A Top-Floor Idyl

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER XX

  RICHETTI IS PLEASED

  Goodness only knows how many pages I blackened with the experiences ofthis short summer, but I have thrown them away, in small pieces. Theywere too introspective; mere impressions of one week after another, whenI would take the train and join Frances again, under self-suggested andhypocritical pleas. My wisdom was needed to see to it that Baby Paulgrew and thrived. His teething necessitated my worrying Dr. Porter halfto death as to the possibilities of such portentous happenings. It wasalso indispensable that I should accurately ascertain the mother'scondition of health and listen to Eulalie's observations. In otherwords, I pretended that I was a very important person.

  But in the heart of me, I knew myself to be like some drug-fiend, onlypermitted to indulge his destructive habit once a week. The work Iturned out of nights, I am afraid, was worth little and will have to besubjected to plentiful alterations. In the day I wandered over thesuperheated city and occasionally took a boat for a lonely excursionover the Bay, for the sake of fresh air and unneeded rest. But from theMonday morning to Saturday afternoon the fever was always on me tohasten back, to drift with Frances over the little lake, to stroll withher in the woodland roads or among the fields, to steep myself in theatmosphere she radiated, of sweetest womanhood, of tenderness shedisplayed only to Baby Paul, but some of which was reflected on me. Themere speaking voice of her, telling me of rumbling bull-frogs, of aterrible little garter-snake beheld on the main road, of a tiny calfwhich, she feared, was destined to go the way of all veal, was melodyand charm and delight. Gordon once told me that a man and a woman cannotbe true friends long. There is no middle ground, he explained, it mustbe either more or less. But I would meet her on the road on the days ofmy arrival. She would walk all but the last quarter mile, that ran alonga sun-beaten lane surfaced with red-hot dust, and wait for me beside alittle watering trough usually tenanted by a beady-eyed froglet, whichshe counted among her friends. From afar she would wave her hand, herface joyous and welcoming, and would insist on knowing at once thecontents of the packages I was always laden with. On our way to the farmshe would faithfully recount the incidents of the past week, and finallywe would sit down on the little porch and thirty-six hours ofheavenliness would begin. And always, she was a friend, nothing but thedear friend which Gordon deemed an impossibility, and I firmlyendeavored to follow her lead. Yes, there were evenings of starlight,afternoons among the oaks and chestnuts of the hillsides where we sat onground heavily carpeted with last year's leaves and moss of silverygreen, early mornings by the side of the lake under the caress of therising breeze, and ever I managed to padlock my heart, to control theshakiness of my voice, to laugh out gaily as if the world's beauty couldnot possibly leave room in a man's soul for hopeless longing.

  And then back to the city again! Frances had often urged me to stay alittle longer; it would do me so much good. She sometimes thought Ilooked tired, but I refused with the obstinacy of the weak. She arguedthat I was utterly master of my time and, one day, with a trace ofwoman's injustice, said that thirty-six hours of her company was allthat I could stand. I remember feeling a terrific wave of heat coming tomy brow. Never was I nearer to an indignant protest to be followed bythe blurting of the whole truth, of nothing but the truth, to the effectthat I loved her madly, wildly, and could have crushed her in my armstill she cried for mercy. But I laughed, stupidly, with my finger-nailsdigging into the palms of my hands and called her attention to areticulated pickerel poised beneath some lily-pads, motionless,watchful, gavial-snouted and yet graceful, ready to convert itself intoa flashing death for other fishes. I pointed to gossamer-wingeddragon-flies, which used to frighten her, till I declared them to befriendly devourers of mosquitoes, and both of us remained breathlesswhen a golden oriole perched on some hazel bushes near at hand, for amoment's display of its gaudiness. She told me of the wood-thrush we hadseen on our arrival, and how she had found the nest with the dainty blueeggs, and how one day these had been converted into great big littlemouths ever clamoring for a distracted mother who could never find foodenough.

  "But they grew up all right and took lessons in flying and, by thistime, are far away, and the little nest is abandoned," she informed me."I hope they will all come back another year."

  And thus a moment of terrible danger passed. The peril was perhapsaverted by the saving grace of that pickerel. I trembled to think overwhat might have happened. She would have looked at me, astonished andalarmed, with those big, beautiful eyes shining, and she would havesorrowfully shaken her head, and--I could never have returned again--andI would have been compelled to leave Mrs. Milliken's, and the wholebeautiful, useless dream would have been ended because Gordon is right,as far as I am concerned. Yet I can remain a friend to Frances! PleaseGod, I may remain one all my life and never reveal myself to her! But myfriendship will never be a perfectly genuine one since, underlying it,there will always be the quivering of a passion held in gyves andsuffering, as suffers some gold and ruby-winged butterfly pinned to acard and denied the mercy of a drop of chloroform.

