1 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 which has been empty for many years, with her young son and a servant. And 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 neighbouring village and she becomes a social outcast. Refusing to believe anything scandalous about her, Gilbert befriends her and discovers her past.

In this chapter we learn of Gilbert and his family set up.

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 One.

A Discovery.

To J.

Halford Esquire.

Dear Halford,

When we were together last,

You gave me a very particular and interesting account of the most remarkable occurrences of your early life.

Not being in a storytelling humor at the time,

I declined to return the confidence.

Now I have not taken up my pen to reproach you nor to defend myself,

But if possible,

To atone.

It is a soaking rainy day.

The family are absent on a visit and I'm alone in my library.

The family are absent on a visit and I'm alone in my library.

I've been looking over certain musty old letters and papers and musing on past times,

So now I'm in a very proper frame of mind for amusing you with an old world story.

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

My father was a sort of gentleman farmer and I,

By his expressed desire,

Succeeded him in the same quiet occupation.

Not very willingly,

For ambition urged me to higher aims and self-conceit assured me that,

In disregarding his voice,

I was burying my talent in the earth and hiding my light under a bushel.

My mother had done her utmost to persuade me I was capable of great achievements,

But my father,

Who thought ambition was the surest road to ruin and change but another word for destruction,

Would listen to no scheme for bettering either my own condition or that of my fellow mortals.

He assured me it was all rubbish and exalted me with his dying breath to continue in the good old way,

To follow his steps and those of his father before him,

And let my highest ambition be to walk honestly through the world,

Looking neither to the right hand nor to the left,

And to transmit the paternal acres to my children in at least as flourishing a condition as he left them to me.

Well,

An honest and industrious farmer is one of the most useful members of society,

And if I devote my talents to the cultivation of my farm,

And the improvement of agriculture in general,

I shall thereby benefit,

Not only by my own immediate connections and dependents,

But in some degree mankind at large.

Hence I shall not have lived in vain.

With such reflections as these I was endeavouring to console myself as I plotted home from the fields one cold,

Damp,

Cloudy evening towards the close of October.

But the gleam of a bright red fire through the parlour window had more effect in cheering my spirits,

And rebuking my thankless repinings,

Than all the sage reflections and good resolutions I had forced my mind to frame,

For I was young then,

Remember,

Only four and twenty,

And had not acquired half the rule over my own spirit that I now possess,

Trifling as that may be.

However,

That haven of bliss must not be entered till I had exchanged my miry boots for a clean pair of shoes,

And my rough sirtu for a respectable coat,

And made myself generally presentable before decent society,

For my mother,

With all her kindness,

Was vastly particular on certain points.

In ascending to my room I was met upon the stairs by a smart,

Pretty girl of nineteen,

With a tidy,

Dumpy figure,

A round face,

Bright,

Gleaming cheeks,

Glossy,

Clustering curls,

And little merry brown eyes.

I need not tell you this was my sister,

Rose.

She is,

I know,

A comely matron still,

And doubtless no less lovely in your eyes than on the happy day you first beheld her.

Nothing told me then that she,

A few years hence,

Would be the wife of one entirely unknown to me as yet,

But destined hereafter to become a closer friend than even herself,

More intimate than that unmannerly lad of seventeen,

By whom I was collared in the passage on coming down,

And well nigh jerked off my equilibrium,

And who,

In correction for his impudence,

Received a resounding whack over the sconce,

Which however sustained no serious injury from the infliction,

As besides being more than commonly thick,

It was protected by a redundant shock of short,

Reddish curls that my mother called auburn.

On entering the parlour,

We found that honoured lady seated in her armchair at the fireside,

Working away to her knitting,

According to her usual custom,

When she had nothing else to do.

She had swept the hearth and made a bright blazing fire for our reception.

The servant had just brought in the tea-tray,

And Rose was producing the sugar-basin and tea-caddy from the cupboard in the black oak sideboard that shone like polished ebony in the cheerful parlour twilight.

"'Well,

Here they both are!

' cried my mother,

Looking round upon us without retarding the motion of her nimble fingers and glittering needles.

"'Now shut the door and come to the fire while Rose gets the tea ready.

I'm sure you must be starved.

And tell me what you've been about 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 week's stubble.

For the plough-boy's not the sense to direct himself,

And carrying out a plan for the extensive and efficient draining of the low meadow-lands.

That's my brave boy.

"'And Fergus,

What have you been doing?

' "'Badger-baiting.

' And here Fergus proceeded to give a particular account of his sport,

And the respective traits of prowess,

Invinced by the badger and dogs.

My mother pretending to listen with deep attention,

And watching his animated countenance,

With a degree of maternal admiration,

I thought highly disproportionate to its object.

