"This is my lady"s praise; G.o.d after many days Wrought her in unknown ways, In sunset lands; This was my lady"s birth, G.o.d gave her might and mirth And laid his whole sweet earth Between her hands.""
"Pray do not visit the sin of my stupidity upon that fascinating picture. I am not familiar with the lines you quote, but know that you have represented Nature, have embodied an ideal Isis, or Hertha, or Cybele; though I can not positively name the phase of the Universal Mother, which you have seized and perpetuated."
He caught her arm, and removed from her fingers the palette and brushes.
"Dr. Grey, it is more than either or all of the three you mention; for Persian mythology, like Persian wines and Persian roses, is richer, more subtle, more fragrant, more glowing than any other. That woman is "_Espendermad_.""
"Thank you; now I comprehend the whole. G.o.d has endowed you with wonderful talent. The fruit and flowers in that foreground must have cost you much labor, for indeed you seem to have faithfully followed the injunction of t.i.tian, "Study the effect of light and shade on a bunch of grapes." That luscious amber cl.u.s.ter lying near the poppies is tantalizingly suggestive of Rhineland, and of the vines that garland the hills of Crete and Cyprus."
A shade of annoyance and disappointment crossed the artist"s face.
"Now, I quite realize what Cespedes felt, when, finding that visitors were absorbed by the admirable finish of some jars and vases in the foreground of the "Last Supper," upon which he had expended so much time and thought, he called his servant and exclaimed in great chagrin, "Andres, rub me out these things, since, after all my care and study, people choose to see nothing but these impertinences.""
"If Zeuxis" grandest triumph consisted in painting grapes, you a.s.suredly should not take umbrage at my praise of that fruit on your canvas, which hints of Tokay and Lachrima Christi. I am not an artist, but I have studied the best pictures in Europe and America, and you must acquit me of any desire to flatter when I tell you that background yonder is one of the most extraordinary successes I have ever seen, from either amateur or professional painters."
Mrs. Gerome arched her black brows slightly, and replied,--
"Then the success was accidental, and I stumbled upon it, for I bestow little study on the backgrounds of my work. They are mere dim distances of bluish haze, and do not interest me, and, since I paint for amus.e.m.e.nt, I give most thought to my central figure."
"Have you forgotten the anecdote of Rubens, who, when offered a pupil with the recommendation that he was sufficiently advanced in his studies to a.s.sist him at once in his backgrounds, laughed, and answered, "If the youth was capable of painting backgrounds he did not need his instruction; because the regulation and management of them required the most comprehensive knowledge of the art.""
"Yes, I am aware that is one of the _dogmata_ of the craft, but Rubens was no more infallible than you or I, and his pictures give me less pleasure than those of any other artist of equal celebrity. Dr. Grey, if I am even a tolerable judge of my own work, the best thing I have yet achieved is the drapery of that form. Perhaps I am inclined to plume myself upon this point, from the fact that it was the opinion of Carlo Maratti that "The arrangement of drapery is more difficult than drawing the human figure; because the right effect depends more upon the taste of the artist than upon any given rules." That sweep of blue gauze has cost me more toil than everything else on the canvas."
"Pardon the expression of my curiosity concerning your modes of composition in these singular and quaint creations, for which you have no models; and tell me how this ideal presented itself to your imagination."
"Dr. Grey, I am not a great genius like Goethe, and unfortunately can not candidly echo his declaration, that, "Nothing ever came to me in my sleep." I can scarcely tell you when this idea was first born in my busy, tireless brain, but it took form one evening after I had read Charlotte Bronte"s "Woman t.i.tan," in "Shirley," and compared it with that glowing description of Jean Paul Richter, "And so the Sun stands at the border of the Earth, and looks back on his stately Spring, whose robe-folds are valleys, whose breast-bouquet is gardens, whose blush is a vernal evening, and who, when she rises, will be Summer."
Still it was vague, and eluded me, until I found somewhere in my most desultory reading, an account of "_Espendermad_," one of the six angels of Ormuzd, to whom was entrusted the guardianship of the earth.
