the jacket (the star-rover)-第8章

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Row；　writing　these　lines　in　my　last　days；　or；　rather；　in　Darrell

Standing's　last　days　ere　they　take　him　out　and　try　to　thrust　him

into　the　dark　at　the　end　of　a　rope；　and　I　smile　to　myself。　　I　became

neither　Bible　scholar　nor　novelist。　　On　the　contrary；　until　they

buried　me　in　the　cells　of　silence　for　half　a　decade；　I　was

everything　that　the　missionary　forecasted　notan　agricultural

expert；　a　professor　of　agronomy；　a　specialist　in　the　science　of　the

elimination　of　waste　motion；　a　master　of　farm　efficiency；　a　precise

laboratory　scientist　where　precision　and　adherence　to　microscopic

fact　are　absolute　requirements。



And　I　sit　here　in　the　warm　afternoon；　in　Murderers'　Row；　and　cease

from　the　writing　of　my　memoirs　to　listen　to　the　soothing　buzz　of

flies　in　the　drowsy　air；　and　catch　phrases　of　a　low…voiced

conversation　between　Josephus　Jackson；　the　negro　murderer　on　my

right；　and　Bambeccio；　the　Italian　murderer　on　my　left；　who　are

discussing；　through　grated　door　to　grated　door；　back　and　forth　past

my　grated　door；　the　antiseptic　virtues　and　excellences　of　chewing

tobacco　for　flesh　wounds。



And　in　my　suspended　hand　I　hold　my　fountain　pen；　and　as　I　remember

that　other　hands　of　me；　in　long　gone　ages；　wielded　ink…brush；　and

quill；　and　stylus；　I　also　find　thought…space　in　time　to　wonder　if

that　missionary；　when　he　was　a　little　lad；　ever　trailed　clouds　of

glory　and　glimpsed　the　brightness　of　old　star…roving　days。



Well；　back　to　solitary；　after　I　had　learned　the　code　of　knuckle…talk

and　still　found　the　hours　of　consciousness　too　long　to　endure。　　By

self…hypnosis；　which　I　began　successfully　to　practise；　I　became　able

to　put　my　conscious　mind　to　sleep　and　to　awaken　and　loose　my

subconscious　mind。　　But　the　latter　was　an　undisciplined　and　lawless

thing。　　It　wandered　through　all　nightmarish　madness；　without

coherence；　without　continuity　of　scene；　event；　or　person。



My　method　of　mechanical　hypnosis　was　the　soul　of　simplicity。

Sitting　with　folded　legs　on　my　straw…mattress；　I　gazed　fixedly　at　a

fragment　of　bright　straw　which　I　had　attached　to　the　wall　of　my　cell

near　the　door　where　the　most　light　was。　　I　gazed　at　the　bright

point；　with　my　eyes　close　to　it；　and　tilted　upward　till　they

strained　to　see。　　At　the　same　time　I　relaxed　all　the　will　of　me　and

gave　myself　to　the　swaying　dizziness　that　always　eventually　came　to

me。　　And　when　I　felt　myself　sway　out　of　balance　backward；　I　closed

my　eyes　and　permitted　myself　to　fall　supine　and　unconscious　on　the

mattress。



And　then；　for　half…an…hour；　ten　minutes；　or　as　long　as　an　hour　or

so；　I　would　wander　erratically　and　foolishly　through　the　stored

memories　of　my　eternal　recurrence　on　earth。　　But　times　and　places

shifted　too　swiftly。　　I　knew　afterward；　when　I　awoke；　that　I；

Darrell　Standing；　was　the　linking　personality　that　connected　all

bizarreness　and　grotesqueness。　　But　that　was　all。　　I　could　never

live　out　completely　one　full　experience；　one　point　of　consciousness

in　time　and　space。　　My　dreams；　if　dreams　they　may　be　called；　were

rhymeless　and　reasonless。



Thus；　as　a　sample　of　my　rovings：　　in　a　single　interval　of　fifteen

minutes　of　subconsciousness　I　have　crawled　and　bellowed　in　the　slime

of　the　primeval　world　and　sat　beside　Haasfurther　and　cleaved　the

twentieth　century　air　in　a　gas…driven　monoplane。　　Awake；　I

remembered　that　I；　Darrell　Standing；　in　the　flesh；　during　the　year

preceding　my　incarceration　in　San　Quentin；　had　flown　with　Haas

further　over　the　Pacific　at　Santa　Monica。　　Awake；　I　did　not　remember

the　crawling　and　the　bellowing　in　the　ancient　slime。　　Nevertheless；

