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diff --git a/1827-h/1827-h.htm b/1827-h/1827-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..590f824 --- /dev/null +++ b/1827-h/1827-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8903 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Life of Charlotte Bronte - Volume 1</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Life of Charlotte Bronte - Volume 1, by Elizabeth Gaskell</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Life of Charlotte Bronte - Volume 1, by +Elizabeth Gaskell + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Life of Charlotte Bronte - Volume 1 + + +Author: Elizabeth Gaskell + +Release Date: April 12, 2005 [eBook #1827] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE - +VOLUME 1*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1906 Smith, Elder, and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTË—VOLUME 1</h1> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>The Leeds and Skipton railway runs along a deep valley of the Aire; +a slow and sluggish stream, compared to the neighbouring river of Wharfe. +Keighley station is on this line of railway, about a quarter of a mile +from the town of the same name. The number of inhabitants and +the importance of Keighley have been very greatly increased during the +last twenty years, owing to the rapidly extended market for worsted +manufactures, a branch of industry that mainly employs the factory population +of this part of Yorkshire, which has Bradford for its centre and metropolis.</p> +<p>Keighley is in process of transformation from a populous, old-fashioned +village, into a still more populous and flourishing town. It is +evident to the stranger, that as the gable-ended houses, which obtrude +themselves corner-wise on the widening street, fall vacant, they are +pulled down to allow of greater space for traffic, and a more modern +style of architecture. The quaint and narrow shop-windows of fifty +years ago, are giving way to large panes and plate-glass. Nearly +every dwelling seems devoted to some branch of commerce. In passing +hastily through the town, one hardly perceives where the necessary lawyer +and doctor can live, so little appearance is there of any dwellings +of the professional middle-class, such as abound in our old cathedral +towns. In fact, nothing can be more opposed than the state of +society, the modes of thinking, the standards of reference on all points +of morality, manners, and even politics and religion, in such a new +manufacturing place as Keighley in the north, and any stately, sleepy, +picturesque cathedral town in the south. Yet the aspect of Keighley +promises well for future stateliness, if not picturesqueness. +Grey stone abounds; and the rows of houses built of it have a kind of +solid grandeur connected with their uniform and enduring lines. +The frame-work of the doors, and the lintels of the windows, even in +the smallest dwellings, are made of blocks of stone. There is +no painted wood to require continual beautifying, or else present a +shabby aspect; and the stone is kept scrupulously clean by the notable +Yorkshire housewives. Such glimpses into the interior as a passer-by +obtains, reveal a rough abundance of the means of living, and diligent +and active habits in the women. But the voices of the people are +hard, and their tones discordant, promising little of the musical taste +that distinguishes the district, and which has already furnished a Carrodus +to the musical world. The names over the shops (of which the one +just given is a sample) seem strange even to an inhabitant of the neighbouring +county, and have a peculiar smack and flavour of the place.</p> +<p>The town of Keighley never quite melts into country on the road to +Haworth, although the houses become more sparse as the traveller journeys +upwards to the grey round hills that seem to bound his journey in a +westerly direction. First come some villas; just sufficiently +retired from the road to show that they can scarcely belong to any one +liable to be summoned in a hurry, at the call of suffering or danger, +from his comfortable fireside; the lawyer, the doctor, and the clergyman, +live at hand, and hardly in the suburbs, with a screen of shrubs for +concealment.</p> +<p>In a town one does not look for vivid colouring; what there may be +of this is furnished by the wares in the shops, not by foliage or atmospheric +effects; but in the country some brilliancy and vividness seems to be +instinctively expected, and there is consequently a slight feeling of +disappointment at the grey neutral tint of every object, near or far +off, on the way from Keighley to Haworth. The distance is about +four miles; and, as I have said, what with villas, great worsted factories, +rows of workmen’s houses, with here and there an old-fashioned +farmhouse and out-buildings, it can hardly be called “country” +any part of the way. For two miles the road passes over tolerably +level ground, distant hills on the left, a “beck” flowing +through meadows on the right, and furnishing water power, at certain +points, to the factories built on its banks. The air is dim and +lightless with the smoke from all these habitations and places of business. +The soil in the valley (or “bottom,” to use the local term) +is rich; but, as the road begins to ascend, the vegetation becomes poorer; +it does not flourish, it merely exists; and, instead of trees, there +are only bushes and shrubs about the dwellings. Stone dykes are +everywhere used in place of hedges; and what crops there are, on the +patches of arable land, consist of pale, hungry-looking, grey green +oats. Right before the traveller on this road rises Haworth village; +he can see it for two miles before he arrives, for it is situated on +the side of a pretty steep hill, with a back-ground of dun and purple +moors, rising and sweeping away yet higher than the church, which is +built at the very summit of the long narrow street. All round +the horizon there is this same line of sinuous wave-like hills; the +scoops into which they fall only revealing other hills beyond, of similar +colour and shape, crowned with wild, bleak moors—grand, from the +ideas of solitude and loneliness which they suggest, or oppressive from +the feeling which they give of being pent-up by some monotonous and +illimitable barrier, according to the mood of mind in which the spectator +may be.</p> +<p>For a short distance the road appears to turn away from Haworth, +as it winds round the base of the shoulder of a hill; but then it crosses +a bridge over the “beck,” and the ascent through the village +begins. The flag-stones with which it is paved are placed end-ways, +in order to give a better hold to the horses’ feet; and, even +with this help, they seem to be in constant danger of slipping backwards. +The old stone houses are high compared to the width of the street, which +makes an abrupt turn before reaching the more level ground at the head +of the village, so that the steep aspect of the place, in one part, +is almost like that of a wall. But this surmounted, the church +lies a little off the main road on the left; a hundred yards, or so, +and the driver relaxes his care, and the horse breathes more easily, +as they pass into the quite little by-street that leads to Haworth Parsonage. +The churchyard is on one side of this lane, the school-house and the +sexton’s dwelling (where the curates formerly lodged) on the other.</p> +<p>The parsonage stands at right angles to the road, facing down upon +the church; so that, in fact, parsonage, church, and belfried school-house, +form three sides of an irregular oblong, of which the fourth is open +to the fields and moors that lie beyond. The area of this oblong +is filled up by a crowded churchyard, and a small garden or court in +front of the clergyman’s house. As the entrance to this +from the road is at the side, the path goes round the corner into the +little plot of ground. Underneath the windows is a narrow flower-border, +carefully tended in days of yore, although only the most hardy plants +could be made to grow there. Within the stone wall, which keeps +out the surrounding churchyard, are bushes of elder and lilac; the rest +of the ground is occupied by a square grass-plot and a gravel walk. +The house is of grey stone, two stories high, heavily roofed with flags, +in order to resist the winds that might strip off a lighter covering. +It appears to have been built about a hundred years ago, and to consist +of four rooms on each story; the two windows on the right (as the visitor +stands with his back to the church, ready to enter in at the front door) +belonging to Mr. Brontë’s study, the two on the left to the +family sitting-room. Everything about the place tells of the most +dainty order, the most exquisite cleanliness. The door-steps are +spotless; the small old-fashioned window-panes glitter like looking-glass. +Inside and outside of that house cleanliness goes up into its essence, +purity.</p> +<p>The little church lies, as I mentioned, above most of the houses +in the village; and the graveyard rises above the church, and is terribly +full of upright tombstones. The chapel or church claims greater +antiquity than any other in that part of the kingdom; but there is no +appearance of this in the external aspect of the present edifice, unless +it be in the two eastern windows, which remain unmodernized, and in +the lower part of the steeple. Inside, the character of the pillars +shows that they were constructed before the reign of Henry VII. +It is probable that there existed on this ground, a “field-kirk,” +or oratory, in the earliest times; and, from the Archbishop’s +registry at York, it is ascertained that there was a chapel at Haworth +in 1317. The inhabitants refer inquirers concerning the date to +the following inscription on a stone in the church tower:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hic fecit Cænobium Monachorum Auteste fundator. +A. D. sexcentissimo.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That is to say, before the preaching of Christianity in Northumbria. +Whitaker says that this mistake originated in the illiterate copying +out, by some modern stone-cutter, of an inscription in the character +of Henry the Eighth’s time on an adjoining stone:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Orate pro bono statu Eutest Tod.”</p> +<p>“Now every antiquary knows that the formula of prayer ‘bono +statu’ always refers to the living. I suspect this singular +Christian name has been mistaken by the stone-cutter for Austet, a contraction +of Eustatius, but the word Tod, which has been mis-read for the Arabic +figures 600, is perfectly fair and legible. On the presumption +of this foolish claim to antiquity, the people would needs set up for +independence, and contest the right of the Vicar of Bradford to nominate +a curate at Haworth.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I have given this extract, in order to explain the imaginary groundwork +of a commotion which took place in Haworth about five and thirty years +ago, to which I shall have occasion to allude again more particularly.</p> +<p>The interior of the church is commonplace; it is neither old enough +nor modern enough to compel notice. The pews are of black oak, +with high divisions; and the names of those to whom they belong are +painted in white letters on the doors. There are neither brasses, +nor altar-tombs, nor monuments, but there is a mural tablet on the right-hand +side of the communion-table, bearing the following inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p>HERE<br /> +LIE THE REMAINS OF<br /> +MARIA BRONTË, WIFE<br /> +OF THE<br /> +REV. P. BRONTË, A.B., MINISTER OF HAWORTH.<br /> +HER SOUL<br /> +DEPARTED TO THE SAVIOUR, SEPT. 15TH, 1821,<br /> +IN THE 39TH YEAR OF HER AGE.</p> +<p>“Be ye also ready: for in such an hour as ye think not the +Son of Man cometh.” MATTHEW xxiv. 44.</p> +<p>ALSO HERE LIE THE REMAINS OF<br /> +MARIA BRONTË, DAUGHTER OF THE AFORESAID;<br /> +SHE DIED ON THE<br /> +6TH OF MAY, 1825, IN THE 12TH YEAR OF HER AGE;<br /> +AND OF<br /> +ELIZABETH BRONTË, HER SISTER,<br /> +WHO DIED JUNE 15TH, 1825, IN THE 11TH YEAR OF HER AGE.</p> +<p>“Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become +as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”—MATTHEW +xviii. 3.</p> +<p>HERE ALSO LIE THE REMAINS OF<br /> +PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTË,<br /> +WHO DIED SEPT. 24TH, 1848, AGED 30 YEARS;<br /> +AND OF<br /> +EMILY JANE BRONTË,<br /> +WHO DIED DEC. 19TH, 1848, AGED 29 YEARS,<br /> +SON AND DAUGHTER OF THE<br /> +REV. P. BRONTË, INCUMBENT.