17 The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall Abridged By Stephanie Poppins

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is framed as a series of letters from Gilbert Markham to his friend about the events connected with his meeting a mysterious young widow, calling herself Helen Graham. She arrives at Wildfell Hall, an Elizabethan mansion that has been empty for many years, with her young son and a servant.

Contrary to the early 19th-century norms, she pursues an artist's career and makes an income by selling her pictures. Her strict seclusion soon gives rise to gossip in the neighboring village and she becomes a social outcast. Refusing to believe anything scandalous about her, Gilbert befriends her and discovers her past.

In this episode, Helen's young life is revealed.

Transcript

Hello. Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph, A romantic bedtime podcast guaranteed to help you drift off into a calm, Relaxing sleep. Come with me as we travel back to a time long ago where Helen Huntingdon is sacrificing everything she knows in order to protect her son. But before we begin let us take a moment to focus on where we are now. Take a deep breath in through your nose then let it out on a long sigh. That's it. It is time to relax and really let go. Feel your shoulders melt away from your ears as you sink into the support beneath you. Feel the pressure seep away from your cheeks as your breath drops into a natural rhythm. There is nothing you need to be doing right now and nowhere you need to go. We are together and it is time for sleep. The Tenant of Wildfelm Hall by Anne Bronte. Read and abridged by Stephanie Poppins. I continue reading Mrs Markham's letters, Fascinated with every word. Without waiting to be further admonished, She said, I left the room and I went to see Mr Boreham. He was walking up and down the drawing room humming snatches of tunes and nibbling the end of his cane. Mighty young lady, Said he, As he bowed and smirked with great complacency, I have your kind guardian's permission. I know, Sir, Said I, Wishing to shorten the scene as much as possible, But I must beg to decline your offer of marriage. I think we were not made for each other as you yourself would shortly discover if the experiment were tried. I watched him carefully and my aunt was right. It was quite evidence he had little doubt of my acceptance and no idea of a positive denial. He was astounded at such an answer, But too incredulous to be much offended. And after a little humming and hawing, He returned to the attack. I know, My dear, There exists a considerable disparity between us in years, In temperament, And perhaps some other things, But let me assure you I shall not be severe to mark the faults and foibles of a young and ardent nature such as yours. Come now, What do you say? Please speak out at once. I will, But only to repeat what I said before. I'm certain we were not made for each other. You really think so? I do. But you don't know me. You wish for a further acquaintance, A longer time, To. . . No, I don't. I know you as well as ever I shall, And better than you know me, Or you would never dream of uniting yourself to one so incongruous, To one so utterly unsuitable to you in every way. Suffice to say, I found Mr. Boreham very troublesome and very hard to convince I really meant what I said, And really was so obstinate and blind to my own interests that there was no shadow of a chance he or my aunt would ever be able to overcome my objections. Indeed, I'm not sure I succeeded after all. The next day I accompanied my uncle and aunt to a dinner party at Mr. Wilmot's. He had two ladies staying with him, His niece Annabella, A fine dashing girl, Or rather young woman, Of five and twenty, Too great a flirt to be married, According to her own assertion, But greatly admired by the gentleman, And her gentle cousin Millicent Hargrave, Who had taken a violent fancy to me, Mistaking me for something vastly better than I was. In return I was very fond of her. I should entirely exclude poor Millicent in my general aversions against the ladies of my acquaintance. But it was not on her account or her cousin's that I'd mention the party. It was for the sake of another of Mr. Wilmot's guests, To wit, Mr. Huntington. I have a good reason to remember his presence there, For this was the last time I saw him. He did not sit near me at dinner. And what a tiresome custom that is, By the by! If the gentleman must lead the ladies into the dining-room, Why cannot they take those they like best? I'm not sure, However, Mr. Huntington would have taken me, If he had been at liberty to make his own selection. It's quite possible he might have chosen Miss Wilmot, For she seemed bent upon engrossing his attention to herself, And he seemed nothing loath to pay the homage she demanded. I thought so, At least, When I saw how they talked and laughed and glanced across the table, To the neglect and evident umbrage of their respective neighbours. And afterwards, As the gentleman joined us in the drawing-room, When she, Immediately upon his entrance, Loudly called upon him to be the arbiter of a dispute between herself and another lady, And he answered the summons with alacrity. I sat with Millicent Hargrave at the opposite end of the room, Looking over the latter's drawings and aiding her with my critical observations and advice. But in spite of my efforts to remain composed, My attention wandered from the drawings to the merry group, And against my better judgment my wrath rose, And doubtless my countenance lowered, For Millicent, Observing I must be tired of her daubs and scratches, Begged I would join the company now, And defer the examination of the remainder to another opportunity. But while I was assuring her I had no wish to join them, And