JULIA WEEPS AT HER TOMB

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21456, 1 April 1933, Page 10 (Supplement)

JULIA WEEPS AT HER TOMB

By SIE MAX PEMBERTON

Julia Verehiiven had lost both her parents at an early age: and her capacity for losing things remained with her through life.

Most frequently, she lost her guardian, the cheery bishop of a colonial see, who wrote to her every Christmas and hoped that God would bless her Julia hoped so likewise: though there were times when her naughtiness forbade confidence. Women said that she was aa mad at the age of twenty-five as most of her sex at forty. Men wero united in their opinion that the devil looked out from her grey eyes and so made her adorable. The good bishop knew nothing of all this; but, hearing rumours, he remembered his Latin and advised her in the festina lente mood. " Go slowly, my dear," he wrote —this to Julia, who had driven a " Phantom " from St. Raphael to Paris in four-and-twenty hours, who had ridden a horse over the Grand National course when nobody was looking; who had flown from La Boulee to Madrid, and had sailed a ten-ton boat from Dover to Vigo despite the kindly assurances that she would certainly bo drowned. " Festina lente," indeed! Julia would have liked to see herself doing it. " We shall bury you before long/' one fair youth said to her. He little know what a prophet he was. They did bury Julia within a month from that date; and if you go to Mentone and ask, they will show you just where her body was laid. She had been ten days at Cannes just' about that time, and the men had learned enough about her to propose anything but marriage; the women to declare that she had the face of a waxen effigy in a shoeshop. Nobody guesesd that this mere babe of a thing, who flew, and yachted, and motored, and rode, really had more sentiment in her little head than ever Hollywood put on the screen, and that her virtue would have been considered an outrage all along the Cote d'Azure if a tenth part of 5t had been known. And it was not a virtue which owed anything to the good bishop or his catechism. " If I fell in love with a man I would givo myself to him, commandments or no commandments," she was wont to say. But so far this mircle in plus-fours had failed to appear. She despised the amateur gigolos who surrounded her at Cannes. She quickly turned a deaf ear to the man of fifty, whose wife " had never really loved him." This eclecticism bred loneliness.

Probably because she was very lonely, she put off in her ten-ton yacht one day for a sail, with just an aged boatman, from Cannes to Corsica. Many youths came do%vn to the harbour to see her, and more than one pleaded to be allowed to come aboard and read Omar Khayyam to her o' nights. Julia would shake her little mouse-coloured curls at this and intimate quite plainly (for the hunting field had taught her "some shocking language) just where the speaker might go —and being IJius rebuffed, the lovers went back to their hotels to swear that they knew the name of her real lover and that he kept a pawnshop in Bloomsbury. Julia, meanwhile, put out on the deep, blue sea and was happy. So also was the aged seaman, Rocco, who had helped to load many bottles of good red wine on the yacht and was unshaken in his resolution to imbibe it. They had a fair run for some ninety miles, and rounded the Northern Capes of the Island of Corsica in great style. Julia had told nobody about it; but she had a mad idea in her head that would sail to Monte Cristo's Island and see if by any chance the famous Count had left any of his wonderful diamonds bohind him. Old Rocco knew the tradition vaguely but he had the vaguest idea where Monte Cristo's Island might be—so he just took her to Elba and told her it was the place. Julia did not really care one way or the other; but learning that Napoleon had been a prisoner in this very place and that his name was still honoured there, she determined to explore it and to devote a week to that purpose. In this, she failed to reckon with the stormy winds, which began to blow on the morning of the fifth day and blew thereafter, like the very devil, she said, for some eighteen days intermittently. Even Julia would not have dared to sail her " Sea Cat" in such weather. The old boatman Rocco was equally determined not to hoist a while the wine was red in the bottle. So there the pair of them stayed and thither some sailors brought the news, in an interlude when a little coasting stcamsr from Mentone ran into tha port for shelter and old Rocco had a clack with them at the inn by the quay side. The body of a young girl had been taken from the harbour at Mentone, it appeared; and it had been so disfigured by the storm which washed the grey rocks of that unfriendly shore that recognition had been almost impossible. But upon the once-fino dress, there still remained a brooch with the name " Julia " upon it—and news coming almost at the same time that the little yacht "Sea Cat" with her adventurous owner and the seaman Rocco had disappeared upon her voyage, what was more natural than that everybody should say: 'f Here, then, is one of them and that one beyond all question, the pretty Julia Verehaven, for whpm, in our -kindness, wo all promised a watery grave." No sooner said than the deed was done. A popular chaplain rend the service and prayed for the dead girl's soul. An English Consul paid for the' funeral knowing that Julia had been rich and her uncle, a bishop. There were no friends from Cannes to mourn her because she had 110 real friends in the place. The women merely said: "We told you she was mad." The men said: " The poor little thing—and now wo shall never know who the real man was." But nobody played a rubber of bridge the fewer; nor did any flag in the harbour fly at half-mast as every flag should have done.

