What the world stigmatizes as romantic is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed.
“Helen,” said she, “you often see Esther, don’t you?”
“Not very often.”
“But you have more frequent opportunities of meeting her than I have;
and she loves you, I know, and reverences you too: there is nobody’s
opinion she thinks so much of; and she says you have more sense than
mamma.”
“That is because she is self-willed, and my opinions more generally
coincide with her own than your mamma’s. But what then, Milicent?”
“Well, since you have so much influence with her, I wish you would
seriously impress it upon her, never, on any account, or for anybody’s
persuasion, to marry for the sake of money, or rank, or establishment,
or any earthly thing, but true affection and well-grounded esteem.”
“There is no necessity for that,” said I, “for we have had some
discourse on that subject already, and I assure you her ideas of love
and matrimony are as romantic as any one could desire.”
“But romantic notions will not do: I want her to have true notions.”
“Very right: but in my judgment, what the world stigmatises as
romantic, is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly
supposed; for, if the generous ideas of youth are too often
over-clouded by the sordid views of after-life, that scarcely proves
them to be false.”
“Well, but if you think her ideas are what they ought to be, strengthen
them, will you? and confirm them, as far as you can; for _I_ had
romantic notions once, and—I don’t mean to say that I regret my lot,
for I am quite sure I don’t, but—”
“I understand you,” said I; “you are contented for yourself, but you
would not have your sister to suffer the same as you.”
“No—or worse. She might have far worse to suffer than I, for _I am_
really contented, Helen, though you mayn’t think it: I speak the solemn
truth in saying that I would not exchange my husband for any man on
earth, if I might do it by the plucking of this leaf.”
“Well, I believe you: now that you have him, you would not exchange him
for another; but then you would gladly exchange some of his qualities
for those of better men.”
“Yes: just as I would gladly exchange some of my own qualities for
those of better women; for neither he nor I are perfect, and I desire
his improvement as earnestly as my own.
All true histories contain instruction; though, in some, the treasure may be hard to find, and when found, so trivial in quantity, that the dry, shriveled kernel scarcely compensates for the trouble of cracking the nut.
Title: Agnes Grey
Author: Anne Brontë
Release date: December 1, 1996 [eBook #767]
Most recently updated: April 15, 2021
Language: English
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AGNES GREY ***
Agnes Grey
A NOVEL,
by ACTON BELL.
LONDON:
THOMAS CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
72, MORTIMER ST., CAVENDISH SQ.
1847.
[Illustration: Birthplace of Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë,
Thornton]
Contents
I. THE PARSONAGE
II. FIRST LESSONS IN THE ART OF INSTRUCTION
III. A FEW MORE LESSONS
IV. THE GRANDMAMMA
V. THE UNCLE
VI. THE PARSONAGE AGAIN
VII. HORTON LODGE
VIII. THE “COMING OUT”
IX. THE BALL
X. THE CHURCH
XI. THE COTTAGERS
XII. THE SHOWER
XIII. THE PRIMROSES
XIV. THE RECTOR
XV. THE WALK
XVI. THE SUBSTITUTION
XVII. CONFESSIONS
XVIII. MIRTH AND MOURNING
XIX. THE LETTER
XX. THE FAREWELL
XXI. THE SCHOOL
XXII. THE VISIT
XXIII. THE PARK
XXIV. THE SANDS
XXV. CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I.
THE PARSONAGE
All true histories contain instruction; though, in some, the treasure
may be hard to find, and when found, so trivial in quantity, that the
dry, shrivelled kernel scarcely compensates for the trouble of cracking
the nut. Whether this be the case with my history or not, I am hardly
competent to judge. I sometimes think it might prove useful to some,
and entertaining to others; but the world may judge for itself.
Shielded by my own obscurity, and by the lapse of years, and a few
fictitious names, I do not fear to venture; and will candidly lay
before the public what I would not disclose to the most intimate
friend.
My father was a clergyman of the north of England, who was deservedly
respected by all who knew him; and, in his younger days, lived pretty
comfortably on the joint income of a small incumbency and a snug little
property of his own. My mother, who married him against the wishes of
her friends, was a squire’s daughter, and a woman of spirit. In vain it
was represented to her, that if she became the poor parson’s wife, she
must relinquish her carriage and her lady’s-maid, and all the luxuries
and elegancies of affluence; which to her were little less than the
necessaries of life.
I wished to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it.
AUTHOR’S PREFACE[2]
TO THE SECOND EDITION
While I acknowledge the success of the present work to have been
greater than I anticipated, and the praises it has elicited from a few
kind critics to have been greater than it deserved, I must also admit
that from some other quarters it has been censured with an asperity
which I was as little prepared to expect, and which my judgment, as
well as my feelings, assures me is more bitter than just. It is
scarcely the province of an author to refute the arguments of his
censors and vindicate his own productions; but I may be allowed to make
here a few observations with which I would have prefaced the first
edition, had I foreseen the necessity of such precautions against the
misapprehensions of those who would read it with a prejudiced mind or
be content to judge it by a hasty glance.
