EVARNE'S VOCATION
When Evarne next opened her eyes she was lying cosily enough in bed.
What a strange troubled sleep she had had, so full of confused dreams!
Instantly came a fear of oversleeping, and she made an effort to rise.
But the attempt was vain; even her half-opened lids were insupportably
heavy. Languidly she let them droop, and then knew nothing more until a
spoon was placed to her lips, and she felt some warm liquid meandering
down her throat. At this the heavy lids were lifted widely in
astonishment.
"Bravo! My pretty dolly is made to open its eyes!" cried a cheery voice,
and there by her side was old Mrs. Harbert, gazing at her smilingly.
Evarne looked slowly around. This was not her own room--no--all those
artist's studies--where was it? Then she remembered. She must surely be
in Mrs. Harbert's own domain.
Her lips shaped the words, "What am I doing here?"
"Ah, ha! My dolly talks," was the only answer she received.
The girl tried to arouse herself further, but enthralled by a heavy
lethargy, she abandoned the attempt, and gradually fell asleep once
more.
When next she awoke the sharp sound of a falling cup had aroused her
more thoroughly. She lifted her head slightly from the pillow. There
stood Mrs. Smithkins, looking at her with much concern.
"Lor' now, I do 'ope I 'aven't done no 'arm by wakin' yer up!"
"Am I ill?" whispered Evarne.
"You've bin at death's door," impressively replied Mrs. Smithkins, with
obvious satisfaction.
"I remember. I was going downstairs. Did I fall? Tell me everything."
"The doctor says yer ain't to speak."
"You talk; I'll listen."
Nothing loath, Mrs. Smithkins set to and related the story. It appeared
that everybody in the house had run from their rooms at the sound of
Evarne's terrible tumble, and, lifting up her unconscious form, had laid
her upon Mrs. Harbert's bed--the nearest at hand. Her forehead, which
was cut and bleeding, had been promptly tied up. But neither lavish
sprinkling of water, draughts of undiluted gin, the burning of feathers
nor the tickling of her palms, had sufficed to bring her to her senses,
so the parish doctor had been called in. He had said a lot of things
none of the hearers had been able to properly understand, but finally
had said clearly enough that it would be weeks ere she was well again.
Mrs. Harbert had undertaken to nurse her, and, according to Mrs.
Smithkins, had fulfilled this promise like an angel of light. Sometimes
she had been forced to be absent for the best part of the day about her
work, but she had always prepared the invalid's diet beforehand, and
Mrs. Smithkins had administered it. The doctor had been ever so many
times! Once he even came twice in one day! As to Evarne's room upstairs,
it was let to somebody else. A man from the firm had come and taken away
the sewing machine, her bed was here--Mrs. Harbert now slept on it--her
chair and table and other belongings were on the landing upstairs.
Left alone, Evarne lay awake for hours pondering. She half regretted
that she had not died; that would so have simplified matters. Now she
had the future to worry about once more; and she felt positively
overwhelmed by the knowledge of her poor old neighbour's extraordinary
charity. When evening fell, and Mrs. Harbert entered very softly on
tiptoe, Evarne greeted her, feeling quite embarrassed by the extent of
this debt of gratitude.
"Why, my dolly is quite well agin, the Lord be praised," declared the
old woman, beaming all over her face.
Placing on a chair the packed market-basket she carried, she proceeded
to lay its contents one by one on the table.
"I've got something for yer," she declared, triumphantly holding up a
couple of volumes. "I bought 'em from an old bookstall. 'Rose Leaves or
Strawberry Leaves? A Romance of Society.' That sounds real exciting, and
will amuse 'er, thinks I, and then 'Gull--Gully somebody's Travels.'
That will be instructive, and will educate 'er mind."
"Mrs. Harbert, you are far, far too good to me. I shall never be able to
thank you properly."
"Yer can't do nothin' properly till yer gits well, and the doctor--nice
old chap 'e is too--says yer ain't to talk."
"Doctors always say that. Why are you so kind to me?"
"'Cause I likes it. My gosh, 'ere am I, a lonely old woman, and when
'Eaven drops a nice-spoken pretty gal, bang splosh at my very front
door, d'you think I was goin' to just git out my broom and sweep 'er
away? That ain't Philadelphia 'Arbert."