was not tired, Mr Huntington himself came up to the little round table at which we sat. "'Are these yours? ' said he, Carelessly taking up one of the drawings. "'No, They're Miss Hargrave's. ' "'Oh, Well, Let's have a look at them. ' And regardless of Miss Hargrave's protestations that they were not worth looking at, Mr Huntington drew a chair to my side, And receiving the drawings one by one from my hand, Successively scanned them over and threw them on the table, But said not a word about them, Though he was talking all the time. I don't know what Millicent Hargrave thought of such conduct, But I found his conversation extremely interesting, Though as I afterwards discovered when I came to analyse it, It was chiefly confined to quizzing the different members of the company present, And albeit he made some clever remarks and some excessively droll ones, I do not think the whole would appear anything very particular if written here, Without the aids of a look, Tone and gesture, And that ineffable but indefinite charm which cast a halo over all he said and did, And which would have made it a delight to look in his face and hear the music of his voice if he had been talking positive nonsense. And which, Moreover, Made me feel so bitter against my aunt when she put a stop to this enjoyment by coming composedly forward under pretence of wishing to see the drawings, That she cared and knew nothing about, While making believe to examine them, Addressing herself to Mr Huntington with one of her coldest and most repellent aspects, And beginning a series of the most commonplace and formidably formal questions, On purpose to wrest his attention from me, On purpose to vex me as I thought. Having now looked through the portfolio, I led them to their tête-à-tête and seated myself on a sofa, Quite apart from the company. But I was not left alone long, For Mr Wilmot, Of all the men the least welcome, Took advantage of my isolated position to come and plant himself beside me. I had flattered myself I had so effectually repulsed his advances on all former occasions, I had nothing more to apprehend from his unfortunate predilection. But, As it seems, I was mistaken, So great was his confidence, Either in his wealth or his remaining powers of attraction, And so firm his conviction of feminine weakness, That he thought himself warranted to return to the siege. I abhorred him at that moment. I did not like to treat him with rudeness, As I was now his guest and had just been enjoying his hospitality. So, In consequence, He waxed more forcibly tender and more repulsively warm, And I was driven to the very verge of desperation and about to say, I know not what, When I felt my hand, That hung over the arm of the sofa, Suddenly taken by another and gently but fervently pressed. Instinctively I guessed who it was, And on looking up was less surprised than delighted, To see Mr Huntington smiling down upon me. It was like turning from some purgatorial fiend to an angel of light, Come to announce the season of torment was past. Helen, Said he. He frequently called me Helen and I never resented it. I want you to look at this picture. Mr Wilmot will excuse you for a moment, I'm sure. I rose with alacrity. He drew my arm within his and led me across the room to a splendid painting of Van Dyck's I had noticed before, But not sufficiently examined. After a moment of silent contemplation, I was beginning to comment on its beauties and peculiarities, When playfully pressing the hand he still retained within his arm, He interrupted me with, Never mind the picture, It was not for that I brought you here, It was to get you away from that scoundrelly old profligate yonder, Who is looking as if he would like to challenge me for the affront. I'm very much obliged to you, Said I, This is twice you've delivered me from such unpleasant companionship. Don't be too thankful, He answered, It's not all kindness to you, It's partly from a feeling to spite your tormentors that makes me delighted to do the old fellows a bad turn. Although I don't think I have any reason to dread them as rivals, Have I, Helen? You know I detest them both. And me? I have no reason to detest you. But what are your sentiments towards me? Helen, Speak, How do you regard me? Again he pressed my hand, But I fear there was more of conscious power than tenderness in his demeanour, And I felt he had no right to extort a confession of attachment from me, When he had made no correspondent a vowel himself, And I knew not what to answer. At last I said, How do you regard me? Sweet angel, I adore you. Helen, I want you a moment, Said the distinct low voice of my aunt close beside us, And I left Mr Huntington, Uttering maledictions against his evil angel. Well, Aunt, What is it? What do you want? Said I, Following her to the window. I want you to join the company when you're fit to be seen, Returned she, Severely regarding me. But please do stay here a little till that shocking colour is somewhat abated, And your eyes have recovered something of their natural expression. I should be ashamed for anyone to see you in your present state. Of course such a remark had no effect in reducing the shocking colour. On the contrary, I felt my face glow with redoubled fires, Kindled by a complication of emotions, Of which indignant swelling anger was the chief. I offered no reply, However, But pushed aside the curtain and looked into the night. Was Mr Huntington proposing to you, Helen? Inquired my too watchful relative. No. What was he saying then? I heard something very like it. I don't know what he would have said if you hadn't interrupted him. And would you have accepted him, Helen, If he had proposed? Of course not, Without consulting Uncle and you. Oh, I am glad, My dear. You have so much prudence left. Well now, She added after a