The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (Penguin Classics) - Softcover

Bronte, Anne

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0140434747 ISBN 13: 9780140434743

Publisher: Penguin Classics, 1996

Synopsis

A powerful depiction of a woman's fight for domestic independence and creative freedom, from the youngest of the Brontė sisters

Gilbert Markham is deeply intrigued by Helen Graham, a beautiful and secretive young woman who has moved into nearby Wildfell Hall with her young son. He is quick to offer Helen his friendship, but when her reclusive behaviour becomes the subject of local gossip and speculation, Gilbert begins to wonder whether his trust in her has been misplaced. It is only when she allows Gilbert to read her diary that the truth is revealed and the shocking details of the disastrous marriage she has left behind emerge. Told with great immediacy, combined with wit and irony, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is a powerful depiction of a woman's fight for domestic independence and creative freedom.

This Penguin Classics edition of Anne Brontė's The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, her groundbreaking study of a woman's valiant struggle for independence from an abusive husband, is edited with an introduction and notes by Stevie Davis. In her introduction Davies discusses The Tenant of Wildfell Hall as feminist testament, inspired by Anne Brontė's experiences as a governess and by the death of her brother Branwell Brontė, and examines the novel's language, biblical references and narrative styles.

For more than seventy years, Penguin has been the leading publisher of classic literature in the English-speaking world. With more than 1,700 titles, Penguin Classics represents a global bookshelf of the best works throughout history and across genres and disciplines. Readers trust the series to provide authoritative texts enhanced by introductions and notes by distinguished scholars and contemporary authors, as well as up-to-date translations by award-winning translators.

About this title

About the Author

Anne Brontė (1820-1849), youngest of the Bronte sisters, was born at Thornton, West Yorkshire. Her father was a curate, and her mother died when she was a baby, leaving five daughters and one son. After the death of her sisters Maria and Elizabeth from tuberculosis in 1825, the Brontė children were homeschooled, and together they created fantasy worlds and kingdoms which they explored in writing. Anne worked as a governess between 1840 and 1845, after which she published Agnes Grey (1847) and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (1848) under the pen-name Acton Bell. Anne Brontė died in 1849.

From the Back Cover

The mysterious new tenant of Wildfell Hall is a strong-minded woman who keeps her own counsel. Helen 'Graham' - exiled with her child to the desolate moorland mansion, adopting an assumed name and earning her living as a painter - has returned to Wildfell Hall in flight from a disastrous marriage. Narrated by her neighbour Gilbert Markham, and in the pages of her own diary, the novel portrays Helen's eloquent struggle for independence at a time when the law and society defined a married woman as her husband's property.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

By Anne Bronte

Penguin Books

Copyright © 1996 Anne Bronte
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0140434747

Chapter One

You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.

My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in ?shire; andI, by his express desire, succeeded him in the same quiet occupation,not very willingly, for ambition urged me to higher aims, andself-conceit assured me that, in disregarding its voice, I was buryingmy talent in the earth, and hiding my light under a bushel. My motherhad done her utmost to persuade me that I was capable of greatachievements; but my father, who thought ambition was the surest road toruin, and change but another word for destruction, would listen to noscheme for bettering either my own condition or that of my fellowmortals. He assured me it was all rubbish, and exhorted me, with hisdying breath, to continue in the good old way, to follow his steps, andthose of his father before him, and let my highest ambition be, to walkhonestly through the world, looking neither to the right hand nor to theleft, and to transmit the paternal acres to my children in, at least, asflourishing a condition as he left them to me.

"Well! ? an honest and industrious farmer is one of the most usefulmembers of society; and if I devote my talents to the cultivation of myfarm, and the improvement of agriculture in general, I shall therebybenefit, not only my own immediate connections and dependants, but, insome degree, mankind at large: hence I shall not have lived in vain."

