Two days after, Mrs. Graham
called at Linden-Car, contrary
to the expectation of Rose, who
entertained an idea that the
mysterious occupant of Wildfell
Hall would wholly disregard the
common observances of civilized
life, - in which opinion she
was supported by the Wilsons,
who testified that neither their
call nor the Millwards' had been
returned as yet. Now, however,
the cause of that omission was
explained, though not entirely
to the satisfaction of Rose.
Mrs. Graham had brought her child
with her, and on my mother's
expressing surprise that he could
walk so far, she replied, - 'It
is a long walk for him; but I
must have either taken him with
me, or relinquished the visit
altogether; for I never leave
him alone; and I think, Mrs.
Markham, I must beg you to make
my excuses to the Millwards and
Mrs. Wilson, when you see them,
as I fear I cannot do myself
the pleasure of calling upon
them till my little Arthur is
able to accompany me.'
'But you have a servant,' said
Rose; 'could you not leave him
with her?'
'She has her own occupations
to attend to; and besides, she
is too old to run after a child,
and he is too mercurial to be
tied to an elderly woman.'
'But you left him to come to
church.'
'Yes, once; but I would not
have left him for any other purpose;
and I think, in future, I must
contrive to bring him with me,
or stay at home.'
'Is he so mischievous?' asked
my mother, considerably shocked.
'No,' replied the lady, sadly
smiling, as she stroked the wavy
locks of her son, who was seated
on a low stool at her feet; 'but
he is my only treasure, and I
am his only friend: so we don't
like to be separated.'
'But, my dear, I call that
doting,' said my plain-spoken
parent. 'You should try to suppress
such foolish fondness, as well
to save your son from ruin as
yourself from ridicule.'
'Ruin! Mrs. Markham!'
'Yes; it is spoiling the child.
Even at his age, he ought not
to be always tied to his mother's
apron-string; he should learn
to be ashamed of it.'
'Mrs. Markham, I beg you will
not say such things, in his presence,
at least. I trust my son will
never be ashamed to love his
mother!' said Mrs. Graham, with
a serious energy that startled
the company.
My mother attempted to appease
her by an explanation; but she
seemed to think enough had been
said on the subject, and abruptly
turned the conversation.
'Just as I thought,' said I
to myself: 'the lady's temper
is none of the mildest, notwithstanding
her sweet, pale face and lofty
brow, where thought and suffering
seem equally to have stamped
their impress.'
All this time I was seated
at a table on the other side
of the room, apparently immersed
in the perusal of a volume of
the FARMER'S MAGAZINE, which
I happened to have been reading
at the moment of our visitor's
arrival; and, not choosing to
be over civil, I had merely bowed
as she entered, and continued
my occupation as before.
In a little while, however,
I was sensible that some one
was approaching me, with a light,
but slow and hesitating tread.
It was little Arthur, irresistibly
attracted by my dog Sancho, that
was lying at my feet. On looking
up I beheld him standing about
two yards off, with his clear
blue eyes wistfully gazing on
the dog, transfixed to the spot,
not by fear of the animal, but
by a timid disinclination to
approach its master. A little
encouragement, however, induced
him to come forward. The child,
though shy, was not sullen. In
a minute he was kneeling on the
carpet, with his arms round Sancho's
neck, and, in a minute or two
more, the little fellow was seated
on my knee, surveying with eager
interest the various specimens
of horses, cattle, pigs, and
model farms portrayed in the
volume before me. I glanced at
his mother now and then to see
how she relished the new-sprung
intimacy; and I saw, by the unquiet
aspect of her eye, that for some
reason or other she was uneasy
at the child's position.
'Arthur,' said she, at length,
'come here. You are troublesome
to Mr. Markham: he wishes to
read.'
'By no means, Mrs. Graham;
pray let him stay. I am as much
amused as he is,' pleaded I.
But still, with hand and eye,
she silently called him to her
side.
