from the effects of the malady from which I was suffering. He listened
quietly and then talked soothingly to me, until he convinced me that
in reality he was my only friend. I then became suspicious. I did not
believe he had seen Leslie, and I did not believe Leslie was married. I
still loved him with the devotion that had eaten into my childish heart.
I made my tormentor this proposition: That I would return to Chicago
and see Leslie. If he really was married and could not marry me, I
would return to him and accompany him to Europe. I had two reasons for
making this request. First, I really wished to see Leslie, and second,
I considered it a good plan to get away from the man who had befriended
me, and to whom I found it quite a task to say no after all his kindness.
He consented to the return to Chicago, and suggested that if I wished to
go with him that I meet him in New York in two weeks. He filled my purse
and I came here. I easily found Leslie. I told him I still loved him and
begged him to marry me or kill me and end my suffering. He denounced me
bitterly, accusing me of every sin a mortal can commit, and wound up by
telling me he was married and showed me a picture of his wife. Here, this
is the very picture,” said the girl as she drew a photograph from the
envelope.
“And you, of course, snatched it out of his hand.”
“No, I will tell you how I got it when I get to that part.”
“I left him, my heart heavy within me. Again I sought employment in this
city; for days I almost ran from one building to another in answer to
some advertisement, only to find that I was too late, or in order to
obtain this position I must submit to such proposals as I could not bear.
Two weeks’ continuous trying and almost begging will tire the bravest. I
found nothing that I could accept. My money was going fast; as I counted
over my little store of currency my mind returned to him who gave it to
me. Should I go and meet him? No! Die first, was my resolve. Then the
thought came to me that possibly I could do better in New York, so after
satisfying myself that he would have sailed before I could reach there, I
left. I spent nearly all the money I had left for passage to New York. I
felt that I never wanted to hear the name Chicago again, and as the train
pulled out, I closed my eyes lest I should see something that would add
more to my misery.
“I arrived at the Eastern metropolis without accident. I went straightway
to a music hall and sought an engagement. I was accepted and was to
appear in “The Spider and the Fly” Co. and told to report for rehearsal
the next morning at ten. I went and lo! another calamity. The manager
produced a picture of me, one which had been taken to decorate the
billboards at the time of my debut here. He also informed me that I was
on the black list for feigning illness at that time that I might be
relieved from my contract.
“I needed a friend then to show that I was entitled to better treatment.
The manager suggested that I change my name and get some one to vouch
for me and then apply to some other manager.
“I thanked him for the advice and started out to find some one, but whom
could I find? The only person I knew in New York had undoubtedly left
there, and if he had not I would not dare go to him. But I did dare
anyway. I knew not what else to do. I made inquiry at his hotel, and
found to my half hearted delight that he had not yet sailed, but would
leave that night. ‘Good!’ I thought, ‘I will detain him but a short time;
he will help me to a position and it will not interfere with his trip.’
“I waited for his coming. He greeted me effusively, and told me he had
waited and knew I would come.
“I explained all to him and asked him to help me that I might secure a
position and be able to repay him all he had expended in my behalf. He
laughed at me and said: ‘Yes, of course, but let’s talk it over.’
“It was dinner time and he suggested that as he had lunched early and I
looked tired and hungry, that we go to dinner.
“We had dinner at Delmonico’s, and breakfast on board an ocean liner
bound for Liverpool. People can say all they please about not knowing
what they do while under the influence of intoxicants, but I know that
as a rule they are conscious of every act, but simply do not care. At
the dinner I have just told you of, we had wine. I rather enjoyed the
sensation it produced, it made me forgetful of all my troubles, and
appreciative of all my friend had done, so that when he proposed that we
sail and not try for the stage again, I was a willing participant in the
carriage ride that took us to the docks. How I got on board the ship
I do not know. What happened during the night I cannot remember, for
slumber relieved me of all the horror attending the desecration of my
virginity. I simply know that during our trip I was Mrs. H. Bartel.
“We traveled for a year and then he brought me back to Chicago. He
furnished a house, put $1,000 in the bank to my credit, and bade me
good-by.
