Captains and the Kings

by Taylor Caldwell

  "You will," said Joseph. "There are millions behind you." And the Right People, thought Rory, and smiled at his father. "Faustian money," he said. "Rory, remember this: No man ever failed by holding his tongue. You must accept things as they are." "Oh, I do, I do. I assure you, Pa, I do." He smiled at his father amiably. "It is really a struggle between money and blood, isn't it? And isn't it fortunate that the masses will never know- fortunate for us?" "No man ever died of a surfeit of money," said Joseph. "Remember that. In comparison blood is nothing-if it flows into money. Blood is cheap. Money is all-powerful. I once knew a very rich man, who also, though it seems unbelievable, had principles. He had a son full of idealism and faith in human nature, and a contempt for the money his father had earned and hoarded and increased. So the father said to his son, 'Tomorrow you will not receive your large allowance. I want you to go out into the city with empty pockets, for one week only. You love humanity; you've told me of natural compassion and generosity among men. You will go out as a beggar, to your famous fellow man.' "So the son, smiling from ear to ear, and armed with his silly faith in his brother, left his father's house. I am sure it is sufficient to say that he was turned away from every door, rich or poor, and berated as a beggar. He could not afford to take a horsecar to apply for a job, and so walked until his soles were thin and broken. But as he had no skill, no trade, but only book-learning, he could not get a job. He suffered mockery and hate and hunger, for he had no money, not even for a meal in a saloon. He came face to face with the malice of humanity against the helpless, the cruelty which is part of the nature of man, and the scorn for the indigent. He finally was given a broom, at ten cents an hour, and told to sweep a factory. He discovered that his loving brother was an animal, and worse, and had no pity or charity. "He returned to his father's house." "A sadder if a wiser man," said Rory. "An old aphorism, and true."<» "It's so old a story that it has become part of all our beliefs. Money is all, Rory. There is nothing else. The sooner you realize that the sooner you will become wise." "I know," said Rory. "You've told me often, and quoted the Bible: Money answereth all things.' God bless money." Claudia said to him, her greenish-brown eyes wide and stretched and' glowing: "Isn't it delightful? You will be President of the United States! j We will live in the White House! I will give such galas, such dances in silver slippers, such artistic performances, that they will dazzle everybody with their sophistication. After all, we are still a crude nation. It is time for Culture in political affairs, and discrimination, and the encouragement of the Arts." "I'm not even nominated yet," said Rory. He rarely talked with his wife. He was now as indifferent to her as his father was indifferent to his mother. At least Ma is not a fool, he would think. But my wife would take honors in a school for imbeciles. The Phi Beta Kappa of the feebleminded. But Claudia was a marvelous hostess, gracious, charming, smiling, greeting, and she had fine taste and a certain shrewdness. She captivated almost everyone, including cynical politicians of the opposite party. She chattered in French to the French Ambassador, and delightfully tried to chatter in German to the German Ambassador, who was overcome by her charm, the scintillating aura that seemed to surround her. She wore gowns as if Worth had created only for her and no one else. At times she affected a beguiling shyness, and everyone spoke of her "jejune modesty." That all this concealed a powerful ego, a cold-blooded drive for eminence, was known to very few. Surely such a gentle lady, with such a flair for the fitness of things, incapable of being gauche though she was an American, refined, cultivated, sophisticated and fascinating, must have the soul of a "dew- drenched daisy." When Rory heard this he would laugh inwardly, and then go off to his lady of the day, the week or the month, where he could be assured of honesty, at any rate. Even honesty could be bought with money, if there was sufficient money, and temporary fidelity. But Claudia was a fraud even if she did not have the wit to realize that she was fraudulent and merely an echo. Papier-mache, Rory would think of her. Nicely- colored and jeweled and with automatic gestures and graces, but papier mache' for all that, except for native greed and expediency. No one can match her for that! He was too good-tempered and cynically tolerant to hate her, but he came very close. So long as she did not try to inveigle him into what she called "significant