Arminell: A Social Romance, Vol. 3Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
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Arminell: A Social Romance, Vol. 3
Baring-Gould, S. (Sabine)
English fiction -- 19th century
Arminell felt keenly the solitude of her condition, and it weighed on
her spirits. It was not possible for her at once to accommodate herself
to her new surroundings. She had Mrs. Welsh to talk, or rather to listen
to, but Mrs. Welsh had no other subjects of conversation than the
iniquities of servants and the scandals in high life. According to Mrs.
Welsh, there was but one social circle in which reigned virtue, and that
was the circle of the middle class to which she belonged. Servants as
beneath that were bad, that her daily experience taught her, and the
upper ten thousand, as she knew by the voice of gossip and the
revelations of the press, were also corrupt. It is conceivable that one
may tire of hearing only two subjects discussed, even though these
subjects be of engrossing interest; and Arminell was fatigued with the
relation of the misdeeds of domestics, and the disorders of the
nobility. Shylock said to Antonio that he would talk with him, buy with
him, sell with him, but would not eat with him. Arminell could do
everything with Mrs. Welsh except think with her. The girl felt her
friendless condition. She had no companion of her own age, class, and
sex, to whom she could open her mind and of whom ask counsel. She could
have no more communication with those in the upper world to which she
had belonged, and which shared her intellectual and moral culture, than
can a fish have communication with the bird. It looks up and sees the
beautiful creatures skimming the surface of its element, sees their feet
moving in it, their beaks dipped below it, but the birds do not belong
to the aqueous element, nor the fish to the atmosphere, and they must
live apart accordingly. The bird can pull out a fish and gobble it, and
the fish can bite the toes of the swimming duck, and that is the limit
of their association.
I have heard of the case of a lady who was either struck by lightning or
so paralyzed by electricity that she lay as one dead, bereft of power of
motion. She neither breathed nor did her pulse beat, she could not move
a muscle or articulate a sound. She was pronounced to be dead, and was
measured, shrouded, and put into her coffin. But though apparently dead,
she could hear all that went on in the room, the blinds being drawn
down, the number of feet and inches determined for her shell, the
sobbing of her mother, and the tramp of those who brought in her coffin.
She heard the undertaker ask her father on the day of the funeral,
whether he should at once screw her down—then, by a supreme effort she
succeeded in flickering an eyelid, and her father saw the movement and
sent for a surgeon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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