Chapter 2 – First Lessons In The Art Of Instruction

Anne Bronte2016年07月20日'Command+D' Bookmark this page

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AS we drove along, my spirits revived again, and I turned, with
pleasure, to the contemplation of the new life upon which I was
entering. But though it was not far past the middle of September,
the heavy clouds and strong north-easterly wind combined to render
the day extremely cold and dreary; and the journey seemed a very
long one, for, as Smith observed, the roads were ‘very heavy’; and
certainly, his horse was very heavy too: it crawled up the hills,
and crept down them, and only condescended to shake its sides in a
trot where the road was at a dead level or a very gentle slope,
which was rarely the case in those rugged regions; so that it was
nearly one o’clock before we reached the place of our destination.
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. Yet, if
Mrs. Bloomfield were a kind, motherly woman, I might do very well,
after all; and the children, of course, I should soon be at ease
with them – and Mr. Bloomfield, I hoped, I should have but little
to do with.

‘Be calm, be calm, whatever happens,’ I said within myself; and
truly I kept this resolution so well, and was so fully occupied in
steadying my nerves and stifling the rebellious flutter of my
heart, that when I was admitted into the hall and ushered into the
presence of Mrs. Bloomfield, I almost forgot to answer her polite
salutation; and it afterwards struck me, that the little I did say
was spoken in the tone of one half-dead or half-asleep. 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 showed me my bedroom, and left me
there to take a little refreshment. I was somewhat dismayed at my
appearance on looking in the glass: the cold wind had swelled and
reddened my hands, uncurled and entangled my hair, and dyed my face
of a pale purple; add to this my collar was horridly crumpled, my
frock splashed with mud, my feet clad in stout new boots, and as
the trunks were not brought up, there was no remedy; so having
smoothed my hair as well as I could, and repeatedly twitched my
obdurate collar, I proceeded to clomp down the two flights of
stairs, philosophizing as I went; and with some difficulty found my
way into the room where Mrs. Bloomfield awaited me.

She led me into the dining-room, where the family luncheon had been
laid out. Some beefsteaks and half-cold potatoes were set before
me; and while I dined upon these, she sat opposite, watching me (as
I thought) and endeavouring to sustain something like a
conversation – consisting chiefly of a succession of commonplace
remarks, expressed with frigid formality: but this might be more
my fault than hers, for I really could NOT converse. 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

‘I daresay you would find it cold,’ replied she with a cool,
immutable gravity that did not serve to re-assure me.

When the ceremony was concluded, she led me into the sitting-room
again, where she rang and sent for the children.

‘You will find them not very far advanced in their attainments,’
said she, ‘for I have had so little time to attend to their
education myself, and we have thought them too young for a
governess till now; but I think they are clever children, and very
apt to learn, especially the little boy; he is, I think, the flower
of the flock – a generous, noble-spirited boy, one to be led, but
not driven, and remarkable for always speaking the truth. He seems
to scorn deception’ (this was good news). ‘His sister Mary Ann
will require watching,’ continued she, ‘but she is a very good girl
upon the whole; though I wish her to be kept out of the nursery as
much as possible, as she is now almost six years old, and might
acquire bad habits from the nurses. 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.’

I replied I was quite willing to do so; and at that moment my young
pupils entered the apartment, with their two younger sisters.
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 learned 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
schoolroom. 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 mamma. In Mary Ann there was a
certain affected simper, and a craving for notice, that I was sorry
to observe. But her brother claimed all my attention to himself;
he stood bolt upright between me and the fire, with his hands
behind his back, talking away like an orator, occasionally
interrupting his discourse with a sharp reproof to his sisters when
they made too much noise.

‘Oh, Tom, what a darling you are!’ exclaimed his mother. ‘Come and
kiss dear mamma; and then won’t you show Miss Grey your schoolroom,
and your nice new books?’

‘I won’t kiss YOU, mamma; but I WILL show Miss Grey my schoolroom,
and my new books.’

‘And MY schoolroom, and MY new books, Tom,’ said Mary Ann.
‘They’re mine too.’

‘They’re MINE,’ replied he decisively. ‘Come along, Miss Grey –
I’ll escort you.’

When the room and books had been shown, with some bickerings
between the brother and sister that I did my utmost to appease or
mitigate, Mary Ann brought me her doll, and began to be very
loquacious on the subject of its fine clothes, its bed, its chest
of drawers, and other appurtenances; but Tom told her to hold her
clamour, that Miss Grey might see his rocking-horse, which, with a
most important bustle, he dragged forth from its corner into the
middle of the room, loudly calling on me to attend to it. 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.

‘Oh, yes, I will!’ said he, laying on with redoubled ardour. ‘I’ll
cut into him like smoke! Eeh! my word! but he shall sweat for it.’

