Told in a French Garden / August, 1914

THI

le of

the Youngster took one of the cars, and made a run to the northeast. The news they brought back did not at all coincide with the hopeful tone of the morning papers. In fact it was not only evident that the fall

ns, and "the Doctor thinks," he added, under his breath, "that we may be able to stick it out to the last day

great discussions, and after the few facts he had brought back were given us, he kept the talk on other matters, until the Sculptor, who had been lying back in his chair, blowing smoke rings in the air, stre

n ten yea

had been idle, pros

luck." Every hope I had cherished failed me. Every faith I had harbored deserted me. Every venture in which neither heart nor

of people, had served some, and tried in vain to be concerned for them while I served.

ose when, toward morning, the rest of the world-all the world save me-having no past to escape, no enticing phantom to flee, went peacefully off to bed,

s had pa

of August ha

One cannot escape such a date. You may never speak of it. You may forswear calendars, abjure newspapers, refuse to date a letter; you may even lose days in a drunken st

Half the world stretched on either side between me and the spot I tried t

natives could stand it by day, visitors, unused to the heat, were forced to sleep by day and wander abroad by n

as n

ing down on to the crowded bridges of the city wher

e was no clock in sight-I always guarded against that i

knew t

sense of it. Sleep, whether I rose to it, or fell to it-only brought me dreams of her. Desperate nourishing of a great misery, in a nature that resented it, even while cherishing

rising along the hillside to a strangely outlined church behind ruined fortifications. I was wondering, against my will, at what hou

he pain droppe

ng breath i

had so suddenly descended upon me? In an instant it had passed, and I could only remember my bitter mo

a gentle sadness took its place. In an in

at far off village where, for a brief hour, I had dwelt in a "Fool's Paradise," through which my way had lain

t whether it was months or years I never knew. I seemed to be making up what I had lost in

en I reached th

a magic sleep settled there it

the one tavern. I felt that my sudden appeara

myself as to what I expected to find. Years afterward I was convin

velled in the old days. It led toward the river, and along the steep bank of the rapid noisy stream. The chill wind of an early autumn night moaned s

mpaniment to all my recollections of her-as inseparable fro

last rushed down the slope I was so quietly climbing. As I went forward,

ly I s

It struck and illumined something white above me. I was standing exact

nses as if by a

all my vanity and jealousy. At last I understood the spell of peace tha

y of the Shadow of Death with her-for

tion. I knew,

could I have f

that led in the moonlight up to the top of the k

loated still

the torrent die

shoulder to shoulder, down the city street-that spring day in the early si

he warm sunshi

g flags, and the faces of women who wept as well as w

ard at this moment. His was the hand that in my school days, at college, in our Bohemian days abroad, had swept my responsiv

berately sacrificed himself for any one. And, if I were the victim of his temperament, he was no less so. But h

, with the glory of youth on his handsome but weak face, one whose "bapti

was common property, and had been for several seasons. There was a child, too, a little daughter, fond

r, looked on his

ped house where his mother w

nce more in my mind the child, with her floating red gold curls, raised above the crowd on the shoulders of tall men. Her eyes were too young for tears-and for that matter, tear

e that three of us

ath-with his face turned up to the stars, as sile

t we two came away bound by a

her father's daughter in looks, but inheriting from a rare mother a peculiar streng

rstand, but she knew it from the lips of the brave mother, who cherished his memory. Until she was a woman grown

l with an eye to a calm comfortable future, as became a

knew that I was to marry her

he dual nature, failed at that fatal hour when we stood together beside our protégée

member that, until then, I had never had a great emotion

him so long, so well, seemed, nevertheless, when he married, to have fancied there was some hocus-pocus in the ce

s the first night after a long awaited death, when the relief that pain is passed, and s

the sun, and not the moo

illed its sobbi

of the river so

y, and mount

he world's great artists, whose works will live to glorify his name and his art w

nes were already growing, and the woodbine that was mingled with it was stained w

doors on eithe

ering why-or asking myself who, in op

nte

ood once more within

if her soul had whispered in the

so co

n my

all mine, as well, had been to his profit. That out

ing as there was done, seemed wonderful to me even in my frame of

n it since. I ca

even in my strangely wrought-up mental condition, comprehending and adm

the old world. As I gazed at it, and read the gothic letters in which it was set forth that this monument was erected in adoration of this woman, how well

e of the artist, which would, I knew, s

e stood the

ence, though my

ere the words borne a

sleeps: Oh,

lasting, s

ntone the words as I had heard t

ength in her warm and glorious tomb. For above her mortal rema

looked, I felt that I could never tear

as if the living beautiful flesh of the slender body was still quick beneath it. The exquisite hands that I knew so well-so delicate, and yet so s

from the red walls, but the figur

fell on my knees. I flung my arms across the beautiful form-no colder to my embrace than had been the living woman! As I recoiled from the dea

God that

with uno

m sheeted gh

after the fever of such a life, could be so welcome to her as dreamless, eternal

e of death might, for her, have been peace and silence, d

e marble effigy of her I so loved-now tortured by its

shadows, as the sun swung steadily upward, but it was a subconsci

ned my thought

ous tomb, had then stood an arbor, a

night of

d down on that fair pale face, and then it h

I had stolen out to seek her. Instinctively I had turned to the old arb

her father's dying message. It was there I had asked her to

tearless, but nervous, and sad! Still, it had not seemed to me

is ir

where to find her. Light scudding clouds crossed the track of the moon, which, with a broadly smiling f

s no signal in all nature to prepare me for the end in a complete shipwreck of all my dreams. The peace about me gave no hint of its

