July 26, 2025 • 34 mins
Delve into the fascinating life of Charlotte Brontë, the eldest among the renowned Brontë sisters, recognized as pillars of English literature. Her most celebrated work, Jane Eyre, stands as an everlasting classic. Just two years post her demise, her close friend Elizabeth Gaskell penned down her biography. This compelling biography invites you to discover more about the extraordinary Charlotte Brontë. Please note that Volume 2 of this work is also available as a separate recording.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Volume one, section twelve of the Life of Charlotte Bronte.
This is a LibriVox according all LibriVox accordings are in
the PubL domain. For more information, ought to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by Chelife William The Life
(00:20):
of Charlotte Bronte by Elizabeth Glagorn Gaskell, Volume one, section twelve. Brave, hard,
ready to die in harness, She went back to her
work and made no complaint, hoping to subdue the weakness
that was gaining ground upon her. About this time she
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would turn sick and trembling at any sudden noise, and
could hardly repress his screams when startled. This showed a
fearful degree of physical weakness in one who was generally
so self controlled, and the medical man whom, at length,
through Miss W's entreaty she was let to consul, insisted
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on her return to the parsonage. She had led too
sedentary a life, he said, and the soft summer air
blowing round her home, the sweet company of those she loved,
the release the freedom of life in her own family
when needed to save either reason or life, so as
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one higher than she had overruled that for a time
she might relax her strain. She returned to Howurs, and,
after a season of uttercquired her father sought for her
the enlivening society of her two friends, Mary and marter T.
At the conclusion of the following letter written to the
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then absent e, there is I think as pretty a
glimpse of a merry group of young people as need be,
And like all descriptions of doing, as distinct from thinking
or feeling in letters, it saddens one in proportion to
the vivacity of the picture of what was once and
is now utterly swept away. Hours June ninth, eighteen thirty eight,
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I received your packet of despatches on Wednesday. It was
brought me by Mary and Martha, who have been staying
at Hawers for a few days. They leave us to day.
You will be surprised at the date of this letter.
I ought to be at Jewsbury Moor, you know, but
I stayed as long as I was able, and at
length I narsy could nor dare stay any longer. My
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health and spirits had utterly failed me, and the medical
man whom I consulted and joined me as I valued
my life to go home. So home I went, and
the change has at once roused and soothed me. And
I am now I trust fairly in the way to
be myself again. A calm and even mind like yours
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cannot cons the feelings of the shattered wretch who is
now writing to you, when, after weeks of mental and
bodily anguish not to be described, something like peace began
to dawn again. Mary is far from well. She breathes short,
has a pain in her chest, and frequent flushings of fever.
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I cannot tell you what agony these symptoms give me.
They remind me too strongly of my two sisters, whom
no power of medicine could save. Martha is now very well.
She has kept in a continual flow of good humor
during his stay here, and has consequently been very fascinating.
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They are making such a noise about me, I cannot
write any more. Mary is playing on the piano, Martha
is chattering as fast as her little tongue can run,
and Branell is standing before her, laughing at her vivacity.
Charlette grew much stronger in this quiet, happy period at home.
She paid occasional visits to her two great friends, and they,
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in return came to Haworth at one of their houses.
I suspect she met with a person to whom the
following letter refers some one having a slight resemblance to
the character of Saint John and the last volume of
Jane Eyre, and like him in Holy Orders March twelfth,
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eighteen thirty nine. I had a kindly leaning towards him,
because he is an amable and well disposed man. Yet
I had not, and could not, have that intense attachment
which would make me willing to die for him. And
if I ever marry, it must be in that light
of adoration that I will regard my husband turn to
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one I shall never have the chance again. But Nembot. Moreover,
I was aware that he knew so little of me.
He could hardly be conscious to whom he was writing.
Why it would startle him to see me in my
natural home character. He would think I was a wild
romantic enthusiast. Indeed, I could not sit all day long
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making a grave face before my husband. I would laugh
and satirize and say whatever came into my head first.
And if he were a clever man, and loved me.
The whole world weighed in the balance against the smallest
wish should be light as air, so that her first
proposal of marriage was quietly declined and put on one side.
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Matrimony did not enter into the scheme of her life,
but good, sound, earnest labor did. The question, however, was
as yet undecided in what direction she should employ her forces.
She had been discouraged in literature, her eyes failed her
in the minute kind of drawing, which she practiced when
she wanted to express an idea. Teaching seemed to her
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at this time, as it does to most women at
all times, the only way of earning an independent livelihood.
But neither she nor her sisters were naturally fond of children.
The hieroglyphics of childhood ran an unknown language to them,
for they had never been much with those younger than themselves.
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I am inclined to think, too, that they had not
the happy knack of imparting information, which seems to be
a separate gift from the faculty of acquiring it, a
kind of sympathetic tact which instinctively perceives the difficulties that
impede comprehension in a child's mind, and that yet are
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too vague and uninformed for it, with its half developed
powers of expression, to explain by words. Consequently, teaching very
young children was anything but a delightful task to the
three Bronte sisters. With all the girls verging on womanhood.
They might have done better, especially if these had any
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desire for improvement. But the education which the village clergyman's
daughters had received did not as yet qualify them to
undertake the charge of advanced pupils. They knew but less
of French, and were not proficients in music. I doubt
where the Charlotte could play at all, but they were
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all strong again, and at any rate Charlotte and Dan
must put their shoulders to the wheel. One daughter was
needed at home to stay with mister Bronte and Miss Bremwell,
to be the young and active member in a household
of four, whereof three, the father, the aunt and faithful
Tabby were past middle age, and Emilie, who suffered and
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droped more than her sisters when away from Harris, was
the one appointed to remain. Anne was the first to
meet with the situation April fifteenth, eighteen thirty nine. I
could not write to you in the week you requested.
At about that time, we were very busy in preparing
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for Anne's departure. Poor child. She left us last Monday.
No one went with her. It was her own wish
that she might be allowed to go alone, as she
thought she could manage better and summon more courage if
flown entirely upon her own resources. We have had one
letter from her since she went. She expresses herself very
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well satisfied and says that missus Blank is extremely kind.
