 | CHAPTER XII. Vashti, or, "Until death us do part" |  |
12. CHAPTER XII.
“WELL, Ulpian, are you convinced that `Solitude' is an
unlucky place, and that misfortune dogs the steps of
all who make it a home? Once you laughed at my
`superstition.' What think you now, my wiseacre?”
“My opinion has not changed, except that each time I see
the place I admire it more and more; and, were it for sale, I
should certainly purchase it.”
“Not with the expectation of living there?”
“Most assuredly.”
Miss Jane had suspended for a moment the swift clicking of
her knitting-needles in order to hear her brother's reply, and
now she rejoined, almost sharply, —
“You will do no such silly thing while there is breath left in
my body to protest, or to persuade. Pooh! you only talk to
tease me; for five grains of observation and common sense will
teach you that there is a curse hanging over that old piratical
nest.”
“Dear Janet, when headstrong drivers persist in carrying a
pair of fiery, vicious horses into the midst of a procession of
out of their lazy jog-trot, it is not at all surprising that
snapped harness, broken carriage, torn flesh, and strained joints
should attest the folly of the experiment. The accident occurred
not far from my office, which is haunted by nothing worse than
your harmless sailor-boy.”
“All very fine, my blue-eyed oracle, but I notice that the
horses belonging to `Solitude' were the only ones that made
mischief and came to grief; and I promise you that all the
hawsers in Gosport Navy-Yard will never drag me inside the
doomed place. How is your patient? If you expect her to
get well, you had better take a `superstitious' old woman's
counsel, and send her away from that valley of Jehoshaphat.”
“I am very sorry to tell you that she was more seriously hurt
than I was at first inclined to believe. Her spine was so badly
injured that although there is no danger of immediate death, she
will never be able to sit up or walk again. She may linger
many months, possibly years; but must, as long as life lasts,
remain a bed-ridden cripple. It is one of the saddest cases I
have had to deal with during my professional career; and Elsie
Maclean bears her sufferings with such noble fortitude, such
genuine Christian patience, coupled with stern Scotch heroism,
that I cannot withhold my admiration and earnest sympathy.
Yesterday I held a consultation with four physicians, and, when
we told her the hopelessness of her condition, she received the
announcement without even a sigh, and seemed only to dread
that instead of an assistant she might prove a burden to her
mistress.”
“She appears to be a very important personage in the
household.”
“Yes; she is Mrs. Gerome's nurse, housekeeper, and counsellor,
— and I have rarely seen such warm affection as exists
between them. I wish, Janet, that you were strong enough to
call at `Solitude,' for its mistress leads a lonely, secluded life,
and must require some society.”
“But, Ulpian, I hear strange things about her, and it is
hinted that she is deranged.”
“Your knowledge of human nature should teach you how
little truth is generally found in the floating on dits of social
circles.”
“How long has she been widowed?”
“I do not know, but presume that her affliction has not been
very recent, as she wears no mourning.”
“If she has discarded widow's weeds, and dresses in colors,
why should she taboo society, and make herself the town-talk
by refusing to receive even the clergy and their wives? She
has lived here ten months, and I understand from Dolly Spiewell
that not a soul has ever seen her. Of course such
eccentricities provoke gossip and tickle the tongue of scandal,
and if the world can't find out the real cause of such conduct,
it very industriously sets to work and manufactures one.”
“Which, in my humble opinion, constitutes a piece of unwarrantable
impertinence on the part of meddling Mrs. Grundy.
The world might be more profitably engaged in mending its own
tortuous and mendacious ways, and allowing poor solitary
wretches to fondle their whims and caprices. If Mrs. Gerome
does not choose to receive visitors, what right has the public to
grumble, or even discuss the matter?”
As Salome spoke, she plunged her stiletto vigorously into a
piece of cambric, and her thin lip curled contemptuously.
“Abstractly true, my dear child; but, from the beginning of
time, people have meddled; and, since gossip she must, even
Eve chatted too freely with serpents. Besides, since we are in
the world, we should not turn eremites, and bristle at the sight
of one of our own race; for society has a few laws that are inexorable,
— that cannot be violated without subjecting the
offender to being stung to death by venomous tongues; and
one of these statutes is, that all shall see and be seen, shall
talk and be talked about, and shall visit and be visited. When
a woman unaccountably turns recluse, she is at the mercy of
public imagination, stimulated by disappointed curiosity; and
very soon the verdict goes forth that she is either deformed or
deranged.”
