An American Tragedy by Theodore Dreiser

he not? He had not gone to her rescue when he might

have. He had wished her dead and afterwards had not

been sorry. In the blow that had brought about the upsetting

of the boat had been some anger. Also in the mood that

had not permitted him to strike. The facts that he had been

influenced by the beauty and position of Miss X to the

plotting of this deed, and, after his evil relations with

Roberta, that she had been determined he should marry

her, far from being points in extenuation of his actions, were

really further evidence of his general earthly sin and guilt.

Before the Lord then he had sinned in many ways. In those

dark days, alas, as Mr. McMillan saw it, he was little more

than a compound of selfishness and unhallowed desire and

fornication against the evil of which Paul had thundered. It

had endured to the end and had not changed—until he had

been taken by the law. He had not repented—not even

there at Bear Lake where he had time for thought. And

besides, had he not, from the beginning to end, bolstered it

with false and evil pretenses? Verily.

On the other hand, no doubt if he were sent to the chair

now in the face of his first—and yet so clear manifestation

of contrition—when now, for the first time he was beginning

to grasp the enormity of his offense—it would be but to

compound crime with crime—the state in this instance

being the aggressor. For, like the warden and many others,

McMillan was against capital punishment—preferring to

compel the wrong-doer to serve the state in some way. But,

none-the-less, he felt himself compelled to acknowledge,

Clyde was far from innocent. Think as he would—and

however much spiritually he desired to absolve him, was he

not actually guilty?

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In vain it was that McMillan now pointed out to Clyde that

his awakened moral and spiritual understanding more

perfectly and beautifully fitted him for life and action than

ever before. He was alone. He had no one who believed in

him. No one. He had no one, whom, in any of his troubled

and tortured actions before that crime saw anything but the

darkest guilt apparently. And yet—and yet—(and this

despite Sondra and the Reverend McMillan and all the

world for that matter, Mason, the jury at Bridgeburg, the

Court of Appeals at Albany, if it should decide to confirm the

jury at Bridgeburg), he had a feeling in his heart that he was

not as guilty as they all seemed to think. After all they had

not been tortured as he had by Roberta with her

determination that he marry her and thus ruin his whole life.

They had not burned with that unquenchable passion for

the Sondra of his beautiful dream as he had. They had not

been harassed, tortured, mocked by the ill-fate of his early

life and training, forced to sing and pray on the streets as

he had in such a degrading way, when his whole heart and

soul cried out for better things. How could they judge him,

these people, all or any one of them, even his own mother,

when they did not know what his own mental, physical and

spiritual suffering had been? And as he lived through it

again in his thoughts at this moment the sting and mental

poison of it was as real to him as ever. Even in the face of

all the facts and as much as every one felt him to be guilty,

there was something so deep within him that seemed to cry

out against it that, even now, at times, it startled him. Still—

there was the Reverend McMillan—he was a very fair and

just and merciful man. Surely he saw all this from a higher

light and better viewpoint than his own. While at times he

felt strongly that he was innocent, at others he felt that he

must be guilty.

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1174

Oh, these evasive and tangled and torturesome thoughts!!

Would he never be able—quite—to get the whole thing

straightened out in his own mind?

So Clyde not being able to take advantage truly of either

the tenderness and faith and devotion of so good and pure

a soul as the Reverend McMillan or the all merciful and all

powerful God of whom here he stood as the ambassador.

What was he to do, really? How pray, resignedly,

unreservedly, faithfully? And in that mood—and because of

the urge of the Reverend Duncan, who was convinced by

Clyde’s confession that he must have been completely

infused with the spirit of God, once more thumbing through

the various passages and chapters pointed out to him—

reading and re-reading the Psalms most familiar to him,

seeking from their inspiration to catch the necessary

contrition—which once caught would give him that peace

and strength which in those long and dreary hours he so

much desired. Yet never quite catching it.

Parallel with all this, four more months passed. And at the

end of that time—in January, 19—, the Court of Appeals

finding (Fulham, Jr., reviewing the evidence as offered by

Belknap and Jephson)—with Kincaid, Briggs, Truman and

Dobshutter concurring, that Clyde was guilty as decided by

the Cataraqui County jury and sentencing him to die at

some time within the week beginning February 28th or six

weeks later—and saying in conclusion:

“We are mindful that this is a case of circumstantial

evidence and that the only eyewitness denies that death

was the result of crime. But in obedience to the most

exacting requirements of that manner of proof, the counsel

for the people, with very unusual thoroughness and ability

has investigated and presented evidence of a great number

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1175

of circumstances for the purpose of truly solving the

question of the defendant’s guilt or innocence.

“We might think that the proof of some of these facts

standing by themselves was subject to doubt by reason of

unsatisfactory or contradictory evidence, and that other

occurrences might be so explained or interpreted as to be

reconcilable with innocence. The defense—and very ably—

sought to enforce this view.

“But taken all together and considered as a connected

whole, they make such convincing proof of guilt that we are

not able to escape from its force by any justifiable process

of reasoning and we are compelled to say that not only is

the verdict not opposed to the weight of evidence, and to

the proper inference to be drawn from it, but that it is

abundantly justified thereby. Decision of the lower court

unanimously confirmed.”

On hearing this, McMillan, who was in Syracuse at the time,

hurrying to Clyde in the hope that before the news was

conveyed officially, he should be there to encourage him

spiritually, since, only with the aid of the Lord, as he saw it—

the eternal and ever present help in trouble—would Clyde

be able to endure so heavy a blow. And finding him—for

which he was most deeply grateful—wholly unaware of

what had occurred, since no news of any kind was

conveyed to any condemned man until the warrant for his

execution had arrived.

After a most tender and spiritual conversation—in which he

quoted from Matthew, Paul and John as to the

unimportance of this world—the true reality and joy of the

next—Clyde was compelled to learn from McMillan that the

decision of the court had gone against him. And that though

McMillan talked of an appeal to the Governor which he—

and some others whom he was sure to be able to influence

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1176

would make—unless the Governor chose to act, within six

weeks, as Clyde knew, he would be compelled to die. And

then, once the force of that fact had finally burst on him—

and while McMillan talked on about faith and the refuge

which the mercy and wisdom of God provided—Clyde,

standing before him with more courage and character

showing in his face and eyes than at any time previously in

his brief and eager career.

“So they decided against me. Now I will have to go through

that door after all,—like all those others. They’ll draw the

curtains for me, too. Into that other room—then back across

the passage—saying good-bye as I go, like those others. I

will not be here any more.” He seemed to be going over

each step in his mind—each step with which he was so

familiar, only now, for the first time, he was living it for

himself. Now, in the face of this dread news, which

somehow was as fascinating as it was terrible, feeling not

as distrait or weak as at first he had imagined he would be.

Rather, to his astonishment, considering all his previous

terror in regard to this, thinking of what he would do, what

he would say, in an outwardly calm way.

Would he repeat prayers read to him by the Reverend