Section 6
Chapter 6 — The Parsonage Again explained simply
Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë
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For a few months I remained peaceably at home, in the quiet enjoyment of liberty and rest, and genuine friendship, from all of which I had fasted so long; and in the earnest prosecution of my studies, to recover what I had lost during my stay at Wellwood House, and to lay in new stores for future...
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For a few months I remained peaceably at home, in the quiet enjoyment
of liberty and rest, and genuine friendship, from all of which I had
fasted so long; and in the earnest prosecution of my studies, to
recover what I had lost during my stay at Wellwood House, and to lay in
new stores for future use. My father’s health was still very infirm,
but not materially worse than when I last saw him; and I was glad I had
it in my power to cheer him by my return, and to amuse him with singing
his favourite songs.
No one triumphed over my failure, or said I had better have taken his
or her advice, and quietly stayed at home. All were glad to have me
back again, and lavished more kindness than ever upon me, to make up
for the sufferings I had undergone; but not one would touch a shilling
of what I had so cheerfully earned and so carefully saved, in the hope
of sharing it with them. By dint of pinching here, and scraping there,
our debts were already nearly paid. Mary had had good success with her
drawings; but our father had insisted upon _her_ likewise keeping all
the produce of her industry to herself. All we could spare from the
supply of our humble wardrobe and our little casual expenses, he
directed us to put into the savings’-bank; saying, we knew not how soon
we might be dependent on that alone for support: for he felt he had not
long to be with us, and what would become of our mother and us when he
was gone, God only knew!
Dear papa! if he had troubled himself less about the afflictions that
threatened us in case of his death, I am convinced that dreaded event
would not have taken place so soon. My mother would never suffer him to
ponder on the subject if she could help it.
"Oh, Richard!" exclaimed she, on one occasion, "if you would but
dismiss such gloomy subjects from your mind, you would live as long as
any of us; at least you would live to see the girls married, and
yourself a happy grandfather, with a canty old dame for your
companion."
My mother laughed, and so did my father: but his laugh soon perished in
a dreary sigh.
"_They_ married—poor penniless things!" said he; "who will take them I
wonder!"
"Why, nobody shall that isn’t thankful for them. Wasn’t I penniless
when you took me? and you _pretended_, at least, to be vastly pleased
with your acquisition. But it’s no matter whether they get married or
not: we can devise a thousand honest ways of making a livelihood. And I
wonder, Richard, you can think of bothering your head about our
_poverty_ in case of your death; as if _that_ would be anything
compared with the calamity of losing you—an affliction that you well
know would swallow up all others, and which you ought to do your utmost
to preserve us from: and there is nothing like a cheerful mind for
keeping the body in health."
"I know, Alice, it is wrong to keep repining as I do, but I cannot help
it: you must bear with me."
"I _won’t_ bear with you, if I can alter you," replied my mother: but
the harshness of her words was undone by the earnest affection of her
tone and pleasant smile, that made my father smile again, less sadly
and less transiently than was his wont.
"Mamma," said I, as soon as I could find an opportunity of speaking
with her alone, "my money is but little, and cannot last long; if I
could increase it, it would lessen papa’s anxiety, on one subject at
least. I cannot draw like Mary, and so the best thing I could do would
be to look out for another situation."
"And so you would actually try again, Agnes?"
"Decidedly, I would."
"Why, my dear, I should have thought you had had enough of it."
"I know," said I, "everybody is not like Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield—"
"Some are worse," interrupted my mother.
"But not many, I think," replied I, "and I’m sure all children are not
like theirs; for I and Mary were not: we always did as you bid us,
didn’t we?"
"Generally: but then, I did not spoil you; and you were not perfect
angels after all: Mary had a fund of quiet obstinacy, and you were
somewhat faulty in regard to temper; but you were very good children on
the whole."
"I know I was sulky sometimes, and I should have been glad to see these
children sulky sometimes too; for then I could have understood them:
but they never were, for they _could_ not be offended, nor hurt, nor
ashamed: they could not be unhappy in any way, except when they were in
a passion."
"Well, if they _could_ not, it was not their fault: you cannot expect
stone to be as pliable as clay."
"No, but still it is very unpleasant to live with such unimpressible,
incomprehensible creatures. You cannot love them; and if you could,
your love would be utterly thrown away: they could neither return it,
nor value, nor understand it. But, however, even if I should stumble on
such a family again, which is quite unlikely, I have all this
experience to begin with, and I should manage better another time; and
the end and aim of this preamble is, let me try again."
"Well, my girl, you are not easily discouraged, I see: I am glad of
that. But, let me tell you, you are a good deal paler and thinner than
when you first left home; and we cannot have you undermining your
health to hoard up money either for yourself or others."
"Mary tells me I am changed too; and I don’t much wonder at it, for I
was in a constant state of agitation and anxiety all day long: but next
time I am determined to take things coolly."
After some further discussion, my mother promised once more to assist
me, provided I would wait and be patient; and I left her to broach the
matter to my father, when and how she deemed it most advisable: never
doubting her ability to obtain his consent. Meantime, I searched, with
great interest, the advertising columns of the newspapers, and wrote
answers to every "Wanted a Governess" that appeared at all eligible;
but all my letters, as well as the replies, when I got any, were
dutifully shown to my mother; and she, to my chagrin, made me reject
the situations one after another: these were low people, these were too
exacting in their demands, and these too niggardly in their
remuneration.
