Part 17

Tiring, the trio returned to the dining-room. More whisky. Quite overcome, Dora lolled on the couch. She held Easter closely clutched. Ulick hinted that she had better go to bed. That aroused her. "Yes, but not with you ... my boy." And she returned to Easter. "Go on about your business," she suddenly shrieked. "I hate you. I hate all men. You only want to use me." And then she fell to sobbing. Easter motioned toward the door with her head. "I think you had better go," she calmly counselled. "Dora is overwrought, hysterical, and doesn't know what she is saying or doing." He fetched his hat. "That's true," he answered. "Dora doesn't know what she is doing, but you do, Easter." She gave him a nasty look, in which were mingled amusement and contempt. Too polite to pelt her with the invectives he felt she deserved, he contented himself with saying as he opened the door: "Yes, Easter, I think I had better go; go back to Paris. It can't be any viler there than here." Jeering laughter followed him to the lift.

X

"You look blue about the gills, Ulick," said Milt in his heartiest manner. "You're not well these days, are you? What's the trouble?"

"I'm dizzy most of the time. No, it's not the stomach it's something worse. You know I didn't get a clean bill of health from my father's side of the house. Of late, my left side goes numb for days at a time--partial paralysis or, at least, its prodromes." Ulick seemed out of sorts. His face was earth-coloured. He had been going the pace and consequently suffering. Milt stood over him and harangued:

"Come! Ulick, my boy. You've got to stop your ways of living else land in a hospital, or worse--perhaps in a mad-house, for the epileptic spasm you call love. You are bartering your birthright of soul and body. Now listen! Here is a fair proposition. There is to be a retreat for men at our college, men like you, weary of the world, men who have the honesty to repeat your favourite Baudelaire's prayer: 'O! Lord God! Give me the force and courage to contemplate my heart and my body without disgust.' Admirable humility, for where you end Christianity begins. Yours is not an exceptional case. The whole world is morally out of joint. It is become godless, and were it not for the saving remnant, God in His just wrath would destroy the earth as he destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah. But He leaves the wicked to their own devices. A catastrophe will surely come to Europe, perhaps Asia and America, a catastrophe that beggars the imagination in the contemplation thereof. Satan will be released from his fiery pit and Antichrist will rule the nations. Presumptuous man has tried to regulate the mighty diapason of the spheres with his pitiful tuning-fork and lo! he has miserably failed. Woe, woe, I say to souls unprepared--" Ulick interrupted.

"Honestly, Milt, I don't mean to be rude, but you ought to charge admission. Hire a hall. You are a born missionary. I mean it."

"Don't mock, Ulick. Reality is stranger than rhetoric. You are at the crossroads. Decide at once. My college, as you know, is up-country. A week's retreat will therefore be hygiene for body as well as soul. And after the retreat there is to be a Novena of the Blessed Virgin. Be with us, dear brother! You will bathe in the lustral waters and become cleansed. Born anew everything will work out for the best. Your bohemian life is your undoing. You look like a man with spinal trouble. Pardon me, is it so!" Ulick shook his head but his knees shook too. Marry Mona! There it is at last! Not a hint but a veiled command. Of course, he would marry the girl. Marriage was the only way for an honourable man.

"I've nothing seriously the matter with me, Milt, I've inherited bad blood from my father. Mona needn't fear. I shan't taint her. But I'm in no physical or mental condition to marry at present. Give me time to recuperate my forces. I've been going it hard for the past years. Paris couldn't be worse than New York." Milt was gloomy.

"Keep away from Dora, and that other enchantress, Istar. The pair of them would kill Casanova," Milt sullenly replied.

"I've not seen them since the night they threw me out at Dora's." Milt was curious. Ulick told the story; how Easter contrived to get into Dora's apartment. She went boldly to the top floor, rang the bell of Dora's neighbor, also a pretty lady, and told a fib. Could she be permitted to go to Dora's room by way of the balcony? The little woman paled at the proposition. Simple madness. There was only a narrow ledge, a few inches wide, and balancing herself on the window-sill, Easter would have to make a swift leap to the balcony and then she would be compelled to pull herself over the stone balcony, and it was broad. Otherwise, no coming back, she would drop to the sidewalk and be smashed to a pulp if she turned her body. "By God!" exclaimed Ulick, "she did it. Easter took the risks. She has muscles like steel. But what agility, what fearlessness!" Milt agreed with him.

"God is preserving her for something wonderful." "The devil, you mean."

"God, I said. That woman--oh! how shamelessly she lives--interests me. I should like to be the one to lead her to salvation."

"Take care, Milt! Pride goeth before a fall. Your pride is the most dangerous brand--spiritual pride. Remember À Kempis: 'No man commandeth safely but he that hath learned to obey.'"

