V.
THE RUBICON.
"I'll stake my life upon her faith."--OTHELLO.
Once convinced of the identity of my sweet young friend with the MissPreston at whose feet a two year hence, the wealth and aristocracy ofNew York would be kneeling, I drew back from further effort as havingreceived a damper to my presumptuous hopes that would soon effectuallystifle them. Everything I heard about the family--and it seemed as ifsuddenly each chance acquaintance that I met had something to say aboutMr. Preston either as a banker or a man, only served to confirm me inthis view. "He is a money worshipper," said one. "The bluest of bluePresbyterians," declared another. "The enemy of presumption and anythingthat looks like an overweening confidence in one's own worth orcapabilities," remarked a third. "A man who would beggar himself to savethe honor of a corporation with which he was concerned," observed afourth "but who would not invite to his table the most influential manconnected with it if that man was unable to trace his family back to theold Dutch settlers to which Mr. Preston's own ancestors belonged."
This latter statement I have no doubt was exaggerated for I myself haveseen him at dinners where half the gentlemen who lifted the wine glasswere self-made in every sense of the term. But it showed the bent of hismind and it was a bent that left me entirely out of the sweep of hisacquaintanceship much less that of his exquisite daughter, the pride ofhis soul if not the jewel of his heart.
But when will a man who has seen or who flatters himself that he hasseen in the eyes of the woman he admires, the least spark of that firewhich is consuming his own soul, pause at an obstacle which after allhas its basis simply in circumstances of position or will. By the timethe two weeks of her expected absence had expired, I had settled it inmy own mind that I would see her again and if I found the passingcaprice of a child was likely to blossom into the steady regard of awoman, risk all in the attempt to win by honorable endeavor andpersistence this bud of loveliness for my future wife.
How I finally succeeded by means of my friend Farrar in being oneevening invited to the same house as Miss Preston it is not necessary tostate. You will believe me it was done with the utmost regard for herfeelings and in a way that deceived Farrar himself, who if he is themost prying is certainly the most volatile of men. In a crowded parlor,then, in the midst of the flash of diamonds and the flutter of fans MissPreston and I again met. When I first saw her she was engaged inconversation with some young companion, and I had the pleasure ofwatching for a few minutes, unobserved, the play of her ingenuouscountenance, as she talked with her friend, or sat silently watching thebrilliant array before her. I found her like and yet unlike the visionof my dreams. More blithesome in her appearance, as was not strangeconsidering her party attire and the lustre of the chandelier underwhich she sat, there was still that indescribable something in herexpression which more than the flash of her eye or the curve of her lip,though both were lovely to me, made her face the one woman's face in theworld for me; a charm which circumstances might alter, or sufferingimpair, but of which nothing save death could ever completely divest herand not death either, for it was the seal of her individuality, and thatshe would take with her into the skies.
"If I might but advance and sit down by her side without a word ofexplanation or the interference of conventionalities how happy I shouldbe," thought I. But I knew that would not do, so I contented myself withmy secret watch over her movements, longing for and yet dreading theadvance of my hostess, with its inevitable introduction. Suddenly thepiano was touched in a distant room and not till I saw the quick changein her face, a change hard to explain, did I recognize the selection asone I was in the habit of playing. _She_ had not forgotten at least, andthrilled by the thought and the remembrance of that surge of color whichhad swept like a flood over her cheek, I turned away, feeling as if Iwere looking on what it was for no man's eyes to see, least of all mine.
My hostess' voice arrested me and next moment I was bowing to the groundbefore Miss Preston.
I am not a boy; nor have I been without my experiences: life with itsvicissitudes has taught me many a lesson, subjected me to many a trial,yet in all my career have I never known a harder moment than when Iraised my eyes to meet hers after that lowly obeisance. That she wouldbe indignant I knew, that she might even misinterpret my motives andprobably withdraw without giving me an opportunity to speak, I felt tobe only too probable, but that she would betray an agitation so painfulI had not anticipated, and for an instant I felt that I had hazarded mylife's happiness on a cast that was going against me. But the necessityof saving her from remark speedily restored me to myself, and followingthe line of conduct I had previously laid out, I addressed her with thereserve of a stranger, and neither by word, look or manner conveyed toher a suggestion that we had ever met or spoken to each other before.She seemed to appreciate my consideration and though she was as yet toomuch unused to the ways of the world to completely hide herperturbation, she gradually regained a semblance of self-possession, andere long was enabled to return short answers to my remarks, though hereyes remained studiously turned aside and never so much as ventured toraise themselves to the passing throng much less to my face, half turnedaway also.
