The young railway clerk was of gentleman-like appearance, and seemed to be qualified for a much better position than the one he had chosen. In stature he was a little below the middle height; not ‘almost insignificantly small,’ as Mr Grundy states, nor had he ‘a downcast look;’ neither was he ‘a plain specimen of humanity.’ He was slim and agile in figure, yet of well-formed outline. His complexion was clear and ruddy, and the expression of his face, at the time, lightsome and cheerful. His voice had a ringing sweetness, and the utterance and use of his English were perfect. Branwell appeared to be in excellent spirits, and showed none of those traces of intemperance with which some writers have unjustly credited him about this period of his life.
My brother had often spoken to me of Branwell’s poetical abilities, his conversational powers, and the polish of his education; and, on a personal acquaintance, I found nothing to question in this estimate of his mental gifts, and of his literary attainments.99
In this hopeful mood, with the real possibility of literary success before him, Branwell ended the year 1840 in a new career on the railway at Sowerby Bridge.
Chapter Thirteen
A WISH FOR WINGS
The new year of 1841 opened with bad news from Gomersal. Joshua Taylor, father of Mary and Martha, had died at Christmas after a long illness. The consequence of his death, as Charlotte anticipated, was to be ‘a dissolution and dispersion of the family perhaps not immediately but in the course of a year, or two – ’.1 The Taylor family problems did not interest Charlotte as much as Ellen’s: her suitor, Mr Vincent, could not be persuaded to make a proposal in due form. He had written numerous ‘sentimental and lovesick’ letters to Ellen’s brother, Henry, but had not yet declared himself to the object of his attentions. Charlotte lost all patience.
In the name of St Chrysostom, St Simeon and St Jude, why does not that amiable young gentleman come forward like a man and say all that he has to say to yourself personally – instead of trifling with kinsmen and kinswomen?
At Ellen’s request, she gave her friend further advice on what she should do, once more setting her a very different standard from herself.
From what I know of your character – and I think I know it pretty well – I should say you will never love before marriage – After that ceremony is over, and after you have had some months to settle down, and to get accustomed to the creature you have taken for your worse half – you will probably make a most affectionate and happy wife – … Such being the case Nell – I hope you will not have the romantic folly to wait for the awakening of what the French call ‘Une grande passion’ – My good girl ‘une grande passion’ is ‘une grande folie’. I have told you so before and I tell it you again – Mediocrity in all things is wisdom – mediocrity in the sensations is superlative wisdom … all I have to say may be comprised in a very brief sentence. On one hand don’t
Ellen seems to have taken Charlotte’s advice in rather poor part, suspecting that she was in league with Henry and the rest of her family in trying to persuade her to accept Mr Vincent.3 In fact, Charlotte was in touch with Henry, but attempting to convince him that he ought to rely on Ellen’s own judgement in the matter. Rather curiously for a man who was engaged to another woman, Henry had been in fairly regular correspondence with Charlotte since she turned him down. On one occasion she was vastly amused when he asked her to write
in a regular literary way to you on some particular topic – I cannot do it at all – do you think I am a Blue-stocking? I feel half-inclined to laugh at you for the idea, but perhaps you would be angry what was the topic to be – Chemistry? or Astronomy? or Mechanics? or Chonchology or Entomology or what other ology? I know nothing at all about any of these –4
Now he sent her a poem and asked her to return the gift in kind, provoking an equally satirical reply.
How do you know that I have it in my power to comply with that request? Once indeed I was very poetical, when I was sixteen, seventeen eighteen and nineteen years old – but I am now twenty-four approaching twenty-five – and the intermediate years are those which begin to rob life of some of its superfluous colouring. At this age it is time that the imagination should be pruned and trimmed – that the judgement should be cultivated – and a few at least, of the countless illusions of early youth should be cleared away. I have not written poetry for a long while5
This was indeed the case. It would seem that the golden dream of Angria had at long last begun to pall. She had written nothing, either poetry or prose, since the beginning of the story she had sent to Hartley Coleridge the previous winter. In telling Henry that ‘the judgement should be cultivated’ she perhaps indicated that she now spent her leisure hours in reading, rather than writing. The old passion for self-improvement, stimulated by the gift of the bales of French novels from Gomersal, had sprung to life once more. The hot-house attractions of Angria were now beginning to be replaced by the less exotic but equally potent and foreign attractions of France.
Now, too, she had a new occupation for, after a break of more than eighteen months, she had at last found herself a job. Some time towards the end of February, she accepted the post of governess in the family of John White of Upperwood House at Rawdon, travelling there to take up residence on 2 March 1841. By a singular coincidence, she thus found herself situated within a stone’s throw of Woodhouse Grove School, where her parents had met and courted so long ago. Upperwood House was Georgian, ‘not very large, but exceedingly comfortable and well regulated’, set in its own grounds on the wooded hillside above the lovely Aire Valley. Rural in outlook, it was only a few miles from both Bradford and Leeds and, as Charlotte was swift to point out to Ellen, only nine miles from Brookroyd.
