Senator North
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Gertrude Atherton >> Senator North
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How Lady Mary stood with the large and heterogeneous political set
Betty had no means of knowing, and she was curious to ascertain; she
could think of no position more trying for an Englishwoman of Mary
Gifford's class.
As she drove toward the house several hours after announcing her plan
of campaign to her mother, she found Massachusetts Avenue blocked with
carriages and recalled suddenly that Tuesday was "Representatives'
day." She gave a little laugh as she imagined Mrs. Madison's plaintive
distaste. And then she felt the tremor and flutter, the pleasurable
desire to run away, which had assailed her on the night of her first
ball. That was eight years ago, and she had not experienced a moment
of nervous trepidation since.
"Am I about to be re-born?" she thought. "Or merely rejuvenated? I
certainly do feel young again."
She looked about critically as she entered the house. Her own home,
which was older than the White House, was large and plain, with lofty
rooms severely trimmed in the colonial style. There were no portieres,
no modern devices of decoration. Everything was solid and comfortable,
worn, and of a long and honourable descent. The dining-room and large
square hall were striking because of the blackness of their oak walls,
the many family portraits, and certain old trophies of the chase, as
vague in their high dark corners as fading daguerreotypes.
So imbued was Betty with the idea that anything more elaborate was the
sign manifest of too recent fortune, that she had indulged in caustic
criticism of the modern palaces of certain New York friends. But
although the immediate impression of the Montgomery house was of soft
luxurious richness, and it was indubitably the home of wealthy people
determined to enjoy life, Miss Madison's dainty nose did not lift
itself.
"At all events, the money is not laid on with a trowel," she thought.
And then she became aware of a curious sensuous longing as she looked
again at the dim rich beauty about her, the smothered windows, the
suggested power of withdrawal from every vulgar or annoying contact
beyond those stately walls.
"I should like--I should like--" thought Betty, striving to put her
vague emotion into words, "to live in this sort of house when I
marry." And then her humour flashed up: it was a sense that sat at the
heels of every serious thought. "What a combination with the twang and
the toothpick! Can they really be my fate? Of course I might reform
both, and cut off his Uncle Sam beard while he slept."
She had taken the wrong direction and entered a room in which there
was not even a stray guest. A loud buzz of voices rose and fell at the
end of a long hall, and she slowly made her way to the drawing-room,
pausing once to watch a footman who was busily sorting visiting-cards
into separate packs at a table. She handed him her card, and he
slipped it into a pack marked "I Street."
The drawing-room was thronged with people, and as many of them
surrounded the hostess, while constant new-comers pressed forward to
shake a patient hand, Betty decided to stand apart for a few moments
and look at the crowd. She was in a new world, and as eager and
curious as if she had been shot from Earth to Mars.
Lady Mary was quite as handsome as her portraits: a cold blue and
white and ashen beauty whose carriage and manifest of race were in
curious contrast, Lee had told Betty, to a nervous manner and the loud
voice of one who conceived that social laws had been invented for the
middle class. But there was little vivacity in her manner to-day, and
her voice was not audible across the large room. She looked tired. It
was half-past five o'clock, and doubtless she had been on her feet
since three. But she was smiling graciously upon her visitors, and
gave each a warmth of welcome which betrayed the wife of the ambitious
politician.
"Her mouth is not so selfish as in her photographs," observed the
astute Betty. "I suppose in the depths of her soul she hates this, but
she does it; and if she loves the man, she must think it well worth
while."
She turned her attention to the visitors. There were many women
superbly dressed, in taste as perfect as her own. She never had seen
any of them before, but they had the air of women of importance. The
majority looked frigid and bored, a few dignified and easy of manner.
The younger women of the same class were more animated, but no less
irreproachable in style.
There were others, middle-aged and young, with all the native style of
the second-class, and still others who were clad in coarse serges,
cashmeres, or cheap silks, shapelessly made with the heavy hand of
many burdens. These did not detain the hostess in conversation, but
gathered in groups, or walked about the room gazing at the many
beautiful pictures and ornaments. There were only three or four really
vulgar-looking women present, and they were clothed in conspicuous
raiment. One, and all but her waist was huge, wore a bodice of
transparent gauze; another, also of middle years, had crowned her hard
over-coloured face with a large gentian-blue hat turned up in front
with a brass buckle. Another was in pink silk and heavily powdered.
