THE OLD HOME BROKEN UP
One letter at about this time gives particulars of how Charlotte tried to influence, not without results, a poor Roman Catholic woman, whom she came across in the Infirmary. Another makes allusion1 to the Ragged2 Schools and their work, in which she was always greatly interested. Yet another contains the answer to an inquiry3 from a niece about a book which should be bought, probably for a gift. The suggested choice ranges between Sir Walter Scott, Felicia Hemans, Jean Ingelow, the Author of The Schonberg-Cotta Family, and Miss Sewell,—a rather curious mixture.
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘July 7, 1868.
‘I met a mole4 the other day in a field. It did not attempt to get away, but let me stroke it; and had I chosen I could easily have taken it up in my hand. This seems quite a country for moles5. I have seen them repeatedly. I take a greater interest in them, from that book, Homes Without Hands, which your father kindly6 gave me.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Aug. 11, 1868.
‘We have strange pets here. There are numbers of wasps8; I never saw so many at any one time, I think. They sting our poor maids in the kitchen, but behave in such a gentlemanly way in the drawing-room, that, instead of a plague, they seem a pleasure to[147] dear Grandmamma. She watches them, feeds them, admires their beauty, and calls them her babies. One got within Aunt C——‘s jacket, which naturally rather alarmed her. She drew the jacket off, and I found the wasp7 in the sleeve. It had been between it and C——‘s bare skin, and yet had never stung her.
‘I dare say that you are rather impatient to be settled in Firlands.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Sept. 21, 1868.
‘On Saturday —— and I read my Castle of Carlsmont aloud to dear Grandmamma. I have been amused at ——‘s little criticisms, and shall like to know how far yours agree with hers, if you read my Tragedy. —— says that “Clara is rather stupid”; that she likes Agnes best. “I have rather a sneaking9 likeness10 for Agnes,” says she. She says that the ending disappoints her; she would cut off the last page and the four preceding lines, which would completely alter the whole ending. The ending stood originally just as she would have it; but years afterwards I added the page and four lines, which I think an improvement.
‘Tell me frankly11 what you think, and whether you approve of the style of binding12. You remember when I talked to you about the Tragedy, as we sat together in the garden. The two things that occurred to you were,—how could I get the work, when printed, sold; and that people would not like it in pamphlet shape. Messrs. Nelson have obviated13 the first difficulty; and by having covers put on by the Jewish Society, I have obviated the second. I am sure my wee book will have your good wishes, dear, that it may bring in a little sum to dear Auntie Fanny’s Mission purse.
‘You will wonder what has become of that work of mine, of which I read part to you last year. I can only warn you, my dear Leila, when you write a story, don’t call it On the Way,—for it seems to be always on the way, and never to arrive.
‘What a long note I have written! Pay me back by a review of my Tragedy, and be as blunt as ever you like; for if you tell me that my poor lady is “very stupid,” instead of “rather stupid,” you will only make me smile.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Feb. 4, 1869.
‘It is only fair that I should send you a long account of the wedding.[16] I thought that I should be the first of the party in[148] church, for I went early; but I was mistaken. Gradually a large family party gathered.... There was a good deal of how-d’ye-doing and kissing and that kind of thing, before the word was heard, “The bride is coming.”
‘Dear Bella looked nice and sweet, leaning on the arm of her father. A large Honiton lace veil fell over her pure white silk dress; her lovely hair plaited, instead of made into an ugly chignon, appeared graceful14 under the white wreath, from which a spray drooped15 down her neck. I did not think the bridesmaids looking picturesque16; there was too square a look about the purple trimming of their white alpacas. The bridegroom and bride stood side by side. I could see Bella’s profile distinctly, and could hear every sentence, both when James and when she repeated their vows17.... There was no crying that I could see.... You know that there were eight little children present, four little boys and four little girls. Some of them were given flowers from an ornamental18 basket, to strew19 in the path of the bride, as her husband led her down the aisle20.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘June 12, 1869.
‘Sweet Grandmamma continues much the same,—serene21,—without pain, not exactly ill, but so delicate that she is still carried up and down stairs, and sees none of the family but Aunt Clara and myself, and only a little of me.... Dear Grandmamma sent for me while I was writing the above; and to my surprise I found her, pen in hand, busy with a note to welcome Uncle Willy. I am much pleased that she should send him one, though I should not have thought of asking her to make so great an effort. Of course the note is very short.’
TO THE SAME.
