by Brontë, Anne
‘I hope he broke your head,’ said I.
‘No, love,’ replied he, laughing immoderately at the recollection of the whole affair, ‘he would have done so, – and perhaps spoilt my face, too, but providentially,11 this forest of curls,’ (taking off his hat and showing his luxuriant chestnut locks), ‘saved my skull, and prevented the glass from breaking till it reached the table.
‘After that,’ he continued, ‘Lowborough kept aloof from us a week or two longer. I used to meet him occasionally in the town; and then, as I was too good natured to resent his unmannerly conduct, and he bore no malice against me, – he was never unwilling to talk to me; on the contrary, he would cling to me and follow me anywhere, – but to the club, and the gaming-houses, and suchlike dangerous places of resort – he was so weary of his own moping, melancholy mind. At last, I got him to come in with me to the club, on condition that I would not tempt him to drink; and for some time, he continued to look in upon us pretty regularly of an evening, – still abstaining, with wonderful perseverance, from the “rank poison” he had so bravely forsworn. But some of our members protested against this conduct. They did not like to have him sitting there like a skeleton at a feast,12 instead of contributing his quota to the general amusement, casting a cloud over all, and watching, with greedy eyes, every drop they carried to their lips, they vowed it was not fair; and some of them maintained that he should either be compelled to do as others did or expelled from the society, and swore that, next time he showed himself, they would tell him as much, and, if he did not take the warning, proceed to active measures. However, I befriended him on this occasion, and recommended them to let him be for a while, intimating that, with a little patience on our parts, he would soon come round again – But, to be sure, it was rather provoking; for though he refused to drink like an honest Christian, it was well known to me, that he kept a private bottle of laudanum about him, which he was continually soaking at – or rather, holding off and on with, abstaining one day and exceeding the next, just like the spirits.
‘One night, however, during one of our orgies – one of our high festivals, I mean – he glided in, like the ghost in Macbeth,13 and seated himself, as usual, a little back from the table, in the chair we always placed for “the spectre,” whether it chose to fill it or not. I saw by his face that he was suffering from the effects of an overdose of his insidious comforter, but nobody spoke to him, and he spoke to nobody. A few sidelong glances, and a whispered observation that “the ghost was come,” was all the notice he drew by his appearance, and we went on with our merry carousals as before, till he startled us all by suddenly drawing in his chair and leaning forward with his elbows on the table, and exclaiming with portentous solemnity, –
‘“Well! it puzzles me what you can find to be so merry about. What you see in life I don’t know – I see only the blackness of darkness and a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation!”14
‘All the company simultaneously pushed up their glasses to him, and I set them before him in a semicircle, and, tenderly patting him on the back, bid him drink and he would soon see as bright a prospect as any of us; but he pushed them back, muttering, –
‘“Take them away! I won’t taste it, I tell you – I won’t – I won’t!” So I handed them down again to the owners; but I saw that he followed them with a glare of hungry regret as they departed. Then, he clasped his hands before his eyes to shut out the sight, and two minutes after, lifted his head again, and said, in a hoarse but vehement whisper, –
‘“And yet I must! Huntingdon, get me a glass!”
‘“Take the bottle, man!” said I, thrusting the brandy-bottle into his hand – but stop, I’m telling too much,’ muttered the narrator, startled at the look I turned upon him. ‘But no matter,’ he recklessly added, and thus continued his relation – ‘In his desperate eagerness, he seized the bottle and sucked away, till he suddenly dropped from his chair, disappearing under the table amid a tempest of applause. The consequence of this imprudence was something like an apoplectic fit, followed by a rather severe brain fever –’15
‘And what did you think of yourself, sir?’ said I, quickly.
