The Tenant of Wildfell Hall / Edition 2 available in Paperback
About the Author
Herbert Rosengarten is Chair of the Department of English at the University of British Columbia.
Josephine McDonagh is Professor of Victorian Literature at Oxford University.
Read an Excerpt
You must go back with me to the autumn of 1827.
My father, as you know, was a sort of gentleman farmer in ----shire; and I, by his express 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 its 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 that 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 exhorted 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 my own immediate connections and dependants, 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 plodded 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 surtout 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, 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 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 arm-chair at the fireside, working away at 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 wheat stubble--for the plough-boy has not the sense to direct himself--and carrying out a plan for the extensive and efficient draining of the low meadowlands.'
'That's my brave boy!--and Fergus, what have you been doing?'
And here he proceeded to give a particular account of his sport, and the respective traits of prowess evinced by the badger and the dogs; my mother pretending to listen with deep attention, and watching his animated countenance with a degree of maternal admiration I thought highly disproportioned 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 enter the army; and I'm determined to do nothing else--except make myself such a nuisance to you all that you will be thankful to get rid of me on any terms.'
Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled, and tried to look sulky, and then 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. I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand pities you didn't go 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's a nice, amusing little thing, when she is in a merry humour, and I shouldn't mind calling her----'
'Hush, hush, my dear! your brother has no such idea!' whispered my mother earnestly, holding up her finger.
'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 that somebody was going to take Wildfell Hall--and--what do you think? It has actually been inhabited above a week!--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, all alone--except an old woman for a servant!'
'Oh, dear!--that spoils it--I'd hoped she was a witch,' observed Fergus, 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 her mother, who, of course, when she heard of a stranger being in the neighbourhood, would be on pins and needles till she had seen her and got all she could out of her. She is called Mrs. Graham, and she is in mourning--not widow's weeds, but slightish mourning--and she is quite young, they say--not above five or six and twenty--but so reserved! They tried all they could to find out who she was, and where she came from, and all about her, but neither Mrs. Wilson, with her pertinacious and impertinent home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with her skilful manoeuvring, could manage to elicit a single satisfactory answer, or even a casual remark, or chance expression calculated to allay their curiosity, or throw the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances, or connections. Moreover, she was barely civil to them, and evidently better pleased to say 'good-bye' than 'how do you do.' But Eliza Millward says her father intends to call upon her soon, to offer some pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though she is known to have entered the neighbourhood early last week, she did not make her appearance at church on Sunday; and she--Eliza, that is--will beg to accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in wheedling something out of her--you know, Gilbert, she can do anything. And we should 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 sugar she puts in her tea, and what sort of caps and aprons she wears, and all about 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, he signally failed, for nobody laughed. However, he was not much disconcerted at that; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread and butter, and was about to swallow a gulp of tea, the humour of the thing burst upon him with such irresistible force, that he was obliged to jump up from the table and rush snorting and choking from the room, and, a minute after, was heard screaming in fearful agony in the garden.
As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with silently demolishing the tea, ham, and toast, while my mother and sister went on talking, and continued to discuss the apparent or nonapparent circumstances, and probable or improbable history of the mysterious lady; but I must confess that, after my brother's misadventure, I once or twice raised the cup to my lips, and put it down again without daring to taste the contents, lest I should injure my dignity by a similar explosion.
The next day my mother and Rose hastened to pay their compliments to the fair recluse; and came back but 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 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 such things, that every lady ought to be familiar with, whether she be required to make a practical use of her knowledge or not. I gave her some useful pieces of information, however, and several excellent receipts, the value of which she evidently could not appreciate, for she begged I would not trouble myself, as she lived in such a plain, quiet way, that she was sure she should never make use of them. 'No matter, my dear,' said I; 'it is what every respectable female ought to know; and besides, though you are alone now, you will not be always so; you have been married, and probably--I might say almost certainly--will be again.' 'You are mistaken there, ma'am,' said she, almost haughtily; 'I am certain I never shall.' But I told her I knew better.'
'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.'
