Amid the irritating confusion, Aileen wandered about collecting her personal belongings and having her few faithful servants remove them to her apartment.
The interest and curiosity of the public in the Cowperwood possessions grew steadily from day to day, and the demand for admission tickets to the house was so great that the auctioneers were unable to meet it. The charge of one dollar admission fee, both to the exhibitions and the sales sessions, was apparently no deterrent to those interested.
On the day the sale opened at the Liberty Art Galleries, the auditorium was crowded from pit to gallery. There was tremendous applause when certain masterpieces of art were offered. On the other hand, at the Cowperwood mansion, the difficulties increased. The catalogue of objects to be sold there contained more than thirteen hundred numbers. And when the day of the auction finally arrived, motors, taxicabs, and carriages hugged the curb at
Fifth Avenue and Sixty-eighth Street while the sale was going on. There were millionaire collectors, famous artists, and celebrated society women—whose motors had never stopped there in earlier days—all clamoring to get inside to bid on the beautiful personal belongings of Aileen and Frank Cowperwood.
His gold bedstead, once owned by the king of Belgium and bought for $80,000; the pink marble bathtub in Aileen’s bathroom, which had cost $50,000; the fabulous silk carpets from the Mosque of Ardebil; the bronzes, red African vases, Louis XIV gilt sofas; candelabras, also Louis XIV, of cut crystal, with amethyst and topaz drops; exquisite porcelain, glass, silver, and smaller objects such as cameos, rings, pins, necklaces, precious stones, and figurines.
From one room to another they followed the booming voice of the auctioneer which reverberated through the great rooms. They saw “Cupid and Psyche” by Rodin sold to a dealer for $51,000. One bidder, who had gone as high as $1600 on a Botticelli, lost it to a $1700 voice. A large, impressive woman in purple, who stood near the auctioneer most of the time, for some reason always bid $390 on an article, never lower, never higher. When the crowd rushed into the palm room on the heels of the auctioneer to view a Rodin statue, he called out to them “Don’t lean against the palms!”
Throughout the sale, a brougham drove slowly up and down Fifth Avenue two or three times, its occupant a lone woman. She looked at the motors and carriages rolling up to the entrance to the Cowperwood mansion, and watched the men and women crowding up the steps into the house. It meant much to her, for she was viewing her own last struggle: a final separation from her earlier ambitions. Twenty-three years ago she was one of the most ravishingly beautiful women in America. To a certain degree she retained something of her former spirit and bearing. She had been subdued but not altogether crushed, as yet. But Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood did not go in to attend the sale. Yet she saw her most treasured possessions being carried out by buyers, and occasionally heard the voice of the auctioneer crying: “What am I bid? What am I bid? What am I bid?” Eventually she decided she could endure no more, and told the driver to take her back to her Madison Avenue apartment.
A half-hour later she stood alone in her bedroom, silent and feeling the need of silence. No trace of all that had almost magically on this day disappeared. She would be alone now. Cowperwood would not return, even if he had desired to do so.
And then, one year later, she was suddenly seized with another attack of pneumonia, and passed from this world. Before she died she sent a note to Dr. James:
If you will be so good, I beg of you to see that I am buried in the tomb alongside of my husband, as he wished. Will you please forgive me for my discourtesies to you in the past? They were due to miseries beyond my power to convey.
And James, folding the letter and meditating on the anachronisms of life, said to himself: Yes, Aileen, I will.
Chapter 76
During the period in which the estate of Cowperwood had disintegrated and the death of Aileen had occurred, Berenice had slowly but surely embarked on a course that she felt would adjust her to society and life in any form, provided, as she reasoned from time to time, she could equip herself with the mental and spiritual data that would brush completely out of her consideration the whole Western materialistic viewpoint which made money and luxury its only god. Primarily, the desire for this change in thought had originated in a struggle against the sorrow that had seized upon her after Cowperwood’s death, and which had almost embittered her life. Then, quite accidentally, or seemingly so, she had come upon a little volume known as the Bhagavad-Gita, which seemed to condense and epitomize thousands of years of Asiatic religious thought.
As she found herself singing these songs of God, she began to wonder if she might be the one to find truth and understanding. It was worth striving for, and she had gone in search of it.
But before arriving in India to pursue her studies, she had gone to England to arrange for her mother to accompany her. And it was only a few hours after her arrival at Pryor’s Cove that Lord Stane came to see her. When she told him of her decision to go to India to take up the serious study of Hindu philosophy, Stane, while he was interested, was also shocked. For many years he had heard the reports of Englishmen, who, for the government or other interests, had been sent to India, and recalling these he felt that India was no place for a young and beautiful woman.
Stane understood well enough by now that Berenice was more to Cowperwood than a ward, and that there was some sort of shadow over her mother’s past; but he was still in love with her, and felt that even with her social handicaps, his own life would be mentally and spiritually happier if she were near him and he could enjoy her companionship and her liberal and intellectual viewpoint. He would, in fact, consider himself fortunate to marry such a charming and distinguished temperament.
But when Berenice explained to him what had been crystallizing in her mind these past few weeks since Cowperwood’s death, and how convinced she had become that she would receive mental and spiritual help there, away from the Western world and its crass materialism, he was inclined to defer his personal desires in connection with her until such time as experiences of her own might have clarified all the various conflicting emotions and interests which now for the time being dominated her. And so he made no particular reference to his feeling for her, except to say that he hoped she would be willing to avail herself of the advice of his good friend, Lord Severence. For, as she knew, Severence was richly informed as to prevailing conditions in India, and would be glad to be of service to her. Berenice replied that she would be happy to receive any advice or aid that Lord Severence wished to give her, although she knew she would be led directly to whatever it was she needed. As she said: “Something appears to be drawing me like a magnet, and I feel I shall not be deflected in any way.”
“In other words, Berenice, you believe in fate,” said Stane. “Well, I believe in it, too, to a degree, but plainly you have the force and the faith that will cause your desires to be realized. And now all I can think of in relation to all this is that you will be willing to call on me for any service whatsoever that I may be able to render. I hope you will write me from time to time and inform me of your progress.” And this she promised to do.