Parents and Children

by Ivy Compton-Burnett

  ‘I would ask rarer and better things,’ said Graham.

  ‘People take perfection as a matter of course,’ said Daniel. ‘Anything else affronts and enrages them.’

  ‘I have learnt not to look for it,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘You make your own demand, Mother,’ said Luce.

  ‘Miss Mitford and the girls are coming back,’ said Eleanor. ‘Of course it has begun to rain. It is to be one of those days when every little thing goes wrong. Perhaps they would like to sit with us until their lessons.’

  ‘Is that a risk, if the day is of that nature?’ said Graham. ‘It has so far been true to itself.’

  ‘Come in, my dears, and take off your things,’ said Eleanor. ‘You can stay with us for a time. It will make a change for you. I expect Miss Mitford would like an hour to herself.’

  ‘Do I not also need the change?’ said Miss Mitford.

  The laughter that greeted the words sowed that it did not even now occur to anyone, and Miss Mitford went to the door, striking everyone as a mildly ludicrous figure, with the exception of Graham, who saw her as a sad one. It would have been cheering to him to know her view of herself.

  ‘Well, what is a subject fraught with no danger?’ said Luce.

  ‘Hardly that one perhaps,’ said Daniel.

  ‘Let us talk in our own way,’ said Eleanor. ‘The subjects will arise of themselves. We are seldom at a loss for them.’

  The minutes passed and this did not come about. Eleanor took up her needlework, as if it were a matter of indifference. When Venice giggled she looked at her with a smile.

  ‘The five of them ought to be photographed,’ said Regan, surveying her grandchildren.

  ‘We ought to have a group of them all, to send to their father,’ said Eleanor, ‘They have not been taken together since Nevill was born.’

  ‘How sincerely they speak, considering that they do not consider spending the money or the effort!’ said Daniel, to his brother.

  ‘We must be grateful for the thought,’ said Graham. ‘I see how real a thing it is.’

  ‘Father will no doubt appreciate it when it reaches him,’ said Isabel.

  ‘It is a photograph of Mother that Father would want,’ said Luce.

  ‘He took one of me with him,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘And one of Grandma too, I suppose.’

  ‘No, I did not load him up with one,’ said Regan.

  ‘He asked me for one of myself,’ said Eleanor. ‘Or rather he was packing a clumsy one, and I gave him another.’

  ‘He will not forget us,’ said Luce, in a peaceful tone.

  ‘No, dear, but that is not the point of a photograph,’ said Eleanor. ‘It gives a sort of companionship, an illusion of the presence of the person.’

  ‘The real presence must be a shadowy one in that case,’ said Regan.

  ‘Is it better to have a photograph of oneself packed or not?’ said Graham.

  ‘I see it as a tribute,’ said Daniel.

  ‘It is in a sense, of course,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I expect there was one about the room,’ said Regan.

  ‘There were photographs of all of us,’ said Eleanor. ‘Of everyone in the house.’

  ‘Mother said a subject would arise, and it has arisen,’ said Graham.

  Regan laughed and went to attend to her housekeeping.

  ‘It does not often occur to your grandmother that I may like to be left with my children,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘It strikes few of us that people want to be rid of us,’ said Daniel. ‘I do not remember having the feeling.’

  ‘I feel a temptation to mark time until Father returns,’ said Luce.

  ‘The house is even duller, the house seems duller than it was,’ said Isabel. ‘And that produces a sense of waiting for something.’

  ‘You cannot be dull when there are so many of you together,’ said Eleanor, with simple conviction. ‘You have your own rooms and your own interests. And Miss Mitford gives all her time to you, and you seem to find her amusing.’

  ‘Another subject has arisen,’ said Graham.

  ‘I am not going to have any more of them,’ said Eleanor, shaking her head. ‘We must not make Father’s absence an excuse for complaint and indolence. I see the rain has stopped, and there is time for a run before lessons. I wonder if Miss Mitford has noticed it.’

  ‘She does not notice anything when she is reading,’ said Venice.