‘Of course, I was very penitent,’ he replied. ‘I went to see him once or twice – nay, twice or thrice – or, by’r lady, some four times, – and when he got better, I tenderly brought him back to the fold.’16
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I restored him to the bosom of the club, and, compassionating the feebleness of his health and extreme lowness of his spirits, I recommended him to “take a little wine for his stomach’s sake,”17and, when he was sufficiently re-established, to embrace the media-via, ni-jamais-ni-toujoursl8 plan – not to kill himself like a fool, and not to abstain like a ninny – in a word, to enjoy himself like a rational creature, and do as I did; – for don’t think, Helen, that I’m a tippler; I’m nothing at all of the kind, and never was, and never shall be. I value my comfort far too much. I see that a man cannot give himself up to drinking without being miserable one half his days and mad the other; – besides, I like to enjoy my life at all sides and ends, which cannot be done by one that suffers himself to be the slave of a single propensity – and moreover, drinking spoils one’s good looks,’ he concluded, with a most conceited smile that ought to have provoked me more than it did.
‘And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?’ I asked.
‘Why, yes, in a manner. For a while, he managed very well; indeed, he was a model of moderation and prudence – something too much so for the tastes of our wild community; – but, somehow, Lowborough had not the gift of moderation: if he stumbled a little to one side, he must go down before he could right himself: if he overshot the mark one night, the effects of it rendered him so miserable the next day that he must repeat the offence to mend it; and so on from day to day, till his clamorous conscience brought him to a stand. – And then, in his sober moments, he so bothered his friends with his remorse, and his terrors and woes, that they were obliged, in self-defence, to get him to drown his sorrows in wine, or any more potent beverage that came to hand; and when his first scruples of conscience were overcome, he would need no more persuading, he would often grow desperate, and be as great a blackguard as any of them could desire – but only to lament his own unutterable wickedness and degradation the more when the fit was over.
‘At last, one day when he and I were alone together, after pondering awhile in one of his gloomy, abstracted moods, with his arms folded and his head sunk on his breast, – he suddenly woke up, and vehemently grasping my arm, said, –
‘“Huntingdon, this won’t do! I’m resolved to have done with it.”
‘“What, are you going to shoot yourself?” said I.
‘“No; I’m going to reform.”
‘“Oh, that’s nothing new! You’ve been going to reform these twelve months and more.”
‘“Yes, but you wouldn’t let me; and I was such a fool I couldn’t live without you. But now I see what it is that keeps me back, and what’s wanted to save me; and I’d compass sea and land to get it – only I’m afraid there’s no chance.” And he sighed as if his heart would break.
‘“What is it Lowborough?” said I, thinking he was fairly cracked at last.
‘“A wife,” he answered; “for I can’t live alone, because my own mind distracts me, and I can’t live with you, because you take the devil’s part against me.”
‘“Who–I?”
‘“Yes – all of you do, – and you more than any of them, you know. But if I could get a wife, with fortune enough to pay off my debts and set me straight in the world –”
‘“To be sure,” said I.
‘“And sweetness and goodness enough,” he continued, “to make home tolerable, and to reconcile me to myself, – I think I should do, yet. I shall never be in love again that’s certain; but perhaps that would be no great matter, it would enable me to choose with my eyes open, – and I should make a good husband in spit
e of it; but could anyone be in love with me? – that’s the question – With your good looks and powers of fascination,” (he was pleased to say) “I might hope; but as it is, Huntingdon, do you think anybody would take me – ruined and wretched as I am?”
‘“Yes, certainly.”
‘“Who?”
‘“Why, any neglected old maid, fast sinking in despair, would be delighted to –”
‘“No, no,” said he – “it must be somebody that I can love.”
‘“Why, you just said you never could be in love again?”
‘“Well, love is not the word, – but somebody that I can like – I’ll search all England through, at all events!” he cried, with a sudden burst of hope, or desperation. “Succeed or fail, it will be better than rushing headlong to destruction at that d—d club: so farewell to it and you. Whenever I meet you on honest ground or under a Christian roof, I shall be glad to see you; but never more shall you entice me to that devil’s den!”
