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II
PROVIDENCE AND THE GUITAR —By Robert Louis Stevenson
I ~r rliamed one day that Moneleur and Madame
Berthelini ileeeendeil with two boxes and a
guitar In a fat caae at the utatlon at the little
town of Caetel-le-Oaehle. and the omnibu. car
ried them With their effect* to the hotel Of the
ftlack Heart.
The land lord, a tragic per.on in a large .e.t
hat, roeo from a bualnc* table under the key-
rack and came forward removing hi* hat with
both hand* a* he did *o.
••Sir. 1 salute you. May I Inquire what 1* your
charge for artiste?" Inquired Iterthellnl, with a
courteay at once splendid and Insinuating
-For artiste'.- said the landlord HI* coun
tenance fell and the smile of welcome disap
pears,i "Oh, a Ulster he said, brutally; "four
francs a day." And he turned hi* back upou
then* inconsiderable customer}*.
Atcustomed as he wa* to the rubs of hi* pro
fession. Berthelini was unpleasantly affected by
the landlord'* manner.
••Elvira." aald he to hla wife, "mark my wrords
Caatel-le-tiachla Is a tragic folly."
•Eel ua ask for breakfast” eeld ehe. with a
woman's tael.
The commissary of police of Oasttl-ls-Gachis
wa* a large, red commissary, pimpled, and sub
3ect to a strong cutaneous transpiration. I have
repeated the name of hla ofTloe because he wiu ao
much more a commissary than a rnan. The spirit
©f his dignity had entered Into him
"I have the honor," Leon asked, "of meeting
Monsieur le Commissaire?”
The commissary was affected by the nobility
hla address. He excelled Leon In the depth if
»ot In the airy grace of hie salutation.
"The honor," he said, "is mine!"
"I am," continued the strolling player, “i am.
•ir. an artist. and I have permitted myself to in
lerrupt you on an affair of business. To-night I
give a trifling musical entertainment at the cafe
mi the Triumph* of the Plow--permit me to offer
you thia little programme- and I Iiave oome lo
oak you for the necessary authorisation."
At the word "artist'’ the commissary had re
placed his hat with the air of a person who, hsv
Ing condescended too far, should suddenly re
member the duties of his rank.
"Put up your bills If you choose," Interrupted
the commissary. "In an hour or eo 1 will ex
amine your papers st the office. Rut now go; 1
am busy."
The preparations were soon mail* the bills
peeted, programmes laid on the dinner table of
every hotel in the town, and a stage erected at
ana end of the cafe of the Triumphs of the Plow,
tout when Leon returned to the office the commis
pat y was once more abroad.
"He is like Madsine Benolton," thought Leon,
fflehu commissaire!’’
And just then he met the man face to face.
"Here, sir," said he, “are my papers Will you
toe pleased to verify?"
"No use" he replied, "no use; I am busy, 1 am
quite satisfied. Give your entertainment."
The audience was pretty large, and the pro
prietor of the cafe made a good thing of It In
Seer. But the Berthellnis exerted themselves In
tain
Leon whs radiant in velveteen; he had a rakish
*way of smoking a cigarette between songs that
was worth money in Itself;
He was at the top of his register, with his head
thrown back and his mouth open, when the door
was thrown violently open and a pair of new
'romers marched noisily Into the cafe. It was the
commissary, followed by the garde champetre.
"How does It happen, sir,” said the commis
Vary, swelling In person, "that I And you mount®
banking In a public cafe without my permls
lion?”
"Without .” cried the Indignant Leon “Permit
me to remind you"-
"Come. come, sir!" said the commissary, "I de
sire no explanations."
"I care nothing about w hat you desire,'' re
turned the singer. "1 choose to give them. and I
■will not be gagged. 1 am an artist, sir, a distinc
tion that you cannot comprehend. I received
tout permission and stand here upon the strength
of it; Interfere with me who dare."
"l’ou have not got my signature, l tell you."
•ried the commissary. "Show me m\ signature!
Where is my signature?"
That was just the question where was his nIk
nature? Leon recognised that he was in a hole,
hut his spirit rose with the occasion, and he blu<
fared nobly, tossing back bis curls.
‘Another word," cried the commissary, "and J
arrest you."
"Arrest me'.’ shouted Leon. "I defy you!"
