Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (463 page)

These curates were full of strong, High-Church feeling.  Belligerent by nature, it was well for their professional character that they had, as clergymen, sufficient scope for the exercise of their warlike propensities.  Mr. Brontë, with all his warm regard for Church and State, had a great respect for mental freedom; and, though he was the last man in the world to conceal his opinions, he lived in perfect amity with all the respectable part of those who differed from him.  Not so the curates.  Dissent was schism, and schism was condemned in the Bible.  In default of turbaned Saracens, they entered on a crusade against Methodists in broadcloth; and the consequence was that the Methodists and Baptists refused to pay the church-rates.  Miss Brontë thus describes the state of things at this time: —

“Little Haworth has been all in a bustle about church-rates, since you were here.  We had a stirring meeting in the schoolroom.  Papa took the chair, and Mr. C. and Mr. W. acted as his supporters, one on each side.  There was violent opposition, which set Mr. C.’s Irish blood in a ferment, and if papa had not kept him quiet, partly by persuasion and partly by compulsion, he would have given the Dissenters their kale through the reek — a Scotch proverb, which I will explain to you another time.  He and Mr. W. both bottled up their wrath for that time, but it was only to explode with redoubled force at a future period.  We had two sermons on dissent, and its consequences, preached last Sunday — one in the afternoon by Mr. W., and one in the evening by Mr. C.  All the Dissenters were invited to come and hear, and they actually shut up their chapels, and came in a body; of course the church was crowded.  Mr. W. delivered a noble, eloquent, High-Church, Apostolical-Succession discourse, in which he banged the Dissenters most fearlessly and unflinchingly.  I thought they had got enough for one while, but it was nothing to the dose that was thrust down their throats in the evening.  A keener, cleverer, bolder, and more heart-stirring harangue than that which Mr. C. delivered from Haworth pulpit, last Sunday evening, I never heard.  He did not rant; he did not cant; he did not whine; he did not sniggle; he just got up and spoke with the boldness of a man who was impressed with the truth of what he was saying, who has no fear of his enemies, and no dread of consequences.  His sermon lasted an hour, yet I was sorry when it was done.  I do not say that I agree either with him, or with Mr. W., either in all or in half their opinions.  I consider them bigoted, intolerant, and wholly unjustifiable on the ground of common sense.  My conscience will not let me be either a Puseyite or a Hookist;
mais
, if I were a Dissenter, I would have taken the first opportunity of kicking, or of horse-whipping both the gentlemen for their stern, bitter attack on my religion and its teachers.  But in spite of all this, I admired the noble integrity which could dictate so fearless an opposition against so strong an antagonist.

“P.S. — Mr. W. has given another lecture at the Keighley Mechanics’ Institution, and papa has also given a lecture; both are spoken of very highly in the newspapers, and it is mentioned as a matter of wonder that such displays of intellect should emanate from the village of Haworth, ‘situated among the bogs and mountains, and, until very lately, supposed to be in a state of semi-barbarism.’  Such are the words of the newspaper.”

To fill up the account of this outwardly eventless year, I may add a few more extracts from the letters entrusted to me.

“May 15th, 1840.

“Do not be over-persuaded to marry a man you can never respect — I do not say
love
; because, I think, if you can respect a person before marriage, moderate love at least will come after; and as to intense
passion
, I am convinced that that is no desirable feeling.  In the first place, it seldom or never meets with a requital; and, in the second place, if it did, the feeling would be only temporary: it would last the honeymoon, and then, perhaps, give place to disgust, or indifference, worse, perhaps, than disgust.  Certainly this would be the case on the man’s part; and on the woman’s — God help her, if she is left to love passionately and alone.

“I am tolerably well convinced that I shall never marry at all.  Reason tells me so, and I am not so utterly the slave of feeling but that I can
occasionally hear
her voice.”

“June 2nd, 1840.

