Max O'Rell

“ There is not a woman in the world with whom I should like to change places. How could I be happier than I am?"
"What is your definition of happiness?" said Philip, continuing to paint.
"For a woman," replied Dora, with warmth, "happiness consists in being loved by the man whom she loves and can be proud of; in being rich enough to afford all the necessary comforts of life, and poor enough to make pulling together a necessity; an existence hand in hand, side by side. And what is yours?"
"Well, I confess, I should like to be a little richer than that," said Philip, with a little amused smile. ”

“ An artist is a piece of machinery that must be wound up every day. There is scarce an artist worthy of the name who does not think he is used up each time that he terminates a new work, and there is not a painter who, when he shows a new picture for the first time, does not watch the scrutinising gaze of the critic, much as a mother watches with anxious eye the expression of the doctor who is going to pronounce himself upon the subject of her sick child. An artist is a child, who must be constantly petted and applauded. ”

“ The last words of Monsieur de Lussac came back to her memory, "Pansies for thought—Love lies bleeding." What connection would there be between a pansy and a crushed love? No one had ever loved her well enough to break his heart about her, except Philip, and he had married her. But he? Had there been a romance in his life, before she had known him? He had never spoken of anything of the kind. "After all," she said to herself, "the best of men have some experience of that kind in their early life, which they do not talk about. Ah, well! what matters it? Philip has filled my life with happiness." ”

“ She had reached a point at which the question arose in her mind, whether Philip, in his craving for the success of his new plans, did not seek to push her into the arms of General Sabaroff.
That revolting thought filled her with such horror that she dared not entertain it long. "No," she said to herself, "a man does not change so suddenly as that; he does not take six years to reveal himself, and then, at a day's notice, become transformed from an affectionate husband, an honourable, upright, and devoted man, into a nameless scoundrel." ”

“ Do you know that by obstinately refusing to listen to reason, a woman cuts herself off from friendly sympathy? People cease to take an interest in her woes. If you wish to alienate the sympathy of your most devoted friends, you are going the right way to work."
"I do not need anyone's sympathy," replied Dora proudly; "and I do not ask for it."
"Once more, Dora, listen to me. Philip may have neglected you, in order to throw himself body and soul into that invention which absorbed him night and day. But, remember, such a piece of work as that is a very exacting, inexorable mistress. ”

“ Will you allow a bachelor, an intimate friend of your husband's, to congratulate you with all his heart? I declare I almost envy your happiness."
"Well, get married yourself!" exclaimed Dora; "it is very easy."
"Not for the world," said he, in a bantering tone. "I am too fond of woman in the plural to ever love one in the singular. Besides, I could never marry a woman unless I could respect her."
"Naturally."
"Well!" exclaimed de Lussac, laughing heartily, "I don't believe I could respect a woman who would be willing to marry me." ”

“ She has sat constantly by my easel, inspiring my brush by her sweet presence, and encouraging me by her constant and discriminating praise. To better appreciate my work, she has set to work herself, and has had two pictures hung at the Royal Academy, which have been splendidly noticed. How she has helped me! Sometimes she would come and put her arms on my shoulders and say, 'Go on, Philip, you are on the road to fame.' What a wife! Yes," said he, with earnestness and warmth, "I want wealth, but God is my witness that it is for her that I aspire to riches." ”

“ There are people who love storms. Some people only love the sea when it is in a fury. Are you fond of storms yourself?"
"Oh no," replied Dora; "I have no sea-legs. I love the life that I lead with you—and my enthusiasm for your art deepens my love for you every day."
"My darling," said Philip, drawing Dora still nearer to him, and caressing the graceful head that was resting against his knee, "do you know that one of these days I shall be jealous of you, you are making such progress with your painting." ”

“ For the first time since the sudden change had come over her, which had so astonished her sister, Dora was seized with a fit of sadness. Her lips trembled, her teeth chattered. Hobbs did not take her eyes off her mistress, but she did not venture to speak. Dora opened the door that led to the garden, and a sharp cry escaped her. A little girl of Eva's age was romping about on the lawn. She stood rooted to the ground, and a flood of tears gushed from her eyes.
"Let us go away," said Hobbs. "You ought never to have come in at all. You think yourself much stronger than you are." ”

