Sylvia's Marriage

by Upton Sinclair

her words might have effect.

  Said the bishop's wife: "Sylvia, we cannot undertake to save the

  world from the results of its sins. God has his own ways of

  punishing men."

  "Perhaps so, but surely God does not wish the punishment to fall

  upon innocent young girls. For instance, Aunt Nannie, think of your

  own daughters----"

  "My daughters!" broke out Mrs. Chilton. And then, mastering her

  excitement: "At least, you will permit me to look after my own

  children."

  "I noticed, my dear aunt, that Lucy May turned colour when Tom

  Aldrich came into the room last night. Have you noticed anything?"

  "Yes--what of it?"

  "It means that Lucy May is falling in love with Tom."

  "Why should she not? I certainly consider him an eligible man."

  "And yet you know, Aunt Nannie, that he is one of Roger Peyton's

  set. You know that he goes about town getting drunk with the gayest

  of them, and you let Lucy May go on and fall in love with him! You

  have taken no steps to find out about him--you have not warned your

  daughter--"

  Mrs. Chilton was crimson with agitation. "Warned my daughter! Who

  ever heard of such a thing?"

  Said Sylvia, quietly: "I can believe that you never heard of it--but

  you will hear soon. The other day I had a talk with Lucy May--"

  "Sylvia Castleman!" And then it seemed Mrs. Chilton reminded herself

  that she was dealing with a dangerous lunatic. "Sylvia," she said,

  in a suppressed voice, "you mean to tell me that you have been

  poisoning my young daughter's mind--"

  "You have brought her up well," said Sylvia, as her aunt stopped for

  lack of words. "She did not want to listen to me. She said that

  young girls ought not to know about such matters. But I pointed out

  Elaine, and then she changed her mind--just as you will have to

  change yours in the end, Aunt Nannie."

  Mrs. Chilton sat glaring at her niece, her bosom heaving. Then

  suddenly she turned her indignant eyes upon Mrs. Castleman.

  "Margaret, cannot you stop this shocking business? I demand that the

  tongues of gossip shall no longer clatter around the family of which

  I am a member! My husband is the bishop of this diocese, and if

  our ancient and untarnished name is of no importance to Sylvia van

  Tuiver, then, perhaps the dignity and authority of the church may

  have some weight----"

  "Aunt Nannie," interrupted Sylvia, "it will do no good to drag Uncle

  Basil into this matter. I fear you will have to face the fact that

  from this time on your authority in our family is to be diminished.

  You had more to do than any other person with driving me into the

  marriage that has wrecked my life, and now you want to go on and do

  the same thing for my sister and for your own daughters--to marry

  them with no thought of anything save the social position of the

  man. And in the same way you are saving up your sons to find rich

  girls. You know that you kept Clive from marrying a poor girl in

  this town a couple of years ago--and meantime it seems to be nothing

  to you that he's going with men like Roger Peyton and Tom Aldrich,

  learning all the vices the women in the brothels have to teach

  him----"

  Poor "Miss Margaret" had several times made futile efforts to check

  her daughter's outburst. Now she and Aunt Varina started up at the

  same time. "Sylvia! Sylvia! You must not talk like that to your

  aunt!"

  And Sylvia turned and gazed at them with her sad eyes. "From now

  on," she said, "that is the way I am going to talk. You are a lot of

  ignorant children. I was one too, but now I know. And I say to you:

  Look at Elaine! Look at my little one, and see what the worship of

  Mammon has done to one of the daughters of your family!"

  18. After this, Sylvia had her people reduced to a state of terror.

  She was an avenging angel, sent by the Lord to punish them for their

  sins. How could one rebuke the unconventionality of an avenging

  angel? On the other hand, of course, one could not help being in

  agony, and letting the angel see it in one's face. Outside, there

  were the tongues of gossip clattering, as Aunt Nannie had said;

  quite literally everyone in Castleman County was talking about the

  blindness of Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver's baby, and how, because of it,

  the mother was setting out on a campaign to destroy the modesty of

  the State. The excitement, the curiosity, the obscene delight of the

  world came rolling back into Castleman Hall in great waves, that

  picked up the unfortunate inmates and buffeted them about.

