Complete Works of Ford Madox Ford, page 770
The Commissaire seemed suddenly to have come alive to the necessity of emphasizing the hospitality of his town. He began to roar for porters... like a bull.... Apparently he had helped them get down their luggage from the train itself.... Terrified porters ran over the shining rails: Aunt Elizabeth’s chauffeur and his boy ran. Coco approached Eustace Monckton and asked him for his baggage checks.... Those two men went off together.... The chauffeur was of course now, his, Henry Martin’s chauffeur....
He felt peace at his side.... He was walking with Eudoxie over the rails. They were free. He said:
“Aunt Elizabeth.... Half... three quarters of an hour ago....” She exclaimed:
“Oh... darling...” and put a white handkerchief to her eyes.
It had been just three quarters of an hour since he had set out from la Valette.
His aunt’s gardener-chauffeur had driven him to the station, and the man’s son, the servants’ car for the luggage of Eudoxie and Eustace Monckton.... It was queer to think of Eudoxie and Eustace Monckton travelling together.... But it was good there were such a hell of a lot of things to think of!... So that his mind could only register events and not go into their significance....
A hell of a lot of things!... Jeanne Becquerel had married that fellow Macdonald.... In London.... Who would have thought of that?... There was also his aunt’s funeral to be looked after.... It appeared that she had given careful instructions to Father Beaulieu.... She was to be buried up at le Revest des Eaux.... Both pieces of information gave him a twinge of jealousy!...
But apparently he would not have to go on living with Jeanne Becquerel.... Probably she would never call him Asch Emma Smeez again.... He would no doubt miss it....
Macdonald’s letter had been among those he had left unopened on the breakfast table. He had read the beginning:”
“This is to tell you that I married Mile. Jeanne Becquerel this morning. After your detestable...”
He had crammed the letter into his pocket along with the others. The car was there.... One of them was from the London bank where the £28,000 had been deposited. It was no doubt to tell him that Lamoricière had withdrawn all the money....
It was rather gratifying that Macdonald hated him. It made one feel real. If no one hated you you must be some sort of a jelly.... Without character! He had been sunk in too much love....
The car which had been going slowly in the narrow lanes between the high stone walls topped with the foliage of fig and lemon trees moved cautiously down into the rushing traffic of the route nationale.... He leaned forward to tell the chauffeur to make as good going as he could: They would be late for the train....
He found that he was sobbing slightly.... His lips knocked together.... That was probably because that was the first order he had ever given that chauffeur. Whenever they drove out together he drove and the chauffeur gardened or cleaned the silver.... Aunt Elizabeth had known that he was Henry Martin....
This fellow drove well.... The mistral caught them full blast over the open space by the marble works.... There were a lot of immense white steers blocked by a trolley car and a long wine-cart drawn by four percherons.... They were past them however....
The little dark shops with their painted fronts behind the speckled plane-trunks sold queer things... yellow oilskins; ploughs; wine casks; cordage.... If he could have a little shop with Eudoxie.... Because he was now penniless....
But of course Eudoxie had her own shop.... He might carry out her parcels. Or act as accountant behind the cash register.... Or as assistant instructor in jerks for those reducing.... The car now stopped softly in a very narrow part of the road between the dusty housefronts, beneath the dusty, tossing plane leaves.... A tramcar was en panne just in front of them.... Failure of electricity.... There was no getting past between it and the sidewalk and the offside was blocked by a continual stream of traffic.... He took out Macdonald’s letter....
He hoped that Macdonald hated him for himself alone.
It would be disappointing to be hated merely because he was a capitalist... which he wasn’t, of course!
Apparently it was a little of both.... Quite a lot!... He gathered that to Macdonald he was a gorged financier but also that he had revolting personal manners.... The letter was difficult to read because, when they moved on again, the mistral caught the sheets of paper. He had to hold them with both hands....
Yes, it was a good hatred.... It extended to Henry Martin’s eyes, clothing, manners, accent: Yes, particularly to his accent. Mr. Macdonald’s hatred for everything American was so great that, to use his own expression, he wanted to puke every time he came in contact with a. citizen of the United States.... That was no doubt because he had been expelled from that country....
Apparently very early indeed he had suspected Henry Martin’s secret — mostly because of the incident of the dates. He couldn’t believe that anyone but an American born could want to write 2.13.30 when he meant 13.2.30.... And immediately he had seen that some atrocious financial swindle must be being perpetrated in the Villa Niké.... And his Communism filled him with ardent thirst to demask and discredit every financier — and particularly every American financier.... His Communistic hatred seemed so to mingle with his personal detestation that the one was indistinguishable from the other....
And his position seemed to have been particularly complicated. He appeared to have been in that city as the most intimate friend of Trig... Eudoxie’s ex-husband. He had appointed himself the task of watching over Eudoxie.... Not with the idea of shielding her from harm.... No: he wanted her to commit — or not to commit, adultery....
That cut both ways.... He wanted Eudoxie to remain chaste — for the glory of Trig for whom he had an admiration just this side of idolatry.... At the same time if Eudoxie didn’t commit adultery — or didn’t get detected — she would certainly succeed in divorcing Trig.... And Macdonald did not see how Trig could live more easily, when he came out of gaol, than on Eudoxie’s earnings — which Macdonald took to be very large....
