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 needle-work; 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,
etc., 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 Wooler'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 3, 1841.
"I told you 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, - 1 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 per
annum, though it is nominally
£20, 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 21.
"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 19th, 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 every-day occurrence, though,
in Delphic style, I wrap up the information in figures of speech concerning
eggs, chickens,
etcaetera, 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, etc. 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 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 minds 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, etc. 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 dawn 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),
"C. B."
"P.S. I am well in health; don't fancy I am not; but I have one aching
feeling at my heart (I must allude to it, though I had resolved not to).
It is about Anne; she has so
much to endure: far, far more than I ever had. When my thoughts turn
to her, they always see her as a patient, persecuted stranger. I know what
concealed
susceptibility is in her nature, when her feelings are wounded. I wish
I could be with her, to administer a little balm. She is more lonely -
less gifted with the power of
making friends, even than I am. Drop the subject."
She could bear much for herself; but she could not patiently bear the
sorrows of others, especially of her sisters; and again, of the two sisters,
the idea of the little,
gentle youngest suffering in lonely patience, was insupportable to
her. Something must be done. No matter if the desired end were far away;
all time was lost in which
she was not making progress, however slow, towards it. To have a school,
was to have some portion of daily leisure, uncontrolled but by her own
sense of duty; it
was for the three sisters, loving each other with so passionate an
affection, to be together under one roof, and yet earning their own subsistence;
above all, it was to
have the power of watching over those two whose life and happiness
were ever to Charlotte far more than her own. But no trembling impatience
should lead her to
take an unwise step in haste. She inquired in every direction she could,
as to the chances which a new school might have of success. But in all
there seemed more
establishments like the one which the sisters wished to set up than
could be supported. What was to be done? Superior advantages must be offered.
But how? They
themselves abounded in thought, power, and information; but these are
qualifications scarcely fit to be inserted in a prospectus. Of French they
knew something;
enough to read it fluently, but hardly enough to teach it in competition
with natives, or professional masters. Emily and Anne had some knowledge
of music; but here
again it was doubtful whether, without more instruction, they could
engage to give lessons in it.
Just about this time, Miss Wooler was thinking of relinquishing her
school at Dewsbury Moor; and offered to give it up in favour of her old
pupils, the Brontës. A
sister of hers had taken the active management since the time when
Charlotte was a teacher; but the number of pupils had diminished; and,
if the Brontës undertook
it, they would have to try and work it up to its former state of prosperity.
This, again, would require advantages on their part which they did not
at present possess,
but which Charlotte caught a glimpse of. She resolved to follow the
clue, and never to rest till she had reached a successful issue. With the
forced calm of a
suppressed eagerness, that sends a glow of desire through every word
of the following letter, she wrote to her aunt thus.
"Sept. 29th, 1841.
"DEAR AUNT, - I have heard nothing of Miss Wooler yet since I wrote
to her, intimating that I would accept her offer. I cannot conjecture the
reason of this long
silence, unless some unforeseen impediment has occurred in concluding
the bargain. Meantime, a plan has been suggested and approved by Mr. and
Mrs. --" (the
father and mother of her pupils) "and others, which I wish now to impart
to you. My friends recommend me, if I desire to secure permanent success,
to delay
commencing the school for six months longer, and by all means to contrive,
by hook or by crook, to spend the intervening time in some school on the
continent. They
say schools in England are so numerous, competition so great, that
without some such step towards attaining superiority, we shall probably
have a very hard struggle,
and may fail in the end. They say, moreover, that the loan of £100,
which you have been so kind as to offer us, will, perhaps, not be all required
now, as Miss
Wooler will lend us the furniture; and that, if the speculation is
intended to be a good and successful one, half the sum, at least, ought
to be laid out in the manner I
have mentioned, thereby insuring a more speedy repayment both of interest
and principal.
"I would not go to France or to Paris. I would go to Brussels, in Belgium.
The cost of the journey there, at the dearest rate of travelling, would
be £5; living is there
little more than half as dear as it is in England, and the facilities
for education are equal or superior to any other place in Europe. In half
a year, I could acquire a
thorough familiarity with French. I could improve greatly in Italian,
and even get a dash of German; i.e., providing my health continued as good
as it is now. Mary is
now staying at Brussels, at a first-rate establishment there. I should
not think of going to the Chateau de Koekelberg, where she is resident,
as the terms are much
too high; but if I wrote to her, she, with the assistance of Mrs. Jenkins,
the wife of the British Chaplain, would be able to secure me a cheap decent
residence and
respectable protection. I should have the opportunity of seeing her
frequently; she would make me acquainted with the city; and, with the assistance
of her cousins, I
should probably be introduced to connections far more improving, polished,
and cultivated, than any I have yet known.
"These are advantages which would turn to real account, when we actually
commenced a school; and, if Emily could share them with me, we could take
a footing in
the world afterwards which we can never do now. I say Emily instead
of Anne; for Anne might take her turn at some future period, if our school
answered. I feel
certain, while I am writing, that you will see the propriety of what
I say. You always like to use your money to the best advantage. You are
not fond of making
shabby purchases; when you do confer a favour, it is often done in
style; and, depend upon it, £50 or £100 thus laid out, would
be well employed. Of course, I
know no other friend in the world to whom I could apply, on this subject,
except yourself. I feel an absolute conviction that, if this advantage
were allowed us, it
would be the making of us for life. Papa will, perhaps, think it a
wild and ambitious scheme; but who ever rose in the world without ambition?
When he left Ireland to
go to Cambridge University, he was as ambitious as I am now. I want
us all to get on. I know we have talents and I want them to be turned to
account. I look to
you, aunt; to help us. I think you will not refuse. I know, if you
consent, it shall not be my fault if you ever repent your kindness."
