Frank Bullard reading of Charles Waddell Chesnutt stories at the University of Iowa, March 21, 1976
Frank Ballard: Welcome to The Black Book, a program dedicated to the works of Black authors. This is the fourth reading of the writings of Charles Waddell Chesnutt. I'm Frank Ballard. This is our final reading from the Howard University Press edition of The Short Fiction of Charles W. Chesnutt, edited by Sylvia Lyons Render.
Frank Ballard: Chesnutt was 74 years old when he died on November 15th, 1932. During his life, he wrote three novels and numerous short stories. He was the first Black author to be published by a major book company, and the first Black author to receive critical acclaim. This self-educated court stenographer used literature to fight racial injustice and spoke out against it publicly.
Frank Ballard: Chesnutt left North Carolina to meet the world, and the world received him well. He became a member of the exclusive white Rowfant Literary Club. Wilberforce University conferred an LLD degree upon him in 1913. The NAACP awarded him the Spingarn Medal in 1928 for distinguished service in a field of honorable endeavor. Twice, he was the president of the Ohio State Stenographer's Association.
Frank Ballard: Chesnutt left us a rich literary legacy, such as this selection.
New Speaker: A Fool's Paradise.
Frank Ballard: Went to the ball at Mrs. Granville De Puyster's last night, December 15, 1878. It was a brilliant affair. The air was heavy with the perfume of rare flowers. The music throbbed voluptuously. The soft light of the multitudinous wax candles fell upon beautiful women and splendid men. The scene was Elysian in its beauty.
Frank Ballard: How can I thank Jenkyns for his invitation? It has opened up to me a new world. Hereafter, I shall move upon a higher social plane, from which can look down with generous pity upon my former associates. I shall treat them politely when we chance to meet, noblesse oblige , but so far as society is concerned, we must henceforth be strangers. Jenkyns has procured me an invitation to Mrs. Merriwether's for next Thursday evening. By the way, I hope he will not ask me for another loan before that time. He is not as prompt in his payments as I could wish.
Frank Ballard: I wonder if Miss Ferrand will be there. I must find out who she is. Such a charming freshness and simplicity. The moment she entered the drawing room door, I was struck by her appearance. She is a blonde, tall and stately, with eyes of deepest blue from which truth seems to look out inquiringly upon an unfamiliar world. She wore a high cut gown of dove colored silk, with violets in her hair and at her throat.
Frank Ballard: Jenkyns tells me it was her first ball. It's no wonder then that a blush should overspread her face as she looked around the room at the elaborate display of shoulders. What conventional purity. Women like her are the salt of society. Would that there were more of them to exercise a restraining influence upon the growing laxity of fashionable morals.
Frank Ballard: I had the inexpressible pleasure of taking her out to supper. How will I ever be able to pay my debt of gratitude to Jenkyns? It was interesting to hear Miss Ferrand's naive opinions on the ways of fashionable society. "Do ladies really drink wine?" she asked me in a horror-struck whisper. "See for yourself." "It's disgraceful," she continued, her cheeks aflame with indignation. I noticed that she did not take wine herself, and that she went away early. A glorious creature. I hope she will be at Mrs. Merriwether's.
Frank Ballard: January 10th, 1879. I met Miss Ferrand last night for the fourth time. She is more charming each time I see her. Last night, her beauty was heightened by an elaborate full-dressed toilet. She wore a gown of white satin, with a bunch of yellow roses at her waist. What superb shoulders she has. Her arms would put a Venus to the blush. A short acquaintance with fashionable society brings a pretty woman out wonderfully.
Frank Ballard: Miss Ferrand waltzes divinely. I understand she's been taking dancing lessons and she came to the city. She and young Van Dusen make a handsome couple. I saw no reason, however, for his clasping her so tightly during the waltz. I've never heard any good of that fellow. He is a rich snob. His money is his only redeeming quality. His touch is pollution to a pure and unsullied soul like that of Miss Ferrand. She surely has not heard of his habits, or she would not dance with him.
Frank Ballard: I waltzed with her later in the evening, and I cannot describe my feelings. Let me confess it here, in these pages which no profane eye will ever desecrate. I am in love, deeply, desperately in love. Dearest Ida. Ida, my pen lingers lovingly upon the name. Could you not read my secret in my eyes, in every tone of my voice? I'm 35, and this is the first time I have ever been really in love.