“I dispute the prerogative of the public to dictate in such
little finger across my path. What, pray tell me, is the world,
but an aggregation of persons like you and me, and what
possible concern can you or I have with the fact that Mrs.
Gerome burrows like a mole, beyond our sight? If she sees fit
to found a modern sect of Troglodytes, I can't understand that
the wheels of society are thereby scotched, or that the public
has a shadow of right to raise a hue-and-cry and strive to unearth
her, as if she were a fox, a catamount, or a gopher. It
is useless for society to constitute itself a turning-lathe for
rounding off all individual angularities, and grinding people
down to dull uniformity until they are as indistinguishable as
a bag of unpainted marbles or of black-eyed peas; and, if God
had intended that we should all invariably think, feel, and act
after one pattern, He would have populated the world with
Siamese twins; whereas, the first couple that were born on
earth were so dissimilar that all the universe was not wide
enough to hold them both, and manslaughter began when the
race only numbered a quartette. If mankind had not arrogated
the privilege of being its `brother's keeper,' it would never have
been forced to deny the fact. I admire the honesty and truth
with which Alexander Smith bravely confessed, `I love a little
eccentricity; I respect honest prejudices. It is high time, it
seems to me, that a moral game-law were passed for the preservation
of the wild and vagrant feelings of human nature.'”
“That is a dangerous doctrine, my dear child, especially for a
woman to entertain; because custom rules us with an iron rod,
and flays us alive if we contravene her decrees.”
“I should be exceedingly glad to learn by what authority or
process Truth is provided with sex? Are some orthodox
doctrines female and others male? Why have not we women
as clear a right to any given set of principles as men? Truth
is as much my property as that of the Czar of Russia, and, if I
choose to lay hold of any special province of it, why must
I perforce be dragged to the whipping-post of custom, simply
because by an accident I am called Susan or Hepzibah instead
of Peter or Lazarus? So long as my convictions of truth
perfect and inalienable right to indulge them; but the instant
I become pestiferous to society, let me be consigned to the
tender mercies of strait-jacket and insane-asylum regimen. If I
creep quietly along my own intellectual and ethical trail, taking
heed not to touch the sensitive toes of custom, why should it
ungenerously insist upon bruising mine? My seer was right
when he boldly declared, `The world has stood long enough
under the drill of Adjutant Fashion. It is hard work, the
posture is wearisome, and Fashion is an awful martinet, and
has a quick eye, and comes down mercilessly on the unfortunate
wight who can not square his toes to the approved
pattern. It is killing work. Suppose we try `standing at
ease' for a little while?' Wherefore, custom to the contrary
notwithstanding, I contend that Mrs. Gerome has as indisputable
a right to refuse admittance to Rev. Mrs. Spiewell as any
anchorite of the Nitrian Sands to decline receiving a bevy of
inquisitive European belles. If society rules like Russia or
Turkey, then am I a candidate for knout and bastinado. I do
not wish to be unwomanly, and honesty and candor are not
necessarily unfeminine, because some coarse, rough-handed,
bold-eyed woman has possibly rendered them unpopular.”
Miss Jane laid down her knitting, folded her hands, and, as
she watched the girl, her emotions were probably similar to
those that agitate some meek and staid hen, who, leading a
young brood of ducks from her nest, suddenly beholds them displaying
their aquatic proclivities by plunging into the horsepond,
and performing all the evolutions of a regatta.
“Ah, child, I fear you think too little of what you wish or
intend to make yourself!”
“Only have patience, Miss Jane, and some day I will show
you all the graces of Griselda and Gudrun the second. Dr.
Grey, have you seen Mrs. Gerome?”
“Yes, — on two occasions.”
“Is she not the most extraordinary and puzzling person you
ever looked at?”
“When and where could you have met her?”
