The Wide House

by Taylor Caldwell

  “I’ll fight it! I’ll fight it, so help me God!” shouted Mr. Schnitzel, brandishing his fists and shaking them in the air. “We’ll soon see who has the most influence, and the most money!”

  Angus sipped his coffee. He remarked: “You are quite right. I shall help you fight it, if I can.”

  Mr. Schnitzel subsided, breathing noisily. But his scowl lightened. “Good. Good. You have sense, Angus. After all,” he added, with a sly smirk, “you’ll have an interest in that property, yourself, some day.”

  Angus nodded with dignity. Mrs. Schnitzel eyed him with approval. Gretchen regarded him almost fondly.

  “I cannot see the sense in attempting to elevate the common people above their instincts and their natures,” continued Angus, precisely. “It is very stupid.”

  Mr. Schnitzel had another thought. He glared down at the paper at his feet and stamped upon it as if it were alive. “And another thing: it looks like that back-country Abraham Lincoln will be the next President. I’ve got my uneasy thoughts about that. Common trash aspiring to the presidency! It’s an outrage. Something that wouldn’t be allowed at home. We have a decent regard, there, for family and breeding and ancient tradition. If he is elected, we’ll have a war with the South on our hands. They’re gentlemen, there. They won’t allow it, I tell you.”

  Angus glanced up with slow alertness. “Perhaps he will be defeated. I cannot believe the American people so lacking in propriety and a sense of proportion as to elect a farmer and backwoods lawyer to the presidency.”

  Mr. Schnitzel was wrought-up. “Those niggers! I’m warnin’ you, we’ll have trouble about those niggers yeti”

  “It’s this awful country,” offered Mrs. Schnitzel. “No appreciation of blood and breeding and education. A country of fools and boors.”

  Gretchen uttered her acid giggle and glanced at Angus maliciously. “Do you know what Angus said today, Papa? He said this is an English country.”

  “Nonsense!” roared Mr. Schnitzel, striking his fist on the arm of his chair and staring at Angus balefully. “We’ve got Germans here, many of ’em, tool More and more of us’ll come, you’ll see! We’ll make something out of this country, a German country, and teach it proper manners and proper government! You’ll see. It’s destiny. You can’t stop it. We’ll put an end to this chaos, and put people in their proper places.”

  Angus put down his cup, and carefully wiped his fingers on his serviette.

  “We’ll have this damned country in the palms of our hands!” said Mr. Schnitzel, even more violently.

  “Otto, your heart,” reminded Mrs. Schnitzel, with a threatening glance at Angus.

  Angus said calmly: “Your family, Father: did they belong to the military class in Germany? The Junkers, perhaps? Or, perhaps, to the old German nobility?”

  Mr. Schnitzel, puffing and wheezing, opened his mouth, then closed it. His look at Angus was murderous.

  Angus smiled his brief and chilly smile. He turned to Gretchen. “I believe it is time to change for dinner, my love.”

  “Another thing,” said Mrs. Schnitzel, censoriously. “Is no one going to oppose the building of that Catholic college on Main Street? Canisius, I think they are going to call the dreadful place. Has no one regard enough for this country to prevent that?”

  “Where did they get the money?” screamed Mr. Schnitzel, squirming in his chair. “Out of their starvin’ people! Out of their criminal manipulations! And I understand your relative, the honorable Mr. Coleman, is giving five thousand dollars to it, too! And his Jew friend, that Berkowitz. And Cummings, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Angus rose. “Gretchen,” he said with quiet command. He turned deliberately to Mr. Schnitzel. “I know nothing about the college. But they’ve bought the land, and the rest is no business of mine. If you think you can stop the building, you are at liberty to do it. But as you have remarked, Father, this is a free country.”

  Gretchen, unwillingly, followed him out of the room, with a last apologetic and sympathetic look at her parents.

  Mrs. Schnitzel settled in her chair, ponderously. She said: “I often wonder what Angus’ true sentiments are. He is very caustic, at times, and unimpressed with your sentiments, Otto.”

