Tract

I will teach you          my townspeople how to perform          a funeral — for you have it          over a troop of artists— unless one should          scour the world — you have the ground sense          necessary. See! the hearse leads. I begin with          a design for a hearse. For Christ's sake          not black — nor white either —          and not polished! Let it be weathered —          like a farm wagon — with gilt wheels          (this could be applied fresh          at small expense) or no wheels at all: a rough dray to          drag over the ground. Knock the glass out! My God-glass,          my townspeople! For what purpose?          Is it for the dead to look out or          for us to see how well he is housed          or to see the flowers or          the lack of them — or what? To keep the rain          and snow from him? He will have a          heavier rain soon: pebbles and dirt          and what not. Let there be no glass — and no upholstery          phew! and no little          brass rollers and small easy wheels          on the bottom — my townspeople          what are you thinking of? A rough          plain hearse then with gilt wheels          and no top at all. On this          the coffin lies by its own weight. No wreathes please — especially no          hot house flowers. Some common memento          is better, something he prized          and is known by: his old clothes —          a few books perhaps — God knows what!          You realize how we are          about these things my townspeople — something will be found —          anything even flowers          if he had come to that. So much for          the hearse. For heaven's sake though          see to the driver! Take off          the silk hat! In fact that's no place          at all for him — up there          unceremoniously dragging our friend out          to his own dignity! Bring him down —          bring him down! Low and inconspicuous!          I'd not have him ride on the wagon at all —          damn him — the undertaker's          understrapper! Let him hold          the reins and walk          at the side and inconspicuously          too! Then briefly          as to yourselves: Walk behind —          as they do in France, seventh class, or          if you ride Hell take curtains!          Go with some show of inconvenience;          sit openly — to the weather          as to grief. Or do you think          you can shut grief in? What — from us?          We who have perhaps nothing to lose?          Share with us share with us —          it will be money in your pockets. Go now I think you are          ready.