Barriers Burned Away Page 29

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  LIFE WITHOUT LOVE

  As Dennis realized the truth, and remembered what he had said, hisface was scarcely less full of pain than Christine's. He saw that herwhole soul was bent on an imitation that none could detect, and thathe had foiled her purpose. But Christine's wound was deeper than that.She had been told again, clearly and correctly, that the sphere ofhigh, true art was beyond her reach. She felt that the verdict wastrue, and her own judgment confirmed every word Dennis uttered. Butshe had done her best; therefore her suffering was truly agony--thepain and despair at failure in the most cherished hope of life. Thereseemed a barrier which, from the very limitations of her being, shecould not pass. She did not fail from the lack of taste, culture, orskill, but in that which was like a sixth sense--something she did notpossess. Lacking the power to touch and move the heart, she knew shecould never be a great artist.

  Abruptly and without a word she left the room and store, accompaniedby the Winthrops. Dennis felt as if he could bite his tongue out, andChristine's face haunted him like a dreadful apparition. Wherever heturned he saw it so distorted by pain, and almost hate, that it scarcelyseemed the same that had smiled on him as he entered at her invitation.

  "Truly God is against all this," groaned he, to himself; "and what Iin my weakness could not do He has accomplished by this unlooked-forscene. She will now ever regard me with aversion."

  Dennis, like many another, thought he saw God's plan clearly from amere glimpse of a part of it. He at once reached this miserableconclusion, and suffered as greatly as if it had been God's will,instead of his own imagination. To wait and trust is often the latestlesson we learn in life.

  Mr. Ludolph's guests, absorbed in the pictures, at first scarcelynoticed the departure of the others.

  Christine, with consummate skill and care, kept her relationship tothe picture unknown to all save the Winthrops, meaning not toacknowledge it unless she succeeded. But in Dennis's startled andpained face she saw that he had read her secret, and this fact alsoannoyed her much.

  "I should like to know the artist who copied this painting," said Mr.Cornell.

  "The artist is an amateur, and not willing to come before the publicat present," said Mr. Ludolph, so decidedly that no further questionswere asked.

  "I am much interested in that young clerk of yours," said Mr. French."He seems to understand himself. It is so hard to find a gooddiscriminating judge of pictures. Do you expect to keep him?"

  "Yes, I do," said Mr. Ludolph, with such emphasis that his rival intrade pressed that point also no further.

  "Well, really, Mr. Ludolph," said one of the gentlemen, "you deal inwonders, mysteries, and all sorts of astonishing things yere. We havean unknown artist in Chicago deserving an ovation; you have in youremploy a prince of critics, and if I mistake not he is the same whosang at Brown's some little time ago. Miss Brown told me that he wasyour porter."

  "Yes, I took him as a stranger out of work and knew nothing of him.But he proved to be an educated and accomplished man, who will doubtlessbe of great use to me in time. Of course I promoted him when I foundhim out." These last remarks were made for Mr. French's benefit ratherthan for any one's else. He intended that his rival should knowinglyviolate all courtesy if he sought to lure Dennis away. After admiringthe paintings and other things recently received, the gentlemen bowedthemselves out.

  On leaving the store Mr. Winthrop--feeling awkward in the presence ofthe disappointed girl--had pleaded business, and bidden her adieu witha warm grasp of the hand and many assurances that she had succeededbeyond his belief.

  "I know you mean kindly in what you say," said Christine, while notthe slightest gleam lighted up her pale, sad face. "Good-by."

  She, too, was relieved, and wished to be alone. Miss Winthrop soughtto comfort her friend as they walked homeward.

  "Christine, you look really ill. I don't see why you take this matterso to heart. You have achieved a success that would turn any head butyours. I could not believe it possible had I not seen it. Your ambitionand ideal are so lofty that you will always make yourself miserableby aiming at the impossible. As Mr. Fleet said, I do not believe thereis another in the city who could have done so well, and if you can dothat now, what may you not accomplish by a few years more of work?"

