Apple-Amaranth Grove42 that was the first in Sangamon County, and the Grave of Hunter Kelly, in the midst of it. There are the old pick and spade of the Devil, always left on the grave. When we do not walk in this region we are apt to be looking this way from the Truth Tower, from the lookout43 room of the newspapers, or looking back from the telescope room of the Ashland Gate. Avanel is generally very solemn looking this way, planning new processions and dances in praise of Hunter Kelly and the next festival of Hunter Kelly, July 11.
June 30:—Avanel has four suitors in Springfield. I am often but a ghost in my own eyes and always but shadow to them. On the hot summer days she goes with three of them to the gigantic porcelain-lined swimming pool of Bunn Park, with two girls, a merry six. 216I hardly have my turn with her for several days at a time.
One of her suitors is an engineer. One is a motor-truck driver. One is an aviator44. I sometimes find myself the servant of all three men, but ignored as servants may be. As clouds, mists and smoke seems to choke me, through the whirlwind, I am sometimes the absurd unregarded dragon engine bearing her and the engineer to Chicago. While she laughs as his guest in the engine cab I must look down the track through the murk, and I cannot turn round and see the face of her lover, and the skies are laughing at me forever. Sometimes I am in my dream the absurd auto-truck engine, carrying her and the driver, as he delivers his last consignment45 of goods from the central market. Even the stones of the street laugh at me as we rattle46 over them. I am only a mechanical toy, and the traffic in the street, preparing for the great World’s Fair, drowns out the whispers of the young people.
Sometimes I am the ridiculous flying machine in which she rides as though to mock me, with the third lover. I must soar on and carry them and they go through fearful storms and up through inconceivable blackness and I cannot see before or after. Even 217the sound of the rushing wind drowns out their words.
And as these men dismount from their chariots, and as they are on the point of passing by me, with their lordly airs, I turn to dust. I am as dust of the road swept up by a little puff47 of wind. And then the witchcraft48 continues and I find myself a coal digger in the mine beside young Joseph Bartholdi Michael, the Third, or laying brick with him somewhere, and I know that I am such stuff as dreams are made of.
My fourth rival is the one I most fear. He is a twenty year old libertine49, a kind of a Lord Byron. He loves her now, for a day. His name is TIME. To torture me the more and lure50 me on from the desire for perpetual death and to prepare me again for a more futile51 struggle, he gives me deep and curious days with Avanel, when we seem to be twin explorers of the Universe. And then I have big athletic52 days with her when I seem, not a ghost, but something as substantial as a strutting53 turkey gobbler.
So this last day of June, in the Mystic Year, after a big swim at Bunn Park, amidst thousands of gay mermen and mermaids54, we plan an all-afternoon and all-evening walk. And we go west on Wellesley Avenue and 218north on Sixth Street, all the way to the Sangamon River and to Sangamon River Park. We find there a cage we have never seen before. It is between the ice pit of the grizzly55 bears and the yard of the giraffes. It is a large cage. In it a pair of new animals pace back and forth56, trailing their quills57 on the ground. The cage is marked. “Quilled Lions from Java.” They do not seem as fierce as lions, but have a more human peering, way. They seem to be deeply interested in the world rather than angry with it. The male animal marches round and round his mate. She is like him even to the collar of gorgeous quills that rise and fall. The heads of these sagacious beasts differentiate58 them further from lions. They have a bit more skull59 structure, and at the same time are more Satanic in their foreheads and their faces. They seem to speak to each other by signs, by glances, and mere pacing together. It gives the impression of being most detailed60 and constructive61 conversation. Meanwhile, the crests62 go through chameleon63 changes. The beasts watch the setting sun as intently as we have ever done, and the spike-quill collars follow every evanescent turn of the hues64.
Avanel says: “Whatever these animals are, they ought not to be in a cage. If they could 219only be taught the English language, or we could learn theirs, we might make them mascots65 for the city, or even Lord Mayor and Wife.”
The attendant says: “Do not go too near. Those quills are poison.”
“Yes, indeed,” answers Avanel as the light dawns instantly. “And Java is almost the same as Singapore. We might have known such beasts came from near Singapore. I have heard of them. They are the Singaporian lions.”