"I'll get well quickly now, not to cause you any more trouble."
"''E goes quickest who takes time by the nose,' as Shakespeare says."
Evarne smiled.
"How did you come to study Shakespeare?"
"It was this way. Yer know, my dear, I'm a hartist's model. All these
pictures on the wall are me. I showed 'em to yer once before, didn't I?
My gosh, when I was a gal--a young woman--I was real lovely. But yer can
see that for yourself, though these 'ere pictures is only students'
work, and don't do me real credit. Still, jist notice my shapely legs in
this one. Nice bust too, eh! See my back 'ere--there's a fine straight
back for yer. Every great hartist painted me in them days. I was a
regular queen among 'em--'eaps more work offered me than I could manage.
There was one gentleman--oh, a real nice gentleman 'e was too, pore
dear, 'e's dead now--and 'e used to 'ave Shakespeare read out to 'im all
the time 'e worked. I often posed for 'im, and as I've got a good memory
I picked it up, and bits of it is always comin' into my mind. My gosh,
Miss Stornway, I tell yer it do make the other old gals in this 'ouse
that jealous! I'm always sittin' on 'em with my quotes, and they can't
do nothin' but keep their hignorant old tongues still and look silly."
Thus she rattled on, meantime proceeding to prepare the evening meal for
herself and her charge.
Days passed, and having once started upon her convalescence, Evarne
gained strength rapidly. At the end of a week she was able to leave her
bed. The colour and contour gradually returned to her pale, thin cheeks,
the brightness to her eye, all her marvellous beauty blossomed forth
afresh. At the end of a fortnight she was strong enough to take her
first outing in the form of a short ride on the top of a 'bus.
On returning from this expedition she lay down while Mrs. Harbert made
tea, and over the genial beverage the old woman for the first time
consented to discuss future plans. Evarne had two or three various
suggestions to bring forward, but Mrs. Harbert would not even listen.
"There's only one sensible thing for yer to do, Evarne, my gal, and
that's to follow in my footsteps. Needlework and sich-like may be all
right for some, but for you--why, it's jist a wicked waste of Gawd's
gifts. Now, I'll tell yer, when yer was ill and me and Smithkins was
givin' my dolly a bath, I says to 'er, I says, 'My gosh, what a lovely
gal!' and Smithkins she says----Now, whatever are yer blushin' for, my
dear? You are a real lovely gal, and I speaks as one who knows what's
what. I never seemed to notice it when yer was bundled up in clothes;
that's the way with the best of us, we never appears to advantage in
togs. It's the skinny women with waists the size of their ankles, what
no hartist would so much as look at; or them females as is bundles of
fat what wouldn't look human if they wasn't packed up tidy into
corsets--they're the sort what looks best in their clothes. Beautiful
women like you and me looks better and better as we undresses more and
more. You'll make a fortune as a model, and you'll be a bigger fool than
I take yer for if yer chucks away that fortune."
Evarne remained silent, pondering over this suggestion. Instant
objections sprang to her mind, but at the same time came the conviction
that here indeed was a means of earning a livelihood for which she was
undeniably well qualified. Her own experience as an artist had taught
her both the value and the rarity of a figure, beautiful from an
artistic point of view. At the same time....
Mrs. Harbert broke in upon her reflections.
"Perhaps yer was thinkin' it ain't proper."
But the girl shook her head immediately.
"No," she declared. "I studied Art myself, and painted from the nude,
when I was better off, so I should have got rid of any ideas of that
sort, even if I had ever had them; but I never had. I was just thinking
that it really was a brilliant notion of yours, but that I didn't quite
like it somehow. Still, I believe that if you hadn't spoken just then, I
should have gone on to reflect that beggars can't be choosers."
"Ah, Shakespeare! But why don't yer like it, if yer ain't shocked? It's
the nicest profession in the world. Takes yer among sich 'igh-class
people--real ladies and gentlemen--and into sich nice warm rooms. And
what's more, yer can go on till yer are as old as old--as a costume
model anyway. Of course, while you're young, the sun shines, and yer
bucks up and makes yer 'ay accordin'. Yer can earn pounds a week
sometimes, quite easy. Look at me--I'm a middle-aged one now, yet I
makes a pretty fair livin' by it, and don't overwork myself neither."
"How would I start to get work? Is it difficult to get up a connection?"
inquired the girl dubiously.