'No, mamma,' said the child;
'let me look at these pictures
first; and then I'll come, and
tell you all about them.'
'We are going to have a small
party on Monday, the fifth of
November,' said my mother; 'and
I hope you will not refuse to
make one, Mrs. Graham. You can
bring your little boy with you,
you know - I daresay we shall
be able to amuse him; - and then
you can make your own apologies
to the Millwards and Wilsons
- they will all be here, I expect.'
'Thank you, I never go to parties.'
'Oh! but this will be quite
a family concern - early hours,
and nobody here but ourselves,
and just the Millwards and Wilsons,
most of whom you already know,
and Mr. Lawrence, your landlord,
with whom you ought to make acquaintance.'
'I do know something of him
- but you must excuse me this
time; for the evenings, now,
are dark and damp, and Arthur,
I fear, is too delicate to risk
exposure to their influence with
impunity. We must defer the enjoyment
of your hospitality till the
return of longer days and warmer
nights.'
Rose, now, at a hint from my
mother, produced a decanter of
wine, with accompaniments of
glasses and cake, from the cupboard
and the oak sideboard, and the
refreshment was duly presented
to the guests. They both partook
of the cake, but obstinately
refused the wine, in spite of
their hostess's hospitable attempts
to force it upon them. Arthur,
especially shrank from the ruby
nectar as if in terror and disgust,
and was ready to cry when urged
to take it.
'Never mind, Arthur,' said
his mamma; 'Mrs. Markham thinks
it will do you good, as you were
tired with your walk; but she
will not oblige you to take it!
- I daresay you will do very
well without. He detests the
very sight of wine,' she added,
'and the smell of it almost makes
him sick. I have been accustomed
to make him swallow a little
wine or weak spirits-and-water,
by way of medicine, when he was
sick, and, in fact, I have done
what I could to make him hate
them.'
Everybody laughed, except the
young widow and her son.
'Well, Mrs. Graham,' said my
mother, wiping the tears of merriment
from her bright blue eyes - 'well,
you surprise me! I really gave
you credit for having more sense.
- The poor child will be the
veriest milksop that ever was
sopped! Only think what a man
you will make of him, if you
persist in - '
'I think it a very excellent
plan,' interrupted Mrs. Graham,
with imperturbable gravity. 'By
that means I hope to save him
from one degrading vice at least.
I wish I could render the incentives
to every other equally innoxious
in his case.'
'But by such means,' said I,
'you will never render him virtuous.
- What is it that constitutes
virtue, Mrs. Graham? Is it the
circumstance of being able and
willing to resist temptation;
or that of having no temptations
to resist? - Is he a strong man
that overcomes great obstacles
and performs surprising achievements,
though by dint of great muscular
exertion, and at the risk of
some subsequent fatigue, or he
that sits in his chair all day,
with nothing to do more laborious
than stirring the fire, and carrying
his food to his mouth? If you
would have your son to walk honourably
through the world, you must not
attempt to clear the stones from
his path, but teach him to walk
firmly over them - not insist
upon leading him by the hand,
but let him learn to go alone.'
'I will lead him by the hand,
Mr. Markham, till he has strength
to go alone; and I will clear
as many stones from his path
as I can, and teach him to avoid
the rest - or walk firmly over
them, as you say; - for when
I have done my utmost, in the
way of clearance, there will
still be plenty left to exercise
all the agility, steadiness,
and circumspection he will ever
have. - It is all very well to
talk about noble resistance,
and trials of virtue; but for
fifty - or five hundred men that
have yielded to temptation, show
me one that has had virtue to
resist. And why should I take
it for granted that my son will
be one in a thousand? - and not
rather prepare for the worst,
and suppose he will be like his
- like the rest of mankind, unless
I take care to prevent it?'
'You are very complimentary
to us all,' I observed.
'I know nothing about you -
I speak of those I do know -
and when I see the whole race
of mankind (with a few rare exceptions)
stumbling and blundering along
the path of life, sinking into
every pitfall, and breaking their
shins over every impediment that
lies in their way, shall I not
use all the means in my power
to insure for him a smoother
and a safer passage?'
