The Enormous Room
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Edward Estlin Cummings >> The Enormous Room
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21 Produced by Eric Eldred, Thomas Berger,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE ENORMOUS ROOM
by
E. E. CUMMINGS
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
INTRODUCTION
I. I BEGIN A PILGRIMAGE
II. EN ROUTE
III. A PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
IV. LE NOUVEAU
V. A GROUP OF PORTRAITS
VI. APOLLYON
VII. AN APPROACH TO THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS
VIII. THE WANDERER
IX. ZOO-LOO
X. SURPLICE
XI. JEAN LE NEGRE
XII. THREE WISE MEN
XIII. I SAY GOOD-BYE TO LA MISERE
* * * * *
INTRODUCTION
"FOR THIS MY SON WAS DEAD, AND IS ALIVE AGAIN; HE WAS LOST; AND IS
FOUND."
He was lost by the Norton-Harjes Ambulance Corps.
He was officially dead as a result of official misinformation.
He was entombed by the French Government.
It took the better part of three months to find him and bring him back to
life--with the help of powerful and willing friends on both sides of the
Atlantic. The following documents tell the story:
104 Irving Street, Cambridge, December 8, 1917.
President Woodrow Wilson, White House, Washington, D. C.
Mr. President:
It seems criminal to ask for a single moment of your time. But I
am strongly advised that it would be more criminal to delay any
longer calling to your attention a crime against American
citizenship in which the French Government has persisted for many
weeks--in spite of constant appeals made to the American Minister
at Paris; and in spite of subsequent action taken by the State
Department at Washington, on the initiative of my friend, Hon.
----.
The victims are two American ambulance drivers, Edward Estlin
Cummings of Cambridge, Mass., and W---- S---- B----....
More than two months ago these young men were arrested, subjected
to many indignities, dragged across France like criminals, and
closely confined in a Concentration Camp at La Ferte Mace; where,
according to latest advices they still remain--awaiting the final
action of the Minister of the Interior upon the findings of a
Commission which passed upon their cases as long ago as October
17.
Against Cummings both private and official advices from Paris
state that there is no charge whatever. He has been subjected to
this outrageous treatment solely because of his intimate
friendship with young B----, whose sole crime is--so far as can
be learned--that certain letters to friends in America were
misinterpreted by an over-zealous French censor.
It only adds to the indignity and irony of the situation to say
that young Cummings is an enthusiastic lover of France and so
loyal to the friends he has made among the French soldiers, that
even while suffering in health from his unjust confinement, he
excuses the ingratitude of the country he has risked his life to
serve by calling attention to the atmosphere of intense suspicion
and distrust that has naturally resulted from the painful
experience which France has had with foreign emissaries.
Be assured, Mr. President, that I have waited long--it seems like
ages--and have exhausted all other available help before
venturing to trouble you.
1. After many weeks of vain effort to secure effective action by
the American Ambassador at Paris, Richard Norton of the
Norton-Harjes Ambulance Corps to which the boys belonged, was
completely discouraged, and advised me to seek help here.
2. The efforts of the State Department at Washington resulted as
follows:
i. A cable from Paris saying that there was no charge against
Cummings and intimating that he would speedily be released.
ii. A little later a second cable advising that Edward Estlin
Cummings had sailed on the Antilles and was reported lost.
iii. A week later a third cable correcting this cruel error and
saying the Embassy was renewing efforts to locate
Cummings--apparently still ignorant even of the place of his
confinement.
After such painful and baffling experiences, I turn to
you--burdened though I know you to be, in this world crisis, with
the weightiest task ever laid upon any man.
But I have another reason for asking this favor. I do not speak
for my son alone; or for him and his friend alone. My son has a
mother--as brave and patriotic as any mother who ever dedicated
an only son to a great cause. The mothers of our boys in France
have rights as well as the boys themselves. My boy's mother had a
right to be protected from the weeks of horrible anxiety and
suspense caused by the inexplicable arrest and imprisonment of
her son. My boy's mother had a right to be spared the supreme
agony caused by a blundering cable from Paris saying that he had
been drowned by a submarine. (An error which Mr. Norton
subsequently cabled that he had discovered six weeks before.) My
boy's mother and all American mothers have a right to be
protected against all needless anxiety and sorrow.