"Not for the likes of you. You'd only 'ave to show yerself. But yer
still looks ill, and you're ever so weak. You've got to be strong to
'stand,' I can tell yer. 'Tain't no use beginnin' yet. I wish we could
git yer away to the seaside.
"I'll get well quickly in London now--I will really. I'll go out into
the parks every day for fresh air, and be as strong as ever I was in no
time. You shall see."
She duly followed this prescription, with the result prophesied. It had
been inexpressibly painful to feel that she was being maintained by this
hard-working old woman, upon whom she had not the slightest claim, and
at the same time to doubt her power of ever making due recompense. Now,
with a mind at ease once more as to the future, the open air, the rest,
and the ample though simple diet were free to fulfil their good work. In
less than a fortnight Mrs. Harbert was able to declare her _protégée_ to
be blooming as a rose, and a picture unpainted.
Accordingly she set about finding an engagement for the girl, and one
morning, a week or two later, she watched Evarne set off for an advanced
and important Art school, armed with good courage, a packet of
sandwiches and some sage advice.
"Nobody guesses it's yer first sittin', me dear, and nobody won't take
no notice of yer if yer don't tell 'em. Walk out of the dressin'-room as
bold as brass, and grumble under yer breath at the pose the master
chooses, no matter what it is. If you won't come when 'e calls, or run
back agin, or act the fool in any way what ain't usual with models,
they'll all remember you're a human bein', and stare at yer, anxious to
know what's the matter. Then, likely enough, you would feel rather put
out of countenance."
"I'm not going to be silly at all," Evarne had declared with conviction;
and sure enough, when she returned in the evening she was able to state
that the entire day had gone off satisfactorily.
She had not expected to be much troubled by inopportune bashfulness, and
when she found herself again in a studio, beheld the easels and
drawing-boards, canvases and palettes, smelt the characteristic odours
and heard the familiar artistic jargon of the students, she had felt
herself to be an acolyte in a temple wherein was worshipped the
perpetuation of the beautiful. The influence of modern thought and
custom had fallen from her with her garments, and she had adored her own
fairness.
"I'm sorry if it sounds immodest," she confessed, "but indeed I only
felt happy to be in the atmosphere of Art once more. I knew that those
young men, who all seemed so much in earnest, would learn much from
painting me--for it was a very charming pose--and somehow I felt
interested in everyone, and as if I wanted them all to get on, and was
glad to be able to help them to progress a little. Oh, Mrs. Harbert!
Somehow I feel that if only I came across a real artist--a grand man,
you know, but young, who hadn't found himself yet, so to speak--I could
inspire him to do such wonderful work, to paint pictures he had never
dreamed of before. I don't fancy I should ever have been much of an
artist myself, even if I'd been able to keep on--perhaps I should
though! Anyhow, I know I have got something in my heart or mind, or
something vague of that sort, that I could give out to another if he
could receive it, and had some of the impulse I'm talking about of his
own, and then he would be able to do what otherwise he would never be
able to do.... I am getting dreadfully incoherent, but I know what I
mean myself. Did you ever feel anything like what I've been describing?"
The old woman would not commit herself to a direct answer.
"It's a blessing yer looks at it in that light," she commented.
But nothing could possibly have surpassed Mrs. Harbert's real opinion of
the importance of the part played by the model in the production of any
picture of worth, so she was fully sympathetic, no matter to what
heights the girl might soar on the topic.
And now Evarne found that she had indeed alighted upon a profession in
which she had little to fear for competition, neither did she require
much more aid from Mrs. Harbert. Before her fortnight at the Art school
was completed, she had already obtained another engagement.
"It's the elder sister of one of the young men," she explained
gleefully." The youth seems to have waxed somewhat enthusiastic about
me; so much so that his sister, who is an artist, came down to the
school to see the wonder with her own eyes. She wants me to start
sitting for her next Monday. Am I not fortunate? She seemed such a nice
woman, and her brother says she paints beautifully. I am so pleased
about it."
And this success was only the beginning. Ere long Evarne found herself
the proud recipient of more offers than she could possibly accept.
Allowing herself to be guided by the experienced Mrs. Harbert, she
discriminated among them, and also gradually raised her terms.
