Читать книгу The Accursed - Joyce Carol Oates - Страница 16
Оглавление(Excerpted from the secret journal of Mrs. Adelaide McLean Burr, April–May 1905)
This invaluable journal, transcribed in a secret code which no other historian has “cracked” until now, was originally discovered amid a miscellany of papers, household accounts, and other memorabilia, at Maidstone House, long after Mrs. Burr’s premature death. At the time, inscribed in an eccentric and near-unreadable code, in a spidery hand, in lavender ink, in the Crimson Calfskin Book, the journal was not recognized for its worth.
The present narrator is hesitant to put himself forward as the sole living person capable of reading Mrs. Burr’s journal with full comprehension, yet I think that false modesty is remiss; and rival historians of the period are hereby warned against infringing upon my labors, which are fully protected by copyright.
(I hope it will not seem over-protective of my rights, but I have decided not to reveal to the reader the way in which, after months of frustration, I managed to “crack” Adelaide’s code, which would seem, to the untrained eye, the most egregious gibberish, festooned with eccentric Theosophical symbols and doodles.)
The reader should be informed that Adelaide McLean Burr was stricken with a mysterious “malaise” shortly after her wedding, in September 1891, to Horace Hudiger Burr, Jr., which manifested itself in a variety of physical and mental complaints, including partial paralysis, extreme fatigue, and breathlessness; among the female invalids of Princeton at this time, Mrs. Burr was quite the most prominent, and often sent “bulletins” to friends whom she could not see socially. It was not uncommon that the invalid would ask to be carried downstairs, to greet distinguished visitors at Maidstone House, for instance Mr. and Mrs. Grover Cleveland, when they were new to town, or to visit with a select sisterhood of Princeton ladies at teatime primarily; though it was believed that she had not left the confines of the Maidstone property since returning from her Bermuda honeymoon in October 1891.
Another detail that the reader should know: Maidstone House, the ancestral home of the Pembroke Burrs, who had, like the Slades, originally settled in the Massachusetts Bay Colony, but moved to the Crown Colony of New Jersey in the 1700s, is one of the more striking of the stately homes in the West End of Princeton. It is located at 164 Hodge Road, having been built in 1803 in a quaint (and somewhat forbidding) style of “bastardized” Romanesque and Gothic, in somber-hued granite tending toward the luminous, depending upon the strength of the light. With more than twenty-five rooms in the house proper, and a dozen more in the old carriage house and in the slaves’ quarters to the rear, Maidstone exerts a curious spell upon the observer: suggesting, in its somewhat blunt, foursquare architecture, and its towering chimneys and exceptionally tall, narrow, and “brooding” windows, frequently kept shuttered, an unusual blend of the funereal and the sublime.
As the reader knows, my childhood was passed at 87 Hodge Road, which is but a half-block from Maidstone House. It was a childish fancy, though taken very seriously by our impressionable servants, and other household workers and tradesmen who came often to the house, that Maidstone House was “haunted”—well before Adelaide Burr’s horrific death.
_____ . UNSPEAKABLE!—the incident of which all Princeton whispers this morning.
But how shall a lady inquire of it?
I know not for certain when it took place—(two nights ago?)—& whether the woman to whom it happened—(an outrage, was it?—so delicious!)—was the sort to embark out alone, at dusk; whether she was a resident of Princeton proper, or dwelt in some pokey little village nearby.
How unjust, to be denied this crucial information!—but if the crime against the lady be UNSPEAKABLE how then can it be spoken of, to a lady? Horace will tell me nothing. Horace is grim and close-mouthed like all of his kin. Horace murmurs only, in response to my teasing inquiries, “Nothing is wrong, dear Adelaide, that would concern you”—and so the matter rests; for Horace would shield his Puss from all wickedness, as he has—beloved husband!—for the fourteen years of our union.
_____ . (My handsome curly-mustach’d husband could never guess, in his innocence, how wicked his Puss is, in her heart; how bold & daring & untrammeled her thoughts!)
_____ . An afternoon of tea & tarts & luscious mocha trifles. Yet how dull, when Puss craved only to hear news of the UNSPEAKABLE in our midst, of which ladies are not supposed to know; & the chatter was all of prune-face Dr. Wilson & glad-hander Andrew West quarreling in their silly Teacup. I know, I am considered “rude”—at the very least, “irreverent”—scarcely disguising a yawn at the L E N T I S S I M O of Mrs. FitzRandolph’s gossip; & Cousin Wilhelmina, that overgrown child, shot me a glance of mischievous sympathy while her mother droned on & on accounting of who is for Dr. Lantern-Jaw Wilson & who for Dean Sixty-Two-Around-the-Vest West among the board of trustees; for it suddenly seems, the entire town is divided. Trustees & alumni of the university & powerful widows & of course the Clevelands with their considerable weight (Grover is chair of the board, & it is said strongly favors West), etcetera! Puss consoled herself by eating a half-dozen of the mocha trifles, with dollops of extra cream—which had the effect of making me quite ill that evening, as I should have known. But ah!—what measures Puss will take, out of exquisite B O R E D O M.
