Sylvia's Marriage

by Upton Sinclair

"What I want," I said, "is you. I'm an old hen whose chickens have

  grown up and left her, and I want something to mother. Your

  wonderful social world is just a bother to me, because it keeps me

  from gathering you into my arms as I'd like to. So what you do is to

  think of some role for me to play, so that I can come to see you;

  let me be advising you about your proposed day-nursery, or let me

  be a tutor of something, or a nice, respectable sewing-woman who

  darns the toes of your silk stockings!"

  She laughed. "If you suppose that I'm allowed to wear my stockings

  until they have holes in them, you don't understand the perquisites

  of maids." She thought a moment, and then added: "You might come to

  trim hats for me."

  By that I knew that we were really friends. If it does not seem to

  you a bold thing for Sylvia to have made a joke about my hat, it is

  only because you do not yet know her. I have referred to her

  money-consciousness and her social-consciousness; I would be

  idealizing her if I did not refer to another aspect of her which

  appalled me when I came to realise it--her clothes-consciousness.

  She knew every variety of fabric and every shade of colour and every

  style of design that ever had been delivered of the frenzied

  sartorial imagination. She had been trained in all the infinite

  minutiae which distinguished the right from the almost right; she

  would sweep a human being at one glance, and stick him in a pigeon

  hole of her mind for ever--because of his clothes. When later on she

  had come to be conscious of this clothes-consciousness, she told me

  that ninety-nine times out of a hundred she had found this method of

  appraisal adequate for the purposes of society life. What a curious

  comment upon our civilization--that all that people had to ask of

  one another, all they had to give to one another, should be

  expressible in terms of clothes!

  16. I had set out to educate Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver in the things I

  thought she needed to know. A part of my programme was to find some

  people of modern sympathies whom she might meet without offence to

  her old prejudices. The first person I thought of was Mrs. Jessie

  Frothingham, who was the head of a fashionable girls' school, just

  around the corner from Miss Abercrombie's where Sylvia herself had

  received the finishing touch. Mrs. Frothingham's was as exclusive

  and expensive a school as the most proper person could demand, and

  great was Sylvia's consternation when I told her that its principal

  was a member of the Socialist party, and made no bones about

  speaking in public for us.

  How in the world did she manage it? For one thing, I answered, she

  ran a good school--nobody had ever been heard to deny that. For

  another, she was an irresistibly serene and healthy person, who

  would look one of her millionaire "papas" in the eye and tell him

  what was what with so much decision; it would suddenly occur to the

  great man that if his daughter could be made into so capable a

  woman, he would not care what ticket she might vote.

  Then too, it was testimony to the headway we are making that we are

  ceasing to be dangerous, and getting to be picturesque. In these

  days of strenuous social competition, when mammas are almost at

  their wits' end for some new device, when it costs incredible sums

  to make no impression at all--here was offered a new and inexpensive

  way of being unique. There could be no question that men were

  getting to like serious women; the most amazing subjects were coming

  up at dinner-parties, and you might hear the best people speak

  disrespectfully of their own money, which means that the new

  Revolution will have not merely its "Egalit� Orleans," but also some

  of the ladies of his family!

  I telephoned from Sylvia's house to Mrs. Frothingham, who answered:

  "Wouldn't you like Mrs. van Tuiver to hear a speech? I am to speak

  next week at the noon-day Wall Street meeting." I passed the

  question on, and Sylvia answered with an exclamation of delight:

  "Would a small boy like to attend a circus?"

  It was arranged that Sylvia was to take us in her car. You may

  picture me with my grand friends--an old speckled hen in the company

  of two golden pheasants. I kept very quiet and let them get

  acquainted, knowing that my cause was safe in the hands of one so

  perfectly tailored as Mrs. Frothingham.

  Sylvia expressed her delight at the idea of hearing a Socialist

  speech, and her amazement that the head of Mrs. Frothingham's should

  be so courageous, and meantime we threaded our way through the

  tangle of trucks and surface-cars on Broadway, and came to the

  corner of Wall Street. Here Mrs. Frothingham said she would get out

  and walk; it was quite likely that someone might recognise Mrs.