With such reflections as these, I was endeavouring to console myself, asI plodded home from the fields, one cold, damp, cloudy evening towardsthe close of October. But the gleam of a bright red fire through theparlour window had more effect in cheering my spirits, and rebuking mythankless repinings, than all the sage reflections and good resolutionsI had forced my mind to frame; for I was young then, remember? onlyfour-and-twenty ? and had not acquired half the rule over my own spiritthat I now possess ? trifling as that may be.

However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till I had exchanged mymiry boots for a clean pair of shoes, and my rough surtout for arespectable coat, and made myself generally presentable before decentsociety; for my mother, with all her kindness, was vastly particular oncertain points.

In ascending to my room, I was met upon the stairs by a smart, prettygirl of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy figure, a round face, bright,blooming cheeks, glossy, clustering curls, and little merry brown eyes.I need not tell you this was my sister Rose. She is, I know, a comelymatron still, and, doubtless, no less lovely ? in your eyes ? than onthe happy day you first beheld her. Nothing told me then that she, a fewyears hence, would be the wife of one entirely unknown to me as yet, butdestined, hereafter, to become a closer friend than even herself, moreintimate than that unmannerly lad of seventeen, by whom I was collaredin the passage, on coming down, and well-nigh jerked off my equilibrium,and who, in correction for his impudence, received a resounding whackover the sconce, which, however, sustained no serious injury from theinfliction; as, besides being more than commonly thick, it was protectedby a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that my mother calledauburn.

On entering the parlour, we found that honoured lady seated in herarm-chair at the fireside, working away at her knitting, according toher usual custom, when she had nothing else to do. She had swept thehearth, and made a bright blazing fire for our reception; the servanthad just brought in the tea-tray; and Rose was producing the sugar-basinand tea-caddy from the cupboard in the black oak sideboard, that shonelike polished ebony in the cheerful parlour twilight.

"Well! here they both are," cried my mother, looking round upon uswithout retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glitteringneedles. "Now shut the door, and come to the fire, while Rose gets thetea ready; I'm sure you must be starved, ? and tell me what you've beenabout all day. I like to know what my children have been about."

"I've been breaking in the grey colt ? no easy business that?directing the ploughing of the last wheat stubble ? for the plough-boyhas not the sense to direct himself ? and carrying out a plan for theextensive and efficient draining of the low meadowlands."

"That's my brave boy! ? and Fergus, what have you been doing?"

"Badger-baiting."

And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport, and therespective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs; mymother pretending to listen with deep attention, and watching hisanimated countenance with a degree of maternal admiration I thoughthighly disproportioned to its object.

"It's time you should be doing something else, Fergus," said I, as soonas a momentary pause in his narration allowed me to get in a word.

"What can I do?" replied he; "my mother won't let me go to sea or enterthe army; and I'm determined to do nothing else ? except make myselfsuch a nuisance to you all that you will be thankful to get rid of me onany terms."

Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled, andtried to look sulky, and then we all took our seats at the table inobedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.

"Now take your tea," said she; "and I'll tell you what I've been doing.I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand pities you didn'tgo with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there!"

"Well! what of her?"

"Oh, nothing! ? I'm not going to tell you about her; ? only that she'sa nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour, and Ishouldn't mind calling her?"

"Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!" whispered mymother earnestly, holding up her finger.

"Well," resumed Rose; "I was going to tell you an important piece ofnews I heard there ? I've been bursting with it ever since. You know itwas reported a month ago that somebody was going to take Wildfell Hall? and ? what do you think? It has actually been inhabited above aweek! ? and we never knew!"

"Impossible!" cried my mother.

"Preposterous!!!" shrieked Fergus.

"It has indeed! ? and by a single lady!"

"Good gracious, my dear, the place is in ruins!"

"She has had two or three rooms made habitable; and there she lives, allalone ? except an old woman for a servant!"

"Oh, dear! ? that spoils it ? I'd hoped she was a witch," observedFergus, while carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.

"Nonsense, Fergus! But isn't it strange, mamma?"

"Strange! I can hardly believe it."

