Fanny (47 page)

I shall ne’er forget that I was reading a Romance by Mrs. Haywood (
Idalia
,
perhaps, or
The Fatal Secret
) and thinking to myself that I could do as well and perhaps should try my Hand at one, when I discover’d that my Smock was wet beneath me, as indeed was the Seat of my Chair, and this I believ’d was the tell-tale Sign of the Beginning of Travail.

Quickly I rang for Susannah and directed her to notify Lord Bellars, at whose London Apartments the Great
Accoucheur
, Dr. Smellie, was to be arriving that very Day.

After dispatching Susannah, and whilst waiting for my Pains to become strong and regular, I remember that, quite unaccountably, I sat down at my Writing Bureau and then and there began a Romance in the Manner of Mrs. Haywood. I was fill’d with such Energy and creative Fire that it seem’d I could compleat an entire Book that very Ev’ning, so I took Quills and Foolscap in Hand and began, in a Frenzy, to write. Dimly, I recollected that Women at the Start of Travail are said to be seiz’d with great Vigour, that some compleat entire Tapestries, and others sew Christening Gowns, with intricate Embroideries, whilst others are seiz’d with a Passion to sweep Floors, clean Grates, bake dozens of Pyes, and roast Legs o’ Mutton!

But the Vigour is at best a passing Fancy, o’erwhelm’d quite soon by the Pains of Travail; for no sooner had I determin’d upon the Names for my Star-cross’d Lovers—Clotilda and Philidore—and penn’d an appropriately obsequious Epistle Dedicatory (with Blanks for the Name of whiche’er Noble Lord should be most worth my Flatteries when the Romance was done), than the Pains of Travail became strong indeed, and I dropp’d my Quill to the Paper (where the Inkblot oddly form’d the Profile of a curious Horn’d Creature) and I held my Belly and pray’d to the Goddess above for my own Life and the Life of my Child.

Then, ’twas all I could do to walk to my Bed, lye upon it in my Smock, breathe as calmly as I could to bear the Pains, and await the Return of Susannah.

O the Pains were bearable at first, but in an Hour or so they grew stronger. My entire Belly would rise in a tight Knot, causing me to grit my Teeth, to blank out the World by shutting my Eyes, and to enter, as if I were a Traveller to a distant Land, the red Universe of Pain. At Times I forgot my very Surroundings, tho’, indeed, the Walls of my Chamber were cover’d with painted Clouds, painted Cherubim, and painted Goddesses reclining upon rosy Clouds, and I would attempt to stare at ’em to distract myself from my Distress. ’Twas impossible; I was driven inward by the Tumult taking place inside me, and ’twas all I could do to keep myself from moaning, much less to concentrate upon the painted Cherubim, that were a Man’s Idea of Paradise.

Time lost all Meaning as I dwelt in the e’er briefer and briefer Spaces betwixt the Pains. Thus when Dr. Smellie came to attend me, I was in no great Condition to observe his Form and Figure with a Poet’s Eye.

And yet I recollect his great unwieldy Hands—more like a Farrier’s than a Midwife’s—and more for holding Horses’ Hooves than the tender Skulls of Babes.

He had put off his Peruke and capp’d his Head with a sort of Turban of white Linen, ty’d with white and silver Ribbands. Likewise, he wore a great loose Gown of flower’d Calico in which he lookt a sort of curious Pasha, his Eyes blazing in his Head and his wide Mouth set in a determin’d Posture.

He sent Susannah for hot Water, clean Sheets, a fresh Shift for me; then he began to question me as to the Onset of my Travail.

“Sir,” said I, betwixt the Pains, “’twas about Eight o’ the Clock when the Pains began—but I know not what Time it might be now.”

“This Babe will be born ere Midnight if I have my Way,” said he, pressing upon my swelling Belly (causing me still greater Grief).

“Pray what Time is it now?” I askt, nearly breathless from the great Waves that engulf’d me.

“Why, half past Nine, Lass.”

My Heart leapt in my Bosom to believe that this great
Accoucheur
possess’d Magick that might so shorten my Travail. Thus arm’d with his Promise (like a Shield against my Woe), I vow’d I would endure any Terrors the Goddess might send. O I still wore my Magick Garter for Occasions such as this; and tho’ ’twas fray’d and tatter’d, I dar’d to hope that ’twould shield me from all Harm.

Lord Bellars, I was told, waited without my Chamber for the happy Conclusion of my Lying-in. Susannah brought hot Water and Sheets as she was bid. She ty’d one of these ’round the Neck of Dr. Smellie, stretching its nether Ends o’er me, so that my Privy Parts were duly cover’d (as Modesty requir’d), whereupon the Great Doctor bade me spread my Legs, and with his enormous Hands he prob’d the Inmost Centre of my Being, causing me more than once to catch my Breath and almost wail with Pain.

