Discipline

by Mary Brunton

I suppose the pleasures of complaint increase in proportion to the folly and impropriety of complaining. I never could otherwise account for the frequent lamentations over the perfidy of lovers and the obduracy of parents; nor imagine any other reason why Mr Boswell, having once entered on the subject of his conjugal distresses, returned to it on every possible occasion. In his wife's presence it was recalled to my recollection by cautious hints, and by significant sighs and looks. In her absence the theme seemed inexhaustible.

The embarrassment inflicted on me by this continual reference to a secret was increased, when I perceived that Mrs Boswell, whose jealousy in this instance supplied her want of penetration, suspected some intelligence between her husband and myself. She was now, indeed, under a stubborn fit of taciturnity; but I had at last learnt to read a countenance which never forsook its stony blank, except to express some modification of malevolence. I alarmed Mr Boswell into more caution; but when the lady's suspicions once were roused, it was not in the most guarded prudence, nor in the most open simplicity of conduct, to lull them.

Unfortunately Mr Boswell and I soon found a more legitimate subject of sympathy. The very day after her ill-fated visit to the abode of disease, poor Jessie showed symptoms of infection; and before the week expired, was pronounced to be in extreme danger. The mother, on this occasion, showed a degree of anxiety, which was wonderful in Mrs Boswell. She sent for nurse after nurse, and for doctors innumerable. She made diligent enquiry after a fortune-teller, to unveil the fate of her child; and she actually shed tears when the fire emitted a splinter which she called a coffin. Stronger minds than Mrs Boswell's become superstitious, when their most important concerns depend upon circumstances over which they have no control. Finally, she questioned every member of the family concerning the best cure for a fever, and insisted that all their prescriptions should be applied. Fortunately, however, no consideration could prevail upon her to superintend the application. To approach the infected chamber, she would have thought nothing less than felo de se;—therefore the poor little sufferer was spared many unnecessary torments.

Mrs Boswell carried her dread of infection so far, that she would hold no direct communication with any one who entered the sick room; and she positively forbade her husband to approach his suffering child. But to this interdiction the father could not submit. His visits were stolen, indeed, but they were frequent; and he evinced on these occasions a sensibility which could scarcely have been expected from the easy indifference of his general temper. Often, while others were at rest, did the father hang over the sick bed of his child; offer the draught to her parched lips; and shed upon her altered face the tear of him who trembles for his only hope.

To his kindness and his sorrow she was alike insensible. Her fondness for me seemed the only recollection which her delirium had spared. She would accept of no sustenance except from my hand. If I was withdrawn from her sight, her eye wandered in restless search of something desired; though when I appeared, it often fixed on me with a heart-breaking vacancy of gaze. Thus circumstanced, I could no longer think of deserting her. Indeed I never quitted her even for an hour; and when wearied out I sunk to sleep, it was only to start again at her slightest summons. These attentions, which I must have been a savage to withhold, extorted from Mr Boswell the warmest expressions of gratitude;—gratitude, which springs so readily in every human heart, yet so rarely takes root there, and so very rarely becomes fruitful.

'God, reward thee, blessed creature!' said he once, when late in the night we were separating at the door of the sick-room, where he had been sharing the vigils of the nurse and me. 'My child's own mother forsakes her, while you!—God reward you.' As he spoke, he clasped my hand between his, and fervently pressed his lips to my forehead. But I started with a confusion like that of detected guilt, when I perceived, at a little distance, the half-concealed face of Mrs Boswell, scowling malignity and detection. Whilst I stood for a moment in motionless expectation of what was to follow, she darted forward, undressed as she was; her lip quivering, her face void of all colour except a line of strong scarlet bordering her eyelids. 'Mighty well!' cried she, in accents half choked by something between a hysterical giggle and a sob. 'Mighty well, indeed! I knew how it was! I have seen it all well enough. But I'm not such a fool as you think! I won't endure it—that I won't.'

Provoked by the recollection that this degrading remonstrance was uttered within hearing of a domestic, I looked towards Mr Boswell for defence; but seeing him cower like a condemned culprit, I was obliged to answer for myself. 'What will you not endure, madam?' said I. 'Your own preposterous fancy?—I know of nothing else that you have to endure.'

Mrs Boswell's natural cowardice always took part against her with a resolute antagonist. 'I am sure,' said she, whimpering between fear and wrath, 'I don't want to have any words with you, Miss Percy—only I wish—I am sure it would be very obliging if you would go quietly out of this house—and not stay here enticing other people's husbands——'

At this coarse accusation, the indignant blood rose to my forehead. But the provocation was great enough to remind me that this was a fit occasion of forbearance; and I subdued my voice and countenance into stern composure, while I said, 'Woman! I would answer you, were I sure of speaking only what a Christian ought to speak.' Then turning from her, I took refuge from further insult in the apartment which I knew she did not dare to approach.