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DISCIPLINE
by
MARY BRUNTON
CONTENTS
Chapter I 1
Chapter II 11
Chapter III 19
Chapter IV 32
Chapter V 41
Chapter VI 51
Chapter VII 61
Chapter VIII 73
Chapter IX 83
Chapter X 101
Chapter XI 114
Chapter XII 124
Chapter XIII 143
Chapter XIV 156
Chapter XV 165
Chapter XVI 178
Chapter XVII 193
Chapter XVIII 210
Chapter XIX 217
Chapter XX 231
Chapter XXI 244
Chapter XXII 257
Chapter XXIII 269
Chapter XXIV 286
Chapter XXV 301
Chapter XXVI 313
Chapter XXVII 327
Chapter XXVIII 340
Chapter XXIX 351
Chapter XXX 367
CHAPTER I
_--I was wayward, bold, and wild;
A self-willed imp; a grandame's child;
But, half a plague and half a jest,
Was still endured, beloved, carest._
Walter Scott
I have heard it remarked, that he who writes his own history ought to
possess Irish humour, Scotch prudence, and English sincerity;--the
first, that his work may be read; the second that it may be read without
injury to himself; the third, that the perusal of it may be profitable
to others. I might, perhaps, with truth declare, that I possess only the
last of these qualifications. But, besides that my readers will probably
take the liberty of estimating for themselves my merits as a narrator, I
suspect, that professions of humility may possibly deceive the professor
himself; and that, while I am honestly confessing my disqualifications,
I may be secretly indemnifying my pride, by glorying in the candour of
my confession.
Any expression of self-abasement might, indeed, appear peculiarly
misplaced as a preface to whole volumes of egotism; the world being
generally uncharitable enough to believe, that vanity may somewhat
influence him who chooses himself for his theme. Nor can I be certain
that this charge is wholly inapplicable to me; since it is notorious to
common observation, that, rather than forego their darling subject, the
vain will expatiate even on their errors. A better motive, however,
mingles with those which impel me to relate my story. It is no unworthy
feeling which leads such as are indebted beyond return, to tell of the
benefits they have received; or which prompts one who has escaped from
eminent peril, to warn others of the danger of their way.
It is, I believe, usual with those who undertake to be their own
biographers, to begin with tracing their illustrious descent. I fear
this portion of my history must be compiled from very scanty materials;
for my father, the only one of the race who was ever known to me, never
mentioned his family, except to preface a philippic against all
dignities in church and state. Against these he objected, as fostering
'that aristocratical contumely, which flesh and blood cannot endure'; a
vice which I have heard him declare to be, above all others, the object
of his special antipathy. For this selection, which will probably obtain
sympathy only from the base-born, my father was not without reason; for,
to the pride of birth it was doubtless owing that my grandfather, a
cadet of an ancient family, was doomed to starve upon a curacy, in
revenge for his contaminating the blood of the Percys by an unequal
alliance; and, when disappointment and privation had brought him to an
early grave, it was probably the same sentiment which induced his
relations to prolong his punishment in the person of his widow and
infants, who, with all possible dignity and unconcern, were left to
their fate. My father, therefore, began the world with very slender
advantages; an accident of which he was so far from being ashamed, that
he often triumphantly recorded it, ascribing his subsequent affluence to
his own skill and diligence alone.
He was, as I first recollect him, a muscular dark-complexioned man, with
a keen black eye, cased in an extraordinary perplexity of wrinkle, and
shaded by a heavy beetling eyebrow. The peculiarity of his face was a
certain arching near the corner of his upper lip, to which it was
probably owing that a smile did not improve his countenance; but this
was of the less consequence, as he did not often smile. He had, indeed,
arrived at that age when gravity is at least excusable; although no
trace of infirmity appeared in his portly figure and strong-sounding
tread.