Yet I did not. I bit my Lips; I held my Breath; I shut my Eyes until num’rous salty Tears were squeez’d from their Corners; but moan and wail would I not, howsoe’er the Pain demanded it. I’faith, I felt a sort of Pride in being a Warrior Woman, a Mythick Amazon of Old, and thus enduring the Distress without a Cry.

Dr. Smellie withdrew his Hands, with the Verdict that my Womb was opening quickly and ’twould be no Time at all before the Babe emerged, whereupon he strode from my Chamber to report to Lord Bellars in the Ante-Chamber, leaving me alone with Susannah.

O we could hear ’em talking and laughing without, as if the Birth of a Babe were no more to ’em than an Ev’ning at a Coffee-House, and, Truth to tell, it griev’d me deeply to hear their mirthful Chatter (o’er Jests I could not share) whilst I was labouring to bring the next Generation into this World.

“Mrs. Fanny,” said Susannah, whisp’ring in my Ear, “I would have yer Leave to call the Midwife….”

“’Twill all be o’er soon,” I mutter’d betwixt the Pains. “Dr. Smellie said so.”

“I have me Doubts,” said Susannah; but I was too far gone by then to answer her.

“I will do what I will do,” Susannah mutter’d ’neath her Breath, whereupon she departed the Chamber (most privily, thro’ a Door that led only to the Back-Stair) and left me to my Griefs.

Now, I would fain describe the Hours of Travail that follow’d but a curious Fog hath misted ’em, like Clouds snagg’d upon a Mountaintop; and try as I may, I have only the haziest Recollection. You will say, Belinda, that this is because so many Years have pass’d since your Birth; but ’tis not so. I swear that when you were but five Weeks old, I tried in vain to recollect the Pains of Travail and e’en then could scarce succeed. O I remember that the Cramps grew terrible at length and that it seem’d both my Back and my Belly should burst from the Ache. I remember that my Teeth chatter’d and my whole Body shook and my Feet grew cold as Ice; but for the Life of me I cannot recollect the Pains themselves, nor e’en their Duration.

I have since question’d many Women concerning this curious Phenomenon, and ’tis common as the Dust we come from and the Dust to which we return. Pain, you will say, is ne’er memorable; but I swear I can better recollect the Pains I suffer’d in my Foot and Hands when I tried to escape from Coxtart’s Brothel to join Lancelot’s Sailing than I can the Pains of Travail. I’faith, ’tis almost as if I were not fully present at your Birth (tho’ indeed I am your Natural Mother).

What can be the Cause of this strange Phenomenon? I have meditated long and hard upon it. Perhaps ’tis part of Nature’s mighty Plan for the Continuation of the Race of Humankind; for if Women truly could recollect the Pains of Travail, they would take a Vow of Chastity forthwith, go at once to a Nunnery, and ne’er lye with a Man again their whole Lives long!

Perchance this curious Forgetfulness of Birth hath another Significance as well. Maybe it reminds us that we are not so much the Mothers of our Babes as Nature is; that we are but Conduits for the Great Goddess; that Babes derive from and belong to Her and we must possess our Children but lightly, for they are lent to us, not given.

If ev’ry Mother recollected her Travail too strongly, she would be inclin’d to cling to her Child more desperately when she should send it forth into the World to seek its own Fortune. In this wise are we all Orphans of Destiny, whether we know our Natural Parents or not.

How many Hours I labour’d, I cannot say. Dim Figures came and went in the Chamber’s Gloom. Susannah’s anxious Face loom’d above my own; Susannah’s gentle Hands mopp’d my fever’d Brow. Dr. Smellie strode in and out from Time to Time, thrust his Hands ’neath the Sheet, prob’d me roughly, grunted unintelligible Words, and strode out again. Susannah sat beside me, now holding my Hand, now placing her Hand ’neath my Back to ease the Pain, now encouraging me, now mutt’ring that she would give the Doctor but one Hour more.

When ’twas already past Midnight (or so I gather’d from the Doctor’s Consternation), Smellie examin’d me again, declar’d that the Babe was obstinate and would not turn its Head, and withdrew to fetch his Secret Instruments.

Then the Nightmare began in earnest, for the Doctor return’d, hiding bulky Instruments ’neath his Smock, and now I cried out in Terror lest they be the dread Extracting Hooks that spell’d the Death of my Unborn Babe!

“Nonsense, Child,” said Dr. Smellie to my Fears. “This Secret Invention will but ease your Pain and bring your Babe to birth alive.” Whereupon he thrust his Hands again ’neath the Sheet, bade me spread wide (which was well-nigh impossible in the midst of my tumultuous Pains), and quite suddenly inserted cold Metal into the Interior of my Being.