But although these women were offensively loud, they did not suggest
any lack of that virtue whose exact proportions so often elude the
most earnest seeker after truth.
Betty turned impulsively to an old woman clad in shabby black who
stood besides her gazing earnestly at the crowd. Her large bony face
was crossed by the lines and wrinkles of long years of care, and her
eyes were dim; but her mouth was smiling.
"Tell me," exclaimed Betty, "please--are all these people in politics?
I--I--am a stranger, and I should like to know who they are."
"Well, I can tell you pretty near everything you want to know, I
guess," replied the old lady. She had the drawl and twang and accent
of rural New England. "I guess you've come here, like myself, jest to
see the folks. A few here, like you and me, ar'n't in official life,
but the most are, I guess. Nearly all the Cabinet ladies are here to-
day and a good many Senators' wives and darters. That there lady in
heliotrope and fur is the wife of the Secretary of War, and the one in
green velvet and chinchilla is Mis' Senator Maxwell. That real stylish
handsome girl just behind is her darter, and I guess she has a good
many beaux. They're real elegant, ar'n't they? I guess we have good
cause to be proud of our ladies."
She paused that Betty might express her approval, and upon being
assured that Paris was responsible for many of the gowns present,
continued in her monotonous but kindly drawl,
"And some of them began life doin' their own work. The President ain't
no aristocrat, and most of his friends ain't neither; but I tell you
when their wives begin to entertain they do it jest as if they was
born to it. I presume if my husband--he was a physician--had gone into
politics and had luck, I'd have been jest like those ladies; but as he
didn't, I'm still doin' most of my own work and look it. But the Lord
knows what he's about, I guess. Senator Maxwell's a swell; they've
always been rich, the Maxwells, and he married a New York girl, so she
didn't have much to learn, I guess. Mis' Senator Shattuc--she's the
one in wine colour--was the darter of a big railroad man out West, so
I guess she had all the schoolin' and Yurrup she wanted. Now that real
pretty little woman jest speakin' to Lady Montgomery is Mis' Senator
Freeman. They do say as how she was the darter of a baker in Chicago
and used to run barefoot around the streets, but she looks as well as
any of 'em now and she dines at every Embassy in Washington. Her
dresses are always described in the _Post_: she wears pink and blue
mostly. You kin tell by her face that she's got a lot of determination
and that she'd git where she had a mind to. I guess she'd dine with
Queen Victoria if she had a mind to."
"I feel exactly as if I were at a pantomime," cried Betty,
delightedly. "Even you--" She caught herself up. "I mean I always
thought the New England playwrights invented all their characters. Who
are these plainly dressed women and--and--half-way ones?" "Oh, they're
Representatives' wives mostly," drawled the old lady, who looked
puzzled. "They take a day off and call on each other. One or two is
Senators' wives. Some of the Senators is rich, but some ar'n't. Mis'
Montgomery's jest as nice to them as to the swells, and she told me to
be sure and go into the next room and have a cup of tea. I don't care
much about tea excep' for lunch, and she don't have a collation--I
presume she can't; too many people'd come, and I guess she has about
enough. Now, those ladies that don't look exactly as if they was
ladies," indicating the large birds of tawdry plumage and striking
complexions, "they don't live here. Washington ladies don't dress like
that. I guess they're the wives of men out West that have made their
pile lately and come here to see the sights. First they look at all
the public buildin's, and I guess they about walk all over the
Capitol, and hear a speech or two in the Ladies' Gallery--from their
Senators, if they can--and after that they go about in Society a bit.
You see, Washington is a mighty nice place fur people who haven't much
show at home--those that live in small towns, fur instance. There is
so many public receptions they can go to--The White House, the
Wednesdays of the Cabinet ladies, the Thursdays of the Senator's
wives, and six or seven Representatives--mebbe more--who have real
elegant houses; and then there is several Legations that give public
receptions. You can always see in the _Post_ who's goin' to receive;
and those women can go home and talk fur the rest of their lives about
the fine time they had in Washington society. Amurricans heighst
themselves whenever they git a chance. I don't care to do that. My
sister--she's a heap younger 'n I am and awful spry--and I come down
from the north of New Hampshire every winter and keep a boardin'-house
in Washington so that we can see the world. We don't go home with ten
dollars over railroad fare in our pockets, but we don't mind, because
the farm keeps us and we've had a real good time. I often sit down up
in New Hampshire and think of the beautiful houses and dresses and
pictures I've seen, and I can always remember that I've shaken hands
with the President and his wife and the ladies of the Cabinet. They're
just as nice as they can be."