His whole appearance and demeanour were an apt contrast to those of my
mother, in whose youthful form and features symmetry gained a charm from
that character of fragility which presages untimely decay, and that air
of melancholy which seems to welcome decline. I have her figure now
before me. I recollect the tender brightness of her eyes, as laying her
hand upon my head, she raised them silently to heaven. I love to
remember the fine flush that was called to her cheek by the fervour of
the half-uttered blessing. She was, in truth, a gentle being; and bore
my wayward humour with an angel's patience. But she exercised a control
too gentle over a spirit which needed to be reined by a firmer hand than
hers. She shrunk from bestowing even merited reproof, and never
inflicted pain without suffering much more than she caused. Yet, let not
these relentings of nature be called weakness--or if the stern morality
refuse to spare, let it disarm his severity, to learn that I was an only
child.
I know not whether it was owing to the carelessness of nurses, or the
depravity of waiting-maids, or whether, 'to say all, nature herself
wrought in me so'; but, from the earliest period of my recollection, I
furnished an instance at least, if not a proof, of the corruption of
human kind; being proud, petulant, and rebellious. Some will probably
think the growth of such propensities no more unaccountable than that of
briars and thorns; being prepared, from their own experience and
observation, to expect that both should spring without any particular
culture. But whoever is dissatisfied with this compendious deduction,
may trace my faults to certain accidents in my early education.
I was, of course, a person of infinite importance to my mother. While
she was present, her eye followed my every motion, and watched every
turn of my countenance. Anxious to anticipate every wish, and vigilant
to relieve every difficulty, she never thought of allowing me to pay the
natural penalties of impatience or self-indulgence. If one servant was
driven away by my caprice, another attended my bidding. If my toys were
demolished, new baubles were ready at my call. Even when my mother was
reluctantly obliged to testify displeasure, her coldness quickly yielded
to my tears; and I early discovered, that I had only to persevere in the
demonstrations of obstinate sorrow, in order to obtain all the
privileges of the party offended. When she was obliged to consign me to
my maid, it was with earnest injunctions that I should be
amused,--injunctions which it every day became more difficult to fulfil.
Her return was always marked by fond inquiries into my proceedings
during her absence; and I must do my attendants the justice to say, that
their replies were quite as favourable as truth would permit. They were
too politic to hazard, at once, my favour and hers, by being officiously
censorious. On the contrary, they knew how to ingratiate themselves, by
rehearsing my witticisms, with such additions and improvements as made
my original property in them rather doubtful. My mother, pleased with
the imposition, usually listened with delight; or, if she suspected the
fraud, was too gentle to repulse it with severity, and too partial
herself, to blame what she ascribed to a kindred partiality. On my
father's return from the counting-house, my double rectified _bon mots_
were commonly repeated to him, in accents low enough to draw my
attention, as to somewhat not intended for my ear, yet so distinct as
not to balk my curiosity. This record of my wit served a triple purpose.
It confirmed my opinion of my own consequence, and of the vast
importance of whatever I was pleased to say or do: it strengthened the
testimony which my mother's visiters bore to my miraculous prematurity;
and it established in my mind that association so favourable to feminine
character, between repartee and applause!
To own the truth, my mother lay under strong temptation to report my
sallies, for my father always listened to them with symptoms of
pleasure. They sometimes caused his countenance to relax into a smile;
and sometimes, either when they were more particularly brilliant, or his
spirits in a more harmonious tone, he would say, 'Come, Fanny, get me
something nice for supper, and keep Ellen in good humour, and I won't go
to the club to-night.' He generally, however, had reason to repent of
this resolution; for though my mother performed her part to perfection,
I not unfrequently experienced, in my father's presence, that restraint
which has fettered elder wits under a consciousness of being expected to
entertain. Or, if my efforts were more successful, he commonly closed
his declining eulogiums by saying, 'It is a confounded pity she is a
girl. If she had been of the right sort, she might have got into
Parliament, and made a figure with the best of them. But now what use is
her sense of?'--'I hope it will contribute to her happiness,' said my
mother, sighing as if she had thought the fulfilment of her hope a
little doubtful. 'Poh!' quoth my father, 'no fear of her happiness.