low steps that led up

t off from the face of the moon, an

my friend, as, God help me, she had never rested

was

od knows

in all things, until one love rends them asunder, s

even see

e saw min

frail woman between us, that slender creature in the bridal dress, who sank d

placed her in my arms. No need to say t

is human. He suffers in living like other men-sometimes mo

he river, as he strode down the hillside, out of my life! And I know not even to-day which was t

at followed, only the silen

e hours of life that one cannot distin

ul woman, "until death should us part." I loved her! But, out of her

like these, that

met that night, and my ignoble side craved ignora

t had borne her down the hill-laid her on what was to have been h

gether-alo

s I gazed at her, yet my whole being cried out in rage at its own pity. On her trembling lips I seemed to see his kisses. In her fright

ight I sat

red a merciful nature

awn I fled fro

fe a mad fever, which only her death had cured. Saner men have protested against the same situation that ruined me-and yet, even in my reason

as, on our last meeting, I watched out the night. The sun, which had sent its almost level rays in at

y was

ddenly conscious of his presence, and, once more,

hat dreadful night,

was at

us, they could never again tear at

ore, as if years had not

r to shoulder in battle, been one in thought and ambition until

red without

ithout g

me to a broad seat behind me, and

in the

hich fell across her from the wide portal, and once more ou

e was once m

him. I noted that he had aged-that this was one of the periods in him which I knew so well-when a passion for work was on him, and the fever and fervor of creatio

ch as Tuscan poets sat on, in the old days, to sing to fair women, with our gaze focussed

ft hat swept the marble floor with a gentle rhythmic swish, as it swung

once strayed

. I meant you no harm. Fate-my temperament, your immobility, the very gifts that have made me what I am were to

s, that I decided to see neither of you again until she had been some time your wife. No word of love, no confidence of any kind, had ever passed between us. When I wrote you that I should not be here to see you married, and when not even your reproaches could move m

tions were thw

I could not even see her without danger. I despised myself for the judgment that accused me of being such a scamp as to think I would do anything

felt quite s

vely bride she would make-she who as a child, a girl, a maiden, had been in your eyes the most exquisite creature you had ever known; she whom I had avo

and all prudence fled out of

That, with her veil thrown over her arm, she ran direct

est yo

t you who

like a glory in your face, in spite of all you have suffered. As I

uch in lo

was for your own nature to decide. In your place

t this love was not in me what it was in you. With me it was, like many other emotions of a similar sort-a sentiment tha

or your return,

her came

st be done. I owed it to he

rld-your mother has married-she has other children. I have saddened your life with my l

answer, I prayed with all m

woman, who, loving me, had denied me. There I set up her image, pure and inviolate. Two long years I s

f, I returned here. Once more I stood on this spot, within the gaze of her deep eyes. I began to believe that a love everlasting, all en

ou need me! Come to me!' And fear kept

r.' The heart that knew and understood now all that sad history seemed to feel that her act might re-open

irtue, her strength, seemed to be mine. I went back to my work

success, and conscious of fear, yet longs to strive for what it dreads t

came leading by the hand her little sister, and

to resist me. Yet from each denial so ardently desired, so thankfully received, my soul sprang up strengthened in desire. Safe above me I worshipped her. Once in my arms, I knew, only too well, that even that love would pass as all other emotions had done. I knew I

ar came round, I found myse

n her beauty. This time she was indeed alone. As I looked into her face, I somehow thought of Agamemnon's f

serve or caution! I no longer said: 'You need me! You love me!' I cried out: 'I can no longer live without you!' I no longer said,

to look backward or forward. I had conquered. In my weakness I believ

beside me down the forbidden path of the world, I fell down on the spot her feet had pressed, and wept bitterly, as I had never done

as come. Fate was me

I dated a letter to her that night my mind involuntarily reckoned the days,

ed in my mind as I was by the dread tha

e d

ave chosen the one that will, in the end, give the least pain to you. I love you. I have always loved you since I was a child. I do not regret anything yet! Thank God for me that I depart without ever having seen a look of wearine

ould find when I

troubled with some such weakness. I alone knew t

ould be, in a world of simple natural joys! My friend, loss without guilt is pain-but i

n this great emotion, knowing too well that it will pass out of my life when it shall have achieved its purpose, leaving only as evidence this-another great work, crystalized into immortality in everlasting stone. I know that I cannot long hold it here in my heart. The day will

the marble floor, and they watered the very spot where his na

word, I passed out at the wide door, and, without looking back, I passed down the slop

kly, threw a glance about the circle, and,

to really laugh, though a br

and an occasional groan, which had not even disconcerted the story teller, "I suppose th

he governor did it. That is how I should have done it, had I been the governor,

excuse for telling it," groaned the Critic. "I'd love

rite. I call that a nice romantic, ideal tale for a sculptor to conceive, and as the Doctor said the other

ke you, and the Critic, is that your people are al

r, throwing himself back in his chai

, what did she do between times? Of course he sc

cried the Sculp

, "and that you don't sticks o

ask the same thing about

he Doctor. "But we

y story is quite new and original-and you were unprepared for it, and so you can't

struck, as he leaped to his feet, though the Journalist said, under

hey kept on saying A B C like that-for the A B C is usually lovely-and when it

risk losing heaps of fu

t they like, have no duties but to analyze themselves, and evidently everything goes like clockwork. The husband enjoys being morbid, and has the me

please," sighed the Sculptor,

have the privilege of going to

e Sculptor. "That is jus

, as he watched the Sculptor going slowly toward the house. "Bet he

t the only reason he has never built the

have done it in a minute, only he lacked imagination. You bet he never day-dreamed, and yet what skill he ha

iolinist, "that the son did

Doctor. "One never knows when the next generation wil

ll for you to talk

t as interesting from any other point of view. It has be

e. "I only hope I am going to se