  "That's the terrible part of it," said Christine, with a long sigh."Susie, I have attained my growth. I can never be a real artist andno one living can ever know the bitterness of my disappointment. I donot believe in the immortality that you do, and this was my only chanceto live beyond the brief hour of my life. If I could only have won formyself a place among the great names that the world will ever honor,I might with more content let the candle of my existence flicker outwhen it must. But I have learned to-day what I have often feared--thatChristine Ludolph must soon end in a forgotten handful of dust."

  "Oh, Christine, if you could only believe!"

  "I cannot. I tried in my last sickness, but vainly. I am more convincedthan ever of the correctness of my father's views."

  Miss Winthrop sighed deeply. "Why are you so despondent?" she at lastasked.

  As if half speaking to herself, Christine repeated the words, "'Paintedby one having never felt, or unable to feel, the emotions presented,and therefore one who cannot portray them.' That is just the trouble.I tried to speak in a language I do not know. Susie, I believe I amabout half ice. Sometimes I think I am like Undine, and have no soul.I know I have no heart, in the sense that you have." "I live a very coldsort of life," she continued, with a slight shudder. "I seemsurrounded by invisible barriers that I cannot pass. I can see, beyond,what I want, but cannot reach it. Oh, Susie, if you knew what I sufferedwhen so ill! Everything seemed slipping from me. And yet why I shouldso wish to live I hardly know, when my life is so narrowed down."

  "You see the disease, but not the remedy," sighed Susie.

  "What is the remedy?"

  "_Love_. Love to God, and I may add love for some good man."

  Christine stopped a moment and almost stamped her foot impatiently.

  "You discourage me more than any one else," she cried. "As to lovingGod, how can I love merely a name? and, even if He existed, how couldI love a Being who left His world so full of vile evils? As to humanlove, faugh! I have had enough of romantic attachments."

  "Do you never intend to marry?"

  "Susie, you are the friend of my soul, and I trust you and you onlywith our secret. Yes, I expect to marry, but not in this land. Youknow that in Germany my father will eventually be a noble, therepresentative of one of the most ancient and honorable families. Weshall soon have sufficient wealth to resume our true position there.A husband will then be found for me. I only stipulate that he shallbe able to give me position among the first, and gratify my bent forart to the utmost."

  "Well, Christine, you are a strange girl, and your dream of the futureis stranger still."

  "Sometimes I think that all is a dream, and may end like one. Nothingseems certain or real, or turns out as one expects. Think of it. Anobody who swept my father's store the other day has this morning madesuch havoc in my dream that I am sick at heart."

  "But you cannot blame Mr. Fleet. He did it unconsciously; he was goadedon to do it. No _man_ could have done otherwise. You surely do not feelhardly toward him?"

  "We do not naturally love the lips and bless the voice that tell usof an incurable disease. Oh, no," she added, "why should I think ofhim at all? He merely happened to point out what I half suspectedmyself. And yet the peculiar way this stranger crosses my path fromtime to time almost makes me superstitious."

  "And you seem to have peculiar power over him. He would have assuredlyleft us in the lurch at our tableau party had it not been for you, andI should not have blamed him. And to-day he seemed troubled and painedbeyond expression when he read from your face, as I imagine, that youwere the author of the picture."

  "Yes, I saw that he discovered the fact, and this provokes me also.If he should speak his thoughts--"r />
  "I do not think he will. I am sure he will not if you caution him."

  "That I will not do; and I think on the whole he has too much senseto speak carelessly of what he imagined he saw in a lady's face. Andnow, Susie, good-by. I shall not inflict my miserable self longer uponyou to-day, and I am one who can best cure my wounds in solitude."

  "Do you cure them, Christine? or do you only cover them up? If I hadyour creed nothing could cure my wounds. Time might deaden the pain,and I forget them in other things, but I do not see where any curecould come from. Oh, Christine! you did me good service when in thedeepening twilight of Miss Brown's parlor you showed me my useless,unbelieving life. But I do believe now. The cross is radiant to menow--more radiant than the one that so startled us then. Mr. Fleet'swords were true, I know, as I know my own existence. I could die formy faith."

  Christine frowned and said, almost harshly: "I don't believe in areligion so full of crosses and death. Why could not the all-powerfulBeing you believe in take away the evil from the world?"

