After all, though I pretended to criticise, to myself ... yet, in my heart, I liked his frank rejoicing in his fame, his notoriety, and only envied him his ability to do so.

* * * * *

I returned to my tent to work, as I had planned to do each morning, on my play Judas.  The dialogue would not come to me ...  I laid it aside and instead was inspired to set down instantly the blank verse poem to the play:—­

  “A noise of archery and wielded swords
  All night rang through his dreams.  When risen morn
  Let down her rosy feet on Galilee
  Blue-vistaed, on the house-top Judas woke: 
  Desire of battle brooded in his breast
  Although the day was hung with sapphire peace,
  And to his inner eye battalions bright
  Of seraphim, fledged with celestial mail,
  Came marching up the wide-flung ways of dawn
  To usher in the triumph-day of Christ.... 
  But sun on sun departed, moon on moon,
  And still the Master lingered by the way,
  Iscariot deemed, dusked in mortality
  And darkened in the God by flesh of man. 
  For Judas a material kingdom saw
  And not a realm of immaterial gold,
  A city of renewed Jerusalem
  And not that New Jerusalem, diamond-paved
  With love and sapphire-walled with brotherhood,
  Which He, the Master, wrestled to make plain
  With thews of parable and simile—­
  So ‘’tis the flesh that clogs him,’ Judas thought
  (A simple, earnest man, he loved him well
  And slew him with great friendship in the end);
  ’Yea, if he chose to say the word of power,
  The seraphim and cherubim, invoked,
  Would wheel in dazzling squadrons down the sky
  And for the hosts of Israel move in war
  As in those holy battles waged of yore’....

* * * * *

  “Ah, all the world now knows Gethsemane,
  But few the love of that betraying kiss!”

* * * * *

I did not have to be very long at Eden to learn that the community was divided into two parties:  the more conservative, rooted element whom success was making more and more conservative,—­and the genuinely radical crowd.  The anarchist, Jones, led the latter group, a very small one.

As far as I could see, this anarchist-shoemaker held the right.  On my third day in Eden my interest in the community life about me led me to inquire my way to the place where Jones lived ... a shack built practically in its entirety of old dry goods boxes ... a two-room affair with a sort of enlarged dog-kennel adjunct that stood out nearer the road—­Jones’s workshop.

The man looked like the philosopher he was—­the anarchist-philosopher, as the newspapers were to dub him ... as he sat there before his last, hammering away at the shoe he was heeling, not stopping the motions of his hands, while he put that pair aside, to sew at another pair, while he discoursed at large with me over men and affairs.