Fanny (46 page)

When she came to me, her Lungs, I fear, were still as black as Coal, and oft’ she would give herself o’er to Fits of coughing which made me fear for her very Soul. And yet I hir’d her as my most intimate Companion, for something in her Manner made me quite love her at first Sight. She was kindly without being obsequious, willing to please without seeming slavish, and she saw the Humour in her Fate as well as the undeserv’d Woe. She also swore her Quaker Mistress had entrusted her with Newborn Babes; thus I dar’d to hope that she would be a proper Nursemaid for my unborn Child.

And so we liv’d for near six Months together: Susannah, me, my growing Belly, my Quills and Foolscap, my Epicks (which were written for the Flames), and Lord Bellars coming but on Wednesday Nights.

Much of that Time, I blush to say, I spent in fear of my Lying-in. I say I blush, because, of all the foolish Fears of Humankind, Fear of the Future is by far the most foolish. We cannot control the Future by fearing it, howe’er much we may believe we do so. Anticipation and Worry are, in fact, quite as useless to affect our Fates as a Fortune Teller’s Predictions; but, alas, that doth not prevent our Indulgence in ’em.

Being a bookish sort, I fill’d some of my fearful Hours with reading Books upon Midwifery, which recounted the Terrors of Childbirth. In particular, I must mention Van Deventer’s
The Art of Midwifery Improv’d
, with its terrifying Pictures of poor Infants attempting to pass thro’ the Bony Pelvick Gateways of their hapless Mothers; and also the French Doctor Mauriceau’s learned Book concerning
Diseases of Women with Child and in Childbirth
as translated by the notorious Dr. Hugh Chamberlen. These two Books alone were enough to excite all my Fears; for not only did they speak of Women whose Bones were too small to accommodate their Infants’ Passage, but also of Extracting Hooks and other terrifying Devices; of Mothers who offer’d up their Bodies to be split asunder upon the Altar of Childbirth; of Labours lasting Days long; of learned
Accoucheurs
who knew no better Physick than to sacrifice the Mother’s Life to the Child’s; and of Midwives who, despairing of both the Mother’s Life and the Child’s, were directed to baptise the Child
in Utero
, lest its Infant Soul go straight to Hell if it dy’d unbaptis’d.

O I quite terrified myself with reading Books! Meanwhile, an Argument raged betwixt Lord Bellars and Susannah, my loyal Servant, regarding who should attend my Lying-in.

Lord Bellars, for his part, maintain’d that nought but ignorant Country Women were, in these modern Times, attended by Women-Midwives; but that e’en the Royal Mistresses of France call’d forth male Midwives, or
Accoucheurs
,
to deliver ’em. Susannah for
her
part declar’d that more Women were kill’d by the Ignorance of Men attempting to deliver ’em than by the very Plague itself; that male Physicians, for the Sake of Modesty, deliver’d with a Sheet ty’d about their Necks and their Hands groping blindly ’neath it so as not to see the Lady’s Privy Parts; and that e’en were there no Sheet at all, Man’s Ignorance of Women’s Privities was so great as to render the male Physician entirely unfit for the Noble Task of assisting the Fair Sex in Labour.

Imagine then, Belinda, your own dear Mother, maskt in embroider’d Silk with her swollen Belly beginning quite to loom beneath her Smock, listening by flickering Candlelight, to the diff’ring Arguments of her two would-be Protectors. To give the full Comick Impression, I had best write this brief Interlude as Dialogue from a Play, to wit:

LADY FANNY’S

LYING-IN

A Comedy in Nine Acts

As ’tis Acted at

Number 17 Hanover Square

Written by Mrs. Hackabout-Jones

LONDON

Printed for G. Fenton in the Strand

MDCCXXIV

Price One Shilling

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

MEN

LORD BELLARS:
A Spoilt Rake or Man of Pleasure

WOMEN

LADY FANNY:
A Innocent Country Girl, turn’d Trollop (who would fain be the first Female Poet Laureate of England)

SUSANNAH:
A Mulatto Wench of much Spirit and Native Intelligence. Servant to Lady Fanny.

(ACT I. SCENE I.)

Scene
Lady Fanny’s
House. Her Bedchamber, by Candlelight.
Lord Bellars, Susannah, Lady Fanny.

LORD BELLARS. By Jove, I’ll not permit my own True Love to be deliver’d by an ignorant Midwife! Why, most of ’em are little more than Witches that should be burnt at the Stake instead of entrusted with the tender Lives of the Fair Sex!

