The Tenant of Wildfell Hall quotes

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 encased his still powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters—or black silk stockings on state occasions.

“Thank you, Mr. Markham,” said she, as I presented it to her.

“I would have picked it up myself; only I did not want to disturb the cat.”

“Mary, dear, that won’t excuse you in Mr. Markham’s eyes,” said Eliza; “he hates cats, I daresay, as cordially as he does old maids—like all other gentlemen. Don’t you, Mr. Markham?”

“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.

… 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 to 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 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 will 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 that 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?”

Such experience, to him (to use a trite simile), will be like the storm to the oak, which, though it may scatter the leaves, and snap the smaller branches, serves but to rivet the roots, and to harden and condense the fibres of the tree.

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.

Now I would have both so to benefit by the experience of others, and the precepts of a higher authority, that they should know beforehand to refuse the evil and choose the good, and require no experimental proofs to teach them the evil of transgression.

“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—only I can’t stay to hear them.”

“No; that is the way: you hear just as much of an argument as you please; and the rest may be spoken to the wind.”

Mrs. Wilson was more brilliant than ever, with her budgets of fresh news and old scandal, strung together with trivial questions and remarks, and oft-repeated observations, uttered apparently for the sole purpose of denying a moment’s rest to her inexhaustible organs of speech.

She had brought her knitting with her, and it seemed as if her tongue had laid a wager with her fingers, to outdo them in swift and ceaseless motion.

Her daughter Jane was, of course, as graceful and elegant, as witty and seductive, as she could possibly manage to be; for here were all the ladies to outshine, and all the gentlemen to charm—and Mr. Lawrence, especially, to capture and subdue.

but I forgave it, from a conviction that it originated less in pride and want of confidence in his friends, than in a certain morbid feeling of delicacy, and a peculiar diffidence, that he was sensible of, but wanted energy to overcome.

His heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into itself at the slightest touch of the finger, or the lightest breath of wind.

And, upon the whole, our intimacy was rather a mutual predilection than a deep and solid friendship, such as has since arisen between myself and you, Halford, whom, in spite of your occasional crustiness, I can liken to nothing so well as an old coat, …

“Then you don’t intend to keep the picture?” said I, anxious to say anything to change the subject.

“No; I cannot afford to paint for my own amusement.”

“Mamma sends all her pictures to London,” said Arthur; “and somebody sells them for her there, and sends us the money.”

“No, I dislike an extensive acquaintance; but if I have a few friends, of course I am glad to see them occasionally.

No one can be happy in eternal solitude.

Therefore, Mr. Fergus, if you choose to enter my house as a friend, I will make you welcome; if not, I must confess, I would rather you kept away.” She then turned and addressed some observation to Rose or Eliza.

but it is a gift I cannot boast the possession of. I kept up my attention on this occasion as long as I could, but when my powers were exhausted I stole away to seek a few minutes’ repose in this quiet walk.

I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or received.

”

Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to you for this and every other happy meeting? Through him I was at once delivered from all formality, and terror, and constraint.

In love affairs, there is no mediator like a merry, simple-hearted child⁠—ever ready to cement divided hearts, to span the unfriendly gulf of custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and overthrow the separating walls of dread formality and pride.

“Well, Mr. Markham, what is it?” said the young mother, accosting me with a pleasant smile.

“No matter.

There is such a thing as looking through a person’s eyes into the heart, and learning more of the height, and breadth, and depth of another’s soul in one hour than it might take you a lifetime to discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it, or if you had not the sense to understand it.

”

There was little besides the chimneys visible above my contracted horizon. I walked back to get a better view of it. When it rose in sight, I stood still a moment to look, and then continued moving towards the gloomy object of attraction.

Something called me nearer⁠—nearer still⁠—and why not, pray?

Might I not find more benefit in the contemplation of that venerable pile with the full moon in the cloudless heaven shining so calmly above it—with that warm yellow lustre peculiar to an August night—and the mistress of my soul within, than in returning to …

But today I determined to make an effort to return to my duty. Though I found no pleasure in it, it would be less irksome than idleness—at all events it would be more profitable.

If life promised no enjoyment within my vocation, at least it offered no allurements out of it; and henceforth I would put my shoulder to the wheel and toil away, like any poor drudge of a carthorse that was fairly broken in to its labour, and plod through life, not wholly useless if not agreeable, and uncomplaining if not contented with my lot.

Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if such a term may be allowed, I wended my way to Ryecote Farm, scarcely expecting to find its owner within at this time of day, but hoping to learn in what part of the premises he …

“Stay a moment,” said she. “

This is the last time I shall see you: don’t go just yet.

”

Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility of that; it was for joy to find that you had some depth of soul and feeling after all, and to hope that I had not been utterly mistaken in your worth.

But smiles and tears are so alike with me, they are neither of them confined to any particular feelings: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad.

”

“

Because, my dear, beauty is that quality which, next to money, is generally the most attractive to the worst kinds of men; and, therefore, it is likely to entail a great deal of trouble on the possessor.

”

Receive, coldly and dispassionately, every attention, till you have ascertained and duly considered the worth of the aspirant; and let your affections be consequent upon approbation alone.

First study; then approve; then love.

Let your eyes be blind to all external attractions, your ears deaf to all the fascinations of flattery and light discourse.—These are nothing—and worse than nothing—snares and wiles of the tempter, to lure the thoughtless to their own destruction.

for I could not like him, if he were ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in other respects; I should hate him—despise him—pity him—anything but love him.

My affections not only ought to be founded on approbation, but they will and must be so: for, without approving, I cannot love.

It is needless to say, I ought to be able to respect and honour the man I marry, as well as love him, for I cannot love him without. So set your mind at rest.”

my aunt looking complacently on all the time, and wishing him Godspeed. In vain I attempted to drive him away by giving a loose to my exasperated feelings, even to positive rudeness: nothing could convince him that his presence was disagreeable.

Sullen silence was taken for rapt attention, and gave him greater room to talk; sharp answers were received as smart sallies of girlish vivacity, that only required an indulgent rebuke; and flat contradictions were but as oil to the flames, calling forth new strains of argument to support his dogmas, and bringing down upon me endless floods of reasoning to overwhelm me with conviction.

But there was one present who seemed to have a better appreciation of my frame of mind.

… his so pertinaciously returning to the same point and repeating the same arguments over and over again, forcing me to reiterate the same replies, I at length turned short and sharp upon him, and my last words were—“I tell you plainly, that it cannot be.

No consideration can induce me to marry against my inclinations.

I respect you—at least, I would respect you, if you would behave like a sensible man—but I cannot love you, and never could—and the more you talk the further you repel me; so pray don’t say any more about it.”

“I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstanding all you say, that I would willingly risk my happiness for the chance of securing his.

I will leave better men to those who only consider their own advantage.

If he has done amiss, I shall consider my life well spent in saving him from the consequences of his early errors, and striving to recall him to the path of virtue. God grant me success!”

I have retired to the library, for I am very unhappy, and I want to be alone. Books cannot divert me; so having opened my desk, I will try what may be done by detailing the cause of my uneasiness.

This paper will serve instead of a confidential friend into whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings of my heart. It will not sympathise with my distresses, but then it will not laugh at them, and, if I keep it close, it cannot tell again; so it is, perhaps, the best friend I could have for the purpose.

First, let me speak of his arrival—how I sat at my window, and watched for nearly two hours, before his carriage entered the park-gates—for they all came before him—and how deeply I was disappointed at every arrival, because it was not his. First came Mr.

but still, I trusted, he would not be able to make out these dim traces to his own satisfaction. I was mistaken, however. Having ended his scrutiny, he quietly remarked—“

I perceive the backs of young ladies’ drawings, like the postscripts of their letters, are the most important and interesting part of the concern.

”

“

Perhaps, for there is no limit to the wild extravagance of Hope’s imaginings at such an age.

”

Miss Wilmot observes it, too, and triumphantly ascribes it to her own superior charms and blandishments; but I am truly miserable—more so than I like to acknowledge to myself.

Pride refuses to aid me. It has brought me into the scrape, and will not help me out of it.

He meant no harm—it was only his joyous, playful spirit; and I, by my acrimonious resentment—so serious, so disproportioned to the offence—have so wounded his feelings, so deeply offended him, that I fear he will never forgive me—and all for a mere jest!

October 5th.—

My cup of sweets is not unmingled: it is dashed with a bitterness that I cannot hide from myself, disguise it as I will.

