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 circumlocution. 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 class 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 assertion that I am 228 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 associations that surround that class of women.”
“Jenny Lind and Sarah Siddons redeem any class, no matter how much maligned.”
“But what assurance 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 229 ensue as an inexorable consequence, that I shall join some strolling ballet troupe, and out-Bayadère the Bayadères?”
“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.
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“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 230 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 assuredly some inches nearer sanctification than my poor little Salome. Don’t you think so? Be honest, dear.”
Miss Jane’s hand tenderly caressed the beautiful head; and, as Salome was too sullen or too much mortified to reply, the old lady continued,—
“Nevertheless, Ulpian is a true and devoted friend, and can not bear the thought of your leaving us, for any purpose, much less the one you contemplate. Last night he said, ‘Janet, I am her brother, and think you I shall allow my sister to go out from the sacred precincts of home, and become a target for the envy and malice of the better classes who will criticise her, and for the coarse plaudits of the pit? Do you suppose I can willingly see her bare feet turned towards a path paved with glowing ploughshares? Tell her, for me, that if ever she should carry her unfortunate freak into execution, I shall never wish to touch her hand again, for I shall feel that it has lost its purity in the clasp of many to whom she can not refuse it during a professional career.’”
The orphan lifted her head from the arm of Miss Jane’s chair, where it had rested for some minutes, and striking her palms forcibly together, she exclaimed, proudly,—
“Tell Dr. Grey I humbly thank him, but the threat has lost its sting; and if I should chance to meet him years hence, though my hands shall be pure and clean as Una’s, and as unsullied as his own,—so help me heaven! I will never thrust my touch on his, nor so far forget myself as to suffer his fingers to approach mine. When I pass from this threshold, we will have shaken hands forever.”
“Dr. Grey’s ears are not proof against such elevated, ringing tones of voice, and he could not avoid hearing, as he came 231 up the steps, the childish words which he assures you he has no intention of believing or remembering.”
He had tapped twice at the half-open door, and now came forward with a firm, quick step, to the ottoman where Salome sat. Taking her hands, he patted the palms softly against each other, and smiling good-humoredly, continued,—
“They are very white, and shapely, and pure, and I am not afraid that my little sister will soil them. Her brother looks forward to the day when they will gently and gracefully help him in his work among God’s suffering poor. I have not forgotten how dexterous and docile I found your fingers, when I had temporarily lost the use of my own, and I shall not fail to levy contributions of labor in the coming years.”
She had snatched her fingers from his, and no sooner had he ceased speaking, than she bowed haughtily, and answered,—
“Our reconciliations all belong to the Norman family, and are quite as lasting as Lamourette’s. Ceaseless war is preferable to a violated truce, and since I have not swerved from my purpose, I shall not falter in its enunciation. If I live it shall not be my fault if I fail to go upon the stage. I am not so fastidious as Dr. Grey, and one who sprang from canaille must be pardoned if she betrays a longing for the ‘flesh-pots of Egypt.’”
She would have given her right hand to recall her words,—when, a moment later, she met the gaze of profound pity and disappointment with which Dr. Grey’s eyes dwelt upon her countenance, hardened now by its expression of insolent haughtiness; but he allowed her no opportunity for retraction, even had she mastered her overweening pride, and stooping to whisper a brief sentence in his sister’s ear, he took a medical book from the table, and left the room.
The silence that ensued seemed interminable to Salome, and at last she turned, bowed her head in Miss Jane’s lap, and muttered through set teeth,—
“You see it is best that I should go. Even you must be weary of this strife.”
The old lady’s trembling hands were laid lovingly on the girl’s hot brow and scorched cheeks.