Julia was much moved by this strange news. Although she had done many things in her brief life, sho had not yet died and been buried. The sensation was troublesome and she really felt that she should apologise to the people in the hotel for continuing to exist. In another mood, she thought site would like to be a real ghost, just for an hour and to move among her friends and acquaintances to hear what they were saying. What fun to appear at a bridge table and cry " doublo " just when old Colonel Choker had " thrco no trumps." Or to visit the good bishop her uncle and tell him she was not in heaven where lie, with his charity, would assume her to be. Was there sorrow because she had died ? She dared to believe that there would not bo joy despite her possession of nearly five thousand good pounds a year and her achievements. She did not contemplate indifference though that was the real note of much talk that passed about her..

A SHORT STORY

(COPYRIGHT)

Tho weather fell fine next day and she decided to sail immediately for Cannes. Old Rocco said " yes " though there was red wine still left in good bottles. They made an easy passage of it and dropped anchor in Cannes harbour on the fifth day of April upon an evening that breathed spring in all its glory, and at a moment when tho remnant of (ho winter masqueraders was in tho act of dressing for a dinner, which many had no appetite to eafc and few devoured with rapacity.

The first person Julia met in her hotel was Brigadier-Ceneral Huffner. He said, My God," in a loud tone of voice and called for a whiskcy-and-soda. The old man was really very glad of tho excuse.

Various exclamations greeted Julia as she made the tour of tho rooms that night. Some women said, " Why, my dear, we thought you had been drowned," and perhaps, in their hearts, they wished that she had been. One or two confessed gladness in falsetto —whilst the men laughed at tho whole thing, though a woman really had perished at Mentono and her body lay in tho earth. Some of these men would bavo kissed Julia just to show their contempt for cold water; but none would have kissed her because she had a soul. There was no man in whoso arms she would willingly have rested while he spoko of love in terms of mere dosire.

True, the old Brigadier told her during the course of the evening the true story of tho tragedy. It was related by hiccoughs and not unaccompanied by " damines " and " bygads." The young woman found battered on the rocks of Men tone's harbour was an Italian, the sister, it was believed, of a young soldier in tho Alpine Chasseurs. Evidently there had been a love affair and u quarrel. Yet, how and when the girl got into the soa, nobody yet could say, though all the facts pointed to suicide. Just because this poor child had been hiding from her peoplo, so had her identity been undiscovered for many days. Now it was revealed, and Meritono no longer said that tho English madcap had known her last adventure and would astonish the world no more.

