Chapter I: “the Everlasting Return”

_“O’er the hill-tops all
Lies gentle rest,
In the tree-tops tall
Thou scarce feelest
One single quivering breath.
E’en the birds are silent now:
Wait, yes wait, for thou
Must, too, soon rest in death.”_

W. V. GOETHE--_“Ueber allen Gipfeln ist Ruh”_
(_Trans. by the author in his fourteenth year_)

1

New York. Dizzy ranges of buildings, sluggish sloughs between, whirring moan of human machines, unresting nights spurting fire in puerile designs. Les walked again in his city. Smoke and filth above. Unseen stars lit by unseen acolytes ... moon gliding on like a dying swan ... Les’s body in motion still bent forward, but not eagerly. He wished for Carl.

Les resigned from the Empire State Trust Company.

“Of course it’s exclusively your affair, Mr. Drane, but perhaps I ought to say that we feel there’s a future for you with us if you cared to stay. Your work in Chicago was unusually--” The Vice President had devoted two costly minutes to Les. “If a reasonable increase in salary now and--”

“I’m afraid I must--” Nose like a rudder! Might be human if--

“Well, you know best. Good day, Mr. Drane, and good luck.” Mr. Sutton turned to the papers before him.

Book reviews, odd jobs and the novel drove Les to a single room in Patchin Place. Some instinct made him treasure the money he had saved in Chicago. Saw no one.

He craved music. New York concerts at a prohibitive price, occasionally even Skriabin, Stravinsky, Leo Ornstein. One night he sat beside a young Jewess. Dark golden eyes.... In the pauses she talked of Ernest Bloch. From experience Les expected her name to be Dorothy or Margaret. It was Cicely. “Oh, yes, I’ve met Miss Tyler--I knew that she and you--”

Cicely lived four doors from him. Another concert. Concerts. Walks on Sunday. Surprises, in and out to tidy his things, mend, curtains made, cozy dinners for two, smoke, quiet talk. Polished black hair. Skin of sweet ivory. Restful breasts. Kind hands.

“Stay tonight--”

“Dear, dear boy, I’d love to be good to you--” Trembling....

Les thought his life had more peace.

2

It was weeks before Les ran into Howard.

“How are you, Drane?”

“I’m very well.” Les gazed collectedly into Howard’s eluding eyes.

“Wonderful winter weather.”

“Charming,” said Les. He looked sunken down within himself, as though nothing could touch him.

Howard walked thoughtfully toward his apartment. Once he glanced back at Les who moved skillfully on through the crowded street.

Since the scene with Em about Celia and Algeria, Howard had spent more time at home. Neither he nor Em knew just how they remained together. Something held him. Why do I hang to her? Can’t get away? Howard had conceded--almost begged. He astonished himself, I wish she’d paint. Their relation persisted. Some day she will do something great. Em looked wan. He hated pathos worse than he hated dependence. Good Lord! I’m becoming marital.

Celia never endured neglect. There was excellent steel under her velvet voice and she made Howard writhe. One night he had found Mitra at her place.

“I came over to take you to dinner,” Howard had said, seating himself rather nervously.

Mitra had sat staring at the floor.

“Thanks,” Celia had replied languidly. “Mitra is going to cook me some curry at his rooms.”

Howard, rising stiffly:

“I suppose I might as well go on.”

Celia, with indolent impertinence:

“Yes, you’d better run back to Emily. I shall probably stay all night with Mitra.”

As the door had closed after Howard, a whisper from Mitra to Celia:

“Elephants!”

When Howard reached his apartment after having seen Les, Em was out. She had evidently been downstairs to open the mail-box: he found another letter from Algeria lying conspicuously on a table. Algeria was coming to New York! For some time fear had kept him from mentioning her to Em. But with Les in New York and Celia with Mitra, he felt more than ever that he needed Algeria for a weapon. Em’s key rattled in the lock and he put the letter in his pocket.

Em entered with rather jerky, fidgety movements. As she removed her hat and coat her face and figure appeared almost pitifully thin and frail. Howard did not look up.

“Hello, Howard,” she said in a low voice. He made no reply. “Have you been in long?”

“No.”

“I just ran across a friend of yours,” she pursued restlessly.

