A Lady of England 22

A Lady of England 22

One thing should be noted: the curiously allegorical or symbolical style

of thought which was natural to her.

 

It did not appear in the girlish dramatic efforts,--unless in the

direction of a perpetual play upon words,--but in her published books

it developed speedily. This was remarkable in her; _not_ because of any

peculiar result from it in England, but because of its very peculiar

adaptation to Indian needs. One may almost think of her authorship in

England as mainly a long preparation for her Indian toil; the continuous

practice in habits of imagery and allegory, by no means especially suited

to our Western minds, gradually fitting her to deal with the Oriental

mind, little as she yet dreamt of any such destination for herself. All

these years, without knowing it, she was waiting for and was working

upward to ‘the Crown of her Life,’ as it may be termed; those eighteen

years in the Panjab. All these years she was being prepared and made

ready, till she should be as a ‘sharpened instrument’ in the Hand of her

Master, fitted for the work which He would give her to do.

 

Among the many volumes published during the first fifteen or twenty

years of authorship were the following:--_The Giant-Killer_, _The Roby

Family_, _The Young Pilgrim_, _History of a Needle_, and _Rambles

of a Rat_, before 1858; _Flora_, _The Mine_, _Precepts in Practice_,

_Idols in the Heart_, and _Whispering Unseen_, before 1860; _Pride and

his Prisoners_, _The Shepherd of Bethlehem_, _My Neighbour’s Shoes_,

_War and Peace_, _Light in the Robber’s Cave_, and _The Silver Casket_,

before 1864. A trio of volumes appeared in succession, the first of which

she wrote at her Mother’s suggestion,--_Exiles in Babylon_, _Rescued

from Egypt_, and _Triumph of Midian_. Another trio, coming in due

course,--_Fairy Know-a-Bit_, _Parliament in the Playroom_, and _The Crown

of Success_,--were bright little books, containing a good deal of useful

information. Besides these were published at intervals _House Beautiful_,

_Living Jewels_, _Castle of Carlmont_, _Hebrew Heroes_, _Claudia_, _Cyril

Ashley_, _The Lady of Provence_, _The Wreath of Smoke_, and very many

others.

 

One of the most strongly allegorical of her earlier works was _The

Giant-Killer_; and in that little book she no doubt made free use of her

own experiences.

 

It is easy to believe that she must have had many a hard battle with

Giant Sloth, before she gained the habit of always rising at six o’clock

in the morning, a habit persevered in through life. Again, one of her

eager and impulsive temperament could not have been naturally free from

a clinging to her own way, and from a certain vigorous self-seeking;

and many a bitter conflict must have been gone through, before friends

could, with an all but unanimous voice, speak of hers as a peculiarly

unselfish character. In the struggles of Fides to get out of the Pit

of Selfishness, we may read between the lines of Charlotte’s girlish

battlings.

 

Even more, in the fight with Giant Pride we seem to see her hardest

tussle of all, and the mode in which victory came to her. Giant Pride’s

assumed name of ‘High Spirit,’ his hatred of Meanness, Gluttony,

Cowardice, and Untruth, are all an echo of parts of herself. The

polishing of the darkened gold of her Will she had long known in the

small unavoidable frictions of everyday life; and the plunging of that

Will into furnace-heat, and the straightening of its crookedness by means

of heavy successive blows, she had begun to know in the death of her

dear Father, and would soon know more fully through other sorrows coming

after. But many more than three blows were needed for the shapening of

Charlotte Tucker’s Will. She may have dreamt when she wrote the book

that three would be enough, and that the King’s call to Fides might in

her case be soon repeated. She little knew the long years of toil and

patience which stretched far ahead.

 

A tiny glimpse of the daily fighting, which she like all others had to

go through, may be seen in the succeeding letter, written to her sister,

Laura, a year or two before the death of old Mr. Tucker:--

 

‘I obeyed you in putting your note into the fire, after twice

perusing it; but it seemed a shame so to destroy what was so

sweet. How little you and I have been with each other lately,

yet I do not think that we love one another one particle the

less,--I think that I can answer for myself at least. May God

prosper your humble efforts, my sweet Laura. I enter into all

your feelings....

