For the Term of His Natural Life

by Marcus Andrew Hislop Clarke

  December 7th.--I have made up my mind to leave this place, to burymyself again in the bush, I suppose, and await extinction. I try tothink that the reason for this determination is the frightful conditionof misery existing among the prisoners; that because I am dailyhorrified and sickened by scenes of torture and infamy, I decide to goaway; that, feeling myself powerless to save others, I wish to sparemyself. But in this journal, in which I bind myself to write nothingbut truth, I am forced to confess that these are not the reasons. I willwrite the reason plainly: "I covet my neighbour's wife." It does notlook well thus written. It looks hideous. In my own breast I findnumberless excuses for my passion. I said to myself, "My neighbour doesnot love his wife, and her unloved life is misery. She is forced to livein the frightful seclusion of this accursed island, and she is dying forwant of companionship. She feels that I understand and appreciate her,that I could love her as she deserves, that I could render her happy. Ifeel that I have met the only woman who has power to touch my heart, tohold me back from the ruin into which I am about to plunge, to makeme useful to my fellows--a man, and not a drunkard." Whispering theseconclusions to myself, I am urged to brave public opinion, and make twolives happy. I say to myself, or rather my desires say to me--"Whatsin is there in this? Adultery? No; for a marriage without love isthe coarsest of all adulteries. What tie binds a man and womantogether--that formula of license pronounced by the priest, which thelaw has recognized as a 'legal bond'? Surely not this only, formarriage is but a partnership--a contract of mutual fidelity--and inall contracts the violation of the terms of the agreement by one of thecontracting persons absolves the other. Mrs. Frere is then absolved, byher husband's act. I cannot but think so. But is she willing to risk theshame of divorce or legal offence? Perhaps. Is she fitted by temperamentto bear such a burden of contumely as must needs fall upon her? Willshe not feel disgust at the man who entrapped her into shame? Do not thecomforts which surround her compensate for the lack of affections?" Andso the torturing catechism continues, until I am driven mad with doubt,love, and despair.

  Of course I am wrong; of course I outrage my character as a priest; ofcourse I endanger--according to the creed I teach--my soul and hers. Butpriests, unluckily, have hearts and passions as well as other men. ThankGod, as yet, I have never expressed my madness in words. What a fate ismine! When I am in her presence I am in torment; when I am absent fromher my imagination pictures her surrounded by a thousand graces that arenot hers, but belong to all the women of my dreams--to Helen, to Juliet,to Rosalind. Fools that we are of our own senses! When I think of her Iblush; when I hear her name my heart leaps, and I grow pale. Love! Whatis the love of two pure souls, scarce conscious of the Paradise intowhich they have fallen, to this maddening delirium? I can understand thepoison of Circe's cup; it is the sweet-torment of a forbidden love likemine! Away gross materialism, in which I have so long schooled myself!I, who laughed at passion as the outcome of temperament and easyliving--I, who thought in my intellect, to sound all the depths andshoals of human feeling--I, who analysed my own soul--scoffed at my ownyearnings for an immortality--am forced to deify the senseless power ofmy creed, and believe in God, that I may pray to Him. I know now why menreject the cold impersonality that reason tells us rules the world--itis because they love. To die, and be no more; to die, and rendered intodust, be blown about the earth; to die and leave our love defencelessand forlorn, till the bright soul that smiled to ours is smothered inthe earth that made it! No! To love is life eternal. God, I believe inThee! Aid me! Pity me! Sinful wretch that I am, to have denied Thee! Seeme on my knees before Thee! Pity me, or let me die!

  December 9th.--I have been visiting the two condemned prisoners, Dawesand Bland, and praying with them. O Lord, let me save one soul that mayplead with Thee for mine! Let me draw one being alive out of this pit! Iweep--I weary Thee with my prayers, O Lord! Look down upon me. Grant mea sign. Thou didst it in old times to men who were not more ferventin their supplications than am I. So says Thy Book. Thy Book which Ibelieve--which I believe. Grant me a sign--one little sign, O Lord!--Iwill not see her. I have sworn it. Thou knowest my grief--my agony--mydespair. Thou knowest why I love her. Thou knowest how I strive to makeher hate me. Is that not a sacrifice? I am so lonely--a lonely man, withbut one creature that he loves--yet, what is mortal love to Thee? Crueland implacable, Thou sittest in the heavens men have built for Thee, andscornest them! Will not all the burnings and slaughters of the saintsappease Thee? Art Thou not sated with blood and tears, O God ofvengeance, of wrath, and of despair! Kind Christ, pity me. Thouwilt--for Thou wast human! Blessed Saviour, at whose feet knelt theMagdalen! Divinity, who, most divine in Thy despair, called on Thy cruelGod to save Thee--by the memory of that moment when Thou didst deemThyself forsaken--forsake not me! Sweet Christ, have mercy on Thy sinfulservant.

  I can write no more. I will pray to Thee with my lips. I will shriek mysupplications to Thee. I will call upon Thee so loud that all the worldshall hear me, and wonder at Thy silence--unjust and unmerciful God!

  December 14th.--What blasphemies are these which I have uttered in mydespair? Horrible madness that has left me prostrate, to what heights offrenzy didst thou not drive my soul! Like him of old time, who wanderedamong the tombs, shrieking and tearing himself, I have been possessedby a devil. For a week I have been unconscious of aught save torture.I have gone about my daily duties as one who in his dreams repeats theaccustomed action of the day, and knows it not. Men have looked at mestrangely. They look at me strangely now. Can it be that my disease ofdrunkenness has become the disease of insanity? Am I mad, or do I butverge on madness? O Lord, whom in my agonies I have confessed, leave memy intellect--let me not become a drivelling spectacle for the curiousto point at or to pity! At least, in mercy, spare me a little. Let notmy punishment overtake me here. Let her memories of me be clouded witha sense of my rudeness or my brutality; let me for ever seem to herthe ungrateful ruffian I strive to show myself--but let her not beholdme--that!

  CHAPTER XII. THE STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF Mr. NORTH.