The two eldest children alone are under her care. The
rest are confined to the nursery, with which and its occupants.
She has nothing to do. I hope she'll do. You
would be astonished, What a sensible, clever letter, she writes.
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It is only the talking part that I fear, but
I do seriously apprehend that missus Blank will sometimes conclude
that she has a natural impediment in her speech. For
my own part, I am as yet wanting a situation
like a housemaid out of place. By the way, I
have lately discovered I have quite a talent for cleaning,
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sweeping up heaths, dusting rooms, making beds, et cetera. So
if everything else fails, I can turn my hand to
that if anybody will give me good wages for little labor.
I won't be cook. I hate soothing. I won't be
nursery maid or a lady's maid, far less a lady's companion,
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or a manta maker, or a straw bunnet maker, or
a take a ren of plain work. I won't be
anything but a housemaid. With regard to my visit to
g I have as yet received no invitation. But if
I should be asked, though I should feel it a
great act of self denial to refuse. Yet I have
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almost made up my mind to do so, though the
society of the tea ease is one of the most
rousing pleasures I have ever known. Good Bye, my darling,
e et cetera. P S. Strike out that word darling.
It is humbug. Where's the use of Protestations. We've known
each other and liked each other a good wharrow. That's enough.
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Not many weeks after this was written, Charlotte also became
engaged as a governess. I intend carefully to abstain from
introducing the names of any living people, respecting whom I
may have to tell unpleasant truths, or to quote severe
remarks from Miss Bronte's letters. But it is necessary that
the difficulties she had to encounter in her various phases
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of life should be fairly and frankly made known, before
the force of what was resisted can be at all understood.
I was once speaking to her about Agnes Gray, the
novel in which her sister Anne pretty literally discribes her
own experience as a governess, and alluding more particularly to
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the account of the stoning of the little nestlings in
the presence of apparent birds, she said that none but
those who had been in the position of a governess
could ever realize the dark sight of respectable human nature,
and in no great temptation to crime, but daily giving
way to selfishness and ill temper till its conduct towards
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those dependent on it sometimes amounts to a tyranny of
which one would rather be the victim than the inflictor.
We can only trust in such cases that the employees
er rather from a density of perception and an absence
of sympathy, than from any natural cruelty of disposition. Among
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several things of the same kind, which I well remember.
She told me what had once occurred to herself. She
had been entrusted with the care of a little boy
three or four years old during the absence of his
parents on a day's excursion, and particularly enjoined to keep
him out of the stable yard. His elder brother, a
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lad of eight or nine and not a pupil of
Miss Brontes, tempted the little fellow into the forbidden place.
She followed and tried to induce him to come away,
but instigated by his brother, he began throwing stones at her,
and one of them hid her so severe a blow
on the temple that the lads were alarmed into obedience.
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The next day, in full family conclave, the mother asked
Miss Bromnte what occasioned the mark on her forehead. She
simply replied, an accident man, and no further inquiry was made.
But the children, both brothers and sisters, had been present
and honored her for not telling tales. From that time
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she began to obtain influence over all more or less
according to their different characters, and as she in sensibly
gained their affection, her own interest in them was increasing.
But one day, at the children's dinner, the small trunt
of the stable yard. In a little demonstrative gush said,
putting his hand in hers, I love whom miss Bronte.
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Whereupon the mother exclaimed before all the children loved the governors,
my dear. The family into which she first entered was
I believe that of a wealthy Yorkshire manufacturer. The following
extracts from her correspondence at this time will show how
painfully the restraint of a new mode of life rests
upon her. The first is from a letter to Emily,
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beginning with one of the tender expressions in which, in
spite of humbug, she indulged herself. My dear love, my
bonny laugh are her terms of address to this beloved sister.
June eighth, eighteen thirty nine. I have striven half to
be pleased with my new situation. The country, the house,
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and the grounds are, as I have said, divine, But
a lack day. There is such a thing as seeing
all beautiful around you, pleasant woods, wide paths, green lawns,
and blue sunshiny sky, and not having a free moment
or a free thought left to enjoy them. The children
are constantly with me as for correcting them. I quickly
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found that was out of the question, they are to
do as they like. Who complain to the mother only
brings black looks on myself and unjust partial excuses to
scream the children. I have tried that plan once and
succeeded so notably, as shall try no more. I said
on my last letter that missus Blank did not know me.
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I now begin to find she does not intend to
know me, that she cares nothing about me except to
contrive how the greatest possibly quantity of labor may be
out of me, and of that, and she overwhelms me
with oceans of needlework, yards of cambric toham muslin, night
caps to make, and above all things, dolls to dress.
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I do not think she likes me at all, because
I can't help being shy in such an entirely novel scene,
surrounded as I have hitherto been, by strange and constantly
changing faces. I used to think I should like to
be in the stir of grant folks society. But I
have heard enough of it. It is dreary work to
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look on and listen. I see more clearly than I
have ever done before, that a private governess has no existence,
is not considered as a living rational being, except as
connected with the rarer, some duty she has to fulfill.
One of the pleasantest afternoons I have spent here, indeed,
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the only one at all pleasant, was when mister Blank
walked out with his children, and I had orders to
follow a little behind. As he strolled on through his
fields with his magnificent Newfoundland dog at his side. He
looked very like what a frank, wealthy, conservative gentleman ought
to be. He spoke freely and unaffected to the people
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he met, and though he indulged his children and allowed
them to tease himself far too much, he would not
suffer them grossly to insult others. Written in pencil to
a friend, July eighteen thirty nine, I cannot procure ink
without going to the drawing room, where I do not
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wish to go. I should have written to you long
since and told you every detail of the utterly new
scene into which I have lately been cast, had I
not been daily expecting a letter from yourself, and wondering
and lamenting that you did not write. For you will
remember it was your turn. I must not bother you
too much with my sorrows, for which I fear you
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have heard an exaggerated account. If you were near me,
perhaps I might be tempted to tell you all to
grow egotistical, and to pour out the long history of
a private governess's trials and crosses in her first situation.
As it is, I will only ask you to imagine
the miseries of a reserved wretch like me, flown at
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once into the midst of a large family at a
time when they were particularly gay, and the house was
filled with company, all strangers, people whose faces I had
never seen before. In this state I had charge, giving
me of a set of pampered, spoiled, turbulent children, whom
I was expected constantly to amuse as well as to instruct.
