F. Marion Crawford

“ George could no more fancy himself as working without consulting Constance than he could imagine what life would be without sight or hearing. Her charm was upon him and penetrated all he did, her beauty was the light by which he saw other women, her voice the music that made harmony of all other sounds. He loved her now, as women have rarely been loved, for love had taken root in his noble and generous nature, as a rare seed in a virgin soil, beautiful from the first and gaining beauty as it grew in strength and fulness of proportion. ”

“ If Grace had married the clergyman, could Constance have been to me what Grace is, could I have loved her as I love this woman who will never love me? Assuredly not; the thing is impossible. I loved Constance with one half of myself, and as far as I went I was in earnest. Perhaps it was the higher, more intellectual part of me, for I did not love her because she was a woman, but because she was unlike all other women—in other words, a sort of angel. Angels may have loved women in the days of the giants, but no man can love an angel as a woman ought to be loved. ”

“ When you have done all that, and turned your catalogue into blank verse, tell me if there is anything left which you can call charm.”
“Charm,” George answered, “is what every man who loves a woman thinks she has—and if she has it all men love her. You have it.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed the young girl. “Can you get no nearer to a definition than that?”
“Can you define anything which you only feel and cannot see—heat for instance, or cold?”
“Heat makes one hot, and cold makes one shiver,” answered Mamie promptly.
“And charm makes a woman loved. That is as good an answer as yours.” ”

“ A day came, however, when George had nothing to do. It would be more accurate to say that on a particular afternoon, having finished one piece of work to his satisfaction, he did not feel inclined to begin another; for, among the many consequences of entering upon a literary life is the losing for ever of the feeling that at any moment there is nothing to be done. Let a writer work until his brain reels and his fingers can no longer hold the pen, he will nevertheless find it impossible to rest without imagining that he is being idle. ”

“ George answered.
“Shall we? Shall I?” she asked, looking up into his face. “Who can tell! One is never so sure of the future as one is of the past—and the present. Shall we take it all with us to our little house in New York? How funny it will seem to be living all alone with you in a little house! I shall not give you champagne every day, George. You need not expect it! It will be a very little house, and I shall do all the work.”
“If you will allow me to black the boots, I shall be most happy,” said George. “I know how.”
“Imagine! You, blacking boots!” exclaimed Mamie indignantly. ”

“ His heart had never been disturbed before, by anything resembling true passion, there were no reminiscences to choke the new growth, no dry and withered stems about which the new love must twine itself until its spreading leaves and clasping tendrils made a rich foliage to cover the dead tree. He, she, the world, love, reputation, were all young together, all young and fresh, and full of the power to grow. To think that the prospect of such happiness should be blighted, the hope of such perfect bliss disappointed was beyond the power of George’s imagination. ”

“ George laughed happily.
“Well, do as you will,” said Constance. “Only be honest with me, as I have been with you. If a time comes when you feel that you love me less, tell me so frankly, and let there be an end. Will you?”
“Yes. I am not afraid. The day will never come.”
“Never is thought to be an old-fashioned word, I believe—like always. Will you do something else to please me—something to pay me for my honesty?” ”

“ It is so easy to say to a woman ‘You are full of charm,’ when she is ugly and stupid and cannot play on the piano, and you feel obliged to be civil. I am sure that there is no such thing as charm. It is only an imaginary compliment. Why not tell me the truth?”
“You are neither ugly nor stupid, and I am sincerely glad that you leave the piano alone,” said George. “I could find any number of compliments to make, if that were my way. But it is not, of course. You have lots of good points, Mamie. Look at yourself in the glass if you do not believe it. ”

“ George answered readily. “It is not your fault, Cousin Sherry. All I want to say, is what I had already written to you. If Mamie will change her mind and marry me, I am ready.”
Trimm looked at him sharply.
“You are a good fellow, George,” he said. “But I don’t think I could stand that. You never loved her as you ought to love to be happy. I saw that long ago and I guessed that there had been something wrong. You have been tricked into the whole thing—and—just go away and leave me here, will you? I cannot stand this.” ”

“ But the most minute description of George Wood’s physical characteristics would convey no such impression as he produced upon those who first saw him. He was discontented with himself as well as with his surroundings, and his temper was clouded by perpetual disappointment. Sometimes dull and apathetic, there were moments when a vicious energy gleamed in his dark eyes, and when he looked like what fighting men call an ugly customer. Mirth was never natural to him, and when he laughed aloud there was scarcely the semblance of a smile upon his features. ”

“ I wish I could make you feel what I feel!”
“I think I would rather not,” said George. “It must be very disturbing to the judgment to be always comparing oneself with others instead of trying to do the best one can in an independent way.”
“You will never succeed without ambition,” Johnson repeated confidently.
“Then I am afraid I shall never succeed at all, for I have not a spark of that sort of ambition. I do not care a straw for being thought better than any one else, nor for being a celebrity. I want to satisfy myself, my own idea of what is a good book, and I am afraid I never shall. ”