  I had received another letter from Gordon, telegraphic in brevity, andsent it to Miss Van Rossum. He was well, having a most wonderful andheartrending experience. He had met some stunning fellows. The taking ofawful chances was a daily occurrence, with the little ambulances dartingamong the wounded, sometimes under shell-fire. He asked me to drop intohis studio, from time to time. He had discharged the Jap, but still keptthe place. It was looked after by an elderly woman he had installedthere, who was supposed to sweep and dust and let some air and lightinto the studio. I was to see that she kept at it and guarded hisaccumulated rubbish.

  So, of course, I went there, and the ancient party looked at mesuspiciously, till I identified myself. Then she gave me the freedom ofthe place and I hunted high and low, till, finally, I discovered the"Mother and Child" hidden in a large closet and brought it out. I placedit on the easel and glared at it till it grew dark.

  The wonder of that picture! Great Heavens! I remembered how I had onceaccused Gordon of having been imaginative in his rendering of themodel's beauty. At that time my vision must have been coarse anduntrained. His genius had at once seized upon her glory, whereas I haddully and slowly spelled it out. But now my eyes were open! It wasFrances herself, it was truth, it was the greatness of motherhoodrevealed, it was the charm and sweetness of the woman who exalts anduplifts, it was art _grandiose_ held beautifully in bond by the eternalverity. I saw that some bright gobbets of flashing paint, that hadsurprised me at first, were amazing touches of genius. He had playedwith colors as a Paderewski plays with notes, to the ultimate renderingof a noble and profound reality, of poetry made tangible and clear, ofringing harmony expressing true heartbeats. And now my friend Pygmalionhad been spurned by his statue come to life and was picking up shatteredheroes, that he might forget.

  I can honestly say that the ancient dame, who saw to what Gordon waspleased to call his rubbish, was faithfully watched. I would come in atodd times, when the spirit moved me, and sit for hours before thepicture. It gave me inspiration when the fount of my ideas had utterlydried up, and I would return home, able to write a few good pages. Whatif it was but one more way of indulging the drugging of my soul! Likeother fiends I was held fast. Porter has told me that the victims ofmorphia no longer take pleasure in their vice. The following of it, tothem, means but the relief of suffering, and there is no joy in it. Inthis respect I stood far above the level of the poor beings fallen thuslow, for the painted Frances was a perennial delight, as her own livingbeauty was utter happiness for some hours. The reaction only took placewhen I was alone in my room, and, even there, I often indulged in dreamsand visions as full of charm as they were unreal.

  Then, one fine day, came a letter from Signor Richetti, stating that hewould return upon a certain date and resume his teaching. I took it toFrances, who read it, happily.

  "I am so glad, Dave," she told me. "This has been the most lovely summerone could imagine, and Baby Paul
is wonderfully well. I hope the NewYork milk will agree with him. I am so splendidly strong and well that Ithink I shall again make rapid progress. I am afraid I must have lost agreat deal during this long idle time. Dave! Dave! I'm going to work sohard! I know I shall be able to sing again, and--and I shall owe it allto you!"

  So we had, again, thirty-six hours, sadly lessened by the two nights ofsleep, and we conscientiously said good-by to the cows and calves, andto such chickens as we had not devoured, and to the lake and the woodsand the twittering swallows and the sparrows on the dusty road. Eulaliehad grown stout and burned to an Indian hue. She kissed Mrs. Gobbins onboth cheeks and shed a tear or two. I stopped the carriage, thatconveyed us to the station, in front of the blacksmith's shop. We hadbecome friends, and he wished us a pleasant journey and a happy returnnext year. Near the station, in the narrow road, we had to turn aside,nearly into the ditch, to allow the passing of a large automobile. Inits driver I recognized Mr. O'Flaherty, who owned the garage andoccupied half of the second floor. He waved a hand at me and grinned,winking, leaving me to reflect on the thoroughly excusable nature ofcertain murders. His big car was full of sporty-looking youths andflashily dressed women. I am happy to say that Frances never looked hisway.

