3 The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall

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 chapter, Gilbert Markham listens intently as Mrs Graham visits and speaks to his mother.

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.

Chapter Three A Controversy Two days after Mrs.

Graham called at Linden Car,

Contrary to the expectation of Rose,

Who entertained an idea the mysterious occupant of Wildfelm Hall would wholly disregard the common observations of civilised life,

In which opinion she was supported by the Wilsons,

Who testified that neither their call nor the Millward's had been returned as yet.

Now,

However,

The cause of that omission was explained,

Though not entirely to the satisfaction of Rose.

Mrs.

Graham had brought her child with her and on my mother's expressing surprise he could walk so far,

She replied.

It is a long walk for him,

But I must have either taken him with me or relinquished the visit altogether,

For I never leave him alone.

And I think,

Mrs.

Markham,

I must beg you to make my excuses to the Millwards and Mrs.

Wilson when you see them,

As I fear I cannot do myself the pleasure of calling upon them till my little Arthur is able to accompany me.

But you have a servant,

Said Rose,

Could you not leave him with her?

She has her own occupations to attend to,

And besides she's too old to run after a child,

And he's too mercurial to be tied to an elderly woman.

But you left him to come to church.

Yes,

Once,

But I would not have left him for any other purpose,

And I think in future I must contrive to bring him with me or stay at home.

Is he so mischievous?

Asked my mother,

Considerably shocked.

No,

Replied the lady,

Smiling as she stroked the wavy locks of her son,

Who was seated on a low stool at her feet.

But he is my only treasure and I am his only friend,

So we don't like to be separated.

But my dear,

I call that doting,

Said my plain-spoken parent.

You should try to suppress such foolish folliness as well as to save your son from ruin,

As yourself from ridicule.

Ruin,

Mrs.

Markham?

Yes,

It's spoiling the child.

Even at his age he ought not to be always tied to his mother's apron string.

He should learn to be ashamed of it.

Mrs.

Markham,

I beg you will not say such things in his presence at least.

I trust my son will never be ashamed to love his mother,

Said Mrs.

Graham,

With a serious energy that startled the company.

My mother then attempted to appease her by an explanation,

But she seemed to think enough had been said on the subject and abruptly turned the conversation.

Just as I thought,

Said I to myself,

The lady's temper is none of the mildest,

Notwithstanding her sweet pale face and lofty brow,

Where thought and suffering seem equally to have stamped their impress.

All this time I was seated at a table on the other side of the room,

Apparently immersed in the perusal of a volume of the farmer's magazine,

Which I happened to have been reading at the moment of her visitor's arrival,

And not choosing to be over civil,

I merely bowed as she entered and continued my occupation as before.

In a little while,

However,

I was sensible someone was approaching me with a light but slow and hesitating tread.

It was little Arthur,

Irresistibly attracted by my dog Sancho,

Lying at my feet.

On looking up,

I beheld him standing about two yards off with his clear blue eyes wistfully gazing on the dog.

A little encouragement,

However,

Induced him to come forward.

The child,

Though shy,

Was not sullen.

In a minute he was kneeling on the carpet with his arms round Sancho's neck,

And in a minute or two more,

The little fellow was seated on my knee,

Surveying with eager interest the various specimens of horses,

Cattle,

Pigs and model farms portrayed in the volume before me.

I glanced at his mother now and then to see how she read the newsprung intimacy,

And I saw by the unquiet aspect of her eye,

For some reason or another,

She was uneasy at the child's position.

Arthur,

Said she at length,

Come here,

You're troublesome to Mr.

Markham.

He wishes to read.

By no means,

Mrs.

Graham,

Let him stay.

I'm as much amused as he is,

Pleaded I.

But still with hand and eye,

She silently called him to her side.

No,

Mama,

Said the child,

Let me look at these pictures first,

And then I'll come and I'll tell you all about them.

We are going to have a small party on Monday,

The 5th of November,

Said my mother,

And I hope you will not refuse to make one,

Mrs.

Graham.

You can bring your little boy with you,

You know,

I daresay we shall be able to amuse him,

And you can make your own apologies to the Millwards and Wilsons.

They will all be here,

I expect.

Thank you,

I never go to parties.

Oh,

This will be quite a family concern,

Early hours and nobody here but ourselves,

And just the Millwards and Wilsons,

Most of whom you already know,

And Mr.

Lawrence,

Your landlord,

Whom you ought to make acquaintance with.

I do know something of him,

But you must excuse me this time,

For the evenings now are dark and damp,

And Arthur,

I fear,

Is too delicate to risk exposure to their influence.

We must defer the enjoyment of your hospitality till the return of longer days and warmer nights.

