Shirley

by Charlotte Brontë

If you think, from this prelude, that anything like a romance is preparing for you, reader, you never were more mistaken. Do you anticipate sentiment, and poetry, and reverie? Do you expect passion, and stimulus, and melodrama? Calm your expectations; reduce them to a lowly standard. Something real, cool, and solid lies before you; something unromantic as Monday morning, when all who have work wake with the consciousness that they must rise and betake themselves thereto.

You and I will join the party, see what is to be seen, and hear what is to be heard. At present, however, they are only eating; and while they eat we will talk aside.

Charlotte pulls off some great little narrative techniques at various places in Shirley. Sometimes she experiments with present tense. It can be fun to see her stretch her powers.

The answer, and the rest of the conversation, was in French; but as this is an English book, I shall translate it into English.

That never stopped you before, Charlotte 🙄

To avoid excitement was one of Miss Mann's aims in life. She had been composing herself ever since she came down in the morning, and had just attained a certain lethargic state of tranquillity when the visitor's knock at the door startled her, and undid her day's work.

Miss Mann felt that she was understood partly, and[Pg 160] wished to be understood further; for, however old, plain, humble, desolate, afflicted we may be, so long as our hearts preserve the feeblest spark of life, they preserve also, shivering near that pale ember, a starved, ghostly longing for appreciation and affection.

Too true, too poignant

"We will go—you and I alone, Caroline—to that wood, early some fine summer morning, and spend a long day there. We can take pencils and sketch-books, and any interesting reading book we like; and of course we shall take something to eat.

of course

Now, when I feel my company superfluous, I can comfortably fold my[Pg 188] independence round me like a mantle, and drop my pride like a veil, and withdraw to solitude. If married, that could not be."

I was only repeating 'The Castaway.'" "I know. If you can remember it all, say it all." And as it was nearly dark, and, after all, Miss Keeldar was no formidable auditor, Caroline went through it. She went through it as she should have gone through it. The wild sea, the drowning mariner, the reluctant ship swept on in the storm, you heard were realized by her; and more vividly was realized the heart of the poet, who did not weep for "The Castaway," but who, in an hour of tearless anguish, traced a semblance to his own God-abandoned misery in the fate of that man-forsaken sailor, and cried from the depths where he struggled,— "No voice divine the storm allayed, No light propitious shone, When, snatched from all effectual aid, We perished—each alone! But I beneath a rougher sea, And whelmed in deeper gulfs than he." "I hope William Cowper is safe and calm in heaven now," said Caroline. "Do you pity what he suffered on earth?" asked Miss Keeldar. "Pity him, Shirley? What can I do else? He was nearly broken-hearted when he wrote that poem, and it almost breaks one's heart to read it. But he found relief in writing it—I know he did; and that gift of poetry—the most divine bestowed on man—was, I believe, granted to[Pg 197] allay emotions when their strength threatens harm. It seems to me, Shirley, that nobody should write poetry to exhibit intellect or attainment. Who cares for that sort of poetry? Who cares for learning—who cares for fine words in poetry? And who does not care ...

Remembering that great scene in the 1995 Sense & Sensibility where Marianne tries to force Edward Ferrars into a spirited reading of this passage!

So he got one of my long locks of hair, and I got one of his short ones. I keep his, but I dare say he has lost mine. It was my doing, and one of those silly deeds it distresses the heart and sets the face on fire to think of; one of those small but sharp recollections that return, lacerating your self-respect like tiny penknives, and forcing from your lips, as you sit alone, sudden, insane-sounding interjections."

Aw, Caroline, you know the pain of embarrassing recollections flooding your mind when no one else is around!

I see things under a darker aspect than I used to do. I have fears I never used to have—not of ghosts, but of omens and disastrous events; and I have an inexpressible weight on my mind which I would give the world to shake off, and I cannot do it." "Strange!" cried Shirley. "I never feel so." Mrs. Pryor said nothing. "Fine weather, pleasant days, pleasant scenes, are powerless to give me pleasure," continued Caroline. "Calm evenings are not calm to me. Moonlight, which I used to think mild, now only looks mournful. Is this weakness of mind, Mrs. Pryor, or what is it? I cannot help it. I often struggle against it. I reason; but reason and effort make no difference." "You should take more exercise," said Mrs. Pryor. "Exercise! I exercise sufficiently. I exercise till I am ready to drop." "My dear, you should go from home."

