Vashti Part 27

Respect for her wishes, however unreasonable, and respect for myself, would forbid an intrusion on my part."

"If you saw an utter stranger drowning, would fear of being considered presumptuous or impertinent prevent your trying to save him? Your self-love should not hold you back from a Christian duty."

"And you may rest a.s.sured that it never shall, when I feel that interference--no matter how unwelcome or ungraciously received--will prove beneficial. But remember that your mistress is eccentric and shrinking, and all efforts to befriend her must be made very cautiously."

"True, doctor; yet sometimes, instead of consulting her, it is best to treat her as a wilful child. I believe you could obtain some influence over her if you would only try to break the ice, because she has spoken kindly of you several times since I have been so helpless, and asked what she could do to show her grat.i.tude for your goodness to me. Yesterday she said she intended to direct Robert to take some fine fruit to your house, and she remarked that your eyes were, in comparison with other folks', what Sabbath is to working week-days,--were so full of rest, that tired anxious people might be refreshed by looking at them. Sir, that is more than I have heard her utter for seven years about anybody; and, therefore, I think you might do her some good."

Dr. Grey shook his head, but remained silent; and presently Elsie touched his arm, and continued,--

"There is something I wish to say to you before I die, but not now. I want you to promise me that when you see my end is indeed at hand, you will tell me in time to let me talk a little to you. Will you?"

"You may linger for months, and it is possible that you may die quite suddenly; consequently, it might be impracticable for me to fulfil the promise you require. Still, if I can do so, I will certainly comply with your wishes. Would it not be better to tell me at once what you desire me to know?"

"While I live it is not necessary that any one should know, and it is only when I am about to die that I shall speak to you. For my sake, for humanity's sake, try to become acquainted with my mistress and make her like you, as she certainly will, if she only knows you."

A tap at the door interrupted the conversation, and soon after, Dr.

Grey quitted the sick-room.

He paused in the hall to examine a fine copy of Landseer's "Old Shepherd's Chief Mourner," and, while he stood before it, a large greyhound started up from the mat at the front door, and bounded towards him. Simultaneously Mrs. Gerome appeared at the threshold of the parlor.

"Come here, sir! Poor fellow, come here!"

The dog obeyed her instantly; and, pressing close to her, looked up wistfully in her face.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gerome. I must thank you for coming so promptly to my a.s.sistance. I have never seen this dog until to-day, and, consequently, was not on my guard."

"He arrived only yesterday, and is so overjoyed to be with me once more that he allows no one else to approach."

"He is by far the handsomest dog I have ever seen in America."

"Yes, I had great difficulty in obtaining him. My agent a.s.sures me that he belongs to the best that are reared in the tribe of Beni Lam; and that he is a genuine Arab, there can be no doubt."

"How long have you owned him?"

"Two years. Unfortunately he was bitten by a snake one day while wandering with me among the ruins at Paestum, and was so singularly affected that I was forced to leave him at Naples. Various causes combined to delay his restoration to me until last week, when he crossed the Atlantic; and yesterday he went into ecstasies when I received him from the express agent. Hush! no growling! Down, sir!

Take care, Dr. Grey; he will bear no hand but mine, and it is rather dangerous to caress him, as you may judge from the fangs he is showing you."

The dog was remarkably tall, silky, beautifully formed, and of a soft mole-color; and around his neck a collar formed of four small silver chains, bore an oval silver plate on which was engraved in German text, "_Ich Dien--Agla Gerome_."

"I congratulate you upon the possession of such a treasure," said the visitor, with unfeigned admiration,--as, with the eye of a _connoisseur_, he noted the fine points about the sleek, slim animal, who eyed him suspiciously.

"Thank you. How is Elsie to-day?"

"More nervous than I have seen her since the accident, and some of her symptoms are rather discouraging, though there is no immediate danger.

Do not look so hopeless; she may be spared to you for many months."

"Why will you not let me hope that she may ultimately recover?"

"Because it is utterly futile, and I have no desire to deceive you, even for an instant. Good morning, Robert."

The gardener approached with a large basket filled with peaches and nectarines, and, taking off his hat, bowed profoundly.

"My mistress ordered these placed in your buggy, as I believe our nectarines ripen earlier than any others in the neighborhood."

"Thank you, Maclean. Mrs. Gerome is exceedingly kind, and I have an invalid sister who will enjoy this beautiful fruit. Those nectarines would not disgrace Smyrna or Damascus, and are the first of the season."

Robert pa.s.sed through the hall, bearing the basket to the buggy; and at that instant there was a startling crash, as of some heavy article falling in the parlor. The dog sprang up with a howl, and Dr. Grey followed Mrs. Gerome into the room to ascertain the cause of the noise. A glance sufficed to explain that a picture in a heavy frame had fallen from a hook above the mantelpiece, and in its descent overturned some tall vases, which now lay shattered on the hearth. Dr.