That night I dreamed that I stood under a vine at Schiraz, gathering golden-tinted grapes, when a voice arrested me, and, looking over my shoulder, I saw that face peeping at me across a hedge of crimson roses. Next day I sketched the features as they had appeared in my dream, but I was not fully satisfied, and waited and pondered.
Finally, I read "Madonna Mia," and then all was as you see it now, startlingly distinct and palpable."
"Why did you not select some dusky-haired, dusky-eyed, olive-tinted oriental type, instead of a blonde who might safely venture into Valhalla as a genuine Celtic Iduna?"
"With the exception of the yellow locks, I suspect the face of my "_Espendermad_" might easily be matched among the maidens of the Caucasus, who furnish the most perfect types of Circa.s.sian beauty. You know there is a tradition that when Leonardo da Vinci chanced to meet a man with an expression of character that he wished to make use of in his work, he followed him until he was able to delineate the face on canvas; but, on the contrary, the countenances I paint present themselves to my imagination, and pursue me inexorably until I put them into pigment. I do not possess ideals,--they seize and possess me, teasing me for form and color, and forcing me to object them on canvas. Such is the _modus operandi_ of whims that give me my "_Espendermad_" praying to the Sun for benisons on the Earth, which she is appointed to guard. Ah, if like the lambkins and birds, I, too, could creep to the starry border of her azure robe, and lay my weary head down and find repose. Some day, if my mind ever grows calm enough, I want to paint a picture of Rest, that I can hang on my wall and look upon when I am worn out in body and soul, when, indeed,--
"My feet are wearied, and my hands are tired, My heart oppressed, And I desire, what I long desired, Rest,--only Rest.""
"My dear madam, unless you speedily change your present mode of life, you will not paint that contemplated picture, for a long rest will soon overtake you."
A gleam that was nearer akin to joy than any expression he had yet seen, pa.s.sed from eye to lip, and she answered, almost eagerly,--
"If that be true, it offers a premium for the continuance of habits you condemn so strenuously; but I dare not hope it, and I beg of you not to tantalize me with vain expectations of a release that may yet be far, far distant."
Dr. Grey"s heart stirred with earnest sympathy for this lonely hopeless soul, who, standing almost upon the threshold of life, stretched her arms so yearningly to woo the advance of death.
The room was slowly filling with shadows, and, leaning there against her easel, she looked as unearthly as the pearly forms that summer clouds sometimes a.s.sume, when a harvest-moon springs up from sea foam and fog, and stares at them. When she spoke again, her voice was chill and crisp.
"My malady is beyond your reach, and baffles human skill. You mean only kindness, and I suppose I ought to thank you, but alas! the sentiment of grat.i.tude is such a stranger in my heart, that it has yet to learn an adequate language. Dr. Grey, the only help you can possibly render me is to prolong Elsie"s life. As for me, and my uncertain future, give yourself no charitable solicitude. Do you recollect what Lessing wrote to Claudius? "I am too proud to own that I am unhappy. I shut my teeth, and let the bark drift. Enough that I do not turn it over with my own hands." Elsie is signalling for me. Do you hear that bell? Good-night, Dr. Grey."
CHAPTER XVIII.
"I have had a long conversation with Ulpian, and find him violently opposed to the scheme you mentioned to me several days since. He declares he will gladly share his last dollar with you sooner than see you embark in a career so fraught with difficulties, trials, and--"
Miss Jane paused to find an appropriate word, and Salome very promptly supplied her.
"Temptations. That is exactly what you both mean. Go on."
"Well, yes, dear. I am afraid the profession you have selected is beset with dangerous allurements for one so inexperienced and unsophisticated as yourself."
"Bah! Speak out. I am sick of circ.u.mlocution. What do you understand by unsophisticated?"
"Why, I mean,--well, what can I mean but just what the word expresses,--unsophisticated? That is, young, thoughtless, ignorant of the ways of the world, and the excessive cunning and deceit of human nature."