"I am the commissary of police, said the
official.
"So it would appear "
The point was too refined for Caatsl-le-Uachts.
It did not raise a smile; and as for the commis
sary, he simply bade the singer follow him to his
office, and directed his proud footsteps toward
the door. There was nothing for It but to obey.
Leon did so with a proper pantomime of Indiffer
ence, but it was a leek to eat and there was no
flenylng It
The roaire had altpped out and was already
Waiting at the commissary’s door. Now the
roaire, in France, Is the refuge of the oppressed.
He stands between his people and the boisterous
rigors of the police. He cat: *. .netimea under
stand what is said to him; he is ,ot always puffed
ap beyond measure by his dignity. 'Tls a thing
worth the knowledge of travelers When all
teems over, and a man has made up his mind to
injustice, he has still, like the heroes of a
romance, a little bugle at his belt whereon to
blow, and the maire, a comfortable deus ex
onachina, may still descend to deliver him from
the minions of the law. The maire of Castel-le-
Gachis, although Inaccessible to the charms of
music as retailed by the Berthellnis, had no heal
nation whatever as to the rights of the mattei
He instantly fell foul of the commissary in ver>
high terms, and the commissary, pricked by this
humiliation, accepted battle on the point of fact.
The argument lasted some little while with vary
ing success, until at length victory Inclined so
plainly to the commissary’s side that the maire
v as fain to reassert himself by an exercise of
authority. He had been out argued, but he was
still the maire. And so. turning from his inter
locutor, he briefly but kindly recommended Leon
• to go back instsnter to his concert.
Leon did not wait to be told twice He re
turn*«i U* the cafe of the Triumphs of the Plow
n ith all expedition. Alas! the audience had melted
a way during his absence. Elvira was sitting In
a very disconsolate attitude on the guitar box,
• he had watched the company dispersing by twos
and turees, and the prolonged spectacle had
«*. cue what overwhelmed her spirits. Each man.
*. • reflected, retired with a certain proportion of
n< r earnings in his pockets, and she saw to
night’s board and to-morrow's railway expenses,
and Anally even to-morrow's dinner, walk one
• fler another out of the cafe door and disappear
»nto the night.
'What was it she asked, languidly
It’s a lost battle." aald he and then, taking
the money box. he turned it out. ’Three
! seventy-five! ’ he cried, as against four of
and six of railway fares and no time for
P&mboL !.i\lt:i this N V a! < :
fct us £**t the things together *mi i.« ..fr w
k.l.eh Elvira We Slight t r another *.mc hut
there Is not six halfpence In the room.’*
As they crossed the market place the church
bell rang out eleven. It was a dark, mild night
and there was no one In the streets.
"It is all very flne," said Leon; "but I have a
presentiment. The night is not yet done."
The Black Head presented not a single chink
of light upon tho street, and the carriage gate
was closed.
"This is unprecedented." observed Leon. "An
inn closed at five minutes after eleven! And
there were several commercial travelers In the
cafe up to a late hour. Elvira, my heart mis
gives me. Let us ring the bell.”
"This is your fault," said Elvira! "this Is what
comes of fancying things'."
Again Leon pulled the bell rope; again the
solemn tocsin awoke the echoes of the inn; and
ere they hart died away a light glimmered in the
carriage entrance, and a powerful voice was
hoard, upraised and tremulous with wrath.
"What’s all this?" cried the tragic host through
the spars of the gate. "Hard upon twelve, and
you come clamoring like Prussians at the door of
a respectable hotel? Oh!" he cried, "I know you
now! Common singers! People in trouble with
the police! And you present yourselves at mid
night like lords and ladles? He off with you!"
You will permit me to remind you," said Leon,
in thrilling tones, "that 1 am a guest in your
house, that I am properly inscribed, and that 1
have deposited baggage to the value of four hun
dred francs."
"You cannot get In at this hour," returned the
man "This is no thieves’ tavern for mohocks
and night rakes and organ-grinders."
"Brute"’ cried Elvira, for the organ-grinders
touched her home
"Then T demand my baggage," eald l^eon, with
unabated dignity.
"I know nothing of your baggage," replied the
landlord.
"You detain my baggage? You dare to detain
my baggage?’’ cried the singer.
