Blanche Edith Baughan

“ Happy? Why, sometimes I feel that happy I can scarce contain myself, and am forced to go and give the chicks an extra bit, or take poor Peggy a carrot, so as to do a little something for somebody, and get a mite of it worked off!”
And I warrant that Peter, too, is happy! that, as he footed it leisurely this morning, behind the little flock of his own rearing, in the spring sunshine and along the sweet-smelling road, he whistled like his enemy the blackbird as he went—or else was silent only with a happier silence, a glad uplifting of the heart. ”

“ The arrival of the Tikirau was the event of the month, for no other vessel traded to this port, and a track along the coast was its only other link with civilisation. The sight of all these brown, bright-eyed faces waiting beside the surf carried one’s fancy clean back to the days of Captain Cook; and nothing, at a little distance, was easier than to imagine ourselves the original pakeha explorers of this shore. But the moment we landed, yesterday took to its heels, and pale fancy proved nothing of a rival to robust reality—robust, and lively! ”

“ Seen as a vision, how bright! in those nights of desperate darkness,
Truly in sight now at last, and to-morrow, to-morrow, thank Heaven!
Last of all sights to be! for it fronted fathomless water,
The hiding sea would be all, and life and self-loathing done!....
....A honey-bee boom’d o’er the tussock, and sipp’d at the blossoming shamrock;
He look’d and beheld the blossoms bruis’d by his twisting fingers,
Ruin’d at start of the spring; and his eyes grew cloudy with pity
(He was easily touch’d, fine-fibred) ; then, dark with a bitter pity
For himself and his own spring, spoil’d! ”

“ Yet never had she seen him face to face;
But, daily looking for his coming, grew
Daily more beautiful, and was most glad.
So when, the day before this dawn, a sloop,
Sharp-prow’d, and winged like a butterfly,
Came flitting past the palace, and brought news
Of royal vessels, sailing stately slow
Towards the great rock that keeps the bay at peace,
Nereia clapp’d her hands for joy, and ran
And stood upon the steps; and there stay’d long
Looking for him that was to come. But all
The colour faded from the molten west,
And fainter grew the faint sea-line; and still
No vessel. ”

“ Bossu fils could not demand an extortionate rent, and, in the little paddock at the back, Nanette could keep her cow. Such were the simple, practical thoughts that were at work, altering his whole world for him. The old woman, the old house, the old man—why not convert them all, by associating them in one companionship, into a little remnant of departed Home?
No rash idea of marriage was in old Philippe’s mind. Nanette, the withered everyday housewife, could never be a rival to Ninon, the ideal, the ever-young—neither would she, in her peasant meekness, ever dream of such a thing. ”

“ And, as I followed Nance into the orchard, his words came back to me, and I wondered whether, after all, he were not right; whether such as Nance and her family, toiling thus, year in, year out, were not actually, that the farm, forsooth, might prosper, being starved in brain and soul; whether, in fact, they could be said truly to live at all? Unlike the Old-World workers, we in this country have no burning wrongs to awake our energies and point us to ideals—or, at any rate, if we have, there are but few of us that have caught fire. ”

“ Is it so beautiful a thing to condemn where we do not understand? Who knows what stress—of grief, or guilt it may be, of love denied, ambition thwarted, loss sustained (pain of some sort certainly it must have been, to teach your soul such passionate expression) —had driven you to exile and the old kitchen? Who can tell from what sad seed, and planted by what tragic agency, may have sprung that thicket of impenetrable pride that walled you from your fellows as the pine-trees wall the farm? ”

“ Beauty here issues freshly from the foam,
And the Soul’s wings are wide.
O ever-breathing Breast,
Re-inspire me!
O Energy unresting, give me rest!
Succour me, O strong Sea!
Hark . . . hark . . . ! The billow rises,
The billow breaks,
The sea calls,
And my heart awakes!
O my heart!
We, beach’d so high on this world’s huckster strand,
Might we at last in truth the mooring slip,
And out upon wide water like a ship
Launch forth and leave the land,—
Flee the staled air, the loud and empty life,
The little lights, with the great Light of Heaven
Pretentiously at strife! ”

“ From the river, the road runs straight uphill, through a cutting between high banks of fern and gorse, with a crumbly crest of papa clay boldly yellow on the full blue sky. The road is of yellow papa also, and unmetalled, and rather heavy. Pipi grunted a good deal as she toiled up it; and about halfway up stood still to get her breath, for the pumpkin, precious as it was, lay like lead upon her frail old shoulders. Why! at the very top of the bank, glaring in the sunshine against the yellow papa, what was that? ”