“For a few minutes only, last winter, I saw her on the beach,
near `Solitude.' We exchanged a half-dozen words, and she
left an impression on my mind which all time will not efface.
Since that evening I have frequently endeavored to surprise her
on the same spot, but only once I succeeded in catching a
glimpse of a blue shawl that fluttered in the distance. She
seemed to me a beautiful, pale priestess, consecrated to the
ministry of the shrine of sorrow; and, when I hear snubbed-dom
sneering at her, and remember the hopeless expression with
which her wonderful, homeless eyes looked out across that grey,
silent sea, — I cannot avoid thinking that she is very wise in
barring her doors, and heeding the advice of Montenebi,
`Complain not of thy woes to the public: they will no more
pity thee than birds of prey pity the wounded deer.'”
“My acquaintance with Mrs. Gerome is too slight to warrant
the utterance of an opinion relative to her idiosyncrasies, but
I am afraid cynicism rather than grief immures her from society.
Her prematurely white hair and the remarkable pallor of her
smooth complexion combine to render her appearance piquant
and unnatural; and, certainly, there is something in her face
strangely suggestive of old Norse myths, mystery, and magic.
Her features, when analyzed, prove faultlessly regular, but her
life is out of tune, and the expression of her countenance mars
what would otherwise be perfect beauty. I can, in some degree,
describe the impression she produced upon me by quoting the
lines that were suggested when I saw her this morning, standing
by Elsie Maclean's bed, —
Night and new morning strive for domination;
Incomparably pale, and almost fair,
And sad beyond expression.
Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem,
Were stately, like the stars, and yet were tender;
Her figure charmed me, like a windy stem,
Quivering, and drooped, and slender.
She measured measureless sorrow toward its length,
And breadth, and depth, and height.'”
Salome looked up from the eyelet she was working, but Dr.
Grey had turned his head towards his sister who had fallen
asleep in her chair, and the orphan could not see his face.
“Mrs. Gerome must have been very young when she married,
and —”
“Hush! Janet looks so weary that I want her to have a long
nap, and our voices might disturb her.”
He took his hat and gloves and left the room, and Salome
forgot her embroidery and fell into a reverie that proved
neither pleasant nor profitable, and lasted until Miss Jane
awoke.
In the afternoon of the following day, when the orphan returned
from her clandestine visit to the Italian musician, she
saw an unusual number of persons on the front gallery, and
found that the long-expected party from New York had arrived
during her absence. Miss Jane was talking to the governess —
a meek-looking, but exceedingly handsome woman, of twenty-seven
or eight years, with fair hair and quiet brown eyes; and
every detail of her dress, speech, and bearing averred that Edith
Dexter was no humble scion of proletariat. Her polished yet
reserved manners bespoke high birth and aristocratic associations;
but something in the composed, sad countenance, in
the listless drooping of the pretty head, hinted that she had
long since spilt the rosy sparkling foam of her cup of life, and
was patiently drinking its muddy lees.
On the upper step sat Dr. Grey, with his arm encircling the
form of his ward, whose head rested very confidingly against his
shoulder. Muriel Manton was dressed in deep mourning, and
had evidently been weeping, for her guardian was tenderly
wiping the tears from her cheek when Salome came up the
avenue; and, with a keen, jealous pang that she had never
felt before, the latter scanned the stranger's claims to beauty.
Very black eyes, brilliant complexion, and fine teeth, she certainly
possessed; but her features were rather coarse; her mouth
was much too large for classic requirements; and Salome was
rejoiced to find her nose indisputably retroussé.
Years hence she would doubtless be a large, well-formed,
velvet to the best advantage, and would be considered a fine-looking,
rosy, robust personage; but at present the face, which
from under a small straw hat anxiously watched hers, was infinitely
handsomer, more attractive, more delicate, and intellectual;
and the miller's child felt that she had little to apprehend
from the merely personal charms of the wealthy ward.
Salome felt injured as she eyed the doctor's arm, which had
never touched even her shoulder; and it was painful and humiliating
to notice the affectionate manner in which his hand
stroked one of Muriel's that lay on his knee, — and to remember
that his fingers had not met hers in a friendly grasp since long
before his visit to Europe, — had only clasped hers twice
during their acquaintance.