I felt at once like a Prisoner of the Inquisition, or a Felon being put to the
Peine Forte et Dure
, for e’en as my Pains came in Waves, this other Force of cold Metal insinuated itself into my very Bowels, jabbing and twisting; ’twas groping, it seem’d, for the Head of the Babe, that refus’d, in its Obstinacy, to turn. I’faith, Smellie seem’d to be in a Battle with the unborn Babe, angry that it did not yield to his Secret Implements, for he mutter’d and snarl’d ’neath his Breath e’en as he prob’d me, and he curst the Babe that would make a Mockery of all his Reputation and make him seem a Liar in his Predictions that ’twould be born ere Midnight.

Despite my awful Anguish, I sens’d this Battle betwixt the Babe (who had its Life to sustain) and the
Accoucheur
(who consider’d nought but his Fame).

O he was not entirely insensible of my Pains, but truly he seem’d more to wish for the Vindication of his own Success, than for the Happy Conclusion of my Travail. And so he prob’d and grunted and prob’d, until at last, he withdrew the Metal Instrument of Torture (to which I gave a grateful Sigh), secreted it again ’neath his Calico Gown, wip’d one huge Hand—across his resolute Brow, and said: “I fear I can no longer spare the Babe.”

These dread Words gave me Energy and Determination where I fear’d none were left, and suddenly, I was seiz’d with the Conviction that I could bear the Pains of Travail for all Eternity rather than sacrifice my Child.

“Leave me in Peace,” I mutter’d, “and let Nature take her Course.”

Smellie lookt at me with his great goggling Eyes. “My Dear,” said he, “I know what’s best for you. Pray, let me extract the Infant and spare the Mother’s Life. ’Tis the only Way, I fear.”

O now I recall’d from all my Reading, dreadful Drawings of Extracting Hooks and Babes remov’d in Pieces from their Mothers’ Wombs, and I scream’d at the learned Doctor with all my Might: “Leave me in Peace! Let Nature take her Course!”

“I have sworn to Lord Bellars that I would spare your Life, my Dear. Come, let us baptise this doom’d Child, and save the Mother’s Life at least.”

Whereupon, to my own Amazement, I rose up out of my Bed of Anguish, and kickt the Great Doctor with all my Might, screaming at the top of my Lungs: “I’ll see you roast in Hell before I see you kill my Babe!”

Susannah fairly chear’d to behold this new and surprizing Turn of Events, and somehow, betwixt us two, we shov’d the astonish’d
Accoucheur
out the Chamber Door and lockt it from within.

That Effort took all my Breath away and I fell to the Floor moaning in great Grief and near fainted away. Then I lay for a Time upon the Floor, writhing in Agony, whilst Dr. Smellie and Lord Bellars beat with angry Fists against the Door, screaming to be admitted; but I could no more rise to unlock it than I could fly to the Isle of Wight to join Lancelot (who, in my Delirium, I fancied still to be awaiting me there).

I lay upon the Floorboards, listening to the beating Fists like Thunder in a Storm. I knew not where I lay nor why, but I vow’d, somewhere in the Recesses of my Heart, ne’er to let my Infant dye ere ’twas born, or if Matters came to that, to dye along with it, and ascend to Heaven with my own pink Babe in my Arms!

O I must have been quite gone in Delirium, for I rav’d of Angels and Devils, saw Visions of enormous Sunflow’rs growing quite up to the Clouds, and e’en said once to Susannah (for she told me later): “The Man accosts the Sunflow’rs.” But what that means, I know not.

At length, I was in my own Bed again (but how or by whom transported, I cannot tell) and Susannah was whisp’ring in my Ear: “Mistress Fanny, ye ’ave suffer’d enough. I’faith, fer the Love o’ God, let me fetch the Midwife,” whereupon (without awaiting any Reply from me—indeed I was perhaps beyond Reply) she again left the Chamber by the Back-Stairs Door, which was unknown to Lord Bellars.

Next I recall blue Eyes looking down at me from ’neath a low white Wimple and a soft Voice saying, “My Child, ’tis true, you have suffer’d too long already.” Then Susannah and the Midwife undrap’d me, open’d my whole Belly to their View, and, with utmost Gentleness, the Midwife laid her tender Hands upon my Belly, feeling for the Position of the Babe.

She traced my throbbing Belly, as if she could discover ’neath it, as in an Anatomist’s Drawing, the true Outlines of the Child. My Pains continu’d tumultuous as e’er before, yet the Midwife’s Tenderness brought me new Hope. Perhaps we would yet save the Babe. How curious, I thought, I had once sought to do away with this Creature, and now I felt I would do anything to spare its budding Life. ’Tis odd indeed that once we are truly caught up in the Dance of Life, we follow the Steps as diligently as we have been taught. The Musick swells; our Feet and Hearts obey; and we are whirl’d into the Centre of the Ball.