  Then we went on board the train and the beautiful country began to slipby us, and a certain element of sadness came at the idea of leaving it,though it was comforting to think that now I should see Frances everyday. But I should sit on the meagerly upholstered chairs instead ofoccupying the veranda's rocker or the moss-strewn boulders on the hills.The freedom of the country would be gone, and its inspiration anddelight.

  "Look!" said Frances to me, suddenly. "There's a woman on the thirdseat, on the other side of the aisle, who's reading 'Land o' Love.'"

  "After all these months," I commented.

  "People ought to read it forever, Dave," she assured me, "and I thinkthey will. I'm so proud of you!"

  "Well, my publishers tell me the book is flowing out as fast as ever.Jamieson says it will sell a hundred and fifty thousand," I told her."You see that I am now in Easy Street and can afford all theextravagances I care to indulge in."

  "Then, David, you ought to buy yourself a new fall suit," said Frances,"and you need more neckties. I shall get some for you."

  All women want to buy men's neckties for them. I was not afraid,feeling sure that Frances would show unquestionable taste. How she wouldcare for a man she loved!

  A taxi rattled us up to Mrs. Milliken's door, and the room opposite minewas resplendent in new paper, and the carpet much renovated, and thepiano had been rubbed over with something that gave the ancient mahoganya fine polish. Frances left Baby Paul with Eulalie and came into my den.

  "It's so good to be back, Dave," she asserted. "This room is allsaturated with the atmosphere of you and even the typewriter looks likean old friend. And here's your dirty old calabash and just the samedisorder on your desk and the week's washing on the bed. I'm gladEulalie's sister has been attending to it. Oh! It's fine to be homeagain!"

  So she went back to her room, and I lit the calabash. I had been afraidthat, after the country, this top floor would look very dismal and bedepressing to her. But she was looking positively joyful. A minute laterFrieda invaded the premises, for I had warned her of our arrival. Sheshrieked with admiration at the sight of the baby and commented atlength on the color of Frances's cheeks. Eulalie joined in the cackling,and happiness reigned. We celebrated the evening at Camus.

  After this the leaves soon began to drop in the big square, and Iordered the new suit and invested in a few bonds, like a bloatedmillionaire, and put them in a little safe at the bank, which could onlybe penetrated after running the gauntlet of a half a dozen uniformed andsuspicious guardians, before whom I felt like an equivocal character.

  Frances returned to Richetti and came back the first time with a glowingaccount of all that he had said. It appeared that she had hardly lostanything and had gained in depth of breathing and power of expression.The technique--ah! _Per Bacco!_ She was a natural born singer! She hadlittle need to learn! The voice was in her like those things inPandora's box and only demanded to fly out. Her singing was the _belcanto_. Three months more of practice was all that was needed. After thefirst of the year she would sing in the great concert of his pupils. Itwould be an event! People would discover her again. The cornucopia ofAbundance would open, wide-lipped, and success would flow from it!

  "And I shall owe it all to you and Frieda, Dave," she said. "But I can'treally believe that it will come true. Still, I don't know. Sit down andlisten to this."

  She opened the piano and sang, and at first my heart sank within mebecause she was so great compared to my insignificance. Then it becameexalted because of the magnificence of her singing, which thrilled me.They were not great locust-cries of _bravura_, nor amazing gymnasticswith difficult scales, that made me quiver. Just a sweet old melodyheard a thousand times, thrummed by every piano, but now coming withsuch perfection of tone and such a quality of exquisiteness that I felta thousand times more uplifted than when I had stood before Gordon'swonderful portrait of her.

  When she finished, she turned a little on the revolving stool and lookedat me, her head a little inclined to one side, her lips smiling at me,for she could not but know how splendidly she had sung.

  "Well, Dave," she asked, "are you pleased?"

  "My dear Frances," I answered, "a king of Bavaria had operas performedfor himself alone, and, likewise, I have had a treat that might haveenraptured thousands. I am a monarch basking in luxury. No, after all Iam the same old Dave who has found a treasure by the wayside and isgloating over it. That's what I'm doing. If I knew anything about music,I might, perhaps, tell you what it is that I find to admire in yoursinging, but I can only say I am impressed by something that leaves mewondering and gives me a keen delight I cannot put in words."

  "I'm so glad, Dave!" she exclaimed. "I shall always sing to you as muchas you like. I am thankful to be able to give you pleasure."

  Pleasure, forsooth! She can give me everything a man longs for in theworld! Sweetness, beauty, melody are all in her power of bestowal! But Ishould be thankful for her affection and grateful for my privileges as atrusted friend. May I never by any folly forfeit them!

