Mrs. Manstey's View
The view from Mrs. Manstey's window was not a striking one, but to herat least it was full of interest and beauty. Mrs. Manstey occupied theback room on the third floor of a New York boardinghouse, in a streetwhere the ash-barrels lingered late on the sidewalk and the gaps in thepavement would have staggered a Quintus Curtius. She was the widow of aclerk in a large wholesale house, and his death had left her alone, forher only daughter had married in California, and could not afford thelong journey to New York to see her mother. Mrs. Manstey, perhaps, mighthave joined her daughter in the West, but they had now been so manyyears apart that they had ceased to feel any need of each other'ssociety, and their intercourse had long been limited to the exchange ofa few perfunctory letters, written with indifference by the daughter,and with difficulty by Mrs. Manstey, whose right hand was growing stiffwith gout. Even had she felt a stronger desire for her daughter'scompanionship, Mrs. Manstey's increasing infirmity, which caused her todread the three flights of stairs between her room and the street, wouldhave given her pause on the eve of undertaking so long a journey; andwithout perhaps, formulating these reasons she had long since acceptedas a matter of course her solitary life in New York.She was, indeed, not quite lonely, for a few friends still toiledup now and then to her room; but their visits grew rare as the yearswent by. Mrs. Manstey had never been a sociable woman, and during herhusband's lifetime his companionship had been all-sufficient to her. Formany years she had cherished a desire to live in the country, to have ahen-house and a garden; but this longing had faded with age, leavingonly in the breast of the uncommunicative old woman a vague tendernessfor plants and animals. It was, perhaps, this tenderness which made hercling so fervently to her view from her window, a view in which the mostoptimistic eye would at first have failed to discover anything admirable.Mrs. Manstey, from her coign of vantage (a slightly projectingbow-window where she nursed an ivy and a succession ofunwholesome-looking bulbs), looked out first upon the yard of her owndwelling, of which, however, she could get but a restricted glimpse.Still, her gaze took in the topmost boughs of the ailanthus below herwindow, and she knew how early each year the clump of dicentra strungits bending stalk with hearts of pink.But of greater interest were the yards beyond. Being for the mostpart attached to boarding-houses they were in a state of chronicuntidiness and fluttering, on certain days of the week, withmiscellaneous garments and frayed table-cloths. In spite of this Mrs.Manstey found much to admire in the long vista which she commanded. Someof the yards were, indeed, but stony wastes, with grass in the cracks ofthe pavement and no shade in spring save that afforded by theintermittent leafage of the clotheslines. These yards Mrs. Mansteydisapproved of, but the others, the green ones, she loved. She had grownused to their disorder; the broken barrels, the empty bottles and pathsunswept no longer annoyed her; hers was the happy faculty of dwelling onthe pleasanter side of the prospect before her.In the very next enclosure did not a magnolia open its hard whiteflowers against the watery blue of April? And was there not, a littleway down the line, a fence foamed over every May be lilac waves ofwistaria? Farther still, a horse-chestnut lifted its candelabra of buffand pink blossoms above broad fans of foliage; while in the oppositeyard June was sweet with the breath of a neglected syringa, whichpersisted in growing in spite of the countless obstacles opposed to itswelfare.But if nature occupied the front rank in Mrs. Manstey's view, therewas much of a more personal character to interest her in the aspect ofthe houses and their inmates. She deeply disapproved of themustard-colored curtains which had lately been hung in the doctor'swindow opposite; but she glowed with pleasure when the house fartherdown had its old bricks washed with a coat of paint. The occupants ofthe houses did not often show themselves at the back windows, but theservants were always in sight. Noisy slatterns, Mrs. Manstey pronouncedthe greater number; she knew their ways and hated them. But to the quietcook in the newly painted house, whose mistress bullied her, and whosecretly fed the stray cats at nightfall, Mrs. Manstey's warmestsympathies were