CHAPTER XIX
RUSSELL VISITS ELECTRA
The patient work of twelve months drew to a close; the study of years boreits first fruit; the last delicate yet quivering touch was given; Electrathrew down palette and brush, and, stepping back, surveyed the canvas. TheExhibition would open within two days, and this was to be her contribution.A sad-eyed Cassandra, with pallid, prescient, woe-struck features--anover-mastering face, wherein the flickering light of divination struggledfeebly with the human horror of the To-Come, whose hideous mysteries wereknown only to the royal prophetess. In mute and stern despair it looked outfrom the canvas, a curious anomalous thing--cut adrift from human help,bereft of aid from heaven--yet, in its doomed isolation, scorning to askthe sympathy which its extraordinary loveliness extorted from all who sawit. The artist's pride in this, her first finished creation, might well bepardoned, for she was fully conscious that the cloud-region of a painfulnovitiate lay far beneath her; that henceforth she would never miss thepressure of long-coveted chaplets from her brow; that she should bask inthe warm, fructifying rays of public favour; and measureless exultationflashed in her beautiful eyes.
The door opened, and Russell came into the studio. She was not expectinghim; his sudden appearance gave her no time to adjust the chilling mask ofpride, and all her uncontrolled affection found eloquent language in thejoyful face.
"Russell! my own dear Russell!"
He drew his arm around her and kissed her flushed cheek, and each looked atthe other, wondering at the changes which years had wrought.
"Electra, you have certainly improved more than anyone I ever knew. Youlook the impersonation of perfect health; it is needless to ask how youare." And again his lips touched the beaming face pressed against hisshoulder. Her arms stole tremblingly around his neck, past indifferencewas forgotten in the joy of his presence.
"Sit down, and let me look at you. You have grown so tall and commandingthat I am half afraid of my own cousin. You are less like Aunt Amy thanformerly."
"Allow me to look at your painting first, for it will soon be too dark toexamine it. This is the Cassandra of which you wrote me."
He stood before it for some moments in silence, and she watched him withbreathless eagerness--for his opinion was of more value to her than that ofall the _dilettanti_ and _connoisseurs_ who would soon inspect it.Gradually his dark cold face kindled, and she had her reward.
"It is a masterly creation; a thing of wonderful and imperishable beauty;it is a great success--as such the world will receive it--and hundreds willproclaim your triumph. I am proud of it, and doubly proud of you."
He held out his hand, and, as she put her fingers in his, her head drooped,and hot tears blinded her. Praise from the lips she loved best stirred herwomanly heart as the applause of the public could never do.
"Come, sit down, Electra, and tell me something of your life, since thedeath of your friend, Mr. Clifton."
"Did you receive my last letter, giving an account of Mrs. Clifton'sdeath?"
"Yes; just as I stepped upon the platform of the cars it was handed to me.I had heard nothing from you for so long, that I thought it was time tolook after you."
"You had started, then, before you knew that I was going to Europe?"
"Yes."
He could not understand the instantaneous change which came over hercountenance--the illumination, followed as suddenly by a smile, halfcompassionate, half bitter. She pressed one hand to her heart, and said--
"Mrs. Clifton never seemed to realize her son's death, though, afterparalysis took place, and she became speechless, I thought she recoveredher memory in some degree. She survived him just four months, and,doubtless, was saved much grief by her unconsciousness of what hadoccurred. Poor old lady! she suffered little for a year past, and died, Ihope, without pain. I have the consolation of knowing that I did all thatcould be done to promote her comfort. Russell, I would not live here forany consideration; nothing but a sense of duty has detained me this long. Ipromised him that I would not forsake his mother. But you can have noadequate conception of the feeling of desolation which comes over me when Isit here during the long evenings. He seems watching me from picture-framesand pedestals; his face, his pleading, patient, wan face, haunts meperpetually. And yet I tried to make him happy; God knows I did my duty."
