The Ascetic Statue

In a garden of spacious grounds, ever since the year 1880, there had stood the statue of a beautiful nymph... She remained in her place from that time on — not because she loved gardens; had they given her the choice she would have preferred a more important post, some square or a great street where she could have watched the shop-fronts and the automobiles and the people in their comings and goings..

Few were those who came her way in the garden, and even they never noticed her existence.. She was no famous hero of history nor a precious work of art, and so she drew no one's attention. The gardeners were kept from her by the cleaning of the garden paths, the watchmen had their own thoughts and musings, and the lovers were taken with lounging on the grass or writing their names on the trunks of the trees.

The sparrows would come to rest on her bare shoulders... and the ants would hide and wander among the folds of her stone gown.. But for years past no human being had stood before her in admiration or in mockery... Once it was said of her that she was forward, even immodest, and perhaps that was the reason for her banishment to that quiet, secluded corner of the garden.

She had grown weary of the sight of the grass and the trees before her, and wished she could see what lay beyond them, even were it only more grass and trees. She was tired of her long standing and would have liked to be allowed to sit down from time to time.. if only she could strike a dramatic pose like the goddess "Diana."

She was bored with the doves of the wood, bored with the monotony of their murmuring, and would have preferred any other noise... She was oppressed by her thick cold days and her long dark nights, and it seemed to her that her oppression would stay with her forever..

Then spring came, and with it came that young man.

He was poor, wearing a threadbare coat patched with pieces of leather at the elbows... his face pale as marble, deep shadows leaving their traces beneath his brows and on the bones of his cheeks. He was sad and lonely and of the kind that keeps to itself.. so thought the girl — the "statue" — and grieved for his sake.. He must have possessed a very small store of money and of friends, to think of spending his evenings in the garden..

He would stand with his hands in the pockets of his jacket and stare at the trees, or at her — though she could not be certain whether he truly saw her or not.. Sometimes he stared in silence, and at other times he would chant verses!

His poems were modern in their fashioning, in the opinion of the "statue," who had been born in the days of the poet "Tennyson"; but the young man was taken with them and recited them with a moving warmth.. Sometimes he would address the statue, or address himself, on various subjects.. on art, for instance, or the cost of living, or the weather..

The "statue" surrendered to this new situation and awaited his visits with longing and eagerness.. She wondered who he might be, where he lived, and what he ate. She cared about everything that concerned him.. noticing his shoes after he had them mended, and his face when he neglected his shaving.. She listened to his talk with all her heart and understood, without his knowing anything of it.. and the more she contemplated him and watched him and listened to him, the greater grew her love for him.

The young man's visit to the garden never lasted beyond an hour, and yet the statue's waiting for it filled her whole day; she would repeat to herself the words of the evening before, and so, day by day, her waiting for him bred in her a restlessness she had never felt before.

One day, when the children's kites of colored paper were flying above the garden... and the green leaves of the trees, faintly steeped in yellow, were rustling in agitation... and the sun kept appearing and disappearing behind the clouds.. the statue stood troubled on her gray stone pedestal.. yearning more than ever to move, to speak, to breathe the breezes of spring... The young man too was agitated, pacing back and forth before her, his hands clasped behind his back... talking to himself with a stammer, as though his mind were charged with thoughts and he lacked

the courage to give voice to them...

The "statue" wished she could help him, but beyond her listening and her steadfast standing there was nothing she could do.. and even then she was not sure he had noticed her existence.. so surprise shook her when he turned to her and began to praise her.. He stumbled over his words at first, and then his praise became natural..

He would say to her: "How beautiful you are!" or "You look wonderful tonight!" or "You are beautiful as a goddess!"

The "statue" would tremble, moved by his praise, and vanity would sometimes take hold of her, for she was only a "water nymph" — and besides, she did not know the look of her own face and feared it might be scowling or coarse after all those long years.. And strangest of all, it was the first time she had ever heard her beauty praised...

The "statue" was no longer lost and listless, for she had come to know love...

She no longer added and subtracted and went over the letters of the alphabet to fill her emptiness; her thoughts were bound to the young man — to his quick steps.. to the eager tones of his voice.. to his worshipful glances — and she forgot that she was made of stone and that statues do not know love..

All that spring the young man came to her and spoke tenderly to her.. and in April, when the sun's warmth grew and warmed even her bare shoulders, he told her that he loved her.. His voice was low and calm and clear as he told her of his love — that he had adored her from the moment he saw her and would remain so until the day of his death.

"Say that I am mad for what I utter, but I love you! And now that I have confessed to you what is in my heart, you will stand like a beautiful column of snow and tell me: go from me.. No —" said the young man, his voice rising and growing warmer — "do not tell me 'go,' for your love has filled my whole being and grown too deep for me to bear the thought of parting from you."

Then he told her of her beauty and her gentleness, and of how his love had grown with the passing of the days.. and of his feeling of misery until he resolved to confess to her.. then he added: "I am happy now — happy as though you too had answered my love."

After he had gone the "statue" felt a flood

of happiness. At last she had known love; she loved and was beloved.. It was her first taste of so wonderful an experience.. The garden became something else, and the world another world..

"He loves you!" the sparrows chirped to her

"He loves you!" whispered the leaves on the trees

"He loves you! He loves you!" cooed the doves of the wood

"He loves you!" sang the spring breezes to her.

Her happiness was complete, and it was too great for her to notice, at first, the young man's absence..

A day passed.. two days.. a week.

"He can bear it no longer" — thought the statue — "he knows his love can come to nothing, and yet he is infatuated with me." And the flood of her happiness wrapped her round like beautiful dreams...

After ten days the young man came back for the last time.. He was not alone, and he was not sad or absent-minded; with him was a lovely sweetheart, his arm about her waist.. their heads pressed close together, and they walked slowly, as though life stretched out before them without end.

The girl was beautiful as a peach-blossom, and her smile shone over her face, and he in his turn smiled back at her.

— Look, he said to her, here I used to come every day before visiting you, and rehearsed what I wished to say to you!

— You said it to the statue? said the girl, and she smiled at the statue as though the world were empty of strange ironies..

— Are you jealous? But for the statue I would never have found the courage to confess my love to you..

The girl looked up at the statue and laughed, saying — And didn't she mind?

— Of course not! Isn't she a statue? And if she has a heart, it is a heart of stone!

With that they went off into the distance, for the rain had begun to fall, and near the lake they had a shelter of interlacing boughs..

And they did not see the "statue" weeping... weeping bitterly, as though her heart had broken...