“I just ran across a friend of _yours_.”

“Who?” asked Em quickly, hesitating in the removal of her coat.

“Mr. Drane.” Howard’s tone was almost mocking, but she did not notice it. He would not admit his own uneasiness.

“What! Les? Is he here? Where did you see him?” Em’s cheeks had grown white and the spots of rouge on them appeared more unnatural than ever. She twisted her handkerchief nervously in her hands and her eyes searched Howard’s face eagerly.

Howard had determined to be magnanimous toward Les, but the longing in Em repulsed him. He spoke sharply.

“I saw him on the street.”

“Was he well? How long has he been in New York?” Em’s excitement became more and more visible with every word. Howard’s sense of inexplicable injury grew.

“He did inform me that he was in good health. I didn’t ask how long he has been in the city. I wasn’t particularly interested.”

Tears started to Em’s eyes. She did not oppose pain that was related to Les.

“Oh, Howard! How can you, after he has been so lovely about everything! Didn’t you ask him to come and see us?” Em barely knew what she was saying. “Where is he staying?”

Howard’s lip curled.

“I certainly did not invite him to visit us, and don’t know where he is sojourning.”

Em scarcely heard him. She was putting on her hat and coat again. Howard had no intention or desire to prevent her from seeing Les, no liking for the conventional attitude, but it wounded him to be forgotten. If, at the news of Les’s proximity, she had turned to _him_ he could easily have been noble about it. He thought of Celia, then of Algeria. He would stay that night at Algeria’s studio. Algeria would return soon. He unconsciously imputed to Em’s obliviousness all his desire for infidelity. Without his knowing it she deepened his self-distrust. His face was set. He wanted to chasten her for humiliating him. He felt remorseless toward her.

“Are you going to take your things?” he inquired caustically as she passed by him on her way to the door.

“Don’t, Howard.” Em put her arms around him tremulously. “Please don’t.” It was sweet to her to be hurt for Les. She loved Howard for doing it.

He made no response to her endearment, but she hardly knew it. A rapt look was in her eyes as she left him. Howard was jealous only of what seemed her painless capacity for emotion.

3

Les and Cicely walking across the Square in the thin pale sunshine, Cicely’s dark cheeks mantled with a glow from the cold air. She looked happily at him.

“Isn’t it a lovely day, Les?” Her world was complete. She admired him, however, almost to the point of discomfiture.

A call behind them. Les looked around. Stuart and Genevieve! Les’s world had come back. I must act again....

“Well, stranger!” Stuart spoke shyly, but gripped Les’s hand hard. He nodded awkwardly to Cicely.

“Hello, Jen.” Les was disconcerted. She is hurt. There must be no display. Jen is good....

Genevieve had poise.

“How long have you been back?” she demanded before committing herself to any demonstration. “How do you do, Miss--Miss--”

“Cicely Frank,” supplied Les. “She’s been at your house.”

“Miss Frank.” Genevieve bowed distantly. “Yes, I remember you. Michael brought you.”

“I’ve been here some time,” Les admitted, holding out his hand. Genevieve placed hers in it, but her eyes looked into his without forgiveness. She admired Em too much to be jealous of her, but she resented Cicely.

“Have you seen Em?” she asked with cruel solicitude.

Les glanced at Cicely.

“No,” he answered. I should have stayed--I can’t endure....

“Les, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Reproach was in Genevieve’s face. She ignored the others.

Cicely looked from one to the other of the group.

“Let’s discuss something else,” said Les after a pause.

Genevieve straightened.

“Let’s,” she agreed loftily. Only her eyes showed that she had been wounded. “I gather that you wouldn’t care to come and see us sometime.”

Genevieve had a code of worldliness, and her vanity made her demand some sexual recognition from most of the men she met. But unknown to herself her tendency was toward a morally beautiful idealism. Her affection for Em and Les had aroused this feeling. The sight of Les with Cicely justified it, and revived Genevieve’s antagonism, and distrust of women. By ignoring the conventions she felt that she had defied all moral justifications and could ask no quarter. As she did not demand fidelity from any man as her moral right, she had to command it by her physical attractions. This feeling that her vanity was at bay extended even to her friendships. She was now resentful that she, who had deferred her egotism to Em’s, should have to admit the intrusion of what she thought Les’s inferior preference.

