TALE TWENTY.A SCIENTIFIC PHENOMENON.
“When I remember something which I had,But which is gone, and I must do without,I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout;It makes me sigh to think on it,—but yetMy days will not be better days, should I forget.”
“When I remember something which I had,But which is gone, and I must do without,I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout;It makes me sigh to think on it,—but yetMy days will not be better days, should I forget.”
“When I remember something which I had,But which is gone, and I must do without,I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout;It makes me sigh to think on it,—but yetMy days will not be better days, should I forget.”
“When I remember something which I had,
But which is gone, and I must do without,
I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,
Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout;
It makes me sigh to think on it,—but yet
My days will not be better days, should I forget.”
“Yes, art brought me to this.”
The speaker was a tall, thin, young woman of a nervous temperament. The storm of dark hair was pushed back in hurried confusion; the heavy brows and long lashes which protected the dark blue eyes seemed a fitting division between the high cheek bones and the bloodless forehead; her nose, so straight and thin that it corresponded with the lines or wrinkles which extended upward at either end of the mouth, and seemed to cut short the smile which otherwise might have been as merry as the dimple in her little chin would indicate.
Nature had left the stamp of refinement on her face, perhaps for no other purpose than to show the world that Celeste Moss had not always had a bent back and pricked fingers—the effect of shop duties. Her home was in two rooms, which, in spite of the lack of elegant furniture and rare bric-a-brac, showed signs of culture, if in no other way than the tidiness of the floors, which were without carpets or rugs.
The only new article in the room which was visible was a pair of trousers, and they were just being wrapped into a neat bundle by the deft and willing hands of this industrious woman, as she opened the interview with the first remark of this story.
“Art seems to have launched your ship of destiny into strange channels,” I ventured in way of reply.
“Yes, and I have been called upon to face many breakers and tide the waves of furious storms in the best way I could.”
“I am sure your career has been an interesting one.”
“Not so interesting as unpleasant,” she said, “and if you will excuse me for a moment, I will tell you all.”
That moment she consumed by carefully dusting and closing the machine with the same tenderness and precision with which some musician might put away his beloved instrument.
“You take good care of your machine.”
“Yes, that is all there is between me and the street; I must take good care of that.”
“I believe you said art transposed you from some other sphere in life to your present position,” said I, anxious to draw her back to her subject.
“Yes, I was born into a rich home, wherein the merry jingle of dollars was of less consequence to the different members of my family, than the rattle of pennies is to me now. I received all the finishing touches of education, then as my indulgent father said—”just for pastime“—I took up drawing and painting. My heart, brain and fingers seemed tuned with one accord, so that taking the brush and palette in my hand was only striking the chords of my artistic nature, and theharmony which was thereby inspired spread itself in delicate tints and shades, producing pictures which were as natural as those of the old masters were. So much attention was paid to my amateurish productions that I soon found myself famous. Then I fell in love; art and love should have been brother and sister, born of the same woman and nurtured on the same sweet food. To love a man was to love to draw beautiful pictures as nearly perfect as my accomplishment would allow, then no matter what the canvas portrayed after it had received my finishing touches, I took great pleasure in likening the work to that of my idol, and always found my production wanting. Long days I spent in my studio, striving to make a picture of something which would show as much excellence as a work of art as my lover showed as a man; each time I tried I improved, but before I had reached that stage of supremacy as an artist, I had so lost my head along with my heart that it was a hopeless task; there was nothing so true, so sweet, so perfect as my Reginald.”
“We were married. The conditions and circumstances under which we met at the altar were favorable in the extreme. My husband was a musician of note; in fact, he knew nothing but music and love; certainly nothing was more natural than the blending of our souls in love, inspired by ambition; then to add joy to the happy situation my husband’s best and dearest friend, Jean Vincent (whom he had long since given up as dead), returned to our home town two days before the nuptials. Wealth was a thing easy of access to us, as both our families were independently rich. I was an only child and it was a common expressionof my father’s that as I was so careless in regard to my sex, it would be my duty to the family to produce a son. We were very happy, my husband, Mr. Vincent and I, for Reginald insisted on his taking up his residence with us during his stay; he, too, was an artist of no mean ability, and as Reggie said, we could share the same studio and perhaps be of assistance to each other, and besides my husband was teaching a great deal now, and it would be so nice to have Jean in the house for company.”
“We spent many happy days; I could sit for hours and listen to those two “chums” discuss their travels, one in quest of musical education, the other chasing art in its various forms and a part of the time the two royal rovers spent their time in quest of pleasure; but Reginald had tired sooner than his friend, and the date of his homecoming had been the beginning of the love match which had culminated so happily. Mr. Vincent had remained in Italy for a time, then visited the Sahara desert, climbed the pyramids of Egypt and scaled the dangerous peaks of the Alps; he had hunted in the jungles of Africa, and probed mother earth for gold in far off Australia; in fact, he had been everywhere, from the scenes of direst poverty to the grandeur of royal palaces. It was not strange, therefore, that this swarthy man of Oriental customs could entertain, instruct and make friends at one and the same time.
