The Life and Beauties of Fanny Fern Part 21

LXXII.

THE LITTLE PAUPER.

This is one of f.a.n.n.y's most life-like word-paintings.

"It is only a little pauper! Never mind her. You see she knows her place, and keeps close to the wall, as if she expected an oath or a blow. The cold winds are making merry with those thin rags. You see nothing of childhood's rounded symmetry in those shrunken limbs and pinched features. Push her one side, _she's used to it_; she won't complain; she can't remember that she ever heard a kind word in her life. She'd think you were mocking if you tried it.

"She pa.s.ses into the warm kitchen, savory with odorous dainties, and is ordered out with a threat by the portly cook. In the shop windows she sees nice fresh loaves of bread and tempting little cakes. Rosy little children pa.s.s her, on their way to school, well-fed, well-clad and joyous, with a mother's parting kiss yet warm on their sweet lips.

"There seems to be happiness enough in the world, but it never comes to _her_. Her little basket is quite empty; and now, faint with hunger, she leans wearily against that shop window. There is a lovely lady, who has just pa.s.sed in. She is buying cakes and _bon-bons_ for her little girl as if she had the purse of Fortunatus. How nice it must be to be warm, and have enough to eat! Poor Meta! She has tasted nothing since she was sent forth with a curse in the morning, to beg or--steal, and the tears _will_ come; there is happiness and plenty in the world--but _none for Meta_!

"Not so fast, little one! Warm hearts beat sometimes under silk and velvet. That lady has caught sight of your little woe-begone face and s.h.i.+vering form. Oh! what if it were _her_ child?--and, obeying a sweet maternal impulse, she pa.s.ses out the door, takes those little benumbed fingers in her daintily gloved hands, and leads the child, wondering, shy and bewildered, into fairy land.

"A delightful and novel sensation of warmth creeps over those frozen limbs--a faint color tinges the pale cheeks, and the eyes grow liquid and lovely, as Meta raises them thankfully to her benefactress. The lady's little girl looks on with an innocent joy, and learns, for the first time, how 'blessed are the merciful.'

"And then Meta pa.s.ses out, with a _heavy basket_ and a _light heart_.

Surely the street has grown wider and the sky brighter! This can scarcely be the same world! Meta's form is erect _now_! her step light as a child's should be. The suns.h.i.+ne of _human love_ has brightened her pathway! Ah, Meta! earth is not all darkness--bright angels yet walk the earth. Sweet-voiced Pity and heaven-eyed Charity _sometimes_ stoop to bless. G.o.d's image is only marred, not destroyed. He who feeds the ravens, bends to listen. Look _upward_, little Meta!"

LXXIII.

WHAT f.a.n.n.y THINKS ABOUT FRIENDs.h.i.+P.

"And so you have 'the blues' hey? Well, I pity you! No I don't either; there's no _need_ of it. If _one_ friend proves a Judas, never mind!

plenty of _warm_, _generous_, _nice_ hearts left for the winning! If you are poor and have to sell your _free-agency_ for a sixpence a week to some penurious relative, or be everlastingly thankful for the gift of an old garment that won't hang together till you get it home! just go to work like ten thousand evil spirits, and make yourself _independent_! and see with what a different pair of spectacles you'll get looked at! Nothing like it, my dear; you can have everything on earth you want, when you don't _need_ anything. Don't the Bible say, 'to him that _hath_ shall be given?' no mistake, you see! When the wheel turns round with you on the top, saints and angels! you can do anything you like, play any sort of a prank, pout or smile, be grave or gay, saucy or courteous, it will pa.s.s muster! you never need trouble yourself--can't do anything _wrong_ if you try! At the most it will only be an '_eccentricity_!' But you never need be such a fool as to expect that anybody will find out you're a _diamond_ till you get a _showy setting_! you'll get knocked and cuffed round, and roughly handled, with paste and tinsel, and rubbish, till that auspicious moment arrives. _Then!_ won't all the _sheaves bow down to your sheaf_?--not _one_ rebellious straggler left in the field! But stay a little. In your adversity found you one faithful heart that stood firmly by your side and shared your tears; when skies were dark, and your pathway th.o.r.n.y and steep, 'and summer friends fell off like autumn leaves?' By all that's n.o.ble in a woman's heart, give that one the first place in it now. Let the world see _one_ heart proof against the suns.h.i.+ne of prosperity. You can't _repay_ such a friend--all the mines of Golconda couldn't do it! But in a thousand delicate ways, prompted by a woman's unerring tact, let your heart come forth, gratefully, generously, lovingly. Pray heaven he be on the shady side of fortune--that your heart and hand may have a wider field for grat.i.tude to show itself. Extract every thorn from his pathway, chase away every cloud of sorrow, brighten his lonely hours, smooth the pillow of sickness, and press lovingly his hand in death."

LXXIV.

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION.--RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO JEALOUS HUSBANDS.--BY f.a.n.n.y FERN.

"'Percy, _dear_ Percy, take back those bitter words; as heaven is my witness, they are undeserved by me. See, my eye quails not beneath yours; my cheek blanches not; I stand before you, at this moment, with every vow I made you at the altar unbroken, in letter and spirit;' and she drew closer to him and laid her delicate hand upon his broad breast. 'Wrong me not, Percy, even in thought.'

"The stern man hesitated. Had he not _wilfully_ blinded himself, he had read truth and honor in the depths of the clear blue eyes that looked so unflinchingly into his own. For a moment, their expression overcame him; then, das.h.i.+ng aside the slender fingers that rested upon him, he left her with a muttered oath.

"Mary Lee had the misfortune to be very pretty, and the still greater misfortune to marry a jealous husband. Possessing a quick and ready wit, and great conversational powers, a less moderate share of personal charms would have made her society eagerly sought for.