_____ . It is teasingly unclear: the UNSPEAKABLE seems to have involved one of our most distinguished West End households!
So cruel & frustrating, no more details are yet reveal’d.
_____ . & another UNSPEAKABLE incident has been hinted-at: this, involving ex-President Cleveland who somehow came to be, so very mysteriously, at the old Craven house on Rosedale Road, in a company of individuals including many of the Winslow Slade family—thus, our leading citizens; a gathering that must have had something to do with the upcoming Slade-Bayard nuptials. But Horace quite disappointed, he seems sincerely to know nothing of this incident which took place only last Sunday.
_____ . Dr. Boudinot comes to visit. In the wake of the mocha trifles such gastric distress, & 18 hrs. malaise, Death is preferable.
Doctor must be fetched by motorcar. Yet another medication is prescribed for Puss. She has not had a clear head in 14 yrs.
This new medication in the form of chalky pills is fetched from the Princeton pharmacy by Abraham: the most coal-black of boys, new on our staff, related to our cook & housekeeper Minnie. At least, I think they are related. I think these are their ridiculous names.
_____ . On Mother Burr’s silken chaise longue Puss lies innocent & breathless shivering in her Vale-of-Kashmir shawl & thinking secret thoughts to annihilate all of Princeton! Would Satan come to Maidstone House, if summoned? What are the “black rituals” required, to summon such a fellow? Would punishments—i.e., small humiliations—wreaked upon Puss’s Princeton enemies be a sufficient reason, for Puss to “sell” her soul?
_____ . Cousin Wilhelmina! How I wish that she would confide in me, as to an older cousin; speak to me of the (anguished?) secrets of her life; for I believe that “Willy” is grievously in love with Josiah Slade, as other girls & women in Princeton are said to be.
Has Josiah Slade cast the girl a second glance? Except she is the friend of his sister Annabel? One doubts it!
But Willy is so impetuously young, she & the exquisite Annabel who are such fast friends, since they were schoolgirls; I do envy them!
I fear that, in their eyes, I am old—older than they; no matter that Puss’s face is unlined & eyes brightly dark & quick; & skin always a little fevered, & breath quickened; & my smile that of a slyboots little girl all dimples—the smile that pierces Horace’s heart, as he says. And my hair remains fine & light as smoke lifting about my head—though thinner than when I was a girl—a very pretty light brown threaded with red hairs—& if there be uglier gray hairs of a coarse texture, my maid Hannah has become skilled at henna rinse; & dear Horace, like all husbands, is none the wiser.
Do you still love your poor little Puss—so I asked Horace yesterday at dusk, shivering against his vest—or would you wish for a stronger wife, a huskier Juno of a wife like Frances Cleveland? To which wistful query Horace replied with but a kiss on my warm brow.
_____ . In secret Puss devours The Secret Doctrine of Madame Helena Blavatsky. Tho’ the prose is obscure & difficult of access as a thorn-chok’d garden. & much is forgotten, in the course of a single page.
Yet: Puss so longs for comrades in Theosophy! Individuals courageous enough to brave such truths of the Occult Science (as it is called: for it is a Science). But—we are all Presbyterians & Episcopalians here; the most radical among us, Unitarians!
The Theosophical Society of America has its headquarters in Manhattan, at Gramercy Park. Meetings are held there to which only invitees are allowed. My heart gives a leap, I am so hopeful—for I believe only the Theosophists can comprehend my desire, for a world of the spirit to which only the very special have access, through superiority of Intellect & Striving.
Yet a little child shall lead ye—is not a teaching of the Theosophists!
(If only Puss were not a pathetic invalid, & might journey by motorcar!—yet Horace would disapprove.)
(All of the Burrs & the McLeans would disapprove for they are but narrow-minded provincials, at whom Madame Blavatsky would laugh in scorn.)
Madame Blavatsky has said THERE IS NO RELIGION HIGHER THAN TRUTH.
Madame Blavatsky has promised WE SHALL PASS TO OUR ETHERIC BODIES WHEN THE THIRD EYE IS OPENED GRANTING SPIRITUAL SIGHT.
Madame Blavatsky has promised A GUARDIAN DEVI (ANGEL) WATCHES OVER US IF WE ASCEND TO A HIGHER PLANE.
