Ceremony of the Innocent

by Taylor Caldwell

  “Ellen is an inexperienced lady, I admit,” said Charles. “Few ladies understand law and the administration of estates, and that is unfortunate—for them. But we are doing our best for Ellen, and her children. We have become heavily invested in munitions—though it was a little against my conscience”

  Francis’ rigid face quickened. “Then you know we will soon be at war with Germany?”

  “I hope not. That would be a calamity for America, and for all the world, for that matter Without our interference these past two years, such as sending munitions to England against ethical international law, and violating all the laws of neutrality, the war in Europe would have been over months ago Was it not Wilson who practically forbade the King of England and the Kaiser to meet and settle on peace terms? Yes And did he not say openly that it would be himself who would conclude the war? Yes. Extraordinary, for a neutral American President One wonders who directed him.” He studied Francis keenly.

  Francis stared at the fire and his spectacles glittered fiercely He said, “You are forgetting the Lusitania.”

  “No, I do not forget Who induced those hundreds of American tourists to sail on a British ship loaded with contraband, despite the pleas of the German Embassy? Yes, military contraband, for England. Against all the laws of neutrality It is just a conjecture, of course, but who wants America to engage in foreign entanglements, despite our traditions; and for what nation’s benefit? I do not think, as Jerry did not think, that it was for the benefit of either England or Germany.”

  Francis smiled superbly “I am sorry, Charles, but your thoughts are as fantastic as were those of my late cousin I myself know the President well. I have often dined at the White House. He is all for peace—”

  “Such as practically forbidding the King and the Kaiser to meet openly and define terms for peace?”

  “He has excellent advisers. They certainly know what they are doing.”

  “Oh, I am sure of that!” said Charles.

  “They know all about the ambitions of the Kaiser and the bestiality of the Germans—”

  “And no doubt the bestiality of the Allies, too, who have committed their own atrocities, and worse. As for ambitions—there is something not yet shown which has its own terrible ambitions.”

  Again Francis quickened. He turned partly in his chair to face Charles, who was looking at him with a formidable expression. “Mysteries!” he said. “Who could possibly gain—from all this?”

  “I have an idea,” Charles said, and rose to fill his glass again. His usually steady heart was beating with rage and hate. He said, as he poured the whiskey, “Millions of us are doing our best to keep America out of war. Whether we shall succeed or not, I do not know. I am afraid we don’t have much influence.” He turned back and sat down. “We were speaking of Jeremy’s estate?”

  “Yes.” There was a stain of sharp scarlet on Francis’ cheekbones. “There are certain extravagances which I think should be overcome, for the sake of the children’s inheritance.”

  “Such as what?”

  “The big house on Long Island. The number of servants in the house in New York: a houseman, Cuthbert, a cook, three maids, and a handyman. This is all a waste of money. Ostentation. It is necessary for Ellen to have some supervision, but why a registered nurse? One of the housemaids could do as well. It is not as if Ellen were bedridden. And there is Groton—very expensive and class-conscious—for the boy. He would do as well in one of our New York public schools, as would Gabrielle, the girl. There is also a permanent staff at the Long Island house. And a chauffeur. This is now no era for a vulgar display of riches, and the heedless spending of money. It antagonizes—”

  “Who?”

  “The American people. These are new days—”

  “Ah.”

  “I do not understand you, Charles. You are supposed to be a prudent administrator.”

  “Let me put this clearly, Francis. Jeremy was a rich man. His estate is very large. His family is living as he desired them to live. The people in the employ of his houses are paid well. What if they were thrown out of work?”

  “They could be more valuable, as workers, in other fields.”

  “Such as factories, no doubt. And on the land. They might object to that.”

  “Not if they were educated to believe that their labor is more worthy in other occupations. Besides, their present work is demeaning, degrading, without social significance.”

  Charles gave a short laugh. “No honest work is either demeaning or degrading.”

  “Certainly some work is. A woman who washes a rich man’s dinner dishes would have more dignity in a factory.”