Grey lifted the painting from the rubbish, and, as he turned the canvas towards the light, Mrs. Gerome said,--

"'_Une tristesse implacable, une effroyable fatalite pese sui l'oeuvre de l'artiste. Cela ressemble a une malediction amere, lancee sur le sort de l'humanite._' There is, indeed, some fatality about that copy of Durer's 'Knight, Death, and the Devil,' which seems really ill-omened, for this is the second time it has fallen. Thank you, sir.

The frame only is injured, and I will not trouble you to remove it.

Let it lean against the grate, until I have it rehung more securely."

"It is too grim a picture for these walls, and stares at its companions like the mummy at Egyptian banquets."

"On the contrary, it impresses me as grotesque in comparison with Durer's 'Melancholy,' yonder, or with Holbein's 'Les Simulachres de la mort.'"

"Durer's figure of 'Melancholy' has never satisfied me, and there is more ferocity than sadness in the countenance, which would serve quite as well for one of the Erinney hunting Orestes, even in the adytum at Delphi. The face is more sinister than sorrowful."

"Since your opinion of that picture coincides so entirely with mine, tell me whether I have successfully grasped Coleridge's dim ideal."

Mrs. Gerome drew from a corner of the rear room an easel containing a finished but unframed picture; and, gathering up the lace curtain drooping before the arch, she held the folds aside, to allow the light to fall full on the canvas.

"Before you examine it, recall the description that suggested it."

"I am sorry to say that my recollection of the pa.s.sage is exceedingly vague and unsatisfactory. Will you oblige me by repeating it?"

"Excuse me; your hand is resting upon the book, which is open at the fragment."

Dr. Grey bowed, and, lifting the volume from the table glanced rapidly over the lines designated, then turned to the picture, where, indeed,

"Stretched on a mouldering abbey's broadest wall, Where ruining ivies propped the ruins steep, Her folded arms wrapping her tattered pall, Had Melancholy mused herself to sleep.

The fern was pressed beneath her hair, The dark green adder's tongue was there; And still as past the flagging sea-gale weak, The long, lank leaf bowed fluttering o'er her cheek.

That pallid cheek was flushed; her eager look Beamed eloquent in slumber! Inly wrought, Imperfect sounds her moving lips forsook, And her bent forehead worked with troubled thought."

The beautiful face of the reclining figure was dreamily hopeless and dejected, yet pathetically patient; and, in the strange amber light reflected from a sunset sea, the fringy shadow of a cl.u.s.ter of fern-leaves seemed to quiver over the pale brow and still mouth, and floating raven hair, where the green snake glided with crest erect and forked tongue within an inch of one delicate, pearly ear. The gray stones of the lichen-spotted wall, the graceful sweep of the shrouding drab drapery, whose folds clung to the form and thence swung down from the edge of the rocky battlement, the mouldering ruins leaning against the quiet sky in the rear, and the gla.s.sy stretch of topaz-tinted sea in the foreground, were all painted with pre-Raphaelite exactness and verisimilitude, and every detail attested the careful, tender study, with which the picture had been elaborated.

Was it by accident or design that the woman on the painted wall bore a vague, mournful resemblance to the owner and creator? Dr. Grey glanced from Durer's "Melancholy" to the canvas on the easel; then his fascinated eyes dwelt on the dainty features of the artist, and he thought involuntarily of another Coleridgean image,--of the "pilgrim in whom the spring and the autumn, and the melancholy of both, seemed to have combined."

"Mrs. Gerome, in this wonderful embodiment of Coleridge's fragmentary ideal you have painted your own portrait."

"No, sir. Look again. My 'Melancholia' has a patient face, hinting of possible peace. When I design its companion, 'Desolation,' I may be pardoned if my canvas reflects what always fronts it."

"May I ask when you wrought out this extraordinary conception?"

"During the past month. The last touch was given this morning, and the paint is not yet dry on that cl.u.s.ter of purplish seaweed clinging to the base of the battlement. Last night I dreamed that Coleridge stood looking over my shoulder and while I worked he touched the sea, and it flushed a ruby red brighter than laudanum; and then he leaned down, and with a pencil wrote _Dele_ across the fragment in his Sibylline Leaves.' To-day I tried the effect of the hint, but the amber water mellows the woman's features, and the ruby light rendered them sullen and rigid."

"Were I to judge from the _bizarre_ themes that you select, I should be tempted to fear that the wizard spell of opium evoked some of these strangely beautiful creations of your brush. What suggested this picture?"