LOVE ETERNAL
by
H. RIDER HAGGARD
TO
THE REV. PHILIP T. BAINBRIGGE
Vicar of St. Thomas’
Regent Street, London
You, whose privilege it is by instruction and example to
strengthen the weak hands and confirm the feeble knees of
many, may perhaps care to read of one whose human love led
her from darkness into light and on to the gates of the Love
Eternal.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. HONEST JOHN
CHAPTER II. ISOBEL KISSES GODFREY
CHAPTER III. THE PLANTAGENET LADY
CHAPTER IV. THE GARDEN IN THE SQUARE
CHAPTER V. MADAME RIENNES
CHAPTER VI. EXPERIENCES
CHAPTER VII. MR. KNIGHT AND DUTY
CHAPTER VIII. THE PASTEUR TAKES THE FIELD
CHAPTER IX. THE PASTEUR CONQUERS
CHAPTER X. GODFREY BECOMES A HERO
CHAPTER XI. JULIETTE’S FAREWELL
CHAPTER XII. HOME
CHAPTER XIII. THE INTERVENING YEARS
CHAPTER XIV. TOGETHER
CHAPTER XV. FOR EVER
CHAPTER XVI. LOVE AND LOSS
CHAPTER XVII. INDIA
CHAPTER XVIII. FRANCE—AND AFTER
CHAPTER XIX. MARRIAGE
CHAPTER XX. ORDERS
CHAPTER XXI. LOVE ETERNAL
LOVE ETERNAL
CHAPTER I
HONEST JOHN
More than thirty years ago two atoms of the eternal Energy sped forth
from the heart of it which we call God, and incarnated themselves in
the human shapes that were destined to hold them for a while, as vases
hold perfumes, or goblets wine, or as sparks of everlasting radium
inhabit the bowels of the rock. Perhaps these two atoms, or essences,
or monads indestructible, did but repeat an adventure, or many, many
adventures. Perhaps again and again they had proceeded from that Home
august and imperishable on certain mornings of the days of Time, to
return thither at noon or nightfall, laden with the fruits of gained
experience. So at least one of them seemed to tell the other before all
was done and that other came to believe. If so, over what fields did
they roam throughout the æons, they who having no end, could have no
beginning? Not those of this world only, we may be sure. It is so small
and there are so many others, millions upon millions of them, and such
an infinite variety of knowledge is needed to shape the soul of man,
even though it remain as yet imperfect and but a shadow of what it
shall be.
Godfrey Knight was born the first, six months later she followed (her
name was Isobel Blake), as though to search for him, or because whither
he went, thither she must come, that being her doom and his.
Their circumstances, or rather those of their parents, were very
different but, as it chanced, the houses in which they dwelt stood
scarcely three hundred yards apart.
Between the rivers Blackwater and Crouch in Essex, is a great stretch of
land, flat for the most part and rather dreary, which, however, to
judge from what they have left us, our ancestors thought of much
importance because of its situation, its trade and the corn it grew. So
it came about that they built great houses there and reared beautiful
abbeys and churches for the welfare of their souls. Amongst these, not
very far from the coast, is that of Monk’s Acre, still a beautiful
fane though they be but few that worship there to-day. The old Abbey
house adjacent is now the rectory. It has been greatly altered, and the
outbuildings are shut up or used as granaries and so forth by
arrangement with a neighbouring farmer. Still its grey walls contain
some fine but rather unfurnished chambers, reputed by the vulgar to be
haunted. It was for this reason, so says tradition, that the son of the
original grantee of Monk’s Acre Abbey, who bought it for a small sum
from Henry VIII at the Dissolution of the Monasteries, turned the Abbey
house into a rectory and went himself to dwell in another known as
Hawk’s Hall, situate on the bank of the little stream of that name,
Hawk’s Creek it is called, which finds its way to the Blackwater.
Parsons, he said, were better fitted to deal with ghosts than laymen,
especially if the said laymen had dispossessed the originals of the
ghosts of their earthly heritage.