Rose,

Now at a hint from my mother,

Produced a decanter of wine,

With accompaniments of glass and cake,

From the cupboards under the smoked sideboard,

And the refreshment was duly presented to the guests.

They both partook of the cake,

But obstinately refused the wine,

In spite of their hostesses' hospitable attempts to force it upon them.

Arthur actually shrank from the ruby nectar as if in terror and disgust,

And was ready to cry when urged to take it.

Never mind,

Arthur,

Said his mama,

Mrs.

Markham thinks it will do you good,

As you were tired with your walk,

But she will not oblige you to take it.

I dare say you will do very well without.

He detests the very sight of wine,

She added,

And the smell of it almost makes him sick.

I have been accustomed to make him swallow a little wine or weak spirits by way of medicine when he was sick,

And in fact I have done what I could to make him hate them.

Everybody laughed,

Except the young widow and her son.

Well,

Mrs.

Graham,

Said my mother,

Wiping the tears of merriment from her eyes,

You do surprise me.

I really gave you credit for having more sense.

That child will be the veriest milksop that ever was sopped.

Only think of what a man you will make of him if you persist.

I think it a very excellent plan,

Interrupted Mrs.

Graham.

By that means I hope to save him from one degrading vice at least.

I wish I could render the incentives to every other innocuous in his case.

By such means,

Said I,

You will never render him virtuous.

What is it that constitutes virtue,

Mrs.

Graham?

Is it the circumstance of being able and willing to resist temptation,

Or that of having no temptations to resist?

Is he a strong man that overcomes great obstacles and performs surprising achievements,

Though by dint of great muscular exertion,

And at the risk of some subsequent fatigue?

Or he that sits in his chair all day,

With nothing to do more laborious than stirring the fire and carrying his food to his mouth?

If you would have your son walk honourably through the world,

You must not attempt to clear the stones from his path,

But teach him to walk firmly over them,

Not insist upon leading him by the hand,

But let him learn to go alone.

I will lead him by the hand,

Mr.

Markham,

Till he has strength to go alone,

And I will clear as many stones from his path as I can,

And teach him to avoid the rest,

Or walk firmly over them,

As you say.

For when I have done my utmost in the way of clearance,

There will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility,

Steadiness,

And circumspection he'll ever have.

It is all very well to talk about noble resistance and trials of virtue,

But for fifty or five hundred men that have yielded to temptation,

Show me one that has had virtue to resist.

And why should I take it for granted my son will be one in a thousand,

And not rather prepare for the worst?

And suppose he will be like his,

Like the rest of mankind,

Unless I take care to prevent it?

You are very complimentary to us all,

I observed.

I know nothing about you,

She said.

I speak of those I do know,

And when I see the whole race of mankind,

With a few rare exceptions,

Stumbling and blundering upon the path of life,

Sinking into every pitfall and breaking their shins over every impediment that lies in their way,

Shall I not use all the means in my power to ensure for him a smoother and safer passage?

Yes,

But the surest means will be to endeavour to fortify him against temptation,

Not to remove it out of his way.

I will do both,

Mr Markham.

God knows he will have temptations enough,

Both from within and without.

I myself have had indeed but few incentives to what the world calls vice,

But yet I have experienced temptations and trials of another kind,

That have required on many occasions more watchfulness and firmness to resist,

Than I have hitherto been able to muster against them.

And this,

I believe,

Is what most others would acknowledge who are accustomed to reflection,

And wishful to strive against their natural corruptions.

Yes,

Said my mother,

But half apprehending her drift,

But you would not judge of a boy by yourself,

And my dear Mrs Graham,

Let me warn you in good time against the error,

The fatal error,

I may call it,

Of taking the boy's education upon yourself.

Because you are clever in some things,

And well informed,

You may fancy yourself equal to the task,

But indeed you are not,

And if you persist in the attempt,

Believe me,

You will bitterly repent it when the mischief is done.

I am to send him to school,

I suppose,

Said Mrs Graham,

To learn to despise his mother's authority and affection?

Oh no,

But if you would have a boy to despise his mother,

Or let her keep him at home,

And spend her life in petting him up,

And slaving,

To indulge his follies and caprices.

I perfectly agree with you,

Mrs Markham,

But nothing can be further from my principle,

And practice such criminal weakness as that.

Well,

But you will treat him like a girl,

You will spoil his spirit,

Make a mean Nancy of him,

You will indeed,

Mrs Graham,

Whatever you may think.

But I'll get Mr Millward to talk to you about it,

He'll tell you the consequences,

He'll set it off before you as plain as the day,

And tell you what you ought to do.

