THE PLACE OF THE STATUES
"Is Mr. St. Ives here?"
The question fell into the silence of an office where Barbieri, the
proprietor, was writing at a desk.
"Mr. St. Ives? I will send for him. Julian,"--to a boy, who in the
doorway was burying his naked feet in the fine white marble dust like
snow,--"Mr. St. Ives,--a lady."
"I have come to see the new machine."
"Ah, the new machine? It is very wonderful; it not only points the
marble, but cuts it, following the model; and no man touches it. Never
anything like it in this country; in France, yes, there is something of
the sort, but not perfect like this one."
"As wonderful as that?"
"_Si, si_,--yes, madam, wonderful."
"And will you show me how it works? I want to see it in operation."
"In operation? Ah, I regret, but to-day, madam, to-day is Saturday;
there is no power, no electricity, you understand, no men."
"Then why did he have me come?" she murmured, and caught her lip
between her teeth, a trick with her when angry or perplexed.
"Why did you have me come?" she said, addressing the inventor, who with
impetuous strides was advancing to meet her.
He paused in his tracks: "I had forgotten that they closed down."
She scanned him with a swift glance.
"Forgive me," he said in an undertone, "really, I had forgotten,
Rachel, if I ever knew it. But you must see the place now you are
here.--Mr. Barbieri," he added, "I am going to show Mrs. Hart over the
works," and he led the way across a narrow court to an adjoining
structure.
The marble shop covered an extensive area, and the white light that
fell through its glass roof inundated its farthest corner. In this
bath of light, in this silence, unbroken by a single sound; in the
midst of casts, dust, artistic litter of all sorts, were the statues.
Some scarcely blocked from the rough stone, they rose on all sides.
They overtopped the miniature plaster models, like giants overtopping
pygmies; they elbowed the grotesque machines that are used for
enlarging purposes; they crowded the walls; they occupied every foot of
space not reserved for the workmen; some even, with their Titan tread,
had passed through the lofty doorway and stood among barrels and
rubbish in the garish sunlight of the yard. On every side monoliths of
stone were being cut into human shape. There was a torso with the
girth of a Colossus; over yonder a hand chiseled from a boulder; beyond
that, a monumental figure frowning like a tortured Atlas. All in
sections--painful, writhing, some of the statues lacked a head, others
an arm or a foot, and others had their limbs still entangled in uncut
blocks of stone.
It was like a workshop of surgeons of stone men; like a manufactory of
the gods where were created marble monsters that suffered with the age
and immobility of stone, in which petty human qualities of Fortitude,
Justice, Fidelity were being stamped. Hewn out of the womb of the
earth, the marble was tortured here to wear man's face, his form;
finally it would be set up under the sun to testify with the might of
marble limbs to the ideals that govern his heart.
As she viewed the stone population, no one could have told what was
passing in Rachel's stormy little breast, for if there was a spark in
her eyes that seemed to indicate subterranean depths of passion, the
rest of her features were astonishingly passive. Her gloves hampered
her, and with nervous gestures she began taking them off. Tense and
silent and acutely vital, she stood beside Emil, an expression of all
that is baffling and mysterious in woman.
Conscious of a dryness in his throat, he kept his eyes to the statues.
"They are said to be the largest figures ever cut," he murmured. "They
are for the pediment of the new Century Library."
"How still they are!"
"Yes, and one rather expects them to speak and move." Suddenly
swinging round, he looked her in the eyes. "Oh, my own!" he cried.
With uncertain steps he moved toward her.
And swift and strong between them, Fate drew her thread of love; in
that electric net of hers, she caught their souls and drew them close
together. She took the pair of them, as a fowler takes a bird.
His savage heart dominated by emotion, Emil trembled with a desire to
fall at her feet. But she would not own her capture.
"Stop, Emil!" she cried in a suppressed voice; "stop right where you
are! I'll not listen to your words! I came here to tell you--"
He looked upon her intently: "You came because you had to come!"
The speech thrilled with the inspiration of conquest.
"Oh, my love," he cried, "haven't the years we've been separated been
dreary enough? Haven't they been empty enough for us both?--For you,
on your side, you love me; I know it!"
Instead of answering she drew herself up. But he ignored these signs
of rebellion.
"It was a misty day when I first saw you," he pursued, "and yesterday
also it was misty and wet, and all at once I understood that I had been
carrying the thought of you in my heart from the start. Rachel, you
are my heart!" he cried, borne on by the lyric power of his own
utterance. "And as I raced after you across that beach, I knew to a
certainty it was no one-sided thing. Rachel, that kiss, _your_
kiss--it was not a childish impulse; and I dare to tell you so. We
took possession of each other, love, at the first glance! Can you deny
it? _Do_ you deny it?" compressing her hands. "No, no, you cannot!"
he concluded; "and that being true, it is beyond our own power or the
power of any creature, to part us now! Oh, sweet!" and his tone
changed quickly as he saw that she shook from head to foot, "look
around you,--isn't the world beautiful? haven't we a right to
happiness?"
Dropping on his knees, he carried her hand to his throbbing breast.
"Happiness?" she repeated, "no, no, not happiness! but peace perhaps,
and that comes--it comes--"
He looked up into her face--up at the quivering bend of her lips, up
until his eyes found hers, drowned in tears and almost covered by their
fluttering lids--and into his glance flashed a subjugating power, an
irresistible force.
She attempted to follow the line of her argument, a moment before so
clear, but the word "renunciation" died away in a sigh.
She helplessly returned his look.
And the gigantic statues increased her bewilderment; for the one
thought that seemed to leap behind the statues' staring eyes, between
their huge and rigid lips, in the hollow of their stony breasts, was
the naturalness of loving wildly.
Emil dropped his lips on her wrist.
Releasing the hand, she sought to repulse him, but instead, she
clutched his hair with a tenderness almost convulsive.
"Oh, you are killing me!" she moaned.
Drawing himself up, he tried to take her in his arms; but with sudden
violence, she forced his head downward.
"Oh, you torture me!" she panted.
He grasped her hands;--and once more, before her drowning sight,
wavered the statues. In a delirious flash she realized the similarity
of their fate. Like them, she was destined to stand forth under an
open sky, testifying to a command contrary to nature, but which had
been laid upon her kind from time immemorial.
She pushed Emil from her, and pressing her hands to her breast, fled
head down from the place.
Instantly he was upon his feet:
"You are not going?" ......
Among the statues, quiet, watchful, the words trembled and died away;
then in sympathy the statues seemed to shudder at that cry of agony and
surprise.