On the heels of this episode was one of another character. Among Mr.
Saltus' many charming qualities was an especially endearing one. With
persons he loved, the passing of years seemed to leave no trace whatever,
and he could see no difference in their personal appearance. In his eyes,
until the hour of his death, I remained the fragile and impertinent child
to whom he had stretched out his hand on the sands of Narragansett Pier,--a
helpless and impractical creature in a world of scheming scoundrels.
In his eyes I had not a fault. It was not that he was in ignorance of my
limitations and undesirable qualities; these he saw with clarity, but he
believed that every virtue had its negative aspect as well,--the defects of
its qualities, as he expressed it,--and to divert or eliminate these was to
impair the desirable attributes behind them. In consequence any
shortcomings of mine were regarded as indications only of the most
superlative virtues, and not to be tampered with. No woman could ask more
of a man than to accept her limitations and incapacities as evidences of
her extraordinary worth. This hallucination was a pleasing one, but it had
its negative side as well. Nothing could convince Mr. Saltus that every
male creature was not laying plans to entice me away from him. The fact
that for long periods at a time I was not only ill, but looked too frail to
attract anything more than sympathy, counted for nothing. The fact that the
majority of men could not run fast enough from a woman possessing my
defects was unconvincing to him. Over and over he was told that the
qualities which attracted him would antagonize the average man from the
start. He was still convinced that I was a fragile and unsuspecting child
in a world of vultures and demons. It must be said, however, that Mr.
Saltus was too much of a philosopher ever to ask me to do or to omit
anything. My freedom of action was limitless and his trust absolute, and he
never questioned any of my actions except as a joke.
Among our acquaintances was a Turkish diplomat, T---- Bey. Occasionally, as
is the custom in England, I had tea with him or he with us, and now and
again I went with him for a walk in the Gardens. The fact that he looked
enough like Mr. Saltus to be a twin brother had first called him to my
attention. He was perhaps ten years younger, but they looked about of an
age.
Besides the fat woman and the elemental, there was another joke we had
rehearsed for years. It was as follows, and leads directly to the incident
concerning T---- Bey.
"If you had not been such a black devil I would not have fancied you," I
used to tell him.
"I'm not a black devil. I'm a good little slavey."
"No,--you're a little dark E" (making a pun on his name), "and your
complexion is your stock in trade."
"I thought it was my wheedling ways?"
"No, indeed! And if I ever disappear, look about for a man a shade or two
darker than yourself and miaw around the neighborhood."
"Any man darker than I will have a touch of the tar brush."
"Perhaps you have a bit yourself. Remember, an ancestress of yours came
from Port Royal, Jamaica. I have often suspected the worst."
This joking always amused him so much that when en route to Africa the year
before I had written him saying that it was with delightful anticipations I
neared the home of his ancestors. That letter brought the query, "Which,
monkeys or blacks?" To which I replied that they would be "high
monkey-monks of some kind."
Much as he enjoyed this chaffing with me, T---- Bey stuck somewhat in his
throat when I joked about him. Accustomed to his habit of
non-interference--for, as he remarked, "Dogs can be trained, but cats have
to have their own way in everything"--I was amazed when he said:--
"If you don't mind, and can see your way to it, I would rather you did not
go alone to restaurants with T---- Bey."
"Of course not if you prefer," was my immediate reply. It was a trivial
matter, too unimportant for discussion. An hour later, however, when going
into the Ritz for tea with some friends from the country, I found T---- Bey
was included. That was quite all right. What was not so was the fact, that
while tea was being served an urgent telephone call made it necessary for
my friends to leave at once. T---- Bey and I were left alone having our tea
together. To get up and go, no matter what the excuse, would have been an
insult. There was nothing to do but to remain and explain the circumstances
afterward to Mr. Saltus. That explanation was never given or asked. As we
were finishing our tea Mr. Saltus walked into the room, saw us, and coming
forward smiling with outstretched hand asked if he might join us. This he
did, chatting all the time as delightfully as he could. Being asked by
T---- Bey if he knew I was in the Ritz, he answered lightly, but with an
underlying meaning:--
"My _intuitions_ about Mrs. Saltus are uncanny. If she has as much as a
headache I know it. If she is perplexed I feel it, and if she is vexed with
me without giving a sign of it, her vibrations tear me to pieces and I
cannot endure it."
On the way home I started to tell him how it had all come about, but he
stopped me short.
"Leave explanations to strangers,--love understands. That you were there
after what you said this morning, is in itself proof that it was
accidental."
He would not listen to a word and the subject dropped then and there. It
was perhaps because of his laxity in this respect that my regard for truth
was adamant. It was in consequence characteristic of Mr. Saltus to avoid
any discussion with me in which I might be forced to ask:--
"Do you want to hear the unvarnished truth?"