‘This was shameful language, but I shook hands with him, and we parted. He kept his word; and from that time forward, he has been a pattern of propriety, as far as I can tell; but, till lately, I have not had very much to do with him. He occasionally sought my company but as frequently shrunk from it, fearing lest I should wile him back to destruction, and I found his not very entertaining, especially, as he sometimes attempted to awaken my conscience and draw me from the perdition he considered himself to have escaped; but when I did happen to meet him, I seldom failed to ask after the progress of his matrimonial efforts and researches, and, in general he could give me but a poor account The mothers were repelled by his empty coffers and his reputation for gambling, and the daughters by his cloudy brow and melancholy temper, – besides, he didn’t understand them; he wanted the spirit and assurance to carry his point.
‘I left him at it when I went to the continent; and on my return, at the year’s end, I found him still a disconsolate bachelor – though, certainly, looking somewhat less like an unblest exile from the tomb than before. The young ladies had ceased to be afraid of him, and were beginning to think him quite interesting; but the mammas were still unrelenting. It was about this time, Helen, that my good angel brought me into conjunction with you; and then I had eyes and ears for nobody else. But meantime, Lowborough became acquainted with our charming friend, Miss Wilmot – through the intervention of bis good angel, no doubt he would tell you, though he did not dare to fix his hopes on one so courted and admired, till after they were brought into closer contact here at Staningley, and she, in the absence of her other admirers, indubitably courted his notice and held out every encouragement to his timid advances. Then indeed, he began to hope for a dawn of brighter days; and if for a while I darkened his prospects by standing between him and his sun – and so, nearly plunged him again into the abyss of despair – it only intensified his ardour and strengthened his hopes when I chose to abandon the field in the pursuit of a brighter treasure. In a word, as I told you, he is fairly besotted. At first, he could dimly perceive her faults, and they gave him considerable uneasiness; but now his passion and her art together have blinded him to everything but her perfections and his amazing good fortune. Last night, he came to me brimful of his new-found felicity:
‘“Huntingdon, I am not a castaway!”19 said he, seizing my hand and squeezing it like a vice. “There is happiness in store for me, yet – even in this life – she loves me!”
‘“Indeed!” said I. “Has she told you so?”
‘“No, but I can no longer doubt it. Do you not see how pointedly kind and affectionate she is? And she knows the utmost extent of my poverty, and cares nothing about it! She knows all the folly and all the wickedness of my former life, and is not afraid to trust me – and my rank and title are no allurements to her; for them, she utterly disregards. She is the most generous, high-minded being that can be conceived of. She will save me, body and soul, from destruction. Already, she has ennobled me in my own estimation, and made me three times better, wiser, greater than I was. Oh! if I had but known her before, how much degradation and misery I should have been spared! But what have I done to deserve so magnificent a creature?”
‘And the cream of the jest,’ continued Mr Huntingdon, laughing, ‘is that the artful minx loves nothing about him, but his title and pedigree, and “that delightful old family seat.” ‘
‘How do you know?’ said I.
‘She told me so herself; she said, “as for the man himself, I thoroughly despise him; but then, I suppose, it is time to be making my choice, and if I waited for someone capable of eliciting my esteem and affection, I should have to pass my life in single blessedness, for I detest you all!” Ha, ha! I suspect she was wrong there; – but however, it is evident she has no love for him, poor fellow.’
‘Then you ought to tell him so.’
‘What, and spoil all her plans and prospects, poor girl? No, no: that would be a breach of confidence, wouldn’t it Helen? Ha, ha! Besides, it would break his heart’ And he laughed again.
‘Well, Mr Huntingdon, I don’t know what you see so amazingly diverting in the matter, I see nothing to laugh at’
‘I’m laughing at you, just now love,’ said he, redoubling his cachinnations.
