_Metanoia_
WHEN I see what a little Way the Solemnisation of Matrimony in the Common
Prayer Book lies from the Burial-service for the Dead, (only separated
by the Order for the Visitation of the Sick,) it makes me think how
sometimes in actual Life Marriages and Funerals seem to tread upon the
Heels of one another. Scarce were the Bills for Master _Braidfoot’s_
Wedding-dinner paid, when my dear Mother, who had been fast but gently
sinking, departed this Life without a Sigh. I had left her much as usual
the Night before; but in the Morning was aware of a grey Shadow over her
Face, unlike Anything I had yet seen, and impossible to describe, that
made me sensible of the Presence of Death. My Father supported her in
his Arms, Master _Blower_ prayed aloud beside her, I bathed her Face
with Vinegar, and _Dolly_ ran for the Doctor; but just as he crossed our
Threshold, she gently breathed her last.
How empty the House seemed! For, though a Person may take no active Part
in its Business, yet a Sense of their _Nearness_ is accompanied by a
constant Feeling of Companionship, such as I think we might feel with
regard to our HEAVENLY FATHER if we would look into the Fact of His
being constantly about us a little more narrowly. Excellent Master
_Blower_ was a Tower of Strength to us under this Bereavement; knowing
how to comfort a Man better than I could, and possessed of more Calmness
and Composedness than I could be expected to have, though he said his
Heart bled for us all the while. But he set before us the Blessedness of
my Mother in her glorified State so strongly, that it was impossible not
to feel that our Loss was her Gain.
While the House was yet darkened, I heard a hushed Voice that had become
strange to my Ears of late, saying to my Father in the next Room, “I am
sure, Uncle, if you would look upon it as a Mark of Respect.” ... And my
Father, in Tears, made Answer to him, “I should, _Mark_, I should! I
shall be glad for you to accompany us to the Grave; for, indeed, my Boy,
she was very kindly affectioned towards you.”
And then cried again; and, I think, _Mark_ cried too. It was Balm to my
Heart to think he was going to the Funeral. An ill-advised Deed had in
the first Instance banished him from us, and, in Time, he had not only
become reconciled to his Banishment, but, from what I made out of the
Report of others, had learnt to rejoice in it. The first Signal of a
better Frame was his _returning_ to us, which cost him an Effort, and
then _repaid itself_. Master _Blower_ called it _Metanoia_, whatever
that meant.
_Violet_ was very kind to me. All her old Affection for me now returned;
and she would bring her Work and sit with me for Hours. Also the
_Benskins_ and _Braidfoots_ were kind in their Way, though after a
homely Fashion. But one that better understood comforting was nearer at
Hand. One Evening, I heard Master _Blower_, as he met my Father on the
Stairs, say, “Why, old Friend, we have lived many a Year under the same
Roof, and have never broken Bread together yet! Bring _Cherry_ with you,
and sup with me to-night!”
My disconsolate Father, being taken by Surprise, had no Power to refuse
the Honour; _Dolly_ was sent for a Crab, and we spent a very peaceful
and pleasant Evening together, not ended without Prayer. As we left, the
kind Man said, “Well, Friend, since you won’t ask me, I’ll ask myself to
sup to-morrow Night with _you_.” And so he did; and many a rich and
learned Man might have envied us the discreet and pleasant Guest that
honoured our poor Table. From that Time, we thus spent two Evenings
together every Week.
By this Time my Friend _Kitty_ had taken upon her all the Importance of
a well-to-do Tradesman’s Wife, which fitted her as well as one of her
Husband’s best Pair of Gloves. Instead of Stuff and Dimity, flowered
Chintz and even Silk was now the Wear! looped well up, too, to shew the
grass-green quilted Petticoat and clocked Stockings. Nothing, Master
_Braidfoot_ thought, was too good for her. And instead of its being
“good Husband,” “honoured Master _Braidfoot_,” so bashfully spoken, as
at first, now it was “dear _Hugh_,” “sweet _Hugh_,” or “_Hugh_” by
itself alone. And happy, without a Cloud, would the Lives of this worthy
Couple have been but for the Hinderances of Mistress _Armytage_. Now it
was her Parsimony in Something her Son-in-Law could well afford and
desired to have; now her Expensiveness in Something for which she dared
not give him the Bill; and then he would find it out, and rate her, half
in Sport, and then she would take Offence in right Earnest. Then _Kitty_
would cry, and then her Mother would say she knew she was only in the
Way, and would go off for a While to her old Quarters. When she got
there, her Tongue lay not still, like a good House-dog in its Kennel,
but must needs yap, yap, like a little Terrier, that flies at every
Comer; and, to every Neighbour along the _Borough_ it was, “Oh, you know
not what a _Turk_...!”—“My poor, poor Daughter!”—“Temper of an
Angel!”—“Will wear her out at last!”—“Never know a Man before he’s
married!”—“Peace and Poverty for my Money” ... and such-like.
