A HUMBLE CRUCIFIXION
The next morning sunshine and warmth had come, the frost risen and fled.
The birds were singing in the forest, and the melting icicles had none
of the dispiriting effect of thaw, but sparkled in the sunshine. The
ground was free.
Rosalie went out and took the fork and began the old process—digging. It
took a long, long time, days, and weeks, and months, to chip away the
soil from the new mound.
And at last the first bright ray—uncheckered—burst through. Rosalie
started up with a cry. The frog hopped up to witness. Both of them shed
a tear of joy and admiration that glistened like a pearl, though dull
beside this other. At last a gem of purest brightness was displayed,
that shone with so soft a radiance, yet so pure and bright, that it lit
up the garden like the bright sun on an early summer’s morning, and
seemed a dazzling emblem of light.
And Rosalie said: “This is the light which cures as well as
beautifies—the talisman against all ills—the gift of God, the pearl
above all price; never pearl shone like to it, or diamond, or ruby, or
any stone dug from the mines or caves. I’ll take it to the Governor.
None can fail but to acknowledge its beauty, if but for the one central
spark from the raised inner surface.”
And she took it to him, but as she offered it, said nothing, and he
showed no surprise, but smiled gravely, as one who might approve in
silence, but said no words.
So Rosalie waited, and in a shorter time than she had ever stayed
before, less than a week, was sent for by the Governor.
The flashing jewel was on the table by his side. He looked across at
her, but her eyes were fixed upon the stone. So soon, and it was back!
And the time it had taken to dig! and the long months of blackness
before! And at last her eyes travelled slowly from it back to his face.
And he said with curious intonation: “The decision is the same as
hitherto.”
“But God’s decision! Tell me that!” and the pain in her voice was very
terrible.
“The decision of God is that it is as He has made it.”
“That is sufficient. Thank you,” and she moved away; strong only in the
friendship of that silent man, who in so few words conveyed so much of
meaning.
So once more she made her way to the little hut, where the frog as usual
sat waiting; but her lips were set in a smile so stony, that she said
never a word, but sat down in her chair by the fire, and forgot to try
to form even a syllable.
At last her eyes lighted on the frog sitting there upon the hearth. Its
big, wide, mournful mouth drooped at the corners, and its round saucer
eyes were brimming with tears, yet there was something very comic in its
attitude—so much so that Rosalie laughed. At this it jumped so literally
that had it not borne a charmed life it would certainly have settled in
the fire, but as it was, it came down inside the fender, and then hopped
out.
“Ah! when you laugh in sorrow your heart must needs be broken
altogether,” it said.
“Oh, no! I feel nothing, nothing at all, one way or the other, only hard
and empty, and sorry, not for myself, but for others, that they should
be so blind.”
“It’s well you feel hard. It doesn’t do to feel soft at times like
this,” said the frog, and tried to speak cheerfully, but somehow failed.
Outside a white mist was settling, so silently that they never noticed
it. But just then the frog piled more coal on the fire, and soon the
room looked very cheerful.
“Come and sit on my knee,” said Rosalie presently; and she almost
laughed again at the rapidity with which her request was granted.
Although they had lived together so long, this was, as it were, the
first time she had seen the frog close.
She took one of its little feet in her fingers, and noticed it was
pierced with a hole. Then in turn she looked at each foot separately,
and found the same mark in each.
“How did you come by these? They look as if they must have been very
painful at one time.”
“It was very stupid of me,” said the frog shyly. “Generally I put a
jewel into each, and everyone remarks about my pretty feet, but to-day,
with thinking about your affairs, I forgot. It was most negligent of
me.”
“Where did you get the jewels from?”
“My master said I found them by myself, but I think he really gave them
to me.”
“But tell me about these holes, unless you’d rather not.”
“It’s a short and very common story,” it answered evasively; “I don’t
think it would interest you.”
“Indeed it would; you have been so kind to me all along that I know you
won’t deny me this.”
“Well, there was a time when I used to be a very ordinary little frog,
jumping about, and eating all that I could get. And I was very vain of
my appearance, for I knew that my coat was brighter than any of my
neighbours, and I wished them to know it too. But I wasn’t content with
being admired by my own kith and kin; I thought I should like to gain
the admiration of mankind as well. Instead of confining myself to the
shrubs and well in the garden, I contrived to make myself plainly seen
by hopping about the paths. There were no children in the house
adjoining, so that I felt doubly safe, for the two servant maids used to
walk in the garden often at dusk, and talk about their sweethearts, and
at these times they always found a kind and flattering word for me.
Meeting with such kind treatment from them, I grew doubly proud, and
formed the erroneous idea that all mankind was equally kind and simple.
I made no doubt that had I been taken before the Queen, my manners,
colour, and deportment would have astonished her, and called forth her
admiration. As discontentment had first grown toward my own people, so
at last it grew towards the maid-servants. I wanted more than two
admirers, and almost lost my brilliant colour pining for them. About
this time, however, my old mother died, and what with the nursing of
her, and seeing to her respectable removal afterwards, I had little time
for thinking of myself. But when things had settled themselves again, my
old longing revived. I must go out along the paths again and try to gain
more admiration.
