Emily Brontë
situation. Nearly a year elapsed before she found it--a happy year, full
of plans and talks with Emily and free from any more pressing anxiety
than Anne's delicate health always gave her sisters. Branwell was away
and doing well as station-master at Luddendenfoot, "set off to seek
his fortune in the wild, wandering, adventurous, romantic,
knight-errant-like capacity of clerk on the Leeds and Manchester
Railway." Ellen came to stay at Haworth in the summer; it was quite
sociable and lively now in the grey house on the moors; for, compelled
by failing health, Mr. Bronte had engaged the help of a curate, and the
Haworth curate brought his clerical friends about the house, to the
great disgust of Emily, and the half-sentimental fluttering of pensive
Anne, which laid on Charlotte the responsibility of talking for all
three.
In the holidays when Anne was at home all the old glee and enjoyment of
life returned. There was, moreover, the curate, "bonnie, pleasant,
light-hearted, good-tempered, generous, careless, crafty, fickle, and
unclerical," to add piquancy to the situation. "He sits opposite to Anne
at church, sighing softly, and looking out of the corners of his
eyes--and she is so quiet, her look so downcast; they are a picture,"
says merry Charlotte. This first curate at Haworth was exempted from
Emily's liberal scorn; he was a favourite at the vicarage, a clever,
bright-spirited, and handsome youth, greatly in Miss Branwell's good
graces. He would tease and flatter the old lady with such graciousness
as made him ever sure of a welcome; so that his daily visits to Mr.
Bronte's study were nearly always followed up by a call in the opposite
parlour, when Miss Branwell would frequently leave her upstairs retreat
and join in the lively chatter. She always presided at the tea-table, at
which the curate was a frequent guest, and her nieces would be kept well
amused all through the tea hour by the curate's piquant sallies,
baffling the old lady in her little schemes of control over the three
high-spirited girls. None enjoyed the fun more than quiet Emily, always
present and amused, "her countenance glimmering as it always did when
she enjoyed herself," Miss Ellen Nussey tells me. Many happy legends,
too familiar to be quoted here, record the light heart and gay spirit
that Emily bore in those untroubled days. Foolish, pretty little stories
of her dauntless protection of the other girls from too pressing
suitors. Never was duenna so gallant, so gay, and so inevitable. In
compliment to the excellence of her swashing and martial outside on such
occasions, the little household dubbed her "The Major," a name that
stuck to her in days when the dash and gaiety of her soldiery bearing
was sadly sobered down, and only the courage and dauntless heart
remained.
But in these early days of 1841, Emily was as happy as other healthy
country girls in a congenial home. "She did what we did," says Miss
Nussey, "and never absented herself when she could avoid it--life at
this period must have been sweet and pleasant to her." An equal
unchequered life, in which trifles seemed of great importance. We hear
of the little joys and adventures of those days, so faithfully and long
remembered, with a pathetic pleasurableness. So slight they are, and all
their colour gone, like pressed roses, though a faint sweetness yet
remains. The disasters when Miss Branwell was cross and in no humour to
receive her guests; the long-expected excitement of a walk over the
moors to Keighley where the curate was to give a lecture, the alarm and
flurry when the curate, finding none of the four girls had ever received
a valentine, proposed to send one to each on the next Valentine's Day.
"No, no, the elders would never allow it, and yet it would certainly be
an event to receive a valentine; still, there would be such a lecture
from Miss Branwell." "Oh no," he said, "I shall post them at Bradford."
And to Bradford he walked, ten miles and back again, so that on the
eventful 14th of February the anxiously-expected postman brought four
valentines, all on delicately tinted paper, all enhanced by a verse of
original poetry, touching on some pleasant characteristic in each
recipient. What merriment and comparing of notes! What pleased feigning
of indignation! The girls determined to reward him with a Rowland for
his Oliver, and Charlotte wrote some rhymes full of fun and raillery
which all the girls signed--Emily entering into all this with much
spirit and amusement--and finally despatched in mystery and secret glee.
At last this pleasant fooling came to an end. Charlotte advertised for a
place, and found it. While she was away she had a letter from Miss
Wooler, offering Charlotte the goodwill of her school at Dewsbury Moor.
It was a chance not to be lost, although what inducement Emily and
Charlotte could offer to their pupils it is not easy to imagine. But it
was above all things necessary to make a home where delicate Anne might
be sheltered, where homesick Emily could be happy, where Charlotte could
have time to write, where all might live and work together. Miss
Wooler's offer was immediately accepted. Miss Branwell was induced to
lend the girls L100. No answer came from Miss Wooler. Then ambitious
Charlotte, from her situation away, wrote to Miss Branwell at
Haworth[6]:--
"September 29, 1841.