"Your talents are not such as every poor clergyman’s daughter
possesses, Agnes," she would say, "and you must not throw them away.
Remember, you promised to be patient: there is no need of hurry: you
have plenty of time before you, and may have many chances yet."
At length, she advised me to put an advertisement, myself, in the
paper, stating my qualifications, &c.
"Music, singing, drawing, French, Latin, and German," said she, "are no
mean assemblage: many will be glad to have so much in one instructor;
and this time, you shall try your fortune in a somewhat higher
family—in that of some genuine, thoroughbred gentleman; for such are
far more likely to treat you with proper respect and consideration than
those purse-proud tradespeople and arrogant upstarts. I have known
several among the higher ranks who treated their governesses quite as
one of the family; though some, I allow, are as insolent and exacting
as any one else can be: for there are bad and good in all classes."
The advertisement was quickly written and despatched. Of the two
parties who answered it, but one would consent to give me fifty pounds,
the sum my mother bade me name as the salary I should require; and
here, I hesitated about engaging myself, as I feared the children would
be too old, and their parents would require some one more showy, or
more experienced, if not more accomplished than I. But my mother
dissuaded me from declining it on that account: I should do vastly
well, she said, if I would only throw aside my diffidence, and acquire
a little more confidence in myself. I was just to give a plain, true
statement of my acquirements and qualifications, and name what
stipulations I chose to make, and then await the result. The only
stipulation I ventured to propose, was that I might be allowed two
months’ holidays during the year to visit my friends, at Midsummer and
Christmas. The unknown lady, in her reply, made no objection to this,
and stated that, as to my acquirements, she had no doubt I should be
able to give satisfaction; but in the engagement of governesses she
considered those things as but subordinate points; as being situated in
the neighbourhood of O——, she could get masters to supply any
deficiencies in that respect: but, in her opinion, next to
unimpeachable morality, a mild and cheerful temper and obliging
disposition were the most essential requisities.
My mother did not relish this at all, and now made many objections to
my accepting the situation; in which my sister warmly supported her:
but, unwilling to be balked again, I overruled them all; and, having
first obtained the consent of my father (who had, a short time
previously, been apprised of these transactions), I wrote a most
obliging epistle to my unknown correspondent, and, finally, the bargain
was concluded.
It was decreed that on the last day of January I was to enter upon my
new office as governess in the family of Mr. Murray, of Horton Lodge,
near O——, about seventy miles from our village: a formidable distance
to me, as I had never been above twenty miles from home in all the
course of my twenty years’ sojourn on earth; and as, moreover, every
individual in that family and in the neighbourhood was utterly unknown
to myself and all my acquaintances. But this rendered it only the more
piquant to me. I had now, in some measure, got rid of the _mauvaise
honte_ that had formerly oppressed me so much; there was a pleasing
excitement in the idea of entering these unknown regions, and making my
way alone among its strange inhabitants. I now flattered myself I was
going to see something in the world: Mr. Murray’s residence was near a
large town, and not in a manufacturing district, where the people had
nothing to do but to make money; his rank from what I could gather,
appeared to be higher than that of Mr. Bloomfield; and, doubtless, he
was one of those genuine thoroughbred gentry my mother spoke of, who
would treat his governess with due consideration as a respectable
well-educated lady, the instructor and guide of his children, and not a
mere upper servant. Then, my pupils being older, would be more
rational, more teachable, and less troublesome than the last; they
would be less confined to the schoolroom, and not require that constant
labour and incessant watching; and, finally, bright visions mingled
with my hopes, with which the care of children and the mere duties of a
governess had little or nothing to do. Thus, the reader will see that I
had no claim to be regarded as a martyr to filial piety, going forth to
sacrifice peace and liberty for the sole purpose of laying up stores
for the comfort and support of my parents: though certainly the comfort
of my father, and the future support of my mother, had a large share in
my calculations; and fifty pounds appeared to me no ordinary sum. I
must have decent clothes becoming my station; I must, it seemed, put
out my washing, and also pay for my four annual journeys between Horton
Lodge and home; but with strict attention to economy, surely twenty
pounds, or little more, would cover those expenses, and then there
would be thirty for the bank, or little less: what a valuable addition
to our stock! Oh, I must struggle to keep this situation, whatever it
might be! both for my own honour among my friends and for the solid
services I might render them by my continuance there.
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What happens here
Chapter 6 — The Parsonage Again continues Agnes Grey, focusing on work, class, education, conscience, loneliness, patience, and moral growth. The chapter moves the reader through a specific pressure, choice, or change in the story.
Why this scene matters
This section matters because it shows one part of Agnes Grey's larger pattern: work, class, education, conscience, loneliness, patience, and moral growth. Reading the situation first makes the older prose easier to follow.
Characters in this scene
- Main characters: The people whose choices carry this part of Agnes Grey.
- Family or social world: The relationships, class pressures, rules, or expectations shaping the chapter.
- Narrative pressure: The conflict, secret, desire, or consequence that keeps this section moving.