kingdom, which is of itself no small evil. I am not thinking of the
_expense_; for, in cases like these, nothing in that way ought to be
spared. If necessary to the safety of his wife, a man ought not only to
part with his last shilling, but to pledge his future labour. But we all
know that there are _imaginary ailments_, many of which are absolutely
created by the habit of talking with or about the '_doctor_.' Read the
'DOMESTIC MEDICINE,' and by the time that you have done, you will
imagine that you have, at times, all the diseases of which it treats.
This practice has added to, has doubled, aye, has augmented, I verily
believe, ten-fold the number of the gentlemen who are, in common
parlance, called '_doctors_'; at which, indeed, I, on my own private
account, ought to rejoice; for, _invariably_ I have, even in the worst
of times, found them every where amongst my staunchest and kindest
friends. But though these gentlemen are not to blame for this, any more
than attorneys are for their increase in number; and amongst these
gentlemen, too, I have, with very few exceptions, always found sensible
men and zealous friends; though the parties pursuing these professions
are not to blame; though the increase of attorneys has arisen from the
endless number and the complexity of the laws, and from the ten-fold mass
of crimes caused by poverty arising from oppressive taxation; and though
the increase of 'doctors' has arisen from the diseases and the imaginary
ailments arising from that effeminate luxury which has been created by
the drawing of wealth from the many, and giving it to the few; and, as
the lower classes will always endeavour to imitate the higher, so the
'_accoucheur_' has, along with the '_small-clothes_,' descended from the
loan-monger's palace down to the hovel of the pauper, there to take his
fee out of the poor-rates; though these parties are not to blame, the
thing is not less an evil. Both professions have lost in character, in
proportion to the increase in the number of its members; peaches, if
they grew on hedges, would rank but little above the berries of the
bramble.
243. But to return once more to the matter of _risk_ of life; can it be
that _nature_ has so ordered it, that, as a _general thing_, the life of
either mother or child shall be in _danger_, even if there were no
attendant at all? _Can this be?_ Certainly it cannot: _safety_ must be
the rule, and _danger_ the exception; this _must_ be the case, or the
world never could have been peopled; and, perhaps, in ninety-nine cases
out of every hundred, if nature were left _wholly to herself_, all would
be right. The great doctor in these cases, is, comforting, consoling,
cheering up. And who can perform this office like _women_? who have for
these occasions a language and sentiments which seem to have been
invented for the purpose; and be they what they may as to general
demeanour and character, they have all, upon these occasions, one common
feeling, and that so amiable, so excellent, as to admit of no adequate
description. They completely forget, for the time, all rivalships, all
squabbles, all animosities, all _hatred_ even; every one feels as if it
were her own particular concern.
244. These, we may be well assured, are the proper attendants on these
occasions; the mother, the aunt, the sister, the cousin, and female
neighbour; these are the suitable attendants, having some experienced
woman to afford extraordinary aid, if such be necessary; and in the few
cases where the preservation of life demands the surgeon's skill, he is
always at hand. The contrary practice, which we got from the French, is
not, however, _so general_ in France as in England. We have outstripped
all the world in this, as we have in every thing which proceeds from
luxury and effeminacy on the one hand, and from poverty on the other;
the millions have been stripped of their means to heap wealth on the
thousands, and have been corrupted in manners, as well as in morals, by
vicious examples set them by the possessors of that wealth. As reason
says that the practice of which I complain cannot be cured without a
total change in society, it would be presumption in me to expect such
cure from any efforts of mine. I therefore must content myself with
hoping that such change will come, and with declaring, that if I had to
live my life over again, I would act upon the opinions which I have
thought it my bounden duty here to state and endeavour to maintain.
245. Having gotten over these thorny places as quickly as possible, I
gladly come back to the BABIES; with regard to whom I shall have no
prejudices, no affectation, no false pride, no sham fears to encounter;
every heart (except there be one made of flint) being with me here.
