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| A View from Haworth |
In her first novel, Agnes Grey, Anne Bronte introduced us to a smart young girl,
yearning to demonstrate her capabilities to the world. She yearns to grow, to
stretch herself, but is constrained by familial concern and lack of finances. Agnes might make an ideal wife, yet in England at that time few aspiring men
would give a young woman from a poor family a second glance. Nor is she likely to meet such extraordinary men, should they exist, as she does not live in the bustling city of London, but an out-of-the-way village much like Haworth, where Anne grew up. Nor do her parents
wish her to hire herself out as a governess. They see such a situation as
fraught with danger, and don’t believe she’s up to the challenge. Agnes may
have no control over her marital status, but with regard to her vocation, she
defies her parents, and continually argues with them until they relent, and
allow her to advertise for a position. Unfortunately, both of the jobs she
takes fall far below her expectations and hopes.
In her second novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne
Bronte introduces us to Helen Lawrence. Although she came from a moderately
well off family, her mother died when she was young, and her father didn’t want
her. So she went to live with her aunt and uncle, who reared her with the aim
of marrying her into a family of wealth and social prominence. Her aunt’s
reasoning and coaching in the selection of a perfect mate seem logical and wise.
Yet, when she “comes out” in London society, Helen is appalled by her aunt and
uncle’s choices. The first, Mr. Wilmot, is a rich friend whom her uncle views
as a prime candidate for marriage. Helen doesn’t mince words when recording her
observations of the man in her diary. He strikes her as annoying, disagreeable
and ugly. As if that weren’t enough, in one sentence she mentions
that he is elderly, and twice that he is old.
Her aunt scolds her for describing him as wicked, and later, as a
reprobate, but even she admits that he’s no saint.
So, Mr. Wilmot is no Roger Moore, it appears. (Nor, for that
matter, an under-appreciated Val Kilmer.)
Her aunt and uncle then introduce her to Mr. Boarham. Her
aunt especially thinks the world of him, and never ceases to sing his praises.
Certainly in his own mind, he sees himself as a font of information, which he
wishes to share with her. Helen immediately tries to avoid him at social
events, for he continually seeks out her company. Once he has found her, he
steadfastly remains by her side for the rest of the evening, enlightening her
with all manner of useful facts. All too soon, he arrives at her aunt and
uncle’s house. In his generous marriage proposal, he expounds on how he will overlook
all her faults and deficiencies. He is much older than her, and thus a vast
gulf separates them in temperament and wisdom. Helen assures him repeatedly
that she appreciates his kind offer, but must decline it. He refuses to
accept her answer though, certain that, as in all things, she will soon realize how
wonderful life with him could be, and how fortunate she is that he selected her
as his mate.
Like the man she has chosen, her aunt sees Mr. Boarham as
the ideal choice. Helen argues that she must marry for love, and that she would grow to hate a man who constantly drones on and on about topics on which she has no
interest, and who sees himself as superior to her in all things. She has already
labeled him Mr. Bore’em in her diary, so you get some sense of her regard for
him.
So, when it comes to the crucial moment of a young, rich
woman’s existence, her season of “coming out,” Helen finds herself at odds with
her aunt and uncle’s choices for her. Despite all the years of education and
social conditioning they have given her, their “best” choices for her seem, at
best, unrealistic. Although they clearly want the best for her, and as much as she loves them and respects them, she refuses to trust their judgment in these matters. But
then, we were all young once, certain that we were right and our elders were
wrong.
Of course, I was always right. But then, I’m unique.
Dragon Dave
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