CARE OF THE POWERS.--LOVE.
It appears to me, that much disappointment in the results of education,
as in other departments of life, arises from the confusion we fall into
about human affections,--mixing up things which do not belong to each
other, and then being disappointed at a mixed result. For instance, we
speak of love as if it were one affection; or at most of two kinds--one
a passion and the other an affection: whereas, there are many kinds of
love, as distinct from one another as hope and patience. Besides what is
commonly called the passion of love, there are other kinds which differ
as essentially from one another, as from this. It is commonly, but as I
think, hastily, supposed that a child's love of her doll is the same
affection which will be fixed hereafter on a schoolfellow, on her
parents, and on suffering fellow-creatures. It is supposed to be the
same affection, employed on different objects: and the parent is
perplexed and shocked when the little creature who cannot be parted from
her doll, shows indifference towards her family, and has no sympathy
with a beggar, or a sick neighbour. If the parents will put away their
perplexity and dismay, and set themselves to learn from what is before
their eyes, they may discover what will comfort and direct them.
With the passion of love, as it is called, we have nothing to do here,
but to give an anecdote by the way. A little girl was telling a story to
her father, when they fell in with the kind of perplexity, I have spoken
of. She told of a knight who once loved a lady, and of all the hard and
troublesome things the knight did to gratify the wishes of the lady: and
how, at last, when the lady did not choose to marry him, he carried her
off, and shut her up in a castle, and gave her everything he could think
of to make her happy: but she could not enjoy all these fine things,
because she pined to get home. "Oh!" said the father, "she did wish to
get out, then." "Yes! she begged and prayed of the knight to let her go
home: but he loved her so much that he would not." "Well: but you said
he did everything he could to gratify her: why was that?" "Because he
loved her so much." "What! he did everything to please her because he
loved her so much: and then he would not let her go home as she wished,
because he loved her so much! How can that be?" The child thought for
awhile, and then said "I suppose he had two loves for her: and one made
him do almost everything that she liked; and the other made him want
that she should do what _he_ liked."
If parents could see thus plainly the difference between the several
kinds of love which their children should experience, it would be well
for all parties. A mother who intensely loves her little prattler, is
mortified that the child appears to have but a very moderate love for
her in return: and she comforts herself with the hope that the child's
affection will strengthen as it grows, till it becomes a fair return for
her own. She does not perceive that the child already entertains an
affection much like her own,--only, not for her, but for something else.
A little girl who had to lose her leg, promised to try to lie still if
she might have her doll in her arms: and wonderfully still she lay,
clasping her doll. When it was over, the surgeon thoughtlessly said,
"Now shall I cut off your doll's leg?" "Oh! no, no!" cried the child, in
an agony of mind far greater than she had shown before: "not my doll's
leg;--don't hurt my doll!" And she could hardly be comforted. Here was
an affection the same as the mother's,--and as strong and true: but of a
different kind from that which children can ever feel for parents; for
it is purely instinctive, while the love of children for parents is made
up of many elements, and must slowly grow out of not only a natural
power of attachment, but a long experience of hope, reliance, veneration
and gratitude.
This instinctive love is a pretty thing to witness: as in the case of a
very little child who had a passionate love of flowers. She would
silently carry out her little chair in the summer morning, and sit down
in the middle of the flower-bed, and be overheard softly saying, "Come
you little flower--open, you little flower! When will you open your
pretty blue eye?" This is charming; and so it is to see an infant
fondling a kitten, or feeding the brood of chickens, and a girl singing
lullaby to her doll. But it must ever be remembered, that this is the
lowest form of human affection till it is trained into close connection
with the higher sentiments. What it is when left to itself--and it will
too probably be left to itself by parents who are satisfied with any
manifestation of affection in children;--what it is when left to itself
may be seen in some disgusting spectacles which occasionally meet our
eyes among the mature and the old. We see it in the young mother who
spoils her child--who loves her child with so low a love, that she
indulges it to its hurt. We see it in the aged mother, who loves her
manly son as a bear loves its cub;--only with more selfishness, for she
cannot consider his good, but lavishes ill-humour and fondness on him by
turns. We see it in the man who gives his mind to the comfort of his
horse; and never a look or a word to a hungry neighbour. We see it in a
woman, who opens her arms to every dog or cat that comes near her, whose
eye brightens, and whose cheek mantles while she feeds her canaries,
though she never had a friendship, nor cares for any human being but
such as are under five years old.