  ‘Does she do nothing but read? I hope she will not teach you to be always poring over books. There are other things in life.’

  ‘Not in every life,’ said Graham.

  ‘That is what she does teach us in our lesson hours,’ said Isabel. ‘We thought she was supposed to, and so did she. At other times she does not interfere with us.’

  ‘I should think Isabel is the last girl to be dull in herself,’ said Eleanor, looking after her daughters. ‘She is always amusing and amused. And Venice is the easiest child. I should think no schoolroom could be happier. It is nice for James to come home to all of it.’

  ‘So it all works round to James’s advantage,’ said Graham.

  ‘You talk as if he were a pathetic character,’ said Eleanor. ‘He could not have more than he has.’

  ‘Graham dear,’ said Luce, in a low tone, ‘things can only be done by us according to our nature and our understanding. It is useless to expect more. We can none of us give it.’

  ‘That does not take from the pathos. Indeed it is the reason of it.’

  ‘It is partly the ordinary pathos of childhood, Graham.’

  ‘Of childhood in the later stage, when it is worked and confined and exhorted. For its weakness the burden is great.’

  ‘James has his own power of throwing things off,’ said Luce.

  ‘Of course all my children are tragic figures,’ said Eleanor.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Two for Mother, and four for Father,’ said Faith, disturbing the letters at the breakfast table. ‘And three for Ridley.’

  ‘And how many for you?’ said Paul.

  ‘Seven, Father,’ said Faith, in an unobtrusive manner.

  ‘And were they less worthy of mention?’

  ‘Well, there was no need to speak of them, Father.’

  ‘Why not as much as the others ?’

  ‘Well, one does not want to draw attention to one’s own things, when they are more than other people’s.’

  ‘I did not know that,’ said Hope.

  ‘Faith had a fair method of attracting the general interest,’ said Ridley.

  ‘They are only to do with oneself, after all,’ went on Faith, as if her brother had not spoken.

  ‘I wish I had more than two letters,’ said Hope. ‘It makes it seem as if only two people were thinking of me.’

  ‘It was very nice of seven people to be thinking of me,’ said Faith, in a light tone.

  ‘It is even better to be the sort of person to be in their thoughts.’

  ‘I did not mean to suggest that, Mother.’

  ‘Well, it was not necessary, dear.’

  ‘Faith is an inveterate correspondent,’ said Ridley.

  ‘Letter writing is not a vice,’ said his father.

  ‘I think in this case it has become a habit. And people are obliged to write letters in answer to those they receive.’

  ‘I see. It is a good idea to put oneself in their thoughts,’ said Hope.

  Faith looked down at her letters, as if she would like to make a protest concerning them, but was silent.

  ‘Faith keeps up with everyone who has crossed her path,’ said Ridley.

  ‘I see no reason for dropping people, when once I have known them,’ said his sister.

  ‘I can’t understand people’s not seeing those reasons,’ said Hope.

  ‘I never lose my interest in anyone I have known.’

  ‘I like to hear about them, and the different ways in which they have gone downhill.’

  ‘They have not always done th
at, Mother.’

  ‘Then I think I correspond with them. Two people write to me, to every seven to you. That shows the proportion.’

  ‘I think Faith’s correspondents are often a good way down the hill, when she first meets them,’ said Ridley, laughing.

  ‘I see no reason for only being interested in fortunate people,’ said his sister.

  ‘You are not good at seeing reasons, dear,’ said Hope.

  ‘I like people for their personal qualities.’

  ‘If they have many of those, they are not objects for letters,’ said Paul. ‘They would have their own way about them.’

  ‘I suppose Faith won’t tell us who her correspondents are,’ said Hope.

  ‘Well, I see no point in doing that. It is not quite the sort of atmosphere in which I should choose to reveal them,’

  ‘I am sure they would be very uncomfortable, dear,’ said Hope.

  ‘What is that letter, Ridley?’ said Faith, looking past her stepmother. ‘You look as if you had had bad news.’

  Ridley kept his eyes on the letter and did not speak. His parents turned their eyes on him, and he remained as still as if he were on the stage. Something about him suggested that he felt he was on it.