conversation," he endured her. But when she pretended to intellect and seriousness he would stare at her with crescent-eyed and smiling incredulity, until even she was embarrassed and burst into tears. He had an idea that she loved him as much as she was capable of love, but that did not touch him. Claudia had few capabilities, and what there were were directed mostly towards herself. Claudia was positive that he would be nominated as the candidate of his Party, though Rory was skeptical in spite of his father's power and money. But as the "boom" gathered weight and persistence throughout the country, as the money was spent on scores of managers and other politicians, and dozens of newspapers hailed him nationally, Rory had to admit that his father's dream might be possible. Money was all. It accomplished miracles, even in a nation obdurately obsessed by "Papism," and prejudice. The opposition newspapers began to mention his religion less and less, as if they were ashamed of their bias. He began to be called "the Senator of the People," though few there were who could recall and point out anything he had particularly accomplished. Rory, under astute direction, decided to rectify this. Timothy Dineen, with a wry and understanding smile, consulted with him constantly. Timothy said, "I disagree with Abraham Lincoln. You can, if you .are smart enough, fool all of the people all of the time, and they will love it. Don't smile, Rory. You are not the worst politician in America. You are not even a first-class scoundrel. You never stole anything or accepted bribes. Tut, tut." Rory had many consultations, too, with the Committee for Foreign Study, the American branch of which he had come to call, in himself, The Conspiracy. They found him serious and apparently dedicated to their international aims, respectful, pliable, intelligent, and agreeable. "We can make you President," Jay Regan said to him, "if we find you reliable. So far, Rory, I believe you are more reliable than Old Joe, your father, who has a nasty Irish tongue on him, and an irony which is unpredictable-and unsettling. You must never upset our foreign friends, you know. They have no sense of humor." "Pa has a gallows humor," said Rory. "He likes to exercise it. But you've found him amenable, haven't you? Yes." It was then that Mr. Regan began to study Rory. The young man was intent on being nominated, and elected. The question was, to Mr. Regan: Why? The usual answers were inadequate. There was something else. Mr. Regan distrusted intangibles. He also distrusted human nature and( that worst of all manifestations of human nature: The capacity to employ independent judgment. He suspected that Rory was exercising that, though he had no proof. Once Rory had said to him affably, "What if the newspapers learn some-i thing and the whole-thing-is exposed?" "They won't expose it. We own them, Rory. They wouldn't dare to oppose us. Well, if there is even a hint, we can always say, 'Not we! The, Jewish bankers are guilty!' That will take care of everything. People will I* believe anything about the Jews. It exonerates them." Rory thought. He remembered that the British government had blamed, everything, including Acts of God, on "the detestable Irish rebels," and so had diverted wrath. He gave Mr. Regan an angelic smile. This disturbed Mr. Regan more than anything else. There was a private railroad car for Rory. "The people affect to love nigged simplicity and democratic tendencies in their rulers and politicians," said Joseph. "But in fact if a man is simple and rugged and honest-and has money and position-they will despise him and consider him less than their equal. After all, they reason, would they be simple and rugged and honest if they were in his position? No. They would be ostentatious and grand and overbearing. This man is not so. Ergo, he is no better than they are, and why should they honor him?" So Rory had his private railroad car, and another car for his managers and secretaries and publicity and public relations men. Cars on other trains were filled with his "advance men," who went all over the country to prepare the way for whom they secretly called "the young Master," with snide chuckles