</p> +<p>THIS STONE IS ALSO DEDICATED TO THE<br /> +MEMORY OF ANNE BRONTË, <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a><br /> +YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF THE REV. P. BRONTË, A.B.<br /> +SHE DIED, AGED 27 YEARS, MAY 28TH, 1849,<br /> +AND WAS BURIED AT THE OLD CHURCH, SCARBORO.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At the upper part of this tablet ample space is allowed between the +lines of the inscription; when the first memorials were written down, +the survivors, in their fond affection, thought little of the margin +and verge they were leaving for those who were still living. But +as one dead member of the household follows another fast to the grave, +the lines are pressed together, and the letters become small and cramped. +After the record of Anne’s death, there is room for no other.</p> +<p>But one more of that generation—the last of that nursery of +six little motherless children—was yet to follow, before the survivor, +the childless and widowed father, found his rest. On another tablet, +below the first, the following record has been added to that mournful +list:—</p> +<blockquote><p>ADJOINING LIE THE REMAINS OF<br /> +CHARLOTTE, WIFE<br /> +OF THE<br /> +REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS, A.B.,<br /> +AND DAUGHTER OF THE REV. P. BRONTË, A.B., INCUMBENT<br /> +SHE DIED MARCH 31ST, 1855, IN THE 39TH<br /> +YEAR OF HER AGE. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>This tablet, which corrects the error in the former tablet as to +the age of Anne Brontë, bears the following inscription in Roman +letters; the initials, however, being in old English.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>For a right understanding of the life of my dear friend, Charlotte +Brontë, it appears to me more necessary in her case than in most +others, that the reader should be made acquainted with the peculiar +forms of population and society amidst which her earliest years were +passed, and from which both her own and her sisters’ first impressions +of human life must have been received. I shall endeavour, therefore, +before proceeding further with my work, to present some idea of the +character of the people of Haworth, and the surrounding districts.</p> +<p>Even an inhabitant of the neighbouring county of Lancaster is struck +by the peculiar force of character which the Yorkshiremen display. +This makes them interesting as a race; while, at the same time, as individuals, +the remarkable degree of self-sufficiency they possess gives them an +air of independence rather apt to repel a stranger. I use this +expression “self-sufficiency” in the largest sense. +Conscious of the strong sagacity and the dogged power of will which +seem almost the birthright of the natives of the West Riding, each man +relies upon himself, and seeks no help at the hands of his neighbour. +From rarely requiring the assistance of others, he comes to doubt the +power of bestowing it: from the general success of his efforts, he grows +to depend upon them, and to over-esteem his own energy and power. +He belongs to that keen, yet short-sighted class, who consider suspicion +of all whose honesty is not proved as a sign of wisdom. The practical +qualities of a man are held in great respect; but the want of faith +in strangers and untried modes of action, extends itself even to the +manner in which the virtues are regarded; and if they produce no immediate +and tangible result, they are rather put aside as unfit for this busy, +striving world; especially if they are more of a passive than an active +character. The affections are strong and their foundations lie +deep: but they are not—such affections seldom are—wide-spreading; +nor do they show themselves on the surface. Indeed, there is little +display of any of the amenities of life among this wild, rough population. +Their accost is curt; their accent and tone of speech blunt and harsh. +Something of this may, probably, be attributed to the freedom of mountain +air and of isolated hill-side life; something be derived from their +rough Norse ancestry. They have a quick perception of character, +and a keen sense of humour; the dwellers among them must be prepared +for certain uncomplimentary, though most likely true, observations, +pithily expressed. Their feelings are not easily roused, but their +duration is lasting. Hence there is much close friendship and +faithful service; and for a correct exemplification of the form in which +the latter frequently appears, I need only refer the reader of “Wuthering +Heights” to the character of “Joseph.”</p> +<p>From the same cause come also enduring grudges, in some cases amounting +to hatred, which occasionally has been bequeathed from generation to +generation. I remember Miss Brontë once telling me that it +was a saying round about Haworth, “Keep a stone in thy pocket +seven year; turn it, and keep it seven year longer, that it may be ever +ready to thine hand when thine enemy draws near.”</p> +<p>The West Riding men are sleuth-hounds in pursuit of money. +Miss Brontë related to my husband a curious instance illustrative +of this eager desire for riches. A man that she knew, who was +a small manufacturer, had engaged in many local speculations which had +always turned out well, and thereby rendered him a person of some wealth. +He was rather past middle age, when he bethought him of insuring his +life; and he had only just taken out his policy, when he fell ill of +an acute disease which was certain to end fatally in a very few days. +The doctor, half-hesitatingly, revealed to him his hopeless state. +“By jingo!” cried he, rousing up at once into the old energy, +“I shall <i>do</i> the insurance company! I always was a +lucky fellow!”</p> +<p>These men are keen and shrewd; faithful and persevering in following +out a good purpose, fell in tracking an evil one. They are not +emotional; they are not easily made into either friends or enemies; +but once lovers or haters, it is difficult to change their feeling. +They are a powerful race both in mind and body, both for good and for +evil.</p> +<p>The woollen manufacture was introduced into this district in the +days of Edward III. It is traditionally said that a colony of +Flemings came over and settled in the West Riding to teach the inhabitants +what to do with their wool. The mixture of agricultural with manufacturing +labour that ensued and prevailed in the West Riding up to a very recent +period, sounds pleasant enough at this distance of time, when the classical +impression is left, and the details forgotten, or only brought to light +by those who explore the few remote parts of England where the custom +still lingers. The idea of the mistress and her maidens spinning +at the great wheels while the master was abroad ploughing his fields, +or seeing after his flocks on the purple moors, is very poetical to +look back upon; but when such life actually touches on our own days, +and we can hear particulars from the lips of those now living, there +come out details of coarseness—of the uncouthness of the rustic +mingled with the sharpness of the tradesman—of irregularity and +fierce lawlessness—that rather mar the vision of pastoral innocence +and simplicity. Still, as it is the exceptional and exaggerated +characteristics of any period that leave the most vivid memory behind +them, it would be wrong, and in my opinion faithless, to conclude that +such and such forms of society and modes of living were not best for +the period when they prevailed, although the abuses they may have led +into, and the gradual progress of the world, have made it well that +such ways and manners should pass away for ever, and as preposterous +to attempt to return to them, as it would be for a man to return to +the clothes of his childhood.</p> +<p>The patent granted to Alderman Cockayne, and the further restrictions +imposed by James I. on the export of undyed woollen cloths (met by a +prohibition on the part of the States of Holland of the import of English-dyed +cloths), injured the trade of the West Riding manufacturers considerably. +Their independence of character, their dislike of authority, and their +strong powers of thought, predisposed them to rebellion against the +religious dictation of such men as Laud, and the arbitrary rule of the +Stuarts; and the injury done by James and Charles to the trade by which +they gained their bread, made the great majority of them Commonwealth +men. I shall have occasion afterwards to give one or two instances +of the warm feelings and extensive knowledge on subjects of both home +and foreign politics existing at the present day in the villages lying +west and east of the mountainous ridge that separates Yorkshire and +Lancashire; the inhabitants of which are of the same race and possess +the same quality of character.</p> +<p>The descendants of many who served under Cromwell at Dunbar, live +on the same lands as their ancestors occupied then; and perhaps there +is no part of England where the traditional and fond recollections of +the Commonwealth have lingered so long as in that inhabited by the woollen +manufacturing population of the West Riding, who had the restrictions +taken off their trade by the Protector’s admirable commercial +policy. I have it on good authority that, not thirty years ago, +the phrase, “in Oliver’s days,” was in common use +to denote a time of unusual prosperity. The class of Christian +names prevalent in a district is one indication of the direction in +which its tide of hero-worship sets. Grave enthusiasts in politics +or religion perceive not the ludicrous side of those which they give +to their children; and some are to be found, still in their infancy, +not a dozen miles from Haworth, that will have to go through life as +Lamartine, Kossuth, and Dembinsky. And so there is a testimony +to what I have said, of the traditional feeling of the district, in +the fact that the Old Testament names in general use among the Puritans +are yet the prevalent appellations in most Yorkshire families of middle +or humble rank, whatever their religious persuasion may be. There +are numerous records, too, that show the kindly way in which the ejected +ministers were received by the gentry, as well as by the poorer part +of the inhabitants, during the persecuting days of Charles II. +These little facts all testify to the old hereditary spirit of independence, +ready ever to resist authority which was conceived to be unjustly exercised, +that distinguishes the people of the West Riding to the present day.</p> +<p>The parish of Halifax touches that of Bradford, in which the chapelry +of Haworth is included; and the nature of the ground in the two parishes +is much the of the same wild and hilly description. The abundance +of coal, and the number of mountain streams in the district, make it +highly favourable to manufactures; and accordingly, as I stated, the +inhabitants have for centuries been engaged in making cloth, as well +as in agricultural pursuits. But the intercourse of trade failed, +for a long time, to bring amenity and civilization into these outlying +hamlets, or widely scattered dwellings. Mr. Hunter, in his “Life +of Oliver Heywood,” quotes a sentence out of a memorial of one +James Rither, living in the reign of Elizabeth, which is partially true +to this day:—</p> +<p>“They have no superior to court, no civilities to practise: +a sour and sturdy humour is the consequence, so that a stranger is shocked +by a tone of defiance in every voice, and an air of fierceness in every +countenance.”</p> +<p>Even now, a stranger can hardly ask a question without receiving +some crusty reply, if, indeed, he receive any at all. Sometimes +the sour rudeness amounts to positive insult. Yet, if the “foreigner” +takes all this churlishness good-humouredly, or as a matter of course, +and makes good any claim upon their latent kindliness and hospitality, +they are faithful and generous, and thoroughly to be relied upon. +As a slight illustration of the roughness that pervades all classes +in these out-of-the-way villages, I may relate a little adventure which +happened to my husband and myself, three years ago, at Addingham—</p> +<blockquote><p>From Penigent to Pendle Hill,<br /> +From Linton to Long-<i>Addingham</i><br /> +And all that Craven coasts did tell, &c.—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>one of the places that sent forth its fighting men to the famous +old battle of Flodden Field, and a village not many miles from Haworth.</p> +<p>We were driving along the street, when one of those ne’er-do-weel +lads who seem to have a kind of magnetic power for misfortunes, having +jumped into the stream that runs through the place, just where all the +broken glass and bottles are thrown, staggered naked and nearly covered +with blood into a cottage before us. Besides receiving another +bad cut in the arm, he had completely laid open the artery, and was +in a fair way of bleeding to death—which, one of his relations +comforted him by saying, would be likely to “save a deal o’ +trouble.”