The Titan 9 страница

⇐ ПредыдущаяСтр 25 из 61Следующая ⇒

indication of something wrong. She had to plead illness and excuse

herself. The third week, fearing a worse defeat than before,

Aileen pretended to be ill. She would see how many cards were left.

There were just three. That was the end. She realized that her

" at homes" were a notable failure.

At the same time Cowperwood was not to be spared his share in the

distrust and social opposition which was now rampant.

His first inkling of the true state of affairs came in connection

with a dinner which, on the strength of an old invitation, they

unfortunately attended at a time when Aileen was still uncertain.

It had been originally arranged by the Sunderland Sledds, who

were not so much socially, and who at the time it occurred were

as yet unaware of the ugly gossip going about, or at least of

society's new attitude toward the Cowperwoods. At this time it

was understood by nearly all--the Simms, Candas, Cottons, and

Kingslands--that a great mistake had been made, and that the

Cowperwoods were by no means admissible.

To this particular dinner a number of people, whom the latter knew,

had been invited. Uniformly all, when they learned or recalled

that the Cowperwoods were expected, sent eleventh-hour regrets

--" so sorry. " Outside the Sledds there was only one other couple

--the Stanislau Hoecksemas, for whom the Cowperwoods did not

particularly care. It was a dull evening. Aileen complained of

a headache, and they went home.

Very shortly afterward, at a reception given by their neighbors,

the Haatstaedts, to which they had long since been invited, there

was an evident shyness in regard to them, quite new in its aspect,

although the hosts themselves were still friendly enough. Previous

to this, when strangers of prominence had been present at an affair

of this kind they were glad to be brought over to the Cowperwoods,

who were always conspicuous because of Aileen's beauty. On this

day, for no reason obvious to Aileen or Cowperwood (although both

suspected), introductions were almost uniformly refused. There

were a number who knew them, and who talked casually, but the

general tendency on the part of all was to steer clear of them.

Cowperwood sensed the difficulty at once. " I think we'd better

leave early, " he remarked to Aileen, after a little while. " This

isn't very interesting. "

They returned to their own home, and Cowperwood to avoid discussion

went down-town. He did not care to say what he thought of this

as yet.

It was previous to a reception given by the Union League that the

first real blow was struck at him personally, and that in a

roundabout way. Addison, talking to him at the Lake National Bank

one morning, had said quite confidentially, and out of a clear sky:

" I want to tell you something, Cowperwood. You know by now something

about Chicago society. You also know where I stand in regard to

some things you told me about your past when I first met you.

Well, there's a lot of talk going around about you now in regard

to all that, and these two clubs to which you and I belong are

filled with a lot of two-faced, double-breasted hypocrites who've

been stirred up by this talk of conspiracy in the papers. There

are four or five stockholders of the old companies who are members,

and they are trying to drive you out. They've looked up that story

you told me, and they're talking about filing charges with the

house committees at both places. Now, nothing can come of it in

either case--they've been talking to me; but when this next reception

comes along you'll know what to do. They'll have to extend you

an invitation; but they won't mean it. " (Cowperwood understood. )

" This whole thing is certain to blow over, in my judgment; it will

if I have anything to do with it; but for the present--"

He stared at Cowperwood in a friendly way.

The latter smiled. " I expected something like this, Judah, to

tell you the truth, " he said, easily. " I've expected it all along.

You needn't worry about me. I know all about this. I've seen

which way the wind is blowing, and I know how to trim my sails. "

Addison reached out and took his hand. " But don't resign, whatever

you do, " he said, cautiously. " That would be a confession of

weakness, and they don't expect you to. I wouldn't want you to.

Stand your ground. This whole thing will blow over. They're

jealous, I think. "

" I never intended to, " replied Cowperwood. " There's no legitimate

charge against me. I know it will all blow over if I'm given time

enough. " Nevertheless he was chagrined to think that he should be

subjected to such a conversation as this with any one.

Similarly in other ways " society" --so called--was quite able to

enforce its mandates and conclusions.

The one thing that Cowperwood most resented, when he learned of

it much later, was a snub direct given to Aileen at the door of

the Norrie Simmses'; she called there only to be told that Mrs.

Simms was not at home, although the carriages of others were in

the street. A few days afterward Aileen, much to his regret and

astonishment--for he did not then know the cause--actually became

ill.