given. On one occasion her feelings were racked by theneglect of a housemaid, who for two days forgot to feed the parrotcommitted to her care. On the third day, Mrs. Manstey, in spite of hergouty hand, had just penned a letter, beginning: "Madam, it is now threedays since your parrot has been fed," when the forgetful maid appearedat the window with a cup of seed in her hand.But in Mrs. Manstey's more meditative moods it was the narrowingperspective of far-off yards which pleased her best. She loved, attwilight, when the distant brown-stone spire seemed melting in the fluidyellow of the west, to lose herself in vague memories of a trip toEurope, made years ago, and now reduced in her mind's eye to a palephantasmagoria of indistinct steeples and dreamy skies. Perhaps at heartMrs. Manstey was an artist; at all events she was sensible of manychanges of color unnoticed by the average eye, and dear to her as thegreen of early spring was the black lattice of branches against a coldsulphur sky at the close of a snowy day. She enjoyed, also, the sunnythaws of March, when patches of earth showed through the snow, likeinkspots spreading on a sheet of white blotting-paper; and, betterstill, the haze of boughs, leafless but swollen, which replaced theclear-cut tracery of winter. She even watched with a certain interestthe trail of smoke from a far-off factory chimney, and missed a detailin the landscape when the factory was closed and the smoke disappeared.Mrs. Manstey, in the long hours which she spent at her window, wasnot idle. She read a little, and knitted numberless stockings; but theview surrounded and shaped her life as the sea does a lonely island.When her rare callers came it was difficult for her to detach herselffrom the contemplation of the opposite window-washing, or the scrutinyof certain green points in a neighboring flower-bed which might, ormight not, turn into hyacinths, while she feigned an interest in hervisitor's anecdotes about some unknown grandchild. Mrs. Manstey's realfriends were the denizens of the yards, the hyacinths, the magnolia, thegreen parrot, the maid who fed the cats, the doctor who studied latebehind his mustard-colored curtains; and the confidant of her tenderermusings was the church-spire floating in the sunset.One April day, as she sat in her usual place, with knitting castaside and eyes fixed on the blue sky mottled with round clouds, a knockat the door announced the entrance of her landlady. Mrs. Manstey did notcare for her landlady, but she submitted to her visits with ladylikeresignation. To-day, however, it seemed harder than usual to turn fromthe blue sky and the blossoming magnolia to Mrs. Sampson's unsuggestiveface, and Mrs. Manstey was conscious of a distinct effort as she did so."The magnolia is out earlier than usual this year, Mrs. Sampson,"she remarked, yielding to a rare impulse, for she seldom alluded to theabsorbing interest of her life. In the first place it was a topic notlikely to appeal to her visitors and, besides, she lacked the power ofexpression and could not have given utterance to her feelings had shewished to."The what, Mrs. Manstey?" inquired the landlady, glancing about theroom as if to find there the explanation of Mrs. Manstey's statement."The magnolia in the next yard -- in Mrs. Black's yard," Mrs.Manstey repeated."Is it, indeed? I didn't know there was a magnolia there," saidMrs. Sampson, carelessly. Mrs. Manstey looked at her; she did not knowthat there was a magnolia in the next yard!"By the way," Mrs. Sampson continued, "speaking of Mrs. Blackreminds me that the work on the extension is to begin next week.""The what?" it was Mrs. Manstey's turn to ask."The extension," said Mrs. Sampson, nodding her head in thedirection of the ignored magnolia. "You knew, of course, that Mrs. Blackwas going to build an extension to her house? Yes, ma'am. I hear it isto run right back to the end of the yard. How she can afford to build anextension in these hard times I don't see; but she always was crazyabout building. She used to keep a boarding-house in Seventeenth Street,and she nearly ruined herself then by sticking out bow-windows and whatnot; I should have thought that would have cured her of building, but Iguess it's a disease, like drink. Anyhow, the work is to begin on Monday."Mrs. Manstey had grown pale. She always spoke slowly, so thelandlady did not heed the long pause which followed. At last Mrs.Manstey said: "Do you know how high the extension will