"No--no, varnish it,--varnish it, if it will hurt, which truth is more than
likely to do. I would rather hear pleasing lies, even if I cannot believe
them."
That was Mr. Saltus in the raw. He could not face truth, if either to hear
it or to tell it was likely to cause pain or unpleasantness. Running
parallel to this peculiarity was another, oriental in its courtesy, unusual
in its application,--his attitude of deference toward me. Asked by T. P.
O'Connor to express his views on a subject he had not considered until that
moment he said:--
"Have you asked Mrs. Saltus what she thinks?"
"No," said T. P., "I'm asking you. It's your angle and opinion I want."
"My opinion is a zero. I haven't considered the subject at all. Ask Mrs.
Saltus for hers. After this we will be sure to discuss it, and whatever I
may say off hand, I am sure to accept her views in a week or two anyway.
Ask her now, it will save time."
Not only was his attitude highly deferential but most embarrassing at
times. Upon one occasion I was asked by a foreign diplomat how it felt to
live with a genius. Before I could reply Mr. Saltus took us both off our
feet by cutting in:--
"Don't ask the poor girl something she does not know, and cannot answer. If
you want to know about living with a genius, ask me."
The diplomat's understanding of English was imperfect, and this was too
much for him. He may be still trying to decipher the reply.
During the years Mr. Saltus had become an adept with animals. Through his
affection for Toto he had absorbed their psychology. It was he now who
rushed into the street to pick up a horse's feed-bag and restore it to its
place. Seeing an injured cat near Museum Street, and being unable to get
any one to help him, he discarded an armful of books and, calling a taxi,
carried the victim in his arms to the Cat Shelter at Camden Town.
With autumn came the query, What and where? The war had been gaining
momentum. Obviously it was unwise to remain too long away from the base of
supplies. Certain also it was that if we tore up our home, taking
everything back to the States, it would mean remaining there. With one of
us remaining in England a home might be resurrected. It was in consequence
decided that Mr. Saltus should return to New York, and rejoin me after
things looked a bit clearer. The pain in his legs increased so that he
walked less and less each day, but when he saw how it worried me he
pretended that he was getting better and had never been as well in his
life. In his anxiety to spare me and his desire to avoid telling
disagreeable things he made a frightful mistake. Had I known the truth,
never would I have let him return alone.
Leaving England was always a tug at his heart-strings. He was reluctant to
put an ocean between us and reluctant to turn his back on possible service.
Little did either of us dream, however, that he was leaving his beloved
British Museum for the last time. In Waterloo Station once more, the
station in which he had said so many "good-byes," we said au revoir again.
Upon his return to New York Mr. Saltus took rooms near the Manhattan Club
and began to write a few articles on the origin of the war. Since "The
Monster," he had attempted nothing of a sustained or exhausting character.
It was not long before his letters became filled with anxiety over the
distance between us, and he began to write--jestingly, to be sure--of acute
indigestion, which, gripping him suddenly and sharply, had dropped like a
vulture out of the air. As he expressed it, "Karma has me, not by the
heels, at last, but by the solar plexus first." Added to the distress in
his legs, which he finally admitted, were these attacks, so sharp and
severe that after the slightest exertion he had to sit down faint from the
pain. Had the war been over he was in no condition to take a journey. Miss
G----afterward told me that he had greatly minimized the seriousness of his
condition in writing me of it. Still his hope of returning to England
persisted. The letters which followed me to Scotland, Ireland and back to
England again were full of it.
Barring the little apartment in Washington Heights where Miss S---- made
him welcome, offering such assistance and comfort as she could, and Miss
G----, who suggested physicians and did all she could for his benefit, he
went nowhere and saw no one. Had I known of the kindness and assistance so
freely given by Miss S----, it would have relieved my mind concerning him.
Unfortunately it was only after his death that I was able to thank her for
all this.
By 1916 Mr. Saltus realized his condition better, and reading between the
lines of his letters I offered to return. Passage was taken, but because
of the unrestricted submarining the boat was at the last moment withdrawn.
Owing to the censor, cables as well as letters were delayed. The worry of
it all made Mr. Saltus go down hill rapidly. In connection with this an
incident occurred which affected Mr. Saltus horribly, and through no fault
of either his or mine. It is so touching, so indicative of his finest
sweetness and most endearing qualities, that it is not out of place here.
During the summer of 1913 we had met a very interesting Hindu of exalted
position. A mutual interest in occultism drew us together, and thereafter
he became one of our play persons, Mr. Saltus teasing me with the remark:--
"When you elope with I----, it will give me an excuse for following you to
India, and India is the Mecca of my dreams."
"If it comes to the worst and you can see it no other way, I will do my
best to accommodate you," was the usual reply.
One can joke over a matter face to face, but war and distance give it
another complexion. In a letter of mine, solely to amuse him, I mentioned
that I had been out for tea with I----, and ended with the remark, "So
don't give up your hope of India."