My object in writing the following pages was not simply to amuse the
Reader; neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to ingratiate
myself with the Press and the Public: I wished to tell the truth, for
truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it.
But as the priceless treasure too frequently hides at the bottom of a
well, it needs some courage to dive for it, especially as he that does
so will be likely to incur more scorn and obloquy for the mud and water
into which he has ventured to plunge, than thanks for the jewel he
procures; as, in like manner, she who undertakes the cleansing of a
careless bachelor’s apartment will be liable to more abuse for the dust
she raises than commendation for the clearance she effects. Let it not
be imagined, however, that I consider myself competent to reform the
errors and abuses of society, but only that I would fain contribute my
humble quota towards so good an aim; and if I can gain the public ear
at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths therein than much
soft nonsense.
As the story of “Agnes Grey” was accused of extravagant over-colouring
in those very parts that were carefully copied from the life, with a
most scrupulous avoidance of all exaggeration, so, in the present work,
I find myself censured for depicting _con amore_, with “a morbid love
of the coarse, if not of the brutal,” those scenes which, I will
venture to say, have not been more painful for the most fastidious of
my critics to read than they were for me to describe.
But, God knows best, I concluded.
And here was a man, decidedly good-looking—Jane and Susan
Green call him bewitchingly handsome—I suppose they’re two of the
ladies he pretends would be so glad to have him; but, however, he was
certainly a very clever, witty, agreeable companion—not what you call
clever, but just enough to make him entertaining; and a man one needn’t
be ashamed of anywhere, and would not soon grow tired of; and to
confess the truth, I rather liked him—better even, of late, than Harry
Meltham—and he evidently idolised me; and yet, though he came upon me
all alone and unprepared, I had the wisdom, and the pride, and the
strength to refuse him—and so scornfully and coolly as I did: I have
good reason to be proud of that.”
“And are you equally proud of having told him that his having the
wealth of Sir Hugh Meltham would make no difference to you, when that
was not the case; and of having promised to tell no one of his
misadventure, apparently without the slightest intention of keeping
your promise?”
“Of course! what else could I do? You would not have had me—but I see,
Miss Grey, you’re not in a good temper. Here’s Matilda; I’ll see what
she and mamma have to say about it.”
She left me, offended at my want of sympathy, and thinking, no doubt,
that I envied her. I did not—at least, I firmly believed I did not. I
was sorry for her; I was amazed, disgusted at her heartless vanity; I
wondered why so much beauty should be given to those who made so bad a
use of it, and denied to some who would make it a benefit to both
themselves and others.
But, God knows best, I concluded. There are, I suppose, some men as
vain, as selfish, and as heartless as she is, and, perhaps, such women
may be useful to punish them.
CHAPTER XV.
THE WALK
“Oh, dear! I wish Hatfield had not been so precipitate!” said Rosalie
next day at four P.M., as, with a portentous yawn, she laid down her
worsted-work and looked listlessly towards the window. “There’s no
inducement to go out now; and nothing to look forward to. The days will
be so long and dull when there are no parties to enliven them; and
there are none this week, or next either, that I know of.”
“Pity you were so cross to him,” observed Matilda, to whom this
lamentation was addressed. “He’ll never come again: and I suspect you
liked him after all. I hoped you would have taken him for your beau,
and left dear Harry to me.”
“Humph! my beau must be an Adonis indeed, Matilda, the admired of all
beholders, if I am to be contented with him alone. I’m sorry to lose
Hatfield, I confess; but the first decent man, or number of men, that
come to supply his place, will be more than welcome.
That wish - that prayer - both men and women would have scorned me for - But, Father, Thou wilt not despise! I said, and felt that it was true.
She goes there to flirt with Mr. Weston.”
“Really, that is not worth contradicting—I only saw him there once, I
tell you—and how could I know he was coming?”
Irritated as I was at their foolish mirth and vexatious imputations,
the uneasiness did not continue long: when they had had their laugh
out, they returned again to the captain and lieutenant; and, while they
disputed and commented upon them, my indignation rapidly cooled; the
cause of it was quickly forgotten, and I turned my thoughts into a
pleasanter channel. Thus we proceeded up the park, and entered the
hall; and as I ascended the stairs to my own chamber, I had but one
thought within me: my heart was filled to overflowing with one single
earnest wish. Having entered the room, and shut the door, I fell upon
my knees and offered up a fervent but not impetuous prayer: “Thy will
be done,” I strove to say throughout; but, “Father, all things are
possible with Thee, and may it be Thy will,” was sure to follow. That
wish—that prayer—both men and women would have scorned me for—“But,
Father, _Thou_ wilt _not_ despise!” I said, and felt that it was true.