So Macdonald had taken the post of secretary to Henry Martin: he could then, he had imagined, either denounce Eudoxie to the King’s proctor if he took her in adultery.... Or his presence would prevent Henry Martin’s having the pleasure of committing adultery with her.... It appeared that he did not know which he wanted most... except that, in his Communist capacity he imagined that it would more help the cause if he could make a nasty stink about the morals of a prominent capitalist....
It was to be remarked that Hugh Monckton was a very prominent capitalist. So, if he could be mixed up in a nasty divorce suit it would be handy. Still more, if it could be proved that, with the connivance of Monckton’s Ltd. Henry Martin was passing as Hugh Monckton, a divorce suit would splendidly bring out all the sordid financial details that seemed to distinguish that mysterious and incomprehensible metamorphosis....
His position was of course still further complicated by the presence of Jeanne Becquerel.... There could be no doubt that for her he had achieved a real passion.... Why shouldn’t he have?... She was beautiful, simple, sympathetic and desirable.... If Macdonald could carry her off he would not only gratify his passion but he would have the triumph of depriving the hated millionaire of a very decorative feature of his household.... Still more, supposing that millionaire to have been really good to her, he would have the gratification of making the girl appear extremely ungrateful to her benefactor.... So Macdonald bided his time....
Eudoxie had however completely spiked his guns.... He had had to arrive at the conclusion that she was too bourgeoise to commit adultery at all and too poor spirited to be in that way disloyal either to a husband in prison or to her friend Jeanne Becquerel.... And, in addition, she had very adroitly turned the adultery situation by dropping her divorce proceedings and substituting a suit for the annulment of her marriage. This she could have with the greatest ease since she was a French subject and no marriage of a French subject is legal without the consent of the subject’s parents.... In that case the marriage had never existed and, if she had been so minded, Eudoxie could have committed all the adulteries she liked and the King’s Proctor could not have intervened. Moreover had a marriage existed, Eudoxie, to her great inconvenience, could have become a British subject and a British subject she would have had to remain in spite of the dissolution of the marriage.... That, as Mr. Macdonald knew, did not suit her book at all.... As having been born in America and, owing in addition to her father’s diplomatic position, she had always been at liberty to go to America and to stay there as long as she liked. This had suited her very well hitherto because she had been in the habit of making a good deal of money in the winter by taking charge of the beauty department of one of the great Philadelphia department stores. At the same time she could run her own business down in the town without hindrance from the French authorities because, although born in New York, her French origins were indisputable.... With both these activities the fact that she was a British subject would seriously have interfered. Moreover there could be no doubt that the fact that her lover was an American citizen had increased her determination to re-become that, for Macdonald, very undesirable thing. And to him it was indubitable that in spite of her hard boiled aspect she was what he called lamentably potty about Henry Martin — about his health, his property, his peace of mind. That disgusted him but he had to acknowledge it....
Thus, as soon as he had heard that M. Pasquin-Escudier was coming over to give evidence in London to the effect that his daughter had married without his consent, Macdonald had changed his plans at once. He had decided to denounce Henry Martin — wherever and at whatever moment he could....
And in his almost insane energy he had apparently gone to great lengths.... Of course, as Henry Martin saw it, the insanity was not very great. The man was a Communist, inspired to intense hatred for what he took to be an actively and formidably reactionary figure by the terrible distress that undoubtedly existed in London and in the whole of England. If he could discredit Monckton’s he would certainly be striking a very effective blow for his cause.... You couldn’t blame him for that....
He had denounced Monckton’s Ltd. to all sorts of persons and organs.... What exactly their manoeuvres had been he obviously didn’t know. He was pretty certain that Henry Martin was not Hugh Monckton but an American who did not know how to date English letters. He might of course be a mere impostor who had juggled a change of identities after the possible suicide of Hugh Monckton — who might be supposed to have committed suicide because he thought his business was in Queer Street.... But he was inclined to believe, considering the fluctuation in Monckton’s shares, that Henry Martin was just a fellow whom Monckton’s had hired to personate Hugh Monckton after the suicide — with a view of course to making the shares rise again. If — and Eudoxie had told him this — Henry Martin and Hugh Monckton were actually closely related that would make it all the more likely that he would be ready to take part in a nefarious scheme....
To satisfy himself he had written letters revealing his suspicions both to Aunt Elizabeth and to Eustace Monckton.... If they took neither notice nor action he would then be convinced that his suspicions of a loathsome conspiracy to deceive the market were confirmed. He had received no answer and he had learned that Henry Martin had actually gone to live with his aunt!
And Eudoxie seemed to become very active. He knew through Jeanne Becquerel that she had paid flying visits to Aunt Elizabeth’s, where she had stayed four days just after Aunt Elizabeth had received his letter — and then to Eustace Monckton at the Smithville works.... In addition, Eudoxie had avoided seeing him any more. He took it that all this meant that Aunt Elizabeth and presumably also Eustace Monckton were determined to fight the matter to the bitter end....
