The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION
While I acknowledge the success of the present work to have been
greater than I anticipated, and the praises it has elicited from a
few kind critics to have been greater than it deserved, I must also
admit that from some other quarters it has been censured with an
asperity which I was as little prepared to expect, and which my
judgment, as well as my feelings, assures me is more bitter than
just. It is scarcely the province of an author to refute the
arguments of his censors and vindicate his own productions; but I
may be allowed to make here a few observations with which I would
have prefaced the first edition, had I foreseen the necessity of
such precautions against the misapprehensions of those who would
read it with a prejudiced mind or be content to judge it by a hasty
glance.
My object in writing the following pages was not simply to amuse
the Reader; neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to
ingratiate myself with the Press and the Public: I wished to tell
the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are
able to receive it. But as the priceless treasure too frequently
hides at the bottom of a well, it needs some courage to dive for
it, especially as he that does so will be likely to incur more
scorn and obloquy for the mud and water into which he has ventured
to plunge, than thanks for the jewel he procures; as, in like
manner, she who undertakes the cleansing of a careless bachelor's
apartment will be liable to more abuse for the dust she raises than
commendation for the clearance she effects. Let it not be
imagined, however, that I consider myself competent to reform the
errors and abuses of society, but only that I would fain contribute
my humble quota towards so good an aim; and if I can gain the
public ear at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths
therein than much soft nonsense.
As the story of 'Agnes Grey' was accused of extravagant over-
colouring in those very parts that were carefully copied from the
life, with a most scrupulous avoidance of all exaggeration, so, in
the present work, I find myself censured for depicting CON AMORE,
with 'a morbid love of the coarse, if not of the brutal,' those
scenes which, I will venture to say, have not been more painful for
the most fastidious of my critics to read than they were for me to
describe. I may have gone too far; in which case I shall be
careful not to trouble myself or my readers in the same way again;
but when we have to do with vice and vicious characters, I maintain
it is better to depict them as they really are than as they would
wish to appear. To represent a bad thing in its least offensive
light is, doubtless, the most agreeable course for a writer of
fiction to pursue; but is it the most honest, or the safest? Is it
better to reveal the snares and pitfalls of life to the young and
thoughtless traveller, or to cover them with branches and flowers?
Oh, reader! if there were less of this delicate concealment of
facts - this whispering, 'Peace, peace,' when there is no peace,
there would be less of sin and misery to the young of both sexes
who are left to wring their bitter knowledge from experience.
I would not be understood to suppose that the proceedings of the
unhappy scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here
introduced, are a specimen of the common practices of society - the
case is an extreme one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive;
but I know that such characters do exist, and if I have warned one
rash youth from following in their steps, or prevented one
thoughtless girl from falling into the very natural error of my
heroine, the book has not been written in vain. But, at the same
time, if any honest reader shall have derived more pain than
pleasure from its perusal, and have closed the last volume with a
disagreeable impression on his mind, I humbly crave his pardon, for
such was far from my intention; and I will endeavour to do better
another time, for I love to give innocent pleasure. Yet, be it
understood, I shall not limit my ambition to this - or even to
producing 'a perfect work of art': time and talents so spent, I
should consider wasted and misapplied. Such humble talents as God
has given me I will endeavour to put to their greatest use; if I am
able to amuse, I will try to benefit too; and when I feel it my
duty to speak an unpalatable truth, with the help of God, I WILL
speak it, though it be to the prejudice of my name and to the
detriment of my reader's immediate pleasure as well as my own.
One word more, and I have done. Respecting the author's identity,
I would have it to he distinctly understood that Acton Bell is
neither Currer nor Ellis Bell, and therefore let not his faults be
attributed to them. As to whether the name be real or fictitious,
it cannot greatly signify to those who know him only by his works.
As little, I should think, can it matter whether the writer so
designated is a man, or a woman, as one or two of my critics
profess to have discovered. I take the imputation in good part, as
a compliment to the just delineation of my female characters; and
though I am bound to attribute much of the severity of my censors
to this suspicion, I make no effort to refute it, because, in my
own mind, I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so
whatever the sex of the author may be. All novels are, or should
be, written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to
conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that
would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be
censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for
a man.
JULY 22nd, 1848.
THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL
CHAPTER I
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 side-board, 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
ploughboy 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?'
'Badger-baiting.'
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 have 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-by,' 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 non-
apparent 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.'
'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 Millward.'
'Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than Eliza's, 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, what nonsense you talk! - I know you don't
mean it; it's quite out of the question,' said my mother, getting
up, and bustling out of the room, under pretence of household
business, in order to escape 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 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 so many years, and the grim escutcheons,
with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth, frowned so
sternly from the wall above.
And there I beheld a tall, lady-like 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 rather
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, unexceptionable -
only there was a slight hollowness about the cheeks and eyes, and
the lips, though finely formed, 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 momentary, indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that
was inexpressibly provoking to me.
'She thinks me an impudent puppy,' thought I. 'Humph! - she shall
change her mind before long, if I think it worth while.'