  Douglas van Tuiver, and she ought not to be seen arriving with the

  speaker. Sylvia, who would not willingly have committed a breach of

  etiquette towards a bomb-throwing anarchist, protested at this, but

  Mrs. Frothingham laughed good-naturedly, saying that it would be

  time enough for Mrs. van Tuiver to commit herself when she knew what

  she believed.

  The speaking was to be from the steps of the Sub-treasury. We made a

  _d�tour,_ and came up Broad Street, stopping a little way from the

  corner. These meetings had been held all through the summer and

  fall, so that people had learned to expect them; although it lacked

  some minutes of noon, there was already a crowd gathered. A group of

  men stood upon the broad steps, one with a red banner and several

  others with armfuls of pamphlets and books. With them was our

  friend, who looked at us and smiled, but gave no other sign of

  recognition.

  Sylvia pushed back the collar of her sable coat, and sat erect in

  her shining blue velvet, her eyes and her golden hair shining

  beneath the small brim of a soft velvet hat. As she gazed eagerly at

  the busy throngs of men hurrying about this busy corner, she

  whispered to me: "I haven't been so excited since my _d�but_ party!"

  The crowd increased until it was difficult to get through Wall

  Street. The bell of Old Trinity was tolling the hour of noon, and

  the meeting was about to begin, when suddenly I heard an exclamation

  from Sylvia, and turning, saw a well-dressed man pushing his way

  from the office of Morgan and Company towards us. Sylvia clutched my

  hand where it lay on the seat of the car, and half gasped: "My

  husband!"

  17. Of course I had been anxious to see Douglas van Tuiver. I had

  heard Claire Lepage's account of him, and Sylvia's, also I had seen

  pictures of him in the newspapers, and had studied them with some

  care, trying to imagine what sort of personage he might be. I knew

  that he was twenty-four, but the man who came towards us I would

  have taken to be forty. His face was sombre, with large features and

  strongly marked lines about the mouth; he was tall and thin, and

  moved with decision, betraying no emotion even in this moment of

  surprise. "What are you doing here?" were his first wor
ds.

  For my part, I was badly "rattled"; I knew by the clutch of Sylvia's

  hand that she was too. But here I got a lesson in the nature of

  "social training." Some of the bright colour had faded from her

  face, but she spoke with the utmost coolness, the words coming

  naturally and simply: "We can't get through the crowd." And at the

  same time she looked about her, as much as to say: "You can see for

  yourself." (One of the maxims of Lady Dee had set forth that a lady

  never told a lie if she could avoid it.)

  Sylvia's husband looked about, saying: "Why don't you call an

  officer?" He started to follow his own suggestion, and I thought

  then that my friend would miss her meeting. But she had more nerve

  than I imagined.

  "No," she said. "Please don't."

  "Why not?" Still there was no emotion in the cold, grey eyes.

  "Because--I think there's something going on."

  "What of that?"

  "I'm not in a hurry, and I'd like to see."

  He stood for a moment looking at the crowd. Mrs. Frothingham had

  come forward, evidently intending to speak. "What is this, Ferris?"

  he demanded of the chauffeur.

  "I'm not sure, sir," said the man. "I think it's a Socialist

  meeting." (He was, of course, not missing the little comedy. I

  wondered what he thought!)

  "A Socialist meeting?" said van Tuiver; then, to his wife: "You

  don't want to stay for that!"

  Again Sylvia astonished me. "I'd like to very much," she answered

  simply.

  He made no reply. I saw him stare at her, and then I saw his glance

  take me in. I sat in a corner as inconspicuous as I could make

  myself. I wondered whether I was a sempstress or a tutor, and

  whether either of these functionaries were introduced, and whether

  they shook hands or not.