Thus low is this instinctive affection when left to itself. But it is
inestimable when linked on to other and higher kinds of love, and
especially to that which is the highest of all, and worthy to gather
into itself all the rest,--benevolence. It is easy to form this link
when its formation is desired: and it is terribly easy to neglect it
when its importance is not perceived. The child must be led to desire
the good of the cat, or bird, or doll, to the sacrifice of its own
inclinations. It must not hurt pussy, or throw dolly into a corner,
(every child believing that dolly can feel) nor frighten the bird: and
moreover, it must be made to discharge punctually, even to its own
inconvenience, the duty of feeding the live favourite, and cherishing
the doll. This leads on naturally to a cherishing and forbearing love of
the baby-brother or sister: and next, perhaps, the parents may be
surprised by an offer of affection in sickness which never showed itself
while they were in health. A child who receives caresses carelessly, or
runs away from them to caress the kitten, (which, perhaps, runs away in
its turn,) will come on tiptoe to his mother's knee when she is ill, and
stroke her face, or nurse her foot in his lap, or creep up into her easy
chair, and nestle there quietly for an hour at a time: and yet perhaps
this same child will appear as indifferent as before when his mother is
well again, and does not seem to want his good offices.
From home, the affection may next be led a little further abroad. This
must be done very cautiously, and the expansion of benevolence by no
means hurried or made a task of. I knew a little girl who, at four years
old, was full of domestic benevolence--capable of denying herself noise
and amusement on fitting occasions, and never happier than when waiting
on and cherishing a sick person. One day she seemed so much interested
about a poor woman who had come to beg, that her mother took her into
consultation about what could be done for the woman and her children.
When told how nearly naked the poor children were, and how they had no
more clothes to put on, though the weather was growing colder and
colder, she was asked whether she would not like to give her blue frock
to one of them. In a low earnest voice, she said "No." The case was
again represented to her; and when, with some little shrinking, she
again said "No," her mother saw that she had gone rather too far, and
had tried the young faculty of benevolence beyond its strength. She
watched and waited, and is repaid. In her daughter, warm domestic
affections co-exist with a more than ordinary benevolence.
This benevolence is the third form in which we have already seen what is
called love. Can anything be more clearly marked than the difference
between these three;--the love that leads to marriage; fondness for
objects which can be idolised; and benevolence which has no fondness in
it, but desires the diffusion of happiness, and acts independently of
personal regards? None of these yield the sort of affection which the
heart of the parent desires, and which is essential to family happiness.
A child may kill its pet bird, or cat, with kindness, and go out into
the street in the early morning, with its halfpenny in its hand (as I
have known a child do) to do good with it to somebody;--a child may have
these two kinds of love strong in him, and yet show but a weak
attachment to the people about him. This attachment is another kind of
love from those we have been considering. It is all-important to the
character of the individual, and to the happiness of the family circle:
and it is therefore of consequence that its nature should be understood,
and its exercise wisely cared for.
It is some time before the infant shows attachment to any one. There are
many signs of hope and fear in an infant before it gives any token of
affection; its arms are held out first to its nurse; and she usually
continues the one to whom the child clings, and from whom it will not be
separated. Beyond the nurse, the child's attachments sometimes appear
unaccountable. It will be happy with some one person in the house, and
make a difficulty of going to any one else: and the reason of this may
not be plain to anybody. Happy is the mother if she be the one; and a
severe trial it is to a loving mother when she is not the one. Of
course, if the misfortune be owing to any fault in herself,--if she be
irritable, stern, or in any way teasing to the child,--she cannot wonder
that he does not love her. If she be tender, gentle, playful, and wise,
and still her child loves some one else in the house better, it is a
sore trial, certainly; but it must be made the best of. Of course, the
mother will strive to discover what it is in another person that
attaches the child; and if she can attain the quality, she will. But it
is probably that which cannot be attained by express efforts,--a power
of entering into the little mind, and meeting its thoughts and feelings.
