Noblesse

by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

MARGARET LEE encountered in her late middleage the rather singular strait of being entirelyalone in the world. She was unmarried, and asfar as relatives were concerned, she had none exceptthose connected with her by ties not of blood, but bymarriage.Margaret had not married when her flesh had beencomparative; later, when it had become superlative,she had no opportunities to marry. Life would havebeen hard enough for Margaret under any circum-stances, but it was especially hard, living, as she did,with her father's stepdaughter and that daughter'shusband.Margaret's stepmother had been a child in spite ofher two marriages, and a very silly, although prettychild. The daughter, Camille, was like her, althoughnot so pretty, and the man whom Camille had mar-ried was what Margaret had been taught to regardas "common." His business pursuits were irregularand partook of mystery. He always smoked ciga-rettes and chewed gum. He wore loud shirts and adiamond scarf-pin which had upon him the appear-ance of stolen goods. The gem had belonged toMargaret's own mother, but when Camille expresseda desire to present it to Jack Desmond, Margarethad yielded with no outward hesitation, but after-ward she wept miserably over its loss when alone inher room. The spirit had gone out of Margaret,the little which she had possessed. She had alwaysbeen a gentle, sensitive creature, and was almosthelpless before the wishes of others.After all, it had been a long time since Margarethad been able to force the ring even upon her littlefinger, but she had derived a small pleasure fromthe reflection that she owned it in its faded velvetbox, hidden under laces in her top bureau drawer.She did not like to see it blazing forth from the tieof this very ordinary young man who had marriedCamille. Margaret had a gentle, high-bred contemptfor Jack Desmond, but at the same time a vaguefear of him. Jack had a measure of unscrupulousbusiness shrewdness, which spared nothing and no-body, and that in spite of the fact that he had notsucceeded.Margaret owned the old Lee place, which had beenmagnificent, but of late years the expenditures hadbeen reduced and it had deteriorated. The conserva-tories had been closed. There was only one horsein the stable. Jack had bought him. He was a worn-out trotter with legs carefully bandaged. Jack drovehim at reckless speed, not considering those slender,braceleted legs. Jack had a racing-gig, and whenin it, with striped coat, cap on one side, cigarette inmouth, lines held taut, skimming along the roads inclouds of dust, he thought himself the man and truesportsman which he was not. Some of the old Leesilver had paid for that waning trotter.Camille adored Jack, and cared for no associations,no society, for which he was not suited. Before thetrotter was bought she told Margaret that the kindof dinners which she was able to give in Fairhill wereawfully slow. "If we could afford to have somemen out from the city, some nice fellers that Jackknows, it would be worth while," said she, "butwe have grown so hard up we can't do a thing tomake it worth their while. Those men haven't gotany use for a back-number old place like this. Wecan't take them round in autos, nor give them achance at cards, for Jack couldn't pay if he lost,and Jack is awful honorable. We can't have theright kind of folks here for any fun. I don't proposeto ask the rector and his wife, and old Mr. Harvey,or people like the Leaches.""The Leaches are a very good old family," saidMargaret, feebly."I don't care for good old families when they areso slow," retorted Camille. "The fellers we couldhave here, if we were rich enough, come from finefamilies, but they are up-to-date. It's no use hang-ing on to old silver dishes we never use and that Idon't intend to spoil my hands shining. Poor Jackdon't have much fun, anyway. If he wants thattrotter -- he says it's going dirt cheap -- I think it'smean he can't have it, instead of your hanging on toa lot of out-of-style old silver; so there."Two generations ago there had been French bloodin Camille's family. She put on her clothes beauti-fully; she had a dark, rather fine-featured, alert lit-tle face, which gave a wrong impression, for she wasessentially vulgar. Sometimes poor Margaret Leewished that Camille had been definitely vicious, ifonly she might be possessed of more of the charac-teristics of breeding. Camille so irritated Margaretin those somewhat abstruse traits called sensibilitiesthat she felt as if she were living with a sort ofspiritual nutmeg-grater. Seldom did Camille speakthat she did not jar Margaret, although uncon-sciously. Camille meant to be kind to