Then we forget these beasts and walk eastward66 along the Sangamon River Drive. Through the openings of the trees and from the higher points we look back southward. We have had our feast and our Amaranth-Apples in the Sangamon Park pavilion. The star chimes are ringing. The towers are there to the south. What torch bearers before time have equalled these priest-wizards with entrails of fire? They are sterner than priests. They are the soldier-machines of liberty that will sweep the world. They are the Macedonian phalanx that will decide for another century every field upon which they will appear. The merchants of Singapore refuse to use the Sunset Towers, when they build their new cities in 220their battle for world supremacy67, and even by that they are doomed68. The houses and commercial palaces and temples of Singapore crouch69 little and low, like huts in a forest, or glass pagodas70 in little stage comedies. They are fearful of the incantations hatched in our hives of electrical flame that shine on to the glory of Louis H. Sullivan and Frank Lloyd Wright, who planned the first ones, a century ago, and the Thibetan Boy and John Emis, who build them today.
Avanel and I walk south to the city down beautiful Fifteenth Street. The city is the Fair and the Fair is the city, though there has not yet come the formal proclamation to the world of the opening. There is not one heart on the street but seems to be beating happily. The elation71 in the air on this perfect June night is worth a lifetime of groans72. It seems to me that for this hour Springfield has been patiently toiling73 and staggering on, despite much sorrow and sin, for a century. All the children of this generation seem to sweep by us and to be spending the stored up capacity of themselves and all their ancestors for jubilation74.
There are hundreds of unspoiled sightseers in the crowd looking on the lights of Springfield, often for the first time. These 221visitors will not wait for the Mayor’s proclamation, that the Fair has begun.
And they are happy, but not as we two are. The bass75 viol orchestra of the lacquered and rumbling76 pleasure wagons77 sings a special song to us though we be independent walkers. We hear them, we boast, better than they hear themselves. There is a babble78 and a roar that is the beating of the vast heart of Springfield. Its rhythm goes into our footfalls every instant.
It is late, and Avanel insists on going on, in the intoxication79 of weariness, and will not let me take her to her house on Mulberry Boulevard. She leads me into the very thick of the great forest of Sunset Towers again, now “midnight towers,” she says to me, with her face flushed to a deep crimson80 from utter weariness, and her eyes heavy with the desire for sleep, and her determined81 little feet still dancing nervously82 on. And this is what her soul says to me, and what we say to one another, in our fashion, as we whirl on: “Not until another civilization rises here, will there be a rival form to these towers. It is only a matter of years till the type be perfected by John Emis or the Thibetan Boy or their kind. The first generation of ripened83 builders came a century ago. That was our Early Renaissance84. 222At last our High Renaissance has come. The ripe architectural genius will appear who will gather to himself all that can be known of beam and girder and truss, of foundation and wind pressure and the distribution of light, all that can be learned about hollow brick and tile, of pillar and elevator and fireproofing. He will understand the chances peculiar85 to his materials and town. His imagination will be a smelter, a mastered volcano. He will have visions of welded steel that will put all men to shame but the builders of the Parthenon, the hewers of the Sphinx. There shall be no borrowings from Paris or Rome.
“The least minor86 decoration shall reflect the majesty87 of the dream, as the Gothic altar carving88 repeated the flying buttress89 and the spires90 leaping heavenward.
“Because we take our pleasure at the feet of the Sunset Towers, now ‘midnight towers’ while the midnight stars go by, they shall be reembodied and perfected in the sons that shall spring from them like light.
“They are the rose and gold progenitors91 of Springfield, the rainbow patriarchs of Springfield. They stand proudly through the night and the lighted streets below them are like a carpet of goldenrod and dandelions unrolled 223at their feet. Their heads are so far in the heavens they converse92 with their serene93 sister the moon. They look out together to the Springfield University and the Sangamon River where the bridges sweep to the north, sparkling threads in the mist. They look south to the Street of Past History that bends around till it meets them.
“Who shall dispraise the excellence94 of our towers? They look west with all the pioneers, and the very soul of far off, west-going Daniel Boone is in them.
“We take our pleasure, honorable, or philosophical95, innocent or stupid or guilty, at their feet, and where pleasure is, there art is born. Many songs shall be sung to them, many new names given to them. Their children shall rise up to call them blessed. Their children shall be a world-conquering city all about them, before the relentless96 sun looks down upon their ruins, before that blazing lion of time shall have eaten their bones of steel.