"Dear Aunt,
"I have heard nothing of Miss Wooler yet since I wrote to
her, intimating that I would accept her offer. I cannot
conjecture the reason of this long silence, unless some
unforeseen impediment has occurred in concluding the
bargain. Meantime a plan has been suggested and approved by
Mr. and Mrs. ---- and others which I wish now to impart to
you. My friends recommend, if I desire to secure permanent
success, to delay commencing the school for six months
longer, and by all means to contrive, by hook or by crook,
to spend the intervening time in some school on the
Continent. They say schools in England are so numerous,
competition so great, that without some such step towards
attaining superiority, we shall probably have a very hard
struggle and may fail in the end. They say, moreover, that
the loan of L100, which you have been so kind as to offer
us, will perhaps not be all required now, as Miss Wooler
will lend us the furniture; and that, if the speculation is
intended to be a good and successful one, half the sum, at
least, ought to be laid out in the manner I have mentioned,
thereby insuring a more speedy repayment both of interest
and principal.
"I would not go to France or to Paris. I would go to
Brussels, in Belgium. The cost of the journey there, at the
dearest rate of travelling, would be L5, living is there
little more than half as dear as it is in England, and the
facilities for education are equal or superior to any place
in Europe. In half a year I could acquire a thorough
familiarity with French. I could improve greatly in Italian
and even get a dash at German; _i.e._ providing my health
continued as good as it is now....
"These are advantages which would turn to real account when
we actually commenced a school; and, if Emily could share
them with me, we could take a footing in the world
afterwards which we never can do now. I say Emily instead of
Anne; for Anne might take her turn at some future period, if
our school answered. I feel certain, while I am writing,
that you will see the propriety of what I say. You always
like to use your money to the best advantage. You are not
fond of making shabby purchases; when you do confer a favour
it is often done in style; and depend upon it L50 or L100,
thus laid out, would be well employed. Of course, I know no
other friend in the world to whom I could apply on this
subject besides yourself. I feel an absolute conviction that
if this advantage were allowed us, it would be the making of
us for life. Papa will perhaps think it a wild and
ambitious scheme; but who ever rose in the world without
ambition. When he left Ireland to go to Cambridge University
he was as ambitious as I am now."
That was true. It must have struck a vibrant chord in the old man's
breast. Absorbed in parish gossip and his 'Cottage Poems,' caring no
longer for the world but only for newspaper reports of it, actively
idle, living a resultless life of ascetic self-indulgence, the Vicar of
Haworth was very proud of his energetic past. He had always held it up
to his children as a model for them to copy. Charlotte's appeal would
certainly secure her father as an ally to her cause. Miss Branwell, on
the other hand, would not wish for displays of ambition in her already
too irrepressible nieces. But she was getting old; it would be a comfort
to her, after all, to see them settled, and prosperously settled through
her generosity. "I look to you, Aunt, to help us. I think you will not
refuse," Charlotte had said. How, indeed, could Miss Branwell, living in
their home, be happy, and refuse?
Yet many discussions went on before anxious Charlotte got the answer.
Emily, whom it concerned as nearly, must have listened waiting in a
strange perturbation of hope and fear. To leave home--she knew well what
it meant. Since she was six years old she had never left Yorkshire; but
those months of wearying homesickness at Roe Head, at Halifax, must have
most painfully rushed back upon her memory. Haworth was health, content,
the very possibility of existence to this girl. To leave Haworth for a
strange town beyond the seas, to see strange faces all round, to hear
and speak a strange language, Charlotte's welcome prospect of adventure
must have taken a nightmare shape to Emily. And for this she must hope;
this she must desire, plead for if necessary, and at least uphold. For
Charlotte said the thing was essential to their future; and in all
details of management, Charlotte's word was law to her sisters. Even
Emily, the independent, indomitable Emily, so resolute in keeping to any
chosen path, looked to Charlotte to choose the way in practical affairs.
At length consent was secured, written and despatched. Gleeful Charlotte
gave notice to her employers and soon set out for home. There was much
to be done. "Letters to write to Brussels, to Lille and to London, lots
of work to be done, besides clothes to repair." It was decided that the
sisters should give up their chance of the school at Dewsbury Moor,
since the site was low and damp, and had not suited Anne. On their
return from Brussels they were to set up a school in some healthy
seaside place in the East Riding. Burlington was the place where their
fancy chiefly dwelt. To this beautiful and healthy spot, fronting the
sea, eager pupils would flock for the benefit of instruction by three
daughters of a clergyman, "educated abroad" (for six months) speaking
thorough French, improved Italian and a dash of German. A scintillating
programme of accomplishment danced before their eyes.
There were, however, many practical difficulties to be vanquished first.
The very initial step, the choice of a school, was hard to take.
Charlotte writes to Ellen:--
"January 20, 1842.
"We expect to leave England in about three weeks, but we are
not yet certain as to the day, as it will depend on the
convenience of a French lady now in London, Madame Marzials,
under whose escort we are to sail. Our place of destination
is changed. Papa received an unfavourable account from Mr.
or rather from Mrs. Jenkins of the French schools in