The ancient Hawk’s Hall, a timber building of the sort common in Essex
as some of its premises still show, has long since disappeared. About
the beginning of the Victorian era a fish-merchant of the name of
Brown, erected on its site a commodious, comfortable, but particularly
hideous mansion of white brick, where he dwelt in affluence in the
midst of the large estate that had once belonged to the monks. An
attempt to corner herrings, or something of the sort, brought this
worthy, or unworthy tradesman to disaster, and the Hall was leased to a
Harwich smack-owner of the name of Blake, a shrewd person, whose origin
was humble. He had one son named John, of whom he was determined to
“make a gentleman.” With this view John was sent to a good public
school, and to college. But of him nothing could make a gentleman,
because true gentility and his nature were far apart. He remained,
notwithstanding all his advantages, a cunning, and in his way an able
man of business, like his father before him. For the rest, he was big,
florid and presentable, with the bluff and hearty manner which
sometimes distinguishes a _faux bonhomme_. “Honest John” they
called him in the neighbourhood, a soubriquet which was of service to
him in many ways.
Suddenly Honest John’s father died, leaving him well off, though not
so rich as he would have liked to be. At first he thought of leaving
Hawk’s Hall and going to live at Harwich, where most of his business
interests were. But, remembering that the occupation of it gave him a
certain standing in the county, whereas in Harwich he would have been
only a superior tradesman, he gave up the idea. It was replaced by
another—to marry well.
Now John Blake was not an idealist, nor in any sense romantic;
therefore, from marriage he expected little. He did not even ask that
his wife should be good-looking, knowing that any aspirations which he
had towards beauty could be satisfied otherwise. Nor did he seek money,
being well aware that he could make this for himself. What he desired
were birth and associations. After a little waiting he found exactly
what he wanted.
A certain Lord Lynfield from the South of England, who lived in London,
and was a director of many Boards, took a pheasant-shooting in the
neighbourhood of Hawk’s Hall, and with it a house. Here he lived more
or less during the winter months, going up to town when necessary, to
attend his Boards. Lord Lynfield was cursed with several extravagant
sons, with whom John Blake, who was a good shot, soon became friendly.
Also he made himself useful by lending one of them a considerable sum
of money. When this came to Lord Lynfield’s ears, as Honest John was
careful that it should, he was disturbed and offered repayment, though
as a matter of fact he did not know where to turn for the cash. In his
bluffest and heartiest way Blake refused to hear of such a thing.
“No, no, my Lord, let it stand. Your son will repay me one day, and if
he doesn’t, what will a trifle like that matter?”
“He certainly shall repay you. But all the same, Mr. Blake, you have
behaved very well and I thank you much,” replied his Lordship
courteously.
Thus did John Blake become an intimate of that aristocratic family.
Now Lord Lynfield, who was a widower, had one unmarried daughter. She
was an odd and timid little person, with strong religious views, who
adored secretly a high-church curate in London. This, indeed, was the
reason why she had been brought to Essex when her infatuation was
discovered by one of her married sisters, who, like the rest of the
family, was extremely “low.” Lady Jane was small in body and
shrinking and delicate in character, somewhat mouselike indeed. Even
her eyes were large and timid as are those of a mouse. In her John
Blake perceived the exact _parti_ whom he desired for a wife.
It is not necessary to follow the pitiful story to its inevitable end,
one, happily, more common at that time than it is to-day. Mr. Blake
played the earnest, ardent lover, and on all occasions proclaimed his
own unworthiness at the top of his loud voice. Also he hinted at large
settlements to the married sisters, who put the matter before Jane very
plainly indeed. In the end, after a few words with her father, who
pointed out that the provision which could be made for her was but
small, and that he would die more happily if he knew her to be
comfortably settled in life with a really trustworthy and generous man
such as Mr. Blake had proved himself to be, she gave way, and in due
course they were married.
In fact, the tragedy was complete, since Jane loathed her husband, whose
real nature she had read from the beginning, as much as she adored the
high-church curate from whom in some terrible hour she parted with
broken words. Even when he died a few years later, she continued to
adore him, so much that her one hope was that she might meet him again
in the land where there is no marrying or giving in marriage. But all
of this she kept locked in her poor little heart, and meanwhile did her
duty by her husband with an untroubled brow, though those mouse-like
eyes of hers grew ever more piteous.