moment's pause, You have made yourself conspicuous enough for one evening. The ladies are directing inquiring glances towards us at this moment, I see. I shall join them. Do you come too, When you're sufficiently composed to appear as usual? I am so now. Speak gently then and don't look so malicious, Said my calm but provoking art. We shall return home shortly and then, She added with solemn significance, I have much to say to you. I went home prepared for a formidable lecture. Little was said by either part in the carriage during our short transit. But when I entered my room and had thrown myself into an easy chair to reflect on the events of the day, My aunt followed me thither. And having dismissed Rachel, Who was carefully stowing away my ornaments, Closed the door. And placing a chair beside me, She sat down. With due deference, I offered her my more commodious seat. She declined it, And thus opened the conference. Do you remember, Helen, Our conversation the night but one before we left Stanningley? Yes, Aunt. And do you remember how I warned you against letting your heart be stolen from you by those unworthy of its possession? Yes, But my reason? Pardon me, And do you remember assuring me there was no occasion for uneasiness on your account? For you should never be tempted to marry a man who was deficient in sense or principle, However handsome or charming he might be. Yes, But. . . And did you not say your affection must be founded on approbation? And unless you could approve and honour and respect, You could not love? Yes, But I do approve and honour and respect. How so, My dear? Is Mr. Huntington a good man? He's a much better man than you think him. That is nothing to the purpose. Is he a good man? In some respects, He has a good disposition. Is he a man of principle? Perhaps not exactly, But it's only for want of thought if he had someone to advise him and remind him of what was right. He would soon learn, You think, And you yourself would willingly undertake to be his teacher. But, My dear, He is, I believe, Four ten years older than you. How is it that you are so beforehand in moral acquaintance? Thanks to you, Aunt, I've been well brought up and had good examples always before me, Which he most likely has not. And besides, He's of a sanguine temperament and a gay thoughtless temper, And I'm naturally inclined to reflection. Well, Now, You've made him out to be deficient in both sense and principle by your own confession. Then my sense and principle are at his service. That sounds presumptuous, Helen. Do you think you have enough of both? And do you imagine your merry thoughtless profligate would allow himself to be guided by a young girl like you? No, I should not wish to guide him, But I think I might have influence sufficient to save him from some errors. Sometimes, He says, If he had me always by his side, He should never do or say a wicked thing, And that a little dainty talk with me would make him quite a saint. Do you still think that may be the truth? If I do think there's any mixture of truth in it, It's not from confidence in my own powers, But in his natural goodness. And you've no right to call him a profligate, Aunt. He's nothing of the kind. Who told you so, My dear? What was that story about his intrigue with a married lady? Who was it? Miss Wilmot herself was telling you the other day. It was false, False, I cried. I don't believe a word of it. You think then that Mr. Huntington is a virtuous, Well-conducted young man? I know nothing positive respecting his character. I only know I've heard nothing definitive against it. And until people can prove their slanderous accusations, I will not believe them. If he has committed errors, They're only such as common to youth, Such as nobody thinks anything about. For I see that everybody likes him, And all the mamas smile upon him, And their daughters and Miss Wilmot herself are only too glad to attract his attention. Helen, The world may look upon such offences as venial. A few unprincipled mothers may be anxious to catch a young man of fortune without reference to his character. And thoughtless girls may be glad to win the smiles of someone so handsome. But you, I trusted you were better informed than to see with their eyes and judge with their perverted judgment. I did not think you would call these venial errors. Nor do I, Aunt. But if I hate the sins, I love the sinner, And I would do much for his salvation, Even supposing your suspicions to be mainly true, Which I do not, And I will not, Believe. Well, My dear, Ask your uncle what sort of company he keeps, And if he's not banded with a sense of loose, Profligate young men whom he calls his friends, Whose chief delight is to wallow in vice and vie with each other who can run fastest and farthest down the headlong road to the place prepared for the devil and his angels. Oh, Helen, You little know the misery of uniting your fortunes to such a man. I have such confidence in him, Aunt, Notwithstanding all you say, I'd certainly risk my happiness for the chance of securing his. And here the conversation ended, For at this juncture, My uncle's voice was heard from his chamber, Loudly calling upon my aunt to come to bed. He was in a bad humor that night, For his gut was worse. It had been gradually increasing upon him ever since we came to town, And my aunt took advantage of the circumstance next morning to persuade him to return to the country immediately, Without waiting for the close of the season. My aunt, Indeed, Flatters herself. I shall soon forget Mr. Huntingdon. Perhaps she thinks I've forgotten him already, For I never mention his name, And she may continue to think so till we meet again. If that ever should be, I wonder if it will. I wonder if it will.

Reviews

Interesting… trying to imagine the next… thank you!❤️🙏🏼