the age of innocence by edith whartonchapter ix. the countess olenska had said "after five";and at half after the hour newland archer rang the bell of the peeling stucco housewith a giant wisteria throttling its feeble cast-iron balcony, which she had hired, far down west twenty-third street, from thevagabond medora. it was certainly a strange quarter to havesettled in. small dress-makers, bird-stuffers and"people who wrote" were her nearest neighbours; and further down thedishevelled street archer recognised a dilapidated wooden house, at the end of a
paved path, in which a writer andjournalist called winsett, whom he used to come across now and then, had mentionedthat he lived. winsett did not invite people to his house;but he had once pointed it out to archer in the course of a nocturnal stroll, and thelatter had asked himself, with a little shiver, if the humanities were so meanlyhoused in other capitals. madame olenska's own dwelling was redeemedfrom the same appearance only by a little more paint about the window-frames; and asarcher mustered its modest front he said to himself that the polish count must have robbed her of her fortune as well as of herillusions.
the young man had spent an unsatisfactoryday. he had lunched with the wellands, hopingafterward to carry off may for a walk in the park. he wanted to have her to himself, to tellher how enchanting she had looked the night before, and how proud he was of her, and topress her to hasten their marriage. but mrs. welland had firmly reminded himthat the round of family visits was not half over, and, when he hinted at advancingthe date of the wedding, had raised reproachful eye-brows and sighed out: "twelve dozen of everything--hand-embroidered--"
packed in the family landau they rolledfrom one tribal doorstep to another, and archer, when the afternoon's round wasover, parted from his betrothed with the feeling that he had been shown off like awild animal cunningly trapped. he supposed that his readings inanthropology caused him to take such a coarse view of what was after all a simpleand natural demonstration of family feeling; but when he remembered that the wellands did not expect the wedding to takeplace till the following autumn, and pictured what his life would be till then,a dampness fell upon his spirit. "tomorrow," mrs. welland called after him,"we'll do the chiverses and the dallases";
and he perceived that she was going throughtheir two families alphabetically, and that they were only in the first quarter of thealphabet. he had meant to tell may of the countessolenska's request--her command, rather-- that he should call on her that afternoon;but in the brief moments when they were alone he had had more pressing things tosay. besides, it struck him as a little absurdto allude to the matter. he knew that may most particularly wantedhim to be kind to her cousin; was it not that wish which had hastened theannouncement of their engagement? it gave him an odd sensation to reflectthat, but for the countess's arrival, he
might have been, if not still a free man,at least a man less irrevocably pledged. but may had willed it so, and he felthimself somehow relieved of further responsibility--and therefore at liberty,if he chose, to call on her cousin without telling her. as he stood on madame olenska's thresholdcuriosity was his uppermost feeling. he was puzzled by the tone in which she hadsummoned him; he concluded that she was less simple than she seemed. the door was opened by a swarthy foreign-looking maid, with a prominent bosom under a gay neckerchief, whom he vaguely fanciedto be sicilian.
she welcomed him with all her white teeth,and answering his enquiries by a head-shake of incomprehension led him through thenarrow hall into a low firelit drawing- room. the room was empty, and she left him, foran appreciable time, to wonder whether she had gone to find her mistress, or whethershe had not understood what he was there for, and thought it might be to wind the clock--of which he perceived that the onlyvisible specimen had stopped. he knew that the southern racescommunicated with each other in the language of pantomime, and was mortified tofind her shrugs and smiles so
unintelligible. at length she returned with a lamp; andarcher, having meanwhile put together a phrase out of dante and petrarch, evokedthe answer: "la signora e fuori; ma verra subito"; which he took to mean: "she'sout--but you'll soon see." what he saw, meanwhile, with the help ofthe lamp, was the faded shadowy charm of a room unlike any room he had known. he knew that the countess olenska hadbrought some of her possessions with her-- bits of wreckage, she called them--andthese, he supposed, were represented by some small slender tables of dark wood, a
delicate little greek bronze on thechimney-piece, and a stretch of red damask nailed on the discoloured wallpaper behinda couple of italian-looking pictures in old frames. newland archer prided himself on hisknowledge of italian art. his boyhood had been saturated with ruskin,and he had read all the latest books: john addington symonds, vernon lee's"euphorion," the essays of p. g. hamerton, and a wonderful new volume called "therenaissance" by walter pater. he talked easily of botticelli, and spokeof fra angelico with a faint condescension. but these pictures bewildered him, for theywere like nothing that he was accustomed to