“M. is not yet come to Haworth; but she is to come on the condition that I first go and stay a few days there.  If all be well, I shall go next Wednesday.  I may stay at G — - until Friday or Saturday, and the early part of the following week I shall pass with you, if you will have me — which last sentence indeed is nonsense, for as I shall be glad to see you, so I know you will be glad to see me.  This arrangement will not allow much time, but it is the only practicable one which, considering all the circumstances, I can effect.  Do not urge me to stay more than two or three days, because I shall be obliged to refuse you.  I intend to walk to Keighley, there to take the coach as far as B — -, then to get some one to carry my box, and to walk the rest of the way to G-.  If I manage this, I think I shall contrive very well.  I shall reach B. by about five o’clock, and then I shall have the cool of the evening for the walk.  I have communicated the whole arrangement to M.  I desire exceedingly to see both her and you.  Good-bye.

C. B.
C. B.
C. B.
C. B.

“If you have any better plan to suggest I am open to conviction, provided your plan is practicable.”

“August 20th, 1840.

“Have you seen anything of Miss H. lately?  I wish they, or somebody else, would get me a situation.  I have answered advertisements without number, but my applications have met with no success.

“I have got another bale of French books from G. containing upwards of forty volumes.  I have read about half.  They are like the rest, clever, wicked, sophistical, and immoral.  The best of it is, they give one a thorough idea of France and Paris, and are the best substitute for French conversation that I have met with.

“I positively have nothing more to say to you, for I am in a stupid humour.  You must excuse this letter not being quite as long as your own.  I have written to you soon, that you might not look after the postman in vain.  Preserve this writing as a curiosity in caligraphy — I think it is exquisite — all brilliant black blots, and utterly illegible letters.  ‘CALIBAN.’

“‘The wind bloweth where it listeth.  Thou hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, nor whither it goeth.’  That, I believe, is Scripture, though in what chapter or book, or whether it be correctly quoted, I can’t possibly say.  However, it behoves me to write a letter to a young woman of the name of E., with whom I was once acquainted, ‘in life’s morning march, when my spirit was young.’  This young woman wished me to write to her some time since, though I have nothing to say — I e’en put it off, day by day, till at last, fearing that she will ‘curse me by her gods,’ I feel constrained to sit down and tack a few lines together, which she may call a letter or not as she pleases.  Now if the young woman expects sense in this production, she will find herself miserably disappointed.  I shall dress her a dish of salmagundi — I shall cook a hash — compound a stew — toss up an
omelette soufflèe à la Française
, and send it her with my respects.  The wind, which is very high up in our hills of Judea, though, I suppose, down in the Philistine flats of B. parish it is nothing to speak of, has produced the same effects on the contents of my knowledge-box that a quaigh of usquebaugh does upon those of most other bipeds.  I see everything
couleur de rose
, and am strongly inclined to dance a jig, if I knew how.  I think I must partake of the nature of a pig or an ass — both which animals are strongly affected by a high wind.  From what quarter the wind blows I cannot tell, for I never could in my life; but I should very much like to know how the great brewing-tub of Bridlington Bay works, and what sort of yeasty froth rises just now on the waves.

“A woman of the name of Mrs. B., it seems, wants a teacher.  I wish she would have me; and I have written to Miss W. to tell her so.  Verily, it is a delightful thing to live here at home, at full liberty to do just what one pleases.  But I recollect some scrubby old fable about grasshoppers and ants, by a scrubby old knave yclept Æsop; the grasshoppers sang all the summer, and starved all the winter.

“A distant relation of mine, one Patrick Branwell, has set off to seek his fortune in the wild, wandering, adventurous, romantic, knight-errant-like capacity of clerk on the Leeds and Manchester Railroad.  Leeds and Manchester — where are they?  Cities in the wilderness, like Tadmor, alias Palmyra — are they not?

