August 18, 2025 • 10 mins
In this enchanting memoir, the author takes us on a nostalgic journey through her school days, originally serialized in The Girls Own Paper from October 1896 to September 1897. Filled with heartfelt stories about beloved teachers, cherished friends, and the childhood fears that lingered into adulthood, this account also offers a vibrant depiction of the most memorable summer of her youth. Summary by Cori Samuel.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Part five of My School Days by E Nesbitt. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part five The
Mummies at Bordeaux. It was because I was tired of
churches and picture galleries, of fairs and markets, of the
strange babble of foreign tongues, and the thin English of
(00:23):
the guide book, that I begged so hard to be
taken to see the mummies. To me, the name of
a mummy was as a friend's name, as one Englishman
traveling across a desert seeks to find another of whom
he has heard in that far land. So I sought
to meet these mummies who had cousins at home in
the British Museum in dear dear England. My fancy did
(00:48):
not paint mummies for me, apart from plate glass cases,
camphor boarded galleries and kindly curators, and I longed to
see them, as I longed to see home, and to
hear my own own tongue spoken about me. I was
consumed by a fever of impatience for the three days
which had to go by before the coming of the
day on which the treasures might be visited. My sisters,
(01:12):
who were to lead me to these delights. Believed too
that the mummies would be chiefly interesting on account of
their association with Bloomsbury. Well we went, I and my
best blue silk frock, which I insisted on wearing to
honor the occasion, holding the hand of my sister, and
positively skipping with delicious anticipation. There was some delay about keys,
(01:37):
during which my excitement was scarcely to be restrained. Then
we went through an arched doorway and along a flagged passage.
The old man who guided us explaining volubly in French
as we went. What does he say? He says, they
are natural mummies? What does that mean? They are not
(01:57):
embalmed by man, like the Egyptian ones, but simply by
the peculiar earth of the churchyard where they were buried.
The words did not touch my conception of the glass
cases and their good natured guardian. The passage began to
slope downward. A chill air breathed on our faces, bringing
(02:17):
with it a damp, earthy smell. Then we came to
some narrow stone steps. Our guide spoke again, what does
he say? We are to be careful? The steps are
slippery and moldy. I think. Even then, my expectation still
was of a long, clean gallery, filled with the white
(02:39):
light of a London noon shed through high skylights on
Egyptian treasures. But the stairs were dark, and I held
my sister's hand tightly. Down we went down, down. What
does he say? We are under the church? Now these
are the vaults. We went along another passage, the damp,
(03:00):
moldy smell increasing, and the clasp of my sister's hand
grew closer and closer. We stopped in front of a
heavy door barred with iron, and our guide turned a big,
reluctant key in a lock that grated livoilla, he said,
throwing open the door and drawing back dramatically. We were
(03:23):
in the room before my sisters had time to see
cause for regretting that they had brought me. The vision
of dry boards and white light and glass cases vanished,
and in its stead I saw this a small vault,
as my memory serves me, about fifteen feet square, with
an arched roof, from the center of which hung a
(03:46):
lamp that burned with a faint blue light and made
the guide's candle look red and lurid. The floor was flagged,
like the passages and was as damp and chill round
three sides of the room ran railing, and behind it,
standing against the wall with a ghastly look of life
in death, were about two hundred skeletons. Not white, clean
(04:12):
skeletons hung on wires like the one you see at
the doctor's, but skeletons with the flesh hardened on their bones,
with their long dry hair hanging each side of their
brown faces, where the skin in drying had drawn itself
back from their gleaming teeth and empty eye sockets. Skeletons
draped in moldering shreds of shrouds and grave clothes. Their
(04:36):
lean fingers, still clothed with dry skin, seemed to reach
out towards me. There they stood men, women, and children,
knee deep in loose bones collected from the other vaults
of the church, and heaped round them. On the wall
near the door, I saw the dried body of a
(04:57):
little child, hung up by its hair. I don't think
I screamed or cried, or even said a word. I
think I was paralyzed with horror. But I remember presently
going back up those stairs, holding tightly to that kindly hand,
and not daring to turn my head lest one of
(05:17):
those Charnel house faces should peep out at me from
some niche in the damp wall. It must have been
late afternoon, and in the hurry of dressing for the
table dot, my stupor of fright must have passed unnoticed.
For the next thing I remember is being alone in
a large room, waiting, as usual for my supper to
be sent up for My mother did not approve of
(05:40):
late dinners for little people, and I was accustomed to
have bread and milk alone while she and my sisters dined.
It was a large room and very imperfectly lighted by
the two wax candles in silver candlesticks. There were two
windows and a curtained alcove where the beds were. Suddenly
my blood ran cold. What was behind that curtain? Beds? Yes,
(06:07):
whispered something that was I and yet not I. But
suppose there are no beds there now, only mummies, mummies, mummies.
A sudden noise, I screamed with terror. It was only
the door opening to let the waiter in. He was
a young waiter, hardly more than a boy, and had
(06:28):
always smiled kindly at me when we met, Though hitherto
our intercourse had not gone farther. Now. I rushed to
him and flung my arms round him, to his immense
amazement and the near ruin of my bread and milk.
