Part 9 (1/2)
I had long wished to meet a member of that mysterious brotherhood, of which of course I had heard and read.
”Yes. He is a poet-painter, and a great friend of Mr. Spence. Have you never seen his pictures? Even Mr. Spence admits that they possess the _abandon_ of genius, although he disapproves of _abandon_. Their views to-day are totally dissimilar, but yet their friends.h.i.+p is sympathetic as ever. Is it not inspiring?”
”Mr. Spence is coming, I hope?”
”Oh, yes. I expect him every moment, and I have made Mr. Barr promise to get him to give us an exposition. Not knowing how you might feel, Virginia (may I call you Virginia? It seems so much more natural after having heard your aunt always speak of you in that way. Thank you, dear.
And if you will call me Lucretia, I shall feel much flattered),--not knowing how you might feel about coming where there was no matron, I asked Mrs. Marsh to join us. We do not regard it of importance, and you will not a little later; but just at first it is perhaps as well. Do you know Mr. Fleisch by reputation? He plays with an artistic charm, rare even in this musical epoch. He is a follower of Mr. Spence, and is seeking to apply his principles of moderation to music with striking success. Ah! you must excuse me, dear, it is his knock.”
I understood that she referred to Mr. Spence, and I waited an instant to put a finis.h.i.+ng touch to my toilet before following her into the other room. For I had still something of the old Adam, or rather of the old Eve, left in me; so that I must confess my eagerness for culture was not without a spice of coquetry, half unconscious though it were.
Mr. Spence from his appearance was fairly ent.i.tled to be called a moderationist. He had nothing of the splendid savagery of Mr. Paul Barr, whose luxuriant and matted head of hair now struck my attention, nor the student-like insignificance of Mr. Fleisch. He was neither tall nor short, stout nor inadequately spare; and he was in evening dress like anybody else. Had I met him without knowing who he was, I should never have imagined him a celebrity. This was my first impression, but a second look at his face revealed firm though thin lips, and small nervous eyes that were full of fire when in movement. It was not however until I heard him speak that I recovered from my disappointment.
”Be it so,” was all he said in reply to some remark addressed to him; but the enunciation of the words was so musical, so soft and winning, yet so clear and authoritative, that I was spell-bound for an instant and quite lost my composure as Miss Kingsley, becoming aware of my presence, proceeded to make us acquainted.
The backs of all the company except Mr. Spence had been turned to me, for Mr. Barr was fulfilling his promise of persuading his friend to introduce his system of speech as the order of the evening. The ecstatic expression of Miss Kingsley's face, as well as the few words I had heard him utter, were sufficient to show that he had been successful; but winking her eyes more rapidly than ever she whispered in my ear with an imitation as I thought of her master's style,--
”It is to be.”
Almost immediately Mr. Spence, whose bow I had thought rather formal and like that of the rest of the world, came up to me and said:--
”Welcome, Miss Harlan, to our circle. I know your aunt,--a ma.s.sive woman intellectually, and my benefactor. As I think our hostess has already intimated to you, it is the wish of some of the company that I should give a practical ill.u.s.tration of certain views regarding the essence of speech peculiar to me, of which it may be you have heard from your kinswoman or others, and which are a corollary of the general truth or virtue known to the outside world as moderation. I have, however, some delicacy in inflicting so great an incubus--for it must seem such to the uninitiated--upon one who like you is of the _beau monde_ and used to its smooth ways. I speak knowingly, for I too in my day belonged to the _beau monde_, and am familiar with the easy, however volatile, flow of speech incident thereto.”
”Do not mind me, I pray,” said I. ”Indeed, I have read your essays as well as your poems, Mr. Spence, and am very anxious to understand your system practically.”
”Be it so,” he replied. ”I did not wish to inflict myself unduly. Art should be sensitive. Do you not agree with me, Miss Harlan?”
”How exquisite!” I heard Miss Kingsley whisper to Mr. Fleisch, with whom she was standing a few feet distant gazing at the master.
It was Mr. Paul Barr who answered the question for me:--
”No, Miss Harlan, Art should be aggressive; Art should be ardent. I do not agree with Mr. Spence. In fact, we never agree upon any subject. But we are friends, life-long, bosom friends. Shake, Charles, shake! we have not given the grip and pressure of amity to-night.”
He spoke in a deep, sonorous base, and extended to his friend a hirsute hand.
”It is true we belong to different schools, Mr. Barr and I, Miss Harlan,” said Mr. Spence. ”He believes in the supremacy of the untrammelled, as his poems and pictures show; I, on the contrary, give my voice to equipoise. But, as he has well said, we are devoted friends.”
”You shall judge between us,” continued Paul Barr addressing me. ”Which is better, the free undulation of self, or eternal tension?”
”A fine ant.i.thesis,” murmured Miss Kingsley.
”_Mein Gott!_ but it is not true, that free undulation of self. It deceives, it deludes: it is a--what word is it I am seeking?--a--eh--I have it,--boomerang,--a boomerang that plagues the inventor,” said Mr.
Fleisch.
”Refuted, well refuted!” said Mr. Spence. ”Fleisch has. .h.i.t the mark. The overmuch is indeed a boomerang. Thanks, Bernard, for the epigram,” he added, turning to the little German.
Everybody clapped their hands except myself and Mr. Barr. I preferred to remain neutral. As for the artist, he stood stroking his beard fiercely with his eyes fixed on the ceiling.
At this moment the door opened, and a maidservant announced tea.
Mr. Spence looked at Miss Kingsley interrogatively. ”From this moment, please,” said she.