be?""That's the most absurd part of it. The extension is to be builtright up to the roof of the main building; now, did you ever?""Mrs. Manstey paused again. "Won't it be a great annoyance to you,Mrs. Sampson?" she asked."I should say it would. But there's no help for it; if people havegot a mind to build extensions there's no law to prevent 'em, that I'maware of." Mrs. Manstey, knowing this, was silent. "There is no help forit," Mrs. Sampson repeated, "but if I am a church member, I wouldn'tbe so sorry if it ruined Eliza Black. Well, good-day, Mrs. Manstey; I'mglad to find you so comfortable."So comfortable -- so comfortable! Left to herself the old womanturned once more to the window. How lovely the view was that day! Theblue sky with its round clouds shed a brightness over everything; theailanthus had put on a tinge of yellow-green, the hyacinths werebudding, the magnolia flowers looked more than ever like rosettes carvedin alabaster. Soon the wistaria would bloom, then the horse-chestnut;but not for her. Between her eyes and them a barrier of brick and mortarwould swiftly rise; presently even the spire would disappear, and allher radiant world be blotted out. Mrs. Manstey sent away untouched thedinner-tray brought to her that evening. She lingered in the windowuntil the windy sunset died in bat-colored dusk; then, going to bed, shelay sleepless all night.Early the next day she was up and at the window. It was raining,but even through the slanting gray gauze the scene had its charm-andthen the rain was so good for the trees. She had noticed the day beforethat the ailanthus was growing dusty."Of course I might move," said Mrs. Manstey aloud, and turning fromthe window she looked about her room. She might move, of course; somight she be flayed alive; but she was not likely to survive eitheroperation. The room, though far less important to her happiness than theview, was as much a part of her existence. She had lived in it seventeenyears. She knew every stain on the wall-paper, every rent in the carpet;the light fell in a certain way on her engravings, her books had grownshabby on their shelves, her bulbs and ivy were used to their window andknew which way to lean to the sun. "We are all too old to move," she said.That afternoon it cleared. Wet and radiant the blue reappearedthrough torn rags of cloud; the ailanthus sparkled; the earth in theflower-borders looked rich and warm. It was Thursday, and on Monday thebuilding of the extension was to begin.On Sunday afternoon a card was brought to Mrs. Black, as she wasengaged in gathering up the fragments of the boarders' dinner in thebasement. The card, black-edged, bore Mrs. Manstey's name."One of Mrs. Sampson's boarders; wants to move, I suppose. Well, Ican give her a room next year in the extension. Dinah," said Mrs. Black,"tell the lady I'll be upstairs in a minute."Mrs. Black found Mrs. Manstey standing in the long parlor garnishedwith statuettes and antimacassars; in that house she could not sit down.Stooping hurriedly to open the register, which let out a cloud ofdust, Mrs. Black advanced on her visitor."I'm happy to meet you, Mrs. Manstey; take a seat, please," thelandlady remarked in her prosperous voice, the voice of a woman who canafford to build extensions. There was no help for it; Mrs. Manstey satdown."Is there anything I can do for you, ma'am?" Mrs. Black continued."My house is full at present, but I am going to build an extension, and --""It is about the extension that I wish to speak," said Mrs.Manstey, suddenly. "I am a poor woman, Mrs. Black, and I have never beena happy one. I shall have to talk about myself first to -- to make youunderstand."Mrs. Black, astonished but imperturbable, bowed at this parenthesis."I never had what I wanted," Mrs. Manstey continued. "It was alwaysone disappointment after another. For years I wanted to live in thecountry. I dreamed and dreamed about it; but we never could manage it.There was no sunny window in our house, and so all my plants died. Mydaughter married years ago and went away -- besides, she never cared forthe same things. Then my husband died and I was left alone. That wasseventeen years ago. I went to live at Mrs. Sampson's, and I have beenthere ever since. I have grown a little infirm, as you see, and I don'tget out often; only on fine days, if I am feeling very well. So you canunderstand my sitting a great deal in my window -- the back window onthe third floor --""Well, Mrs. Manstey," said