Betty, whose sympathies were quick and keen, winked away a tear. "I'm
so glad you enjoy it so much," she exclaimed, "and that there is so
much for you here to enjoy. I never thought of it in that way. I'm
awfully interested in it all, myself, and I feel deeply indebted to
you."
"Well, you needn't mind that. My sister says I always talk when I can
git anybody to listen to me, and I guess I do. Where air you from? New
York, I guess."
"Oh, I am a Washingtonian. My name is Madison."
"So? I don't remember seeing it in the society columns."
"We are never mentioned in society columns," exclaimed Betty, with her
first thrill of pride since entering the new world. "But I seldom have
passed a winter out of Washington, although--I am sorry to say--I
never have met any of these people."
"You don't say. I ain't curious, but you don't look as if you had to
stay to home and do the work. But Amurrican girls are so smart they
can about look anything they have a mind to." "Oh--I am really sorry,
but everybody seems to be going, and I haven't spoken to Lady Mary
yet. I'm _so_ much obliged to you."
"Now, you needn't be, for you're a real nice young lady, and I've
enjoyed talkin' to you. Likely we'll meet again, but I'd be happy to
have you call. Here's my card. Our house is right near here--in the
real fashionable part; and we've several ladies livin' with us that
you might like to meet."
"Oh, thanks! thanks!" Betty put the card carefully into her case,
shook her new friend warmly by the hand, and went forward. Lady Mary's
tired white face had set into an almost mechanical smile, but as her
eyes met Betty's they illumined with sudden interest and her hard-
worked muscles relaxed.
"You are Betty Madison!" she exclaimed. And as the two girls shook
hands they conceived one of those sudden and violent friendships which
are so full of interest while they last.
"How awfully good of you to call so soon!" continued Lady Mary, after
Betty had expatiated upon her long-cherished desire for this meeting.
"I hoped you would, although Miss Carter rather frightened me with her
account of your mother's aversion to political people. But they have
all been so good to me--all your delightful set." She lowered her
voice, which had rung out for a moment in something of its old style,
albeit platitudes had worn upon its edges. "I _couldn't_ stand just
this--although I must add that many of the official women are charming
and have the most stunning manners; but many are the reverse, and
unfortunately I can't pick and choose. It seems that when one gets
into politics in this country that is the end of nine-tenths of one's
personal life; and Washington is certainly the headquarters of
democracy. Here every American really does feel that he is as good as
every other American; I wish to heaven he didn't."
"Washington is a democracy with a kernel of the most exclusive
aristocracy," said Betty, with a laugh. "Some one has said that it is
the drawing-room of the Republic. It is the hotel drawing-room with a
Holy of Holies opening upon the area. I'm sick of the Holy of Holies,
and I Ve never enjoyed a half-hour so much as while I've been looking
on here--waiting for you to be disengaged."
"Oh, this is nothing. You must let me take you to a large evening
reception. That is really interesting, for you see so many famous
people. Can't you dine with me to-morrow? We've a big political dinner
on. About fifteen members of a Senate and a House Committee that are
deliberating a very important bill are coming. Senator North--he is
well worth meeting--is Chairman of the Senate Committee, and my
husband, although a new member, stands very high with the Chairman of
his Committee, most of whom are old members of the House. Senator
Ward also will be here. Do come, if you have nothing more important on
hand. I can easily get another member of the House Committee."
"Come! I'd break twenty engagements to come." Betty's eyes sparkled
and she lifted her head with a motion peculiar to her when reminded
that she was the favoured of the gods. "I suppose there is a good deal
of fag about this sort of life to you, but it has all the charm of the
undiscovered country for me."
"Oh, I am deeply interested," said Lady Mary. The two women were alone
now, and the hostess, released after three hours of stereotyped
amenities, surrendered herself to the charm of natural intercourse
with one of her own sort, and rang for tea. "I always liked politics,
and I feel quite sure that my husband will achieve his high ambitions.