“He went out of my life as quickly as I seemed to have lost cast in
his. I began by keeping roomers; that did not pay. Then some of the
fashionable men whom I had known in my palmy days approached me with a
request that I allow them to hold clandestine meetings with women at my
home. They paid well for the liberty.
“From that I went one step further, and became the landlady of a house of
bad repute, entering the field openly and above board.
“Three months ago a woman applied to my house for admission. She looked
fairly good and I took her in. I paid little attention to her, and such
affairs were so common that I did not attempt to wring from her any
ancient history. Her face had a familiar look, that at times puzzled me,
but I did not give her much thought. One day I found a picture on her
dresser. It was a picture of Leslie. I flew into a rage and questioned
her closely. She told me she was his wife, made so by circumstances not
conducive to happiness. I concealed my surprise. I knew then where I had
seen her face. I managed to keep the truth from her and in a day or two
found an excuse to expel her from my house. The last I heard of her she
had become a frequenter of these places along the street here. Today
I received this letter and picture from Leslie, and my business here
tonight is to comply with his request if possible. Here is the letter, I
will read it:
“‘Dear Jeanette: I have just learned what you are engaged in, also that
my wife is an inmate of your establishment. May God grant that you are
not aware of the fact, for although I have mistreated you shamefully, I
will not believe that you have hunted her up and taken this method of
revenge on me. Enclosed find her picture, the one I showed you before.
For Heaven’s sake, send her to me and my baby.
“‘Kill me or torture me personally in any way you desire, but I beg of
you do not be a party to the visitation of disgrace on my child. Yours,
“‘LESLIE.’
“And I am hunting Emily Sutton Marsh with a view to returning her to the
place where she belongs.”
TALE TWENTY.
A SCIENTIFIC PHENOMENON.
“When I remember something which I had,
But which is gone, and I must do without,
I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,
Even in cowslip time, when hedges sprout;
It makes me sigh to think on it,—but yet
My days will not be better days, should I forget.”
“Yes, art brought me to this.”
The speaker was a tall, thin, young woman of a nervous temperament. The
storm of dark hair was pushed back in hurried confusion; the heavy brows
and long lashes which protected the dark blue eyes seemed a fitting
division between the high cheek bones and the bloodless forehead; her
nose, so straight and thin that it corresponded with the lines or
wrinkles which extended upward at either end of the mouth, and seemed
to cut short the smile which otherwise might have been as merry as the
dimple in her little chin would indicate.
Nature had left the stamp of refinement on her face, perhaps for no
other purpose than to show the world that Celeste Moss had not always
had a bent back and pricked fingers—the effect of shop duties. Her home
was in two rooms, which, in spite of the lack of elegant furniture and
rare bric-a-brac, showed signs of culture, if in no other way than the
tidiness of the floors, which were without carpets or rugs.
The only new article in the room which was visible was a pair of
trousers, and they were just being wrapped into a neat bundle by the deft
and willing hands of this industrious woman, as she opened the interview
with the first remark of this story.
“Art seems to have launched your ship of destiny into strange channels,”
I ventured in way of reply.
“Yes, and I have been called upon to face many breakers and tide the
waves of furious storms in the best way I could.”
“I am sure your career has been an interesting one.”
“Not so interesting as unpleasant,” she said, “and if you will excuse me
for a moment, I will tell you all.”
That moment she consumed by carefully dusting and closing the machine
with the same tenderness and precision with which some musician might put
away his beloved instrument.
“You take good care of your machine.”
“Yes, that is all there is between me and the street; I must take good
care of that.”
“I believe you said art transposed you from some other sphere in life to
your present position,” said I, anxious to draw her back to her subject.
