Complete Works of Ambrose Bierce (Delphi Classics)

by Ambrose Bierce

  ESTEE:

  O moon that hast so oft surprised the deeds

  Whereby I rose to greatness! — tricksy orb,

  The type and symbol of my politics,

  Now draw my ebbing fortunes to their flood,

  As, by the magic of a poultice, boils

  That burn ambitions with defeated fires

  Are lifted into eminence.

  (Sees De Young.)

  What? you!

  Faith, if I had suspected you would come

  From the fair world of politics wherein

  So lately you were whelped, and which, alas,

  I vainly to revisit strive, though still

  Rapped on the rotting head and bidden sleep

  Till Resurrection’s morn, — if I had thought

  You would accept the challenge that I flung

  I would have seen you damned ere I came forth

  In the night air, shroud-clad and shivering,

  To fight so mean a thing! But since you’re here,

  Draw and defend yourself. By gad, we’ll see

  Who’ll be Postmaster-General!

  DE YOUNG:

  We will —

  I’ll fight (for I am lame) with any blue

  And redolent remain that dares aspire

  To wreck the Grand Old Grandson’s cabinet.

  Here’s at you, nosegay!

  (They draw tongues and are about to fight, when from an adjacent whited sepulcher, enter Swift.)

  SWIFT:

  Hold! put up your tongues!

  Within the confines of this sacred spot

  Broods such a holy calm as none may break

  By clash of weapons, without sacrilege.

  (Beats down their tongues with a bone.)

  Madmen! what profits it? For though you fought

  With such heroic skill that both survived,

  Yet neither should achieve the prize, for I

  Would wrest it from him. Let us not contend,

  But friendliwise by stipulation fix

  A slate for mutual advantage. Why,

  Having the pick and choice of seats, should we

  Forego them all but one? Nay, we’ll take three,

  And part them so among us that to each

  Shall fall the fittest to his powers. In brief,

  Let us establish a Portfolio Trust.

  ESTEE:

  Agreed.

  DE YOUNG:

  Aye, truly, ‘tis a greed — and one

  The offices imperfectly will sate,

  But I’ll stand in.

  SWIFT:

  Well, so ‘tis understood,

  As you’re the junior member of the Trust,

  Politically younger and undead,

  Speak, Michael: what portfolio do you choose?

  DE YOUNG:

  I’ve thought the Postal service best would serve

  My interest; but since I have my pick,

  I’ll take the War Department. It is known

  Throughout the world, from Market street to Pine,

  (For a Chicago journal told the tale)

  How in this hand I lately took my life

  And marched against great Buckley, thundering

  My mandate that he count the ballots fair!

  Earth heard and shrank to half her size! Yon moon,

  Which rivaled then a liver’s whiteness, paused

  That night at Butchertown and daubed her face

  With sheep’s blood! Then my serried rank I drew

  Back to my stronghold without loss. To mark

  My care in saving human life and limb,

  The Peace Society bestowed on me

  Its leather medal and the title, too,

  Of Colonel. Yes, my genius is for war. Good land!

  I naturally dote on a brass band!

  (Sings.)

  O, give me a life on the tented field,

  Where the cannon roar and ring,

  Where the flag floats free and the foemen yield

  And bleed as the bullets sing.

  But be it not mine to wage the fray

  Where matters are ordered the other way,

  For that is a different thing.

  O, give me a life in the fierce campaign —

  Let it be the life of my foe:

  I’d rather fall upon him than the plain;

  That service I’d fain forego.

  O, a warrior’s life is fine and free,

  But a warrior’s death — ah me! ah me!

  That’s a different thing, you know.

  ESTEE:

  Some claim I might myself advance to that

  Portfolio. When Rebellion raised its head,

  And you, my friends, stayed meekly in your shirts,

  I marched with banners to the party stump,

  Spat on my hands, made faces fierce as death,

  Shook my two fists at once and introduced

  Brave resolutions terrible to read!

  Nay, only recently, as you do know,

  I conquered Treason by the word of mouth,

  And slew, with Samson’s weapon, the whole South!

  SWIFT:

  You once fought Stanford, too.

  ESTEE:

  Enough of that —

  Give me the Interior and I’ll devote

  My mind to agriculture and improve

  The breed of cabbages, especially

  The Brassica Celeritatis, named

  For you because in days of long ago

  You sold it at your market stall, — and, faith,

  ‘Tis said you were an honest huckster then.

  I’ll be Attorney-General if you

  Prefer; for know I am a lawyer too!

  SWIFT:

  I never have heard that! — did you, De Young?

  DE YOUNG:

  Never, so help me! And I swear I’ve heard

  A score of Judges say that he is not.

  SWIFT (to Estee):

  You take the Interior. I might aspire

  To military station too, for once

  I led my party into Pixley’s camp,

  And he paroled me. I defended, too,

  The State of Oregon against the sharp

  And bloody tooth of the Australian sheep.