He, for his part, did not do his duty by her. Of one side of his conduct
she was careless, being totally indifferent as to whom he admired.
Others she found it hard to bear. The man was by nature a bully, one
who found pleasure in oppressing the helpless, and who loved, in the
privacy of his home, to wreak the ill-temper which he was forced to
conceal abroad. In company, and especially before any of her people, he
treated her with the greatest deference, and would even make loud
laudatory remarks concerning her; when they were alone there was a
different tale to tell, particularly if she had in any way failed in
promoting that social advancement for which he had married her.
“What do you suppose I give you all those jewels and fine clothes for,
to say nothing of the money you waste in keeping up the house?” he
would ask brutally.
Jane made no answer; silence was her only shield, but her heart burned
within her. It is probable, notwithstanding her somewhat exaggerated
ideas of duty and wifely obedience, that she would have plucked up her
courage and left him, even if she must earn her own living as a
sempstress, had it not been for one circumstance. That circumstance was
the arrival in the world of her daughter, Isobel. In some ways this
event did not add to her happiness, if that can be added to which does
not exist, for the reason that her husband never forgave her because
this child, her only one, was not a boy. Nor did he lose any
opportunity of telling her this to her face, as though the matter were
one over which she had control. In others, however, for the first time
in her battered little life, she drank deep of the cup of joy. She
loved that infant, and from the first it loved her and her only, while
to the father it was indifferent, and at times antagonistic.
From the cradle Isobel showed herself to be an individual of character.
Even as a little girl she knew what she wanted and formed her own
opinions quite independently of those of others. Moreover, in a certain
way she was a good-looking child, but of a stamp totally different from
that of either of her parents. Her eyes were not restless and
prominent, like her father’s, or dark and plaintive, like her
mother’s, but large, grey and steady, with long curved lashes. In
fact, they were fine, but it was her only beauty, since the brow above
them was almost too pronounced for that of a woman, the mouth was a
little large, and the nose somewhat irregular. Her hair, too, though
long and thick, was straight and rather light-coloured. For the rest
she was well-grown and vigorous, with a strong, full voice, and as she
approached maturity she developed a fine figure.
When she was not much more than ten Isobel had her first trouble with
her father. Something had gone wrong with one of his shipping
speculations, and as usual, he vented it upon his wife. So cruelly did
he speak to her on a household matter for which she was not the least
to blame, that the poor woman at last rose and left the room to hide
her tears. Isobel, however, remained behind, and walking up to her
father, who stood with his back to the fire, asked him why he treated
her mother thus.
“Mind your own business, you impertinent brat,” he answered.
“Mummy is my business, and you are—a brute,” she exclaimed,
clenching her little fists. He lifted his hand as though to strike her,
then changed his mind and went away. She had conquered. Thenceforward
Mr. Blake was careful not to maltreat his wife in Isobel’s presence.
He complained to her, however, of the child’s conduct, which, he
said, was due to her bringing up and encouragement, and Lady Jane in
turn, scolded her in her gentle fashion for her “wicked words.”
Isobel listened, then asked, without attempting to defend herself,
“Were not father’s words to you wicked also, Mummy? It was not your
fault if James forgot to bring round the dog-cart and made him miss the
train to London. Ought you to be sworn at for that?”
“No, dear, but you see, he is my husband, and husbands can say what
they wish to their wives.”
“Then I will never have a husband; at least, not one like father,”
Isobel announced with decision.
There the matter ended. Or rather it did not end, since from that moment
Isobel began to reflect much on matrimony and other civilized
institutions, as to which at last she formed views that were not common
among girls of her generation. In short, she took the first step
towards Radicalism, and entered on the road of rebellion against the
Existing and Acknowledged.
During the governess era which followed this scene Isobel travelled far
and fast along that road. The lady, or rather the ladies, hired by her
father, for his wife was allowed no voice in their selection, were of
the order known as “determined”; disciplinarians of the first
water. For one reason or another they did not stay. Isobel, though a
quick and able child, very fond of reading moreover, proved unamenable
under discipline as understood by those formidable females, and owing
to her possession of a curious tenacity of purpose, ended by wearing
them down. Also they did not care for the atmosphere of the house,
which was depressing.