  "That is just what He came to do. In that very character he was pointedout by His authorized forerunner: 'Behold the Lamb of God, that takethaway the sin of the world.'"

  "Why does he not do it then?" asked Christine, petulantly. "Centurieshave passed. Patience itself is wearied out. He has had time enough,if He ever meant or had the power to fulfil the promise. But the worldis as full of evil and suffering as ever. Susie, I would not disturbyour credulous faith, for it seems to do you good; but to me Christwas a noble but mistaken man, dead and buried centuries ago. He cando for me no more than Socrates. They vigorously attacked evil in theirday, but evil was too much for them, as it is for us. We must just getthe most we can out of life, and endure what we cannot prevent orescape. An angel could not convert me to-day--no, not even SusieWinthrop, and that is saying more still;" and with a hasty kiss shevanished.

  Susie looked wistfully after her, and then bent her steps homewardwith a pitying face.

  Christine at once went to her own private room. Putting on a loosewrapper she threw herself on a lounge, and buried her face in thecushions. Her life seemed growing narrow and meagre. Hour after hourpassed, and the late afternoon sun was shining into her room when shearose from her bitter revery, and summed up all in a few words spokenaloud, as was her custom when alone.

  "Must I, after all, come down to the Epicurean philosophy, 'Let useat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die'? I seem on a narrowisland, the ocean is all around me, and the tide is rising, _rising_. Itwill cover _soon_ my standing-place, and then what becomes of ChristineLudolph?"

  A look of anguish came into the fair young face, and a slight shudderpassed over her. She glanced around a room furnished in costly elegance.She saw her lovely person in the mirror opposite, and exclaimed: "Whata mystery it all is! I have so much, and yet so utterly fail of havingthat which contents. I have all that wealth can purchase; and multitudesact as if that were enough. I know I am beautiful. I can see thatyonder for myself, as well as read it in admiring eyes. And yet mymaid is better contented than I, and the boy who blacks the bootsbetter satisfied with his lot than either of us. I am raised so highthat I can see how much more there is or might be beyond. I feel likeone led into a splendid vestibule, only to find that the palace iswanting, or that it is a mean hovel. All that I have only mocks me,and becomes a means of torture. All that I am and have ought to be,might be, a mere prelude, an earnest and a preparation for somethingbetter beyond. But I am told, and must believe, that this is all, andI may lose this in a moment and forever. It is as if a noble strainof music commenced sweetly, and then suddenly broken down into a fewdiscordant notes and ceased. It is like my picture--all very well; butthat which would speak to and move the heart, year after year, whenthe mere beauty ceased to please--that life or something is wanting.What were his words?--'This picture is but the beautiful corpse ofthe other'; and my life is but a cold marble effigy of a true life.And yet is there any true and better life? If there is nothing betterbeyond, I have been carried forward too far. Miss Brown thoroughlyenjoys champagne and flirtations. Susie Winthrop is happy in hersuperstition, as any one might be who could believe what she does.But I have gone past the power of taking up these things, as I havegone past my childhood's sports. And now what is there for me? My mostdear and cherished hope--a hope that shone above my life like a sun--hasbeen blown away by the breath of my father's clerk (it required nogreater power to bring me down to my true level), and I hoped to bea queen among men, high-born, but crowned with the richer coronet ofgenius. I, who hoped to win so high a place that men would speak ofme with honest praise, now and in all future time, must be contentedas a mere accomplished woman, deemed worthy perhaps in time to gracesome nobleman's halls who in the nice social scale abroad may standa little higher than myself. I meant to shine and dazzle, to stoop togive in every case; but now I must take what I can get, with a humble'Thank you';" and she clenched her little powerless hands in impotentrevolt at what seemed very cruel destiny.

