Anne Brontë has given us a story of the *highest* caliber in the form of her debut novel, Agnes Grey. It is a true masterpiece and proves that Anne was one of the greatest writers of the 19th century. Although often overshadowed by her sisters, Charlotte and Emily, I believe Anne shines brightest of all.
Agnes Grey was published in December of 1847, when Anne Brontë was 26 years old. It is a semi-autobiographical account of a young governess who experiences the harsh reality and isolation that comes with her role in society. It explores powerful themes of female autonomy, self-worth, education, class dynamics, family, friendship, respect, and love. Anne uses pin point precision to bring these topics to the reader’s attention. I can only imagine (and research about) the immense impact this novel had on its very first readers.
Like Agnes, and myself, Anne was the youngest of her sisters. Often within sibling dynamics, especially between sisters, the youngest is sometimes seen by their families as meek and incapable. *“You think, because I always do as you bid me, I have no judgment of my own: but only trust me — that is all I ask — and you shall see what I can do,”* Agnes pleads to her mother in the very first chapter.
Agnes becomes a governess to help financially support her family, a noble pursuit. She leaves her familiar environment behind, hoping to prove her abilities and obtain a certain level of independence. She soon learns, within the first few hours of her new posting, the brutal truth about her position in an upperclass household and in society at large. *“Kindness, which had been the food of my life through so many years, had lately been so entirely denied me…”,* Agnes confesses in chapter four.
Throughout the entire narrative, Agnes never (not once) loses her self-respect. This is one of the things I admire most about her. Despite being treated as less than by nearly everyone around her, she holds tight to her beliefs and perseveres. Through Agnes, the reader—especially a modern reader, like myself—gets to experience Anne’s own past reality. This is illustrated brilliantly in chapter thirteen: *The Primroses* (one of my very favorites), *“But when I did walk* [with her pupils]*, this first half of the journey was generally a great nuisance to me. As none of the before-mentioned ladies and gentlemen ever noticed me, it was disagreeable to walk beside them, as if listening to what they said, or wishing to be thought one of them, while they talked over me or across, and if their eyes, in speaking, chanced to fall on me, it seemed as if they looked on vacancy — as if they either did not see me, or were very desirous to make it appear so. It was disagreeable, too, to walk behind, and thus appear to acknowledge my own inferiority; for the truth, I consider myself pretty nearly as good as the best of them, and wished them to know that I did so, and not to imagine that I looked upon myself as a mere domestic, who knew her own place too well to walk beside such fine ladies and gentlemen as they were… though her young ladies might choose to have her with them, even condescend to converse with her, when no better company were at hand.”* This scene is fascinating, and heartbreaking, as it gives the reader an honest glimpse into the complexities of Agnes’ (and Anne’s) life and social standing.
Despite her fortitude, eventually, Agnes confesses in chapter eleven, *“Already, I seemed to feel my intellect deteriorating, my heart petrifying, my soul contracting, and I trembled lest my very moral perceptions should become deadened, my distinctions of right and wrong confounded, and all my better faculties be sunk, at last, beneath the baleful influence of such a mode of life. The gross vapours of earth were gathering round me, and closing in upon my inward heaven; and thus it was that Mr. __* [the “hero” of the novel] *rose at length upon me, appearing like the morning star in my horizon, to save me from the fear of utter darkness; and I rejoiced that I had now a subject for contemplation, that was above me, not beneath.”* Through the character of Mr. __, Anne truly gives Agnes, and the reader, a “morning star” in the story’s horizons. Anne knew what qualities women deserve and value in a partner, and she put those qualities into Mr. __’s character.
