At those seasons when the young advocate sat in his isolation and
despair, that arch-enemy of high natures crept into his veins like
a drug; he would seek the antidote in that courageous life. This
penniless widow of a clergyman in a small village in a remote part
of the world had fitted her son for the only sphere in which she
looked for distinction for him, by many years of Spartan hardihood
in thought and deed. The few pounds the Reverend Henry Northcote had
laid by from his pittance, wherewith to provide an education for
his son, had been lost in a building society within three months of
his own departure from the world. From the date of the disaster his
widow had restricted the hours she spent in bed to five out of the
twenty-four; had renounced the eating of meat and the most commonplace
luxuries; and had practised a thousand and one petty economies in order
that her husband’s son should not lack the educational advantages of
those with whom he would have to compete. She had maintained him at a
public school, and afterwards, for a short period, at the university,
by translating classics out of foreign languages for scholastic
publishers, and by conveying the rudiments of knowledge to the young
children of the landholders who lived in her neighborhood.
This stalwart figure formed a wonderful background to his youth. He
was filled with awe by a simplicity that was so unconquerable, a
self-reliance that was so majestic. All the subtle implements of his
nature could not resolve such a potency as that. He himself was so much
less and so much more.
Strange homage was paid to this unlovely but august woman by the privy
council which sat in eternal session in his intellect. The favorite
guise in which she was presented to it was as the mother of Napoleon,
that “Madame Mère” who in the trenches conceived the Man of Destiny,
and walked to church an hour before she gave him to the world. Her
martial bearing, large bones, strong country speech, clothed the idea
with the flesh of the hard fact; her consciousness of purpose, power of
will, ennobled and quickened it with the hues of poetry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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