Tied to a Rope
YOU don't know what a Hircus Œpagrus is, Tommy ? Well, it is a big name for him, is n’t it ? And if you should ask that somewhat slatternly female, who appears to employ tubs for the advantage of others rather than herself, what the animal is, she would tell you it is a goat. See what a hardy, sturdy little creature he is; and how he lifts up his startled head, as the cars come thundering along, and bounds away as if he were on the rugged hills that his ancestors climbed, ages ago, in wild freedom. O that cruel rope ! how it stops him in his career with a sudden jerk that pulls him to the ground ! See where it has worn away the hair round his neck, in his constant struggles to escape. See how he has browsed the scanty grass of that dry pasture, in the little circle to which he is confined, and is now trying to reach an uncropped tuft, just beyond his tether. And the sun is beating down upon him, and there is not the shade of a leaf for him to creep into, this July day. Poor little fellow!
Not waste my sympathy on a common goat ? My dear Madam, I can assure you that ropes are not knotted around the neck of Hirci CEpagri alone. And when I was bemoaning the captivity of yonder little browser we have left behind, I was bewailing the fortune of another great order of the Mammalian class, — an order that Mr. Huxley and Mr. Darwin and other great thinkers of the day are proving to be close connections of their humbler brethren that bleat and bark and bray. The bimanal species of this order are similarly appendaged, though they are not apt to be staked beside railways or confined to a rood of ground.
Do you see Vanitas at the other end of the car ? Does he look as though he carried about with him a “lengthening chain ” ? No one would certainly suppose it. Yet he is bound as securely as the poor little goat. We may go to the fresh air of his country-seat this July day, or to the sea-breezes of his Newport cottage next month, or he may sit here, “ the incarnation of fat dividends,” while you and I envy him his wealth and comforts; but he can never break his bonds. They are riveted to the counters of the moneychangers, knotted around the tall masts of his goodly ships, bolted to the ore of his distant mines. He bears them to his luxurious home, and his fond wife, his caressing children, his troops of friends, can never strike them off. Ever and anon, as the car of fortune sweeps by to start him from his comfortable ease, they gall him with their remorseless restraint You may cut the poor goat’s rope and set him free, to roam where he will; but Vanitas has forged his own fetters, and there comes to him no blessed day of emancipation.
My dear Madam, the bright blue ether around us is traversed by a wonderful network of these invisible bonds that hold poor human beings to their fate. Over the green hills and over the blue waters, far, far away they reach, — a warp and -woof of multiform, expansive strands, over which the sense of bondage moves with all the wondrous celerity of that strange force which, on the instant, speaks the thought of the Antipodes. You don’t know that you carry about any such ? Ah ! it is well that they weigh so lightly. Utter your grateful thanks, to-night, when you seek your pillow, that the chains you wear are not galling ones. But you are most irrevocably bound. Frank holds you fast. One of these days, when you are most peaceful and content in your bondage, scarcely recognized, there may come a stately tread, a fiery eye, a glowing heart, to startle you from your quiet ease ; and when you bound, trembling and breathless in their mighty sway, you may feel the chain —before so light — wearing its way deep into your throbbing heart. May you never wake on the morn of that day, Madam ! You don’t carry any such ? Round a little white tablet, half hidden in the sighing grass, is linked a chain which holds you, at this moment, by your inmost soul. You are not listening to me now ; for I have but touched it, and your breast is swelling ’neath its pressure, and the tears start to your eyes at its momentary tightness. You don’t carry any such ? We all carry them ; and were human ears sensitive to other than the grosser sounds of nature, they would hear a strange music sweeping from these mystic chords, as they tremble at the touch of time and fate.
Master Tommy seems to be tolerably free from any sort of restraint, I acknowledge. In fact, it is he who keeps myself and Mrs. A. in the most abject servitude. He holds our nasal appendages close to the grindstone of his imperious will. And yet — please take him into the next car, Madam, while I speak of him. You cannot ? What is this ? Let me see, I pray you. As I live, it is his mother’s apron-string. Ah ! I fear, Madam, that all your efforts cannot break that tie. In the years to come, it will doubtless be frayed and worn ; and, some day or other, he will bound loose from bis childhood’s captivity ; but long ere that lie will have other bonds thrown around him, some of which he can never break. He will weave with his own hands the silken cord of love, coil it about him. knot it with Gordian intricacy, net it with Vulcan strength, and then, with blind simplicity, place it in Beauty’s hand to lead him captive to her capricious will. My dear Madam, did not Tommy’s father do the same foolish thing ? And is he not grateful to the lovely Mrs. Asmodeus for the gentleness with which she holds him in her power ? Some of our bonds are light to bear. We glory in them, and hold up our gyves to show them to the world. Tommy may be a little shamefaced when his playmates jeer at the maternal tie ; but he will walk forth, glowing with pride and joy, to parade his self-woven fetters ostentatiously in the sight of men. When you had done some such foolish thing yourself, did not your young mates gather round to view, with wondering and eager eyes, the result of your own handiwork at the cordage of love ? Were there not many loquacious conclaves held to sit in secret judgment thereon ? Were there not many soft cheeks flushing, and bright eyes sparkling, and fresh hearts beating, as you brought forth, with a pride you did not pretend to hide, the rose-colored fabric you had woven ? And did they not all envy you, and wonder when their distaffs were to whirl to the tread of their own ready feet ?