Pardon me, Mr. President, but if I were President and your son
were suffering such prolonged injustice at the hands of France;
and your son's mother had been needlessly kept in Hell as many
weeks as my boy's mother has--I would do something to make
American citizenship as sacred in the eyes of Frenchmen as Roman
citizenship was in the eyes of the ancient world. Then it was
enough to ask the question, "Is it lawful to scourge a man that
is a Roman, and uncondemned?" Now, in France, it seems lawful to
treat like a condemned criminal a man that is an American,
uncondemned and admittedly innocent!
Very respectfully, EDWARD CUMMINGS
This letter was received at the White House. Whether it was received with
sympathy or with silent disapproval is still a mystery. A Washington
official, a friend in need and a friend indeed in these trying
experiences, took the precaution to have it delivered by messenger.
Otherwise, fear that it had been "lost in the mail" would have added
another twinge of uncertainty to the prolonged and exquisite tortures
inflicted upon parents by alternations of misinformation and official
silence. Doubtless the official stethoscope was on the heart of the world
just then; and perhaps it was too much to expect that even a post-card
would be wasted on private heart-aches.
In any event this letter told where to look for the missing
boys--something the French government either could not or would not
disclose, in spite of constant pressure by the American Embassy at Paris
and constant efforts by my friend Richard Norton, who was head of the
Norton-Harjes Ambulance organization from which they had been abducted.
Release soon followed, as narrated in the following letter to Major ----
of the staff of the Judge Advocate General in Paris.
February 20, 1921.
My dear ----
Your letter of January 30th, which I have been waiting for with
great interest ever since I received your cable, arrived this
morning. My son arrived in New York on January 1st. He was in bad
shape physically as a result of his imprisonment: very much under
weight, suffering from a bad skin infection which he had acquired
at the concentration camp. However, in view of the extraordinary
facilities which the detention camp offered for acquiring
dangerous diseases, he is certainly to be congratulated on having
escaped with one of the least harmful. The medical treatment at
the camp was quite in keeping with the general standards of
sanitation there; with the result that it was not until he began
to receive competent surgical treatment after his release and on
board ship that there was much chance of improvement. A month of
competent medical treatment here seems to have got rid of this
painful reminder of official hospitality. He is, at present,
visiting friends in New York. If he were here, I am sure he would
join with me and with his mother in thanking you for the interest
you have taken and the efforts you have made.
W---- S---- B---- is, I am happy to say, expected in New York
this week by the S. S. Niagara. News of his release and
subsequently of his departure came by cable. What you say about
the nervous strain under which he was living, as an explanation
of the letters to which the authorities objected, is entirely
borne out by first-hand information. The kind of badgering which
the youth received was enough to upset a less sensitive
temperament. It speaks volumes for the character of his
environment that such treatment aroused the resentment of only
one of his companions, and that even this manifestation of normal
human sympathy was regarded as "suspicious." If you are right in
characterizing B----'s condition as more or less hysterical, what
shall we say of the conditions which made possible the treatment
which he and his friend received? I am glad B---- wrote the very
sensible and manly letter to the Embassy, which you mention.
After I have had an opportunity to converse with him, I shall be
in better position to reach a conclusion in regard to certain
matters about which I will not now express an opinion.
I would only add that I do not in the least share your
complacency in regard to the treatment which my son received. The
very fact that, as you say, no charges were made and that he was
detained on suspicion for many weeks after the Commission passed
on his case and reported to the Minister of the Interior that he
ought to be released, leads me to a conclusion exactly opposite
to that which you express. It seems to me impossible to believe
that any well-ordered government would fail to acknowledge such
action to have been unreasonable. Moreover, "detention on
suspicion" was a small part of what actually took place. To take
a single illustration, you will recall that after many weeks'
persistent effort to secure information, the Embassy was still
kept so much in the dark about the facts, that it cabled the
report that my son had embarked on The Antilles and was reported
lost. And when convinced of that error, the Embassy cabled that
it was renewing efforts to locate my son. Up to that moment, it
would appear that the authorities had not even condescended to
tell the United States Embassy where this innocent American
citizen was confined; so that a mistaken report of his death was
regarded as an adequate explanation of his disappearance. If I
had accepted this report and taken no further action, it is by no
means certain that he would not be dead by this time.