“Come in, Salome, and let me introduce you to my ward
Muriel, and to Miss Dexter, who is prepared to receive you as
a pupil.”
Muriel silently held out her hand; but Salome only bowed
and run lightly up the steps, as if she did not perceive the outstretched
fingers. Miss Dexter rose and advanced to meet her,
saying, in a tone that indexed great kindness of heart, —
“I am exceedingly glad to meet you, Miss Salome; for Dr.
Grey has promised that I shall find in you a most exemplary
and agreeable pupil.”
“Thank you. I am indeed glad to hear that he has changed
his opinion of me; and I must endeavor not to lose my newly
acquired amiable character, — but he was rather rash to stand
security for my good behavior.”
She saw that Dr. Grey was surprised at her cold reception of
his pet and protegé, and perversity took possession of her.
Going to the back of Miss Jane's old-fashioned rocking-chair,
she put her arms around her, and, leaning over, kissed her cheek
several times. It was not her habit to caress any one or any
thing, — not even her little brother, — and this unusual demonstrativeness
puzzled and surprised the old lady who said,
fondly,—
“I presume Ulpian is brave enough to encounter all the risks
of standing security for your obedience and docility.”
“Certainly I appreciate his chivalry, since none knows better
than he the danger — nay, probability, of a forfeiture of the
contract on my part.”
Dr. Grey rose, and, looking steadily at her, said, in a tone
which she well understood, —
“Promises are, in my estimation, peculiarly sacred things;
and that which I made to Miss Dexter in your behalf was based
upon one that I gave you some time since, namely, that I would
have faith in you. Come with me, Muriel; I want to show you
and Miss Dexter the finest cow this side of Ayrshire, and
some sheep that are handsome enough to compare favorably
with the best that ever browsed in the `Court of Lions.'”
He took his ward's hand and led her away to the cattle-yard,
whither Miss Dexter accompanied them.
As Salome looked after the trio her eyes flashed and scarlet
spots burned on her cheeks, while a feeling of suffocation
oppressed her heart.
“Why will you vex him, when you know that he tries so hard
to like you?” asked Miss Jane in a distressed tone, stroking
the girl's hot face, as she spoke.
The head was instantly lifted beyond her reach, and the answer
came swiftly, sharp and defiant, —
“Do you mean to say that it is so extremely difficult for him
to tolerate me?”
“You are obliged to know that you are not one of his favorites,
like that sweet-tempered Muriel, to whom he seems so
warmly attached; and it is all your own fault, for he was disposed
to like you when he first came home. Ulpian loves quiet
and amiable people, who are never rude and snappish; and it
appears to me that you are trying to see how hateful and spiteful
you can be. Why upon earth did you not shake hands with
those strangers, and treat them politely?”
“Because I don't choose to be hypocritical, — and I don't like
Miss Muriel Manton.”
“Nonsense! Stuff! I only wish you were half as well-bred
and courteous, and lady-like.”
“Do you, really? Then, to be obedient and, oblige you,
when they come back, I will imitate her example, and throw
myself into Dr. Grey's arms, and rub my cheek against his
shoulder, and fondle his hands. If this be `lady-like,' then,
indeed, I penitently cry `peccavi!' and promise that in future
you shall not have cause to complain of me.”
“Pooh, pooh, child! What ails you? Muriel has known
Ulpian all her life, and looks upon him now as her father. He
has petted her since she was a little girl, and loves her almost
as well as if she were his child, instead of his ward. You know
she is an orphan; and it is very natural for her to cling to her
guardian, who was for a great many years her father's most
intimate friend.”
“We are both orphans, and she is certainly not my junior;
yet your propriety would be shocked if I behaved as she does.
Where is Stanley?”
“Studying his geography lesson, with the assistance of the
globe, in the library. What do you want with him?”
“I am going to the beach, and wish him to walk with me.”
“It is too late for you to start for the sea-side, and, moreover,
it would appear very discourteous in you to absent yourself
the first evening that these strangers spend here. Ulpian
would be displeased.”
“According to your statement a few minutes since, that is
his chronic condition, as far as I am concerned; and, as I do not
belong to the mimosa species, I think I may brave his frowns.”