  And so the winter came again, and the amenities of the holidays and somejoyous little dinners with Frieda. I went one day to call on Richetti,and the _maestro_ threw himself upon me and clasped me in his arms.

  "_Amico carissimo!_ It is a delight to see you! Everywhere I hear of youas an author _pregiatissimo_, but you go not out into the world wherethousands are dying to know you! About _la signora_! What shall I say!It was a day to be marked with a white stone when you brought her to me.We are giving back to the world a pearl of great price. She has thevoice, _amico mio_, and she has the natural method! But more than allelse her voice is _simpatica_, it throbs and thrills, it enlists loveand affection and the desire to listen forever. At her feet the worldwill kneel some day. She will be mentioned in the same breath as ourgreatest _prime donne_. In three weeks I give my concert. Every one willbe there. I have given hints to many, made much mystery. She will comeout in all her beauty, dressed in a very fine gown, the last on theprogramme, so that she will be a revelation. People will go away andclamor at her greatness. I am Richetti! I know what I speak of!"

  In his enthusiasm he slapped me severely on the back, and I hurriedhome.

  "Frances!" I exclaimed, breathlessly. "Richetti is getting crazy aboutyou. He bubbles over with enthusiasm. Moreover, Jamieson says he is awise old guy. The _maestro_ says you must have a very fine gown to wearat the concert. Where is the gown?"

  She cast her eyes down at the floor.

  "I--I suppose I will manage to----"

  "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," I told her, severely. "It is amost important matter which we have inexcusably neglected. Come out withme at once and we will buy one."

  "Oh, no, Dave, I was thinking that I have a very nice white lace go
wn Ibrought from Paris when I first came over, which could----"

  "You have no business to think such things. Who is that coming up thestairs? Hello, always on hand when you are most needed, Frieda. I wantyou to go at once with Frances to the most expensive shop on FifthAvenue and buy her a concert gown. Here are a hundred dollars."

  "That would buy two sleeves and maybe a few flounces," said Frieda,quietly.

  "Here's a hundred more which you can leave on deposit. I will see to thebalance. Not a word, Frances. Remember that it must be a very fine gown.Richetti says so, I didn't suggest it to him. He knows what's needed.You can pay me back when you are making thousands. Don't argue, but goat once!"

  "You're a nasty tempered old bully," Frieda informed me, her eyestwinkling behind her spectacles.

  "Good!" I exclaimed. "You're always saying that I don't assert myselfenough. Thank goodness, I'm getting cured of that."

  So, presently, they went away and I was left alone. Some letters were onmy desk. One of them was from Gordon and I seized it eagerly. It read asfollows:

  "_Dear old boy_:

  "As you suggested in your last letters I've had enquiries made at the war department. Paul Dupont of the 30th dragoons, a violinist by profession and a reservist called from New York, aged 31, was killed at the battle of the Marne. I thought I'd find out about his old people, if I could. Just heard they abandoned their place before it was destroyed and are living with a daughter near Suresnes. I sent them a bit of money, telling them it came from their daughter-in-law. Thought it might please Madame Dupont, but don't tell her. Am still driving one of those gasolene wheelbarrows. We're seeing some hard times. I sometimes feel awfully sorry at what happened. S. was a fine girl, and I a fool. Glad to hear that 'Land o' Love' is making a killing.

  "Ever your old pal,

  "GORDON."

  I was glad enough, in a melancholy way, to receive this piece of news.Frances, while never doubting that her husband was dead, has never hadany positive assurance of the fact. I'll not mention it just now, for itwouldn't do to awaken her memories before the concert. Time hasreconciled her a little to her loss, I think, and it would be a shame todisturb her.

  Well, there can be no doubt about it. She is entirely free. It is notpossible that such beauty and sweetness as hers shall nevermore knowlove. This concert surely means the beginning of a separation which mustcome sooner or later. Madame Francesca, as she will be called, can nolonger keep on living in this frittering brownstone relic of betterdays. Her singing will probably take her away from us. There may beconcerts and even operatic engagements, who knows? And I shall be lefthere with the old calabash and my rickety typewriter. Ye Gods! What anoutlook! I wonder whether it would not be wise for me to go to Fiji orYokohama or the Aleutian Islands? I shall get the horrors here allalone. I'm too clumsy for them ever to take me as an ambulance driver inFrance, but, perhaps, they would let me serve as an orderly in thehospitals. I'll have to think of it!