Les glanced again at Cicely, and back at Genevieve.

“I’m sure to come sometime,” he smiled.

Genevieve showed plainly that she was offended.

“Well, we won’t keep you any longer. Good-by, Miss--”

“Frank.” Cicely without malice felt her advantage. She smiled and held out her hand.

Genevieve barely touched it. Stuart smiled dryly, nodded again, and they moved on.

Les and Cicely continued their walk across the Square. I can’t help it--Les did not know he was blaming Cicely for Genevieve’s grudge. I can’t explain. No one can see--If Carl were here....

“Shall we go home?” Cicely asked timidly.

“No. I want to be alone.” Why did I say that? Hurting her because I’m hurt....

Tears came to Cicely’s eyes. She turned and walked rapidly from him. Les resumed his unheeded way. I don’t want decision. I can’t stand struggle. Better alone than friendship with--I hate generosity! Just something kind....

A familiar railing caught his eye. He looked up at his windows, puzzled that he had come home after all.

4

Em went to Jane Street for the first time since she had moved her things away. The once-friendly Polish janitress stared at her suspiciously.

“Mr. Drane went quite a while ago,” she said grudgingly. “He’s somewhere in Patchin Place, I think.” The fat janitress had always liked Les.

Em left on light feet. Scanning intently the cards on door after door in Patchin Place, she rang several bells in succession. A tall surly blond girl answered one.

“Does Mr. Drane live here?” Em was a picture of expectancy.

“Second floor,” replied the girl ungraciously.

Em flew up the stairs. Les opened the door slowly in answer to her repeated knocking. For an instant she saw the small crowded room, the litter of papers on a table, Les’s shoes, a girl’s dress. Then the reality of her surroundings passed.

“Oh, Les!” she cried. “Oh, Les!” She seized him hungrily in her arms and wept in an abandon of joy.

He drew her into the room after a moment and led her to a chair. She was so happy in his presence that she had not noticed his self-conscious response. She gazed at him avidly. Les was only slightly taller than Em, and this surprised her after Howard’s length. His active body, his firm skin, hair dark-sprinkled with gray and slightly wavy at the ends, growing thin on the crown of his head, his wide clean-shaven chin, deep lines from the wing of the nose on each side to a point between the cheek and chin--Les looked older. He’s beautiful. It’s because he has unity of personality, she thought. Dear, dear Les-- She could not speak for emotion.

He looked at her anxiously.

“You’ve been ill, Em.” His voice was medicine to her bruised vanity. “You’re thin.”

“Oh, Les, how could you be in New York and not try to see me?” Her tone was too loving for rebuke. She was with him.

“I didn’t know whether--” What is the use? Can’t pain end? She doesn’t know....

“Nothing can ever make me not want to see you, Les.” She rose and went to him, kissed him lingeringly. “I shall always love you--always--” Her voice broke. She walked to and fro for a moment and then reseated herself. “You look tired, Les.”

“I’m older than you,” he smiled. “Older in body and spirit.... I must tell you something--” He hesitated painfully. “I--I’m--there’s somebody--”

The little pang hardly hurt Em.

“I know,” she said, gazing at him fondly. “That girl with the candid eyes. I’ve seen her since Howard’s party. She’s sweet.” Him loved to have him talking intimately to her. Nothing mattered besides his nearness.

Les showed surprise. His embarrassment was smoothed.

“No. It’s another girl--a Jewess.”

Em laughed affectionately.

“Jews are just like other people, only more so,” she admitted tolerantly.

“She’s been lovely and sympathetic.” Les could talk easily now.

“You dear! I think you’re cute with your love affairs!” She felt gay. They were both really talking about their own comfort in being together again.

“It’s nice of you--” His voice was unsteady.

“Why, Les, I shall love her. I love everyone who is--is--” She could not go on. Her heart was full. She felt close to him--that they understood each other better through frankness than ever before. Something in her sang.

There was a timid noise at the door.

“There she is now, probably.” Les spoke in a subdued tone.

Constraint had descended upon them. Cicely, plump pretty body, well-made clothes, and air of modesty, opened the door hesitatingly and stopped blankly as she saw Em. Cicely was confused--contrite for something she did not understand. Her eyes were deprecating. She glanced apprehensively at Les.

