Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1896-10-30
THE CURSE AND KEY

that meant change and darkness; that
meant calmness and rest.
And the student conned over all its
meanings.
How fine to think that this great power
of change was at the command of man.
Man was not so weak, after all, when he
could swing open at his will the great door
that led either to rest or to change. Aye,
man might be stupid, but if he were brave
he could command the power Of god.
And this wineglass held the key. How
fneI He smiled as he grasped it and held
1t up to the light. How fine and red and
strong looking was the wine! And it con-
tanned the key to mystery-a subtle, quick
poison.
He was sad and tired, and here were
oblivion and rest. He felt vaguely curious,
and here was revealment. He wished to
feel new sensation. He wished to fight
the crush and distortion of death.
For this student wss not as other men.
He feared neither the. beginning nor the
end. He was brave with the bravery that
dares ALL He was absolutely his own god
And he laid the wineglass back on the
table. He would not take the step just
now. He would wait till the night had
worn farther OH.
And suddenly he began to think of the
time when he was alone and haggard and
full of strange wild dreams.
Aye, in the great city he found some one
to care for him because he was what he
was. The fine, sweet face of woman arose
before him as he walked the streets where
flooded and surged the tide of human life.
But the time came when he left her and
went forth to greater and wider and a
stranger city. He went out to woo that
hard mistress, fame.
Often he thought of her, but he thought
of her dimly. She was to him as beauti-
full, faint memory When her face arose
before him, it was as the face Of one who
has long been dead or as face seen in
dream, haunting, tender face He
knew that she must have sorrowed, but he
believed that it was better for woman to
sorrow than not to know. 1t was better
for woman to eat Of the fruit of the tree
of knowledge even though she brought
upon herself the curse of frightful suffer
ing.
And at last he heard that she was dead.
He was very wise, this student. His phi
losophy was the philosophy that believes
in the realizing to the full the possibilities
of the present For him today was the
day; tomorrow had not come, yesterday
was but vague dream-was dead.
And he became famous mainly because
he possessed pagan clearness Of sight and
because he was bold He had realized that
a great philosopher was simply man who
talked convincingly concerning things Of
which he really knew nothing.
And now, on this his last night, he was
sitting by the fire and thinking Of the time
long ago-the time when this woman, who
had saved him, loved him-the time when
he was a dreamer of wild, impossible
dreams. How strange the time-at once
so terrible and beautiful! How hungry he
used to be, how he suffered from the cold,
how he felt the sting of low, sordid poverty
THAT crime of crimes, that curse more
frightful than the curse of Cain
He thought sadly that he was a much
better man then than now, famous though
he was. If he had been really a brave and
great man, he would have taken his life in
his hand and died fighting for the spread
of liberty through the world
Instead he had elected to perform intel
lectual tricks before the inane, stupid
mass. And the mass rewarded him by Civ
ing him money and calling him great His
success was a lie-accursed lie. He had
been panderer and coward.
No, no; he was not panderer, he was
not coward! He had done the best fol
himself He had grasped the golden fruit
of life when it swung within his reach. Hi
had used his gifts for the realizing Of his
desires.
But was not his first desire his great de
sire? He had wished to devote his life tC
the freeing of man, and he had not done so
Then he had not realized himself, after all
Perhaps he should have gone on hungerine
and have died on the scaffold.
He had had rything-love, fame
honor, riches and all things that men mad
| ly strive for-and still he wished sadly fol
the old terrible days when he knew MOI
| what the morrow would bring forth. The1
there were the excitement of struggle ant
the cheer of the distant star Of hope. Ant
he had q grand ideal. And the shade o
| the man he was in those days seemed t.
arise before him-the young man haggart
| of face and stern Of eyes. And he bowe(
| his head in shame, for there was failure
| fine and noble and grand, and here wa
success begotten of trickery and pander
ing.
Aye, his success had indeed been a low
degrading failure And he had been pun
ished by safety settling upon his shout
| ders-that unspeakable vulture.
| He had become tired of everything. Ant
still he was young. But his soul was old
He arose suddenly and raised the wine
| glass a1oft How like blood the wine as /
shone in the light!
II drink" he cried, ito change, or t.
rest or to wild, unheard of adventure
Come, death, and strike mel Comep'
But, 10! he saw face. It was the fac
| of Ellen--Ellen, who had loved him as n
other woman had loved him; Ellen, VIII
had endured disgrace for his sake; Ellen
who was dead.
He had been thinking Of her tonight
and she was here. And now he loved her
Safety was gone from him. Again tn
power of love had come to him. This won
| an had loved him when he was only
vagabond student
But she was dead. And still she wa
I here.
But, stayl Was this trick Of the imag
nation, or was she really heres He woul,
see. There was now another reason 70
the invoking Of the power Of death. /
might mean another life and the renewa
| of glorious love. He would seel
"Ellenr' he cried. 'Sweetheart, lrinl
to youl"-Bart Kennedy in London Sun.
---
Waiting.
PATSY, run down to the station and se
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