  But Mr. Schnitzel, who was really very fond and proud of Angus, glowered at her. “What do you women know?” he asked contemptuously. “I know Angus. No matter what he thinks, he’ll never let it stand in his way.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Had anyone told the happily ignorant Stuart Coleman of the thoughts that were methodically forming in the mind of Angus Cauder, his relative and junior, he would have been astounded, and then would have burst out into incredulous and raucous laughter. It is true that he felt an angry uneasiness in the young man’s presence, and betrayed this in a cavalier manner towards him, was careful to exaggerate a contempt he hardly felt at all, and to ignore him elaborately upon the proper occasions. “The puppy’s lost every emotion but the lust for money,” he would say to himself, with disgust. “A few years ago he was human. Now he’s only a stone image of himself.”

  But that he, Stuart, and Sam Berkowitz, were already discarded in Angus’ mind as inferiors whose day in the shops would soon be done, would have seemed to Stuart the dream and libel of a madman. He might have got the faintest hint had he seen the grimly faint smile of Angus as that young man inspected the books and saw the large sums drawn by Stuart against future earnings.

  He might, too, have felt some disquiet if he had known that Joshua Allstairs and Angus had become discreet and distant friends, and that Joshua made it a point to have long and rambling conversations with his client upon matters that touched only slightly on the shops and its accounts and debts. If he had known, he would have cried: “Where is the young blackguard’s loyalty and gratitude?” But Stuart could never have understood a man who felt no disloyalty or ingratitude in his plotting, but only righteousness. He could not have understood a man who believed that the man of virtue had been granted the power to destroy and discard those who were without “virtue,” and so were beyond the pale of dignity as human beings, and the consideration and tolerance and justice of “better” men.

  For Angus believed that the favorites of Heaven were ordained to order the affairs of those who did not bask in the approval of the Deity, and to dispose of them arbitrarily, without mercy or doubt or kindness. Wiser men could have told Stuart that a man might find some kindliness and generosity in men who were avowedly rascals and scoundrels, but that the same man would find nothing but mercilessness, cruelty and stoniness of heart in those who believed they had the approval of God, and right and justice, for their oppressions and their crimes against their fellows.

  Unfortunately, the ingenuous Stuart knew only that his young assistant manager was very competent and intelligent. Stuart, who hated to give orders, delegated this unpleasant duty to Angus, who had inspired the clerks and other employees with hatred and profound respect for himself. A certain casual and enthusiastic air disappeared from the shops, a phenomenon that distressed the observant Sam Berkowitz, and was replaced by strict attention to business and automatic industry. Angus was feared, if abominated, and in consequence order prevailed, accounts were rigorously kept, and no one was trusted. As a result friendliness disappeared from among the employees, and every man watched his advantage to advance himself at the expense of those from whom he only lately entertained fellowship and sympathy. Angus had introduced the poison of suspicion and ambitious exigency into the shops, and while discipline and order prevailed, the light of devotion had left forever, and was replaced by greed. For Angus was lavish with rewards, and equally lavish with punishments. He also encouraged spying.

  Sam saw all this. He was depressed and saddened. But he knew it was of no use to talk to Stuart, who would only have stared at him uncomprehendingly, and with indignation.

  Angus now had his own small and clean and austere office, in the rear of the third shop. Most of the decisions regarding the personnel of the sh
ops were made there, without consulting either Stuart or Sam Berkowitz.

  “There’s a certain falseness in the shops now, in spite of the surface desire to please and to oblige,” Mrs. Cummings remarked to her husband, the Mayor. “I just can’t explain it. The clerks are always polite and deferential and alert and neat, eager to offer service and to perform it. No, I can’t explain it, Frank, but I have seen the smiles suddenly disappear the minute one turns one’s back, and the customer is no longer a friend, whom it is a delight to serve, but only a source of cash. And, somehow, I don’t believe poor Stuart knows a thing about it.”

  “You’ve got to admit the slackness and easiness has gone,” said her husband, frowning. “You’ve said that yourself, Alicia. Service is prompt and efficient.”

  “It is true, Frank. But something more valuable is missing. It used to be a pleasure to shop there. One met one’s friends around the counters, and could sit and gossip for hours, and discuss the goods. Now you are served briskly, and if you pause to chatter the silks are swept away, and you are given the impression that if you have no serious business in the shops your absence would be welcomed, so as to make way for an open reticule.”

