Produced by Al Haines.
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CLARA VAUGHAN
_A NOVEL_
IN THREE VOLUMES VOL I.
R. D. Blackmore
London and Cambridge: MACMILLAN AND CO. 1864.
_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved._
LONDON: R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL.
CLARA VAUGHAN
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I.
I do not mean to describe myself. Already I feel that the personalpronoun will appear too often in these pages. Knowing the faults of mycharacter almost as well as my best friends know them, I shall attemptto hide them no more than would those beloved ones. Enough of this: thestory I have to tell is strange, and short as my own its preamble.
The day when I was ten years old began my serious life. It was the 30thof December, 1842; and proud was the kiss my loving father gave me forspelling, writing, and pronouncing the date in English, French, andItalian. No very wonderful feat, it is true, for a clever childwell-taught; but I was by no means a clever child; and no one except myfather could teach me a single letter. When, after several years ofwedlock, my parents found new joy in me, their bliss was soon overhungwith care. They feared, but durst not own the fear, lest the wilful,passionate, loving creature, on whom their hearts were wholly set,should be torn from their love to a distance greater than the void ofdeath; in a word, should prove insane. At length they could no longerhide this terror from each other. One look told it all; and I vaguelyremember my hazy wonder at the scene that followed. Like a thief, Icame from the corner behind the curtain-loops, and trembled at myfather's knee, for him to say something to me. Then frightened at hissilence--a thing unknown to me--I pulled his hands from before his eyes,and found hot tears upon them. I coaxed him then, and petted him, andfelt his sorrows through me; then made believe to scold him for being sonaughty as to cry. But I could not get his trouble from him, and heseemed to watch me through his kisses.
Before I had ceased to ponder dreamily over this great wonder, a vastevent (for a child of seven) diverted me. Father, mother, andTooty--for so I then was called--were drawn a long way by horses withyellow men upon them: from enlarged experience I infer that we must haveposted to London. Here, among many marvels, I remember especially along and mysterious interview with a kind, white-haired old gentleman,who wore most remarkable shoes. He took me upon his lap, which seemedto me rather a liberty; then he smoothed down my hair, and felt my headso much that I asked if he wanted to comb it, having made up my mind tokick if he dared to try such a thing. Then he put all sorts of babyquestions to me which I was disposed to resent, having long discardedCock Robin and Little Red-riding-hood. Unconsciously too, I was movedby Nature's strong hate of examination. But my father came up, and withtears in his eyes begged me to answer everything. Meanwhile my mothersat in a dark corner, as if her best doll was dying. With its innatepugnacity, my hazy intellect rose to the situation, and I narrowlyheeded every thing.
"Now go, my dear," the old gentleman said at last; "you are a very goodlittle girl indeed."
"That's a great lie," I cried; for I had learned bad words from aflighty girl, taken rashly as under-nurse.
The old gentleman seemed surprised, and my mother was dreadfullyshocked. My father laughed first, then looked at me sadly; and I didwhat he expected, I jumped into his arms. At one word from him, I ranto the great physician, and humbly begged his pardon, and offered him myvery dearest toy. He came up warmly, and shook my father's hand, andsmiled from his heart at my mother.
"Allow me, Mrs. Vaughan--allow me, my dear sir--to congratulate youcordially. The head is a noble and honest one. It is the growth of thebrain that causes these little commotions; but the congestion will notbe permanent. The fits, that have so alarmed you, are at this age agood symptom; in fact, they are Nature's remedy. They may last forseven years, or even for ten; of course they will not depart at once.But the attacks will be milder, and the intervals longer, when she hasturned fourteen. For the intellect you need have no fear whatever.Only keep her quiet, and never force her to learn. She must only learnwhen it comes as it were with the wind. She will never forget what she_does_ learn."
Hereupon, unless I am much mistaken, my father and mother fell to andkissed and hugged one another, and I heard a sound like sobbing; thenthey caught me up, and devoured me, as if I were born anew; and staringround with great childish eyes, I could not catch the old gentleman'sglance at all.