  Family consultations were restricted, because it was impossible for

  the ladies of the family to talk to the gentlemen about these

  horrible things; but the ladies talked to the ladies, and the

  gentlemen talked to the gentlemen, and each came separately to

  Sylvia with their distress. Poor, helpless "Miss Margaret" would

  come wringing her hands, and looking as if she had buried all her

  children. "Sylvia! Sylvia! Do you realise that you are being

  DISCUSSED?" That was the worst calamity that could befal a woman in

  Castleman County--it summed up all possible calamities that could

  befal her--to be "discussed." "They were discussing you once when

  you wanted to marry Frank Shirley! And now--oh, now they will never

  stop discussing you!"

  Then would come the dear major. He loved his eldest daughter as he

  loved nothing else in the world, and he was a just man at heart. He

  could not meet her arguments--yes, she was right, she was right.

  But then he would go away, and the waves of scandal and shame would

  come rolling.

  "My child," he pleaded, "have you thought what this thing is doing

  to your husband? Do you realise that while you talk about protecting

  other people, you are putting upon Douglas a brand that will follow

  him through life?"

  Uncle Mandeville came up from New Orleans to see his favourite

  niece; and the wave smote him as he alighted from the train, and he

  became so much excited that he went to the club and got drunk, and

  then could not see his niece, but had to be carried off upstairs and

  given forcible hypodermics. Cousin Clive told Sylvia about it

  afterwards--how Uncle Mandeville refused to believe the truth, and

  swore that he would shoot some of these fellows if they didn't stop

  talking about his niece. Said Clive, with a grim laugh: "I told him:

  'If Sylvia had her way, you'd shoot a good part of the men in the

  town.'" He answered: "Well, by God, I'll do it--it would serve the

  scoundrels right!" And he tried to get out of bed and get his pants

  and his pistols--so that in the end it was necessary to telephone

  for the major, and then for Barry Chilton and two of his gigantic

  sons from their plantation.

  Sylvia had her way, and talked things out with the agonised Celeste.

  And the next day came Aunt Varina, hardly able to contain herself.

  "Oh, Sylvia, such a horrible thing! To hear such words coming from

  your little sister's lips--like the toads and snakes in the fairy

  story! To think of
these ideas festering in a young girl's brain!"

  And then again: "Sylvia, your sister declares she will never go to a

  party again! You are teaching her to hate men! You will make her a

  STRONG-MINDED woman!"--that was another phrase they had summing up

  a whole universe of horrors. Sylvia could not recall a time when she

  had not heard that warning. "Be careful, dear, when you express an

  opinion, always end it with a question: 'Don't you think so?' or

  something like that, otherwise, men may get the idea that you are

  'STRONG-MINDED'!"

  Sylvia, in her girlhood, had heard vague hints and rumours which now

  she was able to interpret in the light of her experience. In her

  courtship days she had met a man who always wore gloves, even in the

  hottest weather, and she had heard that this was because of some

  affliction of the skin. Now, talking with the young matrons of her

  own set, she learned that this man had married, and had since had to

  take to a wheel-chair, while his wife had borne a child with a

  monstrous deformed head, and had died of the ordeal and the shock.

  Oh, the stories that one uncovered--right in one's own town, among

  one's own set--like foul sewers underneath the pavements! The

  succession of deceased generations, of imbeciles, epileptics,

  paralytics! The innocent children born to a life-time of torment;

  the women hiding their secret agonies from the world! Sometimes

  women went all through life without knowing the truth about

  themselves. There was poor Mrs. Valens, for example, who reclined

  all day upon the gallery of one of the most beautiful homes in the

  county, and showed her friends the palms of her hands, all covered

  with callouses and scales, exclaiming: "What in the world do you

  suppose can be the matter with me?" She had been a beautiful woman,

  a "belle" of "Miss Margaret's" day; she had married a man who was

  rich and handsome and witty--and a rake. Now he was drunk all the

  time, and two of his children had died in hospital, and another had

  arms that came out of joint, and had to be put in plaster of Paris

  for months at a time. His wife, the one-time darling of society,

  would lie on her couch and read the Book of Job until she knew it by

  heart.