  “Well, it’s all more businesslike,” said Mr. Cummings, doubtfully.

  “But a lot less agreeable, my dear. Nothing has changed in the shops but good will and friendliness, I admit. As for myself, I find them more delightful than fast and efficient service.”

  Stuart, friendly soul, saw only that his customers were uneasily anxious to be off when he encountered them, and that they eyed him guiltily and apologetically if they lingered. This made him apprehensive. But still he did not understand. He saw that the comfortable little chairs were rarely occupied now, and dimly feared that no one any longer cared to linger and chatter and diffuse perfume and laughter.

  “Change! Change!” muttered Stuart angrily. “Why won’t people remain as they are, instead of busying themselves with silly things?”

  He was contemplating this restless thought one morning when Angus knocked upon his door, and entered his office. Stuart, who was expecting Sam, had looked up with a pleased smile. When he saw Angus the smile soured, and he grunted: “Oh, it’s you. What is it now?”

  Angus was not disconcerted at this uncompromising tone and glance. He sat down deliberately near his kinsman, and quietly crossed his knees in their black broadcloth. His icy gray eyes contemplated Stuart dispassionately and with severity, though still with the respect a civilized man accords his superior, however reprehensible. Grimly he observed Stuart’s flushed and haggard face, the fold beneath his chin, the sunken lines of dissipation around his black and irascible eyes. He knew that Stuart was often compelled to walk with a cane to ease his gouty foot, and it was with satisfaction that he saw the widening patches of grayish-white at his employer’s temples. Yes, indeed, Stuart was aging, though he was hardly past forty. He is almost done, Angus reflected to himself.

  Stuart, intuitive as always, saw that hidden scrutiny, and he said quite suddenly: “Damn you, Angus, every time I see you, you change some more. Once you were a fairly decent lad. But now—” He gestured with angry restlessness.

  “I trust,” said Angus coldly, “that I have not changed for the worse, and that you find nothing culpable or unsatisfactory in my work?”

  Stuart stared at him, blinking. Then he exclaimed: “Oh, damn you! Never mind. What do you want?”

  Angus did not look away when he said quietly and firmly: “It is nothing about the shops, Cousin Stuart. It is, in a way, more personal.” He paused. Stuart glowered, his lips twitching. “Cousin Stuart,” continued Angus formally, “it is in connection with that petition, signed by you and others, presented to the Court with regard to a certain property held by my father-in-law.”

  Stuart stared again, then began to smile unpleasantly. “So?” he asked, in a treacherously soft voice. He began to drum on his desk with his jewelled fingers.

  Angus regarded him with impassive censoriousness. “I do not think, Cousin Stuart, that you are completely in possession of the facts. If you were I am sure that you would order your name removed from that petition.”

  “And what,” asked Stuart, still very softly, “are ‘the facts’?”

  At this reasonableness, Angus proceeded, more confidently: “The facts, Cousin Stuart, are that it is a very foolish idea, revolutionary, and unjust to Mr. Schnitzel. The idea, I might say, is even unconstitutional. It is an infringement on the rights of property.”

  “Ah, so we’ve become enamored of the ‘rights of property,’ have we?” asked the unimpressed and darkly amused Stuart. “I thought you would get around to that, eventually. But go on. You interest me.”

  The very faintest of flushes touched Angus’ white cheek at this open ridicule. His lip rose slightly with contempt.

  He began to talk, in slow and precise words, as if speaking and explaining to a dim-witted creature.

  “Mr. Schnitzel bought that property about the site of his slaughter-house some thirty-five years ago. He built small-houses on that site, neat, clean and utilitarian. Three rooms to each house. They were somewhat close together, it is true, without room for a garden or a lawn, but they were clean. His workers were pleased with them—”

  “As most of them had just come from the pest-holes of Europe,” said Stuart, “even a three-room pigsty looked like Heaven.”

