CHAPTER XXIII
BY THE SEA
But after all they did not go to Bogot?. That autumn a revolutionflared up in Colombia. Medway considered the matter, but finallyshrugged and shook his head. His point gained and Bogot? prepared for,he gave the idea up "for this time" with entire nonchalance. But theywere in New York by now, and something must be done. He went with Hagarto Gilead Balm for two weeks--going home for the second time in eightyears. The first time had been perhaps two years after his accident.Old Miss had cried out so to him to come, had so passionately besoughthim to let her see him again, and Hagar had so steadfastly supportedher claim, that at last he gave in and went. He spent two months atGilead Balm, and he had been gracious and considerate to all the familywith an extra touch for his mother. But when he went away he evidentlyconsidered that he had done all that mortal could ask, and though OldMiss continued to write to him every three months, and though shealways said, "And when are you coming home?" she never so urged thematter again.
Now he went with Hagar down through the late autumn country to hisbirthplace, and stayed for a fortnight, as unruffled, debonair, anddominant as before. The Colonel and Old Miss had each of them yearsenough now; as age is counted they were old. But each came of along-lived stock, and they held their own to a marvel. Hagar couldsee the difference the years had made, but there was no overwhelmingdifference. The Colonel did not ride so far, and Old Miss, thoughshe jealously guarded her key-basket and abated authority not a jot,was less active than of old. She had grown rather deaf, and Medwayavoided much conversation with her. Captain Bob was more broken; helooked older than the elder brother. Luna was dead long ago, and he hadanother hound, Lisa. He was fond of Lisa and Lisa of him, but Lisa wasnot Luna, and he was very faithful to Luna's memory and always tellingstories of her intelligence and exploits. Miss Serena had changed verylittle. Mrs. Green was dead, and the overseer's house at the momentstood empty. Car'line was dead, too, but Mary Magazine kept housefor Isham. Hagar walked down to the ferry, and she and Mary Magazinetalked about the old flower dolls and the hayloft, and the cavern bythe spring. She walked by herself upon the ridge, and sat under thecucumber tree, and went to the north side, and, leaning against thebeech, which had grown to be a good-sized tree, looked down the longslope to the hollow and streamlet, the sunken boulder and thicket.
The two weeks passed. Indian summer held throughout November. "Thisdreamy place makes you disinclined to vigorous planning," said Medway."I think, Gipsy, that we will drift on down through Florida, and crossto Cuba."
This year there were evidently cross-winds. At Palm Beach, Medwaycame upon an old acquaintance, associate of ancient days in Paris, anartist with whom he had rambled through Fontainebleau forest and drunkgood wine in Barbizon. For years each had been to the other a thinmemory; now, almost with violence, the attraction renewed itself. Butthe artist was not going to Cuba; he was going to the Bahamas. He hada commission to paint a portrait, and his subject, who was a Chicagomulti-millionaire, had elected to winter at Nassau and to give thesittings there. Commissions evidently did not come every day to theartist, who was post-post-impressionist, and he was quite willing to goto Nassau, jubilantly so, in fact. He said that, for once, light wasgoing to be thrown upon the multi-millionaire.
Medway strove to persuade him to forfeit the commission and go to Cuba;and he was even, it was evident, prepared to make the proceeding nofinancial loss. But the artist stated explicitly that he had a senseof honour and could not leave the Chicagoan in the lurch; besides hewanted to paint that portrait. "Come and see me do it, old fellow!I'm going to take a reasonable small house with a garden, knock outpartitions and make a studio. One commission leads to another:--Lighton the whole bunch.--Oh, I'm told that you've got a million, too! Howthe devil did you get into that galley?" In the end, rather than partwith the old companion, Medway exchanged Cuba for the Bahamas.
Thomson found a house that he thought would answer. Hagar went with himto see it, and agreed that it would. Both spoke entirely with referenceto Medway. Back at the great hotel, she explained its advantages."There's a pleasing, tangled garden, palms and orange trees andhibiscus, and a high garden wall. The verandahs, upper and lower, arewide. You get the air, and you have, besides the town, a great sweepof this turquoise sea. There's only a short, quiet, easy street betweenthe house and Mr. Greer's studio. I think that it will answer."