This was very shocking; but I hoped in time to be able to work a

‘Now you must put on your bonnet and shawl,’ said the little hero,
‘and I’ll show you my garden.’

‘And MINE,’ said Mary Ann.

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.

‘Surely, Tom, you would not strike your sister! I hope I shall
NEVER see you do that.’

‘You will sometimes: I’m obliged to do it now and then to keep her
in order.’

‘But it is not your business to keep her in order, you know – that
is for – ‘

‘Well, now go and put on your bonnet.’

‘I don’t know – it is so very cloudy and cold, it seems likely to
rain; – and you know I have had a long drive.’

‘No matter – you MUST come; I shall allow of no excuses,’ replied
the consequential little gentleman. 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, so she stayed with her mamma, to
the great relief of her brother, who liked to have me all to

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. I
paused to admire its lovely blossoms.

‘Oh, never mind that!’ said he, contemptuously. ‘That’s only MARY
ANN’S garden; look, THIS is mine.’

After I had observed every flower, and listened to a disquisition
on every plant, I was permitted to depart; but first, with great
pomp, he plucked a polyanthus and presented it to me, as one
conferring a prodigious favour. I observed, on the grass about his
garden, certain apparatus of sticks and corn, and asked what they

‘Traps for birds.’

‘Why do you catch them?’

‘Papa says they do harm.’

‘And what do you do with them when you catch them?’

‘Different things. Sometimes I give them to the cat; sometimes I
cut them in pieces with my penknife; but the next, I mean to roast

‘And why do you mean to do such a horrible thing?’

‘For two reasons: first, to see how long it will live – and then,
to see what it will taste like.’

‘But don’t you know it is extremely wicked to do such things?
Remember, the birds can feel as well as you; and think, how would
you like it yourself?’

‘Oh, that’s nothing! I’m not a bird, and I can’t feel what I do to

‘But you will have to feel it some time, Tom: you have heard where
wicked people go to when they die; and if you don’t leave off
torturing innocent birds, remember, you will have to go there, and
suffer just what you have made them suffer.’

‘Oh, pooh! I shan’t. Papa knows how I treat them, and he never
blames me for it: he says it is just what HE used to do when HE
was a boy. Last summer, he gave me a nest full of young sparrows,
and he saw me pulling off their legs and wings, and heads, and
never said anything; except that they were nasty things, and I must
not let them soil my trousers: end Uncle Robson was there too, and
he laughed, and said I was a fine boy.’

‘But what would your mamma say?’

‘Oh, she doesn’t care! she says it’s a pity to kill the pretty
singing birds, but the naughty sparrows, and mice, and rats, I may
do what I like with. So now, Miss Grey, you see it is NOT wicked.’

‘I still think it is, Tom; and perhaps your papa and mamma would
think so too, if they thought much about it. However,’ I
internally added, ‘they may say what they please, but I am
determined you shall do nothing of the kind, as long as I have
power to prevent it.’

He next took me across the lawn to see his mole-traps, and then
into the stack-yard to see his weasel-traps: one of which, to his
great joy, contained a dead weasel; and then into the stable to
see, not the fine carriage-horses, but a little rough colt, which
he informed me had been bred on purpose for him, and he was to ride
it as soon as it was properly trained. I tried to amuse the little
fellow, and listened to all his chatter as complacently as I could;
for I thought if he had any affections at all, I would endeavour to
win them; and then, in time, I might be able to show him the error
of his ways: but I looked in vain for that generous, noble spirit
his mother talked of; though I could see he was not without a
certain degree of quickness and penetration, when he chose to exert

When we re-entered the house it was nearly tea-time. Master Tom
told me that, as papa was from home, he and I and Mary Ann were to
have tea with mamma, for a treat; for, on such occasions, she
always dined at luncheon-time with them, instead of at six o’clock.
Soon after tea, Mary Ann went to bed, but Tom favoured us with his
company and conversation till eight. After he was gone, Mrs.
Bloomfield further enlightened me on the subject of her children’s
dispositions and acquirements, and on what they were to learn, and
how they were to be managed, and cautioned me to mention their
defects to no one but herself. My mother had warned me before to
mention them as little as possible to HER, for people did not like
to be told of their children’s faults, and so I concluded I was to
keep silence on them altogether. About half-past nine, Mrs.
Bloomfield invited me to partake of a frugal supper of cold meat
and bread. I was glad when that was over, and she took her bedroom
candlestick and retired to rest; for though I wished to be pleased
with her, her company was extremely irksome to me; and I could not
help feeling that she was cold, grave, and forbidding – the very
opposite of the kind, warm-hearted matron my hopes had depicted her
to be.


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