"As soon as her eyes were opened to the defect alluded to in her husband's character, she set herself studiously to avoid the shoals and quicksands that lay in the matrimonial sea. One by one, she quietly dropped the acquaintance of gentlemen, who, from their attractiveness or preference for her society, seemed obnoxious to Percy.

"Mary was no coquette. Nature had given her a _heart_; and superior as she was to her husband, she really _loved_ him. To most women, his exacting unreasonableness would only have stimulated to a finished display of coquetry; but Mary, gentle and yielding, made no show of opposition to the most absurd requirements. But all these sacrifices had been unavailing to propitiate the fiend of jealousy--and there she sat, an hour after her husband had left her, with her hands pressed tightly together, pale and tearless, striving, in vain, to recall any cause of offence.

"Hour after hour pa.s.sed by, and still he came not. The heavy tramp of feet had long since ceased beneath the window; the _pulse_ of the great city was _still_; silence and darkness brooded over its slumbering thousands. Mary could endure it no longer. Rising and putting aside the curtain, she pressed her face close against the window-pane, as if her straining eye could pierce the gloom of midnight. She hears a step! it is _his_!

"Trembling, she sank upon the sofa to await his coming and nerve herself to bear his bitter harshness.

"Percy came gaily up to her and kissed her forehead! Mary pa.s.sed her hand over her eyes and looked at him again. No! he was not exhilarated with wine. What could have caused this sudden revulsion of feeling!

Single-hearted and sincere herself, she never dreamed of treachery.

"'Percy regrets his injustice,' she said to herself. 'Men are rarely magnanimous enough to own they have been in the wrong;' and, with the generosity of a n.o.ble heart, she resolved never to remind him, by speech or look, that his words had been like poisoned arrows to her spirit.

"The following day, Percy proposed their taking 'a short trip into a neighboring town,' and Mary, glad to convince him how truly she forgave him, readily complied. It was a lovely day in spring; and the fresh air, and sweet-scented blossoms, might have sent a thrill of pleasure to sadder hearts than theirs.

"'What a pretty place,' said Mary. 'What a s.p.a.cious house! and how tastefully the grounds are laid out. Do you stop here?' she continued, as her husband reined the horse into the avenue.

"'A few moments. I have _business_ here,' replied Percy, slightly averting his face, 'and you had better alight too, for the horse is restive, and may trouble you.'

"Mary sprang lightly from the vehicle and ascended the capacious stone steps. They were met at the door by a respectable grey-haired porter, who ushered them into a receiving room. Very soon, a little sallow-faced man, bearing a strong resemblance to a withered orange, made his appearance, and casting a glance upon Mary, from his little twinkling black eyes, that made the blood mount to her cheeks, made an apology for withdrawing her husband for a few minutes, 'on business,'

to an adjoining room.

"As they left, a respectable middle-aged woman entered, and invited Mary to take off her hat. She declined, saying 'she was to leave with her husband in a few minutes.'

"The old woman then jingled a small bell, and another matron entered.

"'Better not use force,' said she, in a whisper. 'Poor thing! So pretty, too. She don't look as though she'd wear a 'strait jacket.'

"The truth flashed upon Mary at once! She was in a _Lunatic Hospital_!

Faint with terror, she demanded to see her husband,--a.s.sured them she was perfectly sane; to all of which they smiled quietly, with an air that said 'we are used to such things here.'

"By-and-bye, the little wizen-faced doctor came in, and listening to her eloquent appeal with an abstracted air, as one would tolerate the prattle of a petted child, he examined her pulse and motioned the attendants to 'wait upon her to her room.' Exhausted with the tumult of feeling she had pa.s.sed through, she followed without a show of resistance; but who shall describe the death-chill that struck to her heart as she entered it? There was a bed of snowy whiteness, a table, a chair, all scrupulously neat and clean, but the breath of the sweet-scented blossoms came in through a _grated window_!

"Some refreshment was brought her, of which she refused to partake.

She could not even weep; her eyes seemed turned to stone. She could hear the maniac laughter of her fellow-prisoners--she could see some of the most harmless marching in gloomy file through the grounds, with their watchful body-guard.

"Poor Mary! She felt a stifled, choking sensation in her throat, as if the air she breathed were poison; and, with her nervous, excitable temperament, G.o.d knows the chance she stood to become what they really thought her! To all her eager inquiries she received only evasive answers; or else the subject was skilfully and summarily dismissed to make place for one in which she had no interest.

"Little Dr. Van Brunt daily examined her pulse and 'hoped she was improving--,' or, if she wasn't, it was his _interest_ to issue a bulletin to that effect, and all 'company' was vetoed as 'exciting and injurious to the patient.' And so day after day, night after night, dragged its slow length along, and Percy, with the meanness of a revengeful spirit, was 'biding his time,' till the punishment should be sufficiently salutary to warrant his recalling her home. But while he was quietly waiting the accomplishment of his purpose, the friend of the weary came to her relief.

"'Leave me, please, will you?' said Mary to the nurse, as she turned her cheek to the pillow like a tired child. 'I want to be alone.'

"The old woman took her sewing and seated herself just outside the door, thinking she might wish to sleep. In a few moments she peeped cautiously through the open door. Mrs. Percy still lay there, in the same position, with her cheek nestling in the palm of her little hand.

"'She sleeps sweetly,' she muttered to herself as she resumed her work.

"Yes, dame Ursula, but it is the 'sleep' from which only the trump of the archangel shall wake her!

"Mary's secret died with her, and the _remorse_ that is busy at the heart of Percy, is known only to his Maker."