</p> +<p>When my husband had checked the effusion of blood with a strap that +one of the bystanders unbuckled from his leg, he asked if a surgeon +had been sent for.</p> +<p>“Yoi,” was the answer; “but we dunna think he’ll +come.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“He’s owd, yo seen, and asthmatic, and it’s up-hill.”</p> +<p>My husband taking a boy for his guide, drove as fast as he could +to the surgeon’s house, which was about three-quarters of a mile +off, and met the aunt of the wounded lad leaving it.</p> +<p>“Is he coming?” inquired my husband.</p> +<p>“Well, he didna’ say he wouldna’ come.”</p> +<p>“But, tell him the lad may bleed to death.”</p> +<p>“I did.”</p> +<p>“And what did he say?”</p> +<p>“Why, only, ‘D-n him; what do I care?’”</p> +<p>It ended, however, in his sending one of his sons, who, though not +brought up to “the surgering trade,” was able to do what +was necessary in the way of bandages and plasters. The excuse +made for the surgeon was, that “he was near eighty, and getting +a bit doited, and had had a matter o’ twenty childer.”</p> +<p>Among the most unmoved of the lookers-on was the brother of the boy +so badly hurt; and while he was lying in a pool of blood on the flag +floor, and crying out how much his arm was “warching,” his +stoical relation stood coolly smoking his bit of black pipe, and uttered +not a single word of either sympathy or sorrow.</p> +<p>Forest customs, existing in the fringes of dark wood, which clothed +the declivity of the hills on either side, tended to brutalize the population +until the middle of the seventeenth century. Execution by beheading +was performed in a summary way upon either men or women who were guilty +of but very slight crimes; and a dogged, yet in some cases fine, indifference +to human life was thus generated. The roads were so notoriously +bad, even up to the last thirty years, that there was little communication +between one village and another; if the produce of industry could be +conveyed at stated times to the cloth market of the district, it was +all that could be done; and, in lonely houses on the distant hill-side, +or by the small magnates of secluded hamlets, crimes might be committed +almost unknown, certainly without any great uprising of popular indignation +calculated to bring down the strong arm of the law. It must be +remembered that in those days there was no rural constabulary; and the +few magistrates left to themselves, and generally related to one another, +were most of them inclined to tolerate eccentricity, and to wink at +faults too much like their own.</p> +<p>Men hardly past middle life talk of the days of their youth, spent +in this part of the country, when, during the winter months, they rode +up to the saddle-girths in mud; when absolute business was the only +reason for stirring beyond the precincts of home, and when that business +was conducted under a pressure of difficulties which they themselves, +borne along to Bradford market in a swift first-class carriage, can +hardly believe to have been possible. For instance, one woollen +manufacturer says that, not five and twenty years ago, he had to rise +betimes to set off on a winter’s-morning in order to be at Bradford +with the great waggon-load of goods manufactured by his father; this +load was packed over-night, but in the morning there was a great gathering +around it, and flashing of lanterns, and examination of horses’ +feet, before the ponderous waggon got under way; and then some one had +to go groping here and there, on hands and knees, and always sounding +with a staff down the long, steep, slippery brow, to find where the +horses might tread safely, until they reached the comparative easy-going +of the deep-rutted main road. People went on horseback over the +upland moors, following the tracks of the pack-horses that carried the +parcels, baggage, or goods from one town to another, between which there +did not happen to be a highway.</p> +<p>But in winter, all such communication was impossible, by reason of +the snow which lay long and late on the bleak high ground. I have +known people who, travelling by the mail-coach over Blackstone Edge, +had been snowed up for a week or ten days at the little inn near the +summit, and obliged to spend both Christmas and New Year’s Day +there, till the store of provisions laid in for the use of the landlord +and his family falling short before the inroads of the unexpected visitors, +they had recourse to the turkeys, geese, and Yorkshire pies with which +the coach was laden; and even these were beginning to fail, when a fortunate +thaw released them from their prison.</p> +<p>Isolated as the hill villages may be, they are in the world, compared +with the loneliness of the grey ancestral houses to be seen here and +there in the dense hollows of the moors. These dwellings are not +large, yet they are solid and roomy enough for the accommodation of +those who live in them, and to whom the surrounding estates belong. +The land has often been held by one family since the days of the Tudors; +the owners are, in fact, the remains of the old yeomanry—small +squires—who are rapidly becoming extinct as a class, from one +of two causes. Either the possessor falls into idle, drinking +habits, and so is obliged eventually to sell his property: or he finds, +if more shrewd and adventurous, that the “beck” running +down the mountain-side, or the minerals beneath his feet, can be turned +into a new source of wealth; and leaving the old plodding life of a +landowner with small capital, he turns manufacturer, or digs for coal, +or quarries for stone.</p> +<p>Still there are those remaining of this class—dwellers in the +lonely houses far away in the upland districts—even at the present +day, who sufficiently indicate what strange eccentricity—what +wild strength of will—nay, even what unnatural power of crime +was fostered by a mode of living in which a man seldom met his fellows, +and where public opinion was only a distant and inarticulate echo of +some clearer voice sounding behind the sweeping horizon.</p> +<p>A solitary life cherishes mere fancies until they become manias. +And the powerful Yorkshire character, which was scarcely tamed into +subjection by all the contact it met with in “busy town or crowded +mart,” has before now broken out into strange wilfulness in the +remoter districts. A singular account was recently given me of +a landowner (living, it is true, on the Lancashire side of the hills, +but of the same blood and nature as the dwellers on the other,) who +was supposed to be in the receipt of seven or eight hundred a year, +and whose house bore marks of handsome antiquity, as if his forefathers +had been for a long time people of consideration. My informant +was struck with the appearance of the place, and proposed to the countryman +who was accompanying him, to go up to it and take a nearer inspection. +The reply was, “Yo’d better not; he’d threap yo’ +down th’ loan. He’s let fly at some folk’s legs, +and let shot lodge in ‘em afore now, for going too near to his +house.” And finding, on closer inquiry, that such was really +the inhospitable custom of this moorland squire, the gentleman gave +up his purpose. I believe that the savage yeoman is still living.</p> +<p>Another squire, of more distinguished family and larger property—one +is thence led to imagine of better education, but that does not always +follow—died at his house, not many miles from Haworth, only a +few years ago. His great amusement and occupation had been cock-fighting. +When he was confined to his chamber with what he knew would be his last +illness, he had his cocks brought up there, and watched the bloody battle +from his bed. As his mortal disease increased, and it became impossible +for him to turn so as to follow the combat, he had looking-glasses arranged +in such a manner, around and above him, as he lay, that he could still +see the cocks fighting. And in this manner he died.</p> +<p>These are merely instances of eccentricity compared to the tales +of positive violence and crime that have occurred in these isolated +dwellings, which still linger in the memories of the old people of the +district, and some of which were doubtless familiar to the authors of +“Wuthering Heights” and “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.”</p> +<p>The amusements of the lower classes could hardly be expected to be +more humane than those of the wealthy and better educated. The +gentleman, who has kindly furnished me with some of the particulars +I have given, remembers the bull-baitings at Rochdale, not thirty years +ago. The bull was fastened by a chain or rope to a post in the +river. To increase the amount of water, as well as to give their +workpeople the opportunity of savage delight, the masters were accustomed +to stop their mills on the day when the sport took place. The +bull would sometimes wheel suddenly round, so that the rope by which +he was fastened swept those who had been careless enough to come within +its range down into the water, and the good people of Rochdale had the +excitement of seeing one or two of their neighbours drowned, as well +as of witnessing the bull baited, and the dogs torn and tossed.</p> +<p>The people of Haworth were not less strong and full of character +than their neighbours on either side of the hills. The village +lies embedded in the moors, between the two counties, on the old road +between Keighley and Colne. About the middle of the last century, +it became famous in the religious world as the scene of the ministrations +of the Rev. William Grimshaw, curate of Haworth for twenty years. +Before this time, it is probable that the curates were of the same order +as one Mr. Nicholls, a Yorkshire clergyman, in the days immediately +succeeding the Reformation, who was “much addicted to drinking +and company-keeping,” and used to say to his companions, “You +must not heed me but when I am got three feet above the earth,” +that was, into the pulpit.</p> +<p>Mr. Grimshaw’s life was written by Newton, Cowper’s friend; +and from it may be gathered some curious particulars of the manner in +which a rough population were swayed and governed by a man of deep convictions, +and strong earnestness of purpose. It seems that he had not been +in any way remarkable for religious zeal, though he had led a moral +life, and been conscientious in fulfilling his parochial duties, until +a certain Sunday in September, 1744, when the servant, rising at five, +found her master already engaged in prayer; she stated that, after remaining +in his chamber for some time, he went to engage in religious exercises +in the house of a parishioner, then home again to pray; thence, still +fasting, to the church, where, as he was reading the second lesson, +he fell down, and, on his partial recovery, had to be led from the church. +As he went out, he spoke to the congregation, and told them not to disperse, +as he had something to say to them, and would return presently. +He was taken to the clerk’s house, and again became insensible. +His servant rubbed him, to restore the circulation; and when he was +brought to himself “he seemed in a great rapture,” and the +first words he uttered were, “I have had a glorious vision from +the third heaven.” He did not say what he had seen, but +returned into the church, and began the service again, at two in the +afternoon, and went on until seven.