I am free to say, that in my opinion no self-respecting
government could allow one of its own citizens, against whom
there has been no accusation brought, to be subjected to such
prolonged indignities and injuries by a friendly government
without vigorous remonstrance. I regard it as a patriotic duty,
as well as a matter of personal self-respect, to do what I can to
see that such remonstrance is made. I still think too highly both
of my own government and of the government of France to believe
that such an untoward incident will fail to receive the serious
attention it deserves. If I am wrong, and American citizens must
expect to suffer such indignities and injuries at the hands of
other governments without any effort at remonstrance and redress
by their own government, I believe the public ought to know the
humiliating truth. It will make interesting reading. It remains
for my son to determine what action he will take.
I am glad to know your son is returning. I am looking forward
with great pleasure to conversing with him.
I cannot adequately express my gratitude to you and to other
friends for the sympathy and assistance I have received. If any
expenses have been incurred on my behalf or on behalf of my son,
I beg you to give me the pleasure of reimbursing you. At best, I
must always remain your debtor.
With best wishes,
Sincerely yours,
EDWARD CUMMINGS
I yield to no one in enthusiasm for the cause of France. Her cause was
our cause and the cause of civilization; and the tragedy is that it took
us so long to find it out. I would gladly have risked my life for her, as
my son risked his and would have risked it again had not the departure of
his regiment overseas been stopped by the armistice.
France was beset with enemies within as well as without. Some of the
"suspects" were members of her official household. Her Minister of
Interior was thrown into prison. She was distracted with fear. Her
existence was at stake. Under such circumstances excesses were sure to be
committed. But it is precisely at such times that American citizens most
need and are most entitled to the protection of their own government.
EDWARD CUMMINGS
* * * * *
THE ENORMOUS ROOM
I
I BEGIN A PILGRIMAGE
In October, 1917, we had succeeded, my friend B. and I, in dispensing
with almost three of our six months' engagement as Voluntary Drivers,
Sanitary Section 21, Ambulance Norton Harjes, American Red Cross, and at
the moment which subsequent experience served to capitalize, had just
finished the unlovely job of cleaning and greasing (_nettoyer_ is the
proper word) the own private flivver of the chief of section, a gentleman
by the convenient name of Mr. A. To borrow a characteristic-cadence from
Our Great President: the lively satisfaction which we might be suspected
of having derived from the accomplishment of a task so important in the
saving of civilization from the clutches of Prussian tyranny was in some
degree inhibited, unhappily, by a complete absence of cordial relations
between the man whom fate had placed over us and ourselves. Or, to use
the vulgar American idiom, B. and I and Mr. A. didn't get on well. We
were in fundamental disagreement as to the attitude which we, Americans,
should uphold toward the poilus in whose behalf we had volunteered
assistance, Mr. A. maintaining "you boys want to keep away from those
dirty Frenchmen" and "we're here to show those bastards how they do
things in America," to which we answered by seizing every opportunity for
fraternization. Inasmuch as eight "dirty Frenchmen" were attached to the
section in various capacities (cook, provisioner, chauffeur, mechanician,
etc.) and the section itself was affiliated with a branch of the French
army, fraternization was easy. Now when he saw that we had not the
slightest intention of adopting his ideals, Mr. A. (together with the
_sous-lieutenant_ who acted as his translator--for the chief's knowledge
of the French language, obtained during several years' heroic service,
consisted for the most part in "_Sar var_," "_Sar marche_," and "_Deet
donk moan vieux_") confined his efforts to denying us the privilege of
acting as drivers, on the ground that our personal appearance was a
disgrace to the section. In this, I am bound to say, Mr. A. was but
sustaining the tradition conceived originally by his predecessor, a Mr.
P., a Harvard man, who until his departure from Vingt-et-Un succeeded in
making life absolutely miserable for B. and myself. Before leaving this
painful subject I beg to state that, at least as far as I was concerned,
the tradition had a firm foundation in my own predisposition for
uncouthness plus what _Le Matin_ (if we remember correctly) cleverly
nicknamed _La Boue Heroique_.