Henceforth I learned very little, the wind, perhaps, being unfavourable;and all the little I did learn came from my father's lips. His patiencewith me was wonderful; we spent most of the day together, and when hewas forced to leave me, I took no food until he returned. Whenever hishorse was ordered, Miss Clara's little grey pony began to neigh and tofidget, and Miss Clara was off in a moment to get her blue riding-skirt.Even when father went shooting or fishing, Tooty was sure to go too,except in the depth of winter; and then she was up at the top of thehouse, watching all round for the gun-smoke.
Ah, why do I linger so over these happy times--is it the pleasure ofthinking how fondly we loved one another, or is it the pain of knowingthat we can do so no more?
Now, the 30th of December was my parents' wedding-day, for I had beenborn six years exact after their affectionate union. And now that I wasten years old--a notable hinge on the door of life--how much they made,to be sure, of each other and of me! At dinner I sat in glory betweenthem, upsetting all ceremony, pleasing my father, and teasing my mother,by many a childish sally. So genial a man my father was that he wouldtalk to the servants, even on state occasions, quite as if they werehuman beings. Yet none of them ever took the smallest liberty with him,unless it were one to love him. Before dessert, I interred my queendoll, with much respect and some heartache, under a marble flag by thedoor, which had been prepared for the purpose. My father waschief-mourner, but did not cry to my liking, until I had pinched himwell. After this typical good-bye to childhood, I rode him back to thedining-table, and helped him and my mother to the last of the West's St.Peter grapes, giving him all the fattest ones. Then we all drank healthand love to one another, and I fell to in earnest at a child's delight.Dearest father kept supplying me with things much nicer than are now tobe got, while my mother in vain pretended to guard the frontier. It wasthe first time I tasted Guava jelly; and now, even at the name, thatscene is bright before me. The long high room oak-panelled, the lightsand shadows flickering as on a dark bay horse, the crimson velvetcurtains where the windows were gone to bed, the great black chairs withdamask cushions, but hard and sharp at the edge, the mantel-piece allcarved in stone which I was forbidden to kick, the massive lamp thatnever would let me eat without loose clouds of hair dancing all over myplate, and then the great fire, its rival, shuddering in blue flames atthe thought of the frost outside; all these things, and even the tickingof the timepiece, are more palpable to me now than the desk on which Iwrite. My father sat in his easy chair, laughing and joking, full oflife and comfort, with his glass of old port beside him, his wife infront, and me, his "Claricrops," at his knee. More happy than a hundredkings, he wished for nothing better. At one time, perhaps, he hadlonged for a son to keep the ancient name, but now he was quite ashamedof the wish, as mutiny against me. After many an interchange, a
drinkfor father, a sip for Tooty, he began to tell wondrous stories of theshots he had made that day; especially how he had killed a woodcockthrough a magpie's nest. My mother listened with playful admiration; Iwith breathless interest, and most profound belief.
Then we played at draughts, and fox and goose, and pretended even toplay at chess, until it was nine o'clock, and my hour of grace expired.Three times Ann Maples came to fetch me, but I would not go. At last Iwent submissively at one kind word from my father. My mother obtainedbut a pouting kiss, for I wanted to wreak some vengeance; but my fatherI never kissed with less than all my heart and soul. I flung both armsaround his neck, laid my little cheek to his, and whispered in his earthat I loved him more than all the world. Tenderly he clasped andkissed me, and now I am sure that through his smile he looked at me withsadness. Turning round at the doorway, I stretched my hands towardshim, and met once more his loving, laughing eyes. Once more and onlyonce. Next I saw him in his coffin, white and stark with death.By-and-by I will tell what I know; at present I can only feel. Theemotions--away with long words--the passions which swept my littleheart, with equal power rend it now. Long I lay dumb and stunned at thehorror I could not grasp. Then with a scream, as in my fits, I flungupon his body. What to me were shroud and shell, the rigid look and theworld of awe? Such things let step-children fear. Not I, when it wasmy father.
Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 1
