Anne Page

“ The wood fire crackled, and the lamp illumined the comfortable room with its fifteenth-century beams overhead, its panelled walls and its red-covered sofa and chairs.
“Anne Page is not a woman to fool with,” [196] said François at last. He was thinking of what she had once said, sitting in the sunshine of the garden. “Then an artist ought to keep out of the way of any woman who cares. ”

“ Anne’s was not the usual case; he could imagine no one further from the type of woman who with sang-froid watches the departing cavalier.
The idea was preposterous, ludicrous to entertain side by side with the idea of Anne [181] Page. If Anne fell in love—heavens! if Anne fell in love!
His brain almost ceased working at the bare notion.
“René would be done for,” he reflected incoherently. “I know his idiocy where women are concerned. And if a woman like Anne Page falls in love, there’ll be the devil to pay! He’d have to marry her. A woman years older than himself. ”

“ A cynic might have smiled at the simplicity of her reasoning. Not one thought of her changed circumstances entered into her reflections. She did not consider that Anne Page the penniless companion was a very different being [207] from Anne Page the lady of great means. To her mind it only affected the situation in so far that it gave her freedom; made it possible for her to follow her own course without burdening man, woman, or child. It was only courage that was necessary. Courage to stake high, and not to shrink when sooner or later the odds should turn against her. ”

“ Except physically. She’s a mortal woman if ever there was one. She’s just what she always was, sweet Anne Page.”
Twilight was creeping into the studio. The polished floor with its costly rugs, the pictures on the walls, the outlines of cabinets [133] and tables, all were growing dim and indistinct. The last light from the window above the men’s heads fell across the face of the portrait on the easel. It looked down upon them gently with the wavering uncertain smile in the eyes, and on the lips, red and soft as the petals of a rose. ”

“ There’s a picture.”
“You’ve finished your picture, mon vieux,” returned François, speaking in French. “I know the history of another one. You’ll mess about, and paint out, till the snow is on the ground. There isn’t time. No! The hour has arrived to pack up.”
“We can’t leave sweet Anne Page!” declared Dacier half seriously. He turned on his elbow, and glanced up at her, smiling. Without speaking, Anne returned his smile.
“She looks like an early Italian Madonna [184] disguised as a Reynolds portrait,” thought François suddenly. “Why on earth has she grown so ridiculously attractive!” ”

“ He laughed.
“Come now, François. Own that sweet Anne Page in Paris will be rather nice!”
“You’d better ask her to tea here to-morrow. Your place is even more of a pig-sty than mine. We shall see Dacier and Thouret at the Lilas this evening. We can ask them then.”
“All right. But I’m not going to have you about all the time mind!”
[210]
“You won’t,” returned his friend briefly. “I can’t stand fools.”
René’s face darkened for a moment, but the retort died on his lips.
“Look here, old man,” he urged. “Don’t be a beast. I’m serious.”
“Tant pis,” was François’ implacable reply. ”

“ They are dear people. I can’t tell you half their kindness to me.”
“It’s not difficult to be kind to sweet Anne Page.”
She gave him a quick glance. “It’s nice to hear the old name again.”
“No name ever suited a woman better. So you can live with the inhabitants of Dymfield without boring yourself to extinction? But of course you can. I never saw you bored.”
“Boredom is a modern disease, isn’t it? And you know I am not a modern woman.” ”

“ You, also, are a student of psychology, doctor, and it has always seemed to me that Anne Page is a singularly interesting study.
“Nowadays in this age of modern thought, perhaps I should rather say in this age of fads and cranks, through which men and women are groping towards a different conception of life, her conduct would not have been so amazing. ”

“ If Anne Page be my daughter, she is, by this, Doctor Caius’ wife.
Enter Slender.
SLENDER
Whoa, ho, ho, father Page!
PAGE.
Son, how now! How now, son, have you dispatched?
SLENDER.
Dispatched? I’ll make the best in Gloucestershire know on’t. Would I were hanged, la, else!
PAGE.
Of what, son?
SLENDER.
I came yonder at Eton to marry Mistress Anne Page, and she’s a great lubberly boy. If it had not been i’ the church, I would have swinged him, or he should have swinged me. If I did not think it had been Anne Page, would I might never stir! And ’tis a postmaster’s boy. ”