He spoke no English, and I no French, but somehow
he managed to understand that I was afraid and afraid
(06:48):
of that curtained alcove. He set down the bread and milk,
and he took me in his arms, and together we
fetched more candles. And then he drew back the awful
full curtain and showed me the beds lying white and quiet.
If I could have spoken French, I should have said yes,
But how do I know it was all like that?
(07:10):
Just now, before you drew the curtain back as it was,
I said nothing, only clung to his neck. I hope
he did not get into any trouble that night for
neglected duties. For he did not attempt to leave me
until my mother came back. He sat down with me
on his knee, and petted me, and sang to me
(07:32):
under his breath, and fed me with a bread and milk.
When by and by I grew calm enough to take it.
All good things be with him wherever he is. I
like best to think of him in a little hotel
of his own, a quiet little country inn, standing back
from a straight road bordered with apple trees and poplars.
There are wooden benches outside the door, and within a
(07:54):
white washed kitchen, where a plump, rosy faced woman is
busy with many cares. Never busy enough, however, to pass
the master of the house without a loving word or
a loving look. I like to believe that now he
has a little children of his own, who hold out
their arms when he opens the door, and who climb
upon his knees, clamoring for those same songs which he
(08:14):
sang out of the kindness of his boyish heart to
the little frightened English child such a long, long time ago,
the mummies of Bordeaux were the crowning horror of my
childish life. It is to them, i think, more than
to any other thing, that I owe knights and knights
(08:34):
of anguish and horror. Long years of bitterest fear and dread.
All the other fears could have been effaced, but the
shock of that sight branded it on my brain, and
I never forgot it. For many years, I could not
bring myself to go about any house in the dark
and long after I was a grown woman, I was
(08:55):
tortured in the dark watches by imagination and memory, who
rose strong and united, overpowering my will and my reason
as utterly as in my baby days. It was not
till I had two little children of my own that
I was able to conquer this mortal terror of darkness,
and to each imagination her place under the foot of
(09:17):
reason and the will. My children, I resolved should never
know such fear, and to guard them from it, I
must banish it from my own soul. It was not easy,
but it was done. It is banished now, and my babies,
thank God, have never known it. It was a dark
(09:39):
cloud that overshadowed my childhood, and I don't believe my
mother ever knew how dark it was, for I could
not tell anyone the full horror of it while it
was over me. And when it had passed, I came
from it as one who has lived long years in
an enchanter's castle, where the sun is darkened, always might
come forth into the splendor of noontide. Such a one
(10:03):
breathes God's sweet air and beholds the free heavens with
joyous leaps of the heart. But he does not speak
soon nor lightly of what befell in the dark, in
the evil days, in the Castle of the Enchanter. End
of Part five
Part five of My School Days by E Nesbitt. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Part five The
Mummies at Bordeaux. It was because I was tired of
churches and picture galleries, of fairs and markets, of the
strange babble of foreign tongues, and the thin English of
(00:23):
the guide book, that I begged so hard to be
taken to see the mummies. To me, the name of
a mummy was as a friend's name, as one Englishman
traveling across a desert seeks to find another of whom
he has heard in that far land. So I sought
to meet these mummies who had cousins at home in
the British Museum in dear dear England. My fancy did
(00:48):
not paint mummies for me, apart from plate glass cases,
camphor boarded galleries and kindly curators, and I longed to
see them, as I longed to see home, and to
hear my own own tongue spoken about me. I was
consumed by a fever of impatience for the three days
which had to go by before the coming of the
day on which the treasures might be visited. My sisters,
(01:12):
who were to lead me to these delights. Believed too
that the mummies would be chiefly interesting on account of
their association with Bloomsbury. Well we went, I and my
best blue silk frock, which I insisted on wearing to
honor the occasion, holding the hand of my sister, and
positively skipping with delicious anticipation. There was some delay about keys,
(01:37):
during which my excitement was scarcely to be restrained. Then
we went through an arched doorway and along a flagged passage.
The old man who guided us explaining volubly in French
as we went. What does he say? He says, they
are natural mummies? What does that mean? They are not
(01:57):
embalmed by man, like the Egyptian ones, but simply by
the peculiar earth of the churchyard where they were buried.
