You must go back with me to
the autumn of 1827.
My father, as you know, was
a sort of gentleman farmer in
-shire; and I, by his express
desire, succeeded him in the
same quiet occupation, not very
willingly, for ambition urged
me to higher aims, and self-conceit
assured me that, in disregarding
its voice, I was burying my talent
in the earth, and hiding my light
under a bushel. My mother had
done her utmost to persuade me
that I was capable of great achievements;
but my father, who thought ambition
was the surest road to ruin,
and change but another word for
destruction, would listen to
no scheme for bettering either
my own condition, or that of
my fellow mortals. He assured
me it was all rubbish, and exhorted
me, with his dying breath, to
continue in the good old way,
to follow his steps, and those
of his father before him, and
let my highest ambition be to
walk honestly through the world,
looking neither to the right
hand nor to the left, and to
transmit the paternal acres to
my children in, at least, as
flourishing a condition as he
left them to me.
'Well! - an honest and industrious
farmer is one of the most useful
members of society; and if I
devote my talents to the cultivation
of my farm, and the improvement
of agriculture in general, I
shall thereby benefit, not only
my own immediate connections
and dependants, but, in some
degree, mankind at large:- hence
I shall not have lived in vain.'
With such reflections as these
I was endeavouring to console
myself, as I plodded home from
the fields, one cold, damp, cloudy
evening towards the close of
October. But the gleam of a bright
red fire through the parlour
window had more effect in cheering
my spirits, and rebuking my thankless
repinings, than all the sage
reflections and good resolutions
I had forced my mind to frame;
- for I was young then, remember
- only four-and- twenty - and
had not acquired half the rule
over my own spirit that I now
possess - trifling as that may
be.
However, that haven of bliss
must not be entered till I had
exchanged my miry boots for a
clean pair of shoes, and my rough
surtout for a respectable coat,
and made myself generally presentable
before decent society; for my
mother, with all her kindness,
was vastly particular on certain
points.
In ascending to my room I was
met upon the stairs by a smart,
pretty girl of nineteen, with
a tidy, dumpy figure, a round
face, bright, blooming cheeks,
glossy, clustering curls, and
little merry brown eyes. I need
not tell you this was my sister
Rose. She is, I know, a comely
matron still, and, doubtless,
no less lovely - in your eyes
- than on the happy day you first
beheld her. Nothing told me then
that she, a few years hence,
would be the wife of one entirely
unknown to me as yet, but destined
hereafter to become a closer
friend than even herself, more
intimate than that unmannerly
lad of seventeen, by whom I was
collared in the passage, on coming
down, and well-nigh jerked off
my equilibrium, and who, in correction
for his impudence, received a
resounding whack over the sconce,
which, however, sustained no
serious injury from the infliction;
as, besides being more than commonly
thick, it was protected by a
redundant shock of short, reddish
curls, that my mother called
auburn.
On entering the parlour we
found that honoured lady seated
in her arm-chair at the fireside,
working away at her knitting,
according to her usual custom,
when she had nothing else to
do. She had swept the hearth,
and made a bright blazing fire
for our reception; the servant
had just brought in the tea-tray;
and Rose was producing the sugar-basin
and tea-caddy from the cupboard
in the black oak side-board,
that shone like polished ebony,
in the cheerful parlour twilight.
'Well! here they both are,'
cried my mother, looking round
upon us without retarding the
motion of her nimble fingers
and glittering needles. 'Now
shut the door, and come to the
fire, while Rose gets the tea
ready; I'm sure you must be starved;
- and tell me what you've been
about all day; - I like to know
what my children have been about.'
'I've been breaking in the
grey colt - no easy business
that - directing the ploughing
of the last wheat stubble - for
the ploughboy has not the sense
to direct himself - and carrying
out a plan for the extensive
and efficient draining of the
low meadowlands.'
'That's my brave boy! - and
Fergus, what have you been doing?'
'Badger-baiting.'