To which Puss adds a fervent AMEN.
_____ . More of Cousin Willy. I think there is some fever’d secret in her.
I am not able to judge if Wilhelmina at age twenty is handsome as some say or as others say too blunt-jawed, her face “hearty” & high-colored in a way not befitting a lady. I wish we might be friends. But she is young, & keeps her distance; less frequently comes to tea at Maidstone with her mother & aunt; or, if she is here, casts a dreamy eye on us all, as if her thoughts were elsewhere; is drawn into talk of the upcoming wedding of course, for she is Annabel’s maid of honor, indeed a singular honor here in Princeton; for the Slade-Bayard nuptials will be the great social event of the season.
Yet, Wilhelmina has hopes to enroll in the New York School of Art, to study with the renowned painter Robert Henri. No sooner speaking of this wish than her mother interrupts to chide her, the daily commuting trip would be exhausting, by rail; & Wilhelmina’s father would never consent to her living in the city; so, the notion is absurd.
So, the blushing girl is silenced & blinks tears (of rage?) from her stark brown eyes. Dear Willy is brash & forthright & I find that I cannot dislike her, as a girl who might have been my closest friend, at the Girls’ Academy; when I was the happiest of girls, I believe; & somewhat the most mischievous. Willy wore a most striking costume—a white pique skirt, smartly starched; a white cotton blouse, with puff sleeves & tight cuffs; a dark-striped jacket to accentuate the length of her torso & the narrowness of her hips; a hat of just under-size, a black straw Merry Widow without adornment; shoes black & plain & styled for walking, from our Bank Street cobbler. (For Willy claims to “walk, walk & walk” each day—along the canal, & the wild banks of Lake Carnegie; most shockingly, alone.) On her jacket lapel, a charming ladies’ pin-on watch, its sly little face upside down; at which, I saw, my dear cousin covertly glanced often as her elders prattled on, & on. Dear Willy, I cannot blame you!
_____ . (Such rumors fly about Princeton, in the wake of the Wilson-West discord! The most exciting being, Andrew West is accused in some quarters of dabbling in the black arts. Horace has said that there is some truth to the charge, for there is known to be a cadre of research scientists at the university who venture into areas of experimentation involving the human brain through dissection (ugh!) & the like; kept secret from the university administration & the majority of the faculty, these scientists, under the guise of Natural Biology, pursue their illicit research in the bowels of Guyot Hall.)
_____ . Horace refuses to even hint at what the UNSPEAKABLE is, in our midst—“Nothing to concern you, dear Adelaide.” Yet I know, it is something shocking & horrific; as bad as dissection. My lady-visitors know less than I do, it seems, & are so very disappointing, they make me want to spit. “Was it a robbery, a beating, a murder?”—so I persisted in inquiring of Horace, “—please tell me was it a murder?” (For I could not give utterance to the UNSPEAKABLE, that horrific insult that might be inflicted upon a woman or a girl, by a man; & the disgust & dismay of it ever afterward casting a shadow upon the poor victim’s life, of which she could no more speak than if her tongue had been cut out like poor Philomela.) But Horace says grimly it is nothing to concern his dear Puss.
_____ . Horace’s nephew Dabney Bayard drops by for tea, with several Bayard relatives of such antiquity, I could have sworn they had passed away years ago; Lieutenant Bayard as he is now called, in his handsome officer’s uniform; all mustach’d smiles & Virginia charm & a curious persistence (did the young man believe that sharp-eyed Puss did not see?) in staring after young Hannah as she passed the tea things, for the girl is ever-more buxom, I am afraid, & otherwise shapely as a grown woman; with a mocha-taffy-colored skin, thick lips & nose; very quiet, deferential & obedient; not “bright”—one can see, in the sometimes lack of focus of her eyes. Yet in every way young & innocent, I am sure; for Minnie would see to this. And when Hannah was absent from the room, Lieutenant Dabney quickly became restless; chattered vaguely of the nuptials in June & the honeymoon trip—(Venice, Florence, Rome—ah, those fabled cities, poor Puss yearns to see!)—& the Craven house on Rosedale Road which will be deeded to the young couple—(though it is said to be haunted: has Lieutenant Bayard no fear of ghosts?)—casting me a blank embarrassed stare when I inquired, as if I had only just thought of it, what on earth had happened at the Craven house the other day?—of which no one will speak? After a startled silence Dabney drew breath and said, “Aunt Adelaide, I don’t think I know what you mean. I pay very little attention to gossip.”
Why, this was a rebuke! Such rage coursed along my veins, I could wish that I had recourse to the Prince of Darkness & his quick ways of revenge; if only Andrew West were a close friend of Horace’s, & a confidant of poor Puss!