“There is one little trait respecting Mr. W. which lately came to my knowledge, which gives a glimpse of the better side of his character.  Last Saturday night he had been sitting an hour in the parlour with Papa; and, as he went away, I heard Papa say to him ‘What is the matter with you?  You seem in very low spirits to-night.’  ‘Oh, I don’t know.  I’ve been to see a poor young girl, who, I’m afraid, is dying.’  ‘Indeed; what is her name?’  ‘Susan Bland, the daughter of John Bland, the superintendent.’  Now Susan Bland is my oldest and best scholar in the Sunday-school; and, when I heard that, I thought I would go as soon as I could to see her.  I did go on Monday afternoon, and found her on her way to that ‘bourn whence no traveller returns.’  After sitting with her some time, I happened to ask her mother, if she thought a little port wine would do her good.  She replied that the doctor had recommended it, and that when Mr. W. was last there, he had brought them a bottle of wine and jar of preserves.  She added, that he was always good-natured to poor folks, and seemed to have a deal of feeling and kindheartedness about him.  No doubt, there are defects in his character, but there are also good qualities . . . God bless him!  I wonder who, with his advantages, would be without his faults.  I know many of his faulty actions, many of his weak points; yet, where I am, he shall always find rather a defender than an accuser.  To be sure, my opinion will go but a very little way to decide his character; what of that?  People should do right as far as their ability extends.  You are not to suppose, from all this, that Mr. W. and I are on very amiable terms; we are not at all.  We are distant, cold, and reserved.  We seldom speak; and when we do, it is only to exchange the most trivial and common-place remarks.”

The Mrs. B. alluded to in this letter, as in want of a governess, entered into a correspondence with Miss Brontë, and expressed herself much pleased with the letters she received from her, with the “style and candour of the application,” in which Charlotte had taken care to tell her, that if she wanted a showy, elegant, or fashionable person, her correspondent was not fitted for such a situation.  But Mrs. B. required her governess to give instructions in music and singing, for which Charlotte was not qualified: and, accordingly, the negotiation fell through.  But Miss Brontë was not one to sit down in despair after disappointment.  Much as she disliked the life of a private governess, it was her duty to relieve her father of the burden of her support, and this was the only way open to her.  So she set to advertising and inquiring with fresh vigour.

In the meantime, a little occurrence took place, described in one of her letters, which I shall give, as it shows her instinctive aversion to a particular class of men, whose vices some have supposed she looked upon with indulgence.  The extract tells all that need be known, for the purpose I have in view, of the miserable pair to whom it relates.

“You remember Mr. and Mrs. — -?  Mrs. — - came here the other day, with a most melancholy tale of her wretched husband’s drunken, extravagant, profligate habits.  She asked Papa’s advice; there was nothing she said but ruin before them.  They owed debts which they could never pay.  She expected Mr. — -’s instant dismissal from his curacy; she knew, from bitter experience, that his vices were utterly hopeless.  He treated her and her child savagely; with much more to the same effect.  Papa advised her to leave him for ever, and go home, if she had a home to go to.  She said, this was what she had long resolved to do; and she would leave him directly, as soon as Mr. B. dismissed him.  She expressed great disgust and contempt towards him, and did not affect to have the shadow of regard in any way.  I do not wonder at this, but I do wonder she should ever marry a man towards whom her feelings must always have been pretty much the same as they are now.  I am morally certain no decent woman could experience anything but aversion towards such a man as Mr. — -.  Before I knew, or suspected his character, and when I rather wondered at his versatile talents, I felt it in an uncontrollable degree.  I hated to talk with him — hated to look at him; though as I was not certain that there was substantial reason for such a dislike, and thought it absurd to trust to mere instinct, I both concealed and repressed the feeling as much as I could; and, on all occasions, treated him with as much civility as I was mistress of.  I was struck with Mary’s expression of a similar feeling at first sight; she said, when we left him, ‘That is a hideous man, Charlotte!’  I thought ‘He is indeed.’”