And here he proceeded to give
a particular account of his sport,
and the respective traits of
prowess evinced by the badger
and the dogs; my mother pretending
to listen with deep attention,
and watching his animated countenance
with a degree of maternal admiration
I thought highly disproportioned
to its object.
'It's time you should be doing
something else, Fergus,' said
I, as soon as a momentary pause
in his narration allowed me to
get in a word.
'What can I do?' replied he;
'my mother won't let me go to
sea or enter the army; and I'm
determined to do nothing else
- except make myself such a nuisance
to you all, that you will be
thankful to get rid of me on
any terms.'
Our parent soothingly stroked
his stiff, short curls. He growled,
and tried to look sulky, and
then we all took our seats at
the table, in obedience to the
thrice-repeated summons of Rose.
'Now take your tea,' said she;
'and I'll tell you what I've
been doing. I've been to call
on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand
pities you didn't go with me,
Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was
there!'
'Well! what of her?'
'Oh, nothing! - I'm not going
to tell you about her; - only
that she's a nice, amusing little
thing, when she is in a merry
humour, and I shouldn't mind
calling her - '
'Hush, hush, my dear! your
brother has no such idea!' whispered
my mother earnestly, holding
up her finger.
'Well,' resumed Rose; 'I was
going to tell you an important
piece of news I heard there -
I have been bursting with it
ever since. You know it was reported
a month ago, that somebody was
going to take Wildfell Hall -
and - what do you think? It has
actually been inhabited above
a week! - and we never knew!'
'Impossible!' cried my mother.
'Preposterous!!!' shrieked
Fergus.
'It has indeed! - and by a
single lady!'
'Good gracious, my dear! The
place is in ruins!'
'She has had two or three rooms
made habitable; and there she
lives, all alone - except an
old woman for a servant!'
'Oh, dear! that spoils it -
I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed
Fergus, while carving his inch-thick
slice of bread and butter.
'Nonsense, Fergus! But isn't
it strange, mamma?'
'Strange! I can hardly believe
it.'
'But you may believe it; for
Jane Wilson has seen her. She
went with her mother, who, of
course, when she heard of a stranger
being in the neighbourhood, would
be on pins and needles till she
had seen her and got all she
could out of her. She is called
Mrs. Graham, and she is in mourning
- not widow's weeds, but slightish
mourning - and she is quite young,
they say, - not above five or
six and twenty, - but so reserved!
They tried all they could to
find out who she was and where
she came from, and, all about
her, but neither Mrs. Wilson,
with her pertinacious and impertinent
home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson,
with her skilful manoeuvring,
could manage to elicit a single
satisfactory answer, or even
a casual remark, or chance expression
calculated to allay their curiosity,
or throw the faintest ray of
light upon her history, circumstances,
or connections. Moreover, she
was barely civil to them, and
evidently better pleased to say
'good-by,' than 'how do you do.'
But Eliza Millward says her father
intends to call upon her soon,
to offer some pastoral advice,
which he fears she needs, as,
though she is known to have entered
the neighbourhood early last
week, she did not make her appearance
at church on Sunday; and she
- Eliza, that is - will beg to
accompany him, and is sure she
can succeed in wheedling something
out of her - you know, Gilbert,
she can do anything. And we should
call some time, mamma; it's only
proper, you know.'
'Of course, my dear. Poor thing!
How lonely she must feel!'
'And pray, be quick about it;
and mind you bring me word how
much sugar she puts in her tea,
and what sort of caps and aprons
she wears, and all about it;
for I don't know how I can live
till I know,' said Fergus, very
gravely.
But if he intended the speech
to be hailed as a master-stroke
of wit, he signally failed, for
nobody laughed. However, he was
not much disconcerted at that;
for when he had taken a mouthful
of bread and butter and was about
to swallow a gulp of tea, the
humour of the thing burst upon
him with such irresistible force,
that he was obliged to jump up
from the table, and rush snorting
and choking from the room; and
a minute after, was heard screaming
in fearful agony in the garden.