Having accomplished the _nettoyage_ (at which we were by this time
adepts, thanks to Mr. A.'s habit of detailing us to wash any car which
its driver and _aide_ might consider too dirty a task for their own
hands) we proceeded in search of a little water for personal use. B.
speedily finished his ablutions. I was strolling carelessly and solo from
the cook-wagon toward one of the two tents--which protestingly housed
some forty huddling Americans by night--holding in my hand an historic
_morceau de chocolat_, when a spick, not to say span, gentleman in a
suspiciously quiet French uniform allowed himself to be driven up to the
_bureau_, by two neat soldiers with tin derbies, in a Renault whose
painful cleanliness shamed my recent efforts. This must be a general at
least, I thought, regretting the extremely undress character of my
uniform, which uniform consisted of overalls and a cigarette.
Having furtively watched the gentleman alight and receive a ceremonious
welcome from the chief and the aforesaid French lieutenant who
accompanied the section for translatory reasons, I hastily betook myself
to one of the tents, where I found B. engaged in dragging all his
belongings into a central pile of frightening proportions. He was
surrounded by a group of fellow-heroes who hailed my coming with
considerable enthusiasm. "Your bunky's leaving" said somebody. "Going to
Paris" volunteered a man who had been trying for three months to get
there. "Prison you mean" remarked a confirmed optimist whost disposition
had felt the effects of French climate.
Albeit confused by the eloquence of B.'s unalterable silence, I
immediately associated his present predicament with the advent of the
mysterious stranger, and forthwith dashed forth, bent on demanding from
one of the tin-derbies the high identity and sacred mission of this
personage. I knew that with the exception of ourselves everyone in the
section had been given his seven days' leave--even two men who had
arrived later than we and whose turn should, consequently, have come
after ours. I also knew that at the headquarters of the Ambulance, _7 rue
Francois Premier_, was Monsieur Norton, the supreme head of the Norton
Harjes fraternity, who had known my father in other days. Putting two and
two together I decided that this potentate had sent an emissary to Mr. A.
to demand an explanation of the various and sundry insults and
indignities to which I and my friend had been subjected, and more
particularly to secure our long-delayed permission. Accordingly I was in
high spirits as I rushed toward the _bureau_.
I didn't have to go far. The mysterious one, in conversation with
_monsieur le sous-lieutenant_, met me half-way. I caught the words: "And
Cummings" (the first and last time that my name was correctly pronounced
by a Frenchman), "where is he?"
"Present," I said, giving a salute to which neither of them paid the
slightest attention.
"Ah yes" impenetrably remarked the mysterious one in positively sanitary
English. "You shall put all your baggage in the car, at once"--then, to
tin-derby-the-first, who appeared in an occult manner at his master's
elbow--"Go with him, get his baggage, at once."
My things were mostly in the vicinity of the _cuisine_, where lodged the
_cuisinier, mechanician, menusier_, etc., who had made room for me (some
ten days since) on their own initiative, thus saving me the humiliation
of sleeping with nineteen Americans in a tent which was always two-thirds
full of mud. Thither I led the tin-derby, who scrutinised everything with
surprising interest. I threw _mes affaires_ hastily together (including
some minor accessories which I was going to leave behind, but which the
t-d bade me include) and emerged with a duffle-bag under one arm and a
bed-roll under the other, to encounter my excellent friends, the "dirty
Frenchmen," aforesaid. They all popped out together from one door,
looking rather astonished. Something by way of explanation as well as
farewell was most certainly required, so I made a speech in my best
French:
"Gentlemen, friends, comrades--I am going away immediately and shall be
guillotined tomorrow."
--"Oh hardly guillotined I should say," remarked t-d, in a voice which
froze my marrow despite my high spirits; while the cook and carpenter
gaped audibly and the mechanician clutched a hopelessly smashed
carburetor for support.
One of the section's _voitures_, a F.I.A.T., was standing ready. General
Nemo sternly forbade me to approach the Renault (in which B.'s baggage
was already deposited) and waved me into the F.I.A.T., bed, bed-roll and
all; whereupon t-d leaped in and seated himself opposite me in a position
of perfect unrelaxation, which, despite my aforesaid exultation at
quitting the section in general and Mr. A. in particular, impressed me as
being almost menacing. Through the front window I saw my friend drive
away with t-d Number 2 and Nemo; then, having waved hasty farewell to all
_les Americains_ that I knew--three in number--and having exchanged
affectionate greetings with Mr. A. (who admitted he was very sorry indeed
to lose us), I experienced the jolt of the clutch--and we were off in
pursuit.