CHAPTER X

Early in March, 1841, Miss Brontë obtained her second and last situation as a governess.  This time she esteemed herself fortunate in becoming a member of a kind-hearted and friendly household.  The master of it, she especially regarded as a valuable friend, whose advice helped to guide her in one very important step of her life.  But as her definite acquirements were few, she had to eke them out by employing her leisure time in needlework; and altogether her position was that of “bonne” or nursery governess, liable to repeated and never-ending calls upon her time.  This description of uncertain, yet perpetual employment, subject to the exercise of another person’s will at all hours of the day, was peculiarly trying to one whose life at home had been full of abundant leisure. 
Idle
she never was in any place, but of the multitude of small talks, plans, duties, pleasures, &c., that make up most people’s days, her home life was nearly destitute.  This made it possible for her to go through long and deep histories of feeling and imagination, for which others, odd as it sounds, have rarely time.  This made it inevitable that — later on, in her too short career — the intensity of her feeling should wear out her physical health.  The habit of “making out,” which had grown with her growth, and strengthened with her strength, had become a part of her nature.  Yet all exercise of her strongest and most characteristic faculties was now out of the question.  She could not (as while she was at Miss W — -’s) feel, amidst the occupations of the day, that when evening came, she might employ herself in more congenial ways.  No doubt, all who enter upon the career of a governess have to relinquish much; no doubt, it must ever be a life of sacrifice; but to Charlotte Brontë it was a perpetual attempt to force all her faculties into a direction for which the whole of her previous life had unfitted them.  Moreover, the little Brontës had been brought up motherless; and from knowing nothing of the gaiety and the sportiveness of childhood — from never having experienced caresses or fond attentions themselves — they were ignorant of the very nature of infancy, or how to call out its engaging qualities.  Children were to them the troublesome necessities of humanity; they had never been drawn into contact with them in any other way.  Years afterwards, when Miss Brontë came to stay with us, she watched our little girls perpetually; and I could not persuade her that they were only average specimens of well brought up children.  She was surprised and touched by any sign of thoughtfulness for others, of kindness to animals, or of unselfishness on their part: and constantly maintained that she was in the right, and I in the wrong, when we differed on the point of their unusual excellence.  All this must be borne in mind while reading the following letters.  And it must likewise be borne in mind — by those who, surviving her, look back upon her life from their mount of observation — how no distaste, no suffering ever made her shrink from any course which she believed it to be her duty to engage in.

“March 3rd, 1841.

“I told some time since, that I meant to get a situation, and when I said so my resolution was quite fixed.  I felt that however often I was disappointed, I had no intention of relinquishing my efforts.  After being severely baffled two or three times, — after a world of trouble, in the way of correspondence and interviews, — I have at length succeeded, and am fairly established in my new place.

* * * * *

“The house is not very large, but exceedingly comfortable and well regulated; the grounds are fine and extensive.  In taking the place, I have made a large sacrifice in the way of salary, in the hope of securing comfort, — by which word I do not mean to express good eating and drinking, or warm fire, or a soft bed, but the society of cheerful faces, and minds and hearts not dug out of a lead-mine, or cut from a marble quarry.  My salary is not really more than 16
l
. per annum, though it is nominally 20
l
., but the expense of washing will be deducted therefrom.  My pupils are two in number, a girl of eight, and a boy of six.  As to my employers, you will not expect me to say much about their characters when I tell you that I only arrived here yesterday.  I have not the faculty of telling an individual’s disposition at first sight.  Before I can venture to pronounce on a character, I must see it first under various lights and from various points of view.  All I can say therefore is, both Mr. and Mrs. — - seem to me good sort of people.  I have as yet had no cause to complain of want of considerateness or civility.  My pupils are wild and unbroken, but apparently well-disposed.  I wish I may be able to say as much next time I write to you.  My earnest wish and endeavour will be to please them.  If I can but feel that I am giving satisfaction, and if at the same time I can keep my health, I shall, I hope, be moderately happy.  But no one but myself can tell how hard a governess’s work is to me — for no one but myself is aware how utterly averse my whole mind and nature are for the employment.  Do not think that I fail to blame myself for this, or that I leave any means unemployed to conquer this feeling.  Some of my greatest difficulties lie in things that would appear to you comparatively trivial.  I find it so hard to repel the rude familiarity of children.  I find it so difficult to ask either servants or mistress for anything I want, however much I want it.  It is less pain for me to endure the greatest inconvenience than to go into the kitchen to request its removal.  I am a fool.  Heaven knows I cannot help it!

“Now can you tell me whether it is considered improper for governesses to ask their friends to come and see them.  I do not mean, of course, to stay, but just for a call of an hour or two?  If it is not absolute treason, I do fervently request that you will contrive, in some way or other, to let me have a sight of your face.  Yet I feel, at the same time, that I am making a very foolish and almost impracticable demand; yet this is only four miles from B — -!”

