Were it not necessary I would make no mention of my child-life, but
this record would be incomplete were I to pass it over in silence. All
that I can do is to dwell upon it as briefly as possible.
My mother died a few weeks after I was born; my father waited but
twelve months before he married again, and in less than two years his
second wife was a widow. Thus I lost both my parents at too early an
age to retain the slightest recollection of them. By his second
marriage my father had one child, a boy; my half-brother's name was
Louis, and by him and my stepmother I was regarded with aversion--by
her, indeed, with a much stronger feeling, for when I was old enough
to reason out things for myself I learned that she hated me.
My father had made a fortune by commerce, and in his will he behaved
justly to those who had a claim upon him. Half of his fortune was left
to his widow, without restriction of any kind except that she was to
rear and educate me, and that her home was to be mine until I was
twenty-one years of age; then I was to become entitled to my share,
one-fourth, which was so securely invested and protected that she
could not touch it. The remaining one-fourth was left to Louis in the
same way. Two of my father's friends were appointed trustees, to see
to the proper disposition of his children's inheritance.
In the conditions of this will my stepmother found a double cause for
resentment. She was angry in the first place that the whole of the
fortune was not bequeathed to her, and in the second place that she
was not appointed trustee; and she visited her anger upon me, an
unoffending child, who could have had no hand in what she conceived to
be a plot against her. Upon her son she lavished a full measure of
passionate love, while I was allowed to roam about, neglected and
uncared for. Nothing was too good for Louis, nothing too bad for me.
He had the best room in the house to sleep in, I the worst; he was
always beautifully dressed, and I was made to wear his cast-off
clothes. It was the breast of the fowl for Louis, the drumstick for
me, and dainty dishes were prepared for him which I was not allowed to
taste; my meals were measured out, and if I asked for more I was
refused. He was taken to theatres and entertainments, I was left at
home. His Christmas trees were at once a delight and a torture to me.
They could not prevent me from looking and longing, but not a toy fell
to my share. The heartless woman told me that I had robbed her and her
son of their inheritance, and I have no doubt that she had nursed this
grievance into a conviction. "You are nothing but a pest and a
nuisance," she said. And as a pest and a nuisance I was treated. In
these circumstances it would have been strange indeed if my child-life
had been happy.
I was glad when I was sent to school, and I did not look forward to
the holidays with any feeling of pleasure. Studious by nature, I did
well at school, and good reports of my progress were sent home, which
my stepmother tore up before my face. Notwithstanding this systematic
oppression I strove to win affection from her and Louis, but every
advance I made met with cold repulse, the result being that we became
less and less friendly. At length I gave up the attempt, and suffering
from a sense of injustice preserved my self-respect by an assertion of
independence. Instead of bending meekly beneath the lash, I stood up
boldly, and seized and broke it. This really happened. One scene,
which lives in my memory, will serve as an illustration.
I do not say it in praise of myself, because these things come by
nature, but I have a tender feeling towards all living creatures, and
cannot bear to see them tortured. To Louis it was a delight, and even
his pets did not escape when he grew tired of them. He had some white
rabbits, and one day I saw him bind all the limbs of one of them round
its body till it resembled a ball in form. Then he threw it high in
the air again and again, and frequently failing to catch it the poor
thing fell upon the gravel path in the garden till it was covered with
blood. I was fourteen years of age at the time, Louis was twelve. I
darted forward, and picking up the wounded animal was loosening its
bonds, when he snatched it from me. I endeavored to take it from him,
telling him it was cruel to torture the helpless creature. We had a
struggle, and his screams brought his mother from the house. She fell
upon me, and dragged me away.
"See what he has done," said Louis, pointing to the bleeding rabbit,
which had fallen to the ground.
"You did it," I retorted.
"It's a lie," he screamed. "You did it, you did it."
It was not the first falsehood he had told by many to get me into
trouble. Panting with rage, my stepmother ran back to the house, and
returned with a cane she had often used upon me.
"I will punish you for the lie," she said. "How dare you say my
darling would do such a cruel thing? You are a disgrace to the name
you bear."
She flourished the cane; I stepped back.
"I have told the truth," I said, "and I don't intend to be punished
any more by you for faults I do not commit."
"You do not intend!" she answered, advancing towards me. "I will teach
you; I will teach you!"
Swish went the cane across my face; only once, for as she was about to
repeat the blow I wrested it from her, broke it, and threw it over the
garden wall. In a frenzy of ungovernable fury she seized the first
weapon that caught her eye--a gardener's spade--and attacked me with
it, and at the same moment Louis ran at me with a three-pronged rake.