“There was such a striking contrast between him and Reginald that many spoke of it. Reginald was one of those dear little, short, fat men, who seemed to beam with good nature; his round face was pink and white, while his clear blue eyes shown with that merry twinkleof tenderness so characteristic of the German type, while Mr. Vincent was tall and broad shouldered, with a face which was a study of stern determination. The years of hardship were not without effect, neither did his dark skin, black curly hair and luminous eyes of ebony have a tendency to soften the expression which the ravages of time had stamped upon his face. So much did these men enjoy the companionship of one another that they were always together when it was possible and it was only natural that I should join in all their conversation. You may imagine my joy when Reginald came to me and said:
“‘Celeste, I want you to make a portrait of Jean, and, dear, make it your masterpiece.’
“Then came long days of close association; we were closeted for hours in the studio; we talked art; we exchanged views; Jean sat for me and then I persuaded him to reciprocate. I told him that as he was sitting for a picture of himself for my husband that it would be a grand opportunity for him to put my face on canvas, and after the deliberate conclusion that we would surprise Reggie, we decided to present him with my likeness at the same time Jean’s was finished.
“We worked with a will; when Reginald was away from home we often went to the church or the theatre or took a drive together. I know some people indulged in a little of that putrid gossip, which is sure to follow the act of any gallant man. We did nothing that could in any way be construed as disloyal to my husband; he knew our every move and sanctioned it all. It was during this period of sitting and painting that I made a happy discovery, and when I told Reginald he was sodelighted that he lost no time in conveying the glad tidings to my parents; the prospects of an heir caused joy in their hearts. Finally the pictures were completed, and with them Mr. Vincent’s visit, for, as he put, he had stayed long enough in one place and would move on.
“Reginald used to stand and look at his picture at times after he had gone, as though he were looking on the face of a dead brother. The manly love and devotion which existed between Reggie and Mr. Vincent was very touching.
“In due time my child was born—and blessed be the star which controls such events—it was a boy. Reginald came to me while the nurse was dressing the babe, and taking me tenderly in his arms uttered words of praise in my ears, and showed me that devotion which is so reassuring and precious to the heart of a young mother. O, how grand I felt when I heard him say:
“‘God bless you, darling! You are the dearest, truest treasure on earth.’
“I felt that I could have died for him then and there, and I have wished many times since that I had. His dear head was nestled close beside mine on the pillow when the nurse brought the child in; then he arose, and taking the wee bit of humanity in his arms, turned towards me as if to place it where it belonged; as he peered through the lace to get a view of its features, I saw his face take on the pallor of death. My blood felt like ice, as I tried to raise myself, at the same time crying out:
“‘What is it, Reggie?’
“Then with a groan he fell across the bed unconscious; my only thought was that our baby had been injured in some way and suddenly expired, and with the picture of a little white casket, covered with lilies, before my eyes, I fainted; I revived, only to succumb to an attack of brain fever. When I recovered they told me that Reginald had gone.
“‘Gone? Gone where?’ I cried in amazement.
“For an answer they brought me this letter:
“‘Dear Celeste: I will call you dear this time, for it is the last. I do not blame you so much for what has happened; I should not have trusted even the best friend on earth with you and your charms. I can easily account for all. You longed for the companionship which my profession robbed you of, but you should have prepared me for this blow. I go now to find your traducer, and if he refuses to take you and live with you honorably, his body will meet the same fate his picture has just met. Would to God I had died before I knew of your infidelity. Good-by forever,REGINALD.’
“‘Dear Celeste: I will call you dear this time, for it is the last. I do not blame you so much for what has happened; I should not have trusted even the best friend on earth with you and your charms. I can easily account for all. You longed for the companionship which my profession robbed you of, but you should have prepared me for this blow. I go now to find your traducer, and if he refuses to take you and live with you honorably, his body will meet the same fate his picture has just met. Would to God I had died before I knew of your infidelity. Good-by forever,
REGINALD.’
“What on earth did it all mean? I went to the library, and there found Mr. Vincent’s likeness simply cut and slashed into ribbons. Reginald had left orders not to remove it; as I gazed on the ruined portrait and thought of the part of my husband’s letter wherein a like fate was promised Jean, I realized how utterly impossible it would be to consent to Reginald’s demands, for to do so would be an open confession of wrong, with a defined effort to right it, and so help me, God, we were as innocent as the now fatherless babe, and I knew Jean Vincent to be a man of principle; then Ithought of Reginald’s obdurate nature, and—Oh, horrors! he would be a murderer.
“With the thought of blood running from gaping wounds, I swooned away. When I opened my eyes again the doctor was standing over me; I asked for my baby; the nurse brought it, and I was so mystified that I shrieked in my despair; the poor little black thing, black eyes, ringlets of jet black hair and skin as swarthy as the cuticle of an Italian. A long talk with the physician shed light on the subject. He explained how the constant association with some dark person at such a time as that in which I happened to be with Mr. Vincent would bring about just such a result.
