|
|
|
Prev
| Next
| Contents
VIII.
As soon as she was left alone, Agnes set to work tidying and dusting
the cottage, made up the fire, watered the bed, and cleaned the
inside of the windows: the wise woman herself always kept the
outside of them clean. When she had done, she found her dinner--of
the same sort she was used to at home, but better--in the hole of
the wall. When she had eaten it, she went to look at the pictures.
By this time her old disposition had begun to rouse again. She had
been doing her duty, and had in consequence begun again to think
herself Somebody. However strange it may well seem, to do one's duty
will make any one conceited who only does it sometimes. Those who do
it always would as soon think of being conceited of eating their
dinner as of doing their duty. What honest boy would pride himself
on not picking pockets? A thief who was trying to reform would. To
be conceited of doing one's duty is then a sign of how little one
does it, and how little one sees what a contemptible thing it is not
to do it. Could any but a low creature be conceited of not being
contemptible? Until our duty becomes to us common as breathing, we
are poor creatures.
So Agnes began to stroke herself once more, forgetting her late
self-stroking companion, and never reflecting that she was now doing
what she had then abhorred. And in this mood she went into the
picture-gallery.
The first picture she saw represented a square in a great city, one
side of which was occupied by a splendid marble palace, with great
flights of broad steps leading up to the door. Between it and the
square was a marble-paved court, with gates of brass, at which stood
sentries in gorgeous uniforms, and to which was affixed the
following proclamation in letters of gold, large enough for Agnes to
read:--
"By the will of the King, from this time until further notice, every
stray child found in the realm shall be brought without a moment's
delay to the palace. Whoever shall be found having done otherwise
shall straightway lose his head by the hand of the public
executioner."
Agnes's heart beat loud, and her face flushed.
"Can there be such a city in the world?" she said to herself. "If I
only knew where it was, I should set out for it at once. THERE would
be the place for a clever girl like me!"
Her eyes fell on the picture which had so enticed Rosamond. It was
the very country where her father fed his flocks. Just round the
shoulder of the hill was the cottage where her parents lived, where
she was born and whence she had been carried by the beggar-woman.
"Ah!" she said, "they didn't know me there. They little thought what
I could be, if I had the chance. If I were but in this good, kind,
loving, generous king's palace, I should soon be such a great lady
as they never saw! Then they would understand what a good little
girl I had always been! And I shouldn't forget my poor parents like
some I have read of. I would be generous. I should never be
selfish and proud like girls in story-books!"
As she said this, she turned her back with disdain upon the picture
of her home, and setting herself before the picture of the palace,
stared at it with wide ambitious eyes, and a heart whose every beat
was a throb of arrogant self-esteem.
The shepherd-child was now worse than ever the poor princess had
been. For the wise woman had given her a terrible lesson one of
which the princess was not capable, and she had known what it meant;
yet here she was as bad as ever, therefore worse than before. The
ugly creature whose presence had made her so miserable had indeed
crept out of sight and mind too--but where was she? Nestling in her
very heart, where most of all she had her company, and least of all
could see her. The wise woman had called her out, that Agnes might
see what sort of creature she was herself; but now she was snug in
her soul's bed again, and sue did not even suspect she was there.
After gazing a while at the palace picture, during which her
ambitious pride rose and rose, she turned yet again in condescending
mood, and honored the home picture with one stare more.
"What a poor, miserable spot it is compared with this lordly
palace!" she said.
But presently she spied something in it she had not seen before, and
drew nearer. It was the form of a little girl, building a bridge of
stones over one of the hill-brooks.
"Ah, there I am myself!" she said. "That is just how I used to
do.--No," she resumed, "it is not me. That snub-nosed little fright
could never be meant for me! It was the frock that made me think so.
But it IS a picture of the place. I declare, I can see the smoke of
the cottage rising from behind the hill! What a dull, dirty,
insignificant spot it is! And what a life to lead there!"