Meanwhile, _Hugh_ and _Kitty_ were as merry as Crickets in their own
Chimney-corner, little guessing or caring what an ill Report of their
Fireside was spreading all along _Southwark_: and if _Hugh_ met e’er a
Neighbour’s Wife that gave him a dark Look, as much as to say, “Ah! for
all your blythe Face, I know what I know!” all he did was to cry,
“Neighbour, how do you do?” in a jovial Voice that rang along the
Street. Thus the Husband and Wife would go on, mighty comfortable by
themselves, till some favourite Dish, perhaps, of Mistress _Armytage’s_
would be set on Table, and _Kitty_, with a Tear in her Eye, would say,
“Poor, dear Mother is so fond of a roast Pig.” “Set it down before the
Fire again, then,” says _Hugh_, “while I run and fetch the old
Gentlewoman.... I’ll be back in five Minutes.”—And, in about a Quarter
of an Hour, sure enough, he would return with the Widow on his Arm, and
there would be a little kissing and crying, and then all would sit down
in high Good-humour with one another, and Things would go on quietly
till _Hugh_ and his Mother-in-Law quarrelled again.
About this Time, dear, good Master _Blower_, who had hitherto led a
removed Life among us, hidden and yet known, ministering and being
ministered unto by many of his old Flock on the Sly, did by some
Indiscretion or Misadventure provoke the Notice of the Powers then
riding paramount, and, coming Home to us in great Perturbation one Day,
told us he must at once take Ship to _Holland_ in a Vessel going down
the River the next Morning. This was greatly to the Sorrow of my Father
and myself; and some Tears of mine fell on his little Packet of clean
Linen as I made it up for him; and I thought it no Wrong to slip into
the easy Slippers I knew he would not fail to take out at the Journey’s
End, a little Purse with seven Gold _Caroluses_ in it, that I had long
been hoarding for some good Use. The Wind was light, but yet fair: there
was a Remedy against Sea-sickness in my Father’s Shop-window that I had
not much Faith in, it had lain so long in the Sun, even supposing there
ever were any Virtue in it; however, I thought there could be no Harm in
just sewing it in the Lining of his Coat, according to the Directions
printed ... at least, so I thought at the Time, but afterwards I
observed I had made a Mistake, but it did no Harm, if no Good. And
Father gave him a Bottle of _Cognac_ Brandy, which really _had_ some
Virtue in it, so we did for him what we could, one Way or another. And
he packed up what few Papers he could carry, and burned others, and
locked up the rest, leaving them and his Books in my Charge, with his
Blessing. And so the good Man went.
[Illustration]
Often afterwards, when I was setting his Rooms in Order, and dusting his
Books, I would stand, with my Duster in my Hand, looking at the Table at
which he used to write, and the old Arm-chair in which he used to sit,
and fall into a Kind of Muse, till I almost seemed to see his large,
quiet, brown Eyes, that were set so far under the Shadow of his Brows,
and seemed lighted up, somehow, from within, looking up at me, and his
pleasant Face smiling at me, (he had a very sweet Smile, had Master
_Blower_,) and his pleasant Voice saying, “Well, _Cherry_, is it
Eating-time again, already?”
Now and then I would open one or other of his Books, and, if I chanced
upon Anything I understood and that interested me, would stand reading
on and on, till I was startled by hearing my Father call for me. At
length, he knew where to look for me; and took to laughing at me for
taking such a Turn for Study; but one Day he fell to reading one of
Master _Blower’s_ Books himself, and liked it so well, that, we being
but quiet Companions for one another, now there was so little to say, we
spent many an Hour, sitting over-against each other, each with our Book.
One Day, as I sat sewing in the Parlour, and my Father was cutting a
Man’s Hair, I heard his Customer say, “My _Lord Protector’s_ very ill,
and like to die.”
“Don’t believe it,” said my Father; “_he’ll_ never die in his Bed.”
Which, for once, was a Presage that did not come true.