  “Why don’t you ask Ellen’s servants for themselves?”

  Francis flushed again. “The people do not know what is best for them! They must be guided, taught, for their own best interests, and to serve their country.”

  “What country?” asked Charles. “Or what system of government?”

  Francis clenched his hands on the arms of his chair. “You speak in riddles.”

  “Now, Francis, you and I know we do not speak in riddles, so don’t try to diddle me. By the way, what do you mean by ‘social significance’?”

  “Working for the welfare of all, of course.”

  “That is against human nature, and against sanity. When a man works well for himself he benefits everybody. But to force him to work for others is an insult to his human integrity, his individuality, and his innate drive for excellence. It is also involuntary servitude, and I believe there is a constitutional prohibition against that. We have become a great and prosperous and free nation because the multitudes have worked for themselves, competing in all fields. Competition is the machinery for prosperity for all. Surely you don’t want to abrogate prosperity?” Charles smiled.

  When Francis did not reply, Charles asked, “What do you mean when you say the people do not know what is best for them?”

  “History has proved that.”

  “On the contrary, history has proved, by way of America, for example, that the people well know what is best for them, and that is why they suspect politicians—and others. I hope to God they will continue to suspect.”

  A sudden flash of vindictiveness passed over Francis’ thin features. Charles said, “You think that you, for instance, know what is best for the American people?”

  “I am an educated man and a sociologist and a student of government. The masses are ignorant and debased and stupid.”

  Charles laughed. “You tell your constituents that! I know.”

  “My constituents,” said Francis with a flush of cold anger, “are not the masses.”

  “I know,” said Charles. “And that is the danger. We are getting nowhere, however, though I see we understand each other. As the executor of Jeremy’s estate I will not consent to eliminate what you call ‘extravagances.’”

  “I must protest. These are the days for prudent humility, not display”

  “In short, the days for drab equality and pretense of moral concern.” Charles glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, but I have a client almost immediately. When do you return to Washington?”

  Francis said, “Soon. I have been invited to hold a prominent position during Mr. Wilson’s next inauguration in March.”

  They shook hands formally, and parted. Charles puffed at his pipe for a few moments, frowning. Then he went to his desk. He glanced at his calendar. January 22, 1917. He put in a call to Washington, for a certain Senator, not of New York. While he waited he leaned back in his chair and thought.

  Eventually the Senator answered, and very cautiously. “The gentleman,” he said, referring to the President, “addressed the Senate today in a mood of belligerency, directed not exactly to the Senate but to other—certain—nations, if you understand me. Yes. He arrogantly demanded a ‘peace without victory.’ He intimated American force if the—antagonists—did not comply at once with his orders. He said it was not to be a ‘private peace.’ America must part
icipate and lay down the terms.”

  “Good God,” said Charles.

  “Indeed, Charles. There’s worse to come. He spoke in imperial terms, almost like a conqueror. He spoke of a pet idea of his, ‘the League to Enforce Peace,’ his own invention. He seemed to believe that both the British Empire and the German Empire were naughty territories of the United States, small fiefdoms who must not question the King’s edicts. You can imagine how this will be received by the two empires. He implied that he was to be the super-peacemaker, the enforcer, all by himself. If not—The threat was there—directed mainly to Germany—that if his terms were not met he would sever diplomatic relations with Germany, which will delight England, of course, and cause the war to continue.”

  “Which is the general program,” said Charles. “What was the reaction of the Senate?”

  “High approval from those we both know of, and anger from those who are beginning to get a vague idea of whom is behind all this, the many whoms. But the gentleman, naturally, has no suspicion of them; he is only their mouthpiece.”

  “So, despite the true sentiment of the American people, we will be in the war.”