If it had not been for Cowperwood's eventual financial triumph

over all opposition--the complete routing of the enemy--in the

struggle for control in the gas situation--the situation would

have been hard, indeed. As it was, Aileen suffered bitterly; she

felt that the slight was principally directed at her, and would

remain in force. In the privacy of their own home they were

compelled eventually to admit, the one to the other, that their

house of cards, resplendent and forceful looking as it was, had

fallen to the ground. Personal confidences between people so

closely united are really the most trying of all. Human souls

are constantly trying to find each other, and rarely succeeding.

" You know, " he finally said to her once, when he came in rather

unexpectedly and found her sick in bed, her eyes wet, and her maid

dismissed for the day, " I understand what this is all about. To

tell you the truth, Aileen, I rather expected it. We have been

going too fast, you and I. We have been pushing this matter too

hard. Now, I don't like to see you taking it this way, dear.

This battle isn't lost. Why, I thought you had more courage than

this. Let me tell you something which you don't seem to remember.

Money will solve all this sometime. I'm winning in this fight

right now, and I'll win in others. They are coming to me. Why,

dearie, you oughtn't to despair. You're too young. I never do.

You'll win yet. We can adjust this matter right here in Chicago,

and when we do we will pay up a lot of scores at the same time.

We're rich, and we're going to be richer. That will settle it.

Now put on a good face and look pleased; there are plenty of things

to live for in this world besides society. Get up now and dress,

and we'll go for a drive and dinner down-town. You have me yet.

Isn't that something? "

" Oh yes, " sighed Aileen, heavily; but she sank back again. She

put her arms about his neck and cried, as much out of joy over the

consolation he offered as over the loss she had endured. " It was

as much for you as for me, " she sighed.

" I know that, " he soothed; " but don't worry about it now. You

will come out all right. We both will. Come, get up. " Nevertheless,

he was sorry to see her yield so weakly. It did not please him.

He resolved some day to have a grim adjustment with society on

this score. Meanwhile Aileen was recovering her spirits. She was

ashamed of her weakness when she saw how forcefully he faced it all.

" Oh, Frank, " she exclaimed, finally, " you're always so wonderful.

You're such a darling. "

" Never mind, " he said, cheerfully. " If we don't win this game

here in Chicago, we will somewhere. "

He was thinking of the brilliant manner in which he had adjusted

his affairs with the old gas companies and Mr. Schryhart, and how

thoroughly he would handle some other matters when the time came.

Chapter XIV

Undercurrents

It was during the year that followed their social repudiation, and

the next and the next, that Cowperwood achieved a keen realization

of what it would mean to spend the rest of his days in social

isolation, or at least confined in his sources of entertainment

to a circle or element which constantly reminded him of the fact

that he was not identified with the best, or, at least, not the

most significant, however dull that might be. When he had first

attempted to introduce Aileen into society it was his idea that,

however tame they might chance to find it to begin with, they

themselves, once admitted, could make it into something very

interesting and even brilliant. Since the time the Cowperwoods

had been repudiated, however, they had found it necessary, if they

wished any social diversion at all, to fall back upon such various

minor elements as they could scrape an acquaintance with--passing

actors and actresses, to whom occasionally they could give a dinner;

artists and singers whom they could invite to the house upon gaining

an introduction; and, of course, a number of the socially unimportant,

such as the Haatstaedts, Hoecksemas, Videras, Baileys, and others

still friendly and willing to come in a casual way. Cowperwood

found it interesting from time to time to invite a business friend,

a lover of pictures, or some young artist to the house to dinner

or for the evening, and on these occasions Aileen was always

present. The Addisons called or invited them occasionally. But

it was a dull game, the more so since their complete defeat was

thus all the more plainly indicated.

This defeat, as Cowperwood kept reflecting, was really not his

fault at all. He had been getting along well enough personally.

If Aileen had only been a somewhat different type of woman!

Nevertheless, he was in no way prepared to desert or reproach her.

She had clung to him through his stormy prison days. She had

encouraged him when he needed encouragement. He would stand by

her and see what could be done a little later; but this ostracism

was a rather dreary thing to endure. Besides, personally, he

appeared to be becoming more and more interesting to men and to

women. The men friends he had made he retained--Addison, Bailey,

Videra, McKibben, Rambaud, and others. There were women in society,

a number of them, who regretted his disappearance if not that of

Aileen. Occasionally the experiment would be tried of inviting

him without his wife. At first he refused invariably; later he

went alone occasionally to a dinner-party without her knowledge.

