XX
THE INFLUENCE OF WORK
Of Francis Ravenel at this time much could be written. In the firstmonths of his separation from Katrine, during all of the period of hismother's illness, he remained firm in the intention expressed in theunsent letter to visit her in Paris, ask her forgiveness, and make her aformal offer of marriage. But quick on the heels of his return to NewYork had followed the railroad business, to which Dermott McDermott'sinsolence had added new reason for making the enterprise a successfulone.
But underneath the several postponements of visiting Katrine, the realcause of them all, in fact, was a fear of the well-merited rebuff whichhe might receive from her. He understood her pride well; and although hebelieved that she had not ceased to love him, he doubted if he held herrespect, and many times, when instinct bade him go to her, he hadrecalled the pleading tones of her voice in that last interview, whenshe had cried: "We may never meet again! Ah, please God, we may nevermeet again!"
Katrine's letters, which came to him with perfect regularity, kept himclosely in touch with her daily life in Paris. He looked anxiously inthem for any variation in her sentiments toward himself, but found none.
Reading one night in Firdousi, he discovered a passage which describedKatrine so perfectly to him that he put a marker between the pages ofthe book, and kept it by his bedside to read at night as a pious personmight have kept the confession of his faith.
"She was an elemental force," wrote the old poet, "and astonished me by her amount of life, when I saw her day after day radiating every instant redundant joy and grace on all around her. Though the bias of her nature was not to thought but to sympathy, yet was she so perfect in her own nature as to meet intellectual persons by the fulness of her heart, warming them by her sentiments, believing, as she did, that by dealing nobly with all, all would show themselves noble."
And there were sometimes bits of her letters which drove him wild withregret for what he had done.
"Is personal happiness, after all," she wrote once, "a very important thing? Nothing can ever make me suffer again as I have suffered, for I have learned to use a man's solace: work; work in which I can go far away from myself and be as impersonal as a problem in geometry. But I ask myself, Is that what was intended? Sometimes I seem to touch the edge of the knowledge that it is (perhaps) greater to be a sad, little, suffering, incompetent mother, than to be the person which trouble and music have made of me."
But in his self-abasement Frank failed to take into the accounting thestupendous effect which the New York influences and the handling ofgreat affairs had had upon his own character. Day by day he had learnedmore plainly the lessons of responsibility, of continued andconcentrated action, and even McDermott himself could not use Napoleon'sgreat question, "What has he done?" more meaningly than Frank himselfdid now.
But with this new manhood came a finer comprehension of his baseness toKatrine, and an emphasized doubt as to whether she ever could forgivethe miserable selfishness which he had displayed.
In his visits between the States and England (he made three duringKatrine's stay in Paris, besides the one in which he had met theCountess de Nemours) he went from one side of the question to the otherin his thinking, wanting to visit Katrine, but realizing to the fullthat Mademoiselle Dulany, a singer to the world, or Katrine, adopteddaughter of the Countess de Nemours, and a possible duchess, were worldsremoved from the little Irish girl who had loved him in the Carolinawoods. Fontainebleau! Fontainebleau! Since the day the Countess had toldhim of Katrine's being there, the name repeated itself in his head likea song. He remembered the silence of the great trees, the nightingalesat dusk among them, and dreamed of a day with Katrine there, hearing herquaint humor, her daring speeches, her tenderness, her selfless view oflife, of herself, of everything in all the world save him.
At the Christmas-time of Katrine's last year in Paris, he received aquaint illumination with the following note of explanation:
MY DEAR UNKNOWN FRIEND,--I have thought this out and printed it, too. It is not very well done, but I have tried to make it sincere. Of course I got the idea of making prayers for myself from R.L.S.
I am sending it to you with a heart full of hope that your Christmas may be a merry one.
Affectionately, KATRINE DULANY.
He read and reread the printed lines, and finally had them framed andhung by his bedside, where they were the first thing upon which his eyesrested in the morning:
"Grant me the ability to do some one thing well.
"Give me sympathy for the suffering of others which has been brought to them by their own acts.
"Grant that I may have courage for the weak and the friendship of those who demand the best of my nature.
"Remove all doubts from me that there will be ultimate peace and happiness for every one.
"Let fear of the consequences of a right act be far from me. Let me forget the words expediency, convention, and reward.
"Grant me largeness of judgment, and silence for all weakness, especially that of woman.
"And give me, each day, my daily work, with rest at night under some friendly stars."
* * * * *
Early in April, after the lonesomest winter of his life, he received thefollowing letter from his mother, who was still in Paris with AnneLennox:
MY DEAR, DEAR CHILD,--I have been going about a great deal, meeting old friends and making some new ones, which accounts for my not having written you last week. Anne's house is like a Union Station for repose and solitude. She has people in to luncheon and dinner and tea, and I suspect even for the _cafe au lait_ in the mornings. I enjoy it, however. One is seldom bored, though frequently exhausted. Why I am writing this dull introduction I cannot say, for I have more important things to tell.
I have met Katrine Dulany.
Anne and I went to the Countess de Nemours' reception on Friday night. We were all in a whirl of unfinished sentences when Miss Dulany entered. I wish you might have seen her, as she came toward us! Of course she was a very pretty child in North Carolina, but she has developed into something really remarkable. She wore white, decollete, with her hair Madonna-wise. And she has such distinction! Such repose! Truly, Frank, she came in so quietly that she made every one else seem to enter on horseback.
Coming directly toward me, she said: "Perhaps you do not remember me, Mrs. Ravenel! I am Katrine Dulany. My father was overseer of your plantation, in North Carolina, for nearly three years." It was as though Mary Queen of Scots had come to life and asked me if I remembered when she was my parlor-maid!
And she stayed and talked to me with sweetest deference and an appeal in her eyes, and I went home quite exalted to think this much-desired person had singled me out for such marked attention.
But during the night (and oh, my little, little boy! you will forgive me if what I write hurts you, won't you?) I awoke suddenly, and it seemed that everything was clear to me. I recalled your story of loving the woman whom you didn't think it right for you to marry, of your inexplicable stay at Ravenel through an entire summer, your depression afterward, and your sudden plunge into business. I couldn't help putting these things together and believing that this little Irish girl was the woman in the case.
But if you don't want me to know, I _won't_ know. I never knew anything you didn't want me to. That's a mother's way. And don't say a word about the matter to me unless you care to. Believe me, boy of my heart, I will respect your silence.
It is three months since you have been here. Miss Dulany sings on the 23d. Can't you come over? Every one is going, and we have taken a box. Do come.
MOTHER.
Even to his mother Frank could not b
ring himself to mention Katrine'sname, and he avoided all explanations by cabling his reply:
Will arrive in Paris on the 20th.--F.R.
Katrine: A Novel Page 21
