Hello.
Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
A romantic bedtime podcast guaranteed to help you drift off into a calm,
Relaxing sleep.
Come with me as we travel back to a time long ago where Helen Huntingdon is sacrificing everything she knows in order to protect her son.
But before we begin let us take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose then let it out on a long sigh.
That's it.
It is time to relax and really let go.
Feel your shoulders melt away from your ears as you sink into the support beneath you.
Feel the pressure seep away from your cheeks as your breath drops into a natural rhythm.
There is nothing you need to be doing right now and nowhere you need to go.
We are together and it is time for sleep.
The Tenant of Wildfelm Hall by Anne Bronte Read and abridged by Stephanie Poppins Chapter 28.
Parental Feelings December the 25th.
Last Christmas I was a bride with a heart overflowing with present bliss and full of ardent hopes for the future,
Though not unmingled with foreboding fears.
Now I am a wife.
My bliss is so full that it is almost impossible to contain.
I am sobered but not destroyed.
My hopes diminished but not departed.
My fears increased but not yet thoroughly confirmed.
And,
Thank heaven,
I am a mother too.
God has sent me a soul to educate for heaven and given me a new and calmer bliss and stronger hopes to comfort me.
But where hope rises,
Fear must lurk behind.
And when I clasp my little darling to my breast or hang over his slumbers with unutterable delight and a world of hope within my heart,
One or two thoughts are ever at hand to check my swelling bliss.
One,
He may be taken from me.
The other,
He may live to curse his own existence.
In the first,
I have this consolation,
That the bud,
Though plucked,
Would not be withered,
Only transplanted to a fitter soil to ripen and blow beneath a brighter sun.
And though I might not cherish and watch my child's unfolding intellect,
He would be snatched away from all the suffering and sins of earth,
And my understanding tells me this would be of no great evil.
But my heart shrinks from the contemplation of such a possibility,
And whispers I could not bear to see him die,
And relinquish to the cold and cruel grave this cherished form,
Now warm with tender life,
Flesh of my flesh and shrine of that pure spark,
Which it should be my life's sweet labour to keep unsullied from the world,
To guide him along the perilous path of youth and to guide him along the perilous path of youth and train him to be God's servant while on earth,
A blessed and honoured saint in heaven.
But in the other case,
If he should live to disappoint my hopes and frustrate my efforts,
To be a slave of sin,
Eternal father,
If thou behold such a life from him,
Tear him from me now in spite of all my anguish,
And take him from my bosom to thy own,
Where he is yet a guileless,
Unpolluted lamb.
My little Arthur,
There you lie in sweet,
Unconscious slumber,
The tiny epitome of your father,
But stainless yet is that pure snow,
New fallen from heaven.
God shield thee from his errors.
Perhaps Arthur will feel awakening interest and affection for his child as he grows older.
At present,
He is pleased with the acquisition and hopes it will become a fine boy and a worthy heir,
And that is nearly all I can say.
At first it was a thing to wonder and laugh at,
Not to touch.
Now it is an object almost of indifference,
Except when his impatience is roused by its utter helplessness and imperturbable stupidity,
As Arthur calls it,
Or my too close attention to its wants.
Arthur frequently comes and sits beside me while I am busied with my maternal cares.
I hoped at first it was for the pleasure of contemplating our priceless treasure,
But I soon found out it was only to enjoy my company or escape the pains of solitude.
He is kindly welcome,
Of course,
But the best compliment to a mother is to appreciate her little one.
He shocked me very much on one occasion.
It was about a fortnight after the birth of our son and he was with me in the nursery.
We had neither of us spoken for some time.
I was lost in the contemplation of my nurseling and I thought he was serenely occupied,
As far at least as I thought about him at all,
But suddenly he startled me from my reverie by impatiently exclaiming,
Helen,
I shall positively hate that little wretch if you worship it so madly.
You are absolutely infatuated about it.
I looked up in astonishment to see if he could be in earnest.
You have not a thought to spare for anything else.
He continued in the same strain.
I may go or come,
Be present or absent,
Cheerful or sad.
It's all the same to you.
As long as you have that ugly little creature to dote upon,
You care not a farthing what becomes of me.
It is false,
Arthur.
When you enter the room,
It always doubles my happiness.
When you're near me,
The sense of your presence delights me,
Though I don't look at you.
And when I think about our child,
I please myself with the idea you share my thoughts and feelings,
Though I don't speak them.
How the devil can I waste my thoughts and feelings on a little worthless idiot like that?
It is your own son,
Arthur,
Or if that consideration has no weight with you,
It is mine and you ought to respect my feelings.
Don't be cross,
It was only a slip of the tongue,
Pleaded he.
A little fellow is well enough,
Only I can't worship him as you do.
You'll nurse him for me as a punishment,
Said I,
Rising to put my baby in his father's arms.
No,
Don't,
Helen,
Don't,
Cried he in real disquietude.
I will,
You'll love him better when you feel the little creature in your arms.
I deposited the precious burden in his hands and retreated to the other side of the room,
Laughing at the ludicrous half-embarrassed air with which he sat,
Holding it at arm's length and looking upon it as if it were some curious being of quite a different species to himself.
Come,
Take it,
Helen,
Take it,
He cried at length,
I shall drop it if you don't.
Compassionating his distress,
Or rather the child's unsafe position,
I relieved him of the charge.
Kiss it,
Arthur,
You've never kissed it yet,
Said I,
Kneeling and presenting him before him.
I would rather kiss its mother,
Replied Arthur,
Embracing me.
There now,
Won't that do as well?
I resumed my seat in the easy chair and gave my little one a shower of gentle kisses to make up for its other parent's refusal.
There goes,
Cried the jealous father,
That's more in one minute lavished on that senseless,
Thankless oyster than you've given me these three weeks past.
Come here then,
You insatiable monopolist,
And you shall have as many as you like,
Incorrigible and undeserving as you are.
There now,
Won't that suffice?
I have a good mind never to give you another until you've learned to love my baby as a father should.
I like the little devil,
Arthur,
Well,
The little angel,
Well enough,
And he pinched his delicate little nose to prove his affection.
Only I can't love it,
What is there to love?
It can't love me or you either,
It can't understand a single word you say to it or feel one spark of gratitude for all you've done for it.
Wait till it can show some little affection for me and then I'll think about loving it.
At present,
It's nothing more than a little selfish,
Senseless,
Sensualist,
And if you see anything adorable in it,
It's all very well.
I only wonder how you can.
If you were less selfish yourself,
Arthur,
You would not regard it in that light.
Possibly not love,
He replied,
But so it is,
There's no help for it.
