Could Raphael paint Madonnas the week of
his betrothal? Did Thackeray write a chapter the day his daughter
was born? Did Plato philosophise freely when he was in love? Were
there interruptions in the world's great revolutions, histories,
dramas, reforms, poems, and marbles when their creators fell for a
brief moment under the spell of the little blind tyrant who makes
slaves of us all? It must have been so. Your chronometer heart, on
whose pulsations you can reckon as on the procession of the
equinoxes, never gave anything to the world unless it were a system
of diet, or something quite uncoloured and unglorified by the
imagination.
Chapter XX. A canticle to Jane.
There are many donkeys owned in these nooks among the hills, and
some of the thriftier families keep donkey-chairs (or 'cheers,' as
they call them) to let to the casual summer visitor. This vehicle
is a regular Bath chair, into which the donkey is harnessed. Some
of them have a tiny driver's seat, where a small lad sits beating
and berating the donkey for the incumbent, generally a decrepit
dowager from London. Other chairs are minus this absurd coachman's
perch, and in this sort I take my daily drives. I hire the
miniature chariot from an old woman who dwells at the top of Gorse
Hill, and who charges one and fourpence the hour, It is a little
more when she fetches the donkey to the door, or when the weather is
wet or the day is very warm, or there is an unusual breeze blowing,
or I wish to go round the hills; but under ordinary circumstances,
which may at any time occur, but which never do, one and four the
hour. It is only a shilling, if you have the boy to drive you; but,
of course, if you drive yourself, you throw the boy out of
employment, and have to pay extra.
It was in this fashion and on these elastic terms that I first met
you, Jane, and this chapter shall be sacred to you! Jane the long-
eared, Jane the iron-jawed, Jane the stubborn, Jane donkeyer than
other donkeys, - in a word, MULIER! It may be that Jane has made her
bow to the public before this. If she has ever come into close
relation with man or woman possessed of the instinct of self-
expression, then this is certainly not her first appearance in
print, for no human being could know Jane and fail to mention her.
Pause, Jane, - this you will do gladly, I am sure, since pausing is
the one accomplishment to which you lend yourself with special
energy, - pause, Jane, while I sing a canticle to your character.
Jane is a tiny - person, I was about to say, for she has so strong an
individuality that I can scarcely think of her as less than human -
Jane is a tiny, solemn creature, looking all docility and decorum,
with long hair of a subdued tan colour, very much worn off in
patches, I fear, by the offending toe of man.
I am a member of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals, and I hope that I am as tender-hearted as most women;
nevertheless, I can understand how a man of weak principle and
violent temper, or a man possessed of a desire to get to a
particular spot not favoured by Jane, or by a wish to reach any spot
by a certain hour, - I can understand how such a man, carried away by
helpless wrath, might possibly ruffle Jane's sad-coloured hair with
the toe of his boot.
Jane is small, yet mighty. She is multum in parvo; she is the rock
of Gibraltar in animate form; she is cosmic obstinacy on four legs.
When following out the devices and desires of her own heart, or
resisting the devices and desires of yours, she can put a pressure
of five hundred tons on the bit. She is further fortified by the
possession of legs which have iron rods concealed in them, these
iron rods terminating in stout grip-hooks, with which she takes hold
on mother earth with an expression that seems to say,-
'This rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I.'
When I start out in the afternoon, Mrs. Bobby frequently asks me
where I am going. I always answer that I have not made up my mind,
though what I really mean to say is that Jane has not made up her
mind. She never makes up her mind until after I have made up mine,
lest by some unhappy accident she might choose the very excursion
that I desire myself.
Chapter XXI. I remember, I remember.
For example, I wish to visit St. Bridget's Well, concerning which
there are some quaint old verses in a village history:-
'Out of thy famous hille,
There daylie springyeth,
A water passynge stille,
That alwayes bringyeth
Grete comfort to all them
That are diseased men,
And makes them well again
To prayse the Lord.
'Hast thou a wound to heale,
The wyche doth greve thee;
Come thenn unto this welle;
It will relieve thee;
Nolie me tangeries,
And other maladies,
Have there theyr remedies,
Prays'd be the Lord.'
St. Bridget's Well is a beautiful spot, and my desire to see it is a
perfectly laudable one. In strict justice, it is really no concern
of Jane whether my wishes are laudable or not; but it only makes the
case more flagrant when she interferes with the reasonable plans of
a reasonable being. Never since the day we first met have I
harboured a thought that I wished to conceal from Jane (would that
she could say as much!); nevertheless she treats me as if I were a
monster of caprice.