Frank Ballard: Van Dusen took her out to supper. Lucky scoundrel. I gave my arm to a faded wallflower to whom I could not reasonably be expected to talk a great deal. I succeeded in getting seats opposite Miss Ferrand at the supper table, and feasted my eyes upon her from behind the pyramid of hothouse flowers that rose in front of my plate. I'm afraid my companion was somewhat neglected.
Frank Ballard: Van Dusen was very attentive to Ida. He must be in love with her himself. The thought is maddening. In her innocent good nature, she seemed to encourage him. She laughed at his clumsy wit, and appeared to listen, what a bore it must've been, to the bits of stale gossip he had picked up the clubs about people she did not know, and events which she could not have been interested in. The fellow has not a single original idea. He piled her plate with dainties, and I watched her tapered fingers carry to her lips the champagne he forced upon her. Do I hate or envy him most?
Frank Ballard: I have found out all about her. She comes of a poor but highly cultivated family. Her father is a professor in a theological seminary, and her mother writes articles for the magazines. I can seek her hand without incurring the imputation of mercenary motives. I shall call this evening with Jenkyns, who is acquainted with the family she is stopping with.
Frank Ballard: 11 PM. Called with Jenkyns. Delightful time. Will go again by myself next Thursday evening. Miss Ferrand is as accomplished as she is beautiful. She plays brilliantly upon the piano, and sings with a cultivated and very sympathetic voice. I could scarcely refrain from weeping at her rendition of Way Down Upon de Swanee River. She sang the ballad with a pathos and delicacy that redeemed it from its minstrel associations, and appealed to the finer feelings of the heart.
Frank Ballard: I looked over a number of her drawings. They show signs of unusual talent. She is familiar with the best literature of the day, and spoke of several authors with whose names I am unacquainted. I fear I'm not worthy of her, and yet, I will make the effort to win her love. I think she must have perceived something of my feeling toward her. I do not see how she could have failed to do so.
Frank Ballard: March 10th. Black despair has fallen upon me. I have been refused, kindly, but firmly. Nothing could have been more delicate than her way of putting it. But alas, the blow is not less crushing because the hand that gave it is wrapped in velvet.
Frank Ballard: "Mr. Dunlap," she said, "I regret this exceedingly, more indeed than language can express, but while I esteem you highly, I do not feel for you the affection which I must have for the man whom I marry." "Is there no hope that your feeling toward me may change?" "I'm afraid not. No, Mr. Dunlap. It is better for you not to cherish false hopes, but we can still be friends. Some other and better girl will make you happier than I could."
Frank Ballard: A decent self respect would require me to forget her, but groveling in the depths of self-abasement, I confess that I love her still, and shall ever love her.
Frank Ballard: April 15. My worst fears are realized. Is it reserved for gilded vice and emptiness always to triumph over honorable poverty? Miss Ferrand has become Mrs. Van Dusen. I went to see her married. The brilliantly lighted church was crowded to the doors. From an obscure corner, I watched the bride float down the aisle upon Van Dusen's arm, while the organ pealed forth a joyful wedding march. It was like seeing a lamb led to the slaughter. The music ran together in a jumble of discord. I could bear no more and hurried out of the church by the side door. I had received an invitation to the reception, but could not trust myself to attend. My heart was too full. May Ida never repent the step she took tonight.
Frank Ballard: May 20. I have tried in vain to tear this unholy love from my heart. Ida is now the wife of another, but did she not say we might be friends? It cannot be wrong for me to watch over her. She may yet need a friend. I do not believe Van Dusen will make her a good husband, and I may yet have an opportunity to prove my friendship.
Frank Ballard: I met Mrs. Van Dusen last night. "Why did you not come to my reception?" "Do not ask me. I could not." "Poor Mr. Dunlap." What divine pity. It almost consoled me for my misery, and when she asked me to bring her her fan from the sofa in the other room, I felt an elation that lasted me all the evening.
Frank Ballard: August 1st, 1881. It has been a long time since I have written in my journal. I attended the soiree at Mrs. Van Dusen's last night. I suspect that my fears were well founded. Ida does not look happy, and there is an expression of sullen savagery about Van Dusen's heavy face that bodes ill for his wife's peace of mind. I conversed with my hostess a few minutes at supper. She surely has some secret sorrow. She swallowed several glasses of wine with almost feverish haste. Would that I could comfort her, my poor darling. She must suffer. And I? I can do nothing.