look at (and therefore able to see) when hetravelled in italy; and perhaps, also, his powers of observation were impaired by the oddness of finding himself in this strangeempty house, where apparently no one expected him. he was sorry that he had not told maywelland of countess olenska's request, and a little disturbed by the thought that hisbetrothed might come in to see her cousin. what would she think if she found himsitting there with the air of intimacy implied by waiting alone in the dusk at alady's fireside? but since he had come he meant to wait; andhe sank into a chair and stretched his feet
to the logs. it was odd to have summoned him in thatway, and then forgotten him; but archer felt more curious than mortified. the atmosphere of the room was so differentfrom any he had ever breathed that self- consciousness vanished in the sense ofadventure. he had been before in drawing-rooms hungwith red damask, with pictures "of the italian school"; what struck him was theway in which medora manson's shabby hired house, with its blighted background of pampas grass and rogers statuettes, had, bya turn of the hand, and the skilful use of
a few properties, been transformed intosomething intimate, "foreign," subtly suggestive of old romantic scenes andsentiments. he tried to analyse the trick, to find aclue to it in the way the chairs and tables were grouped, in the fact that only twojacqueminot roses (of which nobody ever bought less than a dozen) had been placed in the slender vase at his elbow, and inthe vague pervading perfume that was not what one put on handkerchiefs, but ratherlike the scent of some far-off bazaar, a smell made up of turkish coffee andambergris and dried roses. his mind wandered away to the question ofwhat may's drawing-room would look like.
he knew that mr. welland, who was behaving"very handsomely," already had his eye on a newly built house in east thirty-ninthstreet. the neighbourhood was thought remote, andthe house was built in a ghastly greenish- yellow stone that the younger architectswere beginning to employ as a protest against the brownstone of which the uniform hue coated new york like a cold chocolatesauce; but the plumbing was perfect. archer would have liked to travel, to putoff the housing question; but, though the wellands approved of an extended europeanhoneymoon (perhaps even a winter in egypt), they were firm as to the need of a housefor the returning couple.
the young man felt that his fate wassealed: for the rest of his life he would go up every evening between the cast-ironrailings of that greenish-yellow doorstep, and pass through a pompeian vestibule into a hall with a wainscoting of varnishedyellow wood. but beyond that his imagination could nottravel. he knew the drawing-room above had a baywindow, but he could not fancy how may would deal with it. she submitted cheerfully to the purplesatin and yellow tuftings of the welland drawing-room, to its sham buhl tables andgilt vitrines full of modern saxe.
he saw no reason to suppose that she wouldwant anything different in her own house; and his only comfort was to reflect thatshe would probably let him arrange his library as he pleased--which would be, of course, with "sincere" eastlake furniture,and the plain new bookcases without glass doors. the round-bosomed maid came in, drew thecurtains, pushed back a log, and said consolingly: "verra--verra."when she had gone archer stood up and began to wander about. should he wait any longer?his position was becoming rather foolish.
perhaps he had misunderstood madameolenska--perhaps she had not invited him after all. down the cobblestones of the quiet streetcame the ring of a stepper's hoofs; they stopped before the house, and he caught theopening of a carriage door. parting the curtains he looked out into theearly dusk. a street-lamp faced him, and in its lighthe saw julius beaufort's compact english brougham, drawn by a big roan, and thebanker descending from it, and helping out madame olenska. beaufort stood, hat in hand, sayingsomething which his companion seemed to
negative; then they shook hands, and hejumped into his carriage while she mounted the steps. when she entered the room she showed nosurprise at seeing archer there; surprise seemed the emotion that she was leastaddicted to. "how do you like my funny house?" sheasked. "to me it's like heaven." as she spoke she untied her little velvetbonnet and tossing it away with her long cloak stood looking at him with meditativeeyes. "you've arranged it delightfully," herejoined, alive to the flatness of the
words, but imprisoned in the conventionalby his consuming desire to be simple and striking. "oh, it's a poor little place.my relations despise it. but at any rate it's less gloomy than thevan der luydens'." the words gave him an electric shock, forfew were the rebellious spirits who would have dared to call the stately home of thevan der luydens gloomy. those privileged to enter it shiveredthere, and spoke of it as "handsome." but suddenly he was glad that she had givenvoice to the general shiver. "it's delicious--what you've done here," herepeated.