But then it flashed upon me that these were very improper thoughts
for a place of worship, and that my behaviour, on the present
occasion, was anything but what it ought to be. Previous, however,
to directing my mind to the service, I glanced round the church to
see if any one had been observing me; - but no, - all, who were not
attending to their prayer-books, were attending to the strange
lady, - my good mother and sister among the rest, and Mrs. Wilson
and her daughter; and even Eliza Millward was slily glancing from
the corners of her eyes towards the object of general attraction.
Then she glanced at me, simpered 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. For the present, I could only resent the insult by
pressing my foot upon his toes, deferring further vengeance till we
got out of church.
Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I'll tell you who Eliza
Millward was: she was the vicar's younger daughter, and a very
engaging little creature, for whom I felt no small degree of
partiality; - and she knew it, though I had never come to any
direct explanation, and had no definite intention of so doing, for
my mother, who maintained there was no one good enough for me
within twenty miles round, could not bear the thoughts of my
marrying that insignificant little thing, who, in addition to her
numerous other disqualifications, had not twenty pounds to call her
own. Eliza's figure was at once slight and plump, her face small,
and nearly as round as my sister's, - complexion, something similar
to hers, but more delicate and less decidedly blooming, - nose,
retrousse, - features, generally irregular; and, altogether, she
was rather charming than pretty. But her eyes - I must not forget
those remarkable features, for therein her chief attraction lay -
in outward aspect at least; - they were long and narrow in shape,
the irids black, or very dark brown, the expression various, and
ever changing, but always either preternaturally - I had almost
said diabolically - 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, according to its own sweet will.
Her 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 last long, tedious
illness, and been the housekeeper, and family drudge, from thence
to the present time. She was trusted and valued by her father,
loved and courted by all dogs, cats, children, and poor people, and
slighted and neglected by everybody else.
The Reverend Michael Millward himself was a tall, ponderous elderly
gentleman, who placed a shovel hat above his large, square,
massive-featured face, carried a stout walking-stick in his hand,
and incased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters,
- or black silk stockings on state occasions. He was a man of
fixed principles, strong prejudices, and regular habits, intolerant
of dissent in any shape, acting under a firm conviction that his
opinions were always right, and whoever differed from them must be
either most deplorably ignorant, or wilfully blind.
In childhood, I had always been accustomed to regard him with a
feeling of reverential awe - but lately, even now, surmounted, for,
though he had a fatherly kindness for the well-behaved, he was a
strict disciplinarian, and had often sternly reproved our juvenile
failings and peccadilloes; and moreover, in those days, whenever he
called upon our parents, 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 than all - be questioned about his last text, and
the heads of the discourse, which we never could remember.
Sometimes, the worthy gentleman would reprove my mother for being
over-indulgent to her sons, with a reference to old Eli, or David
and Absalom, which was particularly galling to her feelings; and,
very highly as she respected him, and all his sayings, I once heard
her exclaim, 'I wish to goodness he had a son himself! 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 warm and dry clothing, had never been known to
preach a sermon without previously swallowing a raw egg - albeit he
was gifted with good lungs and a powerful voice, - and was,
generally, extremely particular about what he ate and drank, though
by no means abstemious, and having a mode of dietary peculiar to
himself, - being a great despiser of tea and such slops, and a
patron of malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, and other
strong meats, which agreed well enough with his digestive organs,
and therefore were maintained by him to be good and wholesome for
everybody, and confidently recommended to the most delicate
convalescents or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to derive the
promised benefit from his prescriptions, were told it was because
they had not persevered, 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
then bring this long letter to a close. These are Mrs. Wilson and
her daughter. The former was the widow of a substantial farmer, a
narrow-minded, tattling old gossip, whose character is not worth
describing. She had two sons, Robert, a rough countrified farmer,
and Richard, a retiring, studious young man, who was studying the
classics with the vicar's assistance, preparing for college, with a
view to enter the church.
Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents, and more
ambition. She had, at her own desire, received a regular boarding-
school education, superior to what any member of the family had
obtained before. She had taken the polish well, acquired
considerable elegance of manners, quite lost her provincial accent,
and could boast of more accomplishments than the vicar's daughters.
She was considered a beauty besides; but never for a moment could
she number me amongst her admirers. 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 head small, neck long, chin well
turned, but very short, lips thin and red, eyes clear hazel, quick,
and penetrating, but entirely destitute of poetry or feeling. She
had, or might have had, many suitors in her own rank of life, but
scornfully repulsed or rejected them all; for none but a gentleman
could please her refined taste, and none but a rich one could
satisfy her soaring ambition. One gentleman there was, from whom
she had lately received some rather pointed attentions, and upon
whose heart, name, and fortune, it was whispered, she had serious
designs. This was Mr. Lawrence, the young squire, whose family had
formerly occupied Wildfell Hall, but had deserted it, some fifteen
years ago, for a more modern and commodious mansion in the
neighbouring parish.
Now, Halford, I bid you adieu for the present. This is the first
instalment of my debt. If the coin suits you, tell me so, and I'll
send you the rest at my leisure: if you would rather remain my
creditor than stuff your purse with such ungainly, heavy pieces, -
tell me still, and I'll pardon your bad taste, and willingly keep
the treasure to myself.
Yours immutably,
GILBERT MARKHAM.
