Ruth by Elizabeth Gaskell (well read books .txt) đ
- Author: Elizabeth Gaskell
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âI am determined to tell his father of this,â said he; âI think his family are far too obedient to his tacit prohibition of all mention of Richardâs name.â
âTacit prohibition?â inquired Mr. Benson.
âOh! I dare say I use the words in a wrong sense for the correctness of a scholar; but what I mean is, that he made a point of immediately leaving the room if Richardâs name was mentioned; and did it in so marked a manner, that by degrees they understood that it was their fatherâs desire that he should never be alluded to; which was all very well as long as there was nothing pleasant to be said about him; but to-night I am going there, and shall take good care he does not escape me before I have told him all I have heard and observed about Richard. He will never be a hero of virtue, for his education has drained him of all moral courage; but with care, and the absence of all strong temptation for a time, he will do very well; nothing to gratify paternal pride, but certainly nothing to be ashamed of.â
It was on the Sunday after this that the little circumstance to which I have alluded took place.
During the afternoon service, Mr. Benson became aware that the large Bradshaw pew was no longer unoccupied. In a dark corner Mr. Bradshawâs white head was to be seen, bowed down low in prayer. When last he had worshipped there, the hair on that head was iron-grey, and even in prayer he had stood erect, with an air of conscious righteousness sufficient for all his wants, and even some to spare with which to judge others. Now, that white and hoary head was never uplifted; part of his unobtrusiveness might, it is true, be attributed to the uncomfortable feeling which was sure to attend any open withdrawal of the declaration he had once made, never to enter the chapel in which Mr. Benson was minister again; and as such a feeling was natural to all men, and especially to such a one as Mr. Bradshaw, Mr. Benson instinctively respected it, and passed out of the chapel with his household, without ever directing his regards to the obscure place where Mr. Bradshaw still remained immovable.
From this day Mr. Benson felt sure that the old friendly feeling existed once more between them, although some time might elapse before any circumstance gave the signal for a renewal of their intercourse.
A MOTHER TO BE PROUD OF
Old people tell of certain years when typhus fever swept over the country like a pestilence; years that bring back the remembrance of deep sorrowârefusing to be comfortedâto many a household; and which those whose beloved passed through the fiery time unscathed, shrink from recalling for great and tremulous was the anxietyâmiserable the constant watching for evil symptoms; and beyond the threshold of home a dense cloud of depression hung over society at large. It seemed as if the alarm was proportionate to the previous light-heartedness of fancied securityâand indeed it was so; for, since the days of King Belshazzar, the solemn decrees of Doom have ever seemed most terrible when they awe into silence the merry revellers of life. So it was this year to which I come in the progress of my story.
The summer had been unusually gorgeous. Some had complained of the steaming heat, but others had pointed to the lush vegetation, which was profuse and luxuriant. The early autumn was wet and cold, but people did not regard it, in contemplation of some proud rejoicing of the nation, which filled every newspaper and gave food to every tongue. In Eccleston these rejoicings were greater than in most places; for, by the national triumph of arms, it was supposed that a new market for the staple manufacture of the place would be opened; and so the trade, which had for a year or two been languishing, would now revive with redoubled vigour. Besides these legitimate causes of good spirits, there was the rank excitement of a coming election, in consequence of Mr. Donne having accepted a Government office, procured for him by one of his influential relations. This time, the Cranworths roused themselves from their magnificent torpor of security in good season, and were going through a series of pompous and ponderous hospitalities, in order to bring back the Eccleston voters to their allegiance.
While the town was full of these subjects by turnsânow thinking and speaking of the great revival of tradeânow of the chances of the election, as yet some weeks distantânow of the balls at Cranworth Court, in which Mr. Cranworth had danced with all the belles of the shopocracy of Ecclestonâthere came creeping, creeping, in hidden, slimy courses, the terrible feverâthat fever which is never utterly banished from the sad haunts of vice and misery, but lives in such darkness, like a wild beast in the recesses of his den. It had begun in the low Irish lodging-houses; but there it was so common it excited little attention. The poor creatures died almost without the attendance of the unwarned medical men, who received their first notice of the spreading plague from the Roman Catholic priests.
Before the medical men of Eccleston had had time to meet together and consult, and compare the knowledge of the fever which they had severally gained, it had, like the blaze of a fire which had long smouldered, burst forth in many places at onceânot merely among the loose-living and vicious, but among the decently poorânay, even among the well-to-do and respectable. And, to add to the horror, like all similar pestilences, its course was most rapid at first, and was fatal in the great majority of casesâhopeless from the beginning. There was a cry, and then a deep silence, and then rose the long wail of the survivors.