Charlotte is at home with lots of concepts that today we would relate to mental health. So resonant.

"My dears," here interrupted Mrs. Pryor, "does it not strike you that your conversation for the last ten minutes has been rather fanciful?" "But there is no harm in our fancies; is there, ma'am?" "We are aware that mermaids do not exist; why speak of them as if they did? How can you find interest in speaking of a nonentity?"

I'm with Mrs. Pryor. When people start talking about mermaids in their favorite books I check out. 😂

You are in one of your sunless, inclement moods, when one feels a fellow-creature's presence is not welcome to you. You have such moods. Are you aware of it?"

yes I'm aware

You know I am too English to get up a vehement friendship all at once;

best stereotypical line ever

Quiet as you look, there is both a force and a depth somewhere within not easily reached or appreciated.

introverts, represent

That Eve is Jehovah's daughter, as Adam was His son."

But, doctor, if you assign me the post of honour, you must give me arms. What weapons are there in your stronghold?" "You could not wield a sword?" "No; I could manage the carving-knife better." "You will find a good one in the dining-room sideboard—a lady's knife, light to handle, and as sharp-pointed as a poniard." "It will suit Caroline. But you must give me a brace of pistols. I know you have pistols." "I have two pairs. One pair I can place at your disposal. You will find them suspended over the mantelpiece of my study in cloth cases." "Loaded?" "Yes, but not on the cock. Cock them before you go to bed. It is paying you a great compliment, captain, to[Pg 292] lend you these. Were you one of the awkward squad you should not have them."

"the awkward squad" 😂

"You assigned this to me, then, Shirley, did you? It is bright, keen-edged, finely tapered; it is dangerous-looking. I never yet felt the impulse which could move me to direct this against a fellow-creature. It is difficult to fancy that circumstances could nerve my arm to strike home with this long knife." "I should hate to do it," replied Shirley, "but I think I could do it, if goaded by certain exigencies which I can imagine." And Miss Keeldar quietly sipped her glass of new milk, looking somewhat thoughtful and a little pale; though, indeed, when did she not look pale? She was never florid.

just two girls at a sleepover, discussing what damage they could do with weapons at hand.

This was no trodden way. The freshness of the wood flowers attested that foot of man seldom pressed them; the abounding wild roses looked as if they budded, bloomed, and faded under the watch of solitude, as if in a sultan's harem. Here you saw the sweet azure of blue-bells, and recognized in pearl-white blossoms, spangling the grass, a humble type of some starlit spot in space.

But you know, Mrs. Pryor, it is scarcely living to measure[Pg 329] time as I do at the rectory. The hours pass, and I get them over somehow, but I do not live. I endure existence, but I rarely enjoy it. Since Miss Keeldar and you came I have been—I was going to say happier, but that would be untrue." She paused.

Then I am of a peculiar disposition—I own that—far from facile, without address, in some points eccentric. I ought never to have married. Mine is not the nature easily to find a duplicate or likely to assimilate with a contrast. I was quite aware of my own ineligibility; and if I had not been so miserable as a governess, I never should have married; and then——"

oooh truth. "Mine is not the nature easily to find a duplicate or likely to assimilate with a contrast."

I feel there is something wrong somewhere. I believe single women should have more to do—better chances of interesting and profitable occupation than they possess now. And when I speak thus I have no impression that I displease God by my words; that I am either impious or impatient, irreligious or sacrilegious. My consolation is, indeed, that God hears many a groan, and compassionates much grief which man stops his ears against, or frowns on with impotent contempt. I say impotent, for I observe that to such grievances as society cannot readily cure it usually forbids utterance, on pain of its scorn, this scorn being only a sort of tinselled cloak to its deformed weakness. People hate to be reminded of ills they are unable or unwilling to remedy.

What do they expect[Pg 344] them to do at home? If you ask, they would answer, sew and cook. They expect them to do this, and this only, contentedly, regularly, uncomplainingly, all their lives long, as if they had no germs of faculties for anything else—a doctrine as reasonable to hold as it would be that the fathers have no faculties but for eating what their daughters cook or for wearing what they sew. Could men live so themselves? Would they not be very weary?

In the midst of this family circle, or rather outside it, moved the tutor—the satellite.