He slipped and fell, and in his fall wounded himself with the prongs.
His cries of pain diverted his mother's attention from me; she flung
away the spade, and caught him in her arms. Alarmed at the sight of
blood dripping from his face I stepped forward to assist her.
"Keep off, you murderer!" she shrieked. "You have killed my boy! You
will come to the gallows!"
She flew into the house with Louis, and I saw nothing more of her that
day. Louis, as I afterwards learned, kept his room for a week; it was
not till months had passed that we met again, and then I noticed a
scar on his forehead which I was told he would carry with him to the
grave. From that time I was made to feel that I had two bitter enemies
in my father's house. Arrangements were made to keep me at school
during holidays, and I was not sorry for it. Once a year only was I
allowed to visit my home, and then I was shunned; my meals were served
to me in a separate room, and not the slightest attention was paid to
my wants. I grew to be accustomed to this, and took refuge in study,
longing for the day to arrive when I should be free. I recall the
conversation which took place on that day between my stepmother and
me.
"You have made arrangements, I presume," she commenced, "for residing
elsewhere?"
"I have been thinking what I had best do," I said.
"That is not what I asked you. It is perfectly immaterial to me what
you have been thinking of. I presume your arrangements to live
elsewhere are already made."
As a matter of fact they were not, but I could not pretend to
misunderstand her.
"You wish me to leave the house soon?" I said.
"At once," she replied, "without a moment's unnecessary delay. You
shall not eat another meal here. Your presence is hateful to me."
"I have known that all my life," I said, mournfully.
"Then why have you remained so long?" she asked, speaking with angry
vehemence. "A man with a particle of spirit in him would have gone
away years ago, but you, like the creature you are, have sponged upon
me to the last hour. You are twenty-one to-day, and I am no longer
legally obliged to keep you. Go, and disgrace yourself, as you are
sure to do."
"I shall never do that."
"It has to be proved," she retorted. "As if any one knowing you would
believe a word that passes your lips! We shall see your name in the
papers in connection with some scandalous affair."
"You are mistaken. I bear my father's name, and I would suffer a
hundred deaths rather than see it dragged through the mire."
"Swear it," she cried.
"I swear it. But, hating me as you do, why should you be so sensitive
about my good name?"
"Your good name!" she said, scornfully. "It is only because I bear it,
because Louis bears it, as well as you, that I exact the pledge from
you. Otherwise, do you think I care what becomes of you?"
"Truly," I said, "I believe it would rejoice you to hear the worst."
"It would." %
"I hope to disappoint you. On my solemn word of honor nothing that I
do shall ever make our name a theme for scandal or reproach."
"I hold you to that. We shall see whether there is any manhood in you,
or the least sense of honor. Now, go!"
"Cannot we part without enmity?" I asked.
Persecuted and wronged as I had been, some touch of sentiment--of
which I was not ashamed--moved me to the endeavor to soften the heart
of my dead father's wife.
"No, we cannot," she answered. "To ask it proves your mean spirit. But
do you think we shall forget you? We have something to remember you by
Be sure--be sure that it will not be forgotten while there is blood in
our veins."
"To what do you refer?"
"There is a scar on my Louis' face inflicted by you, which he will
bear with him to the grave."
"No, no," I cried. "It is not true to say I did it. I deplore the
accident, but it was caused by his own cruelty."
"How dare you utter the lie? It is not the first time; you said as
much on the day you tried to kill him. Yes, you would have murdered
him had I not been by. We shall remember you by that, and it shall be
evidence against you if there is ever occasion for it. Cruelty! My
darling Louis cruel! He has the tenderest heart. You coward--you
coward! Had he been as old and strong as you you would not have dared
to attack him. But that is the way with such as you--to strike only
the weak. Time will show--time will show! You are going into the
world; there is no longer a check upon you. There will be a woman,
perhaps, whom you will beat and torture. Oh, yes, you will do it; and
you will lie to the world and whine that the fault is hers. Let those
who stand by her come to me and Louis--we will give you a character;
you shall be exposed in your true light. I hate you--I hate you--I
hate you! May your life be a life of sorrow!"
And she flung herself from the room.
The time was to come when these cruel words were to be used against me
with cruel effect; there was something prophetic in their venom.
I did not see Louis before I left the house, and on that day I
commenced a new life.