As well as rebuke, something in Lieutenant Bayard’s gaze frightened me. For the Lieutenant, too, seemed frightened—for just a moment. & when he left escorting his doddering elders I felt very faint, & Henriette Slade, who had lingered behind in sympathy with me, ministered a dollop of snuff—Ladies’ Snuff, it is called—much milder than Gentlemen’s—& badly needed—out of her little crystal snuff bottle, carried concealed in her sleeve & wrapt in a lace handkerchief; a delicious fit of sneezes to clear the head, I might have wept with relief.
_____ . Horace kisses my brow & says that I am feverish. He says that Dr. Boudinot must be obeyed—no undue excitement in Puss’s life! Warns me against the swirl of local gossip, which resembles a windstorm of dirt, sand, chaff, bits of manure—it is very dangerous to breathe! When I inquired after Lieutenant Bayard, that there has been said something to the effect that, at West Point, the young man was chastised for a violation of—is it the honor code, so-called?—yet not expelled, for his family influence—Horace at once pressed his forefinger to his lips frowning—No, Adelaide! This is nothing of which I have ever heard & it must go no farther.
_____ . Later assuring me, I am well protected in this house; all of the inhabitants of Hodge Road & vicinity are well protected; it is not after all Camden, New Jersey!—which drew from me a quick response, Why do you speak of Camden?—& Horace seemed confused for just a moment, as if he had misspoke. As if to weary my curiosity then, he went on to speak at length of Mr. Harrison our investment attorney, & matters of Wall Street, & Mr. Depew, & Mr. Hill—& Mr. Roosevelt—(which livened me just a bit for the exploits of “Teddy” are always amusing in the papers). Yet, talk of the unions & strikes continues to weary—no more do I care for such sordid matters as Madame Blavatsky herself might have cared for them—recoiling from talk of rabble-rousers who have begun to plague society with demand for HIGHER WAGES & their crude threat of STRIKES. Horace grows livid, says they are but criminals; Pinkerton’s must be hired, if the U.S. Army will not help our cause; the anarchists must be kept down, that Justice be served. Such craven greed, to wish only HIGHER WAGES, as if there is not a HIGHER CONSCIOUSNESS to which we must all strive.
Did the rabble & their leaders not ever learn—man must not live by bread alone?
_____ . B O R E D O M through the week; & on Monday, an ambitious tea, & Puss was feeling strong & gay, & most of the ladies looking very well.
Frances Cleveland came, a very pleasant surprise; at her dashing best, all plumes & jewels & high-colored complexion—(for it is whispered, the ex–First Lady has a touch of Indian blood, which throws Grover into a fit of fury if the gutter press pursue it); & Cousin Mandy in good spirits, despite her health; & the angelic Annabel Slade, our reigning Princeton debutante & bride-to-be; & her tedious mother Henrietta who is so damned good; & handsome Johanna van Dyck, tho’ dressed just a bit shabbily it seemed to me; & old Mrs. Washington Burr, Horace’s mother whom I did not recall having invited; & little Ellen Wilson in an unfortunate outfit, not at all flattering to her plain horsey features & stolid figure. (I am most angered, “Willy” sent regrets! Her excuse was so feeble, I did not even listen to it uttered by her silly aunt.)
Poor Ellen Wilson, invited to Maidstone House out of a sense of obligation & courtesy; & because her husband is president of the university, & cannot be avoided. A naïve woman, allowing herself to be drawn out by us in the matter of Dean West & the Graduate College, stammering that the dean & his supporters would “be very regretful if Woodrow’s wrath is finally aroused, & his health threatened”—& we ladies sat startled into silence. Is the woman vulgar, or merely gauche?—is this how the company at Prospect common talks? Cousin Mandy discreetly changed the conversation by inquiring of Lenora Slade her recipe for the coconut meringues she had brought us, which were delicious. Thus, some embarrassment was curtailed, & Mrs. Wilson spared further folly.
From thence, discussion of the upcoming wedding: Annabel’s gown which will be a “vision,” Mrs. Slade promises, in the new Directoire style, & her maid of honor & bridesmaids so very thrilled; & the many distinguished guests journeying to Crosswicks Manse, from various parts of the country including Washington, D.C.; & the honeymoon trip, to Venice, Florence & Rome; & Josiah’s plan to study German idealist philosophy at Heidelberg, or, it may be, to join a Polar expedition to the Klondike!— & all matter of chattering, pleasing at the time if forgettable a half-hour later. Ladies!—so I wanted to cry, rising from my chaise longue like a Valkyrie—ladies! Does not one of you know that an UNSPEAKABLE crime has been perpetrated here in Princeton, that it involves a female & is very serious & mysterious, & no notice has appeared in the local papers, & the men conspire to know nothing, that they might shield us from evil? But of course Puss said nothing, except to ask if Hannah might serve more tea.