‘July 10, 1869.
‘My heart should be full of thankfulness, for to-day dear Aunt Fanny was able to pay her first visit here to see Grandmamma. Uncle and Aunt St. George[17] drove her here in their pony-chaise; and she had quite enjoyed the drive. I thought Aunt Fanny decidedly better; but dear Grandmamma—who has scarcely realised the severity of her late illness,—said to me, with evident disappointment,[149] “I was surprised to see my own Fanny look so pallid22. I think she looks worse than I do.” This is true; but then the fact is that Grandmamma’s lovely pink and white complexion23 often makes her look stronger than she is....
‘Uncle St. George has given me such a lovely piano-piece. Grandmamma likes me to play it through every day, or I should be inclined to lend it to your dearest Mother. It would remind her so of the dear Ancient Concerts, the delight of our youth, and of good old Mrs. Burrough. It is Glück’s music, arranged by Calcott, from Half-Hours with the Best Composers, published by Lonsdale. The piece commences with the delightful24 chorus of Furies, Cerberus barking, etc., which your dear Mother may remember.
‘I am ashamed of such an untidy scrawl25 as this. I do not know how that blot26 on the first page made its appearance. Of course the writer was not to blame!... I could chat much longer with you, dear one, but I have other notes to write; and my pen, or ink, or paper, or something or other, will go wrong to-night, so as to make the act of writing irksome, as well as the note untidy.’
Another heavy blow, not less heavy because sooner or later inevitable27, was now drawing very near. Mrs. Tucker, who had reached the age of eighty, had of late failed steadily28; and Charlotte must have seen that this dear Mother was soon to pass away from their midst. Before the close of July the call came; and already every word that she spoke29 was treasured up by her daughter, as may be seen in the following letter:—
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘July 12, 1869.
‘So many thanks to my beloved Laura for her valuable and gratifying gift, which reaches me to-day. Dear Mother has heard your sweet music twice over already, and both she and Clara admire it. So do I. I wish that your song were published, that more might benefit from it. I am pleased that you occupy yourself in composing, love. I dare say Mother will often ask for her Laura’s song. “Is not she a darling?” exclaimed Mother to-day.
‘I not unfrequently sing, “Hark, my soul,” to sweet Mamma. It is better to go over and over the same than to give much variety, though I sometimes sing “Rock of Ages” also. I heard Mother[150] saying to herself one day, “Jesus speaks, and speaks to me”; and she once observed of that hymn30, “That takes one to heaven.”
‘Dear Mother is much the same; not ill; with no fever, no pain; just very delicate and weak. She was so particularly sweet yesterday, Sunday. She looked lovely sitting by the large open window, with a light gauze veil to keep off the flies. Mother said that it had been “a holy day”—“a solemn day,”—and twice asked me to read the Bible to her.... Once after waking she observed that she felt “between Heaven and earth.” Mother has repeatedly alluded31 to her dream of being in Heaven with Mrs. Thornhill; and often talks of her father,—“such a holy man!”
‘She said yesterday, “I have been dreaming.” I observed, “I hope they were pleasant dreams.” “Mostly prayerful,” was her reply.... She is very serene and peaceful, which is such a mercy.’
TO MRS. HAMILTON.
‘July 24, 1869.
‘Beloved Laura,—So tenderly and so gently the Lord has dealt with our sweetest Mother! She woke this morning, and told Cousins that she herself had slept too long. There was a slight feeling of sickness about eight, which made Cousins call poor Clara. In about an hour she gently fell asleep.... No pain nor even consciousness at the last. I had gone to London on business, as you know. I was telegraphed to; but ere I arrived she—the sweet, the beloved—was where she had wished to be. O Laura, Laura, she has long been drinking the dregs of life, however sweetened by affection. I felt for her. But I seem as if I could hardly write connectedly. All the three dear brothers have been here. St. George still is here. Poor dear Fanny also,—she is to have my room, for she is so thankful to be here. We have, however, only been allowed one very brief glimpse and kiss of the revered32 remains33. Only remains, my Laura. Think of her bliss34! She is not here.... Your fond
‘C. M. T.’
In Charlotte’s desk, kept as one of her greatest treasures, and found there, years later, after her own death, was the last note ever written to her by Mrs. Tucker. It contained these words—‘My precious Charlotte, you have been such a comfort to me!’ No wonder the loving utterance35 was treasured up by the daughter through the rest of her life.