the stoutwoman, whom she pitied as far as she was capableof pitying without understanding. She realized thatit must be horrible to be no longer young, and sostout that one was fairly monstrous, but how horribleshe could not with her mentality conceive. Jack alsomeant to be kind. He was not of the brutal -- that is,intentionally brutal -- type, but he had a shrewdeye to the betterment of himself, and no realizationof the torture he inflicted upon those who opposedthat betterment.For a long time matters had been worse than usualfinancially in the Lee house. The sisters had beenleft in charge of the sadly dwindled estate, and haddepended upon the judgment, or lack of judgment,of Jack. He approved of taking your chances andstriking for larger income. The few good old grand-father securities had been sold, and wild ones fromthe very jungle of commerce had been substituted.Jack, like most of his type, while shrewd, was ascredulous as a child. He lied himself, and expectedall men to tell him the truth. Camille at his biddingmortgaged the old place, and Margaret dared notoppose. Taxes were not paid; interest was not paid;credit was exhausted. Then the house was put upat public auction, and brought little more than suffi-cient to pay the creditors. Jack took the balanceand staked it in a few games of chance, and of courselost. The weary trotter stumbled one day and hadto be shot. Jack became desperate. He frightenedCamille. He was suddenly morose. He bade Ca-mille pack, and Margaret also, and they obeyed.Camille stowed away her crumpled finery in thebulging old trunks, and Margaret folded daintily herfew remnants of past treasures. She had an old silkgown or two, which resisted with their rich honestythe inroads of time, and a few pieces of old lace,which Camille understood no better than she under-stood their owner.Then Margaret and the Desmonds went to thecity and lived in a horrible, tawdry little flat ina tawdry locality. Jack roared with bitter mirthwhen he saw poor Margaret forced to enter her tinyroom sidewise; Camille laughed also, although shechided Jack gently. "Mean of you to make fun ofpoor Margaret, Jacky dear," she said.For a few weeks Margaret's life in that flat washorrible; then it became still worse. Margaret near-ly filled with her weary, ridiculous bulk her littleroom, and she remained there most of the time,although it was sunny and noisy, its one windowgiving on a courtyard strung with clothes-lines andteeming with boisterous life. Camille and Jack wenttrolley-riding, and made shift to entertain a little,merry but questionable people, who gave thempasses to vaudeville and entertained in their turnuntil the small hours. Unquestionably these peo-ple suggested to Jack Desmond the scheme whichspelled tragedy to Margaret.She always remembered one little dark man withkeen eyes who had seen her disappearing throughher door of a Sunday night when all these gay, be-draggled birds were at liberty and the fun ran high."Great Scott!" the man had said, and Margaret hadheard him demand of Jack that she be recalled.She obeyed, and the man was introduced, also theother members of the party. Margaret Lee stoodin the midst of this throng and heard their repressedtitters of mirth at her appearance. Everybodythere was in good humor with the exception of Jack,who was still nursing his bad luck, and the littledark man, whom Jack owed. The eyes of Jack andthe little dark man made Margaret cold with a ter-ror of something, she knew not what. Before thatterror the shame and mortification of her exhibitionto that merry company was of no import.She stood among them, silent, immense, clad inher dark purple silk gown spread over a great hoop-skirt. A real lace collar lay softly over her enormous,billowing shoulders; real lace ruffles lay over hergreat, shapeless hands. Her face, the delicacy ofwhose features was veiled with flesh, flushed andpaled. Not even flesh could subdue the sad brill-iancy of her dark-blue eyes, fixed inward upon herown sad state, unregardful of the company. Shemade an indefinite murmur of response to the saluta-tions given her, and then retreated. She heard theroar of laughter after she had squeezed through thedoor of her room. Then she heard eager conversa-tion, of which she did not catch the real import, butwhich terrified her with chance expressions. Shewas quite sure that she was the subject of that eagerdiscussion. She was quite sure that it boded herno good.In a few days she knew the worst; and the worstwas beyond her utmost imaginings. This was be-fore the days of moving-picture shows; it was theday of humiliating spectacles of deformities, wheninventions of amusements for the people had notprogressed. It was