The Accursed

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.)