AN UNLOOKED-FOR HONOUR
"WHATEVER is the matter with you, Enid? You do nothing but sigh this
afternoon."
"Did I sigh?" asked Enid, the colour suddenly rising in her face. "I
suppose it was because I was thinking of Adela."
"You have heard nothing of her since she went away?"
"Nothing whatever; and she promised she would write to me if she could.
It is a shame of them not to let her write."
"Oh, as for that, I suppose she is little better than a prisoner in
that convent. They will keep her there till she yields to her brother's
will."
"Poor Adela! I hope she will not do that."
"Why? She could hardly be more unhappy than she is now."
"I think she would be more unhappy," said Enid with energy, "for
she would lose self-respect. Whatever she suffers now, she has the
satisfaction of knowing that she is true to the one she loves."
"What a romantic little soul you are, Enid!" said her cousin, laughing.
"No man may hope to marry you unless he win your heart."
"I shall never marry," said Enid.
"How decidedly you say it!" returned her cousin. "But you are right.
You and I are married to Art. We must not think of forsaking that.
But washing your brushes already! Are you not going to paint any more
to-day?"
"No," said Enid, "my head aches—I think I will take a walk. I will go
to the shop in the Campo Marzio, and see if they have the paper we
ordered."
"Oh, do!—That's a good idea," said Maud readily. "I am wanting that
paper so much."
Since Enid parted from Julius Dakin at the Villa Mattei, two days
before, something seemed gone from her life. She felt no interest
in her painting. She could not give her thoughts to it; they dwelt
persistently upon all that had passed beside the world-famous Fountain
of Egeria. Memory repeated every word that had been uttered. She could
not banish from her mind the recollection of Julius Dakin's face as she
had last beheld it. It was with her continually.
And all the while, she was nervously anxious to conceal from her cousin
her preoccupation. She would not for the world that Maud should know
anything of what had passed between her and Julius Dakin. The thought
of it was very bitter. When she recalled his face, so full of trouble,
she could not be sure that she had acted rightly. She hardly understood
the impulse which had led her to put from her so decidedly his love.
And yet when she thought of Maud, and of all that had gone before, she
said to herself that if it were to come over again, she would do the
same.
It was true that she had been thinking of Adela when her cousin
spoke to her, for with her own unrest there had come to her a new
comprehension of what Adela must be suffering, and her heart had gone
out to her friend with a fuller sympathy than it had been possible for
her to feel before.
"Enid!" Maud called after her cousin as she was leaving the studio. "I
think of going to Mrs. Dakin's about five o'clock. Will you be back in
time to go with me?"
"I do not know; but I do not care to go to Mrs. Dakin's to-day."
"Oh, very well," said Maud carelessly, and Enid went on her way.
She had done her errand and was returning home, when, passing the old
church of San Lorenzo in Lucina, she saw that the door was open, and
the thought of Guido Reni's grand altar-piece drew her within. The
church was empty save for a boy, who started up as she entered, and
hurried forward to unveil the painting. It was a bright afternoon, and
the light was good.
Enid stood long gazing at the picture. It was not the first time she
had seen it; but she saw it now as she had not seen it before.
The power of Guido's picture lies in its simplicity. No accessories are
introduced; no other form is there to divert for an instant the gaze of
the beholder from the Sublime Sufferer. Only the cross is seen standing
forth from a wild, stormy sky, and stretched on it in patient suffering
the dying Son of Man. The pathos of that form is beyond description.
As one gazes on it, one receives a vivid conception of the loneliness
of Christ. We look till the pallid suffering lips seem to move, and we
fancy that there escapes them the plaintive cry,—
"My God! My God! why hast Thou forsaken Me?"
It is a picture that the most thoughtless can hardly look upon without
being moved to reflection. Surely, as far as painter could ever hope to
succeed, Guido has succeeded in depicting the Crucifixion. Yet whilst
it is touched by his work, the Christian heart feels that it presents
but a faint image of the truth, and that the sublime reality defies
portrayal.
The picture spoke to Enid as it had spoken to Miss Strutt. Not that
the message was the same, for each human life is distinct, and has its
hidden experiences, which differ from those of any other.