"Who are you?" returned the landlord. "It Is
dark—I cannot recognise you."
"Very well, then—you detain my baggage,'
concluded Leon. "You shall smart for this. I
will weary out your life with persecutions; I will
drag you from court to court; If there is justice to
be had in France It shall be rendered between you
and me. And I will make you a by-word—I will
put you in a song—a scurrilous song an lnde
cent song—a popular song -which the boys shall
sing to you In the street, and come and howl
through these spars at midnight!"
He had gone on raising his voice at every
phrase, for all the while the landlord was very
placidly retiring; and now, when the last glim-
mar of light hud vanished from the arch, and the
last footstep died away In the interior, Leon
turned to his wife with a heroic countenance
"Elvira.’’ said he, "I have now a duty in life
1 shall destroy that man as Eugene Hue destroyed
the concierge. I*et us come at once to the
gendarmerie and begin our vengeance."
He picked up the guitar case, which had been
propped against the wall, and they set forth
through the silent and 111 lighted town with burn
ing hearts.
The gendarmerie was concealed beside the tele
graph office at the bottom of a vast court, which
whs partly laid out in gardens; and here all the
shepherds of the public lay locked in grateful
sleep. It took a deal of. knocking to waken one;
and lie, when he came at last to the door, oould
And no other remark than "it was none of his
business."
"Very well," said Leon, "then we shall go to the
commissary." Thither they went; the office was
closed and dark, but the house was close by, and
Leon was soon swinging the bell like a madman.
The commissary’s wife appeared at a window
She whs a thread-paper creature, and Informed
him that the commissary had not yet come
home.
"Is he at the inaire's demanded Leon
She thought that was not unlikely.
And ho set out to find the malre’s. It took him
some ten minutes wandering among blind lanes,
ami when he arrived It was already half an hour
past midnight. A long white garden wall over
hung by some thick chestnuts, a door with a let
ter box. and an iron bell-pull, that was all that
could be seen of the inaire’s domicile. Leon took
I he hell pull ill both hands and danced furiously
upon the sidewalk. The bell Itself was just upon
1 he other side of the wall. It responded to hia
activity, and scattered an alarming clangor far
and wide Into tho night.
A window was thrown open In s house across
the street, and a voice inquired the cause of this
untimely uproar
"1 wish the inaire," said Leon.
"You will never make him hear." responded the
voice. "Tho garden is of great oxtent, the house
is at the further end, and both the inaire and his
housekeeper are deaf."
"Aha!" said Leon, pausing. "The maire is deaf,
is he? That explains." And he thought of the
evening's concert with a momentary feeling of
relief. "Ah!" he continued, "and ao the maire is
deaf, and the garden vast, and the house at the
far end?"
And he made off again at his best pace for the
commissary’s Elvira was still walking to and
fro before the door.
"He has not come?" asked Leon.
"Not he," she replied.
"Good." returned Leon. "I am sure our man's
inside. Let me see the guitar-case. I shall lay
this siege in form, Elvira; T am angry, I am In
dlgnant; 1 am truculently Inclined; but T thank
my Maker I have still a sense of fun. The unjust
Judge shall be Importuned in a serenade, Elvira
Set him up set him up.”
He had the case opened by this time, struck a
few chords, and fell into an attitude which was
irresistibly Spanish.
"Now." he continued, "feel your voice. Are you
ready? Follow me!"
The guitar twanged, and the two voices up
raised. in harmony and with s startling loudness
the chorus «»f a song of old Beranger's
The commissary, if he was not the first, whs
not the last of the neighbors to yield to the In
Auence of music and furiously throw open the
window of his bedroom He was beside himself
with rage. He leaned far over the window sill,
raving and gesticulating; the tassel of his white
nightcap danced like a thing of life; he opened
his mouth to dimensions hitherto unprecedented,
and yet hie voice, instead of escaping from it in a
roar, came forth shrill and choked and tottering.
A little more serenading, and it was clear he
would be better acquainted wit'll the apoplexy.
Leon tried to explain his predicament, but he
received nothing but threats of arrest by way of
answer.
"If I come down to you!" cried the commissary.
• Ay," said I^eon, “do!"
"I will not!" cried the commissary.
You dare not!" answered Leon.
