6
“Loving changes you—according to whom you love you are different. True or all intimate companionships. How can one explain to anyone how you’ve once been to someone else?”
DOROTHY WAS IMPATIENT FOR G.W. TO be released from Sydney Hospital and transferred to Rye. It was early October 1927. She was distracted by a flurry of activity, making sure his favorite foods were stocked and that his cozy jungle room was cheerful and bright. A pitcher of ice water and a blue ceramic bowl filled with oranges and bananas waited beside the bed, and on the table in the sunlight were the yellow daisies she had picked that morning.
The following day, she received word that G.W. was on his way. She sat at the piano playing Brahms, some Irving Berlin, and a scattering of pieces she had written for herself over the years. G.W. was not afraid to interrupt her this time, as he appeared in the door and walked toward her. His one free arm lovingly circled her waist, and she turned her face upward to meet his. He was home.
OCTOBER 6, 1927 Servants out. George in town and on a wild rush, G.W. arrived for overnight before going to the hospital His hand is bad, his color frightful and he’s haggard and worried. But determined not to complain. As sweet and thoughtful as ever. Such a charming personality, really remarkable for a youth. Like Spring.
Feeling even further detached from her husband and family, and spending most of her time attending to G.W.’s needs, Dorothy began to consider the frightening prospect of separating from George. “My brain is in such a whirl! Such an odd life I’m facing! And questioning oh so much! What is ahead of me?” Her husband had become aware of his wife’s growing discontent, yet he still believed that with all of her financial security and social standing, she should be satisfied. What he wasn’t aware of, however, was Dorothy’s boredom, and her determination to escape it. “Lunch at Helen C.’s [an unidentified acquaintance of Dorothy’s]. She has divorced, and is living alone in a small house. It is very odd, and yet oh so understandable! Why go on forever living with a person who bores one excessively! It’s easier to be beaten.”
OCTOBER 10, 1927 To town, primarily to see G.W. in the hospital. Took him a bath robe of gay blue and yellows and grays. He wanders around the halls, etc. or sits in his tiny room. Had a nice talk, but he is so utterly cheerful and determined not to have any sympathy.
The antiseptic hospital room was stark when G.W. first arrived, but after a few days Dorothy had transformed the sterile space into a cheerful sanctuary with pots of plants and flowers. Despite the emergency medical attention he had received in Nova Scotia, G.W.’s left thumb had to be amputated in a New York hospital soon after he was admitted. He had taken the surgery with his usual nonchalance and did not want Dorothy to worry.
There are numerous diary references to moonrises from the woods and golden sunrises from the shore that symbolize their moments together. During George’s speaking engagements away from home, these brief interludes were all they had. The full moon in October 1927 would hold a sentimental meaning forever. “Cold and crisp and clear. A heavenly day, and my instincts singing. I long for the tropics. Met G.W. at train. He has a short leave from the hospital. We talked late and adored the lovely night. Moon.”
In the span of Dorothy’s diaries the most moving entries cover the next two years. As a conscientious diarist, Dorothy often sought guidance and approval from outside sources, which would help her understand and accept her own 'margin-top:12.0pt;margin-right:25.0pt;margin-bottom: 0cm;margin-left:25.0pt;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-align:justify;line-height: normal'>OCTOBER 23, 1927 There’s a new novel about “George Sand.” Hers was not a search for love, but appeasement or a primordial urge. She had one great desire in life, to be loved as she loved. And to love when she liked. A profound inconstancy and a thing rarely granted to a mere woman and yet a Goethe-like, Wagner-like passion.
G.W. spent most of November and December commuting between the hospital and Rocknoll, where he wrote stories and speeches describing his trip to Baffin Land. His own words in the third person cryptically recalled events following the expedition. “GTW got an infection and had his thumb amputated which necessitated him spending two or three months in the Putnam household in Rye.… A lot of publicity followed that enabled me to earn my way through the last two years of college lecturing on ‘My Trip to Baffin Land.’”
