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THE LIBRARY
of
VICTORIA UNIVERSITY Toronto
THE YELLOW TICKET
AND OTHER STORIES
FICTION
BETTY-ALL-ALONE By MEG VIU.AKS. 6/-
THE SHY AGE
JESSIE POPE, 6/-
ANTHONY THE ABSOLUTE
By SAMUEL MERWIN. 6/-
THE CASTLE OF FORTUNE By FLORKNCK DRUMMOND. 6/-
THE MARRIAGE TIE
I5y WILKINSON SHERRBN. 6/.
BITTERSWEET
By GRANT RICHAKDS. 6/-
DUBLINERS
By JAMES JOYCE. 3/6
GRANT RICHARDS LIMITED
THE YELLOW TICKET
AND OTHER STORIES
BV
FRANK HARRIS
LONDON
GRANT RICHARDS LTD. MDCCCOXIV
1 5270 1
PKIMTED BY THB RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED EDINBURGH
CONTENTS
PAOB
THE YELLOW TICKET ..... 7
THE VEILS OF Isis ..... 25
A FRENCH ARTIST . . . . .43
IN THE VALE OF TEARS . . . .71
A DAUGHTER OF EVE . . . . .135
A PROSTITUTE . . . . . .193
ISAAC AND REBECCA ..... 207
A MIRACLE AND NO WONDER .... 237
A FOOL'S PARADISE . . . . .251
THE UGLY DUCKLING *. .271
THE YELLOW TICKET
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13
THE YELLOW TICKET : JIOLTE BILET
THE scene is in Moscow, just where the wide Boulevard meets the Tverskaia. In the middle of the way is the statue to Puschkin ; on the right hand, walling the street, the great monastery to the Passion of Christ. This is the favourite promenade of the gay-plumaged night-birds of Moscow. They walk up and down the street in the glare of the shops, and then cross and go down the Boulevard, shadows drifting from darkness into the light, and again from the light into darkness.
One night in the early winter of 1912 a young girl was among them, warmly but dowdily dressed, like a well- to-do provincial ; yet she scanned the passers-by as the professionals scan them, and walked slowly as they walk, though it was no time for loitering. The winter had set in early, and already in November the air was keen with frost, and the stars glittered like diamonds.
A young man came hurrying by : as he passed he caught sight of the girl's profile and eyes as she lingered before a shop window. He stopped at once and went over to her.
44 Are you waiting for anyone ? " he asked.
The girl replied quite quietly :
44 No one in particular."
9
THE YELLOW TICKET
" Will I do ? " he asked gaily.
She nodded.
His manner changed with her acceptance. For a moment he put out his hand as if to take her by the arm, and then drew back.
" I'm so sorry, but I have to dine to-night with some relatives ; I'm late already," he hurried out, " but I must know you ; I never saw anyone so pretty. I can't stay to-night ; I must go now ; I can't get out of it. You'll meet me to-morrow night, won't you ? "
The girl shook her head.
" But why not ? " he exclaimed. " It's absurd. I want you ; you have taken my fancy, and I want to know all about you. Do promise me you will go home now and be here to-morrow at the same time."
The girl shook her head again : "I can't promise."
" But why not ? " he insisted. " It's absurd. Suppose I pay you for the evening ? "
He threw open his fur coat and took some notes out of his waistcoat pocket.
" No, no ! " cried the girl, shrinking away ; " I don't want money."
" Don't want money ? " he said. " Don't be silly. What else are you here for ? Now look," he went on imperiously, "here are ten roubles. Now go home, and I'll meet you here to-morrow night at half-past seven exactly. Will you promise ? "
She shook her head ; but he seized her hand and shut the note in the palm.
10
THE YELLOW TICKET
" I must go," he cried hurriedly ; " but I'm sure you'll be here to-morrow ; you're too young to cheat." And he hurried away.
The girl didn't turn to look after him, but stood for a moment undecided, then took out a little purse and pushed in the banknote and resumed her indecisive walk, now glancing at the passers-by, now with apparently conscious coquetry stopping in the full glare of some shop window, loitering.
A little while later another man accosted her.
44 What are you doing ? " he asked.
She looked up as the strong voice reached her.
44 Nothing."
44 And your name ? " he went on, drawing her nearer still to the glaring light in the window.
44 Rebecca," she said, looking up at him.
44 A Jewess ! " he cried. 44 1 might have known it with that colouring and those great eyes. But you don't look Jewish, you know, with that little straight nose ; and you are new at this game, aren't you ? "
The girl's eyes met his for a moment.
44 Yes," she replied.
44 Will you come and dine ? " he asked.
The girl nodded.
44 Are you free for the night ? "
She paused as if swallowing something before she nodded.
44 Come on, then," he said ; 44 we'll go and have some dinner and a talk."
ii
THE YELLOW TICKET
The next moment he had stopped a droschky that was swinging by behind a black Orloff, and had helped the girl to a seat.
" To the Hermitage," he said, and the little car whirled away down the street.
The Hermitage in Moscow is a very convenient estab- lishment. It has over two hundred suites of rooms, from five roubles for the night to fifty ; from one room with a bed in it and the ordinary exiguous toilet require- ments to a suite of sitting-room, bedroom, and a bath- room so large that a couple may swim about in it. It has sixteen entrances, too, and as many exits, so there is small chance of meeting anyone you don't want to meet.
The man, evidently a well-to-do merchant, selected a good number, and as they followed the waiter into the corridor a little bell tinkled, and continued to tinkle till they got into the sitting-room and the closed door shut out its ringing.
" What's that bell for ? " asked the girl.
44 Oh, that is one of the customs of the place," said the man, taking off his gloves and laughing to the waiter ; 44 isn't it, Ivan ? The bell rings just to warn people not to leave their rooms till the new-comers are installed, otherwise one might meet inconvenient people in the passages. Everything is well arranged in the Hermitage, that one can say for it."
The girl nodded her head, smiling, and stood ex- pectant in the middle of the room. Hurriedly, but as one accustomed to it, the man ordered a good dinner,
12
THE YELLOW TICKET
and as the waiter left the room he turned with astonishment to the Jewess :
" What ! " he cried, " you haven't taken off your hat and coat yet ? " and he came towards her as if to help her.
At once she hurried over to the nearest glass, put up her hands, and took off her little fur cap and began arranging her hair ; then slowly loosening her coat, she folded the heavy garment carefully, and laid it on a chair.
The man went on talking the while :
" Lucky it was I met you ; didn't know what to do with my evening. A man I expected to see failed me and I was at a loose end, when I caught sight of your pretty face. But what age are you, Rebecca ? You look very young," he added, as if remarking her extreme youth for the first time.
" Sixteen," she said.
14 Really ! " he cried. " I should have thought nine- teen ; but then you mature more quickly than Russians, don't you ? "
The girl shrugged her shoulders : "I suppose so."
They were interrupted by the waiter who brought in dinner, and for the first course or two little was said. As usual, they had the meat first and then the fish, Russian fashion. When they had finished the fish, the man's appetite being quieted a little, he found time to notice that the girl had hardly touched the food.
44 Come, come," he cried, " you must eat."
13
THE YELLOW TICKET
" 1 can't," she said ; " I don't feel hungry."
" That is no reason : you must eat," he insisted. " We live by eating ; and you must drink too," and he poured her out another glass of sweet champagne. " You like champagne, don't you ? " he asked.
" It tastes funny," she said, putting her glass down. " At first it went up in my nose. I never saw it before."
" Really ! " he exclaimed, " then you must be new at the game. How long have you been in Moscow ? "
The girl seemed to hesitate : looked at him and looked down.
" You needn't tell me if you don't want to," he said huffily.
The waiter interrupted them again.
In a few minutes more the meal was finished. The man lit a cigarette. The waiter left the room for the last time, the pair were alone.
" Come, Rebecca," said the man. " Come and give me a kiss."
The girl came round the table and stood beside him. He put his arm round her and drew her down to his knee. She seemed awkward, hesitant.
" Where is the kiss ? " he asked, smiling.
The girl turned to him, and kissed his cheek.
" Good God ! " he cried, " you don't call that a kiss, do you ? What is the matter with you ? " and he put his cigarette-holder down on the table, and, winding both arms round her, drew her to him and held his lips to hers.
14
THE YELLOW TICKET
She yielded stiffly, reluctantly. After kissing her for some little time the man pushed her away.
44 Do you call that kissing ? Why, you can't kiss at all. What's the matter with you ? Give me a proper kiss."
Again the girl pecked at his cheek.
44 Look here," he said, 44 if I displease you, tell me ; but don't go on like this ; it's silly."
He rose, looking at her crossly, his vanity smarting.
The girl noticed for the first time when he drew himself up that he was fine looking, above middle height, and powerful : a man in the prime of life, thirty per- haps, with strong face, clean-shaven but for the small fair moustache.
4 You dislike me ? " he went on, putting his hands on her shoulders, 44 tell me the truth ? "
44 No," she shook her head.
44 Then why don't you kiss me ? "
44 1 have kissed you."
44 But you know that that isn't kissing," he said.
44 Are there many ways of kissing ? " she asked, looking up at him.
44 Of course," he said. 44 This is the right way," and, taking her head in his hands, he crushed his lips on hers. 44 Now give me a good kiss, as if you liked me."
With glowing face, the girl gave him another peck.
14 What do you mean ? " he said, sitting down. " Come, tell me. I must know. Is it pretence witJi you, or dislike ? "
15
THE YELLOW TICKET
The girl shook her head.
Suddenly her troubled, hot face gave him a new idea : 44 You're not a novice, are you ? How long have you been in Moscow ? Where do you live ? Come, tell me." And he drew her to his knee again.
As the girl sat down she put her right elbow on the table behind her to keep herself upright and, as luck would have it, snapped the amber and meerschaum cigarette-holder. As she started up the man picked up the cigarette-holder, smiling.
44 1 don't mind," he said, " it doesn't matter. I will put the cigarette further away on a plate."
44 1 am so sorry," cried the girl.
44 It's nothing," said the man. 44 But tell me, when did you come to Moscow ? "
The girl stood before him with her hands clasped in front of her, for all the world like a schoolgirl ; indeed she was hardly more. She had evidently made up her mind to speak.
4 This afternoon," she replied.
44 What ! for the first time ? " he asked.
44 For the first time," she repeated.
44 Where do you live ? "
44 Here," she said.
44 Here ? " he repeated ; 4< what do you mean ? "
14 It's a long story," she said, unclasping her hands and quickly clasping them again.
4 Tell me it," he said. 44 We have time, and I should like to hear it all," and he drew her towards him.
16
THE YELLOW TICKET
And standing there by his left knee she told him the story.
" I came from Gorod by train. It is a long story."
Encouraged by his " Go on," she began again.
44 1 wanted to study at the University. Only three Jewesses are allowed to come from Gorod to Moscow. The three who won had been studying for years and years ; the youngest of them was over thirty. Only three are allowed each year to leave the town, and there are thousands of Jewesses in Gorod. I was fourth, so I would have had to wait another year or perhaps longer. But as my mother was a widow I soon coaxed her, and she gave me the money and let me come to Moscow to study."
" Why do you want to study ? " he asked ; " what's the good of books ? They only tire pretty eyes."
The girl stared at him in wonder ; the question was so unexpected, she had to think to find an answer ; she began confusedly, eagerly :
" I want to know heaps of things, I'm so ignorant," she burst out. " I want to be like the great women who have done things in the world. Oh, I can't say what I want to ; but I — you know, to be ignorant to-day is stupid, oh, I "
He nodded, hardly interested, wishing to get the story.
44 And so you came to Moscow ? "
44 This afternoon," she said ; 44 it was already getting dark. I went to an hotel, but at the hotel — I had taken a room and everything — before they sent for my box to B 17
THE YELLOW TICKET
the station they asked me for my passport, and when I told them I hadn't a passport they changed their manner at once, said they had no room for me, I had better go. ...
" I went to a cheaper hotel and showed them that I had money ; but again, as soon as they found I had no passport, they turned me out into the streets. ... I did not know what to do. I spoke to a lady, and she answered rudely, treated me as if I were a beggar. So at last I spoke to one of those women who walk up and down the street. She was kind to me ; she told me I could not get a lodging anywhere in Moscow without a passport ; it was not possible. But even when she found out I was a Jewess she was kind, told me I was in a bad way, for I should not be able to get a passport, because the police don't like Jewesses. The only thing for me to do, she said, was to get a Yellow Ticket of the — you know — the Yellow Ticket of the prostitute ! "
The man whistled — u Whew ! " — a long, low note.
" She said, as it was early, she would go with me to the police bureau, and on the way she told me that it was quite easy to get a Yellow Ticket. I had only to go in boldly and ask for one and pay fifteen roubles, and come away. If I had money and wanted to study, I did not need to — do anything, but with the Yellow Ticket there were hundreds of houses where I could get a lodging ; otherwise they'd let me freeze on the street. . . ."
The girl paused and looked at him.
18
THE YELLOW TICKET
44 A prostitute is welcome, but not a Jewess, in Moscow — Christian Moscow," she added as if to herself .
The man laughed and put his arms round her.
44 You are delightful," he said, laughing again. " Well, what happened then ? "
" I went into the station," the girl went oq, " and asked one of the policemen where I was to get a 4 Yellow Ticket.' He tried to kiss me and then took me into the Inspector's room, and the Inspector came and began questioning me. When I told him I had just come to Moscow he tried to kiss me, and I wouldn't let him, so he said he wouldn't give me a Yellow Ticket unless I let him kiss me ; well, I let him ; but then he wanted . . .
44 At last I ran out of the place without the Ticket, and found that my friend had gone away. After a little while I found another woman, again a woman of the streets, and told her what had happened. She told me the only thing she could think of was for me to get a man and go home with him, and then get him to come with me in the morning to the police bureau, and a Yellow Ticket would be given to me at once.
44 The Yellow Ticket," the girl explained, 44 is a sort of prize in Moscow ! "
44 1 daresay we can manage the Yellow Ticket," said the man carelessly. 44 But are you really a novice ? "
The girl nodded.
44 You would rather not begin the game ? "
She nodded quickly, eagerly.
44 What an adventure ! " he cried, stretching out his
19
THE YELLOW TICKET
arms. " Do you know, it is rather lucky you have fallen into good hands, Rebecca ? You interest me. Strangely enough, I don't want to kiss anyone particularly who doesn't want to kiss me. That is strange, isn't it?" he asked, laughing.
" No," she said, " it seems to me quite natural."
" That is because you are a girl," he replied, smiling. 44 It isn't natural to most men. Come, now, do you want to go in there and sleep alone ? What would you like me to do ? Let you sleep alone and then help you to get the Yellow Ticket in the morning, or go in there with you and have a good time ? " and he nodded to the bedroom.
" Alone," she cried. " Do you mind ? But then, where are you to sleep ? " she added ruefully.
" Oh, I can sleep there," he said, pointing to the sofa ; " I have often slept in worse places. I will read some papers I have got in my overcoat, and you can go in and go to bed." He spoke as if dismissing her, and the girl went hesitatingly towards the bedroom door. At the door she turned and looked at him. He nodded, smiling, and waved his hand to her.
" That's all right," he said ; " have a good sleep."
" I'd like," she said, coming back a little way towards him, " I'd like to kiss you."
" Come along," he said, and she came back to him slowly across the room, and this time she yielded herself to him and left her lips on his. He lifted her away at last, and said :
20
THE YELLOW TICKET
" Now ? " half interrogatively.
The girl cried quickly :
44 Good-night ; thank you so much ; good-night," and, running across the room, disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.
For a moment or two the man looked at the door, smiling ; then he got up and went to his overcoat, took out some papers, lit another cigarette, and settled down to read in the arm-chair.
An hour later there was unbroken silence in the room. The man got up, stretched himself, took off his collar and coat, undid his boots, arranged his big fur overcoat as covering, then went to the door of the bedroom and listened : all was still. He put his hand on the handle : he could hear his heart throb.
After a pause he turned away and threw himself down on the sofa. In ten minutes he was asleep.
Shortly before eight o'clock the man woke, got up and opened the windows, rang the bell and ordered breakfast, went into the bathroom and bathed his face and hands. While the waiter was laying the table, he went out hurriedly. In an hour he returned and went over and knocked at the girl's door. A moment later he heard her voice, and went in. She was standing fully dressed before him.
44 Slept well ? " he asked.
44 Thanks to you ! " she nodded, and the deep eyes dwelt on him.
21
THE YELLOW TICKET
" Been up long ? " he asked.
" Two hours." she replied.
" Oh, you early bird ! Now come and have breakfast. I have news for you."
" I have news for you too," she said, following him to the table. " This is a funny place."
" Why do you call it funny ? " he said, taking up some salt fish on his fork.
" Because I came in while you were sleeping," she said, " and tried to go out. I wanted to buy you a cigarette-holder for the one I broke, but when I got to the entrance I was stopped. They told me I couldn't go out without you. It appears I might have robbed you, or murdered you, so I was escorted back here and told to wait. It is a funny place, the Hermitage."
" Do you know, you are a dear," he said, " to have thought of that holder," and he stretched out his hand to her. She came now willingly and stooped her dark head to his fair one and kissed him.
" That's better ! " he cried. " You are making great progress. Fancy ! You have learned to kiss quite nicely in twenty-four hours ; that is very quick."
14 Very easy," she said saucily, " when the heart teaches the lips.
u So you do like me a little ? " he asked.
Again the eyes dwelt on him. 1 Yes," she replied simply.
As if trying to shake off an unwonted emotion, he got up and said in his ordinary quick tone :
22
THE YELLOW TICKET
44 1 have been out trying to do something for you," and he took out his pocket-book and laid it on the table.
She noticed that his nails were more carefully kept than her own ; she liked the evidence of care.
4 You interested me last night," he said, 4t and I wanted really to do something for you, and persuade you to like me, I don't know why."
14 That was good of you," she said, coming over and standing beside him ; 44 but I do like you," she added softly.
44 1 thought perhaps you might," he said, putting his arm round her, 44 but, curiously enough, I wanted you to be free, quite free ; so I went out and got you baptized, you little Jewess," and he turned up the pretty, glowing face with his hand and kissed her on the lips.
He went on speaking with mock gravity :
44 Your name now is Vera Novikoff, and not Rebecca Rubinovitch."
44 Vera Novikoff ? " the girl marvelled.
44 Yes," he said, taking a paper out of his pocket-book. 44 Everything can be bought in Moscow, and I went out to buy a passport for you, and I bought a passport this morning in the name of Vera Novikoff, and as Vera Novikoff you can live in Moscow wherever you please, how you please, unmolested."