At this tho commissary closed his w indow
All Is over," said the singer. "The serenade
was perhaps Ill-judged These boors ha\e no
sense of humor."
\ud taking the guitar In one hand and tii* « ,.se
in the other, he led the \vh> with something too
precipitate to he merely called precipitation front
the Mtiio of this nhaurd adventure
T«* 'he * of <'ast*-Me < iachla four rows of
venerable lime-trees formed In this starry night
a twilight avenue with two sldo aisles of pitch
darkness. Here and there stone benches were dis
posed between the trunks. There was not a
breath of wind; a heavy atmosphere of perfume
hung about the alleys; and every leaf stood stock-
atill upon Its twig. Hither, after vainly knock
ing at an inn or two, the Berthellnis came at
length to pass the night. After an amiable con
tention, Leon insisted on giving his coat to El
vira. and they sat down together on the first
bench in silence. Leon made a cigarette, which
he smoked to an end, looking up into the trees,
and, beyond them, at the constellations, of which
he tried vainly to recall the names. The silence
was broken by the church bell; It rang the four
quarters on a light and tinkling measure; then
followed a single deep stroke that died slowly
away with a thrill; and stillness resumed its
empire.
"One,” said Leon. "Four hours till daylight.
It Is warm; it Is starry; I have matches and to
bacco. Do not let us exaggerate. Elvira—the ex
perience is positively charming. I feel a glow'
within me; I am born again. This is the poetry
of life. Think of Cooper’s novels, my dear."
"Leon," she said, fiercely, "how can you talk
such wicked, Infamous nonsense? To pass all
night out of doors—it Is like a nightmare! We
shall die."
"You suffer yourself to be led away," he re-
lst; follow your heart, In short, and do some
thorough work before you die."
"And do you call these things art?" inquired
Stubbs.
"Why, certainly!" returned Leon. "Are they
not all branches?"
"Oh! I didn’t know," replied the Englishman.
"I thought an artist meant a fellow who painted."
The singer stared at him In some surprise.
"It is the difference of language," he said at
last. "This Tower of Babel w'hen shall we have
paid for It? If I could speak English you would
follow me more readily."
"Between you and me I don’t believe I should,"
replied the other. "You seem to have thought a
devil of a lot about this business. For my part,
I admire the stars, and like to have them shin
ing—it’s so cheery—but hang me if I had an idea
it had anything to do with art! It’s not in my
line, you see. I’m not intellectual; I have no
end of trouble to scrape through my exams., f
can tell you! But I’m not a bad sort of bottom,"
he added, seeing his interlocutor looking dis
tressed even in the dim starshlne, “and I rather
like the play, and music, and guitars, and things."
Leon had a perception that the understanding
was Incomplete. He changed the subject.
"And so you travel on foot?" he continued.
"How romantic! How courageous! And how are
you pleased with my land? How does the scenery
affect you among these wild hills of ours?"
"The guitar twanged and the two voices upraised the chorus of an old song.”
pi ted soothingly. "It is not unpleasant here; only
you brood. Come, now. let us repeat a scene.
Shall vt o try Alceste and Celimene? No? Or a
passage from the 'Two >rphans?’ Come, now, it
will occupy your mind; l will play up to you as
I have never played before; I feel art moving in
my bones."
And without waiting for an answer he began
to strum the symphony. The first chords awoke
h young man who was lying asleep upon a neigh
boring bencl).
"Are you camping out here, too?” he asked,
with a strong English accent. "I’m not sorry for
company."
Leon explained their misadventure; and the
other told them that he was a Cambridge under
graduate on a walking tour, that he had run
short of money, could no longer pay for his
night’s lodging, had already been camping out for
two nights, and feared he should require to con
tinue the same maneuvro for at least two nights
more.
"Luckily, It’s Jolly weather,” ho concluded.
"Yes," returned the undergraduate, sitting
down, "It’s rather nice than otherwise when once
you're used to it; only it’s devilish difficult to
get washed. 1 like the fresh air and these* stars
and things."
"Aha!” said Leon, "monsieur Is an artist."
"An artist?’’ returned the other, with a blank
stare. "Not if I know it!"
"You have an artist's nature, however, Mr. .
I beg your pardon; may 1, without indiscretion.
Inquire your name?" asked Leon.
"My name is Stubbs," replied the Englishman.
