Violets and Other Tales Part 5

IN MEMORIAM.

The light streams through the windows arched high, And o'er the stern, stone carvings breaks In warm rich gold and crimson waves, Then steals away in corners dark to die.

And all the grand cathedral silence falls Into the hearts of those that wors.h.i.+p low, Like tender waves of hushed nothingness, Confined nor kept by human earthly walls.

Deep music in its thundering organ sounds, Grows diffuse through the echoing s.p.a.ce, Till hearts grow still in sadness' mighty joy, Or leap aloft in swift ecstatic bounds.

Mayhap 'twas but a dream that came to me, Or but a vision of the soul's desire, To see the nation in one mighty whole, Do homage on its bended, wors.h.i.+pping knee.

Through time's heroic actions, the soul of man, Alone proves what that soul without earth's dross Could be, and this, through time's far-searching fire, Hath proved thine white beneath the deepest scan.

A woman's tribute, 'tis a tiny dot, A merest flower from a frail, small hand, To lay among the many petaled wreaths About thy form,--a tribute soon forgot.

But if in all the incense to arise In fragrance to the blue empyrean The blended sweetness of the womens' love Goes pouring too, in all their heartfelt sighs.

And if one woman's sorrow be among them too, One woman's joy for labor past Be reckoned in the mighty teeming whole, It is enough, there is not more to do.

Within the hearts of heroes small and great There 'bides a tenderness for weakling things Within thy heart, the sorrowing country knows These pa.s.sions, bravest and the tenderest mate.

When man is dust, before the gazing eyes Of all the gaping throng, his life lies wide For all to see and whisper low about Or let their thoughts in discord's clatter rise.

But thine was pure and undefiled, A record of long brilliant, teeming days, Each thought did tend to further things, But pure as the proverbial child.

Oh, people, that thy grief might find express To gather in some vast cathedral's hall, That then in unity we might kneel and hear Sublimity in sounds, voice our distress.

Peace, peace, the men of G.o.d cry, ye be bold, The world hath known, 'tis Heaven who claims him now, And in our railings we but cast aside The n.o.ble traits he bid us hold.

So though divided through the land, in dreams We see a people kneeling low, Bowed down in heart and soul to see This fearful sorrow, crus.h.i.+ng as it seems.

And all the grand cathedral silence falls Into the hearts of these that wors.h.i.+p low, Like tender waves of hushed nothingness, Confined, nor kept by human earthly walls.

A STORY OF VENGEANCE.

Yes, Eleanor, I have grown grayer. I am younger than you, you know, but then, what have you to age you? A kind husband, lovely children, while I--I am nothing but a lonely woman. Time goes slowly, slowly for me now.

Why did I never marry? Move that screen a little to one side, please; my eyes can scarcely bear a strong light. Bernard? Oh, that's a long story.

I'll tell you if you wish; it might pa.s.s an hour.

Do you ever think to go over the old school-days? We thought such foolish things then, didn't we? There wasn't one of us but imagined we would have only to knock ever so faintly on the portals of fame and they would fly wide for our entrance into the magic realms. On Commencement night we whispered merrily among ourselves on the stage to see our favorite planet, Venus, of course, smiling at us through a high, open window, "bidding adieu to her astronomy cla.s.s," we said.

Then you went away to plunge into the most brilliant whirl of society, and I stayed in the beautiful old city to work.

Bernard was very much _en evidence_ those days. He liked you a great deal, because in school-girl parlance you were my "chum." You say,--thanks, no tea, it reminds me that I'm an old maid; you say you know what happiness means--maybe, but I don't think any living soul could experience the joy I felt in those days; it was absolutely painful at times.

Byron and his counterparts are ever dear to the womanly heart, whether young or old. Such a man was he, gloomy, misanthropical, tired of the world, with a few dozen broken love-affairs among his varied experiences. Of course, I wors.h.i.+pped him secretly, what romantic, silly girl of my age, would not, being thrown in such constant contact with him.

One day he folded me tightly in his arms, and said:

"Little girl, I have nothing to give you in exchange for that priceless love of yours but a heart that has already been at another's feet, and a wrecked life, but may I ask for it?"

"It is already yours," I answered. I'll draw the veil over the scene which followed; you know, you've "been there."

Then began some of the happiest hours that ever the jolly old sun beamed upon, or the love-sick moon clothed in her rays of silver. Deceived me?

No, no. He admitted that the old love for Blanche was still in his heart, but that he had lost all faith and respect for her, and could nevermore be other than a friend. Well, I was fool enough to be content with such crumbs.