44 How good of you ! " she cried. 44 1 knew you were good. But it must have cost you a lot of money ? "
44 No," he said, smiling into her eyes. 44 No, strange
23
THE YELLOW TICKET
to say, Vera, it was cheaper than the Yellow Ticket. You said the Yellow Ticket was fifteen roubles ; I paid twelve for this. It is cheaper, you see," and he held it towards her.
The girl took it in her hands, and said, simply, slowly, as if to herself :
" Cheaper 1 Yes, it costs less than the Yellow Ticket.
THE VEILS OF ISIS
THE VEILS OF ISIS
TOWARDS the end of the second dynasty a youth whom his father and mother had named Amanthes came to manhood near the village of Assouan on the Nile. From childhood on he had been self-willed and passionate beyond the ordinary, and growing in boldness and intelligence he took the lead of the other young men. Because of his superi- ority his father and mother, though poor cultivators, were persuaded to devote him to the priesthood. And as the young man was nothing loth they took him one day to the Temple of Osiris. The Chief Priest received them with kindness, for the youth's promise had been noised abroad and he spoke to them warmly in favour of the God whom he worshipped and his divine mission : he told them how Osiris had come down from Heaven to help men and had suffered Death for their sakes through the Powers of Darkness. With tears in his eyes he told of the resurrection of the God and how at the last He should judge the dead.
Scarcely had he finished when Amanthes cried : 44 Can a God be defeated ? Why didn't Osiris conquer the Darkness ? " and other such things.
And when his father and mother, terrified by his boldness, tried to restrain him, for the Chief Priest
27
THE VEILS OF ISIS
held up his hands in deprecation, Amanthes went on stoutly :
" I can't adore a God who accepts defeat ; and I don't fear judge or judgment. I want to worship Isis, the woman-goddess, the giver of life, for her creed of joy and hope and love must endure as long as the earth lasts and the sun gives light."
The Chief Priest pointed out that the temples to Osiris were larger and more important than any other, and the service of the God was nobler and more highly rewarded, but Amanthes would not be persuaded, in- sisting that the only divinity he could worship was Isis, to whose service he was willing to devote himself night and day with all his heart.
Impressed by his earnestness and enthusiasm, the Chief Priest at length decided that it might be as well if Amanthes went down the river to Memphis to the great Temple of Isis, and as the young man took fire at the suggestion he offered to give him letters to the High Priest which would ensure his being accepted, and he excused himself to his colleagues for this weakness by saying that he had never met so eloquent a youth or so sincere a calling. Amanthes, he said, seemed care- less about everything else, but the moment the name of Isis was mentioned his eyes glowed, his face became intense, and it really looked as if the youth were inspired.
Ten days later Amanthes journeyed down the river to Memphis, and presented himself before the authorities
28
THE VEILS OF ISIS
of the Temple of Isis. But lu-.v his passion carried little persuasion, and at first it seemed as if his desire would be thwarted. The High Priest read the letter of his colleague and, after one glance at Amanthes, proposed to engage him as a servitor in the Temple, but thought it right, at the same time, to warn him that only the best and noblest were selected to wait on the Goddess herself, and that before one could hope to enter her immediate Presence one must have spent half a lifetime in the temple.
44 It took me," he said, " nearly five years to learn the routine of the service."
Amanthes listened with wide eyes and bowed in silence to the High Priest's decision, but from the very day he entered the temple he set himself to learn all the ritual and ceremonial forms, and devoted himself with such passion to whatever was given to him to do that he became a marked man among the younger priests.
Though he held himself aloof from all his comrades, he was not much disliked by them, for whenever his father and mother sent him presents of dates or dainties he shared them out among the others, contenting him- self always with the simple sustenance provided in the Temple.
To his father and mother he wrote but once, telling them to look upon him as dead, for he had given himself to the service of the Goddess with heart and life and for him there was no looking back.
29
THE VEILS OF ISIS
A few months after his admission to the Temple, Amanthes took a chance opportunity and begged the High Priest to enrol him among the immediate servants of the Goddess.
" I know all the forms and ceremonies by heart," he said, " and am eager now to learn the will of the Goddess herself."
The High Priest was greatly astonished ; but though he found by examining the young man that he was indeed a master of all the services, he would not grant his request.
" You have still much to learn/' he said, " before you can hope for such honour, and the next test is difficult," he added. He took Amanthes to the library of the Temple and showed him a room filled with great rolls of papyrus, and priests studying them.
" They are all at work," he explained, " interpreting the divine Oracles."
" But where are the Sayings of the Goddess ? " cried Amanthes, as if nothing else mattered.
" Here," said the High Priest, turning over one small yellow roll, " are the sacred words of the Divine One, the words which have been commented upon by wise men for thousands of years, and before we can believe that anyone is worthy to enter the shrine of the Goddess he must first show his fitness by interpreting her oracles, or correcting some of the commentators who have gone before."
" Let me first see the Goddess and learn her will,"
30
THE VEILS OF ISIS
argued the young man, " when I know her I shall be able to interpret her words."
44 Presumption ! " cried the High Priest, " mortals can only get glimpses of the Divine, and can never know the divine Will completely, any more than they can see the Goddess unveiled."
All the young man's pleading was met with a steady refusal : it was unheard of that any priest should be admitted to the Shrine of the Deity before he had passed at least ten years in the Temple.
41 1 myself," said the High Priest at length, 44 knew all the Oracles and had written two great books upon them before I was admitted in my twelfth year of service, and even then I only served at the door, and never entered the Shrine but with eyes bound so that I might not look upon the naked beauty of the Goddess."
Amanthes pleaded with him as one pleads for life ; but still the High Priest remained obdurate.
4 4 There are the Oracles, " he said, pointing to the books, 44 distinguish yourself and I will shorten the time of your probation as much as I dare, or as custom will allow."
Amanthes once more bowed his head and took his place among the students.
In the seventh month of the same year Amanthes interpreted a saying of the Goddess with such freedom that all the readers cried blasphemy against him, and brought him before the High Priest to answer for the crime. Amanthes defended himself with much bold- Si
THE VEILS OF ISIS
ness and many good reasons, till the High Priest cried :
" You read the Oracles as if the Goddess were a woman and nothing more, and that is wrong."
" How else can they be read ? " retorted Amanthes. " If she is not a woman one can never understand her, and if she is more than a woman we men can only get to the divine through the human."
The High Priest himself was shaken, and hesitated to decide, for in the course of the argument he had found that the young man had read the sacred Roll from beginning to end, and knew every wrord of the Goddess by heart.
" How did you learn them," he couldn't help asking, " in so short a time ? "
Amanthes only looked at him smiling, by way of answer, and again begged the Chief Priest to admit him now to the service of the Goddess, for he had surely proved himself and been patient. There was nothing to gain by waiting.
But immemorial custom was against him and the High Priest resented his insistence.
' You are too daring," he said at length ; "it may be well to use boldness to a woman, but to a Goddess you must show reverence."
" No, no," cried Amanthes, " reverence to the woman, who doesn't expect it and will be won by it, boldness to the Goddess."
" Blasphemy," cried the High Priest ; " you are on
32
THE VEILS OF ISIS
a dangerous way and I must not encourage you," and motioning to the great bronze door, behind them, he added : " Go on diligently as you have begun and it will be open to you perhaps after five years."
" Five years ! " repeated Amanthes sadly ; " five years of life and youth lost : five years ! "
44 That door has never opened in less," replied the High Priest solemnly, but as he spoke Amanthes gripped his arm, crying :
44 Look, look ! " and when the High Priest turned he found the door of the Shrine stood open.
" Strange," said the old man ; 44 it must be some accident ; I will shut it," and he seized the handle, but the door would not be moved ; and as he stood there all shaken and hesitating Amanthes with eyes aflame cried out :
44 See, Isis the Beloved, Isis herself has answered my prayer."
And Amanthes moved as if to enter the sacred place, but thr lliirh Priest held him, warning :
44 If you enter without reverence and bound eyes you \\ill die on the threshold."
Amanthes laughed aloud and strode past him into the Shrine, and as the High Priest held up his hands in fear and horror, the bronze door drew to of itself and closed between them.
From this time on Amanthes was constantly in the Shrine of the Goddess. Indeed, he scarcely gave him- self time to eat or sleep, and everyone remarked how c 33
THE VEILS OF ISIS
thin he grew and haggard with the constant service. And when, after some months, the High Priest warned him that his health would break down, and told him that he must not forget that the chief thing was the interpretation of the Oracles, Amanthes answered impatiently :
" 1 know nothing yet : the Goddess vouchsafes no answer to my entreaties ! How can one interpret without knowledge. ' '
Now there was a tradition that in the first dynasty a young priest had been consumed in the service of Isis, and had wasted away before the Goddess, till one day he was translated into flame and disappeared in a moment, and it crossed the High Priest's mind that Amanthes was on the same road, and likely to meet the same fate, and he desisted from admonishing him, fear- ing to make bad worse. He left the young man to his own devices, till strange tales came to him from the other priests that set all the Temple whispering.
It was put about that at night Amanthes used to speak to the Goddess as if she were a woman, and touch her statue as if the limbs were flesh. He had been over- heard entreating her as a lover entreats his mistress, telling over her beauties adoringly, and entreating her to lift the veil that prevented him enjoying her divine loveliness. When all the priests were muttering, and wondering how the impious boldness would be punished, one came to them with ashen face and a stranger tale.
34
THE VEILS OF ISIS
4 The Goddess has answered Amanthes," he gasped; " Isis asked him why lie wanted the veil lifted, and he stretched forth his arms and cried : c For Love's sake,' and as he spoke the Goddess trembled, and I fled, for indeed the sacred veil liad begun to fall away
The priests wouldn't credit the tidings. But when Amanthes came forth from the Shrine some believed, for he was as one transfigured. He spoke to no man, but went straight to his cell, and from this time on he was continually heard praising the Goddess in song and glorifying her Service.
A little later Amanthes went to the High Priest and asked him to be allowed to write an interpretation of the Oracles, and his interpretation was at once so bold and simple that the High Priest was amazed by it and frightened, and asked him how he dared to treat the divine words so boldly, and the young man answered quietly now and in all humility :
" Love is my only guide, and the boldness of love is reverence."
The High Priest bowed his head, for in spite of himself he was moved by the young man's tone and unaccustomed humbleness. And when the servitors came to the High Priest and demanded that Amanthes should be punished for insolent boldness he shook his head and rebuked them impatiently. And when they persisted, declaring that the worship of Amanthes for the Goddess was an outrage and insult to her, he answered simply :
35
THE VEILS OF ISIS
" The Goddess can protect herself." It was evident to all that he did not believe the slanders. And indeed such portions of the interpreta- tions of Amanthes as the High Priest thought fit to publish were so astonishingly simple and convincing that they won many to admiration, and his fame was noised abroad throughout all the land of Egypt, and people came from afar to hear his words and to listen to his interpretation of the divine speech.
And his humility now was as evident as his boldness had been aforetime.
"I know nothing," he said: "I am but a reed through which the Goddess speaks : of myself nothing."
His modesty impressed the people more than any assurance would have done, and when he served Isis in public the great Temple was thronged and all the people stirred by the fervour of the ritual, and when at the end he knelt before the Goddess, to recite the formal benediction, he prayed with such passion that everyone was affected, and the worship of the Goddess, the Giver of Life, spread on all sides and grew mightily.
The success of Amanthes made many of the priests envious, and sharpened the jealousy of those who had been against him from the beginning. And of these one of the chief was that servitor who had already spied upon him, and reported his entreaties of the Goddess to the High Priest. This man had been one of the most
36
THE VEILS OF ISIS
learned of the commentators before Amanthcs had appeared. He did not know all the words of the Goddess like Amanthes, but he knew by heart all the comments that had been made on them and all the inter- pretations for a thousand years, which were indeed in themselves a great library. He had been supplanted by the coming of Amanthes, and now lived for nothing but his undoing. One day he came to the High Priest with a mysteiious air and a slander vhieh he would not tell, and when the High Priest pressed him to say what it was he withstood him.
" I will not repeat what I have heard," he said, 14 nor soil my lips with the blasphemy. Come and hear for yourself."
And when the High Priest refused to come, for he was very old and fearful of shocks, the slanderer insisted :
" You will see Amanthes," he said, " at his foul work ; and you will see Her too, and you shall judge whether such things are to be permitted."
He spoke with such horror and hinted at such practices that the High Priest at length consented to go to his cell with him and spy upon Amanthes ; for his cell joined the Shrine itself, and was only separated from it by one wall. And he showed the High Priest that, when his cell was darkened, they could see between two layers of the stone everything that went on in the Shrine of the Goddess and hear every word as distinctly as if they had been within the sacred place.
37
THE VEILS OF ISIS
And when the High Priest and servitor were listening Amanthes entered the Shrine and stood before the Goddess. And they saw that he had come as from the bath, for his neck shone and his linen had been bleached by the Nile water. For some time he stood in dumb entreaty with hands outstretched, and the High Priest thought that the Goddess trembled before the dumb intensity of the appeal, and he turned his head aside for he would not trust his eyes.
At length Amanthes spoke, and the High Priest scarcely recognised his voice :
" How long ? " he cried. " How long ? "
And his arms fell as if in despair, and he sighed heavily as one in pain. And suddenly he went over to the Goddess, and put his hands upon her hips, and the Chief Priest turned aside breathless, for he would not look, though the servitor with sharp-set eyes nudged him. But he heard Amanthes speaking, and as he spoke he turned again to the Shrine, and this was what he heard:
" How long am I to wait, O Queen ; how long ? Before I knew you I worshipped you, and every favour you have accorded me has fed my passion. When you removed the first veil you showed me a new Isis, even lovelier than my imagining, and I stood entranced ; and every veil you have taken off since has revealed some new perfection hitherto undreamed. Am I then un- worthy to have the last veil lifted ? Unworthy,, though consumed with adoration."
38
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And as his hands touched the Goddess, the High Priest saw that she trembled as if she had been llrsh and blood, and his breath caught, for the Godd< ^ spoke.
14 If I refuse," said Isis, " it is for your sake, Amanthes," and her hand touched his hair.
And Amanthes cried aloud :
" To refuse one thing is to refuse all : love knows n< > denials : I would see you as you are, as the Gods see you face to face."
And the High Priest shuddered in fear, for the grave voice of the Goddess was heard again :
" No woman's soul can resist love : to-morrow it shall be as you desire."
And they saw Amanthes twine his arms round the Goddess and kiss her limbs, and with the last look the High Priest saw that he was prone before the Shrine with his lips pressed against the feet of Isis.
And the High Priest as he went would not even speak with the servitor, for he was full of apprehension, and torn in many ways, partly by affection for Amanthes, partly by curiosity, and most of all for fear of what would happen on the morrow.
In the morning he gave orders that the servitor should be in close attendance upon himself, and that his cell, from which one could look into the Shrine, should be shut, and he ordained twenty -four hours of solemn fasting and prayer for all the priests, and decreed that the Temple should be closed.
39
THE VEILS OF ISIS
In the second hour, after the orders had been given, Amanthes came to him, and the High Priest hardly dared to look on him, for his face was as the face of one who had talked to the God and won his soul's desire.
But Amanthes stretched out his strong hands and caught the old man by the shoulders, and said in his rich voice :
" I thank you. You have done what I would have ordered in your place."
And the High Priest gasped :
" Are you not afraid ? "
"Afraid?" he cried. " To-night is the night for which I was born," and as he turned and went the High Priest saw his shining eyes and felt a little envious.
The morning after the great fast the High Priest went himself to the Shrine with all his attendants robed and in order as to solemn service. And after the three prayers the bronze doors were opened; and there, stretched before the Goddess, lying prone was Amanthes. And the moment the High Priest saw him he knew that the youth was dead, and when he looked up at the Goddess he saw she was veiled as usual, and her hands were by her side.
All that he had seen and heard twenty-four hours before, and all that he had feared, were to him as a dream.
The body of Amanthes was already cold, and the
40
THE VEILS OF ISIS
priests knew that he must have died in the first hour of the night. They came together in solemn meeting and heard the story of the servitor.
And one of the older priests rose and said that surely the death contained a great lesson.
" As soon as the mortal saw the Immortal, life ceased ; for who can look upon the Godhead and live ? Death is the punishment of such boldness."
And many of the priests agreed with this ; but another priest objected.
" We mortals," he began, " have surely something of the divine in us, or we would not even wish to see the Gods as they are ; nor perhaps be able to if they allowed us. But behind all the Gods, behind Isis and Osiris and Horus, there is a power greater than themselves, Fate, which to mortals is Death. And this was shown to Amanthes, for when the last veil was lifted, instead of the Goddess he adored, he saw the death's head, and the image of death took him."
But another priest rose and said :
44 Surely the result might have been expected. As veil after veil fell. Ainantlies saw one incarnation after another of divine beauty, and his soul was ravished. But when the last veil was stripped off Amanthes found that his divinity was in reality an ordinary woman, and his heart turned to water and his soul died."
And this interpretation seemed most reasonable to the majority of the priests.
THE VEILS OF ISIS
But the people knew better, for when the story was told outside the Temple a woman cried :
" The truth is plain ! Having at last found a perfect lover, the Goddess took him with her to Amenti, the land beyond the Darkness."
42
A FRENCH ARTIST
A FRENCH ARTIST
ONE night after dining with Henri Dartier, the critic and writer who has done so much to make modern English literature comprehensible to Frenchmen, we went into Pousset's brasserie, where from time to time one can meet most of the leaders of French thought.
Presently a pair came into the room who drew all eyes. The man was like a high priest, with black hair and long, silky black beard, regular features and pallid skin. As he came nearer the impression was deepened : he was a very handsome man of about thirty-five, the great, dark eyes were superb and there was a certain majesty in the portly dignified figure. He dressed the part, too : he wore no collar, or rather the collar was a band of black moire silk which seemed to form part of his waistcoat — not a spot of colour about him — a study in black and white, for the black clothes set off the pallor of the skin. Beside him a tiny girl's figure, her head reaching only to his breast ; her pale, gold hair was banded round her ears, framing her face, sharpening the thin oval of it, and accentuating the rather peaked, prominent nose, the red mouth and small, bony chin. Her eyes held one — large, grey-blue eyes, enigmatic — emptied of expression. She might have stepped out of
45
A 1FRENCH ARTIST
a canvas of Botticelli — an immature virgin, full of char- acter, by some primitive master. The contrast between the two was so astounding — the individualities of both so marked and so uncommon, that I turned eagerly to Dartier, who knows everyone, to learn about them.
" Yes, I know them," he replied to my question ; "he is from Provence, an artist, Piranello : the girl's his wife."
"His wife?" I cried. "She might be his daughter."
Dartier shrugged his shoulders.
" She is older than you think."
" I should like to know them," I remarked.
