VI.
Meantime the wise woman was busy as she always was; and her businessnow was with the child of the shepherd and shepherdess, away in thenorth. Her name was Agnes.
Her father and mother were poor, and could not give her many things.Rosamond would have utterly despised the rude, simple playthings shehad. Yet in one respect they were of more value far than hers: the kingbought Rosamond's with his money; Agnes's father made hers with hishands.
And while Agnes had but few things--not seeing many things about her,and not even knowing that there were many things anywhere, she did notwish for many things, and was therefore neither covetous nor avaricious.
She played with the toys her father made her, and thought them the mostwonderful things in the world--windmills, and little crooks, andwater-wheels, and sometimes lambs made all of wool, and dolls made outof the leg-bones of sheep, which her mother dressed for her; and ofsuch playthings she was never tired. Sometimes, however, she preferredplaying with stones, which were plentiful, and flowers, which were few,or the brooks that ran down the hill, of which, although they weremany, she could only play with one at a time, and that, indeed,troubled her a little--or live lambs that were not all wool, or thesheep-dogs, which were very friendly with her, and the best ofplayfellows, as she thought, for she had no human ones to compare themwith. Neither was she greedy after nice things, but content, as wellshe might be, with the homely food provided for her. Nor was she bynature particularly self-willed or disobedient; she generally did whather father and mother wished, and believed what they told her. But bydegrees they had spoiled her; and this was the way: they were so proudof her that they always repeated every thing she said, and told everything she did, even when she was present; and so full of admiration oftheir child were they, that they wondered and laughed at and praisedthings in her which in another child would never have struck them asthe least remarkable, and some things even which would in another havedisgusted them altogether. Impertinent and rude things done by THEIRchild they thought SO clever! laughing at them as something quitemarvellous; her commonplace speeches were said over again as if theyhad been the finest poetry; and the pretty ways which every moderatelygood child has were extolled as if the result of her excellent taste,and the choice of her judgment and will. They would even say sometimesthat she ought not to hear her own praises for fear it should make hervain, and then whisper them behind their hands, but so loud that shecould not fail to hear every word. The consequence was that she sooncame to believe--so soon, that she could not recall the time when shedid not believe, as the most absolute fact in the universe, that shewas SOMEBODY; that is, she became most immoderately conceited.
Now as the least atom of conceit is a thing to be ashamed of, you mayfancy what she was like with such a quantity of it inside her!
At first it did not show itself outside in any very active form; butthe wise woman had been to the cottage, and had seen her sitting alone,with such a smile of self-satisfaction upon her face as would have beenquite startling to her, if she had ever been startled at any thing; forthrough that smile she could see lying at the root of it the worm thatmade it. For some smiles are like the ruddiness of certain apples,which is owing to a centipede, or other creeping thing, coiled up atthe heart of them. Only her worm had a face and shape the very image ofher own; and she looked so simpering, and mawkish, and self-conscious,and silly, that she made the wise woman feel rather sick.
Not that the child was a fool. Had she been, the wise woman would haveonly pitied and loved her, instead of feeling sick when she looked ather. She had very fair abilities, and were she once but made humble,would be capable not only of doing a good deal in time, but ofbeginning at once to grow to no end. But, if she were not made humble,her growing would be to a mass of distorted shapes all huddledtogether; so that, although the body she now showed might grow upstraight and well-shaped and comely to behold, the new body that wasgrowing inside of it, and would come out of it when she died, would beugly, and crooked this way and that, like an aged hawthorn that haslived hundreds of years exposed upon all sides to salt sea-winds.
As time went on, this disease of self-conceit went on too, graduallydevouring the good that was in her. For there is no fault that does notbring its brothers and sisters and cousins to live with it. By degrees,from thinking herself so clever, she came to fancy that whatever seemedto her, must of course be the correct judgment, and whatever shewished, the right thing; and grew so obstinate, that at length herparents feared to thwart her in any thing, knowing well that she wouldnever give in. But there are victories far worse than defeats; and toovercome an angel too gentle to put out all his strength, and ride awayin triumph on the back of a devil, is one of the poorest.
So long as she was left to take her own way and do as she would, shegave her parents little trouble. She would play about by herself in thelittle garden with its few hardy flowers, or amongst the heather wherethe bees were busy; or she would wander away amongst the hills, and benobody knew where, sometimes from morning to night; nor did her parentsventure to find fault with her.
She never went into rages like the princess, and would have thoughtRosamond--oh, so ugly and vile! if she had seen her in one of herpassions. But she was no better, for all that, and was quite as ugly inthe eyes of the wise woman, who could not only see but read her face.What is there to choose between a face distorted to hideousness byanger, and one distorted to silliness by self-complacency? True, thereis more hope of helping the angry child out of her form of selfishnessthan the conceited child out of hers; but on the other hand, theconceited child was not so terrible or dangerous as the wrathful one.The conceited one, however, was sometimes very angry, and then heranger was more spiteful than the other's; and, again, the wrathful onewas often very conceited too. So that, on the whole, of two veryunpleasant creatures, I would say that the king's daughter would havebeen the worse, had not the shepherd's been quite as bad. But, as Ihave said, the wise woman had her eye upon her: she saw that somethingspecial must be done, else she would be one of those who kneel to theirown shadows till feet grow on their knees; then go down on their handstill their hands grow into feet; then lay their faces on the groundtill they grow into snouts; when at last they are a hideous sort oflizards, each of which believes himself the best, wisest, and loveliestbeing in the world, yea, the very centre of the universe. And so theyrun about forever looking for their own shadows, that they may worshipthem, and miserable because they cannot find them, being themselves toonear the ground to have any shadows; and what becomes of them at lastthere is but one who knows.
