Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (8 page)

 
          
I
stood and looked about me with great satisfaction, thinking, “I cannot fail to
work well surrounded by such agreeable sights and sounds.” The house was very
still, for the turmoil of the city was subdued to a murmur, like the far-off
music of the sea; a soft gloom filled the room, divided by one strong ray that
fell athwart my picture, gifting it with warmth and light. Through a half-open
door I saw the green vista of a conservatory, full of fine blendings of color,
and wafts of many odors blown to me by the west wind rustling through orange
trees and slender palms; while the only sound that broke the silence was the
voice of a flame-colored foreign bird, singing a plaintive little strain like a
sorrowful lament. I liked this scene, and, standing in the doorway, was content
to look, listen and enjoy, forgetful of time, till a slight stir made me turn
and for a moment look straight before me w ith a startled aspect. It seemed as
if my picture had left its frame; for, standing on the narrow dais, clearly
defined against the dark background, stood the living likeness of the figure I
had painted, the same white folds falling from neck to ankle, the same shadowy
hair, and slender hands locked together, as if wrung in slow despair; and fixed
full upon my own the weird, unseeing eyes, w hich made the face a pale mask,
through which the haunted spirit spoke eloquently, with its sleepless anguish
and remorse.

 
          
“Good morning, Miss Eure; how shall I thank you?”
I began,
but stopped abruptly, for without speaking she waved me towards the easel w ith
a gesture which seemed to say, “Prove your gratitude by industry.”

 
          
“Very
good,” thought I, “if she likes the theatrical style she shall have it. It is
evident she has studied her part and will play it well,
1
will do the
same, and as Louis recommends, take the good the gods send me w hile I may.”

 
          
Without
more ado I took my place and tell to work; but, though never more eager to get
on, with each moment that I passed I found my interest in the picture grow less
and less intent, and with every glance at my model found that it w as more and
more difficult to look away. Beautiful she was not, but the wild and woful
figure seemed to attract me as no Hebe, Venus or sw eet-laced Psyche had ever
done. My hand moved slower and slower, the painted lace grew dimmer and dimmer,
my glances lingered longer and longer, and presently palette and brushes rested
on my knee, as 1 leaned back in the deep chair and gave myself up to an
uninterrupted stare. I knew that it was rude, knew that it was a trespass on
Miss Eure’s kindness as well as a breach of good manners, but I could not help
it, for my eyes seemed beyond my control, and though I momentarily expected to
see her color rise and hear some warning of the lapse of time, 1 never looked
away, and soon forgot to imagine her feelings in the mysterious confusion of my
own.

           
I was first conscious of a terrible
fear that I ought to speak or move, which seemed impossible, for my eyelids
began to be weighed down by a delicious drowsiness in spite of all my efforts
to keep them open. Everything grew misty, and the beating of my heart sounded
like the rapid, irregular roll of a muffled drum; then a strange weight seemed
to oppress and cause me to sigh long and deeply. But soon the act of breathing
appeared to grow unnecessary, for a sensation of wonderful airiness came over
me, and I felt as if I could float away like
a thistledown
.
Presently every sense seemed to fall asleep, and in the act of dropping both
palette and brush I drifted away, into a sea of blissful repose, where nothing
disturbed me but a fragmentary dream that came and went like a lingering gleam
of consciousness through the new experience which had befallen me.

 
          
I
seemed to be still in the quiet room, still leaning in the deep chair with half-closed
eyes, still watching the white figure before me, but that had changed. I saw a
smile break over the lips, something like triumph flash into the eyes, sudden
color flush the cheeks, and the rigid hands lifted to gather up and put the
long hair back; then with noiseless steps it came nearer and nearer till it
stood beside me. For awhile it paused there mute and intent, I felt the eager
gaze searching my face, but it caused no displeasure; for I seemed to be
looking down at myself, as if soul and body had parted company and I was gifted
with a double life. Suddenly the vision laid a light hand on my wrist and
touched my temples, while a shade of anxiety seemed to flit across its face as
it turned and vanished. A dreamy wonder regarding its return woke within me,
then
my sleep deepened into utter oblivion, for how long I
cannot tell. A pungent odor seemed to recall me to the same half wakeful state.
I dimly saw a womans arm holding a glittering object before me, when the
fragrance came; an unseen hand stirred my hair with the grateful drip of water,
and once there came a touch like the pressure of lips upon my forehead, soft
and warm, but gone in an instant. These new sensations grew rapidly more and
more defined; I clearly saw a bracelet on the arm and read the Arabic
characters engraved upon the golden coins that formed it; I heard the rustle of
garments, the hurried breathing of some near presence, and felt the cool sweep
of a hand passing to and fro across my forehead. At this point my thoughts
began to shape themselves into words, which came slowly and seemed strange to
me as I searched for and connected them, then a heavy sigh rose and broke at my
lips, and the sound of my own voice woke me, drowsily echoing the last words I
had spoken:

 
          
“Good morning, Miss Eure; how shall I thank you?”

 
          
To
my great surprise the well-remembered voice answered quietly:

 
          
“Good
morning, Mr. Erdmann; will you have some lunch before you begin?”

