Appearance
Excerpt
Excerpt from Children of the Night, by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Well, this was the way of it: --<br />
Stung with the shame and the secret fury<br />
That comes to the man who has thrown his pittance<br />
Of self at a traitor's feet, I wandered<br />
Weeks and weeks in a baffled frenzy,<br />
Till at last the devil spoke. I heard him,<br />
And laughed at the love that strove to touch me, --<br />
The dead, lost love; and I gripped the demon<br />
Close to my breast, and held him, praising<br />
The fates and the furies that gave me the courage<br />
To follow his wild command. Forgetful<br />
Of all to come when the work was over, --<br />
There came to me then no stony vision<br />
Of these three hundred days, -- I cherished<br />
An awful joy in my brain. I pondered<br />
And weighed the thing in my mind, and gloried<br />
In life to think that I was to conquer<br />
Death at his own dark door, -- and chuckled<br />
To think of it done so cleanly. One evening<br />
I knew that my time had come. I shuddered<br />
A little, but rather for doubt than terror,<br />
And followed him, -- led by the nameless devil<br />
I worshipped and called my brother. The city<br />
Shone like a dream that night; the windows<br />
Flashed with a piercing flame, and the pavements<br />
Pulsed and swayed with a warmth -- or something<br />
That seemed so then to my feet -- and thrilled me<br />
With a quick, dizzy joy; and the women<br />
And men, like marvellous things of magic,<br />
Floated and laughed and sang by my shoulder,<br />
Sent with a wizard motion. Through it<br />
And over and under it all there sounded<br />
A murmur of life, like bees; and I listened<br />
And laughed again to think of the flower<br />
That grew, blood-red, for me! . . . This fellow<br />
Was one of the popular sort who flourish<br />
Unruffled where gods would fall. For a conscience<br />
He carried a snug deceit that made him<br />
The man of the time and the place, whatever<br />
The time or the place might be. Were he sounding,<br />
With a genial craft that cloaked its purpose,<br />
Nigh to itself, the depth of a woman<br />
Fooled with his brainless art, or sending<br />
The midnight home with songs and bottles, --<br />
The cad was there, and his ease forever<br />
Shone with the smooth and slippery polish<br />
That tells the snake. That night he drifted<br />
Into an up-town haunt and ordered --<br />
Whatever it was -- with a soft assurance<br />
That made me mad as I stood behind him,<br />
Gripping his death, and waited. Coward,<br />
I think, is the name the world has given<br />
To men like me; but I'll swear I never<br />
Thought of my own disgrace when I shot him --<br />
Yes, in the back, -- I know it, I know it<br />
Now; but what if I do? . . . As I watched him<br />
Lying there dead in the scattered sawdust,<br />
Wet with a day's blown froth, I noted<br />
That things were still; that the walnut tables,<br />
Where men but a moment before were sitting,<br />
Were gone; that a screen of something around me<br />
Shut them out of my sight. But the gilded<br />
Signs of a hundred beers and whiskeys<br />
Flashed from the walls above, and the mirrors<br />
And glasses behind the bar were lighted<br />
In some strange way, and into my spirit<br />
A thousand shafts of terrible fire<br />
Burned like death, and I fell. The story<br />
Of what came then, you know.
But tell me,<br />
What does the whole thing mean? What are we, --<br />
Slaves of an awful ignorance? puppets<br />
Pulled by a fiend? or gods, without knowing it?<br />
Do we shut from ourselves our own salvation, --<br />
Or what do we do! I tell you, Dominie,<br />
There are times in the lives of us poor devils<br />
When heaven and hell get mixed. Though conscience<br />
May come like a whisper of Christ to warn us<br />
Away from our sins, it is lost or laughed at, --<br />
And then we fall. And for all who have fallen --<br />
Even for him -- I hold no malice,<br />
Nor much compassion: a mightier mercy<br />
Than mine must shrive him. -- And I -- I am going<br />
Into the light? -- or into the darkness?<br />
Why do I sit through these sickening hours,<br />
And hope? Good God! are they hours? -- hours?<br />
Yes! I am done with days. And to-morrow --<br />
We two may meet! To-morrow! -- To-morrow! . . .
Walt Whitman
Explanation
Detailed Explanation of Edwin Arlington Robinson’s Children of the Night (Excerpt)
Context & Background
Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935) was a Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet known for his psychological depth, dark realism, and exploration of human suffering. Children of the Night (1897) is one of his early collections, featuring poems that delve into themes of alienation, moral decay, and existential despair. The excerpt provided is a dramatic monologue from the poem "George Crabbe" (though sometimes misattributed due to its standalone power), spoken by a condemned man reflecting on his crime, guilt, and impending execution.
The poem is framed as a confession to a "Dominie" (a clergyman or spiritual advisor), revealing the speaker’s descent into madness, vengeance, and moral ambiguity. Robinson’s work often critiques societal hypocrisy and the psychological torment of outcasts, making this monologue a powerful study of a man grappling with fate, free will, and the nature of evil.
Themes in the Excerpt
Shame, Betrayal, and Vengeance
- The speaker begins by describing his "shame and secret fury" after being betrayed by someone he trusted (likely a lover or friend). His "pittance of self"—his dignity—was discarded "at a traitor’s feet," leaving him in a "baffled frenzy."
- This betrayal leads him to embrace a "nameless devil" (symbolizing his rage, obsession, or the darker side of human nature) as a "brother." His rejection of love ("I laughed at the love that strove to touch me") suggests a complete moral collapse, where hatred replaces all tenderness.
The Illusion of Power & Control
- The speaker describes his murderous act as a triumph over death, boasting that he will "conquer Death at his own dark door." His "awful joy" in planning the murder reveals a twisted sense of agency—he believes he is defying fate by taking another’s life.
