Ellen became grave also. “In what way, Father?”
He looked into his teacup, then put it aside. He clasped his hands together and stared at them. “I read the newspapers. Sometimes an item will seem obscure and not very interesting—and then it happens that it was the most vital news in the world, far more important than the current headlines.”
.
Ellen waited. The old man sighed. “The end of an era—the beginning of a new and frightful one. I may be wrong; I pray I am wrong. I have been reading about an Austrian, Adolf Hitler Have you been reading about him in the newspapers, Ellen?”
“I was ill for so long, Father. I didn’t read anything or know anything. But lately, I have read something about him, in the hospital and here. He’s just a revolutionist, or something, in poor Germany, isn’t he?”
“I am afraid he is much more than that, Ellen. No one listens when I say so—but I feel it, know it. Poor Germany, broken by the Treaty of Versailles, and plunged into destitution and misery—she is looking for a savior. It is sad that when men and nations look for a savior they rarely look to God. They seek out malefactors, insane men, cruel and vicious and blasphemous men, criminals, mountebanks. And Satan obliges them, and gives them the most damnable.” He paused. “Well, this Hitler, a man sentenced to prison for insurrection, has just formed what is called the Deutschvölkische Freiheitsbewegung, a radical Socialist party, and it is becoming very powerful in Germany.”
“He’s a Communist, then?”
“It is the same thing, Ellen—Socialism and Communism. The distinction is nil. Nazis and Communists—they are one. American financiers and bankers and industrialists helped bring about the Russian Bolshevik Revolution, for their own purposes. I am wondering if they are not, now, supporting Hitler. If so—then the prospect for the whole world is appalling.”
Ellen was acutely uneasy. “Francis—he is a Socialist. He told me that long ago, many years ago. I cannot believe he is cruel and a criminal—”
The priest tried to smile cheerfully at her. “Many good men, or innocent men—they are not always the same, Ellen—become deluded and fanatic, from some deep illness in themselves. I am sure your husband is not wicked. He could only be mistaken. Ah, well, you are looking despondent, and I am sorry. Let us change the subject.”
He asked about her plans for the future and smiled affectionately at her when she spoke of taking her children abroad with her in the summer. Her face was alight, her eyes shining. Like a child herself, he thought. May God protect her.
That night he prayed, “Agnus Dei, Who taketh away the sins of the world—have mercy—”
Before sleeping that night Ellen stood on her bed and kissed the painted lips of Jeremy’s portrait, and then the painted hand. “Never leave me, my love,” she said. “Never leave me. You, my darling, are my hope and my joy. Don’t forget me, don’t stop loving me—keep me with you forever.”
She smiled with passionate love at the portrait, sighed and lay down and slept.
C H A P T E R 43
DR. COSGROVE REFUSED TO SEE Ellen in her house, for her own sake. He had suggested that she take a streetcar, or a bus or the subway, resorting to her car, driven by her new handyman, only during the worst of weather when transportation was almost impossible. He even was doubtful of a taxicab. He rejoiced contentedly when she came alone, and spoke of the crowds in the subway or her long wait for a Fifth Avenue bus. Daily her fears subsided more and more, and there was a freshness in her face and a sweet excitement as if she found the world not to be feared at every moment, but to be confronted with interest and participation.
She spoke to him with a childlike and trusting candor, and often she laughed, and daily her eyes brightened and her complexion regained a luster it had not had for many years. Once she proudly displayed a coat and hat she had purchased—alone—and was shyly delighted at his admiration. He began to suspect that not only was she now rejuvenated but she was exhibiting an attitude towards the world, and herself, she had not even known during her marriage to Jeremy Porter. There was air of fortitude and endurance about her, which amazed even Dr. Cosgrove.
He said to her, “Remember always what I have told you before, Ellen: Your first duty is to yourself and your own welfare—as it is the duty of all men and all nations. Love for your fellow man is excellent and benign and Christian—but that love must always be the lesser compared with your own self-esteem and vital existence. You cannot help or love others honestly, and with kindness, unless you possess pride in yourself.”