_____ . Here is a surprise. Amid gales of laughter Frances Cleveland confides in me, the latest development of the Wilson/West feud: each gentleman is courting the 99-yr-old dowager Mrs. Horatio Pyne, of Baltimore; her late husband Horatio Pyne, Class of ’22, having earmarked some 6 or 7 million dollars for Princeton. The nut to crack, as Frances says with a flash of her fine white teeth, is whether the money goes to the university with no specific instruction, or will it go to the canny Dean West, that he might exercise its use and build his Graduate School empire upon a high hill, some distance from campus? (For so it appears, Dean West wishes to establish a counter-campus of his own, to rival that of the president of the university who would preside over undergraduates, from Nassau Hall.) Mrs. Cleveland reports charges to me of “occultism” & “mesmerism” leveled against West by the Wilsons; while the tub-size dean remarks that he has experienced of late “uncanny vibrations of harm & ill-will” emanating from the president’s house at Prospect; which foolishness caused the ex–First Lady & me to fall into fits of laughter. Frances is very handsome; very full-bodied; beside her, Puss feels scarcely female.
A striking woman who has been young in the eyes of her countrymen for so long, having married at 21 in the White House, Frances Cleveland is at last beginning to show the ravages of time; as a consequence, no doubt, of the bereavement of last year; the sudden death of her daughter Ruth; & the daily & nightly task of wife-ing, as she calls it, the bejowled old 300-lb. Grover.
Ah, what it must be, Puss wonders suddenly, fearful—to be truly a wife?
_____ . One of my weak-minded days when I dare not venture downstairs. Scarcely the energy to change from bedclothes to negligee.
& have Hannah brush out my hair, & arrange my shawls. Already by 11 a.m. quite exhausted.
Recalling the old, ghastly days as a girl when I was obliged to be corseted-up, that I might gasp for breath, & stagger in mere walking. Those days long past, for Puss does not venture out, & is thus spared the whalebone torture all others of my sex must endure, save the tribe of invalids.
& this evening Horace knocked softly at my door, as he had heard from Hannah & others that Puss was feeling poorly. & brought me a small vase of bluets & wild columbine & a bowl of blueberries purchased from the Stockton farmers’ market. & so we had a light tea together. & so it seems we have never been happier despite the Tragedy of 14 yrs before. As the windows darkened with rain Horace tried to cheer me singing snatches of nonsense tunes & lullabies & one of the sweet songs of our courtship days:
Ah! May the red rose live always
To smile upon earth & sky!
Why should the beautiful ever weep?
Why should the beautiful ever die?
_____ . Poor Puss naively wished a friendship with Mrs. Cleveland & now regrets her folly for it is in very questionable taste, such sudden revelations & unwanted confidences!—I am sick & headachey all this morning, & have swallowed too many of Dr. Boudinot’s chalky white pills, recalling yesterday’s exchange. For the ex–First Lady wrenched our conversation onto the topic of her (exceedingly boring) husband Grover, & asked of me if I had heard of a “collapse” at the Craven House, while they were visiting there two weeks ago this past Sunday; & what had Horace reported to me, & what was being said in town? “Adelaide, I must know what is being said of us. I cannot abide people whispering behind my back.” For the first time I saw a shadowy down on her upper lip. Yet she is no less handsome to me. I assured her that nothing was being said & that no one in Princeton was more respected than Mr. Cleveland & she. This she seemed to wish to believe; & plunged on further, inquiring about what had been reported to me of the “ghostly visitation” & most curious of all, if I had, in my boudoir, at any time recently during the day or the night, imagined that I had seen the deceased Ruth?
(How desperate the poor woman, & how unsightly in her distress! If this be a grieving mother, I thank God that I had not ever given birth to any child, & never shall.)
Stammering I assured the distraught woman that I had not; nor had I dreamt of the child. All that I have heard, Mrs. Cleveland, is that your daughter was a most beautiful angelic child. Beyond that, I know nothing.