“Now, there lived in that house a man. He always wore spectacles, and
whenever he walked in the garden always carried a book, and from what I
could gather from the maids’ conversation, was really very clever. Now,
being myself very ignorant, I naturally admired clever people, and a
great longing grew in my mind to gain his approbation and attention. So
whenever he walked out in the garden, I watched my opportunity, and
hopped along the path beside him. But for a long time he either never
noticed me, or if he did do so, was never attracted by my charms. This
upset me so much that my health became visibly enfeebled. I felt that if
he could but see it, I might become of value in his eyes, and thus raise
myself in his good graces and esteem. Still, I felt I could not give in,
for I had a friend of somewhat duller coat always watching me, ready to
say upon the first occasion: ‘I told you so.’ So I continued hopping by
his side in these walks, which, of late, had become habitual. But one
day, as he came down the path, he closed his book, and his eyes suddenly
lighted on me. I know not what the expression in them was, but my vanity
took it favourably. I sat there as still as a frog can sit, because I
had heard it was a sign of good breeding to sit still, and pretended to
be gazing at the sun, because I thought it would appear good taste to
admire a thing so generally esteemed. And he stood still too, but I was
quite content that _he_ should be admiring _me_. It would have
disappointed me had he turned his attention likewise to the sun.
Suddenly he stooped down, and made a grab in my direction. I had almost
waited for this, and being prepared, hopped quickly to one side. I felt
it would not enhance my charms to be caught too quickly. He made no
further attempt to catch me, but went back into the house, and I heard
my friend of the duller coat laughing, as much as to say, ‘I told you
so.’ But I pretended to consider we had made great advances. In a little
while, however, he came out again. He carried in his hand a curious
string thing, which is called a net, and this he laid with great
ingenuity across the path where he and I had previously been walking.
This I took as a great compliment; the ground was evidently not good
enough for me to walk upon. Over this he spread a few crumbs. They were
not, certainly, to my mind, as I liked more tasty things, but I thought
he had probably noticed my fragile appearance, and was showing his
sympathy with my delicacy. So to show my trust in and appreciation of
him, after a little coquettish skipping on the edge, I hopped straight
to the centre of the net. He was kneeling by the side, and I must admit
my heart beat loudly at my own boldness, but still remembering the
kindness of the maids, the only human beings that I knew, I felt no
particular or definite fear. In fact, I felt like some great queen
before a kneeling courtier. But the next moment I was much upset to find
the net swung over me, and both of us caught roughly and inelegantly
from the ground, in a manner I had never before experienced. I
struggled, but only succeeded in getting one leg through the net. My
position was indeed perilous. The last thing I heard in the garden was
the laughter of my friend who had the duller coat. So can the frog heart
be upon occasion very hard.
“I was thrown down afterwards upon a table that had neither moss nor
anything else upon it, still enveloped in the hateful net, so that there
was no chance of me getting away, and there I stayed for a long time,
choking with fear and partial suffocation.”
A tremor ran through its little body.
“I shouldn’t like to speak of all that followed. As frogs go, and being
cold-blooded, I can stand a fair amount. But that was neither here nor
there. I don’t know how long I lived there, but it was a long time, and
almost every day I was put to some torture or other. Often others used
to come in to see how the different inflictions affected me, and once
someone remonstrated with him, and said I must suffer; but he said he
was always very careful with me, and the other one seemed satisfied.
“‘Besides,’ he added, ‘it is in the cause of science. And what little
inconveniences may be suffered by this reptile may be the means of
saving many lives.’
“That night as I was lying in my prison, with every limb aching and
swollen, and big pains shooting through my body, I thought on his words.
It was only the extreme pain that kept me from growing proud, so instead
I felt a little thankful.
“But after that the times of torture were growing more frequent, or I
less able to bear them, and I longed and prayed to something I couldn’t
understand to set me free. And one day, as he took me out of my cell, he
said to someone who was with him at the time—I think he called him his
assistant: ‘This thing is on its last legs; I’ll just try one more
experiment with it, and then it can be thrown to the midden.’
“That was a little comfort to me.
“But just then he ran something through my hand that made me struggle
and gasp with pain, and then the other three, and I was lying fast
nailed to a board, and could not even struggle. I’ll never forget it,
though the worst never comes back to me. It was the last time, the last
time with a vengeance, and there I died. And I think I must have looked
very queer at the last, for the last thing I was conscious of was that
someone laughed. But how could one compose one’s features nailed to a
board, and suffering agony. And when I woke up I was in this pretty
garden, and I was as feeble as a baby. But my master tended me with his
own hands, and before long I had grown strong and happy again, and less
wishful to been seen. And though my coat is brighter now than ever it
had been, I think less of it and more of other things. But even now it’s
sweet to hear a little praise, and never anyone has come to see my
master but they have a pleasant word for me.”
“Then why do you stay with me? You should be hopping in the garden, not
in this dull place.”
