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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