The Storyteller THE SHADOW PORTRAIT

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXV, Issue 10, 7 March 1907, Page 3

The Storyteller THE SHADOW PORTRAIT

Someone has said, ' the , real "heart " of New. York is . the section! between. B*ourteian't>h and .Fortieth -streets.' Here are" to be found the people whojwrite our dramas, who make our songs, to whose wit we owe many bits of humor that brighten , moments of our days, whose brains- invent many of the ideas that other men utilise. Here are the haunts of the artists, the musicians, the literary workers, the journalists of the metropolis, and on the " part of Broadway - that forms the chief artery of this district one may frequently encounter men • and women with whose names fame has conjured the world over. In a wide, red-brick house at one extreme verge of this representative area, namely, the lower side of WasMmgton Square, Maxwell Norton, the portrait painter, .chose to erect his Lares and Penates. He might, indeed, have selected more imposing quarters at the Beaux Arts, further uptown, and also facing a' "pleasant park— for success had rewarded his patient endeavor, and there was a respectful saying among younger- votaries of the palette and brush that for years Norton had not been ' 'hard up '—but to the quiet, self-contained man of middle age, there was an enchantment about ' the Square.' r There on its northern border, almost within the shade of - the new Washington Arch, stand the mansions, ivy-crowned, as it by the. traditions of half a century, to which still cling descendants of the prosperous merchants who'built them ; two blocks sacred to exclusiveness and fashion. . ,On the east loom up the hoary walls of the old University. And here, to the west and south, BoheaniJa, hajptpy-gt>-lucky Bohemia," aicoflony of jjbdfliHrS with brain, pencil, baton, and pen, who "in "turn J "*are being fast crowded out by the children 'of sunny Italy. -- - 1 - It was an afternoon in October, when the trees of the Square were in the full splendor of their crimson and gpJden glory, that a hansom cab stopped in the street v on the south side. A young woman alighted from the cab and, after a short search up and' down the block, made her way to the studio. - She _wasclosely folfowed by a typical negro mammy, evidently acted in lieu of a ohaperone. ' " -«°* Absalam answered the light tap on the door and reported to his master. Norton laid aside his palette,"" told the model she might , rest— at this hour he had- no regular sitting— and, with a regretful glance at the ideal" picture . of ' Coquetry ' upon his easei, came for- - ward,' brush in hand. , - " , ' Mr., Norton,' said' the girl, advancing into the room with an ease of manner that at once settled her social status in his- mind, ' I hope my call is not inopportune.' After a second glance at her face the artist amiably accepted the interruption. ' N— no ';" he _said, nevertheless with some hesitation. 'I am 1 Elizabeth Van Ruyter, the daughter o| Prede'dck Van Ruyter,' she continued, taking the chair Absalam placed for her, while the imperturbable Mammy stood on guard behind it, ' and I have come to ask you 'to paint my portrait.' The .name was that of a "well-known banker. Norton smiled. No one's face was ever more changed by a smile than Norton's. When serious, he appeared cold and reserved, but when -his features grew animated, and his steel-gray eyes lighted- up," either witjh-plea-sure or friendliness, he became like one- who invited confidences and who could be trusted.

• ' You see, I am going to be married,' Miss Van ,Ruyter chatted -on naively— she was very young, after al'l-4' and I wish to hang 'the portrait in the" diningroom at home, so that father will not be quite so lonesome when I am gone. He has been both -father and mother to me,, for I lost my mother when 1 TMgas a child.' Her voice trembled arid she turned ' jfway her head. Norton found himself wondering why. a woman so often sheds tears when she is happy. : ' Yes,_ I see,' he said gently. ' When would you like the sittings ? ' ' Now, if you wish.' He glanced -.at her rich gown -and shook his head. ' Come to-morrow morning"; the light will then ;be v at : its 'best— and — er— wear " something simple, a' little home frock in which your father has often seen you.'; S-he nodded and went away, the old negress attending her with the air of a princess.