"1 thank you," returned Leon. "Mine is Berthe-
lini—Leon Herthellni, ex-artlst of the theatres of
Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre. Humhle
ns you see me, T have created with applause more
than one Important role. The press were unani
mous In praise of my Howling Devil of the Moun
tains. in the piece of the same name. Madame
whom I now present to you, Is herself an artist,
and. I must not omit to state, a better artist than
her husband. Hhe also is a creator; she created
nearly twenty successful songs ut one of the
principal Tarlatan music halls. But. to continue.
1 was saving you had an artist's nature, Mon
sieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be s
Judge in such a question. I trust you will not
falsify your Instincts, let me beseech you to fol
low the career of an artist."
"Thank you," returned Stubbs, with a chuckle
"I'm going to be h banker."
"No," said Leon, "do not say so. Not that. A
man with such a nature as yours should not
derogate so far. What are a few privations hero
and there, so long us you are working for a high
and noble goal?"
"This follow s mad," thought Stubbs; "but the
woman's rather pretty, and he’s not bad fun for
himself, If you come to t Hat.” What he said was
different. "I thought >ou said you were an
actor?"
"I certainly did so." replied I.eon. "1 am one,
or, alas! 1 was."
"And so you waut me to be an actor, do you?’
continued the undergraduate "Why, man, I
t-ould never so much ns learn the stuff; i: ^ mem
ory's like a sieve; and as for acting. I’ve no more
Idea than a cat."
The stage is net the onl> course." said Leon,
"in s sculptor. l.*e h darn er. h« a i«»et. or n novel
"Well, the fact is," began Stubbs—he wan
about to say that he didn’t care for scenery, which
was not at all true, being, on the contrary, only
an athletic undergraduate pretension; but he had
begun to suspect that Berthelini liked a different
sort of meat, and substituted something else.
"The fact is, I think it jolly. They told me it
was no good up here; even the guide-book said
so; but 1 don’t know what they meant. I think
it Is deuced pretty—upon my word, I do."
At this moment in the most unexpected man
ner, Elvira burst into tears.
"My voice!" she cried. "Leon, if I stay here
longer I shall lose my voice!"
"You shall not stay another moment," cried the
actor. "If I have to beat in a door, if I have to
burn the town, I shall find you shelter."
With that, he replaced the guitar, and com
forting her with some caresses, drew her arm
through his.
"Monsieur Stubbs," said he, taking off his hat
"the reception I offer you is rather problematical;
but let me beseech you to give us the pleasure of
your society. You are a little embarrassed for
the moment; you must, Indeed, permit me to ad
vance what may be necessary. I ask It as a
favor, we must not part so soon after having met
so strangely.”
"I don’t quite see my way out of it," thought
the undergraduate; and then, after a pause, he
said, aloud and ungraciously enough, "All right.
I—I’m very much obliged, of course." And he
proceeded to follow them, thinking In his heart,
"But it's bad form, all the same, to force an obli
gation on a fellow'."
Leon strode ahead, as if he knew exactly where
he w'as going; the sobs of madame were still
faintly audible and no one uttered a word. A
dog harked furiously in a courtyard as they went
by. then the church clock struck two. and many
domestic clocks follow ed or preceded It in piping
tones. And just then Berthelini spied a light.
It burned In a small house on the outskirts of the
town, and thither the party now directed their
steps.
"It is always a chance." said Leon.
The house In question stood back from the
street behind an open space, part garden, part
turnip field; and several outhouses stood forward
from either wing at right angles to the front.
One of these had recently undergone some change.
An enormous window, looking toward the north,
had been effected In the wall and roof, and Leon
began to hope It was a studio.
"If It's only a painter,” he said, with a chuckle,
"ten to one wo get as good a welcome as w-e
want."
'T thought painters were principally poor,"
said Stubbs.
"Ah," cried Leon, "you do not know’ the world
as I do. The poorer the better for us.”
And the trio advanced Into the turnip field.
The light was In the ground floor; as one win
dow* was brilliantly illuminated and two others
more faintly, it might be supposed that there was
a single lamp in one corner of a large apart
ment: and a certain tremulousness and temporary
dwindling showed that a live fire contributed to
the effect. The sound of a voice now became
audible; and the trespassers paused to listen. It
was pitched In a high, angry key. but had still
h good, full and masculine note in it. The utter
ance was voluble, too voluble even to be quite
distinct; a sueam of words, riiilng and falling.
with ever and again a phrase of words out by
Itself, as if the speaker reckoned on Its virtue.