“Well, he seems to think so too,” said the other; “at all Events he’s
having Thanks put up for his Recovery, while yet he’s as bad as can be;
which looks premature.”
“That’s the Faith of _Assurance_, I call it,” said my Father dryly.
“Well, now, what may be the Matter with his Grace?—a Pain in his Heart,
or his Head, or what?”
“A tertian Fever, they say,” returned his Companion; “you know his
favourite Daughter died scarce a Month back, and, in her last Moments,
she told him many a Thing that no one had had Courage to tell him
before, and expostulated with him on his Ways, and charged him with
slaying the LORD’S Anointed; which, ’tis thought, he took so much to
Heart as that his troubled Mind invited if it did not occasion this
Illness.”
“Well,” said my Father, “I’d rather be the dead King than the dying
Protector. What has become now of all his Trust in the LORD, and inward
Assurance? Does the Grandeur he has earned with so much Guilt, smooth
his sick Pillow? Is the death he so boldly confronted on the Battlefield
quite so easy to face, now he lies quiet and watchful all Night, with
his Silk Curtains drawn about him? Does he feel as secure of being one
of the Elect, unable to fall into final Reprobation, as when he was
fighting his Way up to a dead Man’s Chair? Ah, Sir, we may ask one
another these Questions, but our own Hearts must give their only
Answer.”
In Fact, _Oliver Cromwell_ presently breathed his last, amidst a Tempest
of Wind and Rain, that seemed a Type of his own tempestuous Character.
And in his Place was set up one that did not fill it: his quiet and
peaceable Son, _Richard_, who had gone on his Knees to his Father to
pray that the _King’s_ Head might not be cut off. He was gentle,
generous, and humane; but those were no Recommendations in the Eyes of
the Army or Parliament, so he was presently set aside. Whereon ensued
such Squabblings and Heart-burnings, I was glad I was not a Man.
One Day, _Mark_ came in, all flushed and eager, looking like his old
self; and “Uncle!” says he, “there’s a brave Time coming again for
Hairdressers! It’s my Fancy, Wigs will presently be in, (for Cavalier
Curls won’t grow in a Night!) and then you’ll have a Market for that Lot
of Hair that you and I put so carefully aside.”
“How so, _Mark_?” says my Father.
“Why,” says _Mark_, “_honest George Monk_, as the Soldiers call him, is
marching up to _London_, and you have always said he was a Royalist in
his Heart.”
“Heaven defend us from Siege and civil War,” says Father; “we’ve had too
much of them already. Better one Master than many, even such a Master as
old _Noll_; and if General _Monk_ is coming up to seat himself in his
Place, ’twill be better for us than these City Tumults, wherein a Parcel
of young ’Prentices that deserve a good Threshing, get together and
clamour for Things they know not, till grown Men are forced to put them
down with a strong Hand. _Where there’s Order, there’s Liberty_; and
Nowhere else.”
_Mark’s_ News proved true; the disaffected Regiments were sent out of
_London_, and General _Monk_ with his Army entered _Westminster_. He was
a right-judging as well as right-meaning Man, on the whole, to my Mind,
prudent and moderate, though he sided first with one Party, then with
the other, then back to the first again. One of the evil Consequences of
our evil Times was, so many conscientious Men were set down for
obstinate and pig-headed, or else Turn-coats. My Father, to represent
the Humour of the Time, had removed the obnoxious Cavalier and Puritan
from his Window, and set up in their stead a Head that united half of
both, which, revolving slowly when he pulled a String, shewed now one
Side, now the other, and, as he observed, never looked so bad as when
you saw a little of both. But as soon as _Monk_, throwing off his late
Shew of Moderation, marched into the City, removed the Posts and Chains
across the Streets, seized on obnoxious Persons, and broke down our
Gates and Portcullises, my Father became sure that a great Change was at
Hand, and the _King_ would enjoy his own again. Whereon, he commenced
beautifying and renewing the waxen Cavalier, which had got a little
fly-spitten, and privately smuggled into the House a most beautiful
female Counterpart for it, extremely like _Queen Henrietta Maria_, whom
I immediately set about dressing in the favourite Style of her Majesty,
that is to say, in a rich velvet Boddice, with a falling Collar of
Cutwork, Vandyked at the Edge, relieved by a blue Breast-knot. My Father
dressed her Hair in long, drooping, dark Curls, with a few pearl Pins;
and, abiding the right Time with Calmness and Confidence, shut up the
comely Pair in a dark Closet till the happy Moment for their bursting
upon the World should arrive.
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