Carl Van Vechten

“ Bravely she dragged the truth from its lair in her subconsciousness: she hated the idea of Gareth meeting the Countess Nattatorrini, and the prospect of this meeting had dominated the afternoon's conversation. It was, she now quite fully realized, the paramount plan in Gareth's mind. Lennie was certain that this new association, if it developed, and she could see no reason to believe that it would not develop even supposing she withdrew her proffer to arrange an introduction, would glow with a glamour that her own relationship with Gareth had fatally lacked. ”

“ He substituted another photograph for that of the Countess, a picture of his mother. He looked into the kind, grey eyes, smoothed the parted greybrown hair, kissed the soft mouth. Quite suddenly, he realized that he had lost the gift of tears. His mother's death had made it impossible for him to cry again. Nobody else could ever affect him in the same way. If she had lived, how different his life might have been. He might eventually have gone into business with his father, sacrificed himself to his father's desires as she had sacrificed herself. ”

“ One weaver wove one way, another quite a different way. And no possibility of change. You patronized one weaver or another and you had to stick by your choice. He understood now. It was all quite clear to him. Life was simple to those who knew how to take what they wanted. He was one of these favoured ones; the Countess, in her way, another. For Lennie, even Clara, people who let life baffle them, who patronized the weavers that tangled the yarn, he could feel nothing but contempt. ”

“ Why, what do you mean, Gareth?
Look at that red bird, Miss Colman. It's a cardinal. The boy pointed to the branch of a tree.
Isn't it beautiful!
It's like a tropical bird. There are so many of these brilliantly coloured birds that live in Iowa during the summer. I wonder where they all come from?
They migrate, Miss Colman replied, yet she must have known that he had not asked the question for information.
Yes, Gareth replied, an expression of intense ecstasy flashing across his countenance, they migrate. That's why I love birds. ”

“ Mayme Townsend herself was a woman of such strong personality that in a more favourable environment she would have been as outspoken about herself as she was here about others. In Maple Valley she was a social leader; people were afraid of her, but, Ella noted, not without irony, Mayme was afraid of herself too. They all were; that was it. They all were concealing something; skeletons dangled from the hooks in all their closets, skeletons whose every bone was dissected in the town but which the owner never referred to, this being part of the strange local code. ”

“ When she had asked him to come to see her she had noted amazement in Lou's expression, something a trifle stronger, perhaps, in Mayme Townsend's. Who was this youth? Why had she never encountered him before? Who were his father and mother? Johns? Had she met a Mrs. Johns? She could not recall the name.
The Countess peered out upon the lawn, silver and green in the moonlight. If only he might realize that she was waiting, the blood tingling in her veins, her heart pulsing, waiting like Juliet for him to appear in the orchard below. Gareth! she whispered softly. Gareth! ”

“ It was in this mood, Gareth reflected, that they were about to enter the doomed woman's chamber.
The boy had a moment of bitter realization when he felt that everything he cared about in life was passing. So far there had been only his mother. She had been the only human being capable of inspiring love in him. He reviewed her meagre life with his stupid, ununderstanding father, and he regretted so fondly, so vainly, that he had not done more himself to make her happy. ”

“ On the afternoon of the day his mother died, Gareth had received a note from the Countess.
You must know, dear Gareth, it read, that any sorrow of yours is doubly mine, but now I can only shake your hand in silent sympathy. I feel helpless to do more. If you are like me, I cannot help thinking you would rather be alone for a while, but the moment you want to see me, come. I am always waiting. ”

“ Qu'il fait bon dormir.
She wore a dress of pale, mauve lawn, all flounces and ruffles and shirrings, with a high collar of purple satin and Valenciennes lace. The aroma of heliotrope hovered about her hair. It was still early; Lou had not yet come downstairs, and the Countess went out to the garden, where she plucked a cluster of pink sweet-peas which she inserted in her purple satin waist-band. She had not fallen asleep during the entire night, and yet, for the first time since her arrival in Maple Valley, she felt refreshed. Her face radiated her happiness. ”

“ These remarks and more of the same order fell like a dead burdening on the ear of the Countess. The lively, insistent imp, who really held her attention, sang one name to her constantly: Gareth! Gareth! Gareth! At every reiteration she vibrated with pleasure, and, when some one asked her a question, she was obliged to hesitate for a moment to clear her mind of the name, temporarily, before she replied.
It was half after six before the ladies folded up their work, put on their hats, and began to make their farewell speeches. ”

“ Lennie appeared at the door almost as soon as Gareth had rung the bell. She, too, was dressed as coolly as possible, in a blue and white linen frock. To protect her face from the sun she wore a wide, flapping, straw garden hat, spattered with red poppies. Incongruously, with this costume, in deference to the nature of their projected excursion, she had donned heavy, high walking-boots.
I thought perhaps, Gareth said, that you wouldn't want to come along; it's so hot.
O, I don't mind the heat, Lennie replied. If one is out in it, it isn't half so bad as it is in the house. ”