Firstly, he treats Agnes with the respect and kindness she deserves. A perfect example of his chivalry is found in chapter thirteen, when Agnes explains how, *“At length I descried, high up between the twisted roots of an oak, three lovely primroses, peeping so sweetly from their hiding-place that the tears already started at the sight, but they grew so high above me, that I tried in vain to gather one of two to dream over and to carry with me; I could not reach them, unless I climbed the bank, which I was deterred from doing by hearing a footstep at that moment behind me, and was therefore about to turn away, when I was startled by the words, ‘Allow me to gather them for you, Miss Grey,’ spoken in the grave low tones of a well-known voice. Immediately the flowers were gathered, and in my hand. It was Mr. __ of course — who else would trouble himself to do so much for me?”* … *“It was foolish, perhaps, to feel any gratitude at all, but it seemed to me, at that moment, as if this were a remarkable instance of his good nature, an act of kindness which I could not repay, but never should forget: so utterly unaccustomed was i to receive such civilities, so little prepared to expect them…”*
Secondly, in that same chapter, thirteen, Mr. __ shows his genuine interest in Agnes’ character, thoughts, ideas, and interests. *“…he broke the pause by asking, with a certain quiet abruptness peculiar to himself, if I liked flowers… ‘Yes, very much,’ I answered, ‘wildflowers especially.’ … ‘What are your favorite flowers?’ … ‘Primroses, blue-bells, and heath-blossoms.’* Which he later remembers, another sign of his good character, as told in chapter eighteen (which takes place a few months later), *“He carried in his hand a cluster of beautiful bluebells which he offered to me, observing, with a smile, that though he had not seen me for the last two months, he had not forgotten that bluebells were numbered among my favourite flowers.”* These acts of thoughtfulness and care may appear simple, but to Agnes (and the reader) they feel profound.
Thirdly, he sees Agnes’ true worth, unlike her pupils, their parents, and most of society. As Mr.__ himself admits in chapter fifteen, when Agnes expresses the difficulty she has faced with making friends. *“‘The fault is partly in society, and partly, I should think, in your immediate neighbours, and partly, too, in yourself; for many ladies, in your position, would* make *themselves be noticed and accounted of. But your pupils should be companions for you in some degree; they cannot be many years younger than yourself.’ ‘Oh yes, they are good company sometimes; but I cannot call them friends, nor would they think of bestowing such a name on me - they have other companions better suited to their tastes.’ ‘Perhaps you are too wise for them. How do you amuse yourself when alone - do you read much?’”* This question results in one of my favorite quotes, which I will soon share in relation to another aspect of the story. By sharing this interaction between herself and Mr. __, Agnes gives the reader yet another reason to think highly of him. *“From speaking of books in general, he passed to different books in particular, and proceeded by rapid transitions from topic to topic, till several matters, both of taste and opinion, had been discussed considerably within the space of half an hour, but without embelishment of many observations from himself; he being evidently less bent upon communicating his own thoughts and predilections, than on discovering mine.”*
Fourthly, I must mention a scene that happens in chapter sixteen, which swept me off of my feet. After attending church on a Sunday, Agnes, her pupils, and their parents, have to walk, from the church door to their carriage, in the rain. Everyone gets escorted under an umbrella, except Agnes. That is until Mr. __ comes to the rescue. *“I was about to follow; but Mr. __ had an umbrella too, and offered me the benefit of its shelter, for it was raining heavily. ‘No, thank you, I don’t mind the rain,’ I said. I always lacked common sense when taken by surprise.”* That line made me laugh out loud, because I frequently feel the same way. *“‘But you don’t like it I suppose? - an umbrella will do you no harm at any rate,’ he replied, with a smile that shewed he was not offended, as a man of worse temper or less penetration would have been at such a refusal of his aid. I could not deny the truth of his assertion, and so went with him to the carriage; he even offered me his hand on getting in, an unnecessary piece of civility, but I accepted that too for fear of giving offence. One glance he gave, one little smile at parting at parting - it was but for a moment, but therein I read, or thought I read, a meaning that kindled in my heart a brighter flame of hope than had ever yet arisen.”* This scene, in my humble opinion, is as swoon worthy as Mr. Darcy’s hand flex in the 2005 adaptation of *Pride and Prejudice.*
Lastly, although, as Agnes says in the final chapter,“I could go on for years,” I want to express that although Mr.__ appears to be the “perfect” man, he knows he isn’t. No one is. *“‘If you require perfection…’”* Agnes tells him, in chapter twenty four. *“‘I do not —’,”* he replies. *“‘I have no right to, as being so far from perfect myself.’”*
Woven throughout the story are Agnes’ ardent yearnings. This quote, from chapter fifteen, made my own heart ache alongside hers, *“…as for my thinking of him, I had been doing that, with little intermission, ever since we set out on our journey…”* The passion Anne captures here is more subtle, compared to the dramatic and fiery passion in her sister’s novels, but I think it is just as powerful. Its beauty lies in its relatable universality.
