THE CHRISTENING.
A year afterward came little Johnny into the house of the Temples. Words
altogether fail to do justice to the mother's pride and joy.
Leonora, who wore proudly her husband's grand name of Van Rensaleer,
looked down on the Temples; nevertheless, as a duty, she called to
congratulate them upon the birth of a son.
"Yes, a fine babe," she replied to the father's questioning look of
admiration. "A nice baby, I dare say," she said in answer to Juliet's
glowing extolations, finished by a "do you not think so?" "But all
babies look alike to me," she added. "I fail to see the charm, I prefer
my poodle."
"Sour grapes," returned Juliet, her eyes flashing.
"Sweet grapes, my dear," said her sister, softly. "Well, I wish you much
joy, and may the child prove a blessing to you."
Then came Estelle. She was Mrs. Lang. She had married an Englishman, and
would have gotten along comfortably had she not been "worried to death"
with "those children." Hugh was now four years old, the twins two and
a-half, and Robby in his eleventh month. Four boys, and they kept the
house in commotion from one year's end to another.
To Juliet's joyful outbursts Estelle answered: "O, it is all very well
just now; I know all about it; but wait until you have four! Why, I
cannot get from the sound of their noise; it rings in my ears now. There
isn't a moment when I am not on the keen jump, expecting some limb to be
broken, some eye to be put out, or some dreadful disease to come around.
I dread the warm season on account of its summer-complaints; and the
cold for its croups, scarlet fevers, measles, and whooping cough. I warn
you, Juliet, you are seeing your happiest days." And Estelle, with a
weary look and dreary tone, took her departure for her luxurious, but
uproarious home.
"What are _you_ going to do with the baby?" asked Mr. Temple of the
little Althea.
"I yock it," she answered, placing her hand upon her own small crib,
rocking it to and fro.
The young mother, excited and nervous, would not heed the Doctor's
cautions to keep herself quiet. Like many another foolish person, she
thought she knew better than any physician could tell her. As a result
of her indiscretion, she was attacked with a long and dangerous illness,
which had nearly proved fatal.
Upon her recovery, Johnny was three months old; and Juliet began to talk
about having him baptized. The first time she went out to drive she
purchased the finest christening robe she could find. Nothing was too
expensive for such an occasion. For herself also she obtained an
entirely new outfit. If John could only be induced to go to the
christening! Possibly he might; she would make one more effort.
One day when he came home at noon she met him smilingly at the door.
"John, come with me a minute," she said, and led the way up the winding
stairway, into the finest chamber. The bed and every article of
furniture was made to do duty in supporting beautiful and costly
fabrics.
"What! another wedding to take place?" exclaimed John.
"The christening of our only child, my dear. See, everything is ready;
just look at this elegant robe, fit for a king's son, but only worthy of
our dear boy. O John, I have only one drawback to all my happiness--if
you would only go with us to St. Mark's!"
"Juliet, why do you wish our child to be baptized?" inquired John.
"If you please, say _christened_. Why, is it not customary? Do not
everybody who are any thing take their children to the church? Indeed,
it is a very grand occasion; I suppose little innocent children are not
admitted at St. Patrick's?"
"On the contrary, every Catholic child is baptized, even at the most
tender age; but, Juliet, the Catholic mother gives not all her mind to
the child's costly apparel; that is of little consequence compared to
devoting the child to God."
"That is not the question," spoke Juliet, impatiently. "Will you, or
will you not go with us to St. Mark's?"
"Juliet, I have something I should tell you. Our child has been
baptized. I took him myself to the house of Father Duffy several weeks
ago."
"You did? How dared you?" cried Juliet, angrily.
"I had the same right to take him to Father Duffy as have you to take
him to Dr. Browne. You were very ill at the time; I did not like to
wait."
"It doesn't matter at all," cried Juliet, recovering herself, "I will
take him to St. Mark's just the same."
"You should inform Dr. Browne, however, that the child has been already
baptized."
"_He_ will not think he has been baptized; but I will tell him, and let
him know how unfairly you have dealt with me."
Juliet did not know what her husband was aware of, that Dr. Browne, or
any Episcopal clergyman, would consider baptism at the hands of a
Catholic priest as true and valid.
The Sunday appointed for the christening drew near. On the Saturday
preceding, Juliet called on Dr. Browne. Having largely expatiated upon
her happy anticipations of the morrow, she proceeded to relate to the
rector the march her husband had stolen upon her.
"And do you not know, Mrs. Temple," said the doctor, surprised, "that,
if your child has been baptized by Father Duffy, that is sufficient?