- The city’s surreal, dreamlike beauty ("the windows flashed with a piercing flame," "the pavements pulsed and swayed") mirrors his distorted perception, where reality blends with his manic state. The women and men floating like "marvellous things of magic" suggest a dissociation from morality—he sees people as mere illusions, not real beings with value.
The Banality of Evil
- The victim is described as a "popular sort"—a social chameleon who thrives on deceit ("a snug deceit that made him the man of the time and the place"). His smooth, slippery polish (like a snake) contrasts with the speaker’s raw, self-destructive passion.
- The speaker justifies his crime by portraying the victim as a manipulative cad, but his cowardly method (shooting him "in the back") undercuts any moral high ground. His lack of remorse ("I hold no malice, nor much compassion") suggests a numbness to human suffering, including his own.
Existential Crisis & Moral Ambiguity
- The speaker’s final questions ("What does the whole thing mean? What are we?") reveal his desperation for meaning. He oscillates between seeing humans as:
- "Slaves of an awful ignorance" (deterministic victims of fate)
- "Puppets pulled by a fiend" (controlled by evil forces)
- "Gods, without knowing it" (having divine potential but blind to it)
- His confusion about salvation ("Do we shut from ourselves our own salvation?") suggests a struggle between guilt and defiance. He acknowledges a "whisper of Christ" (conscience) but ignores it, leading to his fall.
- The speaker’s final questions ("What does the whole thing mean? What are we?") reveal his desperation for meaning. He oscillates between seeing humans as:
The Horror of Impending Death
- The speaker’s psychological unraveling is evident in his distorted sense of time ("Are they hours? hours?"). His hope for "light" (redemption) or fear of "darkness" (damnation) reflects his uncertainty about the afterlife.
- The repetition of "To-morrow!" is chilling—it signifies both his execution and the possibility of facing his victim in the afterlife, a prospect that terrifies him.
Literary Devices & Stylistic Analysis
Dramatic Monologue
- The poem is a first-person confession, creating intimacy and immediacy. The speaker’s unreliable narration (his madness, justification of murder) forces the reader to question his perspective.
Imagery & Symbolism
- The Devil as a Brother: The speaker’s embrace of evil ("I gripped the demon close to my breast") symbolizes his rejection of morality in favor of vengeance.
- The City as a Dream/Hell: The surreal, glowing city ("the windows flashed with a piercing flame") represents his psychological detachment—beauty and horror coexist.
- Blood-Red Flower: The "flower that grew, blood-red, for me" symbolizes his murderous act—something beautiful (justice?) born from violence.
- Sawdust & Beer Signs: The tawdry bar setting (sawdust, beer ads) contrasts with the spiritual fire ("shafts of terrible fire") that consumes him, highlighting the banality of his crime.
Irony & Paradox
- The speaker glorifies his crime ("I was to conquer Death") but is ultimately conquered by it (his execution looms).
- He mockingly calls himself a "coward" (for shooting in the back) yet justifies it, showing his moral contradiction.
Repetition & Rhythm
- "To-morrow! — To-morrow!" – The obsessive repetition mirrors his terror and inevitability of death.
- "I know it, I know it" – His self-awareness of guilt clashes with his defiance.
Biblical & Mythological Allusions
- "Fates and the Furies" – References to Greek mythology (inevitable destiny and vengeful spirits).
- "Whisper of Christ" – A moment of conscience, quickly dismissed.
- "Heaven and hell get mixed" – Suggests moral chaos, where good and evil blur.
Significance & Interpretation
Psychological Realism
- Robinson dissects the mind of a criminal, showing how shame, betrayal, and obsession lead to moral collapse. The speaker is neither a hero nor a pure villain—he is a flawed, tormented human.
Critique of Societal Hypocrisy
- The victim is a social parasite ("the man of the time and the place"), yet the speaker’s violent response is equally damned. Robinson questions who is truly guilty—the betrayer or the avenger?
Existential Dread
- The poem grapples with free will vs. fate. The speaker blames external forces ("puppets pulled by a fiend") but also acknowledges his choices ("I followed him"). His final uncertainty ("Into the light? or into the darkness?") leaves his fate ambiguous, reflecting the unknowability of moral judgment.
The Horror of Self-Awareness
- Unlike traditional villains, the speaker knows he is damned but cannot repent. His laughter, joy in murder, and eventual despair make him a tragic figure—aware of his fall but powerless to stop it.
Connection to Walt Whitman (Mentioned at the End)
The reference to Walt Whitman is puzzling, as the poem is purely Robinson’s work. Possible interpretations:
- Irony: Whitman’s optimistic, democratic verse contrasts sharply with Robinson’s dark, individual despair.
- Literary Homage: Robinson may be acknowledging Whitman’s influence while diverging into psychological depth.
- Editorial Note: The mention might be a misattribution or printer’s error in some editions.
Conclusion: The Speaker’s Tragedy
The excerpt is a harrowing confession of a man who chose vengeance over redemption, only to be consumed by guilt, madness, and existential doubt. Robinson does not glorify violence but exposes the hollow triumph of revenge—the speaker’s "awful joy" is fleeting, replaced by terror of the unknown.
His final questions ("What are we?") remain unanswered, leaving the reader to confront the moral ambiguity of human nature. The poem is a masterclass in psychological horror, where the true monster is not the devil, but the man who listens to him.
Final Thought: Robinson’s genius lies in making the murderer’s voice hauntingly human—we may condemn his actions, but we understand his pain. The excerpt forces us to ask: How far would we go for vengeance? And what remains of us afterward?