Ambrose Bierce: A Commuted Sentence

 

Ambrose Bierce

(1842-1914?)

 

A Commuted Sentence

Boruck and Waterman upon their grills

In Hades lay, with many a sigh and groan,

Hotly disputing, for each swore his own

Were clearly keener than the other’s ills.

And, truly, each had much to boast of–bone

And sinew, muscle, tallow, nerve and skin,

Blood in the vein and marrow in the shin,

Teeth, eyes and other organs (for the soul

Has all of these and even a wagging chin)

Blazing and coruscating like a coal!

For Lower Sacramento, you remember,

Has trying weather, even in mid-December.

 

Now this occurred in the far future. All

Mankind had been a million ages dead,

And each to her reward above had sped,

Each to his punishment below,–I call

That quite a just arrangement. As I said,

Boruck and Waterman in warmest pain

Crackled and sizzed with all their might and main.

For, when on earth, they’d freed a scurvy host

Of crooks from the State prison, who again

Had robbed and ravaged the Pacific Coast

And (such the felon’s predatory nature)

Even got themselves into the Legislature.

 

So Waterman and Boruck lay and roared

In Hades. It is true all other males

Felt the like flames and uttered equal wails,

But did not suffer them; whereas they bored

Each one the other. But indeed my tale’s

Not getting on at all. They lay and browned

Till Boruck (who long since his teeth had ground

Away and spoke Gum Arabic and made

Stump speeches even in praying) looked around

And said to Bob’s incinerated shade:

“Your Excellency, this is mighty hard on

The inventors of the unpardonable pardon.”

 

The other soul–his right hand all aflame,

For ’twas with that he’d chiefly sinned, although

His tongue, too, like a wick was working woe

To the reserve of tallow in his frame–

Said, with a sputtering, uncertain flow,

And with a gesture like a shaken torch:

“Yes, but I’m sure we’ll not much longer scorch.

Although this climate is not good for Hope,

Whose joyous wing ‘twould singe, I think the porch

Of Hell we’ll quit with a pacific slope.

Last century I signified repentance

And asked for commutation of our sentence.”

 

Even as he spoke, the form of Satan loomed

In sight, all crimson with reflections’s fire,

Like some tall tower or cathedral spire

Touched by the dawn while all the earth is gloomed

In mists and shadows of the night time. “Sire,”

Said Waterman, his agitable wick

Still sputtering, “what calls you back so quick?

It scarcely was a century ago

You left us.” “I have come to bring,” said Nick,

“St. Peter’s answer (he is never slow

In correspondence) to your application

For pardon–pardon me!–for commutation.

 

“He says that he’s instructed to reply

(And he has so instructed me) that sin

Like yours–and this poor gentleman’s who’s in

For bad advice to you–comes rather high;

But since, apparently, you both begin

To feel some pious promptings to the right,

And fain would turn your faces to the light,

Eternity seems all too long a term.

So ’tis commuted to one-half. I’m quite

Prepared, when that expires, to free the worm

And quench the fire.” And, civilly retreating,

He left them holding their protracted meeting.

 

Ambrose Bierce poetry

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