An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

“No, sir. Not that I wanted to marry her.”

“Well, well, all right!—and she—what did she say?”

“That she never would leave me,” replied Clyde, heavily

and fearsomely, thinking, as he did so, of Roberta’s last

cries and her eyes bent on him. And he took from his

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pocket a handkerchief and began to wipe his moist, cold

face and hands.

(“Well staged!” murmured Mason, softly and cynically.

“Pretty shrewd—pretty shrewd!” commented Redmond,

lightly.)

“But, tell me,” went on Jephson, softly and coldly, “feeling

as you did aboout Miss Alden, how was it that upon

meeting this Miss X, you could change so quickly? Are you

so fickle that you don’t know your own mind from day to

day?”

“Well, I didn’t think so up to that time—no, sir!”

“Had you ever had a strong and binding love affair at any

time in your life before you met Miss Alden?”

“No, sir.”

“But did you consider this one with Miss Alden strong and

binding—a true love affair—up to the time you met this Miss

X?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“And afterwards—then what?”

“Well—afterwards—it wasn’t quite like that any more.”

“You mean to say that on sight of Miss X, after encountering

her once or twice, you ceased to care for Miss Alden

entirely?”

“Well, no, sir. It wasn’t quite like that,” volunteered Clyde,

swiftly and earnestly. “I did continue to care for her some—

quite a lot, really. But before I knew it I had completely lost

my head over—over Miss—Miss——”

“Yes, this Miss X. We know. You fell madly and

unreasonably in love with her. Was that the way of it?”

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“Yes, sir.”

“And then?”

“Well—and then—I just couldn’t care for Miss Alden so

much any more.” A thin film of moisture covered Clyde’s

forehead and cheeks as he spoke.

“I see! I see!” went on Jephson, oratorically and loudly,

having the jury and audience in mind. “A case of the

Arabian Nights, of the enscorcelled and the enscorcellor.”

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” said Clyde.

“A case of being betwitched, my poor boy—by beauty, love,

wealth, by things that we sometimes think we want very,

very much, and cannot ever have—that is what I mean, and

that is what much of the love in the world amounts to.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde, quite innocently, concluding rightly

that this was mere show of rhetoric on Jephson’s part.

“But what I want to know is—how was it that loving Miss

Alden as much as you say you did—and having reached

that relationship which should have been sanctified by

marriage—how was it that you could have felt so little

bound or obligated to her as to entertain the idea of casting

her over for this Miss X? Now just how was that? I would

like to know, and so would this jury, I am sure. Where was

your sense of gratitude? Your sense of moral obligation?

Do you mean to say that you have none? We want to

know.”

This was really cross-examination—an attack on his own

witness. Yet Jephson was within his rights and Mason did

not interfere.

“Well …” and here Clyde hesitated and stumbled, quite as if

he had not been instructed as to all this beforehand, and

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seemed to and did truly finger about in his own mind or

reason for some thought that would help him to explain all

this. For although it was true that he had memorized the

answer, now that he was confronted by the actual question

here in court, as well as the old problem that had so

confused and troubled him in Lycurgus, he could scarcely

think clearly of all he had been told to say, but instead

twisted and turned, and finally came out with:

“The fact is, I didn’t think about those things at all very

much. I couldn’t after I saw her. I tried to at times, but I

couldn’t. I only wanted her and I didn’t want Miss Alden any

more. I knew I wasn’t doing right—exactly—and I felt sorry

for Roberta—but just the same I didn’t seem able to do

anything much about it. I could only think of Miss X and I

couldn’t think of Roberta as I had before no matter how

hard I tried.”

“Do you mean to say that you didn’t suffer in your own

conscience on account of this?”

“Yes, sir, I suffered,” replied Clyde. “I knew I wasn’t doing

right, and it made me worry a lot about her and myself, but

just the same I didn’t seem to be able to do any better.” (He

was repeating words that Jephson had written out for him,

although at the time he first read them he felt them to be

fairly true. He had suffered some.)

“And then?”

“Well, then she began to complain because I didn’t go

round to see her as much as before.”

“In other words, you began to neglect her.”

“Yes, sir, some—but not entirely—no, sir.”

“Well, when you found you were so infatuated with this Miss

X, what did you do? Did you go and tell Miss Alden that you

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were no longer in love with her but in love with some one

else?”

“No, I didn’t. Not then.”

“Why not then? Did you think it fair and honorable to be

telling two girls at once that you cared for them?”

“No, sir, but it wasn’t quite like that either. You see at that

time I was just getting acquainted with Miss X, and I wasn’t

telling her anything. She wouldn’t let me. But I knew then,

just the same, that I couldn’t care for Miss Alden any more.”

“But what about the claim Miss Alden had on you? Didn’t

you feel that that was enough or should be, to prevent you

from running after another girl?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, why did you then?”

“I couldn’t resist her.”

“Miss X, you mean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And so you continued to run after her until you had made

her care for you?”

“No, sir, that wasn’t the way at all.”

“Well then, what was the way?”

“I just met her here and there and got crazy about her.”

“I see. But still you didn’t go and tell Miss Alden that you

couldn’t care for her any longer?”

“No, sir. Not then.”

“And why not?”

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“Because I thought it would hurt her, and I didn’t want to do

that.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t have the moral or mental courage to

do it then?”

“I don’t know about the moral or mental courage,” replied

Clyde, a little hurt and irritated by this description of himself,

“but I felt sorry for her just the same. She used to cry and I

didn’t have the heart to tell her anything.”

“I see. Well, let it stand that way, if you want to. But now

answer me one other thing. That relationship between you

two—what about that—after you knew that you didn’t care

for her any more. Did that continue?”

“Well, no, sir, not so very long, anyhow,” replied Clyde,

most nervously and shamefacedly. He was thinking of all

the people before him now—of his mother—Sondra—of all

the people throughout the entire United States—who would

read and so know. And on first being shown these

questions weeks and weeks before he had wanted to know

of Jephson what the use of all that was. And Jephson had

replied: “Educational effect. The quicker and harder we can

shock ’em with some of the real facts of life around here,

the easier it is going to be for you to get a little more sane

consideration of what your problem was. But don’t worry

your head over that now. When the time comes, just

answer ’em and leave the rest to us. We know what we’re

doing.” And so now Clyde added:

“You see, after meeting Miss X I couldn’t care for her so

much that way any more, and so I tried not to go around

her so much any more. But anyhow, it wasn’t so very long

after that before she got in trouble and then—well——”

“I see. And when was that—about?”

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“Along in the latter part of January last year.”

“And once that happened, then what? Did you or did you

not feel that it was your duty under the circumstances to

marry her?”

“Well, no—not the way things were then—that is, if I could

get her out of it, I mean.”

“And why not? What do you mean by ‘as things were then’?”

“Well, you see, it was just as I told you. I wasn’t caring for

her any more, and since I hadn’t promised to marry her,

and she knew it, I thought it would be fair enough if I helped

her out of it and then told her that I didn’t care for her as I