It was Mr. Saltus' custom as well as my own to write in the upper left-hand
corner of our letters, "via Mauretania," or via this or that fast boat, in
order that our letters would go the speediest way. Owing to the censor they
were delayed at best, and then arrived five or six at a time. After this
letter with the joke concerning I----, I wrote again almost at once, with
"via Mauretania" in the corner as usual. Repairs being necessary, this
particular boat was withdrawn for a fortnight, and my letter stupidly held
over till its next crossing. All of this neither of us knew. What Mr.
Saltus did know was that ten days went by without a line from me: a thing
so unprecedented that it bowled him over completely. During this time I
went down to Brighton for a week, which delayed my next letter, and caused
the cables which came from him to be opened, delayed, and reopened, before
reaching me, for resorts on the sea were under special scrutiny. Hearing
nothing from his cables, Mr. Saltus sent others to two friends, neither of
which were delivered, as the friends happened to be in France at the time.
When these finally reached me in a bundle I was both horrified and
overcome. Rushing to the cable office I sent the following: "No one but
Snipps. Written constantly. At Brighton for the weekend. Eternamente.
Mowgy." This I believed would set his mind at rest. Worse was to follow.
After being held for some time the cable was not only returned to me, but
it was discovered that I had omitted to register as a foreigner, and I was
regarded with a certain amount of suspicion. Snipps, Mowgy, and
Eternamente, were not English words, and I was required to explain them. It
was a terrible mess. In the meantime a letter came from Mr. Saltus. So
extraordinary is it,--so unlike the letter of the average male,--that its
words are burned into my heart. That letter alone lifted him beyond and
above the majority of his sex. After telling of his anxiety and the absence
of letters it reads as follows:--
"... Do not think I am scolding you--and don't let me worry you either. I
am not physically ill. I have only had a shock, and that prevents me from
working. A few days ago I wrote you that I supposed I had not heard because
the ships were delayed by storm and fog. Well, I waited hopefully. The
storm passed, the fogs lifted and the ships came in. No letter. That was
the shock, and was horrible. I cabled to the Brunswick, cabled also to the
American Express and to Miss F----, and received no reply. My eyes look
dreadfully, all blurred and red. I am not ill, but I might just as well be.
I don't know when I will have the courage to look in my letter box. You
will never know how horrible it is to look in and find it empty. It is as
though I had a crack over the head, and a blow in the stomach. But there,
little kit-cat, provided you are not hurt or ill no matter about me.
Anyway, God willing and God grant it, I will get an answer to this. In
cabling say only, "Well, and safe, Mowgy." Don't send it deferred rates,
for every hour of waiting is agony. It ought to reach me on the second by
noon. If it doesn't? Well, Mowgy, then in that case remember this. Always,
whatever you do or omit, I shall love you just the same. Always whatever
you do I will forgive it. You are my little world and will be until the
end. And just this, my darling: try and write that you forgive me for
anything I have done or said which I ought not to. Remember that you are my
all and that you can always return to me without thought of censure on my
part. My little girl--if I could only stop crying. E."
This incident upset me frightfully. It proved that Mr. Saltus must be in a
critical condition mentally, to be imagining such wild and impossible
things, and that he needed care. There was still no sign of the war coming
to an end, and whether or not a home in England would be advisable under
the changed conditions was open to question, for we were suffering acutely,
not only for food, but for light, heat and other necessities.
Risking the submarines and the unforeseen, I sailed for the States. Mr.
Saltus met me at the dock. Lack of exercise had made him too stout by far,
he looked puffy, and every few feet he had to stop, for between the pain in
his legs and the flatulence he was in bad shape.
He took me to the Hotel Broztel in East 27th Street, not only because it
was only around the corner from his rooms, but because he had ascertained
that our dog would be welcome there.
Mr. Saltus' usual method of assuring Toto's reception was an amusing one.
Going to the office of the hotel, wherever we happened to be, he would say
to the room clerk:--
"I want to know if there is any objection to children?"
He was of course assured that there was none.
"But my child is not like other children," he would say. "She has a fancy
for running about in the organism of a dog. That is all there is of dog
about her,--the rest is far more human than yourself."
At that stage in the conversation the man at the desk would begin looking
around to see if there was a keeper with him, and if help could be obtained
quickly. When this uneasiness became apparent, I would stroll up with Toto,
who, putting her paws on the desk, woofing and going through her paces,
would so intrigue the room clerk that he would forget Mr. Saltus and decide
that the crazy owners of such a clever creature could be accommodated.
In connection with hotels and Toto, Mr. Saltus had an original way of
putting our names on the register. It savoured of sarcasm and a slap at me
in the bargain, but he always insisted that it was neither, and insisted
upon the following:--
Mrs. Edgar Saltus and Dog New York City
Edgar Saltus New York City