“ He smiled. “You’re quite right. I see you understand our sweet Anne Page. She doesn’t belong to the Mona Lisa type. She’s made up of all the beautiful natural things; of the sunlight and the roses, and the dew. [28] Tiens! Don’t say I’m ignorant of your poets. One of them has come rather near it when he says, ‘And beauty born of murmuring sound has passed into her face.’”
Mrs. ”

“ He laughed. “Anne! You are the same Anne. So demure—so discreet.”
“I thought you would have married by this time, François,” she said after a moment.
He shook his head. “No dear Anne, you didn’t. You know I am not the man to marry.”
She returned his glance. “You are right,” she answered quietly. “You have become such a celebrity François, that I ought to be afraid of you,” she added.
His face changed. “I have become a popular painter, you mean.”
“You are not satisfied?” She put the question softly.
He shrugged his shoulders. “One becomes what one is fit to become. I’m a lazy devil, Anne. ”

“ The library was also unaltered, and in this room, and in the garden, Anne found all the joy of her life.
She was permitted to do what she liked with the garden, and, under the direction of the old gardener, who rejoiced to find some one who loved the work, and, delighted in its results, Anne planned and planted and laid the foundation for the beauty that now surrounded her. The hours in the open air restored her health. Insensibly, she grew strong and straight. ”

“ Anne Page, which is daughter to Master Thomas Page,
which is pretty virginity.
Slen.
Mistris Anne Page? she has browne haire, and
speakes small like a woman.
Euans.
It is that ferry person for all the orld, as iust as
you will desire, and seuen hundred pounds of Moneyes,
and Gold, and Siluer, is her Grand-sire vpon his deaths-bed,
(Got deliuer to a ioyfull resurrections) giue, when
she is able to ouertake seuenteene yeeres old. It were a
goot motion, if we leaue our pribbles and prabbles, and
desire a marriage betweene Master Abraham, and Mistris
Anne Page. ”

“ Even when we burnt incense,—and René at once began to send it up in clouds,—she thought we were laughing at her.” François laughed gently himself.
“You remember Anne? You know how she would take praise. Adorably, like a little girl who is almost too shy to be pleased. It was absurd, of course. She was by no means young even then, remember. But somehow that only made it more piquante. Anne is one of the few women for whom age is an absurd convention. Quite meaningless, quite beside the point. The goddesses are immortal.” ”

“ But they are young, and life is all before them. It’s all over for me—and I’ve never had it.”
The bats skimmed noiselessly past her, in the dusk. All the birds had ceased singing. It was nearly dark, but with a horror of returning to the house, of being shut within four walls, Anne sat at the foot of the sundial, and in the darkness her tears fell.
Yet next morning, in the sunshine, when René Dampierre came to ask her to the “studio,” it seemed not only easy, but natural, to smile, and be well pleased. When she found herself with her new friends, depressing thoughts fled like magic. ”

“ Anne looked at her, and a wave of comprehension and pity passed over her heart.
The girl’s incoherent words were echoes; they touched painful memories of years for her, long past.
She recognized the despairing cry of youth, articulate in these modern times, no longer stifled as in the days of her own girlhood.
Youth, fettered, struggling with passionate clamour to be free. ”

“ The quick colour sprang to her cheeks. “I hope you weren’t bored?” She included the two women in a swift, apologetic glance. “Talking too much is an old habit of mine, a habit of long ago, which revives when I see François. I——” she paused suddenly.
“I was never so interested in my life,” said Mrs. Dakin, with such obvious sincerity that Anne’s face cleared.
“Very clever, I’m sure. Very clever,” murmured Mrs. Carfax. “Tell me, my dear, what shall I do about Emma? The girl gets worse and worse. She’s no good at all as a parlourmaid. ”

“ Anne sighed once more, and then smiled at the futility of considering it again just now, when there was packing to be done.
He maketh His sun to shine upon the just and upon the unjust.
The words slipped into her mind before she turned away, with a momentary sensation of reassurance. At least the sunshine fell upon every one alike. Perhaps it symbolized a cloak of charity wider and larger than any woven by human minds.
“Will Madame come upstairs?”
The maid re-entered the room in which Anne had been waiting, and then preceded her up the staircase to a door which she threw open. ”