A portion of the Infirmary of the town was added to that already set apart for a fever-ward; the smitten were carried thither at once, whenever it was possible, in order to prevent the spread of infection; and on that lazar-house was concentrated all the medical skill and force of the place.
But when one of the physicians had died, in consequence of his attendanceâwhen the customary staff of matrons and nurses had been swept off in two daysâand the nurses belonging to the Infirmary had shrunk from being drafted into the pestilential fever-wardâwhen high wages had failed to tempt any to what, in their panic, they considered as certain deathâwhen the doctors stood aghast at the swift mortality among the untended sufferers, who were dependent only on the care of the most ignorant hirelings, too brutal to recognize the solemnity of Death (all this had happened within a week from the first acknowledgment of the presence of the plague)âRuth came one day, with a quieter step than usual, into Mr. Bensonâs study, and told him she wanted to speak to him for a few minutes.
âTo be sure, my dear! Sit down:â said he; for she was standing and leaning her head against the chimney-piece, idly gazing into the fire. She went on standing there, as if she had not heard his words; and it was a few moments before she began to speak. Then she saidâ
âI want to tell you, that I have been this morning and offered myself as matron to the fever-ward while it is so full. They have accepted me; and I am going this evening.â
âOh, Ruth! I feared this; I saw your look this morning as we spoke of this terrible illness.â
âWhy do you say âfearâ, Mr. Benson? You yourself have been with John Harrison, and old Betty, and many others, I dare say, of whom we have not heard.â
âBut this is so different! in such poisoned air! among such malignant cases! Have you thought and weighed it enough, Ruth?â
She was quite still for a moment, but her eyes grew full of tears. At last she said, very softly, with a kind of still solemnityâ
âYes! I have thought, and I have weighed. But through the very midst of all my fears and thoughts I have felt that I must go.â
The remembrance of Leonard was present in both their minds; but for a few moments longer they neither of them spoke. Then Ruth saidâ
âI believe I have no fear. That is a great preservative, they say. At any rate, if I have a little natural shrinking, it is quite gone when I remember that I am in Godâs hands! Oh, Mr. Benson,â continued she, breaking out into the irrepressible tearsââLeonard, Leonard!â
And now it was his turn to speak out the brave words of faith.
âPoor, poor mother!â said he. âBut be of good heart. He, too, is in Godâs hands. Think what a flash of time only will separate you from him, if you should die in this work!â
âBut heâbut heâit will belong to him, Mr. Benson! He will be alone!â
âNo, Ruth, he will not. God and all good men will watch over him. But if you cannot still this agony of fear as to what will become of him, you ought not to go. Such tremulous passion will predispose you to take the fever.â
âI will not be afraid,â she replied, lifting up her face, over which a bright light shone, as of Godâs radiance. âI am not afraid for myself. I will not be so for my darling.â
After a little pause, they began to arrange the manner of her going, and to speak about the length of time that she might be absent on her temporary duties. In talking of her return, they assumed it to be certain, although the exact time when was to them unknown, and would be dependent entirely on the duration of the fever; but not the less, in their secret hearts, did they feel where alone the issue lay. Ruth was to communicate with Leonard and Miss Faith through Mr. Benson alone, who insisted on his determination to go every evening to the hospital to learn the proceedings of the day, and the state of Ruthâs health.
âIt is not alone on your account, my dear! There may be many sick people of whom, if I can give no other comfort, I can take intelligence to their friends.â
All was settled with grave composure; yet still Ruth lingered, as if nerving herself up for some effort. At length she said, with a faint smile upon her pale faceâ
âI believe I am a great coward. I stand here talking because I dread to tell Leonard.â
âYou must not think of it,â exclaimed he. âLeave it to me. It is sure to unnerve you.â
âI must think of it. I shall have self-control enough in a minute to do it calmlyâto speak hopefully. For only think,â continued she, smiling through the tears that would gather in her eyes, âwhat a comfort the remembrance of the last few words may be to the poor fellow, ifâ-â The words were choked, but she smiled bravely on. âNo!â said she, âthat must be done; but perhaps you will spare me one thingâwill you tell Aunt Faith? I suppose I am very weak, but, knowing that I must
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