"i like the little house," she admitted;"but i suppose what i like is the blessedness of its being here, in my owncountry and my own town; and then, of being alone in it." she spoke so low that he hardly heard thelast phrase; but in his awkwardness he took it up."you like so much to be alone?" "yes; as long as my friends keep me fromfeeling lonely." she sat down near the fire, said:"nastasia will bring the tea presently," and signed to him to return to hisarmchair, adding: "i see you've already chosen your corner."
leaning back, she folded her arms behindher head, and looked at the fire under drooping lids."this is the hour i like best--don't you?" a proper sense of his dignity caused him toanswer: "i was afraid you'd forgotten the hour.beaufort must have been very engrossing." she looked amused. "why--have you waited long?mr. beaufort took me to see a number of houses--since it seems i'm not to beallowed to stay in this one." she appeared to dismiss both beaufort andhimself from her mind, and went on: "i've never been in a city where there seems tobe such a feeling against living in des
quartiers excentriques. what does it matter where one lives?i'm told this street is respectable." "it's not fashionable.""fashionable! do you all think so much of that? why not make one's own fashions?but i suppose i've lived too independently; at any rate, i want to do what you all do--i want to feel cared for and safe." he was touched, as he had been the eveningbefore when she spoke of her need of guidance."that's what your friends want you to feel. new york's an awfully safe place," he addedwith a flash of sarcasm.
"yes, isn't it?one feels that," she cried, missing the mockery. "being here is like--like--being taken on aholiday when one has been a good little girl and done all one's lessons."the analogy was well meant, but did not altogether please him. he did not mind being flippant about newyork, but disliked to hear any one else take the same tone. he wondered if she did not begin to seewhat a powerful engine it was, and how nearly it had crushed her.
the lovell mingotts' dinner, patched up inextremis out of all sorts of social odds and ends, ought to have taught her thenarrowness of her escape; but either she had been all along unaware of having skirted disaster, or else she had lostsight of it in the triumph of the van der luyden evening. archer inclined to the former theory; hefancied that her new york was still completely undifferentiated, and theconjecture nettled him. "last night," he said, "new york laiditself out for you. the van der luydens do nothing by halves.""no: how kind they are!
it was such a nice party. every one seems to have such an esteem forthem." the terms were hardly adequate; she mighthave spoken in that way of a tea-party at the dear old miss lannings'. "the van der luydens," said archer, feelinghimself pompous as he spoke, "are the most powerful influence in new york society.unfortunately--owing to her health--they receive very seldom." she unclasped her hands from behind herhead, and looked at him meditatively. "isn't that perhaps the reason?""the reason--?"
"for their great influence; that they makethemselves so rare." he coloured a little, stared at her--andsuddenly felt the penetration of the remark. at a stroke she had pricked the van derluydens and they collapsed. he laughed, and sacrificed them. nastasia brought the tea, with handlelessjapanese cups and little covered dishes, placing the tray on a low table. "but you'll explain these things to me--you'll tell me all i ought to know," madame olenska continued, leaning forward to handhim his cup.
"it's you who are telling me; opening myeyes to things i'd looked at so long that i'd ceased to see them." she detached a small gold cigarette-casefrom one of her bracelets, held it out to him, and took a cigarette herself.on the chimney were long spills for lighting them. "ah, then we can both help each other.but i want help so much more. you must tell me just what to do." it was on the tip of his tongue to reply:"don't be seen driving about the streets with beaufort--" but he was being toodeeply drawn into the atmosphere of the
room, which was her atmosphere, and to give advice of that sort would have been liketelling some one who was bargaining for attar-of-roses in samarkand that one shouldalways be provided with arctics for a new york winter. new york seemed much farther off thansamarkand, and if they were indeed to help each other she was rendering what mightprove the first of their mutual services by making him look at his native cityobjectively. viewed thus, as through the wrong end of atelescope, it looked disconcertingly small and distant; but then from samarkand itwould.
a flame darted from the logs and she bentover the fire, stretching her thin hands so close to it that a faint halo shone aboutthe oval nails. the light touched to russet the rings ofdark hair escaping from her braids, and made her pale face paler. "there are plenty of people to tell youwhat to do," archer rejoined, obscurely envious of them."oh--all my aunts? and my dear old granny?" she considered the idea impartially."they're all a little vexed with me for setting up for myself--poor grannyespecially.
she wanted to keep me with her; but i hadto be free--" he was impressed by this light way of speaking of the formidablecatherine, and moved by the thought of what must have given madame olenska this thirstfor even the loneliest kind of freedom. but the idea of beaufort gnawed him."i think i understand how you feel," he said. "still, your family can advise you; explaindifferences; show you the way." she lifted her thin black eyebrows."is new york such a labyrinth? i thought it so straight up and down--likefifth avenue. and with all the cross streets numbered!"