Presently however a change passed over her. Pressing her two littlehands together, she drew back a step or two, speaking my name with acertain tone of command. Struck with apprehension, I knew not why, Ifollowed her. Instantly like one repeating a lesson she spoke.
"It is very good in you to talk to me as though we were the strangersthat people believe us. I appreciate it and thank you very much. But itis not being just true; that is I feel as if I were not being just true,and as we can never be friends, would it not be better for us not tomeet in this way any more?"
"And why," I gently asked, with a sense of struggling for my life, "canwe never be friends?"
Her answer was a deep blush; not that timid conscious appeal of theblood that is beating too warmly for reply, but the quick flush ofindignant generosity forced to do despite to its own instincts.
"That is a question I would rather not answer," she murmured at length."Only it is so; or I should not speak in this way."
"But," I ventured, resolved to know on just what foundations myhappiness was tottering, "you will at least tell me if this harsh decreeis owing to any offence I myself may have inadvertently given. The honorof your acquaintance," I went on, determined she should know just what ahope she was slaying, "is much too earnestly desired, for me to wilfullyhazard its loss by saying or doing aught that could be in any waydispleasing to you."
"You have done nothing but what was generous," said she with increasingwomanliness of manner, "unless it was taking advantage of my being here,to learn my name and gain an introduction to me after I had desired youto forget my very existence."
I recoiled at that, the chord of my self-respect was touched. "It wasnot here I learned your name, Miss Preston. It has been known to me fortwo weeks. At the risk of losing by your displeasure what is alreadyhazarded by your prudence, I am bound to acknowledge that from the hourI left your father's house that night, I have spared no effortcompatible with my deep respect for your feelings, to ascertain who theyoung lady was that had done me such an honor, and won from me such adeep regard. I had not intended to tell you this," I added, "but yourtruth has awakened mine, and whatever the result may be, you must see meas I am."
"You are very kind," she replied governing with growing skill thetrembling of her voice. "The acquaintance of a girl of sixteen is notworth so much trouble on the part of a man like yourself." And blushingwith the vague apprehension of her sex in the presence of a devotion sherather feels than understands, she waved her trembling little hand andpaused irresolute, seemingly anxious to terminate the interview but asyet too inexperienced to know how to manage a dismissal requiring somuch tact and judgment.
I saw, comprehended her position and hesitated. She was so young, uncle,her prospects in life were so bright; if I left her then, in a couple ofweeks she would forget
me. What was I that I should throw the shadow ofmanhood's deepest emotion across the paradise of her young untrammelledbeing. But the old Adam of selfishness has his say in my soul as well asin that of my fellow-men, and forgetting myself enough to glance at herhalf averted face, I could not remember myself sufficiently afterwardsto forego without a struggle, all hope of some day beholding that softcheek turn in confidence at my approach.
"Miss Preston," said I, "the promise of the bud atones for its foldedleaves." Then with a fervor I did not seek to disguise, "You say wecannot be friends; would your decision be the same if this were ourfirst meeting?"
Again that flush of outraged feeling. "I don't know--yes I think--I fearit would."
I strove to help her. "There is too great a difference between BertramMandeville the pianist, and the daughter of Thaddeus Preston."
She turned and looked me gently in the eye, she did not need to speak.Regret, shame, longing flashed in her steady glance.
"Do not answer," said I, "I understand; I am glad it is circumstancesthat stand in the way, and not any misconception on your part as to mymotives and deep consideration for yourself. Circumstances can bechanged." And satisfied with having thus dropped into the fruitful soilof that tender breast, the seed of a future hope, I bowed with all thedeference at my command and softly withdrew.
But not to rest. With all the earnestness with which a man sets himselfto decide upon the momentous question of life or death, I gave myself upto a night of reflection, and seated in my solitary bachelor apartment,debated with myself as to the resolution at which I had dimly hinted inmy parting words to Miss Preston.