Ellen said, “So Maude Godfrey told me, long ago, quoting a Spanish Jesuit of the seventeenth century.”
Dr. Cosgrove nodded. “To denigrate yourself, to believe yourself less worthy than those about you, is not noble, for you, too, are an immortal soul and as valuable in the sight of God as anyone else. In fact, not to remember this is to court the contempt of other people, and their exploitation of you, and that is a crime against them themselves. You have tempted them to degrade and dishonor you, a grave sin, and a sin against God.”
He shook his head. “I have been told that in our schools and colleges, now, and even in our churches, they are teaching that the United States should have joined the League of Nations—to ‘further peace and tranquillity among nations.’ In short, America should abandon the memory of her glorious past and accomplishments and subvert herself to the service of other countries. That is not admirable humility, Ellen. It is gross stupidity. I am afraid America is becoming Europeanized, and that will mean the end of our strength, and our ultimate decay. America should take care of her own, protect her own, and never subject herself to any opinion or domination by those peoples who have lost their courage, their will to survive, their will to endure, nor should she make of herself an almshouse for the incompetents of alien cultures, who have proved themselves unworthy of survival. Do you understand, Ellen?”
“Yes.”
“For a man to divest himself, or a nation herself, of what they have honestly and creatively earned, by their own efforts, is not charity or benevolence, Ellen. That only encourages mendicancy in others, and arrogance and ill will. It is very dangerous for all. Sharing indiscriminately impoverishes everyone and stimulates more poverty.” He thought of Ellen’s ruthless children, and the whining clamor in the League of Nations at the present time. “A proper care for one’s own self, and one’s country, inspires others.”
Ellen moved uneasily for the first time. “This panic, Doctor: What if my children need my help?”
“Why should they demand help from their mother, if they have been too reckless or profligate to guard their own interests? If their greed inspires them to ruin, they have brought that fate on themselves.” He was vaguely alarmed. “They are young, Ellen. They must find their own way, as you and your husband found your way. Struggle ennobles and strengthens a man; heedless ‘help’ from others dishonors and weakens him. God knows, we all need strength.”
When Ellen was silent, he added, “If your children ask you for anything, ask yourself, ‘Will this harm me and make me more vulnerable?’ If the answer is ‘yes,’ then refuse. Will you promise me that?”
She hesitated, then said yes. Then she looked earnestly into his bright concerned eyes and said, “You don’t know very much about my children, Doctor. They are most devoted and loving and thoughtful and considerate. They would never ask anything of me that would harm me or cause me distress.”
She wondered at the sudden dark grimness of his face. He was saying to himself: One of these days, when she is stronger, she must be told the truth about her children. He said, “Children are not the greatest blessing in the world to a parent, Ellen—that is, many of them. They can also be curses and can destroy their parents. It is cheap sentimentality—and dangerous—not to know that, or to deny it. What does the Bible say about children? ‘The heart of a child is deceitful…Man is wicked from his birth and evil from his youth.’ Man is not born pure and noble and immaculate, as the psychiatrists are shouti
ng just now. He is born human, with all humanity’s innate cruelty and viciousness. Only strict discipline can make him a man.”
Ellen thought of the children of her childhood. She thought of the crafty grins and the joy in her pain. Her face saddened. He said, very gently, “To know the truth, Ellen, is not always to gain happiness. It can bring sorrow. But it can bring strength, too.”
When she was on the way home in the subway, Ellen thought, But he does not know Gabrielle and Christian! Her sadness lifted and she smiled. She had forgotten, long ago, all Jeremy’s anxious warnings.
Gabrielle and Christian sat with Kitty Wilder in her living room. Their faces were drawn and pale, but she smiled at them. “Oh, don’t worry so much, my dears! I am sure, from what I read now in the newspapers, that the panic is over, and the Market will stabilize itself. The President is very optimistic. I listened to him last night on the radio. Things are really very sound. Our national debt is only twenty billion dollars; we have all the gold in the world in the Treasury! Do cheer up.”