Another theme, which every voracious reader will be able to understand, is how books, as well as libraries, act as a refuge for Agnes. I knew she was a kindred spirit when, in chapter fifteen, she tells Mr. __, as a response to his question which I mentioned earlier, *“‘Reading is my favorite occupation when I have leisure for it, and books to read.’”* Another similarly wonderful quote is found in chapter eleven, *“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…”* Speaking from my own experiences, as Anne does throughout this novel, books bring a certain comfort which is entirely unique. Agnes gives voice to this idea perfectly in chapter seventeen when she says, *“…we often naturally seek relief in poetry - and often find it too - … in our own attempts to give utterance to those thoughts and feelings in strains less musical, perchance, but more appropriate, and therefore more penetrating and sympathetic, and, for the time, more soothing, or more powerful to rouse and to unburden the oppressed and swollen heart.”* Books, poetry, and libraries help us understand ourselves and the world around us, even more so when our surroundings are less than pleasant, as they are for Agnes in chapter twenty two. At this point in the story, she is staying at an upperclass house, as a guest, and yet she is still expected to dine separately. Her hostess says, *“‘I will show you the library; I never examined its shelves, but, I dare say, it is full of wise books, and you may go and burrow among them whenever you please…’”* Agnes later replies by saying, *“‘I should prefer having all my meals in this room. … At any rate it would be more agreeable to me.’”* This conversation broke my heart, although, I must confess, I would have felt the same way if I was in her position.
Chapter twenty two also gives the reader a glimpse into the themes of domestic abuse, alcoholism, and female empowerment which Anne later explores and develops in her second, and last, novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. *“…As if there was any good to be done by staying in the room,”* an unhappy wife tells Agnes, *“when he does nothing but grumble and scold when he’s in a bad humour, talk disgusting nonsense when he’s in a good one, and go to sleep on the sofa when he’s too stupid for either, which is most frequently the case now, when he has nothing to do but sot over his wine.”* At the time, narratives of this nature were seldom explored by authors. 19th century society was shocked when Anne Brontë went against these societal norms and therefore advocated for women’s rights. *“‘It’s the husband’s part to please the wife,’* the aforementioned character says to Agnes near the end of chapter twenty two, *‘not hers to please him; and if he isn’t satisfied with her as she is - and thankful to possess her too - he isn’t worthy of her - that’s all.’”* As a modern reader, I feel a great sense of pride in Anne’s courage to rebel and bring these important topics to her reader’s attention. She was, and remains to be, a true inspiration.
Lastly, I want to highlight Anne’s stunning descriptive imagery and how she used it to express emotion. She knew that the weather can greatly impact how people feel, as well as bring life and atmosphere into a story. The last lines of chapter seventeen exemplify this beautifully. *“I seemed to see the black clouds gathering round my native hills, and to hear the angry muttering of a storm that was about to burst, and desolate our hearth.”* That quote left me speechless when I first read it, and it continues to do so every time I return to it.
Agnes Grey ends (I won’t tell you how exactly) on “the sands” of a beach, at sunset. This makes me want to weep whenever I think about it, because Anne’s grave overlooks the sea in Scarborough, North Yorkshire. She traveled there with her sister, Charlotte, as a final attempt to improve her failing health. She loved the coastal town and wanted to experience the seaside scenery one last time. Unfortunately, she died there, at the age of twenty nine, from tuberculosis. She is the only Brontë who is not buried in the family vault, in St Michael and All Angels’ Church in Haworth, West Yorkshire. Although some may see this as Anne’s permanent isolation, I like to believe that it is her final freedom. She gets to look out to the sea she loved so dearly, as Agnes did at the end of *her* story. Once again, this makes me want to weep.
*“And then, the unspeakable purity and freshness of the air! there was just enough wind to keep the whole sea in motion, to make the waves come bounding to the shore, foaming and sparkling, as if wild with glee. Nothing else was stirring - no living creature was visible besides myself. My footsteps were the first to press the firm, unbroken sands; - nothing before had trampled them since last night’s flowing tide had obliterated the deepest marks of yesterday, and left it fair and even, except where the subsiding water had left behind it the traces of dimpled pools, and little running streams. Refreshed, delighted, invigorated, I walked along, forgetting all my cares, feelings as if I had wings to my feet, and could go at least forty miles without fatigue, and experiencing a sense of exhilaration to which I had been an entire stranger since the days of early youth.”* ~ Chapter twenty four, “The Sands”
Thank you, Anne. Thank you for sharing your strength, your courage, your beliefs, and your life changing stories with the world. It is a privilege to feel so deeply connected to you.