Frank Ballard: March 2nd, 1882. I can scarcely restrain my joy, and yet the sentiment is almost inhuman. Van Dusen is dead, killed in a railway accident. Ida is free. Having waited so long, I can wait a little longer, but when the period of her mourning is over, I will, again tempt my fate. If humble and patient devotion can win her love, she shall yet be mine.
Frank Ballard: March 10th. Fortune favors me. Van Dusen's affairs were found to be fearfully involved, and in all probability, there will be nothing left for the widow and child. I have volunteered my services in straightening out the books of the estate and getting her business in order. This brings me into frequent contact with Ida. Her resignation is almost divine, and the pensive smile that lights up her face now and then is like a ray of light escaping through a rift in the walls of paradise.
Frank Ballard: May 10th. My task is completed. There's scarcely anything left of the fine estate Van Dusen inherited. He has run through it all in a few brief years. Ida will have to find something to do to support herself and child. What a shame that conventionality will not permit me to assume the burden. I would work my fingers to the bone for her.
Frank Ballard: May 20th. I have bestirred myself to find music pupils for Ida. She is a skillful musician, and will make, I think, an excellent teacher. Some of her former fashionable associates have interested themselves on her behalf, and she will be able to earn enough to live on in comfort until the time arrives when I can offer her a humble home.
Frank Ballard: June 1st, 1883. When I called at Mrs. Van Dusen's last evening, I found a tall handsome fellow there. He is a Mr. Courcy, a banker and the father of one of Ida's music pupils. I've learned today that he is a widower. How rapidly I hope the next few months may fly, so that I may put the momentous question upon which my future happiness depends.
Frank Ballard: October 12th. I'm dazed, dumbfounded, stupefied. All last night, I tossed upon my bed in sleepless misery. I have not been to the office today, but went for a long walk in the park this morning, hoping that the fresh air and the sight of the green trees might give my throbbing brain relief. Perhaps I can get rid of some of my pain by pouring it out upon the pages of my journal.
Frank Ballard: When I called upon Ida last evening, she said to me, "Mr. Dunlap, I believe you are a true friend of mine. Indeed, my best friend. And I wish to confide in you with respect to a matter of vital importance to me. I am alone in the world, except for Nellie. My earnings a small, at the best, and while, at present, adequate for my simple needs, they will not, even supposing them to remain constant, be sufficient to educate Nellie as the Ferrands have always been brought up."
Frank Ballard: "Dear Mrs. Van Dusen," I cried at this point, "Let me ..." She interrupted me and continued. "Mr. Courcy has offered to marry me. He can give me wealth and luxury, a home for Nellie, and the means to educate her properly. I believe he loves me dearly, and I have accepted him. I hope you think I have acted wisely. Will you not congratulate me?"
Frank Ballard: For an answer, I poured out my own love in a torrent of words. She looked pained and surprised. "I did not dream that you felt such sentiments for me, Mr. Dunlap," she said, and with downcast eyes, she continued, "You said nothing. What might have been if you had spoken sooner. It would not be right for me now to say what might have been, but my word is given, and I cannot break it. Can we not still be friends? I know I can never repay you for all your kindness to me."
Frank Ballard: I could not resist so much dignity, so much integrity of character. With a sublime self denial, she had sacrificed her love for me to what she believed to be her duty. What might have been she would not say, but she had plighted her word, and I must go on in the dreary routine of my lonely life, cheered somewhat by a ray of friendship, when, if I had only spoken sooner, if only I had spoken sooner, I might have basked in the sunshine of love.
Frank Ballard: January 3rd, 1884. I see Mrs. Courcy occasionally. The happy intimacy of her widowhood is mine no more. I sometimes imagine that she tries to avoid me when we meet. I fear that she sacrificed too much to an abstract conception of duty, and that her loveless marriage is not a happy one.
Frank Ballard: March 10th, 1886. I see from the morning Bugle that Mrs. Courcy met with an accident last night. In going to her carriage for Mrs. Merriwether's reception, she slipped upon the icy pavement and sprained her ankle.
Frank Ballard: March 12th. I have had quite a painful experience today. I was coming out of the club, when I met Jenkyns. "hello, Dunlap. Did you hear about the accident of Mrs. Courcy?" "Yes. I hope it's not serious. Do you know how it happened?" He leaned over and whispered to me, "She was drunk, drunk as I fish."
Frank Ballard: I do not know whether horror or indignation was the stronger sentiment in my mind at the moment. As soon as I could command my voice, I replied hotly, "Jenkyns, you are no gentleman. You slander as pure and noble a woman has ever walked up on the Earth." "Ah well, old boy. I can't help it if you want to get huffy about it, you know? That's what everybody says, and I have seen her take a drop too much myself."