It was during this interregnum that Cowperwood for the first time

clearly began to get the idea that there was a marked difference

between him and Aileen intellectually and spiritually; and that

while he might be in accord withher in many ways--emotionally,

physically, idyllicly--there were, nevertheless, many things which

he could do alone which she could not do--heights to which he could

rise where she could not possibly follow. Chicago society might

be a negligible quantity, but he was now to contrast her sharply

with the best of what the Old World had to offer in the matter of

femininity, for following their social expulsion in Chicago and

his financial victory, he once more decided to go abroad. In Rome,

at the Japanese and Brazilian embassies (where, because of his

wealth, he gained introduction), and at the newly established

Italian Court, he encountered at a distance charming social figures

of considerable significance--Italian countesses, English ladies

of high degree, talented American women of strong artistic and

social proclivities. As a rule they were quick to recognize the

charm of his manner, the incisiveness and grip of his mind, and

to estimate at all its worth the high individuality of his soul;

but he could also always see that Aileen was not so acceptable.

She was too rich in her entourage, too showy. Her glowing health

and beauty was a species of affront to the paler, more sublimated

souls of many who were not in themselves unattractive.

" Isn't that the typical American for you, " he heard a woman remark,

at one of those large, very general court receptions to which so

many are freely admitted, and to which Aileen had been determined

to go. He was standing aside talking to an acquaintance he had

made--an English-speaking Greek banker stopping at the Grand Hotel

--while Aileen promenaded with the banker's wife. The speaker was

an Englishwoman. " So gaudy, so self-conscious, and so naive! "

Cowperwood turned to look. It was Aileen, and the lady speaking

was undoubtedly well bred, thoughtful, good-looking. He had to

admit that much that she said was true, but how were you to gage

a woman like Aileen, anyhow? She was not reprehensible in any

way--just a full-blooded animal glowing with a love of life. She

was attractive to him. It was too bad that people of obviously

more conservative tendencies were so opposed to her. Why could

they not see what he saw--a kind of childish enthusiasm for luxury

and show which sprang, perhaps, from the fact that in her youth

she had not enjoyed the social opportunities which she needed and

longed for. He felt sorry for her. At the same time he was

inclined to feel that perhaps now another type of woman would be

better for him socially. If he had a harder type, one with keener

artistic perceptions and a penchant for just the right social touch

or note, how much better he would do! He came home bringing a

Perugino, brilliant examples of Luini, Previtali, and Pinturrichio

(this last a portrait of Caesar Borgia), which he picked up in

Italy, to say nothing of two red African vases of great size that

he found in Cairo, a tall gilt Louis Fifteenth standard of carved

wood that he discovered in Rome, two ornate candelabra from Venice

for his walls, and a pair of Italian torcheras from Naples to

decorate the corners of his library. It was thus by degrees that

his art collection was growing.

At the same time it should be said, in the matter of women and the

sex question, his judgment and views had begun to change tremendously.

When he had first met Aileen he had many keen intuitions regarding

life and sex, and above all clear faith that he had a right to do

as he pleased. Since he had been out of prison and once more on

his upward way there had been many a stray glance cast in his

direction; he had so often had it clearly forced upon him that he

was fascinating to women. Although he had only so recently acquired

Aileen legally, yet she was years old to him as a mistress, and

the first engrossing--it had been almost all-engrossing--enthusiasm

was over. He loved her not only for her beauty, but for her

faithful enthusiasm; but the power of others to provoke in him a

momentary interest, and passion even, was something which he did

not pretend to understand, explain, or moralize about. So it was

and so he was. He did not want to hurt Aileen's feelings by letting

her know that his impulses thus wantonly strayed to others, but

so it was.

Not long after he had returned from the European trip he stopped

one afternoon in the one exclusive drygoods store in State Street

to purchase a tie. As he was entering a woman crossed the aisle

before him, from one counter to another--a type of woman which he

was coming to admire, but only from a rather distant point of view,

seeing them going here and there in the world. She was a dashing

type, essentially smart and trig, with a neat figure, dark hair

and eyes, an olive skin, small mouth, quaint nose--all in all quite

a figure for Chicago at the time. She had, furthermore, a curious

look of current wisdom in her eyes, an air of saucy insolence which

aroused Cowperwood's sense of mastery, his desire to dominate.

