THIS "WOULD" CHANGES.
Hamlet; iv.--7.
Melissa Blake was growing paler in these days, worn with the ache of a
hurt love. Since the night on which he had parted from her in anger,
John had been to see her only on brief errands which he could not well
avoid, and while he had made no allusion to the difference which
separated them, it was evident that he still brooded over his fancied
grievance.
This phase of John's character, its least amiable characteristic, which
marred it amid many excellent qualities, was not wholly unknown to
Melissa. She was by far the more clear-headed of the two, and she
understood her lover with much greater acuteness than he was able to
bring to the task of comprehending her. It was from intelligent
perception and not merely from the feminine instinct for making
excuses, that she said to herself that John was worn out with the
strain of burdens long and uncomplainingly borne; and she was, it might
be added, near enough to the primitive savagery of the rustic New
Englanders of the last generation, to find it perfectly a matter of
course that a man should make of his womenfolk a sort of scapegoat upon
whom to visit his wrath against the sins alike of fate and of his
fellows.
She waited for John to relent from his unjust anger, but she did not
protest, and when he chose once more to be gracious unto his handmaiden
he would be met only with faithful affection and with no reproaches.
From the abstract standpoint, nothing could be farther astray than the
fulness and freedom of Milly's forgivenesses; practically, this
illogical feminine weakness made life easier and happier, not alone for
everybody about her, but for herself as well. Doubtless such a yielding
disposition tempted her lover to injustices he would never have
ventured with a more spirited woman, but after all her forgiveness was
so divine as almost to turn the transgression into a virtue for causing
it.
When the account of Milly's life was made up, there must be put into
the record long, wordless stretches of uncomplaining and prayerful
patience, hidden from the eyes of all mankind. The capabilities of
women of this sort for quiet suffering are as infinitely pathetic as
they are measureless; and, although she was silent, the dark rings
under her eyes and the lagging step told how her sorrow was wearing
upon her. She went on faithfully with her work; she held still to the
faith that somehow help was sure to come; and as only such women can
be, she was patient with the patience of a god.
Milly was surprised one afternoon by a visit from Orin Stanton, the
half brother of John. The sculptor had never before come to see her,
and, although Milly was little given to censoriousness, she could not
avoid the too-obvious reflection that, in one known to be so
consistently self-seeking as was Orin, the probability was that some
selfish motive lay behind the call. Orin had never been especially fond
of Milly, and since his return from Europe, where he had been
maintained by the liberality of an old lady, who, in a summer visit to
Feltonville, had been attracted by his talent for modelling in clay, he
had avoided as far as possible all intercourse with his townspeople.
The old lady, who took much innocent pleasure in imagining herself the
patroness of a future Phidias, died suddenly one day, leaving the will
by which provision was made for young Stanton's future unhappily
without signature; a fact which ever after furnished him with definite
grounds upon which to found his accusations against society and fate.
It was largely in virtue of this interesting and pathetic story that
Mrs. Frostwinch and Mrs. Bodewin Ranger had taken it upon themselves to
better the fortunes of Stanton. Large-hearted ladies in Boston, as
elsewhere in the world, find no difficulty in discovering signs of
genius in a work of art where they deliberately look for it; and being
moved by the sculptor's history,--in which, to say sooth, there was
nothing remarkable, and, save the disappointment in regard to the will,
little that was even striking--his patronesses were not slow in coming
to regard his productions with admiration curiously resembling
momentary veneration. They in a mild way instituted a Stanton cult, as
a minor interest in lives already richly full, and when more weighty
matters did not interfere, Mrs. Frostwinch, in varying degrees of
enthusiasm, could be charming in her praises of the sculptor, whom she
designated as "adorably ursine," and of his work, which in turn, she
termed "irresistibly insistent," whatever that might mean.
Bearish, Orin Stanton certainly was, whether one did or did not find
the quality adorable. He was heavy in mould, with a face marked by none
of the delicacy one expects in an artist and to which his small eyes
and thick lips lent a sensual cast. Milly had always found his
countenance repulsive, strongly as she strove not to be affected by
mere outward appearances. He wore his hair long, its coarse, reddish
masses showing conspicuously in a crowd, when he got to going about
among such people as hunt lions in Boston.
Mrs. Bodewin Ranger patronized him from afar, and could not be brought
to invite him to her house.
"Really, my dear," the beautiful old lady said to her husband; "it
seems to me that people are not wise in asking Mr. Stanton about so
much. It only unsettles him, and he should be left to associate with
persons in his own class."
"I quite agree with you," her husband replied, as he had replied to
every proposition she had advanced for the half century of their
married life.
Mrs. Frostwinch was less rigid. It is somewhat the fashion of the more
exclusive of the younger circles of Boston to make a more or less
marked display of a democracy which is far more apparent than real.
Partly from the genuine and affected respect for culture and talent
which is so characteristic of the town, and partly from some remnants
of the foolish superstition that the persons who produce interesting
works of art must themselves be interesting, the social leaders of the
town are, as a rule, not unwilling to receive into a sort of
lay-brotherhood those who are gifted with talent or genius. No fashion
of place or hour, however, can change the essential facts of life; and
it is perhaps quite as much the incompatibility of aim, of purpose in
life, as any instinctive arrogance on either side, that makes any
intimate union impossible. It is inevitable that members of any
exclusive circle shall regard others concerning whose admission there
has been question with some shade of more or less conscious patronage,
and sensitive men of genius are very likely as conscious of "the pale
spectrum of the salt" as was Mrs. Browning's poet Bertram, invited into
company where he did not belong, because it was socially too high and
intellectually and humanely too low. The members of what is awkwardly
called fashionable society are too thoroughly trained in the knowledge
of the principles of birth, wealth, and mutual recognition upon which
their order is founded, to be likely to lose sight of the fact that
artists and authors and actors, not possessing, however great their
cleverness in other directions, these especial qualifications, can only
be received into the charmed ring on sufferance; and nothing could be
more absurd or illogical than to blame them for recognizing this fact.