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I soon found that a constant demand on my stock
of animal spirits reduced them to the lowest states of exhaustion.
At times I felt, and I suppose seemed depressed. To
my astonishment, I was taken to task on the subject
by missus blank, missus sterners of manner and a harshness
of language, scarcely credible, like a fool, I cried most bitterly.
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I could not help it. My spirits quiet failed me.
At first I thought I had done my best strained
every nerve to please her and to be treated them
that way, merely because I was shy and sometimes melancholy
was too bad. At first I was forgiving all up
and going home. But after a little reflection, I determined
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to summon water energy I had, and to weather the storm.
I said to myself, I have never yet quitted a
place without gaining a friend. Adversity is a good school,
the poor uborn to labor, and the dependent to endure.
I resolved to be patient, to command my feelings, and
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to take what came. The odeal, I reflected, would not
last many weeks, and I trust that it would do
me good. I recollected the fable of the willow and
the oak. I bent quietly, and now I trust the
storm is blowing over me. Missus Blank is generally considered
an agreeable woman, so she is, I doubt not in
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general society. She behaves somewhat more civilly to me now
than she did at first, and the children are a
little more manageable. But she does not know my character,
and she does not wish to know it. I have
never had five minutes conversation with her since I came,
except while she were scolding me, I have no wish
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to be pitied except by yourself. If I were talking
to you, I could tell you much more to Emily
about this time mind Bonnie laugh, I was as glad
of your letters as tongue can express. It is a real,
genuine pleasure to hear from home. Seemed to be safe
till that time. When one has a moment quite unrest
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to enjoy it thoroughly. Write whenever you can. I could
like to be at home. I could like to work
in a mill. I could like to feel some mental liberty.
I could like this weight of restrain to be taken off.
But the holidays will come. Corraggio her temporary engagement and
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this uncongenial family, and that in the July of this year,
not before the constant strain upon her spirits and strength
had again affected her health. But when this delicacy became
apparent in palpitations and shortness of breathing, it was treated
as affectation, as a phase of imaginary and disposition which
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could be dissipated by good scolding. She had been brought
up rather in a school of spartan endurance than in
one of Maudland's self indulgence and could bear many a
pain and relinquish many a hope and silence. After she
had been at home about a week, her friend proposed
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that she should accompany her in some little excursion, having
pleasure alone for its object. She called at the idea
most eagerly at first, but her hope stood still, waned,
and had almost disappeared before after many delays, it was
realized in its fulfillment. At last. It was a favorable
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specimen of many a similar air bubble dancing before her
eyes in her brief career, in which his stern realities,
rather than pleasure, formed the leading incidents. July twenty sixth,
eighteen thirty nine. Your proposal has almost driven me clean daft.
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If you don't understand that ladylike expression, you must ask
me what it means when I see you. The fact
is an excursion with you anywhere, whether it too clever
or Canada, just by ourselves, would be to me most delightful.
I should indeed like to go, but I can't get
leave of absence for longer than a week, and I'm
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afraid that would not suit you. Must I then give
it up entirely. I feel as if I could not.
I never had such a chance of enjoyment before. I
do want to see you and talk to you, and
be with you when you wish to go. Could I
meet you at Leeds? To take a gig from a
house to be would be to me a very serious
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increase of expense, and I happen to be very low
in cash. Oh rich people seem to have many pleasures
at their command, which we are debarred from. However, no repining,
say when you go, and I shall be able in
my answer to say decidedly whether I can accompany you
or not. I must, I will. I'm set upon it.
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I'll be obstinate and bear down all opposition p s.
Since writing the above, I find that Aunt and Papa
have determined to go to Liverpool for a fortnight and
take us all with them. It is stipulated, however, that
I should give up the Cleathorpe scheme. I yield reluctantly.
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I fancy that about this time mister Bronte found it necessary,
either from bailing health or the increased populaceness of the parish,
to engage the assistance of a curate At least it
is in a letter written this summer that I find
mention of the first of a succession of curates, who
henceforward revolved around Howiss Parsonage and made an impression on
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the mind of one of its inmates, which she has
conveyed pretty distinctly to the world. The Howis Curate brought
his clerical friends and neighbors about the place, and for
a time the incursions of these near the parsonage tea
time formed occurrences by which the quietness of the life
there was varied, sometimes pleasantly, sometimes disagreeably. The little adventure
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recorded at the end of the following letter is uncommon
in the lot of most women, and is a testimony
in this case to the unusual power of attraction, though
so plain, a feature which Charlotte possessed when she let
herself go. In The Happiness and Freedom of Home August fourth,
eighteen thirty nine. The Liverpool journey is yet a matter
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of talk, a sort of castle in the air, But
between you and me, I fancy it is very doubtful
whether it will ever assume a more solid shape. Aunt,
like many other elderly people, likes to talk of such things,
but when it comes to putting them into actual execution,
she rather falls off. Such being the case, I think
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you and I had better adhere to our first plan
of going somewhere together, independently of other people. I have
got leave to accompany you for a week, at the
utmost a fortnight, but no more. Where do you wish
to go? Burlington? I should think from what m says
would be as eligible a place as any. When you
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set off, arrange all these things according to your convenience.
I shall start no objections. The idea of seeing the sea,
of being near it, watching its changes by sunrise, sunset,
more night and noonday, and calm, perhaps in storm, fills
and satisfies my mind. I shall be discontented at nothing,
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and that I am not to be with a set
of people with whom I have nothing in common, who
would be nuisances and bores, But with you, whom I
like and know, and who knows me, I have no
odd circumstance to relate to you. Prepare for a hearty laugh.
The other day mister Blank, a vicar, came to spend
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the day with us, bringing with him his own curate.