"Begging your pardon, it has another significance, which you will find if you look into your dictionary,--that blessed Magna Charta of linguistic rights and privileges. I do not claim the prerogatives of Ruskin"s cla.s.s of the "well educated, who are learned in the peerage of words; know the words of true descent and ancient blood at a glance, from words of modern _canaille_;" but I venture the a.s.sertion that I am sufficiently sophisticated to plunge into the vortex of public life, and yet keep my head above water."
"I don"t want to see my little girl an actress, or a _prima donna_, bold, forward, and eager to face a noisy, clamorous crowd, who feel privileged to say just what they please about her. It would break my heart; and, if you are bent on such a step, I hope you will wait, at least, till I am dead."
"You ought to be willing to see me do anything honest, that will secure my dependent brother and sister from want."
"The necessity of laboring for them is not especially imperative at this juncture, and why should you be more sensitive now than formerly?
Do not deceive yourself, dear child, but face the truth, no matter how ugly it may possibly be. It is not a sense of duty to the younger children, but an inflated vanity, that prompts you to parade your beauty and your wonderful voice on the stage, where they will elicit applause and flattering adulation. My little girl, that is the most dangerous, the most unhealthy atmosphere, a woman can possibly breathe."
"Pray tell me how you learned all this? You, who have spent your life in this quiet old house, who have been almost as secluded as some Cambrian Culdee, can really know nothing of that public life you condemn so bitterly."
"The history of those who have walked in the path you are now preparing to follow, proves the deleterious influences and ruinous a.s.sociations that surround that cla.s.s of women."
"Jenny Lind and Sarah Siddons redeem any cla.s.s, no matter how much maligned."
"But what a.s.surance have I, that, unlike the ninety-nine, you will resemble the one-hundredth?"
"Only try me, Miss Jane."
"Ah, child! A rash boy said the same thing when he tried to drive the sun, and not only consumed himself but nearly burned up the world. There is rather too much at stake to warrant such reckless experiments."
"Quit mythology,--it is not in your line,--and come back to stern facts and serious realities. Because I wish to dance a quadrille or cotillion, and acquit myself creditably, does it ensue as an inexorable consequence, that I shall join some strolling ballet troupe, and out-Bayadere the Bayaderes?"
"That depends altogether upon your agility and grace. If you could reasonably hope to rival your Hebrew namesake, I am afraid my little girl would think it "her duty" to dance instead of to sing, for the acquisition of a fortune; and insist upon executing wonderful things with her heels and toes, instead of her voice."
"You and Dr. Grey seem to have simultaneously arrived at the charitable conclusion that my heart is pretty much in the same condition that the Hebrew temple was, when Christ undertook to drive out the profane. Thongs in hand you two have overturned my motives, and, by a very summary court-martial, condemned them to be scourged out. Now, mark you, I am neither making change nor selling doves, and still less are you and your brother--Jesus. Dr. Grey does me the honor to indulge a chronic skepticism concerning the possibility of any good and unselfish impulse in my nature, and I am sorry to see that you have caught the contagious doubt of me, and of my motives."
She began the sentence in a challenging, sneering voice, but it was ended in a lower and faltering tone.
"While in the light of her large angry eyes, Uprose and rose a slow imperious sorrow."
"My dear, don"t attempt to whip Ulpian over my shoulders. You know very well that I have invested in you an amount of faith that the united censure of the world cannot shake; and if Ulpian does not follow my example, whose fault is it, I should be glad to know?
Evidently not his,--certainly not mine,--but undoubtedly yours. I have noticed that you took extraordinary care and a very peculiar pleasure in making him believe you much worse in all respects than you really are; and since you have labored so industriously to lower yourself in his estimation, it would be a poor compliment to your skill and energy if I told you that you had not entirely succeeded in your rather remarkable aim. Before he came home you were as contented, and amiable, and happy, as my old cat there on the rug; but Ulpian"s appearance affected you as the entrance of a dog does my maltese, who arches her back, and growls, and claws, as long as he is in sight. I am truly sorry you two could never agree, but I feel bound to tell you that you have only yourself to blame. I do not claim that my sailor-boy is a saint, but he is a.s.suredly some inches nearer sanctification than my poor little Salome. Don"t you think so? Be honest, dear."