A human being can be mocked into madness, as well as into sense.
From what one is told by churchmen, God Almighty does not like to be teased, nor did Sarah Bridle, who had been mocked into believing a rather odd idea.
Country people like oddities; there would be no pleasure for them if all their neighbours were ordinary. They are always ready to forgive those who have caused the trouble; they even approve them. To drop a baby, so that its nose is flattened out is an amusing pastime; when the child grows it will be a subject for laughter. To drive any one into madness is a fine fancy. Every one is pleased. In November, when the rain splashes in the puddles, and the trees shiver, there will be some fun, for the doings of an innocent are always pleasant to tell of.
Perhaps the most entertaining madness in the world is religion. Those who destroy religion will destroy merriment too. It is a crazedness to believe, but also a happy fancy.
Though good cannot come from evil, laughter can. Mrs. Fancy, who had lived in Dodder for many years—though now dead—once shut up her child, while she went to the Inn, in a dark cupboard where a rat lived. When she let the boy out he would only crawl upon the floor. He had escaped his terror by believing himself to be a rat with a long tail.
Sarah Bridle had always been a good girl, and good girls get fat. Having no wickedness to exercise their thoughts, they grow comely, too—and perhaps a little stupid. Sarah believed everything that she was told.
In every village there is some young man who frightens the girls about their bodies. In Dodder there was young Mere, but Sarah would not have heeded him had it not been for her own mother. Mrs. Bridle was a religious woman; she was strict; she believed that the human body is a very wicked thing. From every point of view it looked bad. The breath of life should have been breathed into a deal table. Mrs. Bridle covered up her child, and laced her tight.
Mrs. Bridle also filled her head with terror. When Sarah’s breasts were like walnuts, her mother bid her beware of them and hide them. “They would not have been there at all,” she said, “had the world been good.”
Sarah believed her mother. She became fearful and tried to prevent herself from growing properly. But Nature, who likes to laugh at such unnatural folly, caused Sarah to grow plumper than ever. This made her more frightened. She thought that her body, being unregenerate, had become deformed, and she looked everywhere to see an animal that resembled herself. About that time Sarah went to a circus, and saw a camel.
The day after going to the circus, her mother sent her into the village to post a letter. It was the summer-time, the meadows were lovely; coloured flowers were everywhere, and the sun shone warm. As Sarah went out of the door, her mother cursed her.
It often happens that a mother’s tender care is transformed into hate. Sarah’s mother was jealous of her child. Though religious, Mrs. Bridle was flat-chested, but she still wanted the men to look at her—the chapel elders. There was one man, Mr. Perrot the blacksmith, who wore side-whiskers and grew the finest pumpkins in all Shelton. But, instead of looking at Mrs. Bridle in chapel, Mr. Perrot looked at Sarah. He looked at her with pleasure, as if she grew in his garden and might one day win a prize at a fête.
Mrs. Bridle sent her daughter off, and hoped that she would come to some harm. Sarah posted her letter, and then she returned by the footpath that crossed a pleasant field.
The path was a sheltered one; high hedges upon either side hid the meadow from sight. In the middle of this field, Sarah met young Farmer Mere.
No one in any country of the world disputes the right of a rich young farmer to do as he chooses. For any girl to have complained about Mr. Mere would have been the height of folly.
Young Mere took hold of Sarah, but he did not rape her. He had other ends in view. Every one knew of Sarah’s fears for herself and of her mother’s warnings. The young man examined her with his hands, and shook his head dubiously; he evidently supposed her to be a very curious animal.
“They be grow’d wrong,” he said, “they two humps.” And, leaving her, he went his way.
After that Sarah hid herself, and for many months she was seen by no one. When she appeared again, she was mad. She told whoever came to her home, that she was a camel. Not like the one at the circus, but different—deformed.
When Sarah’s parents died, Joseph Bridle, her nephew, took her to live with him. Except for his uncle, Joe was alone in the world too, and needed a housekeeper. Certainly, no one better could have been found for him than his Aunt Sarah. Mr. Solly used to say that it was a pity that all women were not crazed.
If a woman thinks of herself as a camel, her pride must be humbled. Then each woman would think of herself as merely a burden-bearing creature, and be happy at work.
A camel only wants to drink water. Sarah Bridle loved her master and served him faithfully. Her only fear was that he would drive her to the market-place at Aleppo, and sell her for gold.
At first when she came to Joseph, her behaviour was a little strange. She would go out into his field, and try to drink all the water in the pond. Once she fell in, but Joseph—hearing a splash—pulled her out. After that day, she began to drink tea.
Kindness is the best teacher, and Joe Bridle soon got his aunt into better habits. Besides giving her plenty to do in the house, there were other ways in which he amused her. Joseph was very clever with his hands. He could use a knife cunningly; he made a fine Noah’s Ark for his aunt to play with. All the animals were there—and some insects, too—but there was only one camel, so that Sarah herself made up the pair.
Sarah grew quieter; she began to behave like an ordinary person, and no one—unless he were told of it—would have thought her mad. It was only when a word was said about the marketing or sale of beasts, that she would show her strange delusion. Then she would lean her head upon the tea-table, expecting some one to come and put a rope round her neck and lead her away to Persia. And all that Joseph could do was to pat and make much of her, and take her into her bedroom, that she thought was her stable.
When something like this had happened that upset her, Joe Bridle would hear her talking to herself in the night. She would turn heavily in her bed, give a groan, and begin to talk. She would lament and cry out that she was but a brute beast, that had no soul to be saved.
“I shall never go to Heaven,” she used to moan, “where mother be”—Sarah had loved her mother. She would then call upon Jesus to pity her. “Though I be but a beast, I do love ’Ee,” she would say, and begin to moan and weep.