Chantry House. Yonge Charlotte Mary

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СКАЧАТЬ was only by a strong effort of principle that they resisted him; while he dragged Clarence about as his devoted though not always happy follower.

      Alas! for Clarence!  Courage was not in him.  The fearless infant boy chiefly dwells in conventional fiction, and valour seldom comes before strength.  Moreover, I have come to the opinion that though no one thought of it at the time, his nerves must have had a terrible and lasting shock at the accident and at the sight of my crushed and deathly condition, which occupied every one too much for them to think of soothing or shielding him.  At any rate, fear was the misery of his life.  Darkness was his horror.  He would scream till he brought in some one, though he knew it would be only to scold or slap him.  The housemaid’s closet on the stairs was to him an abode of wolves.  Mrs. Gatty’s tale of The Tiger in the Coal-box is a transcript of his feelings, except that no one took the trouble to reassure him; something undefined and horrible was thought to wag in the case of the eight-day clock; and he could not bear to open the play cupboard lest ‘something’ should jump out on him.  The first time he was taken to the Zoological Gardens, the monkeys so terrified him that a bystander insisted on Gooch’s carrying him away lest he should go into fits, though Griffith was shouting with ecstasy, and could hardly forgive the curtailment of his enjoyment.

      Clarence used to aver that he really did see ‘things’ in the dark, but as he only shuddered and sobbed instead of describing them, he was punished for ‘telling fibs,’ though the housemaid used to speak under her breath of his being a ‘Sunday child.’  And after long penance, tied to his stool in the corner, he would creep up to me and whisper, ‘But, Eddy, I really did!’

      However, it was only too well established in the nursery that Clarence’s veracity was on a par with his courage.  When taxed with any misdemeanour, he used to look round scared and bewildered, and utter a flat demur.  One scene in particular comes before me.  There were strict laws against going into shops or buying dainties without express permission from mamma or nurse; but one day when Clarence had by some chance been sent out alone with the good natured housemaid, his fingers were found sticky.

      ‘Now, Master Clarence, you’ve been a naughty boy, eating of sweets,’ exclaimed stern Justice in a mob cap and frills.

      ‘No—no—’ faltered the victim; but, alas!  Mrs. Gooch had only to thrust her hand into the little pocket of his monkey suit to convict him on the spot.

      The maid was dismissed with a month’s wages, and poor Clarence underwent a strange punishment from my mother, who was getting about again by that time, namely, a drop of hot sealing-wax on his tongue, to teach him practically the doom of the false tongue.  It might have done him good if there had been sufficient encouragement to him to make him try to win a new character, but it only added a fresh terror to his mind; and nurse grew fond of manifesting her incredulity of his assertions by always referring to Griff or to me, or even to little Emily.  What was worse, she used to point him out to her congeners in the Square or the Park as ‘such a false child.’

      He was a very pretty little fellow, with a delicately rosy face, wistful blue eyes, and soft, light, wavy hair, and perhaps Gooch was jealous of his attracting more notice than Griffith, and thought he posed for admiration, for she used to tell people that no one could guess what a child he was for slyness; so that he could not bear going out with her, and sometimes bemoaned himself to me.

      There must be a good deal of sneaking in the undeveloped nature, for in those days I was ashamed of my preference for Clarence, the naughty one.  But there was no helping it, he was so much more gentle than Griff, and would always give up any sport that incommoded me, instead of calling me a stupid little ape, and becoming more boisterous after the fashion of Griff.  Moreover, he fetched and carried for me unweariedly, and would play at spillekins, help to put up puzzles, and enact little dramas with our wooden animals, such as Griff scorned as only fit for babies.  Even nurse allowed Clarence’s merits towards me and little Emily, but always with the sigh: ‘If he was but as good in other respects, but them quiet ones is always sly.’

      Good Nurse Gooch!  We all owe much to her staunch fidelity, strong discipline, and unselfish devotion, but nature had not fitted her to deal with a timid, sensitive child, of highly nervous temperament.  Indeed, persons of far more insight might have been perplexed by the fact that Clarence was exemplary at church and prayers, family and private,—whenever Griff would let him, that is to say,—and would add private petitions of his own, sometimes of a startling nature.  He never scandalised the nursery, like Griff, by unseemly pranks on Sundays, nor by innovations in the habits of Noah’s ark, but was as much shocked as nurse when the lion was made to devour the elephant, or the lion and wolf fought in an embrace fatal to their legs.  Bible stories and Watt’s hymns were more to Clarence than even to me, and he used to ask questions for which Gooch’s theology was quite insufficient, and which brought the invariable answers, ‘Now, Master Clarry, I never did!  Little boys should not ask such questions!’  ‘What’s the use of your pretending, sir!  It’s all falseness, that’s what it is!  I hates hypercrīting!’  ‘Don’t worrit, Master Clarence; you are a very naughty boy to say such things.  I shall put you in the corner!’

      Even nurse was scared one night when Clarence had a frightful screaming fit, declaring that he saw ‘her—her—all white,’ and even while being slapped reiterated, ‘her, Lucy!’

      Lucy was a kind elder girl in the Square gardens, a protector of little timid ones.  She was known to be at that time very ill with measles, and in fact died that very night.  Both my brothers sickened the next day, and Emily and I soon followed their example, but no one had it badly except Clarence, who had high fever, and very much delirium each night, talking to people whom he thought he saw, so as to make nurse regret her severity on the vision of Lucy.

      CHAPTER II

      SCHOOLROOM DAYS

      ‘In the loom of life-cloth pleasure,

         Ere our childish days be told,

      With the warp and woof enwoven,

         Glitters like a thread of gold.’—

Jean Ingelow.

      Looking back, I think my mother was the leading spirit in our household, though she never for a moment suspected it.  Indeed, the chess queen must be the most active on the home board, and one of the objects of her life was to give her husband a restful evening when he came home to the six o’clock dinner.  She also had to make both ends meet on an income which would seem starvation at the present day; but she was strong, spirited, and managing, and equal to all her tasks till the long attendance upon me, and the consequent illness, forced her to spare herself—a little—a very little.

      Previously she had been our only teacher, except that my father read a chapter of the Bible with us every morning before breakfast, and heard the Catechism on a Sunday.  For we could all read long before young gentlefolks nowadays can say their letters.  It was well for me, since books with a small quantity of type, and a good deal of frightful illustration, beguiled many of my weary moments.  You may see my special favourites, bound up, on the shelf in my bedroom.  Crabbe’s Tales, Frank, the Parent’s Assistant, and later, Croker’s Tales from English History, Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare, Tales of a Grandfather, and the Rival Crusoes stand pre-eminent—also Mrs. Leicester’s School, with the ghost story cut out.

      Fairies and ghosts were prohibited as unwholesome, and not unwisely.  The one would have been enervating to me, and the other would have been a definite addition to Clarence’s stock of horrors.  Indeed, one story had been cut out of Crabbe’s Tales, and another out of an Annual presented to Emily, but not before Griff had read the latter, and the version he related to us probably lost nothing in the telling; indeed, to this day I recollect the man, wont to slay the harmless cricket on the hearth, and in a storm at sea pursued by a gigantic cockroach СКАЧАТЬ