At this moment my little French clock prettily chimed the hour. I hoped Mrs. Cleveland might rise, & shake out her skirts, & leave; for her carriage awaited at the curb. (Had Puss the energy to walk, so short & idyllic a walk as that between Maidstone House & Westland, scarcely a quarter-mile, would be a great reward for the airlessness of this life; but such, unfortunately, is not for poor Puss.) Yet, Mrs. Cleveland did not leave. Instead, in a lowered voice she pursued the dread subject—explaining that since the morning of April 20, when Ruth (it seemed) appeared to her father, several persons had told Frances that they had seen, or dreamt of, her poor daughter: among them the Wilsons’ youngest daughter, Eleanor, who had claimed to see Ruth’s face pressed against her window pane on the second floor of Prospect House, in the middle of the night; her eyes “huge as a owl’s” & her lips parted as if she sought to draw breath yet could not. The poor dead child had craved admittance to the Wilson daughter’s room but Eleanor Wilson was too affrighted to act in any sensible way, & hid beneath her covers. “Of course it is only a dream,” Frances Cleveland said bitterly, “yet it is very rude & vulgar of the Wilson’s girl, to make such a claim for our Ruth; who never, in life, was a friend of hers; as Grover & I are not ‘friends’ of the Wilsons—hardly! Yet”—and here Mrs. Cleveland’s tone softened—“Annabel Slade has reported a similar experience, in a lovely handwritten note to me, which I received just yesterday; & Lenora Slade’s son Todd, that queer child, claims to being chased from room to room in his sleep by a girl with ‘large staring eyes’—it must be our Ruth! I had thought, dear Adelaide, I know it may be foolish & hopeless, yet I thought to beg you, for all of Princeton marvels at your sensitivity: if Ruth comes to you, you will not deny her—but bid her, if you will, to come to me, her grieving mother, who loves her with all her heart, & has not forgotten her.”
& so on, & so forth: some very awkward minutes passed before I roused my courage, & explained that I am a Christian woman, & did not believe in such phenomena as “spirits.”
_____ . (I know, Madame Blavatsky would be distressed with me, to recoil in so conventional a way from one who had enlisted my solicitude; yet, it seemed to me then, I could not have the dead Cleveland child haunting my sleep, that was troubled enough most nights, & left me wrack’d with exhaustion in the morning. In life, I did not know Ruth Cleveland; scarcely do I know the Clevelands, & Horace did not at all approve of Mr. Cleveland’s second-term presidency, which was something of a disaster & a scandal.)
(Unless: could the dead child be a devi?)
_____ . Feeling out of sorts & mean. Scolded Hannah, & made the girl cry. I fear that I have lost Frances Cleveland’s friendship; & so rarely see dear Willy; & care for no one. (As for cousin Wilhelmina—I let drop in a greedy gossip’s ear this afternoon that my young cousin is helplessly in love with Josiah Slade, while Josiah feels only “brotherly” toward her; this, Wilhelmina’s secret, which sharp-eyed Puss has found out.)
_____ . (Another Princeton rumor, told to me by Caroline FitzRandolph, with a plea for secrecy: it seems that, his first year as a cadet at West Point, Lieutenant Bayard was chastised for violating one or another principle of the honor code; whether “cheating” in the usual manner, or in another, more ambiguous manner; or “plagiarizing” written material; or “intimidating”—“threatening”—another cadet: such details are not known. When reported by me to Horace the response was scarcely friendly: Do not speak of it, Adelaide. The young man was not expelled, & will soon marry into the Slade family.)
_____ . Confided in Caroline all that Mrs. C. had told me & begged me not to repeat; thus we shivered, & gripped each other’s chill hands, & giggled in fright, over the “phenomena” of ghosts, spirits & apparitions that surround us. Throughout the visit Caroline was behaving strangely I thought—as if, when I was not observing, she were rocking an invisible baby in her arms—a most distracting sight; for almost, I could see the infant in its swaddling clothes, its eyes queerly pale & lacking in focus & lips wetly slack; a pathetic little creature, perhaps lacking a soul. & in this way I came to understand that Caroline had “had” such a baby, sometime in her life; & had “lost” it; & was now childless as Puss, but not nearly so content as Puss in this condition.
Though laughing with me, too—for Caroline is no fervent admirer of our ex–First Lady—then breaking off & clasped her (invisible) baby to her bosom saying chidingly Adelaide! It is wicked for us to mock, we must pray to God for forgiveness.
_____ . Horace who reads most voraciously in scientific journals as in the Atlantic & Harper’s has said, the invisible spirit world is akin to the pathogene-world as hypostatized by Joseph Lister some decades ago, to account for disease. As you would not voluntarily venture into the pathogene-world for fear of great harm, so you would not voluntarily venture into the spirit-world.
_____ . Lower Witherspoon Street it is being said—a wild uninhabited area said to be a marsh—a most snaky, evil place—where the body was discovered. A young girl—it is said—& how horrific the words, that leave me faint—Where the body was discovered. This was several nights ago, it is being revealed at last. & all of Princeton whispers of nothing else save of course we ladies of the West End, & in particular we invalid Ladies above all, who are spared.