Won't she have two hundred thousand pounds, and never know the trouble
of earning it, nor need to do one thing from morning to night but amuse
herself?' My mother made no answer;--so by this and similar
conversations, a most just and desirable connection was formed in my
mind between the ideas of amusement and happiness, of labour and misery.
If to such culture as this I owed the seeds of my besetting sins, at
least, it must be owned that the soil was propitious, for the bitter
root spread with disastrous vigour; striking so deep, that the iron
grasp of adversity, the giant strength of awakened conscience, have
failed to tear it wholly from the heart, though they have crushed its
outward luxuriance.
Self-importance was fixed in my mind long before I could examine the
grounds of this preposterous sentiment. It could not properly be said to
rest on my talents, my beauty, or my prospects. Though these had each
its full value in my estimation, they were but the trappings of my idol,
which, like other idols, owed its dignity chiefly to the misjudging
worship which I saw it receive. Children seldom reflect upon their own
sentiments; and their self-conceit may, humanly speaking, be incurable,
before they have an idea of its turpitude, or even of its existence.
During the many years in which mine influenced every action and every
thought, whilst it hourly appeared in the forms of arrogance, of
self-will, impatience of reproof, love of flattery, and love of sway, I
should have heard of its very existence with an incredulous smile, or
with an indignation which proved its power. And when at last I learnt to
bestow on one of its modifications a name which the world agrees to
treat with some respect, I could own that I was even 'proud of my
pride;' representing every instance of a contrary propensity as the
badge of a servile and grovelling disposition.
Meanwhile my encroachments upon the peace and liberty of all who
approached me, were permitted for the very reason which ought to have
made them be repelled,--namely, that I was but a child! I was the
dictatrix of my playfellows, the tyrant of the servants, and the
idolised despot of both my parents. My father, indeed, sometimes
threatened transient rebellion, and announced opposition in the tone of
one determined to conquer or die; but, though justice might be on his
side, perseverance, a surer omen of success, was upon mine. Hour after
hour, nay, day after day, I could whine, pout, or importune, encouraged
by the remembrance of former victories. My obstinacy always at length
prevailed, and of course gathered strength for future combat. Nor did it
signify how trivial might be the matter originally in dispute. Nothing
could be unimportant which opposed my sovereign will. That will became
every day more imperious; so that, however much it governed others, I
was myself still more its slave, knowing no rest or peace but in its
gratification. I had often occasion to rue its triumphs, since not even
the cares of my fond mother could always shield me from the consequences
of my perverseness; and by the time I had reached my eighth year, I was
one of the most troublesome, and, in spite of great natural hilarity of
temper, at times one of the most unhappy beings, in that great
metropolis which contains such variety of annoyance and of misery.
Upon retracing this sketch of the progress and consequences of my early
education, I begin to fear, that groundless censure may fall upon the
guardians of my infancy; and that defect of understanding or of
principle may be imputed to those who so unsuccessfully executed their
trust. Let me hasten to remove such a prejudice. My father's
understanding was respectable in the line to which he chose to confine
its exertions. Indifference to my happiness or my improvement cannot
surely be alleged against him, for I was the pride of his heart. I have
seen him look up from his newspaper, while reading the 'shipping
intelligence,' or the opposition speeches, to listen to the praises of
my beauty or my talents; and, except when his temper was irritated by my
perverseness, I was the object of his almost exclusive affection. But he
was a man of business. His days were spent in the toil and bustle of
commerce; and, if the evening brought him to his home, it was not
unnatural that he should there seek domestic peace and relaxation,--a
purpose wholly incompatible with the correction of a spoiled child. My
mother was indeed one of the finer order of spirits. She had an elegant,
a tender, a pious mind. Often did she strive to raise my young heart to
Him from whom I had so lately received my being. But, alas! her too
partial fondness overlooked in her darling the growth of that pernicious
weed, whose shade is deadly to every plant of celestial origin. She
continued unconsciously to foster in me that spirit of pride, which may
indeed admit the transient admiration of excellence, or even the passing
fervours of gratitude, but which is manifestly opposite to vital
piety;--to that piety which consists in a surrender of self-will, of
self-righteousness, of self in every form, to the Divine justice,
holiness, and sovereignty. It was, perhaps, for training us to this
temper, of such difficult, yet such indispensable attainment, that the
discipline of parental authority was intended. I have long seen reason
to repent the folly which deprived me of the advantages of this useful
apprenticeship, but this conviction has been the fruit of discipline far
more painful.