Dorothy continued to find odd jobs for him around the house to help him earn his keep, something he had insisted upon until his hand healed and he could return to Yale. “G.W. doing some painting jobs, etc. A gay lunch—G.W., Hub [Hubbard Hutchinson, friend and Putnam’s author] and myself and a charming afternoon and music and naps and hours together full of enchantment and gaiety. Hub playing in inspiring notes. The beloved Pagan appears in jungle costume!—and sleeps and roughhouses divinely.”
As the year drew to a close there were fewer opportunities for them to be alone, and she dreaded the upcoming separation. They both recognized the significance of his move back to Yale; it was the end of the romantic idyll they had shared.
After his lengthy recuperation, G.W. wrote a private letter to Dorothy revealing his dependence on and affection for her. He expressed an obvious gratitude for my grandfather as well:
NOVEMBER IS, 1927
Dearest Dorothy:
Nothing to do—an excellent opportunity to attempt the impossible—thank you, Dorothy dear, for the past, the present, the future incomparable happiness which is mine and for which you and G.P. are 99% responsible.
You must have realized how I dreaded the prospect of and my actual confinement in the hospital. To be home and yet not home at all was dreadful, but for a physically ambitious animal like myself to be pushed into a stuffy, coldly plain room after a summer of healthy, exciting exercise was ghastly. How vastly you alleviated and brightened my state of mind. I can never tell you mere words would not only be superficial, but absurd as well. I also learned that it takes the meagerest kind of sickness to bring bubbling to the surface G.P.’s thoughtfulness and altruism which is so latent that, frankly, I have often questioned its existence. Rather a rotten admission, but all the more condemning to me in the recognition—if I know what I mean. If I ever should succeed in accomplishing something worthwhile in life—you and G.P. must feel responsible to no small degree for you have broadened me inside and out, and given me things so delicate, and sweet and dignified that, although I cannot describe them, they are an integral part of me. Just to be always a part of your house I should gladly take a job as a gardener or chauffeur or nurse at no salary—so just yell when!
In 25 minutes—the hospital again and then if possible the two o’clock for Philadelphia and my devoted, really wonderful family once more. They mean a great deal to me as you know and I do want them happy. They are happy, but foolish people, they are allowing a few paltry financial worries to darken their horizon away out of proportion to their importance.
You were such a brick at the game Saturday. Know—although you deny it—that you were bored to exhaustion, but you made a brave attempt at seeking pleasure where there was none to be found and I love you for it. Hope Junie is better. Will be over sometime this week for a dressing. Will—if O.K.—come out to house.
My love always,
George
The following day G.W. arrived at Rocknoll, and he and Dorothy seemed delirious in their passion.
NOVEMBER 17, 1927 G.W. came out from Philadelphia, just before supper arriving in a violent rainstorm. A thundershower, vivid lightning and wild wind. A weird night altogether, and apropos to unusual exotic dreams or unbelievable things for hours and hours. Theatrical—all night!
It is clear that Dorothy was experiencing a passion she had not known before, and was overcome with emotion. I can sense a gradual transition in her life, as if she were finally willing to pay the price for such abandon. “Would I rather be dull, apathetic, unawakened or a hot-blooded lover of life who willingly meets things halfway? Then suffers!”
With George away again on a three-day speaking engagement, Dorothy and G.W. had the opportunity to spend most of their time together. During this period their love affair grew more intense, and my grandmother’s elation over finding such a powerful lover is repeatedly recorded:
DECEMBER 1, 1927 We may love to “baby” our lovers, but when they love us, we demand to be dominated and controlled. And so soon as we can control and direct them in that process, so soon then we cease to consider them our lovers. Perhaps the elemental pagan woman in us wishes to be mastered. I do.
DECEMBER 13, 1927 There must always he turned-down pages in everyone’s life, I suppose. For some of us can’t ever have a confessional or a confidante. I realize, now, how utterly far I’ve ever been from having one. So much is bottled up. With just the most evasive surface touching or facts. I’ve never confided in anyone! And do they consider me the matronly turnip I seem?
