An Original Belle is a Webnovel created by Edward Payson Roe.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
The sun was shining brightly when she wakened on the following morning, and when she came to breakfast their domestic handed her a note from her father, by which she was informed that he would dine with her earlier than usual, and that they would take a sail down the bay.
Brief as it was, it breathed an almost lover-like fondness and happiness. She enjoyed her first exultant thrill at her sense of power as she comprehended that he had gone to his work that day a stronger and more hopeful man.
She went out to do her shopping, and was soon in a Broadway temple of fashion, but found that she was no longer a worshipper. A week before the beautiful fabrics would have absorbed her mind and awakened intense desires, for she had a pa.s.sion for dress, and few knew how to make more of it than she. But a new and stronger pa.s.sion was awakening. She was made to feel at last that she had not only a woman’s lovely form and features, but a woman’s mind. Now she began to dream of triumphs through the latter, and her growing thought was how to achieve them. Not that she was indifferent to her costume; it should be like the soldier’s accoutrements; her mind the weapon.
As is common with the young to whom any great impulse or new, deep experience comes, she was absorbed by it, and could think of little else. She went over her father’s words again and again, dwelling on the last utterance, which had contained the truth uppermost in all that he had said,–“Develop the best in your own nature naturally.”
What was her own nature, her starting-point? Her introspection was not very rea.s.suring. She felt that perhaps the most hopeful indication was her strong rebound from what she at last recognized as mean and unworthy. She also had a little natural curiosity and vanity to see if her face was changing with changing motives. Was there such a difference between prettiness and beauty? She was perfectly sure she would rather be beautiful than pretty.
Her mirror revealed a perplexed young face, suggesting interrogation-points. The day was ending as it had begun, with a dissatisfaction as to the past, amounting almost to disgust, and with fears, queries, and uncertainties concerning the future. How should she take up life again? How should she go on with it?
More importunate still was the question, “What has the future in store for me and for those I love? Papa spoke of danger; and when I think of his resolute face, I know that nothing in the line of duty will daunt him. He said that it might not be kindness to leave me in my old, blind, unthinking ignorance,–that a blow, shattering everything, might come, finding us all unprepared. Oh, why don’t mamma feel and see more? We have been just like comfortable pa.s.sengers on a ship, while papa was facing we knew not what. I may not be of much use, but I feel now as if I wanted to be with him. To stay below with scarcely any other motive than to have a good time, and then to be paralyzed, helpless, when some shock of trouble comes, now seems silly and weak to the last degree. I am only too glad that I came to my senses in time, for if anything should happen to papa, and I had to remember all my days that I had never been much to him, and had left him to meet the stress of life and danger alone, I am sure I should be wretched from self-reproach.”
When he came at six o’clock, she met him eagerly, and almost her first words were, “Papa, there hasn’t been any danger to-day?”
“Oh, no; none at all; only humdrum work. You must not antic.i.p.ate trouble. Soldiers, you know, jest and laugh even when going into battle, and they are all the better soldiers for the fact. No; I have given you a wrong impression. Nothing has been humdrum to-day.
An acquaintance down town said: ‘What’s up, Vosburgh? Heard good news? Have our troops scored a point?’ You see I was so brightened up that he thought nothing but a national victory could account for the improvement. Men are like armies, and are twice as effective when well supported.”
“The idea of my supporting you!”
“To me it’s a charming idea. Instead of coming back to a dismal, empty house, I find a blue-eyed la.s.sie who will go with me to dinner, and add sauce piquante to every dish. Come, I am not such a dull, grave old fellow as you imagine. You shall see how gallant I can become under provocation. We must make the most of a couple of hours, for that is all that I can give you. No sail to-night, as I had planned, for a government agent is coming on from Washington to see me, and I must be absent for at least an hour or two after eight o’clock. You won’t mope, will you? You have something to read? Has the day been very long and lonely? What have you been doing and thinking about?”
“When are you going to give me a chance to answer?”
“Oh, I read your answer, partly at least, in your eyes. You can amplify later. Come, get ready for the street. Put on what you please, so that you wear a smile. These are not times to worry over slight reverses as long as the vital points are safe.”
The hour they pa.s.sed at dinner gave Marian a new revelation of her father. The quiet man proved true the words of Emerson, “Among those who enjoy his thought, he will regain his tongue.”
At first he drew her out a little, and with his keen, quick insight he understood her perplexity, her solicitude about him and herself and the future, her resolute purpose to be a woman, and the difficulties of seeing the way to the changes she desired. Instead of replying directly to her words, he skilfully led their talk to the events of the day, and contemporaneous history became romance under his version; the actors in the pa.s.sing drama ceased to be names and officials, and were invested with human interest. She was made to see their motives, their hopes, fears, ambitions; she opened her eyes in surprise at his knowledge of prominent people, their social status, relations, and family connection. A genial light of human interest played over most of his words, yet now and then they touched on the depths of tragedy; again he seemed to be indulging in sublimated gossip, and she saw the men and women who posed before the public in their high stations revealed in their actual daily life.
