by Oscar Wilde
My infantile thoughts and hours were alike occupied by the sad reflections that belonged to a more mature age than mine; and yet I was so.
Days, weeks, and months passed on—there was no change, and I grew apace; but I was always regarded by my family with dislike, and always neglected. I could not account for it in any way than they wished me dead.
It may appear dreadful—very dreadful indeed—but what else was I to think? The old servant’s words came upon my mind full of their meaning—if I died before I was one-and-twenty, they would have all my aunt’s money.
‘They wish me to die,’ I thought, ‘they wish me to die; and I shall die—I am sure I shall die! But they will kill me—they have tried it by neglecting me, and making me sad. What can I do—what can I do?’
These thoughts were the current matter of my mind, and how often do they recur to my recollection now I am in this dull, dreadful place! I can never forget the past. I am here because I have rights elsewhere, which others can enjoy, and do enjoy.
However, that is an old evil. I have thus suffered long. But to return. After a year had gone by—two, I think, must have passed over my head—before I met with anything that was at all calculated to injure me. I must have been nearly ten years old, when, one evening, I had no sooner got into bed, than I found I had been put into damp—I may say wet sheets.
They were so damp that I could not doubt but this was done on purpose. I am sure no negligence ever came to anything so positive, and so abominable in all my life. I got out of bed, and took them off, and then wrapped myself up in the blankets, and slept till morning, without wakening anyone.
When morning came, I enquired who put the sheets there?
‘What do you mean, minx?’ said my mother.
‘Only that somebody was bad and wicked enough to put positively wet sheets in the bed; it could not have been done through carelessness—it must have been done though sheer wilfulness. I’m quite convinced of that.’
‘You will get yourself well thrashed if you talk like that,’ said my mother. ‘The sheets are not damp; there are none in the house that are damp.’
‘These are wet.’
This reply brought her hand down heavily upon my shoulder, and I was forced upon my knees. I could not help myself, so violent was the blow.
‘There,’ added my mother, ‘take that, and that, and answer me if you dare.’
As she said this she struck me to the ground, and my head came into violent contact with the table, and I was rendered insensible.
How long I continued so I cannot tell. What I first saw when I awoke was the dreariness of the attics into which I had been thrust, and thrown upon a small bed without any furniture. I looked around and saw nothing that indicated comfort, and upon looking at my clothes, there were traces of blood. This, I had no doubt, came from myself.
I was hurt, and upon putting my hand to my head found that I was much hurt, as my head was bound up.
At that moment the door was opened, and the old servant came in.
‘Well, Miss Mary,’ she said, ‘and so you have come round again? I really began to be afraid you were killed. What a fall you must have had!’
‘Fall,’ said I; ‘who said it was a fall?’
‘They told me so.’
‘I was struck down.’
‘Struck, Miss Mary? Who could strike you? And what did you do to deserve such a severe chastisement? Who did it?’
‘I spoke to my mother about the wet sheets.’
‘Ah! what a mercy you were not killed! If you had slept in them, your life would not have been worth a farthing. You would have caught cold, and you would have died of inflammation, I am sure of it. If anybody wants to commit murder without being found out, they have only to put them into damp sheets.’
‘So I thought, and I took them out.’
‘You did quite right—quite right.’
‘What have you heard about them?’ said I.
‘Oh! I only went into the room in which you sleep, and I at once found how damp they were, and how dangerous it was; and I was going to tell your mamma, when I met her, and she told me to hold my tongue, but to go down and take you away, as you had fallen down in a fit, and she could not bear to see you lying there.’
‘And she didn’t do anything for me?’
‘Oh, no, not as I know of, because you were lying on the floor bleeding. I picked you up, and brought you here.’
‘And she has not enquired after me since?’
‘Not once.’
‘And don’t know whether I am yet sensible or not?’
‘She does not know that yet.’
‘Well,’ I replied, ‘I think they don’t care much for me, I think not at all, but the time may come when they will act differently.’
‘No, Miss, they think, or affect to think, that you have injured them; but that cannot be, because you could not be cunning enough to dispose your aunt to leave you all, and so deprive them of what they think they are entitled to.’
‘I never could have believed half so much.’
‘Such, however, is the case.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Nothing, my dear, but lie still till you get better, and don’t say any more; but sleep, if you can sleep, will do you more good than anything else now for an hour or so, so lie down and sleep.’
* * * *
The old woman left the room, and I endeavoured to compose myself to sleep; but could not do so for some time, my mind being too actively engaged in considering what I had better do, and I determined upon a course of conduct by which I thought I should escape much of my present persecution.
It was some days, however, before I could put it in practice, and one day I found my father and mother together, and said, ‘Mother, why do you not send me to school?’