I may try to persuade myself that the sweetness overpowers it; I may call it a pleasant aromatic flavour; but say what I will, it is still there, and I cannot but taste it. I cannot shut my eyes to Arthur’s faults;

it puzzles me what you can find to be so merry about.

What you see in life I don’t know⁠—I see only the blackness of darkness, and a fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation!

’

for them she utterly disregards. She is the most generous, high-minded being that can be conceived of. She will save me, body and soul, from destruction.

Already, she has ennobled me in my own estimation, and made me three times better, wiser, greater than I was.

Oh! if I had but known her before, how much degradation and misery I should have been spared! But what have I done to deserve so magnificent a creature?’

They are not long, but passing sweet, and just like himself, full of ardent affection, and playful lively humour; but there is always a “but” in this imperfect world, and I do wish he would sometimes be serious.

I cannot get him to write or speak in real, solid earnest. I don’t much mind it now, but if it be always so, what shall I do with the serious part of myself?

He is very fond of me, almost too fond.

I could do with less caressing and more rationality.

I should like to be less of a pet and more of a friend, if I might choose; but I won’t complain of that: I am only afraid his affection loses in depth where it gains in ardour.

This is double selfishness displayed to me and to the victims of his former love.

There are times when, with a momentary pang⁠—a flash of wild dismay, I ask myself, “Helen, what have you done?”

But I rebuke the inward questioner, and repel the obtrusive thoughts that crowd upon me; for were he ten times as sensual and impenetrable to good and lofty thoughts, I well know I have no right to complain. And I don’t and won’t complain.

“You may think it all very fine, Mr. Huntingdon, to amuse yourself with rousing my jealousy; but take care you don’t rouse my hate instead.

And when you have once extinguished my love, you will find it no easy matter to kindle it again.

”

Is it nothing to trifle with your friend’s feelings and mine—to endeavour to steal a woman’s affections from her husband—what he values more than his gold, and therefore what it is more dishonest to take?

Are the marriage vows a jest; and is it nothing to make it your sport to break them, and to tempt another to do the same?

Can I love a man that does such things, and coolly maintains it is nothing?”

“

Don’t swear; I’ll believe your word as well as your oath. I wish I could have confidence in either.

”

“

I never cry for effect; nor can I conceive how anyone can.

”

December 25th.—Last Christmas I was a bride, with a heart overflowing with present bliss, and full of ardent hopes for the future, though not unmingled with foreboding fears.

Now I am a wife: my bliss is sobered, but not destroyed; my hopes diminished, but not departed; my fears increased, but not yet thoroughly confirmed; and, thank heaven, I am a mother too.

God has sent me a soul to educate for heaven, and give me a new and calmer bliss, and stronger hopes to comfort me.

I have need of consolation in my son, for (to this silent paper I may confess it) I have but little in my husband.

I love him still; and he loves me, in his own way⁠—but oh, how different from the love I could have given, and once had hoped to receive!

How little real sympathy there exists between us; how many of my thoughts and feelings are gloomily cloistered within my own mind;

And yet, through all, I was not wholly comfortless: I had my darling, sinless, inoffensive little one to console me; but even this consolation was embittered by the constantly-recurring thought, “

How shall I teach him hereafter to respect his father, and yet to avoid his example?

”

Perhaps then I was too severe in my judgments, for I abhorred the sinner as well as the sin; now I flatter myself I am more charitable and considerate; but am I not becoming more indifferent and insensate too?

Fool that I was, to dream that I had strength and purity enough to save myself and him!

Such vain presumption would be rightly served, if I should perish with him in the gulf from which I sought to save him! Yet, God preserve me from it, and him too! Yes, poor Arthur, I will still hope and pray for you;

“But romantic notions will not do: I want her to have true notions.”

“Very right: but in my judgment, what the world stigmatises as romantic, is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed; for, if the generous ideas of youth are too often overclouded by the sordid views of afterlife, that scarcely proves them to be false.”

“Well, but if you think her ideas are what they ought to be, strengthen them, will you? and confirm them, as far as you can;

and, with a childlike impulse, she expressed her sympathy by suddenly kissing my cheek, without a word of reply, and then turning quickly away, caught up her baby, and hid her face in its frock.