“ Do not let us awake her; she is a very old woman.
Janet—I wonder how old?....Does she not look older than ever in her sleep? Ah, you poor, feeble old Hine—worn-out, and with so little work!—Elizabeth! I shall not like being old.
Elizabeth—It is natural you should think so. But age is as natural as youth, Janet, at the right time—yes, all the time! for it, too, is but just a stage in everything. Come, stay, go: begin, be, die: your restless youth, springing up, Hine’s drowsy age, dwindling down, and my contented housewifery halfway—what are they all, but just the common way of life? ”

“ If perhaps it is one of the weak points of this particular creed that its expression in words sounds so self-centred as almost to mean selfishness, on the other hand it is one of its chief bulwarks that its expression in terms of conduct is a selflessness almost perfect; and its ineffable consolations who would have the heart to grudge so sorrowful a life? For Eva, her Saviour shared with her the desolate hills; He walked on yonder far-away and sundering sea; He knew her terrors, her griefs He bore with her; and—He had given her Paulie. ”

“ In one paddock Millicent could see, in spite of the bright sunshine, a little bluish film of smoke rising from the earth here and there, with a red flower or two of fire twinkling through it, as it veered and wavered in the unequal breeze. The settler who owned that paddock was trying to clear it. He had set it alight the day before, when there had been a wind. At night, when the fire smouldering at the heart of every stump would show itself in the darkness, the whole paddock would be spotted with crimson, and look all eerie, like a witches’ camp. ”

“ That, dark and gleaming like sea-ribbon, clung
Round her wet, laughter-quaking throat—all these
Breathed out the sea’s own breath of pungent brine.
“Leon, good son of Ector! what dost here?
Mercy! the dolorous look! Oh, hie thee hence,
And sit thee by the fagot! For I swear
By mine own heart, the which thou makest ache
With laughter at such sourness, never once
Saw I a knight less worthy of my sea,
Mother of every health, the live strong sea!”
She stopp’d; her loosen’d laughter came again,
Curdling the milky air, and by his cheek
Drove the thin mist with brush of chilly wings. ”

“ To be and to bear, for yourself, and O, with help and compassion
For the rest who suffer from sin! (Ay, the need and sorrow of sinners
Who knows better than we? So who should better bring help?)
Briskly about it, my son! and the greening grass, and the spring stir,
And the stars in their shining shall hail you, the globe in its rolling shall help you.
For, After Ruin, Renewing! so runs the merciful Life-Law:
Out of Destruction, Growth! and a human life that is broken
Can break on, like a fertilised field, into help for a hungry world! ”

“ There are times when similarities do but accentuate a difference; and a wave of the most bitter yearning and homesickness overwhelmed poor Philippe now as he sat there in the sun.
O for the Real Things—for the lake that was not salt, for the streamlet that flowed from snows, for the grass all full of flowers! O for the old Home landscape, for the old, familiar speech, for the dear, the true, the real, the right, old ways! Philippe had not been in Switzerland for half a century; his youthful manhood, his prime, his age, had all been passed in New Zealand ”

“ But I never think of it as ended at all; in my private and particular cosmos, the world of my experience, safe for me still sails the Tikirau! Staunch, willing, and nimble, a friendly and a happy ship, there for ever she hastens upon her sparkling way, a winged and snow-white presence, bright as a sea-bird in the sunshine, or a flake of flying foam: still linking little green port with little green port along the flashing blue: still beautifying the seas, still gilding humdrum matters with romance: livening duty with beauty, buoyantly taking risks, bright, beneficent, and brave. ”

“ THE OLD KITCHEN
Out towards the tip of a certain bare, seaward-stretching promontory, there stands a thick, dark tuft of pines, and within the pines an old farm, painted white. Years and years ago, when Kiteroa, the scattered settlement inland, was still green virgin Bush, a young man planted the pines, which a very little child could then have jumped over, set up a wharé in their midst, and brought home his bride. The wind blew furiously across those open slopes upon the adventurous plantation, the driven rains beat on and through the wharé weatherboards, as yet so unprotected. ”