[151]
During forty-eight years Charlotte Tucker had known but one home—No. 3 Upper Portland Place. Now at length in her forty-ninth year the inevitable family break-up had come; and the dear home of her infancy36, of her girlhood, of her middle age, could be hers no longer. No. 3 had to be given up; and the sisters had to go forth37 into fresh scenes. The trial must to all of them have been great; perhaps least so to the gentle Fanny, already on the border-land of the Life beyond.
As a first move, Charlotte and Fanny went together for about two months to Sutton. An idea had, however, arisen of a home, at least for a time, with their brother, Mr. St. George Tucker, and his wife; and the next step was to join them at Wickhill, Bracknell, in the month of September 1869. This was Fanny’s last move. She was taken thither38, from Sutton, most carefully by Charlotte, in a post-chaise; and the long drive does not appear to have materially affected39 her. Although by this time wasted to skin and bone, Fanny still kept about in the house; spending much time in her own sitting-room40, yet often coming down among the rest for a short time; and during this autumn Charlotte seems to have chiefly devoted41 herself to Fanny. Before the close of November, however, the end of the long illness was reached.
One day, when speaking to her brother, in allusion to her earlier good health and plumpness, Fanny observed: ‘My dear St. George, I have been imprudent.’ She did not specify42 what manner of imprudence hers had been. Probably, like many another in a thoroughly43 healthy family, she had not soon enough read the true meaning of suspicious symptoms. During some four years past she had been steadily failing; and the end could but have been a joyous44 release to one so ready to go.
Thus blow upon blow had fallen between the years of thirty and fifty upon the golden staff of Charlotte Tucker’s[152] Will. Her Father’s death; the death of Robert; the death of Letitia; the death of her Mother; the death of Fanny; all these one after another make a list of sorrows. Doubtless, the most keen and bitter losses which she had to endure were, above all, the death of her almost idolised Father, and the death of Letitia. No other pain would equal these, dearly as she loved her brother Robert, her Mother, and Fanny, until her own peculiar45 sister-friend, Laura Hamilton, should be summoned away. Mercifully, that blow was not allowed to fall until a very short time before her own call Home.
Charlotte was not crushed by these sorrows. This is plainly to be seen. Although the wild spirits and abounding46 glee of her childhood were toned down, she was still active, still buoyant, still able to enjoy life. She sorrowed, but by no means as one without hope; and if her life was shadowed, it had not lost its spring. As time went by, the spirit of fun and mirthfulness revived; and the little ones in her new home could not fail to be a fresh delight to one who so greatly loved children. Even the earlier letters after her Mother’s death are not only calm but cheerful.
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘Aug. 23, 1869.
‘I cannot help hoping very sincerely that Uncle St. G. may find a house near Bracknell, large enough to hold Aunt Fanny and myself, as well as his own party. Would it not be nice? But I am rather guarded about setting my heart on anything of the sort. Aunt Fanny would like it very much.... It would be like a haven47 to me. I think I know one young maiden48 who would not be sorry to have her old godmother within reach of a walk. But I am quietly waiting to see how things are arranged for me.... I have to manage things for Aunt Fanny, as well as for myself, just as if I were her husband. It is very new work to me. I am not, like your dear Mother, accustomed to think and arrange about a mass of property.’
[153]
TO THE SAME.
‘Dec. 2, 1869.
‘I hope that my sweet Leila has not thought me unmindful of her loving sympathy because I have not thanked her before for her note. I am sure that you have heard of us from your beloved Mother, who so tenderly shared my watch by the bedside of my heart’s sister. O Leila dear, does not such a peaceful, holy departure show us that our Lord has indeed taken the sting from death? Without Him, how terrible would be the dark Unknown!—with Him, how bright is the valley!
‘Sweet Aunt Fanny quoted to me not long ago, I suppose in reference to departure,—“When Thou wilt49; where Thou wilt; how Thou wilt!” I think that the last chapter which I read to her was Romans viii. It is such a long chapter, that I stopped at about the 25th verse, fearing to tire the dear invalid50; but she made me finish the chapter.
‘I went out of the drawing-room window before sunrise to-day, to gather flowers to make into wreaths. The gardener had not opened the greenhouse; but I found much more than I should have expected in the beginning of December,—even rosebuds51. The ferns look lovely still. A few days ago I made a wreath of myrtle. I thought it like an emblem52 of my own sweet sister; sweetest when bruised53; with an unfading leaf; and a white, simple-looking, yet lovely blossom.