It answered very well as Medway granted. He and Greer were muchtogether. The Chicagoan, when he arrived, proved to be a good fellow,too, earnest in his endeavour to play blotting-paper to culture. Greergathered from the hotel several congenial Americans. Medway, who alwayshad the best of letters, provided an Englishman or two from the moreor less stationary Government set. The studio became practically hisand Greer's in common; they were extraordinarily good talkers and theyrolled wonderful cigarettes and Mahomet made _caf? fort_. A violinistof some note was stopping at the hotel, and he and his violin addedthemselves to the company. When a traveller who knew Lhasa, Bangkok,and Baalbek, Knossos and Kairwan and Kandy, was joined to the others,it became evident that Medway had made his circle and found thewinter's entertainment.
He had never made greatly too large demand upon Hagar's hours. He wasfull of resources, supple in turning from person to person of all hisvaried acquaintance in varied lands, moderately appreciative, too, ofthe value of solitude. On her side she would have stood, had therebeen need, for time to herself. It was to her the very breath oflife. But there was never extreme need. She was within call when hewanted to turn to her, and that was sufficient. But this winter, itwas evident, she would have her days to a greater extent than usual inher own hand. There was never any accounting to him for her days apartfrom him; almost from the first there had obtained that relation ofpersonal liberty. To do him justice he felt no desire to exact such anaccounting, and had he tried to do so he would have failed.
Hagar saw that she was going to have time, time this winter; and, whatshe liked, they would be long enough in one place to allow her to workwith advantage. There would be visitors, invitations--already they hadbegun:--Medway would wish to give, now and then, a garden-party, adinner-party. But life would by no means run to an exchange of visitsand entertainments. Father and daughter had alike, in this direction,the art of sufficient but not too much. Anything beyond a certain,not-great amount wearied and exasperated him, wearied and saddened her.All that would be kept in bounds. Hagar, pacing the garden, saw quietdays, surcharged with light.
She was thinking out her half-year's work. A volume of stories, eightor ten in all--such a subject and such a subject; such or such anincident, situation, value; such a man, such a woman. She knew thather work was good, that it was counted very good, counted to herfor name and fame. All that was something to her; rather, it wasmuch to her; but only positively so, not relatively. It could by nomeans fill her universe. For years she had taken now this, now thatfilament-like value and with skill and power had enlarged, coloured,and arranged it so that her great audience might also see; and she haddone, she thought, service thereby; had, in her place, served beautyand knowledge. But the hunger grew to serve more fully. Knowledge,knowledge--wisdom, wisdom--action....
Hagar moved to a stone seat that commanded an opening in the gardenwall. She looked out, down and over a short, steep, dazzling whitestreet and a swarm of low, pale-coloured, chimneyless houses, with thegreen between of tropic trees, to the surf upon the coral shore and theopaque, marvellous blue of the surrounding sea. The creative passionwas upon her, but it moved nowadays as it had moved with many anidealist-realist before.... To mould living material, to deal with theobjective, to deal with the living world, not the world of bright-huedshadows; to see the living world lighten to the dawn, see the dull huesbrighten, see the beautyless become beauty and beauty grow vivid, tosee all the world lift, lift toward the golden day, to see the racebecome the over-race.... She would have died for that and died to help.She laid her arms along the stone and her head upon them. "And yet Ido not help, or no
t with all that is in me. I sit here to one side andspin fancies."
