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Page 3
She did not look at him or at them; she did not look at anything. It was
not her role to notice. She merely waited, perfectly composed, to be
told what to do. Her thoughts and emotions did not enter into the scene
at all; she was there solely as having been hired for work.
One privilege she had exercised unsparingly--not to offer herself for
this employment as becomingly dressed for it. She submitted herself to
be painted in austerest fidelity to nature, plainly dressed, her hair
parted and brushed severely back. Women, sometimes great women, have in
history, at the hour of their supreme tragedies, thus demeaned
themselves--for the hospital, for baptism, for the guillotine, for the
stake, for the cross.
But because she made herself poor in apparel, she became most rich in
her humanity. There was nothing for the eye to rest upon but her bare
self. And thus the contours of the head, the beauty of the hair, the
line of it along the forehead and temples, the curvature of the brows,
the chiseling of the proud nostrils and the high bridge of the nose, the
molding of the mouth, the modeling of the throat, the shaping of the
shoulders, the grace of the arms and the hands--all became conspicuous,
absorbing. The slightest elements of physique and of personality came
into view powerful, unforgetable.
She stood, not noticing anything, waiting for instructions. With the
courtesy which was the soul of him and the secret of his genius for
inspiring others to do their utmost, the master of the class glanced at
her and glanced at the members of the class, and tried to draw them
together with a mere smile of sympathetic introduction. It was an
attempt to break the ice. For them it did break the ice; all responded
with a smile for her or with other play of the features that meant
gracious recognition. With her the ice remained unbroken; she withheld
all response to their courteous overtures. Either she may not have
trusted herself to respond; or waiting there merely as a model, she
declined to establish any other understanding with them whatsoever. So
that he went further in the kindness of his intention and said:
"Madam, this is my class of eager, warm, generous young natures who are
to have the opportunity of trying to paint you. They are mere beginners;
their art is still unformed. But you may believe that they will put
their best into what they are about to undertake; the loyalty of the
hand, the respect of the eye, the tenderness of their memories,
consecration to their art, their dreams and hopes of future success. Now
if you will be good enough to sit here, I will pose you."
He stepped toward a circular revolving-platform placed at the focus of
the massed easels: it was the model's rack of patience, the mount of
humiliation, the scaffold of exposure.
She had perhaps not understood that this would be required of her, this
indignity, that she must climb upon a block like an old-time slave at an
auction. For one instant her fighting look came back and her eyes,
though they rested on vacancy, blazed on vacancy and an ugly red rushed
over her face which had been whiter than colorless. Then as though she
had become disciplined through years of necessity to do the unworthy
things that must be done, she stepped resolutely though unsteadily upon
the platform. A long procession of men and women had climbed thither
from many a motive on life's upward or downward road.
He had specially chosen a chair for a three-quarter portrait, stately,
richly carved; about it hung an atmosphere of high-born things.
Now, the body has definite memories as the mind has definite memories,
and scarcely had she seated herself before the recollections of former
years revived in her and she yielded herself to the chair as though she
had risen from it a moment before. He did not have to pose her; she had
posed herself by grace of bygone luxurious ways. A few changes in the
arrangement of the hands he did make. There was required some separation
of the fingers; excitement caused her to hold them too closely together.
And he drew the entire hands into notice; he specially wished them to be
appreciated in the portrait. They were wonderful hands: they looked
eloquent with the histories of generations; their youthfulness seemed
centuries old. Yet all over them, barely to be seen, were the marks of
life's experience, the delicate but dread sculpture of adversity.
For a while it was as he had foreseen. She was aware only of the
brutality of her position; and her face, by its confused expressions and
quick changes of color, showed what painful thoughts surged. Afterward a
change came gradually. As though she could endure the ordeal only by
forgetting it and could forget it only by looking ahead into the
happiness for which it was endured, slowly there began to shine out upon
her face its ruling passion--the acceptance of life and the love of the
mother glinting as from a cloud-hidden sun across the world's storm.
When this expression had come out, it stayed there. She had forgotten
her surroundings, she had forgotten herself. Poor indeed must have been
the soul that would not have been touched by the spectacle of her,
thrilled by her as by a great vision.
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