"A beautiful thought; the devil knows good quotations. I'm glad you remember your Imitation. Throw Petronius to the dogs. But I am talking so much that you have forgotten Mona and our engagement."

"The only subjects that interest me are sex, art, and religion."

"Huysmans said that better, Ulick. I'll ring up Mona. She's a good girl and will make you a good wife, and give me a brother I love very much...."

They weren't too late for their appointment. Mona met them at the car and they rode across the park to Easter's apartment. It was an engagement made that afternoon at the Vienna Café. Mona went to see Easter at intervals, but, as she had promised, Milt was to be of the party. It was in the fumoir Easter greeted them. She jestingly called her bedroom her "aimoir." Sprawling on luxurious divans were three or four girls, Allie Wentworth among the rest. A monstrously fat woman with a face that recalled the evil eyes and parrot-beak of an octopus, sat enthroned, and in her puffy lips a long black cigar. Introductions. "We call her Anactoria," cried Allie, pointing at the large lady. "Isn't she a queen?" "Allie," said the other in a thick voice, "Allie, you ought to be spanked." "Spanking is too good for her," interrupted Easter. "Spanking is too expensive nowadays," pertly added the girl, who wore her hair like a pianist. "Spanking," remarked the fat creature, "is for virtuosi only." A roar followed this delightful allusion. "Anactoria has cell-hunger today," smirked Allie. "Out you go if you say another word. Remember company," Easter threatened. "Oh, as for that, a young man can't scare me even if he does button his collar behind." Allie distinctly pouted. "Don't mind her, Mel," interposed Mona. "There you go with you and Mel! Please do please tell me what Mel stands for Mr. Milton--or should I say, Father Milton?" Easter sat near Milt and poured into his eyes all the magnetism of her own.

"Not Father Milton, Miss Easter," he remonstrated, "not yet. I shan't be ordained for several years. Mel is only a short version of my long and not pretty-sounding baptismal name. My mother must have been in a religious mood when she gave it to me. I am not worthy to bear it." Easter pleaded. He did not weaken, and she was secretly infuriated. She became a human dynamo. "I'll sing some Schubert and Schumann for you," she whispered to him, "better still, come to see me tomorrow and I'll sing Wagner for you--alone. I want to have a confidential talk about Ulick. He looks awful. He should consult a specialist." Her smile was grim. She was aware of Milt's plan to marry off Mona; the girl had informed her. Milt grew uneasy. He knew he was blushing. His throat was dry, his lips drier. The company rallied him. Ulick declared that he was flirting, but Allie raged. Her jealousy was so childish that Anactoria reproved her. "You can't blame Istar if the men adore her. I shouldn't trust what's-his-name with the collar buttoned behind over there a moment." With this decision she emitted a cloud of smoke and closed her little porcine eyes.

Easter sang Schubert's Almighty, and ended with Erlking. She sang gloriously. Milt absorbed the luscious tones as if they were living corpuscles. His passion for music had been rebuked more than once at the college. Canalized the tone-art could be made the vehicle ad majoram Dei gloriam; but in the theatre, it was only another snare of Satan, a specious, sensual snare. They drank tea. The conversation became general. As they went away Easter made a movement with her lips which Milt read: Tomorrow! He bowed. In the car Mona confessed boredom. Ulick affirmed her judgment. An afternoon wasted. And what a queer gang Easter has around her, added Ulick. But Milt repeated the Pater Noster, and prayed: et ne nos inducas in tentationem! Openly he nicknamed Easter--Dame Lucifer.

XI

A day later Ulick called on Easter. He felt depressed. His symptoms had become alarming. Easter was quite right--he should have long ago consulted a nerve-specialist. His left arm was continually numb and he dragged his left leg after him like a man who had suffered from a stroke; a mild stroke perhaps, yet something that threatened worse. He determined to see a doctor the next day. At the door he was greeted by Easter's Bavarian maid, who liked him because he could speak her own dialect. No, Madame went out for a call. She would soon return. His friend was in the fumoir--you know, the geistlicher Herr--the maid giggled--"What reverend sir?" he sharply asked. "Oh you know. Fraülein Mona's brother. He isn't well. I think he drinks an awful lot--" but Ulick didn't wait to hear the rest. He hurried to the smoking-room where he found Milt with a decanter of cognac before him, and uncomfortably drunk. Ulick was surprised and shocked.

"Milt! you here! What in the hell are you up to?" Milt didn't reply. His hair was tumbled, his eyes staring, his linen doubtful--all the stigmata of a man on a protracted spree. He mumbled unintelligible words and with a shaky hand pointed to the decanter. A mortal weakness seized Ulick. He sank on a divan and endeavoured to shut out the repugnant picture. Milt! His critic, Milt of the lofty ideals, a besotted animal in the House of the Harlot! It was that devil-woman who had dragged him down. Dame Lucifer. Yet he hadn't the heart to reproach the unfortunate young man who felt his disgrace and began to whimper.