“ For many days, the miserable woman never left her room, sitting from morning till evening in the same attitude, dry-eyed and motionless, gazing at the place where her dead husband had lain; and in that same place she lay all night, sleepless, waiting for the dawn, looking for the first grey light at the window, listening for his breathing, in the mad hope that it had all been but a dream which would vanish before the morning sun. Her heart would not break, her strong, well-balanced intelligence would not give way, though she longed for death or madness to end her sufferings. ”

“ However all these things may be explained, George Wood felt that he was in a humour quite new to him, when he rang at Tom Craik’s door. He was elated without knowing why, and yet he was full of viciously combative instincts. His heart beat with a pleasant alacrity, and his mind was unusually clear. He would have said that he was happy, and yet his happiness was by no means of the kind which makes men at peace with their surroundings or gentle toward those with whom they have to do. ”

“ George needed but little encouragement to remain in social obscurity, though he was conscious of a rather contemptible hope that he might one day play a part in society, surrounded by all the advantages of wealth and general respect which belong especially to those few who possess both, by inheritance rather than as a result of their own labours. He was not quite free from that subtle aristocratic taint which has touched so many members of American society. Like the wind, no man can tell whence it comes nor whither it goes; but unlike the ill wind in the proverb it blows no good to any one. ”

“ We all hear of the miserable end of the poor wretch who has subsisted for years upon stimulants or narcotics, and whose death, often at an advanced age, is held up as a warning to youth; but who ever knows or speaks of the countless deaths due solely to the overuse of pen, ink, and paper? Who catalogues the names of those many whose brains give way before their bodies are worn out? Who counts the suicides brought about by failure, the cases of men starving because they would rather write bad English than do good work of any other sort? ”

“ George fell under the charm without even making an effort to resist it. Why, he asked himself dreamily, should he resist anything that was good in itself and harmless in its consequences? His life had all at once fallen in pleasant places. Should he disappoint Totty and give Mamie pain by a sudden determination to break up all their plans and return to the heat of the city? He could work here as well as anywhere else, better if there was any truth in the theory that the mind should be more active when the body is subject to no pain or inconvenience. ”

“ I have asked myself whether this would please you, whether that would bring a smile to your dear face, whether these words or those would speak to your heart and be sweet to you. You are everything the world holds for me, the sun that shines, the air I breathe. Without the thought of you I could neither think nor work. If a man can grow great by the thought of woman’s love, you can make me one of the greatest—if men die of broken hearts you can kill me—you are everything to me—life, breath and happiness. ”

“ He had felt all that a man can feel in the deep devotion to one spotless object. There would never again be anything so high and noble and untainted in all the years that were to come for him, and he knew it. The determination he had felt to be necessary in the first moment of his anger had carried itself out almost without any direction from his will. The Constance he had loved so dearly, was not the Constance who had refused to marry him, and who had dealt him such a cruel blow. ”

“ If Totty had intended to play the part of the tempter instead of being the chief comforter, she could not have done it with a more diabolical skill. She believed that a man could always be more easily attacked by the senses than by his intelligence, and she put every principle of her belief into her acts. She partly knew, and partly guessed, the manner of George’s former life, the absence of luxury, the monotony of an existence in which common necessities were always provided for in the same way, without stint but without variety. ”

“ Dear George would not like it to be supposed that he cares for terrapin and dry champagne any more than for pork and beans—and yet the dear fellow is keenly alive to the difference. He does not want it to be thought he could ever be bored by you or me, but he knows that we know that he might be, and he expects us to use tact and to leave him alone sometimes, even for a whole day. He will be much more glad to see us the next time we meet him and will show it by giving himself much more trouble to be agreeable. It is not true that if you run away men will follow you. ”

“ Whichever were true, Grace was no longer the Grace Fearing of old, and George felt a strange admiration for her growing up within him.
“You are right, I think,” he said after a long pause. “Happiness and suffering are the only words that have or ought to have any meaning. The rest—it is all a matter of opinion, of taste, of fashion, of anything you please excepting the heart.”
“Constance will tell you that right and wrong are the two important words,” said Grace. ”

“ George answered, thoughtfully, “I believe that you will. I can understand that. I fancy that you and I are somewhat alike. There are people who are unhappy, and who fade away and go out like a lamp without oil. They are said to die of broken hearts though they have not felt half as much happiness or sorrow as some tougher man and woman who live through a lifetime of despair and disappointment.” ”

