It was the beginning of a period destined to last five or six years, in
which, to say the least, Eugene was not himself. He was not in any sense
out of his mind, if power to reason clearly, jest sagely, argue and read
intelligently are any evidences of sanity; but privately his mind was a
maelstrom of contradictory doubts, feelings and emotions. Always of a
philosophic and introspective turn, this peculiar faculty of reasoning
deeply and feeling emotionally were now turned upon himself and his own
condition and, as in all such cases where we peer too closely into the
subtleties of creation, confusion was the result. Previously he had been
well satisfied that the world knew nothing. Neither in religion,
philosophy nor science was there any answer to the riddle of existence.
Above and below the little scintillating plane of man's thought
was--what? Beyond the optic strength of the greatest telescope,--far out
upon the dim horizon of space--were clouds of stars. What were they
doing out there? Who governed them? When were their sidereal motions
calculated? He figured life as a grim dark mystery, a sad semiconscious
activity turning aimlessly in the dark. No one knew anything. God knew
nothing--himself least of all. Malevolence, life living on death, plain
violence--these were the chief characteristics of existence. If one
failed of strength in any way, if life were not kind in its bestowal of
gifts, if one were not born to fortune's pampering care--the rest was
misery. In the days of his strength and prosperity the spectacle of
existence had been sad enough: in the hours of threatened delay and
defeat it seemed terrible. Why, if his art failed him now, what had he?
Nothing. A little puny reputation which he could not sustain, no money,
a wife to take care of, years of possible suffering and death. The abyss
of death! When he looked into that after all of life and hope, how it
shocked him, how it hurt! Here was life and happiness and love in
health--there was death and nothingness--aeons and aeons of nothingness.
He did not immediately give up hope--immediately succumb to the
evidences of a crumbling reality. For months and months he fancied each
day that this was a temporary condition; that drugs and doctors could
heal him. There were various remedies that were advertised in the
papers, blood purifiers, nerve restorers, brain foods, which were
announced at once as specifics and cures, and while he did not think
that the ordinary patent medicine had anything of value in it, he did
imagine that some good could be had from tonics, or _the_ tonic. A
physician whom he consulted recommended rest and an excellent tonic
which he knew of. He asked whether he was subject to any wasting
disease. Eugene told him no. He confessed to an over-indulgence in the
sex-relationship, but the doctor did not believe that ordinarily this
should bring about a nervous decline. Hard work must have something to
do with it, over-anxiety. Some temperaments such as his were predisposed
at birth to nervous breakdowns; they had to guard themselves. Eugene
would have to be very careful. He should eat regularly, sleep as long as
possible, observe regular hours. A system of exercise might not be a bad
thing for him. He could get him a pair of Indian clubs or dumb-bells or
an exerciser and bring himself back to health that way.
Eugene told Angela that he believed he would try exercising and joined a
gymnasium. He took a tonic, walked with her a great deal, sought to
ignore the fact that he was nervously depressed. These things were of
practically no value, for the body had apparently been drawn a great
distance below normal and all the hell of a subnormal state had to be
endured before it could gradually come into its own again.
In the meantime he was continuing his passional relations with Angela,
in spite of a growing judgment that they were in some way harmful to
him. But it was not easy to refrain, and each failure to do so made it
harder. It was a customary remark of his that "he must quit this," but
it was like the self-apologetic assurance of the drunkard that he must
reform.
Now that he had stepped out into the limelight of public
observation--now that artists and critics and writers somewhat knew of
him, and in their occasional way were wondering what he was doing, it
was necessary that he should bestir himself to especial effort in order
to satisfy the public as to the enduring quality of his art. He was
glad, once he realized that he was in for a siege of bad weather, that
his Paris drawings had been so nearly completed before the break came.
By the day he suffered the peculiar nervousness which seemed to mark the
opening of his real decline, he had completed twenty-two paintings,
which Angela begged him not to touch; and by sheer strength of will,
though he misdoubted gravely, he managed to complete five more. All of
these M. Charles came to see on occasion, and he approved of them
highly. He was not so sure that they would have the appeal of the
American pictures, for after all the city of Paris had been pretty well
done over and over in illustration and genre work. It was not so new as
New York; the things Eugene chose were not as unconventional. Still, he
could say truly they were exceptional. They might try an exhibition of
them later in Paris if they did not take here. He was very sorry to see
that Eugene was in poor health and urged him to take care of himself.
It seemed as if some malign planetary influence were affecting him.
Eugene knew of astrology and palmistry and one day, in a spirit of
curiosity and vague apprehensiveness, consulted a practitioner of the
former, receiving for his dollar the statement that he was destined to
great fame in either art or literature but that he was entering a period
of stress which would endure for a number of years. Eugene's spirits
sank perceptibly. The musty old gentleman who essayed his books of
astrological lore shook his head. He had a rather noble growth of white
hair and a white beard, but his coffee-stained vest was covered with
tobacco ash and his collar and cuffs were dirty.