She sprang up and paced the room for some moments, with her hands behindher, and tears glittering on her cheeks. Pausing at last on the rug, shepointed to a large square object, closely shrouded and added--
"Yonder stands his last picture, unfinished. The day he died he put a fewfeeble strokes upon it, and bequeathed the completion of the task to me.For several years he worked occasionally on it, but much remains to bedone. It is the 'Death of Socrates.' I have not even looked at it sincethat night; I do not intend to touch it until after I visit Italy; I doubtwhether my hand will ever be steady enough to give the last strokes. Oh,Russell! the olden time, the cottage days, seem far, far off to me now!"
Leaning against the mantelpiece, she dropped her head on her hand, but whenhe approached and stood at the opposite corner, he saw that the tears haddried.
"Neither of us has had a sunny life, Electra; both have had numerousobstacles to contend with; both have very bitter memories. Originally therewas a certain parallelism in our characters, but with our growth grew thedivergence. You have preserved the nobler part of your nature better thanI; for my years I am far older than you; none of the brightness of myboyhood seems to linger about me. Contact with the world is an induratingprocess; I really did not know how hard I had grown, until I felt my heartsoften at sight of you. I need you to keep the kindly charities and gentleamenities of life before me, and, therefore, I have come for you. But formy poverty I never would have given you up so long; I felt that it wouldbe for your advantage, in more than one respect to remain with Mr. Cliftonuntil I had acquired my profession. I knew that you would enjoy privilegeshere which I could not give you in my straitened circumstances. Things havechanged; Mr. Campbell has admitted me to partnership; my success I consideran established fact. Give up, for a season, this projected tour of Europe;wait till I can go with you--till I can take you; go back to W---- with me.You can continue your art studies, if you wish it; you can prosecute themthere as well as here. You are ambitious, Electra; so am I; let us worktogether."
She raised her head and looked up at the powerful, nobly-proportioned form,the grand, kingly face, calm and colourless, the large, searching blackeyes, within whose baffling depths lay all the mysteries of mesmerism, anda spasm of pain seized her own features. She shaded her brow, andanswered--
"No, Russell; I could not entertain that thought an instant."
"Are you too proud to accept a home from me?"
"Not too proud, exactly; but, as long as I have health, I mean to make asupport. I will not burden you."
"Full value received for benefit rendered is not charity; come to W----,share my future, and what fortune I may find assigned me. I have bought thecottage, and intend to build a handsome house there some day, where you andMr. Campbell and I can live peacefully. You shall twine your aestheticfancies all about it, to make it picturesque enough to suit your fastidiousartistic taste. Come and save me from what you consider my worse thanvandalian proclivities. I came here simply and solely in the hope ofprevailing on you to return with me. I make this request, not because Ithink it will be expected of me, but for more selfish reasons--because itis a matter resting very near my heart."
"Oh, Russell! you tempt me."
"I wish to do so. My blood beats in your veins; you are the only relative Ivalue, and were you indeed my sister, I should scarcely love you more. Withall a brother's interest, why should I not claim a brother's right to keepyou with me, at least until you find your Pylades, and give him a higherclaim before God and man? Electra, were I your brother, you would requireno persuasion; why hesitate now?"
She clasped her hands behind her, as if for support in some fiery ordeal,and, gathering up her s
trength, spoke rapidly, like one who fears thatresolution will fail before some necessary sentence is pronounced.
"You are very kind and generous, Russell, and for all that you have offeredme I thank you from the depth of a full heart. The consciousness of yourcontinued interest and affection is inexpressibly precious; but mydisposition is too much like your own to suffer me to sit down in idleness,while there is so much to be done in the world. I, too, want to earn anoble reputation, which will survive long after I have been gathered to myfathers; I want to accomplish some work, looking upon which, myfellow-creatures will proclaim: 'That woman has not lived in vain; theworld is better and happier because she came and laboured in it.' I want myname carved, not on monumental marble only, but upon the living, throbbingheart of my age!--stamped indelibly on the generation in which my lot iscast. Perhaps I am too sanguine of success; a grievous disappointment mayawait all my ambitious hopes, but failure will come from want of genius,not lack of persevering patient toil. Upon the threshold of my career,facing the loneliness of coming years, I resign that hope with which, likea golden thread, most women embroider their future. I dedicate myself, mylife, unreservedly to Art."