"Spiritual pride, Ulick, goeth before a ... rotten fall! What have I done! I've lost my purity, my manhood ... it is my own doing--I, who would become one of God's anointed--I, Milton, of the priestly order of Melchizedek--that's my real name. Your Elsa-Istar coaxed the secret from me, first, making me drunk, as did Dalila, Samson, making me eat the insane root. Painted veils!--Oh! Jewel, Jewel, she is irresistible--and I didn't think you worthy of my poor little sister--you ruined her, you evil one--but I forgive--who am I to judge another?--miserable sinner...." He drank. Ulick was too stunned to prevent him. Easter's handi-work! He would wait for her and give her a tongue-lashing, then get Milt away, somehow, somewhere ... only to gratify a caprice she had ruined the career of a weak man ... she was a real vampire ... Milton pointed to the brandy and fell back dead-drunk. An irresistible impulse prompted Ulick. He took Milt's half empty glass and swallowed the cognac. Immediately his brain cleared. He felt the fiery liquid to his toe-tips. He stood up and with a formidable oath kicked over the tabouret, decanter and all. Milt did not stir. The little maid rushed in with a volley of "Mein Gotts!" "Tell your mistress I'll come back for this gentleman. I'll get a hansom." "I think I hear her now," exclaimed the frightened girl. Easter entered. She was in coal-black silk, glittering with steel beads. She seemed to him like Astrafiammente the Queen of the Night, or another Astaroth, the Istar, who went down into hell and came back unsinged, only more evil. She frigidly regarded him. He controlled his hysterical desire to drag her to her knees and shout: Ecce homo! Woman behold your work! But the gesture seemed melodramatic. He paused.

"Well?" she asked, "what are you doing here Jewel?" His tongue was tied. He trembled in every limb. He couldn't withstand the potency of her eyes. He ejaculated:

"Poor Milt!" She smiled.

"That imbecile with his purity talk; going around with a chastity chip on his shoulder like a challenge!" Ulick revolted.

"You are a beast, Easter. You called me a beast that day at Zaneburg: now it is you who are the beast." She steadily gazed at him.

"And ever since that day at Zaneburg, you have run after this beast as if you owned her. But you didn't--you never did, do you hear! You never had me." Her defiant speech was like the fortissimo from a full orchestra. The noise in his ears deafened him. He stammered:

"Never had you--but--but I did. I held you to me...."

"You held the other woman, Roarin' Nell--it's the last kiss that counts."

"You lie!"

"I don't lie. I've never been anything to you."

"Who was it then?" She answered in level tones:

"Brother Rainbow, of course. In the darkness we all got mixed-up. And, of course, I assented--physiologically."

"That black monster ... God!" He struggled with his emotions. Easter stood, waiting, her sombre beauty never before so disquieting. Then he got out of the accursed house, he didn't know how. He walked like a somnambulist to Ninth Avenue and entered the first saloon he encountered. He took a dose of whisky that brought an astonished expression to the red face of the bartender.

"Say mister, that's a hooker you took." He tried to forget the hideous, grotesque Brother Rainbow.

"It's my first drink of--whisky."

"And it won't be your last," said the man with a knowing grin ... Ulick immediately ordered another and gulped it down. Nell! Ugh! She!... He heard the cloud-harps sounding as he faltered along....

... Late that night Dora was awakened by a persistent buzzing. She ran to the door and found Ulick helplessly leaning against the bell. "What you my baby Jewel drunk? What a pink-tea party. Come in and go to bed on the couch. You'll be O.K. in the morning. What for did you go and booze like Paul or any other old drunk! You must feel awful bad slopping down red-eye at that. I'm glad you came home to your mamma--what's the matter?" Ulick moaned. "My side--it feels paralyzed--"

"It's only rum. Don't worry. What are you crying about?" Tears streamed down his tortured features. "I'm crying--I'm crying--because I'm so glad to be home again" ... he stuttered. "What a liar!" laughed Dora, and not attempting to undress him, she covered him with a shawl and went to her bed, where she slept the untroubled sleep of the wicked.