One of them once tried to strike Isobel. This was when she was nearly
thirteen. Isobel replied with the schoolroom inkpot. She was an adept
at stone-throwing, and other athletic arts. It caught her instructress
fair upon her gentle bosom, spoiled her dress, filled her mouth and
eyes with ink, and nearly knocked her down.
“I shall tell your father to flog you,” gasped the lady when she
recovered her breath.
“I should advise you not,” said Isobel. “And what is
more,” she added after reflection, “if you do I shall advise him
not to listen to you.”
Then the governess thought better of it and gave notice instead. To be
just to John Blake he never attempted to resort to violence against his
daughter. This may have been because he knew by instinct that it would
not be safe to do so or tend to his own comfort. Or perhaps, it was for
the reason that in his way he was fond of her, looking on her with
pride not quite untouched by fear. Like all bullies he was a coward at
heart, and respected anyone who dared to stand up to him, even although
she were but a girl, and his own daughter.
After the victim of the inkpot incident departed, threatening actions at
law and proclaiming that her pupil would come to a bad end, questions
arose as to Isobel’s future education. Evidently the governess
experiment had broken down and was not worth repeating. Although she
trembled at the idea of parting with her only joy and consolation in
life, Lady Jane suggested that she should be sent to school. It was
fortunate for her that she did so, since as the idea came from his
wife, Mr. Blake negatived it at once firmly and finally, a decision
which she accepted with an outward sigh of resignation, having learned
the necessity of guile, and inward delight. Indeed, for it that evening
she thanked God upon her knees.
It may be also that her father did not wish that Isobel should go away.
Lady Jane bored him to distraction, since kicking a cushion soon
becomes poor sport. So much did she bore him indeed that for this and
other reasons he passed most of his time in London or at Harwich, in
both of which places he had offices where he transacted his shipping
business, only spending the week-ends at Hawk’s Hall. It was his
custom to bring with him parties of friends, business men as a rule, to
whom, for sundry purposes, he wished to appear in the character of a
family man and local magnate. Isobel, who was quick and vivacious even
while she was still a child, helped to make these parties pass off
well, whereas without her he felt that they would have been a failure.
Also she was useful during the shooting season. So it came about that
she was kept at home.
It was at this juncture that an idea came to Mr. Blake. A few years
before, at the very depth of the terrible agricultural depression of
the period, he had purchased at a forced sale by the mortgagees, the
entire Monk’s Acre estate, at about £12 the acre, which was less
than the cost of the buildings that stood upon the land. This, as he
explained to all and sundry, he had done at great personal loss in the
interest of the tenants and labourers, but as a matter of fact, even at
the existing rents, the investment paid him a fair rate of interest,
and was one which, as a business man he knew must increase in value
when times changed. With the property went the advowson of Monk’s
Acre, and it chanced that a year later the living fell vacant through
the resignation of the incumbent. Mr. Blake, now as always seeking
popularity, consulted the bishop, consulted the church-wardens,
consulted the parishioners, and in the end consulted his own interests
by nominating the nephew of a wealthy baronet of his acquaintance whom
he was anxious to secure as a director upon the Board of a certain
company in which he had large holdings.
“I have never seen this clerical gentleman and know nothing of his
views, or anything about him. But if you recommend him, my dear Sir
Samuel, it is enough for me, since I always judge of a man by his
friends. Perhaps you will furnish me, or rather my lawyers, with the
necessary particulars, and I will see that the matter is put through.
Now, to come to more important business, as to this Board of which I am
chairman,” &c.
The end of it was that Sir Samuel, flattered by such deference, became a
member of the Board and Sir Samuel’s nephew became rector of Monk’s
Acre.