The lesser gentleman, by name mister b is a young
Irish clergyman fresh from Dublin University. It was the first
time we had any of us seen him. But however,
after the manner of his countryman, he soon made himself
at home. His character quickly appeared in his conversation witty, lively, ardent,
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clever too, but deficient in the dignity and discretion of
an Englishman at home. You know, I talk with ease,
and am never shy, never weighed down and depressed by
that miserable mauvaisnt which torments and constrains me elsewhere. So
I conversed with his irishman and laughed at his jests,
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And though I saw faults in his character, excused them
because of the amusement to his originality afforded. I called
a little Indeed, Andrew went towards the latter part of
the evening because he began to seat in his conversation
with something of Hibernian flattery, which I did not quite relish. However,
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they went away and no more was thought about them.
A few days after I got a letter, the direction
of which puzzled me. It being in hand I was
not accustomed to see. Evidently, it was neither from you
nor Mary, my only correspondence. Having opened and read it,
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it proved to be a declaration of attachment and proposal
of matrimony, expressed in the ardent language of the sapient
young irishman. I hope you are laughing heartily. This is
not like one of my adventures, is it. It more
nearly resembles Martha's. I'm certainly doomed to be an old maid.
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Never mind, I made up my mind to that fate
ever since I was twelve years old, well thought I
I have heard of love at first sight. But this
beats all. I leave you to guess what my answer
would be, convinced that you will not do me the
injustice of guessing wrong. On the fourteenth of August, she
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still arrives from Howorth. I have in vain packed my
box and prepared everything for our anticipated journey. It so
happens that I can get no conveyance this week all
the next. The only gig let out a High and
Howers is at Harrowgate, and likely to remain there for aught.
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I can hear Papa decidedly objects to my going by
the coach and walking to be though I am sure
I could manage it. Aunt de claims against the weather,
and the roads, and the four winds of heaven. So
I am in a fix. And what is worse, So
are you on reading over for the second or third
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time your last letter, which, by the bye, was written
in such hieroglyphics that at the first hasty perusal I
could hardly make out two consecutive words. I find you
intimate that I leave this journey till Thursday. I shall
be too late. I grieve that I should have so
inconvenienced you. But I need not talk of either Friday
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or Saturday now, for I rather imagine there is small
chance of my ever going at all. The elders of
the house have never cordially quiet in the measure, and
now that impediment seemed to start up at every step,
opposition grows more open. Papa, indeed, would willingly indulge me.
That this very kindness of his makes me doubt whether
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I ought to draw upon it. So though I could
battle out Aun's discontent, I yield to Papa's indulgence. He
does not say so, but I know he would rather
I stayed at home, And Aunt meant well too, I
dare say, but I am provoked that you reserved the
expression of her decided disapproval till all was settled between
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you and myself. Reckon on me no more, leave me
out in your calculations. Perhaps I ought him the beginning,
to have had prudence sufficient to shut my eyes against
such a prospect of pleasure, so as to deny myself
the hope of it. Be as angry as you please
with me for disappointing you, I tis not intended, and
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have only one thing more to say. If you do
not go immediately to the sea, will you come to
see us at Haworth? This invitation is not mine only,
but Papa's and aunt's. However, a little more patience, a
little more delay, and she enjoyed the pleasure she had
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wished for so much. She and her friend went to
Easton for a fortnight in the latter part of September.
It was here she received her first impressions of the sea.
October twenty fourth. Have you forgotten the sea by this time? E?
It had grown dim in your mind? Or can you
still see it? Dark blue and green and foam white?
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And to hear it roaring roughly when the winter is high,
or rushing softly when it is calm, I am as
well as need be, and very fat. I think of
Eastern very often, and of worthy mister Age and his
kind hearted helpmate, and of our pleasant walks to age
Wood and to Boynton, our merry evenings, our romps with
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letter Hancheon, et cetera, et cetera. If you both live,
this period of our lives will long be seen for
pleasant recollection. Did you chance, in your letter to mister
h to mention my spectacles? I am sadly inconvenienced by
the want of them. I can neither read, write, nor
draw with comfort in their absence. I hope Madame won't
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refused to give them up. Excuse the brevity of this letter,
for I have been drawing all day, and my eyes
are so tired. It is quite a labor to write.
But as the vivid remembrance of this pleasure died away,
an accident occurred to make the actual duties of life
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press somewhat heavily for a time. December twenty first, eighteen
thirty nine. We are at present, and have been during
the last month rather busy. As for that space of time,
I have been without a servant except a little girl
to run errands. Poor Babby became so lame that she
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was at length obliged to leave us. She is residing
with her sister in a little house of her own,
which she brought with her savings a year or two sins.
She is very comfortable and wants messy, as she is
in near We see her very often. In the meantime.
Emily and I are sufficiently busy, as you may suppose.
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I manage the ironing and keep the rooms clean. Emily
does the baking and attends to the kitchen. We are
such odd animals that we preferred this mode of contrivance
to having a new base amongst us. Besides, we do
not despair to have his return, and she shall not
be supplanted by a stranger in her rebsence. I excited
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aunt's routh very much by burning the clothes the first
time I attempted to iron. But I do better now.
Human feelings are queer things. I am much happier black
leading the stoves, making the beds, and sweeping the floors.
At home, then I should be living like a fine
lady anywhere else. I must indeed drop my subscription to
(33:54):
the Jews, because I have no money to keep it up.
I ought to have announced this intention to you before,
but I quite forgot I was a subscriber. I intend
to force myself to take another situation when I get on.
So I hate and abhor the very thought of governorship,
but I must do it. And therefore I heartily wish
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I could hear of a family where they need such
a commodity as a governess. And of Section twelve
Volume one, section twelve of the Life of Charlotte Bronte.
This is a LibriVox according all LibriVox accordings are in
the PubL domain. For more information, ought to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by Chelife William The Life
(00:20):
of Charlotte Bronte by Elizabeth Glagorn Gaskell, Volume one, section twelve. Brave, hard,
ready to die in harness, She went back to her
work and made no complaint, hoping to subdue the weakness
that was gaining ground upon her. About this time she
(00:41):
would turn sick and trembling at any sudden noise, and
could hardly repress his screams when startled. This showed a
fearful degree of physical weakness in one who was generally
so self controlled, and the medical man whom, at length,
through Miss W's entreaty she was let to consul, insisted
(01:01):
on her return to the parsonage. She had led too
sedentary a life, he said, and the soft summer air
blowing round her home, the sweet company of those she loved,
the release the freedom of life in her own family
when needed to save either reason or life, so as
(01:22):
one higher than she had overruled that for a time
she might relax her strain. She returned to Howurs, and,
after a season of uttercquired her father sought for her
the enlivening society of her two friends, Mary and marter T.