  Mrs. Frothingham had taken her stand at the base of Washington's

  statue. Had she by any chance identified the tall and immaculate

  gentleman who stood beside the automobile? Before she had said three

  sentences I made sure that she had done so, and I was appalled at

  her audacity.

  "Fellow citizens," she began--"fellow-buccaneers of Wall Street."

  And when the mild laughter had subsided: "What I have to say is

  going to be addressed to one individual among you--the American

  millionaire. I assume there is one present--if no actual

  millionaire, then surely several who are destined to be, and not

  less than a thousand who aspire to be. So hear me, Mr. Millionaire,"

  this with a smile, which gave you a sense of a reserve fund of

  energy and good humour. She had the crowd with her from the

  start--all but one. I stole a glance at the millionaire, and saw

  that he was not smiling.

  "Won't you get in?" asked his wife, and he answered coldly: "No,

  I'll wait till you've had enough."

  "Last summer I had a curious experience," said the speaker. "I was a

  guest at a tennis match, played upon the grounds of a State

  insane-asylum, the players being the doctors of the institution.

  Here, on a beautiful sunshiny afternoon, were ladies and gentlemen

  clad in festive white, enjoying a holiday, while in the background

  stood a frowning building with iron-barred gates and windows, from

  which one heard now and then the howlings of the maniacs. Some of

  the less fortunate of these victims of fate had been let loose, and

  while we played tennis, they chased the balls. All afternoon, while

  I sipped tea and chatted and watched the games, I said to myself:

  'Here is the most perfect simile of our civilization that has ever

  come to me. Some people wear white and play tennis all day, while

  other people chase the balls, or howl in dungeons in the

  background!' And that is the problem I wish to put before my

  American millionaire--the problem of what I will call our lunatic-

  asylum stage of civilization. Mind you, this condition is all very

  well so long as we can say that the lunatics are incurable--that

  there is nothing we can do but shut our ears to their howling, and

  go ahead with our tennis. But suppose the idea were to dawn upon us

  that it is only because we played tennis all day that the lunatic-

  asylum is crowded, then might not the howls grow unendurable to us,

  and the game lose its charm?"

  Stealing glances about me, I saw that several people were watching

  the forty-or-fifty-times-over millionaire; they had evidently

  recognised him, and were enjoying the joke. "Haven't you had enough

  of this?" he suddenly demanded of his wife, and she answered,

  guilelessly: "No, let's wait. I'm interested."

  "Now, listen to me, Mr. American Millionaire," the speaker was

  continuing. "You are the one who plays tennis, and we, who chase the

  balls for you--we are the lunatics. And my purpose to-day is to

  prove to you that it is only because you play tennis all day that we

  have to chase balls all the day, and to tell you that some time soon

  we are going to cease to be lunatics, and that then you will have to

  chase your own balls! And don't, in your amusement over this

  illustration, lose sight of the serious nature of what I am talking

  about--the horrible economic lunacy which is known as poverty, and

  which is responsible for most of the evils we have in this world

  to-day--for crime and prostitution, suicide, insanity and war. My

  purpose is to show you, not by any guess of mine, or any appeals to

  your faith, but by cold business facts which can be understood in

  Wall Street, that this economic lunacy is one which can be cured;

  that we have the remedy in our hands, and lack nothing but the

  intelligence to apply it."

  18. I do not want to bore you with a Socialist speech. I only want

  to give you an idea of the trap into which Mr. Douglas van Tuiver

  had been drawn. He stood there, rigidly aloof while the speaker went

  on to explain the basic facts of wealth-production in modern

  society. She quoted from Kropotkin: "'Fields, Factories and Work-

  shops,' on sale at this meeting for a quarter!"--showing how by

  modern intensive farming--no matter of theory, but methods which

  were in commercial use in hundreds of places--it would be possible

  to feed the entire population of the globe from the soil of the

  British Isles alone. She showed by the bulletins of the United

  States Government how the machine process had increased the

  productive power of the individual labourer ten, twenty, a hundred

  fold. So vast was man's power of producing wealth today, and yet the

  labourer lived in dire want just as in the days of crude

  hand-industry!

