Читать книгу A Twentieth Century Idealist - Henry Pettit - Страница 8
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ADELE HERSELF
IT is not so much what was said, as who said it and how they said it, that will convey an adequate impression of the charm exerted by Adele upon those she met. Of her two dozen desperately intimate friends at school, each had been known to exclaim, “Why, of course I know her; isn’t she just too lovely for anything?” and that covered the whole ground.
When during college days a coterie of Juniors decided to invite some Seniors to “a tea,”—not “to tea,” for all were excruciatingly academic at that period, there was a spirited debate as to the special duties of each girl during the function, but not the slightest doubt that Adele should head the Reception Committee. “Why, my dear, she’s just the one for that place. Don’t you see it? We’ll show them the proper ’pose.’”
As a matter of fact, Adele did receive; also “poured out” at times; also introduced some strangers to her own kindred spirits to banish any feeling of uneasiness; and finally achieved the undoubted triumph of making two girls friends again, the girls much excited, holding diametrically opposite opinions upon the momentous question of Cleopatra’s cruelty to animals.
When she graduated, valedictorian of her class, she made an address neither too long nor too short, not unlike her gown, precisely as it should be,—pointedly academic to start with and meet the case, then somewhat more colloquial, recalling the good times they all had passed, and concluding with a touching appeal “never to forget Alma Mater.” The entire class mentally promised they never would, “nor you either, Adele,” and she was deluged with so many future-correspondents that the prospect became really alarming.
When she made her début, scarcely an evening passed that some “man” did not tell her confidentially: “You look lovely to-night, Miss Cultus;” and when upon a certain full-dress occasion she sat with Mr. Warder on the stairway, presumably with none but the old stand-up clock to listen, the first remark she heard was, “Oh, I’m so glad, Miss Cultus, we can have a chat, alone!” “Alone!” exclaimed Adele. “Why, certainly, alone in the crowd,”—and as she drew her skirts aside to allow four other couples and a queue of waiters to pass, her clear responsive laugh appreciative of the situation, made Mr. Warder enjoy the public seclusion immensely.
Evidently there was a personal magnetism about Adele which affected all more or less, and many whose own characteristics were totally unlike hers.
At a glance anyone would have noticed her light hair flowing free, yet under control, tinged with sunlight, the sunlight of youth; hers was a fair complexion like her mother’s, yet with her father’s lustrous eyes. She was a blonde with dark eyes; once seen, a picture in the mind’s eye.
Her father’s facial expression played over her countenance, manifesting that responsive personal interest which drew many to her. Her mother, as we already know, could express that responsive attitude also, and exercise the personal influence when she chose, but with Adele it was spontaneous, perfectly natural, and her smile sincere, ingenuous, rather than ingenious, one of the most precious and potent gifts a woman can possess.
And some of her other gifts by heredity were also very evident, but modified. Dame Nature had been exceedingly kind, and given her as it were only those elements which intensified the better traits of the previous generations. Her active mind reminded one of her father’s intellectual ability in science, but it was so modified by her mother’s more comprehensive susceptibility and impressionability in many directions, her worldly wisdom and promptness, that in Adele it took a different turn from either one of the parents. Her social instincts could not be suppressed, but fundamentally they tended towards an appreciation and insight of the humanities and ethical subjects rather than the material interests one might look for in the granddaughter of Anthony Gains, or the intellectual abstractions which might have come from the Professor’s mode of thought.
Before graduating, some one asked her what she proposed to do after leaving college, for all felt a brilliant career was open. Adele was rather reserved in answering this question, and generally replied that there was so much which ought to be done in the world, no doubt she would be very busy. But to her mother she confided on one occasion her innermost thought, she “would like to work in the slums.” This so horrified Mamma that Adele’s name was entered upon the fashionable Assembly list for the coming season without delay, as an antidote in case of emergency, although somewhat premature as to time.
It would never do to oppose Adele. She was already unaccustomed to that sort of management, and would assert herself even if she regretted it afterwards. A compromise was in order. She did not go to work in the slums, and did attend fashionable functions with her mother, but after serious conversation with her father on the subject of the practice of medicine by women, and her own observations of the constant demand for trained nurses who would not upset the whole household, she concluded to look into that matter herself, and volunteered to serve in the hospital during war times.