At the conclusion of the following letter written to the
(01:42):
then absent e, there is I think as pretty a
glimpse of a merry group of young people as need be,
And like all descriptions of doing, as distinct from thinking
or feeling in letters, it saddens one in proportion to
the vivacity of the picture of what was once and
is now utterly swept away. Hours June ninth, eighteen thirty eight,
(02:09):
I received your packet of despatches on Wednesday. It was
brought me by Mary and Martha, who have been staying
at Hawers for a few days. They leave us to day.
You will be surprised at the date of this letter.
I ought to be at Jewsbury Moor, you know, but
I stayed as long as I was able, and at
length I narsy could nor dare stay any longer. My
(02:33):
health and spirits had utterly failed me, and the medical
man whom I consulted and joined me as I valued
my life to go home. So home I went, and
the change has at once roused and soothed me. And
I am now I trust fairly in the way to
be myself again. A calm and even mind like yours
(02:59):
cannot cons the feelings of the shattered wretch who is
now writing to you, when, after weeks of mental and
bodily anguish not to be described, something like peace began
to dawn again. Mary is far from well. She breathes short,
has a pain in her chest, and frequent flushings of fever.
(03:21):
I cannot tell you what agony these symptoms give me.
They remind me too strongly of my two sisters, whom
no power of medicine could save. Martha is now very well.
She has kept in a continual flow of good humor
during his stay here, and has consequently been very fascinating.
(03:42):
They are making such a noise about me, I cannot
write any more. Mary is playing on the piano, Martha
is chattering as fast as her little tongue can run,
and Branell is standing before her, laughing at her vivacity.
Charlette grew much stronger in this quiet, happy period at home.
She paid occasional visits to her two great friends, and they,
(04:05):
in return came to Haworth at one of their houses.
I suspect she met with a person to whom the
following letter refers some one having a slight resemblance to
the character of Saint John and the last volume of
Jane Eyre, and like him in Holy Orders March twelfth,
(04:26):
eighteen thirty nine. I had a kindly leaning towards him,
because he is an amable and well disposed man. Yet
I had not, and could not, have that intense attachment
which would make me willing to die for him. And
if I ever marry, it must be in that light
of adoration that I will regard my husband turn to
(04:48):
one I shall never have the chance again. But Nembot. Moreover,
I was aware that he knew so little of me.
He could hardly be conscious to whom he was writing.
Why it would startle him to see me in my
natural home character. He would think I was a wild
romantic enthusiast. Indeed, I could not sit all day long
(05:09):
making a grave face before my husband. I would laugh
and satirize and say whatever came into my head first.
And if he were a clever man, and loved me.
The whole world weighed in the balance against the smallest
wish should be light as air, so that her first
proposal of marriage was quietly declined and put on one side.
(05:34):
Matrimony did not enter into the scheme of her life,
but good, sound, earnest labor did. The question, however, was
as yet undecided in what direction she should employ her forces.
She had been discouraged in literature, her eyes failed her
in the minute kind of drawing, which she practiced when
she wanted to express an idea. Teaching seemed to her
(05:57):
at this time, as it does to most women at
all times, the only way of earning an independent livelihood.
But neither she nor her sisters were naturally fond of children.
The hieroglyphics of childhood ran an unknown language to them,
for they had never been much with those younger than themselves.
(06:18):
I am inclined to think, too, that they had not
the happy knack of imparting information, which seems to be
a separate gift from the faculty of acquiring it, a
kind of sympathetic tact which instinctively perceives the difficulties that
impede comprehension in a child's mind, and that yet are
(06:39):
too vague and uninformed for it, with its half developed
powers of expression, to explain by words. Consequently, teaching very
young children was anything but a delightful task to the
three Bronte sisters. With all the girls verging on womanhood.
They might have done better, especially if these had any
(07:01):
desire for improvement. But the education which the village clergyman's
daughters had received did not as yet qualify them to
undertake the charge of advanced pupils. They knew but less
of French, and were not proficients in music. I doubt
where the Charlotte could play at all, but they were
(07:22):
all strong again, and at any rate Charlotte and Dan
must put their shoulders to the wheel. One daughter was
needed at home to stay with mister Bronte and Miss Bremwell,
to be the young and active member in a household
of four, whereof three, the father, the aunt and faithful
Tabby were past middle age, and Emilie, who suffered and
(07:45):
droped more than her sisters when away from Harris, was
the one appointed to remain. Anne was the first to
meet with the situation April fifteenth, eighteen thirty nine. I
could not write to you in the week you requested.
At about that time, we were very busy in preparing
(08:07):
for Anne's departure. Poor child. She left us last Monday.
No one went with her. It was her own wish
that she might be allowed to go alone, as she
thought she could manage better and summon more courage if
flown entirely upon her own resources. We have had one
letter from her since she went. She expresses herself very
(08:30):
well satisfied and says that missus Blank is extremely kind.
The two eldest children alone are under her care. The
rest are confined to the nursery, with which and its occupants.
She has nothing to do. I hope she'll do. You
would be astonished, What a sensible, clever letter, she writes.
(08:52):
It is only the talking part that I fear, but
I do seriously apprehend that missus Blank will sometimes conclude
that she has a natural impediment in her speech. For
my own part, I am as yet wanting a situation
like a housemaid out of place. By the way, I
have lately discovered I have quite a talent for cleaning,
(09:15):
sweeping up heaths, dusting rooms, making beds, et cetera. So
if everything else fails, I can turn my hand to
that if anybody will give me good wages for little labor.
I won't be cook. I hate soothing. I won't be
nursery maid or a lady's maid, far less a lady's companion,
(09:35):
or a manta maker, or a straw bunnet maker, or
a take a ren of plain work. I won't be
anything but a housemaid. With regard to my visit to
g I have as yet received no invitation. But if
I should be asked, though I should feel it a
great act of self denial to refuse. Yet I have
(09:56):
almost made up my mind to do so, though the
society of the tea ease is one of the most
rousing pleasures I have ever known. Good Bye, my darling,
e et cetera. P S. Strike out that word darling.