As for me, I was hungry, and
contented myself with silently
demolishing the tea, ham, and
toast, while my mother and sister
went on talking, and continued
to discuss the apparent or non-
apparent circumstances, and probable
or improbable history of the
mysterious lady; but I must confess
that, after my brother's misadventure,
I once or twice raised the cup
to my lips, and put it down again
without daring to taste the contents,
lest I should injure my dignity
by a similar explosion.
The next day my mother and
Rose hastened to pay their compliments
to the fair recluse; and came
back but little wiser than they
went; though my mother declared
she did not regret the journey,
for if she had not gained much
good, she flattered herself she
had imparted some, and that was
better: she had given some useful
advice, which, she hoped, would
not be thrown away; for Mrs.
Graham, though she said little
to any purpose, and appeared
somewhat self-opinionated, seemed
not incapable of reflection,
- though she did not know where
she had been all her life, poor
thing, for she betrayed a lamentable
ignorance on certain points,
and had not even the sense to
be ashamed of it.
'On what points, mother?' asked
I.
'On household
matters, and all the little
niceties of cookery,
and such things, that every lady
ought to be familiar with, whether
she be required to make a practical
use of her knowledge or not.
I gave her some useful pieces
of information, however, and
several excellent receipts, the
value of which she evidently
could not appreciate, for she
begged I would not trouble myself,
as she lived in such a plain,
quiet way, that she was sure
she should never make use of
them. "No matter, my dear," said
I; "it is what every respectable
female ought to know; - and besides,
though you are alone now, you
will not be always so; you have
been married, and probably -
I might say almost certainly
- will be again." "You are mistaken
there, ma'am," said she, almost
haughtily; "I am certain I never
shall." - But I told her I knew
better.'
'Some romantic young widow,
I suppose,' said I, 'come there
to end her days in solitude,
and mourn in secret for the dear
departed - but it won't last
long.'
'No, I think not,' observed
Rose; 'for she didn't seem very
disconsolate after all; and she's
excessively pretty - handsome
rather - you must see her, Gilbert;
you will call her a perfect beauty,
though you could hardly pretend
to discover a resemblance between
her and Eliza Millward.'
'Well, I can imagine many faces
more beautiful than Eliza's,
though not more charming. I allow
she has small claims to perfection;
but then, I maintain that, if
she were more perfect, she would
be less interesting.'
'And so you prefer her faults
to other people's perfections?'
'Just so - saving my mother's
presence.'
'Oh, my dear Gilbert, what
nonsense you talk! - I know you
don't mean it; it's quite out
of the question,' said my mother,
getting up, and bustling out
of the room, under pretence of
household business, in order
to escape the contradiction that
was trembling on my tongue.
After that Rose favoured me
with further particulars respecting
Mrs. Graham. Her appearance,
manners, and dress, and the very
furniture of the room she inhabited,
were all set before me, with
rather more clearness and precision
than I cared to see them; but,
as I was not a very attentive
listener, I could not repeat
the description if I would.
The next day was Saturday;
and, on Sunday, everybody wondered
whether or not the fair unknown
would profit by the vicar's remonstrance,
and come to church. I confess
I looked with some interest myself
towards the old family pew, appertaining
to Wildfell Hall, where the faded
crimson cushions and lining had
been unpressed and unrenewed
so many years, and the grim escutcheons,
with their lugubrious borders
of rusty black cloth, frowned
so sternly from the wall above.
And there I beheld a tall,
lady-like figure, clad in black.
