The Tenant of Wildfell Hall Anne BrontĂ« (librera reader .txt) đ
- Author: Anne Brontë
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But most of all, at night, when I enter my lonely chamber, and look out upon the summer moon, âsweet regent of the sky,â floating above me in the âblack blue vault of heaven,â shedding a flood of silver radiance over park, and wood, and water, so pure, so peaceful, so divineâ âand think, Where is he now?â âwhat is he doing at this moment? wholly unconscious of this heavenly sceneâ âperhaps revelling with his boon companions, perhapsâ âGod help me, it is tooâ âtoo much!
23rd.â âThank heaven, he is come at last! But how altered! flushed and feverish, listless and languid, his beauty strangely diminished, his vigour and vivacity quite departed. I have not upbraided him by word or look; I have not even asked him what he has been doing. I have not the heart to do it, for I think he is ashamed of himselfâ âhe must be so indeed, and such inquiries could not fail to be painful to both. My forbearance pleases himâ âtouches him even, I am inclined to think. He says he is glad to be home again, and God knows how glad I am to get him back, even as he is. He lies on the sofa, nearly all day long; and I play and sing to him for hours together. I write his letters for him, and get him everything he wants; and sometimes I read to him, and sometimes I talk, and sometimes only sit by him and soothe him with silent caresses. I know he does not deserve it; and I fear I am spoiling him; but this once, I will forgive him, freely and entirely. I will shame him into virtue if I can, and I will never let him leave me again.
He is pleased with my attentionsâ âit may be, grateful for them. He likes to have me near him: and though he is peevish and testy with his servants and his dogs, he is gentle and kind to me. What he would be, if I did not so watchfully anticipate his wants, and so carefully avoid, or immediately desist from doing anything that has a tendency to irritate or disturb him, with however little reason, I cannot tell. How intensely I wish he were worthy of all this care! Last night, as I sat beside him, with his head in my lap, passing my fingers through his beautiful curls, this thought made my eyes overflow with sorrowful tearsâ âas it often does; but this time, a tear fell on his face and made him look up. He smiled, but not insultingly.
âDear Helen!â he saidâ ââwhy do you cry? you know that I love youâ (and he pressed my hand to his feverish lips), âand what more could you desire?â
âOnly, Arthur, that you would love yourself as truly and as faithfully as you are loved by me.â
âThat would be hard, indeed!â he replied, tenderly squeezing my hand.
August 24th.â âArthur is himself again, as lusty and reckless, as light of heart and head as ever, and as restless and hard to amuse as a spoilt child, and almost as full of mischief too, especially when wet weather keeps him within doors. I wish he had something to do, some useful trade, or profession, or employmentâ âanything to occupy his head or his hands for a few hours a day, and give him something besides his own pleasure to think about. If he would play the country gentleman and attend to the farmâ âbut that he knows nothing about, and wonât give his mind to considerâ âor if he would take up with some literary study, or learn to draw or to playâ âas he is so fond of music, I often try to persuade him to learn the piano, but he is far too idle for such an undertaking: he has no more idea of exerting himself to overcome obstacles than he has of restraining his natural appetites; and these two things are the ruin of him. I lay them both to the charge of his harsh yet careless father, and his madly indulgent mother.â âIf ever I am a mother I will zealously strive against this crime of overindulgence. I can hardly give it a milder name when I think of the evils it brings.
Happily, it will soon be the shooting season, and then, if the weather permit, he will find occupation enough in the pursuit and destruction of the partridges and pheasants: we have no grouse, or he might have been similarly occupied at this moment, instead of lying under the acacia-tree pulling poor Dashâs ears. But he says it is
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