“That is not the worst you have to apprehend. Child, I
think it would be bitter indeed, to bear Ulpian Grey's contempt.”
“I shall take care not to deserve it; and Dr. Grey never forgets
to be just.”
“My dear little girl, what right have you to be jealous of his
love for his young ward?”
The flame that was slowly dying out of her face leaped up
fiercer than before, and she crimsoned to the edges of her hair.
“Jealous! Good heavens, Miss Jane, you must be dreaming!
I merely question the taste that allows his `lady-like'
favorite to caress him so openly, and should not have expressed
my disapprobation so strongly if you had not rated me soundly,
and held her up as a model for my humble imitation. If she
and her governess are to stir up strife between you and me, I
shall heartily wish them a speedy passage to Halifax or heaven.
Beyond all peradventure I shall get murderously jealous if you
dare to give this sloe-eyed, peony-faced girl, my place in your
dear old heart. She, of course, will fondle her guardian as
much as she pleases, or as often as he sees fit to allow; but woe
unto her if I catch her hands and lips about you, my dearest
and best friend! Don't scold me and praise her, or some fine
day I shall jump at and strangle her, which you know would
not be `well-bred' or `lady-like,' much less moral and Christian.”
She almost smothered the old lady in her arms, and kissed
her several times.
“What has stirred up the evil spirit in you? You look as
wicked as your mother Herodias, thirsting for the blood of
John the Baptist; or as Jezebel plotting against the prophet —”
“And telling me that like her I am `going to the dogs' is not
the surest way to reform me. Stanley! Stanley! get your hat
and come here.”
“Your awful temper will be your ruin if you don't put a
curb-bit on it. See here, Salome, don't be so utterly silly
and childish! I do not wish you to go to the sea-shore this
evening.”
“Please, Miss Jane, don't order me to stay at home, because,
then, of course, I should feel bound to obey you, and I should
not behave prettily, and you would wish me at the bottom of
the sea, instead of on its brink. Let me go, and I will come
back cool as a cucumber, and well-behaved as Miss Muriel
Manton. Please don't prohibit me; and I promise I will lose
my evil spirit in the sea, like that Gergesene wretch that
haunted the tombs. Here comes Stanley. Don't shake your
head. I am off.”
Miss Jane would not receive the proffered farewell kiss; but
tears gathered and dimmed her eyes as she looked after the graceful,
girlish figure, swiftly crossing the lawn; and sad forebodings
filled her affectionate heart when she thought of the unknown
future that stretched before that impetuous, jealous, imperious
nature.
Anxious that the strangers should feel thoroughly welcome
and at home, she joined them as soon as possible after their
return from the sheepfold, and exerted herself to keep the
shuttlecock of conversation in constant motion; but her
brother's watchful eyes discerned the perturbed feeling she
sought to hide; and, when she insisted, for the first time in two
years, upon taking her seat and presiding at the tea-table, he
busied himself in arranging her cushions comfortably, and
whispered, —
“How good and considerate you are, my precious sister. A
thousand thanks for this generous effort, which I trust will not
fatigue you.”
He placed himself opposite, and was about to ask a blessing
on the meal, but paused to inquire, —
“Where are the children, Salome and Stanley?”
“They have gone down to the beach, and we will not wait
for them.”
Soon after, Muriel said, —
“I think Salome is almost beautiful. She has splendid eyes
and hair. Miss Edith, does she not remind you of a piece of
sculpture at Naples?”
“Yes; I noticed a resemblance to the Julia-Agrippina, and
the likeness must be remarkable, since it impressed us simultaneously.
Salome's brow is fuller, and her chin more prominent
than that of the Roman woman we admired so ardently;
and, besides, I should judge that she had quite as much or more
will than the daughter of Germanicus, for her lips are thinner.”
Dr. Grey changed the topic of conversation, and Miss Dexter
courteously followed the cue.
The moon was high in heaven when Salome and her brother
came up the avenue; and, observing that the lights were extinguished
had retired very early, in consequence of fatigue from their long
journey. Sending Stanley to bed, she sat down on the steps to
rest a few moments before going upstairs, and began to fan
herself with her straw hat.