</p> +<p>From this time he devoted himself, with the fervour of a Wesley, +and something of the fanaticism of a Whitfield, to calling out a religious +life among his parishioners. They had been in the habit of playing +at foot-ball on Sunday, using stones for this purpose; and giving and +receiving challenges from other parishes. There were horse-races +held on the moors just above the village, which were periodical sources +of drunkenness and profligacy. Scarcely a wedding took place without +the rough amusement of foot-races, where the half-naked runners were +a scandal to all decent strangers. The old custom of “arvills,” +or funeral feasts, led to frequent pitched battles between the drunken +mourners. Such customs were the outward signs of the kind of people +with whom Mr. Grimshaw had to deal. But, by various means, some +of the most practical kind, he wrought a great change in his parish. +In his preaching he was occasionally assisted by Wesley and Whitfield, +and at such times the little church proved much too small to hold the +throng that poured in from distant villages, or lonely moorland hamlets; +and frequently they were obliged to meet in the open air; indeed, there +was not room enough in the church even for the communicants. Mr. +Whitfield was once preaching in Haworth, and made use of some such expression, +as that he hoped there was no need to say much to this congregation, +as they had sat under so pious and godly a minister for so many years; +“whereupon Mr. Grimshaw stood up in his place, and said with a +loud voice, ‘Oh, sir! for God’s sake do not speak so. +I pray you do not flatter them. I fear the greater part of them +are going to hell with their eyes open.’” But if they +were so bound, it was not for want of exertion on Mr. Grimshaw’s +part to prevent them. He used to preach twenty or thirty times +a week in private houses. If he perceived any one inattentive +to his prayers, he would stop and rebuke the offender, and not go on +till he saw every one on their knees. He was very earnest in enforcing +the strict observance of Sunday; and would not even allow his parishioners +to walk in the fields between services. He sometimes gave out +a very long Psalm (tradition says the 119th), and while it was being +sung, he left the reading-desk, and taking a horsewhip went into the +public-houses, and flogged the loiterers into church. They were +swift who could escape the lash of the parson by sneaking out the back +way. He had strong health and an active body, and rode far and +wide over the hills, “awakening” those who had previously +had no sense of religion. To save time, and be no charge to the +families at whose houses he held his prayer-meetings, he carried his +provisions with him; all the food he took in the day on such occasions +consisting simply of a piece of bread and butter, or dry bread and a +raw onion.</p> +<p>The horse-races were justly objectionable to Mr. Grimshaw; they attracted +numbers of profligate people to Haworth, and brought a match to the +combustible materials of the place, only too ready to blaze out into +wickedness. The story is, that he tried all means of persuasion, +and even intimidation, to have the races discontinued, but in vain. +At length, in despair, he prayed with such fervour of earnestness that +the rain came down in torrents, and deluged the ground, so that there +was no footing for man or beast, even if the multitude had been willing +to stand such a flood let down from above. And so Haworth races +were stopped, and have never been resumed to this day. Even now +the memory of this good man is held in reverence, and his faithful ministrations +and real virtues are one of the boasts of the parish.</p> +<p>But after his time, I fear there was a falling back into the wild +rough heathen ways, from which he had pulled them up, as it were, by +the passionate force of his individual character. He had built +a chapel for the Wesleyan Methodists, and not very long after the Baptists +established themselves in a place of worship. Indeed, as Dr. Whitaker +says, the people of this district are “strong religionists;” +only, fifty years ago, their religion did not work down into their lives. +Half that length of time back, the code of morals seemed to be formed +upon that of their Norse ancestors. Revenge was handed down from +father to son as an hereditary duty; and a great capability for drinking +without the head being affected was considered as one of the manly virtues. +The games of foot-ball on Sundays, with the challenges to the neighbouring +parishes, were resumed, bringing in an influx of riotous strangers to +fill the public-houses, and make the more sober-minded inhabitants long +for good Mr. Grimshaw’s stout arm, and ready horsewhip. +The old custom of “arvills” was as prevalent as ever. +The sexton, standing at the foot of the open grave, announced that the +“arvill” would be held at the Black Bull, or whatever public-house +might be fixed upon by the friends of the dead; and thither the mourners +and their acquaintances repaired. The origin of the custom had +been the necessity of furnishing some refreshment for those who came +from a distance, to pay the last mark of respect to a friend. +In the life of Oliver Heywood there are two quotations, which show what +sort of food was provided for “arvills” in quiet Nonconformist +connections in the seventeenth century; the first (from Thoresby) tells +of “cold possets, stewed prunes, cake, and cheese,” as being +the arvill after Oliver Heywood’s funeral. The second gives, +as rather shabby, according to the notion of the times (1673), “nothing +but a bit of cake, draught of wine, piece of rosemary, and pair of gloves.”</p> +<p>But the arvills at Haworth were often far more jovial doings. +Among the poor, the mourners were only expected to provide a kind of +spiced roll for each person; and the expense of the liquors—rum, +or ale, or a mixture of both called “dog’s nose”—was +generally defrayed by each guest placing some money on a plate, set +in the middle of the table. Richer people would order a dinner +for their friends. At the funeral of Mr. Charnock (the next successor +but one to Mr. Grimshaw in the incumbency), above eighty people were +bid to the arvill, and the price of the feast was 4s. 6d. per head, +all of which was defrayed by the friends of the deceased. As few +“shirked their liquor,” there were very frequently “up-and-down +fights” before the close of the day; sometimes with the horrid +additions of “pawsing” and “gouging,” and biting.</p> +<p>Although I have dwelt on the exceptional traits in the characteristics +of these stalwart West-Ridingers, such as they were in the first quarter +of this century, if not a few years later, I have little doubt that +in the everyday life of the people so independent, wilful, and full +of grim humour, there would be much found even at present that would +shock those accustomed only to the local manners of the south; and, +in return, I suspect the shrewd, sagacious, energetic Yorkshireman would +hold such “foreigners” in no small contempt.</p> +<p>I have said, it is most probable that where Haworth Church now stands, +there was once an ancient “field-kirk,” or oratory. +It occupied the third or lowest class of ecclesiastical structures, +according to the Saxon law, and had no right of sepulture, or administration +of sacraments. It was so called because it was built without enclosure, +and open to the adjoining fields or moors. The founder, according +to the laws of Edgar, was bound, without subtracting from his tithes, +to maintain the ministering priest out of the remaining nine parts of +his income. After the Reformation, the right of choosing their +clergyman, at any of those chapels of ease which had formerly been field-kirks, +was vested in the freeholders and trustees, subject to the approval +of the vicar of the parish. But owing to some negligence, this +right has been lost to the freeholders and trustees at Haworth, ever +since the days of Archbishop Sharp; and the power of choosing a minister +has lapsed into the hands of the Vicar of Bradford. So runs the +account, according to one authority.</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë says,—“This living has for its patrons +the Vicar of Bradford and certain trustees. My predecessor took +the living with the consent of the Vicar of Bradford, but in opposition +to the trustees; in consequence of which he was so opposed that, after +only three weeks’ possession, he was compelled to resign.” +A Yorkshire gentleman, who has kindly sent me some additional information +on this subject since the second edition of my work was published, write, +thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The sole right of presentation to the incumbency +of Haworth is vested in the Vicar of Bradford. He only can present. +The funds, however, from which the clergyman’s stipend mainly +proceeds, are vested in the hands of trustees, who have the power to +withhold them, if a nominee is sent of whom they disapprove. On +the decease of Mr. Charnock, the Vicar first tendered the preferment +to Mr. Brontë, and he went over to his expected cure. He +was told that towards himself they had no personal objection; but as +a nominee of the Vicar he would not be received. He therefore +retired, with the declaration that if he could not come with the approval +of the parish, his ministry could not be useful. Upon this the +attempt was made to introduce Mr. Redhead.</p> +<p>“When Mr. Redhead was repelled, a fresh difficulty arose. +Some one must first move towards a settlement, but a spirit being evoked +which could not be allayed, action became perplexing. The matter +had to be referred to some independent arbitrator, and my father was +the gentleman to whom each party turned its eye. A meeting was +convened, and the business settled by the Vicar’s conceding the +choice to the trustees, and the acceptance of the Vicar’s presentation. +That choice forthwith fell on Mr. Brontë, whose promptness and +prudence had won their hearts.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In conversing on the character of the inhabitants of the West Riding +with Dr. Scoresby, who had been for some time Vicar of Bradford, he +alluded to certain riotous transactions which had taken place at Haworth +on the presentation of the living to Mr. Redhead, and said that there +had been so much in the particulars indicative of the character of the +people, that he advised me to inquire into them. I have accordingly +done so, and, from the lips of some of the survivors among the actors +and spectators, I have learnt the means taken to eject the nominee of +the Vicar.</p> +<p>The previous incumbent had been the Mr. Charnock whom I have mentioned +as next but one in succession to Mr. Grimshaw. He had a long illness +which rendered him unable to discharge his duties without assistance, +and Mr. Redhead gave him occasional help, to the great satisfaction +of the parishioners, and was highly respected by them during Mr. Charnock’s +lifetime. But the case was entirely altered when, at Mr. Charnock’s +death in 1819, they conceived that the trustees had been unjustly deprived +of their rights by the Vicar of Bradford, who appointed Mr. Redhead +as perpetual curate.</p> +<p>The first Sunday he officiated, Haworth Church was filled even to +the aisles; most of the people wearing the wooden clogs of the district. +But while Mr. Redhead was reading the second lesson, the whole congregation, +as by one impulse, began to leave the church, making all the noise they +could with clattering and clumping of clogs, till, at length, Mr. Redhead +and the clerk were the only two left to continue the service. +This was bad enough, but the next Sunday the proceedings were far worse. +Then, as before, the church was well filled, but the aisles were left +clear; not a creature, not an obstacle was in the way. The reason +for this was made evident about the same time in the reading of the +service as the disturbances had begun the previous week. A man +rode into the church upon an ass, with his face turned towards the tail, +and as many old hats piled on his head as he could possibly carry. +He began urging his beast round the aisles, and the screams, and cries, +and laughter of the congregation entirely drowned all sound of Mr. Redhead’s +voice, and, I believe, he was obliged to desist.</p> +<p>Hitherto they had not proceeded to anything like personal violence; +but on the third Sunday they must have been greatly irritated at seeing +Mr. Redhead, determined to brave their will, ride up the village street, +accompanied by several gentlemen from Bradford. They put up their +horses at the Black Bull—the little inn close upon the churchyard, +for the convenience of arvills as well as for other purposes—and +went into church. On this the people followed, with a chimney-sweeper, +whom they had employed to clean the chimneys of some out-buildings belonging +to the church that very morning, and afterward plied with drink till +he was in a state of solemn intoxication. They placed him right +before the reading-desk, where his blackened face nodded a drunken, +stupid assent to all that Mr. Redhead said. At last, either prompted +by some mischief-maker, or from some tipsy impulse, he clambered up +the pulpit stairs, and attempted to embrace Mr. Redhead. Then +the profane fun grew fast and furious. Some of the more riotous, +pushed the soot-covered chimney-sweeper against Mr. Redhead, as he tried +to escape. They threw both him and his tormentor down on the ground +in the churchyard where the soot-bag had been emptied, and, though, +at last, Mr. Redhead escaped into the Black Bull, the doors of which +were immediately barred, the people raged without, threatening to stone +him and his friends. One of my informants is an old man, who was +the landlord of the inn at the time, and he stands to it that such was +the temper of the irritated mob, that Mr. Redhead was in real danger +of his life. This man, however, planned an escape for his unpopular +inmates. The Black Bull is near the top of the long, steep Haworth +street, and at the bottom, close by the bridge, on the road to Keighley, +is a turnpike. Giving directions to his hunted guests to steal +out at the back door (through which, probably, many a ne’er-do-weel +has escaped from good Mr. Grimshaw’s horsewhip), the landlord +and some of the stable-boys rode the horses belonging to the party from +Bradford backwards and forwards before his front door, among the fiercely-expectant +crowd. Through some opening between the houses, those on the horses +saw Mr. Redhead and his friends creeping along behind the street; and +then, striking spurs, they dashed quickly down to the turnpike; the +obnoxious clergyman and his friends mounted in haste, and had sped some +distance before the people found out that their prey had escaped, and +came running to the closed turnpike gate.