'Then were there brought unto him _little children_, that he should put
his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them. But Jesus
said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not to come unto me; for
of such is the kingdom of heaven.' A figure most forcibly expressive of
the character and beauty of innocence, and, at the same time, most aptly
illustrative of the doctrine of regeneration. And where is the man; the
_woman_ who is not fond of babies is not worthy the name; but where is
the _man_ who does not feel his heart softened; who does not feel
himself become gentler; who does not lose all the hardness of his
temper; when, in any way, for any purpose, or by any body, an appeal is
made to him in behalf of these so helpless and so perfectly innocent
little creatures?
246. SHAKSPEARE, who is cried up as the great interpreter of the human
heart, has said, that the man in whose soul there is no _music_, or love
of music, is 'fit for murders, treasons, stratagems, and spoils.' 'Our
_immortal_ bard,' as the profligate SHERIDAN used to call him in public,
while he laughed at him in private; our '_immortal_ bard' seems to have
forgotten that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, were flung into the
fiery furnace (made seven times hotter than usual) amidst the sound of
the cornet, flute, harp, sackbut, and dulcimer, and all kinds of music;
he seems to have forgotten that it was a music and a dance-loving damsel
that chose, as a recompense for her elegant performance, the bloody head
of John the Baptist, brought to her in a charger; he seems to have
forgotten that, while Rome burned, Nero fiddled: he did not know,
perhaps, that cannibals always dance and sing while their victims are
roasting; but he might have known, and he must have known, that
England's greatest tyrant, Henry VIII., had, as his agent in blood,
Thomas Cromwell, expressed it, 'his _sweet soul_ enwrapped in the
_celestial_ sounds of music;' and this was just at the time when the
ferocious tyrant was ordering Catholics and Protestants to be tied back
to back on the same hurdle, dragged to Smithfield on that hurdle, and
there tied to, and burnt from, the same stake. Shakspeare must have
known these things, for he lived immediately after their date; and if he
had lived in our day, he would have seen instances enough of 'sweet
souls' enwrapped in the same manner, and capable, if not of deeds
equally bloody, of others, discovering a total want of feeling for
sufferings not unfrequently occasioned by their own wanton waste, and
waste arising, too, in part, from their taste for these 'celestial
sounds.'
247. O no! the heart of man is not to be known by this test: a _great_
fondness for music is a mark of great weakness, great vacuity of mind:
not of hardness of heart; not of vice; not of downright folly; but of a
want of capacity, or inclination, for sober thought. This is not always
the case: accidental circumstances almost force the taste upon people:
but, generally speaking, it is a preference of sound to sense. But the
man, and especially the _father_, who is not fond of _babies_; who does
not feel his heart softened when he touches their almost boneless limbs;
when he sees their little eyes first begin to discern; when he hears
their tender accents; the man whose heart does not beat truly to this
test, is, to say the best of him, an object of compassion.
248. But the mother's feelings are here to be thought of too; for, of
all gratifications, the very greatest that a mother can receive, is
notice taken of, and praise bestowed on, her baby. The moment _that_
gets into her arms, every thing else diminishes in value, the father
only excepted. _Her own personal charms_, notwithstanding all that men
say and have written on the subject, become, at most, a secondary object
as soon as the baby arrives. A saying of the old, profligate King of
Prussia is frequently quoted in proof of the truth of the maxim, that a
woman will forgive any thing but _calling her ugly_; a very true maxim,
perhaps, as applied to prostitutes, whether in high or low life; but a
pretty long life of observation has told me, that a _mother_, worthy of
the name, will care little about what you say of _her_ person, so that
you will but extol the beauty of her baby. Her baby is always the very
prettiest that ever was born! It is always an eighth wonder of the
world! And thus it ought to be, or there would be a want of that
wondrous attachment to it which is necessary to bear her up through all
those cares and pains and toils inseparable from the preservation of its
life and health.