“Yes, I was born into a rich home, wherein the merry jingle of dollars
was of less consequence to the different members of my family, than the
rattle of pennies is to me now. I received all the finishing touches of
education, then as my indulgent father said—”just for pastime“—I took
up drawing and painting. My heart, brain and fingers seemed tuned with
one accord, so that taking the brush and palette in my hand was only
striking the chords of my artistic nature, and the harmony which was
thereby inspired spread itself in delicate tints and shades, producing
pictures which were as natural as those of the old masters were. So much
attention was paid to my amateurish productions that I soon found myself
famous. Then I fell in love; art and love should have been brother and
sister, born of the same woman and nurtured on the same sweet food. To
love a man was to love to draw beautiful pictures as nearly perfect as
my accomplishment would allow, then no matter what the canvas portrayed
after it had received my finishing touches, I took great pleasure in
likening the work to that of my idol, and always found my production
wanting. Long days I spent in my studio, striving to make a picture of
something which would show as much excellence as a work of art as my
lover showed as a man; each time I tried I improved, but before I had
reached that stage of supremacy as an artist, I had so lost my head along
with my heart that it was a hopeless task; there was nothing so true, so
sweet, so perfect as my Reginald.”
“We were married. The conditions and circumstances under which we met
at the altar were favorable in the extreme. My husband was a musician
of note; in fact, he knew nothing but music and love; certainly nothing
was more natural than the blending of our souls in love, inspired by
ambition; then to add joy to the happy situation my husband’s best and
dearest friend, Jean Vincent (whom he had long since given up as dead),
returned to our home town two days before the nuptials. Wealth was a
thing easy of access to us, as both our families were independently rich.
I was an only child and it was a common expression of my father’s that
as I was so careless in regard to my sex, it would be my duty to the
family to produce a son. We were very happy, my husband, Mr. Vincent and
I, for Reginald insisted on his taking up his residence with us during
his stay; he, too, was an artist of no mean ability, and as Reggie said,
we could share the same studio and perhaps be of assistance to each
other, and besides my husband was teaching a great deal now, and it would
be so nice to have Jean in the house for company.”
“We spent many happy days; I could sit for hours and listen to those two
“chums” discuss their travels, one in quest of musical education, the
other chasing art in its various forms and a part of the time the two
royal rovers spent their time in quest of pleasure; but Reginald had
tired sooner than his friend, and the date of his homecoming had been the
beginning of the love match which had culminated so happily. Mr. Vincent
had remained in Italy for a time, then visited the Sahara desert, climbed
the pyramids of Egypt and scaled the dangerous peaks of the Alps; he had
hunted in the jungles of Africa, and probed mother earth for gold in far
off Australia; in fact, he had been everywhere, from the scenes of direst
poverty to the grandeur of royal palaces. It was not strange, therefore,
that this swarthy man of Oriental customs could entertain, instruct and
make friends at one and the same time.
“There was such a striking contrast between him and Reginald that many
spoke of it. Reginald was one of those dear little, short, fat men, who
seemed to beam with good nature; his round face was pink and white, while
his clear blue eyes shown with that merry twinkle of tenderness so
characteristic of the German type, while Mr. Vincent was tall and broad
shouldered, with a face which was a study of stern determination. The
years of hardship were not without effect, neither did his dark skin,
black curly hair and luminous eyes of ebony have a tendency to soften
the expression which the ravages of time had stamped upon his face. So
much did these men enjoy the companionship of one another that they
were always together when it was possible and it was only natural that
I should join in all their conversation. You may imagine my joy when
Reginald came to me and said:
“‘Celeste, I want you to make a portrait of Jean, and, dear, make it your
masterpiece.’
“Then came long days of close association; we were closeted for hours in
the studio; we talked art; we exchanged views; Jean sat for me and then
I persuaded him to reciprocate. I told him that as he was sitting for a
picture of himself for my husband that it would be a grand opportunity
for him to put my face on canvas, and after the deliberate conclusion
that we would surprise Reggie, we decided to present him with my likeness
at the same time Jean’s was finished.
“We worked with a will; when Reginald was away from home we often went to
the church or the theatre or took a drive together. I know some people
indulged in a little of that putrid gossip, which is sure to follow the
act of any gallant man. We did nothing that could in any way be construed
as disloyal to my husband; he knew our every move and sanctioned it all.
It was during this period of sitting and painting that I made a happy
discovery, and when I told Reginald he was so delighted that he lost no
time in conveying the glad tidings to my parents; the prospects of an
heir caused joy in their hearts. Finally the pictures were completed, and
with them Mr. Vincent’s visit, for, as he put, he had stayed long enough
in one place and would move on.