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.6
Charlotte’s salary was indeed low, a mere twenty pounds per annum, out of which approximately four pounds was to be deducted for her laundry. This was exactly half the sum Anne was earning at Thorp Green, despite the fact that she was younger and less experienced than her sister.7
Charlotte’s new employer, John White, was a Bradford merchant who, with his brother, had inherited Upperwood from a wealthy uncle in 1818. He and his wife, Jane, were a devoted couple, with three children, Sarah, aged eight, and Jasper, aged six, who were Charlotte’s pupils, and Arthur, the baby of the family who was only two and still in the nursery.8
Though Charlotte set out determined to do her best, it was probably inevitable that she would encounter difficulties – as she herself was the first to recognize.
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 to 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 to 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!9
A few years later, writing to advise a friend whose daughters were contemplating the prospect of becoming governesses, Charlotte further analysed her failure: ‘the one great qualification necessary to the task’, she argued with a passion that spoke from experience, was
the faculty, not merely of acquiring but of imparting knowledge; the power of influencing young minds; that natural fondness for – that innate sympathy with children … He or She who possesses this faculty, this sympathy – tho
ugh perhaps not otherwise highly accomplished – need never fear failure in the career of instruction. Children will be docile with them, will improve under them; parents will consequently repose in them confidence; their task will be comparatively light, their path comparatively smooth. If the faculty be absent, the life of a teacher will be a struggle from beginning to end … she may earn and doubly earn her scanty salary; as a daily governess, or a school-teacher she may succeed, but as a resident governess she will never – (except under peculiar and exceptional circumstances) be happy. Her deficiency will harass her not so much in school-time as in play-hours; the moments that would be rest and recreation to the governess who understood and could adapt herself to children, will be almost torture to her who has not that power; many a time, when her charge turns unruly on her hands, when the responsibility which she would wish to discharge faithfully and perfectly, becomes unmanageable to her, she will wish herself a housemaid or kitchen-girl, rather than a baited, trampled, desolate, distracted governess.
Charlotte could not restrain the bitterness that this sense of inadequacy engendered.
I have seen an ignorant nursery-maid who could scarcely read or write – by dint of an excellent, serviceable sanguine–phlegmatic temperament which made her at once cheerful and unmoveable; of a robust constitution and steady, unimpressionable nerves which kept her firm under shocks, and unharassed under annoyances – manage with comparative ease a large family of spoilt children, while their Governess lived amongst them a life of inexpressible misery; tyrannized over, finding her efforts to please and teach utterly vain, chagrined, distressed, worried – so badgered so trodden-on, that she ceased almost at last to know herself, and wondered in what despicable, trembling frame her oppressed mind was prisoned – and could not realize the idea of evermore being treated with respect and regarded with affection – till she finally resigned her situation and went away quite broken in spirit and reduced to the verge of decline in health.10
The nursery maid with the cheerful disposition and way with children was employed at Upperwood House.11
Three weeks into her new post, Charlotte was able to write fairly cheerfully to Ellen, though complaining of the amount of sewing she was expected to do and that, because the children occupied her fully during the day, she was obliged to do it in the evening.
this place is better than Stonegappe but God knows I have enough to do to keep a good heart on the matter – … Home-sickness afflicts me sorely – I like Mr White extremely – respecting Mrs White I am for the present silent – I am trying hard to like her. The children are not such little devils incarnate as the Sidgwicks – but
Charlotte begged Ellen to visit her ‘if it be a breach of etiquette never mind if you can only stop an hour, come, –’. She concluded her letter by sending Ellen the ‘precious’ Valentine William Weightman had sent her this year. ‘Make much of it –’, she told Ellen,
remember the writer’s blue eyes, auburn hair & rosy cheeks – you may consider the concern addressed to yourself – for I have no doubt he intended it to suit anybody –12
Ellen evidently decided that a visit might not be appropriate, writing instead to offer Charlotte the use of her brother George’s gig to bring her over to Brookroyd for a short visit. The invitation inspired Charlotte with unwonted courage.
as soon as I had read your shabby little note – I gathered up my spirits directly – walked on the impulse of the moment into Mrs White’s presence – popped the question – and for two minutes received no answer – will she refuse me when I work so hard for her? thought I Ye-es-es, drawled Madam – in a reluctant cold tone – thank you Ma’am said I with extreme cordiality, and was marching from the room – when she recalled me with – ‘You’d better go on Saturday afternoon then – when the children have holiday – & if you return in time for them to have all their lessons on Monday morning – I don’t see that much will be lost’ you are a genuine Turk thought I but again I assented & so the bargain was struck –13
While at Brookroyd Charlotte learnt that Mary Taylor had decided to emigrate with her brother, Waring, to Port Nicholson in the North Island of New Zealand. Unlike Charlotte, she was not prepared to buckle down to repellent and subservient employment and she did not lack the courage for the adventure of emigration. Her decision was typically matter of fact and pragmatic.