Such appointments, like marriages, are made in Heaven—at least that
seems to be the doctrine of the English Church, which is content to act
thereon. In this particular instance the results were quite good. The
Rev. Mr. Knight, the nephew of the opulent Sir Samuel, proved to be an
excellent and hard-working clergyman. He was low-church, and narrow
almost to the point of Calvinism, but intensely earnest and
conscientious; one who looked upon the world as a place of sin and woe
through which we must labour and pass on, a difficult path beset with
rocks and thorns, leading to the unmeasured plains of Heaven. Also he
was an educated man who had taken high degrees at college, and really
learned in his way. While he was a curate, working very hard in a great
seaport town, he had married the daughter of another clergyman of the
city, who died in a sudden fashion as the result of an accident,
leaving the girl an orphan. She was not pure English as her mother had
been a Dane, but on both sides her descent was high, as indeed was that
of Mr. Knight himself.
This union, contracted on the husband’s part largely from motives that
might be called charitable, since he had promised his deceased colleague
on his death bed to befriend the daughter, was but moderately
successful. The wife had the characteristics of her race; largeness and
liberality of view, high aspirations for humanity, considerable
intelligence, and a certain tendency towards mysticism of the
Swedenborgian type, qualities that her husband neither shared nor could
appreciate. It was perhaps as well, therefore that she died at the
birth of her only son, Godfrey, three years after her marriage.
Mr. Knight never married again. Matrimony was not a state which appealed
to his somewhat shrunken nature. Although he admitted its necessity to
the human race, of it in his heart he did not approve, nor would he
ever have undertaken it at all had it not been for a sense of
obligation. This attitude, because it made for virtue as he understood
it, he set down to virtue, as we are all apt to do, a sacrifice of the
things of earth and of the flesh to the things of heaven, and of the
spirit. In fact, it was nothing of the sort, but only the outcome of
individual physical and mental conditions. Towards female society,
however hallowed and approved its form, he had no leanings. Also the
child was a difficulty, so great indeed that at times almost he
regretted that a wise Providence had not thought fit to take it
straight to the joys of heaven with its mother, though afterwards, as
the boy’s intelligence unfolded, he developed interest in him. This,
however, he was careful to keep in check, lest he should fall into the
sin of inordinate affection, denounced by St. Paul in common with other
errors.
Finally, he found an elderly widow, named Parsons, who acted as his
housekeeper, and took charge of his son. Fortunately for Godfrey her
sense of parenthood was more pronounced than that of his father, and
she, who had lost two children of her own, played the part of mother to
him with a warm and loyal heart. From the first she loved him, and he
loved her; it was an affection that continued throughout their lives.
When Godfrey was about nine his father’s health broke down. He was
still a curate in his seaport town, for good, as goodness is
understood, and hard-working as he was, no promotion had come his way.
Perhaps this was because the bishop and his other superiors,
recognising his lack of sympathy and his narrowness of outlook, did not
think him a suitable man to put in charge of a parish. At any rate, so
it happened.
Thus arose his appeal to his wealthy and powerful relative, Sir Samuel,
and his final nomination to a country benefice, for in the country the
doctor said that he must live—unless he wished to die. Convinced
though he was of the enormous advantages of Heaven over an earth which
he knew to be extremely sinful, the Rev. Mr. Knight, like the rest of
the world, shrank from the second alternative, which, as he stated in a
letter of thanks to Sir Samuel, however much it might benefit him
personally, would cut short his period of terrestrial usefulness to
others. So he accepted the rectorship of Monk’s Acre with gratitude.
In one way there was not much for which to be grateful, seeing that in
those days of depreciated tithes the living was not worth more than
£250 a year and his own resources, which came from his wife’s small
fortune, were very limited. It should have been valuable, but the great
tithes were alienated with the landed property of the Abbey by Henry
VIII, and now belonged to the lay rector, Mr. Blake, who showed no
signs of using them to increase the incumbent’s stipend.
Still there was a good house with an excellent garden, too good indeed,
with its beautiful and ancient rooms which a former rector of
archæological knowledge and means had in part restored to their
pristine state, while for the rest his tastes were simple and his needs
few, for, of course, he neither drank wine nor smoked. Therefore, as
has been said, he took the living with thankfulness and determined to
make the best of it on a total income of about £350 a year.