Didactic fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction
“What we all suffered on this occasion may more easily be felt than
described.”----“It may indeed,” answered Amelia, “and I am so sensible of
it, that, unless you have a mind to see me faint before your face, I
beg you will order me something; a glass of water, if you please. “Mrs.
Bennet immediately complied with her friend’s request; a glass of water
was brought, and some hartshorn drops infused into it; which Amelia
having drank off, declared she found herself much better; and then Mrs.
Bennet proceeded thus:--“I will not dwell on a scene which I see hath
already so much affected your tender heart, and which is as disagreeable
to me to relate as it can be to you to hear. I will therefore only
mention to you the behaviour of my father on this occasion, which was
indeed becoming a philosopher and a Christian divine. On the day after
my mother’s funeral he sent for my sister and myself into his room,
where, after many caresses and every demonstration of fatherly
tenderness as well in silence as in words, he began to exhort us to bear
with patience the great calamity that had befallen us; saying, ‘That as
every human accident, how terrible soever, must happen to us by divine
permission at least, a due sense of our duty to our great Creator must
teach us an absolute submission to his will. Not only religion, but
common sense, must teach us this; for oh! my dear children,’ cries he,
‘how vain is all resistance, all repining! could tears wash back again
my angel from the grave, I should drain all the juices of my body
through my eyes; but oh, could we fill up that cursed well with our
tears, how fruitless would be all our sorrow!’--I think I repeat you
his very words; for the impression they made on me is never to be
obliterated. He then proceeded to comfort us with the chearful thought
that the loss was entirely our own, and that my mother was greatly a
gainer by the accident which we lamented. ‘I have a wife,’ cries he,
‘my children, and you have a mother, now amongst the heavenly choir;
how selfish therefore is all our grief! how cruel to her are all our
wishes!’ In this manner he talked to us near half an hour, though I must
frankly own to you his arguments had not the immediate good effect on us
which they deserved, for we retired from him very little the better for
his exhortations; however, they became every day more and more forcible
upon our recollection; indeed, they were greatly strengthened by his
example; for in this, as in all other instances, he practised the
doctrines which he taught. From this day he never mentioned my mother
more, and soon after recovered his usual chearfulness in public; though
I have reason to think he paid many a bitter sigh in private to that
remembrance which neither philosophy nor Christianity could expunge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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