awake；　I　reasoned　that　somehow　I　had　remembered　that　early　adventure

in　the　slime；　and　that　it　was　a　verity　of　long…previous　experience；

when　I　was　not　yet　Darrell　Standing　but　somebody　else；　or　something

else　that　crawled　and　bellowed。　　One　experience　was　merely　more

remote　than　the　other。　　Both　experiences　were　equally　realor　else

how　did　I　remember　them？



Oh；　what　a　fluttering　of　luminous　images　and　actions！　　In　a　few

short　minutes　of　loosed　subconsciousness　I　have　sat　in　the　halls　of

kings；　above　the　salt　and　below　the　salt；　been　fool　and　jester；　man…

at…arms；　clerk　and　monk；　and　I　have　been　ruler　above　all　at　the　head

of　the　tabletemporal　power　in　my　own　sword　arm；　in　the　thickness

of　my　castle　walls；　and　the　numbers　of　my　fighting　men；　spiritual

power　likewise　mine　by　token　of　the　fact　that　cowled　priests　and　fat

abbots　sat　beneath　me　and　swigged　my　wine　and　swined　my　meat。



I　have　worn　the　iron　collar　of　the　serf　about　my　neck　in　cold

climes；　and　I　have　loved　princesses　of　royal　houses　in　the　tropic…

warmed　and　sun…scented　night；　where　black　slaves　fanned　the　sultry

air　with　fans　of　peacock　plumes；　while　from　afar；　across　the　palm

and　fountains；　drifted　the　roaring　of　lions　and　the　cries　of

jackals。　　I　have　crouched　in　chill　desert　places　warming　my　hands　at

fires　builded　of　camel's　dung；　and　I　have　lain　in　the　meagre　shade

of　sun…parched　sagebrush　by　dry　water…holes　and　yearned　dry…tongued

for　water；　while　about　me；　dismembered　and　scattered　in　the　alkali；

were　the　bones　of　men　and　beasts　who　had　yearned　and　died。



I　have　been　sea…cuny　and　bravo；　scholar　and　recluse。　　I　have　pored

over　hand…written　pages　of　huge　and　musty　tomes　in　the　scholastic

quietude　and　twilight　of　cliff…perched　monasteries；　while　beneath　on

the　lesser　slopes；　peasants　still　toiled　beyond　the　end　of　day　among

the　vines　and　olives　and　drove　in　from　pastures　the　blatting　goats

and　lowing　kine；　yes；　and　I　have　led　shouting　rabbles　down　the

wheel…worn；　chariot…rutted　paves　of　ancient　and　forgotten　cities；

and；　solemn…voiced　and　grave　as　death；　I　have　enunciated　the　law；

stated　the　gravity　of　the　infraction；　and　imposed　the　due　death　on

men；　who；　like　Darrell　Standing　in　Folsom　Prison；　had　broken　the

law。



Aloft；　at　giddy　mastheads　oscillating　above　the　decks　of　ships；　I

have　gazed　on　sun…flashed　water　where　coral…growths　iridesced　from

profounds　of　turquoise　deeps；　and　conned　the　ships　into　the　safety

of　mirrored　lagoons　where　the　anchors　rumbled　down　close　to　palm…

fronded　beaches　of　sea…pounded　coral　rock；　and　I　have　striven　on

forgotten　battlefields　of　the　elder　days；　when　the　sun　went　down　on

slaughter　that　did　not　cease　and　that　continued　through　the　night…

hours　with　the　stars　shining　down　and　with　a　cool　night　wind　blowing

from　distant　peaks　of　snow　that　failed　to　chill　the　sweat　of　battle；

and　again；　I　have　been　little　Darrell　Standing；　bare…footed　in　the

dew…lush　grass　of　spring　on　the　Minnesota　farm；　chilblained　when　of

frosty　mornings　I　fed　the　cattle　in　their　breath…steaming　stalls；

sobered　to　fear　and　awe　of　the　splendour　and　terror　of　God　when　I

sat　on　Sundays　under　the　rant　and　preachment　of　the　New　Jerusalem

and　the　agonies　of　hell…fire。



Now；　the　foregoing　were　the　glimpses　and　glimmerings　that　came　to

me；　when；　in　Cell　One　of　Solitary　in　San　Quentin；　I　stared　myself

unconscious　by　means　of　a　particle　of　bright；　light…radiating　straw。

How　did　these　things　come　to　me？　　Surely　I　could　not　have

manufactured　them　out　of　nothing　inside　my　pent　walls　any　more　than

could　I　have　manufactured　out　of　nothing　the　thirty…five　pounds　of