  And could you believe it, when Sylvia came home, ablaze with

  excitement over the story, she found that the only thing that her

  relatives were able to see in it was the Book of Job! Under the

  burden of her afflictions the woman had become devout; and how could

  anyone fail to see in this the deep purposes of Providence revealed?

  "Verily," said "Miss Margaret," "'whom the Lord loveth, He

  chasteneth.' We are told in the Lord's Word that 'the sins of the

  fathers shall be visited upon the children, even unto the third and

  fourth generations,' and do you suppose the Lord would have told us

  that, if He had not known there would be such children?"

  19. I cannot pass over this part of my story without bringing

  forward Mrs. Armistead, the town cynic, who constituted herself one

  of Sylvia's sources of information in the crisis. Mrs. Sallie Ann

  Armistead was the mother of two boys with whom Sylvia, as a child,

  had insisted upon playing, in spite of the protests of the family.

  "Wha' fo' you go wi' dem Armistead chillun, Mi' Sylvia?" would cry

  Aunt Mandy, the cook. "Doan' you know they granddaddy done pick

  cottin in de fiel' 'long o' me?" But while her father was picking

  cotton, Sallie Ann had looked after her complexion and her figure,

  and had married a rising young merchant. Now he was the wealthy

  proprietor of a chain of "nigger stores," and his wife was the

  possessor of the most dreaded tongue in Castleman County.

  She was a person who, if she had been born a duchess, would have

  made a reputation in history; the one woman in the county who had a

  mind and was not afraid to have it known. She used all the tricks of

  a duchess--lorgnettes, for example, with which she stared people

  into a state of fright. She did not dare try anything like that on

  the Castlemans, of course, but woe to the little people who crossed

  her path! She had an eye that sought out every human weakness, and

  such a wit that even her victims were fascinated. One of the legends

  about her told how her dearest foe, a dashing young matron, had

  died, and all the friends had gathered with their floral tributes.

  Sallie Ann went in to review the remains, and when she came out a

  sentimental voice inquired: "And how does our poor Ruth look?"

  "Oh," was the answer, "as old and grey as ever!"

  Now Mrs. Armistead stopped Sylvia in the street: "My dear, how goes

  the eugenics campaign?"

  And while Sylvia gazed, dumbfounded, the other went on as if she

  were chatting about the weather: "You can't realise what a stir you

  are making in our little frog pond. Come, see me, and let me tell

  you the gossip! Do you know you've enriched our vocabulary?"

  "I have made someone look up the meaning of eugenics, at least,"

  answered Sylvia--having got herself together in haste.

  "Oh, not only that, my dear. You have made a new medical term--the

  'van Tuiver disease.' Isn't that interesting?"

  For a moment Sylvia shrivelled before this flame from hell. But

  then, being the only person who had ever been able to chain this

  devil, she said: "Indeed? I hope that with so fashionable a name the

  disease does not become an epidemic!"

  Mrs. Armistead gazed at her, and then, in a burst of enthusiasm, she

  exclaimed: "Sylvia Castleman, I have always insisted that one of the

  most interesting women in the world was spoiled by the taint of

  goodness in you."

  She took Sylvia to her bosom, as it were. "Let us sit on the fence

  and enjoy this spectacle! My dear, you can have no idea what an

  uproar you are making! The young married women gather in their

  boudoirs and whisper ghastly secrets to each other; some of them are

  sure they have it, and some of them say they can trust their

  husbands--as if any man could be trusted as far as you can throw a

  bull by the horns! Did you hear about poor Mrs. Pattie Peyton, she

  has the measles, but she sent for a specialist, and vowed she had

  something else--she had read about it, and knew all the symptoms,

  and insisted on having elaborate blood-tests! And little Mrs.