</p> +<p>This was Mr. Redhead’s last appearance at Haworth for many +years. Long afterwards, he came to preach, and in his sermon to +a large and attentive congregation he good-humouredly reminded them +of the circumstances which I have described. They gave him a hearty +welcome, for they owed him no grudge; although before they had been +ready enough to stone him, in order to maintain what they considered +to be their rights.</p> +<p>The foregoing account, which I heard from two of the survivors, in +the presence of a friend who can vouch for the accuracy of my repetition, +has to a certain degree been confirmed by a letter from the Yorkshire +gentleman, whose words I have already quoted.</p> +<p>“I am not surprised at your difficulty in authenticating matter-of-fact. +I find this in recalling what I have heard, and the authority on which +I have heard anything. As to the donkey tale, I believe you are +right. Mr. Redhead and Dr. Ramsbotham, his son-in-law, are no +strangers to me. Each of them has a niche in my affections.</p> +<p>“I have asked, this day, two persons who lived in Haworth at +the time to which you allude, the son and daughter of an acting trustee, +and each of them between sixty and seventy years of age, and they assure +me that the donkey was introduced. One of them says it was mounted +by a half-witted man, seated with his face towards the tail of the beast, +and having several hats piled on his head. Neither of my informants +was, however, present at these edifying services. I believe that +no movement was made in the church on either Sunday, until the whole +of the authorised reading-service was gone through, and I am sure that +nothing was more remote from the more respectable party than any personal +antagonism toward Mr. Redhead. He was one of the most amiable +and worthy of men, a man to myself endeared by many ties and obligations. +I never heard before your book that the sweep ascended the pulpit steps. +He was present, however, in the clerical habiliments of his order . +. . I may also add that among the many who were present at those sad +Sunday orgies the majority were non-residents, and came from those moorland +fastnesses on the outskirts of the parish locally designated as ‘ovver +th’ steyres,’ one stage more remote than Haworth from modern +civilization.</p> +<p>“To an instance or two more of the rusticity of the inhabitants +of the chapelry of Haworth, I may introduce you.</p> +<p>“A Haworth carrier called at the office of a friend of mine +to deliver a parcel on a cold winter’s day, and stood with the +door open. ‘Robin! shut the door!’ said the recipient. +‘Have you no doors in your country?’ ‘Yoi,’ +responded Robin, ‘we hev, but we nivver steik ‘em.’ +I have frequently remarked the number of doors open even in winter.</p> +<p>“When well directed, the indomitable and independent energies +of the natives of this part of the country are invaluable; dangerous +when perverted. I shall never forget the fierce actions and utterances +of one suffering from delirium tremens. Whether in its wrath, +disdain, or its dismay, the countenance was infernal. I called +once upon a time on a most respectable yeoman, and I was, in language +earnest and homely, pressed to accept the hospitality of the house. +I consented. The word to me was, ‘Nah, Maister, yah mun +stop an hev sum te-ah, yah mun, eah, yah mun.’ A bountiful +table was soon spread; at all events, time soon went while I scaled +the hills to see ‘t’ maire at wor thretty year owd, an’t’ +feil at wor fewer.’ On sitting down to the table, a venerable +woman officiated, and after filling the cups, she thus addressed me: +‘Nah, Maister, yah mun loawze th’taible’ (loose the +table). The master said, ‘Shah meeans yah mun sey t’ +greyce.’ I took the hint, and uttered the blessing.</p> +<p>“I spoke with an aged and tried woman at one time, who, after +recording her mercies, stated, among others, her powers of speech, by +asserting ‘Thank the Lord, ah nivver wor a meilly-meouthed wumman.’ +I feel particularly at fault in attempting the orthography of the dialect, +but must excuse myself by telling you that I once saw a letter in which +the word I have just now used (excuse) was written ‘ecksqueaize!’</p> +<p>“There are some things, however, which rather tend to soften +the idea of the rudeness of Haworth. No rural district has been +more markedly the abode of musical taste and acquirement, and this at +a period when it was difficult to find them to the same extent apart +from towns in advance of their times. I have gone to Haworth and +found an orchestra to meet me, filled with local performers, vocal and +instrumental, to whom the best works of Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Marcello, +&c. &c., were familiar as household words. By knowledge, +taste, and voice, they were markedly separate from ordinary village +choirs, and have been put in extensive requisition for the solo and +chorus of many an imposing festival. One man still survives, who, +for fifty years, has had one of the finest tenor voices I ever heard, +and with it a refined and cultivated taste. To him and to others +many inducements have been offered to migrate; but the loom, the association, +the mountain air have had charms enow to secure their continuance at +home. I love the recollection of their performance; that recollection +extends over more than sixty years. The attachments, the antipathies +and the hospitalities of the district are ardent, hearty, and homely. +Cordiality in each is the prominent characteristic. As a people, +these mountaineers have ever been accessible to gentleness and truth, +so far as I have known them; but excite suspicion or resentment, and +they give emphatic and not impotent resistance. Compulsion they +defy.</p> +<p>“I accompanied Mr. Heap on his first visit to Haworth after +his accession to the vicarage of Bradford. It was on Easter day, +either 1816 or 1817. His predecessor, the venerable John Crosse, +known as the ‘blind vicar,’ had been inattentive to the +vicarial claims. A searching investigation had to be made and +enforced, and as it proceeded stout and sturdy utterances were not lacking +on the part of the parishioners. To a spectator, though rude, +they were amusing, and significant, foretelling what might be expected, +and what was afterwards realised, on the advent of a new incumbent, +if they deemed him an intruder.</p> +<p>“From their peculiar parochial position and circumstances, +the inhabitants of the chapelry have been prompt, earnest, and persevering +in their opposition to church-rates. Although ten miles from the +mother-church, they were called upon to defray a large proportion of +this obnoxious tax,—I believe one fifth.</p> +<p>“Besides this, they had to maintain their own edifice, &c., +&c. They resisted, therefore, with energy, that which they +deemed to be oppression and injustice. By scores would they wend +their way from the hills to attend a vestry meeting at Bradford, and +in such service failed not to show less of the <i>suaviter in modo</i> +than the <i>fortiter in re</i>. Happily such occasion for their +action has not occurred for many years.</p> +<p>“The use of patronymics has been common in this locality. +Inquire for a man by his Christian name and surname, and you may have +some difficulty in finding him: ask, however, for ‘George o’ +Ned’s,’ or ‘Dick o’ Bob’s,’ or ‘Tom +o’ Jack’s,’ as the case may be, and your difficulty +is at an end. In many instances the person is designated by his +residence. In my early years I had occasion to inquire for Jonathan +Whitaker, who owned a considerable farm in the township. I was +sent hither and thither, until it occurred to me to ask for ‘Jonathan +o’ th’ Gate.’ My difficulties were then at an +end. Such circumstances arise out of the settled character and +isolation of the natives.</p> +<p>“Those who have witnessed a Haworth wedding when the parties +were above the rank of labourers, will not easily forget the scene. +A levy was made on the horses of the neighbourhood, and a merry cavalcade +of mounted men and women, single or double, traversed the way to Bradford +church. The inn and church appeared to be in natural connection, +and as the labours of the Temperance Society had then to begin, the +interests of sobriety were not always consulted. On remounting +their steeds they commenced with a race, and not unfrequently an inebriate +or unskilful horseman or woman was put <i>hors de combat</i>. +A race also was frequent at the end. of these wedding expeditions, from +the bridge to the toll-bar at Haworth. The race-course you will +know to be anything but level.”</p> +<p>Into the midst of this lawless, yet not unkindly population, Mr. +Brontë brought his wife and six little children, in February, 1820. +There are those yet alive who remember seven heavily-laden carts lumbering +slowly up the long stone street, bearing the “new parson’s” +household goods to his future abode.</p> +<p>One wonders how the bleak aspect of her new home—the low, oblong, +stone parsonage, high up, yet with a still higher back-ground of sweeping +moors—struck on the gentle, delicate wife, whose health even then +was failing.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>The Rev. Patrick Brontë is a native of the County Down in Ireland. +His father Hugh Brontë, was left an orphan at an early age. +He came from the south to the north of the island, and settled in the +parish of Ahaderg, near Loughbrickland. There was some family +tradition that, humble as Hugh Brontë’s circumstances were, +he was the descendant of an ancient family. But about this neither +he nor his descendants have cared to inquire. He made an early +marriage, and reared and educated ten children on the proceeds of the +few acres of land which he farmed. This large family were remarkable +for great physical strength, and much personal beauty. Even in +his old age, Mr. Brontë is a striking-looking man, above the common +height, with a nobly-shaped head, and erect carriage. In his youth +he must have been unusually handsome.</p> +<p>He was born on Patrickmas day (March 17), 1777, and early gave tokens +of extraordinary quickness and intelligence. He had also his full +share of ambition; and of his strong sense and forethought there is +a proof in the fact, that, knowing that his father could afford him +no pecuniary aid, and that he must depend upon his own exertions, he +opened a public school at the early age of sixteen; and this mode of +living he continued to follow for five or six years. He then became +a tutor in the family of the Rev. Mr. Tighe, rector of Drumgooland parish. +Thence he proceeded to St. John’s College, Cambridge, where he +was entered in July, 1802, being at the time five-and-twenty years of +age. After nearly four years’ residence, he obtained his +B.A. degree, and was ordained to a curacy in Essex, whence he removed +into Yorkshire. The course of life of which this is the outline, +shows a powerful and remarkable character, originating and pursuing +a purpose in a resolute and independent manner. Here is a youth—a +boy of sixteen—separating himself from his family, and determining +to maintain himself; and that, not in the hereditary manner by agricultural +pursuits, but by the labour of his brain.</p> +<p>I suppose, from what I have heard, that Mr. Tighe became strongly +interested in his children’s tutor, and may have aided him, not +only in the direction of his studies, but in the suggestion of an English +university education, and in advice as to the mode in which he should +obtain entrance there. Mr. Brontë has now no trace of his +Irish origin remaining in his speech; he never could have shown his +Celtic descent in the straight Greek lines and long oval of his face; +but at five-and-twenty, fresh from the only life he had ever known, +to present himself at the gates of St. John’s proved no little +determination of will, and scorn of ridicule.