Whatever may have been the forebodings inspired by t-d Number 1's
attitude, they were completely annihilated by the thrilling joy which I
experienced on losing sight of the accursed section and its asinine
inhabitants--by the indisputable and authentic thrill of going somewhere
and nowhere, under the miraculous auspices of someone and no one--of
being yanked from the putrescent banalities of an official non-existence
into a high and clear adventure, by a _deus ex machina_ in a grey-blue
uniform, and a couple of tin derbies. I whistled and sang and cried to my
_vis-a-vis_: "By the way, who is yonder distinguished gentleman who has
been so good as to take my friend and me on this little promenade?"--to
which, between lurches of the groaning F.I.A.T., t-d replied awesomely,
clutching at the window for the benefit of his equilibrium: "Monsieur le
Ministre de Surete de Noyon."
Not in the least realizing what this might mean, I grinned. A responsive
grin, visiting informally the tired cheeks of my _confrere_, ended by
frankly connecting his worthy and enormous ears which were squeezed into
oblivion by the oversize _casque_. My eyes, jumping from those ears, lit
on that helmet and noticed for the first time an emblem, a sort of
flowering little explosion, or hair-switch rampant. It seemed to me very
jovial and a little absurd.
"We're on our way to Noyon, then?"
T-d shrugged his shoulders.
Here the driver's hat blew off. I heard him swear, and saw the hat
sailing in our wake. I jumped to my feet as the F.I.A.T. came to a sudden
stop, and started for the ground--then checked my flight in mid-air and
landed on the seat, completely astonished. T-d's revolver, which had
hopped from its holster at my first move, slid back into its nest. The
owner of the revolver was muttering something rather disagreeable. The
driver (being an American of Vingt-et-Un) was backing up instead of
retrieving his cap in person. My mind felt as if it had been thrown
suddenly from fourth into reverse. I pondered and said nothing.
On again--faster, to make up for lost time. On the correct assumption
that t-d does not understand English the driver passes the time of day
through the minute window:
"For Christ's sake, Cummings, what's up?"
"You got me," I said, laughing at the delicate naivete of the question.
"Did y' do something to get pinched?"
"Probably," I answered importantly and vaguely, feeling a new dignity.
"Well, if you didn't, maybe B---- did."
"Maybe," I countered, trying not to appear enthusiastic. As a matter of
fact I was never so excited and proud. I was, to be sure, a criminal!
Well, well, thank God that settled one question for good and all--no more
_Section Sanitaire_ for me! No more Mr. A. and his daily lectures on
cleanliness, deportment, etc.! In spite of myself I started to sing. The
driver interrupted:
"I heard you asking the tin lid something in French. Whadhesay?"
"Said that gink in the Renault is the head cop of Noyon," I answered at
random.
"GOODNIGHT. Maybe we'd better ring off, or you'll get in wrong with"--he
indicated t-d with a wave of his head that communicated itself to the car
in a magnificent skid; and t-d's derby rang out as the skid pitched t-d
the length of the F.I.A.T.
"You rang the bell then," I commented--then to t-d: "Nice car for the
wounded to ride in," I politely observed. T-d answered nothing....
Noyon.
We drive straight up to something which looks unpleasantly like a feudal
dungeon. The driver is now told to be somewhere at a certain time, and
meanwhile to eat with the Head Cop, who may be found just around the
corner--(I am doing, the translating for t-d)--and, oh yes, it seems that
the Head Cop has particularly requested the pleasure of this
distinguished American's company at _dejeuner_.
"Does he mean me?" the driver asked innocently.
"Sure," I told him.
Nothing is said of B. or me.
Now, cautiously, t-d first and I a slow next, we descend. The F.I.A.T.
rumbles off, with the distinguished one's backward-glaring head poked out
a yard more or less and that distinguished face so completely surrendered
to mystification as to cause a large laugh on my part.
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