Bishop Buddy Scrapbook 1937 (2)

CHIMES

CHIMES

One of them, on my appearing, raised her tall bony figure from her seat, not as if to welcome me-for she threw me no more than a brief glance of surprise- but simply to set about preparing the meal which Frome's absence had delayed. A slatternly calico wrap- per hung from her shoulders and the wisps of her thin gray hair were drawn away from a high forehead and fastened at the back by a broken comb. She had pale opaque eyes which revealed nothing and reflected noth- ing, and her narrow lips were of the same sallow colour as her face. The other woman was much smaller and slighter. She sat huddled in an arm-chair near the stove, and when I came in she turned her head quickly toward me, without the least corresponding movement of her body. Her hair was as gray as her companion's, her face as bloodless and shrivelled, but ambertinted, with swarthy shadows sharpening the nose and hollowing the temples. Under her shapeless dress her body kept its limp im- mobility, and her dark eyes had the bright witch-like stare that disease of the spine sometimes gives. * * * * The tall woman, who had moved away from us to- ward the dresser, took no notice; but the other, from her cushioned niche, answered complainingly, in a high thin voice: 'It's on'y just been made up this very min- ute. Zeena fell asleep and slep' ever so long, and I thought I'd be frozen stiff before I could wake her up and get her to 'tend to it. Her companion, who was just coming back to the table with the remains of a cold mince-pie in a battered pie-dish, set down her unappetizing burden without ap- pearing to hear the accusation brought against her. Above all, the novelist excels in her power for making dramatic effects. They are sus- tained by the force of true emotion-an es- sential lacking in the mefodramatic efforts of lesser writers. Contrast the mood of the two sleigh rides-one ending in a thrill, a mood of exaltation; the other violently, in catas- trophe the more horrible because death did not claim its mangled victims. The sled started with a bound, and they flew on through the dusk, gathering smoothness and speed as they went, with the hollow night opening out below them and the air singing by like an organ. Mattie sat perfectly still, but as they reached the bend at the foot of the hill, where the big elm thrust out a deadly elbow, he fancied that she srank a little closer. 'Don't be scared, Matt!' he cried exultingly, as they spun safely past it and flew down the second slope; and when they reached the level ground beyond, and the speed of the sled began to slack, he heard her give a little laugh of glee. JUNE, 1938

what the author sees in it, and how deeply he is able to see into it. That she has com- plied with the first is obvious in the ease and skill with which the subject has been handled. The poignant intimacy with which she has revealed a man's soul makes one feel that one has no right to look, that it is almost a pro- fanation-sufficient proof that she has the right to use all the deepest manifestations of man's heart and soul as her subject. As for the second test, Mrs. Wharton has seen so deeply into her subject that she has exhaust- ed all possibilities. She has drawn the one conclusion possible when the question is viewed from all angles. The literary critic, the philosopher, the psychologist must neces- sarily agree. Or if they differ, it is that their own perception is biased and incapable of seeing the question clearly.

been spoiled had she lacked the capacity for restraint. She had the faculty of expressing herself with delicacy, nicety, a subtle refine- ment, and yet accurately, with concise pre- cision. No word is wasted but each picture is finished, is complete. She saw and felt as a poet, and had the power to make others share the intensity of her feeling. But that power is founded on her lack of extravagance, her self-restraint. This is nowhere more evident than in her descriptions of nature. Her love for nature was deep as Shelley's; she took manifest delight in expressing it. Yet she knew so well the relation of color to sym- metry. One was chosen in relation to the other, used adequately though sparingly, al- ways with the purpose of fixing and preserv- ing the exact atmosphere in which the drama was to be unfolded. In "Ethan Frome" nature is one of the softening influences, the background against which is mellowed the harsh outlines of trag- edy. This is strange when one considers that during a New England winter nature reveals herself in "white immensities of land" under "pale skies" and enveloped in a "sunless cold." But here is a less stern aspect: The early mist had vanished and the fields lay like a silver shield under the sun. It was one of the days when the glitter of winter shines through a pale haze of spring. Every yard of the road was alive with Mattie's presence, and there was hardly a branch against the sky or a tangle of brambles on the bank in which some bright shred of memory was not caught. Once, in the stillness, the call of a bird in a mountain ash was so like her laughter that his heart tightened and then grew large; and all these things made him see that something must be done at once. Mrs. Wharton's talent for fitting together words and incidents into a miracle of harmon- ious unity is certainly one of her claims to greatness. She is a master at selecting just the right details of circumstance and action for the development of her theme-to the end that her characters are vibrant with life, their movement is vivid and real. The brief study of the two women, Zeena and Mattie, is a fine example of her skill. 128

As they flew toward the tree Mattie pressed her arms tighter, and her blood seemed to be in his veins. Once or twice the sled swerved a little under them. He slant- ed his body to keep it headed for the elm, repeating to himself again and again: 'I know we can fetch it'; and little phrases she had spoken ran through his head and danced before him on the air. The big tree loomed bigger and closer, and as they bore down on it he thought: 'It's waiting for us; it seems to know.' But suddenly his wife's face, with twisted monstrous linea- ments, thrust itself between him and his goal, and he made an instinctive movement to brush it aside. The sled swerved in response, but he righted it again, kept it straight, and drove down on the black projecting mass. There was a last instant when the air shot past him like millions of fiery wires; and then the elm ... Mrs. Wharton has herself laid down two rules for judging a novel: One, that the writer should deal only with what is within his reach, literally or figuratively; the other that the value of a subject depends almost wholly on

REQUEST

I must go back to Saint Mary's agam, to the lovely court by the lake, And all I ask are some pleasantries for old time's sake; And the nuns' steps, and the girls' shouts, and friendly handshaking, And the toll of bells over the campus with a grey dawn breaking. I must go back to Saint Mary's again, for the call of old memories Is a clear call and a sweet sound of days when I was free; And all I ask is a sight once more of the dome of Notre Dame, And the grand girls at a fine school which will ever be the same. I must go back to Saint Mary's again, to the joyous college life, To the four years, (such a short space) when books were my only strife; And all I ask is the snow, and the wind, or the campus bright with flowers, To dream of them when I'm at rest, through the long quiet hours. (After John Masefi eld's "Sea-Fever" ) RITA FALLOT '41.

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JUNE, 1938