Brontës
Page 19
Patrick, in the meantime, was as busy as ever. Despite his extensive duties he found time for his special interests. In the summer of 1822 there was a national effort on behalf of the Irish poor who were suffering extreme deprivation and hardship. Henry Heap, the vicar of Bradford, preached a sermon and raised a subscription on their behalf and it seems likely that Patrick would have followed suit. Perhaps coincidentally, Patrick’s own mother is said to have died in Ireland in the course of this year, so that the strongest remaining tie between him and the land of his birth had now been broken.97 On 17 December there was a meeting of the Keighley Auxiliary Bible Society, chaired by Patrick’s friend, the Reverend Theodore Dury; although Patrick’s name is not mentioned, it is likely that he was there, particularly as William Morgan was one of the main speakers. If he did attend, he would have met, possibly for the first time, the Reverend William Carus Wilson, vicar of Tunstall in Westmorland, who was soon to play such an important role in his family’s life.98
The winter of 1822 was one of the most severe in living memory; it snowed solidly for five days and nights, cutting off Clayton Heights and Blackstone Edge, and preventing the mail and stage coaches getting through.99 Nevertheless, Patrick seems to have been a fairly frequent visitor to Keighley over the winter, giving rise to local gossip. Though he had been friendly with Theodore Dury since at least as far back as his days at Thornton, when he had preached for the Missionary Society in Keighley, it was now said that Patrick had proposed to Isabella Dury, the vicar’s sister. Whether the rumour was true or not, Isabella wrote to her friend, Miss Mariner, daughter of a Keighley manufacturer:
I heard before I left Keighley that my brother & I had quarrelled about poor Mr Bronte; I beg if you ever hear such a report that you will contradict it as I can assure you it is perfectly unfounded, I think I never should be so very silly as to have the most distant idea of marrying anybody who had not some fortune, and six children into the bargain. It is too ridiculous to imagine any truth in it.100
It seems likely enough that Patrick had proposed to Isabella Dury. Like Elizabeth Firth, she was a gentlewoman of independent means and therefore a suitable stepmother for his children; presumably, too, like her brother, she was of the Evangelical persuasion so she would have been a fitting wife for Patrick.
It is a measure of his desperation at this time that when Isabella Dury also turned him down, Patrick’s thoughts turned back fifteen years to the days of his first curacy at Wethersfield and to a woman who had then welcomed his attentions. When Patrick was at the beginning of his career, Mary Burder’s religion had stood in the way of their marriage but now, as perpetual curate of Haworth, he felt secure enough to risk a wife who might not be prepared to give up her faith for his. Undoubtedly, there would have been grave difficulties but Patrick was determined on remarriage as the only solution to his problems. Two months after his presumed rejection by Isabella Dury, Patrick wrote a tentative letter to Mary Burder’s mother, sounding out the ground and trying to discover whether Mary had married in the intervening years. The excuse for his letter, having lost contact with Wethersfield for so many years, was that he intended to travel south in the summer and might pass through the neighbourhood. ‘I long to revisit the scene of my first ministerial labours,’ he told her, ‘and to see some of my old friends.’ He took care, however, to give Mrs Burder a brief résumé of his career to date, mentioning his wife, ‘a very amiable and respectable Lady, who has been dead for nearly two years, so that I am now left a widower’, but not his six children. On the offchance that Mary was still unmarried, he made sure that her mother was aware of his eligibility as a potential suitor: he had been at Haworth for three years, he explained,
where, in all human probability, I shall continue during the remainder of my life. This Living is what is here called a Benefice, or Perpetual Curacy. It is mine for life, no one can take it from me. The only difference between it and a Vicarage is that in a Vicarage the salary arises from tithes, and in the Living I have it arises from the rent of Freehold Estates, which I like much better. My salary is not large, it is only about two hundred a year. But in addition to this two hundred a year I have a good House, which is mine for life also, and is rent free.