_____ . News has come to me, through Mandy & Caroline, of a “most ambitious if indiscriminate” tea at Pembroke House where Mrs. Strachan evidently spoke of the “new man” in Princeton—one Axson Mayte—whom it seems that everyone has met, for President Wilson has been introducing him to favored members of the faculty. Mrs. Strachan praised the man as “impressive, with a strong intellect”—especially for the law; Mrs. van Dyck thinks the man “cold & studied & not altogether a gentleman”; though my aunt Jennifer was adamant in declaring him a most judicious young man, in his verdict on the duel of Alexander Hamilton & Aaron Burr, Jr.—a legitimate duel in all ways, fought on New Jersey soil. (Our poor ancestor Aaron, Jr., whom the world condemns as having shot down “in cold blood” the revered Founding Father & Federalist Hamilton, Washington’s Secretary of the Treasury! Yet it was Hamilton who had hoped to “rig” the dueling pistols, thus to allow him to shoot Aaron, Jr., through the heart; as fortune would have it, Hamilton fired quickly, & first; yet not accurately; so that, taking his time, the grievously insulted Aaron, Jr., could return his shot accurately. For which, why is Aaron, Jr., to be blamed? Had Hamilton shot him, would the world mourn? We Burrs have suffered enough calumny I think! It is time to defend our good name.) Praise to the stranger Axson Mayte who spoke quite reasonably along these lines, without the slightest knowledge, it is believed, that there were descendants of Aaron Burr in the company. I dearly regret I have not met this man, said to be a “most distinguished lawyer” from south of the Mason-Dixon Line.
_____ . Sickly & faint-headed & suffering from palpitations. Dr. Boudinot has prescribed another medication, that leaves my mouth quite dry & my heartbeat quickened. Read Mrs. Corelli’s The Sorrows of Satan & felt quite strange afterward—as if the fever’d voice of the author were murmuring in my ears; grew quite restless with Mrs. Wharton’s The Decoration of Houses; could not make sense of a single paragraph of The Secret Doctrine. VERY NAUGHTY PUSS slipped into Horace’s library to take up the receiver of the “telephone”—our very new Bell ’phone—dialed the number of the Princeton police department & asked in a hoarse whisper if they had apprehended the “murderer in our midst” but quickly then slipped the heavy receiver into the cradle panting & gasping for air—my poor heart hammering. (For by this time I am reasonably certain, there was a murder, & doubtless worse perpetrated upon the body; & the body found in the marsh of lower Witherspoon, unless the wilds of Kingston by the canal & Millstone River; & the victim was female—but am not certain as to her age or other details of her life; having been still as a churchmouse overhearing the Negro servants chattering, as they will when they do not believe we are around. Horace must not know.
To cheer me, Horace read from The Gentleman from Indiana. He & Booth Tarkington having been in the same eating club at Princeton & the Glee Club & Triangle Club. I lay back laughing in the chaise longue, till suddenly I began to feel faint; then, suddenly vexed; I know not why, swept from the table all my medications, & a pitcher of water Hannah had only just brought me; half an accident, & half not. Horace was astonished as I wept, & wept; & Horace comforted me; though I thought him somewhat stiff & startled; & an air of weariness in his limbs, as he carried me to my bedchamber. When I inquired of him about Axson Mayte whom he had met that day at lunch at the Nassau Club, he spoke curtly: saying only that Mayte was not, in his eyes, a gentleman. And there was something in his complexion & the shape of his nose, that was not quite right. But when I begged him to explain, he would not. “You are in a state of nerves, Adelaide. I will give you your nighttime medication, it is time for bed.” Gravely my husband spoke, & I knew not to confound him. For it is wisest not to confound them, at such times. Yet how unfair, when all of Princeton is buzzing with excitement, & every sort of news & gossip, at only 9 p.m. poor Puss’s eyelids are drooping & soon—all spark of what Madame Blavatsky calls the divine spark of being is extinguish’d.
_____ . Disguising my handwriting to emulate that of Frances Cleveland, & using a dark-purple ink for which the lady is known, I wrote to PRESIDENT & MRS. WILSON, PROSPECT HOUSE, PRINCETON: Dear President & Mrs Wilson you are very foolish people to believe that any in the community might favor you over the virile Andrew West. & you are not of good breeding tho’ you persist in putting on “airs.” & your daughters homely & “horse-faced” like their father & of most dowdy figure like their mother & in addition “buck-toothed.” Sincerely, A Friend.
This missive, in a plain envelope, stamped, I entrusted to Hannah, to run out & post in a box on Nassau Street, while on errands in town.