" Nothing easier," was his reply, and he got up and called out, " Piranello, mon ami ! "
A nearer acquaintance only sharpened my curiosity. Piranello was to me a new type ; there was something of the pontiff not only in his looks, but in his nature ; in his unaffected seriousness, in the slow gestures of his long, white ringers ; something hieratic in his dignity and repose, a consciousness of individual worth, that would have been pompous in anyone less simple and sincere.
And his wife, Claire, was just as singular a personality. She talked very little ; was very quiet ; her extra- ordinary self -repression was in itself a distinction, yet each of her words counted, and if a good thing was said, or anything to excite her, any cry of passion or of revolt,
A FKKNTII ARTIST
thctliin nostrils would vibrate. Hie < ; m. jindthe
whole l';iee sharpen 1o intensity.
Pirancllo was very courteous. In answer to the (jiiestions of Dartier, lie said he had done no painting lately, but was interested in enamels and mosaics.
44 The beginnings of half-a-dozen arts," he remarked, 44 or the culminating points, whichever you like. I have bron busy, too, with some new jewellery," and his long, white fingers waved toward an ornament on the blue of his wife's dress. It was an imitation of a pearly oyster- shell, with a great pink pearl in the cup and a tiny black one at the side. Madame Piranello detached it from her dress without a word, and handed it to me. I could not help exclaiming with admiration ; it was an astonishing copy in some metal or other and curiously enamelled; the outside as rough as any oyster-shell, while the inside had a milky radiance, shot through with faint colours, like the most lovely mother-of-pearl, u perfect setting for the great gem. It would have been hard to find a more effective or extraordinary piece of jewrellery.
" Jewellery should be barbaric," Piranello said ; 44 the gem is the reality ; the artist must set it to show off its beauty, its strangeness, its individuality. It is what an incident of real life is to the story-teller ; he should only use it if it suits him, if he can make it significant — beautiful or terrible. Two or three diamonds side by side in a ring ; a whole row of pearls cheek by jowl in a necklace, are merely symbols of
47
A FRENCH ARTIST
vanity and wealth — evidence of vulgar bad taste. The pearls are selected because of their likeness one to another ; whereas the charm of pearls, as of everything else, is in their unlikeness to each other. That is why I put my tiny black pearl there, to set off the exquisite pink glow of the master-gem."
The man interested me, and the woman had a certain attraction ; I was glad when, in answer to a request by Dartier, Piranello invited me to visit his studio.
" I have got my forge," he said, " just off the Rue Ramey, away up beyond the Butte de Montmartre, where one is hidden from the hive, and Claire has made an interesting room or two, which you may care to see."
When we parted for the night I asked Dartier about him.
|C You will see for yourself," he said. " Piranello has a real talent. He made a name ten years ago in Paris by painting girls like the Primitives, and old men like Balzac. Perhaps because his pictures affected us a good deal we used to call them ' the wicked virgins and wise saints.5 We Parisians alway smock our 'emotions. You will see for yourself next Wednesday."
On Wednesday I drove up to the Butte, and then got down and walked nearly to the fortifications along the slope of the hill turned away from Paris. There in a waste place I found the artist's house and studio. The house was the ordinary French box of the banlieu, and from the outside seemed absolutely commonplace.
A FRENCH ARTIST
But the door opened into a great vaulted room, like the refectory of some old convent. A staircase at the far end led to the upper part of the house. Beyond it I was told was the tiny kitchen. Between the arches of the vaulted room were paintings Of Primitives done on panels, and here and there Primitive statues of saints in stone and marble. The furniture was all early Renaissance ; the whole room of the time of Henry II.
The little lady who came to meet me belonged to the same period. Claire seemed a little angular, a little stiff, just as the Gothic saints seemed a little stiff, because of the pointed folds of their drapery.
Piranello, she said, was in his studio. Would we care to look at the room first ; we did care. It was a feast to the eye. Not many things in it, but every- thing chosen with unerring knowledge and taste. Here was a St Rocque, standing with compassionate hands outspread over a lady who was ministering to his wound — an atmosphere of human pity and suffering about the group -svliic'li o ripped the heart. On the other side of the white vault a St Louis in the same hard, grey stone with the cross on his breast and the fleur-de-lis of France on his raiment, the fingers of the right hand uplifted in a gesture of admonition. Next to him a triptych of some early Florentine painter, noteworthy for the suave beauty of the faces, and for a page whose right hand is toying with a jewelled dagger while he waits on the Virgin.
Over the door by which I had entered was a window D 49
A FRENCH ARTIST
of Renaissance glass, which threw gules of crimson and primrose on the narrow oak table. On the table itself a vase of alabaster with one yellow rose in it. The simplicity and unity of effect made a singular appeal.
The little lady led me out by a side door under the stairs, and we found ourselves at once in the studio, where Piranello was at work. The studio was evidently built on for the sake of the light from above, which could be shaded at will with heavy, dark curtains. It was paved like the room we had just left with great slabs of stone, and at one end stood a huge forge, with immense bellows, which a little boy was working. Piranello came to meet us in an old blue blouse, all stained with blotches of paint and many scorchings. He had been working at a crucifix. The conception was ingenious. An enormous cliff-like hill of some rough metal represented the Calvary, with forests, lakes and footpaths of a dozen colours, and toiling up the hill little figures of men and women of every race and every variety of costume. On the top the wooden cross all empty, with gouts and clots of blood on the nails and arms, and at the foot a woman prostrate — sorrow in every line of the broken figure.
" I never care to attempt the figure of the ' Crucified One,' " said Piranello quietly, "it is the cross itself which is of such significance — the instrument of torture and death turned into a symbol of faith and hope."
It is curious when you come to know someone who
50
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is a personage how astonished you are afterwards by the amount of talk that goes on about him. I hud never heard of Piranello or his wife before, but after visiting them I seemed to hear of them on all sides. Some people declared that it was his wife and her strange beauty which had given him all his talent. But when you talked of the heads of his old men, modelled with extraordinary realism and understanding — heads weird and tortured and inspired — the critics shrugged their shoulders and thrust forth their lips contemptuously. Their malevolence did not weaken the impression made upon me by the artist and his wife.
In time I got to know Piranello rather well. The question of his wife's importance to his art interested me vaguely. One day he showed me a wonderful picture done some years before of " Susanna and the Elders," in which his wife's girlish beauty was exposed with extraordinary realism and emotion, while lust itself was incarnate in the vicious masks of the peeping old men.
4 You have been extraordinarily fortunate in your wife as a model," I exclaimed, " an ideal figure, is she not ? " for indeed the unveiled charm of her adolescence redeemed the whole scene.
Unconscious of what was passing through my mind, Piranello remarked casually :
" A good model : art begins in imitation, but it must become interpretation before it's worth much."
" Her figure is not only lovely," I went on, " but
A FRENCH ARTIST
just what you wanted here to lift the portraits of those ignoble old beasts to the plane of great art — a wonder- ful model ! How lucky you were to find her."
I had roused him at last.
" Not lucky," he said, " luck had nothing to do with it. We artists have always our models in our heads. I'll explain if you like. Quite early I was taken by the Primitive masters ; I suppose their sincerity, naivete and frankness appealed to me — the more complicated we are, the more simplicity moves us. Then I went to Northern Italy, and studied the beginnings of paint- ing as I might have gone to Flanders, or indeed to Russia. Do you know that the Russian school of painting dates from the early part of the fifteenth century ? I could show you a picture of a Russian Primitive which you would mistake for an Italian. I went to Orvieto and Ravenna and spent three weeks there : I learned a great deal from Signorelli ; the astounding vigour, directness and force in him and in other early masters affected me with pleasure as poignant as pain.
" Gradually I began to find myself. The passion in me gave me an ideal of girlhood, and I began to see what I wanted. . . . But I had no formula, you under- stand, no symbol. I began doing girls' portraits in- genuously, catching a glimpse of innocence here, and there the dawning of a child's soul. Bit by bit the surprising richness of life revealed itself to me, and I began seeking, seeking, and as soon as I began to seek with faith I began to find on this hand and on that
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A FRENCH ARTIST
models with the features and figures I wanted for this or that effect. Gradually my own desires grew definite and distinct and then I met my wife. . . . Was she sent to me, or did my desire call her out of the crowd ? She affected me like a piece of music heard in some previous existence, my whole soul was poured out like water at her feet. I was all one hunger and thirst for her, and she cared for me as well. ... Of course her dress was all wrong, and her hair stupid — modern ; she had been trying to make her face pretty like everyone's face, like the face of a fashion plate. I showed her what her face really was, the distinction of it, and what her figure was and the subtle, superlative attraction of it. ... She sri/rd on the idea womanlike, and as soon as she dressed as I wished, and saw the sensation she created when she went abroad, she developed the idea with great talent. She's very fine. ..."
4 That explains part of your work, but it does not explain the other side of your talent — your men's heads. . . ."
" The interest of a man's face," he said, " is all of the intellect, spiritual, while the woman's is all of the body ; the ideal of the one is passion and suffering ; the ideal of the other grace and innocence. I love a man's head when it is worn with intense feeling and furrowed with thought, the mask of the foul bird of prey with the great Jew nose, greedy, coarse mouth and obscene vulture neck. I love the broad face of the lion, with the square jaw, low forehead, heavy brows :
53
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courage, cruelty, hate, all stamped on it : or the narrow mask of avarice with its thin lips and pointed teeth : the smile of conscious power and the claw-like, grasping fingers. Oh, I come across superb men's heads every- where. But strange to say, it is life which supplies me with all my ideals of men : the models themselves suggest the artistic treatment, indicate the heightening touches, whereas with the girls' faces and figures the idea is always within me, suggested by desire. ... I don't know which is the more effective artistically : probably my girls are truer, deeper than my men. They have less of life in them, and more of ideal beauty : sometimes I think it is the ideal that endures, and sometimes life and the sense of life, but I don't know — no one knows. . . .
" I am still seeking, seeking, but I have got out on a bypath, I'm afraid. My first impulse seems to be exhausted. ... I don't mean that," he added quickly. " I mean that it is accomplished in some sort. I think of going to Belgium and Holland. I want fecundating. All this cursed enamel work is not mine, but it has taught me new combinations of colours — new colour- effects. I am getting ripe for a new start. ..."
I could not help wondering whether the woman had come to the same point. Madame Piranello was more secretive, or was it modest reticence ? Still, now and then she let drop a word which was significant.
On one occasion, I remember, I asked them to lunch at a Paris restaurant. The fashion of the moment had
54
A FRENCH ARTIST
given women a she;i1li-like dress of great simplicity. The fashion could easily he approximated to the style of the Primitives, and Madame Piranello had brought about the combination dexterously. Her figure could not help but be slight, yet there was a suggestion of round litheness about it which was very seductive.
" I am so sorry," she said, " that we are late, but the Master did not like my dress : it does not fall in pointed Gothic angles. Artists," she added, with her eyes upon mine, " are slow to admit that their ideals may develop and girls become women "
There had evidently been a dispute between them on the subject, for Piranello took her up quickly.
" That's not the point," he exclaimed, " there's an ideal in everyone, and your ideal is not of the woman- mother. You confuse all one's ideas of the fitness of dress, and '
"And the result is perfection," I broke in hastily, to clear the air : but though Madame Piranello had remained silent she had not changed her opinion. Her eyes had grown dark, like violets in water, and the little nostrils beat quickly ; yet she was wise enough to nitvf rebuke with silence.
A year or so later I met them at Fontainebleau, and found that the paths had diverged a great deal further. While his wife prepared afternoon tea we talked in the garden. He was now full of Memling, and I he Van Eycks and Mulsys.
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A FRENCH ARTIST
" You have no idea the great things I found," he cried ; "I shall go back to Flanders for a year. They have given me a dozen ideas. I am working at a great picture now. Adam and Eve leaving the Garden — of course of their own free will," and he laughed. " Eve is sorrowing a little at the loss of the accustomed ; but Adam is delighted with the sovereignty of the larger world — his eyes aglow with the vision splendid."
" Madame Piranello standing for Eve ? " I guessed.
"No, no," he replied, with a little temper; "women seek admiration and not artistic effects. It's a great pity. . . . You see, Claire's older than she was, and now she wants to show her tiny waist and round figure, and she's too short for the style, too short-legged. It's a great pity. . . . Still, perhaps it's for the best : another ideal has shaped itself in me. She must be tall and very slight. There must be about her the adorable awkwardness of childhood : the indecision of form of the young girl," and he drew the outline of the figure with his thumb in the air. " Just a hint, perhaps, of curve in the hips, but not the vase-like roundness of womanhood — I love the subtle hesitation of line, every indication of youth, youth with curiosity in the eyes and eagerness — the possibility but not the suggestion of passion."
44 Your new ideal will be difficult to find," I remarked.
4tNo, no!" he exclaimed; "one of these days I am sure to come across it. Life's a treasure-house, a miraculous treasure-house which holds everything, a
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thousand thousand ideals. Its richness is inconceiv- able : while the idea is yet vague in the mind. Nature presents you with its realisation. I'll meet my ideal one of these days."
" And how about your old men ? " I asked.
44 That was all rather crude, don't you think ? " he replied carelessly. t4 A mere contrast with my girl figures : a sort of rebound of passion. I no longer feel that impulse. I don't want worn, tired heads of old men, but the perfect figure of the mature man, force in the yoke-like shoulders, energy in the long, steel bands of the thigh muscles, and the face of conquering achievement. I have a perfect model for my Adam," he added, 44 Adam who finds a larger freedom in disobedi- ence and a wider kingdom in revolt ; he must be as strong as Michelangelo's ideal, but not so tortured : more easeful, graceful, I think, more like a figure of Donatello. . . ."
Next spring the "Adam and Eve " of Piranello made a great sensation in Paris, and shortly afterwards the gossips were all agog; he had left his wife without rhyme or reason, it was said, and was going about with a foreigner, a Danish girl of extra- ordinary appearance.
I was eager to see her and to know what would be the result of the separation. Madame Piranello, I was informed, was living very quietly in a little house on the borders of the forest of Fontainebleau. She seemed perfectly happy, Dartier told me.
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" There's a great deal of worldly wisdom in that little thing," he remarked; " she will fall on her feet. The
son of R , the Minister of Justice, is mad about her.
But she will not marry him. My wife says she really cares for Piranello in spite of his bad treatment of her, or perhaps because of it," the genial cynic added with a smile. " But Piranello's in a bad way," he went on, " his latest innamorata is a caution : you must see her. . . ."
Sure enough, I did see her a week afterwards at a reception in the Latin Quarter, where artists and editors came together and a few society people, just to reconcile smartness with talent.
She came into the room a little before Piranello : she was as tall as he was — with a crown of ashen-fair hair, parted at the side and brought into a big sweep across the forehead like a boy's, and knotted tightly at the nape : long, green eyes, with triangular face and pointed chin. Her figure seemed to be all angles : even Piranello could scarcely complain of her round- ness. She talked French with a harsh, northern accent. She was not sympathetic to me : there was something cat-like, cruel in the hard, naked eyes, something of the snake in that flat, pointed face.
Piranello was as hieratic as ever : but not so self- poised as he had been. He watched his Dane, too, as he had never watched his wife. I wondered vaguely what the upshot would be. He asked me to come to a private view of some of his pictures in the Rue de Seze.
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I went. The man's art was disquieting. Here and there a new symbolism showed itself and certain ghostly effects of peculiar intensity and significance had come into his work : but the colour-scheme was gloomy and brutal. The joy of living had disappeared from his work — passion it appeared had its Nemesis shadow.
Still his art was interesting. There was a head of Jupiter thrown out over clouds as fine as anything and modern — for this god had sightless, blind eyes. Near by was a girl-child's figure, very slight and tall and thin — too thin, and yet with beauty in its awkwardness : the face in some strange way suggested a skull : it was entitled "Une Fille d'Eve," and had an immense success in Paris. There was something macabre about it, some- thing preternaturally sinister.
Piranello was no longer as frank as he used to be : he would not talk about himself and his aims as of old, perhaps he was not so sure of himself. I felt the solu- tion of the problem would be with Madame Piranello.
Madame Dartier took me one day to see her at Fon- tainebleau. There were a couple of men in the room — one a lame man with a powerful head, and a look on his face of suffering. He had had a bad fall, I learned, from horseback — and had injured his spine ; his life was measured to him in months by the doctors. He had been an admirer of Madame Piranello for years and was comparatively content now, because he could see her without constraint and had induced her to use his motor car. The other visitor was a young man of a very dif-
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ferent type. He was the R— - of whom Dartier had spoken ; with his brown hair, gay eyes and short, sturdy figure he looked like a Norman. His family was very rich, Madame Dartier told me. He had studied law in Paris, and had published a volume of poems. He was a good deal younger than Madame Piranello, and evidently very much in love with her. Madame Dartier was certain that Claire would end by marrying him.
" It would be the best thing in the world for her," she said, " she really deserves some happiness after that wild life with Piranello."
" Does she care for him ? " I asked.
"Of course," said Madame Dartier; " she is five or six years older than he is, and his devotion would win any woman in time — especially one who knows life as well as Claire knows it. Piranello made her see all the colours of it, I can tell you."
" Why don't they marry ? " I asked. " Surely Piran- ello will give her a divorce."
" Oh, that's all arranged," said Madame Dartier. " One good thing about you men is that you seldom play dog-in-the-manger as women love to do. Claire will be free in a month or two. But I'm afraid she's hesitating : you see she had a real passion for Piranello, and after the fire's burnt we women cover up the ashes and keep them warm for a long time. ..."
As the afternoon wore away we all went for a walk in the great forest, the finest in the world, I always think,
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and I had an opportunity to talk quietly to Madame Piranello.
I told her quite frankly that I had seen Piranello lately and was interested in his work.
" You were a real friend of his, I know," she re- marked.
44 1 was, indeed," I said, " and am still, and therefore very sorry that there is this cloud between you : in you he has lost his best friend."
She looked at me frankly and her eyes were pathetic.
44 He does not think so," she began : " but perhaps you are right. At any rate, I'm frightened when I think of him, frightened and anxious. . . .
44 He has a lot of good in him " — like all women, she would try to justify her feelings by reason — <4 a lot of good, and he will come to grief, I'm afraid. Artists all strain after peculiarities and the quest is dangerous : the preterhuman is not always the superhuman, oftener indeed it is the inhuman," she added. . . . 44 That woman he has got now is a maniac, a ditraqute : one has only got to look at her to see it, a morphino-maniac
Of worse."
His pictures are wonderful," I said.
Oh yes," she answered, " yes, but not healthy any
more."
Her insight astounded me.
44 You see, he no longer has you for his model,' said ; 44 you were his ideal."
I had touched the right note at last.