The words did not touch my conception of the glass
cases and their good natured guardian. The passage began to
slope downward. A chill air breathed on our faces, bringing
(02:17):
with it a damp, earthy smell. Then we came to
some narrow stone steps. Our guide spoke again, what does
he say? We are to be careful? The steps are
slippery and moldy. I think. Even then, my expectation still
was of a long, clean gallery, filled with the white
(02:39):
light of a London noon shed through high skylights on
Egyptian treasures. But the stairs were dark, and I held
my sister's hand tightly. Down we went down, down. What
does he say? We are under the church? Now these
are the vaults. We went along another passage, the damp,
(03:00):
moldy smell increasing, and the clasp of my sister's hand
grew closer and closer. We stopped in front of a
heavy door barred with iron, and our guide turned a big,
reluctant key in a lock that grated livoilla, he said,
throwing open the door and drawing back dramatically. We were
(03:23):
in the room before my sisters had time to see
cause for regretting that they had brought me. The vision
of dry boards and white light and glass cases vanished,
and in its stead I saw this a small vault,
as my memory serves me, about fifteen feet square, with
an arched roof, from the center of which hung a
(03:46):
lamp that burned with a faint blue light and made
the guide's candle look red and lurid. The floor was flagged,
like the passages and was as damp and chill round
three sides of the room ran railing, and behind it,
standing against the wall with a ghastly look of life
in death, were about two hundred skeletons. Not white, clean
(04:12):
skeletons hung on wires like the one you see at
the doctor's, but skeletons with the flesh hardened on their bones,
with their long dry hair hanging each side of their
brown faces, where the skin in drying had drawn itself
back from their gleaming teeth and empty eye sockets. Skeletons
draped in moldering shreds of shrouds and grave clothes. Their
(04:36):
lean fingers, still clothed with dry skin, seemed to reach
out towards me. There they stood men, women, and children,
knee deep in loose bones collected from the other vaults
of the church, and heaped round them. On the wall
near the door, I saw the dried body of a
(04:57):
little child, hung up by its hair. I don't think
I screamed or cried, or even said a word. I
think I was paralyzed with horror. But I remember presently
going back up those stairs, holding tightly to that kindly hand,
and not daring to turn my head lest one of
(05:17):
those Charnel house faces should peep out at me from
some niche in the damp wall. It must have been
late afternoon, and in the hurry of dressing for the
table dot, my stupor of fright must have passed unnoticed.
For the next thing I remember is being alone in
a large room, waiting, as usual for my supper to
be sent up for My mother did not approve of
(05:40):
late dinners for little people, and I was accustomed to
have bread and milk alone while she and my sisters dined.
It was a large room and very imperfectly lighted by
the two wax candles in silver candlesticks. There were two
windows and a curtained alcove where the beds were. Suddenly
my blood ran cold. What was behind that curtain? Beds? Yes,
(06:07):
whispered something that was I and yet not I. But
suppose there are no beds there now, only mummies, mummies, mummies.
A sudden noise, I screamed with terror. It was only
the door opening to let the waiter in. He was
a young waiter, hardly more than a boy, and had
(06:28):
always smiled kindly at me when we met, Though hitherto
our intercourse had not gone farther. Now. I rushed to
him and flung my arms round him, to his immense
amazement and the near ruin of my bread and milk.
He spoke no English, and I no French, but somehow
he managed to understand that I was afraid and afraid
(06:48):
of that curtained alcove. He set down the bread and milk,
and he took me in his arms, and together we
fetched more candles. And then he drew back the awful
full curtain and showed me the beds lying white and quiet.
If I could have spoken French, I should have said yes,
But how do I know it was all like that?
(07:10):
Just now, before you drew the curtain back as it was,
I said nothing, only clung to his neck. I hope
he did not get into any trouble that night for
neglected duties. For he did not attempt to leave me
until my mother came back. He sat down with me
on his knee, and petted me, and sang to me
(07:32):
under his breath, and fed me with a bread and milk.
When by and by I grew calm enough to take it.
All good things be with him wherever he is. I
like best to think of him in a little hotel
of his own, a quiet little country inn, standing back
from a straight road bordered with apple trees and poplars.
There are wooden benches outside the door, and within a
(07:54):
white washed kitchen, where a plump, rosy faced woman is
busy with many cares. Never busy enough, however, to pass
the master of the house without a loving word or
a loving look. I like to believe that now he
has a little children of his own, who hold out
their arms when he opens the door, and who climb
upon his knees, clamoring for those same songs which he
(08:14):
sang out of the kindness of his boyish heart to
the little frightened English child such a long, long time ago,
the mummies of Bordeaux were the crowning horror of my
childish life. It is to them, i think, more than
to any other thing, that I owe knights and knights
(08:34):
of anguish and horror. Long years of bitterest fear and dread.
All the other fears could have been effaced, but the
shock of that sight branded it on my brain, and
I never forgot it. For many years, I could not
bring myself to go about any house in the dark
and long after I was a grown woman, I was
(08:55):
tortured in the dark watches by imagination and memory, who
rose strong and united, overpowering my will and my reason
as utterly as in my baby days. It was not
till I had two little children of my own that
I was able to conquer this mortal terror of darkness,
and to each imagination her place under the foot of
(09:17):
reason and the will. My children, I resolved should never
know such fear, and to guard them from it, I
must banish it from my own soul. It was not easy,
but it was done. It is banished now, and my babies,
thank God, have never known it. It was a dark
(09:39):
cloud that overshadowed my childhood, and I don't believe my
mother ever knew how dark it was, for I could
not tell anyone the full horror of it while it
was over me. And when it had passed, I came
from it as one who has lived long years in
an enchanter's castle, where the sun is darkened, always might
come forth into the splendor of noontide. Such a one
(10:03):
breathes God's sweet air and beholds the free heavens with
joyous leaps of the heart. But he does not speak
soon nor lightly of what befell in the dark, in
the evil days, in the Castle of the Enchanter. End
of Part five
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