It interests me greatly to help him."
"Of course he'll be President!" cried Betty, enthusiastic in the
warmth of her new friendship and its possibilities. She was surprised
by a tilt of the nose and an emphatic shake of the head.
"No, indeed!" exclaimed Lady Mary, "Presidents are politicians only.
My husband aspires higher than that. To be a Senator of the first rank
requires very different qualities."
"Ah! I shall quote that to Mol--my mother. She is not predisposed in
their favour."
"Of course there are Senators and Senators," said Lady Mary, hastily.
"You can't get ninety men of equal ability together, anywhere. There
are the six who are admittedly the first,--North, Maxwell, Ward,
March, Howard, and Eustis,--and about ten who are close behind them.
Then there is the venerable group to which Senator Maxwell also
belongs; and the younger men of forty-five or so who are not quite
broken in yet, and whose enthusiasm is apt to take the wrong
direction; and the fire-eaters, Populists usually; and the hard-
working second-rate men, many of them millionaires (Western, as a
rule) who are accused of having bought their legislatures to get in,
but who do good work on Committee, whether or not they came under the
delusion that they had bought an honour with nothing beneath it: a man
who presumed on his wealth in the Senate would fare as badly as a boy
at Eton who presumed on his title. Beyond all, are the nonentities
that are in every body. So, you see, it is worth while to aim for
the first place and to keep it."
"There are certainly all sorts to choose from! I'll never mistrust my
instincts again. I am glad I shall meet Senator North to-morrow. I
suppose he is a courtly person of the old school with a Websterian
intellect."
"I don't know anything about Webster; I can't read your history and
live in it, too; but certainly there is nothing of the old school
about Senator North. He is very modern and has a truly Republican--or
shall I say aristocratic?--simplicity--although no one could dress
better--combined with a cold manner to most men and a warm manner to
most women."
"Tell me all about him!" exclaimed Betty, sipping her tea. "I never
was so happy and excited in my life. I feel as if I was Theodosia
Burr, or Nelly Custis, or Dolly Madison come to life. And now I'm
going to know an American statesman before his coat has turned to
calf-skin. Quick! How old is he?"
"Just sixty, and looks much younger, as most of the Senators do. He is
a hard worker--he is Chairman of one Committee and a member of five
others; a brilliant debater, the most accomplished legislator in the
Senate, unyielding in his convictions, and absolutely independent. He
is not popular, as it has never occurred to him to conciliate anybody.
He is very kind and attentive to his invalid wife and proud of his
sons, and he adored a daughter who died four years ago. Rumor has it
that more than one charming woman has consoled him for domestic
afflictions and political trials, but I do not pay much attention to
rumours of that sort. How odd that I, an alien, should be instructing
a Washingtonian in politics and the personalities of her Senators; but
I quite understand. I do hope Mrs. Madison will not object to your
coming to-morrow night."
"I shall come. And go now. I feel a brute to have let you talk so
much, but I never have been so interested!"
The two women kissed and parted; and Lady Mary's dreams that night
were undisturbed by any vision of herself in the ranks of the Fates.
IV
Betty returned home much elated with the success of her visit. She
heard the voice of her cousin Jack Emory in the parlor and went at
once to her room to dress. The voice sounded solemn, and so did her
mother's; they doubtless were sitting in conference upon her. She
selected her evening gown with some care; her cousin was an old story,
but he was a very attractive man, and coquetry would hold its own in
her, become she never so intellectual.
Jack Emory had been her undeclared lover since his middle teens.
Somewhere in the same immature interval, just after her first return
from Europe, she had imagined herself passionately in love with him.