There's no occasion to trouble the vicar,

Said Mrs Graham,

Glancing at me.

I suppose I was smiling at my mother's unbounded confidence in that worthy gentleman.

Mr Markham here thinks his powers of conviction at least equal to Mr Millward's.

If I hear not him,

Neither should I be convinced through one rose from the dead he would tell you.

Well,

Mr Markham,

You maintain that a boy should not be shielded from evil,

But sent out to battle against it,

Alone and unassisted.

I beg your pardon,

Mrs Graham,

But you get on too fast.

I have not yet said a boy should be taught to rush off into the snares of life,

Or even willfully to seek temptation for the sake of it.

I only say it's better to arm and strengthen your hero than to disarm and enfeeble the foe.

And if you were to rear an oak sapling in a hothouse,

Tending it carefully day and night,

And shielding it from every breath of wind,

You could not expect it to become a hearty tree.

Granted,

But would you use the same argument with regard to a girl,

She said.

Certainly not.

No,

You would have her tenderly and delicately nurtured like a hothouse plant.

But will you be so good as to inform me why you make this distinction?

Is it that you think she has no virtue?

Assuredly not.

Well,

But you affirm virtues only elicited by temptation,

And you think a woman cannot be too little exposed to temptation,

Or too little acquainted with vice.

It must be either that you think she is essentially so vicious,

Or so feeble-minded,

That she cannot withstand temptation.

And though she may be pure and innocent,

As long as she is kept in ignorance and restraint,

Yet being destitute of real virtue,

To teach her how to sin is at once to make her a sinner.

To teach her how to sin is at once to make her a sinner.

And the greater her knowledge,

The wider her liberty,

The deeper will be her depravity.

Whereas in the noblest sex there is a natural tendency to goodness,

Guarded by a superior fortitude,

Which the more it is exercised by trials and dangers,

Is only the further developed.

Heaven forbid that I should think so!

I interrupted at last.

Well then,

It must be you think they are both weak and prone to error,

And the slightest error,

The merest shadow of pollution will ruin the one,

While the character of the other will be strengthened and embellished.

Is education properly finished by a little practical acquaintance with forbidden things?

You would have us encourage our sons to prove all things by their own experience,

While our daughters must not even profit by the experience of others.

I would not send a poor girl into the world unarmed against her foes and ignorant of the snares that beset her path,

Nor would I watch and guard her,

Till deprived of self-respect and self-reliance,

She lost the power or the will to guard and catch herself.

And as for my son,

If I thought he would grow up to be what you call a man of the world,

One that has seen life and glories in his experience,

Even though he should so far profit by it as to sober down into a useful and respected member of society,

I would rather he died tomorrow.

She pressed her darling to her side,

And kissing his forehead with intense affection.

Well,

You ladies must always have the last word,

I suppose,

Said I,

Observing her rise,

And begin to take leave of my mother.

You may have as many words as you please,

Said she,

Only I can't stay to hear them.

No,

That is the way,

Said I,

You hear as much of an argument as you please,

And the rest may be spoken to the wind.

If you are anxious to say anything more on the subject,

Replied she,

You must bring your sister to see me some fine day,

And I'll listen as patiently as you could wish,

To whatever you please to say.

I would rather be lectured by you than the vicar be lectured by me.

I would rather be lectured by you than the vicar,

Because I should have less remorse in telling you that I preserve my own opinion precisely the same as at the beginning.

Yes,

Of course,

Replied I,

Determined to be as provoking as herself,

For when a lady does consent to listen to an argument against her own opinions,

She is always predetermined to withstand it,

To listen only with her bodily ears,

Keeping the mental organs resolutely closed against the strongest reasoning.

Good morning,

Mr Markham,

Said my fair antagonist,

With a pitying smile,

And deigning no further rejoinder,

She slightly bowed and was about to withdraw.

But her son,

With childish impertinence,

Arrested by her,

Exclaiming,

Mama,

You have not shaken hands with Mr Markham?

She laughingly turned round and held out her hand.

I gave it a spiteful squeeze,

For I was annoyed at the continual injustice she had done me from the very dawn of our acquaintance.

Without knowing anything about my real disposition and principles,

She was evidently prejudiced against me,

And seemed bent upon showing me her opinions respecting me on every particular fell far below those I entertained of myself.

I was naturally touchy,

Or it would not have vexed me so much.

Perhaps too I was a little spoiled by my mother and sister,

And some other ladies of my acquaintance,

And yet I was by no means a fob,

Of that I am fully convinced,

Whether you are or not.

Reviews

Very interesting— they were so forward with their criticisms of her, then he felt judged at the end… hmm. Thank you!😘