The Husband's Story: A NovelPhillips, David Graham
General
The Husband's Story: A Novel
Phillips, David Graham
Husband and wife -- Fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
There is a shallow fashion of describing this or that as peculiarly New
York, usually snobbishness or domestic unhappiness or wealth worship,
dishonest business men or worthless wives. It is time to have done
with such nonsense. New York is in no way peculiar, nor is any other
place, beyond trifling surface differences. New York is nothing but
the epitome of the whole country, just as Chicago is. If you wish
to understand America, study New York or Chicago, our two universal
cities. There you find in one place and in admirable perspective a
complete museum of specimens of what is scattered over three and a
half million square miles. For, don’t forget, New York is not the few
blocks of fashionable district alone. It is four million people of all
conditions, tastes, and activities. And the dominant force of struggle
for money and fashion is no more dominant in New York than it is in
the rest of America. New York is more truly representative of America
than is Chicago, for in Chicago the Eastern and Southern elements are
lacking and the Western element is strong out of proportion.
I was telling of my wife’s blossoming as Lady Bountiful in search
not of a heavenly crown, but of what human Lady Bountiful always
seeks--social position. Charity covers a multitude of sins; the
greatest of them is hypocrisy. I have yet to see a charitable man
or woman or child whose chief and only noteworthy object was not
self-glorification. The people who believe in brotherhood do not go in
for charity. They wish to abolish poverty, whereas charity revels in
poverty and seeks to increase it, to change it from miserable poverty
which might die into comfortable pauperism which can live on, and
fester and breed on, and fawn on and give vanity ever more and more
exquisite titillations. Holy Cross, my wife’s new spiritual guide, was
past master of the pauper-making and pauper-utilizing arts. Its rector
and his staff of slimy sycophants had the small standing army of its
worthy poor trained to perfection. When my wife went down among them,
she returned home with face aglow and eyes heavenly. What a treat those
wretches had given her! And in the first blush of her enthusiasm she
dispensed lavishly, where the older members of the church exacted the
full measure of titillation for every dollar invested and awarded extra
sums only to some novelty in lickspittling or toadeating.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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