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Jan 6, - In Agnes Grey we find a governess's life depicted with shocking realism – and a clear model for Charlotte's masterpiece.
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An unknown error has occurred. Please click the button below to reload the page. If the problem persists, please try again in a little while. No cover image. Read FREE! Excerpt A nod was the answer. I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts" "Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir," he interrupted, wincing. Pettit Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, Read preview Overview. Common types of primary sources include works of literature, historical documents, original philosophical writings, and religious texts.

Gale Archon Books, Mary, you are a beautiful drawer.

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You draw pretty well too; if you choose some simple piece for your subject, I dare say you will be able to produce something we shall all be proud to exhibit. My sister dropped her work in astonishment exclaiming, " You a governess, Agnes! What can you be dreaming of? I don't see anything so very extraordinary in it.

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I do not pretend to be able to instruct great girls; but surely I could teach little ones I am so fond of children. Do let me, mama! You would not even know what clothes to put on. So you must hold your tongue, you naughty girl, for though you are so ready to leave us, you know very well, we cannot part with you. Mary got her drawing materials, and steadily set to work.

Anne Brontë: the sister who got there first | Books | The Guardian

I got mine too; but while I drew, I thought of other things. How delightful it would be to be a governess! To go out into the world; to enter upon a new life; to act for myself; to exercise my unused faculties; to try my unknown powers; to earn my own maintenance, and something to comfort and help my father, mother, and sister, besides exonerating them from the provision of my food and clothing; to show papa what his little Agnes could do; to convince mama and Mary that I was not quite the helpless, thoughtless being they supposed.

And then, how charming to be entrusted with the care and education of children!


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Whatever others said, I felt I was fully competent to the task: the clear remembrance of my own thoughts and feelings in early childhood would be a surer guide than the instructions of the most mature adviser. To teach the young idea how to shoot! Influenced by so many inducements, I determined still to persevere; though the fear of displeasing my mother, or distressing my father's feelings prevented me from resuming the subject for several days.

At length, again, I mentioned it to my mother in private, and, with some difficulty, got her to promise to assist me with her endeavours. My father's reluctant consent was next obtained, and then, though Mary still sighed her disapproval, my dear, kind mother began to look for a situation for me.

Brontë Week: Agnes Grey, by Anne Brontë

She wrote to my father's relations, and consulted the newspaper advertisements — her own relations she had long dropped all communication with — a formal interchange of occasional letters was all she had ever had since her marriage, and she would not, at any time, have applied to them in a case of this nature.

But so long, and so entire had been my parents' seclusion from the world, that many weeks elapsed before a suitable situation could be procured. At last, to my great joy, it was decreed that I should take charge of the young family of a certain Mrs Bloomfield, whom my kind, prim Aunt Grey had known in her youth, and asserted to be a very nice woman.

Agnes Grey

Her husband was a retired tradesman, who had realised a very comfortable fortune, but could not be prevailed upon to give a greater salary than twenty-five pounds to the instructress of his children. But some weeks more were yet to be devoted to preparation. How long, how tedious those weeks appeared to me! Yet they were happy ones in the main — full of bright hopes, and ardent expectations.

With what peculiar pleasure I assisted at the making of my new clothes, and, subsequently, the packing of my trunks! But there was a feeling of bitterness mingling with the latter occupation too — and when it was done, when all was ready for my departure on the morrow, and the last night at home approached, a sudden anguish seemed to swell my heart.

My dear friends looked so sad, and spoke so very kindly, that I could scarcely keep my eyes from overflowing; but I still affected to be gay. I had taken my last ramble with Mary on the moors, my last walk in the garden, and round the house; I had fed, with her, our pet pigeons for the last time — the pretty creatures that we had tamed to peck their food from our hands.

I had given a farewell stroke to all their silky backs as they crowded in my lap. I had tenderly kissed my own peculiar favourites, the pair of snow-white fantails; I had played my last tune on the old familiar piano, and sung my last song to papa; not the last, I hoped, but the last for, what appeared to me, a very long time; and, perhaps, when I did these things again, it would be with different feelings; circumstances might be changed, and this house might never be my settled home again.

My dear little friend, the kitten, would certainly be changed; she was already growing a fine cat; and when I returned, even for a hasty visit at Christmas, would, most likely, have forgotten both her playmate, and her merry pranks. Then, at bed-time, when I retired with Mary to our quiet little chamber, where already my drawers were cleared out, and my share of the bookcase was empty; and where, hereafter, she would have to sleep alone, in dreary solitude, as she expressed it, my heart sunk more than ever: I felt as if I had been selfish and wrong to persist in leaving her; and when I knelt once more beside our little bed, I prayed for a blessing on her, and on my parents more fervently than ever I had done before.

To conceal my emotion, I buried my face in my hands, and they were presently bathed in tears. I perceived, on rising, that she had been crying too; but neither of us spoke; and in silence we betook ourselves to our repose, creeping more closely together, from the consciousness that we were to part so soon. But the morning brought a renewal of hope and spirits. I was to depart early, that the conveyance which took me, a gig, hired from Mr Smith, the draper, grocer, and tea-dealer of the village might return the same day.