</p> +<p>While at Cambridge, he became one of a corps of volunteers, who were +then being called out all over the country to resist the apprehended +invasion by the French. I have heard him allude, in late years, +to Lord Palmerston as one who had often been associated with him then +in the mimic military duties which they had to perform.</p> +<p>We take him up now settled as a curate at Hartshead, in Yorkshire—far +removed from his birth-place and all his Irish connections; with whom, +indeed, he cared little to keep up any intercourse, and whom he never, +I believe, revisited after becoming a student at Cambridge.</p> +<p>Hartshead is a very small village, lying to the east of Huddersfield +and Halifax; and, from its high situation—on a mound, as it were, +surrounded by a circular basin—commanding a magnificent view. +Mr. Brontë resided here for five years; and, while the incumbent +of Hartshead, he wooed and married Maria Branwell.</p> +<p>She was the third daughter of Mr. Thomas Branwell, merchant, of Penzance. +Her mother’s maiden name was Carne: and, both on father’s +and mother’s side, the Branwell family were sufficiently well +descended to enable them to mix in the best society that Penzance then +afforded. Mr. and Mrs. Branwell would be living—their family +of four daughters and one son, still children—during the existence +of that primitive state of society which is well described by Dr. Davy +in the life of his brother.</p> +<p>“In the same town, when the population was about 2,000 persons, +there was only one carpet, the floors of rooms were sprinkled with sea-sand, +and there was not a single silver fork.</p> +<p>“At that time, when our colonial possessions were very limited, +our army and navy on a small scale, and there was comparatively little +demand for intellect, the younger sons of gentlemen were often of necessity +brought up to some trade or mechanical art, to which no discredit, or +loss of caste, as it were, was attached. The eldest son, if not +allowed to remain an idle country squire, was sent to Oxford or Cambridge, +preparatory to his engaging in one of the three liberal professions +of divinity, law, or physic; the second son was perhaps apprenticed +to a surgeon or apothecary, or a solicitor; the third to a pewterer +or watchmaker; the fourth to a packer or mercer, and so on, were there +more to be provided for.</p> +<p>“After their apprenticeships were finished, the young men almost +invariably went to London to perfect themselves in their respective +trade or art: and on their return into the country, when settled in +business, they were not excluded from what would now be considered genteel +society. Visiting then was conducted differently from what it +is at present. Dinner-parties were almost unknown, excepting at +the annual feast-time. Christmas, too, was then a season of peculiar +indulgence and conviviality, and a round of entertainments was given, +consisting of tea and supper. Excepting at these two periods, +visiting was almost entirely confined to tea-parties, which assembled +at three o’clock, broke up at nine, and the amusement of the evening +was commonly some round game at cards, as Pope Joan, or Commerce. +The lower class was then extremely ignorant, and all classes were very +superstitious; even the belief in witches maintained its ground, and +there was an almost unbounded credulity respecting the supernatural +and monstrous. There was scarcely a parish in the Mount’s +Bay that was without a haunted house, or a spot to which some story +of supernatural horror was not attached. Even when I was a boy, +I remember a house in the best street of Penzance which was uninhabited +because it was believed to be haunted, and which young people walked +by at night at a quickened pace, and with a beating heart. Amongst +the middle and higher classes there was little taste for literature, +and still less for science, and their pursuits were rarely of a dignified +or intellectual kind. Hunting, shooting, wrestling, cock-fighting, +generally ending in drunkenness, were what they most delighted in. +Smuggling was carried on to a great extent; and drunkenness, and a low +state of morals, were naturally associated with it. Whilst smuggling +was the means of acquiring wealth to bold and reckless adventurers, +drunkenness and dissipation occasioned the ruin of many respectable +families.”</p> +<p>I have given this extract because I conceive it bears some reference +to the life of Miss Brontë, whose strong mind and vivid imagination +must have received their first impressions either from the servants +(in that simple household, almost friendly companions during the greater +part of the day,) retailing the traditions or the news of Haworth village; +or from Mr. Brontë, whose intercourse with his children appears +to have been considerably restrained, and whose life, both in Ireland +and at Cambridge, had been spent under peculiar circumstances; or from +her aunt, Miss Branwell, who came to the parsonage, when Charlotte was +only six or seven years old, to take charge of her dead sister’s +family. This aunt was older than Mrs. Brontë, and had lived +longer among the Penzance society, which Dr. Davy describes. But +in the Branwell family itself, the violence and irregularity of nature +did not exist. They were Methodists, and, as far as I can gather, +a gentle and sincere piety gave refinement and purity of character. +Mr. Branwell, the father, according to his descendants’ account, +was a man of musical talent. He and his wife lived to see all +their children grown up, and died within a year of each other—he +in 1808, she in 1809, when their daughter Maria was twenty-five or twenty-six +years of age. I have been permitted to look over a series of nine +letters, which were addressed by her to Mr. Brontë, during the +brief term of their engagement in 1812. They are full of tender +grace of expression and feminine modesty; pervaded by the deep piety +to which I have alluded as a family characteristic. I shall make +one or two extracts from them, to show what sort of a person was the +mother of Charlotte Brontë: but first, I must state the circumstances +under which this Cornish lady met the scholar from Ahaderg, near Loughbrickland. +In the early summer of 1812, when she would be twenty-nine, she came +to visit her uncle, the Reverend John Fennel, who was at that time a +clergyman of the Church of England, living near Leeds, but who had previously +been a Methodist minister. Mr. Brontë was the incumbent of +Hartshead; and had the reputation in the neighbourhood of being a very +handsome fellow, full of Irish enthusiasm, and with something of an +Irishman’s capability of falling easily in love. Miss Branwell +was extremely small in person; not pretty, but very elegant, and always +dressed with a quiet simplicity of taste, which accorded well with her +general character, and of which some of the details call to mind the +style of dress preferred by her daughter for her favourite heroines. +Mr. Brontë was soon captivated by the little, gentle creature, +and this time declared that it was for life. In her first letter +to him, dated August 26th, she seems almost surprised to find herself +engaged, and alludes to the short time which she has known him. +In the rest there are touches reminding one of Juliet’s—</p> +<blockquote><p>“But trust me, gentleman, I’ll prove more +true,<br /> +Than those that have more cunning to be strange.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There are plans for happy pic-nic parties to Kirkstall Abbey, in +the glowing September days, when “Uncle, Aunt, and Cousin Jane,”—the +last engaged to a Mr. Morgan, another clergyman—were of the party; +all since dead, except Mr. Brontë. There was no opposition +on the part of any of her friends to her engagement. Mr. and Mrs. +Fennel sanctioned it, and her brother and sisters in far-away Penzance +appear fully to have approved of it. In a letter dated September +18th, she says:—</p> +<p>“For some years I have been perfectly my own mistress, subject +to no control whatever; so far from it, that my sisters, who are many +years older than myself, and even my dear mother, used to consult me +on every occasion of importance, and scarcely ever doubted the propriety +of my opinions and actions: perhaps you will be ready to accuse me of +vanity in mentioning this, but you must consider that I do not boast +of it. I have many times felt it a disadvantage, and although, +I thank God, it has never led me into error, yet, in circumstances of +uncertainty and doubt, I have deeply felt the want of a guide and instructor.” +In the same letter she tells Mr. Brontë, that she has informed +her sisters of her engagement, and that she should not see them again +so soon as she had intended. Mr. Fennel, her uncle, also writes +to them by the same post in praise of Mr. Brontë.</p> +<p>The journey from Penzance to Leeds in those days was both very long +and very expensive; the lovers had not much money to spend in unnecessary +travelling, and, as Miss Branwell had neither father nor mother living, +it appeared both a discreet and seemly arrangement that the marriage +should take place from her uncle’s house. There was no reason +either why the engagement should be prolonged. They were past +their first youth; they had means sufficient for their unambitious wants; +the living of Hartshead is rated in the Clergy List at 202<i>l</i>. +per annum, and she was in the receipt of a small annuity (50<i>l</i>. +I have been told) by the will of her father. So, at the end of +September, the lovers began to talk about taking a house, for I suppose +that Mr. Brontë up to that time had been in lodgings; and all went +smoothly and successfully with a view to their marriage in the ensuing +winter, until November, when a misfortune happened, which she thus patiently +and prettily describes:—</p> +<p>“I suppose you never expected to be much the richer for me, +but I am sorry to inform you that I am still poorer than I thought myself. +I mentioned having sent for my books, clothes, &c. On Saturday +evening, about the time when you were writing the description of your +imaginary shipwreck, I was reading and feeling the effects of a real +one, having then received a letter from my sister giving me an account +of the vessel in which she had sent my box being stranded on the coast +of Devonshire, in consequence of which the box was dashed to pieces +with the violence of the sea, and all my little property, with the exception +of a very few articles, being swallowed up in the mighty deep. +If this should not prove the prelude to something worse I shall think +little of it, as it is the first disastrous circumstance which has occurred +since I left my home.”</p> +<p>The last of these letters is dated December the 5th. Miss Branwell +and her cousin intended to set about making the wedding-cake in the +following week, so the marriage could not be far off. She had +been learning by heart a “pretty little hymn” of Mr. Brontë’s +composing; and reading Lord Lyttelton’s “Advice to a Lady,” +on which she makes some pertinent and just remarks, showing that she +thought as well as read. And so Maria Branwell fades out of sight; +we have no more direct intercourse with her; we hear of her as Mrs. +Brontë, but it is as an invalid, not far from death; still patient, +cheerful, and pious. The writing of these letters is elegant and +neat; while there are allusions to household occupations—such +as making the wedding-cake; there are also allusions to the books she +has read, or is reading, showing a well-cultivated mind. Without +having anything of her daughter’s rare talents, Mrs. Brontë +must have been, I imagine, that unusual character, a well-balanced and +consistent woman. The style of the letters is easy and good; as +is also that of a paper from the same hand, entitled “The Advantages +of Poverty in Religious Concerns,” which was written rather later, +with a view to publication in some periodical.</p> +<p>She was married from her uncle’s house in Yorkshire, on the +29th of December, 1812; the same day was also the wedding-day of her +younger sister, Charlotte Branwell, in distant Penzance. I do +not think that Mrs. Brontë ever revisited Cornwall, but she has +left a very pleasant impression on the minds of those relations who +yet survive; they speak of her as “their favourite aunt, and one +to whom they, as well as all the family, looked up, as a person of talent +and great amiability of disposition;” and, again, as “meek +and retiring, while possessing more than ordinary talents, which she +inherited from her father, and her piety was genuine and unobtrusive.”