Her Secret Rose by Orna Ross

Author:Orna Ross [Ross, Orna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublishDrive

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Christmas dinner at the Yeats house has descended into argument. It began harmless enough, with JB starting a Christmas speech on the state of the family, of how Jack was soon to marry and become a substantial man, with a cheerful kind-hearted wife and an open-handed welcome for his friends. This created the first awkwardness, as all in the room know that Jack’s fiancée is tying up her money so that Yeats Pere won’t be able to get his hands on any of it—and all under Jack’s instruction.

His father’s self-serving cheerfulness wilts WB’s spirits and then the ceremonial wineglass is turned on him. “And Willie will be famous and shed a bright light on us all, with sometimes a little money and sometimes not.”

He drank and sat, signifying the end of the toast, whereupon Lolly’s face began to redden. Lily reached over to pat her hand, a gesture that only doubled her sister’s fury.

Papa noticed and hastily stood back up. “And Lolly will have a prosperous school and give away as prizes her eminent brother’s volumes of poetry.”

This, naturally, only enraged her the more. At that moment, Rose arrived in and plunked the plate of potatoes on the table. When Willie reached for one with his fork, his belligerent sister turned her wrath upon him: “You might wait for grace before meals, Willie. You might wait until Mama is settled.”

So now he sits, looking at the potato sitting on the end of his fork, like a head on a spike, and says, “I think to go to Paris,” taking them all, not least himself, by surprise.

“What?” Lolly replies. “You think to what?”

Her objection is financial, and she launches herself on a great oration about how she would like to go to Paris but there would never be money out of her wages by the time the household expenses were met. That there would never be enough time either, or permission from any of them to just take herself off, wash-day or some other female task would prevent it etc. Etc. Etc.

He hardly knows what she says; he is so appalled to see in her again the same detestable excitability from which he suffers himself (she has Mars in square with Saturn while he has Moon in opposition to Mars). He determines again to exclude this irritability from his writing and speech, to escape it through adoption of a gracious style. Is not one’s art made out of the struggle in one’s soul? Is not beauty a victory over oneself?

Papa tries to rescue him, congratulating him, asking about his intentions during the trip, and whether he has managed any letters of introduction.

“From York Powell to see Mallarmé, actually, and from Symons to Verlaine.”

Which impresses Papa and surely must highlight to the misguided Lolly the difference between the needs of a poet and those of a kindergarten teacher.

But no. “This trip of yours,” she says, “it has nothing to do with a certain Miss Maud Gonne, I suppose.”

Papa interjects. “Now, now, Lolly.

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