All interest had gone out of the news upon this, and eyes, which never had been wet, now continued both dry and envious. Julia perceived that the women hated her and were quite ridiculously jealous of tho notoriety she had enjoyed. In all the world, she told herself, there was hardly ono human being, if it were not the good bishop, who would have mourned her truly. And she could not imagine a bishop in tears. Such weakness would never go with episcopal gaiters or cloth of purple. Possibly tho dear old man would merely have said: " Poor Julia. And how very distressing to have to make up all her accounts." The world is just like that. Next day she visited her tomb, stopping at Monte Carlo to buy some stockings and eating at Ciro's, where no friend was to bo discerned. A mad idea to lose a thousand francs at " chenny " before going to the grave, obsessed her; and her luck being obstinately in her favour, she found herself the winner of nearly four thousand when five o'clock struck and her journey to Mentono was resumed. The heart had gone out of the day by that time and there was no blue in a sad sea. Julia thought it quito right that it should be so—for thus nature enshrouded her and so did death speak to her soul.

The gate of the little cemetery in Mentone was open when sho arrived there and she could discern no human presence. Yonder, the world gamed and danced and made merry—but hero was the eternal sleep. " How terribly are the dead alone," she thought—and her troubled imagination cast her down into the tomb they had digged for her and she lay there still and white, with her sightless eyes and limbs that would never move again. " Thus it might have been," she thought—and not one upon all thoso shores of a spurious joy would have remembered her name in three months' time.

She was a long time finding a newlymade grave, and dusk had fallen while she was still seeking. Her watch had led her to a little cul-de-sac, where the flowers upon the tombs were still fresh and the crosses were not so many. Here without warning, she perceived the figure of a young man praying devoutly upon his knees and so wholly overcome bv grief and its trappings, that she had come right up to the place beforo lie observed her. For one long instant, this young soldier looked at her; then he staggered wildly to his feet. " Oh, God! God!" he cried. " It is my sister—speak to me, Julia, speak to me!" and upon that he fell headlong before her, and for a while sho believed that lie was dead. Vainly sho tried to lift him in her arms, to drag him from tho asphalt path where ho lay insensible. Tho burden was too much, and running wildly from the place, she boat upon the door of a little white houso near by, and almost fainted in tho arms of the kindly old priest who answered to her knocking. " The cemetery—thero is a young soldier—dying dying," sho repeated, while the goml man looked at her incredulously and failed to understand one word of what was said to him. Nevertheless, ho perceived that she, or her friends, needed assistanc, and snatching his cloak from a peg and thrusting a great shovel-hat upon his bald head, he crossod tho road with her and they entered tho cemetery together. A mad Englishwoman, certainly. Ho quito forgot that he had but recently burried her.

Tho soldier still lay whero ho had fallen; but it was obvious that ho was breathing and just as obvious that in his fall he had broken the left arm upon which he lay, and that none but a doctor should move him. Tho old priest was all activity now, and know evidently what to do.

" To the telephone," he said quietly, in French. " I will call Dr. Serge and the ambulance. This would be the brother of tho poor girl we have buried hero lately. That is her tomb —God have mercy on her. If you have tho courage to wait here, young lady, it may bo that ho will recover consciousness, and you will bo able to help him. But if not—" Of course, I will stay," exclaimed Julia, hotly. " Thero are cushions in my car and my rug. Please bo quick and get tho doctor. I am sure he is dreadfully ill." " Shock, mademoiselle —ho is young. How strango that your presence shouid havo so alarmed him. But fear and death go hand in hand. It was always so from tho beginning." He went upon his errand; sho back to tho tomb. The young soldier was muttering as one in pain at this time, and had turned upon his sido. Deftly Julia put a cushion beneath his head and covered his shoulders with her rug. Often ho named his sister and cried out for her. There was a moment when ho opened his eyes and, perceiving that a woman watched him, made an offer as though to rise and take her in his arms. But tho pain of it was too great and ho sank again, trembling. So Julia found herself holding the hand which sought her own and trying vainly to make him understand that lie must not move. In his turn, lie hold her in a grip of iron and continued to utter her name. And thus priest and doctor found them —and so was her strange vigil ended that ho might bo taken to the hospital and she bo driven back to Cannes where this strange adventure had begun. " I am at tho Hotel Ritz-Savoy if you will kindly let me have tho news," sho said to the old priest. He promised that ho would do so—suspecting more than the emotions of a mere Samaritan. It, was strango that destiny should thus have directed at once to a sceno of death and to new measure of life., ,