Mrs. Black, liberally, "I could give youa back room, I dare say; one of the new rooms in the ex --""But I don't want to move; I can't move," said Mrs. Manstey, almostwith a scream. "And I came to tell you that if you build that extensionI shall have no view from my window -- no view! Do you understand?"Mrs. Black thought herself face to face with a lunatic, and she hadalways heard that lunatics must be humored."Dear me, dear me," she remarked, pushing her chair back a littleway, "that is too bad, isn't it? Why, I never thought of that. To besure, the extension will interfere with your view, Mrs. Manstey.""You do understand?" Mrs. Manstey gasped."Of course I do. And I'm real sorry about it, too. But there, don'tyou worry, Mrs. Manstey. I guess we can fix that all right."Mrs. Manstey rose from her seat, and Mrs. Black slipped toward thedoor."What do you mean by fixing it? Do you mean that I can induce youto change your mind about the extension? Oh, Mrs. Black, listen to me. Ihave two thousand dollars in the bank and I could manage, I know I couldmanage, to give you a thousand if --" Mrs. Manstey paused; the tearswere rolling down her cheeks."There, there, Mrs. Manstey, don't you worry," repeated Mrs. Black,soothingly. "I am sure we can settle it. I am sorry that I can't stayand talk about it any longer, but this is such a busy time of day, withsupper to get --"Her hand was on the door-knob, but with sudden vigor Mrs. Mansteyseized her wrist."You are not giving me a definite answer. Do you mean to say thatyou accept my proposition?""Why, I'll think it over, Mrs. Manstey, certainly I will. Iwouldn't annoy you for the world --""But the work is to begin to-morrow, I am told," Mrs. Mansteypersisted.Mrs. Black hesitated. "It shan't begin, I promise you that; I'llsend word to the builder this very night." Mrs. Manstey tightened her hold."You are not deceiving me, are you?" she said."No -- no," stammered Mrs. Black. "How can you think such a thingof me, Mrs. Manstey?"Slowly Mrs. Manstey's clutch relaxed, and she passed through theopen door. "One thousand dollars," she repeated, pausing in the hall;then she let herself out of the house and hobbled down the steps,supporting herself on the cast-iron railing."My goodness," exclaimed Mrs. Black, shutting and bolting thehall-door, "I never knew the old woman was crazy! And she looks so quietand ladylike, too."Mrs. Manstey slept well that night, but early the next morning shewas awakened by a sound of hammering. She got to her window with whathaste she might and, looking out saw that Mrs. Black's yard was full ofworkmen. Some were carrying loads of brick from the kitchen to the yard,others beginning to demolish the oldfashioned wooden balcony whichadorned each story of Mrs. Black's house. Mrs. Manstey saw that she hadbeen deceived. At first she thought of confiding her trouble to Mrs.Sampson, but a settled discouragement soon took possession of her andshe went back to bed, not caring to see what was going on.Toward afternoon, however, feeling that she must know the worst,she rose and dressed herself. It was a laborious task, for her handswere stiffer than usual, and the hooks and buttons seemed to evade her.When she seated herself in the window, she saw that the workmen hadremoved the upper part of the balcony, and that the bricks hadmultiplied since morning. One of the men, a coarse fellow with a bloatedface, picked a magnolia blossom and, after smelling it, threw it to theground; the next man, carrying a load of bricks, trod on the flower inpassing."Look out, Jim," called one of the men to another who was smoking apipe, "if you throw matches around near those barrels of paper you'llhave the old tinder-box burning down before you know it." And Mrs.Manstey, leaning forward, perceived that there were several barrels ofpaper and rubbish under the wooden balcony.At length the work ceased and twilight fell. The sunset was perfectand a roseate light, transfiguring the distant spire, lingered late inthe west. When it grew dark Mrs. Manstey drew down the shades andproceeded, in her usual methodical manner, to light her lamp. She alwaysfilled and lit it with her own hands, keeping a kettle of kerosene on azinc-covered shelf in a closet. As the lamp-light filled the room itassumed its usual peaceful aspect. The books and pictures and plantsseemed, like their mistress, to settle themselves down for another quietevening, and Mrs. Manstey, as was her wont, drew up her armchair to thetable and began