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" Do you know," she said gravely, " I think women know more about life than men. He and I were made for each other really, only he does not see it. It is a pity — you complicated ones always miss the obvious. He wanted a change, at least his body did, and, mon dieu ! he's got it. She has a temper like a fiend, you know, and she'll wear him to a rag, because he's a real artist, is Nello : his art is his life, and as soon as his art deteriorates he'll go to the bad."
" Why don't you see him, and tell him all that ? " I asked. 4 You have clearer eyes than he has and, who knows, you might save him still." I was drawing the bow at a venture.
She looked at me questioningly : a half smile stole across her face : yet her eyes were kind : I thought I understood. . . .
Three months later Madame Dartier said to me :
" Do you know that Monsieur and Madame Piranello are together again ? He nearly killed his Dane one night : he found her morphia drunk with the coachman and he turned them out into the night : she has dis- appeared, and a good thing, too. . . . Claire went back to him at once. She's good, if you like, but foolish — blind, I mean to her own interest, as all good women are. R— - would have married her at any moment, and given her everything. ..."
" Everything, except the one thing needful," I added, and she smiled and nodded her head with perfect comprehension.
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When I spoke to Dartier, I found him less hopeful :
44 1 believe Piranello still sees his Dane : she's like a taste for absinthe, that woman : if you once get it you'll die with it or of it," and he laughed. tl If Claire ever finds him out there will be a final rupture. She's very proud and won't stand it. What he can see in that bag of bones I can't imagine, yet she holds him like a glue-pot."
The following summer Dartier's prediction came true.
Madame Piranello, he told me, had left her husband finally : she had caught him with the Dane, whom he would not promise to give up.
"A miserable business altogether," he said. 44 Piranello is going to the devil, though I hear he is working on a big picture — the Faust story. He has altered terribly. He takes morphia, too, now ; like grows to like."
44 And Madame Piranello ? " I questioned.
44 Oh, she's all right," he replied. 44A charming little woman. My wife had her here for two or three weeks : she is now living again at the little house near Fontainebleau : my wife says she will not be un- married long. There are half-a-dozen men after her. She is charming, you know, and decorative and wise to boot."
I acquiesced, but I was a little hurt by his careless talk. I determined to call on Madame Piranello and see for myself how the wind was blowing.
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I found just a touch of bitterness in her which I regretted : it came out when we talked of Piranello.
" So you tried the great experiment," I began. " It was very brave of you — very brave and kind."
" A poor farce," she said. " We women cannot give sight to the blind : God alone can do that."
" It was a mistake, then ? " I asked.
Her eyebrows went up.
" That Danish fiend has got him," she said; " now we shall see what she makes of him. If she helps him to great things, she's justified : but she won't. I know him so well. He's a big child, and needs to be taken care of. Really I always took great care of him, though he did not know it, and now . . . she only wants a companion on the road to hell."
She broke off.
44 She informed me one day that he had made me, that I owed whatever talent I had to him — la bonne blague — it's very little one can owe anybody. ..."
I was struck by her wisdom.
44 1 wish you would tell me," I said, 44 about your early life ! "
44 Oh," she said, 44 there's nothing to tell. I was brought up in the usual way. Perhaps a little more strictly than usual — a convent school and a bourgeois home — all stupid and proper, you know. Of course we girls talked, and what one did not know the other did, and if we were kept on the chain, so to speak, our
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thoughts and imaginations wore free and they roamed about in vagabond fancies. What a gorgeous life that is of a girl's day-dreams, and nightly imaginings. The day-dreams all poems of fairy princes and leaders of men and heroes. And the night fancies, when one can pull the clothes over one's head and imagine what one likus, trying to relieve our desires in dreams — the fear of the pursuer, and the hope that we shall be overtaken and feel the strong arms about us, and the man's lips on ours. . . .
44 Then one afternoon Piranello came and took away my breath. Oh, I admit it — he's so handsome and dark and strong, so different from anything I had imagined — so priest-like, interesting. I was all in a flutter. He took me to his studio with my mother, and I saw his paintings — and that astonishing Madonna he did with the curious half -smile of content more enigmatical than Leonardo's. Of course, I loved him. Love taught me both what he wanted and what I wanted. . . .
44 Curious, isn't it ? One does not see one's own type at first. As a girl one's a fool. I would have given anything for a little Grecian nose — one seeks to hide one's peculiarities, instead of accentuating them. How blind one is, and then suddenly one learns from a man or a painting, or gradually by experience, that it is better to be oneself, and by being oneself one suddenly becomes a personage — originality is individuality — anything you like — even genius. ..."
44 You are very wise," I said. " It is quite true : all E 65
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you say is quite true ; but how did the difficulty arise ? "
She sighed a little.
" I hardly know. Piranello wanted to keep me as I was. But I learned the lesson : I was changing — love had taught me many things, passion, too, had taught me. He wished me to be stationary, innocent and angular of body, with unseeing eyes. But I could not remain a girl, and he would not realise that it is the hint of understanding which makes innocence mysteri- ous and the suggestion of curve which makes the line seductive. My development was regular : it followed the ordinary course, while he is a sort of morbid development."
" Will you never go back to him again ? " I asked.
44 Oh, never," she replied. " It's final. I did all I could, more than I ought to have done. It was all useless, and worse than useless. He has gone under and wants to go lower. ... A woman must not let pity master her : it is as dangerous for her as it is for the man to let passion master him — passion and compassion are our mortal enemies."
It was two or three years before I saw or heard of them again, and then I got a message through Dartier from Piranello, asking me to come and see his pictures. I went and was shocked by his appearance. He had shrunk to one half his former size and aged beyond
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recognition. The face that had been rather plump \VM s all seamed and lined and wrinkled. The skin had fallen into pouches, the large eyes had grown small : the black hair all grey, scant on the temples, wispy, thin.
44 Ah, I have changed," he said : the very voice had dwindled away.
After talking of this and that he soon got on his art.
" I want to show you my pictures," he cried, " my great picture. It is symbolic. You know I used to talk of life as a treasure-house in which you found everything. It's not a treasure-house," he said, coming close to me and speaking in a whisper ; " it's hell," and his yellow, tired eyes bored into mine. . . .
44 You know the old legend of Faust ? " he went on. 44 He asks the devil for this and for that and the devil gives him all he asks, and as he gives the devil takes pieces of his soul in exchange, till he has got it all. . . . Life gives us this and that of our heart's desire, and takes our soul in exchange piecemeal, and our friends come to us and beg us not to give the last bit when we have already given it," and he grinned savagely, '4 and then we die because without a soul the body rots, doesn't it ? The soul's the salt. . . . I've imagined the world-devil like a king. He gives Faust riches and honour and beauty — girl after girl, fashioned to his desire, and when Faust asked for more he said, 4 You have nothing more to give me in exchange. You are all mine. You have
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been mine for a long time : don't bother me — you silly fool ! ' "
His voice had grown shrill. I stared at him : there was insanity in his working face and in the wild sadness of his bloodshot eyes.
" And your Dane ? " I asked, to shake off the effect of his bitterness.
" She's dead," he threw out indifferently : " she took an overdose one night. ..."
I never saw him again, but I heard of him only last year. It came about in this way : I was invited to M. Souchard's, you know the man who made a great fortune in Paris by the lines of steamers. There I
met Claire. She had married R shortly after our
last talk, and had now two children. It was at her home that I heard of Piranello again from Dartier.
" A funny history," he said. " I always knew that she would succeed and that Piranello would come to grief. We are all wise after the event : the unexpected soon becomes the inevitable."
" What happened ? " I asked.
" She must not guess we are talking about it," he said, drawing me aside. " I can tell you all there is to be told in five minutes. Piranello had a little Italian model, with whom he was in love, and she had a friend as usual, her amant de COKUT. One night Piranello found them in the studio together : he had a mania for discoveries, you may remember. I suppose he thought himself as
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strong as ever, for he attacked the young Italian, who threw him, and he struck against the great crucifix — you remember his enamelled crucifix ? The cross, it appears, tipped over and crushed him — the cross of his own making. ..."
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IN THE VALE OF TEARS
CHAPTER I
THE Comte de Varennes looked like a man of action, he might have stood for a model of an officer of light cavalry. A man of medium height, with light clean figure, his hair was grey but thick, his moustache grey, too, the forehead high, the nose slightly beaked, the jaw and chin showed decision. The expression of the face was a little imperious, but looked at more closely the hazel eyes were thoughtful, patient, anything but hard or harsh.
The room he was in told more about him : it was a library looking out on a bit of park — his favourite room in the old hotel in the Rue du Bac which he had inherited. His soldier-like air probably came from the fact that he had served all through the war of '70 — such an experience is apt to leave deep marks on a young man.
He was moving about the room impatiently as if waiting for someone, and in the intervals of listening was lost in thought. Suddenly he stopped before the mantelpiece, and said as if to himself :
" But, after all, what could a young man give her ? Passion, delight for a few months. No more. And
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no youth could know her worth, could value her as she deserves. Experience alone can teach one how rare a creature like Marie is. I wish I had a portrait of her. I might have had a photograph — but what a poor thing a photograph is ! It could give no idea of her grace and charm. Those are qualities too fine for the sun to see. And yet he's old enough to have good taste."
At this point in the Count's meditation the door opened and the old servant entered with : " M. le Comte. M. le docteur Dupuy ! " The doctor came into the room with brisk energy, and the next moment had taken the Count's hand in both of his. It may be worth while to spend a moment or two studying this doctor's appearance, for his fame as scientist and surgeon was already established. Doctor Dupuy was short and heavily built ; squat, one might have called him, so long was his body, so short his legs. His face almost square ; the nose a large pug ; the forehead's breadth would have appeared massive had not the thick, grizzled hair grown low down over it : the eyebrows bushy and dark like the moustache. A strong face in features and outline, rough hewn, but redeemed from more than a suspicion of coarseness by a pair of energetic, searching, grey eyes. The doctor's manner corresponded to the expression of his eyes : it was at once energetic and decisive, with a certain reserve of cool deliberation which inspired confidence. A strong and able man, the physiognomist would have said, showing indeed in face and form a peasant origin,
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yet certain in his day to be successful, as much by his limitations as by his powers.
After a long look at the Count, Doctor Dupuy dropped his hand and said, with a smile- of satisfaction :
" That's right. You've sent for the friend and not for the doctor."
44 No ; you're mistaken," was the Count's answer, while a shade of melancholy came over his face; " or rather you're only half right. I shouldn't have dreamed of taking you from your work had I only wished to see the friend. In that case I'd have gone to you. No ; I want to consult with the doctor, too — chiefly with the doctor, in fact. I want you to examine me " (hesitat- ingly), "I have a decision to make, an important one, and I wrant to decide with full knowledge. I'll explain afterwards, but first you must tell me what this body of mine is worth — how many years' purchase, I mean."
While the Count was speaking, Doctor Dupuy looked steadily at his friend, and then replied brusquely, as from habit :
44 Strip, then, strip and lie down on that sofa. I'll tell you what you want to know — barring accidents or unforeseen follies, eh ? "
The examination lasted about ten minutes. While the Count was dressing Doctor Dupuy walked up and down the room. Manifestly the problem which occupied him was not to be solved easily, for of a sudden he appeared to give it up, and returning threw himself into a chair opposite the Count and began to speak.
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" You puzzle me. And puzzles are interesting. Your health's excellent. Ah ! you want the dots on the i's. Well, physically you are what we call a norm- ally healthy man of, say, five and fifty or sixty years of age. Every organ is healthy, normally healthy. I've known stronger hearts, but there's no sign of organic weakness in yours. You must have lived almost a perfect life. Regular habits, I mean, and no excesses. A ride every morning ; the school of arms every other day. So I should have thought. You are an example of what wise living means. That's all I can say. You may live, you should live, for twenty years yet."
" If you didn't know me, could you have examined me and taken me for a young man, for a man, say, of five and thirty or forty ? "
" Oh no ! " replied the doctor decisively. " Youth makes a difference."
" In what respects ? "
"In so many — in all. For example, at five and thirty your pulse was not only regular — that it is now — but resilient, like india-rubber. The heart's action — but there ! The real difference is this. In youth one lives, as it were, on the interest of one's vigour ; at sixty one lives upon one's capital. But what do you want ? One can't expect to be at sixty as one was at forty. Summer and autumn differ, but autumn has its compensations. If there are less enjoyments, there are, also, fewer sorrows. In short, live as you have lived and your winter even will be worth having."
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" Yes ; I understand. But suppose I don't mean to live as I have lived ; suppose, for example, that I marry."
" Ah ! " and the doctor leaned forward in the chair as the exclamation broke from his lips. " That would be a folly. Having everything that life can give, one doesn't marry at sixty. Why on earth should you wish to marry ? "
" Why indeed ? " replied the Count, while a faint, half -melancholy smile came over his face. " Why ? Suppose, my friend, that I had at last, but for the first time, met a perfect woman, a girl who is joy incarnate and tenderness and beauty and life. May I not warm my hands at the fire ? "
" Burn them, you mean," broke in the doctor roughly. " No, no, my dear Count, leave your piece of perfection to some young man ; he'll find out her imperfections quickly enough, I'll warrant. Women " (and he shrugged his shoulders), " what are they good for save to hinder a man's work and at best bear children."
" You didn't hear me out," the Count went on quietly, as if inattentive to the other's interruption. " Suppose, further, that this girl of whom I speak were friendless and poor, without position or prospects, without—
" That's it ! " broke in again the doctor. " I might have guessed some desperate Quixotism was at the bottom of it. Yes, I repeat it. You are a modern Quixote, and yet no one, at first sight, would take you for the Don. I didn't, and yet you helped me without
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any reason. It was very Quixotic of you to advance money to a young doctor in order that he might devote himself to hospital work. How could you have been sure that I was worth helping. You scarcely knew me then. Of course, I'm grateful ; I owe you much, but "
" You owe me nothing," interrupted the Count hastily. " You owe everything to your own energy and ability and to your self-sacrificing devotion to science. What I did isn't worth talking about."
" Isn't it, though ? I know better — but there ! Have it as you will. This, my friend, is another matter. Marriage at your age means a short life and not a merry one. When one lives on one's capital it doesn't last long. Why, in God's name, don't you settle some money on the girl, if you must benefit everyone you meet ? "
" You know our French laws. I've never saved money, and were I to alienate any substantial part of the property my relatives would have the right and the power to restrain me. No, only by marrying her can I secure to her the position she ought to have. Besides, I love her. But what was that you said ? Would marriage shorten my life so much ? I hadn't thought of that, and yet, of course, I knew it. You see," and again the melancholy smile came over his face, " I don't feel old : I feel much as I did at thirty, only the emotions are even stronger now than they were then. Strange, isn't it ? Would marriage shorten my life very much ? "
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For a minute or so the doctor didn't answer. Evidently it cost his obstinacy an effort, before lie could enter upon the new line of argument. Then he said :
" Of course, it all depends upon the woman. If she had sense, as you say. Could one speak to her — explain the position to her ? A demi mot, of course, I mean. It might be all right. There's no reason why even a young woman shouldn't be careful of your health. They're strange creatures. When they take it into their heads they can show devotion, self-sacrifice."
41 Ah, don't go on!" broke in the Count. "I wouldn't mar her life by turning her into a garde-malade. She must have only good memories of me. I couldn't
bear to think that in the years to come she should
It doesn't do to think of that. No ; if I'm to be her husband I must be a husband to her, not a crazy invalid taking from her the best part of her youth. How long should I live ? That's the question."
" A question impossible to answer," replied the doctor gravely. " With your views and her youth, not very long I'm afraid — perhaps a year or two. perhaps double or half that time. What is your age exactly ? The wrong side of sixty ? Hum ! The heart's not strong, you might have syncope at any moment or perhaps a stroke."
" Good God ! Why not tell me the worst at once ? That's worse than death — a thousand times worse. But there would be premonitory symptoms, wouldn't there ? I should have some warning ? "
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" Generally there are. In your case, I should say certainly, for you're strong and you've been accustomed to good health."
"And those symptoms ? Tell me of them."
" They're too numerous to count. The symptoms of exhaustion differ as men differ, ad infinitum. You insist ? Well, you might be seized with a strange, un- controllable twitching of a muscle or limb, or an eyelid might droop in spite of your will power, but I might talk on for hours and yet fail to enumerate the precise symptom which might show itself in your case. Think the matter over, my friend, and decide against suicide. That's worse than Quixotism ; it's insanity. Why should you change fifteen years of life for a few months of it ? "
" You've given me pause. Paralysis I hadn't reckoned with ; but, after all, if there are premonitory symptoms, Death's all I have to fear. You remember what Cato said : 4 No man should complain of life when there are so many doors by which he can leave it.' A hypodermic injection of morphia, and the matter's settled. You could manage everything for me, couldn't you ? "
" No, no ! I wouldn't if I could. Ask someone else to do that, if you must do it. I shall have regrets enough, as it is."
" You mistake me. I mean that, as you are my doctor, you would certify to the cause of death, and so avoid giving her needless grief. Weakness of the heart,
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eh ? You would do so much for me, wouldn't you ? " And the Count stretched out his hand toward his friend as he spoke.
The doctor did not seem to have noticed the gesture. For some little time he sat with bowed head, thinking ; then suddenly he looked up, and began impressively :
" You know, don't you, that there are physical con- ditions at sixty or thereabouts, as there are at fifteen, which are apt to affect one's judgment ? Have you discounted them ? "
14 You don't read me rightly," the Count replied, with a certain restraint in voice and manner. "Till now your arguments have all been of weight, but they only apply to me, and I'm old enough to know what I'm doing. Still, you've made everything clear to me, and that's what I wanted. I'm grateful to you for your frank- ness, and your interest in me. You know that." As the Count finished speaking he rose, and again held out his hand, which the doctor, rising, too, now took and held, as he replied gravely :
" P'rhaps I'm mistaken. No doubt you've thought over the matter from all sides, and it isn't for me to say that you're in the wrong. Yet consider — and this is my last word of remonstrance — one's capital of vigour is soon exhausted, and after a man's forty Nature's bank gives him no credit, not a day, and has no pity for the bankrupt. But if against all reason you do marry, send for me frequently. I shall do better than my best for you."
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" Thanks ! I know you will."
As the doctor left the room the Count sank down into his arm-chair, as if — now the antagonism of argument was over — he had been brought to perplexity by the doctor's reasoning. But human passion, like every- thing else, is subject to law. And just as the water that extinguishes a small fire only serves as fuel to a large one, so the discouragement which annihilates an inclination affords aliment to an intense affection.
" Death in a year, or less. That makes me catch breath ! Yet my resolve should stand. If I thought before that five years might be better than ten for Marie, it's plain that a year or less might be better still for her, and nothing else matters. I must hurry, too, or my account at the bank will diminish.