‘Good-night, my Leila. May the Almighty54 make you, my dear Godchild, as unselfish, conscientious55, and lowly as was the loved one by whose grave I am to stand to-morrow.’
Although the plan of living with Mr. and Mrs. St. George Tucker was at no time regarded as a permanent arrangement for the remainder of Charlotte Tucker’s life, yet it actually lasted six years. For about eight months from September 1869 they all remained at Wickhill. In 1870 they removed to Windlesham, in Surrey; and in the following year, 1871, they again moved to ‘Woodlands,’ at Binfield in Berkshire, nine miles or so from Reading, and only about two and a half miles from Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton’s home, Firlands, near Bracknell. Charlotte had, therefore, from that time not only the interest of her[154] little nephew and two little nieces in the house, but also of her sister Laura’s children within three miles. The companionship of a very favourite brother and of his affectionate wife, together with these little ones, work among the poor, writing, and many other occupations, made her life still a busy and a bright one.
In one letter written to a niece from Firlands, in 1870, she describes ‘the rural seclusion56 of this lovely place. I am charmed with Firlands, and the groves57 of fragrant58 pine in which I wander every morning.’ In another letter, dated February 1871, she says: ‘I hasten to give you the good news that Uncle St. George has taken “Woodlands” for seven years. I am so glad, and I am sure that you will be so also.’ This was to her Godchild. Thus she entered upon the final stage of her English life. Before the close of those seven years Charlotte Tucker was in India.
The following extracts from letters belong all to the two or three years after her Mother’s death:—
TO MISS LAURA V. TUCKER.[18]
‘Feb. 10, 1870.
‘I took Sir Frederick and Lady Abbott[19] to-day to the Infant School at Bracknell. They seemed to be much pleased, and so I am sure were the Infants, as their visitors treated them with sugar-plums and lemon-cakes, in return for a number of songs.... A translation of my War and Peace has been made by Madame de Lambert, and is coming out in the Musée des Enfants,—under the name, I believe, of Le Soldat Aveugle.’
TO THE SAME.
‘Dec. 12, 1870.
‘A lady was here the other day, who has a curious taste for different creatures. She has had a slow-worm round her arm as a[155] bracelet—has kept an oyster59 which seemed to know her—and taught frogs to come out of the water at the sound of their names. One day, when she was quite young, she showed an old gentleman one of her dear snakes, coiled up. He thought it an imitation-one, and said something about good imitations,—when the reptile60 began to hiss61 at him.
‘“O you horrid62 girl, it’s alive!” exclaimed the poor old gentleman, forgetting his politeness in his sudden alarm and disgust.
‘Baby is now thriving nicely, and getting quite fat. It is funny to see her looking at the picture of the white kittens and cherries. She gets quite excited, trying to clutch hold of the cherries with her tiny hands.’
TO MISS ‘LEILA’ HAMILTON.
‘May 12, 1871.
‘Many thanks, my sweet Leila, for your affectionate letter, and also for your kindness in going to see Sarah Jones.
‘My darling Letitia! Notwithstanding all that has passed since she was last pressed to my heart, the sudden blow of her loss has left, I think, a deeper scar than any trial before or after it. I seldom mention her name; and now my heart seems rising into my throat as I write of her....
‘I feel tired, dear one, so will not write a long letter. I had a long business walk before luncheon63, and then the overland letter to Uncle Willy to write, and a great deal of proof-sheet of the Lady of Provence to correct.’
TO MRS. J. BOSWELL.
‘Nov. 13, 1872.
‘I am very busy, for there seems an almost endless field for work in making foreign wall-texts; quite a new occupation for me. In Italy and Spain they will now be warmly welcomed,—India, Syria, China, Labrador, all offer openings. I feel it so gracious in my dear Master to give me this little work for Him, now that the power of composing seems to be taken away. I find delight in going over and over the precious texts, which I have to copy in various tongues. I do not think that I ever before so realised their sweetness. I tried to gild64 my own little works with Scripture65 truths; but now I have[156] pure gold to give to others,—without admixing with it any alloy66 of my own.’
For awhile at about this time she seems to have lost almost entirely67 her power of writing; the failure being no doubt due to the state of her health, or to re-action from the strain of all that she had gone through in past years. She therefore spent many an hour in painting texts in different foreign languages, on a large scale, to be sent abroad.
The sacred poem which closes this chapter was written in the summer of 1871. It appeared in a little volume, called ‘Hymns and Poems‘, by A. L. O. E.