</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë remained for five years at Hartshead, in the parish +of Dewsbury. There he was married, and his two children, Maria +and Elizabeth, were born. At the expiration of that period, he +had the living of Thornton, in Bradford Parish. Some of those +great West Riding parishes are almost like bishoprics for their amount +of population and number of churches. Thornton church is a little +episcopal chapel of ease, rich in Nonconformist monuments, as of Accepted +Lister and his friend Dr. Hall. The neighbourhood is desolate +and wild; great tracts of bleak land, enclosed by stone dykes, sweeping +up Clayton heights. The church itself looks ancient and solitary, +and as if left behind by the great stone mills of a flourishing Independent +firm, and the solid square chapel built by the members of that denomination. +Altogether not so pleasant a place as Hartshead, with its ample outlook +over cloud-shadowed, sun-flecked plain, and hill rising beyond hill +to form the distant horizon.</p> +<p>Here, at Thornton, Charlotte Brontë was born, on the 21st of +April, 1816. Fast on her heels followed Patrick Branwell, Emily +Jane, and Anne. After the birth of this last daughter, Mrs. Brontë’s +health began to decline. It is hard work to provide for the little +tender wants of many young children where the means are but limited. +The necessaries of food and clothing are much more easily supplied than +the almost equal necessaries of attendance, care, soothing, amusement, +and sympathy. Maria Brontë, the eldest of six, could only +have been a few months more than six years old, when Mr. Brontë +removed to Haworth, on February the 25th, 1820. Those who knew +her then, describe her as grave, thoughtful, and quiet, to a degree +far beyond her years. Her childhood was no childhood; the cases +are rare in which the possessors of great gifts have known the blessings +of that careless happy time; <i>their</i> unusual powers stir within +them, and, instead of the natural life of perception—the objective, +as the Germans call it—they begin the deeper life of reflection—the +subjective.</p> +<p>Little Maria Brontë was delicate and small in appearance, which +seemed to give greater effect to her wonderful precocity of intellect. +She must have been her mother’s companion and helpmate in many +a household and nursery experience, for Mr. Brontë was, of course, +much engaged in his study; and besides, he was not naturally fond of +children, and felt their frequent appearance on the scene as a drag +both on his wife’s strength, and as an interruption to the comfort +of the household.</p> +<p>Haworth Parsonage is—as I mentioned in the first chapter—an +oblong stone house, facing down the hill on which the village stands, +and with the front door right opposite to the western door of the church, +distant about a hundred yards. Of this space twenty yards or so +in depth are occupied by the grassy garden, which is scarcely wider +than the house. The graveyard lies on two sides of the house and +garden. The house consists of four rooms on each floor, and is +two stories high. When the Brontës took possession, they +made the larger parlour, to the left of the entrance, the family sitting-room, +while that on the right was appropriated to Mr. Brontë as a study. +Behind this was the kitchen; behind the former, a sort of flagged store-room. +Upstairs were four bed-chambers of similar size, with the addition of +a small apartment over the passage, or “lobby” as we call +it in the north. This was to the front, the staircase going up +right opposite to the entrance. There is the pleasant old fashion +of window seats all through the house; and one can see that the parsonage +was built in the days when wood was plentiful, as the massive stair-banisters, +and the wainscots, and the heavy window-frames testify.</p> +<p>This little extra upstairs room was appropriated to the children. +Small as it was, it was not called a nursery; indeed, it had not the +comfort of a fire-place in it; the servants—two affectionate, +warm-hearted sisters, who cannot now speak of the family without tears—called +the room the “children’s study.” The age of +the eldest student was perhaps by this time seven.</p> +<p>The people in Haworth were none of them very poor. Many of +them were employed in the neighbouring worsted mills; a few were mill-owners +and manufacturers in a small way; there were also some shopkeepers for +the humbler and everyday wants; but for medical advice, for stationery, +books, law, dress, or dainties, the inhabitants had to go to Keighley. +There were several Sunday-schools; the Baptists had taken the lead in +instituting them, the Wesleyans had followed, the Church of England +had brought up the rear. Good Mr. Grimshaw, Wesley’s friend, +had built a humble Methodist chapel, but it stood close to the road +leading on to the moor; the Baptists then raised a place of worship, +with the distinction of being a few yards back from the highway; and +the Methodists have since thought it well to erect another and a larger +chapel, still more retired from the road. Mr. Brontë was +ever on kind and friendly terms with each denomination as a body; but +from individuals in the village the family stood aloof, unless some +direct service was required, from the first. “They kept +themselves very close,” is the account given by those who remember +Mr. and Mrs. Brontë’s coming amongst them. I believe +many of the Yorkshiremen would object to the system of parochial visiting; +their surly independence would revolt from the idea of any one having +a right, from his office, to inquire into their condition, to counsel, +or to admonish them. The old hill-spirit lingers in them, which +coined the rhyme, inscribed on the under part of one of the seats in +the Sedilia of Whalley Abbey, not many miles from Haworth,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Who mells wi’ what another does<br /> +Had best go home and shoe his goose.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I asked an inhabitant of a district close to Haworth what sort of +a clergyman they had at the church which he attended.</p> +<p>“A rare good one,” said he: “he minds his own business, +and ne’er troubles himself with ours.”</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë was faithful in visiting the sick and all those who +sent for him, and diligent in attendance at the schools; and so was +his daughter Charlotte too; but, cherishing and valuing privacy themselves, +they were perhaps over-delicate in not intruding upon the privacy of +others.</p> +<p>From their first going to Haworth, their walks were directed rather +out towards the heathery moors, sloping upwards behind the parsonage, +than towards the long descending village street. A good old woman, +who came to nurse Mrs. Brontë in the illness—an internal +cancer—which grew and gathered upon her, not many months after +her arrival at Haworth, tells me that at that time the six little creatures +used to walk out, hand in hand, towards the glorious wild moors, which +in after days they loved so passionately; the elder ones taking thoughtful +care for the toddling wee things.</p> +<p>They were grave and silent beyond their years; subdued, probably, +by the presence of serious illness in the house; for, at the time which +my informant speaks of, Mrs. Brontë was confined to the bedroom +from which she never came forth alive. “You would not have +known there was a child in the house, they were such still, noiseless, +good little creatures. Maria would shut herself up” (Maria, +but seven!) “in the children’s study with a newspaper, and +be able to tell one everything when she came out; debates in Parliament, +and I don’t know what all. She was as good as a mother to +her sisters and brother. But there never were such good children. +I used to think them spiritless, they were so different to any children +I had ever seen. They were good little creatures. Emily +was the prettiest.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Brontë was the same patient, cheerful person as we have +seen her formerly; very ill, suffering great pain, but seldom if ever +complaining; at her better times begging her nurse to raise her in bed +to let her see her clean the grate, “because she did it as it +was done in Cornwall;” devotedly fond of her husband, who warmly +repaid her affection, and suffered no one else to take the night-nursing; +but, according to my informant, the mother was not very anxious to see +much of her children, probably because the sight of them, knowing how +soon they were to be left motherless, would have agitated her too much. +So the little things clung quietly together, for their father was busy +in his study and in his parish, or with their mother, and they took +their meals alone; sat reading, or whispering low, in the “children’s +study,” or wandered out on the hill-side, hand in hand.</p> +<p>The ideas of Rousseau and Mr. Day on education had filtered down +through many classes, and spread themselves widely out. I imagine, +Mr. Brontë must have formed some of his opinions on the management +of children from these two theorists. His practice was not half +so wild or extraordinary as that to which an aunt of mine was subjected +by a disciple of Mr. Day’s. She had been taken by this gentleman +and his wife, to live with them as their adopted child, perhaps about +five-and-twenty years before the time of which I am writing. They +were wealthy people and kind hearted, but her food and clothing were +of the very simplest and rudest description, on Spartan principles. +A healthy, merry child, she did not much care for dress or eating; but +the treatment which she felt as a real cruelty was this. They +had a carriage, in which she and the favourite dog were taken an airing +on alternate days; the creature whose turn it was to be left at home +being tossed in a blanket—an operation which my aunt especially +dreaded. Her affright at the tossing was probably the reason why +it was persevered in. Dressed-up ghosts had become common, and +she did not care for them, so the blanket exercise was to be the next +mode of hardening her nerves. It is well known that Mr. Day broke +off his intention of marrying Sabrina, the girl whom he had educated +for this purpose, because, within a few weeks of the time fixed for +the wedding, she was guilty of the frivolity, while on a visit from +home, of wearing thin sleeves. Yet Mr. Day and my aunt’s +relations were benevolent people, only strongly imbued with the crotchet +that by a system of training might be educed the hardihood and simplicity +of the ideal savage, forgetting the terrible isolation of feelings and +habits which their pupils would experience in the future life which +they must pass among the corruptions and refinements of civilization.</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë wished to make his children hardy, and indifferent +to the pleasures of eating and dress. In the latter he succeeded, +as far as regarded his daughters.</p> +<p>His strong, passionate, Irish nature was, in general, compressed +down with resolute stoicism; but it was there notwithstanding all his +philosophic calm and dignity of demeanour; though he did not speak when +he was annoyed or displeased. Mrs. Brontë, whose sweet nature +thought invariably of the bright side, would say, “Ought I not +to be thankful that he never gave me an angry word?”</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë was an active walker, stretching away over the moors +for many miles, noting in his mind all natural signs of wind and weather, +and keenly observing all the wild creatures that came and went in the +loneliest sweeps of the hills. He has seen eagles stooping low +in search of food for their young; no eagle is ever seen on those mountain +slopes now.</p> +<p>He fearlessly took whatever side in local or national politics appeared +to him right. In the days of the Luddites, he had been for the +peremptory interference of the law, at a time when no magistrate could +be found to act, and all the property of the West Riding was in terrible +danger. He became unpopular then among the millworkers, and he +esteemed his life unsafe if he took his long and lonely walks unarmed; +so he began the habit, which has continued to this day, of invariably +carrying a loaded pistol about with him. It lay on his dressing-table +with his watch; with his watch it was put on in the morning; with his +watch it was taken off at night.