She had grown very calm, and almost ashamed of her passionate
ebullition in the presence of strangers; and numerous
good resolutions were sending out fibrous roots in her heart.
How long she rested there she knew not, and started when she
Dr. Grey said, in a subdued voice, —
“Salome, I am waiting to lock the door, and should be glad
if you will come in now, or be careful to secure the inner bolt
whenever you do. As I always shut up the house, I was afraid
you might not think of it; and burglaries are becoming alarmingly
frequent.”
She rose instantly, and entered the hall.
“What time is it?”
“Eleven o'clock.”
“Is it possible? You know, sir, that the evenings are very
short now.”
“Yes.”
He was removing a chair from the gallery and closing the
Venetian blinds, and she could not see his face. Hoping to
receive some friendly look, which she was painfully aware she
did not deserve, she loitered till he turned around.
“Salome, have you a light in your room?”
“I do not know, but suppose so.”
“There are two candles in the library, and you had better
take one, rather than stumble along in the dark and wake
everybody.”
He brought out one, and handed it to her.
“Thank you. Good-night, Dr. Grey.”
“Good-night, Salome.”
The candle-light showed no displeasure in his countenance,
which was calm as usual, and there was not a hint of harshness
in his unwontedly low voice; but she read disappointment in
his grave, kind eyes. She knew that she could not sleep until
great effort to conquer her pride, she said, humbly, —
“`And if he trespass against thee seven times in a day, and
seven times in a day turn again to thee, saying, I repent, — thou
shalt forgive him.'”
“Yes; but the frequency of the offence renders it difficult to
believe the repentance genuine.”
“Christ, your master, did not doubt it.”
“I am less than the disciples whom he addressed; and they
answered, `Increase our faith.'”
“You did not pray for me this morning.”
“I never neglect my promises. Why do you doubt that I
fulfilled them this morning?”
“This has been one of my sinful days, when Satan runs
rough-shod over all my good intentions, and drags me through
the mire that I was trying to hold my soul far above. I tell
you, sir, that the `unclean spirit' that vexed the daughter of
the Syrophœnician woman was mild, and harmless, and well-mannered,
in comparison with the demon that takes bodily possession
of me, and whose name is not `Suset'! but a fearful
Ruach demanding the ban Cherem. I once thought all that
part of Scripture which referred to the casting out of devils
was metaphorical; but I know better now; for the one that
Luther assaulted with his inkstand was not more palpable than
that which enters into my heart every now and then, and overturns
the altars of the `true, good, and beautiful,' and sets up
instead a small hall of Eblis, as full of horrible, mis-shapen
things as that hideous `Last Judgment' of Orcagna, in the Campo
Santo at Pisa, which you once showed me in a portfolio of engravings.
Oh, Dr. Grey! you ought to be merciful to me; for
indeed God gave me a fearfully wicked and cunning spirit for a
perpetual companion and tempter. Even Christ had Lucifer
and Quarantina.”
“Yes, and conquered both, and promised assistance to all
who earnestly desire and resolve to follow his example.”
“You cannot forgive my rudeness?”
“The act of incivility was very slight; but, my young friend,
my mind with serious apprehension concerning your future. Of
course, I can very readily forgive the occasion that displayed it,
but I cannot entirely forget the spirit that distresses me when
I least expect it.”
“If you will dismiss this afternoon from your mind, I will
never —”
“Stop! Make me no more promises till you are strong
enough to keep them inviolate. Promise less and pray more;
I am not angry, but I am disappointed.”
She drooped her head to avoid his grave, sad gaze, and for a
moment there was silence.
“Dr. Grey, will you shake hands with me, in token of pardon?”
“Certainly, if you wish it.”
He took her hand in both of his, pressed it kindly, and said,
in a low, solemn tone, —
“Good-night, Salome. May God guide, and strengthen, and
help you to be the noble woman, the consistent Christian, which
only His grace and blessing can ever enable you to become.
Remember the cheering words of Jean Paul Richter, `Evil is
like the nightmare, the instant you bestir yourself it has already
ended.'”
| CHAPTER XII. Vashti, or, "Until death us do part" | |