“Reginald used to stand and look at his picture at times after he had
gone, as though he were looking on the face of a dead brother. The manly
love and devotion which existed between Reggie and Mr. Vincent was very
touching.
“In due time my child was born—and blessed be the star which controls
such events—it was a boy. Reginald came to me while the nurse was
dressing the babe, and taking me tenderly in his arms uttered words of
praise in my ears, and showed me that devotion which is so reassuring and
precious to the heart of a young mother. O, how grand I felt when I heard
him say:
“‘God bless you, darling! You are the dearest, truest treasure on earth.’
“I felt that I could have died for him then and there, and I have wished
many times since that I had. His dear head was nestled close beside mine
on the pillow when the nurse brought the child in; then he arose, and
taking the wee bit of humanity in his arms, turned towards me as if to
place it where it belonged; as he peered through the lace to get a view
of its features, I saw his face take on the pallor of death. My blood
felt like ice, as I tried to raise myself, at the same time crying out:
“‘What is it, Reggie?’
“Then with a groan he fell across the bed unconscious; my only thought
was that our baby had been injured in some way and suddenly expired, and
with the picture of a little white casket, covered with lilies, before my
eyes, I fainted; I revived, only to succumb to an attack of brain fever.
When I recovered they told me that Reginald had gone.
“‘Gone? Gone where?’ I cried in amazement.
“For an answer they brought me this letter:
“‘Dear Celeste: I will call you dear this time, for it is
the last. I do not blame you so much for what has happened;
I should not have trusted even the best friend on earth with
you and your charms. I can easily account for all. You longed
for the companionship which my profession robbed you of, but
you should have prepared me for this blow. I go now to find
your traducer, and if he refuses to take you and live with
you honorably, his body will meet the same fate his picture
has just met. Would to God I had died before I knew of your
infidelity. Good-by forever,
REGINALD.’
“What on earth did it all mean? I went to the library, and there found
Mr. Vincent’s likeness simply cut and slashed into ribbons. Reginald
had left orders not to remove it; as I gazed on the ruined portrait
and thought of the part of my husband’s letter wherein a like fate was
promised Jean, I realized how utterly impossible it would be to consent
to Reginald’s demands, for to do so would be an open confession of
wrong, with a defined effort to right it, and so help me, God, we were
as innocent as the now fatherless babe, and I knew Jean Vincent to be a
man of principle; then I thought of Reginald’s obdurate nature, and—Oh,
horrors! he would be a murderer.
“With the thought of blood running from gaping wounds, I swooned away.
When I opened my eyes again the doctor was standing over me; I asked for
my baby; the nurse brought it, and I was so mystified that I shrieked
in my despair; the poor little black thing, black eyes, ringlets of jet
black hair and skin as swarthy as the cuticle of an Italian. A long
talk with the physician shed light on the subject. He explained how the
constant association with some dark person at such a time as that in
which I happened to be with Mr. Vincent would bring about just such a
result.
“The scandal killed my mother; my father was just as unreasonable as my
husband and refused to advise or assist me, even denying me the privilege
of seeing him. After two years he died cursing me, but not before he had
willed all of his fortune to a distant relative, leaving me penniless.
“On the advice of neighbors, who were sufficiently interested in me to
at least want me to leave the community, I put my baby boy in a home for
waifs; then selling such articles of personal property as I possessed, I
started on a journey which will only end in death.
“I came direct to Chicago, thinking to hide myself in the whirl of a busy
city, but soon the little store of wealth which I had realized from the
sale of my belongings had melted down until there was only a thin wall
of finance between me and starvation. I sought a position and in each
attempt was defeated on account of not having a business education; I was
not even fitted to do housework; it was then I realized how painfully
helpless a girl is in a strange land with no means, who has been born
and reared in luxury without even a smattering of domesticity in her
character.”
“Why did you not try your hand at painting?”
“I did try, but no use; when I took up a brush and palette my hand was
seized with palsy when I touched the brush to the canvas, I fancied I
could hear the sounds of ripping, tearing cloth, and to save my life the
best I could do was to make zig-zag lines; all of the love for art, all
of the ambition had vanished.
