Attendant of Wildfell Hall

The content to follow is not for you but for myself—an uneducated individual with limited taste and understanding—and for those who decide that my ramblings are worth spending their time to consume.

[megginthehall]

The Folly of Youth

To Love an Arthur, Pt 1

Those of my acquaintance who have read Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte quite often express astonishment at Helen’s ability to act civilly, even graciously, toward Arthur Huntingdon despite the harrowing trials through which he drags her during their relationship. His deplorable actions continually hurt his wife emotionally and sometimes physically. He makes light of and often infantilizes her and her feelings, often purposefully distressing her for his own amusement. Any comfort or happiness he allows her is typically a result of his own manipulation, a necessary state in which she must be so that he may delight himself by destroying her peace a moment later. His character, as we see plainly, is dastardly and narcissistic, and he himself a plague on humanity.

 How, asks one often questions, could Helen bear this treatment? How could she even fancy herself to love such a creature whose vagaries are displayed openly and plainly for the world? How could she not see him for the villain he is and leave him the moment she saw or heard of the things he had done? It seems to be that, among other things, three primary elements are at work against our heroine; the folly of youth, the peril of gradual revelation, and the innocence of a happy childhood and good breeding. The analysis of these elements shall be divided into multiple parts for ease of reading, as I have, it seems, many things to discuss on this matter, and no one to temper my natural verbosity by expressing myself in this manner.

Firstly, we have the folly of youth. I cannot vouch for the age of my dear reader, but I myself have accumulated a number of years sufficient to exclude myself from the category of “child”, nor by the standards of the era in which Wildfell Hall is set may I regard myself as “young.” Helen Lawrence, at the time she meets Arthur Huntingdon, has only recently attained her eighteenth year. She is a girl blooming into young womanhood and onto the social scene. As a well-bred lady of good social standing, the importance of marrying quickly and well has doubtless been impressed upon Helen from an early age. In the modern day, despite the vast differences in values and social convention from the time in which Helen lived, many young women can relate to the feeling that she must marry sooner rather than later, lest she see her friends marry and bear children around her and leave her to stand isolated in the increasingly-lonely sphere of “single womanhood.” Attaining as a single woman the age at which her parents married or had their first child is a jarring experience for many, regardless of the increasing emphasis from modern societal influences in which women are encouraged to chase success rather than families and to reject men in favor of a career and peace of mind. 

Helen, no doubt, has been thinking of finding a husband and becoming a wife in a respectable household since she was a child. This is the topic of the first conversation in which we witness Helen engage with her aunt before the young lady is permitted to step into the bustling social scene of London. She admits to her aunt, when asked, that she thinks about marriage “often.” Yet her strong character is revealed in her determination to reject the much-older gentlemen her aunt attempts to foist upon her in favor of a man nearer her own age whom she can love and respect. It is of particular note that she never declares an intention of remaining single, nor does she demonstrate any hopes to avoid what was considered by those around her as her social obligation to marry, but precisely the opposite; she declares to her aunt her desire to marry, along with her skepticism that she could even find an unattached man of the caliber which she desires in a marriage partner, which is perhaps a lament sung by many a discerning woman of the present age. Rather than a resolution never to marry, Helen insists on choosing her own partner and refusing to be pressured by her aunt. She demonstrates good principles and a determination to maintain them, qualities she retains throughout the harrowing ordeal of her life to come. Yet she is still young, and many young people—perhaps even yourself, my reader—can relate to the prevalent sentiment among the youth that “I know what’s best for myself,” whether it be from an overinflated estimation of one’s wisdom or a desire for self-sufficiency in matters most personal to one’s self.  

What I have termed the “folly of youth” is the idea that Mother and Father—or in this case, Aunt—may have good intentions but do not understand the young man or woman in question. It is a belief that the elders in one’s life are not as truly aware of the substance or experiences of the aforementioned young individual, and therefore could not know what is truly best for them. Thus, with such a mentality, the only person best equipped to make determinations and hold opinions on one’s life is the individual to whom it belongs and to whom the experiences and situations occur. Children who are of an age to no longer feel themselves children yet have not quite attained adulthood often align with such a manner of thinking, giving rise to the theme of “teenaged rebellion” which prevails in many societies and households of the modern era. Helen herself does not, as we see by her thoughts and actions she records in her own diary, intentionally rebel against her aunt’s guidance as an act of obstinance for the sake of obstinance, yet there is an overthrow of her aunt’s authority in her choice to not only reject the aged suitors launched in her direction but to pursue Arthur Huntingdon and accept his proposal despite repeated warnings about the unsuitability of his character. Helen’s determination to love Arthur regardless of his displayed deficiencies of character and manner manifests a similar fallacy related to, and perhaps engendered by, the folly of youth, which is the “I can fix him” fallacy. This I shall discuss in a later section, as it relates more specifically to the third element of Helen’s long suffering of her worthless husband. At the present, it is sufficient to recognize that her inexperience and desire to do well on her own merit causes Helen, contrary to the advice of her guardian and the evidence occasionally spread before her own eyes, to submit to Arthur Huntingdon’s attentions.