'Yes, but the surest means
will be to endeavour to fortify
him against temptation, not to
remove it out of his way.'
'I will do both, Mr. Markham.
God knows he will have temptations
enough to assail him, both from
within and without, when I have
done all I can to render vice
as uninviting to him, as it is
abominable in its own nature
- I myself have had, indeed,
but few incentives to what the
world calls vice, but yet I have
experienced temptations and trials
of another kind, that have required,
on many occasions, more watchfulness
and firmness to resist than I
have hitherto been able to muster
against them. And this, I believe,
is what most others would acknowledge
who are accustomed to reflection,
and wishful to strive against
their natural corruptions.'
'Yes,' said my mother, but
half apprehending her drift;
'but you would not judge of a
boy by yourself - and, my dear
Mrs. Graham, let me warn you
in good time against the error
- the fatal error, I may call
it - of taking that boy's education
upon yourself. Because you are
clever in some things and well
informed, you may fancy yourself
equal to the task; but indeed
you are not; and if you persist
in the attempt, believe me you
will bitterly repent it when
the mischief is done.'
'I am to send him to school,
I suppose, to learn to despise
his mother's authority and affection!'
said the lady, with rather a
bitter smile.
'Oh, no! - But if you would
have a boy to despise his mother,
let her keep him at home, and
spend her life in petting him
up, and slaving to indulge his
follies and caprices.'
'I perfectly agree with you,
Mrs. Markham; but nothing can
be further from my principles
and practice than such criminal
weakness as that.'
'Well, but you will treat him
like a girl - you'll spoil his
spirit, and make a mere Miss
Nancy of him - you will, indeed,
Mrs. Graham, whatever you may
think. But I'll get Mr. Millward
to talk to you about it:- he'll
tell you the consequences; -
he'll set it before you as plain
as the day; - and tell you what
you ought to do, and all about
it; - and, I don't doubt, he'll
be able to convince you in a
minute.'
'No occasion to trouble the
vicar,' said Mrs. Graham, glancing
at me - I suppose I was smiling
at my mother's unbounded confidence
in that worthy gentleman - 'Mr.
Markham here thinks his powers
of conviction at least equal
to Mr. Millward's. If I hear
not him, neither should I be
convinced though one rose from
the dead, he would tell you.
Well, Mr. Markham, you that maintain
that a boy should not be shielded
from evil, but sent out to battle
against it, alone and unassisted
- not taught to avoid the snares
of life, but boldly to rush into
them, or over them, as he may
- to seek danger, rather than
shun it, and feed his virtue
by temptation, - would you -?'
'I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham
- but you get on too fast. I
have not yet said that a boy
should be taught to rush into
the snares of life, - or even
wilfully to seek temptation for
the sake of exercising his virtue
by overcoming it; - I only say
that it is better to arm and
strengthen your hero, than to
disarm and enfeeble the foe;
- and if you were to rear an
oak sapling in a hothouse, tending
it carefully night and day, and
shielding it from every breath
of wind, you could not expect
it to become a hardy tree, like
that which has grown up on the
mountain-side, exposed to all
the action of the elements, and
not even sheltered from the shock
of the tempest.'
'Granted; - but would you use
the same argument with regard
to a girl?'
'Certainly not.'
'No; you would have her to
be tenderly and delicately nurtured,
like a hot-house plant - taught
to cling to others for direction
and support, and guarded, as
much as possible, from the very
knowledge of evil. But will you
be so good as to inform me why
you make this distinction? Is
it that you think she has no
virtue?'
'Assuredly not.'