Frank Ballard: I gave the fellow a look into which I tried to throw all the contempt I felt for him, and then turned upon my heel. I did not wish to create a public scandal by treating him as he deserved to be treated. I regret that the code has fallen into disuse among us. If it were in force, I should call him out.
Frank Ballard: March 18th. I learned that the injuries sustained by Mrs. Courcy the other night is more serious than was at first supposed, and that her walk will always be characterized by a limp. I saw her last night for the first time since the accident, and I thought a slight limp added individually to her movement, and did not in the least detract from her beauty. The defect is scarcely perceptible in her dancing. She looks a little pale and distrait. I fear her domestic life is not happy. How my heart bleeds for her.
Frank Ballard: September 13th, 1887. Mrs. Courcy is in distress. It can no longer be concealed. I met her at Merriwether's several evening since, and she told me the whole story in strictest confidence. Her husband no longer loves her. His affections have been alienated by another woman. As a consequence, he has treated his wife shamefully. He has even accused her, I blush to write this even in the privacy of my journal, he has accused her of unfaithfulness.
Frank Ballard: This is a mere subterfuge, a transparent pretext by which he means to procure a divorce. He has employed private detectives who watch his wife's movements and make her life miserable. I could only advise her to suffer patiently. I assured her of my sympathy, and that I would stand by her if Courcy should attempt to carry out his plan.
Frank Ballard: October 18th. The blow has fallen. Today, Mr. Courcy filed his petition in court, asking a divorce and the custody of his children. The affair has got into the newspapers, and it is the all absorbing topic of conversation.
Frank Ballard: How Ida must suffer. I sought her out in her distress. She seemed glad to see me again and to know that she had at least one true friend. She has left her husband's house and says she will never return to it. Nothing could induce her to enter the presence of that monster, the monster who has thus vilified her.
Frank Ballard: I implored her to accept my aid, and she has permitted me to retain, as counsel for the defense, Messieurs Snap and Doubleday, the eminent attorneys. Of course, my connection with the matter is kept secret, as my poor stricken one must not give her enemies any material that they can distort into evidence against her.
Frank Ballard: I have read a copy of the divorce petition. It comprises a series of shameful attacks upon the character of a woman whom the plaintiff believes to be defenseless, but he shall find himself deceived. I will spend the savings of a lifetime before I allow that saintly woman to be imposed upon. He charges her with things that I cannot write. It is enough to say that he tries to saddle upon her his own crimes.
Frank Ballard: I have notified Snap and Doubleday to spare no expense in defending her. They have filed a cross petition asking for a divorce and alimony. It will serve Courcy right if he loses her forever and has to pay a sum which will secure her independence, and a well merited punishment for his conduct too. Such men are most easily affected through their pockets.
Frank Ballard: Ida is grateful to me. When I called last evening, I found her with disheveled hair, and eyes red with weeping. She told me, somewhat incoherently, of her great distress of mind. She had sought temporary relief in stimulants, but without avail. I comforted her as best I might. I left her somewhat calmer.
Frank Ballard: December 10th. The iniquity is accomplished. Perjury and villainy have prevailed against truth and virtue. Is there any such thing as justice upon the Earth? In spite of the unrighteousness of his cause, in spite of all the skill of Messieurs Snap and Doubleday, the court has granted Mr. Courcy a divorce from his wife, and has given him the custody of their two children. It is an inequitable decision from which, alas, the court gives no appeal.
Frank Ballard: I am alarmed about the effect this decision may have upon Mrs. Courcy. I called this afternoon, but could not see her. As I went up to the door, I met the servant girl coming from the opposite direction. She'd been out to get a bottle of wine for Ida to take her medicine in. I gave the girl some money and begged for tidings of Ida. She said the poor creature was unwell and that she has just fallen into a much needed sleep. Of course, I will not disturb her. I will ask her to let me send Dr. Barnes, the eminent specialist in nervous troubles, to visit her.
Frank Ballard: Courcy has left the city. Rumor says he is brokenhearted, that he has sold out his business and gone where his children will never hear of their mother's shame. But I have it on good authority that he has gone to join the woman who is the cause of all of Ida's misfortunes.