Some persons have this power naturally much more than others; and
practice may have given them great facility in using it; while the sense
of inexperience, and the strong anxiety that a young mother has, may
easily be a restraint on her faculties in dealing with her child. I have
heard the mothers of large families declare (in the most private
conversation) in so many instances, that their younger children are of a
higher quality than the older, and this from an age so early as to
prevent the difference being attributed to experience in teaching, that
I have been led to watch and think on the subject: and I think that one
powerful cause is that the mother has naturally more freedom and
playfulness and tact in her intercourse with her younger children than
with the elder, and thereby fixes their attachment more strongly: and
there are no bounds to the good which arises from strong affections in a
child. Happy the mother who is the object of her child's strongest love
from the beginning!--happy, that is, if she makes a good use of her
privilege. She must never desire more love than the child has to give.
The most that it can give will be less than she would like, and far less
than her own for it: but she will not obtain more, but only endanger
what she has, by making the child conscious of his affections, and by
requiring tokens which do not manifest themselves spontaneously. It
should be enough for a mother that her child comes to her with his
little troubles and pleasures, and shows by his whole behaviour that she
is of more importance to him than any one else in the world. If it be
so, there will be times when he will spring into her lap, and throw his
arms round her neck, and give her the thrilling kiss that she longs to
have every day and every hour. But the sweetness of these caresses will
be lost when they cease to be spontaneous; and the child will leave off
springing into the lap, if it is to be teased for kisses when there.
There are few products of the human mind which are to be had good upon
compulsion; and affection least of all. I knew a little boy who was
brought home from being at nurse in the country, and shown to his
conscientious, anxious, but most formal mother. The child clung to his
nurse's neck, hid his face on her shoulder, and screamed violently. But
his mother's voice was heard above his noise, saying solemnly, "Look at
me, my dear. Nurse is going away, and you will not see her any more. You
must love _me_ now." Whether she thus gained her child's love, my
readers may conjecture.
The mother who is first in her child's affection is under the serious
responsibility of imparting the treasure to others. She takes her whole
household into her own heart; and she must open her little one's heart
to take in all likewise. She must associate all in turn in his pursuits
and pleasures, till his love has spread through the house, and he can be
happy and cherished in every corner of it.
The mother who sees some one else more beloved than herself,--the
servant, perhaps, or an elder child of her own,--must not lose heart,
much less temper, or all is lost. It is possible that her turn may never
come: but it is far more probable that it will, if she knows how to wait
for it. She must go on doing her part as perseveringly and, if it may
be, as cheerfully as if her heart was satisfied; and sooner or later the
child will discover, never to forget, what a friend she is. Moreover, if
her mind and manner are not such as to win a child in his early infancy,
they may suit his needs at a later stage of his mind. I have observed
that the mothers who are most admirable at some seasons of their
children's lives fall off at others. I have seen a mother who had
extraordinary skill in bringing out and training her children's
faculties before they reached their teens, and who was all-sufficient
for them then, fail them sadly as a friend and companion in the
important years which follow seventeen. And I have seen a mother who
could make no way with her children in their early years, and who keenly
felt how nearly indifferent they were to her, while her whole soul and
mind were devoted to them,--I have seen such a mother idolised by her
daughters when they became wise and worthy enough to have her for a
friend. I mention these things for comfort and encouragement: and who is
more in need of comfort and encouragement than the mother who, loving
her child as mothers should, meets with not only a less than adequate,
but a less than natural return?
There is one case more sad and more solemn than this; the case of the
unloving and unloved child. There are some few human beings in whom the
power of attachment is so weak that they stand isolated in the world,
and seem doomed to a hermit existence amidst the very throng of human
life. If such are neglected, they are lost. They must sink into a slough
of selfishness, and perish. And none are so likely to be neglected as
those who neither love nor win love. If such an one is not neglected, he
may become an able and useful being, after all; and it is for the
parents to try this, in a spirit of reverence for his mysterious nature,
and of pity for the privations of his heart. They will search out and
cherish, by patient love, such little power of attachment as he has: and
they will perhaps find him capable of general kindliness, and the wide
interests of benevolence, though the happiness of warm friendships and
family endearment is denied him. Such an one can never take his place
among the highest rank of human beings, nor can know the sweetest
happiness that life can yield. But by the generous love of his parents,
and of all whom they can influence to do his nature justice, his life
may be made of great value to himself and others, and he may become
respected for his qualities, as well as for his misfortune.