A DREAM OF THE SECOND ADVENT68.
‘I dreamed that in the stilly hush69 of night—
Deep midnight—I was startled from my sleep
By a clear sound as of a trumpet70! Loud
It swelled71, and louder, thrilling every nerve,
Making the heart beat wildly, strangely, till
All other senses seemed in hearing lost.
Up from my couch I sprang in trembling haste,
Cast on my garments, wondering to behold72
Through half-closed shutters73 sudden radiance gleam,
More clear, more vivid than the glare of day.
What marvel74, then, that with a breathless hope
That gave me wings, forth from my home I rushed,
Though heaved the earth as if instinct with life,
Its very dust awakening75. Can it be—
Is this the call, “Behold the Bridegroom comes!”
Comes He, the long-expected, long-desired?
Crowds thronged77 the street, with every face upturned,
Gazing into the sky,—the flaming sky—
Where every cloud was like a throne of light.
None could look back, not even to behold
If those beloved were nigh; one thrilling thought
Rapt all the multitude,—“Can HE be near?”
[157]
Then cries of terror rose—I scarcely heard;
And buildings shook and rocked, and crashing fell,—
I scarcely marked their fall; the trembling ground
Rose like the billowy sea,—I scarcely felt
The motion; such intensity78 of hope—
Joy—expectation—flooded all my soul;
A tide of living light, o’erwhelming all
The hopes and fears, the cares and woes79 of earth.
Could any doubt remain? Lo! from afar
A sound of “Hallelujah!” Ne’er before
Had mortal ear drunk in such heavenly strain,
Save when on Bethlehem’s plain the shepherds heard
The music of the skies.
Behold! Behold!
Like white-winged angels rise the radiant throng76
That from yon cemetery’s gloomy verge80
Have burst, immortal—glorious—undefiled!
Bright as the sun their crowns celestial81 shine,
Yet I behold them with undazzled eye.
Oh that yon glittering canopy82 of light
Would burst asunder83, that I might behold
Him, whom so long, not seeing, I have loved!
It parted—lo! it opened—as I stood
With clasped hands stretched towards Heaven; my eager gaze
Fixed84 on the widening glory!
Suddenly,
As if the burden of the flesh no more
Could fetter85 down the aspiring86 soul to earth,
As if the fleshly nature were consumed—
Lost in the glowing ecstasy87 of love—
I soared aloft, I mounted through the air,
Free as a spirit, rose to meet my Lord,
With such a cry of rapture—that I woke!
‘O misery88! to wake in darkness, wake
From vision of unutterable joy;
Instead of trumpet-sound and song of Heaven,
To hear the dull clock measuring out time,
When I had seemed to touch Eternity89!
In the first pang90 of disappointed hope,
I wept that I could wake from such a dream;
[158]
Until Faith gently whispered, “Wherefore weep
To lose the faint dim shadow of a joy
Of which the substance shall one day be thine?
Live in the hope,—that hope shall brighten life,
And sanctify it to its highest end.”
‘Fast roll the chariot wheels of Time. HE comes!
The Spirit and the Bride expectant wait,—
Even so come, Lord Jesus! Saviour—come!’
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allusion
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ragged
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inquiry
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mole
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moles
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kindly
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wasp
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wasps
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sneaking
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likeness
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frankly
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binding
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obviated
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graceful
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drooped
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picturesque
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vows
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ornamental
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strew
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aisle
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serene
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pallid
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complexion
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delightful
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scrawl
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blot
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inevitable
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steadily
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spoke
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hymn
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alluded
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revered
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remains
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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specify
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| vt.指定，详细说明 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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invalid
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| n.病人，伤残人；adj.有病的，伤残的；无效的 | |
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rosebuds
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| 蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女，初入社交界的少女( rosebud的名词复数 ) | |
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52
emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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groves
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| 树丛，小树林( grove的名词复数 ) | |
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fragrant
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| adj.芬香的，馥郁的，愉快的 | |
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oyster
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| n.牡蛎；沉默寡言的人 | |
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reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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hiss
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| v.发出嘶嘶声；发嘘声表示不满 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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gild
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| vt.给…镀金，把…漆成金色，使呈金色 | |
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scripture
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| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
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alloy
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| n.合金，(金属的)成色 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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asunder
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| adj.分离的，化为碎片 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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85
fetter
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| n./vt.脚镣，束缚 | |
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86
aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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