That I am a musician by nature, my success with the the public seems toindicate. That by following out the line upon which I had entered Iwould attain a certain eminence in my art, I do not doubt. But uncle,there are two kinds of artists in this world; those that work becausethe spirit is in them and they cannot be silent if they would, and thosethat speak from a conscientious desire to make apparent to others thebeauty that has awakened their own admiration. The first could not giveup his art for any cause, without the sacrifice of his soul's life; thelatter--well the latter could and still be a man with his whole innerbeing intact. Or to speak plainer, the first has no choice, while thelatter has, if he has a will to exert it. Now you will say, and theworld at large, that I belong to the former class. I have risen in tenyears from a choir boy in Trinity Church to a position in the world ofmusic that insures me a full audience wherever and whenever I have amind to exert my skill as a pianist. Not a man of my years has a morepromising outlook in my profession, if you will pardon the seemingegotism of the remark, and yet by the ease with which I felt I couldgive it up at the first touch of a master passion, I know that I am nota prophet in my art but merely an interpreter, one who can speak wellbut who has never felt the descent of the burning tongue and hence not asinner against my own soul if I turn aside from the way I am walking.The question was, then, should I make a choice? Love, as you say, seemsat first blush too insecure a joy, if not often too trivial a one, tounsettle a man in his career and change the bent of his whole afterlife; especially a love born of surprise and fed by the romance ofdistance and mystery. Had I met her in ordinary intercourse, surroundedby her friends and without the charm cast over her by unwontedcircumstances, and then had felt as I did now that of all women I hadseen, she alone would ever move the deep springs of my being, it wouldbe different. But with this atmosphere of romance surrounding andhallowing her girl's form till it seemed almost as ethereal andunearthly as that of an angel's, was I safe in risking fame or fortunein an attempt to acquire what in the possession might prove as bare andcommon-place as a sweep of mountain heather stripped of its sunshine.Curbing every erratic beat of my heart, I summoned up her image as itbloomed in my fancy, and surveying it with cruel eyes, asked what wasreal and what the fruit of my own imagination. The gentle eye, thetrembling lip, the girlish form eloquent with the promise of comingwomanhood,--were these so rare, that beside them no other woman shouldseem to glance or smile or move? And her words! what had she said, thatany simple-minded, modest yet loving girl might not have uttered underthe circumstances. Surely my belief in her being the one, the best andthe dearest was a delusion, and to no delusion was I willing tosacrifice my art. But straight upon that conclusion came sweeping down aflood of counter-reasons. If not the wonder she seemed, she was at leasta wonder to me. If I had seen her under romantic circumstances, andunconsciously been influenced by them, the influence had remained andnothing would ever rob her form of the halo thus acquired. Whether Iever won her to my fireside or not, she must always remain the fairyfigure of my dreams, and being so, the gentle eye and tender lipacquired a value that made them what they seemed, the exponent of loveand happiness. And lastly if love well or illy founded was an uncertainjoy, and the passion for a woman a poor substitute for the naturalincentive of talent or ambition, _this_ love had within it the beginningof something deeper than joy, and in the passion thus cheaplycharacterized, dwelt a force and living fire that notwithstanding all Ihave hitherto achieved, has ever been lacking from my dreams ofendeavor.
As you will see, the most natural question of all did not disturb me inthese cogitations: And that was, whether in making the sacrifice Iproposed, I should meet with the reward I had promised myself. Thefancies of a young girl of sixteen are not usually of a stable enoughcharacter to warrant a man in building upon them his whole futurehappiness, especially a young girl situated like Miss Preston in themidst of friends who would soon be admirers, and adulators who wouldsoon be her humble slaves. But the doubt which a serious contemplationof this risk must have presented, was of so unnerving a character, Idared not admit it. _If_ I made the sacrifice, I must meet with myreward. I would listen to no other conclusion. Besides, something in theyoung girl herself, I cannot tell what, assured me then as it assures menow, that whatever virtues or graces she might lack, that of fidelity toa noble idea was not among them; that once convinced of the purity andvalue of the flame that had been lit in her innocent breast, nothingshort of the unworthiness of the object that had awakened it, would everserve to eliminate or extinguish it. That I was not worthy but wouldmake it the business of my life to become so, was certain; that shewould mark my endeavors and bestow upon me the sympathy they deserved, Iwas equally sure. No one would ever make such a sacrifice to her love asI was willing to do, and consequently in no one would I find a rival.