" Dupuy didn't even affect to doubt that the marriage would be a good thing for her, and that's the main point. 4 A young man would soon find out her imperfections,' he said. Has she any ? Of course she has ; everyone has some faults, and yet I don't see hers. I'm fault- blind, it seems, when Marie comes in question. It's best so. And I must lose no time. Even now, at any moment, I might die, and then what would become of her ? Oh yes ! for her it must be best. I know I can make her happy.
" As for me, I'm sure 'twill be well with me. I know myself by this time, and know in what direction I shall change, if, indeed, I've time to change at all.
" For these last fifteen years I've lived harmlessly
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for my tastes, and what have I got out of life — what has it been worth to me ? Pleasures of the senses which pass away and leave no trace, no memory, nothing en- during ; pleasures of the intellect which scarcely equal in keenness those of hunting or shooting. There remain but one's joy in beauty and life, and the heart-pleasures, which alone are permanent, and yield us fragrant memories. But how rare they are. I shall have more heart -joy in a week with Marie than I've had hitherto in all my life. Of course, I'd rather have years of it — an eternity of it ; but, as that's impossible, I should be mad to refuse what life still offers. For me the choice is easy, though I don't like to think of the stroke — and the end. I'm not afraid ? No ; but I don't like to think of it. Death ! Ah ! that means loss of Marie. Strange— at the bare thought of leaving her my heart contracted violently, as if gripped by pain, intense physical pain. Body and soul at one in this. Never to see again the shy, appealing eyes, to miss the laughter of the mind, the sympathy of heart-companionship. It's hard to face that outer darkness. And yet, in any case, one of us would have had to go first. It's better for me to go first. Oh yes. She has youth to console her, and I — I have age to reconcile me to the inevitable. What a pitiful tragedy life is ! Had I met her twenty years ago, or could I but believe that after deatli we'd meet again in some new life. Folly ! Heaven and hell are but the shadows thrown across the future by man's greed and fear : death means oblivion.
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A few hours sooner or later — what can that matter ? "
About four o'clock on the same day the Count drove across the Seine to call upon Madame de Riverolles, a cousin of his mother by marriage, whom he had persuaded some months before to take charge of his protegee, Made- moiselle Lafargue. In person Madame de Riverolles was large and stout. Her bodily plainness had always been an affliction to her : but she never tried to disguise it ; she wore her greying hair quite boldly, and if she tried to make the most of it where it was scant who shall blame her for doing what we all do even in more important matters ? Her eyes, she said, were like gooseberries ; and she could never forgive her cheeks for glowing like brick-dust. She loved all distinctions, and to be her- self common-looking, a fat bourgeoise, was a crucial torture to her. Her sound sense and kind heart re- deemed her to her friends and she was very proud of her judgment and insight, but whenever she thought of her appearance she was humbled and distressed beyond measure. In opinion this woman belonged to the nine- teenth century ; she was sceptical always, and at times cynical, as one who sees things as they are, but her character was a product of the past. She was proud of her birth and position, believed in manners and breeding, and carefully attended all the offices of the Church. " Without religion," she used to say, " the lower orders can't be governed." Madame de Riverolles treated
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passion as a pastime, and was rarely roused to indigna- tion save by hypocrisy. She was, moreover, kindly and generous to a fault, and, like many another childless widow, loved young people. When M. de Varennes told her that the daughter of his sister's governess had been left destitute, that he had caused Mademoiselle Lafargue to be educated at the Sacre Cceur, and that she now needed some lady to open house and heart to her, Madame de Riverolles had made no difficulties. The name Lafargue, it is true, was offensive to her, but this obstacle disappeared as she learned to know Mademoiselle Marie ; in fact, she soon came to love the girl, and showed her affection by striving to instil into her young companion all her prejudices, while carefully concealing her cynical views of life. It would be hard to say whether the girl loved the elder woman more for her warmth of heart, or for the unconscious, educational strategy which betrayed her innate goodness ; and so the two lived together happily enough.
When the Count told Madame de Riverolles that he didn't wish her to send for Mademoiselle Marie, because he wanted to consult with her alone, to ask her advice, the lady looked at him with twinkling eyes, and replied :
"Because you want to be confirmed in your o\\n opinion — eh ? "
" No," answered the Count, with a smile, " but be- cause I want you to do something for me, if your opinion agrees with mine. Otherwise, I suppose you'd have to refuse me the favour I intend to ask of you."
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" What peculiar beings you men are, and how you all resemble one another ; long exordiums to serious business. But what is it ? You excite my curiosity."
" I want to marry Marie. Wait ! — and hear me out. You know her and her position. Would it be a good thing for her ? That's the question I want you to answer. I know it'll be well with me if she consents to be my wife."
" You want to marry Marie ? Wonders will never cease ! Well, I did think you were unselfish, and
now But, you're mad ! What would the world
say ? There ! there ! you don't care what it says. Of course not ; but you ought to care. Your name and position require you to set an example. You should have married in your own station long ago. My dear Raoul, seriously — you're sixty if you're a day; almost as old as I am, and I'm old enough to be Marie's grandmother."
" Then you would advise Marie not to marry me ? "
" Now do I look like a fool ? Of course 'twould be a great thing for Mademoiselle Lafargue to become the Countess of Varenne. No one could deny that. Every woman loves a title. The girl's head will be turned, I'm afraid, though it's firmly fixed on her little shoulders. No, my dear Raoul, it's you I'm thinking of. And yet the girl would make a good wife. — I suppose it's the disproportion I dislike, disproportion of position, of age, of everything. And so you really love Marie ? You ? Well, well — but there ! I never could understand what
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your mother saw in your father, and you've her nature. So you're in love at last ? Really in love — you ? Well, the girl ought to be very proud. Does she know of it ? Have you said anything to her ? "
" No : I wouldn't speak till I had talked the matter over with you. But now, as you think 'twould be to her advantage, I'll ask Marie at once. You'll act as mother to her, won't you, if she consents ? "
" Ah, you go too fast. I'm not at all sure that I can support you in your folly, for 'tis a folly, you know it is. And yet "
44 My dear aunt, be your own kind self, and consent at once. Think. In that way the name Lafargue will disappear. Besides, I've not much time left to be happy in, and Marie will make the sunset of life beautiful to me. You love her, you know you do. Everyone who knows her must love her. Why shouldn't I ? I'm old. Does that prove I've neither eyes nor feelings. The heart, aunt, is always young."
14 That's true enough," replied Madame de Riverolles ;
^that's the obverse of the proverb, 'There's no fool
But there ! — have your way — have your way ! Do you want me to speak to the girl ? No. You wish me to send her to you — eh ? — and take myself off. Well,
well, it's all very irregular, but p'r'aps But I shall
miss the girl — miss her greatly. You didn't think of that, I'll be bound. But if it's for your good, Raoul, I shall be content."
As the old lady rose with a sigh to leave the room,
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the Count took her hand and kissed it gravely. The respectful gratitude and sympathy of his manner con- summated his victory. For two or three minutes he waited, alone, in the room, not a little nervous and excited, in spite of his conviction that his fate was in good hands. Then the door opened, and a girl came toward him. Marie Lafargue seemed surprisingly young. She was somewhat above the average height, and slight ; her dress tended to exaggerate this first impression by its severe simplicity ; it seemed fashioned to form lines rather than curves. She had a trick, too, of folding her hands now in front of her, now behind her back, and of carrying her head a little on one side, which deepened the impression of her nun-like youthful- ness. But a second look revealed a flexible roundness of figure that betokened health, and her walk had the grace which is the result of perfect proportion. Her face might have served as a model for the Madonna of some early Flemish master. The brown hair was drawn simply back from the forehead behind the ears in two waves and gathered into a heavy knot on her neck. The features were good — the nose daintily cut, the eye- brows regular in dark curve, the chin small and round, yet, perhaps from the way in which she wore her hair, the oval of her face seemed rather long. The mouth, perhaps, was the only feature which defied fault-finding ; perfectly chiselled, it was at once sensitive and rich with healthy life, and so served to redress the balance between soul and body which the light hazel eyes, and the colour-
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1« ss oval face, might else have disturbed. Altogether her face but increased the impression made by her nun- like appearance and strange simplicity of manner. The healthful harmony which comes alone from purity of race seemed heightened in this girl to a spiritual charm of mind and character. As she came towards him the Count took her hand and led her to a chair. Then, and not till then, he noticed that her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shy as with some mystery of emotion. She seemed slightly embarrassed, and yet was the first to speak.
41 Madame de Riverolles," she said, in a low voice, 44 told me you wanted to talk to me." And here there was a question in the momentary uplifting of her eyes to the Count's face, but a natural gaiety seemed to strive for freedom in the next words : 4t And she was so solemn-serious in manner I was quite frightened. She didn't say M. le Comte de Varenne, as she always does, but — called you by your Christian name, and altogether impressed me hugely," and the girl laughed a little mischievously, 4t as she does when on the way to Mass she sets an example of conduct. But she's a dear, and I love her, and it's very naughty of me to imitate her, for she's too good to me — the dear heart."
The girl, it seemed, would have run on nervously, hadn't the Count interrupted her with slow grave words.
44 Yes, Mademoiselle Marie, I want to talk to you — not to the girl, charming as she is, but to the woman
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you really are. I want you at your wisest, for you will have to decide something very important to you — and to me." As he paused, the girl looked full at him with open-eyed, sympathetic earnestness ; but she only moved her head gravely by way of answer, and clasped her hands on her lap. Evidently he had exorcised her slight embarrassment.
" I am old ; may, in fact, die at any time, and must die within a few years." The girl moved restlessly, clasping and unclasping her hands nervously. " You are young, and I want to make life easy to you,
Mademoiselle Marie, and — and But first of all I
want you to know that however you may answer me, I shall always be the same to you. We old people don't change our likes or dislikes easily.
" You understand, don't you, that I shall not alter to you ? " The girl nodded her bowed head. " Now, now — the fact is, Marie, I care for you, and if it wouldn't spoil your life, I'd ask you to make me happy by marry- ing me. Don't answer yet," the Count went on rapidly, " I know you like me and feel grateful to me. That's not what I mean. If you don't feel that you can love me — and why should youth love grey hairs ? — you ought to tell me so frankly, otherwise we should be doing each other wrong, and neither of us wishes that. Now, Marie, will you answer ? "
A moment's pause, and then the girl lifted to him a face blanched by intense emotion and great dark eyes swimming in unshed tears. Simply, with a child- go
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like gesture, she put both her hands in his, but as he clasped them her head drooped shyly. A moment later, when the Count had drawn her to him and sought to lift her face from his breast, he found the tears lulling heavily.
" Crying, Marie ? " he asked, in a tone half of fear and half of reproach.
After a minute's pause came the low answer, " Yes," and then, "for joy and happiness."
The last words were hardly to be heard, but the Count was content. For some time they sat together thus, while the silence, tremulous with happiness, seemed to enfold them in the solitude of love. Then, with a deep sigh, he said :
" How I wish I were thirty years younger." The girl's hand moved upwards and closed his lips, then dropped again, nestling softly into his clasp. A few minutes later he began again.
41 I'm afraid I'm wrong. I may be spoiling your life. No ! no ! " he went on, rising in his excitement ; " you must hear me out. I love you, yes, but so would any- one who knew you, and who had either head or heart. To know you and not to love you seems to me impossible. But I'm old, Marie. I'm — over sixty. Think of it." The girl rose as he spoke, and lifted her eyes to his reproachfully. "And I wanted to make you happy, to do everything you wished ; and it has come to this, that I take your youth and affection to warm and brighten my age. It seems wrong — selfish, intensely
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selfish — of me, and yet I don't wish to be selfish, at any rate where you're concerned."
The girl turned as he spoke, and moved away from him with hands clasped in front of her. Quickly the Count followed, and, taking her hands, looked at her as if asking for pardon. For a moment they stood so ; then the girl spoke gravely.
" I cannot listen to you when you speak like that ; you make me miserable. It seems as if you didn't trust me. Yet you may. You're not old — at least, you don't seem old to me ever, only wise and kind. Please don't speak again like that." She bowed her head shyly as she paused. " You must know I'd rather be with you, at your side, than anywhere on earth." Then as he took her again in his arms she went on as if trying to conquer her emotion : " It's a shame, sir. to humble me with your feigned humility when I'm so glad that I feel afraid."
The Count lifted the hot face and kissed his bride on the lips.
CHAPTER II. — MARRIED LIFE
ABOUT a month later, a week or so after her marriage, the Countess of Varenne was moving about the morning- room, which looked out on the Pare Monseau. Marriage had increased her beauty. In some indefinable way the severe simplicity which had been a characteristic of the girl had now been modified, was evidently on the way
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to become rare distinction. Her carriage no longer suggested girlish timidity ; the flush of her cheeks showed richer health, and there was an umvpressed joyousness in her eyes, in the tone of her voice, in her very movements, which had the charm of sunshine. While arranging some roses on the table she asked the old servant, Pierre, whether he had told the Count that the breakfast \\iis served.
" Yes, Madame la Comtcsse, and M. le Comte said he'd be down in a moment. He usedn't to be late like this," went on Pierre, in an aggrieved tone. " He used to ride every morning from nine till eleven. You see, Madame la Comtesse, habits are everything, and when one grows old one oughtn't to change them."
The Countess drew herself up. " You must not speak of the Count in that way. He is not old, and if " Here she paused, blushing with annoyance.
" Madame la Comtesse will pardon me, but I have been with M. le Comte many years, oh ! many years, and the riding always did him good. It was to him what a little cordial is to me in the morning ; it cheers one up and does the stomach good, and if I went without my little glass I'd miss it all day. And so it is with M. le Comte, I'm sure. Habit is everything. Good habits make a good man, bad habits a bad man. Life's all habit."
At this moment the Count entered the room, and Pierre busied himself with his duties while his master crossed over, and, taking his wife's hand, led her to
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her chair. A stranger would have noticed the absence of conventional greetings. Either the husband and wife had met already that morning, or else — which seemed more likely — de Varenne was one of those rare persons who feel instinctively that an habitual kiss is anything but a token of affection, and that every caress — especially between lovers — should be significant. Life is an art with some men.
" Pierre tells me," began the Countess, " that you always used to go out riding in the morning. I'd like to learn to ride, and then we could go out together. Will you teach me ? Is it very difficult ? "
" No," he replied, smiling; " it's easy enough, and I shall be delighted to teach you. We can begin as soon as you get a habit. I've a horse that will carry you splendidly. I wonder I didn't think of that before; but," he went on, speaking without emphasis as if he didn't wish to be overheard even by Pierre, " I neves wish to think of anything that doesn't link me to you."
His wife thanked him with a look. And then, with the sunlight falling in broad waves through the windows, they talked of habits and habit -makers, while their hearts expanded in the delightful consciousness of new- born intimacy, till at last the breakfast was finished and the servants had left the room. Half -an-hour may have passed in love babble before he sat down to the perusal of some deeds that required his attention, while his wife settled herself near him, and began a letter. He had soon finished his business, but either out of a wish
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not to disturb her, or because he was content with her mere presence, he sat for some minutes in silence. Then he said :
" Who's the happy person, dear ? Your letter seems a long one."
The girl-wife blushed. " Only Adele — you know, my great friend at the convent."
" And what do you find to say to her ? "
" Lots of things ! " she replied, turning to her husband ; but the carelessness of tone was only as- sumed, for she flushed again as she spoke.
" Mayn't I know the 4 lots of things ' ? " he asked teasingly.
Marie bit her penholder. And then, throwing it down on the desk, she rose from her seat and putting her arms round her husband's neck laid her head on his shoulder, while she replied :
" A lot of things which I can't tell you yet, but will perhaps some day. How fascinating you are, sir, and how clever and good; lots of things that make me blush to say, and yet I love to write them. Do you see ? Just then I was telling her how happy I was, and — and how I love you, my husband ! How I wish I were worthy of you." And the great eyes filled with tears.
Ih way of answer he folded her closely in his anus.
" Am I not foolish ? " she laughed, " to cry for pure happiness ? No one ever heard of such folly."
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" You are foolish, indeed, to talk so of yourself. My joy ! Worthy of me indeed ! " And the man sighed bitterly.
" No, no ! " the girl replied, placing her hand on his lips ; "you mustn't speak like that." And then, with a quick change of tone, she added : " I'd like to ask you something. May I ? It's this. When did you begin to care for me, and why ? I've often wished to ask you that. I often wonder why ? "
" You do, do you ! That's because you can't see yourself as you are, my dainty sweetheart ! Why, indeed ? First of all, you're very beautiful. Ah, you'll know how beautiful soon enough. But ' beauti- ful ' doesn't express you completely. You have a
tantalising charm, even of person, which You
mustn't interrupt me. You're like an orchid — delicate soft leaves with a glory of rich colours shining through. And then you have so many charms of nature. You must hear me out. Joyous innocence as of a girl, un- known depths of womanly feeling, and a play of mind which to me is always delightful. You're like a golden cord woven of innumerable fine strands that cannot be taken apart — a cord for all hearts. All men who know life well would love you, it seems to me, if they had the chance."
" Don't go on or I shall grow conceited, though it's sweet to hear from your lips. But tell me now when you began to care for me," and she nestled closer to him as she spoke.
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"A moment ! I think the first time was a year before you left the school. The Mother Superior had been praising you, telling me of the extraordinary rapidity and surety with which you learned everything, and how everyone loved you. She sent for you and you came in. You seemed very young. I told you what she had said and how it pleased me, and went away. But afterwards I thought of it all, and it seemed preposterous — a shame — to think of you as a governess. I saw you again and again — and soon I found myself fettered. Then I spoke to Madame de Riverolles, and so it all came about." The Count paused.
44 Ah ! And you didn't know why I had worked so hard ? How blind men are ! Now listen and be ashamed. Six years ago, when you took me to the con- vent, and spoke about my dear, dear mother, I began to think of you and to care for you. Then in the first year you came and said you were glad I had done so well, and I worked harder than ever — except when I was thinking of you. So I was years ahead of you, sir. Years, my dear one ! loiter I thought everyone must see how I loved you, and that made me ashamed. And I tried to hide it from everyone and not to think of you. But 'twas no use ! Murder, they say, will out, and so will love. Every day, at last, at Madame de Riverolles', I was afraid you'd speak, and yet I wanted you to. And when you didn't I grew sad. I knew then I wasn't worthy of you. She's very proud of you, you know, and that humbled me. And just when I thought you never G 97
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were going to speak you did — ah ! what I owe you ! I thought I should die of gladness. And now, now you've taught me what happiness, what love, what bliss means, so that I'm frightened sometimes, and pray I may have a fever or something, to make up a little for my overjoy."
The Count sat and listened to the confession quietly, but the last words of it made his lip quiver and filled his eyes. For a long time the pair sat together with hands entwined, and their hearts filled with a tumult of emotions that forbade speech.