SUSANNAH. Beggin’ yer Pardon an’ meanin’ no Disrespect, Milord, ’tis the Men-Midwives who should be hang’d fer all the Lives they’ve sacrificed to their Stupidity and Pride!

LORD B. What mean you, Wench?

S. Milord, here is my Meanin’. Doth a Cook prepare yer Dinner ’neath the Table Linen? Doth a Blacksmith shoe a Horse ’neath his Workbench? Doth a Husbandman plant his Furrow wearin’ Blinders like his Horse?

LORD B. Get on with it, Wench, and spare the Metaphor.

S. Then answer me, Sirrah!

LORD B. Impertinent Wench! Why, of course the Answer is no.

S. Then why should a Man-Midwife be suffer’d to deliver ’neath a Sheet?

LORD B. Why, for Modesty’s Sake, Wench! Shall he feast his Eyes upon another Man’s Property?

S. No, Sirrah, ’tis better to dye than to risque Offence to Modesty! As long as ’tis only a mere Woman who dyes! An’ beggin’ yer Pardon, Milord, whose Property is a Woman’s Life? Is she nought but a Goat or a Sheep to be slaughter’d at will by her Master?

LORD B. Why, Susannah, I have nothing but the most solicitous Care for your Mistress. I would ne’er see her kill’d. Perish the Thought!

S. An’ yet deliver her up, ye will, to the Hands o’ Butchers! Truly, Milord, ye do yer Love o’ Sister Hackabout a grave Injustice if ye suppose ye spare her Pains by callin’ in a Man-Midwife.

LORD B. I shall call the greatest Practitioner in all of England, Dr. Smellie, all the Way from Lanarkshire. Why, he is fam’d thro’out the Land and hath studied Physick at Glasgow, and is a most excellent Man-Midwife, who, ’tis said, uses secret Extracting Implements to spare both the Mother and her Child. I have met this excellent Fellow once in London and find him quite agreeable and talented with Flute and Paint and Brush. By Jove, the Man is both Artist and Musician—he must as well be adept at delivering Women in Travail!

S. I’ll warrant he ne’er plays his Flute ’neath a Sheet, nor paints his Portraits so!

LORD B. Sweet Susannah, trust my Love for Sister Hackabout to bring this Matter to a happy Conclusion, and stay within your own Province of Kitchen and Chamber….

S. I would bid ye, Sirrah, to stay within yer own Province o’ Gamin’ Tables an’ Race Meetin’s, an’ not meddle with the Mysteries o’ Midwifery an’ Childbed that are better done by Women!

LORD B. Out—impertinent Wench! Or I’ll box thine impertinent Ears!

S. I go, Sirrah, yet not all the Threats in Hell can banish my Solicitude fer me Mistress.

Whereupon Susannah makes a Curtsey (which seems to me more impudent than polite) and leaves the Bedchamber, thus ending the first Scene in our Comedy.

What were my own Sentiments regarding this Dispute? O I was in the gravest of Quandaries. Lord Bellars swore he sought the best Care for me, and what could be better than the Care receiv’d by Queens and Royal Mistresses? Yet I also remember’d my Friends, the Witches, part of whose Teaching was that Women were better Practitioners of Physick than Men (who sought to steal their mid-wifing Mysteries for Gain and Profit).

O the List of Queens who had dy’d in Childbed was long indeed—as was the List of Royal Mistresses, and, i’faith, Royal Infants. Not one of Queen Anne’s Children liv’d to claim his rightful Throne; and how many other Noble Ladies had dy’d under the Hands of Generations of Chamberlens, or other Quacks (whilst the Physician, for his Pains, receiv’d a hundred Guineas and the Lady receiv’d nought but a Shroud!).

Thro’out my Confinement I wonder’d and worried whom to call when the Waters broke and my Child began his laborious Journey into this Planet of Pain. Susannah said she knew of a Midwife of exceptional Reputation, lately come to London, whilst Lord Bellars insisted upon Dr. Smellie, whose very Name, i’faith, seem’d so comical to me that I should surely commence laughing the Moment he came to attend me. As a budding Poet and Playwright, I had indeed noticed that the Names of real People were oft’ more curious and strange than the Names of the Playwright’s Personae. Which Brazen Grub Street Writer, i’faith, would dare to name a Man-Midwife, or
Accoucheur
, Dr. Smellie? Why ’tis a Name from a Comedy by Mr. Fielding—a Name quite on the Order of the Princess Huncamunca, or the Queen Dollallolla, or those Maids of Honour, Cleora and Mustacha, in love with those Courtiers, Noodle and Doodle!