Mrs. Frostwinch, at least, was in no danger of forgetting where she
stood in relation to such lions as she invited to her house. She
understood accurately how to be gracious and yet to keep them in their
place. Indeed, she did this instinctively, so thoroughly was she imbued
with the spirit of her class. She did not open her doors to many people
on the score of their talent, and least of all did she encourage lions
of appearance so coarse and uncouth as Orin Stanton. She found the role
of lady patroness amusing, however, and, although she would not have
put the sculptor's name on the lists of guests for a dinner or an
evening reception, she did invite him to a Friday afternoon, when she
knew Stewart Hubbard was likely to be present; and a glowing knowledge
of this honor was in Orin's mind when he went to call on Melissa.
"I've no doubt you're surprised to see me," Orin said, brusquely, as he
seated himself, still in his overcoat. "The truth is, I don't run round
a great deal, and if I do, it's where it will do me some good."
Milly smiled to herself. She was not without a sense of humor.
"Naturally, I don't expect you to waste your time on me," she answered.
"You must be very busy, and I suppose you have lots of engagements."
"Oh, of course," he returned, with an obvious thrill of
self-satisfaction. "The Boston women are always interested in art, and
I could keep going all the time, if I had a mind to. I'm going to Mrs.
Frostwinch's to-morrow. She wants to introduce me to Mr. Hubbard, one
of the committee on the new statue."
To Orin's disappointment this fact seemed to make little impression
upon Milly, who was far too ignorant of Boston's social distinctions to
realize that an invitation to one of Mrs. Frostwinch's Fridays was an
honor greatly to be coveted.
"I am glad if people are interesting themselves in your work, Orin,"
she said, with a manner she tried not to make formal.
She had never been able to like Orin, and since the time when he had
not only utterly refused to share with John the burden of their
father's debts but had scoffed at what he called his brother's "idiocy"
in paying them, Milly had found comfort in having a definite and
legitimate excuse for disliking him. She regarded him as greatly
gifted; in the eyes of Feltonville people, Orin's talents, since they
had received the sanction of substantial patronage, had loomed into
greatness somewhat absurdly disproportionate to their actual value. She
was not insensible of the honor of being connected, as the betrothed of
John, with so distinguished a man as she felt Orin to be; but she
neither liked nor trusted him.
"Oh, there are some people in Boston who know a good thing when they
see it," the young man responded, intuitively understanding that here
he need not take the trouble to affect any artificial modesty. "It's
about that that I came to talk to you."
"About--I don't think I understand."
"I want your help."
"My help? How can I help you?"
The sculptor tossed his hat into a chair, and leaned forward, tapping
on one broad, thick palm with the fingers of the other hand.
"They tell me," he said, "that you know Mrs. Fenton pretty well; Arthur
Fenton's wife,--he's an awful snob, I hate him."
"Mrs. Fenton has been very kind to me," Milly responded, involuntarily
shrinking a little, and speaking guardedly.
"Well, put it any way you like. If she's interested in you, that's all
I want," Stanton went on, in his rough way. "You'll have a pull on her
through the church racket, I suppose."
Melissa looked at him with pain and disgust in her eyes. She always
shrank from Orin's rough coarseness; and she always felt helpless
before him. She made no reply, but played nervously with the pen she
had laid down upon his entrance. He regarded her curiously.
"You see," he said, with a clumsy attempt at easy familiarity, "Mrs.
Fenton's a niece of Mr. Calvin, who is on the statue committee. Mrs.
Frostwinch says Mr. Calvin's the man who has most influence in the
committee, and it occurred to me that it would be a good thing if you'd
put Mrs. Fenton up to taking my part with Calvin. You see," he
continued, in an offhand manner, "artists don't get any show nowadays
unless they keep their eyes open, and I mean to be wide awake. I'm
ready to do a good turn, too, for anybody that helps me. John told me
the other day that you and he had had a row, and if you can do me a
good turn in this, I may be able to pay you by smoothing John down."
Milly flushed painfully. Her delicacy was outraged, but, too, her
combative instinct was roused to defend her lover.
"John and I haven't quarrelled," she said, in a voice a little raised;
"he is worried about the debts and that makes him out of sorts,
sometimes, that is all."
A look of shrewd cunning came into Orin's narrow eyes. He suspected the
allusion to John's determination to clear his father's memory from
dishonor to be a clever device to win a concession from him. He looked
upon the remark as a statement from Milly of the price of her aid.
"If I get this commission," he said, watching the effect of his words,
"I shall be in a position to help John pay off those debts, and I shall
tell him he has you to thank for my helping him out in his
foolishness,--for it is foolishness to waste money on dead debts."
A glad light sprang into Milly's face. She was too childlike to suspect
the thought which led Orin to make this proffer, and the hope of having
John aided at once and of being able to contribute to the bringing
about of this result, made her heart beat joyfully. "You know how glad
I shall be if I can help you," she said quickly. "I will speak to Mrs.
Fenton when I see her to-morrow; though I do not see what good I can do
you," her honesty forced her to add, with sudden self-distrust.
"Oh, you just put in and do your level best," Orin responded, with the
smile which Mrs. Frostwinch had once called his "deplorably Satanic
grin," "and it is sure to come out all right. There are other wires
being pulled."