The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1896-02-13
A WOULD BE SUICIDE.

mother singularly deficient in sympathy,
and who took little care that her son had
education or anything else except cloth
ing, shelter and food. was allowed to go
and come almost as I wished, and
soon acquired those inferior characteristics
which, developed, make the dissipated
young man. drank and smoked, and
while did not frequent the society of the
exceptionally vicious associated with the
meier do well offspring of other wealthy
parents who were equally careless with
my mother.
was priced By my companions because
of my faculty OF telling stories, and as
time went on I composed verses which
they alleged were of the stuff of which
poetry is made. Gradually grew devoted
to literature in lawless and spasmodic
way, and spent whole days in scribbIing
and dreaming of a future fame. I con-
tinued, however, to drink and smoke, and
led altogether quite a bohemian existence
At last appealed to my mother to let me
go to Paris, and she, making no objection,
but rather seeming glad. gave me ample
funds, and I started.
I soon felt at home in my new world
and finding companions with aspirations
and weaknesses like my own. began
life of dissipation which in intensity far
ec1ipsed anything that had known. We
spent our days on the boulevards and in
the cafes and our nights were passed in
bAo OdAC0 HALLS 8HQ 4OVS0E CAlSS tH0tAOCEo.
Over absinth, wine or beer we discussed
art and indited verses which made up in
intensity for what they lacked of truth
and beauty. These poems were generally
in praise of the opposite sex, and were
read, each by its creator, to the assembled
boon companions only. No one dreamed
of sending his work to publisher. Pub
fishers were fools, and did not know liter
allure when they saw it, we thought.
Two years were spent in this way, and
then began to read Sohopenhauer. In
terpreting his work Incorrectly as afford
ing ample justification for suicide and
gathering the import of the whole more
or less perfectly through a desultory read
ing, grew very gloomy, SO much SO that
my fellows avoided my companionship,
and found myself almost alone. had
lived for nothing until there was nothing
to live for. Ennui never left me from
! morning till night, and could only get
tho slightest relief through using absinth,
the friend of the living dead. had de-
cided to ge home, when a letter came an
nouncing my mothers death and stating
that the property was mine. I took the
| next steamer for New York.
For few days the novelty of my situa-
! ton kept me from the eternal thought
| about "'the will to live and I walked
| through the rooms of my old home with
almost the feeling of youth, but the de-
| mons of my pessimisrn soon returned, and
| I was made to realize that the man with
| out mother, though the mother whom
he once had never took thought of him,
was worse of than when she existed. She
had been ever possible refuge to me,
| but now I was really alone, Iniserably
| alone in a universe. My literary hopes
| had long since lost themselves in bitter
thoughts. I had not touched a pen for
year. That is how came to decide.
| I made a will, then left my house and
| To bntol Tho clark a
magnificent suit on the fourth floor, for
| had planned to die in the midst of SPLEEN
dor and asked for the best.
| I looked about my bedroom. There was
! where I should die, on that snowy bed.
Those curtains would hide my body till
the door was forced open, and the search
/ ers would pause moment ere they moved
tho silken folds and found me lying shot
| through the heart. What large windows
there were. I would lower the shades; SO
much light was not good.
I was in evening dress. Taking out my
| revolver, I laid it On the table and removed
/ my shoes. A cigar foil from my vest
pocket. I picked it up, lighted it and be-
! gan to smoke.
What am I about to do?'' thought.
I laughed as answered my own question,
st will die
looked at my revolver again. when
/ this cigar is finished, will finish my
self, remarked calmly.
| With the curtains down now found the
| room too dark. I lighted the gas and
smoked on.
Half an hour passed, and the cigar was
almost consumed. The time was near. I
lay down ON the bed, took my revolver in
my right hand and pointed it at my heart.
] AS was about to shoot confused sound
of voices reached from the street.
Soon it was mingled with the elangor Of
fire bells and the roar of heavy wheels. A
| loud knock came on my door, and a voice
| said, 'tGet out quick; the building Is on
] fret"
| What was that to meP Was I not going
| to die anyway? I touched my side with
the barrel -.
! Flames shot up past my window, and
started from the bed. I could hear the
wood of the window frames swapping
The room flied with smoke. A horrible
| revulsion of feeling seized me. ran to
the door. The key was gone. remem-
bered then that had thrown it from the
window when entered the room.
| grew sick with fear, having death al
nv call at my command It was not
hard to die, but to be trapped by death, I'd
/ be forced to my fate-that was awful. /
sprang to the window, threw up the sash,
/ leaned far out and shouted: Help, helpi
| shall be burned alive!"
'sThere's a poor fellow at a window" I
could hear those below shout. Hold
on!' they answered. "We'n save you'll"
An age passed. The flames were all
i about me, and the floor beneath my feet
grew hot. Almost in despair, shouted,
"A thousand dollfSs to the man who saves
mer' Now I could not hear; now could
not see. The scorching, roaring flames
and the sitting thick smoke obscured all.
.'Help, help!' screamed.
should be burned alive Death in any
form was q horrible thing, but to be
burned ''Save me, save mel'' gasped.
The floor seemed to sink beneath me,
and fell across the window sill.
I was on tho ground when regained