怀尔德菲尔府的房客 英文版 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
安妮.勃朗特 Anne Bronte
CHAPTER XXXIX Page 2
'I came here to bid farewell to Mrs. Huntingdon, and tell her Imust go to-morrow.'
'Humph! You're mighty sudden in your resolution. What takes youoff so soon, may I ask?'
'Business,' returned he, repelling the other's incredulous sneerwith a glance of scornful defiance.
You did not.' he, turning away.I!
'Very good,' was the reply; and Hargrave walked away. ThereuponMr. Huntingdon, gathering his coat-laps under his arms, and settinghis shoulder against the mantel-piece, turned to me, and,addressing me in a low voice, scarcely above his breath, pouredforth a volley of the vilest and grossest abuse it was possible forthe imagination to conceive or the tongue to utter. I did notattempt to interrupt him; but my spirit kindled within me, and whenhe had done, I replied, 'If your accusation were true, Mr.Huntingdon, how dare you blame me?'
'She's hit it, by Jove!' cried Hattersley, rearing his gun againstthe wall; and, stepping into the room, he took his precious friendby the arm, and attempted to drag him away. 'Come, my lad,' hemuttered; 'true or false, you've no right to blame her, you know,nor him either; after what you said last night. So come along.'
There was something implied here that I could not endure.
'Dare you suspect me, Mr. Hattersley?' said I, almost beside myselfwith fury.
'Nay, nay, I suspect nobody. It's all right, it's all right. Socome along, Huntingdon, you blackguard.'
'She can't deny it!' cried the gentleman thus addressed, grinningin mingled rage and triumph. 'She can't deny it if her lifedepended on it!' and muttering some more abusive language, hewalked into the hall, and took up his hat and gun from the table.
'I scorn to justify myself to you!' said I. 'But you,' turning toHattersley, 'if you presume to have any doubts on the subject, askMr. Hargrave.'
At this they simultaneously burst into a rude laugh that made mywhole frame tingle to the fingers' ends.
'Where is he? I'll ask him myself!' said I, advancing towardsthem.
Suppressing a new burst of merriment, Hattersley pointed to theouter door. It was half open. His brother-in-law was standing onthe front without.
'Mr. Hargrave, will you please to step this way?' said I.
He turned and looked at me in grave surprise.
'Step this way, if you please!' I repeated, in so determined amanner that he could not, or did not choose to resist itsauthority. Somewhat reluctantly he ascended the steps and advanceda pace or two into the hall.
'And tell those gentlemen,' I continued - 'these men, whether ornot I yielded to your solicitations.'
'I don't understand you, Mrs. Huntingdon.'
'You do understand me, sir; and I charge you, upon your honour as agentleman (if you have any), to answer truly. Did I, or did Inot?'
'No,' muttered he, turning away.
'Speak up, sir; they can't hear you. Did I grant your request?
'You did not.'
'No, I'll be sworn she didn't,' said Hattersley, 'or he'd neverlook so black.'
'I'm willing to grant you the satisfaction of a gentleman,Huntingdon,' said Mr. Hargrave, calmly addressing his host, butwith a bitter sneer upon his countenance.
'Go to the deuce!' replied the latter, with an impatient jerk ofthe head. Hargrave withdrew with a look of cold disdain, saying, -'You know where to find me, should you feel disposed to send afriend.'
Muttered oaths and curses were all the answer this intimationobtained.
'Now, Huntingdon, you see!' said Hattersley. 'Clear as the day.'
'I don't care what he sees,' said I, 'or what he imagines; but you,Mr. Hattersley, when you hear my name belied and slandered, willyou defend it?'
'I will.'
I instantly departed and shut myself into the library. What couldpossess me to make such a request of such a man I cannot tell; butdrowning men catch at straws: they had driven me desperate betweenthem; I hardly knew what I said. There was no other to preserve myname from being blackened and aspersed among this nest of booncompanions, and through them, perhaps, into the world; and besidemy abandoned wretch of a husband, the base, malignant Grimsby, andthe false villain Hargrave, this boorish ruffian, coarse and brutalas he was, shone like a glow-worm in the dark, among its fellowworms.