"It looks pretty bad between your twenty-eighth and your thirty-second
years, but after that there is a notable period of prosperity. Somewhere
around your thirty-eighth or thirty-ninth year there is some more
trouble--a little--but you will come out of that--that is, it looks as
though you would. Your stars show you to be of a nervous, imaginative
character, inclined to worry; and I see that your kidneys are weak. You
ought never to take much medicine. Your sign is inclined to that but it
is without benefit to you. You will be married twice, but I don't see
any children."
He rambled on dolefully and Eugene left in great gloom. So it was
written in the stars that he was to suffer a period of decline and there
was to be more trouble for him in the future. But he did see a period of
great success for him between his thirty-second and his thirty-eighth
years. That was some comfort. Who was the second woman he was to marry?
Was Angela going to die? He walked the streets this early December
afternoon, thinking, thinking.
The Blue family had heard a great deal of Eugene's success since Angela
had come to New York. There had never been a week but at least one
letter, and sometimes two, had gone the rounds of the various members of
the family. It was written to Marietta primarily, but Mrs. Blue, Jotham,
the boys and the several sisters all received it by turns. Thus the
whole regiment of Blue connections knew exactly how it was with Angela
and even better than it was; for although things had looked prosperous
enough, Angela had not stayed within the limits of bare fact in
describing her husband's success. She added atmosphere, not fictitious,
but the seeming glory which dwelt in her mind, until the various
connections of the Blue family, Marietta in particular, were convinced
that there was nothing but dignity and bliss in store for the wife of so
talented a man. The studio life which Angela had seen, here and in
Paris, the picturesque descriptions which came home from London and
Paris, the personalities of M. Charles, M. Arkquin, Isaac Wertheim,
Henry L. Tomlins, Luke Severas--all the celebrities whom they met, both
in New York and abroad, had been described at length. There was not a
dinner, a luncheon, a reception, a tea party, which was not pictured in
all its native colors and more. Eugene had become somewhat of a demi-god
to his Western connections. The quality of his art was never questioned.
It was only a little time now before he would be rich or at least
well-to-do.
All the relatives hoped that he would bring Angela home some day on a
visit. To think that she should have married such a distinguished man!
In the Witla family it was quite the same. Eugene had not been home to
see his parents since his last visit to Blackwood, but they had not been
without news. For one thing, Eugene had been neglectful, and somewhat
because of this Angela had taken it upon herself to open up a
correspondence with his mother. She wrote that of course she didn't know
her but that she was terribly fond of Eugene, that she hoped to make him
a good wife and that she hoped to make her a satisfactory
daughter-in-law. Eugene was so dilatory about writing. She would write
for him now and his mother should hear every week. She asked if she and
her husband couldn't manage to come and see them sometime. She would be
so glad and it would do Eugene so much good. She asked if she couldn't
have Myrtle's address--they had moved from Ottumwa--and if Sylvia
wouldn't write occasionally. She sent a picture of herself and Eugene, a
sketch of the studio which Eugene had made one day, a sketch of herself
looking pensively out of the window into Washington Square. Pictures
from his first show published in the newspapers, accounts of his work,
criticisms,--all reached the members of both families impartially and
they were kept well aware of how things were going.
During the time that Eugene was feeling so badly and because, if he were
going to lose his health, it might be necessary to economize greatly, it
occurred to Angela that it might be advisable for them to go home for a
visit. While her family were not rich, they had sufficient means to live
on. Eugene's mother also was constantly writing, wanting to know why
they didn't come out there for a while. She could not see why Eugene
could not paint his pictures as well in Alexandria as in New York or
Paris. Eugene listened to this willingly, for it occurred to him that
instead of going to London he might do Chicago next, and he and Angela
could stay awhile at Blackwood and another while at his own home. They
would be welcome guests.
The condition of his finances at this time was not exactly bad, but it
was not very good. Of the thirteen hundred dollars he had received for
the first three pictures sold, eleven hundred had been used on the
foreign trip. He had since used three hundred dollars of his remaining
capital of twelve hundred, but M. Charles' sale of two pictures at four
hundred each had swelled his bank balance to seventeen hundred dollars;
however, on this he had to live now until additional pictures were
disposed of. He daily hoped to hear of additional sales, but none
occurred.
Moreover, his exhibition in January did not produce quite the impression
he thought it would. It was fascinating to look at; the critics and the
public imagined that by now he must have created a following for
himself, else why should M. Charles make a feature of his work. But
Charles pointed out that these foreign studies could not hope to appeal
to Americans as did the American things. He indicated that they might
take better in France. Eugene was depressed by the general tone of the
opinions, but this was due more to his unhealthy state of mind than to
any inherent reason for feeling so. There was still Paris to try and
there might be some sales of his work here. The latter were slow in
materializing, however, and because by February he had not been able to
work and because it was necessary that he should husband his resources
as carefully as possible, he decided to accept Angela's family's
invitation as well as that of his own parents and spend some time in
Illinois and Wisconsin. Perhaps his health would become better. He
decided also that, if his health permitted, he would work in Chicago.