“ Smiling once more, after her cautious survey of her surroundings, she ensconced herself more comfortably upon Dora's knees and said—
"Weren't we stupid, mama? There is nothing here, is there? But where can daddy be? How lazy he is to-day!"
"Yes, isn't he? Naughty father, he ought to be at work."
"When I marry," said Eva, "I shall never have a painter."
"Why?" asked Dora, whom the child's chatter always amused.
"Oh, because—I don't know—a painter is too busy always—he doesn't play with little girls. When I have a little girl, I shall play with her all day long." ”

“ To do him justice there was no more inventor, no more blindly ambitious seeker after wealth, but the Philip of former days with no thought but for Dora. He would have given, that night, his last farthing for a smile from her!
Philip rose suddenly from his seat. He must take a resolution on the spot. He was face to face with a vital crisis on which all his future life depended. His first impulse was to go to Dora and throw himself at her feet to implore her pardon. "No," he said to himself, "as long as that contract exists, there is nothing to be done." ”

“ My darling, the philosophers of all ages have taught that money does not make happiness; but sensible men of all times have come to the conclusion that it considerably helps to make it. I want money for no sordid reason. Money is round, it was meant to roll, and I mean to enjoy it."
"No, dear," replied Dora reproachfully and pathetically, "money is flat, it was meant to stop and be piled up a little. And, by the way, do you know that you have made over a thousand pounds this year, and that we have kept very nearly half of it? ”

“ You love him still! you know you do," he cried.
"You know nothing about it," said Dora, and, taking the little packet that Lorimer had brought her from her husband, she went towards her bedroom.
"I am tiring you," said Lorimer. "I ought not to have stayed so long, but it seemed to me I had so many things to say to you—and I have not got through half of them. Look here, I have a little business in the neighbourhood, my time is my own; may I come at four o'clock to ask you for a cup of tea?"
"Why, of course," said Dora. "How nice of you! Oh, it is good to see a friend who is always the same." ”

“ He tenderly kissed Dora, and resumed painting. Dora thought she was gaining her cause, and went on pleading—
"Ah, Philip," she said, "the rich don't know the pleasures they miss, the sweetest pleasures of poverty. Their gifts cost them no sacrifice. They don't possess their wealth, it is their wealth that possesses them. They have not the satisfaction of knowing that they are loved for their own sake. I would not give one year of my life for ten years of a millionaire's life. Why, they don't even have the proof that they are honest. They have no temptations. ”

“ Isn't it enough for a woman to know that she is loved, by the substantial proofs of affection that are given her?"
"No," replied the doctor; "for us men it suffices to know that we are loved, but with women the case is quite different. They love to have it told them—some of them so much that they could hear it from morning to night and night to morning, without ever growing weary of the tale!"
"Mistress is coming in a moment," said Hobbs to Lorimer.
"Look here, Hobbs," said the doctor, "how does Mrs. Grantham manage to get a living here? How does she keep you and herself? ”

“ Does one offer rich wine to a weary traveller, and, when he has taken but one sip from the cup, dash it from his lips and bid him begone? In your presence, Dora, I am craving for your love."
"Philip, where are you?" cried the poor woman wildly, and feeling more dead than alive.
She made towards the door, but Sabaroff intercepted her passage.
"Dora," said he, "why keep up this farce any longer? Be honest. Unmask yourself, for I am convinced you are wearing a mask. Why do you call your husband? You know that he is not here, and you must know only too well why he is not here. ”

“ Blessed with a calm, even temperament herself, she knew that the artistic nature is sensitive, susceptible, irritable even, and that a veritable diplomacy has to be exercised daily and hourly, if one would so live with an artist as to cheer him in his moments of discouragement, to stimulate him, to give him constantly the discreet and intelligent praise he needs, when it seems to him that his imagination and his powers are forsaking him, and that he is no longer doing his best work. ”

“ He has an immense influence at the Russian Court, and is, I hear, the favourite Minister of the Czar. Being Minister of War, he is the master, the autocrat of his department. And, darling, I count on you to help me. I repeat to you, everything depends on him."
"Money again, Philip, always money," replied Dora. "Are you not rich enough yet? If we have not the income to keep a house like this, why do we live in it? Why should we live beyond our means? I don't think it is right, Philip. What has become of those happy days when we loved each other so much, and when you thought only of your art? ”