Louis is fascinating.

restored her, redeemed, to Jehovah, her Maker;

Twilight was closing on the diminished autumn day. The schoolroom windows—darkened with creeping plants, from which no high October winds had as yet swept the sere foliage—admitted scarce a gleam of sky; but the fire gave light enough to talk by.

Moore answered him with a weighty calm, that offered a strange contrast to the boy's perturbed enthusiasm. "You are wrong, both of you—you harm each other. If youth once falls under the influence of a shadowy terror, it imagines there will never be full sunlight again; its first calamity it fancies will last a lifetime.

"Not only have you lost sleep, appetite, and flesh," proceeded Moore, "but your spirits are always at ebb. Besides, there is a nervous alarm in your eye, a nervous disquiet in your manner. These peculiarities were not formerly yours." "Mr. Moore, we will pause here. You have exactly hit it. I am nervous. Now, talk of something else. What wet weather we have—steady, pouring rain!" "You nervous? Yes; and if Miss Keeldar is nervous, it is not without a cause. Let me reach it. Let me look nearer. The ailment is not physical. I have suspected that. It came in one moment. I know the day. I noticed the change. Your pain is mental." "Not at all. It is nothing so dignified—merely nervous. Oh! dismiss the topic." "When it is exhausted; not till then. Nervous alarms should always be communicated, that they may be dissipated.

another mental health discussion

You like solitude." "Pardon me." "You disdain sympathy." "Do I, Mr. Moore?" "With your powerful mind you must feel independent of help, of advice, of society." "So be it, since it pleases you." She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly, but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, and then a drop fell. Mr. Moore leaned forward on his desk, moved his chair, altered his attitude. "If it is not so," he asked, with a peculiar, mellow change in his voice, "how is it, then?"

*melts*

"We all want a friend, do we not?" "All of us that have anything good in our natures." "Well, you have Caroline Helstone." "Yes. And you have Mr. Hall." "Yes. Mrs. Pryor is a wise, good woman. She can counsel you when you need counsel." "For your part, you have your brother Robert." "For any right-hand defections, there is the Rev. Matthewson[Pg 449] Helstone, M.A., to lean upon; for any left-hand fallings-off there is Hiram Yorke, Esq. Both elders pay you homage." "I never saw Mrs. Yorke so motherly to any young man as she is to you. I don't know how you have won her heart, but she is more tender to you than she is to her own sons. You have, besides, your sister Hortense." "It appears we are both well provided." "It appears so." "How thankful we ought to be!" "Yes." "How contented!" "Yes."

this is such a funny back-and-forth as they both completely rear back at the idea of admitting they're fond of each other

"Miss Keeldar, I had once, for two years, a pupil who grew very dear to me. Henry is dear, but she was dearer. Henry never gives me trouble; she—well, she did. I think she vexed me twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four——" "She was never with you above three hours, or at the most six at a time."

Louis Moore was used to a quiet life. Being a quiet man, he endured it better than most men would. Having a large world of his own in his own head and heart, he tolerated confinement to a small, still corner of the real world very patiently.

Kind gentleman as the baronet is, he asked the tutor too; but the tutor would much sooner have made an appointment with the ghost of the Earl of Huntingdon to meet him, and a shadowy ring of his merry men, under the canopy of the thickest, blackest, oldest oak in Nunnely Forest. Yes, he would rather have appointed tryst with a phantom abbess, or mist-pale nun, among the wet and weedy relics of that ruined sanctuary of theirs, mouldering in the core of the wood.

Such a Bronte insult.

I could not trust myself with his happiness. I would not undertake the keeping of it for thousands. I will accept no hand which cannot hold me in check." "I thought you liked to do as you please. You are vastly inconsistent." "When I promise to obey, it shall be under the conviction that I can keep that promise.

"You talk of Sir Philip being young. He is two-and-twenty." "My husband must be thirty, with the sense of forty."

"Neither his title, wealth, pedigree, nor poetry avail to invest him with the power I describe. These are feather-weights; they want ballast. A measure of sound, solid, practical sense would have stood him in better stead with me."

"Are you a young lady?" "I am a thousand times better: I am an honest woman, and as such I will be treated."

BURN!

And what are these? Three terrible archangels ever stationed before the throne of Jehovah.