“Not half so weary as your own oppressed heart. My dear child, why do you persist in tormenting yourself so unmercifully? Why will you say things that you do not mean?—that are absolute libels on your actual feelings? I have often seen and deplored affectations of generosity and refinement, but you are the first person I ever met who delighted in a pretence of meanness, which her genuine nature abhorred. Salome, I have tried to prove myself a mother to you since the day that I took you under my roof; and now, when I am passing away from the world,—when a few short months will probably end my feeble life, I think you owe it to me to give me no sorrow that your hands can easily ward off. Don’t leave me. When I am gone there will be time and to spare, for all your schemes. Stay here, and let me have peace and sunshine about me, in my last fading hours. Ah, dear, you can’t be cruel to the old woman who has long loved you so tenderly.”
The orphan pressed the withered hands to her lips, and, covering her face with the folds of Miss Jane’s black silk apron, exclaimed passionately,—
“Do not think me ungrateful,—do not think me insensible to your love and kindness; but, indeed I am very miserable here. Oh, Miss Jane! if you knew how I have suffered, you would not chide, you would only pity and sympathize with me; for your heart will never steel itself against your poor wretched Salome!”
She lost control of herself, and sobbed violently.
“My dear little girl, tell me all your sorrows. To whom can you reveal your trials and griefs, if not to me? For some weeks past I have observed that you shunned my gaze, and seemed restless when I endeavored to discover how you were employing your time; and I have realized that you were sorely distressed, but I disliked to force your confidence, or appear suspicious. Now, I have a right to ask what makes you miserable in my house? Is the little girl ashamed to show me her heart?”
“One month since, I would have gone to the stake rather than have shown it to you, or have had any one dream of the wretchedness locked in its chambers; but a week ago I was overwhelmed with humiliation, and now I am not ashamed to tell you. Now that Dr. Grey knows it, I would not care if the whole world were hissing and jeering at my heels, and shouting my shame with a thousand trumpets. I tried to keep it from him, and failing, the world is welcome to roll it as a sweet morsel under its busy, stinging, slanderous tongue. Miss Jane, I have intended to be sincere in every respect, but it appears that, after all, I have probably been an arrant hypocrite if you believe that I dislike your brother. I want to go away, because I can no longer endure to live in the same house with Dr. Grey, who shows me more plainly every hour that he can never return the affection I have been idiotic and presumptuous enough to cherish for him. There! I have said it,—and my lips are not blistered by the unwomanly confession, and you still permit my head to rest in your lap. I expected you would be indignant and insulted, and gladly send such a lunatic from your family circle,—or that you would dismiss me coolly, with lofty contempt; but only a woman can properly pity a woman’s weakness, and you are crying over me. Ah, if your tears were falling on my grave, instead of my face!”
Miss Jane was weeping bitterly, but now and then she stooped and kissed the quivering lips of her unhappy charge, who found some balm in the earnest sympathy with which her appeal was received.
“My precious child, why should you be ashamed of your love for the noblest man who ever unconsciously became a woman’s idol? I do not much wonder at your feelings, because you have seen no one else in any respect comparable to him, and it is difficult for you to realize the disparity in your ages. Poor thing! It must be terrible, indeed, to one who loves him as you do, to have no hope of possessing his affection in return. But I suppose it can’t be helped,—and one half the world seem to pour out their love on the wrong persons, and find misery where they should have only joy and 234 peace. Thank God, all this mischief is shut out of heaven! Dear, don’t hide your face, as if you had stolen half of my sheep; whereas my poor innocent sailor-boy has unintentionally stolen my little girl’s heart.”
“Miss Jane, you are too good,—too kind. Do not help me to excuse myself,—do not teach me to palliate my pitiable weakness. It is a grievous, a shameful, a disgraceful thing, for a woman to allow herself to love any man who gives her no evidence of affection, and shows her beyond all doubt that he is utterly indifferent to her. This is a sin against womanly pride and delicacy that demands sackcloth and ashes, and penance and long years of humiliation and self-abasement; and I tell you this is the one sin which my proud soul will never pardon in my poor weak, despised heart.”