  “As you said, Charles, that is the program. By the way, I have some more news for you. Lenin is very active in Switzerland now, feverishly active, consolidating his Marxist forces. His next plan is to go to Germany, almost immediately, where, as an aristocrat and an intellectual and a linguist, he will be most welcome by certain—‘groups.’ If I were the Kaiser I’d order his assassination. But the Kaiser, too, is an innocent, as is Franz Joseph. It is sufficient for the Kaiser that Lenin has denounced the war as ‘a trade war.’ It is amazing how these intellectuals can combine truth with lies, and make the lies effective. Your New York bankers, as you know, are financing Lenin; he moves with a rich entourage.”

  “And the bankers are financed by others infinitely more powerful.”

  The Senator sighed. “There is nothing we can do except oppose our entrance into the war—which will be futile. ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men,’ and nations. I wouldn’t be a day younger, Charles.”

  “Nor I.” Charles brooded. “Well, it seems we are to have a series of Genghis Khans and proletariat imperialists and powerful ‘elite’ planners. God help the people of America. Yet, perhaps we deserve it with our complacency and our optimism and our belief that this is the best of all possible worlds. If I had any power I’d force the optimists to face reality in its bleakest aspects, but that is something the optimists refuse to do. They shrink from it.”

  After the conclusion of his call he thought with gratitude that he had no sons. He considered Francis Porter, who was now very influential in Congress and who had delivered many speeches, placed in the Congressional Record, concerning the “monstrous imperialism” of the German Empire, and America’s lack of “courage and fortitude” in not “confronting the dragon at once.’” He had many supporters.

  Charles also thought of Jeremy Porter, who had died because of his knowledge and his attempted exposure of the enemies of mankind. Charles winced. He had no desire to die as terribly, and as futilely, as Jeremy had died. He turned his attention to the work on his desk as the day darkened and the storm increased.

  Ellen cowered before the fire in the library this cold February day, with its shining white sky and brilliant air. Kitty Wilder sat near her, busy with the tea tray and pastries which Cuthbert had brought. Kitty’s appetite was enormous; she could devour food in vast quantities all day long and never attain flesh. Her spirit consumed it feverishly. Her dark face was lined and avid. She bent over the tray, voluptuous murmurs in her throat, considering every delicious morsel like a woman in love, her clawlike hands hovering. Her agate eyes were desirous. “Urn, um, good,” she crooned. She licked a finger delicately. “Really, Ellen,” she said, “Cuthbert, though he is very old, is a wonderful pastry cook. Why don’t you have one of these?” But she snatched at another cake and thrust it eagerly into her mouth, as if Ellen had threatened to take it first.

  “I’m not hungry, Kitty,” said Ellen in her dull voice.

  “Um,” Kitty said, and pounced on still another cake. Her eyes glistened with lewdness and she raised her eyes in ecstasy. She was always hungry; nothing could satisfy her avarice. Her lips were white with cream. “Would you like me to stay for dinner, dear?”

  “Yes,” Ellen said, and pushed a lock of her hair from her thin cheek.

  “What have Cuthbert and your cook in mind?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ellen. Kitty looked at her with contempt. Bread and cheese and a slice of salt pork and a cup of weak tea—that was Ellen’s preference, no doubt. “Ellen, you must really try to eat and regain your strength. You owe that to your children. What would Jeremy think of you now? You refuse to get well.” She paused. “You make me very sad, Ellen. You must strive to live again.”

  Ellen was silent. She thought of what Kitty had said, and her old guilt returned. Her eyes filled with tears, and the thick agony in her heart was like an iron fist. She looked at the large, almost demolished tray of sweets and for an instant she was disgusted by Kitty’s greed. She immediately quenched this thought and her guilt increased. Kitty said, her eyes fixed on the tray, “Why don’t you ring for Cuthbert and find out what he and the cook have prepared? You really should take an interest, Ellen.”

  Ellen pulled the bell rope and Cuthbert entered. “Cuthbert,” said Ellen, “Mrs. Wilder would like to know what we have for dinner.”

  Cuthbert glanced at Kitty with restrained distaste, and then at Ellen with compassion. The poor lady’s mind had returned, but she ate very little and was always very listless and exhausted.