  Angus lifted his head haughtily, but otherwise ignored this interruption. “I am not saying, Cousin Stuart, that these houses are palaces. But in the beginning, I am informed, they were at least clean. Unfortunately, the kind of people who inhabit them are by nature filthy, inferior and base. If the—houses are now in a deplorable condition, it is not the fault of Mr. Schnitzel. The fault lies with the heedless and uncivilized persons who inhabit them. It is they who have created the dirt, rubbish, slackness and abandoned look of the premises.”

  “Have you been there, Angus?” asked Stuart.

  The slightest expression of loathing involuntarily touched Angus’ features. He said in a level voice: “I have. I admit they are foul. But that is the way these workers and their families desire their environment. They would be comfortable in no other.”

  “How do you know? Have you asked them?” demanded Stuart, with scorn.

  Angus compressed his lips. “It is not in my province to question the employees of Mr. Schnitzel. But from what I have heard, the workers do not in the least object to the dirt and the odors.”

  “Which neatly relegates them to a status lower than that of hogs,” commented Stuart.

  “People of that class are indeed no better than animals,” agreed Angus, unconscious of his kinsman’s irony.

  Stuart looked at him with exasperation. Insolent young jackanapes, humorless and stupid! He said: “Well, I have a fact or two for you, also, Angus. The people don’t like their dirt and their odors. Some of them, in fact, have desperately attempted to clean up their horrible premises. But, very regularly, your lovely father-in-law has had heaps of entrails and other offal thrown into the very back yards of his shacks, and there they lie, stinking for weeks, until the people, themselves, are forced to cart them off, or bury them.

  “As they are under a despicable labor contract with Herr Schnitzel, which binds them to live on those premises near the stinking slaughter-houses, they cannot leave without penalties, each very onerous. I believe there is some sort of intimidation going on there too, by agents of Schnitzel. Many of the people believe, perhaps it is the truth, that if they break the contract with Schnitzel, they may face fines, prison, or deportation back to the kennels from which they came. I haven’t looked into the matter thoroughly, I admit. Perhaps the belief of the people is wrong. At any rate the agents, in their dealings with them, tell them it is quite true.

  “The privies haven’t been cleaned out in years. The shacks are never repaired, except when the people themselves can borrow, beg or steal a few feet of lumber, or a piece of glass. The roofs leak; the floors sag. Each
heavy rainfall brings the water within the houses. Rubbish and dirt pile up relentlessly. The smell is horrible. The water supply is polluted. Flies and other vermin swarm there in all seasons. The whole district is a focus of disease. It is a disgrace to this city. It is a stench in the nostrils of the decent.”

  Angus regarded him with cold disdain and immovability. “I grant you many of your accusations, Cousin Stuart. But the fact remains that the people desire nothing better. Should the shacks be pulled down, the filth removed, and better habitations built, the aspect of the place would be exactly the same in less than two years’ time.”

  Stuart leaned back in his chair. He looked at Angus long and thoughtfully, his eyes narrowed. His fingers drummed steadily on the desk.

  “The people,” continued Angus, his courage increased by Stuart’s silence, “would be quite content there, in their humble abodes, were it not for agitators who tell them that they are abused, and that they deserve better from their employer.”

  Drum, drum, drum, went Stuart’s fingers on the desk, and faster now. But Stuart smiled a little. “Angus, I will tell you something else. There have been no agitators, from outside. The people themselves, in their desperation, formed a committee which forced its way to the Mayor and demanded alleviation of their misery.”

  He stood up, towering over Angus, who looked at him with icy fortitude.

  “Angus, I am speaking beforehand. But I tell you this: Go to your amiable father-in-law with this message. Unless those shacks are cleaned up immediately, the worst pulled down, the offal removed and kept removed, the privies cleaned, the water supply purified, new roofs placed on the houses that need it, and everything else granted that has been demanded,—and all this within the next three months—the matter will go to Court in the care of the best lawyers in the country, and not only will Mr. Schnitzel be forced to do all this, but his contracts with his laborers will be abrogated. For at this very moment, these excellent lawyers of whom I have spoken are examining the whole matter in Washington. They are coming to the conclusion that Mr. Schnitzel and his ilk have been practicing serfdom in America, a virtual kind of white slavery, in violation of the laws of the United States.”