CONTAINETH A LECTURE ON LOVE FROM A PERSONIFICATION OF LOVELINESS--AND
SHOWETH THAT SUPERSTITION HAS ITS SWEETS AS WELL AS ITS HORRORS--AND
ALSO HOW TO AVOID THE INFECTION OF THE EVIL EYE.
When we were alone, she examined me carefully, to ascertain if I were
perfectly clean. It would have, perhaps, been for me a happy
circumstance, if Mr Root had flogged me this day, or even a fortnight
previously. The marks that he left were not very ephemeral. I don't
know whether a flogging a month old would not equally well have served
my purpose. He certainly wrote a strong bold hand, in red ink, not
easily obliterated. However, as he had not noticed me since my illness,
I had no marks to show.
When she had readjusted my dress, she lugged me to her side, and we
looked, for a long while, in each other's eyes in silence.
"Ralph," said she, at length, forgetting that the fault was mutual, "do
you know that it is very rude to look so hard into people's faces; why
do you do it, my boy?"
"Because you are so very, very, very pretty, and your voice is so soft:
and because I do love you so."
"But you must not love me too much, my sweet child: because I can't be
with you to return your love."
"O dear, I'm so sorry; because--because--if you don't love me, nobody
will. Master don't love me, nor the ushers, nor the boys; and they keep
calling me the--"
"Hush, Ralph! hush, my poor boy," said she, colouring to her very
forehead. "Never tell me what they call you. Little boys who call
names are wicked boys, and are very false boys too. Hear me, Ralph!
You are nearly ten years old. You must be a man, and not love anyone
too much--not even me--for it makes people very unhappy to love too
much. Do you understand me, Ralph? You must be kind to all, and all
will be kind to you: but it is best not to love anything violently--
excepting, Ralph, Him who will love you when all hate you--who will care
for you, when all desert you--your God!"
"I don't know too much about that," was my answer. "Mr Root tells us
once every week to trust in God, and that God will protect the innocent,
and all that: and then flogs me for nothing at all, though I trust all I
can; and I'm sure that I'm innocent."
My good godmother was a little shocked at this, and endeavoured to
convince me that such expressions were impious, by assuring me that
everything was suffered for the best; and that, if Mr Foot flogged me
unjustly and wickedly, I should be rewarded, and my master punished for
it hereafter; which assurance did not much mend my moral feelings, as I
silently resolved to put myself in the way of a few extra unjust
chastisements, in order that my master might receive the full benefit of
them in a future state.
Moral duties should be inculcated in the earliest youth; but the
mysteries of religion should be left to a riper age. After many
endearments, and much good advice, that I thought most beautiful, from
the tenderness of tone in which it was given, I requested the lady, with
all my powers of entreaty, and amidst a shower of kisses, to take me
home to my mother.
"Alas! my dear boy," was the reply, "Mrs Brandon is not your mother."
"Well, I couldn't believe that before--never mind--I love her just as
well. But who is my mother? If you were not so pretty, and so fine, I
would ask you to be my mother; all the other boys have got a mother, and
a father too."
The lady caught me to her bosom, and kissing me amidst her tears, said,
"Ralph, I will be your mother, though you must only look upon me as your
godmamma."
"Oh, I'm so glad of that! and what shall I call you?"
"Mamma, my dear child."
"Well, mamma, won't you take me home? I don't mean now, but at the
holidays, when all the others go to their mammas? I'll be so good.
Won't you, mamma?"
"Come here, Ralph. I was wrong. You must not call me mamma, I can't
bear it. I was never a mother to you, my poor boy. I cannot have you
home. By-and-by, perhaps. Do not think about me too much, and do not
think that you are not loved. Oh! you are loved, very much indeed; but
now you must make your schoolfellows love you. I have told Mr Root to
allow you sixpence a week, and there are eight shillings for you, and a
box of playthings, in the hall, and a large cake in the box; lend the
playthings, and share the cake. Now, my dear boy, I must leave you. Do
not think that I am your mother, but your very good friend. Now, may
God bless you and watch over you. Keep up your spirits, and remember
that you are cared for, and loved--O, how fondly loved!"
With a fervent blessing, and an equally fervent embrace, she parted from
me; and, when I looked round and found that she had gone from the room,
I actually experienced the sensation as if the light of the sun had been
suddenly with drawn, and that I walked forth in twilight.