How odd it is that we so often weep for each other’s distresses, when we shed not a tear for our own!

Her heart had been full enough of her own sorrows, but it overflowed at the idea of mine; and I, too, shed tears at the sight of her sympathetic emotion, though I had not wept for myself for many a week.

“I do like it,” replied he, bringing her to him by another tug at her hair. “You mustn’t mind my talk, Milly.

A man must have something to grumble about; and if he can’t complain that his wife harries him to death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must complain that she wears him out with her kindness and gentleness.

”

“To excuse my own failings, to be sure.

Do you think I’ll bear all the burden of my sins on my own shoulders, as long as there’s another ready to help me, with none of her own to carry?

”

and how can I help teasing her when she’s so invitingly meek and mim, when she lies down like a spaniel at my feet and never so much as squeaks to tell me that’s enough?”

“If you are a tyrant by nature, the temptation is strong, I allow; but no generous mind delights to oppress the weak, but rather to cherish and protect.”

“I don’t oppress her; but it’s so confounded flat to be always cherishing and protecting; and then, how can I tell that I am oppressing her when she ‘melts away and makes no sign’? I sometimes think she has no feeling at all;

“It is a great matter,” interrupted I, “both to yourself (as you will hereafter find to your cost) and to all connected with you, most especially your wife.

But, indeed, it is nonsense to talk about injuring no one but yourself: it is impossible to injure yourself, especially by such acts as we allude to, without injuring hundreds, if not thousands, besides, in a greater or less, degree, either by the evil you do or the good you leave undone.

”

No, she turned in the opposite direction and reentered the drawing-room. I was glad, for I knew not how to meet her, or what to say. I wanted no confidante in my distress. I deserved none, and I wanted none.

I had taken the burden upon myself; let me bear it alone.

As the usual hour of retirement approached I dried my eyes, and tried to clear my voice and calm my mind. I must see Arthur tonight, and speak to him; but I would do it calmly:

I told her I was better, but to excuse my appearance admitted I had had a restless night. I wish this day were over! I shudder at the thoughts of going down to breakfast. How shall I encounter them all?

Yet let me remember it is not I that am guilty: I have no cause to fear; and if they scorn me as a victim of their guilt, I can pity their folly and despise their scorn.

for, believe me, I regret them deeply, and the loss of your esteem is too severe a penalty: I cannot bear it.”

“Forgetfulness is not to be purchased with a wish; and I cannot bestow my esteem on all who desire it, unless they deserve it too.”

“I shall think my life well spent in labouring to deserve it, if you will but pardon this offence—will you?”

February 10th.—

It is a hard, embittering thing to have one’s kind feelings and good intentions cast back in one’s teeth.

I was beginning to relent towards my wretched partner; to pity his forlorn, comfortless condition, unalleviated as it is by the consolations of intellectual resources and the answer of a good conscience towards God;

“but do not wrong me by supposing that I could continue my friendship and esteem to a man who could so infamously, so impiously forsake and injure one so transcendently—well, I won’t speak of it. But tell me, do you never think of revenge?”

“Revenge! No⁠—what good would that do?⁠—it would make him no better, and me no happier.”

“I don’t know how to talk to you, Mrs. Huntingdon,” said he, smiling; “you are only half a woman—your nature must be half human, half angelic. Such goodness overawes me; I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Are you as happy as you desire to be?”

“No one is so blest as that comes to on this side of eternity.”

“One thing I know,” returned he, with a deep sad sigh; “you are immeasurably happier than I am.”

it was making you old and ugly before your time, and had already made his fireside as comfortless as a convent cell. You smile, Mrs. Huntingdon; nothing moves you. I wish my nature were as calm as yours.”

“My nature was not originally calm,” said I. “I have learned to appear so by dint of hard lessons and many repeated efforts.”

At this juncture Mr. Hattersley burst into the room.

… I would take my precious charge at early dawn, take the coach to M⸺, flee to the port of ⸻, cross the Atlantic, and seek a quiet, humble home in New England, where I would support myself and him by the labour of my hands.

The palette and the easel, my darling playmates once, must be my sober toil-fellows now.

But was I sufficiently skilful as an artist to obtain my livelihood in a strange land, without friends and without recommendation? No; I must wait a little;

and by those who arrogated to themselves the name of gentlemen? And could I have imagined that I should have been able to endure it as calmly, and to repel their insults as firmly and as boldly as I had done?