Helen’s youth and inexperience convince her that, although those in her life who know her character and situation as well as the man in question are wholeheartedly against the match, she has the wisdom and ability to navigate a situation sufficiently precarious to cause readers, should they be not armed with some element of foresight, to predict the union to bring nothing but strife and misery. She believes that all will be well, as she has not had the benefit of years and experiences to inform her of the usual manner in which such situations involving villains of the caliber of her paramour typically resolve. She retains the hope of childhood, trusting that a “happily ever after” must result from a match that she is led to believe is based on a strong love and good intentions. Helen may be excused for believing this on the grounds of her youth, yet such things, as those who have lived beyond the years of childhood often discover, rarely come to pass in this manner.

[megginthehall]

To Meet a Mrs. Graham

“But sometimes, I believe, she really had some gratification in conversing with me; and one bright February morning, during twenty minutes’ stroll along the moor, she laid aside her usual asperity and reserve, and fairly fell into conversation with me, discoursing with so much eloquence and depth of thought and feeling on a subject happily coinciding with my own ideas, and looking so beautiful withal, that I went home enchanted, and on the way (morally) started to find myself thinking that, after all, it would, perhaps, be better to spend one’s days with such a woman than with Eliza Millward, and then I (figuratively) blushed for my inconstancy. 

“On entering the parlour I found Eliza there with Rose, and no one else. The surprise was not altogether so agreeable as it ought to have been. We chatted together a long time, but I found her rather frivolous, and even a little insipid, compared with the more mature and earnest Mrs. Graham.”

Dearest reader, have you ever had the pleasure in your life of meeting with an individual who completely recolored your perceptions of life and those around you? I do not speak necessarily of a romantic love, of an enchantment that so often colors an early attraction, although this certainly may be the case for those fortunate enough to have found a love so dear and life-altering. But this manner of alteration can take the form of a platonic friendship rather than a romantic interest, and the effects are nonetheless astonishing and inexplicable. 

The narrator of the story to this point is the young Gilbert Markham, a respectable farmer who forms an unlikely friendship with Mrs. Helen Graham through her son, Arthur. Helen is reserved and seems to keep the young man at arm’s length, yet this does not discourage Mr. Markham. Indeed, Gilbert seems all the more fascinated by this newcomer, whose character and manner are so completely at odds with those of the rest of the town in which he has spent the entirety of his life. His kindness and joviality towards young Arthur eventually improves Helen’s manner toward him, and the two are able to converse amiably. It is in this increasing friendship that Gilbert truly begins to evaluate his life and realize that there is something missing from it, and that Helen herself may have, or perhaps even be, the answer.

“...for I shall not fall seriously in love with the young widow, I think, nor she with me—that’s certain—but if I find a little pleasure in her society I may surely be allowed to seek it; and if the star of her divinity be bright enough to dim the lustre of Eliza’s so much the better, but I can scarcely think of it.”

Gilbert begins to realize the poor choice he has been making in courting Eliza Millward, the somewhat supercilious daughter of the local minister, when compared with this serious young woman who has just arrived. Although he feels certain that nothing romantic can come of this attachment to Helen, who seems cold and aloof at times despite their growing friendship, Gilbert is increasingly aware that her qualities far outshine even she whom he previously held to be the brightest star of his life. As time goes on, he begins to feel discontent with his life, not through any negative occurrence, but rather through the introduction of someone who widens his horizons further than he dared to venture himself out of respect for his father’s last wishes. It is Helen who helps Gilbert to aspire to a life beyond the narrow confines of that which his father defined for him before his death. The late Mr. Markham was, it seems, an unremarkable man who considered it a cardinal sin to aspire to a higher lot than that to which one has been born, and impressed this upon his eldest son. Gilbert, obedient to his father’s designs for his life, strove to be content to live his life in the small village in which he had been reared, despite his mother’s objections against the women of the town. Yet in meeting Mrs. Graham, Gilbert finds that he can no longer be satisfied with the same people and the same narrowmindedness to which he has grown accustomed. Helen is a marvel, one who challenges him and stands firm in her convictions, in stark contrast to those around him who continually bend to his wishes and tire him exceedingly in the process.