The wise woman, therefore, one day walked up to the door of theshepherd's cottage, dressed like a poor woman, and asked for a drink ofwater. The shepherd's wife looked at her, liked her, and brought her acup of milk. The wise woman took it, for she made it a rule to acceptevery kindness that was offered her.
Agnes was not by nature a greedy girl, as I have said; but self-conceitwill go far to generate every other vice under the sun. Vanity, whichis a form of self-conceit, has repeatedly shown itself as the deepestfeeling in the heart of a horrible murderess.
That morning, at breakfast, her mother had stinted her in milk--just alittle--that she might have enough to make some milk-porridge for theirdinner. Agnes did not mind it at the time, but when she saw the milknow given to a beggar, as she called the wise woman--though, surely,one might ask a draught of water, and accept a draught of milk, withoutbeing a beggar in any such sense as Agnes's contemptuous use of theword implied--a cloud came upon her forehead, and a double verticalwrinkle settled over her nose. The wise woman saw it, for all herbusiness was with Agnes though she little knew it, and, rising, wentand offered the cup to the child, where she sat with her knitting in acorner. Agnes looked at it, did not want it, was inclined to refuse itfrom a beggar, but thinking it would show her consequence to assert herrights, took it and drank it up. For whoever is possessed by a devil,judges with the mind of that devil; and hence Agnes was guilty of sucha meanness as
many who are themselves capable of something just as badwill consider incredible.
The wise woman waited till she had finished it--then, looking into theempty cup, said:
"You might have given me back as much as you had no claim upon!"
Agnes turned away and made no answer--far less from shame thanindignation.
The wise woman looked at the mother.
"You should not have offered it to her if you did not mean her to haveit," said the mother, siding with the devil in her child against thewise woman and her child too. Some foolish people think they takeanother's part when they take the part he takes.
The wise woman said nothing, but fixed her eyes upon her, and soon themother hid her face in her apron weeping. Then she turned again toAgnes, who had never looked round but sat with her back to both, andsuddenly lapped her in the folds of her cloak. When the mother againlifted her eyes, she had vanished.
Never supposing she had carried away her child, but uncomfortablebecause of what she had said to the poor woman, the mother went to thedoor, and called after her as she toiled slowly up the hill. But shenever turned her head; and the mother went back into her cottage.
The wise woman walked close past the shepherd and his dogs, and throughthe midst of his flock of sheep. The shepherd wondered where she couldbe going--right up the hill. There was something strange about her too,he thought; and he followed her with his eyes as she went up and up.
It was near sunset, and as the sun went down, a gray cloud settled onthe top of the mountain, which his last rays turned into a rosy gold.Straight into this cloud the shepherd saw the woman hold her pace, andin it she vanished. He little imagined that his child was under hercloak.
He went home as usual in the evening, but Agnes had not come in. Theywere accustomed to such an absence now and then, and were not at firstfrightened; but when it grew dark and she did not appear, the husbandset out with his dogs in one direction, and the wife in another, toseek their child. Morning came and they had not found her. Then thewhole country-side arose to search for the missing Agnes; but day afterday and night after night passed, and nothing was discovered of orconcerning her, until at length all gave up the search in despairexcept the mother, although she was nearly convinced now that the poorwoman had carried her off.
One day she had wandered some distance from her cottage, thinking shemight come upon the remains of her daughter at the foot of some cliff,when she came suddenly, instead, upon a disconsolate-looking creaturesitting on a stone by the side of a stream.
Her hair hung in tangles from her head; her clothes were tattered, andthrough the rents her skin showed in many places; her cheeks werewhite, and worn thin with hunger; the hollows were dark under her eyes,and they stood out scared and wild. When she caught sight of theshepherdess, she jumped to her feet, and would have run away, but felldown in a faint.
At first sight the mother had taken her for her own child, but now shesaw, with a pang of disappointment, that she had mistaken. Full ofcompassion, nevertheless, she said to herself:
"If she is not my Agnes, she is as much in need of help as if she were.If I cannot be good to my own, I will be as good as I can to some otherwoman's; and though I should scorn to be consoled for the loss of oneby the presence of another, I yet may find some gladness in rescuingone child from the death which has taken the other."
Perhaps her words were not just like these, but her thoughts were. Shetook up the child, and carried her home. And this is how Rosamond cameto occupy the place of the little girl whom she had envied in thepicture.
A Double Story Page 6