What a scene was this! Could I ever have imagined that I should bedoomed to bear such insults under my own roof - to hear such thingsspoken in my presence; nay, spoken to me and of me; and by thosewho arrogated to themselves the name of gentlemen? And could Ihave imagined that I should have been able to endure it as calmly,and to repel their insults as firmly and as boldly as I had done?A hardness such as this is taught by rough experience and despairalone.
Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as Ipaced to and fro the room, and longed - oh, how I longed - to takemy child and leave them now, without an hour's delay! But it couldnot be; there was work before me: hard work, that must be done.
'Then let me do it,' said I, 'and lose not a moment in vainrepinings and idle chafings against my fate, and those whoinfluence it.'
And conquering my agitation with a powerful effort, I immediatelyresumed my task, and laboured hard all day.
Mr. Hargrave did depart on the morrow; and I have never seen himsince. The others stayed on for two or three weeks longer; but Ikept aloof from them as much as possible, and still continued mylabour, and have continued it, with almost unabated ardour, to thepresent day. I soon acquainted Rachel with my design, confidingall my motives and intentions to her ear, and, much to my agreeablesurprise, found little difficulty in persuading her to enter intomy views. She is a sober, cautious woman, but she so hates hermaster, and so loves her mistress and her nursling, that afterseveral ejaculations, a few faint objections, and many tears andlamentations that I should be brought to such a pass, she applaudedmy resolution and consented to aid me with all her might: on onecondition only: that she might share my exile: otherwise, she wasutterly inexorable, regarding it as perfect madness for me andArthur to go alone. With touching generosity, she modestly offeredto aid me with her little hoard of savings, hoping I would 'excuseher for the liberty, but really, if I would do her the favour toaccept it as a loan, she would be very happy.' Of course I couldnot think of such a thing; but now, thank heaven, I have gathered alittle hoard of my own, and my preparations are so far advancedthat I am looking forward to a speedy emancipation. Only let thestormy severity of this winter weather be somewhat abated, andthen, some morning, Mr. Huntingdon will come down to a solitarybreakfast-table, and perhaps be clamouring through the house forhis invisible wife and child, when they are some fifty miles ontheir way to the Western world, or it may be more: for we shallleave him hours before the dawn, and it is not probable he willdiscover the loss of both until the day is far advanced.
I am fully alive to the evils that may and must result upon thestep I am about to take; but I never waver in my resolution,because I never forget my son. It was only this morning, while Ipursued my usual employment, he was sitting at my feet, quietlyplaying with the shreds of canvas I had thrown upon the carpet; buthis mind was otherwise occupied, for, in a while, he looked upwistfully in my face, and gravely asked, - 'Mamma, why are youwicked?'
'Who told you I was wicked, love?'
'Rachel.'
'No, Arthur, Rachel never said so, I am certain.'
'Well, then, it was papa,' replied he, thoughtfully. Then, after areflective pause, he added, 'At least, I'll tell you how it was Igot to know: when I'm with papa, if I say mamma wants me, or mammasays I'm not to do something that he tells me to do, he alwayssays, "Mamma be damned," and Rachel says it's only wicked peoplethat are damned. So, mamma, that's why I think you must be wicked:and I wish you wouldn't.'
'My dear child, I am not. Those are bad words, and wicked peopleoften say them of others better than themselves. Those wordscannot make people be damned, nor show that they deserve it. Godwill judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others sayabout us. And when you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remembernever to repeat them: it is wicked to say such things of others,not to have them said against you.'
'Then it's papa that's wicked,' said he, ruefully.
'Papa is wrong to say such things, and you will be very wrong toimitate him now that you know better.'
'What is imitate?'
'To do as he does.'
'Does he know better?'
'Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'
'If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'
'I have told him.'
The little moralist paused and pondered. I tried in vain to diverthis mind from the subject.
'I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, 'for Idon't want him to go to hell.' And so saying he burst into tears.
I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter andbecome good before he died -; but is it not time to deliver himfrom such a parent?