A month later the Count and Marie were together in the same room early one afternoon, when the girl- wife began with an air of perplexity :
" Do you know, Raoul, this is the only room in the house where I don't find you. Will you tell me the reason ? It seems cold to me and hard. And yet I like the idea of clothing a whole room in planed cedar panelled with pine ; but I'm not sure that I care for the bronzes of Barye, or the landscapes of Ruysdael, and I hate those things of Rops. Am I right or wrong, maestro mio ? "
" Right as always," and the Count smiled as he spoke. " We'll change the room's character. It has served its purpose. We can take the Corots from my study and put 4 those things of Rops ' there, and the Baryes and Ruysdaels can go into our little gallery."
" But what was its purpose ? "
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"Ah ! inquisitive one." And Ihr Count paused for a moment, as if he doubted the wisdom of an explana- tion, but the doubt was conquered by his wife slipping her arm through his.
" Don't you see the connection between the bronzes and the landscapes ? you do, or you would not have coupled them together. You don't? Well, no one ever moulded animals with such severity of truth, such comprehension of the individual character of each brute as poor Barye. He used to bring them up here himself, and pray me to buy them, for his poverty was extreme. Poor fellow ! The artist who represents life as it is, is never likely to be popular, no matter how great his gifts."
" But I've read somewhere that it's the highest function of the artist to represent the noblest men and women, and I seem to feel that's true."
"You dear! It sounds well, but I don't think it's true. It seems to me the extraordinary always sur- vives. L'Avare lives, and Phedre — and they weren't very noble — and Manon Lescaut and Tartuffe. Art knows nothing of morality, and draws no distinction between what is high and what is low ; it can make the sinner as interesting as the saint, and ugliness as fascinating as beauty. Neither Rembrandt nor Velas- quez painted Venus or Adonis or the Garden of Eden and yet they're perhaps the very greatest of painters. No, no. The realm of art is as wide as the world. It enriches us by showing us other views of life than those
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we affect. Believe me, Barye was an artist, and a great one. Look at the intense vitality and vigour of that lion, and the magnificent action and rendering which give expression to pure force. Isn't it splendid ? "
" Yes ; but it's very cruel. See the poor hind crushed under the great brute ; its poor legs broken ; its throat torn asunder. Oh, it's terrible ! I can't bear to look at it."
" Strength is often cruel, life's often terrible. And we need to be reminded of those sides of life which we don't like, but which exist. Barye's sincerity, his courage, his complete mastery of his material, the great artist in him, acts on me like a tonic. Now you see, don't you, why I put the Ruysdaels here as well ? For Ruysdael is sincere and stern and melancholy ; a great master within his limits, and he never tried to go outside them. Felicien Rops, too, is an artist, though so curi- ously sensuous, so intensely modern, that I despair of changing your opinion of him at once. But, dear, you should remember that in the world of art there are many mansions, and exclusiveness of taste is a sign of -—youth."
" I'll try to remember. But why do great artists represent things that are loathsome or terrible ? Why aren't they content to show us what is beautiful and sweet and good ? "
" The greatest do both. Dante gives us the incident of Paolo and Francesca, the sunshine of love quivering in a shaft of light athwart the storm-clouds of hell, but
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he also tells us of Ugolino, and pictures the father eating the child, and gives us his awful cry —
'Perche . . .'
The lesser men do what they can, depict that side of life which has moved them, but it sometimes happens that the smaller man is the greater artist. Do you see what I mean ? "
44 I think I do, but it's a little hard, isn't it— the greater's the lesser — like geometry a little ? " And she looked up with puckered brows, as if puzzled, but her eyes were dancing.
" Incorrigible sweetheart," and the Count laughed. " Now you're making fun of me, but I know when you do that you understand. So it's all right. No ? Well, pet, it all comes to this, that I often think Barye as great an artist as Michelangelo, because he rendered perfectly what he saw, though the Florentine covered a larger field and was, therefore, the greater man."
44 You revere nee all greatness, don't you ? " and she put her head on one side, saucily, t4 for the same reason, perhaps, that you like the Baryes as a sort of moral cold bath," she added mischievously.
fc* We can't deny reverence to greatness," he replied, as if he hadn't felt the shaft, " any more than we can withhold admiration from beauty, can we ? "
44 You exasperating man ! You don't even know when I tease. But of course we can. Greatness of intellect does not appeal to me like greatness of character or goodness. Intellect is often cruel and
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cold. Great artists aren't always great men, are they ? "
" They must have great qualities both of character and intellect. Besides, you can measure them in their works. No one ever created a hero unless he had a hero's soul, and he who would depict a saint must be a Fra Angelico. Our ideals are related to our spirit's greatness as shadow to the body's size."
" But the artist needn't have a good heart or nature, need he ? "
" No, but in so far he'll be deficient as an artist. Yet it seems very womanly and sweet of you to prefer goodness of heart to anything else. I sometimes think that without women the moral feelings of pity, gentle- ness, forgiveness, of love in fine, would vanish from the world and leave us men wild beasts with sharper than Nature's weapons."
The girl shook her head gravely.
" I'm sure you're as forgiving and gentle and loving as any woman, without a woman's pettiness. Oh yes, ' pettiness ' ! — I hate myself for it, often. And now I'll confess to you. When you talk you show me things I never saw before. You make life larger to me, and I love to listen to you. But after a while it seems to me as if you were always right and I appallingly ignorant, and my petty vanity revolts and I say mean things like those I have just said, and then I'm ashamed of myself. So I determined when you spoke so sweetly about women to punish myself by telling you how small I am.
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My conqueror, if you knew how I reverence you ! But sometimes, when you speak against yourself, and talk as if your lift were worthless, I must say cutting things, because it hurts me even to hear you say you're not perfect, for you are, my lord ! "
" Don't talk so, child ! You should see me as I am, an old dilettante, who has lived with thoughts and works of art in a study, till the world seems too hard and coarse for him — but he has never done anything. He has taken everything from men and given his fellows nothing in return. There's no greatness in such a life. You've taught me that truth — unconsciously. To be born rich is a great misfortune. One is likely to be always in debt. I owe the world much, very much — most of all this, that it has given you to me, rilling my life with light.
" Think of me as an old book- worm, and above all guard intact your own spirit and don't degrade your ideals to my level. You're right to revolt. Your choice of a love-word for me — 'conqueror,' shows the true spirit in you, but the word is shocking when applied to me. One who- has conquered poverty and ignorance, who has worked in the world and yet won to wide sympathies, growing kindlier by life's betrayals, gentler from consciousness of strength, and nobler through remorse — one whose soul is :i flame which glows and rises in the wind that threatens it ; he is a conqueror and merits admiration. I ? What do I deserve who fled the field ? Had T met you earlier, with the knowledge I now
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have of your worth, 1 might have done something, been someone. As it is, I'm impotent and almost worthless — a tree bearing no fruit. And when out of the fulness of your love you praise me I'm consumed with shame. But, at least, I won't let you deceive yourself about me — try to see me as I am, for that's a duty you owe yourself. Then — then your love will soon find a measure." And he sighed heavily.
" The more I know you the better I love you. If you had lived more in the world you'd have found some- one better than I, and so I'm glad you're just as you are. The taper in a room gives a steadier light than your ' flame ' — perhaps " (archly) " I prefer the taper to a roaring fire and the tree which gives me shade to one laden down with fruit ? "
" Perhaps," repeated the Count to himself as he smiled faintly in response to her challenge. Then unconsciously he repeated the word aloud, "Perhaps. But," he went on quickly, as her eyes widened with remorse, " now we've got into metaphor, it's better to stop, or we shall get confused and say what we don't
mean."
" But, you know I love you ? — just as you are."
" I know it well, sweetheart ! Know more than you think ! "
" What, more ? What do you mean ? "
" That I'm more than content," he answered, with a smile.
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CHAPTER HI. — Tffipavavri ira.$€iv
" You see, doctor, I've come to you in winter as you came to me in summer. What wretched weather we're having. I seem to feel the cold more than I ever did. Yes, I'm here as a patient, with the same tiresome question. You know, to me you're the manager of the bank, and I want you to tell me how my account stands with Messrs Life & Co., the bankers."
The words and tone of the Count of Varennes' greet- ing were evidently meant to show unconcern, but there was a feverish anxiety underlying his seeming careless- ness which did not escape Doctor Dupuy. The keen grey eyes of the doctor had observed, too, slight but significant changes in the Count's appearance. The hair had thinned, the face had lost something of its healthy brown hue, and under the eyes the skin was purple. After a careful examination of his patient the doctor asked thoughtfully :
" And your symptoms ? Have you noticed nothing but the cold — felt no other signs of weakness ? "
" Each day I discover something new, but whether important or not, you must say. For instance, a month or six weeks ago I stepped from the footpath into tin- street without looking, and that gave me a shock."
" Why didn't you come to me then ? "
" Laissez aller, I suppose. Now, I've to take care when getting up from a chair or sitting down in one—
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any careless movement shakes me. I'm growing stiff. I get sleepy, too, after a ride or after meals ; yet I eat nothing — I've no appetite. I always feel tired now. The candle's burning down in the socket, isn't it ? "
" Hum ! Your pulse is thin and irregular ; the nervous system slightly overstrained. Your heart, you see, was never very strong."
" I knew it ! But I want you to tell me what part of my capital I've spent. How much still remains to me ? "
" Hum ! You want the truth ? Well, I should say you've lived ten years in these last few months. The capital has shrunk more than one- half."
" Whew ! That's worse than I feared. To go back now to the old habits of my life would do no good. It's too late ? "
" Oh no, far from it ; but you can never expect to be the same man again you were six months ago. Youth can go back and begin afresh, but age — hardly."
The Count drew a long breath. " That's what I wanted to know. Now, one more question, which I ought to have put to you before. Suppose my wife has a child, will it be healthy, or will the weakness of my age infect it ? "
" I can't answer that. Opinions differ on the point. Mine is, that a child born of youthful parents has a spring of vigour, a recuperative power in it, which the children of older people haven't got, but the offspring of a father past his prime and a young mother is often strong and
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healthy. I should say your child would be all right But have you any hopes ? "
" I think so. Now, I want to ask a favour of you. You're always here in the morning, aren't you ? "
" Always. I never go out till one o'clock."
" Well, should anything happen to me, should my weak heart, for instance, fail, as you know it may, Pierre, my old servant, will come here for you, and I want you to promise me to go with him and break the news to my wife. There's no one else in the world I could ask who would do it so well. You can speak to her of her unborn child, her love for it will help her in the sorrow, and enable her to face the future. Time and her youth must do the rest."
" Of course, you know I'll do anything for you that I can, but you mustn't talk like that, nor let your thoughts (hvrll on such things. You have five or six years of life still in you, barring accidents, and your wile, I imagine, wouldn't thank you for throwing them away."
" You think so, do you ? Well, you are nearer right than you know. Marie" (and a short laugh ended in a sigh) — " Marie " (and his voice lingered now on the word with inexpressible tenderness)—" is Marie. Had I but known that one could be so good ! But how could I know that ? Yet had I but known six months ago ! That's the bitterness of it. The thought's enough to drive one mad. What coarse, selfish fools we men are. We judge women by ourselves, nay, not even by the
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best in us, but often by the jests and cynicism and sneers of others. And we won't see the truth ; we shut our eyes obstinately to the fact that there are women in whom affection is life itself, who live by giving, and whose devotion is inexhaustible. Was it oil the Magdalene poured out or her heart's blood ? There are women who would use their blood gladly if warmth were needed by the man they love. And we say they want this and that — it's natural ; you said it to me six months ago. I don't blame you, you only echoed my own thought. But what they want, the good ones, is love. Oh, there are others — yes, of course, there are. If there weren't we shouldn't misjudge the good ones as we do — to our own hurt and theirs. But talking of one's mistakes doesn't remedy them. More's the pity.
" Doctor, I made up my mind on my way here, if my case stood as I see you think it stands, to tell you about my wife, so that you might know how to speak to her when the time comes — but I can't find words. There are things one cannot speak of even where need is greatest. But remember this, all my folly is my own. My wife is — so womanly and yet so much of an angel that I, loving her, underrated her. Think of it and be careful. No selfish consideration will touch her ; un- selfish, ideal ones will move her to martyrdom. So, speak of the child ; tell her how I longed to see her training it ; how content I was to think of it in her care ; how certain I was that she would be a perfect mother. Afterwards, when the first grief is past, you may say
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that I wished hcrto feel completely i'nv. M the ever thinks of marrying again, let no memory of me conic in her way. Ah, doctor, I've been very blind. Dante saw the truth : a man, you know. WHS his ouide through ( he circling depths of hell, but a woman's soul led him up the heights towards the Light. You'll be careful, won't you ? "
" Yes," replied the doctor gravely. " I'll do my best, you may be sure. But again I warn you — and I was right before, wasn't I ? — you ought now to live by rule. Why not spend a winter hi the South ; take exercise, live in the open air ; I'll send you a nerve tonic, and five years hence we'll talk the matter over again."
" Perhaps I shall ; it's not for me to say. I want to make no more mistakes, but I feel a little like the gambler who has lost too much to stop playing. Besides, I've followed my inclinations all my life, lived for my tastes, and I'm afraid my will has grown feeble by disuse. For weeks past I've wanted to come to see you, but I couldn't leave her, couldn't bear to part from her even for an hour. An hour with Marie, you don't know what that's worth to me. Good-bye. If 1 knew how to thank you I'd do it, for your promise means very much to me. Good-bye."
And the two men's hands joined.
The door had scarcely closed behind the Count when the doctor threw himself into a chair, and gave himself up to his thoughts, which ran thus :
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" He'll do it, very likely ; and yet he's no fool. That remark of his about the disuse of his will was sensible. Oh, these idealists ! They'll talk to you about the 4 blue vault of heaven,' when there's no vault and no heaven, and no blue save in their own eyes. ' Angel,' indeed. Fancy a man of the world — and that he is, or ought to be — healthy, rich, with a great position, and not superstitious, throwing fifteen years of a pleasant life away for a thin school-girl, who has the wit to play echo to his voice. And yet he infected me with his sadness ; I felt sorry for him. Strange, generally I have no feeling save curiosity in presence of any form of lunacy. . . . Well, well, he did me a good turn once and I'm glad to be able to do something for him and so clear off the debt. I'll follow his lead, too, with her. Women are always playing some part or other, but they like us to accept the assumed character as the real one. The wise man amuses himself by playing up to them if it suits him, that's all. I wonder, though, how soon ' the angel ' will think of a new role, when she finds herself free to do as she pleases and rich. He's sure to have left her everything he could. Poor devil! he was always weakly generous."
As the Count was driven rapidly homeward, he couldn't avoid thinking of Doctor Dupuy, for the doctor's manner, now and then, had seemed to him unsympathetic. Characteristically enough he tried to argue himself out of this feeling.
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"Perhaps I Wtt8 overwrought, and s<> felt things too ;ily. Yet I couldn't talk to him about Marie; but then to whom could I talk freely of her ? He seemed to be examining my mental state critically when I showed him only a part of her manifold perfection. Doctors, I suppose, like all other workmen, bear about with them traces of their craft : they're occupied so exclusively with the diseased body that health, the per- fect balance of all faculties, seems uninteresting to them, and they've no time whatever to think of the soul. Hut Dupuy's a good fellow; at any rate, he's to be trusted to do what he promised. How he'll do it is another matter. I'll write to him when the time comes, and then he'll take my letter to her. I'll find words from the grave to lessen her grief, to comfort her, my darling 1 " And the Count bit his lip to keep back the tears.
" Oh, the misery of it, and the pity ! Had I but known you, Marie — but who could imagine perfect sur- render and joy in self-restraint ? Had I but known- hut who could know that a child- woman could match every wish and desire of a man and yet possess her own soul in a sacred longing for the highest, the best.
"To have thrown away ten years' companionship with Marie is to me worse than the bitterness of ten thousand deaths. To have lost that — and all out of sheer ignorance ! What a torture-chamber life is ! This evil and that, numberless follies, crimes even, one commits. They all pass unpunished, unnoted. Then one does
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something, not even selfishly but ignorantly, and one's scourged by scorpions of remorse till the soul sickens and the brain's distraught. Fool that I am ! The world's but a cunning machine ; woe to him who's caught in the whirling teeth o' the wheel. Yet, if we were punished justly, adequately for our offences, who'd complain ? Whipped for the follies, mutilated for the faults, 'twould be well. Long ere this, mankind so schooled would have risen to free and happy lives on the God-illumined heights. But no ! One's tempted by immunity, cozened into confidence, and then, for some small misstep, taken hesitatingly — not of desire — as a child moves in the dark — one's racked and flayed and done to death in useless martyrdom ! How I rave ! Revolt's silly. To live and curse the conditions of life —childish !
" I'll try to think sensibly. I'm going back to Marie, and can defy hurt when I've that thought to cling to. Ah, me ! how divine a thing Life may become when man learns how to live. Marie, Marie, there's peace, and joy, and blessing in the very name. What does anything matter when I've days yet, or weeks, or months, or perhaps even years, to spend with her who can crowd the emotions of a lifetime into a moment. I'll think of her always, and she'll save me from that dreadful night of remorse. She'll save me ; when was Marie slow to help ? I'll never think of the end at all. Why should I meet pain half-way ? I'll think of her, and no remorse or bitterness can touch me then. I'll act as
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may be best for her when the time comes ; but I'll not torture myself beforehand. I'll think of her, and the music1 uf her voice will be in my ears, and her smile in my eyes, and her hands in my hands, and the sweetness of her loveliness — these will dwell with me to the end. 44 The horses crawl. And she'll be anxious for my return. I wonder when she'll tell me her secret. The mystery of it is about her now. The doctor in Dupuy doubted me— took it for senile conceit, I suppose. How much he misses of Life's best, that poor doctor ! Hut I — I think of Marie. When she feels the child quick iu her, when the joy of motherhood comes to her even iu anticipation, then she'll want to share her bliss with me. Now all's fear and wonder in her. Will she be shy, or nobly frank, or — ah ! something much finer, more beautiful, and more natural than my dull brains can imagine. All possibilities in her save deceit. And till she speaks I'll see nothing, notice nothing. Of course, Marie shall keep her secret^ unpolluted by look, or hint, or word of mine till her own heart renders it. To-night I'll be very cheerful ; she's anxious about me — divines son id hing of my secret, which must be guarded to the end, for her sake ; for I've no joy to share ! She gives, and I receive — with thanks. That's all."
CHAPTER IV. — LIFE'S LONELINESS
A COUPLE of weeks after the visit of the Count to Doctor Dupuy, husband and wife were seated together
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one evening in front of a cedar-wood fire. A great Japanese screen in three panels, gorgeous with strange birds in mother-of-pearl, and animals in gold lacquer, and flowers with ivory leaves, framed them in from the length and height of the drawing-room. The Count was in an arm-chair, with shaded candles behind him ; the Countess, on a low cushion-seat in front, her right arm resting on his knees, was gazing into the fire.