“The scandal killed my mother; my father was just as unreasonable as my husband and refused to advise or assist me, even denying me the privilege of seeing him. After two years he died cursing me, but not before he had willed all of his fortune to a distant relative, leaving me penniless.
“On the advice of neighbors, who were sufficiently interested in me to at least want me to leave the community, I put my baby boy in a home for waifs; then selling such articles of personal property as I possessed, I started on a journey which will only end in death.
“I came direct to Chicago, thinking to hide myself in the whirl of a busy city, but soon the little store of wealth which I had realized from the sale of my belongings had melted down until there was only a thin wall of finance between me and starvation. I sought a position and in each attempt was defeated on account of not having a business education; I was not even fitted to do housework; it was then I realized how painfullyhelpless a girl is in a strange land with no means, who has been born and reared in luxury without even a smattering of domesticity in her character.”
“Why did you not try your hand at painting?”
“I did try, but no use; when I took up a brush and palette my hand was seized with palsy when I touched the brush to the canvas, I fancied I could hear the sounds of ripping, tearing cloth, and to save my life the best I could do was to make zig-zag lines; all of the love for art, all of the ambition had vanished.
“Finally I secured a position as governess, and had it not been for the ideas of liberality which the man of the house in whose home I was employed entertained, I might have regained some of my loss; at any rate, he seemed to conceive the idea that my life was an aimless existence and that I was only waiting to be won with endearing words of love.
“The days of trouble were not conducive to strengthening my character and my tempter was a man of wiles and charms, so much so that his constant observation disclosed my different moods to his discernible mind. His plans were carried out with that accuracy and precision so characteristic of a man of the world.
“That was the first step down the incline of rectitude; other men sought me and so surely did I descend into the valley of shame that it was an easy matter for me to consent to live with men in open defiance of the law.
“During my career I met a gentleman who was more interested in me than any one I had ever met; he lived in a small town in the west; he was a man of great tenderness and we in time grew fond of each other.Much of our time was consumed in talking of schools, books, music and travel. I knew little of him and he nothing of me, any more than he had met me one day as I was buying tickets for a matinee; the line at the window doubled back around the entrance of the theatre. As the crowd crawled slowly along I found myself standing beside him; he addressed me, whereupon a conversation sprung up and he kindly offered to buy my tickets for me when he reached the window, which would save me a delay of several moments. As he handed me the tickets he apologized for his intrusion; I thanked him for his kindness and was not at all surprised when I found him in the seat next to mine. Our friendship grew and finally ripened into such mutual admiration that I frequently found myself counting the days that I must wait for his coming. Finally his visits grew less frequent; I did not ask him why he came so seldom, for I considered it none of my business; one of the waits proved longer than any before. He did not come for a year, but when he came he found me in my old haunt. This time he explained why his visits had been so far apart; his wife had been ill and he had lost her six months before; they had a child, a boy by adoption, and he could not well leave the little fellow. I insisted on his bringing his boy along next time.
“I had become so attached to this man of genial nature that I was quick to become interested in anything which was of importance to him. He came again in two weeks, and with him came the boy. I met them in the parlor of a hotel, and oh, how my heart fluttered as I saw the youngster; all the love, pity andcompassion of my happier days rushed back into the places of my nature, which had been devoid of anything sweet for the last six years. The boy was standing with his back to me talking to his father. As I approached with outstretched hand to welcome my friend, who stood with his back to the mirror, he reached out to clasp mine and stepped slightly to one side, revealing the complete image of the child in the mirror.
“God only knows what I suffered in that one brief second. The picture I saw there in the frame of the mirror was more vivid than any work of art ever produced. My own child stood beside me. The hardening process of years did much to assist me in my self-control. We went to dinner; my friend was aware of my unhappy state of mind and questioned me closely. I could not tell him the whole truth; I simply told him that I had been married and that I had had a boy so much like this adopted son that the sight of his boy had refreshed my memory, had recalled the sad hour of parting with him when I had to give him up.”
“‘And his father—is he dead, too?’ he asked, as he gently put his arm around me.
“‘Yes,’ I sobbed, ‘dead, everything is dead to me.’
“My sufferings must have touched the strings of his harp of love and caused a melody to re-echo from his soul.
“‘Come, and be a mother to my little chap,’ said he.
“‘Oh, please don’t! I beg of you not to punish me by such jests.’
“‘But I mean it.’
“I hope that God in his goodness will never allow any poor woman to suffer as I did. I would have gladlygone, but no, I could not marry one man when I was the legal wife of another. Oh, I wanted to go so much, but I could not. I loved my child too purely to go and be a mother to him, while I was mistress to the one whom he was to know as a father.
“That night ended my downward flight; I felt in my own mind that I had reached the bottomless pit of degradation, so low, so impure, so tainted with vice, that I dared not take my own child in my arms and lavish that love on him which was now consuming me, for fear that the taste of bliss would plunge me into a sea of desperation and cause me to commit myself in some way that would contaminate his sweet, young life.
“I had saved some money, enough to live on while I served an apprenticeship in a sewing shop. I have taught myself the lessons of economy and domesticity so necessary to one who intends to follow the life of humble purity.”