It is humbug. Where's the use of Protestations. We've known
each other and liked each other a good wharrow. That's enough.
(10:20):
Not many weeks after this was written, Charlotte also became
engaged as a governess. I intend carefully to abstain from
introducing the names of any living people, respecting whom I
may have to tell unpleasant truths, or to quote severe
remarks from Miss Bronte's letters. But it is necessary that
the difficulties she had to encounter in her various phases
(10:44):
of life should be fairly and frankly made known, before
the force of what was resisted can be at all understood.
I was once speaking to her about Agnes Gray, the
novel in which her sister Anne pretty literally discribes her
own experience as a governess, and alluding more particularly to
(11:05):
the account of the stoning of the little nestlings in
the presence of apparent birds, she said that none but
those who had been in the position of a governess
could ever realize the dark sight of respectable human nature,
and in no great temptation to crime, but daily giving
way to selfishness and ill temper till its conduct towards
(11:26):
those dependent on it sometimes amounts to a tyranny of
which one would rather be the victim than the inflictor.
We can only trust in such cases that the employees
er rather from a density of perception and an absence
of sympathy, than from any natural cruelty of disposition. Among
(11:47):
several things of the same kind, which I well remember.
She told me what had once occurred to herself. She
had been entrusted with the care of a little boy
three or four years old during the absence of his
parents on a day's excursion, and particularly enjoined to keep
him out of the stable yard. His elder brother, a
(12:08):
lad of eight or nine and not a pupil of
Miss Brontes, tempted the little fellow into the forbidden place.
She followed and tried to induce him to come away,
but instigated by his brother, he began throwing stones at her,
and one of them hid her so severe a blow
on the temple that the lads were alarmed into obedience.
(12:31):
The next day, in full family conclave, the mother asked
Miss Bromnte what occasioned the mark on her forehead. She
simply replied, an accident man, and no further inquiry was made.
But the children, both brothers and sisters, had been present
and honored her for not telling tales. From that time
(12:53):
she began to obtain influence over all more or less
according to their different characters, and as she in sensibly
gained their affection, her own interest in them was increasing.
But one day, at the children's dinner, the small trunt
of the stable yard. In a little demonstrative gush said,
putting his hand in hers, I love whom miss Bronte.
(13:17):
Whereupon the mother exclaimed before all the children loved the governors,
my dear. The family into which she first entered was
I believe that of a wealthy Yorkshire manufacturer. The following
extracts from her correspondence at this time will show how
painfully the restraint of a new mode of life rests
upon her. The first is from a letter to Emily,
(13:40):
beginning with one of the tender expressions in which, in
spite of humbug, she indulged herself. My dear love, my
bonny laugh are her terms of address to this beloved sister.
June eighth, eighteen thirty nine. I have striven half to
be pleased with my new situation. The country, the house,
(14:04):
and the grounds are, as I have said, divine, But
a lack day. There is such a thing as seeing
all beautiful around you, pleasant woods, wide paths, green lawns,
and blue sunshiny sky, and not having a free moment
or a free thought left to enjoy them. The children
are constantly with me as for correcting them. I quickly
(14:28):
found that was out of the question, they are to
do as they like. Who complain to the mother only
brings black looks on myself and unjust partial excuses to
scream the children. I have tried that plan once and
succeeded so notably, as shall try no more. I said
on my last letter that missus Blank did not know me.
(14:50):
I now begin to find she does not intend to
know me, that she cares nothing about me except to
contrive how the greatest possibly quantity of labor may be
out of me, and of that, and she overwhelms me
with oceans of needlework, yards of cambric toham muslin, night
caps to make, and above all things, dolls to dress.
(15:13):
I do not think she likes me at all, because
I can't help being shy in such an entirely novel scene,
surrounded as I have hitherto been, by strange and constantly
changing faces. I used to think I should like to
be in the stir of grant folks society. But I
have heard enough of it. It is dreary work to
(15:35):
look on and listen. I see more clearly than I
have ever done before, that a private governess has no existence,
is not considered as a living rational being, except as
connected with the rarer, some duty she has to fulfill.
One of the pleasantest afternoons I have spent here, indeed,
(15:56):
the only one at all pleasant, was when mister Blank
walked out with his children, and I had orders to
follow a little behind. As he strolled on through his
fields with his magnificent Newfoundland dog at his side. He
looked very like what a frank, wealthy, conservative gentleman ought
to be. He spoke freely and unaffected to the people
(16:18):
he met, and though he indulged his children and allowed
them to tease himself far too much, he would not
suffer them grossly to insult others. Written in pencil to
a friend, July eighteen thirty nine, I cannot procure ink
without going to the drawing room, where I do not
(16:40):
wish to go. I should have written to you long
since and told you every detail of the utterly new
scene into which I have lately been cast, had I
not been daily expecting a letter from yourself, and wondering
and lamenting that you did not write. For you will
remember it was your turn. I must not bother you
too much with my sorrows, for which I fear you
(17:03):
have heard an exaggerated account. If you were near me,
perhaps I might be tempted to tell you all to
grow egotistical, and to pour out the long history of
a private governess's trials and crosses in her first situation.
As it is, I will only ask you to imagine
the miseries of a reserved wretch like me, flown at
(17:27):
once into the midst of a large family at a
time when they were particularly gay, and the house was
filled with company, all strangers, people whose faces I had
never seen before. In this state I had charge, giving
me of a set of pampered, spoiled, turbulent children, whom
I was expected constantly to amuse as well as to instruct.
(17:52):
I soon found that a constant demand on my stock
of animal spirits reduced them to the lowest states of exhaustion.
At times I felt, and I suppose seemed depressed. To
my astonishment, I was taken to task on the subject
by missus blank, missus sterners of manner and a harshness
of language, scarcely credible, like a fool, I cried most bitterly.
(18:18):
I could not help it. My spirits quiet failed me.
At first I thought I had done my best strained
every nerve to please her and to be treated them
that way, merely because I was shy and sometimes melancholy
was too bad. At first I was forgiving all up
and going home. But after a little reflection, I determined
(18:41):
to summon water energy I had, and to weather the storm.
