The Adventures of a Modest Man Page 8

  CHAPTER V

  DREAMLAND

  As winter faded into spring the first tracery of green fringed thebranches in Stuyvesant Square. The municipal authorities decorated thegrass with tulips and later with geraniums. Later still, cannas andfoliage plants were planted, over which two fountains spurted aquaCrotonis.

  But in spite of tasteless horticulture it is a quaint old square, alittle sad and shabby, perhaps, yet mercifully green inside its twoiron-railed parallelograms. Above the great sycamores and elms thetruncated towers of St. George's brood heavily; along the short, leafyreach of Rutherford Place an old-time Quaker meeting-house keeps gentlevigil; northward, aged mansions peer at the square through time-dimmedwindows; south, above the Sisters of The Assumption, a painted Virginclasps her stone hands and looks down on the little children of thepoor.

  Along the east side of the square runs Livingston Place; behind it anelevated railroad roars; in front lies the square, shabby, unkempt, butlovely always, when night lends to it her mystery. For at night thetrees loom gigantic; lights sparkle over lawn and fountain; theilluminated dial of St. George's hangs yellow as a harvest moon abovethe foliage; and the pleasant bell sounds from the towers, changing, fora moment, the streets' incessant monotone to a harmony.

  Into this square went Landon; oftener, as the summer grew hotter andwork grew scarcer.

  Once, at the close of a scorching afternoon, his pretty neighbour fromacross the corridor came slowly into the square and rested for a fewmoments on the same bench he occupied.

  So lovely and fresh and sweet she seemed in the early dusk that he, foran instant, was tempted from his parched loneliness to speak to her; butbefore he could bring himself to it she turned, recognized him, rose andwent back to the house without a second glance.

  "We've been neighbours for a year," he thought, "and she has never beencivil enough to look at me yet--and I've been too civil to look at her.I was an ass."

  He was wrong; she had looked at him often, when unafraid that his eyesmight surprise her.

  He was amusingly wrong. Waking, she remembered him; during the long dayshe thought of him; at night, when she returned from business, theradiance from his studio lamp streaming through the transom had for herall the thrilling fascination that a lighted shop window, at Christmas,has for a lonesome child passing in darkness.

  From the dim monotony of her own life she had, at times, caught glimpsesthrough his open door of splendours scarcely guessed. In her eyes anenchanted world lay just beyond his studio's threshold; a bright, warm,mellow wonderland, indistinct in the golden lamplight, where only adetail here and there half revealed a figured tapestry or carvedfoliation--perhaps some soft miracle of ancient Eastern weaving on thefloor, perhaps a mysterious marble shape veiled in ruddy shadow--enoughto set her youthful imagination on fire, enough to check her breath andstart the pulses racing as she turned the key in her own door andreentered the white dusk of her own life once more.

  The three most important events of her brief career had occurred withinthe twelvemonth--her mother's death, her coming here to live--and love.That also had happened. But she did not call it love; it did not occurto her to consider him in any possible, tangible relation to herself.

  She never even expected to know him, to speak to him, or that he couldpossibly care to speak to her. As far as the east is from the west, sofar apart were their two worlds. For them the gusty corridor was widerthan interstellar voids; she had not even a thought that a miracle mightbridge the infinite from her tiny world to his, which seemed to her sobright and splendid; she had never advanced farther than the happinessof lying still after the day's work, and thinking, innocently, of whatshe knew about him and what she timidly divined.

  At such times, stretched across her bed, the backs of her hands restingon her closed lids, she pondered on that alluring wonderland, hisstudio--of the mystery that so fittingly surrounded his artist's life.She saw him always amid the tints and hues of ancient textiles,sometimes dreaming, sometimes achieving with fiery inspiration--butprecisely how or what he achieved remained to her part of his mystery.She cherished only the confused vision of the youth of him, and itsglorious energy and wisdom.