' Yes, yes ; Norton paints charming portraits of women,' admitted Tom llorley, Elizabeth's fiance, that evening, when she told him where she had been. 'He is a tine fellow, too, and a gentleman ; . but eccentric, as, nci doubt, you will soon notice. »It is said he has .never recovered from his grief over the death of •his wifej;-! although it happened years aJgo.' •- The next day the sittings began. Although so pleasing to look at, Miss Van Ruyter could not be called a beauty. Her features, though fairly good, were irregular. The fascination of her ■face, consisted in a certain sWeetoess of expressiojn that reflected a charming personality.. She moved in the world of society, -yet was not of it ; she bad ' been "educated in a convent, and her tastes- were simple. Naturally cheerful, at times even vivacious, she was also very conscientious and unaffectedly devout. During the hours when she sat for her portrait, she had ' many people and things to think about— her father, tor lover,~ the care-free life of her girlhood, the new sphere of duty of • which her- wedding" day would be the threshold. And sometimes, too, soaring higher, her thoughts, perhaps, dwelt upon ' the beauty of things unseen.' On the occasions of the sitting, however, she was not always silent or absorbed ; she liked to talk . to Norton, and they became friends.- He- was as old asher father ■; frequently there' was something paternal in his 'tone as he conversed with her. Of the eccentricity of which Tom Morley had spoken, Elizabeth ' saw no signs; for several weeks. By December the - portrait was nearly finished. One morning Miss Van Ruyter came to the studio unexpectedly. After sending Mr. Norton word that she could not give him a sitting, she 1 - had .suddenly changed her mind. It was a l gray day,' and Norton was\ at work without sitter or model. As Elizabeth entered the room, he hastily drew a curtain half way across his canvas, but, upon recognising his visitor, and, as \R on second thoujgtot, as- quickly pushed it back again. Absalamhad disappeared. "Mammy took her accustomed place^bn the cornea: settle. The artist - bad discovered long ago that she could not see well without the spectacles she was too amusingly vain to . wear, and that she was also a little deaf. M was able to come after all,' began Miss Van Ruyter cheerfully. Then she broke off with a little cry of admiratian as her eyes fell upon the ■ picture on the painter's easel. Norton again? started forward as if to cover^it ; but, deterred this time perhaps by her interest, he again drew back, and Elizabeth noticed that he sighed as if involuntarily. The picture wasj the portrait of a woman, .no , longer young, but still beautiful. Clear, frank, and true ■ the ' dark eyes looked from the canvas into the girl's very heart, yet in them there seemed the mystery of an infinite longing, as of a spirit not quite at peace. The lovely mouth, was so sweet, however, that Elizabeth wished she could kiss it, as she toad often wished she might caress her mother, whom she had scarcely • known. The hair, once brown— as could be seen— was now touched with silver. The face was still a perfect oval ; but over the speaking eyes, and the broad, low fonehead time had passed a gentle hand. About the sweet mouth, too, were lines that, to herself, Elizabeth called, not wrinkles, but 'the record of many smiles.'1 Miss Van Ruyter, you have unintentionally learnt my secret,' said Norton, as, enthralled, she continued to gaze upon the canvas. ' This is the portrait of my wife, Marie,- who died twenty years ago, when she was about your age, I should judge. You are surprised. I know the question you would like to ask. This is not, you "would say, the face of a young wjomani Dear child, you have a mature that glows with foiuman kindliness ; you are " simpatica,",as my neighbors around the corner in Little Italy say. v ' When my wife was taken from me, my grief was so ' great ' that it threatened my reason. When I grew calmer, I resolved to keep her likeness with me all the time. In ~ order to do this I decided that "year by year I would change her portrait so that we -might grow old together. In this way, at least,- I hoped to keep her with me. Always, on the anniversary of our ' wedding " day, I ' have .altered the lines of this dear face, adding what I thought would make the difference of one year. There have been many anniversaries, and many changes of the portrait, until you see here a fading woman, " a rose of yesterday." Yet, had time done its worst, she wouldstill . have remained beautiful. Is it not so ? ' ' The portrait is. exquisite, declared- Elizabeth with enthusiasm. ' And, dear friend, I feel, I -know what a consolation it must have been to you to try to keep- even this shadow of her with you. Neverthe-^