When I went up melancholy to my bed, and crept sorrowfully under the
clothes, I felt a protection round me in that haunted chamber, in the
very fact of having again seen her. This house, that had now been
converted into a large school, had formerly been one of the suburban
palaces of Queen Elizabeth; it was very spacious and rambling; some of
the rooms had been modernised, and some remained as they had been for
centuries. The room in which I slept was one of the smallest, and
contained only two beds, one of which was occupied by the housekeeper, a
very respectable old lady, and the other by myself. Sometimes I had a
bedfellow, and sometimes not. This room had probably been a vestibule,
or the ante-chamber to some larger apartment, and it now formed an
abutment to the edifice, all on one side of it being ancient, and the
other modern. It was lighted by one narrow, high, Gothic window, the
panes of which were very small, lozenged, and many of them still
stained. The roof was groined and concave, and still gay with tarnished
gold. The mouldings and traceries sprang up from the four corners, and
all terminated in the centre, in which grinned a Medusa's head, with her
circling snakes, in high preservation, and of great and ghastly beauty.
There were other grotesque visages, sprinkled here and there over that
elaborate roof; but look at that Medusa from what point you might, the
painted wooden eyes were cast with a stolid sternness upon you. When I
had a bedfellow, it was always some castaway like myself--some poor
wretch who could not go home and complain that he was put to sleep in
the "haunted chamber." The boys told strange tales of that room, and
they all believed that the floor was stained with blood. I often
examined it, both by day and by candle-light; it was very old, and of
oak, dark, and much discoloured. But even my excited fancy could
discover nothing like blood-spots upon it. After all, when I was alone
in that bed-chamber, for the housekeeper seldom entered before midnight,
and the flickering and feeble oil-lamp, that always burned upon her
table, threw its uncertain rays upwards, and made the central face
quiver as it were into life, I would shrink, horror-stricken, under the
clothes, and silently pray for the morning. It was certainly a fearful
room for a visionary child like myself, with whom the existence of
ghosts made an article of faith, and who had been once before frightened
even unto the death, by supernatural terrors.
But of all this I never complained. I have not merit enough to boast
that I am proud, for pride has always something ennobling about it: but
I was vain, and vanity enabled me to put on the appearance of courage.
When questioned by the few schoolfellows who would speak to me, I
acknowledged no ghosts, and would own to no fear. All this, in the
sequel, was remembered to my honour. Besides, I had found a singular
antidote against the look of the evil eye in the ceiling. What I am
going to relate may be startling, and for a child ten years old, appear
incredible; but it is the bare unembellished truth. This was my
antidote alluded to. In the church where we went, there was a strongly
painted altar-piece. The Virgin Mother bent, with ineffable sweetness,
over the sleeping Jesus. The pew in which I sat was distant enough to
give the full force of illusion to the power of the artist, and the
glory round the Madonna much assisted my imagination. I certainly
attended to that face, and to that beneficent attitude, more than to be
service. When the terrors of my desolate situation used to begin to
creep over me in my lonely bed, I could, without much effort of
imagination, bring that sweet motherly face before me, and view it
visibly in the gloom of the room, and thus defy the dread glance of the
visage above me. I used to whisper to myself these words--"Lady with
the glory, come an sit by me." And I could then close my eyes, and
fancy, nay, almost feel assured of her presence, and sleep in peace.
But, in the night that I had seen my godmother, when I crept under my
clothes disconsolately, I no longer whispered for the lady with the
glory; it was for my sweet mamma. And she, too, came and blessed my
gentle slumbers. Surely, that beautiful creature must have been my
mother, for long did she come and play the seraph's part over her child,
and watched by his pillow, till he sank in the repose of innocence.
Lately, at the age of forty, I visited that church. I looked earnestly
at the altar-piece. I was astonished, hurt, disgusted. It was a coarse
daub. The freshness of the painting had been long changed by the dark
tarnish of years, and the blighting of damp atmosphere. There were some
remains of beauty in the expression, and elegance in the attitude; but,
as a piece of art it was but a second-rate performance. Age dispels
many illusions, and suffers for it. Truly youth and enthusiasm are the
best painters.