Читать книгу The Greatest Plague of Life: or, the Adventures of a Lady in Search of a Good Servant - Henry Mayhew - Страница 9

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“Sing! who sings

To her that weareth a hundred rings,

Ah! who is this lady fine?

* * * * *

A roamer is she,

* * * * *

And sometimes very good company.”

Barry Cornwall.

I was born about four o’clock in the morning, on the 23rd day of September, 1810. I am told I was a remarkably fine child, though it is a curious fact that my intellect was some time before it displayed itself. But my dear mamma has since often confessed to me that this rather pleased her than otherwise, observing, with a pardonable fondness, that great geniuses had mostly been distinguished for their stupidity in their youth; so that my parents felt little or no anxiety about me.

Being the only child, I was not weaned until I was more than eighteen months—to which circumstance our medical adviser attributes, in a great measure, the very fine constitution I have of my own. I was always a great pet with papa; indeed, many of our oldest friends, who knew me as a child, have since told me that he quite spoilt me. My childhood was such a golden dream, and fleeted by so quickly, that, though I am little more than thirty years of age, still I cannot at present call to mind any incident that occurred in my youth which might amuse the courteous Reader.

I was not remarkable for my beauty as a young girl, but I am told there was something very interesting in me; and my manners were so winning, that I was a general favourite with all, except the servants, who found me one too many for them.

My maiden name was B—ff—n; and my father, who was a C—l M—rch—nt, in an extensive way of business, resided in K—nt—sh T—wn, and had dealings with some of the first families in the neighbourhood. I was christened Caroline, after my mamma, who was nearly related to the R—msb—tt—ms, whose noble ancestor, F—tz-R—msb—tt—m, came into England with the Conqueror, and mamma says his name was once on the Roll of Battle Abbey. Mr. R—msb—tt—m, who was the uncle of mamma’s first husband’s brother’s wife, is still possessed of an extensive seat near C—nt—rbury, remarkable for its antiquity.

My mamma, who was justly proud of the noble blood which flows in the veins of our family, brought my father considerable property; which, however, owing to his being of a very generous disposition, he soon ran through. So that when I was born, he was endeavouring to recruit his fortune, by carrying on the noble business of a merchant; and was even then possessed of several fine vessels, which used to come up the R—g—nt’s Canal, and be moored off the sweet, pretty little wharf of his, studding its banks.

My education was chiefly superintended by my beloved mamma, who could not bear to part with her little “duck’s-o’-diamonds,” (as she would fondly call me,) until I had reached the advanced age of fourteen, when my papa prevailed upon her to allow him to send me over to a highly fashionable finishing academy at Boulogne-sur-mer, in le belle France, where I learnt every accomplishment that can adorn a lady. I soon became such a proficient in the tongue, and acquired so perfect an accent, that my schoolmistress assured mamma (when she came to fetch me home) that I could speak it “tout-à-fait comme une natif,” (that is, quite like a native of the country,) and which I have found to be of great service to me in after-life.

When I was about sixteen, my personal charms began to develop themselves, and having a fine thick head of hair (of a rich, warm chesnut colour) my mamma would make me wear it in long, beautiful ringlets; and, indeed, even now my back hair is so long that it reaches much lower than my waist. My eyes, which were of light hazel, though small, were considered so full of expression, that they made up in meaning what they wanted in brilliance; while I was blessed with such a remarkably fine, clear complexion of my own, and had such an extremely high colour, (which, indeed, I have retained to this day,) that I have over and over again been accused of rouging; (both my little girls take after me in this respect.) I have my papa’s nose, which is a fine Roman, and my mamma’s mouth and dimple. My greatest drawback, as a young woman, was my exceedingly bashful and retiring disposition, which used to flutter me so, that whenever I was spoken to by a stranger, it invariably threw all the blood in my body into my face; so that I seldom had a word to say for myself—which failing, indeed, I never have been able to get over even to this time.

Long before I was twenty-one, my papa had many advantageous offers for my hand, but he would accept of none of them for me; as he did not then consider me fit to enter upon the stormy path of matrimonial life, for my dear, foolish mamma would never allow me to attend to the housekeeping, from a pardonable pride she felt in her illustrious descent. So that, as things turned out, perhaps it was better that I did not get settled until I had nearly attained my twenty-sixth year.

On the 14th of May, 1840, at the ball of the Caledonians, I met my present husband, Edward Sk—n—st—n, Esquire, who was then a widower without encumbrance, (although, if there had been any children by his former wife, I trust I know myself too well to have done other than treat them as my own flesh and blood.) The poor man was so taken with my tout ensemble at first sight, that he would scarcely leave me for a moment throughout the evening, and would insist upon accompanying both mamma and myself home.

We soon discovered that he was a lawyer, in a very excellent practice; so that mamma, the next time he called, asked him to stop to dinner with us, and introduced him to papa, who was very glad to see him. After dinner, when we had gone to the drawing-room, mamma begged me to sing; and I obliged him with one of my most admired little French “Romans,” when the poor man seemed quite moved by my strains.

