Phyllis of Philistia [62]
word? You wound me deeply."
"Forgive me, my Phyllis. I don't quite know what I said. Ah, let me nestle here--here." She had put her head down to Phyllis' bare neck and was looking up to her face as a child might have done. "There is no danger here. Now pet me, and say that you forgive me for having said whatever I did say."
Phyllis laughed and put her lips down among the myriad diamonds that glowed amid the other's hair, like stars seen among the thick foliage of a copper beech.
"I forgive you for whatever you said," she cried. "I, too, have forgotten what it was; but you must never say so again. But had you really no engagement for to-night that you took that fancy for going to 'Romeo'?"
"No engagement? Had I no engagement, do you ask me?" cried Ella. "Oh, yes, yes! I had an engagement, but I broke it--I broke it--I broke it, and that is why I am here. Whatever may come of it, I am here, and here I mean to stay. I am safe here. At home I am in danger."
Phyllis wondered greatly what had come to her friend to make her talk in this wild strain.
"Where were you engaged?" she inquired casually. She had come to the conclusion that there was safety in the commonplace: she would not travel out of the region of commonplaces with Ella in her present state.
"Where was I engaged? Surely I told you. Didn't I say something about the opera--'Romeo and Juliet'?--that was to be the place, but I came to you instead. Ah, what have we missed! Was there ever such a poem written as 'Romeo and Juliet'? Was there ever such music as Gounod's? I thought the first time that I went to the opera that it would spoil Shakspere--how could it do otherwise? I asked. Could supreme perfection be improved upon? Before the balcony scene had come to an end I found that I had never before understood the glory of the poem. Ah, if you could understand what love means, my Phyllis, you would appreciate the poem and the music; the note of doom runs through it; that--that is wherein its greatness lies--passion and doom--passion and doom--that is my own life--the life of us women. We live in a whirlwind of passion, and fancy that we can step out of the whirlwind into a calm at any moment. We marry our husbands and we fancy that all the tragedy of human passion is over so far as we are concerned. 'The haven entered and the tempest passed.' Philip Marston's terrible poem, --you have read it,--'A Christmas Vigil'? 'The haven entered,'--the whirlwind of passion has been left far away, we fancy. Oh, we are fools! It sweeps down upon us and then--doom--doom!"
"My poor dear, you are talking wildly."
"If you only understood--perhaps you will some day understand, and then you will know what seems wild in my speech is but the incoherence of a poor creature who has been beaten to the ground by the whirlwind, and only saved from destruction by a miracle."
She had sprung from her place on the sofa and was pacing the room, her diamonds quivering, luminous as a shower of meteors--that was the fancy that flashed from her to Phyllis. Meteors--meteors--what a splendid picture she made flashing from place to place! Meteors--ah, surely there was the meteor-bird flashing across the drawing room!
"Come and sit down, my dear Ella," said Phyllis. "You are, as you know, quite unintelligible to me."
"Unintelligible to you? I am unintelligible to myself," cried Ella. "Why should I be tramping up and down your room when I might be at this very moment----" She clutched Phyllis' arm. "I want to stay with you all night," she whispered. "I want to sleep in your bed with you, Phyllis. I want to feel your arms around me as I used to feel my mother's long ago. Whatever I may say, you will not let me go, Phyllis?"
"I will load you with chains," said Phyllis, patting her lovely hair-- it was no longer smooth. "Why should you want to go away from me? Cannot we be happy together once again as we used to be long ago?"
"How long ago that was! And we read 'Romeo and Juliet' together, and fancied that we had gone down to the very depths of its meaning. We fancied that
"Forgive me, my Phyllis. I don't quite know what I said. Ah, let me nestle here--here." She had put her head down to Phyllis' bare neck and was looking up to her face as a child might have done. "There is no danger here. Now pet me, and say that you forgive me for having said whatever I did say."
Phyllis laughed and put her lips down among the myriad diamonds that glowed amid the other's hair, like stars seen among the thick foliage of a copper beech.
"I forgive you for whatever you said," she cried. "I, too, have forgotten what it was; but you must never say so again. But had you really no engagement for to-night that you took that fancy for going to 'Romeo'?"
"No engagement? Had I no engagement, do you ask me?" cried Ella. "Oh, yes, yes! I had an engagement, but I broke it--I broke it--I broke it, and that is why I am here. Whatever may come of it, I am here, and here I mean to stay. I am safe here. At home I am in danger."
Phyllis wondered greatly what had come to her friend to make her talk in this wild strain.
"Where were you engaged?" she inquired casually. She had come to the conclusion that there was safety in the commonplace: she would not travel out of the region of commonplaces with Ella in her present state.
"Where was I engaged? Surely I told you. Didn't I say something about the opera--'Romeo and Juliet'?--that was to be the place, but I came to you instead. Ah, what have we missed! Was there ever such a poem written as 'Romeo and Juliet'? Was there ever such music as Gounod's? I thought the first time that I went to the opera that it would spoil Shakspere--how could it do otherwise? I asked. Could supreme perfection be improved upon? Before the balcony scene had come to an end I found that I had never before understood the glory of the poem. Ah, if you could understand what love means, my Phyllis, you would appreciate the poem and the music; the note of doom runs through it; that--that is wherein its greatness lies--passion and doom--passion and doom--that is my own life--the life of us women. We live in a whirlwind of passion, and fancy that we can step out of the whirlwind into a calm at any moment. We marry our husbands and we fancy that all the tragedy of human passion is over so far as we are concerned. 'The haven entered and the tempest passed.' Philip Marston's terrible poem, --you have read it,--'A Christmas Vigil'? 'The haven entered,'--the whirlwind of passion has been left far away, we fancy. Oh, we are fools! It sweeps down upon us and then--doom--doom!"
"My poor dear, you are talking wildly."
"If you only understood--perhaps you will some day understand, and then you will know what seems wild in my speech is but the incoherence of a poor creature who has been beaten to the ground by the whirlwind, and only saved from destruction by a miracle."
She had sprung from her place on the sofa and was pacing the room, her diamonds quivering, luminous as a shower of meteors--that was the fancy that flashed from her to Phyllis. Meteors--meteors--what a splendid picture she made flashing from place to place! Meteors--ah, surely there was the meteor-bird flashing across the drawing room!
"Come and sit down, my dear Ella," said Phyllis. "You are, as you know, quite unintelligible to me."
"Unintelligible to you? I am unintelligible to myself," cried Ella. "Why should I be tramping up and down your room when I might be at this very moment----" She clutched Phyllis' arm. "I want to stay with you all night," she whispered. "I want to sleep in your bed with you, Phyllis. I want to feel your arms around me as I used to feel my mother's long ago. Whatever I may say, you will not let me go, Phyllis?"
"I will load you with chains," said Phyllis, patting her lovely hair-- it was no longer smooth. "Why should you want to go away from me? Cannot we be happy together once again as we used to be long ago?"
"How long ago that was! And we read 'Romeo and Juliet' together, and fancied that we had gone down to the very depths of its meaning. We fancied that