It is an astonishing event, to meet a Mrs. Graham, a person of stellar quality who alters one’s worldview just by their existence in one’s life. I do not know, dear reader, if you have had this experience for yourself, but I can attest that I have, in the form of an acquaintance that grew into a treasured friendship. There is one person who appeared very suddenly in my life, and although their future impact was not immediately felt, there was a sense that something in this individual was decidedly different from those with whom I was previously acquainted. Much like Gilbert Markham, I found myself looking forward to interactions with this person and desiring to converse with them and listen to their thoughts, opinions, and observations, until I realized one day that they had become to me a sort of standard of character, a measure by which I evaluated all those presently in or yet to come into my life. This has become to me somewhat inconvenient, as it had to Gilbert, in the realization that several of the people I had invited into my life did not meet this measure. Not that this individual is perfect, by any means, for in fact I know that no human being can be perfect. Yet the standard to which this person strives, the notions toward which they aspire, and the mind they have for continual improvement of their self is both inspiring and condemning to me, pushing me to desire an improvement in my own person and lifestyle, and causing me to consider the types of people whom I allow into my life. 

I, like Mr. Markham at this point of the story, was in a relationship of sorts about the time I met this astonishing individual, and gradually I came to realize that their juxtaposition was one that revealed a particularly unflattering picture with regards to the choices I had hitherto made in those with whom I shared my personal life. As Gilbert realized that his interest in the immature and childish Eliza was waning in light of her comparison with the mature and mentally substantial Helen, so too did I realize that the person with whom I contemplated sharing the rest of my life paled, rather badly in fact, to this person who abruptly made their appearance in my life and served as a living demonstration of the best of mankind. Gilbert recognizes this quality in Helen, and is inspired to make changes in his own life to be worthy of her friendship and, as he hopes, her love. Such a person, whether a romantic interest or a beloved friend, is a blessing to have in one’s life, and ought to be treasured as a gift.

[megginthehall]

An Introduction

I do not pretend, dear reader, to be particularly well-versed in literary analysis, nor even to be a scholar of English works—or any works, for that matter. I have no claims to expertise or authority on the subjects which shall be contained within this blog, centering around The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte. With regards to Ms. Bronte’s work, I am simply an admirer, a rather verbose and opinionated admirer whose experience with events similar to those in this story have compelled her to write something about it. I have also been prompted by a dear friend of mine, whose powers and depth of literary analysis far exceed my own, but whose kindness and love of literature express itself in encouraging others to exercise their own voice and opinions in their favored works. A mutual love of the works of the Bronte sisters enhanced her entreaties for me to express my thoughts on this work, and unfortunately for you, reader, I have decided to oblige her. It may be that this blog suits your tastes, and if so, welcome; if not, then feel free to pursue something that gives you greater pleasure, with my blessing. I make no apologies for my writing, whether today or in the future. There are many themes and social comments to be made about the events in Wildfell Hall, but I am not the one to chase them down and discuss them each at length with exceptional clarity. I write from my own opinions, interests, experiences, thoughts, beliefs, and interpretations, and those who disagree may use this as food for thought, seek harmony of thought with another writer, or write their own interpretations of the same book. If the latter, I would welcome a conversation of differing opinions; if the former, I am gratified to be a catalyst for reflection; if the middling, it makes no difference to me. The content to follow is not for you but for myself—an uneducated individual with limited taste and understanding—and for those who decide that my ramblings are worth spending their time to consume. 

If there is one thing my writing has consistently lacked over the course of my life, it is specific examples and references to support a claim. I do not have the head that some do for memorizing passages. However, I will endeavour to include specific quotations to support claims or references that I make, so that my dear reader may be better able to follow my line of reasoning. Should I fail to do so, I hope that you would be good enough to point this out to me, so that I may remedy my forgetfulness. I make no specific page references, as each edition of Wildfell Hall  will be different in that regard, but I will strive to first quote the passage to which I refer, for your own sake. 

Finally, rest assured that any events from my own life to which I reference are in the past and dealt with in a proper and fitting manner. I am not so unfortunate as dear Helen that I have been mistreated and miserable in my life in the same ways. When I say that I have similar experiences, I do not mean to say that our lives are equivalent, but rather that they ring with similar melodies and themes. I am well, dear reader, and I should ask you to keep this in mind as you read, lest I say something to cause you alarm. I ask for neither pity nor judgement. Rather, I write to compare the events of Helen Huntingdon’s life with real-world examples and lessons.