She became so interested that at times she left her food untasted.
“How can you know all this?” she exclaimed.
“It is my business to know a great deal,” he replied. “Then natural curiosity leads me to learn more. The people of whom I have spoken are the animated pieces on the chess-board. In the tremendous game that we are playing, success depends largely on their strength, weakness, various traits,–in brief, their character. The stake that I have in the game leads me to know and watch those who are exerting a positive influence. It is interesting to study the men and women who, in any period, made and shaped history, and to learn the secrets of their success and failure. Is it not natural that men and women who are making history to-day–who in fact are shaping one’s own history–should be objects of stronger attention? Now, as in the past, women exert a far greater influence on current events than you would imagine. There are but few thrones of power behind which you will not find a woman. What I shall do or be during the coming weeks and months depends upon some of the people I have sketched, free-handed, for you alone. You see the sphinx–for as such I am regarded by many–opens his mouth freely to you. Can you guess some of my motives for this kind of talk?”
“You have wanted to entertain me, papa, and you have succeeded.
You should write romances, for you but touch the names one sees in the papers and they become dramatic actors.”
“I did want to entertain you and make a fair return for your society; I wish to prove that I can be your companion as truly as you can become mine; but I have aimed to do more. I wish you to realize how interesting the larger and higher world of activity is.
Do not imagine that in becoming a woman, earnest and thoughtful, you are entering on an era of solemn plat.i.tudes. You are rather pa.s.sing from a theatre of light comedy to a stage from which Shakespeare borrowed the whole gamut of human feeling, pa.s.sion, and experience. I also wished to satisfy you that you have mind enough to become absorbed as soon as you begin to understand the significance of the play. After you have once become an intelligent spectator of real life you can no more go back to drawing-room chit-chat, gossip, and flirtation than you can lay down Shakespeare’s ‘Tempest’ for a weak little parlor comedy. I am too shrewd a man, Marian, to try to disengage you from the past by exhortations and homilies; and now that you have become my friend, I shall be too sincere with you to disguise my purposes or methods. I propose to co-operate frankly with you in your effort, for in this way I prove my faith in you and my respect for you. Soon you will find yourself an actor in real life, as well as a spectator.”
“I fear I have been one already,–a sorry one, too. It is possible to do mischief without being very intelligent or deliberate. You are making my future, so far as you are concerned, clearer than I imagined it could be. You do interest me deeply. In one evening you make it evident how much I have lost in neglecting you–for I have neglected you, though not intentionally. Hereafter I shall be only too proud if you will talk to me as you have done, giving me glimpses of your thoughts, your work, and especially your dangers, where there are any. Never deceive me in this respect, or leave me in ignorance. Whatever may be the weaknesses of my nature, now that I have waked up, I am too proud a girl to receive all that I do from your hands and then give almost my whole life and thought to others. I shall be too delighted if you are happier for my meddling and dropping down upon you. I’ll keep your secrets too, you see;” and she confirmed her words by an emphatic little nod.
“You can talk to me about people, big and little, with whom you have to do, just as serenely as if you were giving your confidence to an oyster.
“But, papa, I am confronted by a question of real life, just as difficult for me as any that can perplex you. I can’t treat this question any more as I have done. I don’t see my way at all. Now I am going to be as direct and straightforward as a man, and not beat around the bush with any womanish finesse. There is a gentleman in this city who, if he knew I was in town to-night, would call, and I might not be able to prevent him from making a formal proposal.
He is a man whom I respect and like very much, and I fear I have been too encouraging,–not intentionally and deliberately you know, but thoughtlessly. He was the cleverest and the most entertaining of my friends, and always brought a breezy kind of excitement with him. Don’t you see, papa? That is what I lived for, pleasure and excitement, and I don’t believe that anything can be so exciting to a girl as to see a man yielding to her fascinations, whatever they may be. It gives one a delicious sense of power. I shall be frank, too. I must be, for I want your advice. You men like power.
History is full of the records of those who sold their own souls for it, and walked through blood and crime to reach it. I think it is just as natural for a woman to love power also, only now I see that it is a cruel and vile thing to get it and use it merely for amus.e.m.e.nt. To me it was excitement. I don’t like to think how it may all end to a man like Fenton Lane, and I am so remorseful that I am half inclined to sacrifice myself and make him as good a wife as I can.”
“Do you love him?”