This letter was written from the house in which she was residing as
governess. It was some little time before an answer came. Much had to be
talked over between
the father and aunt in Haworth Parsonage. As last consent was given.
Then and not till then, she confided her plan to an intimate friend; She
was not one to talk
over-much about any project, while it remained uncertain - to speak
about her labour, in any direction, while its result was doubtful.
"Nov. 2, 1841.
"Now let us begin to quarrel. In the first place, I must consider whether
I will commence operations on the defensive, or the offensive. . The defensive,
I think. You
say, and I see plainly, that your feelings have been hurt by an apparent
want of confidence on my part. You heard from others of Miss Wooler's overtures
before I
communicated them to you myself. This is true. I was deliberating on
plans important to my future prospects. I never exchanged a letter with
you on the subject. True
again. This appears strange conduct to a friend. near and dear, long-known,
and never found wanting. Most true. I cannot give you my excuses for this
behaviour;
this word excuse implies confession of a fault, and I do not feel that
I have been in fault. The plain fact is, I was not, I am not now, certain
of my destiny. On the
contrary, I have been most uncertain, perplexed with contradictory
schemes and proposals. My time, as I have often told you, is fully occupied;
yet I had many
letters to write, which it was absolutely necessary should be written.
I knew it would avail nothing to write to you then to say I was in doubt
and uncertainty - hoping
this, fearing that, anxious, eagerly desirous to do what seemed impossible
to be done. When I thought of you in that busy interval, it was to resolve,
that you should
know all when my way was clear, and my grand end attained. If I could,
I would always work in silence and obscurity, and let my efforts be known
by their results.
Miss W. did most kindly propose that I should come to Dewsbury Moor,
and attempt to revive the school her sister had relinquished. She offered
me the use of her
furniture, for the consideration of her board. At first, I received
the proposal cordially, and prepared to do my utmost to bring about success;
but a fire was kindled
in my very heart, which I could not quench. I so longed to increase
my attainments - to become something better than I am; a glimpse of what
I felt, I showed to you
in one of my former letters - only a glimpse; Mary cast oil upon the
flames - encouraged me, and in her own strong, energetic language, heartened
me on. I longed to
go to Brussels; but how could I get? I wished for one, at least, of
my sisters to share the advantage with me. I fixed on Emily. She deserved
the reward, I knew.
How could the point be managed? In extreme excitement, I wrote a letter
home, which carried the day. I made an appeal to aunt for assistance, which
was
answered by consent. Things are not settled; yet it is sufficient to
say we have a chance of going for half a year. Dewsbury Moor is relinquished.
Perhaps, fortunately
so, for it is an obscure, dreary place, not adapted for a school. In
my secret soul, I believe there is no cause to regret it. My plans for
the future are bounded to this
intention: if I once get to Brussels, and if my health is spared, I
will do my best to make the utmost of every advantage that shall come within
my reach. When the
half-year is expired, I will do what I can.
. . . . . . . . . . .
"Believe me, though I was born in April, the month of cloud and sunshine,
I am not changeful. My spirits are unequal, and sometimes I speak vehemently,
and
sometimes I say nothing at all; but I have a steady regard for you,
and if you will let the cloud and shower pass by, be sure the sun is always
behind, obscured, but
still existing."
At Christmas she left her situation, after a parting with her employers,
which seems to have affected and touched her greatly. "They only made too
much of me," was
her remark, after leaving this family; " I did not deserve it."
All four children hoped to meet together at their father's house this
December. Branwell expected to have a short leave of absence from his employment
as a clerk
on the Leeds and Manchester Railway, in which he had been engaged for
five months. Anne arrived before Christmas-day. She had rendered herself
so valuable in
her difficult situation, that her employers vehemently urged her return,
although she had announced her resolution to leave them; partly on account
of the harsh
treatment she had received, and partly because her stay at home, during
her sisters' absence in Belgium, seemed desirable, when the age of the
three remaining
inhabitants of the parsonage was taken into consideration.
After some correspondence and much talking over plans at home, it seemed
better, in consequence of letters which they received from Brussels giving
a discouraging
account of the schools there, that Charlotte and Emily should go to
an institution at Lille, in the north of France, which was highly recommended
by Baptist Noel, and
other clergymen. Indeed, at the end of January, it was arranged that
they were to set off for this place in three weeks, under the escort of
a French lady, then visiting
in London. The terms were £50 each pupil, for board and French
alone, but a separate room was to be allowed for this sum; without this
indulgence, it was lower.
Charlotte writes; -
"January 20th, 1842.
"I considered it kind in aunt to consent to an extra sum for a separate
room. We shall find it a great privilege in many ways. I regret the change
from Brussels to Lille
on many accounts, chiefly that I shall not see Martha. Mary has been
indefatigably kind in providing me with information. She has grudged no
labour, and scarcely
any expense, to that end. Mary's price is above rubies. I have, in
fact, two friends - you and her - staunch and true, in whose faith and
sincerity I have as strong a
belief as I have in the Bible. I have bothered you both - you especially;
but you always get the tongs and heap coals of fire upon my head. I have
had letters to write
lately to Brussels, to Lille, and to London. I have lots of chemises,
night-gowns, pocket-handkerchiefs, and pockets to make; besides clothes
to repair. I have been,
every week since I came home, expecting to see Branwell, and he has
never been able to get over yet. We fully expect him, however, next Saturday.
Under these
circumstances how can I go visiting? You tantalise me to death with
talking of conversations by the fireside. Depend upon it, we are not to
have any such for many a
long month to come. I get an interesting impression of old age upon
my face; and when you see me next I shall certainly wear caps and spectacles."
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