“ Ross round the corner, a little tin pail in each hand. Look at her well, for you shall see a happy woman. Not very handsome is Catherine, with her spare figure, a little stooped, her weather-beaten, life-worn face, and hair long since gone grey. Neither is she elegant, or even picturesque, with those tucked-up skirts, that must already have been old when she brought them out from Home, that tweed cap of Peter’s on her head, and those clumping, thick boys’ boots. But Catherine Ross has things to think about far more interesting than her own outward show ”

“ And thro’ the wind’s incessant lumbering, hear,
Safely, the great Voice boom: or, ’mid the stars
And silence, and the pausing of a mind
Profoundly by the far sea-rhythm lull’d—
’Mid Night’s wide simple quiet, perfected
By movements low without, of leaves and wind,
Live things unconscious nestling in their sleep,
And the beloved breathing at his side—
To drink long draughts of peace, to realize
Rest . . . till the sweetness of that shared repose
Would deepen down to love, and he would lie
Thinking: “Sure, we are happy! God is good!” ”

“ To those newly at liberty all the world belongs. And, like stolen waters, stolen sport is sweet. No urchin who, having safely conveyed himself away at last out of earshot of mother or teacher, bounds breathless to the beloved creek where “bullies” wait the hook, knows more of the mingled raptures of lawlessness and expectation than this old great-grandmother Pipi did, out upon the high-road, out upon the hunt! ”

“ Fear, that had master’d me,—why, I was Master of Fear!
It was true! Running from them, the Fear that had ridden me, spurr’d me, nor spared,
Running right for them,—where was it? As little I knew as I cared!
From all care of myself, from all fear of the Power that still menaced and quiver’d,
From the False Fear of God, by the True I’d been snatch’d and delivered!
Ay, that’s what it came to.—The moment I turn’d to be true to my trust.
Terror left me. The moment I said in my soul, “It’s my duty: I must,”
[2] I could! ”

“ To the north-west, too, across that great blue arc of sea-water which is the Bay outside the bay, look! Yonder is another edge of Earth, but one that stands upright, instead of lying out, and, in place of a coat of colours, wears a robe of bright white—the snows, namely, the Alps, that other hold of space and strength. Vast sea, far-flung earth, great mountain peaks; and, as though these were not enough, all this consummate depth of blue above our heads! One looks, one apprehends, a little one comprehends—and instinctively one draws the long breath of the free. ”

“ And she, with wave-like musical motion, pass’d
Rapidly down the marble, till she came
To the last pavement that the water smooth’d
With shimmering light; beyond was nought save sand.
And, as she gain’d the sea, and he the shore,
Lo! in triumphant glory burst the sun
Out of his rosy palace gates. The sea
Grew gold for joy, and golden glow’d the sails,
And golden joy sprang in Nereia’s soul.
Her face was bent on his, her love’s, her lord’s,
His face, whom she would crown with her glad troth. ”

“ Just before sunrise next morning, while we were loading our first boat, one after another the rest all slipped past us, out upon their homeward way, for the wind had come fair. Hicks Bay is perhaps the most picturesque spot on all that picturesque coast; and a lovely sight it was that morning. A tawny, grass-grown promontory ran out upon the sea to our right, the opposite barrier was a tumble of black rocks and Bush, and the head of the bay was formed by lofty mountains, covered almost to the water’s edge with thick virgin forest. ”

“ And for the right one, for that far-away lost country, of his childhood, of his early strength, of his first and only love, a desperate longing fed by all these strangely reawakened memories and associations grew and grew, until it overwhelmed him: until there was no more room in his mind for anything but remembrance, no more room in his heart for anything but regret. It was the true, the terrible nostalgia. He wanted his country, his own familiar country, as a little child wants its mother, as a sick child cannot do without her ”

“ It is not only that, after years of separation, they can be at last together; not only that, after years of dependence on the one side, of rigid scrimping and saving on the other, they are, actually, and oh, wonder of wonders! landowners (Peter is a feudal-hearted Englishman, Catherine cannot conceive that the freehold question may have two sides) ; it is also the daily duties, toils, trivialities of their present life that they delight in—the daily round, the common task, that fills their every moment with interest, and awakes them fresh every morning to a whole new fortune of zest. ”

“ And cleanness out of corruption, is a soul that turns from its sin.
O son, my son, have you sinn’d? are you down? are you wreck’d and ruin’d?
Up, then! Higher than ever! Out of the broken boyhood,
Through the horror and struggle and darkness and devastation,
Into the masterful manhood of a spirit risen through falling!
Wide, wide the way opens, for one who has learn’d that freedom—
O, better the world by your wreck, boy! Because you’re a sinner, save! ”