But she had a large fortune left her by her maternal grandfather,
besides a hundred thousand her father had died too soon to spend, and
Jack was the son of a Virginian who had been a Rebel to his death,
haughtily refusing to have his disabilities removed, and threatening
to shoot any negro in his employ who dared to go to the ballot box. He
had left his son but a few thousands out of his large inheritance, and
adjured him on his death bed to hold no office under the Federal
government and to shoot a Yankee rather than shake his hand. Jack
inherited his father's prejudices without his violent temper. He had a
contemptuous dislike for the North, a loathing for politics, and
adistaste for everybody outside his own diminishing class. Love for
Betty Madison had driven him West in the hope of retrieving his
fortunes, but he was essentially a gentleman and a scholar; the
hustling quality was not in him, and he returned South after two years
of unpleasant endeavour and started a small produce farm adjoining an
old house on the outskirts of Washington, left him by his mother. Here
he lived with his books, and made enough money to support himself
decently. He never had asked Betty to marry him, although he knew that
his aunt would champion his cause. During the period of Betty's maiden
passion his pride had caused her as much suffering as her youth and
buoyant nature would permit; but as the years slipped by she felt
inclined to personify that pride and burn a candle beneath it. Even
before her mind had awakened, the energy and strength of her character
had cured her of love for a man as supine as Jack Emory. He was
charming and well read, all that she could desire in a brother, but as
a husband he would be intolerable. As his love cooled she liked him
better still, particularly as his loyalty would not permit him to
acknowledge even to himself that he could change; but its passing left
him with fewer clouds on a rather melancholy spirit, a readier tongue,
and a complete recovery from the habits of sighing and of leaving the
house abruptly.
Betty's maid dressed her in a bright blue taffeta, softened with much
white lace, and she went slowly down to the hall, rustling her skirts
that Emory might hear and come out for a word before dinner if he
liked. It was a relief to be able to coquet with him without fearing
that he would go home and shoot himself; and it helped him to sustain
the pleasant fiction that he still was in love with her.
He came out at once and raised her hand to his lips, murmuring a
compliment as his grandfather might have done. He was only thirty-two,
but his face was sallow and lined from trouble and fever. Otherwise he
was very handsome, with his golden head and intellectual blue eyes,
his haughty profile and tall figure, listlessly carried as it was. In
spite of the fact that he took pride in dressing well, he always
looked a little old-fashioned. When with Betty, invariably as smart as
Paris and New York could make her, he almost appeared as if wearing
his father's old clothes. His Southern accent and intonation were
nearly as broad as a negro's. Betty had almost lost hers; she retained
just enough to enrich and individualize without a touch of
provincialism. She belonged to that small class of Americans whose
ear-mark is the absence of all Americanisms.
Mr. Emory looked perturbed.
"There is something I should like to say," he remarked hesitatingly.
"There is yet a quarter of an hour before dinner. I think this old
hall with its portraits of your grandmothers is a good place to say it
in--"
"Molly has pressed you into service, I see. Let us have it out, by all
means. Please straighten your necktie before you begin. You cannot
possibly be impressive while it looks as if it were standing on one
leg."
"Please be serious, Betty dear. I am indeed most disturbed. It surely
cannot be that you meant what you told your mother this morning,--that
you intended to change the whole current of your life in such an
unprecedented manner."
"Great heavens! One would think I was about to go on the stage or
enter a convent."
"I would rather you did either than soil your mind with the politics
of this country. I say nothing about there being no statesmen;--there
is not an honest man in politics the length and breadth of the Union.
The country is a sink of corruption, as far as politics are concerned.
Every Congressman buys his seat or is put in as the agent of some
disgraceful trust or syndicate or railroad corporation."
Betty drew her eyelids together in a fashion that robbed her eyes of
their coquetry and fire and made them look unpleasantly judicial.
"Exactly how much do you know about American politics?" she asked
coldly. "I have known you all my life and I never heard you mention
them before--"
"I never have considered them a fit subject for you to listen to--"
"I have been in your library a great many times and I do not recall a
copy of the Congressional Record. You have said often that you despise
the newspapers and only read the telegrams; that the only paper you
read through is the London _Times_. So, I repeat, what do you know
about the American politics of to-day?"
"What I have told you."
"Where did you learn it? Do you ever go to the Senate or the House?"
"God forbid! But I am a man, and those things are in the atmosphere; a
man's brain accumulates naturally all widely diffused impressions.
I've been a great deal in the smoking-cars of railroad-trains, and
spent two years in a Western State where a man who had taken a fortune
out of a mine made no bones of buying a seat in the Senate from the
Legislature, nor the Legislature about selling it. It was the most
abominable transaction I ever came close to, and had as much to
do with my leaving the place as anything else."
"And you mean to say that you judge all the old States of the country
by a newly settled community of adventurers out West?"
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