“ Fortunately she was a rich woman, able to work off her restlessness.”
He laughed a little. “That was one of her adorable simplicities. It never occurred to her that the possession of a fortune made any difference to the situation. She only looked upon it as a means of independence and freedom when her happiness should come to an end. And she was right. René never thought of it either. In some ways he was as [238] childlike and as unworldly a creature as she. He had inherited a fairly good income from his father. He would not have known what to do with more. That’s Anne Page’s story, doctor. ”

“ Anne drove with her to the station, and helped to arrange her comfortably in the invalid carriage.
“Good-bye, my dear,” she said rather faintly, as Anne bent over her. She kissed her, and with one of her rare caresses, gently patted her hand.
“You’re a good girl,” she added. “If I get well, it will only be for the pleasure of seeing you again. You’ve got quite pretty, Anne. I always had a weakness for pretty people. Tell the young man, what’s his name?—René, I’m sorry I didn’t see him.” ”

“ Even before she kissed her, Anne had time to notice the worried look on the girl’s face, which robbed it of its youthful prettiness.
“Oh!” she gasped. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come in time, and I didn’t know what to do, or how to get out of it. Oh! I’m so thankful to see you, Miss Page. Sit down. [284] Do sit down—if you can find a place,” she added, trying to laugh.
Anne chose the bed as the only available spot.
“My dear child, what’s the matter?” she exclaimed. “You’re packing, I suppose. Where are you going?”
“To—America,” returned Sylvia, with a gulp. ”

“ Certainly the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
There was a moment’s pause, during which Mrs. Dakin glanced towards the sofa, to which Anne had returned.
Her green and lavender gown fell in graceful folds round her feet. Against the cushions of dim purple at her back, her hair shone with a sort of moon-lit radiance. The poise of her head, the smile that wavered constantly near her sweet mouth, the radiance of her blue eyes, above all a certain dignity, too gentle to be quite stately, yet suggesting stateliness, made her a lovely and a gracious figure. ”

“ Wondering at something in her voice, he obeyed in silence, and she went on speaking, still very quietly.
“I won’t marry you, dear, because I’m too old for you. I will never marry you. But if you want me, I will stay.”
In his amazement, he let her hands drop, and bent forward to see her face.
Quite quietly, Anne got up. “It’s very dark,” she said. “I’ll light the candles. I saw where you put the matches.”
He watched her in a sort of stupor as she went to a side table for the matches, and lighted one after another of the candles in a sconce on the opposite side of the room. ”

“ In the meantime, I congratulate you, Miss Page,” he added dryly. “Apart from the income, Fairholme Court is a most delightful residence.” He glanced about him. “Most delightful,” he added.
Anne shook hands with him, and went slowly back to the library.
Dinner was served as usual by the quiet maids, whose demeanour since the death of their mistress, had assumed an added shade of decorous gravity.
They liked Anne, and their manner towards her expressed a kindliness and sympathy for which she was grateful. ”

“ Naturally gifted as a linguist, Anne learnt quickly, and often from choice, as time went on, the two women spoke French together, rather than English.
But it was to the English poets that Anne most often returned. Poetry suited her nature. It was the form of art which to her, most fully expressed the heights and depths, the beauty and the terror, the haunting melancholy, the fear, the inexpressible longings, the regrets, the sadness, the innocent delights of life, which, in all its complexity, she had begun to recognize through the world of books. ”

“ So far as creeds and dogmas are concerned, Anne is a born pagan. It is not that she has examined and rejected them. [239] They simply don’t appeal to her nature. When as young men we first met her, we called her Flora, amongst ourselves. She struck us even then as a curious blend of Madonna and goddess. And the physical appearance has a mental and moral parallel. I remember once when I wanted to tease her, I asked what had become of her religion.
“She looked at me with those childlike eyes of hers and said:
“‘I never had any,—in the sense you mean. By being with René I’m not hurting any one. ”