  But I’ve an aptitude exceeding neat

  For bloodless battles of diplomacy.

  My cobweb treaty of Exclusion once,

  Through which a hundred thousand coolies sailed,

  Was much admired, but most by Colonel Bee.

  Though born a tinker I’m a diplomat

  From old Missouri, and I — ha! what’s that?

  (Exit Moon. Enter Blue Lights on all the tombs, and a circle of Red Fire on the grass; in the center the Spirit of Broken Hopes, and round about, a Troupe of Coffins, dancing and singing.)

  CHORUS OF COFFINS:

  Two bodies dead and one alive —

  Yo, ho, merrily all!

  Now for boodle strain and strive —

  Buzzards all a-warble, O!

  Prophets three, agape for bread;

  Raven with a stone instead —

  Providential raven!

  Judges two and Colonel one —

  Run, run, rustics, run!

  But it’s O, the pig is shaven,

  And oily, oily all!

  (Exeunt Coffins, dancing. The Spirit of Broken Hopes advances, solemnly pointing at each of the Three Worthies in turn.)

  SPIRIT OF BROKEN HOPES:

  Governor, Governor, editor man,

  Rusty, musty, spick-and-span,

  Harlequin, harridan, dicky-dout,

  Demagogue, charlatan — o, u, t, OUT!

  (De Young falls and sleeps.)

  Antimonopoler, diplomat,

  Railroad lackey, political rat,

  One, two, three — SCAT!

  (Swift falls and sleeps.)

  Boycotting chin-worker, working to woo

  Fortune, the fickle, to smile upon you,

  Jo-coated acrobat, shuttl
e-cock — SHOO!

  (Estee falls and sleeps.)

  Now they lie in slumber sweet,

  Now the charm is all complete,

  Hasten I with flying feet

  Where beyond the further sea

  A babe upon its mother’s knee

  Is gazing into skies afar

  And crying for a golden star.

  I’ll drag a cloud across the blue

  And break that infant’s heart in two!

  (Exeunt the Spirit of Broken Hopes and the Red and Blue Fires. Re-enter Moon.)

  ESTEE (waking):

  Why, this is strange! I dreamed I know not what,

  It seemed that certain apparitions were,

  Which sang uncanny words, significant

  And yet ambiguous — half-understood —

  Portending evil; and an awful spook,

  Even as I stood with my accomplices,

  Counted me out, as children do in play.

  Is that you, Mike?

  DE YOUNG (waking):

  It was.

  SWIFT (waking):

  Am I all that?

  Then I’ll reform my ways.

  (Reforms his ways.)

  Ah! had I known

  How sweet it is to be an honest man

  I never would have stooped to turn my coat

  For public favor, as chameleons take

  The hue (as near as they can judge) of that

  Supporting them. Henceforth I’ll buy

  With money all the offices I need,

  And know the pleasure of an honest life,

  Or stay forever in this dismal place.

  Now that I’m good, it will no longer do

  To make a third with such, a wicked two.

  (Returns to his tomb.)

  DE YOUNG:

  Prophetic dream! by some good angel sent

  To make me with a quiet life content.

  The question shall no more my bosom irk,

  To go to Washington or go to work.

  From Fame’s debasing struggle I’ll withdraw,

  And taking up the pen lay down the law.

  I’ll leave this rogue, lest my example make

  An honest man of him — his heart would break.

  (Exit De Young.)

  ESTEE:

  Out of my company these converts flee,

  But that advantage is denied to me:

  My curst identity’s confining skin

  Nor lets me out nor tolerates me in.

  Well, since my hopes eternally have fled,

  And, dead before, I’m more than ever dead,

  To find a grander tomb be now my task,

  And pack my pork into a stolen cask.

  (Exit, searching. Loud calls for the Author, who appears,

  bowing and smiling.)

  AUTHOR (singing):

  Jack Satan’s the greatest of gods,

  And Hell is the best of abodes.

  ‘Tis reached, through the Valley of Clods,

  By seventy different roads.

  Hurrah for the Seventy Roads!

  Hurrah for the clods that resound

  With a hollow, thundering sound!

  Hurrah for the Best of Abodes!

  We’ll serve him as long as we’ve breath —

  Jack Satan the greatest of gods.

  To all of his enemies, death! —

  A home in the Valley of Clods.

  Hurrah for the thunder of clods

  That smother the soul of his foe!

  Hurrah for the spirits that go

  To dwell with the Greatest of Gods;

  (Curtain falls to faint odor of mortality. Exit the Gas.)

  THE BIRTH OF THE RAIL

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

  LELAND, THE KID a Road Agent

  COWBOY CHARLEY Same Line of Business

  HAPPY HUNTY Ditto in All Respects

  SOOTYMUG a Devil

  Scene — the Dutch Flat Stage Road, at 12 P.M., on a Night of 1864.