The next day, he came to ask mamma and myself to accompany him to Madame Tussaud’s Exhibition; but mamma suddenly remembered a particular call she had to make that afternoon on a friend in the opposite direction, so I was forced to go alone with him. When we were by ourselves, in “the Chamber of Horrors” there, Mr. Sk—n—st—n remarked, in a low voice, choked by emotion, upon the charms of my retiring disposition, and said that I was the very reverse of his poor, dear, sainted wife, who he was kind enough to hope and trust was in heaven.

In about a week, his attentions to me became so marked, that it was the common talk of all our friends, insomuch so that dear papa, out of an over-fondness and anxiety on my account, was obliged to ask him what his intentions were towards me; for he was fearful lest Mr. Sk—n—st—n might be one of those monsters in human form who trifle with a young girl’s best affections, and then fling them aside as they would a dead pink, or any other faded flower that they had taken the bloom off of.

In this interview, Edward, whose heart I always knew was of too noble a nature ever to deal thus vilely with a poor maid, at once declared his passion, and demanded my hand, which my father joyfully gave him, together with his blessing. After this, Edward became a constant visitor at the house; and he arranged to lead me to the altar a month after the first anniversary of his sainted wife’s death, so that the proper decencies of society might not be violated in our case.

I shall never forget the melancholy sentiment that filled my bosom whenever I thought of that joyful event taking place. What an awful step I was about to take! Was it for good—or for evil? Alas! who could say? Perhaps I might become the mother of several beauteous babes! What new feelings and duties would then overwhelm this heart. Was I equal to the task? Alas! who could tell? I was about to leave my dear papa’s Halls, and to quit the embraces of an aged mamma, of noble ancestry, for the arms of one of whom I could know but little; yet a small still voice within me assured me that, come what might, at least Edward would treat me well. His presents to me had already shown him to be a man of great good nature, and I could not forget his affecting emotion when he implored my acceptance of the jewellery that once belonged to his sainted wife.

The night previous to the day that Edward had appointed to swear to love and cherish me in sickness and in health, and take me for better or for worse, as I sat with my dear mamma and the maid completing the body (the skirt was already finished) of my bridal robe, my maternal parent, with tears in her eyes, desired the maid to leave the room, as she wished to speak to me alone.

As soon as the girl had gone, my mamma told me that I was about to take an awful step, and that she hoped and trusted that it would all turn out happily. But that there was one thing that she felt it was her duty, upon my entrance into life as it were, to warn me against—one thing, on which alone domestic happiness could be built—one thing, on which I should find my comfort depended more than any other—one thing, in fact, which might strew either my path with roses, or my bed with thorns. And then she asked me what I thought this one thing was? Probably I might think she meant my husband—but no! it was something of far more consequence to me than that. Or I might think she meant fortune, or economy, or my offspring—(if I were destined to be so blessed.) It was none of these, she told me—nor was it amiability of temper, or a proper pride in appearance, or marital constancy—no! these had but a trifling connexion with the peace and quiet of my future domestic life compared with that which she alluded to. In a word, she said, I should find the key-stone to all my future welfare rested upon those I should have about me. She referred to—servants. It was only by the proper management of them, she said, that I could ever expect to taste happiness; and she warned me not to govern with a light hand, but to do as she had done, and which, she assured me, was the only way of making them respect and obey me, and that was, to rule with a rod of iron. And then, telling me that her words ought to be printed in letters of gold, she bade me dry up my tears and resume my work.

Ha-ah!—Little did I then—giddy, inexperienced child that I was—see the value of the jewels that fell from dear mamma’s mouth; but in my happy innocence I inwardly set them down as the words of one whose naturally sweet disposition had been soured in her dealings with this empty world. Had I but treasured up her truths in my heart, I should not have suffered as I have. (But more of this hereafter.)

It was not until nearly midnight that we had finished my wedding garment; and when I retired to rest, I did so with a fluttering heart; and laying my head on my pillow, I said to myself—“Ah! poor Caroline! fond, foolish girl, what a plunge art thou about to make into the Book of Fate! To-morrow!—to-morrow!”

The occurrences of that day I will reserve for another chapter.

My moral reflections after writing the above.—How beautifully fitting an emblem and becoming an ornament is the orange-flower for the virgin bride! For does not its milky purity tell long—long tales of the snow-like affection of the generous maiden who is about to give away her heart to one whose love she has yet to try? Is it not the silver blossom of a tree that bears rich and golden fruit? And is it not left to man to say whether, by casting on the virgin bud the sunshine of his smiles, he shall ripen it into sweetness; or, by withholding them, she shall remain sour after her green youth has passed away? But, ah! how many a tender young wife, who at the altar sighs that her budding hopes may grow into the sweet fruit of St. Michael, finds them, in the end, alas! only converted into the bitter ones of Seville.