“My stocks fell to a new low today, Aunt Kith,” said Christian, and Gabrielle said, “Mine also. We’re not entirely wiped out, though Christian keeps getting demands for ‘call money’ from his brokers. Margin, you know. I didn’t go so far out on margin as Christian did, but it’s bad enough. I had to meet a demand for twelve thousand dollars today, and Christian got a demand for eighteen thousand. If it keeps up like this we’ll truly be wiped out.”
Kitty wanted to say with tartness, “Well, I never bought on margin, so I am in a sound position. I have only to wait until stocks start to rise again.” But she smiled at the two with loving kindness. “Cheer up. Things can’t possibly get any worse. That is what the stockbrokers and bankers say.”
“And if they do?” asked Christian.
“Then, we will put my idea into operation, darling. Let us wait and see. I am perfecting the idea. Very fast, indeed.”
“Why won’t you tell us about it, then, so we can be prepared?”
“Gaby, it may not be necessary.” She paused. “In the meantime, I’d like you to talk over the whole situation with my own lawyers, and your father’s will and your mother’s income. The whole story, including her illness and how she was prevented from getting the institutionalization she still desperately needs. Why, she is as dreamy as ever, if not more so! She talks about your father as if he is still actually living, and inhabits her house, and always in the present tense! If that isn’t mental illness I’d like to know what it is! Yesterday, I was quite frightened—the poor sick woman! She showed me some new clothes she had bought recently, and said she was sure Jeremy would like them, and she preened like a woman with a doting lover. Poor soul.”
“Dear Francis encourages her,” said Christian with a hating sneer. “I think he is as sick as she is, if not more so. Once he stood with us against her, and influenced her. Now the situation seems reversed. He actually hovers over her—and watches us—damn his soul.”
“I really don’t know what’s come over Francis,” said Kitty, sighing. “He seems to have lost his wits. But then, he lost them when he married your mother. To this day I can’t think why he did that.”
“Her money,” said Gabrielle. “What else?”
“What else, indeed,” said Kitty. “Now here are the names of my own lawyers. Be discreet, yet tell them everything that matters.”
Christian took the card Kitty offered him. “Witcome and Spander. I’ve heard of them. They’re very expensive, aren’t they?”
“All lawyers are, my pet. But they can smell money quicker than can other lawyers. Do consult them as soon as possible. They are part of my idea. They’ll ask for a retainer, or ask for a contingency basis. I’ve had them for years, and have never regretted it.”
Gabrielle began to smile cunningly, as her brother doubtfully fingered the card. “I am beginning to see,” she said. She stood up and her piquant face became heavy with disgust. “Come along, Christian,” she said to her brother. “We have to endure a visit, and a dinner, with dear Mama tonight. And listen to her insane babblings, all spoken with such a sickening air of brightness. Even gaiety, my God, at her age!”
Kitty did not love them so ardently for a moment or two. “I always thought your mother was older than she confesses. But then, it is possible she doesn’t even know her actual age, does she?”
“She acts a hundred,” said Christian, and Gabrielle, who had been watching Kitty closely, said, “She looks at least fifteen years older than you, Aunt Kitty. She never was vivacious and lively. Now she is completely washed out.”
They went to visit their eagerly waiting mother, and the sight of her joy in them, her love and trust and tenderness, enraged them. She should have been incarcerated by this time, or decently dead, they thought. Again, she was an impediment in their lives, and time was running out. The newspapers were not so optimistic tonight. “I hate to open my mail in the morning,” said Christian, “or to answer the telephone. Screams for more margin. I have exactly thirty-thousand dollars in my checking account—and bundles of stock that are almost worthless, as of today.”
“Cheer up,” said Gabrielle as they entered Christian’s fine new Packard, later. “I am beginning to see what darling Aunt Kitty has in mind. It’s very clever, indeed. And our troubles will end.”
On November 9, Charles Godfrey, in Boston, said to Maude, “I have a feeling, my love, that we should go back to New York tomorrow.”