“Oh, I asked to come. I knew you’d have a deal of sorrow once you came
here; it’s meant to be a place of sorrow; and I remembered that period
of my own life when I was all alone without companions. And I think if
someone could have come to me and said, ‘Cheer up, Croaker, it’ll soon
all be over,’ I would have felt a trifle stronger for the end.”
“Was your name Croaker?” asked Rosalie gently, for the story had much
affected her.
“Yes; I used always to be longing to be called ‘Bright Coat’ or ‘Slim
Body,’ or one of those names when I was young, but my parents had
different thoughts from me, and gave me just a family name. The
scientists sometimes called me ‘Goggle Eyes,’ and I believe my eyes did
grow unnaturally big whilst I was there.”
“It’s very kind of you to stay with me when I’m so dull.”
“You’re not dull,” said the frog. “No one is, unless they do nothing but
nurse their sorrow, and expect other people to carry both them and it.”
Rosalie laughed.
“Yes, one has a great deal to learn,” she answered, and took down a book
from the shelf.
And hereafter most of her time was given to learning, for the
lesson-books had suddenly developed into coherent reading. They were
still hard and dull, and many a time she would have given up but for the
ever-ringing voice that revived her lagging spirits, and above all the
remembrance of that jewel of pure light, the like that she had seen
within the temple.
Outside the mist still continued heavy and white, so that it was
impossible to find the way about. It hung like a heavy curtain. This
continued for a long time, until one day it gradually lightened, and in
a week’s time the sky was clear again.
“I’m going to dig again,” said Rosalie to the frog, laughing. “I feel I
am intended to. The ground is soft, and though my eagerness has gone, I
still can work when there is opportunity.”
And so in the same way she unbedded another stone, and though it was
smaller than the last, and not of the same worth by any means, it had
its merits, and one pure flash in the centre to show it was related to
the larger one. Having given it into the Governor’s hands, she returned
to her own dwelling, and waited some short time.
But one day as she was going round the plantation, holding a book and
reading, with the frog hopping by her side, she was startled to hear
someone calling over the gateway, “Good morning, Rosalie!” and looking,
she beheld Billy standing there, his arms folded over it, and his face
all laughing, as was usual when he came.
“Good morning!” said she, and her eyes brightened at such a change in
the day’s programme.
“I’ve brought you bad news.”
“Ah! then don’t repeat it. I know already what it is,” and Rosalie
sighed.
“You know, I don’t think you’re ever going to get out of this little
paddock,” said he.
“I don’t think so myself. Soon I shall be getting past breaking in.”
“How do you like digging?”
“Oh, I’ve taken to it fairly well, thanks to my little friend Croaker
here. I regard myself as a worm, and feel lowly contentment. Many a time
I have thought myself dead and the sun set.”
“You must be very wretched to wish yourself dead.”
“Yes, the day is intensely long.”
“The worm will develop.”
“With a bruised head?”
“It’s imagination! A second miracle, and the worm becomes a serpent.”
“I would much rather remain as I am. The worm is harmless—the serpent
dangerous; the one a little use—the other useless.”
“And you from Lucifram!”
“Ah! your mind was fixed on one particular Serpent. Defend me from it.”
“You don’t look much older, Rosalie, for all your work.”
“But you were tall before, and now you’re taller. You actually seem
older than I, and when first I saw you I reckoned you quite ten years
younger.”
“Well, you’ve been burrowing in the ground. I’ve been advancing. It
makes all the difference. What effect has my news had upon you?” he
continued.
“Oh! for a change it has made me angry.”
“Has the worm turned?”
“I believe it has been so long in a state of constant wriggle that one
turn more or less makes little difference.”
“Suppose you leave your unprofitable trade, and come away?”
She took two steps forward with a thankful heart, and then a great
stubbornness rose within her. She shook her head.
“I won’t go yet,” she said. “It would be giving up too early. I have
pleased God, and by God’s grace I’ll please man, and if man is not to be
pleased by God’s grace, what is it that can please him?”
“That is a question for my father. I should not like to say. What do you
intend to do here now?”
“Dig again. Begin to-day. There is no frost, and the ground is soft and
loose.”
“Is that the message I’m to return?”
“I can think of no other. It was good of you to bring the news to me.”
“I thought it very ill. I never delivered an unpleasant message in my
life before, and did it just for practice. I had much rather have told
you the other thing.”
“Your face was very expressive of sorrow when you came to me.”
“I’m glad. I imagined my countenance was too smiling.”
She laughed.
“Never look sad on my account. I have no wish to forfeit your company
for a sad mask. Indeed, I counted it a very great kindness your coming
to me at all.”
“Truly, Rosalie, you are improving. I think you must be growing older.”
“I’ve forgotten my age. It’s a thing women never remember. Years were a
form of imaginative punishment invented by the devil. Some folks are
sensitive about them.”
“When you have finished this, will you bring it to my father?”
“Most certainly; who else could I take it to?”
“He has brought you little luck.”
“It’s a word I should never use in connection with him.”
“Well, I will leave you, and may you be prosperous. I don’t know what
else I can say, except that you will forgive me for the news I brought.”
So saying, he turned about, and went away again.
And the old work began once more.