249. It is, however, of the part which the _husband_ has to act, in
participating in these cares and toils, that I am now to speak. Let no
man imagine that the world will despise him for helping to take care of
his own child: thoughtless fools may attempt to ridicule; the unfeeling
few may join in the attempt; but all, whose good opinion is worth
having, will applaud his conduct, and will, in many cases, be disposed
to repose confidence in him on that very account. To say of a man, that
he is fond of his family, is, of itself, to say that, in private life at
least, he is a good and trust-worthy man; aye, and in public life too,
pretty much; for it is no easy matter to separate the two characters;
and it is naturally concluded, that he who has been flagrantly wanting
in feeling for his own flesh and blood, will not be very sensitive
towards the rest of mankind. There is nothing more amiable, nothing more
delightful to behold, than a _young_ man especially taking part in the
work of nursing the children; and how often have I admired this in the
labouring men in Hampshire! It is, indeed, _generally_ the same all over
England; and as to America, it would be deemed brutal for a man not to
take his full share of these cares and labours.
250. The man who is to gain a living by his labour, must be drawn away
from home, or, at least, from the cradle-side, in order to perform that
labour; but this will not, if he be made of good stuff, prevent him from
doing his share of the duty due to his children. There are still many
hours in the twenty-four, that he will have to spare for this duty; and
there ought to be no toils, no watchings, no breaking of rest, imposed
by this duty, of which he ought not to perform his full share, and that,
too, without grudging. This is strictly due from him in payment for the
pleasures of the marriage state. What _right_ has he to the sole
possession of a _woman's_ person; what right to a _husband's_ vast
authority; what right to the honourable title and the boundless power of
_father_: what _right_ has he to all, or any of these, unless he can
found his claim on the faithful performance of all the duties which
these titles imply?
251. One great source of the unhappiness amongst mankind arises,
however, from a neglect of these duties; but, as if by way of
compensation for their privations, they are much more duly performed by
the poor than by the rich. The fashion of the labouring people is this:
the husband, when free from his toil in the fields, takes his share in
the nursing, which he manifestly looks upon as a sort of reward for his
labour. However distant from his cottage, his heart is always at that
home towards which he is carried, at night, by limbs that feel not their
weariness, being urged on by a heart anticipating the welcome of those
who attend him there. Those who have, as I so many hundreds of times
have, seen the labourers in the woodland parts of Hampshire and Sussex,
coming, at night-fall, towards their cottage-wickets, laden with fuel
for a day or two; whoever has seen three or four little creatures
looking out for the father's approach, running in to announce the glad
tidings, and then scampering out to meet him, clinging round his knees,
or hanging on his skirts; whoever has witnessed scenes like this, to
witness which has formed one of the greatest delights of my life, will
hesitate long before he prefer a life of ease to a life of labour;
before he prefer a communication with children intercepted by servants
and teachers to that communication which is here direct, and which
admits not of any division of affection.
252. Then comes _the Sunday_; and, amongst all those who keep no
servants, a great deal depends on the manner in which the father employs
_that day_. When there are two or three children, or even one child, the
first thing, after the breakfast (which is late on this day of rest), is
to wash and dress the child or children. Then, while the mother is
dressing the dinner, the father, being in his Sunday-clothes himself,
takes care of the child or children. When dinner is over, the mother
puts on her best; and then, all go to church, or, if that cannot be,
whether from distance or other cause, _all pass the afternoon together_.
This used to be the way of life amongst the labouring people; and from
this way of life arose the most able and most moral people that the
world ever saw, until grinding taxation took from them the means of
obtaining a sufficiency of food and of raiment; plunged the whole, good
and bad, into one indiscriminate mass, under the degrading and hateful
name of paupers.
253. The working man, in whatever line, and whether in town or country,
who spends his _day of rest_, or any part of it, except in case of
absolute necessity, away from his wife and children, is not worthy of
the name of _father_, and is seldom worthy of the trust of any employer.
Such absence argues a want of fatherly and of conjugal affection, which
want is generally duly repaid by a similar want in the neglected
parties; and, though stern authority may command and enforce obedience
for a while, the time soon comes when it will be set at defiance; and
when such a father, having no example, no proofs of love, to plead,
complains of _filial ingratitude_, the silent indifference of his
neighbours, and which is more poignant, his own heart, will tell him
that his complaint is unjust.