“No. I don’t think I know what love is. When a mere girl I had a foolish little flame that went out with the first breath of ridicule.
Since that time I have enjoyed gentlemen’s society as naturally as any other girl of our set, perhaps more keenly. Their talk and ways are so different from those of girls! Then my love of power came in, you see. The other girls were always talking about their friends and followers, and it was my pride to surpa.s.s them all. I liked one better than another, of course, but was always as ready for a new conquest as that old fool, ‘Alexander the Little,’
who ran over the world and especially himself. What do you think, papa? Shall I ever see one who will make all the others appear as nothing? Or, would it be n.o.bler to devote myself to a true, fine man, like Mr. Lane, no matter how I felt?”
“G.o.d forbid! You had better stay at your mother’s side till you are as old and wrinkled as Time himself.”
“I am honestly glad to hear you say so. But what am I to do? Sooner or later I shall have to refuse Mr. Lane, and others too.”
“Refuse them, then. He would be less than a man who would ask a girl to sacrifice herself for him. No, my dear, the most inalienable right of your womanhood is to love freely and give yourself where you love. This right is one of the issues of this war,–that the poorest woman in this land may choose her own mate. Slavery is the corner-stone of the Confederacy, wherein millions of women can be given according to the will of masters. Should the South triumph, phases of the Old-World despotism would creep in with certainly, and in the end we should have alliances, not marriages, as is the case so generally abroad. Now if a white American girl does not make her own choice she is a weak fool. The law and public sentiment protect her. If she will not choose wisely, she must suffer the consequences, and only under the impulse of love can a true choice be made. A girl must be sadly deficient in sense if she loves a weak, bad, disreputable man, or a vulgar, ignorant one. Such mesalliances are more in seeming than in reality, for the girl herself is usually near in nature to what she chooses. There are few things that I would more earnestly guard you against than a loveless marriage.
You would probably miss the sweetest happiness of life, and you would scarcely escape one of its worst miseries.”
“That settles it, then. I am going to choose for myself,–to stay with you and mamma, and to continue sending you my bills indefinitely.”
“They will be love letters, now.”
“Very dear ones, you will think sometimes. But truly, papa, you must not let me spend more than you can afford. You should be frank on this point also, when you know I do not wish to be inconsiderate.
The question still remains, What am I to do with Mr. Lane?”
“Now I shall throw you on your own resources. I believe your woman’s tact can manage this question better than my reason; only, if you don’t love him and do not think you can, be sure to refuse him.
I have nothing against Mr. Lane, and approve of what I know about him; but I am not eager to have a rival, or to lose what I have so recently gained. Nevertheless, I know that when the true knight comes through the wood, my sleeping beauty will have another awakening, compared with which this one will seem slight indeed.
Then, as a matter of course, I will quietly take my place as ‘second fiddle’ in the harmony of your life. But no discordant first fiddle, if you please; and love alone can attune its strings. My time is up, and, if I don’t return early, go to bed, so that mamma may not say you are the worse for your days in town. This visit has made me wish for many others.”
“You shall have them, for, as Shakespeare says, your wish ‘jumps’
with mine.”
CHAPTER V.
“BE HOPEFUL, THAT I MAY HOPE.”
LEFT to herself Marian soon threw down the book she tried to read, and thought grew busy with her father’s later words. Was there then a knight–a man–somewhere in the world, so unknown to her that she would pa.s.s him in the street without the slightest premonition that he was the arbiter of her destiny? Was there some one, to whom imagination could scarcely give shadowy outline, so real and strong that he could look a new life into her soul, set all her nerves tingling, and her blood coursing in mad torrents through her veins? Was there a stranger, whom now she would sweep with a casual glance, who still had the power to subdue her proud maidenhood, overcome the reserve which seemed to reach as high as heaven, and lay a gentle yet resistless grasp, not only on her sacred form, but on her very soul? Even the thought made her tremble with a vague yet delicious dread. Then she sprung to her feet and threw back her head proudly as she uttered aloud the words, “If this can ever be true, my power shall be equal to his.”
A moment later she was evoking half-exultant chords from the piano.
These soon grew low and dreamy, and the girl said softly to herself: “I have lived more in two days than in months of the past. Truly real life is better than a sham, shallow existence.”
The door-bell rang, and she started to her feet. “Who can know I am in town?” she queried.
Fenton Lane entered with extended hand and the words: “I was pa.s.sing and knew I could not be mistaken in your touch. Your presence was revealed by the music as unmistakably as if I had met you on the street. Am I an intruder? Please don’t order me away under an hour or two.”
“Indeed, Mr. Lane, truth compels me to say that I am here in deep retirement. I have been contemplating a convent.”