“If you feel this so keenly, you will soon succeed in conquering and casting out of your heart an affection, which, having nothing to feed upon, will speedily exhaust itself. You are young, and your elastic nature will rebound from the pressure that you now find so painful. My dear, a few months or years will bring comparative oblivion of this period of your life.”
“No; they will engrave more deeply the consciousness that I have missed my sole chance of earthly happiness, for Dr. Grey is the only man I shall ever love,—is the only man who can lift me to his own noble height of excellence. I know it is customary to laugh at a girl’s protestations of undying devotion, and that the theory of feminine constancy is as entirely effete as the worship of the Cabiri, or the belief in Blokula and its witches; but, unfortunately, the world has not sneered it entirely out of existence, and I am destined to furnish a mournful exemplification of its reality. Whether my nature is unlike that of the majority of women, I shall not undertake to decide; but this I know,—God gave me only so much love to spend, and I poured it all out, I deluged my idol with it, instead of doling it carefully through the future years. Like the woman of Bethany, I have broken my box of alabaster, and spilled all my precious ointment, which might have served for a lifetime of anointing, and I cannot 235 renew the shattered receptacle, nor gather back the wasted fragrance; and so my heart must remain without spikenard or balm during its earthly sojourn. I have been prodigal,—have beggared my womanly nature,—and henceforth shall feast on husks. But this piece of folly can be laid on no shoulders but my own, and I must not wince if they are galled by burdens which only I have imposed. Some women, under similar circumstances, console themselves by fostering a tender and excessive gratitude, which they pet and fondle and call second love; but the feeling belongs to a different species, and is to strong, earnest, genuine love, what the stunted pines of second growth are to the noble, stalwart, unapproachable oaks, that spring from the primitive virgin soil.”
Miss Jane lifted the bowed face, and rested the head against her bosom.
“If you are so thoroughly convinced of the impossibility of mastering this affection, why talk of going away? You will be happier here, under any circumstances, than among strangers.”
“Do not misapprehend me. I do not intend to cherish my weakness,—to caress and pamper it. I mean to strangle, and mangle, and bury it, if possible. I meant, not that I should always love Dr. Grey, but that I should never be able to regard any one else as I once loved him. I can not stay here, seeing him daily trample my alabaster and ointment under his feet. I can not endure the humiliation that has for some days past made this house more intolerable than I may one day find Phlegethon. I want to go into the whirl and din of life, where my thoughts can dwell on some more comforting theme than the peerless preëminence of the man who is master here, where I can spend hours in elaborating toilettes and coiffures that will show to the greatest advantage my small stock of personal charms; where the admiration and love of other men will at least amuse and soothe the heart that has no more love for anybody, or anything. Miss Jane, if I had never become so deeply attached to Dr. Grey, it might perhaps be unsafe for me to venture into the career which now lies before me; but when a woman’s heart is cold 236 and dead in her bosom, there is no peril she need fear; for only her warm, pleading heart, can ever silence the iron clang of conscience and the silvery accents of reason. Worshipping some clay god, my loving, yearning heart, might possibly have led me astray; but now, pride and ambition stand as sentinels over its corpse, and a heartless woman, desirous only of amassing a fortune and making herself a celebrity in musical circles, is as safe from harm as the bones of her grandmother, twenty years buried.”
The agony that convulsed the orphan’s features, and shivered the smoothness of her usually sweet voice, touched the old lady’s sympathy, and she wept silently; straining her imagination for some argument that would make an impression on the adamantine will with which she found her own in conflict.
“My child, tell me how long you have had this trouble. When did you first feel an interest in Ulpian?”
Unhesitatingly Salome related all that had occurred in her intercourse with Dr. Grey, and her companion was surprised at the frankness and mercilessness with which she analyzed her own feelings at each stage of the acquaintance that proved so disastrous to her peace of mind; and not only held her weakness up for scorn, but exonerated Dr. Grey from all censure.