but also with fawning. They engaged halls, were interviewed by reporters as skeptical as themselves, bought full pages of advertisements in newspapers, had brochures printed and posters. Rory's colorful face appeared everywhere, on lampposts and on walls and on fences, smiling, twinkling, handsome, engaging. Recalcitrant county chairmen, state chairmen, mayors and governors and delegates of the Party, were quietly bribed, threatened, promised, intimidated. The bribes were very large, the intimidations and threats not idle ones, as they soon learned. Rory had not one, but several campaign managers. They announced his intention of appearing in all the primaries. They talked of his personable appearance, his wit, his intellect, his devotion to the People, his determination to rectify "all injustices," his detestation of exploitation, his contempt for "men of great wealth who care nothing for their workmen but use them as cattle." He, though the son of a powerful and wealthy man, sought public office not for gain but for "equity" and a patriotic zeal to serve his country and his fellow American. Rory came under tutorship by realistic politicians. He was not to be another Bryan, a gaudy and vociferous fool. He was not to stand on equal footing with the mobs who came to hear him in parks, on the streets and in halls. He was to be kind and gracious, attentive and sympathetic. But not overtly democratic. That would earn him contempt. At all times he was to be the gentleman, approachable to a certain extent but not all the way. Men liked leaders, not equals. They loved heroes, but not the rank and file even if heroes. They wanted men they could trust, not men who walked shoulder to shoulder with them. They loved jokes, but they also wanted dignity and the aura of potency. His dress must never be casual,' rich but not overly rich, stylish but not extreme. Everything he wore was examined carefully before he put it on. As his thick red-gold hair was striking, he would take off his hat regularly in the open and let the sun, or lamps, shine on it. When he spoke-from meticulously written speeches prepared by astute men-he must let his natural eloquence add the emphasis, but he must never be coarse. An air of candor, yes, and at times even a little folksiness, accompanied by charming winks. But never familiarity. If questioned by men too familiar and too swaggering, he was to smile coolly and answer with formality and wit. At all times he must exude strength and purpose. If gibed at for his religion-which was never mentioned if possible-he was to say something to the effect that did not all men honor one God and worship Him, and was it not distinctly un- American and undemocratic to decide for all men in what way they should so honor and worship? He was to assume a regretful expression, as if the questioner had displayed boorishness and bigotry, which were not the traits of Americans at all. "We are all Americans. We honor God and our country, whether we are Presbyterians, Methodists, Catholics, Baptists, Jews or Episcopalians, and even to hint that any of these do not love their country devotedly and purely is a dishonor to all Americans." Fundamentalist parsons in many backwoods communities did not believe in Rory's sincerity. If he were to be elected President-"God preserve us from that calamity!"-the Pope would take up residence in Washington, in the White House itself, and would soon dominate the Senate and Congress, and bring in the Spanish Inquisition and thumb-screws and the wheel, and within a year America, Protestant America, would be a satellite of the Vatican. "Did not our ancestors flee such as these?" they cried from' their pulpits. "Did they flee that their grandchildren should be the slaves of Popism and idolatry and priests?" Rory's men used this very wicked bigotry for their purposes with an artfulness that was admirable and subtle. They even publicized the ravings of bigots, however obscure, and countermanded them by asking the American people to feel shame that they had such in their immaculate and tolerant midst. Multitudes did, indeed, feel shame and on seeing Rory for themselves, felt an emotional surge of affection and protection for him, to prove to themselves that they were just men and not ignorant: fools full of hatred and vindictiveness. The other Party, therefore, was disarmed. If they mentioned Rory's religion it was only in passing, but the newspapers excoriated them, at least many of them did so to prove . their tolerance. The opposition Party was left almost without an issue. I It did mention that Rory had done nothing notable in Washington as a senator, but Rory's men cleverly used that very lack as propaganda. He had done nothing harmful to the People, though he had been in a position, to do so A notable and famous minister in Philadelphia did timidly pose the question: Would Rory's first allegiance be to his country or to his religion? It had been put in private, but his colleagues publicized it. (They were amply rewarded.) The man had been notable for his intellect and integrity, his justice to all American faiths, his kindness and charity. It was unfortunate that he had slipped this one time, and he regretted it immediately as unworthy of him. But Rory's men blazoned it throughout the country via the press, and the minister was condemned vehemently.