  “A shrimp bisque, a cold lobster salad, fresh broiled trout, a joint of veal with herbs, vegetables, hot French rolls, white wine, fruit, and a torte, madam. An Austrian torte, with warm apricot marmalade, and whipped cream and a chocolate icing.”

  Kitty’s eyes again glistened. Ellen had heard with apathy. “Very good, Cuthbert,” she said.

  “In one hour, madam?”

  Kitty coquettishly hugged her stomach and leered at Cuthbert seductively. “I may starve before then!” she laughed. Cuthbert withdrew. “It’s this weather,” said Kitty. “It makes me so hungry, I could eat everything in sight.”

  So I see, Ellen thought, and once more quenched the uncharitable thought. The fragrance of the tea and the cakes made her ill. Kitty seized still another cake after first regarding it with smiling pursed lips as though she thought herself naughty. She no longer wore the pompadour of her youth. Her lightless black hair was puffed out in immense clusters over her ears. She said, “I am thinking of having my hair bobbed like Irene Castle. Do you think it’s extreme, Ellen?”

  “I never thought about it,” said Ellen. She wore a thin black wool dress from Worth with a string of pearls which Jeremy had given her. She wore but one other piece of jewelry, her wedding ring. Kitty was wearing red velvet with a tight long skirt, a “hobble skirt.” Rubies shone in her ears, to match her painted lips. As she chewed, her huge white teeth glittered and clamped. She said to herself: Do you ever think about a single thing, you vulgar idiot?

  “Is that Maude Godfrey and her husband coming to dinner, Ellen?”

  “No, their little girl has the Spanish flu. They have a bad time getting servants these days, Kitty. The people are all in the factories working for Preparedness.”

  Kitty sighed happily. “Well, that’s prosperity, preparing for war. We’ll soon be in it, you know.”

  Ellen said, and for the first time showed animation, “Jeremy knew it was coming. He fought terribly—it did no good.”

  “You can’t go against fate, Ellen. Besides, we must overthrow the Kaiser and all that he represents. Just a beast.”

  She added, “I detest that Maude. So sly. Whatever possessed a man like Charles Godfrey to marry a mere servant?”

  Ellen’s sunken cheeks suddenly flushed. “She wasn’t exactly a servant, Kitty. She was a governess, and a
lady.”

  Kitty shrugged. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “I—well, no, I never did. But it is not her fault. There is just something about her—”

  “Sly,” repeated Kitty. “I know her kind. Servants watch everything; they have no minds of their own and so are interested in the affairs of those they serve. It fills up their empty souls, and their malice.” She glanced cunningly at Ellen. Ellen still had Miss Evans and a personal maid, yet her red hair was always disordered, Kitty thought, and she never used paint for her lips or cheeks. She looks like a corpse, thought Kitty with satisfaction, and shows her years. Why does she lie about her age? She’s almost mine. Kitty refused to believe that Ellen was only thirty.

  Kitty’s husband, Jochan, was highly regarded by Charles Godfrey, and was still a member of Jeremy’s law firm. For all his gentleness he was a shrewd lawyer. His kind mistress had presented him with a son five years ago, and he was proud of the boy. Moreover, his good fortune had returned, and Kitty thought of that with contentment. Then she said, “You’re very lucky, Ellen, to have Francis Porter so concerned with you, and so helpful. I hope you appreciate him.”

  “Oh, I do,” Ellen replied. “He’s very thoughtful. The children are fond of him, and he of them. When he’s in town he visits us often. He’s quite a comfort.” She moved uneasily in her chair. “But he wants Christian and Gabrielle to attend our public schools in the city. Jeremy would not like that.”

  “He is thinking of saving you money, Ellen, and that’s not wrong.”

  “Charles says I don’t need to save money He knows what Jeremy would want.”

  Kitty and Francis were en rapport Kitty cultivated him sedulously. One never knew. And Francis was a powerful Congressman. The fact that Jochan absurdly disliked him was of no consequence. One must court the powerful, something Jochan still did not understand.