  ‘Mrs Cranmer,’ he said, partly rising from the table, ‘may I ask you for a moment of your time?’

  ‘You may have it all. I cannot do anything with it until I know the subject of that letter.’

  ‘I would willingly postpone your knowing.’

  ‘But do not do so, dear.’

  Ridley sat down again and appeared to be lost in thought, and his father rose and read the letter over his shoulder.

  MY DEAR RIDLEY,

  I must depend on you to fulfil your word. I am so sick a man that when this reaches you, I shall be a dead one, unless a cable has come to you earlier. There is no need to hasten hard news to innocent people, and the word of my death can come to my family through you. All to be told will follow by a later mail. I have written this letter with my own hand. I know you will serve my wife to the limit of your power. And I will end to you, as you are to be to me,

  Your friend,

  FULBERT SULLIVAN.

  The family stood in silence. Paul was sunk in thought. Faith put her handkerchief to her eyes. Hope rose with an almost energetic movement.

  ‘Well, someone has to be the first to speak. And I can see you expect it to be me. I am the one whose feelings don’t have to be too deep for words.’

  ‘We can’t help having the feelings, Mother,’ said Faith.

  ‘What have you to do, Ridley?’ said Paul.

  ‘To go to Mrs Sullivan, Father, to go to Eleanor Sullivan, and break to her the truth. And from my heart do I wish that this cup might pass from me.’

  Faith looked at her brother with open eyes.

  ‘I must not delay,’ went on Ridley, as if unconscious of his last words. ‘I can only make the blow as swift and merciful as possible. I can only do my best.’

  ‘Do you think that perhaps a woman might do it better?’ said Faith.

  Ridley turned and looked into her face.

  ‘It was not so that Fulbert left it. And it is not so that it shall be. I do not break my faith with the dead.’

  ‘I only made the suggestion for what it was worth.’

  ‘And Ridley has told you what that was, dear,’ said Hope.

  Ridley looked at his stepmother as if he thought she misused the occasion.

  ‘Of course all the best in people will come out now,’ she said. ‘It is true that the accompaniments of grief are the worst part. I am always uneasy when people show the best that is in them. I am not talking about Ridley’s best, as that is indispensable, but on the whole I prefer people’s dear, faulty, familiar selves.’

  Faith looked up as if she hardly saw herself in these last words.

  ‘It is something that we don’t seem to be drawn closer,’ went on Hope. ‘That is what is done by the most distressing things. I am glad we don’t feel it to that extent.’

  ‘There seems no urgency to break the news,’ said Paul. ‘But Ridley will have to get it behind.’

  ‘I can hardly face the family, Father, with this between us. Even my lawyer’s training in inscrutability does not prepare me for that.’

  ‘You will tell me if I can be of any use to you, Ridley,’ said Faith, in a gentle tone, after a moment’s communing with herself.

  ‘Faith’s best seems to improve with every moment,’ said Hope. ‘And Ridley has only to use his as it is. He will have to decide when to do it.’

  ‘That was not left to me, Mrs Cranmer. If it had been, I fear I might have taken some way out. As it is - ‘ Ridley straightened his shoulders and made his way from the house.

  ‘Ridley’s best is rather unfitted for daily life,’ said Hope. ‘This is the first time I have seen it in thirty years. It might be better to have one that came in oftener. But I suppose it is meant for an emergency.’

  ‘We must hope it will do its work on this occasion,’ said Faith. ‘After all, Mr Sullivan depended on it.’

  ‘I am sure it will,’ said Hope. ‘You see that my best is as good as yours.’

  ‘Are we not rather running this idea to death, Mother?’

  ‘My best is better than yours. It is never used for people’s embarrassment. My worst is used for that. I am right not to like the best in people. Why should I, when it is put to a mean purpose? And I believe it generally is.’

  ‘I hope my worse side did not creep out for the moment,’ said Faith, in a lighter tone.

  ‘I don’t think so, dear; I am sure you were at your very best.’