she seemed to guess his faint disapprovalof this, and added, with the rare smile that enchanted her whole face: "if you knewhow i like it for just that--the straight- up-and-downness, and the big honest labelson everything!" he saw his chance."everything may be labelled--but everybody is not." "perhaps.i may simplify too much--but you'll warn me if i do."she turned from the fire to look at him. "there are only two people here who make mefeel as if they understood what i mean and could explain things to me: you and mr.beaufort."
archer winced at the joining of the names,and then, with a quick readjustment, understood, sympathised and pitied. so close to the powers of evil she musthave lived that she still breathed more freely in their air. but since she felt that he understood heralso, his business would be to make her see beaufort as he really was, with all herepresented--and abhor it. he answered gently: "i understand. but just at first don't let go of your oldfriends' hands: i mean the older women, your granny mingott, mrs. welland, mrs. vander luyden.
they like and admire you--they want to helpyou." she shook her head and sighed."oh, i know--i know! but on condition that they don't hearanything unpleasant. aunt welland put it in those very wordswhen i tried.... does no one want to know the truth here,mr. archer? the real loneliness is living among allthese kind people who only ask one to pretend!" she lifted her hands to her face, and hesaw her thin shoulders shaken by a sob. "madame olenska!--oh, don't, ellen," hecried, starting up and bending over her.
he drew down one of her hands, clasping andchafing it like a child's while he murmured reassuring words; but in a moment she freedherself, and looked up at him with wet lashes. "does no one cry here, either?i suppose there's no need to, in heaven," she said, straightening her loosened braidswith a laugh, and bending over the tea- kettle. it was burnt into his consciousness that hehad called her "ellen"--called her so twice; and that she had not noticed it. far down the inverted telescope he saw thefaint white figure of may welland--in new
york.suddenly nastasia put her head in to say something in her rich italian. madame olenska, again with a hand at herhair, uttered an exclamation of assent--a flashing "gia--gia"--and the duke of st.austrey entered, piloting a tremendous blackwigged and red-plumed lady inoverflowing furs. "my dear countess, i've brought an oldfriend of mine to see you--mrs. struthers. she wasn't asked to the party last night,and she wants to know you." the duke beamed on the group, and madameolenska advanced with a murmur of welcome toward the queer couple.
she seemed to have no idea how oddlymatched they were, nor what a liberty the duke had taken in bringing his companion--and to do him justice, as archer perceived, the duke seemed as unaware of it himself. "of course i want to know you, my dear,"cried mrs. struthers in a round rolling voice that matched her bold feathers andher brazen wig. "i want to know everybody who's young andinteresting and charming. and the duke tells me you like music--didn't you, duke? you're a pianist yourself, i believe? well, do you want to hear sarasate playtomorrow evening at my house?
you know i've something going on everysunday evening--it's the day when new york doesn't know what to do with itself, and soi say to it: 'come and be amused.' and the duke thought you'd be tempted bysarasate. you'll find a number of your friends."madame olenska's face grew brilliant with pleasure. "how kind!how good of the duke to think of me!" she pushed a chair up to the tea-table andmrs. struthers sank into it delectably. "of course i shall be too happy to come." "that's all right, my dear.and bring your young gentleman with you."
mrs. struthers extended a hail-fellow handto archer. "i can't put a name to you--but i'm surei've met you--i've met everybody, here, or in paris or london.aren't you in diplomacy? all the diplomatists come to me. you like music too?duke, you must be sure to bring him." the duke said "rather" from the depths ofhis beard, and archer withdrew with a stiffly circular bow that made him feel asfull of spine as a self-conscious school- boy among careless and unnoticing elders. he was not sorry for the denouement of hisvisit: he only wished it had come sooner,
and spared him a certain waste of emotion. as he went out into the wintry night, newyork again became vast and imminent, and may welland the loveliest woman in it. he turned into his florist's to send herthe daily box of lilies-of-the-valley which, to his confusion, he found he hadforgotten that morning. as he wrote a word on his card and waitedfor an envelope he glanced about the embowered shop, and his eye lit on acluster of yellow roses. he had never seen any as sun-golden before,and his first impulse was to send them to may instead of the lilies.
but they did not look like her--there wassomething too rich, too strong, in their fiery beauty. in a sudden revulsion of mood, and almostwithout knowing what he did, he signed to the florist to lay the roses in anotherlong box, and slipped his card into a second envelope, on which he wrote the name of the countess olenska; then, just as hewas turning away, he drew the card out again, and left the empty envelope on thebox. "they'll go at once?" he enquired, pointingto the roses. the florist assured him that they would.