  COWBOY CHARLEY:

  My boss, I fear she is delayed to-night.

  Already it is past the hour, and yet

  My ears have reached no sound of wheels; no note

  Melodious, of long, luxurious oaths

  Betokens the traditional dispute

  (Unsettled from the dawn of time) between

  The driver and off wheeler; no clear chant

  Nor carol of Wells Fargo’s messenger

  Unbosoming his soul upon the air —

  his prowess to the tender-foot,

  And how at divers times in sundry ways

  He strewed the roadside with our carcasses.

  Clearly, the stage will not come by to-night.

  LELAND, THE KID:

  I now remember that but yesterday

  I saw three ugly looking fellows start

  From Colfax with a gun apiece, and they

  Did seem on business of importance bent.

  Furtively casting all their eyes about

  And covering their tracks with all the care

  That business men do use. I think perhaps

  They were Directors of that rival line,

  The great Pacific Mail. If so, they have

  Indubitably taken in that coach,

  And we are overreached. Three times before

  This thing has happened, and if once again

  These outside operators dare to cut

  Our rates of profit I shall quit the road

  And take my money out of this concern.

  When robbery no longer pays expense

  It loses then its chiefest charm for me,

  And I prefer to cheat — you hear me shout!

  HAPPY HUNTY:

  My chief, you do but echo back my thoughts:

  This competition is the death of trade.

  ‘Tis plain (unless we wish to go to work)

  Some other business we must early find.

  What shall it be? The field of usefulness

  Is yearly narrowing with the advance

  Of wealth and population on this coast.

  There’s little left that any man can do

  Without some other fellow stepping in

  And doing it as well. If one essay

  To pick a pocket he is sure to feel

  (With what disgust I need not say to you)

  Another hand inserted in the same.

  You crack a crib at dead of night, and lo!

  As you explore the dining-room for plate

  You find, in session there, a graceless band

  Stuffing their coats with spoons, their skins with wine.

  And so it goes. Why even undertake

  To salt a mine and you will find it rich

  With noble specimens placed there before!

  LELAND, THE KID:

  And yet this line of immigration has

  Advantages superior to aught

  That elsewhere offers: all these passengers,

  If punched with care —

  COWBOY CHARLEY:

  Significant remark!

  It opens up a prospect wide and fair,

  Suggesting to the thoughtful mind — my mind —

  A scheme that is the boss lay-out. Instead

  Of stopping passengers, let’s carry them.

  Instead of crying out: “Throw up your hands!”

  Let’s say: “Walk up and buy a ticket!” Why

  Should we unwieldy goods and bullion take,

  Watches and all such trifles, when we might

  Far better charge their value three times o’er

  For carrying them to market?

  LELAND, THE KID:

  Put it there,

  Old son!

  HAPPY HUNTY:

  You take the cake, my dear. We’ll build

  A mighty railroad through this pass, and then

  The stage folk will come up to us and squeal,

  And say: “It is bad medicine for both:

  What will you give or take?” And then we’ll se
ll.

  COWBOY CHARLEY:

  Enlarge your notions, little one; this is

  No petty, slouching, opposition scheme,

  To be bought off like honest men and fools;

  Mine eye prophetic pierces through the mists

  That cloud the future, and I seem to see

  A well-devised and executed scheme

  Of wholesale robbery within the law

  (Made by ourselves) — great, permanent, sublime,

  And strong to grapple with the public throat —

  Shaking the stuffing from the public purse,

  The tears from bankrupt merchants’ eyes, the blood

  From widows’ famished carcasses, the bread

  From orphans’ mouths!

  HAPPY HUNTY:

  Hooray!

  LELAND, THE; KID:

  Hooray!

  ALL:

  Hooray!

  (They tear the masks from their faces, and discharging their shotguns, throw them into the chapparal. Then they join hands, dance and sing the following song:)

  Ah! blessèd to measure

  The glittering treasure!

  Ah! blessèd to heap up the gold

  Untold

  That flows in a wide

  And deepening tide —

  Rolled, rolled, rolled

  From multifold sources,

  Converging its courses

  Upon our —

  LELAND, THE KID:

  Just wait a bit, my pards, I thought I heard

  A sneaking grizzly cracking the dry twigs.

  Such an intrusion might deprive the State

  Of all the good that we intend it. Ha!

  (Enter Sootymug. He saunters carelessly in and gracefully leans his back against a redwood.)

  SOOTYMUG:

  My boys, I thought I heard

  Some careless revelry,

  As if your minds were stirred

  By some new devilry.

  I too am in that line. Indeed, the mission

  On which I come —

  HAPPY HUNTY:

  Here’s more damned competition! (Curtain.)