  She appeared at the dinner-table outwardly calm and quiet. Her fatherdid not share in her bitter disappointment, and she saw that he didnot, and so felt more alone. He regarded her success as remarkable (asit truly was), having never believed that she could copy a picture soexactly as to deceive an ordinarily good observer. When, therefore,old Schwartz and others were unable to distinguish between the pictures,he was more than satisfied. He was sorry that Dennis had spoiled thetriumph, but could not blame him. At the same time he recognized inFleet another and most decided proof of intelligence on questions ofart, for he knew that his criticism was just. He believed that whenthe true knight that his ambition would choose appeared, with goldenspurs and jewelled crest, then her deeper nature would awaken, and shefar surpass all previous effort. Moreover, he did not fully understandor enter into her lofty ambition. To see her settled in life, titled,rich, and a recognized leader in the aristocracy of his own land, washis highest aspiration so far as she was concerned.

  He began, therefore, in a strain of compliment to cheer his daughterand rally her courage; but she shook her head sadly, and said sodecidedly, "Father, let us change the subject," that with some surpriseat her feelings he yielded to her wish, thinking that a little timeand experience would moderate her ideas and banish the pain ofdisappointment. It was a quiet meal, both being occupied by their ownthoughts. Soon after he was absorbed for the evening by his cigar andsome business papers.

  It was a mild, summer-like night, and a warm, gentle rain was falling.Even in the midst of a great city the sweet odors of spring found theirway to the private parlor where Christine sat by the window, stilllost in painful thoughts.

  "Nature is full of hope, and the promise of coming life. So ought Ito be in this my spring-time. Why am I not? If I am sad and disappointedin my spring, how dreary will be my autumn, when leaf after leaf ofbeauty, health, and strength drops away!"

  A muffled figure, seemingly regardless of the rain, passed slowly downthe opposite side of the street. Though the person cast but a singlequick glance toward her window, and though the twilight was deepening,something in the passer-by suggested Dennis Fleet. For a moment shewished she could speak to him. She felt very lonely. Solitude had doneher no good. Her troubles only grew darker and more real as she broodedover them. She instinctively felt that her father could not understandher, and she had never been able to go to him for sympathy. He was notthe kind of person that any one would seek for such a purpose. Christinewas not inclined to confidence, and there was really no one who knewher deeper feelings, and who could enter into her real hopes for life.She was so proud and cold that few ever thought of giving herconfidence, much less of asking hers.

  Up to the time of her recent illness she had been strong,self-confident, almost assured of success. At times she recognizeddimly that something was wrong; but she shut her eyes to the unwelcometruth, and determined to succeed. But her sickness and fears at thattime, and now a failure that seemed to destroy the ambition of her
life, all united in greatly shaking her self-confidence.

  This evening, as never before, she was conscious of weakness anddependence. With the instinct of one sinking, her spirit longed forhelp and support. Then the thought suddenly occurred to her, "Perhapsthis young stranger, who so clearly pointed out the disease, may alsoshow the way to some remedy."

  But the figure had passed on. In a moment mere pride and conventionalityresumed sway, and she smiled bitterly, saying to herself, "What a weakfool I am to-night! Of all things let me not become a romantic missagain."

  She went to her piano and struck into a brilliant strain. For a fewmoments the music was of a forced and defiant character, loud, gay,but with no real or rollicking mirth in it, and it soon ceased. Thenin a sharp contrast came a sad, weird German ballad, and this was real.In its pathos her burdened heart found expression, and whoever listenedthen would not merely have admired, but would have felt. One songfollowed another. All the pent-up feeling of the day seemed to findnatural flow in the plaintive minstrelsy of her own land.

  Suddenly she ceased and went to her window. The muffled figure stoodin the shadow of an angle in the attitude of a listener. A moment laterit vanished in the dusk toward the business part of the city. The quickfootsteps died away, and only the patter of the falling rain broke thesilence. Christine felt sure that it was Dennis. At first her feelingwas one of pleasure. His coming and evident interest took somewhat,she scarcely knew why, from her sense of loneliness. Soon her prideawoke, however, and she said: "He has no business here to watch andlisten. I will show him that, with all his taste and intelligence, wehave no ground in common on which he can presume."

  Her father had also listened to the music, and said to himself:"Christine is growing a little sentimental. She takes thisdisappointment too much to heart. I must touch her pride with the spura little, and that will make her ice and steel in a moment. It is noslight task to keep a girl's heart safe till you want to use it. I willwait till the practical daylight of to-morrow, and then she shalllook at the world through my eyes again."