  He could be very human, too, she thought; and often the smile curved herlips and cheeks at the recollection of the noisy gayety coming in guststhrough his transom on those nights when his friends were gatheredthere--laughter and song--the incense of tobacco drifting into her ownwhite room from the corridor. She loved it; the odor seemed spicy with adelicate hint of sweet-brier, and she opened her transom wider to let itin.

  Usually she fell asleep, the distant uproar of gayety lulling her intohappier slumbers. And for days and nights afterward its recollectionmade life easier and pleasanter, as though she lived with amusingmemories of events in which she herself had participated.

  All day long, in a fashionable dry-goods shop, she sold cobweb fineryand frail, intimate, lacy stuffs to very fine ladies, who usually drew asurprised breath at her beauty, and sometimes dealt with her as thoughthey were dealing with one of their own caste.

  At night, tired, she looked forward to her return, when, behind her ownclosed door, she could rest or read a little, or lie still and think ofLandon. But even in the daring magic of waking dreams she had scarcelyventured any acquaintance with him; in dreamland they were as yet onlyjust aware of one another. He had lately--oh, breathless and audaciousimagination of hers!--smiled at her in the corridors of dreamland; andshe had been a good many days trying to decide what she was going to doabout it. In her phantom world matters were going well with her.

  Meanwhile, except for the stupefying heat, the actual world was alsogoing well with her. She had saved a little money, enough to give herten days of luxury and fresh air when the time came. She needed it; thecity had been hard on her. Yet the pleasure of going was not unmixed;for, as the day of her release drew nearer, she realized how, within theyear, he had, in her dreams, insensibly become to her a part of her reallife, and that she would miss him sorely. Which gave her courage tohasten their acquaintance in dreamland; and so it came about that hespoke to her one night as she lay dreaming, awake on her pillow; and shefelt her cheeks burn in the dark as though it had all been real.

  Yet he was very gentle with her in dreamland--quite wonderful--indeed,all that the most stilted vision of a young girl could desire.

  Less unquiet, now that they knew each other, she looked forward to thereal separation with comparative resignation.

  Then came that unexpected episode when she seated herself on the samebench with him, unintentionally braving him in the flesh.

  All that night she thought about it in consternation--piteouslyexplaining it to him in dreamland. He understood--in dreamland--but didhe understand in real life? Would he think she had meant to give him achance to speak--horror of crimson dismay! Would he think her absurd toleave so abruptly when he caught her eye? And oh, she cared so much whathe might think, so much more than she supposed she dared care!

  All day long it made her miserable as she moved listlessly behind thecounter; at night the heated pavements almost stunned her as she walkedhome to save the pennies.

  She saw no light in his studio as she slipped through the corridor intoher stifling room. Later, she bathed and dressed in a thinner gown, butit, also, was in black, in memory of her mother, and seemed to sere herbody. The room grew hotter; she went out to the passage; no lightthreatened her from his transom, so she ventured to leave her door open.

  But even this brought no relief; the heat became unendurable; and sherose at last, pinned on her big black hat of straw, and went out intothe dusk.

  Through the gates of the square she saw the poor surging into the park.The police had opened the scant bits of lawn to them. Men, women,children, lay half-naked on the grass, fighting for breath. And, aftera little while, she crossed the street and went in among them.

  The splash of the fountain was refreshing. She wandered at random, pastthe illuminated facade of the Lying-in Hospital
, past the paintedVirgin, then crossed Second Avenue, entered the gates again, and turnedaimlessly by the second fountain. There seemed to be no resting-placefor her on the crowded benches.

  Beyond the fountain a shadowy sycamore stood in the centre of a strip oflawn. She went toward it, hesitated, glancing at the motionless,recumbent figures near by, then ventured to seat herself on the grassand lean back against the tree. Presently, she unpinned her hat, lifteda white face to the night, and closed her eyes.

  How long she sat there she did not know when again she opened her tiredlids.

  A figure stood near her. For a moment she confused dream and reality andsmiled at him; then sat up, rigid, breathless, as the figure stirred andcame forward.