"But you may believe it; for Jane Wilson has seen her. She went with hermother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being in theneighbourhood, would be on pins and needles till she had seen her andgot all she could out of her. She is called Mrs. Graham, and she is inmourning ? not widow's weeds, but slightish mourning ? and she isquite young, they say ? not above five or six and twenty ? but soreserved! They tried all they could to find out who she was, and whereshe came from, and all about her, but neither Mrs. Wilson, with herpertinacious and impertinent home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with herskilful maneuvering, could manage to elicit a single satisfactoryanswer, or even a casual remark, or chance expression calculated toallay their curiosity, or throw the faintest ray of light upon herhistory, circumstances, or connections. Moreover, she was barely civilto them, and evidently better pleased to say 'good-bye' than 'how do youdo.' But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon,to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though sheis known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, she did notmake her appearance at church on Sunday; and she ? Eliza, that is ?will beg to accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in wheedlingsomething out of her ? you know, Gilbert, she can do anything. And weshould call some time, mamma; it's only proper, you know."

"Of course, my dear. Poor thing! how lonely she must feel!"

"And pray, be quick about it; and mind you bring me word how much sugarshe puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons she wears, and allabout it; for I don't know how I can live till I know," said Fergus,very gravely.

But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a master-stroke of wit, hesignally failed, for nobody laughed. However, he was not muchdisconcerted at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread andbutter, and was about to swallow a gulp of tea, the humour of the thingburst upon him with such irresistible force, that he was obliged to jumpup from the table and rush snorting and choking from the room, and, aminute after, was heard screaming in fearful agony in the garden.

As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently demolishingthe tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sister went on talking, andcontinued to discuss the apparent or nonapparent circumstances, andprobable or improbable history of the mysterious lady; but I mustconfess that, after my brother's misadventure, I once or twice raisedthe cup to my lips, and put it down again without daring to taste thecontents, lest I should injure my dignity by a similar explosion.

The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to thefair recluse; and came back but little wiser than they went; though mymother declared she did not regret the journey, for if she had notgained much good, she flattered herself she had imparted some, and thatwas better: she had given some useful advice, which, she hoped, wouldnot be thrown away; for Mrs. Graham, though she said little to anypurpose, and appeared somewhat self-opinionated, seemed not incapable ofreflection ? though she did not know where she had been all her life,poor thing, for she betrayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points,and had not even the sense to be ashamed of it.

"On what points, mother?" asked I.

"On household matters, and all the little niceties of cookery, and suchthings, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she berequired to make a practical use of her knowledge or not. I gave hersome useful pieces of information, however, and several excellentreceipts, the value of which she evidently could not appreciate, for shebegged I would not trouble myself, as she lived in such a plain, quietway, that she was sure she should never make use of them. 'No matter, mydear,' said I; 'it is what every respectable female ought to know; andbesides, though you are alone now, you will not be always so; you havebeen married, and probably ? I might say almost certainly ? will beagain.' 'You are mistaken there, ma'am,' said she, almost haughtily; 'Iam certain I never shall.' But I told her I knew better."

"Some romantic young widow, I suppose," said I, "come there to end herdays in solitude, and mourn in secret for the dear departed ? but itwon't last long."

"No, I think not," observed Rose; "for she didn't seem very disconsolateafter all; and she's excessively pretty ? handsome rather ? you mustsee her, Gilbert; you will call her a perfect beauty, though you couldhardly pretend to discover a resemblance between her and ElizaMillward."

"Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, though notmore charming. I allow she has small claims to perfection; but then, Imaintain that, if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting."

"And so you prefer her faults to other people's perfections?"

"Just so ? saving my mother's presence."

"Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk! I know you don't mean it;it's quite out of the question," said my mother, getting up and bustlingout of the room, under pretence of household business, in order toescape the contradiction that was trembling on my tongue.

After that, Rose favoured me with further particulars respecting Mrs.Graham. Her appearance, manners, and dress, and the very furniture ofthe room she inhabited, were all set before me, with rather moreclearness and precision than I cared to see them; but, as I was not avery attentive listener, I could not repeat the description if I would.