It seemed to me that another’s welfare was at least as ardently
implored for as my own; nay, even _that_ was the principal object of my
heart’s desire. I might have been deceiving myself; but that idea gave
me confidence to ask, and power to hope I did not ask in vain. As for
the primroses, I kept two of them in a glass in my room until they were
completely withered, and the housemaid threw them out; and the petals
of the other I pressed between the leaves of my Bible—I have them
still, and mean to keep them always.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE RECTOR
The following day was as fine as the preceding one. Soon after
breakfast Miss Matilda, having galloped and blundered through a few
unprofitable lessons, and vengeably thumped the piano for an hour, in a
terrible humour with both me and it, because her mamma would not give
her a holiday, had betaken herself to her favourite places of resort,
the yards, the stables, and the dog-kennels; and Miss Murray was gone
forth to enjoy a quiet ramble with a new fashionable novel for her
companion, leaving me in the schoolroom hard at work upon a
water-colour drawing which I had promised to do for her, and which she
insisted upon my finishing that day.
I cannot love a man who cannot protect me.
What business had I to think of one that never thought of me?
But our wishes are like tinder: the flint and steel of circumstances are continually striking out sparks, which vanish immediately, unless they chance to fall upon the tinder of our wishes; then, they instantly ignite, and the flame of hope is kindled in a moment.
But where hope rises, fear must lurk behind.
We often pity the poor, because they have no leisure to mourn their departed relatives, and necessity obliges them to labor through their severest afflictions: but is not active employment the best remedy for overwhelming sorrow--the surest antidote for despair? It may be a rough comforter: it may seem hard to be harassed with the cares of life when we have no relish for its enjoyments; to be goaded to labor when the heart is ready to break, and the vexed spirit implores for rest only to weep in silence: but is not labor better than the rest we covet? and are not those petty, tormenting cares less hurtful than a continual brooding over the great affliction that oppresses us? Besides, we cannot have cares, and anxieties, and toil, without hope--if it be but the hope of fulfilling our joyless task, accomplishing some needful project, or escaping some further annoyance.
He had not breathed a word of love, or dropped one hint of tenderness or affection, and yet I had been supremely happy. To be near him, to hear him talk as he did talk, and to feel that he thought me worthy to be so spoken to - capable of understanding and duly appreciating such discourse - was enough.
I love the silent hour of night,For blissful dreams may then arise,Revealing to my charmed sightWhat may not bless my waking eyes.
It was wrong to be so joyless, so desponding; I should have made God my friend, and to do His will the pleasure and the business of my life; but faith was weak, and passion was too strong.
I am satisfied that if a book is a good one, it is so whatever the sex of the author may be. All novels are or should be written for both men and women to read, and I am at a loss to conceive how a man should permit himself to write anything that would be really disgraceful to a woman, or why a woman should be censured for writing anything that would be proper and becoming for a man.
The next visit I paid to Nancy Brown was in the second week in March: for, though I had many spare minutes during the day, I seldom could look upon an hour as entirely my own; since, when everything was left to the caprices of Miss Matilda and her sister, there could be no order or regularity. Whatever occupation I chose, when not actually busied about them or their concerns, I had, as it were, to keep my loins girded, my shoes on my feet, and my staff in my hand; for not to be immediately forthcoming when called for, was regarded as a grave and inexcusable offence: not only by my pupils and their mother, but by the very servant, who came in breathless haste to call me, exclaiming Youre to go to the school-room directly, mum- the young ladies is WAITING!! Climax of horror! actually waiting for their governess!!!
Reading is my favourite occupation, when I have leisure for it and books to read.
One bright day in the last week of February, I was walking in the park, enjoying the threefold luxury of solitude, a book, and pleasant weather.
I possess the faculty of enjoying the company of those I - of my friends as well in silence as in conversation.
Preserve me from such cordiality! It is like handling briar-roses and may-blossoms - bright enough to the eye, and outwardly soft to the touch, but you know there are thorns beneath, and every now and then you feel them too; and perhaps resent the injury by crushing them in till you have destroyed their power, though somewhat to the detriment of your own fingers.
Well, but you affirm that virtue is only elicited by temptation; - and you think that a woman cannot be too little exposed to temptation, or too little acquainted with vice, or anything connected therewith – It must be, either, that you think she is essentially so vicious, or so feeble-minded that she cannot withstand temptation, - and though she may be pure and innocent as long as she is kept in ignorance and restraint, yet, being destitute of real virtue, to teach her how to sin is at once to make her a sinner...