I said to myself, I have never yet quitted a
place without gaining a friend. Adversity is a good school,
the poor uborn to labor, and the dependent to endure.
I resolved to be patient, to command my feelings, and
(19:02):
to take what came. The odeal, I reflected, would not
last many weeks, and I trust that it would do
me good. I recollected the fable of the willow and
the oak. I bent quietly, and now I trust the
storm is blowing over me. Missus Blank is generally considered
an agreeable woman, so she is, I doubt not in
(19:24):
general society. She behaves somewhat more civilly to me now
than she did at first, and the children are a
little more manageable. But she does not know my character,
and she does not wish to know it. I have
never had five minutes conversation with her since I came,
except while she were scolding me, I have no wish
(19:46):
to be pitied except by yourself. If I were talking
to you, I could tell you much more to Emily
about this time mind Bonnie laugh, I was as glad
of your letters as tongue can express. It is a real,
genuine pleasure to hear from home. Seemed to be safe
till that time. When one has a moment quite unrest
(20:09):
to enjoy it thoroughly. Write whenever you can. I could
like to be at home. I could like to work
in a mill. I could like to feel some mental liberty.
I could like this weight of restrain to be taken off.
But the holidays will come. Corraggio her temporary engagement and
(20:30):
this uncongenial family, and that in the July of this year,
not before the constant strain upon her spirits and strength
had again affected her health. But when this delicacy became
apparent in palpitations and shortness of breathing, it was treated
as affectation, as a phase of imaginary and disposition which
(20:53):
could be dissipated by good scolding. She had been brought
up rather in a school of spartan endurance than in
one of Maudland's self indulgence and could bear many a
pain and relinquish many a hope and silence. After she
had been at home about a week, her friend proposed
(21:13):
that she should accompany her in some little excursion, having
pleasure alone for its object. She called at the idea
most eagerly at first, but her hope stood still, waned,
and had almost disappeared before after many delays, it was
realized in its fulfillment. At last. It was a favorable
(21:34):
specimen of many a similar air bubble dancing before her
eyes in her brief career, in which his stern realities,
rather than pleasure, formed the leading incidents. July twenty sixth,
eighteen thirty nine. Your proposal has almost driven me clean daft.
(21:54):
If you don't understand that ladylike expression, you must ask
me what it means when I see you. The fact
is an excursion with you anywhere, whether it too clever
or Canada, just by ourselves, would be to me most delightful.
I should indeed like to go, but I can't get
leave of absence for longer than a week, and I'm
(22:16):
afraid that would not suit you. Must I then give
it up entirely. I feel as if I could not.
I never had such a chance of enjoyment before. I
do want to see you and talk to you, and
be with you when you wish to go. Could I
meet you at Leeds? To take a gig from a
house to be would be to me a very serious
(22:38):
increase of expense, and I happen to be very low
in cash. Oh rich people seem to have many pleasures
at their command, which we are debarred from. However, no repining,
say when you go, and I shall be able in
my answer to say decidedly whether I can accompany you
or not. I must, I will. I'm set upon it.
(23:00):
I'll be obstinate and bear down all opposition p s.
Since writing the above, I find that Aunt and Papa
have determined to go to Liverpool for a fortnight and
take us all with them. It is stipulated, however, that
I should give up the Cleathorpe scheme. I yield reluctantly.
(23:21):
I fancy that about this time mister Bronte found it necessary,
either from bailing health or the increased populaceness of the parish,
to engage the assistance of a curate At least it
is in a letter written this summer that I find
mention of the first of a succession of curates, who
henceforward revolved around Howiss Parsonage and made an impression on
(23:46):
the mind of one of its inmates, which she has
conveyed pretty distinctly to the world. The Howis Curate brought
his clerical friends and neighbors about the place, and for
a time the incursions of these near the parsonage tea
time formed occurrences by which the quietness of the life
there was varied, sometimes pleasantly, sometimes disagreeably. The little adventure
(24:12):
recorded at the end of the following letter is uncommon
in the lot of most women, and is a testimony
in this case to the unusual power of attraction, though
so plain, a feature which Charlotte possessed when she let
herself go. In The Happiness and Freedom of Home August fourth,
eighteen thirty nine. The Liverpool journey is yet a matter
(24:37):
of talk, a sort of castle in the air, But
between you and me, I fancy it is very doubtful
whether it will ever assume a more solid shape. Aunt,
like many other elderly people, likes to talk of such things,
but when it comes to putting them into actual execution,
she rather falls off. Such being the case, I think
(25:01):
you and I had better adhere to our first plan
of going somewhere together, independently of other people. I have
got leave to accompany you for a week, at the
utmost a fortnight, but no more. Where do you wish
to go? Burlington? I should think from what m says
would be as eligible a place as any. When you
(25:21):
set off, arrange all these things according to your convenience.
I shall start no objections. The idea of seeing the sea,
of being near it, watching its changes by sunrise, sunset,
more night and noonday, and calm, perhaps in storm, fills
and satisfies my mind. I shall be discontented at nothing,
(25:45):
and that I am not to be with a set
of people with whom I have nothing in common, who
would be nuisances and bores, But with you, whom I
like and know, and who knows me, I have no
odd circumstance to relate to you. Prepare for a hearty laugh.
The other day mister Blank, a vicar, came to spend
(26:08):
the day with us, bringing with him his own curate.
The lesser gentleman, by name mister b is a young
Irish clergyman fresh from Dublin University. It was the first
time we had any of us seen him. But however,
after the manner of his countryman, he soon made himself
at home. His character quickly appeared in his conversation witty, lively, ardent,
(26:33):
clever too, but deficient in the dignity and discretion of
an Englishman at home. You know, I talk with ease,
and am never shy, never weighed down and depressed by
that miserable mauvaisnt which torments and constrains me elsewhere. So
I conversed with his irishman and laughed at his jests,
(26:55):
And though I saw faults in his character, excused them
because of the amusement to his originality afforded. I called
a little Indeed, Andrew went towards the latter part of
the evening because he began to seat in his conversation
with something of Hibernian flattery, which I did not quite relish. However,
(27:16):
they went away and no more was thought about them.