“Come in, Cicely,” he said with kind restraint. How easily things are begun--No one can know....

Cicely entered and closed the door, Em rebounded to need for strength. She rose and held out her hand.

“Why, I know you! How do you do?”

“Yes,” said Cicely shyly, “I met you at Miss Strang’s.” Then her fear swept away. She could not control her emotion, though she felt that Em might condemn it. She put her arms about Em and kissed her. She was grateful that Em had not taken Les from her. I must be what Les wishes, thought Em, returning the kiss painfully.

Cicely removed her hat and wrap, a little stab in Em’s heart.

“Shall I make tea?”

“Should you like some?” Les asked Em.

“Oh, no, thank you.” She could not drink tea made by Cicely in his room. I must be bigger than this. Marriage. Owning people. Hideous. I won’t. “How did you like Chicago, Les?”

“Not so well as New York.” Suffering without death. Did I think I could bear? Blind in the night.... God--

Cicely was touched by the gentleness of them both. She felt unworthy to love Les. She knew she could worship Em and so prove to herself that there was no need of self-reproach. At parting Em kissed them both. Her body was weak, her heart beating far off. I must be strong.

“Come and see us often, won’t you, _please_?” Cicely begged, won by Em’s loveliness.

Les was silent.

5

While Les was telling her of Cicely, Em had felt no jealousy. She had even felt her love for Les extending to this girl who had comforted him. Cicely had begun to seem part of herself. But to her own surprise, when she saw Cicely in the room with Les, Em realized that she had been crudely and bodily jealous. She could not explain her feelings that shamed and pained her. She was going home! Talking to herself made it no easier.

“Em!”

“What is it, Les?” She halted and looked around. Only people passing like a battalion. She could have sworn it was Les’s voice.

Em! She knew now.

What is it, Les?

I want you, Em.

Oh, Les, I’m yours.

Em!

What is it, dear Les?

I need you, Em.

Oh, Les, I--

Em! His face was before her. Suddenly it changed to Cicely’s.

Les! Don’t--_don’t_--

Em!

“Les--” She had spoken aloud again. She stopped. A woman bumped into her. Faces floated by. What is the matter with me? Is my mind--Am I crazy? Perhaps my heart was talking. Oh, Les--Les--

She walked rapidly, almost ran along the street, but the exertion did not numb her suffering. She tried to be detached. Les could not live alone and homeless. But the fact that he was physically with Cicely swept it all away. She felt helplessly that she hated Cicely. No! I pity her. She’s not to blame for loving Les. She can’t understand how fine he is. Em rebelled against Les seeking appreciation from Cicely. I gave him more than that, she thought. I know I did. Em’s vanity was most cruelly wounded because Cicely was intellectually so commonplace. It must have been on account of Cicely’s more exuberant physique that Les wanted her. The defect in me is physical. He didn’t want my body. I’m worn out. This hurt her pride unbearably. She hated her self-pity, that she had to recognize.

She was glad, when she reached the apartment, that Howard was not there.

6

When Em saw Howard at the apartment the next day he was astonished by her demonstrativeness toward him. There was something about it he could not understand. He had thought it was all over. His egotism was pleased.

But she demanded an exaggerated physical response from him. He looked at her with wonder. His desire was weak with hatreds. I can’t. There have been too many things.

“Do you want me, Howard? Am I nice?” Em’s despairing coquetry was ghastly even to herself. She ignored the shame to her dignity. She debased herself in her own eyes to excite him. It _must_ be that I am not unpleasing, she was thinking.

The vision of Les and Cicely in passionate attitudes suddenly swam before her. She sprang up and fled into another room. The memory of Gouvain’s tender eyes rebuked her. I’m not bad, I’m not!

“Where are you going, Em?” Howard was aroused. He rose and went to the door after her. She had locked it in his face. He could hear her sobbing within.

Cicely in innocence had subtly precipitated something new into Em’s attitude toward Howard. But he had not the lust to convince her of herself. She longed for Mitra’s eager licentiousness. I must be desired. Celia! I am no longer a woman.

Em had the jealousy of loneliness. Neither Les nor Howard wants me. If I could die--