"'It's time you should be doing something else,

Fergus,

' said I,

As soon as 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 into the army,

And I'm determined to do nothing else except make myself such a nuisance,

You will all be thankful to get rid of me,

On any terms.

' We all took our seats at the table,

In obedience to the thrice-repeated summons of Rose.

"'Now take your tea,

' said she,

"'and I'll tell you what I've been doing.

And it's a thousand pities you didn't go with me,

Gilbert,

For Eliza Milward was there.

' "'Well,

What of her?

' said I.

"'Oh,

Nothing.

I'm not going to tell you about her,

Only she's a nice,

Amusing little thing.

I mean,

She is in merry humour,

And I shouldn't mind calling her—' "'Hush,

Hush,

My dear,

Your brother has no such idea,

' whispered my mother earnestly.

"'Well,

' resumed Rose,

"'I was going to tell you an important piece of news I heard there.

I've been bursting with it ever since.

You know it was reported a month ago somebody was going to take Wildfeld Hall,

And what do you think?

It's actually been inhabited above a week,

And we never even 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,

' said mother.

"'She has had two or three rooms made habitable,

And there she lives all alone,

Except an old woman for a servant.

' "'Oh dear,

That spoils it.

I had hoped she was a witch,

' observed Fergus,

Whilst carving his inch-thick slice of bread and butter.

"'Nonsense,

Fergus.

But isn't it strange,

Mama?

' "'Strange?

I can hardly believe it.

' "'But you must believe it,

For Jane Wilson has seen her.

She went with her mother,

Who,

Of course,

When she heard of a stranger being in the neighbourhood,

Would be on pins and needles till she'd seen her.

She is called Miss Graham,

And she is in mourning.

Not widow's weeds,

But slightish mourning,

And she's quite young,

They say.

Not above five or six and twenty,

But so is her.

"'They tried all they could to find out who she was and where she came from,

But neither Mrs.

Wilson nor Miss Wilson could manage to elicit a single satisfactory answer,

Or even a casual remark.

"'Moreover,

Mrs.

Graham was barely civil to them,

And evidently better pleased to say goodbye than how do you do.

But Eliza Millwood says her father intends to call upon her soon to offer some pastoral advice,

Which he fears she needs,

As though she's known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week.

She didn't make her appearance at church on Sunday.

And she,

Eliza that is,

Will beg to accompany him,

And sure she can succeed in weedling something out of Mrs.

Graham.

"'You know,

Gilbert,

Eliza can do anything,

And we should call sometime ourselves,

Mama,

It's only proper you know.

' "'Of course,

My dear.

Poor thing,

How lonely she must be.

' The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to the fair recluse,

And came back but a little wiser than they went,

Though my mother declared she did not regret the journey,

For if she had not gained much good,

She flattered herself she had imparted some,

And that was better.

She had given some useful advice,

Which she hoped would not be thrown away.

For Mrs.

Graham,

Though she said little to any purpose,

And appeared somewhat self-opinionated,

Seemed not incapable of reflection,

Though she did not know where she'd been all her life,

Poor thing,

For she portrayed 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 such things.

Things that every lady ought to be familiar with,

Gilbert.

' "'She's some romantic young widow,

I suppose,

' said I.

"'Come there to end her days in solitude and mourn in secret for the dear departed.

But it won't last long.

' "'No,

I think not,

' observed Rose,

For she didn't seem very disconsolate after all,

And she's excessively pretty.

"'Handsome,

Rather.

You must see her,

Gilbert.

You will call her a perfect beauty,

Though you could hardly pretend to discover a resemblance between her and Eliza Milward.

' "'Well,

I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's,

' said I.

"'Though not more charming.

I allow she has small claims to perfection,

But then I maintain 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,

' said Mother,

"'what nonsense you talk.

I know you don't mean it.

It's quite out of the question.

' Then she got up and bustled out of the room,

Under the pretense of household business,

In order to escape the contradiction that was trembling on my tongue.

After that,

Rose favoured me with further particulars regarding Mrs.

Graham.

Her appearance,

Manners and dress,

And the very furniture of the room she inhabited,

Were all set before me,

With rather more clearness and precision than I cared to see them.

But as I was not a very attentive listener,

I could not repeat the description if I would.

The next day was Saturday,

And on Sunday everybody wondered whether or not the fair unknown would profit by the vicar's remonstrance and come to church.

I confess I looked with some interest myself towards the old family pew,

Appertaining to Wildfell Hall,

Where the faded crimson cushions and lining had been unpressed and unrenewed for so many years.

And there I beheld a tall ladylike figure,

Clad in black.

Her face was towards me,

And there was something in it which,

Once seen,

Invited me to look again.