A few days after I got a letter, the direction
of which puzzled me. It being in hand I was
not accustomed to see. Evidently, it was neither from you
nor Mary, my only correspondence. Having opened and read it,
(27:37):
it proved to be a declaration of attachment and proposal
of matrimony, expressed in the ardent language of the sapient
young irishman. I hope you are laughing heartily. This is
not like one of my adventures, is it. It more
nearly resembles Martha's. I'm certainly doomed to be an old maid.
(27:57):
Never mind, I made up my mind to that fate
ever since I was twelve years old, well thought I
I have heard of love at first sight. But this
beats all. I leave you to guess what my answer
would be, convinced that you will not do me the
injustice of guessing wrong. On the fourteenth of August, she
(28:21):
still arrives from Howorth. I have in vain packed my
box and prepared everything for our anticipated journey. It so
happens that I can get no conveyance this week all
the next. The only gig let out a High and
Howers is at Harrowgate, and likely to remain there for aught.
(28:41):
I can hear Papa decidedly objects to my going by
the coach and walking to be though I am sure
I could manage it. Aunt de claims against the weather,
and the roads, and the four winds of heaven. So
I am in a fix. And what is worse, So
are you on reading over for the second or third
(29:04):
time your last letter, which, by the bye, was written
in such hieroglyphics that at the first hasty perusal I
could hardly make out two consecutive words. I find you
intimate that I leave this journey till Thursday. I shall
be too late. I grieve that I should have so
inconvenienced you. But I need not talk of either Friday
(29:27):
or Saturday now, for I rather imagine there is small
chance of my ever going at all. The elders of
the house have never cordially quiet in the measure, and
now that impediment seemed to start up at every step,
opposition grows more open. Papa, indeed, would willingly indulge me.
That this very kindness of his makes me doubt whether
(29:50):
I ought to draw upon it. So though I could
battle out Aun's discontent, I yield to Papa's indulgence. He
does not say so, but I know he would rather
I stayed at home, And Aunt meant well too, I
dare say, but I am provoked that you reserved the
expression of her decided disapproval till all was settled between
(30:13):
you and myself. Reckon on me no more, leave me
out in your calculations. Perhaps I ought him the beginning,
to have had prudence sufficient to shut my eyes against
such a prospect of pleasure, so as to deny myself
the hope of it. Be as angry as you please
with me for disappointing you, I tis not intended, and
(30:35):
have only one thing more to say. If you do
not go immediately to the sea, will you come to
see us at Haworth? This invitation is not mine only,
but Papa's and aunt's. However, a little more patience, a
little more delay, and she enjoyed the pleasure she had
(30:55):
wished for so much. She and her friend went to
Easton for a fortnight in the latter part of September.
It was here she received her first impressions of the sea.
October twenty fourth. Have you forgotten the sea by this time? E?
It had grown dim in your mind? Or can you
still see it? Dark blue and green and foam white?
(31:20):
And to hear it roaring roughly when the winter is high,
or rushing softly when it is calm, I am as
well as need be, and very fat. I think of
Eastern very often, and of worthy mister Age and his
kind hearted helpmate, and of our pleasant walks to age
Wood and to Boynton, our merry evenings, our romps with
(31:41):
letter Hancheon, et cetera, et cetera. If you both live,
this period of our lives will long be seen for
pleasant recollection. Did you chance, in your letter to mister
h to mention my spectacles? I am sadly inconvenienced by
the want of them. I can neither read, write, nor
draw with comfort in their absence. I hope Madame won't
(32:04):
refused to give them up. Excuse the brevity of this letter,
for I have been drawing all day, and my eyes
are so tired. It is quite a labor to write.
But as the vivid remembrance of this pleasure died away,
an accident occurred to make the actual duties of life
(32:26):
press somewhat heavily for a time. December twenty first, eighteen
thirty nine. We are at present, and have been during
the last month rather busy. As for that space of time,
I have been without a servant except a little girl
to run errands. Poor Babby became so lame that she
(32:47):
was at length obliged to leave us. She is residing
with her sister in a little house of her own,
which she brought with her savings a year or two sins.
She is very comfortable and wants messy, as she is
in near We see her very often. In the meantime.
Emily and I are sufficiently busy, as you may suppose.
(33:09):
I manage the ironing and keep the rooms clean. Emily
does the baking and attends to the kitchen. We are
such odd animals that we preferred this mode of contrivance
to having a new base amongst us. Besides, we do
not despair to have his return, and she shall not
be supplanted by a stranger in her rebsence. I excited
(33:31):
aunt's routh very much by burning the clothes the first
time I attempted to iron. But I do better now.
Human feelings are queer things. I am much happier black
leading the stoves, making the beds, and sweeping the floors.
At home, then I should be living like a fine
lady anywhere else. I must indeed drop my subscription to
(33:54):
the Jews, because I have no money to keep it up.
I ought to have announced this intention to you before,
but I quite forgot I was a subscriber. I intend
to force myself to take another situation when I get on.
So I hate and abhor the very thought of governorship,
but I must do it. And therefore I heartily wish
(34:17):
I could hear of a family where they need such
a commodity as a governess. And of Section twelve
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My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark
My Favorite Murder is a true crime comedy podcast hosted by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. Each week, Karen and Georgia share compelling true crimes and hometown stories from friends and listeners. Since MFM launched in January of 2016, Karen and Georgia have shared their lifelong interest in true crime and have covered stories of infamous serial killers like the Night Stalker, mysterious cold cases, captivating cults, incredible survivor stories and important events from history like the Tulsa race massacre of 1921. My Favorite Murder is part of the Exactly Right podcast network that provides a platform for bold, creative voices to bring to life provocative, entertaining and relatable stories for audiences everywhere. The Exactly Right roster of podcasts covers a variety of topics including historic true crime, comedic interviews and news, science, pop culture and more. Podcasts on the network include Buried Bones with Kate Winkler Dawson and Paul Holes, That's Messed Up: An SVU Podcast, This Podcast Will Kill You, Bananas and more.
The Joe Rogan Experience
The official podcast of comedian Joe Rogan.