the day of exhibitions of sadfreaks of nature, calculated to provoke tears ratherthan laughter in the healthy-minded, and poor Mar-garet Lee was a chosen victim. Camille informedher in a few words of her fate. Camille was sorryfor her, although not in the least understanding whyshe was sorry. She realized dimly that Margaretwould be distressed, but she was unable from hernarrow point of view to comprehend fully the wholetragedy."Jack has gone broke," stated Camille. "Heowes Bill Stark a pile, and he can't pay a cent of it;and Jack's sense of honor about a poker debt isabout the biggest thing in his character. Jack hasgot to pay. And Bill has a little circus, going totravel all summer, and he's offered big money foryou. Jack can pay Bill what he owes him, and we'llhave enough to live on, and have lots of fun goingaround. You hadn't ought to make a fuss about it."Margaret, pale as death, stared at the girl, pertlyslim, and common and pretty, who stared backlaughingly, although still with the glimmer of un-comprehending pity in her black eyes."What does -- he -- want -- me -- for?" gaspedMargaret."For a show, because you are so big," repliedCamille. "You will make us all rich, Margaret.Ain't it nice?"Then Camille screamed, the shrill raucous screamof the women of her type, for Margaret had fallenback in a dead faint, her immense bulk inert in herchair. Jack came running in alarm. Margaret hadsuddenly gained value in his shrewd eyes. He wasas pale as she.Finally Margaret raised her head, opened hermiserable eyes, and regained her consciousness ofherself and what lay before her. There was no courseopen but submission. She knew that from the first.All three faced destitution; she was the one financialasset, she and her poor flesh. She had to face it,and with what dignity she could muster.Margaret had great piety. She kept constantlybefore her mental vision the fact in which she be-lieved, that the world which she found so hard, andwhich put her to unspeakable torture, was not all.A week elapsed before the wretched little showof which she was to be a member went on the road,and night after night she prayed. She besieged herGod for strength. She never prayed for respite.Her realization of the situation and her lofty reso-lution prevented that. The awful, ridiculous com-bat was before her; there was no evasion; she prayedonly for the strength which leads to victory.However, when the time came, it was all worsethan she had imagined. How could a woman gentlyborn and bred conceive of the horrible ignominy ofsuch a life? She was dragged hither and yon, to thisand that little town. She traveled through swelter-ing heat on jolting trains; she slept in tents; shelived -- she, Margaret Lee -- on terms of equalitywith the common and the vulgar. Daily her absurdunwieldiness was exhibited to crowds screaming withlaughter. Even her faith wavered. It seemed to herthat there was nothing for evermore beyond thosestaring, jeering faces of silly mirth and delight atsight of her, seated in two chairs, clad in a pinkspangled dress, her vast shoulders bare andsparkling with a tawdry necklace, her great, barearms covered with brass bracelets, her hands in-cased in short, white kid gloves, over the fingersof which she wore a number of rings -- stage prop-erties.Margaret became a horror to herself. At timesit seemed to her that she was in the way of fairlylosing her own identity. It mattered little thatCamille and Jack were very kind to her, that theyshowed her the nice things which her terrible earn-ings had enabled them to have. She sat in her twochairs -- the two chairs proved a most successfuladvertisement -- with her two kid-cushiony handsclenched in her pink spangled lap, and she sufferedagony of soul, which made her inner self stern andterrible, behind that great pink mask of face. Andnobody realized until one sultry day when the showopened at a village in a pocket of green hills -- indeed,its name was Greenhill -- and Sydney Lord went tosee it.Margaret, who had schooled herself to look uponher audience as if they were not, suddenly compre-hended among them another soul who understoodher own. She met the eyes of the man, and a won-derful comfort, as of a cool breeze blowing over theface of clear water, came to her. She knew that theman understood. She knew that she had his fullestsympathy. She saw also a comrade in the toils ofcomic tragedy, for Sydney Lord was in the same case.He was a mountain of flesh. As a matter of fact,had he not been known in Greenhill and respectedas a man of weight of character as well as of body,and of an old family, he would have rivaled Mar-garet. Beside him sat an elderly woman, sweet-faced, slightly bent as to her