  She remembered attempting to rise, remembered nothing else verydistinctly--not even his first words, though his voice was gentle andpleasant, just as it was in dreamland.

  "Do you mind my speaking to you?" he was asking now.

  "No," she said faintly.

  He raised his head and looked out across the feverish city, passing onethin hand across his eyes. Then, with a slight movement of hisshoulders, he seated himself on the ground at her feet.

  "We have been neighbours so long," he said, "that I thought perhaps Imight dare to speak to you to-night. My name is Landon--James Landon. Ithink I know your last name."

  "O'Connor--Ellie O'Connor--Eleanor, I mean," she added, unafraid. Acurious peace seemed to possess her at the sound of his voice. There wasa stillness in it that reassured.

  The silence between them was ringed with the distant roar of the city.He looked around him at the shadowy forms flung across bench and lawn;his absent glance swept the surrounding walls of masonry and iron, alla-glitter with tiny, lighted windows. Overhead a tarnished moon lookeddown into the vast trap where five million souls lay caught, gasping forair--he among the others--and this young girl beside him--trapped,helpless, foredoomed. The city had got them all! But he sat up thestraighter, giving the same slightly-impatient shake to his shoulders.

  "I came," he said, "to ask you one or two questions--if I may."

  "Ask them," she answered, as in a dream.

  "Then--you go to business, do you not?"

  "Yes."

  He nodded: "And now I'm going to venture another question which maysound impertinent, but I do not mean it so. May I?"

  "Yes," she said in a low, hushed voice, as though a clearer tone mightbreak some spell.

  "It is about your salary. I do not suppose it is very large."

  "My wages? Shall I tell you?" she asked, so innocently that he flushedup.

  "No, no!--I merely wish to--to find out from you whether you might careto take a chance of increasing your salary."

  "I don't think I know what you mean," she said, looking at him.

  "I know you don't," he said, patiently; "let me begin a little fartherback. I am a sculptor. You know, of course, what that is----"

  "Yes. I am educated." She even found courage to smile at him.

  His answering smile covered both confusion and surprise; then perplexityetched a crease between his brows.

  "That makes it rather harder for me"--he hesitated--"or easier; I don'tknow which."

  "What makes it harder?" she asked.

  "Your being--I don't know--different--from what I imagined----"

  "Educated?"

  "Y-yes----"

  She laughed deliciously in her new-born confidence.

  "What is it you wish to ask?"

  "I'll tell you," he said. "I need a model--and I'm too poor to pay forone. I've pledged everything in my studio. A chance has come to me. It'sonly a chance, however. But I can't take it because I cannot afford amodel."

  There was a silence; then she inquired what he meant by a model. And hetold her--not everything, not clearly.

  "You mean that you wish me to sit for my portrait in marble?"

  "There are two figures to be executed for the new Department of Peace inWashington," he explained, "and they are to be called 'Soul' and 'Body.'Six sculptors have been invited to compete. I am one. We have a yearbefore us."

  She remained silent.

  "It is perfectly apparent, of course, that you are exquis--admirablyfitted"--he stammered under her direct gaze, then went on; "I scarcelydared dream of such a model even if I had the means to afford--" Hecould get no further.

  "Are you really poor?" she asked in gentle wonder.

  "At present--yes."

  "I never dreamed it," she said. "I thought--otherwise."

  "Oh, it is nothing; some day things will come out right. Only--I have achance now--if you--if you would help me.... I _could_ win with you; Iknow it. And if I do win--with your aid--I will double your presentsalary. And that is what I've come here to say. Is that fair?"

  He waited, watching her intently. She had dropped her eyes, sittingthere very silent at the foot of the tree, cradling the big straw hat inher lap.

  "Whatever you decide to be fair--" he began again, but she looked upwistfully.

  "I was not thinking of that," she said; "I was only--sorry."

  "Sorry?"

  "That you are poor."

  He misunderstood her. "I know; I wish I could offer you something besidea chance----"

  "Oh-h," she whispered, but so low that he heard only a long, indrawnbreath.