He had immediately addressed to various Communists and Extreme Left papers a series of letters in which he exposed the whole situation.... None of the papers had printed his letters but one of them got into touch with a not very reputable financial organ belonging to a City interest that would be glad to do Monckton’s Ltd. a bad turn. That paper, after printing a series of rather mysterious notes concerning a great industrial undertaking, had actually communicated with Scotland Yard.... The police were of course puzzled but Macdonald thought that they had actually communicated with the French Sûreté Générale.... “And so now, my fine fellow,” Macdonald finished his letter, “you and your egregious commissaire of police and your Lamoricière, and your senile, so-called aunt and all your financial rats gnawing the entrails of the starving will soon be smoked out and the whole lot of you be for ever disgraced and damned....”
At that point Henry Martin in a fit of rage at the reference to Aunt Elizabeth had torn the letter up so that later he could not check his memory of the contents.... But that at least was what he remembered of it by the time he had reached the station.... And when he subsequently had leisure to go over his memories of it with Eudoxie he found that his memory must be fairly correct....
The car went up between the madly waving palms of the street that led to the station. He thought with a sort of horror of the perturbations through which the dead woman must have gone.... He had not, then, any difficulties with the chronology. She must have received that fellow’s letter a day or so before Sir Tressider’s visit.... And the details of the heated political discussion that he had had with her on the night before that visit came vividly back to him.... Vividly and with misery!...
It had been just after the President of the United States had begun toying with the idea that in June had resulted in his moratorium for World War-debts.... Henry Martin, going as he was over that ground in his book, had jumped at the idea which he had to consider as the only thing that could save his country. The War debts were payable in gold and he was convinced that a gold monopoly caused ruin to a country. He could not take any other line.... Aunt Elizabeth had been of the reverse opinion. She considered in the first place that England ought to pay her debts whatever happened and, in addition, as a principal shareholder in Monckton’s, who had certainly profited by the embarrassments of the United States, she could not but feel that anything that hurt the United States — at any rate in the realms of currency — must be of advantage to the world as proving that you can not with impunity ride rough shod over the faces of all the nations of the earth....
To Henry Martin with his mind full of the pictures of breadlines, suicides and bands of starving children swarming in hordes across a continent, this had seemed almost unbearable. He had had to limit the main line of his assertions to the argument that the ruin of any one nation meant the ruin of the world.... And there had suddenly come into his mind an argument he had heard in a smoking-room of a Transatlantic liner — probably in 1924, or at any rate just after the commission headed, he thought, by a politician called Baldwin, had agreed on the part of Great Britain to pay her War-debt in full....
It had not been so much a discussion.... An elderly and fiery Philadelphia banker with a great deal of flying hair and spectacles had suddenly burst upon the quiet of the smoking-room midnight with a violent denunciation of the British politician who had agreed to the payment of the war debts.... He had been talking to a bored, blond Englishman who from time to time said: “I dessay!” or “I’m shore I don’t know, you know”... The Philadelphian — whose name came back to Henry Martin as Delmas or something like it and who was certainly said to be a Pennsylvanian financial big bug — had declared that the English politician had fixed, by the agreement to pay the debts, so many weasels to the throat of the United States. That was the image he had used.... At every payment the blood of his country would be slowly sucked until in the whole vast continent there would be heard nothing but the wails of starving children, dying by the side of their starved mothers....
At the time, as Henry Martin remembered, he had certainly been moved by the sheer drama of the old man’s quite evident despair. The subject had been however so unfamiliar and had seemed so fantastic to Henry Martin that he had forgotten the scene entirely.... Now, when the old man’s prophecy seemed to have come so terribly true he suddenly remembered it — and with a feeling of despair almost as deep as that of the old man. He really seemed to see the English governing classes fixed like weasels at the throat of his country — cold creatures with fiendish intelligences.... And his aunt — with her cool intelligence — he suddenly saw as one of that ruling class that had achieved the ruin of his country....
He took it out in asking her: Did she know what the ruin of a country meant — the agony of anxiety of millions, the slow deaths of hundreds of thousands...? He asked her: Did she really desire that across a vast continent nothing, in the darkness, should be heard but the wails of children dying of starvation beside their dead mothers?
... Was that what she wanted?
She had answered indignantly:
“Damn it, Posh, you know I want nothing of the sort... And then she had gone suddenly as white as flour and had said,” Upon my word one would say that you really were an American....”
It came back to him that those were the last really firm and as if valiant words that he had heard her utter.... Certainly after that she had never called him “Posh.”
He had had on his lips the words:
“Then to hell with it, I am just that....” But in standing up to utter them he had knocked a coffee-cup off the table and, by the time Mary had cleaned up the mess, the emotional storm had passed over....
And then... what?
On the next day she had suddenly fainted.... Over his bared back.... And, for days she had refused to see him.... Until Eudoxie had come over from England.... With, of course, the genealogical cable.... You laugh at birth marks.... But Hugh Monckton must have had, say on his shoulder blades, some distinctive mark.... That after all was the last determining sign.... That mark would not be on him, Henry Martin!