There is no need for our ceremony to-morrow," and the rector saw in
imagination a handsome fee that failed to reach his grasp.
"Is it possible," cried Juliet, disappointed and grieved to the heart,
"that you consider baptism in the Catholic Church of any worth
whatsoever?"
"Most assuredly we do," answered the doctor.
"But I thought they were idolaters and heathens. How can heathens
baptize?"
"The Romish was the first Apostolic Church; after many years it imbibed
errors and became corrupt. The Church of which we are members, which
should really be termed Catholic and not Episcopal, came out from her,
retaining her truth, rejecting her errors and superstitions. We maintain
that the Church of Christ must be Apostolic, therefore are compelled to
admit that to have been the true Church from which we sprang. We are
really a branch of the Romish Church, unpalatable as it may be to some
of us."
Had Juliet given attention to the rector's theology, she would have
remarked that it was giving the Romish Church too much credit. But for
her his words fell idly; she was intent on having her baby christened at
St. Mark's.
"But, Dr. Browne, nobody knows my baby has been baptized. Cannot the
christening go on just the same?"
"By no means," spoke the clergyman, decidedly. "It is contrary to
custom, and to the laws of the Church."
Juliet went home sick at heart. So many preparations, and all for
nothing; so many hopes and dreams, and all blown up like bubbles. In her
grief and confusion the complicated question as to whether her child
were a Catholic or an Episcopalian did not intrude itself.
She did stop to marvel, however, as to whether her husband had given
more than one name to the baby. She had intended his second name should
be St. Leger. But her husband was so absent-minded, she presumed to say
that he had forgotten all about it. Upon questioning him he looked up
somewhat confused.
"I had indeed forgotten your intention. I do remember now of having
heard you speak of St. Leger; I do remember."
"So you had him christened without a middle name, plain John Temple! I
wonder you didn't go to the length of giving him your own name in full,
John Patrick Temple!"
"That I did do, my dear; it was my father's name, and I never thought
but what it had been all settled between us."
This was too much for Juliet's patience, already tried. She stamped her
feet, wrung her hands, and cried aloud despairingly.
When, at length, able to articulate, she poured upon John Temple's ears
such a shower of words as must have refreshed the very springs of his
nature. She concluded thus:
"You are the most set, stupid, obstinate man in this world, and selfish
too. It was not enough that I should have given him your old-fashioned,
homely, plain name of John, when Alphonsus, Adolphus, or Rinaldo would
have suited me so much better, but you must put in that low, vulgar,
most hateful of all names--Patrick! A Patrick in our own house, for our
only child! By and bye, he will be going by the name of Pat. _My_
child--the son of a St. Leger--baptized by a Catholic priest and called
Pat, just like the dozen other infant nobodies he had baptized the same
day, no doubt. Nothing to distinguish him from the vulgar herd--a paddy
among paddies! O John Temple, I wish I had never seen your face and
eyes!"
John Temple seized hurriedly his hat, and without a word went out from
the presence of his wife. To say that he was not angry would be untrue.
Above his anger, however, swelled emotions of surprise and wonder.
Surprise and wonder that the beautiful Juliet St. Leger, during six
months of intimate courtship, so successfully could have veiled, under
constant guise of amiability, the weak, pettish nature which she was now
so often exhibiting.
Of a truth, he had been simple enough to become attracted by her
exceeding beauty of face and figure; but these accidents would never
have held a man of his sterling sense and uprightness had he not been
led to believe it associated with a corresponding beauty of mind and
disposition.
For a brief while this strong man yielded to an overwhelming sense of
loss and regret. The memory of his excellent mother came back, by
comparison, to increase his painful confusion.
"My mother, my good mother," he sighed, "noblest and best of Christian
women, for me you died one year too soon. You at least would have read
aright the heart of Juliet. Sainted mother, for thy sake, for all our
sakes, I will do well by Juliet. Since it is as it is, God help me, I
will not fail."
And Juliet, after the anger had cooled in her heart, and the flush died
out somewhat in her cheek, mused thus:
"Was ever another such man as John Temple since the days of Job the
patient? There is no satisfaction in scolding him. Not a word will he
say, but march off dignified as any Lord Admiral. A grand way that is of
heaping coals on my head. I wish I could learn to bite my tongue, as I
know he does his. I am really afraid he will come to disrespect and
despise me. Why can not I mend my ways? But it was aggravating, wasn't
it, Johnnie," turning to his babyship, "to give mamma's darling a very,
very horrible name, and have water poured on his sweet little head by a
naughty, wicked, Irish Romish priest. Yes, that it was, Johnnie dear,
and we won't stand it, will we, Johnnie darling?"
