(Of all the stupidities wherewith the law-making power has signaled its own incapacity for dealing with the disorders of society, none appears so utterly stupid as the law which punishes an attempted suicide. To the question "What have you to say in your defense?" I conceive the poor wretch might reply as follows:)
(Of all the stupidities wherewith the law-making power has signaled its own incapacity for dealing with the disorders of society, none appears so utterly stupid as the law which punishes an attempted suicide. To the question "What have you to say in your defense?" I conceive the poor wretch might reply as follows:)
To say in my defense? Defense of what?Defense to whom? And why defense at all?Have I wronged any? Let that one accuse!Some priest there mutters I "have outraged God"!Let God then try me, and let none dare judgeHimself as fit to put Heaven's ermine on!Again I say, let the wronged one accuse.Aye, silence! There is none to answer me.And whom could I, a homeless, friendless tramp,To whom all doors are shut, all hearts are locked,All hands withheld—whom could I wrong, indeedBy taking that which benefited noneAnd menaced all?Aye, since ye will it so,Know then your risk. But mark, 'tis not defense,'Tis accusation that I hurl at you.See to't that ye prepare your own defense.My life, I say, is an eternal threatTo you and yours; and therefore it were wellTo have foreborne your unasked services.And why? Because I hate you! Every dropOf blood that circles in your plethoric veinsWas wrung from out the gaunt and sapless trunksOf men like me, who in your cursed millsWere crushed like grapes within the wine-press ground.To us ye leave the empty skin of life;The heart of it, the sweet of it, ye pourTo fete your dogs and mistresses withal!Your mistresses! Our daughters! Bought, for bread,To grace the flesh that once was father's arms!Yes, I accuse you that ye murdered me!Ye killed the Man—and this that speaks to youIs but the beast that ye have made of me!What! Is it life to creep and crawl and beg,And slink for shelter where rats congregate?And for one's ideal dream of a fat meal?Is it, then, life, to group like pigs in sties,And bury decency in common filth,Because, forsooth, your income must be made,Though human flesh rot in your plague-rid dens?Is it, then, life, to wait another's nod,For leave to turn yourself to gold for him?Would it be life to you? And was I lessThan you? Was I not born with hopes and dreamsAnd pains and passions even as were you?But these ye have denied. Ye seized the earth,Though it was none of yours, and said: "HereonShall none rest, walk or work, till first to meYe render tribute!" Every art of man,Born to make light of the burdens of the world,Ye also seized, and made a tenfold curseTo crush the man beneath the thing he made.Houses, machines, and lands—all, all are yours;And us you do not need. When we ask workYe shake your heads. Homes?—Ye evict us. Bread?—"Here, officer, this fellow's begging. Jail'sThe place for him!" After the stripes, what next?—Poison!—I took it!—Now you say 'twas sinTo take this life which troubled you so much.Sin to escape insult, starvation, brandsOf felony, inflicted for the crimeOf asking food! Ye hypocrites! WithinYour secret hearts the sin is that Ifailed!Because I failed ye judge me to the stripes,And the hard toil denied when I was free.So be it. But beware!—A prison cell'sAn evil bed to grow morality!Black swamps breed black miasms; sickly soilsYield poison fruit; snakes warmed to life will sting.This time I was content to go alone;Perchance the next I shall not be so kind.
To say in my defense? Defense of what?Defense to whom? And why defense at all?Have I wronged any? Let that one accuse!Some priest there mutters I "have outraged God"!Let God then try me, and let none dare judgeHimself as fit to put Heaven's ermine on!Again I say, let the wronged one accuse.Aye, silence! There is none to answer me.And whom could I, a homeless, friendless tramp,To whom all doors are shut, all hearts are locked,All hands withheld—whom could I wrong, indeedBy taking that which benefited noneAnd menaced all?Aye, since ye will it so,Know then your risk. But mark, 'tis not defense,'Tis accusation that I hurl at you.See to't that ye prepare your own defense.My life, I say, is an eternal threatTo you and yours; and therefore it were wellTo have foreborne your unasked services.And why? Because I hate you! Every dropOf blood that circles in your plethoric veinsWas wrung from out the gaunt and sapless trunksOf men like me, who in your cursed millsWere crushed like grapes within the wine-press ground.To us ye leave the empty skin of life;The heart of it, the sweet of it, ye pourTo fete your dogs and mistresses withal!Your mistresses! Our daughters! Bought, for bread,To grace the flesh that once was father's arms!
Yes, I accuse you that ye murdered me!Ye killed the Man—and this that speaks to youIs but the beast that ye have made of me!What! Is it life to creep and crawl and beg,And slink for shelter where rats congregate?And for one's ideal dream of a fat meal?Is it, then, life, to group like pigs in sties,And bury decency in common filth,Because, forsooth, your income must be made,Though human flesh rot in your plague-rid dens?Is it, then, life, to wait another's nod,For leave to turn yourself to gold for him?Would it be life to you? And was I lessThan you? Was I not born with hopes and dreamsAnd pains and passions even as were you?
But these ye have denied. Ye seized the earth,Though it was none of yours, and said: "HereonShall none rest, walk or work, till first to meYe render tribute!" Every art of man,Born to make light of the burdens of the world,Ye also seized, and made a tenfold curseTo crush the man beneath the thing he made.Houses, machines, and lands—all, all are yours;And us you do not need. When we ask workYe shake your heads. Homes?—Ye evict us. Bread?—"Here, officer, this fellow's begging. Jail'sThe place for him!" After the stripes, what next?—Poison!—I took it!—Now you say 'twas sinTo take this life which troubled you so much.Sin to escape insult, starvation, brandsOf felony, inflicted for the crimeOf asking food! Ye hypocrites! WithinYour secret hearts the sin is that Ifailed!Because I failed ye judge me to the stripes,And the hard toil denied when I was free.So be it. But beware!—A prison cell'sAn evil bed to grow morality!Black swamps breed black miasms; sickly soilsYield poison fruit; snakes warmed to life will sting.This time I was content to go alone;Perchance the next I shall not be so kind.
Philadelphia, September, 1894.