“They were born from the black soil of Illinois and from the heart of the Thibetan and from the Red Indian and the Afro-American and all the tribes of the earth. There is in them many an antithesis97 to all the old architectures and structures.
224“The noblest thing to be seen from their heights is the mighty98 northwest road. For the souls’ highway will stay open and crying for the souls of men to follow when these towers are dead and gone.”
Now it is way past midnight, and we are at old Fifth and Monroe, and all the street cars and vehicles have long stopped, and the light in Dodds’ drug store is dim, and the all-night clerks are nodding behind the cases, or chatting at the ice cream tables, half awake.
And so Avanel and I, walking in one dream together, know not whether we see with the human eyes that perish or the eyes of eternity99.
Suddenly something of the cry of the earth reaches us, and there, camping at the crossing of the street car tracks of Fifth and Monroe is the Handsome Medicine Man, Devil’s Gold. He is shaking his bead100 covered rattle, making medicine, and dishonoring our souls with his leer. And he calls us by name as we stand directly in front of him. We are so tired from our long walk, we cannot but admire his gilded101 face and his yellow magic blanket.
Holding each other’s hands like lovers we stoop and admire ourselves in the golden pool that flickers102 in the great campfire he has impudently103 225built at the crossing of the street car tracks.
We walk down through the pool into a mundane104 world, so perfect its materialism105 becomes magical, and into many an underground field and forest of wonder, and as we look into each other’s faces and admire one another we are moving gilded images from head to feet. But since we are, at least, together, a hundred-year hunger in the very midst of my heart is thus terribly satisfied, though I am frightened at a betrayal I cannot understand, as though the heavens themselves had lied. We take the wickedest pleasure in looking upon the yellow world around us. And we hear on the air the laughter of the Handsome Medicine Man, Devil’s Gold.
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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censored
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| 受审查的，被删剪的 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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slayer
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| n. 杀人者，凶手 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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minion
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| n.宠仆；宠爱之人 | |
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untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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noose
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| n.绳套，绞索（刑）；v.用套索捉；使落入圈套；处以绞刑 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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frantically
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| ad.发狂地, 发疯地 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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defiantly
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profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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inciting
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| 刺激的，煽动的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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defer
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| vt.推迟，拖延；vi.(to)遵从，听从，服从 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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abolition
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| n.废除，取消 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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janitor
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| n.看门人，管门人 | |
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dubbed
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| v.给…起绰号( dub的过去式和过去分词 )；把…称为；配音；复制 | |
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gargoyle
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| n.笕嘴 | |
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citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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exquisites
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| n.精致的( exquisite的名词复数 )；敏感的；剧烈的；强烈的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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aviator
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| n.飞行家，飞行员 | |
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consignment
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| n.寄售；发货；委托；交运货物 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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puff
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| n.一口(气)；一阵(风)；v.喷气，喘气 | |
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witchcraft
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| n.魔法，巫术 | |
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libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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mermaids
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| n.（传说中的）美人鱼( mermaid的名词复数 ) | |
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grizzly
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| adj.略为灰色的，呈灰色的；n.灰色大熊 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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quills
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| n.（刺猬或豪猪的）刺( quill的名词复数 )；羽毛管；翮；纡管 | |
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differentiate
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| vi.(between)区分；vt.区别；使不同 | |
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skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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constructive
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| adj.建设的，建设性的 | |
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crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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mascots
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| n.吉祥物( mascot的名词复数 ) | |
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eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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crouch
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| v.蹲伏，蜷缩，低头弯腰；n.蹲伏 | |
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pagodas
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| 塔，宝塔( pagoda的名词复数 ) | |
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elation
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| n.兴高采烈，洋洋得意 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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jubilation
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| n.欢庆，喜悦 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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babble
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| v.含糊不清地说，胡言乱语地说，儿语 | |
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intoxication
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| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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renaissance
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| n.复活，复兴，文艺复兴 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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carving
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| n.雕刻品，雕花 | |
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buttress
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| n.支撑物；v.支持 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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antithesis
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| n.对立；相对 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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flickers
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| 电影制片业； （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的名词复数 ) | |
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impudently
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mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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105
materialism
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| n.［哲］唯物主义，唯物论；物质至上 | |
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