We had five months of happiness. I tamed down beautifully in that time,--even consented to adopt the peerless Blanche as a model. I gave up all my most ambitious plans and cherished schemes, because he disliked women whose names were constantly in the mouth of the public.

In fact, I became quiet, sedate, dignified, renounced too some of my best and dearest friends. I lived, breathed, thought, acted only for him; for me there was but one soul in the universe--Bernard's. Still, for all the suffering I've experienced, I'd be willing to go through it all again just to go over those five months. Every day together, at nights on the lake-sh.o.r.e listening to the soft lap of the waters as the silver sheen of the moon spread over the dainty curled waves; sometimes in a hammock swinging among the trees talking of love and reading poetry. Talk about Heaven! I just think there can't he a better time among the angels.

But there is an end to all things. A violent illness, and his father relenting, sent for the wayward son. I will always believe he loved me, but he was eager to get home to his mother, and anxious to view Blanche in the light of their new relations.h.i.+p. We had a whole series of parting scenes,--tears and vows and kisses exchanged. We clung to each other after the regulation fas.h.i.+on, and swore never to forget, and to write every day. Then there was a final wrench. I went back to my old life--he, away home.

For a while I was content, there were daily letters from him to read; his constant admonitions to practice; his many little tokens to adore--until there came a change,--letters less frequent, more mention of Blanche and her love for him, less of his love for me, until the truth was forced upon me. Then I grew cold and proud, and with an iron will crushed and stamped all love for him out of my tortured heart and cried for vengeance.

Yes, quite melo-dramatic, wasn't it? It is a dramatic tale, though.

So I threw off my habits of seclusion and mingled again with men and women, and took up all my long-forgotten plans. It's no use telling you how I succeeded. It was really wonderful, wasn't it? It seems as though that fickle G.o.ddess, Fortune, showered every blessing, save one, on my path. Success followed success, triumph succeeded triumph. I was lionized, feted, petted, caressed by the social and literary world. You often used to wonder how I stood it in all those years. G.o.d knows; with the heart-sick weariness and the fierce loathing that possessed me, I don't know myself.

But, mind you, Eleanor, I schemed well. I had everything seemingly that humanity craved for, but I suffered, and by all the G.o.ds, I swore that he should suffer too. Blanche turned against him and married his brother. An unfortunate chain of circ.u.mstances drove him from his father's home branded as a forger. Strange, wasn't it? But money is a strong weapon, and its long arm reaches over leagues and leagues of land and water.

One day he found me in a distant city, and begged for my love again, and for mercy and pity. Blanche was only a mistake, he said, and he loved me alone, and so on. I remembered all his thrilling tones and tender glances, but they might have moved granite now sooner than me. He knelt at my feet and pleaded like a criminal suing for life. I laughed at him and sneered at his misery, and told him what he had done for my happiness, and what I in turn had done for his.

Eleanor, to my dying day, I shall never forget his face as he rose from his knees, and with one awful, indescribable look of hate, anguish and scorn, walked from the room. As he neared the door, all the old love rose in me like a flood, drowning the sorrows of past years, and overwhelming me in a deluge of pity. Strive as I did, I could not repress it; a woman's love is too mighty to be put down with little reasonings. I called to him in terror, "Bernard, Bernard!" He did not turn; gave no sign of having heard.

"Bernard, come back; I didn't mean it!"

He pa.s.sed slowly away with bent head, out of the house and out of my life. I've never seen him since, never heard of him. Somewhere, perhaps on G.o.d's earth he wanders outcast, forsaken, loveless. I have my vengeance, but it is like Dead Sea fruit, all bitter ashes to the taste.

I am a miserable, heart-weary wreck,--a woman with fame, without love.

"Vengeance is an arrow that often falleth and smiteth the hand of him that sent it."

AT BAY ST. LOUIS.

Soft breezes blow and swiftly show Through fragrant orange branches parted, A maiden fair, with sun-flecked hair, Caressed by arrows, golden darted.

The vine-clad tree holds forth to me A promise sweet of purple blooms, And chirping bird, scarce seen but heard Sings dreamily, and sweetly croons At Bay St. Louis.

The hammock swinging, idly singing, Lissome nut-brown maid Swings gaily, freely, to-and-fro; The curling, green-white waters casting cool, clear shade, Rock small, sh.e.l.l boats that go In circles wide, or tug at anchor's chain, As though to skim the sea with cargo vain, At Bay St. Louis.

The maid swings slower, slower to-and-fro, And sunbeams kiss gray, dreamy half-closed eyes; Fond lover creeping on with foot steps slow, Gives gentle kiss, and smiles at sweet surprise.