 

‘I do not like to overload dear Bella with advice. It appears

almost presumptuous from a younger sister; but I threw in my

word now and then. But what am I?... I fear that I have been

peevish with ---- to-day. I feel discontented with myself, and

need your prayers.’

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER VIII

 

A.D. 1854-1857

 

CRIMEA, AND THE INDIAN MUTINY

 

 

In the year 1854 Mr. St. George Tucker again came home from India; and in

the autumn he took his Mother and sisters for three months to The Mote,

an old country house about six miles north of Tonbridge, hoping that the

change would do good to Mrs. Tucker’s health and spirits. Those were

the terrible days of the Crimean War; and in that autumn the battles of

Balaclava and Inkerman were fought. Several letters of interest belong to

about this period.

 

TO MISS BELLA F. TUCKER. 1853.

 

‘I have found out a much better hero for you than your friend

Lord Marmion,--who, by-the-bye, had he lived in these days,

would have run a great chance of being transported for fourteen

years, or imprisoned for one with hard labour, for forgery.

Mere courage does not make a hero.... When I was about as old as

you are now, I had--besides Montrose, for whom I have a great

regard still--a great hero, a pirate! About as respectable a

man perhaps as Lord Marmion, and I was so fond of him, that I

remember jumping out of bed one night, when one of my sisters

laughed at him.

 

‘But I have grown older, dear, and have seen so many bubbles

break in my time that I am more on my guard. I look for

something more solid now. If you are allowed to read _Uncle

Tom’s Cabin_, or any part of it, pause when you have done,

and compare the old negro with Lord Marmion. You laugh at the

idea. What!--“the falcon crest and morion,”--“the scar on

his dark brow”--will not all this throw the poor ignorant

thick-lipped hero quite into the shade? Yes,--if a sparkling

bubble is more glorious than a diamond shut up in a black

case. Time touches the bubble, and it breaks,--I have given up

my pirate-hero,--but the diamond--never mind the black case!

“Uncle Tom” is a hero, and one worthy of the name.’

 

TO MRS HAMILTON--(LAURA).

 

‘THE MOTE, _Sept. 1, 1854_.

 

‘Your and your dear husband’s nice sunshiny notes reached me

this morning.... I believe that you are wise not to come here,

for the roads are very bad, and the climate not very bracing.

Sweet Mother says that it suits her very well, and I thrive

on it like anything, but not every one might be the better

for “water, water everywhere.” We have four pieces of water

close by us, besides the moat just under our windows. The Mote

nestles so curiously in a hollow of the hill, that when you

have walked a few hundred yards from it, and naturally turn

round to look at the noble mansion which you have left,--it is

actually _non inventus_. You would not know that you were near

the Mote at all. “What has become of our great house?” say you.

It has vanished like Aladdin’s fairy palace.

 

‘I feel sure that this is the identical old place that Mrs.

D’Oyly took us to see, where they said that some of the rooms

had not been opened for one hundred years. This suits me

exactly. As the boys say, “I am in clover.” Damp hurts me no

more than if I were a water-wagtail; but the same might not be

the case with you....

 

‘What a good thing it has been for your little darling being at

so healthy a place during the trying time of teething. I shall

expect to see her still more improved, when I have the pleasure

of kissing her sweet lips again. How diverting it will be to

watch her when she first runs alone!...

 

‘Such nice letters from India! Dear Henry is having my Tales

translated into Hindustani, for the poor natives. Oh, pray, my

Laura, that a blessing may go with them. Dear Robin preaches

to upwards of a hundred blind, and bears the hot weather

wonderfully well.’

 

TO THE SAME.

 

‘THE MOTE, _Sept. 12, 1854_.

 

‘Many thanks for your welcome letter, your good news, and your

kind invitation. I should not wonder if the last were very

thankfully accepted some time next month; for it is quite

uncertain whether the L----s will let us remain here beyond

the six weeks, and almost quite certain that No. 3 will not be

ready for us then, in which case we had better scatter. The

boys indeed talk of standing a siege here, rather than give the

place up; but you see we are afraid of treachery in the camp,

having so many of the L---