Mary has made up her mind she can not and will not be a governess, a teacher, a milliner, a bonnet-maker nor housemaid. She sees no means of obtaining employment she would like in England, so she is leaving it.14
Charlotte was undoubtedly envious of Mary’s independence of spirit and the manner in which she refused to accept the conventional employments open to young women. The contrast with Charlotte’s own circumstances seems to have aggravated her burgeoning sense of injustice at having to be at the beck and call of her employers. On her return from Brookroyd, she became markedly more truculent and less willing to please. Just as had happened with the Sidgwicks, she reserved most of her spleen for the lady of the house, to whom she was directly responsible and with whom she was in most contact. This was evident in the differing motives she ascribed to the Whites’ displeasure that George Nussey, a ‘gentleman’, had simply dropped Charlotte off at the gates and not brought her up to the house – ‘for which omission of his Mrs W was very near blowing me up – She went quite red in the face with vexation … for she is very touchy in the matter of opinion’. Mr White’s reaction she ascribed, more charitably, to ‘regret … from more hospitable and kindly motives’.15
Writing to Ellen nearly a month after her visit, Charlotte expressed her dissatisfaction in a scornful attack on her employers’ right to be her superiors. Conveniently, she overlooked the fact that she herself was the granddaughter of an Irish farmer and a Cornish shopkeeper and merchant.
During the last three weeks that hideous operation called ‘A Thorough Clean’ has been going on in the house – it is now nearly completed for which I thank my stars – as during its progress I have fulfilled the twofold character of Nurse and Governess – while the nurse has been transmuted into Cook & housemaid. That nurse by the bye is the prettiest lass you ever saw & when dressed has much more the air of a lady than her Misstress. Well can I believe that Mrs W has been an exciseman’s daughter – and I am convinced also that Mr W’s extraction is very low – yet Mrs W— talks in an amusing strain of pomposity about his & her family & connexions & affects to look down with wondrous hauteur on the whole race of ‘Tradesfolk’ as she terms men of business – I was beginning to think Mrs W— a good sort of body in spite of all her bouncing, and boasting –her bad grammar and worse orthography – but I have had experience of one little trait in her character which condemns her a long way with me – After treating a person on the most familiar terms of equality for a long time – … If any little thing goes wrong she does not scruple to give way to anger in a very coarse unladylike manner – though in justice no blame could be attached where she ascribed it all – I think passion is the true test of vulgarity or refinement – Mrs W— when put out of her way is highly offensive – She must not give me any more of the same sort – or I shall ask for my wages & go.16
Charlotte obviously found some comfort for her own wounded pride in attacking the supposed vulgarity of her employers, but she was being extremely unjust to them. The Whites went out of their way to make her happy. They expressed themselves ‘well satisfied’ with their children’s progress in learning since Charlotte’s arrival. She was allowed at least one trip to Brookroyd and Ellen was invited to come to Upperwood to visit Charlotte there.17 Mr White even wrote to Haworth ‘entreating’ Patrick to spend a week at Upperwood. This was an unheard-of kindness to a governess, which Charlotte ungratefully took it into her head to resent: ‘I don’t at all wish papa to come – it would be like incurring an obligation –’18 The fact that her job grew easier with time – to her evident surprise – wrung no concessions from her
.
Somehow I have managed to get a good deal more control over the children lately – This makes my life a good deal easier – Also by dint of nursing the fat baby it has got to know me & be fond of me – occasionally I suspect myself of growing rather fond of it – but this suspicion clears away the moment its mamma takes it & makes a fool of it – from a bonny, rosy little morsel – it sinks in my estimation into a small, petted nuisance – Ditto with regard to the other children.19
Seemingly determined not to be pleased by her post, Charlotte made ineffectual attempts to find another. Like Jane Eyre, she was apparently offered a position in Ireland which, astonishingly, given her reluctance to be away from home and her refusal to be satisfied with a family as kind and well-meaning as the Whites, she seriously considered accepting.20
At the end of June, Charlotte again prevailed over Mrs White, persuading her to extend the holiday she was about to take from a week or ten days to a full three weeks. She arrived in Haworth on the evening of 30 June, only to discover that she had missed Anne who, having spent her own three weeks’ holiday at home, had ‘gone back to “the Land of Egypt and the House of Bondage”’. Charlotte wasted no time in inviting Ellen over to stay, delaying the visit only when Aunt Branwell decided to go over to Cross Stone to nurse John Fennell, who was seriously ill. On the day Ellen had promised to come Charlotte and Emily ‘waited long – and anxiously’ for her and Charlotte ‘quite wearied my eyes with watching from the window – eye-glass in hand and sometimes spectacles on nose’. Belatedly, they discovered that she had gone to stay with her brother, Henry at Earnley and her visit to Haworth had been cancelled.21 This was a disappointment but it did not spoil the pleasure of being back at home and learning all the family news.
Brontës Page 54