She rose, and put on a shady hat, and going out into the dazzling whitestreet moved down it, and then by another across for some distanceto the white road by the sea. Her back to the town, she walked on.A few scattered palms, the sea-wall; then where it ended, an edgingtangle of the hard green leaves of the sea-grape; outside of that,low fantastically worn coral rock and the white dash and spray of thewater. Though the sun was high and the sky intense and cloudless, awind blew always; the air was dry and the day not too warm. There washardly anyone upon the road. She met a cluster of negro children andtalked with them a little. A surrey, of the type that waited on thestreet near the great hotels, passed her, driven sleepily by a sleepynegro, within it a large man in white. When it was gone in a littlecloud of white dust there was only the long road, and the unyieldingmonotonous green of the sea-grape, and the water thundering in anundertone. Hagar turned aside, broke through the grape, and came downto the edge of the surf. There was a rock hollowed until it made a rudechair. She sat down and looked out to sea. On one hand, across theharbour mouth, rose from a finger-narrow sliver of land, a squat whitelighthouse; but turn a little and look away and there was only the opensea, unimaginably blue, azure as the sky. The soft wind blew, the surfbroke in low thunder. Hagar, her chin upon her hand, sat for a longtime, very still.
"How good is man's life, the mere living--"
It seemed true enough, sitting there in the sunshine, in the heartof so rich a beauty. She agreed. How good it was, how good it oftenwas!--only, only.... The line was true, perhaps, of all at some time,of some at all times--though she doubted that--but never of all at alltimes. It was true of a host at very few times; it was never so true ofany as it might be.
"How good is man's life, the mere living!--how fit to employ All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy!"
Who felt that?--Not even the poets immemorial who so sang--sang oftenin sadness of heart! They felt only the promise that the future castbefore her.
Association of ideas was so strong and quick within her that shewas apt to call up images, not singly, but in series and sequences.Her mind swept away from the West Indian sea. She saw her mother atGilead Balm, beating her wings against invisible bars; the woman onthe packet-boat, racked with anxiety, her child in her arms, beggingher way to her sick mate; the figure of the convict at the lock,Thomasine in the silk mill, Omega Street.... She thought of Rachel andher married life, of things which she had heard at the Settlement,and the pain in Elizabeth Eden's eyes as she told them. She thoughtof Eglantine and its insidious sapping, sapping ... of Miss Serenaand her stunted, small industries and too-obedient soul. She thoughtof Miss Bedford, and of Francie Smythe, and of Mrs. LeGrand. Sheseemed again to hear Mrs. LeGrand upon Roger Michael. She thought ofthe Bishop and the day he passed sentence upon a child for reading agreat book. She saw the thicket back of the ridge, and dogs set by ahuman being upon a human being. She saw winter streets in New York,and the light shining on the three balls of the pawnbrokers, and abread-line, and men and women huddled on park benches while the windshook the leafless trees. She saw Wall Street and St. Timothy's. Hermind passed overseas. Russia--three summers before they had been there.Medway, though he laughed at her, had agreed to a stepping aside whichshe proposed. She wished to see Tolstoy. It was always easy to himto arrange such things, and it had ended in their being invited fortwo days to Y?snaya Poly?na. She saw again the old man and heard hisslow words. _Non-resistance_--but his mind, through his pen, was notnon-resistant! It acted, it scourged, it fought, it strove to buildand to clear the ground that it might build. He deceived himself, thetremendous old man. He thought himself quietist as Lao-Tzu, but therein that bare, small study he cried, _Allah! Allah!_ and fought likea Mohammedan. Russia and the burden of Russia ... the world and theburden of the world. She thought of the East, and now her mind enteredZenanas--of India, and it was the child marriages; of Turkey, Egypt,Algeria, Morocco, and it was the veiled women, proclaimed withoutsouls. She saw the eunuchs at the gate. Away to Europe--and she sawthat concept grading away, but never quite gone, never quite gone.Woman as mind undying, self-authoritative and unrelated, the arbiter ofher own destiny, the definer of her own powers, with an equal goal andright-of-way--few were the earthly places where that ray fell!
"How good is man's life, the mere living--"
"With vast modifications and withdrawals, with dross and alloy," saidHagar. "But it might be--O, God, it might be! Lift all desire and youlift the whole. Lift the present--steady, steady!--and know that oneday the future will blossom. And a woman's work is now with women.Solidarity--unification--woman at last for woman."