  She sat motionless, eyes on the grass. When again she lifted them theirpure beauty held him.

  "What is it you wish?" she asked. "That I should be your model forthe--this prize which you desire to strive for?"

  "Yes; for that."

  "How can I? I work all day."

  "I could use you at night and on Saturday afternoons, and all daySunday. And--have you had your yearly vacation?"

  She drew a quietly tired breath. "No," she said.

  "Then--I will give you two hundred dollars extra for those ten days," hewent on eagerly--so eagerly that he forgot the contingency on which hungany payment at all. As for her, payment was not even in her thoughts.

  Through the deep, sweet content which came to her with the chance ofserving him, ran an undercurrent of confused pain that he could soblindly misunderstand her. If she thought at all of the amazingpossibility of such a fortune as he offered, she knew that she would notaccept it from him. But this, and the pain of his misunderstanding,scarcely stirred the current of a strange, new happiness that flowedthrough every vein.

  "Do you think I could really help you?"

  "If you will." His voice trembled.

  "Are you sure--quite sure? If you are--I will do what you wish."

  He sprang up buoyant, transfigured.

  "If I win it will be _you_!" he said. "Could you come into the studio amoment? I'll show you the two sketches I have made for 'Soul' and'Body'."

  On the prospect of a chance--the chance that had come at last--he wascompletely forgetting that she must be prepared to comprehend what herequired of her; he forgot that she could know nothing of a sculptor'sways and methods of production. On the way to the studio, however, hetardily remembered, and it rather scared him.

  "Do you know any painters or sculptors?" he asked, keeping impatientpace beside her.

  "I know a woman who makes casts of hands and arms," she said shyly. "Shestopped me in the street once and asked permission to cast my hands.Would you call her a sculptor?"

  "N--well, perhaps she may be. We sculptors often use casts of the humanbody." He plunged into it more frankly: "You know, of course, that tobecome a sculptor or a painter, one has to model and paint from livingpeople."

  "Yes," she said, undisturbed.

  "And," he continued, "it would be impossible for a sculptor to producethe beautiful marbles you have seen--er--around--unless he could pose aliving model to copy from."

  An unquiet little pulse began to beat in her breast; she looked up athim, but he was smiling so amiably that she smiled, too.

  Mortally afraid of frightening her, he could not exactly estimate howmuch she divined of what was to be required of her
.

  He continued patiently: "Unless a student dissects he can never become asurgeon. It is the same with us; our inspiration and originality must befounded on a solid study of the human body. That is why we must alwayshave before us as perfect a living model as we can find."

  "Do--do you think--" she stopped, pink and confused.

  "I think," he said, quietly impersonal, "that, speaking as a sculptor,you are as perfect and as beautiful a model as ever the old Greekmasters saw, alive or in their dreams."

  "I--did not--know it," she faltered, thrilling from head to foot.

  They entered the corridor together. Her breath came faster as heunlocked his door and, turning up a lamp, invited her to enter.

  At last in the magic world! And with _him_!

  Figured tapestries hung from the golden mystery of the ceiling; ancientdyes glowed in the soft rugs under foot; the mellow light glimmered ondull foliations. She stood still, looking about her as in a trance.

  "All this I will buy back again with your help," he said, laughingly;but his unsteady voice betrayed the tension to which he was keyed. Aslow excitement was gaining on her, too.

  "I will redeem all these things, never fear," he said, gayly.

  "Oh--if you only can.... It is too cruel to take such things from you."

  The emotion in her eyes and voice surprised him for one troubled moment.Then the selfishness of the artist ignored all else save the work andthe opportunity.

  "You _will_ help me, won't you?" he asked. "It is a promise?"

  "Yes--I will."

  "Is it a _promise_?"

  "Yes," she said, wondering.

  "Then please sit here. I will bring the sketches. They merely representmy first idea; they are done without a living model." He was off,lighting a match as he hastened. A tapestry fell back into place; shelifted her blue eyes to the faded figures of saints and seraphimstirring when the fabric moved.