Her face was towards me, and
there was something in it which,
once seen, invited me to look
again. Her hair was raven black,
and disposed in long glossy ringlets,
a style of coiffure rather unusual
in those days, but always graceful
and becoming; her complexion
was clear and pale; her eyes
I could not see, for, being bent
upon her prayer-book, they were
concealed by their drooping lids
and long black lashes, but the
brows above were expressive and
well defined; the forehead was
lofty and intellectual, the nose,
a perfect aquiline and the features,
in general, unexceptionable -
only there was a slight hollowness
about the cheeks and eyes, and
the lips, though finely formed,
were a little too thin, a little
too firmly compressed, and had
something about them that betokened,
I thought, no very soft or amiable
temper; and I said in my heart
- 'I would rather admire you
from this distance, fair lady,
than be the partner of your home.'
Just then she happened to raise
her eyes, and they met mine;
I did not choose to withdraw
my gaze, and she turned again
to her book, but with a momentary,
indefinable expression of quiet
scorn, that was inexpressibly
provoking to me.
'She thinks me an impudent
puppy,' thought I. 'Humph! -
she shall change her mind before
long, if I think it worth while.'
But then it flashed upon me
that these were very improper
thoughts for a place of worship,
and that my behaviour, on the
present occasion, was anything
but what it ought to be. Previous,
however, to directing my mind
to the service, I glanced round
the church to see if any one
had been observing me; - but
no, - all, who were not attending
to their prayer-books, were attending
to the strange lady, - my good
mother and sister among the rest,
and Mrs. Wilson and her daughter;
and even Eliza Millward was slily
glancing from the corners of
her eyes towards the object of
general attraction. Then she
glanced at me, simpered a little,
and blushed, modestly looked
at her prayer-book, and endeavoured
to compose her features.
Here I was transgressing again;
and this time I was made sensible
of it by a sudden dig in the
ribs, from the elbow of my pert
brother. For the present, I could
only resent the insult by pressing
my foot upon his toes, deferring
further vengeance till we got
out of church.
Now, Halford, before I close
this letter, I'll tell you who
Eliza Millward was: she was the
vicar's younger daughter, and
a very engaging little creature,
for whom I felt no small degree
of partiality; - and she knew
it, though I had never come to
any direct explanation, and had
no definite intention of so doing,
for my mother, who maintained
there was no one good enough
for me within twenty miles round,
could not bear the thoughts of
my marrying that insignificant
little thing, who, in addition
to her numerous other disqualifications,
had not twenty pounds to call
her own. Eliza's figure was at
once slight and plump, her face
small, and nearly as round as
my sister's, - complexion, something
similar to hers, but more delicate
and less decidedly blooming,
- nose, retrousse, - features,
generally irregular; and, altogether,
she was rather charming than
pretty. But her eyes - I must
not forget those remarkable features,
for therein her chief attraction
lay - in outward aspect at least;
- they were long and narrow in
shape, the irids black, or very
dark brown, the expression various,
and ever changing, but always
either preternaturally - I had
almost said diabolically - wicked,
or irresistibly bewitching -
often both. Her voice was gentle
and childish, her tread light
and soft as that of a cat:- but
her manners more frequently resembled
those of a pretty playful kitten,
that is now pert and roguish,
now timid and demure, according
to its own sweet will.
Her sister, Mary, was several
years older, several inches taller,
and of a larger, coarser build
- a plain, quiet, sensible girl,
who had patiently nursed their
mother, through her last long,
tedious illness, and been the
housekeeper, and family drudge,
from thence to the present time.
She was trusted and valued by
her father, loved and courted
by all dogs, cats, children,
and poor people, and slighted
and neglected by everybody else.
The Reverend Michael Millward
himself was a tall, ponderous
elderly gentleman, who placed
a shovel hat above his large,
square, massive-featured face,
carried a stout walking-stick
in his hand, and incased his
still powerful limbs in knee-breeches
and gaiters, - or black silk
stockings on state occasions.
He was a man of fixed principles,
strong prejudices, and regular
habits, intolerant of dissent
in any shape, acting under a
firm conviction that his opinions
were always right, and whoever
differed from them must be either
most deplorably ignorant, or
wilfully blind.