‘You—send you to school! did you mean you, Miss?’
‘Yes, I meant myself, because other people go to school to learn something, but I have not been sent at all.’
‘Are you not contented?’
‘I am not,’ I answered, ‘because other people learn something; but at the same time, I should be more out of your way, since I am more trouble to you, as you complain of me; it would not cost more than living at home.’
‘What is the matter with the child?’ asked my father.
‘I cannot tell,’ said my mother.
‘The better way will be to take care of her, and confine her to some part of the house, if she does not behave better.’
‘The little minx will be very troublesome.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes, decidedly.’
‘Then we must adopt some more active measures, or we shall have to do what we do not wish. I am amused at her asking to be sent to school! Was ever there heard such wickedness? Well, I could not have believed such ingratitude could have existed in human nature.’
‘Get out of the room, you hussy,’ said my mother; ‘go out of the room, and don’t let me hear a word from you more.
I left the room terrified at the storm I had raised up against me. I knew not that I had done wrong, and went up crying to my attic alone, and found the old servant, who asked what was the matter. I told her all I had said, and what had been the result, and how I had been abused.
‘Why, you should let things take their own course, my dear.’
‘Yes, but I can learn nothing.’
‘Never mind; you will have plenty of money when you grow older, and that will cure many defects; people who have money never want for friends.’
‘But I have them not, and yet I have money.’
‘Most certainly—most certainly, but you have it not in your power, and you are not old enough to make use of it, if you had it.’
‘Who has it?’ I enquired.
‘Your father and mo
ther.’
No more was said at that time, and the old woman left me to myself, and I recollect I long and deeply pondered over this matter, and yet I could see no way out of it, and resolved that I would take things as easily as I could; but I feared that I was not likely to have a very quiet life; indeed, active cruelty was exercised against me.
They would lock me up in a room a whole day at a time, so that I was debarred the use of my limbs. I was even kept without food, and on every occasion I was knocked about, from one to the other, without remorse—everyone took a delight in tormenting me, and in showing me how much they dared to do.
Of course servants and all would not treat me with neglect and harshness if they did not see it was agreeable to my parents.
This was shocking cruelty; but yet I found that this was not all. Many were the little contrivances made and invented to cause me to fall down stairs—to slip—to trip, to do anything that might have ended in some fatal accident, which would have left them at liberty to enjoy my legacy, and no blame would be attached to them for the accident, and I should most likely get blamed for what was done, and from which I had been the sufferer—indeed, I should have been deemed to have suffered justly.
On one occasion, after I had been in bed some time, I found it was very damp, and upon examination I found the bed itself had been made quite wet, with the sheet put over it to hide it.
This I did not discover until it was too late, for I caught a violent cold, and it took me some weeks to get over it, and yet I escaped eventually, though after some months’ illness. I recovered, and it evidently made them angry because I did live.
They must have believed me to be very obstinate; they thought me obdurate in the extreme—they called me all the names they could imagine, and treated me with every indignity they could heap upon me.
Well, time ran on, and in my twelfth year I obtained the notice of one or two of our friends, who made some enquiries about me.
I always remarked that my parents disliked anyone to speak to, or take any notice of me. They did not permit me to say much—they did not like my speaking; and on one occasion, when I made some remark respecting school, she replied, ‘Her health is so bad that I have not yet sent her, but shall do so by and by, when she grows stronger.
There was a look bent upon me that told me at once what I must expect if I persisted in my half-formed resolve of contradicting all that had been said.
When the visitor went I was well aware of what kind of a life I should have had, if I did not absolutely receive some serious injury. I was terrified, and held my tongue.
Soon after that I was seized with violent pains and vomiting. I was very ill, and the servant being at home only, a doctor was sent for, who at once said I had been poisoned, and ordered me to be taken care of.
I know how it was done; I had taken some cake given me—it was left out for me; and that was the only thing I had eaten, and it astonished me, for I had not had such a thing given me for years, and that is why I believe the poison was put in the cake, and I think others thought so too.
However I got over that after a time, though I was a long while before I did so; but at the same time I was very weak, and the surgeon said that had I been a little longer without assistance, or had I not thrown it up, I must have sunk beneath the effects of a violent poison.
He advised my parents to take some measures to ascertain who it was that had administered the poison to me; but though they promised compliance, they never troubled themselves about it—but I was for a long time very cautious of what I took, and was in great fear of the food that was given to me.
However, nothing more of that character took place, and at length I quite recovered, and began to think in my own mind that I ought to take some active steps in the matter, and that I ought to seek an asylum elsewhere.
I was now nearly fifteen years of age, and could well see how inveterate was the dislike with which I was regarded by my family: I thought that they ought to use me better, for I could remember no cause for it. I had given no deadly offence, nor was there any motive why I should be treated thus with neglect and disdain.