In the mean time, my self-will was preparing for me an immediate
punishment, and eventually a heavy, and irremediable misfortune. I had
just entered my ninth year, when one evening an acquaintance of my
mother's sent me an invitation to her box in the theatre. As I had been
for some days confined at home by a cold, and sore throat, my mother
judged it proper to refuse. But the message had been unwarily delivered
in my hearing, and I was clamorous for permission to go. The danger of
compliance being, in this instance, manifest, my mother resisted my
entreaties with unwonted firmness. After arguing with me, and soothing
me in vain, she took the tone of calm command, and forbade me to urge
her further. I then had recourse to a mode of attack which I often found
successful, and began to scream with all my might. My mother, though
with tears in her eyes, ordered a servant to take me out of the room.
But, at the indignity of plebeian coercion, my rage was so nearly
convulsive, that, in terror, she consented to let me remain, upon
condition of quietness. I was, however, so far from fulfilling my part
of this compact, that my father, who returned in the midst of the
contest, lost patience; and, turning somewhat testily to my mother,
said, 'The child will do herself more harm by roaring there, than by
going to fifty plays.'
I observed (for my agonies by no means precluded observation) that my
mother only replied by a look, which seemed to say that she could have
spared this apostrophe; but my father growing a little more out of
humour as he felt himself somewhat in the wrong, chose to answer to that
look, by saying, in an angry tone, 'It really becomes you well, Mrs
Percy, to pretend that I spoil the child, when you know you can refuse
her nothing.'
'That, I fear,' said my mother, with a sigh, 'will be Ellen's great
misfortune. Her dispositions seem such as to require restraint.'
'Poh!' quoth my father, 'her dispositions will do well enough. A woman
is the better for a spice of the devil!'--an aphorism, which we have
owed at first to some gentleman who, like my father, had slender
experience in the pungencies of female character.
Gathering hopes from this dialogue, I redoubled my vociferation, till my
father, out of all patience, closed the contest, as others had been
closed before, by saying, 'Well, well, you perverse, ungovernable brat,
do take your own way, and have done with it.' I instantly profited by
the permission, was dressed, and departed for the play.
I paid dearly for my triumph. The first consequence of it was a
dangerous fever. My mother,--but what words can do justice to the cares
which saved my quivering life; what language shall paint the tenderness
that watched my restless bed, and pillowed my aching temples on her
bosom; that shielded from the light the burning eye, and warded from
every sound the morbid ear; that persevered in these cares of love till
nature failed beneath the toil, and till, with her own precious life,
she had redeemed me from the grave! My mother--first, fondest love of my
soul! is this barren, feeble record, the only return I can make for all
thy matchless affection?
After hanging for three weeks upon the very brink of the grave, I
recovered. But anxiety and fatigue had struck to the gentlest, the
kindest of hearts; and she to whom I twice owed my life, was removed
from me before I had even a thought of my vast debt of gratitude. For
some months her decline was visible to every eye, except that of the
poor heedless being who had most reason to dread its progress. Yet even
I, when I saw her fatigued with my importunate prattle, or exhausted by
my noisy merriment, would check my spirits, soften my voice to a
whisper, and steal round her sofa on tiptoe. Ages would not efface from
my mind the tenderness with which she received these feeble attributes
of an affection, alas! so dearly earned. By degrees, the constant
intercourse which had been the blessing of my life was exchanged for
short occasional visits to my mother's chamber. Again these were
restricted to a few moments, while the morning lent her a short-lived
vigour; and a few more, while I received her evening blessing.