" Pierre tells me you used to read every evening before you married, and now you scarcely ever open a book. Why's that ? "
" My learning-time is over, child, and, if you must know, my eyes are not as strong as they were. Besides, I find it more interesting to have your companionship."
" I feel that, too, and I never wish to be away from you even for a minute, but I do leave you now some- times. Do you know where I go ? " she went on, as if talking to herself. " To the church to pray. I used to pray quick, quick, in the morning, before the crucifix in my dressing-room and hurry to you. Only at night I prayed seriously — prayed that when sorrow should come to us, as sorrow comes to all, that I might bear the pain. I'd have been glad to suffer for you ; 'twould have been sweet to make our love secure by a little pain. I shouldn't have minded it so long as you were safe. But now I want to go to the church and pray before a shrine — to the Divine Mother " (the voice was very low, but the Count heard). " You know why, my husband. I saw you knew weeks ago and that made me very shy,
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so I didn't speak, but now I must, for, Raoul, I want you
to share my joy and, and — to come with me. You I know you don't believe as I do, and I used often to think we'd be punished because of your unbelief, and because I did nothing to change you, but I couldn't. I was too happy, and loved you too much. I used to think if we had to suffer, it didn't matter much so long as we were together. But now, Raoul, we're not alunr, and it doesn't seem fair that another life should perhaps suffer for our sins. So I want you to come with me. I knew you would ; just as you do everything I wish, that's what made it hard to ask you. Do you know, it seems to do me more good now to pray to Mary — I feel she understands me better — than it ever did to pray to Jesus or to God. And oh ! I want to pray so often, for my heart's always trembling. Often at night I lie awake and grow cold with fear — I don't know what of. " Doesn't life come on one quickly ? A little while ago you took me from the school, and then you brought me here and showed me how strange and beautiful and full of joy life was ; and now — now I feel as if my turn were come to live my life, alone. No ! I don't mean quite that, but as if / had duties, other duties than a wife's. I've tried to please you as a wife, I really tried ; it made me happy to try to do what I thought you'd like, even when at first it seemed hard — almost wrong — to do some things." (The Count bent forwards and stroked the small head lovingly.) " Later 'twas eas and, as she spoke, she suddenly leant back and, winding
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her arms about her husband's neck, kissed his lips. " But now," she went on, leaning an arm on his knees as before, and turning to the fire, " I must think of our child. How strange and wonderful it seems. I feel lonely now, very lonely. For all by myself I must think of things — not with you and for you, which was always companionship — and decide by myself. I'm proud and anxious and glad and fearful, lonely and never alone — all together.
" You must never think I love you less, dear. I love you more. Do you notice I never tease you now ? My scholar-husband is perfect now in my eyes. You were always so gentle and kind. I used to think I'd like to see you angry really, like to feel a little afraid of you, and tremble and admire you, so I used to tease you that perfection might become imperfect to suit my girlish taste. But now I'm quite content, more than content, for on you I can rest securely, and I want to feel safe now. Life is chanceful enough and far too dangerous to let me wish for doubts of you, and conflicts — victories or defeats — between us. I'm glad to feel quite secure here. It may weary you, though, never to be teased, to be loved always without ever being tormented. No ? How sweet that ' Ah, no ' was.
" Isn't it strange ! You mustn't think me super- stitious, but I know our child will be a boy. If 'twere a girl, 'twould all be easy for me. But a boy will need you to help me. He'll soon be bold and strong, reckless and self-willed, as young men should be, and I'll not
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know how to control him. I \\ -;mf ( o be perfect mother and perfect wife. I'll be very proud of him, as I am of you, dear, only in a different way.
44 Have I been a good wife, Raoul ? ' A charming one ? ' Well, that's because I loved you, and, besides, I wouldn't be outdone. How it delights me to feel in the lingering caress of your hands that you love me as much us ever. That's my reward. But now the paths divide. I mustn't ride with you any more ; you know 'twould be dangerous.
" Oh, he'll be manly, I'm sure, and a great man, I hope. When I've grown old it'll make me young again to see the girls in love witli him. Aren't you glad, Raoul ? Isn't it a joy ? Say."
" A great joy, dear. I'm glad and happy."
44 1 should think you would be happy. Happy, indeed ! Wild with joy."
k' Wild with joy," the Count repeated, smiling.
11 And you'll stay \\ itli my son and me, always kind as you are now ? You'll not begin to leave us ? No. That's good to hear. I wonder whether any woman in the world was ever as perfectly contented as I am now."
The Count's love for his young wife was so intense that it enabled him to show her perfect sympathy and tenderness so long as he was with her, but as soon as he found himself in his bedroom alone, pain mastered him. For he was not only weakened by the humility which is the flower of love, but tortured by the cruel diffidence of age, and the courage in him forced him to realise
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what he conceived to be his position. His thoughts ran somewhat thus :
" So, it was all for the best, and my self-reproach vain. I must just go on as I began. She doesn't need me. All these months she wanted ' to tremble and be afraid ' of me, her ' conqueror,' and — what was it ? Yes, ' the boy'll be bold and strong, reckless and self-willed, as young men should be.' And I thought I could fill her life, realise her ideal, was necessary to her ? Well, I was mistaken, that's all. Yes, as it is, it's best for her. Clearly. And that's what I ought to want — do want. Yet, how the little blindnesses of those we love pierce through the joints of our harness, reach the heart and hurt. But then, I couldn't have loved her so well, had she been different ! She's a woman-child still, and life, as she said so sweetly, has come upon her quickly. It's natural in her to love even the trappings of boldness — the braveries of youth. She'd have suffered fearfully had I seemed perfect to her. It's best as it is. Even the woman we love cannot know us wholly. One is always alone in the world, quite alone. Marie has begun to realise this, too. Ah me ! And her nature's not even formed yet. But, at any rate, she sha'n't be plagued with a poor, feeble, tottering wretch. My pain's for her good. That's enough. I shall rest well, and she'll find content easily."
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CHAPTER V
IT was a bitter morning towards the end of January. An icy north-east wind whistled through the bare branches and along the deserted walks of the Pare Mon- ceau, driving before it the few small flakes of snow which drifted, as it seemed, hesitatingly, from the leaden clouds that cloaked the sky. A gloomy, bitter day which seemed to intensify the warmth and cheerfulness of the morning-room in the Hotel de Varenne. For the room had been transformed by the will of the Countess, and it \\iis with no small satisfaction that she now regarded her handiwork. And, in truth, the room had gained in comfort and attractiveness by her alterations, even if it had lost somewhat in character. Two or tliree Cuyps, a magnificent Corot, and half-a-dozen water-colours shed peace and summer radiance from the walls ; some Louis Quinze chairs and cabinets, too, rested the eyes and amused the senses. The great bronze mantelpiece designed and executed by Barye now adorned the hall, but in its place was a charming full-length portrait of the Countess, craftfully painted by Carolus Duran. His sketch had been a masterpiece ; he kept it in his studio ; the portrait was a picture showing traces of genius and real mastery of hand. As the Countess moved about the room in a pretty loose dressing-gown, arranging masses of hot -house flowers with a certain conventional deftness of choice, one who had known her
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before her marriage would scarcely have recognised her. Her beauty would have been denied now by no one. The figure was rounded to womanly perfection of curve ; the stately carriage of the head did not recall her former nun-like appearance. Still, however, in obedience to her husband's wish the Countess wore her hair in the old simple braids and knot, and so she still preserved something of the subtle charm which belongs to a marked individuality. Her cheeks were fuller, the oval of the face more perfect ; the eyes had gained in colour, even the rings around them added a certain languor of expression that but increased their loveliness. And yet the woman's beauty was more conventional than the girl's had been. One missed the intellectual severity of outline, the promise, too, of indefinite development which had given to the girl's face an extraordinary fascination.
When the flowers were arranged to her liking the Countess rang.
" You can serve the breakfast, Pierre, but first tell the Count that it's ready."
" Oh, madame, M. le Comte has been ready a long time. He told me to tell Madame he had important letters to write, but he'd be quite ready by twelve o'clock. And it's nearly twelve now. M. le Comte, I think, doesn't sleep as well as he used to. He misses his rides,
I'm sure, and " As the Countess didn't seem to be
listening Pierre broke off abruptly and disappeared.
" That's true," said the Countess half to herself when
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alone, with a slight pang of remorse. " Fin afraid I'm growing Miftlh J I must get him (<> go out as he used to. He'll enjoy it and I shall have more time for certain otJir duties — which, too, are pleasures."
And she smiled softly as she sank into a large causeiise and abandoned herself with a sense of exquisite enjoy- ment to a reverie rose-tinged.
When Pierre entered his master's room and delivered his message, the Count, without turning towards him, answered simply :
44 Tell the Countess that I shall be down in a quarter of an hour or so, and let me know when the breakfast's served — and, Pierre, decant a bottle of the old Madeira and bring me a tumbler of it at once. I don't feel very well this morning."
" M. le Comte does not mean the 34? — that would be waste — for a glass — like drinking gold."
" Dons I toll you, Pierre ! " replied the Count quietly, adding as if to himself, " I might drink pearls now without extravagance." As the door closed he went on thinking aloud :
44 So ! All my affairs are in order. These two letters were all I had to do. The Princess, frank, loyal kindly as she is, will be the best of friends to Marie for my sake. And this letter to Dupuy, which I won't seal up t ill t he last moment, will be a guide to him and do Marie good when she reads it. I wonder only if the post- script's right. Will it help her ? Yes. I ask Dupuy t.» -i\e her the miniature of my mother — Marie will
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value that for my sake — and the Cross they gave me after Gravelotte. I don't care for it, but she'll be glad to know I won it. Had I known her then I might still perhaps have realised her ideal. It's always too soon or too late in this world, I perceive. But why should I make moan ? It's perhaps best as it is. I've often thought lately that the age she feels in me makes her lean to youth and its livery more than she otherwise would- It's all my fault — the fault of age. Besides, I've lived too much with books, and by myself outside the world of action, to be bold and confident. Her finer sense may have felt this as a fault. It's better so ; she'll suffer less. I wonder do women grow as men may all through life. Their desires seem bounded by the goal of motherhood. What a perfect mother Marie will be. How I wish I could have seen her with her child." He sighed heavily. " The child will console her, I feel sure."
At this moment Pierre entered the room with the wine. The Count drained the glass offered to him, and without turning round said : " Leave the bottle here and tell me as soon as breakfast's served. Don't keep it back for me ; I'm quite ready."
" But M. le Comte's not really ill ? " asked the old man hesitatingly.
" No, Pierre ; not really ill, I hope, but a little out of sorts. Post this letter, and remember when you come to wake me in the morning if you ever find a letter on the table near my bed for Doctor Dupuy, and I'm asleep, take
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it at once in a cab and deliver it. Do you understand ? You must <jive it to the doctor as soon as you can."
"Yes, M. le Comte," replied Pierre, in a somewhat aggrieved tone, " I understand ; but the doctor's no good. If M. le Comte would ride every morning as he used to do and go to the Salle (TArmes two or three times a week he'd be as limber and well now as he was a year ago. M. le Comte himself told me that exercise was good, though I think as we grow old we can easily do too much — especially before breakfast. M. le Comte should try a little glass of cordial in the morning. That warms the blood and seems to give new life. But then habit's everything. M. le Comte has broken his habits ; he's not well ; he should go back to them. Madame I'm sure would be glad ; she'd do anything for M. le Comte's health ; she's so good."
" Yes, Pierre, I know ; but now go on with your work and let me know when I'm to come down."
As the servant left the room the Count got up from the desk and walked to the dressing-table and looked at himself in the glass.
" No. I've not got complete control of it yet, though I can move it a little now. I believe the Madeira's better than Dupuy's tonic. Was it chance or science that made him hit on the very symptom which shows itself in my case ? He said, in that first talk we had together, that an eyelid might droop and I'd not have the power of pulling it up again. Chance evidently, for he told me the other day that a dose of his tonic would
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chase away any such symptom in half-an-hour, and two doses have not given me control of this left eyelid in three hours. I'm weaker, I suppose, than he thought it possible to be without something giving way. That means, I've no time to lose — or to keep, is it ?
" I don't feel frightened — not at all. Life has, on the whole, been good to me : this last seven months as nearly perfect happiness as man has ever known or can know. Come, be a man, Raoul ! Don't think of the parting from her or you'll be fit for nothing — and don't think of the grave, for that's silly, the worms won't eat you ; you won't feel anything. Suppose you'd had a leg cut off ; its destination wouldn't trouble you much. The worms might eat that and welcome. And you see now it's best for her as it is. You know that, don't you?
44 Close your eyes and think of the best moments in these last months. What sweet memories ! To-day I'll do whatever she wishes, try to give her twelve happy hours, then, this last day will be a joy to me. It was my fate to die so — no illness, no senile weakness in body or mind, life rounded off to a perfect close with Marie to the last. I'll think of to-day and not trouble myself about what comes afterwards. Even now Marie is waiting for me.
44 Ah ! the eyelid's under my control at last ; so I can go downstairs. How badly the writers have de- scribed a man's last day on earth. His face doesn't alter ; he doesn't rave with fear and horror. Perhaps
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it is that even Death grows common by acquaintance. I feel almost light-lu-arlvil. It is very well as it is, for both of us.
"1 wish, though, I had done something to pay my debt to mankind. And yet what could I have done but say that part of every life should be given to books and things of beauty ? No one could make much of that. The regret's so slight, it doesn't hurt. Someone else will help men more than I could have done, had I laboured all my life. Now I go to Marie — calm ? Yes — but with a catching of the breath and too much self- absorbed. All right, Pierre, the wine has done me good. I'll go down."
As he entered the room the Countess came quickly towards him. kt Ilalf-an-hour I've been down, sir — thirty minutes by the clock. Aren't you ashamed of yourself ? My love ! how well you're looking this morning; there's colour in your cheeks; you're quite your old self. But you mustn't keep me waiting so, Raoul. These last five minutes have been five ages."
44 At twenty," replied the Count with a quick smile, as hr put his hand caressingly on her shoulder, " " minutes are five ages.' I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I've been thinking of you, and so the time passed quickly. Do you know what I've been thinking ? I'd like to have a perfect day to-day — do whatever you may wish ; gratify any whim of yours, any fancy ; lend myself to your mood ; be sentimental or gay, pleasure-
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loving or pedantic, husband or lover, soldier or saint, just as you, my queen, may decide for this one day. I'm too stiff to play a new part long."
" How light-hearted you are 1" laughed the Countess. " Let's have breakfast first, and I'll tell you what I'd like when I've had time to consider. I'll take full advantage of such unwonted generosity, you may be sure."
A few moments later she took up the thought again seriously : " Do you know what I'd like ? I'd like to ask Madame de River olles to dine with us. I want to show her this new room, and I want to talk to her. Besides, we've scarcely seen her since our marriage, and that's selfish of us, very selfish."
The Count's face had changed a little at his wife's proposal, but before she had finished speaking, and looked up for his assent, he had mastered himself and answered in his usual quiet tone :
" I'd have preferred to spend the day with you alone, but I've promised, so be it as you will ! "
" Yes ! " she said gaily, but with a tone of affection- ate tenderness in her voice, " and so should I, but we shall have until dinner-time together, lover mine ! Besides, I think I've been selfish in keeping you so entirely to myself. That reminds me. You must begin your morning rides again to-morrow. No, I'll take no refusal. They do you good ; you can't deny it, and it'll do you good, too, to meet people. You mustn't be so much of a recluse. It's your one failing. Besides, I
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want to sec Madame de Riverolles very much. She has been very kind to me, and 1 have things to talk about with her hi which even you, sir, are not learned."
After a long and pleasant evening Madame de Rive- rolles took leave of " her children," well pleased with their manifest happiness. Although it wasn't really late yet as soon as her visitor had left the Countess proposed to retire — she had grown careful of her health lately. Mutely the Count assented by rising. He stopped at the door, however, and, turning, cast a long look over the room ; as he closed the door his heart almost ceased to beat. Everything he did now seemed to say to him "it's for the last time." Yet he went on, scarcely pausing. As one in a dream he followed his wife into her bedroom, and when she went into her dressing-room he placed himself mechanically near the almost-closed door, and leaning against the wall waited for her return while she talked. He was only conscious of pain, pain in the heart. His thoughts were feelings ; his soul seemed to gasp and faint within him. "Never again," he felt, in throbs of agony, " shall I be near her as now — never again pass another evening beside her— never again." And then time seemed to hasten and leap as did the pumping of his heart. " Soon she'll come out and kiss me for the last time," he thought, and then lie saw himself going to his own room, and felt the darkness come about him. All at once his love seemed to bring him courage in a warm wave. He'd listen to her then
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while he could, and live every minute to the end. And so he heard :
" We must go out more and entertain a little. I don't mean now, but in a year or so. It'll do you good. . . . You never were more charming than this evening. Your manner to Madame de Riverolles was perfect — so sympathetic and deferential. I was very proud of you, and yet just a little jealous. . . . Going into the world will make you brighter — young again in fact, though you're younger now than most young men."
4 Yes ! " interjected the Count with an effort, for his throat was parched. But his wife evidently noticed nothing strange in the strained, toneless voice, for she went on :
" I want to know life and be very worldly-wise, for my child's sake later. When he grows up he must find friends and a place in the world ready for him. I feel I ought to begin at once to make sacrifices for him. Don't you ? " And as she asked the question the Countess opened the door and stood before her husband in her dressing-gown, with unbound hair. The fragrance of her youth and beauty had never seemed to the Count to be so intoxicatingly seductive.
" Yes, dear ! " he replied, carried away from his own thoughts and brought to self-possession by the sight of the woman he loved; " but don't make useless ones. The vanities and envy of the world aren't a good milieu. The finest flowers only grow in garden and hot- house.
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But now tell UK-"— and as he spoke he took her in his amis with an infinite tenderness — "Are you glad now, Marie, that you yielded to my love and married me?"
44 How can you ask such a silly question ! Of course I'm glad; more than glad. I've been very, very happy, and shall be even happier soon, I think."
And she sighed contentedly, while the Count drew a deep breath, as if oppressed.
" You see, Raoul," and here she wound herself out of his arms, and spoke with excited earnestness, " I want my child to be very proud of his mother ; and I think he'll be pleased later if I am someone in our Woman's Kingdom Society."
44 1 understand."
44 Besides, I think one gets peculiar when one lives much alone, just as one gets stiff by sitting too long in the same position. A little change and excitement does everyone good."
