CHAPTER VIII

THE PLACE OF THE STATUES

"Is Mr. St. Ives here?"

The question fell into the silence of an office where Barbieri, the proprietor, was writing at a desk.

"Mr. St. Ives? I will send for him. Julian,"--to a boy, who in the doorway was burying his naked feet in the fine white marble dust like snow,--"Mr. St. Ives,--a lady."

"I have come to see the new machine."

"Ah, the new machine? It is very wonderful; it not only points the marble, but cuts it, following the model; and no man touches it. Never anything like it in this country; in France, yes, there is something of the sort, but not perfect like this one."

"As wonderful as that?"

"_Si, si_,--yes, madam, wonderful."

"And will you show me how it works? I want to see it in operation."

"In operation? Ah, I regret, but to-day, madam, to-day is Saturday; there is no power, no electricity, you understand, no men."

"Then why did he have me come?" she murmured, and caught her lip between her teeth, a trick with her when angry or perplexed.

"Why did you have me come?" she said, addressing the inventor, who with impetuous strides was advancing to meet her.

He paused in his tracks: "I had forgotten that they closed down."

She scanned him with a swift glance.

"Forgive me," he said in an undertone, "really, I had forgotten, Rachel, if I ever knew it. But you must see the place now you are here.--Mr. Barbieri," he added, "I am going to show Mrs. Hart over the works," and he led the way across a narrow court to an adjoining structure.

The marble shop covered an extensive area, and the white light that fell through its glass roof inundated its farthest corner. In this bath of light, in this silence, unbroken by a single sound; in the midst of casts, dust, artistic litter of all sorts, were the statues. Some scarcely blocked from the rough stone, they rose on all sides. They overtopped the miniature plaster models, like giants overtopping pygmies; they elbowed the grotesque machines that are used for enlarging purposes; they crowded the walls; they occupied every foot of space not reserved for the workmen; some even, with their Titan tread, had passed through the lofty doorway and stood among barrels and rubbish in the garish sunlight of the yard. On every side monoliths of stone were being cut into human shape. There was a torso with the girth of a Colossus; over yonder a hand chiseled from a boulder; beyond that, a monumental figure frowning like a tortured Atlas. All in sections--painful, writhing, some of the statues lacked a head, others an arm or a foot, and others had their limbs still entangled in uncut blocks of stone.

It was like a workshop of surgeons of stone men; like a manufactory of the gods where were created marble monsters that suffered with the age and immobility of stone, in which petty human qualities of Fortitude, Justice, Fidelity were being stamped. Hewn out of the womb of the earth, the marble was tortured here to wear man's face, his form; finally it would be set up under the sun to testify with the might of marble limbs to the ideals that govern his heart.

As she viewed the stone population, no one could have told what was passing in Rachel's stormy little breast, for if there was a spark in her eyes that seemed to indicate subterranean depths of passion, the rest of her features were astonishingly passive. Her gloves hampered her, and with nervous gestures she began taking them off. Tense and silent and acutely vital, she stood beside Emil, an expression of all that is baffling and mysterious in woman.

Conscious of a dryness in his throat, he kept his eyes to the statues.

"They are said to be the largest figures ever cut," he murmured. "They are for the pediment of the new Century Library."

"How still they are!"

"Yes, and one rather expects them to speak and move." Suddenly swinging round, he looked her in the eyes. "Oh, my own!" he cried. With uncertain steps he moved toward her.

And swift and strong between them, Fate drew her thread of love; in that electric net of hers, she caught their souls and drew them close together. She took the pair of them, as a fowler takes a bird.

His savage heart dominated by emotion, Emil trembled with a desire to fall at her feet. But she would not own her capture.

"Stop, Emil!" she cried in a suppressed voice; "stop right where you are! I'll not listen to your words! I came here to tell you--"

He looked upon her intently: "You came because you had to come!"

The speech thrilled with the inspiration of conquest.

"Oh, my love," he cried, "haven't the years we've been separated been dreary enough? Haven't they been empty enough for us both?--For you, on your side, you love me; I know it!"

Instead of answering she drew herself up. But he ignored these signs of rebellion.

"It was a misty day when I first saw you," he pursued, "and yesterday also it was misty and wet, and all at once I understood that I had been carrying the thought of you in my heart from the start. Rachel, you are my heart!" he cried, borne on by the lyric power of his own utterance. "And as I raced after you across that beach, I knew to a certainty it was no one-sided thing. Rachel, that kiss, _your_ kiss--it was not a childish impulse; and I dare to tell you so. We took possession of each other, love, at the first glance! Can you deny it? _Do_ you deny it?" compressing her hands. "No, no, you cannot!" he concluded; "and that being true, it is beyond our own power or the power of any creature, to part us now! Oh, sweet!" and his tone changed quickly as he saw that she shook from head to foot, "look around you,--isn't the world beautiful? haven't we a right to happiness?"

Dropping on his knees, he carried her hand to his throbbing breast.

"Happiness?" she repeated, "no, no, not happiness! but peace perhaps, and that comes--it comes--"

He looked up into her face--up at the quivering bend of her lips, up until his eyes found hers, drowned in tears and almost covered by their fluttering lids--and into his glance flashed a subjugating power, an irresistible force.

She attempted to follow the line of her argument, a moment before so clear, but the word "renunciation" died away in a sigh.

She helplessly returned his look.

And the gigantic statues increased her bewilderment; for the one thought that seemed to leap behind the statues' staring eyes, between their huge and rigid lips, in the hollow of their stony breasts, was the naturalness of loving wildly.

Emil dropped his lips on her wrist.

Releasing the hand, she sought to repulse him, but instead, she clutched his hair with a tenderness almost convulsive.

"Oh, you are killing me!" she moaned.

Drawing himself up, he tried to take her in his arms; but with sudden violence, she forced his head downward.

"Oh, you torture me!" she panted.

He grasped her hands;--and once more, before her drowning sight, wavered the statues. In a delirious flash she realized the similarity of their fate. Like them, she was destined to stand forth under an open sky, testifying to a command contrary to nature, but which had been laid upon her kind from time immemorial.

She pushed Emil from her, and pressing her hands to her breast, fled head down from the place.

Instantly he was upon his feet:

"You are not going?" ......

Among the statues, quiet, watchful, the words trembled and died away; then in sympathy the statues seemed to shudder at that cry of agony and surprise.