I rose, washed, dressed, swallowed a hasty breakfast, received the fond embraces of my father, mother, and sister, kissed the cat, to the great scandal of Sally, the maid, shook hands with her, mounted the gig, drew my veil over my face, and then, but not till then, burst into a flood of tears. The gig rolled on — I looked back — my dear mother and sister were still standing at the door, looking after me, and waving their adieux: I returned their salute, and prayed God to bless them from my heart: we descended the hill, and I could see them no more.

More by Anne Brontë

As we were toiling up, I looked back again: there was the village spire, and the old grey parsonage beyond it, basking in a slanting beam of sunshine — it was but a sickly ray, but the village and surrounding hills were all in sombre shade, and I hailed the wandering beam as a propitious omen to my home. With clasped hands, I fervently implored a blessing on its inhabitants, and hastily turned away; for I saw the sunshine was departing; and I carefully avoided another glance, lest I should see it in gloomy shadow like the rest of the landscape.

Yet, after all, when we entered the lofty iron gateway, when we drove softly up the smooth, well-rolled carriage road, with the green lawn on each side, studded with young trees, and approached the new, but stately mansion of Wellwood, rising above its mushroom poplar groves, my heart failed me, and I wished it were a mile or two farther off: for the first time in my life, I must stand alone — there was no retreating now — I must enter that house, and introduce myself among its strange inhabitants — but how was it to be done?

True, I was near nineteen, but, thanks to my retired life, and the protecting care of my mother and sister, I well knew, that many a girl of fifteen, or under, was gifted with a more womanly address, and greater ease and self-possession, than I was. The lady too was somewhat chilly in her manner, as I discovered when I had time to reflect. She was a tall, spare, stately woman, with thick black hair, cold grey eyes, and extremely sallow complexion. With due politeness however, she shewed me my bed-room, and left me there to take a little refreshment. I was somewhat dismayed at my appearance on looking in the glass She led me into the dining-room where the family luncheon had been laid out.

In fact, my attention was almost wholly absorbed in my dinner; not from ravenous appetite, but from distress at the toughness of the beefsteaks, and the numbness of my hands, almost palsied by their five hours' exposure to the bitter wind. I would gladly have eaten the potatoes and let the meat alone, but having got a large piece of the latter on to my plate, I could not be so impolite as to leave it; so, after many awkward and unsuccessful attempts to cut it with the knife, or tear it with the fork, or pull it asunder between them, sensible that the awful lady was a spectator to the whole transaction, I at last desperately grasped the knife and fork in my fists, like a child of two years old, and fell to work with all the little strength I possessed.

But this needed some apology — with a feeble attempt at a laugh, I said, "My hands are so benumbed with the cold that I can scarcely handle my knife and fork. When the ceremony was concluded, she led me into the sitting-room again, where she rung and sent for the children. He seems to scorn deception," this was good news. I have ordered her crib to be placed in your room, and if you will be so kind as to overlook her washing and dressing, and take charge of her clothes, she need have nothing further to do with the nursery-maid.

Master Tom Bloomfield was a well-grown boy of seven, with a somewhat wiry frame, flaxen hair, blue eyes, small turned up nose, and fair complexion. Mary Ann was a tall girl too, somewhat dark like her mother, but with a round full face, and a high colour in her cheeks. The second sister was Fanny, a very pretty little girl; Mrs Bloomfield assured me she was a remarkably gentle child, and required encouragement: she had not learnt anything yet; but in a few days, she would be four years old, and then she might take her first lesson in the alphabet, and be promoted to the school-room.

The remaining one was Harriet, a little broad, fat, merry, playful thing of scarcely two, that I coveted more than all the rest — but with her I had nothing to do. I talked to my little pupils as well as I could, and tried to render myself agreeable; but with little success I fear, for their mother's presence kept me under an unpleasant restraint.

They, however, were remarkably free from shyness. They seemed bold, lively children, and I hoped I should soon be on friendly terms with them — the little boy especially, of whom I had heard such a favourable character from his mama. In Mary Ann there was a certain affected simper, and a craving for notice, that I was sorry to observe.

Then, ordering his sister to hold the reins, he mounted, and made me stand for ten minutes, watching how manfully he used his whip and spurs. Meantime however, I admired Mary Ann's pretty doll, and all its possessions; and then told Master Tom he was a capital rider, but I hoped he would not use his whip and spurs so much when he rode a real pony. Tom lifted his fist with a menacing gesture; she uttered a loud, shrill scream, ran to the other side of me, and made a face at him. I hope I shall never see you do that.

And as it was the first day of our acquaintance, I thought I might as well indulge him. It was too cold for Mary Ann to venture out, so she stayed with her mama, to the great relief of her brother, who liked to have me all to himself.


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The garden was a large one, and tastefully laid out; besides several splendid dahlias, there were some other fine flowers still in bloom; but my companion would not give me time to examine them: I must go with him, across the wet grass, to a remote, sequestered corner, the most important place in the grounds — because, it contained his garden. There were two round beds, stocked with a variety of plants. In one, there was a pretty little rose tree.