"In your passage through this life remember the sufferings of Jesus
Christ," said Michael Angelo.
In every phase of life it is good to remember Him but especially in our
sorrows is the remembrance helpful. Perhaps that is why our lives are
so chequered with shadow. It is so easy to forget, and live only for
oneself when life glides joyously on, and everything is to our mind.
Ere Enid left the church, she had found strength to accept patiently
the cross in her present lot. She saw that it might be well to
have one's wishes thwarted, since the life that seeks only its own
happiness, even if that happiness be of an exalted kind, misses its
true end.
Soon after Enid reached home, Maud came to her room. She still wore her
visiting dress.
"You have soon come back from Mrs. Dakin's," said Enid.
"Yes, I did not care to stay long. It was very stupid there this
afternoon."
Enid made no remark. She felt sure that Maud had something to tell her,
and she waited for it.
"What do you think Julius Dakin has done, Enid?"
"You must tell me," said Enid, smiling rather nervously; "it is of no
use trying to guess."
"He has gone to London on business; he started last night. Did you ever
hear of such a thing?"
"Yes, I have heard of such things," said Enid, conscious that she was
changing colour. "The claims of business are inexorable."
"Oh, of course I know that. But Julius to go on business! It is absurd!
'Business connected with the bank,' Mrs. Dakin said. But she did not
deceive me. I am sure it is only an excuse."
"What makes you think that?"
"Need you ask? Was Julius Dakin ever known to do anything he did not
want to do? Of course he has some motive for going off in that way."
Enid was silent.
"It is strange that he never said a word about it when last we saw him.
I could have declared that he had not the least intention of going
away."
"There was no occasion to think of doing so then, perhaps." suggested
Enid.
"Oh, I do not believe in this pretence of business. I call it
exceedingly rude of him to go off in that way without bidding us
good-bye. When I see him again, I shall let him know what I think of
his conduct."
"I do not think he meant to be rude," said Enid.
"Oh, don't make excuses for him. I am disgusted with Julius Dakin,"
said Maud, impatiently. "It is very tiresome. Now he is gone, and
Sidney Althorp too, we shall have no one to do anything for us."
"Now is the time to show we can take care of ourselves, and are not
dependent on the services of others," said Enid.
Maud shrugged her shoulders. Apparently the idea of independence was
not now agreeable to her.
The next morning, Enid received a note informing her that the little
picture she had sent in for the "Belli Arti" Exhibition had been
accepted by the committee, and awarded a mark of distinction. She
had a letter also from Herr Schmitz, conveying his congratulations.
With it was enclosed a formal invitation to a "soirée," to be held in
connection with the opening of the Exhibition.
Enid was naturally much pleased at her success; but her pleasure was
dashed as she saw the crestfallen air with which Maud received the
news. Her pictures too were hung, but they had received no mark of
distinction!
"I am sure I am very pleased; I congratulate you, Enid," Maud said, in
rather a forced manner. "But of course this is Herr Schmitz's doing. It
is good to have a friend on the Hanging Committee."
The blood rushed into Enid's face. Maud had dealt a sore blow to her
pride. She was deeply mortified, the more so that she felt the words
were unjust, for she was convinced that Herr Schmitz was the last man
to lend himself to anything like favouritism in deciding on the merits
of works of art. Happily, Enid was able to control her indignation,
and received her cousin's comment in absolute silence, which had a
discomfiting effect on Maud, who had felt ashamed of her words as she
uttered them.
Maud too had received a card of invitation to the artists' "soirée,"
but she seemed so annoyed at her cousin's success that Enid half feared
she would refuse to accompany her on this occasion. But the "soirée"
was a special affair of its kind, and Maud had a great desire to be
present, so she stifled her pride for once, and graciously condescended
to go with Enid.
Herr Schmitz, in his note, had begged Enid to be at the gallery half
an hour before the time named on the card of invitation. Maud grumbled
at having to go so early, declared it was only a "fidget" of the old
painter's, and tried to persuade Enid to ignore his wish. But Enid, who
felt sure that Herr Schmitz had some reason for wishing her to be there
before the time of general assembly, was determined to accede to his
request.