XII

... "You see, it's this way," explained Alfred years afterwards to some of the newspaper boys around a table at Lüchow's. "Poor Ulick never had the staying power. Brilliant? Yes--after a fashion. His mind was a crazy-quilt. Mince pie and Chopin. Can you beat it? He had the cosmopolitan bug, but he soon found out that the North American climate withered the Flowers of Evil of his Baudelaire and all the other decadent ideas and poetry he brought over with him. Poisonous honey from France--what? Our native air is too tonic for such stuff. His Fleurs du Mal wilted. So did he. He hadn't the guts to last. After his paralytic stroke at Dora's he was sent back to Paris, but he didn't live many years. He and his brother Oswald died within a few months of each other. Old man Invern didn't only bequeath them money--he probably gave them something worse. You know. Our old enemy, Spirochaeta Pallida, I suspect. Otherwise, why did Ulick crumble after one real debauch? Their money--oh, it reverted to the Bartletts, cousins of the boys. Was he engaged to Mona Milton? That's news. I never heard of it and I was pretty thick with her family. You know she married Paul Godard, and it turned out a happy match--at least for her. She has a houseful of children. A blooming matron. But self-righteous now; turns up her nose at 'fallen women.' I visit there every now and then. Paul isn't a bad sort. He used to be a loose fish, and now he wears slippers and goes to bed early. Everything passes--even regret. Strange! Ulick never drank--except that time--or smoked--and he's gone. Mona doesn't mention his name. Her brother! He got into a woman scrape here--never mind the lady's name--scandale oblige! He was fished out of the gutter and sent away to repent in some monastery out West. After he became a priest he was exported as a missionary to China. He was a born preacher. I think he drove Ulick to drink with his preaching--that's what Istar says. Istar? Thank you, she's very well. She's composed of harps, anvils and granite. The steely limit! A heartless, ungrateful creature. Fly-blown caviar.... Yes, a wonderful artiste. But that doesn't always mean a civilised human. Yet, singers, actors, artists are not a whit worse as to morals than your business men, politicians, your shoemakers or your pious folk. The artists get found out quicker--that's all. I see her daily--I've known her nearly twenty years--and she grows wickeder every year. She is the great singing harlot of modern Babylon, a vocal Scarlet Woman. I'm sick of her. I've told her so. She expects me to be her fetch-and-carry. Not for thirty cents, d'ye hear? Why, boys, she's too mean to play the horses--and that's a bad sign. I'm tired, I'm going home. You can scandalise when my back is turned. But remember one thing--I'll live to write Easter's obituary in the "Clarion" perhaps write the epitaph on her headstone. As for music, I'm weary of it--opera in particular. When it isn't silly fashion, then people go for the sensual music. Sex and music, a rotten mixture."

He faded into the next room, where the band was playing, vertigionously.

"I'll bet that he will live to write Istar's obituary. Alfred must be fifty, but he's a wiry old rum-hound," remarked some one. "He's a parasite on Istar. He does all her dirty jobs. She hates him as much as he hates her. They hate each other so much that I wonder they aren't man and wife." It was the much-married Bell who spoke. His companions assented. As for poor forgotten Ulick--Oh! well, any young man of twenty can be brilliant. The test comes when you are sixty. It must have been a queer crowd--that sextet! Their reactions--or should I say, their vaso-motor reflexes?--weren't precisely admirable. Dainty Dora, fair, fat, forty, was the squarest of the lot. She played the game. Now she's a fashionable modiste--a Madame. All her customers are men. But Istar? Ah! Istar panned out first-class. She may be a painted veil, as Ulick said, but the paint is beautiful, and the veil doesn't hide her good looks. To Istar! was the toast. And they drank the health of the greatest Isolde since Lilli Lehmann. Esther Brandès, the unvanquished. Istar, the Great Singing Whore of Modern Babylon.

THE SEVENTH GATE

_At the seventh gate, the warden stripped her; he took off the last veil that covers her body_....

I

And because Istar had abhorred the Seven Deadly Virtues, and renounced them at the Last Gate in favour of the Seven Deadly Arts, the Warden of Life Eternal bestowed upon her the immeasurable boon of the Seven Capital Sins, which are: Pride, Covetousness, Lust, Anger, Gluttony, Envy, Sloth.... Added to these are the Eighth Deadly Sin, which is Perfume; the Sin Against the Holy Ghost; the sweet sin of Sappho; and the Supreme Sin, which is the denial of the Devil.... And Istar, Daughter of Sin, was happy and her days were long in the land, and she passed away in the odor of sanctity.... Blessed are the pure of heart; for they shall see God...!

(_Alfred Stone's epitaph for Easter_)

II

Thus lived and died Ulick Invern in the companionship of his most intimate mentors throughout the tragi-comedy of his existence. Two books had imaged his reverse aspirations: Petronius, his thirst for an Absolute in evil; Thomas à Kempis, his God-intoxicated craving for the Infinite. Euthanasia came to him wearing an ambiguous smile. Yet, who shall dare say that he had lived in vain? On the vast uncharted lamp of mysticism extremes may meet, even mingle.... _Credo quia impossibile est_....

FINIS

_New York_ _July 9--August 25, 1919_