“ Mayme Townsend caught it. Ella, she cried, do you know what you are? You're an old sensualist! You judge everybody else, all of us, by your own rotten standards, and you think of nothing but sex. Why, you don't see this town at all except through dirty, coloured glass!
The Countess, paying no heed to this outburst, continued her catalogue of alternatives: Or ask Mrs. Cameron to stop taking morphia and making a fool of herself in public?
Ella! ”

“ The Countess, as much as, possibly more than, Gareth was a prey to meditation. Whenever she was alone one name was in her thoughts, one prayer was on her lips. She, too, at heart, was utterly unfettered by inhibitions, prejudices, and conventions. Here in her old home, even less than in Paris, she really cared little about what people might say or do, if she got what she wanted. That was the qualifying point, however, she must get what she wanted. ”

“ Gareth grinned. I know, he assented. It's awful, especially for strangers. It's bad enough when you live here.
When you approached me the other evening and began to ask me about myself, I nearly fainted, the Countess continued. It was a shock. Not that I want to talk about myself to you. I don't, at all. I want to know all about you, but the excuse, the reason, for my interest in you is that you pretended to be interested in me.
I wasn't pretending, Gareth replied, very quietly. I am interested in you, more interested than I have ever been in anybody before. ”

“ His mother had to die to compel his father to make this promise. Had she lived he would never have given in. She was a martyr to her love for her son, and the cruel obstinacy of the fatuous fool she had married. How Gareth hated his father! Whether his mother lived or died he would always hate him now, hate him more than ever. Nothing could ever happen to bring them closer together, to make it possible for him to live under the same roof with this man again.
Mr. Johns was struggling with himself in a vain attempt to give some further sign of his affection for his son. ”

“ Ella, you're a middle-aged woman. You're as old as I am, and he's a boy seventeen years old. You are a Countess and he is the son of a wholesale grocer. Of course, if he only came to call on you here, it wouldn't be so bad, but you trapes all over the country with him. Ella, she pleaded, remember that this isn't Paris. They're saying terrible things about you . . . the worst, even. If you won't think of yourself, think of your sister.
I really can't see, Mayme . . . the Countess was white with anger now, but her voice was calm, incisive, bitterly cutting . ”

“ Occasionally, the Countess considered Lou, fully aware, at last, that the propinquity of kinswomen was very depressing. Ella wondered if Lou really believed she was living at all. Lou's existence seemed to be devoted to making clothes for orphans, paying calls, keeping house, and gossiping, and yet Lou seemed satisfied. There were women, it seemed, who could live on from day to day without a feeling for beauty, or a thought of love. ”

“ If you go away, Lennie began, her glance directed on the path ahead of her, whether it is to college . . . or anywhere else, I shall hate to have you go, Gareth. You know there aren't many people to talk to here.
I'll miss you too, Miss Colman, the boy responded.
For the remainder of their walk through the copse they remained silent. Presently, the grove fell behind them; they had come out into the open almost by the bank of the river, while a red, clay cliff, rising sheer for fifty feet, masked the other side of the world from their eyes. ”

“ To himself, Gareth now, quite justifiably, seemed ages older than these untutored savages. They, to be frank, regarded Gareth with even greater disfavour.
He had begun his imaginative understanding of the world even earlier by understanding his father and mother. From a very tender age there had always been a sharp division in his feeling for these two parents. It was through his mother, who sympathized quite blindly with his efforts at mental escape, that he eventually got everything he wanted; wants always opposed at first, and frequently to the end, by his father. ”

“ It is, the Countess added, the existence I prefer.
So would I! Gareth asserted fervently, but how will I ever be able to break away from this place?
That will come, the Countess assured him, laying her hand on his arm. In the meantime. . . . she withdrew her hand . . . let us enjoy ourselves here. Something will happen; you'll see. Something always does if you want it badly enough. We all get what we live for.
I've wanted, Gareth said, all my life to meet some one like you.
You see, the Countess responded, you wanted it, and you got your wish. ”

“ Some men who are not travelling men by profession go away and stay for days . . .
Lou, said the Countess, the narrow prejudices of this town, based on a complete ignorance of life, are stifling. They're damned vulgar, that's what they are! Why I heard the other day that a woman was ostracized for getting a divorce! Even religion is mean here. I wonder, she mused, if all America is like this? You'd better look out! You don't know what you're doing to the next generation. They won't stand it; no one with any brains would stand it! They'll revolt! They'll break loose! ”

“ Sinclair approaching up the walk. His father seemed older, really senile, Gareth thought, for so comparatively young a man.
Gareth could hear Dr. Sinclair's boots squeak as he ascended the stairs to the upper floor. Mr. Johns entered the parlour. His hands were trembling, and there was an expression in his eyes, a haunted, hurt look, that Gareth had never seen there before. Instantly, the boy became aware that it gave him a certain satisfaction, even to some extent relieved his own pain, to be conscious of his father's suffering. ”

“ Then, extinguishing the lights and opening the blinds, she sat in one of the comfortable chairs before a window, and lighted a cigarette. Egoists colour the whole world with their own mood, atrabilious or dolent, cheerful or gay; when the world does not respond to this mood a discord results. The Countess was experiencing a discord. This then was the Maple Valley she had come to for comfort and consolation, a succession of lonely suppers with her austere sister, a series of euchre-parties and receptions. ”