slender shoulders, as ifwith a chronic attitude of submission. She wasSydney's widowed sister, Ellen Waters. She livedwith her brother and kept his house, and had nowill other than his.Sydney Lord and his sister remained when the restof the audience had drifted out, after the privilegedhand-shakes with the queen of the show. Everytime a coarse, rustic hand reached familiarly afterMargaret's, Sydney shrank.He motioned his sister to remain seated whenhe approached the stage. Jack Desmond, whohad been exploiting Margaret, gazed at him withadmiring curiosity. Sydney waved him awaywith a commanding gesture. "I wish to speak toher a moment. Pray leave the tent," he said,and Jack obeyed. People always obeyed SydneyLord.Sydney stood before Margaret, and he saw theclear crystal, which was herself, within all the flesh,clad in tawdry raiment, and she knew that he saw it."Good God!" said Sydney, "you are a lady!"He continued to gaze at her, and his eyes, largeand brown, became blurred; at the same time hismouth tightened."How came you to be in such a place as this?"demanded Sydney. He spoke almost as if he wereangry with her.Margaret explained briefly."It is an outrage," declared Sydney. He saidit, however, rather absently. He was reflecting."Where do you live?" he asked."Here.""You mean --?""They make up a bed for me here, after the peoplehave gone.""And I suppose you had -- before this -- a com-fortable house.""The house which my grandfather Lee owned,the old Lee mansion-house, before we went to thecity. It was a very fine old Colonial house," ex-plained Margaret, in her finely modulated voice."And you had a good room?""The southeast chamber had always been mine.It was very large, and the furniture was old Spanishmahogany.""And now --" said Sydney."Yes," said Margaret. She looked at him, andher serious blue eyes seemed to see past him. "Itwill not last," she said."What do you mean?""I try to learn a lesson. I am a child in the schoolof God. My lesson is one that always ends in peace.""Good God!" said Sydney.He motioned to his sister, and Ellen approachedin a frightened fashion. Her brother could do nowrong, but this was the unusual, and alarmed her."This lady --" began Sydney."Miss Lee," said Margaret. "I was never mar-ried. I am Miss Margaret Lee.""This," said Sydney, "is my sister Ellen, Mrs.Waters. Ellen, I wish you to meet Miss Lee."Ellen took into her own Margaret's hand, and saidfeebly that it was a beautiful day and she hopedMiss Lee found Greenhill a pleasant place to -- visit.Sydney moved slowly out of the tent and foundJack Desmond. He was standing near with Camille,who looked her best in a pale-blue summer silk anda black hat trimmed with roses. Jack and Camillenever really knew how the great man had managed,but presently Margaret had gone away with himand his sister.Jack and Camille looked at each other."Oh, Jack, ought you to have let her go?" saidCamille."What made you let her go?" asked Jack."I -- don't know. I couldn't say anything. Thatman has a tremendous way with him. Goodness!""He is all right here in the place, anyhow," saidJack. "They look up to him. He is a big-bug here.Comes of a family like Margaret's, though he hasn'tgot much money. Some chaps were braggin' thatthey had a bigger show than her right here, and Ifound out.""Suppose," said Camille, "Margaret does notcome back?""He could not keep her without bein' arrested,"declared Jack, but he looked uneasy. He had, how-ever, looked uneasy for some time. The fact was,Margaret had been very gradually losing weight.Moreover, she was not well. That very night, afterthe show was over, Bill Stark, the little dark man,had a talk with the Desmonds about it."Truth is, before long, if you don't look out, you'llhave to pad her," said Bill; "and giants don'tamount to a row of pins after that begins."Camille looked worried and sulky. "She ain'tvery well, anyhow," said she. "I ain't going tokill Margaret.""It's a good thing she's got a chance to have anight's rest in a house," said Bill Stark."The fat man has asked her to stay with him andhis sister while the show is here," said Jack."The sister invited her," said Camille, with alittle stiffness. She was common, but she had livedwith Lees, and her mother had married a Lee. Sheknew what was due Margaret, and also due herself."The truth is," said Camille, "this is an awful sortof life for a woman like Margaret. She and herfolks were never used to anything like it.""Why didn't you make your beauty husbandhustle and take care of her and you, then?" de-manded Bill, who admired Camille, and disliked herbecause she had no eyes for him."My husband has been unfortunate. He hasdone the best he could," responded Camille. "Come,Jack; no