Suddenly another voice Joined In. This time it
was a woman’s; and if the man were angry, the
w’oman was Incensed to the degree of fury. There
was that absolutely blank composure known to
suffering males; that colorless unnatural speech
which shows a spirit accurately balanced be
tween homicide and hysterics; the tone in which
the best of women sometimes utter words worse
than death to those most dear to them. If Ab-
stract-Bones-and-Sepulcher w'ere to be endowed
with the gift of speech, thus, and not otherwise,
would It discourse. Leon was a brave man, and
I fear he was somewhat skeptically given (he
had been educated in a Papistical country), but
the habit of childhood prevailed, and he crossed
himself devoutly. He had met several women in
his career. It was obvious that his instinct had
not deceived him, for the male voice broke forth
instantly in a towering passion.
The undergraduate, who had not understood
the significance of the woman’s contribution,
pricked up his ears at the change upon the rnan.
"There’s going to be a free fight,” he opined.
There was another retort from the woman, still
calm but a little higher.
"Hysterics?" asked Leon of his wife. "Is that
the stage direction?’’
"How should I know?" returned Elvira, some
what tartly.
"Oh, woman, woman!" said Leon, beginning to
open the guitar-case. "It Is one of the burdens
of my life, Monsieur .Stubbs; they support each
other; they always pretend there Is no system;
they say it’s nature. Even Madame Berthelini,
who Is a dramatic artist!"
"You are heartless, Leon," said Elvira; "that
woman Is In trbuble.”
"And the man, my angel?" inquired Berthe
lini, passing the ribbon of his guitar. "And the
man, my love?”
"He Is a man,” she answered.
"You hear that?" said Leon to Stubbs. "It is
not too late for you. Mark the intonation. And
now," ho continued, "what are we to give them?"
"Are you going to sing?" asked Stubbs.
"I am a troubadour,” replied Leon. “I claim a
welcome by and for my art. If I were a banker
could I do as much?"
"Well, you wouldn’t need, you know," answered
the undergraduate.
“Egad," said Leon, "but that’s true, Elvira,
that Is true."
"Of course it is," she replied. "Did you not
know it?”
"My dear." answered Leon, impressively, "I
know nothing but what is agreeable. Even my
knowledge of life is a work of art superiorly
composed. But what are we to give them? It
should be something appropriate.”
Visions of "Let dogs delight" passed through
the undergraduate’s mind; but it occurred to him
that the poetry was English and that he did not
know the air. Hence he contributed no sug
gestion.
"Something about our houselessness.'' said
Elvira.
"I have It,” cried Leon. And he broke forth
Into a song of Pierre Dupont’s.
The inhabitants were plainly flustered; the
light moved to and fro, strengthening In one
window, paling In another; and then the door
was thrown open, and a man In a blouse ap
peared on the threshold carrying a lamp. He
was a powerful young fellow, with bewildered
hair and beard, wearing his neck open; his blouse
was stained with oil colors In a harlequinesque
disorder, and there was something rural In the
droop and bagginess of his belted trousers.
From immediately behind him, and indeed over
his shoulder, a woman’s face looked out into the
darkness; it was pale and a little weary, although
still young; it wore a dwindling, disappearing
prettiness, soon to be quite gone, and the ex
pression was both gentle and sour, and reminded
one faintly of the taste of certain drugs. For
all that, it was not a face to dislike; when the
prettiness had vanished, It seemed as If a certain
pale beauty might step In to take Its place; and
as both the mildness and the asperity were
characters of youth, it might be hoped that, with
years, both would merge into a constant, brave,
and not unkindly temper.
■'What is all this?" cried the man.
Leon had his hat in his hand at once. He
came forward with his customary grace; it was
a moment which would have earned him a round
of cheering on the stage. Elvira and Stubbs
advanced behind him, like a couple of Admetus’
sheep following the god Apollo.
"Sir,” said Leon, "the hour is unpardonably
late, and our little serenade has the air of an
impertinence. Believe me, sir, it is an appeal.