“You and your Irish ‘feelings’!” said Maude, kissing him. “You are all fey, you Irish. I don’t know why I listen to you so much, but I do. Very well. But tell me about your ‘feelings.’”
“I don’t know, frankly. But I am uneasy; I feel it is urgent that we go back. It’s not the Market, thank God. I never bought on much margin, anyway. Perhaps it’s the air of general foreboding—or something. I’m also thinking of Ellen Porter.”
“But she is now so well, Dr. Cosgrove and Father Reynolds told us.”
Charles nodded. “So they say. But I know Ellen. Perhaps better than they do. And there are those damned children of hers—I can never forget what they tried to do to her.”
Maude knew that her husband still loved Ellen with the wistful and poetic love he had had for her from the beginning. But Maude was not jealous. Every man was entitled to his romantic devotion to the dream of fair women. Maude was contented to be his competent and sensible wife. A man without poetry in his soul was poor, indeed, even if that poetry concerned another woman. In fact, the more inaccessible the woman was, the more she was beautifully enhanced for him. It gave him an air of noble pathos, and chivalrous renunciation.
“Ellen’s children wouldn’t dare try to injure her again,” said Maude. “They are too afraid of you.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Charles. “But perfect greed casteth out fear, to paraphrase the Bible.”
In the past days, Ellen had actually taken the shy initiative with regard to the few friends she had had before she married Francis. They were astonished to hear from her; they had almost forgotten that she existed. But they were genuinely pleased to receive her calls, and to accept her invitation to tea on November 11. She felt quite elated at her own boldness, and sang softly to herself in her warm and comfortable house. She had let Miss Hendricks go a few days before, with regret. “Just you call me, Mrs. Porter, anytime you need me,” Miss Hendricks said on the eve of her departure. “I’ll come at once.” She looked fondly at Ellen, with her sunny youthfulness and vivid complexion, and felt a personal triumph.
Ellen, just lately, had returned to her piano and admitted ruefully to herself that she needed a great many more lessons to restore her former skill. She called the teacher she had had at one time and was joyful that he would teach her again, if only once a week. He was also astounded to hear from her. “I have been ill,” she said. “But now I want the happiness of music again. My husband would like that.”
Her only regret was that her children did not appreciate the sort
of music which entranced her. But then, they were young. They preferred “modern music,” which, to Ellen, was only discord—all those blazing trumpets and those alleged singers they called “crooners,” and the frantic beat. They were part of a world completely distasteful to Ellen, the world of stockbrokers and “company men,” and gangsters and vulgar nightclubs, and Prohibition and avid and suspect women and “gang” murders, and shouting “movies” and very short skirts and shameless public scandal and activities. I must be getting old, she thought to herself with a smile. I suppose I should, like my children, find this all very exciting. I find it very shoddy and cheap and without substance or beauty. Tawdry and synthetic. Where in the world did all these strange people come from, to fill the air with their howlings and the streets with their sharp painted faces, and their rudeness? No longer was life rich and sedate and civilized. The Vandals had arrived. Would the true America ever be restored again, the America of principle and decency and decorum, the America of authentic values? The question itself was depressing. Ellen was determined never to be depressed again, and so she put aside the question. The world went on its merry way, for good and evil, and no one could halt it. One had to—adjust? As Dr. Cosgrove had called it.
But adjust to paltriness, to inanity, to the inferior and third-rate? Was it “progress” to accept the trashy and ugly and vile? Grace had vanished from the world; could it ever be restored? Ellen put this thought aside also. It was not the world she had made; this world had only contempt for the past and all its traditions.
The world of her youth, Ellen reflected, had not been a gentle world. It had been harsh and demanding. But it had also been strong. The competent and the able had been rewarded, justly. A man with bravery and courage and intelligence had always been able to succeed to the extent of his native capacity; he had always been able to deliver himself from adversity’. If he suffered in the process it was an enabling suffering. People had had pride, even the humblest.