  He was "intolerant" and "un-American." His own people ostracized him. When he was approached sympathetically by sweating bigots he repudiated them with anger at himself and disgust with them, and so earned more enemies. He never regained the authority and status he had once possessed, and he felt it a just punishment for his foolish and private lapse. He had many friends who were Catholic priests, and they were indignant, but he begged them not to intervene. Claudia and her children were pressed into service. She appeared with Rory and her brood on the observation platform of his private car, a delectable and modish sight with her children clustered picturesquely about her. Audiences were charmed. She had a natural flair for publicity, and so was in her glory. She preened, she smiled, she cast down her eyes modestly as befitting a woman; she breathlessly, in her infantile voice, said she was not a feminist and did not believe in votes for women, and was only a Wife and Mother. She would look with passionate love at Rory, beside her, and touch his arm gently with her gloved hand. But she never intruded, never asserted herself, never expressed anything but the most proper opinions. She asked for votes for her husband, "because I know his deep love for his country and for Social Justice, and peace and progress. He has talked with me often about these things, after I have put the Children to bed and heard their innocent prayers. We are simple people and speak to you simply." It was excellent propaganda that this appeal for simplicity was not accompanied by drab clothing and simplicity. Having been tutored well, she spoke shyly with farmers, workers, employers, and' employees, about their "problems." Rory would rectify them. He would be no "tool" of established and venal politicians. He would Serve his Country and its Sons. He was beyond politics. He would be the President of the People, without distinction of Party, race, or creed. He had taken on this burden not for money or position, for he possessed both in enormous quantity. He asked only to give his life and his talents to America. Even the suffragettes, who resented her as an anti-feminist, were charmed by Claudia. She gave large teas for women, though they could not vote. ("Why bother?" she asked Rory's men. They told her seriously that women, who could not vote, had great influence, however, on their husbands. With unusual perspicacity she told them, "I don't, gentlemen," and looked honestly sad. But these intervals were rare. Her eyes were fixed on the White House.) Bemadette, too, was pressed into service. She was a far better politician than Claudia. No one had to tell her what to do. Fat, "unpretentious," an obvious matron and Mother, she was forthright and zestful, and appealed to Mothers, who in turn appealed to their husbands and harassed them. (She never made the mistake of talking with members of Altar or Rosary Societies, and never talked with Catholic women exclusively, if ever.) She talked only of the Children to women, and told them of her son's concern about child labor and the exploitation of children. "Men, with all their business affairs, are sometimes ignorant of these things. It is necessary for us women to advise them." She hinted that Rory was really in sympathy with Votes for Women. Her teas were lavish and delectable and attended en masse, and her burly laughter and "honest folksiness" was applauded in many newspapers. Her father's record in the Senate was mentioned, though vaguely, for no one could exactly remember his record.' However, it was hinted that it had be
en exemplary and guided by his deep concern for the American Character and Justice for All. Mr. Lincoln had often confided in him. (This little bon mot was not repeated in the South.) If Rory ever talked-as he did privately-with members of the Holy Name Society and the Knights of Columbus, it was not mentioned in the press. The duality of his nature was an asset to him. In speaking before exigent" and brutal men he was honestly exigent and brutal. He could be rough, brutish and cynical when necessary, and even vindictive, and then with others he was suave, evasive, refined, casual, easy, intellectual. All his faces were equally sincere. His advisers admired this protean quality in him, but never let it be inadvertently displayed before the wrong audiences. He was inexhaustible. He seemed never to tire. If his youth was sometimes mentioned doubtfully, he would counter that wisdom did not necessarily come with age and that perhaps this should be the Era of r Youth. Freshness. A new approach. An Awareness that America was a young country, and why should not youth speak, too, in the conclaves of ' national affairs? After all, he would say with a jocular twinkle, youth was a malady that time would cure. In the meantime youth had something to say to America. He would quote the Bible-carefully, the King James i Version, to the effect that "old men had dreams and young men had * visions." Both were necessary. America has been born of dreams and f' visions. Without them, a nation was dead. "A people without a vision j must perish." This was Rory's own touch, and it aroused the increasing admiration of his cohorts. He never appeared to weary. He might talk at midnight, and then be fresh to speak at dawn at railroad stations, on the platfrom of his private car, to hordes of farmers and workers. He was eloquent and fiery, humorous and cajoling, amused and concerned. Sometimes his own men asked each other, "What is really driving him?" They never knew. But there were those who suspected, knowing both Joseph Armagh and his son. These, however, were not among Rory's audiences. They met in New York and Washington. They read long obscure letters from Europe, and quietly discussed them. There was seemingly no end to the millions of dollars Joseph poured out for Rory. They were not spent ostentatiously. But the power and weight of those pouring millions had their effect. "We will win," said Joseph to his son, and Rory began to believe it. "I have nothing left but you," Joseph would say. "Nothing."