Monsieur is an artist, I perceive. We are here
three artists benighted and without shelter, one
a woman—a delicate woman—in evening dress—
in an interesting situation. This will not fall to
touch tho woman’s heart of madame, whom I
perceive Indistinctly behind monsieur her hus
band, and whose face speaks eloquently of a
well-regulated mind. Ah! monsieur, madame—
one generous movement, and you make three peo
ple happy! Two or three hours beside your fire—
I ask it of monsieur In the name of art—I ask It
of madame by the sancity of womanhood.”
The two, as by a tacit consent, drew back
from the door.
"Come in,” said the man.
“Entrez, madame,” said the woman.
The door opened directly upon the kitchen of
the house, which was to all appearance the only
sitting-room. The furniture was both plain and
scanty; but there was one or two landscapes on
the wall handsomely framed, as if they had al
ready visited the eommittee-room of an exhibi
tion and been thence extruded. Leon walked up
to the pictures and represented the part of a
connoisseur before each in turn, with his usual
dramatic Insight and force. Tho master of the
house, as If irresistibly attracted, followed him
from canvas to canvas with the lamp. Elvira was
led directly to the fire, where she proceeded to
warm herself, while Stubbs stood In the middle
of the floor and followed the proceedings of
Leon with mild astonishment in his eyes.
"You should see them by daylight," said the
artist.
*T promise myself that pleasure,” said Leon.
"You possess, sir. if you will permit me an ob
servation, the art of composition to a T."
"You are very good,” returned the other. “But
should you not draw nearer to the fire?"
"With all my heart," said Leon.
And the w’hole party soon gathered at the table
over a hasty and not an elegant cold supper,
washed down with the least of small wines. No
body liked the meal, but nobody complained; they
put a good face upon It, one and all, and made a
great clattering of knives and forks. To see
Leon eating a single cold sausage was to see a
triumph; by the time he had done he had got
through as much pantomime ns would have suf
ficed for a baron of beef, and he had the relaxed
expression of the over-eaten.
As Elvira had naturally taken a place by the
side of Leon, and Stubbs hs naturally, although
I believe unconsciously, by the side of Elvira,
the host and hostess were left together. Yet
it was to be noted that they never addressed a
word to each other, nor so much as suffered their
ejf* to meet. The interrupted skirmish still sur-
vived In Ill-feeling; and the Instant the guests
departed It would break forth again as bitterly
as ever. The talk wandered from this to that
subject—for with one accord the party had de
clared it was too late to go to bed; but those
two never relaxed toward each other; Gonerfl
and Regan In a sisterly tiff were not more bent
on enmity.
"I beg your pardon," said Leon, suddenly. * I
see no use In pretending. Before we came In
here we heard sounds Indicating If I may so
express myself—an Imperfect harmony."
“Sir f began the man.
But the woman was beforehand.
"It is quite true," she said. "I see no cause to
be ashamed. If my husband Is mad I shall at
least do my utmost to prevent the consequences.
Picture to yourself, monsieur and madame," she
went on, for she passed Stubbs over, "that this
wretched person—a dauber, an incompetent, not
fit to be a sign-painter—receives this morning
an admirable offer from an uncle—an uncls of
my own, my mother’s brother, and tenderly be
loved—of a clerkship with nearly a hundred and
fifty pounds a year, and that he-»~plcture to your
self*—he refuses it! Why? For the sake of art,
he says. Look at his art, I say—look at It! Is
it fit to be seen? Ask him—is it fit to be sold?
And it is for this, monsieur and madame, that
he condemns me to the most deplorable existence,
without luxuries, without comforts, in a vile j
suburb of a country town. Oh no!” she crieck
"no, I can not keep silent—it is impossible!
I take these gentlemen and this lady for
judges—is this kind? Is it decent? is it manly? Do
I not deserve better at his hands after having
married him and” (a visible hitch)—"done
everything in the world to please him?”
I doubt if there w r ere ever a more embarrassed
company at a table; every one looked like a fool;
and the husband like the biggest.
"The art of monsieur however,” said Elvira,
breaking the silence, “Is not wanting in dis
tinction.”
"It has this distinction,” said the wife, “that
nobody will buy it.”
"I should have supposed a clerkship" began
Stubbs.