“Finally I secured a position as governess, and had it not been for
the ideas of liberality which the man of the house in whose home I was
employed entertained, I might have regained some of my loss; at any rate,
he seemed to conceive the idea that my life was an aimless existence and
that I was only waiting to be won with endearing words of love.
“The days of trouble were not conducive to strengthening my character and
my tempter was a man of wiles and charms, so much so that his constant
observation disclosed my different moods to his discernible mind. His
plans were carried out with that accuracy and precision so characteristic
of a man of the world.
“That was the first step down the incline of rectitude; other men sought
me and so surely did I descend into the valley of shame that it was an
easy matter for me to consent to live with men in open defiance of the
law.
“During my career I met a gentleman who was more interested in me than
any one I had ever met; he lived in a small town in the west; he was a
man of great tenderness and we in time grew fond of each other. Much of
our time was consumed in talking of schools, books, music and travel. I
knew little of him and he nothing of me, any more than he had met me one
day as I was buying tickets for a matinee; the line at the window doubled
back around the entrance of the theatre. As the crowd crawled slowly
along I found myself standing beside him; he addressed me, whereupon
a conversation sprung up and he kindly offered to buy my tickets for
me when he reached the window, which would save me a delay of several
moments. As he handed me the tickets he apologized for his intrusion; I
thanked him for his kindness and was not at all surprised when I found
him in the seat next to mine. Our friendship grew and finally ripened
into such mutual admiration that I frequently found myself counting
the days that I must wait for his coming. Finally his visits grew less
frequent; I did not ask him why he came so seldom, for I considered it
none of my business; one of the waits proved longer than any before. He
did not come for a year, but when he came he found me in my old haunt.
This time he explained why his visits had been so far apart; his wife had
been ill and he had lost her six months before; they had a child, a boy
by adoption, and he could not well leave the little fellow. I insisted on
his bringing his boy along next time.
“I had become so attached to this man of genial nature that I was quick
to become interested in anything which was of importance to him. He came
again in two weeks, and with him came the boy. I met them in the parlor
of a hotel, and oh, how my heart fluttered as I saw the youngster; all
the love, pity and compassion of my happier days rushed back into the
places of my nature, which had been devoid of anything sweet for the
last six years. The boy was standing with his back to me talking to his
father. As I approached with outstretched hand to welcome my friend,
who stood with his back to the mirror, he reached out to clasp mine and
stepped slightly to one side, revealing the complete image of the child
in the mirror.
“God only knows what I suffered in that one brief second. The picture
I saw there in the frame of the mirror was more vivid than any work of
art ever produced. My own child stood beside me. The hardening process
of years did much to assist me in my self-control. We went to dinner; my
friend was aware of my unhappy state of mind and questioned me closely.
I could not tell him the whole truth; I simply told him that I had been
married and that I had had a boy so much like this adopted son that the
sight of his boy had refreshed my memory, had recalled the sad hour of
parting with him when I had to give him up.”
“‘And his father—is he dead, too?’ he asked, as he gently put his arm
around me.
“‘Yes,’ I sobbed, ‘dead, everything is dead to me.’
“My sufferings must have touched the strings of his harp of love and
caused a melody to re-echo from his soul.
“‘Come, and be a mother to my little chap,’ said he.
“‘Oh, please don’t! I beg of you not to punish me by such jests.’
“‘But I mean it.’
“I hope that God in his goodness will never allow any poor woman to
suffer as I did. I would have gladly gone, but no, I could not marry one
man when I was the legal wife of another. Oh, I wanted to go so much, but
I could not. I loved my child too purely to go and be a mother to him,
while I was mistress to the one whom he was to know as a father.
“That night ended my downward flight; I felt in my own mind that I had
reached the bottomless pit of degradation, so low, so impure, so tainted
with vice, that I dared not take my own child in my arms and lavish that
love on him which was now consuming me, for fear that the taste of bliss
would plunge me into a sea of desperation and cause me to commit myself
in some way that would contaminate his sweet, young life.
“I had saved some money, enough to live on while I served an
apprenticeship in a sewing shop. I have taught myself the lessons of
economy and domesticity so necessary to one who intends to follow the
life of humble purity.”