Johnnie signified his concurrence of sentiment by a masterly plunge of
his fat fingers into his precious mamma's curls, which entanglement
caused a rapid "change to come o'er the spirit of her dream."
The anticipated grand Sunday was spent at home by Juliet, in her own
room. The furniture in the best chamber was still graced by her
unappropriated apparel. The christening robe, heavy with embroidery,
hung as if for a crime from its temporary gallows. Juliet stepped in,
viewing them but an instant, then withdrew, locking the door behind her.
Had she seen the seven hanging heads of Bluebeard's decapitated wives,
she would not have been more pained. She returned to her room to weep
over her poor baby, which she regarded as a martyr. Yes, ill-treated had
he been, contemptuously treated; she could have no more pride in him:
henceforth he would be to her an object of pity.
Going and returning from Mass that morning, John Temple began to inquire
if he had not indeed rather wronged his wife, in giving that name to the
child, which he knew to be so repugnant to her taste. He would not have
liked his child to be called Luther or Calvin. He had been thoughtless
and stupid to be sure. Reaching home, he sought Juliet. He found her in
her oldest wrapper, her face red with weeping, her hair frightfully
unkempt.
"Juliet," he began, kindly, "I would never have given Johnnie that
name--"
"But you did give it to him," interrupted Juliet.
"I did; but giving very little heed to the name. You were very
dangerously sick. The physician declared you could not live six hours,
unless change took place for the better. The child had been ailing. I
thought of baptism for both of you--to the child it could be given. I
ordered a carriage, put the nurse and child in and drove to Father
Duffy's. I had not thought of the name until asked by the priest. In the
confusion of the moment I gave it as I did. I should not have insisted
on the name had you been with me. It should have been anything you
wished. When he becomes old enough to be confirmed the name can be
changed."
"His name shall never be written with a P. It shall be written J. St.
Leger Temple. I will get Dr. Browne to put it upon the Registry. Does
Father Duffy record names too?"
Mr. Temple replying in the affirmative, the young mother became seized
with another spasm of terror.
"Then Father Duffy believes he has got that child in the Catholic
Church, I suppose! O, what a fearful piece of work you have made of it!
No doubt, like King Solomon, he will be for dividing the child, that he
may get at least half its soul for purgatory. And if I had died, you
would have brought up dear little Johnnie a Catholic! Your great hurry
for his baptism shows it. That is the regard you would have shown for my
memory! But I am not dead yet; and while I live, the child goes with me
to St Mark's. I will still do all _I_ can to bring him up respectably."
A day or two after appeared in the city a foreign songstress who was
setting the whole world mad. John Temple took his wife to hear her. She
threw off, as they had been a bundle of straw, all these troubles that
had so crazed her. She unlocked the best chamber, went in, and came out
looking beautiful as when a bride. Among her friends again she appeared
as if no cloud of sorrow had ever darkened her life.
John Temple recognized his wife again. By these repeated scenes of
sunshine and storm, he learned to rejoice in the one, and to remain
undisturbed in the other; against the exuberance of one to present the
parasol of calmness, and the umbrella of patience to ward off descending
floods.
Three years later, one winter's evening at tea, the dining-room servant
informed John, upon his inquiring for her mistress, that that lady
wished to see him in the best chamber. He had not seen her since early
in the morning. At dinner he had been told that she was lying down, and
wished not to be disturbed. Having hurried through his tea, he repaired
to the room designated. The first object that met his view was very
large Mrs. Biggs overflowing the arm-chair, with a roll of white flannel
in her lap, over which Althea and Johnny were absorbingly bending.
"We've got a baby, papa!" "Mrs. Biggs has brought us a baby!" cried out
the children simultaneously.
Mr. Temple evinced the greatest surprise, of course, but walked straight
up to his wife. She smiled upon him mischievously, saying:
"You are surprised to find me here and not in our own room?"
When the perplexed husband had nodded his head, the wife continued:
"I wished to be up-stairs for two reasons: the second is because they
say it is a sign that the child who beholds the light for the first time
above stairs will be surely rich; and the first, because--because--O,
John, I have stolen a march on _you_ this time--I wanted Dr. Browne to
be sent for and the christening over with before you should know there
was a baby in the house. Little Flora Isabella Ernestine has been
already christened;" and the wife's eyes were full of triumph.
"All right," replied John Temple, smiling grimly; and he was fain to
kiss his wife, and to cast a satisfied glance at the "sole daughter of
his house and heart," which was so royally blessed with abundance of
name. In his view the child was not yet baptized, and at a convenient
season he would take it to Father Duffy; but he would not trouble his
wife by disclosing this intention.