“ The Countess lifted a palm-leaf fan and languidly waved it back and forth.
Clatter, clatter, clatter, rumble, rumble, rumble: hoofs and wheels on the pavement. . . . Tinkle, tinkle, from the mandolins. . . . You're out! . . . Shinny on your own side! . . . On the porch opposite the young people were singing:
Nita! Juanita!
Ask thy soul if we should part!
As she recognized this tune which she had not heard for so many years, the Countess smiled and began to hum it to herself. The chirping of a cricket caught her fleeting attention: good luck, she assured herself. ”

“ So do I, Gareth conceded. Nobody ever paints or writes about Iowa. Why not, do you suppose?
Why don't you do that, Gareth? A wistful note, not inherent in the phrase itself, obtruded itself into Lennie's query.
O, I can't write yet . . . at least not like a regular author. I try to, but I always destroy what I have written. You have made me see what there is in literature, set some kind of standard for me. I'm afraid it's too high for me to reach.
You're very young, Gareth. You've got lots of time. ”

“ Standing in the small, brown, lowceilinged sitting-room, a horror of a room, with two frightful paintings of her mother's father and mother, rocking-chairs, a couch with a knitted afghan, a table with a lamp, an album of World's Fair views, and a pressed-glass holder harbouring souvenir spoons, she had a new realization of the hopelessness of her plight. ”

“ Some of these stage-folk (as many of them as had visited Maple Valley during his theatre-going days, which extended back for ten years) Gareth had seen; he knew all about the others through reading the Chicago papers and certain New York theatrical periodicals for which he subscribed.
He had become interested in birds and their eggs later than most boys. He delighted in the colours of the birds, and marvelled constantly at their wanderings. They flew, so he had read in books, to the great plains of South America, and he reminded himself that he could do what a bird could do. ”

“ It doesn't matter what any of them say: I really don't care, but they might do something that would spoil everything. We have eternity before us and the world to play in: Europe, Africa, Asia . . . Why should we risk losing this for the sake of seeing each other again now?
For another half-hour they indulged in fond good-byes, in lovers' passwords, in amorous signals, until at last—the dinner hour was approaching, and Lou was expected momentarily—Gareth rose to go. ”

“ She recalled, with joy, that there were places in the world where they could live with freedom, do what they desired, where she could embrace Gareth with safety, hold him in her arms as long as it pleased her to do so. The world might smile, but elsewhere, away from Maple Valley and other towns like it, there would be no protestations of horror. ”

“ Lennie covered her face with her palms and began to sob. Please, she begged, please give him back to me.
Give whom back to you? the Countess demanded.
You know! O, you must know! Gareth. You have so much and I have so little. He was the only bright spot in my life. Now you've taken him away. O, you can go to Europe, to your friends. Everything is open to you. But . . . there is nothing, nobody in this world for me but Gareth.
My dear Miss Colman, I'm afraid I don't understand, the Countess said. Do you mean that he was engaged to marry you? ”

“ Just stay here. I don't ask for love. I don't expect you to love me, but let me see you sometimes. Let me see you!
Struggling to free himself, Gareth saw an uncertain figure lurch against the latched screen-door.
G'way, young man, the figure moaned in an unsteady, husky voice. G'way. Thish no place for you. I've disgraced my daughter an' her mother. I'm a drunkard. I spend all my daughter's money on booze. I don't work. I letter work for me. Thish no place for you. I've disgraced thish home, ruined my daughter's life.
Lennie turned. Father! she cried. O! my God! Father! ”

“ Ella found it difficult to reconcile her memory of the pretty Effie Manning of the late seventies with this stubby, short-waisted woman, whose bodice sagged above the top of her corset, whose skirt was hitched up in front, and whose back formed a curve which with that of her bosom almost completed a perfect sphere. She wore a white taffeta dress with wide, black stripes, which gave her the appearance of an eccentrically painted barrel. ”

“ Maple Valley was justly proud of its juvenile prima donna and, as she concluded Gounod's air, the audience burst into volcanoes and earthquakes of plaudits.
Now! Now! Mrs. Barnes anxiously adjured the ushers at the back of the house.
Giggling and embarrassed, the girls bore stalks of gladioli, bunches of feverfew, candytuft, and purple asters, tied with maiden-hair ferns, and laid them at Clara's feet. Curtseying low, she smiled, and, grasping the hand of Professor Hendricks, led him to the footlights with her. ”

“ Hello, Gareth.
Hello, Clara.
Did you hear me last night?
Yes. He descended from the porch and joined her on the side-walk. I can't yell, he explained. Mother's asleep. Yes, I heard you. You had quite a little triumph, Clara. When are you going to Chicago?
In September, Gareth.
And some day you'll be singing in opera. . . .
In two years, Gareth.
I've never yet heard an opera . . . but I know about them all. I can tell you why Melba sang Brinnhilde in Siegfried only once. I know about Nordica's row with Jean de Reszke. I've got all their pictures, he concluded lamely. ”