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THE AWAKENING OF
HELENA RICHIE
By MARGARET DELAND I N 1906 Margaret Deland, after having written several other books, gave to the public the fruit of her maturer skill in The Awakening of Helena Richie. The volume is dedicated to Lorin Deland, who has since died, and no wife could have reared a more magnificent monument to honor one dear to her than in this masterpiece which stands, and will stand, for all that is best in creative fiction. The story is simple. Stripped of the charm of its setting and the subtle delicacy of its treatment, we have a tale presenting' few characters and with no very extended scope for action. It is in its emotional quality that its power lies; and this emotion centers about the moral conflict of the heroine and her transition from a creature seeking mere happiness to a woman of alert conscience and aroused soul. The scene of the novel is the same small Pennsylvania town in which Mrs. Deland had placed two previous books, Old Chester Tales and Doctor Lavendar, and it is with pleasure that we continue in this later work our acquaintance with several of the characters already introduced to us in these earlier writings. At the opening of the story Mrs. Richie has come to Old Chester and taken up residence in the "Stuffed Animal House," so called because its former owner was a taxidermist. She is little known to the villagers, living an isolated existence and shunning any intimacy with the townfolk; nevertheless, she is universally respected. There is, to be sure, an atmosphere of mystery enshrouding this beautiful stranger who is possessed of a culture and poise that place her a stratum above the simply bred inhabitants of the sleepy little settlement, but since she goes to church, is quiet and decorous, and gives herself no airs, she furnishes no cause for criticism. Her only visitor is Mr. Lloyd Prior, known to Old Chester as her brother. As the story proceeds, however, we are made aware that Prior is not her brother, but is a Philadelphia widower with one daughter whom he idolizes, and that he and Mrs. Richie have for thirteen years been living together, awaiting the death of Frederic, Helena's husband, whose demise will leave them free to marry. Frederic has been a dissipated man who, when not him-self, has been responsible for the death of the Richie baby; and he is now living a dissolute life in Paris. The tragedy of the baby's death has been the culminating factor in turning his wife's hatred and con-tempt for him into revulsion, and determining her to desert him and go to Prior. To her lover she gives all the affection which the loss of her child and the destruction of her hopes have turned back into her nature. Prior, on the other hand, has loved her in the past, but now, after thirteen years of deferred happiness, his passion is burned out. He is tired of her. Alice, his daughter, is growing up, and he realizes the indiscretion of the entanglement; furthermore, his business demands his time; it is less and less convenient to come to Old Chester; and he is no longer young. He is a selfish, sensual being, with the typical masculine distaste for everything that renders him uncomfortable either in mind or in body. While he is willing, in an indolent sort of way, to continue his relation with Mrs. Richie, is even honorable enough to marry her if he must, it is obvious that he would gladly be rid of the whole affair. But to Helena Richie this incident is not an "affair." It is her life. She loves Prior with a devotion engendered by her lonely, heart-starved existence, and she looks for-ward to the moment when Frederic's death shall release her from her present precarious position and allow her to confront the world with a clear name. That an ultimate marriage between them will wipe out the blot on their past she does not question. In the mean time she can only possess her soul of patience and make the best of her enforced seclusion. No one knows her secret. No one can know it. Therefore she feels quite secure-that is, as secure as is possible in the face of the ever-present danger of exposure. Into this fevered life of hers three important characters project themselves: Doc-tor Lavendar, the minister of Old Chester; Doctor William King, the village physician; and David, an orphan child whom the rector has befriended and for whom he is desirous of finding a home. Of all Mrs. Deland's creations, none, perhaps, is more beloved than is Doctor Lavendar. Wise, benign, humorous, yet just at all times-a man who is never to be turned aside from a principle by idle sentimentality. Doctor King is not unlike him in this unflinching fealty to duty and to honor. These two persons put their heads together and decide that, since Mrs. Richie leads such a solitary life and is abundantly able, she is the one to take the homeless David. The conspirators proceed with extreme caution. The child is brought to Doctor Lavendar's house and Mrs. Richie is given the opportunity to see. him. He is a quaint, winsome, appealing little fellow-a decided personality, and one of the most delightful and consistent child portraits in modern fiction. His greatest attraction lies in the fact that one can never be sure what he will say next. Once, when Doctor Lavendar is telling him a story, he keeps his eyes fixed so intently on the man's face that the old gentleman is much flattered. "Well, well, you are a great boy for stories, aren't you?" remarks the delighted minister. "You've talked seven minutes," said David, thoughtfully, "and you haven't moved your upper jaw once." As can be imagined, the child makes instant conquest of Mrs. Richie, who insists on fitting him out with tiny garments and brings him in triumph to the "Stuffed Animal House." Day by day the tie that binds her to David strengthens until we see this affection the dominant motive of her life. It even overshadows her love for Prior, although it is some time before she is conscious that it does so. In the mean while, quite by chance, the security of her miniature world is shaken to its foundations. There lives in Old Chester a youth much Mrs. Richie's junior, Sam Wright, who has drifted into the habit of calling on her and who falls in love with her. It is the blind worship of one who has never known passion, and in an attempt to break up the boy's infatuation his doting grandfather comes to Mrs. Richie and half in irritation accuses her of not being a good woman. The shot is a random one, but the instant the charge is made the speaker realizes he has hit upon the truth. Helena's anger at his gibes and sarcasm is like the whirlwind. But the Lord was not in the wind. It is Sam Wright's suicide that first brings home to her the gravity of defying social responsibility. What she has hitherto regarded as a scorn for convention she now sees to be a crime against humanity. All her being is rocked with self-reproach. But the Lord was not in the earthquake. It is not until Doctor King forces her to confess her guilt and tells her she must give up David that we reach the climax of the drama. Then all the wild mother instinct of the woman leaps into being. She is a lioness fighting for her young. She will give up Prior; in fact, she does give him up. But she will not part with David. She begs, bribes, prays; but Willy King's con-science will not permit him to listen to her entreaties. She must send the child back to Doctor Lavendar, or he must acquaint the good minister with the entire story. In an effort to forestall this action Mrs. Richie herself goes to the rectory, and before she leaves it she looks into the face of her own soul and pronounces her doom. "The whirlwind of anger had died out; the shock of responsibility had subsided; the hiss of those flames of shame had ceased. She was in the center of all the tumults, where lies the quiet mind of God." When Doctor Lavendar asks her if she thinks herself worthy to keep the child she humbly whispers, "No." And after the fire, the still Small Voice. At last the woman's conscience is aroused, her repentance is sincere, and we have the true "awakening of Helena Richie." How wisely Doctor Lavendar meets this crisis in the shattered life, allowing her to taste to the full the dregs of remorse and suffering, and yet how mercifully and gently he leads her upward toward hope and a desire for restitution, constitute the remain-der of the story. The kind old man suggests that she make her future home in a distant city where her past will not follow her and where she may start anew, and he asks that on the morning of her departure she come to him for a package which he wishes her to take with her on her journey. The reader shares her shock of joyous surprise when David emerges from the corner of the stage-coach, crying, "I'm the package!" "Doctor Lavendar took both her hands. . . . `Helena,' he said, `your Master came into the world as a little child. Receive Him in your heart by faith, with thanks-giving." So ends the novel. To tear the skeleton of the plot from its exquisite setting is almost a sacrilege. It is like dragging the perfume from a flower. One must read the book to gain a true sense of its exceptional beauty and fineness. It has been successfully dramatized and the title role ably and artistically portrayed by Margaret Anglin; there is also an "Anglin Edition" of the story, attractively illustrated by pictures taken from the play. |