 
          
The
Artist and His Model

           
How I opened my eyes and got upon my
feet was never clear to me, but the first object I saw was Miss Eure coming
towards me with a glass in her hand. My expression must have been dazed and
imbecile in the extreme, for to add to my bewilderment the tragic robes had
disappeared, the dishevelled hair was gathered in shining coils under a
Venetian net of silk and gold, a white embroidered wrapper replaced the muslins
Lady Macbeth had worn, and a countenance half playful, half anxious, now smiled
where I had last seen so sorrowful an aspect. The fear of having committed some
great absurdity and endangered my success brought me right with a little shock
of returning thought. I collected myself, gave a look about the room, a dizzy
bow to her, and put my hand to my head with a vague idea that something was
wrong there. In doing this I discovered that my hair was wet, which slight fact
caused me to exclaim abruptly:

 
          
“Miss
Eure, what have I been doing? Have I had a fit?
been
asleep?
or
do you deal in magic and rock your guests
off into oblivion without a moment’s warning?”

 
          
Standing
before me with uplifted eyes, she answered, smiling: “No, none of these have
happened to you; the air from the Indian plants in the conservatory was too
powerful, I think; you were a little faint, but closing the door and opening a
window has restored you, and a glass of wine will perfect the cure, I hope.”

           
She was offering the glass as she
spoke. I took it but forgot to thank her, for on the arm extended to me was the
bracelet never seen so near by my waking eyes, yet as familiar as if my vision
had come again. Something struck me disagreeably, and I spoke out with my usual
bluntness.

           
“I never fainted in my life, and
have an impression that people do not dream when they swoon. Now
1
did,
and so vivid was it that 1 still remember the characters engraved on the
trinket you wear, for that played a prominent part in my vision. Shall I
describe them as proof of it, Miss Eure?”

 
          
Her
arm dropped at her side and her eyes fell for a moment as I spoke; then she
glanced up unchanged, saving as she seated herself and motioned me to do the
same:

 
          
“No,
rather tell the dream, and taste these grapes while you amuse me.”

 
          
I
sat down and obeyed her. She listened attentively, and when I ended explained
the mystery in the simplest manner.

 
          
“You
are right in the first part of your story. I did yield to a whim which seized
me when I saw’ your picture, and came
dow
n
en
costume
, hoping to help you by keeping up the illusion. You began, as
canvas and brushes prove; I stood motionless till you turned pale and regarded
me with a strange expression; at first I thought it might be inspiration, as
vour friend Yorke wmild sav, but presently you dropped everything out of your
hands and fell back in your chair. I took the liberty of treating you like a woman,
for I bathed your temples and wielded mv vinaigrette most energetically till
you revived and began to talk of‘Rachel, art, castles in the air, and your wife
Ladv Macbeth;’ then
1
slipped away and modernized myself, ordered some
refreshments for you, and waited till you wished me ‘Good-morning.’”

 
          
She
w
^r
as laughing so infectiously that
1
could not resist joining
her and accepting her belief, for curious as the whole affair seemed to me I
could account for it in no other wav. She was winningly kind, and urged me not
to resume my task, but I was secretly disgusted w ith myself for such a display
of weakness, and finding her hesitation caused solely by fears for me, I
persisted, and seating her, painted as I had never done before. Every sense
seemed unwontedly acute, and hand and eye obeyed me w ith a docility they
seldom showed. Miss Eure sat w here I placed her, silent and intent, but her
face did not wear the tragic aspect it had worn before, though she tried to
recall it. This no longer troubled me, for the memory of the vanished face was
more clearly before me than her own, and with but few and hasty glances at my
model, I reproduced it with a speed and skill that filled me with delight. The
striking of a clock reminded me that I had far exceeded the specified time, and
that even a woman’s patience has limits; so concealing my regret at losing so
auspicious a mood, I laid down my brush, leaving my work unfinished, vet glad
to know I had the right to come again, and complete it in a place and presence
which proved so inspiring.

 
          
Miss
Eure would not look at it till it was all done, saying in reply to my thanks
for the pleasant studio she had given me — “I was not quite unselfish in that,
and owe you an apology for venturing to meddle with your property; but it gave
me real satisfaction to arrange these things, and restore this room to the
aspect it wore three years ago. I, too, was an artist then, and dreamed
aspiring dreams here, but was arrested on the threshold of my career by loss of
sight; and hard as it seemed then to give up all my longings, I see now that it
was better so, for a few years later it would have killed me. I have learned to
desire for others what I can never hope for
myself,
and trv to find pleasure in their success, unembittered by regrets for my own
defeat. Let this explain my readiness to help you, my interest in your work and
my best wishes for your present happiness and future fame.”

 
          
The
look of resignation, which accompanied her words, touched me more than a flood
of complaints, and the thought of all she had lost woke such sympathy and pity
in my frosty heart, that I involuntarily pressed the hand that could never
wield a brush again. Then for the first time I saw those keen eyes soften and
grow dim with unshed tears; this gave them the one charm they needed to be
beautiful as w ell as penetrating, and as they met my own, so womanly sweet and
grateful, I felt that one might love her while that mood remained. But it
passed as rapidly as it came, and when we parted in the anteroom the cold,
quiet lady bowled me out, and the tender-faced girl wds gone.