_____ . Horace in the city, visiting our broker at Wall Street; for there is some complications in his will, or in our joint will; of which I never think, for Dr. Boudinot has told me not to worry, in the slightest—“You will outlive us all, Mrs. Burr!” & by stealth & shy questioning like that of a maiden lady of ample years I put questions to Minnie, & to Abraham; as to Hannah, & one or two others; for it is known when a Negro lies to a white person, you can see deceit in their eyes for they are childlike & without guile, in their hearts. In so querying, I think that I have learned that the murdered girl was but eleven years old; father not known & mother a slattern who works at the Bank Street dairy. So there it is, after all my speculation! Poor child! Poor innocence!—for I am sure the child must have been innocent, being so young. Yet she was of a rough background & (it was hinted) of “mixed” blood. Such things will happen to such people, God have mercy on their souls.
_____ . “Mrs. Burr, please do not ask, no more, Mrs. Burr, please”—so Minnie begged, just this morning; when I summoned her to my bedchamber, to speak frankly to me as to the circumstances of the murder; & whether the child was “tampered with unnaturally.” For this is crucial to know, for the well-being of all in the community. Tho’ it is too beastly, & will only make me ill to learn. “All right then, Minnie, don’t tell me,” I said, wounded; adding, “But if some grievous harm befalls me, it will be on your head.” Minnie began to quiver, & to shake; she is not so strong a woman as you would think, though the daughter of slaves out of Norfolk, & thus strong & reliable stock; yet, it is said she has not been well, with some sort of female illness of which it is best not to speak. Enough to know, I suppose, that there is monstrousness in our midst, in Princeton Borough.
_____ . A wild windy night & we two are cozy by the fire in the master bedroom, that Abraham has stoked & teased into a blaze. & Horace is less irritable, since his meeting with our broker; our wills have been drawn up, & I have signed, without taxing my eyes, as Horace advised, in attempting to read the arcane legal-babble. & the unease with the unions has subsided, I think. At least, Horace is not raging over it now. Innocently I inquired of Horace, has any progress been made in solving the murder?—& he seemed quite startled, that I knew it was murder; & did not consent to this knowledge, but spoke vaguely that he knew of no serious crime in the Borough, in recent years. Then taking up Mr. Tarkington’s novel, & beginning to read; & I lay my hand on his wrist & begged of him, not to condescend to me; for I wanted to know the Truth, & would know the Truth, as all Theosophists must. & Horace said to me, with a laugh, that the only upset in Princeton of which he has heard, at the Nassau Club, was of some undergraduate pranksters again hammering down a section of Dr. Wilson’s wrought iron fence, he had had built to surround Prospect House; for the boys do take offense, that the president & his family of females should seek privacy for themselves, in the very midst of the campus. (“Dr. Wilson is one of those persons,” Horace has gravely stated, “who may one day succeed in impressing the world, but who can’t be taken seriously in Princeton, New Jersey.”) Later I fell into a headachey sulk, & scarcely consented to take my medicine from Horace’s hand, & dear Horace sought to comfort me, & perhaps wished to cuddle; so I allowed him to lie on top of the quilt & to press his weight gently against me, but very gently—for Horace has grown stout these past few years. & some other exertions may have transpired on Horace’s part, of which I took no heed; for already Puss’s eyelids were drooping. “Do you regret it”—so I asked in a whisper, & the dear gentleman kissed my closed eyes—“do you regret your invalid wife, that never yet has been a wife, nor ever shall be” & he denied all emphatically, as he always does; & hummed a gentle little tune; & his curly mustache tickled, & I thought of the ravaged child in the marsh, & felt an exquisite pain in the very core of my being, & in the next instant—was gone . . .
_____ . Here is a surprise: there was no child of eleven murdered in Princeton, nor of any age. There were two persons said to be murdered—“executed”—for misbehavior & insult to their superiors—not in Princeton but in Camden, New Jersey. These persons, of whom I have been reading in the Philadelphia Inquirer, discovered by chance in Horace’s study, were called Jester & Desdra Pryde of Camden. All that was done to them, or why, was not explained in the paper, in a brief article on page eight; but the sheriff of Camden County stated that, of 500 persons observing the executions, “not a single eyewitness” has stepped forward. It is an ugly story but too distant from Princeton for pity, I am afraid. & you would know from the intent of the article, that the Prydes were Negroes, & not white; & that they were punished for misbehaving of some sort, that might have been avoided by more discreet judgment on their part.
_____ . & so, there is no UNSPEAKABLE crime in Princeton after all, but, as Horace warned, a swirl of mere gossip. I am not sure if I am relieved, or disappointed. Poor Puss, misled!
I have put away Horace’s newspaper where he will not know that it has been touched; & next is nap, & teatime in the late afternoon & ah!—B O R E D O M in gusts like airborne ether.
