MARY BARNES
I see her still, in her plain black dress, coming towards the castle
from the landing-stage of the steamer, and crossing the quadrangle with
soft, noiseless tread, as gentle and calm as the breath of the evening
breeze, bringing with her an atmosphere of comfort and peace of which we
became conscious even before she had crossed the threshold.
We were looking out for her with impatience and some misgivings, my
brother Wilhelm and I, for the advent of a new nurse is an event of no
small importance in children’s lives, and already, scarce three and four
years of age as we were respectively, we had undergone the trial of
parting with the dear old one who had made herself so justly beloved,
and whose place was taken by a younger woman, whom we detested with
equal vehemence and on equally good grounds. So we ensconced ourselves
firmly in the broad window-sill to have a better view of the new-comer,
wondering to ourselves which of her two predecessors she would resemble.
Our doubts were dispelled even before Barnes entered the house; the
quick, unerring instinct of childhood told us that many happy days were
in store for us in the care of this good, kind soul, who came along as
noiselessly as a leaf wafted hither by the wind. I do not think she was
at all beautiful--in point of fact rather a plain-featured elderly
woman, with at times a decided squint; but our eyes had quickly
discerned the beauty of the soul under that homely exterior, and lovely
she ever remained to us. We saw in her a sort of guardian angel,
shielding us from every peril that might beset the path of childhood,
watching over our health with untiring zeal, and entirely wrapped up in
our happiness. For herself she seemed to ask nothing, to want nothing,
to have no wishes or desires beyond those that affected the well-being
of her little charges. That the motherly instinct should be so strong in
her, and should, so to say, pervade her whole person, was the less
surprising considering that she had, as she herself told us, from the
age of ten played the part of the mother they had lost to her own
younger brothers and sisters. She was the ideal nurse; scrupulous in the
fulfilment of all her duties, and her honest simplicity coupled with
such innate delicacy of feeling as to lend a certain refinement to her
whole person. She was at her happiest as she sat, needle in hand,
watching our games, and from time to time laying down her work, the more
thoroughly to enter into our merriment; we might laugh and romp to our
heart’s content, her calm was unruffled, her patience inexhaustible. Our
childish intuition had not been at fault in foreseeing that under her
kindly sway our nursery would once more become a little paradise, the
dearest corner for us in the whole house. We should have asked nothing
better than to be left there as long as possible; but alas! the
governess was already on the way to whom I was to be handed over, and
who was antipathetic to me from the very first, her cleverness availing
nothing to conceal that she was both underbred and ill-tempered. I fled
as often as I could from her harshness and bad manners, back to the dear
old nursery--back to the good angel, Barnes! I was surely somewhat young
to have been removed at all from those gentle influences, but the step
had been judged a wise one by my parents, in order to turn to account as
early as possible the magnificent health and excellent abilities with
which I was blessed. To this young, but physically fragile couple--the
valetudinarian father, pale, melancholy, of sedentary and studious
habits, and the mother, whose own natural liveliness was being
undermined by the attacks of an insidious and baffling malady--to them
there may well have been something disconcerting and almost alarming in
the temperament of such a child, the quintessence of health, restless as
quicksilver and blithe as a bird, in whose young limbs the joy of living
pulsed wildly and on whose lips snatches of song were forever
alternating with ringing laughter! It cannot be wondered at if they only
saw in my high spirits a sure sign of frivolity, and that on every
occasion on which my indomitable will showed itself, I should simply
have been condemned as headstrong and obstinate.
I seized, then, every possible opportunity to rush off to the nursery,
to shake myself free of all fetters and restraint--to breathe freely
once more! I kept up the habit for some time of going every now and then
to spend a quiet hour with Barnes, helping her with her mending and
sewing, for her needle was never idle, and it was so soothing to sit
and talk with her. I have said how she watched over us, tending us with
such admirable care that my brother’s health improved from the day she
entered our house. But all that was nothing compared to the superhuman
devotion, the heroic self-sacrifice of the life which began for her from
the moment of poor little Otto’s birth. She it was who first discovered
what was wrong with the unfortunate child, and with tenderness and
loving care that are beyond all praise and which words are inadequate to
describe, she gave herself up heart and soul to his service, mitigating
as far as might be the terrible sufferings that made a martyrdom of his
short life. Day and night she was at her post, indefatigable,
uncomplaining, holding him in her arms for hours at a time to ease his
pain and enable him to breathe with a little less difficulty, her whole
thought how to bring some relief to the poor tortured little frame. What
those tortures were, none knew so well as the faithful Barnes, and I
have therefore chiefly borrowed her own simple words, when I have tried
to tell the story of my poor little brother’s life. He did not live to
complete his twelfth year, but in that short space of time he had
suffered so unutterably and with so little respite, one could not have
wished the trial to be prolonged. Hardest of all it was to his devoted
nurse to leave him before the end, but even that sacrifice was demanded
of her, my mother believing it to be for the boy’s good and all
important for the formation of his character that he should not be left
too long under feminine control. Just as she had never complained of
fatigue or discomfort during all the sleepless nights and weary days in
which she had watched beside him, so now this hardest trial brought no
murmur to her lips. She accepted it with the same pious resignation,
bravely hiding under a smiling face her own aching heart, in order to
soften the pangs of separation to her beloved foster-child. Otto had
always called her Nana, and Nana she remained for us, even after she had
left us altogether to take charge of the nursery of the Grand Duchess of
Baden, in whose service she died.
But before the end came for Otto, Barnes was sent for once more, and
stayed with him some days, days unspeakably precious to both, until all
was over. And again she had the courage, the supreme courage of true
affection, to smile as she bade him that last farewell!
Were it not for my profound conviction, that in publishing these
reminiscences, I am but extending to a larger circle of friends and
sympathisers the confidence already reposed in some, I should never have
the courage to throw open the sacred precincts of the Past. But the
lesson of these lives may be useful thus, and bring hope and comfort to
souls still fainting under their heavy burden.
Above all do I feel it a duty, when I hear so much said of the
worthlessness of human nature, to tell of the good which I have
witnessed and experienced. Fate has perhaps in this dealt more kindly
with me than with most, for I have met far more good than evil, and have
seldom been disappointed and deceived where I have bestowed affection
and trust.
Can one even believe in absolute malevolence? May not those who appear
animated by ill-will sometimes be simply mistaken? Surely the
noble-minded Lamartine was right, when he spoke of “les pauvres
méchants!” With some of them it is perhaps sheer clumsiness; they think
to show their affection, but its object is crushed to death by it, as
surely as the victim of a bear’s uncouth embrace!
How should those who are born with a bear’s ungainly paws, bear the
branch of palm or scatter lilies throughout the world! There are a few,
like our good Barnes, whose hands were made to carry lilies. Wherever
she turned, balsam sprang forth. Her own life was joyless, but for the
comfort it brought to others, and therein she found abiding happiness.
Barnes lies buried in the church at Meinau, and a tablet with a most
touching and beautiful inscription is put up to her memory. But what is
that beside the tablet on which her memory is engraved within my
heart!--I still see her with her eyes riveted on Otto’s face, following
every change in it with an expression of the deepest concern, and the
words, “that poor child!” ever and anon breaking involuntarily from her
lips. Of herself, her own sufferings, her own fatigue, never a word; it
was always of _him_ she spoke, of his marvellous patience, his
unexampled fortitude. Surely she must be rewarded now, in seeing him no
longer writhing with pain, but radiant in health and youthful beauty,
having shuffled off this mortal coil, to live on triumphant with the
life of the spirit.