In childhood, I had always
been accustomed to regard him
with a feeling of reverential
awe - but lately, even now, surmounted,
for, though he had a fatherly
kindness for the well-behaved,
he was a strict disciplinarian,
and had often sternly reproved
our juvenile failings and peccadilloes;
and moreover, in those days,
whenever he called upon our parents,
we had to stand up before him,
and say our catechism, or repeat,
'How doth the little busy bee,'
or some other hymn, or - worse
than all - be questioned about
his last text, and the heads
of the discourse, which we never
could remember. Sometimes, the
worthy gentleman would reprove
my mother for being over-indulgent
to her sons, with a reference
to old Eli, or David and Absalom,
which was particularly galling
to her feelings; and, very highly
as she respected him, and all
his sayings, I once heard her
exclaim, 'I wish to goodness
he had a son himself! He wouldn't
be so ready with his advice to
other people then; - he'd see
what it is to have a couple of
boys to keep in order.'
He had a laudable care for
his own bodily health - kept
very early hours, regularly took
a walk before breakfast, was
vastly particular about warm
and dry clothing, had never been
known to preach a sermon without
previously swallowing a raw egg
- albeit he was gifted with good
lungs and a powerful voice, -
and was, generally, extremely
particular about what he ate
and drank, though by no means
abstemious, and having a mode
of dietary peculiar to himself,
- being a great despiser of tea
and such slops, and a patron
of malt liquors, bacon and eggs,
ham, hung beef, and other strong
meats, which agreed well enough
with his digestive organs, and
therefore were maintained by
him to be good and wholesome
for everybody, and confidently
recommended to the most delicate
convalescents or dyspeptics,
who, if they failed to derive
the promised benefit from his
prescriptions, were told it was
because they had not persevered,
and if they complained of inconvenient
results therefrom, were assured
it was all fancy.
I will just touch upon two
other persons whom I have mentioned,
and then bring this long letter
to a close. These are Mrs. Wilson
and her daughter. The former
was the widow of a substantial
farmer, a narrow-minded, tattling
old gossip, whose character is
not worth describing. She had
two sons, Robert, a rough countrified
farmer, and Richard, a retiring,
studious young man, who was studying
the classics with the vicar's
assistance, preparing for college,
with a view to enter the church.
Their sister Jane was a young
lady of some talents, and more
ambition. She had, at her own
desire, received a regular boarding-
school education, superior to
what any member of the family
had obtained before. She had
taken the polish well, acquired
considerable elegance of manners,
quite lost her provincial accent,
and could boast of more accomplishments
than the vicar's daughters. She
was considered a beauty besides;
but never for a moment could
she number me amongst her admirers.
She was about six and twenty,
rather tall and very slender,
her hair was neither chestnut
nor auburn, but a most decided
bright, light red; her complexion
was remarkably fair and brilliant,
her head small, neck long, chin
well turned, but very short,
lips thin and red, eyes clear
hazel, quick, and penetrating,
but entirely destitute of poetry
or feeling. She had, or might
have had, many suitors in her
own rank of life, but scornfully
repulsed or rejected them all;
for none but a gentleman could
please her refined taste, and
none but a rich one could satisfy
her soaring ambition. One gentleman
there was, from whom she had
lately received some rather pointed
attentions, and upon whose heart,
name, and fortune, it was whispered,
she had serious designs. This
was Mr. Lawrence, the young squire,
whose family had formerly occupied
Wildfell Hall, but had deserted
it, some fifteen years ago, for
a more modern and commodious
mansion in the neighbouring parish.
Now, Halford, I bid you adieu
for the present. This is the
first instalment of my debt.
If the coin suits you, tell me
so, and I'll send you the rest
at my leisure: if you would rather
remain my creditor than stuff
your purse with such ungainly,
heavy pieces, - tell me still,
and I'll pardon your bad taste,
and willingly keep the treasure
to myself.
Yours immutably,
GILBERT MARKHAM.
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