Hardly in her story, hitherto, had there been any remembrance of a man, of his words or his face. But the night that iol]owed tlio odventure found her dwelling upon every detail of the scene at Mentone; and she could not sleep lor tho trouble of it, Never would she forget tho eves of the young soldier as they had looked rnto her own nor tho passionate crip of a hand which seemed to claim her sympathy and ardently to desire hei help and pity. The man had suffered much and, perclmnce, through a woman, she thought. She would long remember him as she had remembered no other through tho years. With this thought came another, and that concerned a mystery.

Why had ho fainted upon her appearance ? Did she resemble that sister of his whom so many believed had been the unhappy victim of passion and treachery . It was unlikely, Julia reasoned—for that woman was an Italian, probably dark with tho black eyes and tho big red lips of her race. There could be no real resemblance —and yet the soldier had called upon her name and behoved that the dead girl verily had come to life. Julia could make nothing of it —establish no theory which had not to do with the gloom of the cemetery and the emotions of great loss. Nor, in any case, did she believe that she would see tho young Italian again or have any but perfunctory tidings of him. Might he not even bo ashamed of his weakness when ho heard the whole story of it? Nono the less, lior thoughts were wholly of him, and in her fitful sleep she saw his face again.

It was just as though a few tragic worda had touched a chord in the harmony of her lifo, which never had heen struck before. Tho music of it was still with her when day came and tho sun shone gloriously upon a sparkling sea. A sense of being slio had never known before filled her with a strange happiness, as though she herself had risen from the tomb of indifference to perceive the beauty of the world and the wonder of human love. That all this was but vain imagining by one who lived for a brief hour in some fool's paradise, did not deter her. She had been so much alone in the world and now she seemed to bo alone no longer.

Such was her mood when she entered tho great restaurant for dejeuner and thero began to consider her future. The yacht lay in tho harbour, and old Rocco still waited for her, impatient for the red wine and seas that were sunny. Wild ideas of voyages to the African shores, even of journeyings among the cannibals that "do devour each other " entertained; but she came ultimately to the conclusion that thero were cannibals enough upon these pleasant shores of France, and that London might, after all, be the better harbour. And to London certainly sho would have gone, but for a telegram from the old priest; put into her hand just as she was rising from the table.

"Come," it said. "He needs you urgently."

She was in Mentone some three hours later, having driven madly upon the Upper Corniche as though her own life were of no account if this man might be saved.

At tile hospital, they said that Captain del Cari was waiting for her and would bo very glad that she had come. And in tho long white corridor, she found the old priest, who blessed her for her visit and spoke of a lifo that would be saved thereby.

" An obsession, my child, if you will; but ho lias been asking for you all night and has not slept because you were not here. I do nofc understand it all, but ' shock ' is a strange thing and it is evident that his sister's death has quito unnerved him. Come with me and remember that ho is a very sick man, and should his manner be strange—" " I shall understand," said Julia quickly . . . and then added, "Is it not a wonderful coincidence that his sister was also named Julia— such an English name for an Italian girl to have—" " His mother was an Englishwoman, I believe," said the priest, and so he opened the door of a little whitewashed room, and left her to enter alone.

Andrea del Cari was sitting up in bed, his eyes bright with the fever which excitement had provoked, his hand already outstretched to greet her. When she touched it, he drew her down to him and kissed her on the forehead.

" You have come—come," he cried excitedly, " and they said I should never seo you again—never, never. But I knew that it would not be so—it could not be for sho has told me so—sho, my sister, who stood by your sido when you came to the grave last night and bade me love you. As God in heaven it was so; my dear little sister who has suffered so much and was all that I had in the world—sho stood at the graveside and I heard her voice. Julia, it was a message from the dead to us both—will you believe me, will you let me love you because of it? "

.Sho did not answer him, but sat very still, her hand in his, and the warm light of tho setting sun shining upon them both.