Just in case Mrs Burder had not taken the hint, but not wishing to be too blatant, he continued: ‘I should like to know whether Miss Davy be still alive, how you are yourself, how all your children are, whether they be married or single, and whether they be doing well, both as it respects this life, and that which is to come.’101
Not knowing that the family had moved to The Park, a farm nearer Finchingfield owned by Mary’s brother, Patrick addressed his letter to their old home, The Broad, and then waited for a reply.
While he waited he was approached by the chairman of the committee at Woodhouse Grove School and asked to examine the boys in classical learning. The last time he had done this was in 1812 and the occasion had been the start of his serious courtship of Maria Branwell. It must have been acutely distressing, therefore, to have to return to the school where he had met and wooed his wife and where so many happy memories must have been revived. Patrick was never one to shirk his duty, however, and this time he was able to give a satisfactory report to the committee. As a clergyman in the Church of England he then had the curious distinction of being thanked by the Methodist Conference for his ‘Valuable and gratuitous services’ in examining the boys and presenting his report.102
At the end of July Patrick received the long-awaited reply to his letter and learnt that Mary Burder was indeed still single. Patrick lost no time in writing to renew his addresses to her:
It is now almost fifteen years since I last saw you. This is a long interval of time and may have effected many changes. It has made me look something older. But, I trust I have gained more than I have lost, I hope I may venture to say I am wiser and better … Though I have had much bitter sorrow in consequence of the sickness and death of my dear Wife, yet I have ample cause to praise God for his numberless mercies. I have a small but sweet little family that often soothe my heart and afford me pleasure by their endearing little ways, and I have what I consider a competency of the good things of this life. I am now settled in a part of the country for life where I have many friends, and it has pleased God in many respects to give me favour in the eyes of the people, and to prosper me in my ministerial labours. I want but one addition to my comforts, and then I think I should wish for no more on this side [of] eternity. I want to see a dearly Beloved Friend, kind as I once saw her, and as much disposed to promote my happiness. If I have ever given her any pain I only wish for an opportunity to make her ample amends, by every attention and kindness.103
Patrick even referred her to John Buckworth for references, in case she doubted his own words! She clearly did, and in a letter full of ‘disdain, hatred, and revenge’104 she gave a ‘decided negative’ to Patrick’s proposed visit, telling him, ‘I know of no ties of friendship ever existing between us which the last eleven or twelve years have not severed or at least placed an insuperable bar to any revival.’ She also firmly quashed any idea that Patrick might have had about her continued unmarried state: ‘My present condition upon which you are pleased to remark has hitherto been the state of my choice and to me a state of much happiness and comfort.’ Somewhat maliciously, in view of his proposal, she told him that the Lord could supply all his and his children’s needs, and expressed the hope that he would be as faithful, zealous and successful at Haworth as his illustrious predecessor, William Grimshaw.105
After such an assault, it took Patrick some months before he could summon his courage to pursue his object once more. On 1 January 1824, he wrote in terms of mild reproach for her unkindness and sought her forgiveness:
For this, and every other word or action towards you and yours in which I have been wrong, I ask your pardon. I do not remember the things you allude to, but as far as I can collect from your letter I must have said something or other highly unbecoming and improper
. Whatever it was, as a Christian Minister and a gentleman, I feel myself called upon to acknowledge my great sorrow for it. Such an apology becomes me, and is, I deem, required of me. And such an apology I now make.106
Had he left it at that, Mary Burder might have thought better of him but, with characteristic obstinacy, Patrick refused to give up this last chance of securing a mother for his children. Returning to the touchy subject of her unmarried state, he affirmed, ‘I have not the least doubt that if you had been mine you would have been happier than you now are or can be as one in single life. You would have had other and kindlier views and feelings.’107 Despite all that she had said, he renewed his request to be allowed to visit her more urgently than before. Mary Burder seems to have left this, Patrick’s last letter, unanswered. He had abased himself to no avail.