The minuteness of the confession was exceedingly painful; and, at its conclusion, she pressed her palms to her cheeks, and moaned,—
“There, Miss Jane, I have not winced; I have kept back nothing. I have been as patient and inexorable in laying open my nature, in treating you to a post-mortem examination of my heart, as a dentist in scraping and chiselling a sensitive tooth, or a surgeon in cutting out a cancer that baffled cauterization. Now you know all that I can tell you, and I here lay the past in a sepulchre, and roll the stone upon it, and henceforth I trust you will respect the dead; at least, let silence rest upon its ashes. Hic jacet cor cordium.”
Salome extricated herself from the arms of her best friend, 237 and smoothed the hair that constant strokes had somewhat disordered.
“Salome, I can not live much longer.”
“I know that, dear Miss Jane, and it pains me even to think of leaving the only person who ever really loved me.”
“For my sake, dear child, bear the trial of remaining here a little longer; at least, until I die. Do not desert me in my last hours. I do not want the hands of strangers about me, when I am cold and stiff.”
Salome rose and walked several times up and down the room; then paused beside the easy-chair, and laid her clasped hands in Miss Jane’s.
“You alone have a right to control me. Do with me as you think best. I will not forsake the true, tender friend, who has done more for me than all else on earth, or in heaven. For the present I remain here; but allow me to say that I do not abandon my scheme. I relinquish none of its details,—I only bide my time.”
“‘Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ Thank you, my precious little girl, for yielding to my wishes when they conflict with yours. Some day you will rejoice that you made what seemed a sacrifice of inclination on the altar of duty. Now, listen to me. Ulpian is so enraptured with your voice, that, while he will never consent to this stage-struck madness, he is exceedingly anxious that you should enjoy every musical advantage, and is curious to ascertain to what degree of perfection your voice can be trained. After consulting me, he wrote two days ago to a celebrated professor of music in Philadelphia or New York (I really forget where the man is now residing), and offered him a handsome salary if he would come and teach you for at least six months, or as much longer as he deems requisite. I believe the gentleman is delicate and threatened with consumption, which obliges him to spend the winters in a warm climate, and Ulpian first met him in Italy. My boy thinks that the opinion of this Professor Von Somebody is oracular in musical matters; and, as he has trained some of the best singers in Europe, Ulpian wishes 238 him to have charge of your voice. Say nothing about it until we hear whether he can accept our offer. Kiss me.”
Salome’s face crimsoned, and she said, hesitatingly,—
“Miss Jane, I can not consent that Dr. Grey should contribute one cent toward my musical tuition. I can humbly and gratefully accept your charitable aid, but not his. You love me, and therefore your bounty is not oppressive or humiliating, but he only pities and tolerates me, and I would starve in some gutter rather than live as the recipient of his charity. If you can conveniently spare the money necessary to give me additional cultivation, I shall thankfully receive it, for Barilli has taught me all of which he is master, and there is no one else in town in whom I have more confidence. It was my desire and determination that the work of my hands should pay for polishing my voice, but embroidery-fees would not suffice to defray the expenses of the professor to whom you allude; and, if Dr. Grey pays for his services, I must in advance assure you and him that I shall decline them, and rely upon Barilli and myself.”
“Pooh! pooh! It is poor philosophy to quarrel with your bread and butter, no matter who happens to hand it to you. Don’t be so savage on Ulpian, who really cares more for you than you deserve. But if it comforts your proud, fierce spirit, you are welcome to know that I—Jane Grey—pay Professor Von—whatever his name may be; and Ulpian’s pocket, about which you seem so fastidious, will not be damaged one dollar by the transaction. Are you satisfied,—you pretty piece of beggarly pride?”
“I am more grateful to you, dear Miss Jane, than I shall ever be able to express. God only knows what would have become of me if you had not mercifully snatched me, soul and body, from the purlieus of ruin.”
She stooped to receive the fond kiss of her benefactress, and went into her own room.