But we are not always eager or proud to exhibit our bonds. Indeed, we sedulously conceal them from every eye ; we cover up the marks upon our scarred hearts with such jealous care, that none, not even our bosom friends, can ever see them. They hold us where the sweet herbage of life has become dry and sere, where no shelter offers us a grateful retreat. Vanitas can bear away with him his “lengthening chain” to his leafy groves ; but Scripsit is confined to the torrid regions of his scanty garret. In vain he gazes afar, beyond the smoky haze of his stony prison, upon the green slopes and shady hills. 111 vain he toils and strains to burst the links that bind him. His soul is yearning for the cooling freshness, the sweet fragrance, the beauty, the glory, of the outer world. It is just beyond his reach ; and, wearied with futile exertions, he sinks, fainting and despairing, in his efforts to rend the chain of penury. And there are many other bonds which hold us to areas of life from which we have gathered all the fresh bloom and the rich fruit. We may tread their barren soil with jewelled sandals, wrap around us ermined robes in winter’s cold, and raise our silken tents in summer’s glare, while our souls are hungering and thirsting for the ambrosia and the nectar beyond our tethered reach. We are held fast by honor, virtue, fidelity, pity, — ties which we dare not break if we could. We must not even bear their golden links to their extremest length ; we must not show that they are chains which bind us ; we must not show that we are hungering and thirsting in the confines to which they restrain us. We must seem to be feasting as from the flesh-pots of Egypt, — fattening on the husks which we have emptied, — while our souls are starving and fainting and dying within us. ’T is a sad music that swells from these chords. How fortunate that our ears are not attuned to their notes. And we are not always solitary in our bondage ; nor do we tread round the cropped circuit, held to senseless pillars. We are chained to each other ; and unhappy are they who, straining at the bond, seek food for their hearts in opposite directions. We are chained to each other; and light or heavy are the bonds, as Fortune shall couple us. Now you and Frank, I know, are leashed with down; and when Mrs. Asmodeus went to the blacksmith, the Vulcan of our days, to order my fetters, she bespoke gossamers, to which a spider’s web were cable. But we are among the favored of Fortune’s children. There are many poor unfortunates whose daily round is but the measured clank of hateful chains ; who eat, drink, sleep, live together, in a bondage worse than that of Chillon, — round whom the bright sun shines, the sweet flowers bloom, the soft breezes play, — and yet who stifle in the gloom of a domestic dungeon.
And there are others fettered as firmly, — but how differently ! The clasping links are soft, caressing arms ; the tones their sounding chains give out are cheerful voices, joyous accents, words of love, that echo far beyond the little circle that they keep, and spread their harmony through many hearts. That little circle is a happy home ; love spun the bonds that hold them close therein, and many are the strands that bind them there. They come from beauteous eyes that beam with light; from lisping tongues more sweet than seraph choirs; from swelling hearts that beat in every pulse with fond affection, which is richer far than all the nectar of the ancient gods. Bind me with these, O Fortune ! and I hug my chains o’erjoyed. Be these the cords which hold me to the rock around which break the surging waves of time, and let the beak of Fate tear as it will, I hold the bondage sweet and laugh at liberty.
My dear Madam, there are chains which hold us as the cable holds the ship ; and, in their sure restraint, we safely ride through all the howling blasts of adverse fate. The globe we tread whirls on through endless space, kept ever in the circuit that it makes by that restraining force which holds it to the pillar of the sun. Loose but the bond an instant, and it flies in wild, tangential flight, to shatter other worlds. The very bondage that we curse, and seek, in fretful mood, to break and burst, may keep us to the orbit that is traced, by overruling wisdom, for our good. We gravitate towards duty, though we sweep with errant course along the outer marge of the bare area of its tightened cord. Let but the wise restraint be rudely broke, and through life’s peopled space we heedless rush, trampling o’er hearts, and whirling to our fate, leaving destruction on our reckless way.
Did you ever chance to see, Madam, a picture of those venturous hunters, who are lowered by a rope to the nests of sea-birds, built on some inaccessible cliff? Hanging between heaven and earth they sway ; — above, the craggy rock, o’er which the single cord is strained that holds them fast ; below, a yawning chasm, whose jagged depth would be a fearful grave to him who should fall. You and I would never dream of bird-nesting under such circumstances. I can see you shudder, even now, at the bare idea. Yet do we not sometimes hang ourselves over cliffs from which a fall were worse than death ? Do we not trust ourselves, in venturous mood, to the frail tenure of a single strand which sways ’twixt heaven and earth ? Not after birds’ eggs, I grant you. We are not all of us so fond of omelettes. But over the wild crags of human passion many drop, pursuing game that shuns the beaten way, and sway above the depths of dark despair. Intent upon their prey, they further go, secure in the firm hold they think they have, nor heed the fraying line that, grating on the edge of the bare precipice, at last is worn and weak ; while, one by one, the little threads give way, and they who watch above in terror call to warn them of the danger. But in vain ! no friendly voice can stay their flushed success ; till, at its height, the cord is suddenly snapped, and crushed upon the rocks beneath they lie. You and I will never go bird-nesting after this fashion, my dear Madam. Let us hover then around the crags of life, and watch the twisting strands that others, more adventurous than we, have risked themselves upon. Be ours the part to note the breaking threads, and, with our words of kindly warning, seek to save our fellows from a fall so dread.
And, if the ties of earth keep us from falling, so also do they keep us from rising above the level of grosser things. They hold us down to the dull, tedious monotony of worldly cares, aims, purposes. Like birds withheld from flight into the pure regions of the upper air by cruel, frightening cords, we fluttering go, stifled amid the vapors men have spread, and panting for the freedom that we seek.
Madam, our bright-eyed little goat has, by this time, settled himself calmly on the grass ; and I see, near at hand, the shady groves where King Tommy is wont to lead Mrs. A. and myself in his summer wanderings. Let me hope that all our bonds may be those which hold us fast to peace, content, and virtue ; and that, when the silver cord which holds us here to earth shall be loosed, we then on sweeping pinions may arise, pure and untrammelled, into cloudless skies.