In truth, Dorothy was an exotic, intoxicating woman. G.W. later wrote that she had introduced him “to a lot of very intimate things, such as wine is better than liquor, Jack and Charlie’s [now the “21” Club], which was the best speakeasy in town, not to smoke is a worthwhile attribute, and champagne bubbles helped lovemaking a lot, etc.!”
She also wrote out a list of favorite senses, and experiences, many of which no doubt were influenced by their deep love for one another.
These are things I love and really care about:
l) My two boys with an aliveness and intensity that sometimes scares me.
2) The look of transparent deep water.
3) Ragged mountain peaks against distant skyline.
4) Rising tide lapping edge of beach.
5) Yellow; all shades from pale cream to burnt orange.
6) Any physical feat well done—long strong muscles.
7) Smell or ferns and earth.
8) Salt sweet smell or sea.
9) Smell or pine needles in the sun.
10) Hot desert, noon day smell or sagebrush.
11) Perfumes, sachet.
12) Blossoming orange grove in moonlight.
13) Feel or satin against my skin.
14) Crunch or fresh snow.
15) Feel or hot summer sun against my body.
16) Smooth muscles in a man’s back.
17) Bundle or tiny baby at my breast.
18) Man’s clean strong hands, power.
19) Man’s wide throat muscles where they lead in to the shoulder.
20) Man’s instep and turn of the foot
21) Low voice.
22) Natural laugh (rare).
23) Thrush’s dawn note.
24) Whistling softly
25) Perfect orchestra.
26) Certain clean sweet utterly masculine scent.
27) Same or women—these are very unlike.
“Sailing into the morning of another glorious year,” was Dorothy’s tribute to January 1928. With George on a mountain climbing trip with his boy author Bradford Washburn, Dorothy and G.W. drove David and his suitcase full of Christmas gifts back to the Hotchkiss School: “G.W., David and I had a picnic lunch. Left David and we started for home. Stopped for awhile near the bridge at the old marble quarry. A really perfectly adorable day. It’s awful to feel oneself torn between conflicting emotions, yet isn’t that the penalty of intellect?”
At this point, travel did not hold the same appeal as before. But Junie had been plagued by a series of illnesses since the beginning of summer, and doctors suspected he had infantile paralysis. Her concerns for his health prompted the suggestion of a trip to Hawaii, with George agreeing that the warm Pacific air would have a restorative effect on them both. Dorothy saw an opportunity to ease the growing tension with George. At this point, she could not bring herself to share even the slightest intimacy with him. Making love was impossible. “An unhappy evening. I refuse because I mentally don’t enjoy it. He can’t believe my attitude is real; possibly because it hurts his conceit. But it seems immoral to me when two people are not mutually in love and desirous, and I can’t go thro’ with it.”
Two days later she was in G.W.’s arms and deliriously happy:
JANUARY 11, 1928 All day a singing in my head and really on the crest! Drove to town in Chrysler with G.W. when he went to hospital for finger dressing and then out again just in time for a delicious dinner. In a white dress and blue crystals, etc! And a bottle or 1913 wine and gay spring flowers and an adorable evening in every way! We read poetry, we had some good music for an hour. There are days occasionally when one walks on air, and the world seems all sunshine and joy! And this has been one!
The following day Dorothy came down with a fever, and typically blamed herself. “Yesterday was the last fling before a fall! For today I’m sick in bed with vile throat, fever and chills and no food. Maybe this is a punishment for me, for being so happy!” And after another day in bed with tonsillitis: “G.W. came and talked to me late and was so sweet and considerate. I feel just ill enough and miserable enough to love his little attentions and favors. I believe he has the most perfect carriage I’ve ever seen.”
Even in illness, she was at peace with herself:
JANUARY 14, 1928 G.P. lectured Boston, 11th; Rye, 12th; Summit, N.J., 13th; and Phila on 14th. Despite being ill and in bed and just dragging around, I’m happy in my mind and between doses I lie and think and enjoy the world. I feel old and already know more poignantly what a tragedy it must be for a beauty to grow old. For God knows I’m not that, yet I regret the years.