She turned once more to the city picture. And now a strange thing
took place. In proportion as the other, to the eyes of her mind,
receded into the background, this, to her present bodily eyes,
appeared to come forward and assume reality. At last, after it had
been in this way growing upon her for some time, she gave a cry of
conviction, and said aloud,--
"I do believe it is real! That frame is only a trick of the woman to
make me fancy it a picture lest I should go and make my fortune. She
is a witch, the ugly old creature! It would serve her right to tell
the king and have her punished for not taking me to the palace--one
of his poor lost children he is so fond of! I should like to see her
ugly old head cut off. Anyhow I will try my luck without asking her
leave. How she has ill used me!"
But at that moment, she heard the voice of the wise woman calling,
"Agnes!" and, smoothing her face, she tried to look as good as she
could, and walked back into the cottage. There stood the wise woman,
looking all round the place, and examining her work. She fixed her
eyes upon Agnes in a way that confused her, and made her cast hers
down, for she felt as if she were reading her thoughts. The wise
woman, however, asked no questions, but began to talk about her
work, approving of some of it, which filled her with arrogance, and
showing how some of it might have been done better, which filled her
with resentment. But the wise woman seemed to take no care of what
she might be thinking, and went straight on with her lesson. By the
time it was over, the power of reading thoughts would not have been
necessary to a knowledge of what was in the mind of Agnes, for it
had all come to the surface--that is up into her face, which is the
surface of the mind. Ere it had time to sink down again, the wise
woman caught up the little mirror, and held it before her: Agnes saw
her Somebody--the very embodiment of miserable conceit and ugly
ill-temper. She gave such a scream of horror that the wise woman
pitied her, and laying aside the mirror, took her upon her knees,
and talked to her most kindly and solemnly; in particular about the
necessity of destroying the ugly things that come out of the
heart--so ugly that they make the very face over them ugly also.
And what was Agnes doing all the time the wise woman was talking to
her? Would you believe it?--instead of thinking how to kill the ugly
things in her heart, she was with all her might resolving to be more
careful of her face, that is, to keep down the things in her heart
so that they should not show in her face, she was resolving to be a
hypocrite as well as a self-worshipper. Her heart was wormy, and the
worms were eating very fast at it now.
Then the wise woman laid her gently down upon the heather-bed, and
she fell fast asleep, and had an awful dream about her Somebody.
When she woke in the morning, instead of getting up to do the work
of the house, she lay thinking--to evil purpose. In place of taking
her dream as a warning, and thinking over what the wise woman had
said the night before, she communed with herself in this fashion:--
"If I stay here longer, I shall be miserable, It is nothing better
than slavery. The old witch shows me horrible things in the day to
set me dreaming horrible things in the night. If I don't run away,
that frightful blue prison and the disgusting girl will come back,
and I shall go out of my mind. How I do wish I could find the way to
the good king's palace! I shall go and look at the picture again--if
it be a picture--as soon as I've got my clothes on. The work can
wait. It's not my work. It's the old witch's; and she ought to do it
herself."
She jumped out of bed, and hurried on her clothes. There was no wise
woman to be seen; and she hastened into the hall. There was the
picture, with the marble palace, and the proclamation shining in
letters of gold upon its gates of brass. She stood before it, and
gazed and gazed; and all the time it kept growing upon her in some
strange way, until at last she was fully persuaded that it was no
picture, but a real city, square, and marble palace, seen through a
framed opening in the wall. She ran up to the frame, stepped over
it, felt the wind blow upon her cheek, heard the sound of a closing
door behind her, and was free. FREE was she, with that creature
inside her?
The same moment a terrible storm of thunder and lightning, wind and
rain, came on. The uproar was appalling. Agnes threw herself upon
the ground, hid her face in her hands, and there lay until it was
over. As soon as she felt the sun shining on her, she rose. There
was the city far away on the horizon. Without once turning to take a
farewell look of the place she was leaving, she set off, as fast as
her feet would carry her, in the direction of the city. So eager was
she, that again and again she fell, but only to get up, and run on
faster than before.
Prev
| Next
| Contents
|
|
|