And, leaving him to enjoy his merriment alone, I touched Ruby with the whip, and cantered on to rejoin our companions; for we had been walking our horses all this time, and were consequently a long way behind. Arthur was soon at my side again; but, not disposed to talk to him, I broke into a gallop. He did the same: and we did not slacken our pace till we came up with Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough, which was within half a mile of the park gates. I avoided all further conversation with him, till we came to the end of our ride, when I meant to jump off my horse and vanish into the house, before he could offer his assistance; but while I was disengaging my habit from the crutch, he lifted me off, and held me by both hands, asserting that he would not let me go till I had forgiven him.
‘I have nothing to forgive,’ said I. ‘You have not injured me?.
‘No, darling – God forbid that I should! – but you are angry, because it was to me that Annabella confessed her lack of esteem for her lover.’
‘No, Arthur, it is not that that displeases me: it is the whole system of your conduct towards your friend; and if you wish me to forget it, go, now, and tell him what sort of a woman it is, that he adores so madly, and on whom he has hung his hopes of future happiness.’
‘I tell you, Helen, it would break his heart – it would be the death of him, – besides being a scandalous trick to poor Annabella. There is no help for him now; he is past praying for. Besides, she may keep up the deception to the end of the chapter, and then he will be just as happy in the illusion as if it were reality; or perhaps, he will only discover his mistake when he has ceased to love her; – and if not, it is much better that the truth should dawn gradually upon him. So now, my angel, I hope I have made out a clear case, and fully convinced you that I cannot make the atonement you require. What other requisition have you to make? Speak, and I will gladly obey.’
‘I have none but this,’ said I, as gravely as before; ‘that, in future, you will never make a jest of the sufferings of others, and always use your influence with your friends for their own advantage against their evil propensities, instead of seconding their evil propensities against themselves.’
‘I will do my utmost,’ said he, ‘to remember and perform the injunction of my angel monitress,’ and after kissing both my gloved hands, he let me go.
When I entered my room, I was surprised to see Annabella Wilmot standing before my toilet-table, composedly surveying her features in the glass, with one hand flirting her gold-mounted whip,20 and the other holding up her long habit.
‘She certainly is a magnificent creature!’ thought I, as I beheld that tall, finely developed figure, and the reflection of the handsome face in the mirror before me, with the glossy dark hair, slightly and not ungracefully disordered by the breezy r
ide, the rich brown complexion glowing with exercise, and the black eyes sparkling with unwonted brilliance. On perceiving me, she turned round exclaiming, with a laugh that savoured more of malice than of mirth, –
‘Why Helen! what have you been doing so long? – I came to tell you my good fortune,’ she continued, regardless of Rachel’s presence. ‘Lord Lowborough has proposed, and I have been graciously pleased to accept him. Don’t you envy me, dear?’
‘No, love,’ said I – ‘or him either,’ I mentally added. ‘And do you like him Annabella?’
‘Like him! yes, to be sure – over head and ears in love!’
‘Well, I hope you’ll make him a good wife.’
‘Thank you, my dear! And what besides do you hope?’
‘I hope you will both love each other, and both be happy.’
‘Thanks; – and I hope you will make a very good wife to Mr Huntingdon!’ said she, with a queenly bow, and retired.
‘Oh, Miss! how could you say so to her?’ cried Rachel.
‘Say what?’ replied I.
‘Why, that you hoped she would make him a good wife – I never heard such a thing!’
‘Because, I do hope it – or rather, I wish it – she’s almost past hope.’
‘Well!’ said she, ‘I’m sure I hope he’ll make her a good husband. They tell queer things about him downstairs. They were saying –’
‘I know Rachel – I’ve heard all about him; but he’s reformed now. And they have no business to tell tales about their masters.’
‘No mum – or else, they have said some things about Mr Huntingdon too.’
‘I won’t hear them, Rachel; they tell lies.’
‘Yes mum,’ said she, quietly, as she went on arranging my hair.
‘Do you believe them, Rachel?’ I asked, after a short pause.