Frank Ballard: Ida has recovered somewhat from the depression into which she was thrown by that infamous decision in the divorce case. She's trying to bear her troubles with resignation. It must be a hard thing for a woman to hold her head up under such a blow, but the consciousness of innocence gives Ida strength, and she will not bend before an unrighteous verdict. I have determined to give her the right to look to me for protection. This very day, I will offer her a refuge for her poor bruised heart. I will not let my chance slip a second time.
Frank Ballard: March 3rd, 1888. At last, at last, I have reaped the reward of my patient fidelity. Ida has promised to be mine. Next week, my happiness will be complete.
Frank Ballard: I called her yesterday afternoon. I sat down upon the sofa beside her, and taking her little hand in mine, told her the story of my love. "I have loved you since I first saw you. Time has only strengthened my passion. Your misfortunes have only served to make you dearer to me. You are still young and beautiful. I am fast growing old. Come to my waiting heart. Let me say to the world, 'This is my wife. I believe in her.' Let me give you a home, humble, it is true, but a place where you can be at peace, and where perhaps when time has healed the wounds your poor heart has received, you may find a measure of happiness."
Frank Ballard: Her hand trembled with emotion, as it lay in mine. "Dearest Paul, I have loved you ever since your kindness to me during my widowhood. Your friendship and assistance during my recent period of trial have endeared you to me still more. Can the fragment of what is left of my life compensate you in any degree for your years of devotion? But no, I scarcely dare burden you with a woman whose name has been dragged as mine has before the eyes of a heartless world."
Frank Ballard: "Forget it, darling, as I have forgotten it. I've saved a little money. I cannot give you the wealth and luxury you have been accustomed to, but I will share with you what I have. I can keep you from want and shield you from calumny." She laid her head on my shoulder. "Oh, Paul, such as I am, take me."
Frank Ballard: For the first time in our acquaintance of 10 years, I strained her to my bosom. That moment of happiness was compensation for all my weary years of waiting. We spent an hour in sweet communion of soul. She told me how she had loved me during all those years, and how she'd realized the fatal mistake of her second marriage.
Frank Ballard: Before I left, she went to make me a cup of tea. While she was gone from the room, I noticed the corner of a newspaper sticking out from under a sofa cushion that had been carelessly thrown upon it. I pulled it out. It was a copy of the evening Bugle.
Frank Ballard: As I glanced carelessly down its columns, what was my delight to read but the following paragraph? "Died at Westfield, Kansas, Jabez Dunlap. Mr. Dunlap was one of the pioneers of Westfield, and leaves an estate valued at several hundred thousand dollars. We learn from good authority that he died intestate, and that his nearest relative is Mr. Paul Dunlap, at present a bookkeeper in the employ of the Barton Iron Company."
Frank Ballard: Do you wonder at my delight? I am Paul Dunlap. I've never met this uncle of mine, and could not be expected to weep over the death of a stranger who had left me very rich. I shall testify my respect to his memory by the erection of a handsome monument.
Frank Ballard: I could not conceal my elation when Ida returned with tea. "Do you think you will be content to share my poverty?" "Yes, dear," she answered, looking at me with love lit eyes, "Poverty with you will be affluence after the loveless marriages that mine have been." "Have you read the evening Bugle?" "No, except merely to look over the advertising columns in the hope of finding something by which I could increase my earnings, but I have a permanent situation now."
Frank Ballard: "Read this item." I handed her the paper. "Oh. Paul," she cried, her eyes big with wonder, "Is it you?" "It is I," I replied, catching her in my arms. "Darling, the world is ours. We sail for Europe as soon as I can get the estate settled up." Am I not the most fortunate of men? Ida, wealth, leisure, all are mine. What have I done to deserve such happiness?
Frank Ballard: Extract from Chicago Daily News, September 3rd. Yesterday, Judge Dailey, after the briefest trial on record, it lasted just five and a quarter minutes by our reporter's reliable Waterbury chronometer, granted a divorce in the case of Dunlap versus Dunlap on the petition of the husband. The grounds on which the application were made were drunkenness and gross neglect of duty. And thus, the wheel goes merrily round.
Frank Ballard: This ends the selected readings from the works of Charles Waddell Chesnutt. This program is meant to be informative and entertaining. I hope you have found it to be so. If you have any comments about this program, write to your local radio station, or write to The Black Book, care of National Public Radio, 2025 M Street, Northwest, Washington, DC, zip code 20036. That's The Black Book, care of National Public Radio, 2025 M Street, Northwest, Washington, DC, zip code 20036.
Frank Ballard: This program was made possible through funds provided by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting. I'm Frank Ballard, and this is NPR, National Public Radio.