  So she came back to her millionaire, upon whom this evil rested. He

  was the master of the machine for whose profit the labourer had to

  produce. He could only employ the labourer to produce what could be

  sold at a profit; and so the stream of prosperity was choked at its

  source. "It is you, Mr. Millionaire, who are to blame for poverty;

  it is because so many millions of dollars must be paid to you in

  profits that so many millions of men must live in want. In other

  words
, precisely as I declared at the outset, it is your playing

  tennis which is responsible for the lunatics chasing the balls!"

  I wish that I might give some sense of the speaker's mastery of this

  situation, the extent to which she had communicated her good-humour

  to the crowd. You heard ripple after ripple of laughter, you saw

  everywhere about you eager faces, following every turn of the

  argument. No one could resist the contagion of interest--save only

  the American millionaire! He stood impassive, never once smiling,

  never once betraying a trace of feeling. Venturing to watch him more

  closely, however, I could see the stern lines deepening about his

  mouth, and his long, lean face growing more set.

  The speaker had outlined the remedy--a change from the system of

  production for profit to one of production for use. She went on to

  explain how the change was coming; the lunatic classes were

  beginning to doubt the divine nature of the rules of the asylum, and

  they were preparing to mutiny, and take possession of the place. And

  here I saw that Sylvia's husband had reached his limit. He turned to

  her: "Haven't you had enough of this?"

  "Why, no," she began. "If you don't mind--"

  "I do mind very much," he said, abruptly. "I think you are

  committing a breach of taste to stay here, and I would be greatly

  obliged if you would leave."

  And without really waiting for Sylvia's reply, he directed, "Back

  out of here, Ferris."

  The chauffeur cranked up, and sounded his horn--which naturally had

  the effect of disturbing the meeting. People supposed we were going

  to try to get through the crowd ahead--and there was no place where

  anyone could move. But van Tuiver went to the rear of the car,

  saying, in a voice of quiet authority: "A little room here, please."

  And so, foot by foot, we backed away from the meeting, and when we

  had got clear of the throng, the master of the car stepped in, and

  we turned and made our way down Broad Street.

  And now I was to get a lesson in the aristocratic ideal. Of course

  van Tuiver was angry; I believe he even suspected his wife of having

  known of the meeting. I supposed he would ask some questions; I

  supposed that at least he would express his opinion of the speech,

  his disgust that a woman of education should make such a spectacle

  of herself. Such husbands as I had been familiar with had never

  hesitated to vent their feelings under such circumstances. But from

  Douglas van Tuiver there came--not a word! He sat, perfectly

  straight, staring before him, like a sphinx; and Sylvia, after one

  or two swift glances at him, began to gossip cheerfully about her

  plans for the day-nursery for working-women!

  So for a few blocks, until suddenly she leaned forward. "Stop here,

  Ferris." And then, turning to me, "Here is the American Trust

  Company."

  "The American Trust Company?" I echoed, in my dumb stupidity.

  "Yes--that is where the check is payable," said Sylvia, and gave me

  a pinch.

  And so I comprehended, and gathered up my belongings and got out.

  She shook my hand warmly, and her husband raised his hat in a very

  formal salute, after which the car sped on up the street. I stood

  staring after it, in somewhat the state of mind of any humble rustic

  who may have been present when Elijah was borne into the heavens by

  the chariot of fire!

  19. Sylvia had been something less than polite to me; and so I had

  not been home more than an hour before there came a messenger-boy

  with a note. By way of reassuring her, I promised to come to see her

  the next morning; and when I did, and saw her lovely face so full of

  concern, I forgot entirely her worldly greatness, and did what I had

  longed to do from the beginning--put my arms about her and kissed

  her.

  "My dear girl," I protested, "I don't want to be a burden in your

  life--I want to help you!'"

  "But," she exclaimed, "what must you have thought--"

  "I thought I had made a lucky escape!" I laughed.