use talking about it any longer. GuessMargaret will pick up. Come along. I'm tired out."That night Margaret Lee slept in a sweet chamberwith muslin curtains at the windows, in a massiveold mahogany bed, much like hers which had beensacrificed at an auction sale. The bed-linen waslinen, and smelled of lavender. Margaret was toohappy to sleep. She lay in the cool, fragrant sheetsand was happy, and convinced of the presence ofthe God to whom she had prayed. All night SydneyLord sat down-stairs in his book-walled sanctumand studied over the situation. It was a crucial one.The great psychological moment of Sydney Lord'slife for knight-errantry had arrived. He studiedthe thing from every point of view. There was noromance about it. These were hard, sordid, tragic,ludicrous facts with which he had to deal. He knewto a nicety the agonies which Margaret suffered.He knew, because of his own capacity for sufferingsof like stress. "And she is a woman and a lady,"he said, aloud.If Sydney had been rich enough, the matter wouldhave been simple. He could have paid Jack andCamille enough to quiet them, and Margaret couldhave lived with him and his sister and their two oldservants. But he was not rich; he was even poor.The price to be paid for Margaret's liberty was abitter one, but it was that or nothing. Sydney facedit. He looked about the room. To him the wallslined with the dull gleams of old books were lovely.There was an oil portrait of his mother over themantel-shelf. The weather was warm now, andthere was no need for a hearth fire, but how ex-quisitely home-like and dear that room could bewhen the snow drove outside and there was the leapof flame on the hearth! Sydney was a scholar anda gentleman. He had led a gentle and sequesteredlife. Here in his native village there were none togibe and sneer. The contrast of the traveling showwould be as great for him as it had been for Margaret,but he was the male of the species, and she thefemale. Chivalry, racial, harking back to the begin-ning of nobility in the human, to its earliest dawn,fired Sydney. The pale daylight invaded the study.Sydney, as truly as any knight of old, had girdedhimself, and with no hope, no thought of reward,for the battle in the eternal service of the strongfor the weak, which makes the true worth of thestrong.There was only one way. Sydney Lord took it.His sister was spared the knowledge of the truthfor a long while. When she knew, she did not lament;since Sydney had taken the course, it must be right.As for Margaret, not knowing the truth, she yielded.She was really on the verge of illness. Her spiritwas of too fine a strain to enable her body to endurelong. When she was told that she was to remainwith Sydney's sister while Sydney went away onbusiness, she made no objection. A wonderful senseof relief, as of wings of healing being spread underher despair, was upon her. Camille came to bidher good-by."I hope you have a nice visit in this lovely house,"said Camille, and kissed her. Camille was astute,and to be trusted. She did not betray Sydney'sconfidence. Sydney used a disguise -- a dark wigover his partially bald head and a little make-up --and he traveled about with the show and sat onthree chairs, and shook hands with the gaping crowd,and was curiously happy. It was discomfort; itwas ignominy; it was maddening to support by theexhibition of his physical deformity a perfectlyworthless young couple like Jack and Camille Des-mond, but it was all superbly ennobling for the manhimself.Always as he sat on his three chairs, immense,grotesque -- the more grotesque for his splendid dig-nity of bearing -- there was in his soul of a gallantgentleman the consciousness of that other, whomhe was shielding from a similar ordeal. Compassionand generosity, so great that they comprehendedlove itself and excelled its highest type, irradiatedthe whole being of the fat man exposed to the gazeof his inferiors. Chivalry, which rendered him almostgod-like, strengthened him for his task. Sydneythought always of Margaret as distinct from herphysical self, a sort of crystalline, angelic soul, withno encumbrance of earth. He achieved a purelyspiritual conception of her. And Margaret, livingagain her gentle lady life, was likewise ennobledby a gratitude which transformed her. Always aclear and beautiful soul, she gave out new lights ofcharacter like a jewel in the sun. And she alsothought of Sydney as distinct from his physical self.The consciousness of the two human beings, one ofthe other, was a consciousness as of two wonderfullines of good and beauty, moving for ever parallel,separate, and inseparable in an eternal harmony ofspirit.

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