dynamite　so　ruthlessly　demanded　of　me　by　Captain　Jamie；　Warden

Atherton；　and　the　Prison　Board　of　Directors。



I　am　Darrell　Standing；　born　and　raised　on　a　quarter　section　of　land

in　Minnesota；　erstwhile　professor　of　agronomy；　a　prisoner

incorrigible　in　San　Quentin；　and　at　present　a　death…sentenced　man　in

Folsom。　　I　do　not　know；　of　Darrell　Standing's　experience；　these

things　of　which　I　write　and　which　I　have　dug　from　out　my　store…

houses　of　subconsciousness。　　I；　Darrell　Standing；　born　in　Minnesota

and　soon　to　die　by　the　rope　in　California；　surely　never　loved

daughters　of　kings　in　the　courts　of　kings；　nor　fought　cutlass　to

cutlass　on　the　swaying　decks　of　ships；　nor　drowned　in　the　spirit…

rooms　of　ships；　guzzling　raw　liquor　to　the　wassail…shouting　and

death…singing　of　seamen；　while　the　ship　lifted　and　crashed　on　the

black…toothed　rocks　and　the　water　bubbled　overhead；　beneath；　and　all

about。



Such　things　are　not　of　Darrell　Standing's　experience　in　the　world。

Yet　I；　Darrell　Standing；　found　these　things　within　myself　in

solitary　in　San　Quentin　by　means　of　mechanical　self…hypnosis。　　No

more　were　these　experiences　Darrell　Standing's　than　was　the　word

〃Samaria〃　Darrell　Standing's　when　it　leapt　to　his　child　lips　at

sight　of　a　photograph。



One　cannot　make　anything　out　of　nothing。　　In　solitary　I　could　not　so

make　thirty…five　pounds　of　dynamite。　　Nor　in　solitary；　out　of

nothing　in　Darrell　Standing's　experience；　could　I　make　these　wide；

far　visions　of　time　and　space。　　These　things　were　in　the　content　of

my　mind；　and　in　my　mind　I　was　just　beginning　to　learn　my　way　about。







CHAPTER　VII







So　here　was　my　predicament：　　I　knew　that　within　myself　was　a

Golconda　of　memories　of　other　lives；　yet　I　was　unable　to　do　more

than　flit　like　a　madman　through　those　memories。　　I　had　my　Golconda

but　could　not　mine　it。



I　remembered　the　case　of　Stainton　Moses；　the　clergyman　who　had　been

possessed　by　the　personalities　of　St。　Hippolytus；　Plotinus；

Athenodorus；　and　of　that　friend　of　Erasmus　named　Grocyn。　　And　when　I

considered　the　experiments　of　Colonel　de　Rochas；　which　I　had　read　in

tyro　fashion　in　other　and　busier　days；　I　was　convinced　that　Stainton

Moses　had；　in　previous　lives；　been　those　personalities　that　on

occasion　seemed　to　possess　him。　　In　truth；　they　were　he；　they　were

the　links　of　the　chain　of　recurrence。



But　more　especially　did　I　dwell　upon　the　experiments　of　Colonel　de

Rochas。　　By　means　of　suitable　hypnotic　subjects　he　claimed　that　he

had　penetrated　backwards　through　time　to　the　ancestors　of　his

subjects。　　Thus；　the　case　of　Josephine　which　he　describes。　　She　was

eighteen　years　old　and　she　lived　at　Voiron；　in　the　department　of　the

Isere。　　Under　hypnotism　Colonel　de　Rochas　sent　her　adventuring　back

through　her　adolescence；　her　girlhood；　her　childhood；　breast…

infancy；　and　the　silent　dark　of　her　mother's　womb；　and；　still　back；

through　the　silence　and　the　dark　of　the　time　when　she；　Josephine；

was　not　yet　born；　to　the　light　and　life　of　a　previous　living；　when

she　had　been　a　churlish；　suspicious；　and　embittered　old　man；　by　name

Jean…Claude　Bourdon；　who　had　served　his　time　in　the　Seventh

Artillery　at　Besancon；　and　who　died　at　the　age　of　seventy；　long

bedridden。　　YES；　and　did　not　Colonel　de　Rochas　in　turn　hypnotize

this　shade　of　Jean…Claude　Bourdon；　so　that　he　adventured　farther

back　into　time；　through　infancy　and　birth　and　the　dark　of　the

unborn；　until　he　found　again　light　and　life　when；　as　a　wicked　old

woman；　he　had　been　Philomene　Carteron？



But　try　as　I　would　with　my　bright　bit　of　straw　in　the　oozement　of

light　into　solitary；　I　failed　to　achieve　any　such　definiteness　of

previous　personality。　　I　became　c