Patrick was now nearly forty-seven years of age. His lack of fortune and position made him an unattractive marriage prospect among the ranks of his wealthier friends. He had tried and failed to win back someone who, having once loved him for himself alone, now hated him for the same reason. There could have been no clearer sign that God did not intend Patrick to take a second wife. He would have to abandon any idea of remarrying, resign himself to celibacy and, most important of all, make alternative plans for the future of his children.
Chapter Five
CHARITY-CHILDREN
On 4 October 1823, Patrick called at Kipping House for the first time in nearly two years to renew his acquaintance with Elizabeth Firth and her stepmother. Perhaps he apologized for his ill-advised proposal two years before; perhaps he simply explained the desperation which had led him to make it. Certainly he was forgiven and invited to stay for a couple of nights.1 He may well have taken the opportunity to discuss with Elizabeth Firth the problem of what he was to do with his young family. Aunt Branwell had been with him for just over two years and was anxious to return to Cornwall. If she went, there would only be the two Garrs girls to look after the children and, with the best will in the world, they were not themselves sufficiently well educated to take on the responsibility of bringing up his daughters. They needed a role model to learn the social niceties that would be expected of them as the daughters of a clergyman. More importantly, as it was obvious that their father would be unable to provide financially for them all, they needed to have the sort of education that would equip them to earn their own living.
There were not many options open to the daughters of impoverished clergymen. The most likely course was a suitable marriage but, as Patrick had found to his own cost, without money behind them they were unlikely to attract husbands of substance. If they moved in the right circles, however, their chances of a good marriage were improved; the correct sort of education, with girls of similar social standing but greater fortune, would be an important step in the right direction. Equally, it was unlikely that all five would marry, or marry well. If the option of marriage was not open to them, then a career had to be considered. There was, of course, no question of them entering a profession as this was simply unheard of in the early nineteenth century. Dressmaking, shopkeeping, nursing2 and going into service were all working-class occupations and could not be considered. All that remained was teaching, either in a private school or in a private household, or becoming the companion of a wealthy lady. In either case, the right education was essential. It was not simply that the girls would have to be able to read and write; they would have to walk, talk and behave correctly in a society which condemned any deviation from the accepted standards of conduct. They would have to have the right sort of feminine attainments too, including an ability to draw, play the piano and do needlework; a smattering of French, Italian and (if the girl was bookish) German was an advantage, but the classical languages or mathematics were the prerogative of the male sex. The contemporary view of a woman’s role is perfectly put by one of Patrick’s characters in The Maid of Killarney.
The education of a female ought, most assuredly, to be competent, in order that she might enjoy herself, and be a fit companion for man. But, believe me, lovely, delicate, and sprightly woman, is not formed by nature, to pore over the musty pages of Grecian and Roman literature, or to plod through the windings of Mathematical Problems; nor has Providence assigned for her sphere of action, either the cabinet or the field. Her forte is softness, tenderness, and grace.3
With the acquisition of these qualities in mind, Patrick sought the advice of Elizabeth Firth, who seems to have recommended her own old school as the ideal place for his daughters.