Nevertheless, work continued to flow in unceasingly; very rarely was
there even half a week day that she could regard as a holiday.
As time passed she became quite well known in the artistic world, and
sometimes even fulfilled particularly well-paid engagements out of
London. Not only was the girl absolutely delightful to the eye, both in
face and form, but many an artist found her presence in his studio to be
strangely valuable. It was her sympathy with any aspiring worker--the
keen interest she took in the picture on hand--quite as much as her
quick understanding, her almost intuitive divination of its creator's
ideas, unexpressed thoughts and half-conceived fancies, that gave her a
unique power that the painters themselves were quick to feel. Her own
artistic instincts and her studio training had given her the gift of
falling easily and instinctively into poses full of grace and
expression. Quite frequently too, studying the half-completed work,
ideas would come to her which, with a gentle diffidence, she would
suggest--usually to find her thought taken advantage of to the vast
benefit of the picture. Unquestionably Evarne had found her vocation at
last.
Had she been plunged into the career of a model immediately upon leaving
her petted, luxurious life with Morris Kenyon, she would probably have
considered it as a truly miserable lot--and herself as a victim of cruel
fate. But her descent in the social scale had been so gradual, and had
led to such an abyss of abject poverty and humiliation before she had
almost groped her way into the next world by the gateway of starvation,
that this new existence shone brightly by comparison.
Occasionally she would smile just a little bitterly on comparing her
early dreams of artistic fame with the reality of settling down
contentedly enough to serving as a mere accessory in the production of
pictures. But she had never been genuinely ambitious, and the pang was
not severe. Besides, the counsels of Socrates could step in at such
moments, and bring contentment and resignation. Poverty she feared and
hated, but now that came not near her. True, sweet luxury was also but a
memory of the past, but she was well able to live in perfect comfort.
The five years that followed her adoption of this new profession were
successful, prosperous, and, in their way, happy. Her beauty was not of
the type that wanes with girlhood--each year brought added graces. Her
path through life was encompassed with affection, good-will, regard. She
made a circle of acquaintances for herself--bohemian, but bright, kindly
and amusing. In every studio she entered she was admired instantly and
respected ere long. Both men and women artists were considerate and
friendly towards the stately young model, and this was all that she
desired.
In those five years more than a few men fell captive beneath her subtle
charm, but never a one could gain her love, and she ruthlessly made it
clear that she regarded unwanted masculine devotion as the most useless
and undesirable thing on earth. Neither did the wealth and good position
of at least one of her honourable suitors affect her. Evarne was true to
her heart, as she had ever been.
She was unfailing in friendship and gratitude towards the old woman to
whom she owed so much of her present calm contentment. Very speedily she
had discharged her monetary debts to Philia--for so she affectionately
abbreviated Mrs. Philadelphia Harbert's somewhat ponderous first
name--but that was not all.
Her first upward step had been to move into a couple of rooms in a
neighbouring house, furnishing them gradually in a manner pleasing to
her taste. After a year or so she grew ambitious, and inviting Philia to
join forces with her, migrated to Chelsea. There she took a little house
in a poor yet eminently respectable street. Her new domain had a tiny
garden in front, a yet tinier grass plot behind, and contained four
rooms and a kitchen. True, there was no room for the proverbial swinging
of a cat, but Evarne was touchingly proud of her little home, and spent
money upon its furnishing with truly extravagant abandon.
Old Philia's engagements as a model had for years past been somewhat
difficult to obtain, and as Evarne waxed wealthier, so Philia had fallen
into low water. It was accordingly arranged between them, on their first
deciding to live together, that when the elder woman was actually
earning money she should pay somewhat towards the expenses of their
joint establishment. At other times it was to be regarded as fully
equivalent if she undertook to prepare breakfast and supper for Evarne,
the principal breadwinner and rent-payer; to superintend the labour of
the occasional charwoman, and generally to see to the little home being
kept neat and clean and cosy.
As time passed, Philia almost entirely abandoned posing, and devoted
herself to domestic labours. Evarne delighted in being looked after,
tended and made much of, so she was well content with this state of
affairs. As to Philia, she found herself absolutely happy in her old
age, and was given to quoting imaginary passages from Shakespeare
largely, to show that her first disinterested kindness towards her poor
young upstairs neighbour had been as bread cast on the waters, which was
now returning itself in the form of cake.