"You believe that you will be happier among the marble and canvas of Italythan in W---- with me?"
"Yes; I shall be better satisfied there. All my life it has gleamed afaroff, a glorious land of promise to my eager, longing spirit. From childhoodI have cherished the hope of reaching it, and the fruition is near at hand.Italy! bright Alma Mater of the art to which I consecrate my years. Do youwonder that, like a lonely child, I stretch, out my arms toward it? Yet mystay there will be but for a season. I go to complete my studies, to makemyself a more perfect instrument for my noble work, and then I shall comehome--come, not to New York, but to my own dear native South, to W----,that I may labour under the shadow of its lofty pines, and within hearingof its murmuring river--dearer to me than classic Arno, or immortal Tiber.I wrote you that Mr. Clifton had left me a legacy, which, judiciouslyinvested, will defray my expenses in Europe, where living is cheaper thanin this country. Mr. Young has taken charge of the money for me, and haskindly offered to attend to my remittances. Aunt Ruth's friends, theRichardsons, consented to wait for me until after the opening of theExhibition of the Academy of Design, and one week from to-morrow we expectto sail."
"What do you know of the family?"
"Nothing, except that the lady, who is an old friend of my aunt, isthreatened with consumption, and has been advised to spend a year or two inFlorence. Aunt Ruth took me to see her the other day; she seems intelligentand agreeable, and I daresay I shall find her kind and pleasant enough."
"Since such is the programme you have marked out, I trust that nodisappointments await you, and that all your bright dreams may be realized.But if it should prove otherwise, and you grow weary of your art, sick ofisolation, and satiated with Italy, remember that I shall welcome you homeand gladly share with you all that I possess. You are embarking in anexperiment which thousands have tried before you, and wrecked happinessupon; but I have no right to control your future, and certainly no desireto discourage you. At all events, I hope our separation will be brief."
A short silence followed, broken at last by Electra, who watched him keenlyas she spoke--
"Tell me something about Irene. Of course, in a small town like W----, youmust see her frequently."
"By no means. I think I have seen her but three times since herchildhood--once riding with her father, then accidentally at church, andagain a few evenings before I left, at the graveyard, where she wasdressing a tombstone with flowers. There we exchanged a few words for thefirst time, and this reminds me that I am bearer of a message yetundelivered. She inquired after you, and desired me to tender you her loveand best wishes."
"I have her here in crayons; tell me what you think of the likeness."
She took down a portfolio and selected the head of her quondam playmate,holding it under the gaslight, and still scrutinizing her cousin'scountenance. He took it, and looked gravely, earnestly, at the lovelyfeatures.
"It scarcely does her justice; I doubt whether any portrait ever will.Beside, the expression of her face has changed materially since this wassketched. There is a harder outline now about her mouth, less of dreaminessin the eyes, more of cold _hauteur_ in the whole face. If you desire it, Ican in one line of Tennyson photograph her proud beauty, as I saw hermounted on her favourite horse, the week that I left home--
"'Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null!'"
He laid the drawing back in the open portfolio, crossed the room, and tookup his hat.
"Where are you going, Russell? Can't you spend the evening with me at AuntRuth's?"
"No, thank you; I must go. There is to be a great political meeting atTammany Hall to-night, and I am particularly anxious to attend."
"What! are you, too, engaged in watching the fermentation of the politicalvat?"
"Yes, I am most deeply interested; no true lover of his country can fail tobe so at this juncture."
"How long will you be in New York?"
"Since I cannot persuade you to return with me, my stay here will beshortened. One of our courts meets soon, and though Mr. Campbell will bethere to attend to the cases, I want, if possible, to be present. I shallreturn day after to-morrow. And now good night; I will see you early in themorning."
The door closed behind him, and she remained standing for some time just ashe left her. Slowly the folded hands shrank from each other, and droppednerveless to her side; the bright glow in her cheeks, the dash of crimsonon her lips, faded from both; the whole face relaxed into an expression ofhopeless agony.