Crofton Hall, near Wakefield, was a country house run as a boarding school for young ladies. It had been founded and run for nearly thirty years by Miss Richmal Mangnall, a lady whose name was preeminent in education circles. Pious and charitable – she gave one fifth of her annual income to the poor – she was also something of a blue-stocking. Not content with running her own school, ‘a highly respected ladies’ academy’, she was the author of one of the standard text books, Mangnall’s Historical Questions.4 She had died some four years before, on 1 May 1820, but her school continued to be run on the lines she had set down.5
Elizabeth Firth and Fanny Outhwaite, another Brontë godmother, had both been to Crofton Hall and had been very happy there. There seems to have been a mixture of carrot and stick in the learning process. Elizabeth was proud of, and preserved, the tiny prize cards she had won for learning and repeating her lessons correctly.6 Misdemeanours, such as failing in lessons, were punished by having to learn Bible verses or dictionary excerpts, wearing the dunce’s cap or being sent early to bed; graver offences, such as lying, thieving or obstinacy, merited whipping. Elizabeth’s diary for the period reveals a cheerful round of lessons, half-holidays, concerts, dancing and the usual boarding-school obsession of eating.7
Elizabeth Firth had been fifteen when she went to Crofton Hall; Maria and Elizabeth Brontë were now only nine and eight years old respectively, but they were still old enough to go away to boarding school and were certainly of an age when a formal education was beginning to be a necessity. It is possible that their two godmothers contributed at least some of their expenses.8 The exact dates of the Brontës’ time at Crofton Hall are not known. Patrick himself simply said that they went to a good school in Wakefield and briefly described his two eldest daughters: ‘Maria had a powerfully intellectual mind – Elizabeth had good solid sense.’9 One imagines that with those qualities they would have done well. It seems likely that their stay was of fairly brief duration, given it was an expense Patrick could ill afford. Moreover, there was the problem of his three other daughters to contend with; it was only fair that they, too, should receive as good an education as was possible.
On 4 December 1823, an advertisement for a new school appeared in the Leeds Intelligencer. For Patrick it must have seemed like the answer to prayer. ‘School for Clergymen’s Daughters’ ran the headline. The advertisement announced that a property had been purchased at Cowan Bridge in the parish of Tunstall, one governess had already been engaged and a school would open on the premises in March or April.
The House will be enlarged and altered for the Accommodation of Sixty Pupils: each Girl is to pay £14 a Year (Half in Advance) for Clothing, Lodging, Boarding, and Educating: and £1 Entrance towards the Expense of Books, &c. The Education will be directed according to the Capacities of the Pupils, and the Wishes of their Friends. In all Cases, the great Object in View will be their intellectual and religious Improvement; and to give that plain and useful Education, which may best fit them to return with Respectability and Advantage to their own Homes, or to maintain themselves in the different Stations of Life to which Providence may call them. If a more liberal Education is required for any who may be sent to be educated as Teachers and Governesses, an extra Charge will probably be made.10
The school was to be open to daughters of clergymen throughout the country, but it was primarily intended for those in most need and of the Evangelical persuasion.
Donors and Subscribers
will of course gain the first Attention in the Recommendation of Pupils: and every Effort will be made to confine the Benefits of the School to the really necessitous Clergy; and especially to those who are the most exemplary in their Life and Doctrine.11
The school appeared to be tailor-made for the Brontës: they were certainly in straitened circumstances and Patrick was a committed Evangelical clergyman. At only fourteen pounds a year, the fees were half those of comparable schools, including Crofton Hall, so Patrick could afford to educate two daughters for the price of one.12
A cheap education could have its drawbacks. At almost exactly the same time as the advertisement for the Clergy Daughters’ School appeared in the Leeds Intelligencer, the same paper ran at least two horrific accounts of ‘Cheap Schools’. On 6 November 1823, it reported a case in the Court of Common Pleas concerning a young men’s seminary at Bowes in Yorkshire. Between 260 and 300 boys were boarded and educated there ‘for the very moderate sum of twenty guineas per annum’. Apart from enduring appalling physical conditions, the boys had only two towels to share between them and, in consequence, most of them suffered from the itch, a contagious skin disease caused by a mite burrowing under the skin. Eighteen boys were particularly badly afflicted, some of them partially losing their sight and others becoming totally blind.13
Another court case was reported on 22 January 1824: a schoolmaster near Richmond in Yorkshire, also charging twenty guineas a year for some eighty pupils, kept his boys in a similar state of deprivation. Up to eight pupils at a time shared a single bed, sleeping on a straw mattress, with only one sheet, two blankets (one of which covered the mattress) and a quilt in winter. Three of the bedrooms had no ceiling or under-drawing so the boys slept under the slates of the roof with buckets set out to catch the rain and snow. Virtually all of them were infested with head lice and fleas.14