Her hair was raven black,

And disposed in long glossy ringlets,

A style of coiffure quite unusual in those days,

But always graceful and becoming.

Her complexion was clear and pale,

Her eyes I could not see,

For being bent upon her prayer book,

They were concealed by their drooping lids and long black lashes.

But the brows above were expressive and well-defined,

The forehead was lofty and intellectual,

The nose a perfect aquiline,

And the features in general unexceptional.

Only there was a slight hollowness around the cheeks and the eyes and the lips.

Though finely formed,

They were a little too thin,

A little too firmly compressed,

And had something about them that betokened,

I thought,

No very soft or amiable temper.

And I said in my heart,

I would rather admire you from this distance,

Fair lady,

Than be the partner of your home.

Just then,

She happened to raise her eyes and they met mine.

I did not choose to withdraw my gaze,

And she turned again to her book,

But with a momentarily,

Indefinable expression of quiet scorn,

That was inexpressibly provoking to me.

She thinks me an infant,

And I am a child.

She thinks me an impudent puppy,

Thought I.

She shall change her mind before long,

If I think it worthwhile.

But then it flashed upon me these were very improper thoughts for a place of worship,

And my behaviour on the present occasion was anything but what it ought to be.

I glanced around the church to see if anybody had been observing me,

But no,

All were attending to their prayer books,

Or the strange lady,

My good mother and sister among the rest,

And Mrs.

Wilson and her daughter,

And even Eliza Millwood.

Then she glanced at me,

Simple a little and blushed,

Modestly looked at her prayer book,

And endeavoured to compose her features.

Here I was transgressing again,

And this time I was made sensible of it by a sudden dig in the ribs from the elbow of my pert brother,

Deferring further vengeance until we got out of the church.

Eliza,

The vicar's daughter,

Was a very engaging little creature,

For whom I felt no small degree of partiality,

And she knew it.

Her figure was at once slight and plump,

Her face small and nearly as round as my sister's,

Something similar to hers,

But more delicate and less decidedly blooming.

Her eyes,

Those remarkable features.

There in her chief attraction lay.

They were long and narrow in shape,

Black or very dark,

Their expression various and ever-changing,

Wicked or irresistibly bewitching,

Often both.

Her voice was gentle and childish,

Her tread light and soft as that of a cat,

But her manners more frequently resembled those of a pretty,

Playful kitten,

That is now pert and roguish,

Now timid and demure.

Eliza's sister Mary was several years older,

Several inches taller,

And of a larger,

Coarser build.

A plain,

Quiet,

Sensible girl,

Who had patiently nursed their mother through her long,

Tedious illness.

She was trusted and valued by their father.

Their father,

The Reverend Michael Millwood,

Was a tall,

Ponderous,

Elderly gentleman,

Who placed a shuffle hat upon his head,

And was a man of many talents.

He was a man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

A man of many talents,

Intolerant of dissent in any shape,

Acting under firm conviction that his opinions were always right.

In childhood,

I had been accustomed to regarding with a reverential awe,

But not so now.

I will touch upon two other persons I have mentioned and then bring this long letter to a close.

These are Mrs.

Wilson and her daughter.

The former was a widow of a substantial farmer,

A narrow-minded,

Tattling old gossip,

Whose character is not worth describing.

She had two sons,

Robert and Richard.

Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents and more ambition.

She received a regular boarding school education,

Superior to what any member of that family had obtained before.

She was about six and twenty,

Rather tall and very slender.

Her hair was neither chestnut or auburn,

But most decided bright light red.

She had or might have had many suitors in her own rank of life,

But schoolfully repulsed or rejected them all.

She had or might have had many suitors in her own rank of life,

But schoolfully repulsed or rejected them all.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

For none but a gentleman could please her refined taste,

And none but a rich one could satisfy her ambition.

If you would rather remain my creditor than stuff your purse with ungainly heavy pieces,

If you would rather remain my creditor than stuff your purse with ungainly heavy pieces,

If you would rather remain my creditor than stuff your purse with ungainly heavy pieces,

If you would rather remain my creditor than stuff your purse with ungainly heavy pieces,

Tell me still,

And I'll willingly keep the treasure to myself.

Tell me still,

And I'll willingly keep the treasure to myself.

Tell me still,

And I'll willingly keep the treasure to myself.

Yours Immutably,

Gilbert Markham Yours Immutably,

Gilbert Markham

Reviews

3rd attempt and still haven’t reached the end. Thank you so much Stephanie. Your voice and your pace is just perfect. 🙏🏼❤️
Ps is there more to come re The Bridlington?

I really enjoyed this story! Thank you and looking forward to listening to more. 😊😘

Wonderful choice as always— you soothe my poor wakeful mind 🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽❤️❤️