Prior to Dorothy’s departure for Hawaii, George realized that he would miss her, despite her belief that he did not need her any more. “George home very early and dog tired after his many lectures. He is growing a bit lonely at the thought of my going away and is pretty sweet to me every minute.” The man she had married sixteen years earlier had changed, and his success was not without a price. His long absences only exacerbated her need for attention. And as a result, her most precious moments were those spent with G.W.
JANUARY 17, 1928 My last day at home for a long time—packed and did some final house accounts, bills, etc. and all day G.W. helped or sat in a big chair nearby and chatted. Then just before sunset we went for a perfectly adorable drive high in the hills and then stopped in a little cove to see a gorgeous sunset over the lake. I had a tiny sip of apricot brandy and a cracker and suddenly the sun has gone, the year’s at an end, and my trunks and bags are all ready for departure.
Don Blanding, the Putnams’ artist/poet friend from their early days in Bend, Oregon, was now living in Hawaii. During a visit to Rye in 1926, while painting a fish mural on their guest-room wall, Don had extended an invitation to George and Dorothy to visit him in Honolulu. Now, two years later, as the SS Malolo eased up against the crowded dock, Don stood waiting, his arms piled high with fragrant leis. “The pier at 4:30 and immediately leis of temple flowers for Junie and me. And reporters galore! Don on the dock with huge and very lovely wreaths for us, and a car. Stopped in town and at his studio, then on to the most lovely Royal Hawaiian Hotel on Waikiki Beach.”
Dorothy’s uncertainty over her marital status and her feelings for G.W. plagued her two-month stay: “Gorgeous sunset above the clouds. Supper and then that most marvelous grandeur, full moon over volcanic peaks of crater!! Oh, some thing one can’t write of, all night in little cots in the resthouse. Cold, but clear as day. I want him here.”
Despite her passion, she felt guilty over her indiscretions and questioned her judgment. Away from her lover, she saw more clearly the potential for disaster, dreading the scandal if the truth were known. She seemed contemplative, reflecting on her future as she and Junie sat on the beach for days at a time, watching the passing parade of bathers.
FEBRUARY 19, 1928 Waikiki. My conscience—long dormant or atrophied is suddenly coming to life and I loathe myself as never before! I’m useless, senseless and wrong. Absolutely a mess. Ah God, may the present determination to turn over a new leaf really take hold and accomplish a change in me!
MARCH 9, 1928 Women grow old prematurely because our badly organized civilization gives them so little to do except talk and dress when their children are grown! Oh, this place is too full of useless old people! Jet that is harsh to say. What should they do, and do they deserve no rest for what they have already done in the world? But the majority of them are huge and pulpy and shapeless, mentally as well as physically, and repulsive to see. The pity, the tragedy or age! And the joy when one sees an artist at the game or lire, and old!
MARCH 23, 1928 I wonder, is chastity an overrated virtue? Apparently its only for women, and men seem to regard their own lapses so casually. We, alas, feel ours as too burdensome for words! And suffer remorse in silence. Is it different? Can it be so much worse? Certainly, one strives for it and controls unruly desires for years. And I do believe in it fundamentally for all. Yet, what or this quite unchaste habit or married couples who most or the while loathe each other, yet continue to indulge!
She and Junie returned home to Rye that spring, and George was relieved to see his son fully recovered. The weeks away and Dorothy’s countless hours of soul-searching had made the once-dreaded return to her husband a relief. With G.W. back at Yale, the Putnams attempted to resume their marital duties, at least for the time being.
Dorothy responded to her husband’s joy in her presence again: “Life is very full and very sweet. Perhaps Pm all wrong, but I’m happy.” For the time being she was safe.
APRIL 17, 1928 Last night my husband said “Your reticence and innate modesty about certain personal things is one or your greatest charms. I have never known you to fail this in any tiny respect in the eighteen years I have known you. And I think I love you more as the years go on because I see how rare a quality it is!” This is a comforting tribute, I hope it is true.