The next day was Saturday; and, on Sunday, everybody wondered whether ornot the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's remonstrance and cometo church. I confess, I looked with some interest myself towards the oldfamily pew, appertaining to Wildfell Hall, where the faded crimsoncushions and lining had been unpressed and unrenewed so many years, andthe grim escutcheons, with their lugubrious borders of rusty blackcloth, frowned so sternly from the wall above.

And there I beheld a tall, ladylike figure, clad in black. Her face wastowards me, and there was something in it, which, once seen, invited meto look again. Her hair was raven black, and disposed in long glossyringlets, a style of coiffure rather unusual in those days, but alwaysgraceful and becoming; her complexion was clear and pale; her eyes Icould not see, for being bent upon her prayer-book they were concealedby their drooping lids and long black lashes, but the brows above wereexpressive and well defined; the forehead was lofty, and intellectual,the nose a perfect aquiline, and the features, in general,unexceptionable ? only there was a slight hollowness about the cheeksand eyes, and the lips, though finely formed, were a little too thin, alittle too firmly compressed, and had something about them thatbetokened, I thought, no very soft or amiable temper; and I said in myheart:

"I would rather admire you from this distance, fair lady, than be thepartner of your home."

Just then she happened to raise her eyes, and they met mine; I did notchoose to withdraw my gaze, and she turned again to her book, but with amomentary, indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that was inexpressiblyprovoking to me.

"She thinks me an impudent puppy," thought I. "Humph! ? she shallchange her mind before long, if I think it worth while."

But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughts for aplace of worship, and that my behaviour, on the present occasion, wasanything but what it ought to be. Previous, however, to directing mymind to the service, I glanced round the church to see if anyone hadbeen observing me; but no ? all, who were not attending to theirprayer-books, were attending to the strange lady ? my good mother andsister among the rest, and Mrs. Wilson and her daughter; and even ElizaMillward was slily glancing from the corners of her eyes towards theobject of general attraction. Then she glanced at me, simpered a little,and blushed, modestly looked at her prayer-book, and endeavoured tocompose her features.

Here I was transgressing again; and this time I was made sensible of itby a sudden dig in the ribs, from the elbow of my pert brother. For thepresent, I could only resent the insult by pressing my foot upon histoes, deferring further vengeance till we got out of church.

Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who ElizaMillward was; she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very engaginglittle creature, for whom I felt no small degree of partiality; and sheknew it, though I had never come to any direct explanation, and had nodefinite intention of so doing, for my mother, who maintained there wasno one good enough for me within twenty miles round, could not bear thethoughts of my marrying that insignificant little thing, who, inaddition to her numerous other disqualifications, had not twenty poundsto call her own. Eliza's figure was at once slight and plump, her facesmall, and nearly as round as my sister's ? complexion, somethingsimilar to hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming ? nose,retroussé ? features, generally irregular; and, altogether, shewas rather charming than pretty. But her eyes ? I must not forget thoseremarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay ? in outwardaspect at least; they were long and narrow in shape, the iris black, orvery dark brown, the expression various, and ever changing, but alwayseither preternaturally ? I had almost said diabolically ? wicked, orirresistibly bewitching ? often both. Her voice was gentle andchildish, her tread light and soft as that of a cat; but her mannersmore frequently resembled those of a pretty, playful kitten, that is nowpert and roguish, now timid and demure, according to its own sweet will.

Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several inches taller, and ofa larger, coarser build ? a plain, quiet, sensible girl, who hadpatiently nursed their mother through her last long, tedious illness,and been the housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence to the presenttime. She was trusted and valued by her father, loved and courted by alldogs, cats, children, and poor people, and slighted and neglected byeverybody else.

The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous, elderlygentleman, who placed a shovel-hat above his large, square,massive-featured face, carried a stout walking-stick in his hand, andencased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters ? orblack silk stockings on state occasions. He was a man of fixedprinciples, strong prejudices, and regular habits, intolerant of dissentin any shape, acting under a firm conviction that his opinions werealways right, and whoever differed from them must be either mostdeplorably ignorant, or wilfully blind.