  ‘Father,’ said Faith, ‘I think Mother is much more upset by this news than she shows.’

  ‘She has shown it to me,’ said Paul.

  ‘The best in you both is better than I have ever imagined,’ said Hope. ‘I am really comforted by it, and I did not know it ever did that. If Ridley’s is doing the same for Eleanor, I see what Fulbert meant.’

  ‘Well, now don’t you think we might consider if there is anything we can do, Mother?’

  ‘I think we might; I should agree with anything you said. If we don’t put ourselves forward, and don’t fancy we are the sort of people who could be tolerated at such a time, I think we might do what we can. But I don’t quite see what that is.’

  ‘Need we be quite so unsure of ourselves? If we took that line, we should never do anything for anyone.’

  ‘And that is too high a standard for us. So we will go and do the womanly duties that are borne at these times. I suppose people do put up with them. It is known that the well-meant offices aggravate sorrow, so no doubt they must. And we will leave your father to suffer in a man’s simplicity. I feel rather anxious about him, and it is the irritation in anxiety that is the worst part.’

  ‘I am coming with you,’ said Paul.

  ‘Now I can throw myself into serving others. I will make it all as easy to bear as possible. Ridley must be breaking the truth by now. I have heard that that is harder than hearing it, but I do not agree.’

  Ridley had reached the Sullivans’ house and asked for Eleanor. He was shown to the drawing-room, where she was with Luce and Regan. He had depended on seeing her alone, and had to adjust his words. He met her eyes and then advanced and laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, alarmed, but her voice was forestalled by Regan’s.

  ‘He is dead, is he? He has gone after the others. Well, I can live in peace now. There is no one else.’

  Eleanor was standing, pale and still, heedless of those about her. Luce took the letter from Regan’s hand, and went and put her arms about her mother. Regan spoke again, neither to herself nor the others.

  ‘It wasn’t much good to have them, for my husband to be left without a son. We have wasted it all, our time and our feeling. All our feeling has gone. And we have only each other at the end.’

  ‘Lady Sullivan,’ said Ridley, in a low tone, ‘we have to tell your husband.’
>
  Regan made a movement that would have been a spring, if she had had youth and strength, and was gone from sight. It was not from Ridley’s hps that Sir Jesse would hear of the death of his son.

  Daniel and Graham came from their grandfather, with the truth in their faces, and the thought in their minds that they were tied to Sir Jesse now. They gave their attention to their mother, while they imagined their own future; the full manhood, the loss of their father, the service to two generations; and saw the truth of their father’s life, which they had deemed so easy.

  Eleanor looked up and spoke in her natural tones.

  ‘We had better send for the children. It is no good to put off their knowing.’

  Her words revealed herself, and her children confronted their knowledge of her. She felt real grief, made no pretence of despair, tried to face her loss and her duty, could not follow children’s suffering. Luce looked in mute appeal at Ridley.

  ‘Mrs Sullivan,’ he said, bending towards her, ‘would you not leave them a while in their happiness? That is the way to spare yourself.’

  ‘I must not think of that. The thing will have to be done.’

  The schoolroom children were summoned. They caught the threat in the message, and came with fear in their eyes. Their mother put her arms about them.

  ‘My little son and daughters, there is a great sorrow come to us today. Father will not return to us. We are to be alone.’

  The children broke into weeping, at first without character or difference. James was the first to recover, and to try to realize his new life. Venice looked at her mother, as though with an instinct to help her. Isabel stood as if she were alone. Ridley remained with his eyes on Eleanor, and wore a look of venerating sympathy.

  Regan returned to fetch the letter for her husband, took it from Ridley and went from the room. As she passed, she cast on the group a glance without hope or gentleness, almost without pity, a glance of hard resignation to the helpless suffering.

  ‘My children,’ said Eleanor, ‘will you do your first thing for your mother? Will you break it to the little ones for me? Will you begin to help?’

  Venice went to the door, as if to fulfil the request. James made a movement to follow her, glancing at his mother. Isabel met her eyes, but seemed not to hear what she had said.