254. Thus far with regard to _working_ people; but much more necessary
is it to inculcate these principles in the minds of young men in the
middle rank of life, and to be more particular, in their case, with
regard to the care due to very young children, for here _servants_ come
in; and many are but too prone to think, that when they have handed
their children over to well-paid and able servants, they have _done
their duty by them_, than which there can hardly be a more mischievous
error. The children of the poorer people are, in general, much fonder of
their parents than those of the rich are of theirs: this fondness is
reciprocal; and the cause is, that the children of the former have, from
their very birth, had a greater share than those of the latter--of the
_personal_ attention, and of the never-ceasing endearments of their
parents.
255. I have before urged upon young married men, in the middle walks of
life, to _keep the servants out of the house as long as possible_; and
when they must come at last, when they must be had even to assist in
taking care of children, let them be _assistants_ in the most strict
sense of the word; let them not be _confided in_; let children never be
_left to them alone_; and the younger the child, the more necessary a
rigid adherence to this rule. I shall be told, perhaps, by some careless
father, or some play-haunting mother, that female servants are _women_,
and have the tender feelings of women. Very true; and, in general, as
good and kind in their _nature_ as the mother herself. But they are not
the _mothers_ of your children, and it is not in nature that they should
have the care and anxiety adequate to the necessity of the case. Out of
the immediate care and personal superintendence of one or the other of
the parents, or of some trusty _relation_, no young child ought to be
suffered to be, if there be, at whatever sacrifice of ease or of
property, any possibility of preventing it: because, to insure, if
possible, the perfect form, the straight limbs, the sound body, and the
sane mind of your children, is the very first of all your duties. To
provide fortunes for them; to make provision for their future fame; to
give them the learning necessary to the calling for which you destine
them: all these may be duties, and the last is a duty; but a duty far
greater than, and prior to, all these, is the duty of neglecting nothing
within your power to insure them a _sane mind in a sound and undeformed
body_. And, good God! how many are the instances of deformed bodies, of
crooked limbs, of idiocy, or of deplorable imbecility, proceeding solely
from young children being left to the care of servants! One would
imagine, that one single sight of this kind to be seen, or heard of, in
a whole nation, would be sufficient to deter parents from the practice.
And what, then, must those parents feel, who have brought this life-long
sorrowing on themselves! When once the thing is _done_, to repent is
unavailing. And what is now the worth of all the ease and all the
pleasures, to enjoy which the poor sufferer was abandoned to the care of
servants!
256. What! can I plead _example_, then, in support of this rigid
precept? Did we, who have bred up a family of children, and have had
servants during the greater part of the time, _never_ leave a young
child to the care of servants? Never; no, not for _one single hour_.
Were we, then, tied constantly to the house with them? No; for we
sometimes took them out; but one or the other of us _was always with
them_, until, in succession, they were able to take good care of
themselves; or until the elder ones were able to take care of the
younger, and then _they_ sometimes stood sentinel in our stead. How
could we _visit_ then? Why, if both went, we bargained beforehand to
take the children with us; and if this were a thing not to be proposed,
one of us went, and the other stayed at home, the latter being very
frequently my lot. From this we _never_ once deviated. We cast aside all
consideration of convenience; all calculations of expense; all thoughts
of pleasure of every sort. And, what could have equalled the reward that
we have received for our care and for our unshaken resolution in this
respect?
257. In the rearing of children, there is _resolution_ wanting as well
as _tenderness_. That parent is not _truly_ affectionate who wants the
_courage_ to do that which is sure to give the child temporary pain. A
great deal, in providing for the _health_ and _strength_ of children,
depends upon their being duly and daily washed, when well, in cold water
from head to foot. Their cries testify to what a degree they _dislike_
this. They squall and kick and twist about at a fine rate; and many
mothers, too many, neglect this, partly from reluctance to encounter the
squalling, and partly, and _much too often_, from what I will not call
_idleness_, but to which I cannot apply a milder term than _neglect_.
