Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
I returned, however, with unabated vigour to my work—a more arduous
task than anyone can imagine, who has not felt something like the
misery of being charged with the care and direction of a set of
mischievous, turbulent rebels, whom his utmost exertions cannot bind to
their duty; while, at the same time, he is responsible for their
conduct to a higher power, who exacts from him what cannot be achieved
without the aid of the superior’s more potent authority; which, either
from indolence, or the fear of becoming unpopular with the said
rebellious gang, the latter refuses to give. I can conceive few
situations more harassing than that wherein, however you may long for
success, however you may labour to fulfil your duty, your efforts are
baffled and set at nought by those beneath you, and unjustly censured
and misjudged by those above.
I have not enumerated half the vexatious propensities of my pupils, or
half the troubles resulting from my heavy responsibilities, for fear of
trespassing too much upon the reader’s patience; as, perhaps, I have
already done; but my design in writing the few last pages was not to
amuse, but to benefit those whom it might concern; he that has no
interest in such matters will doubtless have skipped them over with a
cursory glance, and, perhaps, a malediction against the prolixity of
the writer; but if a parent has, therefrom, gathered any useful hint,
or an unfortunate governess received thereby the slightest benefit, I
am well rewarded for my pains.
To avoid trouble and confusion, I have taken my pupils one by one, and
discussed their various qualities; but this can give no adequate idea
of being worried by the whole three together; when, as was often the
case, all were determined to “be naughty, and to tease Miss Grey, and
put her in a passion.”
Sometimes, on such occasions, the thought has suddenly occurred to
me—“If they could see me now!” meaning, of course, my friends at home;
and the idea of how they would pity me has made me pity myself—so
greatly that I have had the utmost difficulty to restrain my tears: but
I have restrained them, till my little tormentors were gone to dessert,
or cleared off to bed (my only prospects of deliverance), and then, in
all the bliss of solitude, I have given myself up to the luxury of an
unrestricted burst of weeping. But this was a weakness I did not often
indulge: my employments were too numerous, my leisure moments too
precious, to admit of much time being given to fruitless lamentations.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account