In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a feelingof reverential awe ? but lately, even now, surmounted, for, though hehad a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was a strictdisciplinarian, and had often sternly reproved our juvenile failings andpeccadilloes; and moreover, in those days whenever he called upon ourparents, we had to stand up before him, and say our catechism, or repeat"How doth the little busy bee," or some other hymn, or ? worse thanall ? be questioned about his last text, and the heads of thediscourse, which we never could remember. Sometimes the worthy gentlemanwould reprove my mother for being over indulgent to her sons, with areference to old Eli, or David and Absalom, which was particularlygalling to her feelings; and, very highly as she respected him and allhis sayings, I once heard her exclaim, "I wish to goodness he had a sonhimself! He wouldn't be so ready with his advice to other people then.He'd see what it is to have a couple of boys to keep in order."

He had a laudable care for his own bodily health; kept very early hours,regularly took a walk before breakfast, was vastly particular about warmand dry clothing, had never been known to preach a sermon withoutpreviously swallowing a raw egg ? albeit he was gifted with good lungsand a powerful voice ? and was, generally, extremely particular aboutwhat he ate and drank, though by no means abstemious, and having a modeof dietary peculiar to himself ? being a great despiser of tea and suchslops, and a patron of malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, andother strong meats, which agreed well enough with his digestive organs,and therefore were maintained by him to be good and wholesome foreverybody, and confidently recommended to the most delicateconvalescents or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to derive the promisedbenefit from his prescriptions, were told it was because they had notpersevered, and if they complained of inconvenient results therefrom,were assured it was all fancy.

I will just touch upon two other persons whom I have mentioned, and thenbring this long letter to a close. These are Mrs. Wilson and herdaughter. The former was the widow of a substantial farmer, anarrow-minded, tattling old gossip, whose character is not worthdescribing. She had two sons, Robert, a rough countrified farmer, andRichard, a retiring, studious young man, who was studying the classicswith the vicar's assistance, preparing for college, with a view to enterthe church.

Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents, and more ambition.She had, at her own desire, received a regular boarding-schooleducation, superior to what any member of the family had obtainedbefore. She had taken the polish well, acquired considerable elegance ofmanners, quite lost her provincial accent, and could boast of moreaccomplishments than the vicar's daughters. She was considered a beautybesides; but never for a moment could she number me amongst heradmirers. She was about six-and-twenty, rather tall, and very slender,her hair was neither chestnut nor auburn, but a most decided, bright,light red, her complexion was remarkably fair and brilliant, her headsmall, neck long, chin well turned, but very short, lips thin and red,eyes clear hazel, quick and penetrating, but entirely destitute ofpoetry or feeling. She had, or might have had, many suitors in her ownrank of life, but scornfully repulsed or rejected them all; for none buta gentleman could please her refined taste, and none but a rich onecould satisfy her soaring ambition. One gentleman there was, from whomshe had lately received some rather pointed attentions, and upon whoseheart, name, and fortune, it was whispered, she had serious designs.This was Mr. Lawrence, the young squire, whose family had formerlyoccupied Wildfell Hall, but had deserted it, some fifteen years ago, fora more modern and commodious mansion in the neighbouring parish.

Now, Halford, I bid you adieu for the present. This is the firstinstalment of my debt. If the coin suits you, tell me so, and I'll sendyou the rest at my leisure: if you would rather remain my creditor thanstuff your purse with such ungainly heavy pieces ? tell me still, andI'll pardon your bad taste, and willingly keep the treasure to myself.

Yours, immutably,

GILBERT MARKHAM.

Continues...

Excerpted from The Tenant of Wildfell Hallby Anne Bronte Copyright © 1996 by Anne Bronte. Excerpted by permission.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Penguin Classics
• Publication date: 1996
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0140434747
• ISBN 13: 9780140434743
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 576
• Editor: Davies Stevie