Be that as it may, I could not decide, thro’out all the six remaining Months of my Confinement, whether to have Susannah fetch the Midwife of whom she spoke, or whether to accede to Lord Bellars’ Wish that I be deliver’d by the great Dr. Smellie.

Lord Bellars’ Masculine Pride, coupl’d with my foolish Wish to have the most modern Physick known, finally prevail’d upon me to accept Dr. Smellie—tho’ Susannah’s Opposition continu’d unabated to the End.

Alas! I should have listen’d to that Wench!

CHAPTER II

Containing better Reasons than any which have yet appear’d for the happy Delivery of Women by those of their own Sex, together with the Introduction of the newest Character in our Historio-Comical Epick, who, tho’ small, proves more Trouble to her Author in her Entrance upon the Scene than any Personage of more prodigious Size.

’T
WAS THE MONTH OF
March and the Sun was in Aries when my Confinement came to its grateful End. It had rain’d in London for well-nigh three Weeks and the Skies were as heavy as my Great Belly. O my Face seem’d young and fresh thro’out my Confinement, as if, indeed, I had discover’d the Fountain of Youth, but at the End of my Pregnancy I was as Melon-bellied as a Woman with Twins (and, i’faith, I fear’d I might give birth to two instead of one!).

Still, I’d heard no Word from Lancelot or the Merry Men in six long Months and knew not whether they were alive or dead. I wonder’d e’en whether I had not dreamt ’em all—so remote did my Travels with ’em seem. I wonder’d as well if there had e’er been a Time when I was without my Great Belly—for it seem’d as much a Part of me as my red Hair or my brown Eyes.

My Belly was so large, i’faith, that ’twas almost impossible for me to fulfill my weekly Obligations to Lord Bellars—for I could scarce clasp him ’round the Waist, much less allow him to lye with me in any but the most bestial of Postures, and e’en that one grew unwieldy in Time. Ne’ertheless, he was by then so thoroughly in Love with me, that I swear he came to me as much for Love of my Soul as of my Body, since he scarce complain’d of this Disability. O the Ways of Destiny are strange, indeed; for I had, by dint of my Stratagems of Masks and Disguises, my Limitations of our Trysts to but once a Week, almost reform’d his selfish Nature. Lord Bellars also seem’d to look forward to the Birth of this Child as he had ne’er lookt forward to the Birth of his legally begotten Son or Daughter. This Child he saw as a Love Child, begotten more in Passion than in Duty and therefore he lov’d it e’en in the Womb and was, indeed, more wary of hurting it than I was myself.

How tenderly he touch’d me as we drew nearer the Close of my Confinement! A Man might walk upon a Carpet of Hens’ Eggs with greater Force! He strok’d my Body—particularly my Belly—as if ’twere some infinitely delicate Thing, containing all the Seeds of his Past and Future.

For my own part, I found that my Lust for Lord Bellars—indeed for any Man whatsoe’er—decreas’d as my Lying-in approach’d. The Child within made me wholly self-sufficient, as if I were both Earth and Sky, both Sea and Land, and less and less did I require any sort of physical Union with the former Begetter of all my most lustful Passions. No, on the Contrary, I wisht nothing more than to lye abed Mornings, alone, and dream of the Babe to be, or to sit at my Writing Bureau penning Metaphors which I would then commit to the Flames, or, by Ev’ning to sit before the Grate with Susannah, watching the Flames leap in their constantly changing Patterns, reminding me of the mysterious Dance of Destiny, the Vanity of Human Wishes, and the Difficulty of knowing the Meaning of Life or the Great Purpose for which the Goddess placed us all here upon the Earth.

Bearing a Child made me, i’faith, more philosophical than e’er before (and I was always of a philosophical Bent); for what can be more mysterious and strange than to be one Person for all one’s Life and then suddenly become two! To be doubl’d, then halv’d; to be one, then two, then one again! ‘’Tis the Destiny of but one-half of the Human Species, and the Possibility of explaining it to the other half is remote indeed. Alas, we can scarce explain it to ourselves! And yet I believe, tho’ all the World may hold us in Contempt for it, that we Women are truly blest in this Capacity of Child-bearing. Perilous it may be (just how perilous you will see anon) and yet it tempers the Spirit e’en as it does the Body. ’Tis very like walking thro’ a Wall of Flame, which few survive, but those who do, are stronger for it their whole Lives long.

’Twas the third Week in March when, the Heavens having been open and streaming most of the Month, my own Waters broke and you, my Belinda, began your Storm-toss’d Voyage into the World.