The morning light surprised me in the midst of the struggle, nor did Idecide the question that day. Mr. Preston might not be as determined inhis prejudices against musicians as my friends or even his daughter hadimagined. I resolved to see him. Taking advantage of his connection withthe ---- Club, I procured an introducer in the shape of a highlyrespected person of his own class, and went one evening to theClub-rooms with the full intention of making his acquaintance ifpossible. He was already there and in conversation with some businessassociates. Procuring a seat as near him as possible, I anxiouslysurveyed his countenance. It was not a reassuring one, and studied inthis way, had the effect of dampening any hopes I may have cherished inthe outset. He soften to the sounds of sweet strains or the voice ofyouthful passion! As soon as the granite rock to the surge of theuseless billow. His very necktie spoke volumes. It was an old fashionedstock, full of the traditions of other days, while his coat, shabbierthan any I would presume to wear, betrayed in every well-worn seam thepride of the aristocrat and millionaire who in his native city andbefore the eyes of his fellow magnates does not need to carry theevidences of his respectability upon his back.
"It would be worse than folly for me to approach him on such a subject,"I mentally ejaculated. "If he did not stare the musician out ofcountenance he would the newly risen man." And I came very near givingup the whole thing.
But the genius that watches over the affairs of true love was with menotwithstanding the unpropitious state of my surroundings. In a fewminutes I received my expected introduction to Mr. Preston, and I foundthat unde
rneath the repelling austerity of his expression, was a kindlyspark for youth, and a decided sympathy for all instances of manlyendeavor if only it was in a direction he approved; further that my ownpersonality was agreeable to him and that he was disposed to regard mewith favor until by some chance and very natural allusion to myprofession by the friend standing between us, he learned that I was amusician, when a decided change came over his countenance and heexclaimed in that blunt, decisive way of his that admits of no reply:
"A jingler on the piano, eh? Pretty poor use for a man to put his brainsto, I say, or even his fingers. Sorry to hear we cannot be friends." Andwithout waiting for a reply, took my introducer by the arm and drew hima step or so to one side. "Why didn't you say at once he was Mandevillethe musician," I overheard him ask in somewhat querulous tones. "Don'tyou know I consider the whole race of them an abomination. I would havemore respect for my bank clerk than I would for the greatest man of themall, were it Rubenstein himself." Then in a lower tone but distinctlyand almost as if he meant me to hear, "My daughter has a leaning towardsthis same fol-de-rol and has lately requested my permission to make theacquaintance of some musical characters, but I soon convinced her thatmanhood under the disguise of a harlequin's jacket could have nointerest for her; that when a human being, man or woman has sunk to be amere rattler of sweet sounds, he has reached a stage of infantiledevelopment that has little in common with the nervous energy andbusiness force of her Dutch ancestry. And my daughter stoops to make noacquaintances she cannot bid sit at her father's table."
"Your daughter is a child yet, I thought," was ventured by hiscompanion.
"Miss Preston is sixteen, just the age at which my mother gave her handto my respected father sixty-seven years ago." And with this drop ofburning lead let fall into my already agitated bosom they passed on.
He would have more respect for his bank clerk! Would his bank clerk orwhat was better, a young man with means at his command, working in abusiness capacity more in consonance with the tastes he had evinced,have a chance of winning his daughter? I began to think he might. "Theway grows clearer!" I exclaimed.
But it was not till after another interview with him ten minutes laterin the lobby that I finally made up my mind. He was standing quite alonein an obscure corner, fumbling in an awkward way with his muffler thathad caught on the button of his coat. Seeing it, I hastened forward tohis assistance and was rewarded by a kind enough nod to embolden me tosay,
"I have been introduced to you as a musician; would my acquaintance bemore acceptable to you if I told you that the pursuit of art bids fairin my case to yield to the exigencies of business? That I purposeleaving the concert-room for the banker's office and that henceforth myonly ambition promises to be that of Wall Street?"
"It most certainly would," exclaimed he, holding out his hand with anunmistakable gesture of satisfaction. "You have too good a countenanceto waste before a piano-top strumming to the smirks of women and theplaudits of weak-headed men. Let us see you at the desk, my lad. We arein want of trustworthy young men to take the place of us older ones."Then politely, "Do you expect to make the change soon?"
"I do," said I.
And the Rubicon was passed.
The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life Page 6