Table of Contents
Anne Brontë: A Brief Chronology
A Note on the Text
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
Appendix A: Other Writings by Anne and Charlotte Brontë
- Anne Brontë, Letter to the Reverend David Thom (30 December 1848)
- Anne Brontë, “To Cowper” (1846)
- Anne Brontë, “A Word to the ‘Elect’” (1846)
- From Charlotte Brontë, “Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell” (1850)
- Charlotte Brontë, Introduction to “Poems by Acton Bell” (1850)
Appendix B: Contemporary Reviews
- Athenaeum (8 July 1848)
- The Examiner (29 July 1848)
- Fraser’s Magazine (April 1849)
- The Literary World (12 August 1848)
- North American Review (October 1848)
- Rambler (September 1848)
- Sharpe’s London Magazine (August 1848)
- The Spectator (8 July 1848)
Appendix C: Women’s Education
- From Mary Wollstonecraft, A Vindication of the Rights of Woman (1792)
- From Hannah More, Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education (1799)
- From Sarah Lewis, Woman’s Mission (1840)
- John Cowie, “Noble Sentiments on the Influence of Women,” Howitt’s Journal (March 1847)
Appendix D: Wives
- From Hannah More, Coelebs in Search of a Wife (1808)
- From Caroline Norton, A Letter to the Queen on Lord Chancellor Cranworth’s Marriage and Divorce Bill (1855)
Appendix E: Childrearing
- From Hannah More, Strictures on the Modern System of Female Education (1799)
- From John S.C. Abbott, The Mother at Home (1833)
- From John S.C. Abbott, The Child at Home (1834)
- From Sarah Lewis, Woman’s Mission (1840)
- From Berthold Auerbach, “Every–day Wisdom, Plucked from the Garden of Childhood,” Howitt’s Journal (January 1848)
- From Anonymous, “The Moral Discipline of Children,” British Quarterly Review (April 1858)
Appendix F: Temperance
- From Joseph Entwisle, “On Drinking Spirits,” The Methodist Magazine (July 1804)
- J.P. Parker, Lecture on Temperance and Slavery, Howitt’s Journal (24 April 1847)
- From Anonymous, “Temperance and Teetotal Societies,” Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine (April 1853)
- Thomas Buchanan Read, “What a Word May Do” (1868)
Appendix G: Women and Art
- Anonymous, “Let Us Join the Ladies,” Punch (July 1857)
- From Ellen C. Clayton, English Female Artists (1876)
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
classic Bronte fare. Slow but good.
Anne Bonte is very much overshadowed by her sisters. I can say that she is an intellectual equal of her sisters and that she is very underrated. This book is fascinating. It's a work of quiet rebellion; the rebellion of Helen and of Anne herself, who is working to subvert some of the Romantic conventions. I love how this book portrays how strong a woman could be.
This is my favourite of all the novels by any of the Bronte sisters. I love the realism and the fact that you can actually connect with the characters. Everyone who is a fan of the classics should read this.
Great surprise!Anne Brönte puts herself up to Charlotte's standards with this magnificent novel. It has everything a romantic classic ought to have and it's presented in a mysterious style in which you don't know what is going to happen until the final page.Highly recommended.
SPOILERS!!!!Why: Heard it had interesting subject matter, especially for the times.There is a lot to say about this book: First, it is kind of macro-epistolary novel, if that makes any sense. Meaning that the entire book is one long letter. Yes, we've seen that before, but other really long letter books don't include dozens of other letters and a diary spanning several years. So, that was interesting and maybe strains credulity. On the other hand, they didn't have tvs.Second, the subject matter was controversial in the day. People were a bit affronted that someone would write in detail about an emotionally abusive marriage which included blatant sexual infidelity and depraved alcoholism, in a book which includes a scene in which a group of drunk men cheer on their comrade while he hits his wife. A book focused on a wife with the gumption to flout the law and run away with her kid. Weirdly enough, this story is wrapped in the context of a romance between the narrator and the protagonist.Third, if some readers (not me) think Jane Eyre is a moralizing prig, they ought to try out Helen Huntingdon for contrast. There had to be an average of 0.75 biblical quotes and/or allusions per page. But not just the Bible. I had one of those annotated copies, and in the beginning especially, I wanted to yell at Miss Bronte, Use your words! Surely you have some of your own! But that's harsh, because the book and the story is mostly hers and Overall, I found the book and enjoyable and enlightening read, and I would recommend it, even if it is...odd.
TToWH has an unusual and intriguing structure ¿ the outer layer is written as a string of letters from a man to his brother-in-law (daring, perhaps, on Anne Brontë¿s part, to assume the voice of a man?). Approximately halfway through, he quotes a diary written by the female protagonist over a number of years verbatim, for most of the rest of the book. The prose is also extraordinarily detailed in the first section ¿ but the male narrator has already indicated that his will be a detailed missive.According to the endnotes in my Penguin Classics edition, Brontë¿s novel was a very early, if not the first, novel to deal with substance abuse among the upper classes. Clearly not one to shy away from controversial topics, she also touches on raising children and the worth of ambition. I don¿t know what is was that inspired Brontë to depict an unhappy marriage in such detail, but it is certainly credible ¿ and goes one step further than merely describing the subject matter, demanding that the reader ask themselves what is right, what is permissible.There are the usual Austen-like illustrations of domesticity ¿ the nuances of courtship, an amusing description of the pontificating vicar, the nature of English beauty (very different from that which is desired today!), repeated depictions of women as nosy gossips whose contribution to society from the kitchen is undervalued and really quite a lot about hair.An excellent book, just beating Mansfield Park to the place of ¿favourite book so far¿.