“ Hosts of ideas and fancies presented themselves to him, which he recognised as belonging to a self that only came to life from time to time; a self full of delicate sensations and endowed with brilliant powers of expression; a self of which he did not know whether to be ashamed or proud; a self as overflowing with ready appreciation, as his other common, daily self was inclined to depreciate all that the world admired, and to find fault with everything that was presented to its view. Though conscious of all this, however, George did not care to analyse his own motives too closely. ”

“ George was completely confused. His explanation of Mamie’s behaviour had flashed upon him so suddenly that he had believed it the true one without an attempt to reason upon the matter. Now, it was destroyed in an instant by the girl’s angry reply. When one young woman says that she hates another, it is tolerably easy to judge from her tone whether she is in earnest or not. Though he was still sorely puzzled, the cloud disappeared from George’s face as quickly as it had come. ”

“ If a woman so true once loved with all her heart, she would love longer and better and more truly than other women can. So at least thought George Wood, as he walked by her side beneath the trees in Washington Square, and glanced from time to time at her lovely blushing face. ”

“ Then George thought of Thomas Craik, and of his sneer at ambitious men. He had said that there was no pleasure in possession, but only in getting, getting, getting, as long as a man had breath; that the wish to excel other men in anything was a drawback and a disadvantage, and that nothing in the world was worth having for its own sake, from money to fame, through all the catalogue of what is attainable by humanity. And yet, Thomas Craik was an instance of a very successful man, who had some right to speak on the subject. ”

“ How do you know that you love your sister more than yourself?”
“I think I would sacrifice more for her than I would for myself.”
“Then you must be subject to a natural indolence which only affection for another can overcome.”
“I am not lazy,” objected Grace.
“Pardon me. What is a sacrifice, in the common meaning of the word? Giving up something one likes. To make a sacrifice for oneself means to give up something one likes for the sake of one’s own advantage—for instance, to give up sleeping too much, in order to work more. Not to do so, is to be lazy. Laziness is a vice. ”

“ She had married the man she loved, and who loved her, for whom she had waited long, and of whom she was immensely proud. He was exactly suited to her taste and represented her ideal of man in every way. She would rather talk of him than of George Wood, and she preferred his company to her sister’s when he was at home. They were a couple whose happiness would have become proverbial if it had been allowed to continue; one of those couples who are not interesting but to watch whom is a satisfaction, and whom it is always pleasant to meet. ”

“ Totty sighed deeply, as though the recollection of some long buried fondness were still dear, and sweet and painful.
“And yet, one does love,” she continued a little more cheerfully. “One loves again, often more truly, if one knew it, and more sincerely than the first time. It is better so—the affection of later years is happier and brighter and more lasting than that other. And it is love, in the best sense of the word, believe me it is.” ”

“ There are doubtless many young women in the world who, whether for love or for interest, have wooed and won their present husbands, though the latter have never found it out, and would not believe it if it were told to them. Mamie differed from most of these, however, in that she was as modest as she was loving, and in her real distrust of her own advantages, which defect, or quality, was perhaps at the root of her peculiar charm. She knew that she was not beautiful, and she believed that beauty was a woman’s strongest weapon. ”

“ It is love itself. It is because I love you so much, so intensely, that I make you love me. There is no such thing as charm. Charm is either a woman’s love, or her readiness to love—one or the other.”
Mamie laughed softly and moved the hand that was hanging over the end of the sofa, as though seeking the touch of George’s fingers. ”

“ Most of all, I owe her the most loyal friendship and sincere gratitude that a man can feel for any woman he does not love. It is all over now. I never felt any emotion at meeting her since we parted after that abominable dinner-party, and I shall never feel any again. I am sure of that.”
“I am sorry I laughed. I could not help it. But I am very glad that things have ended in this way, though, as I told you when I last saw you, I wish she would marry. She has grown to be the most listless, unhappy creature in the world.”
“What can be the matter?” George asked. ”

“ If, in the inscrutable ways of destiny, you ever own this house, sell it, and when you are old, and crooked, and cannot write any more, and people think you are a drivelling idiot and are sitting in rows outside your door, waiting for dead men’s shoes—why then, you can prolong your life by collecting something, as I have done. The desire to get the better of a Jew dealer in a bargain for a Maestro Georgio, or the determination to find the edition which has been heard of but never seen, will make your blood circulate and your heart beat, and your brain work. ”

“ George Winton Wood,” returned Tom Craik approvingly. All at once he dropped his detached manner of speaking and grew eloquent. “You would be doing a very sensible thing. A man of your age can have no manner of use for all this rubbish. If you ever mean to be a collector, reserve that expensive taste for the time when you have plenty of money, but can neither eat, drink, sleep, make love nor be merry in any way—no, nor write novels either. The pleasure does not consist in possessing things, it lies in finding them, bargaining for them, fighting for them and ultimately getting them. ”