* * * * *

“March 21st.

“You must excuse a very short answer to your most welcome letter; for my time is entirely occupied.  Mrs. — - expected a good deal of sewing from me.  I cannot sew much during the day, on account of the children, who require the utmost attention.  I am obliged, therefore, to devote the evenings to this business.  Write to me often; very long letters.  It will do both of us good.  This place is far better than — -, but God knows, I have enough to do to keep a good heart in the matter.  What you said has cheered me a little.  I wish I could always act according to your advice.  Home-sickness affects me sorely.  I like Mr. — - extremely.  The children are over-indulged, and consequently hard at times to manage. 
Do, do
, do come and see me; if it be a breach of etiquette, never mind.  If you can only stop an hour, come.  Talk no more about my forsaking you; my darling, I could not afford to do it.  I find it is not in my nature to get on in this weary world without sympathy and attachment in some quarter; and seldom indeed do we find it.  It is too great a treasure to be ever wantonly thrown away when once secured.”

Miss Brontë had not been many weeks in her new situation before she had a proof of the kind-hearted hospitality of her employers.  Mr. — - wrote to her father, and urgently invited him to come and make acquaintance with his daughter’s new home, by spending a week with her in it; and Mrs. — - expressed great regret when one of Miss Brontë’s friends drove up to the house to leave a letter or parcel, without entering.  So she found that all her friends might freely visit her, and that her father would be received with especial gladness.  She thankfully acknowledged this kindness in writing to urge her friend afresh to come and see her; which she accordingly did.

“June, 1841.

“You can hardly fancy it possible, I dare say, that I cannot find a quarter of an hour to scribble a note in; but so it is; and when a note is written, it has to be carried a mile to the post, and that consumes nearly an hour, which is a large portion of the day.  Mr. and Mrs. — - have been gone a week.  I heard from them this morning.  No time is fixed for their return, but I hope it will not be delayed long, or I shall miss the chance of seeing Anne this vacation.  She came home, I understand, last Wednesday, and is only to be allowed three weeks’ vacation, because the family she is with are going to Scarborough. 
I should like to see her
, to judge for myself of the state of her health.  I dare not trust any other person’s report, no one seems minute enough in their observations.  I should very much have liked you to have seen her.  I have got on very well with the servants and children so far; yet it is dreary, solitary work.  You can tell as well as me the lonely feeling of being without a companion.”

Soon after this was written, Mr. and Mrs. — - returned, in time to allow Charlotte to go and look after Anne’s health, which, as she found to her intense anxiety, was far from strong.  What could she do to nurse and cherish up this little sister, the youngest of them all?  Apprehension about her brought up once more the idea of keeping a school.  If, by this means, they three could live together, and maintain themselves, all might go well.  They would have some time of their own, in which to try again and yet again at that literary career, which, in spite of all baffling difficulties, was never quite set aside as an ultimate object; but far the strongest motive with Charlotte was the conviction that Anne’s health was so delicate that it required a degree of tending which none but her sister could give.  Thus she wrote during those midsummer holidays.

“Haworth, July 18th, 1841.