'Well, but you affirm that
virtue is only elicited by temptation;
- and you think that a woman
cannot be too little exposed
to temptation, or too little
acquainted with vice, or anything
connected therewith. It must
be either that you think she
is essentially so vicious, or
so feeble-minded, that she cannot
withstand temptation, - and though
she may be pure and innocent
as long as she is kept in ignorance
and restraint, yet, being destitute
of real virtue, to teach her
how to sin is at once to make
her a sinner, and the greater
her knowledge, the wider her
liberty, the deeper will be her
depravity, - whereas, in the
nobler sex, there is a natural
tendency to goodness, guarded
by a superior fortitude, which,
the more it is exercised by trials
and dangers, is only the further
developed - '
'Heaven forbid that I should
think so!' I interrupted her
at last.
'Well,
then, it must
be that you
think they
are both weak
and prone to err, and the slightest
error, the merest shadow of pollution,
will ruin the one, while the
character of the other will be
strengthened and embellished
- his education properly finished
by a little practical acquaintance
with forbidden things. Such experience,
to him (to use a trite simile),
will be like the storm to the
oak, which, though it may scatter
the leaves, and snap the smaller
branches, serves but to rivet
the roots, and to harden and
condense the fibres of the tree.
You would have us encourage our
sons to prove all things by their
own experience, while our daughters
must not even profit by the experience
of others. Now I would have both
so to benefit by the experience
of others, and the precepts of
a higher authority, that they
should know beforehand to refuse
the evil and choose the good,
and require no experimental proofs
to teach them the evil of transgression.
I would not send a poor girl
into the world, unarmed against
her foes, and ignorant of the
snares that beset her path; nor
would I watch and guard her,
till, deprived of self-respect
and self-reliance, she lost the
power or the will to watch and
guard herself; - and as for my
son - if I thought he would grow
up to be what you call a man
of the world - one that has "seen
life," and glories in his experience,
even though he should so far
profit by it as to sober down,
at length, into a useful and
respected member of society -
I would rather that he died to-morrow!
- rather a thousand times!' she
earnestly repeated, pressing
her darling to her side and kissing
his forehead with intense affection.
He had already left his new companion,
and been standing for some time
beside his mother's knee, looking
up into her face, and listening
in silent wonder to her incomprehensible
discourse.
'Well! you ladies must always
have the last word, I suppose,'
said I, observing her rise, and
begin to take leave of my mother.
'You may have as many words
as you please, - only I can't
stay to hear them.'
'No; that is the way: you hear
just as much of an argument as
you please; and the rest may
be spoken to the wind.'
'If you are anxious to say
anything more on the subject,'
replied she, as she shook hands
with Rose, 'you must bring your
sister to see me some fine day,
and I'll listen, as patiently
as you could wish, to whatever
you please to say. I would rather
be lectured by you than the vicar,
because I should have less remorse
in telling you, at the end of
the discourse, that I preserve
my own opinion precisely the
same as at the beginning - as
would be the case, I am persuaded,
with regard to either logician.'
'Yes, of course,' replied I,
determined to be as provoking
as herself; 'for when a lady
does consent to listen to an
argument against her own opinions,
she is always predetermined to
withstand it - to listen only
with her bodily ears, keeping
the mental organs resolutely
closed against the strongest
reasoning.'
'Good-morning, Mr. Markham,'
said my fair antagonist, with
a pitying smile; and deigning
no further rejoinder, she slightly
bowed, and was about to withdraw;
but her son, with childish impertinence,
arrested her by exclaiming, -
'Mamma, you have not shaken hands
with Mr. Markham!'
She laughingly turned round
and held out her hand. I gave
it a spiteful squeeze, for I
was annoyed at the continual
injustice she had done me from
the very dawn of our acquaintance.
Without knowing anything about
my real disposition and principles,
she was evidently prejudiced
against me, and seemed bent upon
showing me that her opinions
respecting me, on every particular,
fell far below those I entertained
of myself. I was naturally touchy,
or it would not have vexed me
so much. Perhaps, too, I was
a little bit spoiled by my mother
and sister, and some other ladies
of my acquaintance; - and yet
I was by no means a fop - of
that I am fully convinced, whether
you are or not.
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