When the two girls therefore entered the gallery, they found but few
persons there, but these were chiefly members of the Hanging Committee
and artists of celebrity. Maud was elated at finding herself in their
company, nor did she fail to attract their attention. Her tall, willowy
form, clad in simple white, which set off exquisitely the heavy masses
of her superb Titian-golden hair, presented an appearance which could
not fail to please the eye of an artist.
Those who had the honour of her acquaintance came eagerly to greet her;
for whatever might be their opinion of the merits of her painting,
Miss Marian's artist friends found herself wholly satisfactory. A
gentleman who, a few moments before, had been severely criticising one
of her pictures, and declaring that, had it been painted by anyone save
Miss Marian, it would certainly have been rejected, now felt himself
constrained to offer her some words of congratulation. One and another
artist begged to be presented to her, so that Maud enjoyed a certain
triumph, which perhaps compensated her for the cool reception afforded
to her pictures.
Meanwhile, Enid, the appearance of whose small, compact figure in
its neat, close-fitting black silk, did not invite attention, had
leisure to look about her. Her eyes sought Herr Schmitz, but failed
to discern him. Presently, however, a door at the further end of the
gallery opened, and Herr Schmitz appeared, conducting two ladies
and a gentleman in military uniform. Enid gave one long stare of
astonishment, and then plucked her cousin by the sleeve.
"Look, look! Maud," she whispered excitedly; "there is the Queen. Herr
Schmitz is showing the pictures to the Queen!"
"Never!" ejaculated Maud; but a glance showed her that her cousin was
not mistaken.
Queen Margherita, smiling, gracious, charming as ever, was advancing
slowly down the long gallery, pausing now before this picture, now
before that, and listening with an air of deep interest to what Herr
Schmitz had to say about them.
"Well, I declare!" said Maud. "Herr Schmitz is highly honoured, though
I suppose he would not own it for the world, for he is a frightful
democrat."
"Oh, but I have heard him say that if all kings and queens were like
the King and Queen of Italy, he should think better of them," returned
Enid.
"Look, look!" Maud interrupted her. "Is not that your picture they are
looking at now? I do believe the Queen is remarking on it."
"It cannot be," said Enid breathlessly, her heart beating fast at the
mere idea.
But now the Queen was approaching the place where they stood. People
were drawing together, and preparing to salute her in their best
manner. Herr Schmitz darted a quick glance round. His eyes fell on
Enid, and he advanced rapidly to her side.
"The Queen wishes me to present you to her," he said.
He took her hand as he spoke, and ere Enid could recover from her
amazement, or at all realise the situation, she found herself
curtseying low before the sovereign lady, who gave her her hand, saying
graciously, in perfect English, with one of her radiant smiles—
"Your little picture pleases me very much. You are fond of painting
flowers, are you not?"
In what words she replied, or how she deported herself, Enid had
afterwards not the faintest idea.
The Queen expressed some kind wishes for her future success, and then
her eyes rested with an air of interest on Maud.
Perhaps she too saw something ideal in the girl's style and grace.
She said a few words in a low tone to Herr Schmitz. Miss Marian was
no favourite with the old painter, but he had a generous impulse with
regard to her at that moment.
"Yes," he said, in answer to the Queen's question, "that lady also is
an aspiring young artist."
And he signed to Maud to advance, and she too was presented to her
Majesty.
"There! What do you say now?" Enid asked her cousin, when the Queen had
gone by. "Are you not glad I brought you here so early?"
"Indeed, I am delighted. I never thought to meet the Queen in so
informal a manner. Did I make a proper curtsey?"
"Your dignity was perfect. You did not seem in the least discomposed.
As for me, I was trembling all over."
"You did not show it. After all, Enid, you had the greatest honour. It
was your picture the Queen noticed; she did not look at mine."
"You cannot know that," said Enid.
"I do know it, though," said Maud, with a sudden painful perception of
the truth. "It is you who are the artist, not I, Enid. I only play at
Art, whilst you work."
Happily, the approach of a friend rendered it unnecessary for Enid to
reply to these words. The Queen and her companions had departed, and
the general company was beginning to arrive. But for the girls, the
best part of the evening was over, though they derived a secondary
pleasure from discussing with their acquaintances its grand event.