At length three days passed, in which I had not seen my mother. I was
then summoned to her presence; and, full of the improvident rapture of
childhood, I bounded gaily to her apartment. But all gladness fled, when
my mother, folding me in her arms, burst into a feeble cry, followed by
the big convulsive sob which her weakness was unable to repress. Many a
time did she press her pale lips to every feature of my face; and often
strove to speak, but found no utterance. An attendant, who was a
stranger to me, now approached to remove me, saying, that my mother
would injure herself. In the dread of being parted from her child, my
fond parent found momentary strength; and, still clinging to me, hid her
face on my shoulder, and became more composed. 'Ellen,' said she, in a
feeble broken voice, 'lift up thy little hands, and pray that we may
meet again.' Unconscious of her full meaning, I knelt down by her; and,
resting my lifted hands upon her knees as I was wont to do while she
taught me to utter my infant petitions, I said, 'Oh! let mamma see her
dear Ellen again!' Once more she made me repeat my simple prayer; then,
bending over me, she rested her locked hands upon my head, and the
warmth of a last blessing burst into tremulous interrupted whispers. One
only of these parting benedictions is imprinted on my mind. Wonder
impressed it there at first; and, when nearly effaced by time, the
impression was restored with force irresistible. These were the
well-remembered words: 'Oh be kinder than her earthly parents, and show
thyself a father, though it be in chastising.'
Many a tender wish did she breathe, long since forgotten by her
thoughtless child, till at last the accents of love were again lost in
the thick struggling sobs of weakness. Again the attendant offered to
remove me; and I, half-wearied with the sadness of the scene, was not
unwilling to go. Yet I tried to soothe a sorrow which I could not
comprehend, by promising that I would soon return. Once more, with the
strength of agony, my mother pressed me to her bosom; then, turning away
her head, she pushed me gently from her. I was led from her chamber--the
door closed--I heard again the feeble melancholy cry, and her voice was
silent to my ear for ever.
The next day I pleaded in vain to see my mother. Another came, and every
face looked mournfully busy. I saw not my father; but the few domestics
who approached me, gazed sadly on my childish pastime, or uttered an
expression of pity, and hurried away. Unhappily, I scarcely knew why, I
remembered my resort in all my little distresses, and insisted upon
being admitted to my mother. My attendant long endeavoured to evade
compliance, and when she found me resolute, was forced to tell the
melancholy truth. She had so often combated my wilfulness by deceit,
that I listened without believing; yet, when I saw her serious
countenance, something like alarm added to my impatience, and, bursting
from her, I flew to my mother's chamber.
The door which used to fly open at my signal was fastened, and no one
answered my summons; but the key remained in the lock, and I soon
procured admission. All seemed strangely altered since I saw it last. No
trace appeared of my mother's presence. Here reigned the order and the
stillness of desolation. The curtains were drawn back, and the bed
arranged with more than wonted care: yet it seemed pressed by the
semblance of a human form. I drew away the cover, and beheld my mother's
face. I thought she slept; yet the stern quietness of her repose was
painful to me. 'Wake, dear mamma,' I hastily cried, and wondered when
the smile of love answered not my call. I reached my hand to touch her
cheek, and started at its coldness; yet, still childishly incredulous of
my loss, I sprang upon the bed, and threw my arm round her neck.
A frightful shriek made me turn, and I beheld my attendant stretching
her arms towards me, as if fearing to approach. Her looks of horror and
alarm,--her incoherent expressions,--the motionless form before me, at
last convinced me of the truth; and all the vulgar images of death and
sepulture rushing on my mind, I burst into agonies of mingled grief and
fear. To be carried hence by strangers, laid in the earth, shut out for
ever from the light and from me!--I clung to the senseless clay,
resolved, while I had life, to shield my dear mother from such a fate.
My cries assembled the family, who attempted to withdraw me from the
scene. In vain they endeavoured to persuade or to terrify me. I
continued to hang on the bosom which had nourished me, and to mingle my
cries of Mother! mother! with vows that I would never leave her, not
though they should hide me with her in the earth. At last my father
commanded the servants to remove me by force. In vain I struggled and
shrieked in anguish. I was torn from her,--and the tie was severed for
ever!