The Duchess of Rosemary Lane: A NovelFarjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
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The Duchess of Rosemary Lane: A Novel
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
English fiction -- 19th century
In more than one respect Mrs. Lenoir was an object of interest to her
neighbours, and in some sense a mystery, which they solved after a
fashion not uncommon among poor people. That she was a woman of
superior breeding to themselves, and that she did not associate freely
with them, would certainly, but for one consideration, have stirred
their resentment against her. Mrs. Lenoir did not, to adopt their own
vernacular, give herself airs. "At all events," said they, "there's
nothing stuck up about her." Moving among them, with her silent ways,
she exhibited no consciousness of superiority, as other women in a
similar position might have done; instead of holding her head above
them, she walked the streets with a demeanour so uniformly sad and
humble, that the feeling she evoked was one more of pity than of
resentment. There is in some humilities a pride which hurts by
contact. Had this been apparent in Mrs. Lenoir, her neighbours'
tongues would have wagged remorselessly in her disfavour; but the
contrary was the case. There was expressed in her bearing a mute
appeal to them to be merciful to her; instead of placing herself above
them, she seemed to place herself below them, and she conveyed the
impression of living through the sad days weighed down by a grief too
deep for utterance, and either too sacred or too terrible for human
communion. When circumstances brought her into communication with her
neighbours, her gentleness won respect and consideration; and what was
known of her life outside the boundary of the lonely room she
occupied, and which no person was allowed to enter, touched their
hearts in her favour. Thus, as far as her means allowed her--and
indeed, although they were not aware of it, far beyond her means--she
was kind to the sick and to those who were poorer than herself, and
she frequently went hungry to bed because of the sacrifices she made
for them. Such small help as she could give was invariably proffered
unobtrusively, almost secretly; but it became known, and it did her no
harm in the estimation of her neighbours.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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