To the look of provocation and defiance which she flung him for

the fraction of a second he returned a curiously leonine glare

which went over her like a dash of cold water. It was not a hard

look, however, merely urgent and full of meaning. She was the

vagrom-minded wife of a prosperous lawyer who was absorbed in his

business and in himself. She pretended indifference for a moment

after the first glance, but paused a little way off as if to examine

some laces. Cowperwood looked after her to catch a second fleeting,

attracted look. He was on his way to several engagements which

he did not wish to break, but he took out a note-book, wrote on a

slip of paper the name of a hotel, and underneath: " Parlor, second

floor, Tuesday, 1 P. M. " Passing by where she stood, he put it into

her gloved hand, which was hanging by her side. The fingers

closed over it automatically. She had noted his action. On the

day and hour suggested she was there, although he had given no

name. That liaison, while delightful to him, was of no great

duration. The lady was interesting, but too fanciful.

Similarly, at the Henry Huddlestones', one of their neighbors at

the first Michigan Avenue house they occupied, he encountered one

evening at a small dinner-party a girl of twenty-three who interested

him greatly--for the moment. Her name was not very attractive

--Ella F. Hubby, as he eventually learned--but she was not unpleasing.

Her principal charm was a laughing, hoydenish countenance and

roguish eyes. She was the daughter of a well-to-do commission

merchant in South Water Street. That her interest should have

been aroused by that of Cowperwood in her was natural enough. She

was young, foolish, impressionable, easily struck by the glitter

of a reputation, and Mrs. Huddlestone had spoken highly of Cowperwood

and his wife and the great things he was doing or was going to do.

When Ella saw him, and saw that he was still young-looking, with

the love of beauty in his eyes and a force of presence which was

not at all hard where she was concerned, she was charmed; and when

Aileen was not looking her glance kept constantly wandering to his

with a laughing signification of friendship and admiration. It

was the most natural thing in the world for him to say to her,

when they had adjourned to the drawing-room, that if she were in

the neighborhood of his office some day she might care to look in

on him. The look he gave her was one of keen understanding, and

brought a look of its own kind, warm and flushing, in return. She

came, and there began a rather short liaison. It was interesting

but not brilliant. The girl did not have sufficient temperament

to bind him beyond a period of rather idle investigation.

There was still, for a little while, another woman, whom he had

known--a Mrs. Josephine Ledwell, a smart widow, who came primarily

to gamble on the Board of Trade, but who began to see at once, on

introduction, the charm of a flirtation with Cowperwood. She was

a woman not unlike Aileen in type, a little older, not so good-looking,

and of a harder, more subtle commercial type of mind. She rather

interested Cowperwood because she was so trig, self-sufficient,

and careful. She did her best to lure him on to a liaison with

her, which finally resulted, her apartment on the North Side being

the center of this relationship. It lasted perhaps six weeks.

Through it all he was quite satisfied that he did not like her so

very well. Any one who associated with him had Aileen's present

attractiveness to contend with, as well as the original charm of

his first wife. It was no easy matter.

It was during this period of social dullness, however, which

somewhat resembled, though it did not exactly parallel his first

years with his first wife, that Cowperwood finally met a woman who

was destined to leave a marked impression on his life. He could

not soon forget her. Her name was Rita Sohlberg. She was the

wife of Harold Sohlberg, a Danish violinist who was then living

in Chicago, a very young man; but she was not a Dane, and he was

by no means a remarkable violinist, though he had unquestionably

the musical temperament.

You have perhaps seen the would-be's, the nearly's, the pretenders

in every field--interesting people all--devoted with a kind of mad

enthusiasm to the thing they wish to do. They manifest in some

ways all the externals or earmarks of their professional traditions,

and yet are as sounding brass and tinkling cymbals. You would

have had to know Harold Sohlberg only a little while to appreciate

that he belonged to this order of artists. He had a wild, stormy,

November eye, a wealth of loose, brownish-black hair combed upward

from the temples, with one lock straggling Napoleonically down

toward the eyes; cheeks that had almost a babyish tint to them;

lips much too rich, red, and sensuous; a nose that was fine and

large and full, but only faintly aquiline; and eyebrows and mustache

that somehow seemed to flare quite like his errant and foolish

soul. He had been sent away from Denmark (Copenhagen) because he

had been a never-do-well up to twenty-five and because he was

constantly falling in love with women who would not have anything

to do with him. Here in Chicago as a teacher, with his small

pension of forty dollars a month sent him by his mother, he had

gained a few pupils, and by practising a kind of erratic economy,

which kept him well dressed or hungry by turns, he had managed to

make an interesting showing and pull himself through. He was only

twenty-eight at the time he met Rita Greenough, of Wichita, Kansas,

and at the time they met Cowperwood Harold was thirty-four and she

twenty-seven.