  Stanley Pendleton has left her husband, and everybody says that's

  the reason. The men are simply shivering in their boots--they steal

  into the doctor's offices by the back-doors, and a whole car-load of

  the boys have been shipped off to Hot Springs to be boiled--" And so

  on, while Mrs. Armistead revelled in the sensation of strolling down

  Main Street with Mrs. Douglas van Tuiver!

  Then Sylvia would go home, and get the newest reactions of the

  family to these horrors. Aunt Nannie, it seemed, made the discovery

  that Basil, junr., her fifth son, was carrying on an intrigue with a

  mulatto girl in the town; and she forbade him to go to Castleman

  Hall, for fear lest Sylvia should worm the secret out of him; also

  she shipped Lucy May off to visit a frien
d, and came and tried to

  persuade Mrs. Chilton to do the same with Peggy and Maria, lest

  Sylvia should somehow corrupt these children.

  The bishop came, having been ordered to preach religion to his

  wayward niece. Poor dear Uncle Basil--he had tried preaching

  religion to Sylvia many years ago, and never could do it because he

  loved her so well that with all his Seventeenth Century theology he

  could not deny her chance of salvation. Now the first sight that met

  his eyes when he came to see her was his little blind grand-niece.

  And also he had in his secret heart the knowledge that he, a rich

  and gay young planter before he became converted to Methodism, had

  played with the fire of vice, and been badly burned. So Sylvia did

  not find him at all the Voice of Authority, but just a poor,

  hen-pecked, unhappy husband of a tyrannous Castleman woman.

  The next thing was that "Miss Margaret" took up the notion that a

  time such as this was not one for Sylvia's husband to be away from

  her. What if people were to say that they had separated? There were

  family consultations, and in the midst of them there came word that

  van Tuiver was called North upon business. When the family

  delegations came to Sylvia, to insist that she go with him, the

  answer they got was that if they could not let her stay quietly at

  home without asking her any questions, she would go off to New York

  and live with a divorced woman Socialist!

  "Of course, they gave up," she wrote me. "And half an hour ago poor

  dear mamma came to my room and said: 'Sylvia, dear, we will let you

  do what you want, but won't you please do one small favour for me?'

  I got ready for trouble, and asked what she wanted. Her answer was:

  'Won't you go with Celeste to the Young Matrons' Cotillion tomorrow

  night, so that people won't think there's anything the matter?'"

  20. Roger Peyton had gone off to Hot Springs, and Douglas van Tuiver

  was in New York; so little by little the storms about Castleman Hall

  began to abate in violence. Sylvia was absorbed with her baby, and

  beginning to fit her life into that of her people. She found many

  ways in which she could serve them--entertaining Uncle Mandeville to

  keep him sober; checking the extravagrance of Celeste; nursing

  Castleman Lysle through green apple convulsions. That was to be her

  life for the future, she told herself, and she was making herself

  really happy in it--when suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, came

  an event that swept her poor little plans into chaos.

  It was an afternoon in March, the sun was shining brightly and the

  Southern springtime was in full tide, and Sylvia had had the old

  family carriage made ready, with two of the oldest and gentlest

  family horses, and took the girls upon a shopping expedition to

  town. In the front seat sat Celeste, driving, with two of her

  friends, and in the rear seat was Sylvia, with Peggy and Maria. When

  an assemblage of allurements such as this stopped on the streets of

  the town, the young men would come out of the banks and the offices

  and gather round to chat. There would be a halt before an ice-cream

  parlour, and a big tray of ices would be brought out, and the girls

  would sit in the carriage and eat, and the boys would stand on the

  curb and eat--undismayed by the fact that they had welcomed half a

  dozen such parties during the afternoon. The statistics proved that

  this was a thriving town, with rapidly increasing business, but

  there was never so much business as to interfere with gallantries

  like these.

  Sylvia enjoyed the scene; it took her back to happy days, before

  black care had taken his seat behind her. She sat in a kind of

  dream, only half hearing the merriment of the young people, and only

  half tasting her ice. How she loved this old town, with its streets

  deep in black spring mud, its mud-plastered "buck-boards" and saddle

  horses hitched at every telegraph pole! Its banks and stores and law