A hardness such as this is taught by rough experience and despair alone.

Such thoughts as these chased one another through my mind, as I paced to and fro the room, and longed—oh, how I longed—to take my child and leave them now, without an hour’s delay! But it could not be; there was work before me:

“My dear child, I am not. Those are bad words, and wicked people often say them of others better than themselves. Those words cannot make people be damned, nor show that they deserve it.

God will judge us by our own thoughts and deeds, not by what others say about us.

And when you hear such words spoken, Arthur, remember never to repeat them: it is wicked to say such things of others, not to have them said against you.”

Here was Arthur left to me at last; and rousing from my despondent apathy, I exerted all my powers to eradicate the weeds that had been fostered in his infant mind, and sow again the good seed they had rendered unproductive.

Thank heaven, it is not a barren or a stony soil; if weeds spring fast there, so do better plants.

His apprehensions are more quick, his heart more overflowing with affection than ever his father’s could have been, and it is no hopeless task to bend him to obedience and win him to love and know his own true friend, as long as there is …

“Well, Esther, I pity you; but still, I repeat, stand firm.

You might as well sell yourself to slavery at once, as marry a man you dislike.

If your mother and brother are unkind to you, you may leave them, but remember you are bound to your husband for life.”

Oldfield. When I tell you not to marry without love, I do not advise you to marry for love alone: there are many, many other things to be considered.

Keep both heart and hand in your own possession, till you see good reason to part with them; and if such an occasion should never present itself, comfort your mind with this reflection, that though in single life your joys may not be very many, your sorrows, at least, will not be more than you can bear.

Marriage may change your circumstances for the better, but, in my private opinion, it is far more likely to produce a contrary result.”

and if such an occasion should never present itself, comfort your mind with this reflection, that though in single life your joys may not be very many, your sorrows, at least, will not be more than you can bear.

Marriage may change your circumstances for the better, but, in my private opinion, it is far more likely to produce a contrary result.

”

Huntingdon goes about enjoying himself where and how he pleases.

I shall expect my husband to have no pleasures but what he shares with me; and if his greatest pleasure of all is not the enjoyment of my company, why, it will be the worse for him, that’s all.

”

Alas! I could offer no more: I had barely sufficient remaining for the probable expenses of the journey.

What trembling joy it was when the little wicket closed behind us, as we issued from the park!

Then, for one moment, I paused, to inhale one draught of that cool, bracing air, and venture one look back upon the house. All was dark and still:

“And why not? Don’t you know that every time we meet the thoughts of the final parting will become more painful?

Don’t you feel that every interview makes us dearer to each other than the last?

”

Trust my words rather than your own feelings now, and in a few years you will see that I was right—though at present I hardly can see it myself,” she murmured with a sigh as she rested her head on her hand. “

And don’t argue against me any more: all you can say has been already said by my own heart and refuted by my reason.

It was hard enough to combat those suggestions as they were whispered within me; in your mouth they are ten times worse, and if you knew how much they pain me you would cease at once, I know.

“I will go—in a minute, if that can relieve you—and never return!” said I, with bitter emphasis. “But, if we may never meet, and never hope to meet again, is it a crime to exchange our thoughts by letter?

May not kindred spirits meet, and mingle in communion, whatever be the fate and circumstances of their earthly tenements?

”

“

Never mind our kind friends: if they can part our bodies, it is enough; in God’s name, let them not sunder our souls!

” cried I, in terror lest she should deem it her duty to deny us this last remaining consolation.

But I said no more to him on that subject. I instantly started a new topic of conversation, and soon took leave of my companion, with a feeling of less cordiality towards him than usual.

Perhaps I had no right to be annoyed at him, but I was so nevertheless.

In little more than a week after this I met him returning from a visit to the Wilsons’;

You see Lawrence and I somehow could not manage to get on very well together. The fact is, I believe, we were both of us a little too touchy.

It is a troublesome thing, Halford, this susceptibility to affronts where none are intended.

I am no martyr to it now, as you can bear me witness: I have learned to be merry and wise, to be more easy with myself and more indulgent to my neighbours, and I can afford to laugh at both Lawrence and you.