“I must do something to help along; and nobody need know, unless I choose.” It was while thus serving that the Doctor and Paul had first met her, when the Doctor was a patient after his bicycle accident in a miniature cyclone. It was in the hospital that Doctor Wise had first read her hand, and made a note of it as approaching the psychic type more clearly than any other he had then met.
From the Doctor’s point of view Adele’s hand was indeed suggestive, but not so purely psychical as to intimate mysticism to excess. It was rather that of a vivid idealist than a moody mystic,—too much intellectuality in the upper part, as well as assertion in the thumb and clearness in the head-line, not to influence and modify the natural tendency and scope as shown by the general form. It was not the hand of one whose vague aspirations after the good but unattainable would lead to extremes either in the activities of communism or socialistic vagaries, nor in the opposite direction towards the passive life of an ascetic. Either one would have soon disgusted Adele. It was the hand of one who endeavored to be logical, and did have common sense; yet in the exuberance of feeling sometimes put her hero upon a pedestal only to find the pedestal had a crack in it and the hero was in danger. As to the hero himself, he was never affected; she remained true to her hero, no sawdust in him; but she certainly did put him quietly aside on the shelf when she found herself beyond his point of view. She simply put him on the shelf to “think it out for himself,” as she had done for herself,—and in consequence had more would-be heroes following in her train, striving to catch up, than is generally found in the domain of hero worship.
Youth has its sway. Adele was most delightfully enthusiastic at times, often bent upon what she called “having a good time.” Then she was a picture worthy of Fortuny’s art in a sunny Spanish patio; but in quieter moments as introspective as one of Millais’ peasants; rather over-confident in her own resources, having really not met as yet any opposition worthy of the name, unless perhaps a weak patient who refused to take medicine. Then she took a sip herself, and told him “Now you’ve got to take it,” and he did,—because her actions spoke louder even than her words.
Her father had several times told her to read the world as if it were a book, and she had heard her mother refer to certain society leaders who acted a part that did not suit their own style. She determined to know and read all passers-by, from cooks with a sauce-pan to princesses with a crooked coronet, including Tom, Dick and Harry of course; and she found it so highly interesting, that when about eighteen she thought she might—yes—she might, in time,—write a novel herself; in fact she did write the title page, and the chapter on “Direful Conflict,” in which the sauce-pan and coronet almost came to blows. Whether to make that chapter the beginning of her novel or the ending, proved the poser, so it too was put upon the shelf with the heroes.
The most interesting thing to people is people themselves. Adele’s maternal instincts told her this very soon.
Things are of real value about in proportion to the effort they cost. Her instincts from her father suggested this, but she did not believe it at first. It might be, but was not pleasant to think of. She knew well enough that all that glitters is not gold, but sometimes thought that glitter might be when it wasn’t. When she found herself deceived in this respect her conclusions took a pronounced feminine form of expression. “Mother! I don’t think so very much of Mr. Upham they all talk about. He tries to show off—absurdly condescending, and talks as if he knew more about it than anybody else. Nobody really thinks of what he says, only of him. I think him a bore.”
“Well, don’t let him know it, my dear,” promptly answered Mrs. Cultus. “One has to become accustomed to trifles. I generally look the other way and avoid them.”
“I’m not going through the world on stilts, anyhow,” laughed Adele.
“No, my dear, I trust not, nor on a bicycle either; neither is becoming.”
Adele watched her father whenever they went out together, with almost precocious interest. She wished to discover how he made himself so agreeable to others and finally concluded that “Father’s manners are perfection.” She followed her father’s advice quite as naturally as she did her mother’s, the wisdom of which often appealed to her also; but in spite of her affection for both, she soon began to perceive there was something much more subtle in life than worldly wisdom. Things seen were by no means so potent as some other things unseen. She would use the world, but not let it use her. “I shall soon be used up myself” was the way she expressed it after having had rather too much of a good time.
Without actually formulating the pros and cons in her own mind, she really decided not to attempt any part unless she could do justice to it under the stimulus of her own approval.
Things seen, and never ignored, were already becoming subservient to things unseen.
Such was Adele as a girl, and during the few years when her college experience was prime factor in her life.