Ha|ss \— Elizalbpth hesitated, and then went on, impelled toy 'the 'eagerness of her thpirght — ' have you no'ti sometimes felt also regret that, in altering the portrait, you lost the likeness of your wife as she appeared in all the- charm 'of her youth and' the perfection of her beauty? Does not death lose ' something of its victory, when we reflect that the deal ones who have been called away remain forever young, that old' a/ge, or sorrow, or the cares -of the world can never touch them? ' " ' You mistake me,' said Norton quietly. ' I would as soon have taken my own life as destroy the likeness' of my dearest Marie . as she was when she became my wife/ Opening -a drawer of the Chinese cabinet, he took from it a miniature and placed it in Elizabeth's hand. His visible emotion cast a spell upcin her. She glanced alternately from the lffctle painting on ivory' to the portrait in- oils. The artist, feeling that she understood him, proceeded to take a packet of sketches in color " from the cabinet, and . ~ spread them' out beifore her on the divan. They represented every year of the shadow life which had'become so real to him. Beginning with the miniature of the bride, they were like a series of medallions that ■ terminated in the picture on the easel, linking together the past' and the present in one continuous chain. Or, like -the beads of a rosary, beginning with ■ the cross, ' they came back to the cross again. 1 Oh, they are all beautiful,' Elizabeth murmured, half to herself, ' and only the mind of a true artist could have conceived the thought of thus portraying a life as it might have been.' 1 I painted it for no other eyes than my own; bmt into it I have put my best work,' said the artist. ' And yet — and yet— Miss Van Ruyter, whenever I study this portrait, I am haunted by the fancy that it lacks something, that in some point I have - failed. Yes ;' there - was an. indescribable charm, a dominant characteristic of my wife's personality, that I have been unable to interpret or portray.- Whenever I even think of the picture I am uneasily- conscious that, after all, it^is not herself as she would have been had she lived. At such times, in my despondency and disappointment, I am often tempted to slash the canvas into shreds.' ' Oh, no, no ; never commit such an act of reckless vandalism,' protested Elizabeth in. alarm.' ' If you had done no,. other work than this, Mr Norton, you would still be acknowledged a great' artist.' Her appreciation • pleased him. ' Thank you,' he said, simply, and then went on : ' But * the most singular part of _it all, Miss Van Ruyter, is that the i illusive quality I have missed in the portrayal of my dear wife I imagine I find in you. Or is^ it imagination ? During the hours when you. sit for your portrait, when you are present here bodily— apparently idle, yet occupied with your own thoughts and often in spirit far away, while I paint and watch you, striving to interpret your inner self, this Tteingj always the aim of the true portrait painter— at such times I see in your face the expression that is lacking in the pictured face of my wife, the charm I have failed to grasp. Perhaps you can tell me what it is ? ' For a few moments Elisabeth sto.od silently studying the dream picture, thinking of the painter and' of this woman whom he had so loved, whom hie so, loved stall, although she had been dead nearly a quarter of a century. The- girl had- had "little experience beyond her two short seasons in society. She knew, however, that Norton was a man of the world. Tom -Morley said he was a good man,' as men of the world go.. jNofrton had tojld her oince that, like herself, he and his wife were Catholics— adding, with a light laugh and a shrug of the shoulders, : • But you •knoiw, ,we painter fellows aije a careless set, and so now I am not much of 'anything.' So now, as she scrutinised the canvas on • the easel, the truth 1 came to her. ' „ . "~ Norton, arresting his impatient* stride, paused at her elbow. " ' Well, what does the portrait lack ? ' he inquired in' a tone that was half a demand,' half an entreaty. She answered slowly, absently, almost to herself, and as if only following out her own thought : • The fault lies— l think— ah, . I know, , it is simply this— the woman in the picture has forgotten how to pray.' Norton, dazed, stared* at her. Then ' his eyes searched the portrait, as 'though it' possessed a soul into whose depths ' ■ lie sought to look. «My ■ God, child, - you are right ! ' he cried unnerved. Going , to a window, he glanced out without seeing anything. But the light borne, in imon him by the young 'girl's involuntary scathing criticism, drew him back. ' Yes, Miss Van Ruyter, you are right,' he re-

peated, as his gaze again riveted itself upon the beautiful face he had attempted to save from oblivion. 4 This woman has forgotten, how to pray. And my wife, thank God, would never have forgotten. It is I who did not remember ; and, therefore, the .shadowlife I to win her to share with me was the idlest of dreams. My ideal fell short. of the reality. Had she" lived, she would have been more beautiful than I have painted her ; she lived, I would have been a different and a better man.' He flung himself into a chair, folded- his arms, and 'dropped -his head upon his" breast. So he might have pcartrayed ' Remorse,' or v | Vain Regret.' There was a tense silence". Elizabeth hesitated, perplexed, and distressed. After a moment, however, " she crossed the room swiftly, and her kind hand touched his arm. ; Mr. Norton, you will yet make the picture a true „ portrait of your beautiful wife,' she said in a voice that thrilled ' with womanly sympathy. ' And— and— you know, while ,we live, it is never too late for us to become better than we are.' Then, signalling to Mammy, who, forgotten, had watched the little drama in stupid wonderment, Miss Van Ruyter went quietly out of the studio. — •' Catholic Wcirld.'