“ There are people who break with their happy bygone times, others who cling to them determinedly. A few pounds have transformed this miserable studio into a living souvenir that will kill her. And yet, why do I say will kill her, when it is just this living souvenir that keeps her alive—that will keep her alive, perhaps? Here were two beings who loved each other dearly, and between whom a simple suspicion, a terrible misunderstanding, seems to have erected an insurmountable barrier. Philip wanted to be rich, poor beggar! ”

“ It would be hard if I could not turn my work to some account and lead a life independent of everyone. Oh to live anywhere, to live anyhow, dear Heaven, rather than go on with this existence which revolts me and is crushing me! Oh, how lonely it is! how silent the house is! The very air chokes me—where is Philip now? What has happened that he is not here? What is he doing? Oh, my head burns so! I will send up for Gabrielle—no, she must stay with Eva. What to do? Send a telegram to Lorimer, and ask him to come quickly?—no, I should have to give explanations. ”

“ You will do nothing of the kind: that letter is from Philip, from your husband."
"My dear Gerald, my husband no longer exists for me."
"Dora," rejoined Lorimer, "you are cruel. Your husband loves you, and is overwhelmed with sorrow."
"My husband never loved me. I thought he loved his art and his wife, he only loved his invention and his money."
"Philip has never ceased to love you. He may have lost his head for a little while, when fortune visited him almost without knocking at the door. ”

“ Six months ago he was living in a little shanty in St. John's Wood. What luxury! Shells pay better than painting. Why, there is Mr. Lorimer; my congratulations; your play is a masterpiece, you have taken London by storm! Oh, but for taking the world by storm, give me the invention of our friend Grantham. That's a bon mot, and not a bad one either."
"What a donkey!" thought Lorimer.
"His shell fell on us like a bomb, eh? Ah, ha, ha!" and as he laughed his loud guffaw, his white waistcoat kept time.
Lorimer slipped away and returned to Dora's side. ”

“ Philip and Lorimer lit their cigars, the latter without taking his eyes off the portrait of Dora, which he thought a splendid likeness and perfect in colouring and modelling.
"Ah, my dear friend, what a wife you have! What a companion for an artist! Upon my word, if I were married to such a woman, I believe I could write masterpieces." ”

“ Dora, take care. You are too intelligent, too much of a woman, not to see that my love for you has come back to me redoubled, that it blinds me, makes me mad, and that your resistance only adds fuel to the fire. ”

“ II THE HOUSE IN ELM AVENUE
Of all the rustic neighbourhoods bordering on London city, there is none prettier, fresher, and more verdant than St. John's Wood. It is the refuge of workers in search of light, air, and tranquillity. Painters, sculptors, writers, journalists, actors, and musicians—in fact, the majority of the highest intellectual Bohemia—inhabit these semi-rural acres, lying between Regent's Park and Hampstead Heath. Among the leafy haunts of St. John's Wood, numberless masterpieces have been produced by writers and artists whose fame has rung through the world. ”

“ You have no poor wretches sweating for you. Your income is the fruit of your personal handiwork. You are your own master. You help to make life beautiful. You have a fame increasing every day. You enjoy the respect of everybody, the admiration of the public, the appreciation of the best critics, the company and the friendship of all the intelligence of London. A king might well envy the life of a great artist!"
Dora was excited, and Philip looked at her with eyes that thanked her for all she thought of him. ”

“ The only thing that holds me back is Eva—you too, perhaps, for I am certain that one of these days you will cry 'Help!' and I shall have to rescue you from drowning."
"You are ungrateful, Dora. It is for you that I work."
"For me? But can't you see I loathe the life I lead? For me? When the thirst for wealth gets hold of a man, he has always the same excuse—it is not for himself. ”

“ On their way back to the drawing-room Lorimer took up the thread of the conversation again.
"Come now, my dear Dora," said he, "your lot is very enviable after all, you know. You are young, beautiful, rich, adored—one of the queens of society. What more do you ask?"
"I ask nothing more," replied Dora; "I ask a great deal less. A queen in society! I had rather be queen at home, as I used to be. We were left in peace in those times. Now all the idlers pry into our life. And why? Oh, it is too silly! Because Philip refused to sell Sir Benjamin Pond a picture which he was painting for me. ”