“Art is art,” swept in Leon. “I salute art. It
Ms the beautiful, the divine; it is the spirit of the
world, and the pride of life. But” And the
actor paused.
“A clerkship” began Stubbs.
'Til tell you what it Is,” said the painter. "I
am an artist, and as this gentleman says, art Is
this and the other; but of course, If my wife Is
going to make my life a piece of perdition all
day long, I prefer to go and drown myself out of
hand.”
"Go!” said his wife. "I should like to see you!”
“I was going to say,” resumed Stubbs, "that a
fellow may be a clerk and paint almost as much
as he likes. I know a fellow in a bank who makes
capital water-color sketches; he even sold one
for seven-and-six^”
Leon arose.
"Art Is art,” he repeated, sadly. "It Is not
water-color sketches, nor practicing on a piano.
It is a life to be lived.”
"And in the meantime people starve!” observed |
the woman of the house. "If that’s a life, it’s
not one for me.”
"I’ll tell you what,” burst forth Leon; “you,
madame, go Into another room and talk It over
with my wife; and I’ll stay here and talk it over
with your husband. It may come to nothing, but
let's try.”
"I am very willing,” replied the young woman; \
and she proceeded to light a candle. “This way
if you please.” And she led Elvira upstairs into
a bedroom. “The fact is,’’ said she, sitting down,
“that my husband cannot paint.”
“No more can mine act," replied Elvira.
“I should have thought he could,” returned the
other; "he seems clever."
"He Is so and the best of men besides,” said
Elvira, "but he cannot act.”
"At least he Is not a sheer humbug like mine;
he can at least sing.”
"You mistake Leon,” returned his wife, warmly.
"He does not even pretend to sing; he has too
fine a taste; he does so for a living. And believe
me, neither of the men are humbugs. They are
people with a mission—which they cannot carry
out.”
“Humbug or not," replied the other, "you came
very near passing the night in the fields; and,
for my part, I live in terror of starvation. I
should think It was a man's mission to think
twice about his wife. But it appears not. Noth
ing Is their mission but to play the fool. Oh,”
she broke out, “Is It not something dreary to
think of that man of mine! If he could only do
it, who would care? But no—not he—no more
than I can!”
“Have you any children?” asked Elvira.
"No; but then I may.”
"Children change so much," said Elvira, sighing.
And just then from the room below there
flew up a sudden snapping chord on the guitar;
one followed after another; then the voice of
Leon Joined In; and there was an air being
played and sung that stopped the speech of the
two women. The wife of the painter stood like
a person transfixed; Elvira, looking Into her |
eyes, could see all manner of beautiful memo
ries and kind thoughts that were passing in and
out of her soul w’ith every note; It was a piece
of her youth that went before her; a green
French plain, the smell of apple-flowers, the far
and shining ringlets of a river, and the words
and presence of love.
“Leon has hit the nail,” thought Elvira to her
self, "I wonder how r .” i
"Pardon me, madame," said tk* painter's wife,
“your husband sings admirably well."
"He sings that with some feeling.” replied
Elvira, critically, although she was a little moved
herself, for the song cut both ways in the upper
chamber; “but it is as an actor and not as a
musician.”
“Life is very sad,” said the other; "it so wastes
away under one’s finpers.”
“1 have not found it so,” replied Elvira. "I
think the good parts of it last and grow greater
every day.”
"Frankly, how would you advise me?”
“Frankly I would let my husband do what he
wished. He is obviously a very loving painter;
you have not yet tried him as a clerk. And you
know—if it were only as the possible father of
your children—it is as well to keep him at his
best."
“He Is an excellent fellow," said the wife.
• • • • •
They kept It up till sunrise with music and aiJ
manner of good-fellowship; and at sunrise, white
the sky was still temperate and clear, they sep
arated on the threshold with a thousand excellent
w l8hes for each other’s welfare. Castel-le-Gachis
was beginning to send up its smoke against the
golden east; and the church bell was ringing
six.
"My guitar is a familiar spirit," said Leon, as
he and Elvira took the nearest way toward the
inn; "It resuscitated a commissary, created an
English and English tourist and reconciled a man
and wife."
Stubbs, on his part, went off into the morning #
with reflections of his own.
“They are all mad" thought he, all mad but
wonderfully decent."