“We waited long and anxiously for you, on the Thursday that you promised to come.  I quite wearied my eyes with watching from the window, eye-glass in hand, and sometimes spectacles on nose.  However, you are not to blame . . . and as to disappointment, why, all must suffer disappointment at some period or other of their lives.  But a hundred things I had to say to you will now be forgotten, and never said.  There is a project hatching in this house, which both Emily and I anxiously wished to discuss with you.  The project is yet in its infancy, hardly peeping from its shell; and whether it will ever come out a fine full-fledged chicken, or will turn addle and die before it cheeps, is one of those considerations that are but dimly revealed by the oracles of futurity.  Now, don’t be nonplussed by all this metaphorical mystery.  I talk of a plain and everyday occurrence, though, in Delphic style, I wrap up the information in figures of speech concerning eggs, chickens etceatera, etcaeterorum.  To come to the point: Papa and aunt talk, by fits and starts, of our — id est, Emily, Anne, and myself — commencing a school!  I have often, you know, said how much I wished such a thing; but I never could conceive where the capital was to come from for making such a speculation.  I was well aware, indeed, that aunt had money, but I always considered that she was the last person who would offer a loan for the purpose in question.  A loan, however, she
has
offered, or rather intimates that she perhaps
will
offer in case pupils can be secured, an eligible situation obtained, &c.  This sounds very fair, but still there are matters to be considered which throw something of a damp upon the scheme.  I do not expect that aunt will sink more than 150
l
. in such a venture; and would it be possible to establish a respectable (not by any means a
showy
) school, and to commence housekeeping with a capital of only that amount?  Propound the question to your sister, if you think she can answer it; if not, don’t say a word on the subject.  As to getting into debt, that is a thing we could none of us reconcile our mind to for a moment.  We do not care how modest, how humble our commencement be, so it be made on sure grounds, and have a safe foundation.  In thinking of all possible and impossible places where we could establish a school, I have thought of Burlington, or rather of the neighbourhood of Burlington.  Do you remember whether there was any other school there besides that of Miss — -?  This is, of course, a perfectly crude and random idea.  There are a hundred reasons why it should be an impracticable one.  We have no connections, no acquaintances there; it is far from home, &c.  Still, I fancy the ground in the East Riding is less fully occupied than in the West.  Much inquiry and consideration will be necessary, of course, before any place is decided on; and I fear much time will elapse before any plan is executed . . . Write as soon as you can.  I shall not leave my present situation till my future prospects assume a more fixed and definite aspect.”

A fortnight afterwards, we see that the seed has been sown which was to grow up into a plan materially influencing her future life.

“August 7th, 1841.

“This is Saturday evening; I have put the children to bed; now I am going to sit down and answer your letter.  I am again by myself — housekeeper and governess — for Mr. and Mrs. — - are staying at — -.  To speak truth, though I am solitary while they are away, it is still by far the happiest part of my time.  The children are under decent control, the servants are very observant and attentive to me, and the occasional absence of the master and mistress relieves me from the duty of always endeavouring to seem cheerful and conversable.  Martha — -, it appears, is in the way of enjoying great advantages; so is Mary, for you will be surprised to hear that she is returning immediately to the Continent with her brother; not, however, to stay there, but to take a month’s tour and recreation.  I have had a long letter from Mary, and a packet containing a present of a very handsome black silk scarf, and a pair of beautiful kid gloves, bought at Brussels.  Of course, I was in one sense pleased with the gift — pleased that they should think of me so far off, amidst the excitements of one of the most splendid capitals of Europe; and yet it felt irksome to accept it.  I should think Mary and Martha have not more than sufficient pocket-money to supply themselves.  I wish they had testified their regard by a less expensive token.  Mary’s letters spoke of some of the pictures and cathedrals she had seen — pictures the most exquisite, cathedrals the most venerable.  I hardly know what swelled to my throat as I read her letter: such a vehement impatience of restraint and steady work; such a strong wish for wings — wings such as wealth can furnish; such an urgent thirst to see, to know, to learn; something internal seemed to expand bodily for a minute.  I was tantalised by the consciousness of faculties unexercised, — then all collapsed, and I despaired.  My dear, I would hardly make that confession to any one but yourself; and to you, rather in a letter than
vivâ voce
.  These rebellious and absurd emotions were only momentary; I quelled them in five minutes.  I hope they will not revive, for they were acutely painful.  No further steps have been taken about the project I mentioned to you, nor probably will be for the present; but Emily, and Anne, and I, keep it in view.  It is our polar star, and we look to it in all circumstances of despondency.  I begin to suspect I am writing in a strain which will make you think I am unhappy.  This is far from being the case; on the contrary, I know my place is a favourable one, for a governess.  What dismays and haunts me sometimes, is a conviction that I have no natural knack for my vocation.  If teaching only were requisite, it would be smooth and easy; but it is the living in other people’s houses — the estrangement from one’s real character — the adoption of a cold, rigid, apathetic exterior, that is painful . . . You will not mention our school project at present.  A project not actually commenced is always uncertain.  Write to me often, my dear Nell; you
know
your letters are valued.  Your ‘loving child’ (as you choose to call me so),