Nearly an hour later she slowly descended the stairs, and took her hat from the stand in the hall. As she adjusted it on her head, and tied the ribbons behind her knot of hair, Mr. Granville came out of the parlor and seized her hand.
“Why will you torment me so cruelly? I have been waiting and watching for you, at least half an hour.”
She haughtily took her fingers from his, and indignantly drew herself up,—
“Mr. Granville presumes on his position as guest, to intrude upon some who do not desire his society. I was not aware, sir, that I had any engagement with you.”
“Forgive me, Salome! How have I offended you? If you could realize how much pleasure your presence affords me, you would not punish me by absenting yourself as you have persistently done for three days past.”
He bent his handsome face closer to hers, looking appealingly into her beautiful flashing eyes; but she put up her hands to push him aside, and answered,—
“I shall be happy to entertain you in the evenings, when the remainder of the household assemble in the parlor; and will, with great pleasure, sing for you whenever Miss Muriel will kindly oblige me by playing my accompaniments; but I prefer to confine our acquaintance to such occasions.”
“Will you not allow me the privilege of accompanying you in the walk for which you seem prepared?”
“No, sir; I respectfully decline your attendance.”
She saw his cheek flush, and he said, hastily,—
“Salome, I shall begin to hope that you fear to trust your own heart.”
“Do not forget yourself, sir. If you knew where my heart is housed, you would spare yourself the fruitless trouble, and me the annoyance, of attentions and expressions of admiration which I avail myself of this opportunity to assure you are particularly disagreeable to me. I wish to treat you courteously, as the guest of those under whose roof I am permitted to reside, but ‘thus far, and no farther,’ must you venture. Moreover, Mr. Granville, since we are merely comparative strangers, I should be gratified if you will in future do me the honor to recollect that it is one of my peculiarities,—one of my idiosyncrasies,—to prefer that only those I respect and love should call me Salome. Good afternoon, sir.”
She took her music-book, bowed coolly, and made her exit through the front door, which she closed after her.
In the hammock that was suspended on the eastern side of the piazza, Dr. Grey had thrown himself to rest; and meanwhile, to search for some surgical operation recorded in one of his books.
Just behind him a window opened from the hall, and to-day, though a rose-colored shade was lowered, the sash had been raised, and every word that was uttered in the passage floated distinctly to him.
The whole conversation occurred so rapidly that he had no opportunity of discovering his presence to the persons within, and though he cleared his throat and coughed rather spasmodically, his warning was unheeded by those for whom it was intended.
He knew that Salome could not possibly have guessed his proximity, as he was not accustomed to use this hammock, and was completely shielded from observation; and, while pained and surprised by Mr. Granville’s dishonorable course, which threatened life-long wretchedness for poor Muriel, Dr. Grey’s heart throbbed with joy at the assurance that Salome was not so ungenerous as he had feared. Probably no other human being would have so highly appreciated her conduct on this occasion; and, as he mused, with his thumb and forefinger thrust between the leaves of the book, a glad smile broke over his grave face.
“God bless the girl! Her prayers and mine have not been in vain, and she is putting under her feet the baser impulses that mar her character. Granville is considered by the world exceedingly handsome and agreeable, and many,—yes, the majority of women, would have yielded, and indulged in a ‘harmless flirtation,’ where Salome stood firm. There was something akin to the scornful ring of Rachel’s voice in that child’s tones, when she told Gerard he presumed on his position as guest; and I will wager my hand that her large eyes did not exactly resemble a dove’s when she informed him it was not his privilege to call her Salome. She has a fierce, imperious, passionate temper, that goads her into mischief; 241 but, after all, she is—she must be—nobler than I have sometimes thought her. God grant it! God bless her!”
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“But blame us women not,—if some appear Too cold at times; and some too gay and light. Some griefs gnaw deep. Some woes are hard to bear. Who knows the Past? And who can judge us right?” |