4 What good reasons one can find for what one wants to do ! "
4 Yes." And the Countess laughed, nodding her head. 44 But at the same time, Raoul, you will always be more important to me than all other people put together. You don't doubt that, do you ? "
44 No." And the Count drew another deep breath. This time his wife heard the sigh.
44 But you're tired, Raoul. And so pale, dear. Your i 129
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high spirits have worn you out. Now say ' good-night ' at once, and go to bed."
As she spoke she came to him, and put her arms, from which the sleeves slipped back, round his neck, and held her face up to be kissed.
Holding her to him, and looking into her eyes, the Count asked :
" Tell me first ! You've been really happy with me ? Very happy ? "
"You know I have," the girl- wife answered, nodding her head as she spoke, and shutting and opening both eyes rapidly several times in a peculiarly childish way, which, however, added earnestness to her words. " And, now, good-night, dear ; and mind you sleep well."
The Countess had been asleep for more than an hour when the Count rose from his bed, put on a dressing- gown, and began quietly to make certain preparations. He first closed his door gently, and then coming back took a bottle from his cabinet, and laid a silver syringe beside it ready for use on the little table by his bedside. Out of the same cabinet he took the letter to Doctor Dupuy, and read it carefully over.
44 1 can't better that," he said to himself at length ; 44 but the request to give her my Cross is foolish. Petty, wounded vanity : and I have done with vanities now. Besides, she's quick and sensitive, too ; she might under- stand from it that I wished to reproach her for some
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thoughtless speech. What poor creatures we men are That may have been at the bottom of my thought." As he spoke he carefully cut away that part of the postscript and burnt it in the candle-flame. As it shrivelled to ashes in his fingers, he continued thinking aloud :
" Strange. I have no hesitations now, no shadow of fear. A regret — of habit and of memory. As lovers cherish withered flowers for their remembered sweetness so we cling to life when all its perfume's spent. And even such regret is dulled by the inevitable.
"Napoleon's word is vulgar; there's a better than two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage, the courage which has nothing physical in it, but which comes altogether from the intelligence, whether of the thinker or the artist. To end life fitly, as a tale well told, that's enough for my measure. One puts away the empty glass. Better blow out the candle than let it flicker and gutter inipotently to its sense-disgusting end."
As he spoke he closed the letter to Doctor Dupuy and laid it with its address upwards on his table. He made a movement as if to throw off his dressing-gown, but paused on the action.
44 No. I'll look at her once again before I go," and he pressed his lips together tightly, as if it pained him to draw his breath. " I knew I should. I meant to, otherwise I'd have gone mad in these last two hours' waiting. That was the thought which kept the pain away — again I'll see the face that lights the world for
IN THE VALE OF TEARS
me. Marie, my love, my soul's delight, how could I go without a last farewell ! "
Quietly he passed through his dressing-room and entered his wife's chamber. By the dim light of a veilleuse at the bed s head he saw she was sleeping with her back to his apartments. The thought gave him a sense of keenest pleasure. She felt secure on that side. He moved round the foot of the bed and looked at her as she slept, his soul in his eyes. A minute, perhaps, he stood so, and then, as if drawn by an irresistible power, passed to her side, and, stooping, laid his lips on her forehead. The girl didn't hear the breathing of her name, nor feel consciously the lips upon her brow, but, nevertheless, she moved in her sleep, and drew a long breath as of complete content.
As he came into his own room again and closed the door behind him quietly, the Count stood rigidly for some time holding his breath, as if the slightest move- ment would have been too much for his strength. Then with a deep sigh he sank down in an arm-chair. A little later the words broke from him :
" That's the terror of it, and the torture. If I could have been with her for two or three years more her future would have been safer, for she's very clear- sighted. Now I dread the sex in her. She may fall in love with some rollicking, devil-may-care soldier, whose boldness comes chiefly from health and carelessness of others' suffering. Why should that thought sting so ? Partly the wretched selfishness in me, I suppose ; but
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more because she'd suffer terribly, my delicate darling. . . . But she'll have time to think. Her child, and her own great clear eyes, will save her, I hope. The bitter- ness of it all ! How I wish I could have been with her for two or three years more, just to guide and leave her safe. But is one ever really able to guide another ? Ah, me ! In this life impotence itself 's a consolation.
44 How I suffer — pYaps she'll suffer some day as I'm suffering now. Ah ! I mustn't think. I but fall from deep to lower deep of agony. And yet it's probable. We all follow the same road — life's road, which leads nowhither ; impenetrable night shrouding its end as its beginning. And every soul must tread that road alone. Oh, Marie, Marie 1 My poor darling !
44 Forgive me, dear, the pain it'll cause you. Ah, she'll forgive — there's no doubt of that. One thing stands sure : in her eyes I've seen the love that will yet redeem humanity. And so she lights the darkness. Could I but do as much for her. Can I do nothing more for her ? " And as he spoke the Count rose — 44 Nothing, save leave her, for her good. I'm very tired now ; tired past thought. I'll go." He went over to the table and filled the syringe.
44 How greedily it sucks the morphia up ! Child that I am ! It's only a machine ; am I more ? " As he spoke he put the bottle carefully away in a drawer. 44 Dupuy will know \vlu-ro to find it." Then, looking at the syringe, he thought again aloud :
4 What a small key to unlock that door. Going out 133
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into the night one should open and close the door quietly, so as not to disturb the household. Where should I put it in ? It doesn't matter. The keyhole's not larger than a pin-prick ! "
As he spoke he lifted on his breast a small pinch of flesh between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. He then inserted the needle-like point of the syringe, and carefully injected the whole of its contents. After looking to make sure that the instrument was empty, he washed and dried it, replacing it then in the same drawer in which he had put the bottle.
" Progress ? Yes. Better means to the same end. A syringe filled with morphia is perhaps better than asp or dagger ; but nothing to brag of, after all."
As he spoke he took off his dressing-gown and got into the bed.
" Ah, passing into the dark one shivers. The night air's cold."
One after the other he blew out the candles, and settled himself to rest in his usual position. Then silence came and filled the room. A little later 'twas stirred by the Count's voice murmuring :
" Thanks, Jeanne; thanks."
And with a little sigh, as of a tired child, the dreamer slept.
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A DAUGHTER OF EVE
AN old-fashioned square house on Long Island, set in a clearing of pine-trees ; a break in the cliff shows a little triangle of sandy beach and the waters of the Sound dancing in the moonlight. Half-a-dozen men are sitting about on the stoop looking over the silvery waters.
The evening papers had published an account of Mrs Amory's will, which showed that she had left half-a- million dollars to a nursing home for mill children in Philadelphia. The news set us a 11 talking of the wonder- ful work she had done and her self-sacrifice. Most of us assumed that it was a religious motive that had induced this rich and, it was said, handsome woman to give years of her life to improving the lot of the city's waifs and strays.
The ladies left us and went up to bed ; but we still discussed the matter. Suddenly Charlie Railton turned to Judge Barnett of the Supreme Court of the State of New York, who sat with his chair tilted back against the wall ruminating.
" Say, Judge, what do you think of it anyway ? I'd like to hear your opinion."
11 1 have no opinion on the matter," replied the Judge, taking the cigar out of his mouth and speaking very
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slowly. " I don't know women well enough to be sure about anything where they're concerned."
" Plead guilty, Judge," cried Railton, who was about thirty years of age, " plead guilty and throw yourself on the mercy of the court ; I guess you know women better than most men, and they're pretty easy to know, it seems to me."
" I used to think so too," said the Judge, " but I got kind o' puzzled once and I've never been sure since."
" How was that, Judge," cried our host, one of the boldest speculators on the New York Stock Exchange, scenting a mystery.
" It's a long story," said Barnett deliberately, " and it's pretty late already."
We all protested and called for the story, and the Judge began :
" It takes one a long way back, I'm afraid : back to the late sixties, and it's autobiographical too : I guess it has every fault."
" Go on," we cried in chorus.
" After being admitted to the Bar," he resumed, " I went up to my mother's place in Maine to rest. Along in the winter I got pneumonia on a shooting trip, and could not shake it off. I crawled through the summer and then made up my mind to go to California or some- where warm for the winter : I was fed up with snow and blizzards. I spent the winter in Santa Barbara and got as fit as a young terrier.
" In the spring I went to 'Frisco, and there in a
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gymnasium and boxing saloon got to know a man who was about the best athlete I ever struck. Winterstein might have been heavy-weight champion if he had trained, and he was handsome enough for a stage lover. He was just under six feet in height, with bold expression and good features ; dark hair in little curls all over his head and agate-dark eyes which grew black when he was excited or angry.
" I found he was a better man physically than I was, and that was the beginning of our friendship ; we soon became intimate and he told me all about his early life. He was born in the north of England, and became a sailor in the English navy, but he could not stand the rigid discipline, poor food and harsh treatment. He deserted in Quebec while still a lad, and made his way to New York. He had not had much education, but he had improved what he had by reading. Like most men of intelligence who have not had a college training he set great store by books and book learning, and got me to help him with mathematics. He had a captain's certificate, it appeared, but he wanted to know naviga- tion thoroughly ; he surprised me one day by telling me he owned a little vessel which was nearly ready for sea.
" ' I have just had her overhauled,' he said. 4 Would you like to come and see her ? She's lying off Meiggs's. '
44 4 What do you do with her ? ' I questioned, full of curiosity.
44 4 1 go pearling,' he said ; 4 pearls are found nearly
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all round the Gulf of California. The fisherfolk rake in the oysters and lay them on the beach till they get bad and open of themselves. The children collect the pearls and keep them until I come round. I paid for the craft and have a couple of thousand dollars put by from last year's work.'
" ' But where did you learn about pearls ? ' I said.
" ' I worked for a man once and picked it up. Some- times I make a little mistake, but not often. You see, we go to out-of-the-way places, where we reckon to give about a quarter what the pearls are worth. That leaves a good margin for mistakes.'
" 4 But I had no idea that there were pearls in the Gulf?' I said.
" ' Why not come along and see for yourself ? ' he said. 4 I'll be starting in a week. The schooner had to have her bottom cleaned and the copper repaired. That's what's hung me up for this last month or so. Now I'm about right for another year. If you'd like to come, I'd be glad to have you.'
44 4 And make me mate ? ' I asked, laughing.
44 4 Commander,' he replied seriously ; 4 and you shall have ten per cent, of the profits.'
" 4 I'll think it over and let you know,' was my answer.
44 The adventure tempted me, the strange life and work, the novelty of the thing : I resolved to go pearling, I went with Winterstein to the wharf and he showed his ship to me. She looked like a toy vessel, a little schooner, a fifty-footer of about forty tons. She sat on
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the water like a duck, a little New Midland model with IxMutiful lines. Wintcrstein introduced me to his t mute, Donkin, and his second mate, Crawford. Donkin was a big lump of a fellow, six feet two in height, broad in proportion and brawny, a good seaman. Crawford, I soon found out, was an even better sailor and more intelligent, though of only average strength.
"'What about the crew?' I asked Winterstein when we were alone in the little cabin.
44 4 1 want one more man and a boy,' he replied, laughing at my surprised face.
44 4 But,' I retorted, ' you can't have three officers and one man.'
44 4 It's like this,' he said ; 4 Donkin has only been a second mate, but he gets a first mate's certificate pro- vided he stays with me a year, and the same thing with Crawford. The work is not hard,' he added apolo- getically ; 4 they get good wages and a lift in rank, and it suits them, and so I get first-rate work cheap. Four or five men can manage this craft easy so long as we don't strike a cyclone; and there ain't much dirty weather in the Gulf.'
44 A couple of days later Winterstein told me shyly that he had been married recently, and after I had con- gratulated him he insisted that I must come and be introduced to the prettiest girl in California. All the \\ay up town he praised his young wife and the praise, I found, was not extravagant. Mrs Winterstein was charming : tall and fair, with Irish grey eyes : her
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shyness and love of Winterstein put a sort of aureole about her. She was of Irish parentage : before her marriage her name had been Rose O'Connor. Nothing would do but I must call her Rose at once. The pair lived in a little frame-house on the side of the bluff, where now there is a famous park. An old Irishwoman did the chores for Rose and mothered and scolded her just as she had done before her marriage. Rose, I learned, had been a teacher in the High School. In the next few days I saw a good deal of her. She was doing up the cabin and buying knick-knacks for the three tiny state-rooms, and I naturally ran her errands and tried to save her trouble.
;4 Whenever I ventured a shy compliment she always told me I must see her sister Daisy, who was at Sacra- mento in a finishing school. Daisy was lovely and Daisy was clever ; there was no one like Daisy in her sister's eyes.
" It was a perfect June morning, with just air enough to make the sun dance on the ripples, when at length we were all ready on board and starting out of the bay.
" Our crew had been completed by a young darky called Abraham Lincoln, who at once took over the cooking, and a sailor called Dyer, who was a little lame, but handy enough at his work.
" The first part of the cruise was uneventful : it might have been a yachting trip. Day after day we sailed along in delightful sunshine, with a six or eight
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knot bree/.e. The pe.-feel eondilions would have been monotonous hud we not amused ourselves with lishing. One day I remember we got rather rough weather, and when Winterstein, Donkin and myself took our bearings next day we found that we had been swept some distance to the westward.
44 It was Crawford who solved the enigma for us. He told us there was a current called the West Wind Drift which sets across the Pacific from east to west, as if making for 'Frisco, and then flows down the coast from north to south till it meets the North Equatorial current which comes from the south and sweeps out to the west, carrying the tail end, so to speak, of the Drift with it. Where the two opposing currents meet, off the South Calif ornian coast, one often finds a heavy sea and variable cross-winds. But as soon as we turned into the (iulf the line weather began.
;t The trading, which I had hoped would be full of adventure, turned out to be quite simple and tame. We ran along the shore, stopping wherever there was ;i village. Usually we dropped anchor pretty close in and rowed ashore. At nine places out of ten Winter- stem was known. The fishermen brought out their little cotton bags of pearls and we bought them. Curiously enough, the black pearl, so esteemed to-day, had then no value at all. Whenever we bought a packet of white pearls, the black ones were thrown in as not worth estimating. The pink pearls, too, had no price, unless
ey were exceptionally large or beautifully shaped, and
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even then they were very cheap. I began to collect the black pearls to make a necklace for Mrs Winterstein. I was half in love with her, I think, from the beginning. She was not only very pretty, but laughter-loving and girlish, and her little matronly airs sat drolly upon her. Everyone on board liked her, I don't know why. I suppose she wanted to please us all ; for she was full of consideration for everyone. I have never seen any woman who appealed so unconsciously and so directly to the heart, and her happiness was something that had to be seen to be believed. She simply adored her husband, waited on him hand and foot, and pampered all his little selfishnesses. She was only unhappy when away from him, or when it was rough weather and she was sea-sick. Curiously enough, in spite of the long cruise, she never became a good sailor. In fine weather she was all right, but the moment the Rose commenced to lob about Mrs Winterstein used to retire to her cabin. " I told no one about the necklace. I simply annexed all the black pearls and determined to get them strung together as soon as we got back to 'Frisco. I never landed without asking after them, and even went so far as to buy some which were being used by the native children as trinkets. I remember once coming across an extraordinary specimen, as big as a marble, perfectly round and with a perfect skin. We were passing a cabin where a couple of mestizo girls of fourteen and sixteen were seated on the sand playing a game of bones, which I think must be as old as the world, for the Greeks
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knew it as astragalos. You throw the round bones up into the air and turn your hand round quickly and catch them on the back. Among the five bones was a black pearl, which I admired at once and bought — for a quarter, I think. I can still see the half -naked girl- child as she handed it to me. She stood on one leg like a stork, and with her right foot rubbed her left ankle, while glancing at me half shyly out of great liquid dark eyes. She had only a red calico wrap about her body, out of the folds of which one small round amber breast showed ; but she was evidently unconscious of her nudity — a child in mind, a woman in body.
" I have absolutely nothing interesting to tell of this first cruise. We stopped once where the sea must have receded from the land, for the town was some four miles inland. I have forgotten the name of the place, but it was quite a town — some two or three thousand inhabit- ants. The smell of the oysters on the sea-beach, I re- member, was overpowering. Thousands and thousands of bushels had been left to rot. Our harvest of pearls here was so large that Winterstein resolved to go back to 'Frisco at once and market his goods. We were all tired of fish and biscuits varied by bacon, fiery with salt and black with age.
" The return trip was just as uneventful as the voyage out. Winterstein's profits were beyond all his former experiences. After paying all expenses, giving me my tenth, and dividing another tenth between the two
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mates, he cleared up something like six thousand dollars for two months' work.
" He was naturally eager to get to sea again, but there was a difficulty. Rose found that her sister had left Sacramento, and had come to live in 'Frisco. She had got work too, I gathered, in a shop, and refused absolutely to be a schoolgirl any longer, or to accept her sister's advice. Rose was anxious about her and resolved to take her on board with us for the next cruise. But for a long time Miss Daisy refused to come : she preferred, it appeared, to be entirely on her own, and it was only when Winterstein joined Rose in solicitation that she finally consented. I was rather eager to see this very self-willed and independent young lady.
" I was quite ready for another trip. It would please my mother, I thought, if I went back with a couple of thousand dollars in my pocket, and I had got my black pearls strung as a necklace for Rose.
" Winterstein warned me that the next trip would perhaps not be so profitable, as he would leave out the chief places, which he had already touched at, and go to the more remote stations. ' Pearling,' he said, ' is like everything else in life — the easiest work is the best paid.' His philosophy was not very deep though his observation was exact enough.
" We arranged to start one afternoon. I had been in town making purchases. It was wretched weather. A nor'easter had sprung up and blew sand through the streets in clouds. I only hoped that the departure
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would be postponed. I found Winters! cin waiting im- patiently for me, and his wife's sister, too, was on deck, in spite of the rough weather. Winterstein introduced me to her. Daisy O'Connor did not make much im- pression on me at first ; she was girlish-young and did not seem to be anything like so good-looking as her sister. True, she had large dark brown eyes and good features, but she was smaller than Rose, and without Rose's brilliant colouring or charm of appeal. She t reated me rather coolly, I thought. Winterstein seemed to be in a great hurry to get off.
" 4 Why not put off going till to-morrow ? ' I asked. 4 As soon as we get outside she'll duck into it half way u I > her jib.'
44 4 To-morrow's Friday,' remarked Miss Daisy. 44 4 Surely you're not superstitious ? ' I laughed. 44 4 Yes, I am,' replied the girl, and a peculiar char- acter of decision came into her face and voice. 44 4 You know the old rhyme ? ' 44 She questioned me with a look, and I repeated the old chanty :
* Monday for health And Tuesday for wealth And Wednesday the best day of all, Thursday for losses And Friday for crosses And Saturday no day at all.'
Thursday will be a bad start."
44 4 1 like a bad start,' she retorted