She had been a student at the Chicago Fine Arts School, and at

various student affairs had encountered Harold when he seemed to

play divinely, and when life was all romance and art. Given the

spring, the sunshine on the lake, white sails of ships, a few walks

and talks on pensive afternoons when the city swam in a golden

haze, and the thing was done. There was a sudden Saturday afternoon

marriage, a runaway day to Milwaukee, a return to the studio now

to be fitted out for two, and then kisses, kisses, kisses until

love was satisfied or eased.

But life cannot exist on that diet alone, and so by degrees the

difficulties had begun to manifest themselves. Fortunately, the

latter were not allied with sharp financial want. Rita was not

poor. Her father conducted a small but profitable grain elevator

at Wichita, and, after her sudden marriage, decided to continue

her allowance, though this whole idea of art and music in its upper

reaches was to him a strange, far-off, uncertain thing. A thin,

meticulous, genial person interested in small trade opportunities,

and exactly suited to the rather sparse social life of Wichita,

he found Harold as curious as a bomb, and preferred to handle him

gingerly. Gradually, however, being a very human if simple person,

he came to be very proud of it--boasted in Wichita of Rita and her

artist husband, invited them home to astound the neighbors during

the summer-time, and the fall brought his almost farmer-like wife

on to see them and to enjoy trips, sight-seeing, studio teas. It

was amusing, typically American, naive, almost impossible from

many points of view.

Rita Sohlberg was of the semi-phlegmatic type, soft, full-blooded,

with a body that was going to be fat at forty, but which at present

was deliciously alluring. Having soft, silky, light-brown hair,

the color of light dust, and moist gray-blue eyes, with a fair

skin and even, white teeth, she was flatteringly self-conscious

of her charms. She pretended in a gay, childlike way to be

unconscious of the thrill she sent through many susceptible males,

and yet she knew well enough all the while what she was doing and

how she was doing it; it pleased her so to do. She was conscious

of the wonder of her smooth, soft arms and neck, the fullness and

seductiveness of her body, the grace and perfection of her clothing,

or, at least, the individuality and taste which she made them

indicate. She could take an old straw-hat form, a ribbon, a feather,

or a rose, and with an innate artistry of feeling turn it into a

bit of millinery which somehow was just the effective thing for her.

She chose naive combinations of white and blues, pinks and white,

browns and pale yellows, which somehow suggested her own soul, and

topped them with great sashes of silky brown (or even red) ribbon

tied about her waist, and large, soft-brimmed, face-haloing hats.

She was a graceful dancer, could sing a little, could play feelingly

--sometimes brilliantly--and could draw. Her art was a makeshift,

however; she was no artist. The most significant thing about her

was her moods and her thoughts, which were uncertain, casual,

anarchic. Rita Sohlberg, from the conventional point of view,

was a dangerous person, and yet from her own point of view at this

time she was not so at all--just dreamy and sweet.

A part of the peculiarity of her state was that Sohlberg had begun

to disappoint Rita--sorely. Truth to tell, he was suffering from

that most terrible of all maladies, uncertainty of soul and inability

to truly find himself. At times he was not sure whether he was

cut out to be a great violinist or a great composer, or merely a

great teacher, which last he was never willing really to admit.

" I am an arteest, " he was fond of saying. " Ho, how I suffer from

my temperament! " And again: " These dogs! These cows! These pigs! "

This of other people. The quality of his playing was exceedingly

erratic, even though at times it attained to a kind of subtlety,

tenderness, awareness, and charm which brought him some attention.

As a rule, however, it reflected the chaotic state of his own

brain. He would play violently, feverishly, with a wild passionateness

of gesture which robbed him of all ability to control his own

technic.

" Oh, Harold! " Rita used to exclaim at first, ecstatically. Later

she was not so sure.

Life and character must really get somewhere to be admirable, and

Harold, really and truly, did not seem to be getting anywhere.

He taught, stormed, dreamed, wept; but he ate his three meals a

⇐ Предыдущая 20 21 22 23 242526 27 28 29 Следующая ⇒