It was, then, a matter of serious consideration with me as to whether I should not go and throw myself upon the protection of some friend, and beg their interference in my behalf; but then there was no one whom I felt would do so much for me—no one from whom I expected so great an act of friendship.
It was hardly to be expected from anyone that they should interfere between me and my parents; they would have had their first say, and I should have contradicted all said, and should have appeared in a very bad light indeed.
I could not say they had neglected my education—I could not say that, because there I had been careful myself, and I had assiduously striven when alone to remedy this defect, and had actually succeeded; so that, if I were examined, I should have denied my own assertions by contrary facts, which would injure me. Then again, if I were neglected, I could not prove any injury, because I had all the means of existence; and all I could say would be either attributed to some evil source, or it was entirely false—but at the same time I felt I had great cause of complaint, and none of gratitude.
I could hold no communion with anyone—all alike deserted me, and I knew none who could say aught for me if I requested their goodwill.
I had serious thoughts of possessing myself of some money, and then leaving home, and staying away until I had arrived at age; but this I deferred doing, seeing that there was no means, and I could not do more than I did then—that is, to live on without any mischief happening, and wait for a few years more.
I contracted an acquaintance with a young man who came to visit my father—he came several times, and paid me more civility and attention than anyone else ever did, and I felt that he was the only friend I possessed.
It is no wonder I looked upon him as being my best and my only friend. I thought him the best and the handsomest man I ever beheld.
This put other thoughts into my head. I did not dress as others did, much less had I the opportunity of becoming possessed of many of those little trinkets that most young women of my age had.
But this made no alteration in the good opinion of the young gentleman, who took no notice of that, but made me several pretty presents.
These were treasures to me, and I must say I gloated over them, and often, when alone, I have spent hours in admiring them; trifling as they were, they made me happier. I knew now one person who cared for me, and a delightful feeling it was too. I shall never know it again—it is quite impossible.
Here among the dark walls and unwholesome cells we have no cheering ray of life or hope—all is dreary and cold; a long and horrible imprisonment takes place, to which there is no end save with life, and in which there is not one mitigating circumstance—all is bad and dark. God help me!
* * * *
However, my dream of happiness was soon disturbed. By some means my parents had got an idea of this, and the young man was dismissed the house, and forbidden to come to it again. This he determined to do, and more than once we met, and then in secret I told him all my woes.
When he had heard all I had said, he expressed the deepest commiseration, and declared I had been most unjustly and harshly treated, and thought that there was not a harder or harsher treatment than that which I had received.
He then advised me to leave home.
‘Leave home,’ I said; ‘where shall I fly? I have no friend.’
‘Come to me, I will protect you, I will stand between you and all the world; they shall not stir hand or foot to your injury.’
‘But I cannot, dare not do that; if they found me out, they would force me back with all the ignominy and shame that could be felt from having done a bad act; not any pity would they show me.’
‘Nor need you; you would be my wife, I mean to make you my wife.’
‘You?’<
br />
‘Yes! I dreamed not of anything else. You shall be my wife; we will hide ourselves, and remain unknown to all until the time shall have arrived when you are of age—when you can claim all your property, and run no risk of being poisoned or killed by any other means.’
‘This is a matter,’ said I, ‘that ought to be considered well before adopting anything as violent or so sudden.’
‘It is; and it is not one that I think will injure by being reflected upon by those who are the principal actors; for my own part my mind is made up, and I am ready to perform my share of the engagement.’
I resolved to consider the matter well in my own mind, and felt every inclination to do what he proposed, because it took me away from home, and because it would give me one of my own.
My parents had become utterly estranged from me; they did not ~ct as parents, they did not act as friends, they had steeled my heart against them; they never could have borne any love to me, I am sure of it, who could have committed such great crimes against me.
As the hour drew near, that in which I was likely to become an object of still greater hatred and dislike to them, I thought I was often the subject of their private thoughts, and often when I entered the room my mother, and father, and the rest, would suddenly leave off speaking, and look at me, as if to ascertain if I had ever heard them say anything. On one occasion I remember very well I heard them conversing in a low tone. The door happened to have opened of itself, the hasp not having been allowed to enter the mortice; I heard my name mentioned: I paused and listened.
‘We must soon get rid of her,’ said my mother.
‘Undoubtedly,’ he replied; ‘if we do not, we shall have her about our ears: she’ll get married, or some infernal thing, and then we shall have to refund.’
‘We could prevent that.’
‘Not if her husband was to insist upon it, we could not; but the only plan I can now form is what I told you of already.’
‘Putting her in a madhouse?’
‘Yes: there, you see, she will be secured, and cannot get away. Besides, those who go there die in a natural way before many years.’