to knit.That night she could not sleep. The weather had changed and a wildwind was abroad, blotting the stars with close-driven clouds. Mrs.Manstey rose once or twice and looked out of the window; but of the viewnothing was discernible save a tardy light or two in the oppositewindows. These lights at last went out, and Mrs. Manstey, who hadwatched for their extinction, began to dress herself. She was in evidenthaste, for she merely flung a thin dressing-gown over her night-dressand wrapped her head in a scarf; then she opened her closet andcautiously took out the kettle of kerosene. Having slipped a bundle ofwooden matches into her pocket she proceeded, with increasingprecautions, to unlock her door, and a few moments later she was feelingher way down the dark staircase, led by a glimmer of gas from the lowerhall. At length she reached the bottom of the stairs and began the moredifficult descent into the utter darkness of the basement. Here,however, she could move more freely, as there was less danger of beingoverheard; and without much delay she contrived to unlock the iron doorleading into the yard. A gust of cold wind smote her as she stepped outand groped shiveringly under the clothes-lines.That morning at three o'clock an alarm of fire brought the enginesto Mrs. Black's door, and also brought Mrs. Sampson's startled boardersto their windows. The wooden balcony at the back of Mrs. Black's housewas ablaze, and among those who watched the progress of the flames wasMrs. Manstey, leaning in her thin dressing-gown from the open window.The fire, however, was soon put out, and the frightened occupantsof the house, who had fled in scant attire, reassembled at dawn to findthat little mischief had been done beyond the cracking of window panesand smoking of ceilings. In fact, the chief sufferer by the fire wasMrs. Manstey, who was found in the morning gasping with pneumonia, a notunnatural result, as everyone remarked, of her having hung out of anopen window at her age in a dressing-gown. It was easy to see that shewas very ill, but no one had guessed how grave the doctor's verdictwould be, and the faces gathered that evening about Mrs. Sampson's tablewere awestruck and disturbed. Not that any of the boarders knew Mrs.Manstey well; she "kept to herself," as they said, and seemed to fancyherself too good for them; but then it is always disagreeable to haveanyone dying in the house and, as one lady observed to another: "Itmight just as well have been you or me, my dear."But it was only Mrs. Manstey; and she was dying, as she had lived,lonely if not alone. The doctor had sent a trained nurse, and Mrs.Sampson, with muffled step, came in from time to time; but both, to Mrs.Manstey, seemed remote and unsubstantial as the figures in a dream. Allday she said nothing; but when she was asked for her daughter's addressshe shook her head. At times the nurse noticed that she seemed to belistening attentively for some sound which did not come; then again shedozed.The next morning at daylight she was very low. The nurse calledMrs. Sampson and as the two bent over the old woman they saw her lips move."Lift me up -- out of bed," she whispered.They raised her in their arms, and with her stiff hand she pointedto the window."Oh, the window -- she wants to sit in the window. She used to sitthere all day," Mrs. Sampson explained. "It can do her no harm, I suppose?""Nothing matters now," said the nurse.They carried Mrs. Manstey to the window and placed her in herchair. The dawn was abroad, a jubilant spring dawn; the spire hadalready caught a golden ray, though the magnolia and horsechestnut stillslumbered in shadow. In Mrs. Black's yard all was quiet. The charredtimbers of the balcony lay where they had fallen. It was evident thatsince the fire the builders had not returned to their work. The magnoliahad unfolded a few more sculptural flowers; the view was undisturbed.It was hard for Mrs. Manstey to breathe; each moment it grew moredifficult. She tried to make them open the window, but they would notunderstand. If she could have tasted the air, sweet with the penetratingailanthus savor, it would have eased her; but the view at least wasthere -- the spire was golden now, the heavens had warmed from pearl toblue, day was alight from east to west, even the magnolia had caught thesun.Mrs. Manstey's head fell back and smiling she died.That day the building of the extension was resumed.
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