Well and duly performed, it is an hour's good tight work; for, besides
the bodily labour, which is not very slight when the child gets to be
five or six months old, there is the _singing_ to _overpower the voice
of the child_. The moment the stripping of the child used to begin, the
singing used to begin, and the latter never ceased till the former had
ceased. After having heard this go on with all my children, ROUSSEAU
taught me the _philosophy_ of it. I happened, by accident, to look into
his EMILE, and there I found him saying, that the nurse subdued the
voice of the child and made it quiet, _by drowning its voice in hers_,
and thereby making it perceive that it could _not be heard_, and that to
continue to cry _was of no avail_. 'Here, Nancy,' said I (going to her
with the book in my hand), 'you have been a great philosopher all your
life, without either of us knowing it.' A _silent_ nurse is a poor soul.
It is a great disadvantage to the child, if the mother be of a very
silent, placid, quiet turn. The singing, the talking to, the tossing and
rolling about, that mothers in general practise, are very beneficial to
the children: they give them exercise, awaken their attention, animate
them, and rouse them to action. It is very bad to have a child even
carried about by a dull, inanimate, silent servant, who will never talk,
sing or chirrup to it; who will but just carry it about, always kept in
the same attitude, and seeing and hearing nothing to give it life and
spirit. It requires nothing but a dull creature like this, and the
washing and dressing left to her, to give a child the rickets, and make
it, instead of being a strong straight person, tup-shinned, bow-kneed,
or hump-backed; besides other ailments not visible to the eye.
By-and-by, when the deformity begins to appear, the doctor is called in,
but it is too late: the mischief is done; and a few months of neglect
are punished by a life of mortification and sorrow, not wholly
unaccompanied with shame.
258. It is, therefore, a very spurious kind of _tenderness_ that
prevents a mother from doing the things which, though disagreeable to
the child, are so necessary to its lasting well-being. The washing daily
in the morning is a great thing; cold water winter or summer, and _this
never left to a servant_, who has not, in such a case, either the
patience or the courage that is necessary for the task. When the washing
is over, and the child dressed in its day-clothes, how gay and cheerful
it looks! The exercise gives it appetite, and then disposes it to rest;
and it sucks and sleeps and grows, the delight of all eyes, and
particularly those of the parents. 'I can't bear _that squalling_!' I
have heard men say; and to which I answer, that 'I can't bear _such
men_!' There are, I thank God, very few of them; for, if they do not
always _reason_ about the matter, honest nature teaches them to be
considerate and indulgent towards little creatures so innocent and so
helpless and so unconscious of what they do. And the _noise_: after all,
why should it _disturb_ a man? He knows the exact cause of it: he knows
that it is the unavoidable consequence of a great good to his child, and
of course to him: it lasts but an hour, and the recompense instantly
comes in the looks of the rosy child, and in the new hopes which every
look excites. It never disturbed _me_, and my occupation was one of
those most liable to disturbance by noise. Many a score papers have I
written amidst the noise of children, and in my whole life never bade
them be still. When they grew up to be big enough to gallop about the
house, I have, in wet weather, when they could not go out, written the
whole day amidst noise that would have made some authors half mad. It
never annoyed me at all. But a Scotch piper, whom an old lady, who lived
beside us at Brompton, used to pay to come and play _a long_ tune every
day, I was obliged to bribe into a breach of contract. That which you
are _pleased with_, however noisy, does not disturb you. That which is
indifferent to you has not more effect. The rattle of coaches, the
clapper of a mill, the fall of water, leave your mind undisturbed. But
the sound of the _pipe_, awakening the idea of the lazy life of the
piper, better paid than the labouring man, drew the mind aside from its
pursuit; and, as it really was a _nuisance_, occasioned by the money of
my neighbour, I thought myself justified in abating it by the same sort
of means.