</p> +<p>Many years later, during his residence at Haworth, there was a strike; +the hands in the neighbourhood felt themselves aggrieved by the masters, +and refused to work: Mr. Brontë thought that they had been unjustly +and unfairly treated, and he assisted them by all the means in his power +to “keep the wolf from their doors,” and avoid the incubus +of debt. Several of the more influential inhabitants of Haworth +and the neighbourhood were mill-owners; they remonstrated pretty sharply +with him, but he believed that his conduct was right and persevered +in it.</p> +<p>His opinions might be often both wild and erroneous, his principles +of action eccentric and strange, his views of life partial, and almost +misanthropical; but not one opinion that he held could be stirred or +modified by any worldly motive: he acted up to his principles of action; +and, if any touch of misanthropy mingled with his view of mankind in +general, his conduct to the individuals who came in personal contact +with him did not agree with such view. It is true that he had +strong and vehement prejudices, and was obstinate in maintaining them, +and that he was not dramatic enough in his perceptions to see how miserable +others might be in a life that to him was all-sufficient. But +I do not pretend to be able to harmonize points of character, and account +for them, and bring them all into one consistent and intelligible whole. +The family with whom I have now to do shot their roots down deeper than +I can penetrate. I cannot measure them, much less is it for me +to judge them. I have named these instances of eccentricity in +the father because I hold the knowledge of them to be necessary for +a right understanding of the life of his daughter.</p> +<p>Mrs. Brontë died in September, 1821, and the lives of those +quiet children must have become quieter and lonelier still. Charlotte +tried hard, in after years, to recall the remembrance of her mother, +and could bring back two or three pictures of her. One was when, +sometime in the evening light, she had been playing with her little +boy, Patrick Branwell, in the parlour of Haworth Parsonage. But +the recollections of four or five years old are of a very fragmentary +character.</p> +<p>Owing to some illness of the digestive organs, Mr. Brontë was +obliged to be very careful about his diet; and, in order to avoid temptation, +and possibly to have the quiet necessary for digestion, he had begun, +before his wife’s death, to take his dinner alone—a habit +which he always retained. He did not require companionship, therefore +he did not seek it, either in his walks, or in his daily life. +The quiet regularity of his domestic hours was only broken in upon by +church-wardens, and visitors on parochial business; and sometimes by +a neighbouring clergyman, who came down the hills, across the moors, +to mount up again to Haworth Parsonage, and spend an evening there. +But, owing to Mrs. Brontë’s death so soon after her husband +had removed into the district, and also to the distances, and the bleak +country to be traversed, the wives of these clerical friends did not +accompany their husbands; and the daughters grew up out of childhood +into girlhood bereft, in a singular manner, of all such society as would +have been natural to their age, sex, and station.</p> +<p>But the children did not want society. To small infantine gaieties +they were unaccustomed. They were all in all to each other. +I do not suppose that there ever was a family more tenderly bound to +each other. Maria read the newspapers, and reported intelligence +to her younger sisters which it is wonderful they could take an interest +in. But I suspect that they had no “children’s books,” +and that their eager minds “browzed undisturbed among the wholesome +pasturage of English literature,” as Charles Lamb expresses it. +The servants of the household appear to have been much impressed with +the little Brontës’ extraordinary cleverness. In a +letter which I had from him on this subject, their father writes:—“The +servants often said that they had never seen such a clever little child” +(as Charlotte), “and that they were obliged to be on their guard +as to what they said and did before her. Yet she and the servants +always lived on good terms with each other.”</p> +<p>These servants are yet alive; elderly women residing in Bradford. +They retain a faithful and fond recollection of Charlotte, and speak +of her unvarying kindness from the “time when she was ever such +a little child!” when she would not rest till she had got the +old disused cradle sent from the parsonage to the house where the parents +of one of them lived, to serve for a little infant sister. They +tell of one long series of kind and thoughtful actions from this early +period to the last weeks of Charlotte Brontë’s life; and, +though she had left her place many years ago, one of these former servants +went over from Bradford to Haworth on purpose to see Mr. Brontë, +and offer him her true sympathy, when his last child died. I may +add a little anecdote as a testimony to the admirable character of the +likeness of Miss Brontë prefixed to this volume. A gentleman +who had kindly interested himself in the preparation of this memoir +took the first volume, shortly after the publication, to the house of +this old servant, in order to show her the portrait. The moment +she caught a glimpse of the frontispiece, “There she is,” +in a minute she exclaimed. “Come, John, look!” (to +her husband); and her daughter was equally struck by the resemblance. +There might not be many to regard the Brontës with affection, but +those who once loved them, loved them long and well.</p> +<p>I return to the father’s letter. He says:—</p> +<p>“When mere children, as soon as they could read and write, +Charlotte and her brothers and sisters used to invent and act little +plays of their own, in which the Duke of Wellington, my daughter Charlotte’s +hero, was sure to come off conqueror; when a dispute would not unfrequently +arise amongst them regarding the comparative merits of him, Buonaparte, +Hannibal, and Cæsar. When the argument got warm, and rose +to its height, as their mother was then dead, I had sometimes to come +in as arbitrator, and settle the dispute according to the best of my +judgment. Generally, in the management of these concerns, I frequently +thought that I discovered signs of rising talent, which I had seldom +or never before seen in any of their age . . . A circumstance now occurs +to my mind which I may as well mention. When my children were +very young, when, as far as I can remember, the oldest was about ten +years of age, and the youngest about four, thinking that they knew more +than I had yet discovered, in order to make them speak with less timidity, +I deemed that if they were put under a sort of cover I might gain my +end; and happening to have a mask in the house, I told them all to stand +and speak boldly from under cover of the mask.</p> +<p>“I began with the youngest (Anne, afterwards Acton Bell), and +asked what a child like her most wanted; she answered, ‘Age and +experience.’ I asked the next (Emily, afterwards Ellis Bell), +what I had best do with her brother Branwell, who was sometimes a naughty +boy; she answered, ‘Reason with him, and when he won’t listen +to reason, whip him.’ I asked Branwell what was the best +way of knowing the difference between the intellects of man and woman; +he answered, ‘By considering the difference between them as to +their bodies.’ I then asked Charlotte what was the best +book in the world; she answered, ‘The Bible.’ And +what was the next best; she answered, ‘The Book of Nature.’ +I then asked the next what was the best mode of education for a woman; +she answered, ‘That which would make her rule her house well.’ +Lastly, I asked the oldest what was the best mode of spending time; +she answered, ‘By laying it out in preparation for a happy eternity.’ +I may not have given precisely their words, but I have nearly done so, +as they made a deep and lasting impression on my memory. The substance, +however, was exactly what I have stated.”</p> +<p>The strange and quaint simplicity of the mode taken by the father +to ascertain the hidden characters of his children, and the tone and +character of these questions and answers, show the curious education +which was made by the circumstances surrounding the Brontës. +They knew no other children. They knew no other modes of thought +than what were suggested to them by the fragments of clerical conversation +which they overheard in the parlour, or the subjects of village and +local interest which they heard discussed in the kitchen. Each +had their own strong characteristic flavour.</p> +<p>They took a vivid interest in the public characters, and the local +and the foreign as well as home politics discussed in the newspapers. +Long before Maria Brontë died, at the age of eleven, her father +used to say he could converse with her on any of the leading topics +of the day with as much freedom and pleasure as with any grown-up person.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>About a year after Mrs. Brontë’s death, an elder sister, +as I have before mentioned, came from Penzance to superintend her brother-in-law’s +household, and look after his children. Miss Branwell was, I believe, +a kindly and conscientious woman, with a good deal of character, but +with the somewhat narrow ideas natural to one who had spent nearly all +her life in the same place. She had strong prejudices, and soon +took a distaste to Yorkshire. From Penzance, where plants which +we in the north call greenhouse flowers grow in great profusion, and +without any shelter even in the winter, and where the soft warm climate +allows the inhabitants, if so disposed, to live pretty constantly in +the open air, it was a great change for a lady considerably past forty +to come and take up her abode in a place where neither flowers nor vegetables +would flourish, and where a tree of even moderate dimensions might be +hunted for far and wide; where the snow lay long and late on the moors, +stretching bleakly and barely far up from the dwelling which was henceforward +to be her home; and where often, on autumnal or winter nights, the four +winds of heaven seemed to meet and rage together, tearing round the +house as if they were wild beasts striving to find an entrance. +She missed the small round of cheerful, social visiting perpetually +going on in a country town; she missed the friends she had known from +her childhood, some of whom had been her parents’ friends before +they were hers; she disliked many of the customs of the place, and particularly +dreaded the cold damp arising from the flag floors in the passages and +parlours of Haworth Parsonage. The stairs, too, I believe, are +made of stone; and no wonder, when stone quarries are near, and trees +are far to seek. I have heard that Miss Branwell always went about +the house in pattens, clicking up and down the stairs, from her dread +of catching cold. For the same reason, in the latter years of +her life, she passed nearly all her time, and took most of her meals, +in her bedroom. The children respected her, and had that sort +of affection for her which is generated by esteem; but I do not think +they ever freely loved her. It was a severe trial for any one +at her time of life to change neighbourhood and habitation so entirely +as she did; and the greater her merit.</p> +<p>I do not know whether Miss Branwell taught her nieces anything besides +sewing, and the household arts in which Charlotte afterwards was such +an adept. Their regular lessons were said to their father; and +they were always in the habit of picking up an immense amount of miscellaneous +information for themselves. But a year or so before this time, +a school had been begun in the North of England for the daughters of +clergymen. The place was Cowan Bridge, a small hamlet on the coach-road +between Leeds and Kendal, and thus easy of access from Haworth, as the +coach ran daily, and one of its stages was at Keighley. The yearly +expense for each pupil (according to the entrance-rules given in the +Report for 1842, and I believe they had not been increased since the +establishment of the schools in 1823) was as follows:</p> +<p>“Rule 11. The terms for clothing, lodging, boarding, +and educating, are 14<i>l</i>. a year; half to be paid in advance, when +the pupils are sent; and also 1<i>l</i>. entrance-money, for the use +of books, &c. The system of education comprehends history, +geography, the use of the globes, grammar, writing and arithmetic, all +kinds of needlework, and the nicer kinds of household work—such +as getting up fine linen, ironing, &c. If accomplishments +are required, an additional charge of 3<i>l</i>. a year is made for +music or drawing, each.”</p> +<p>Rule 3rd requests that the friends will state the line of education +desired in the case of every pupil, having a regard to her future prospects.</p> +<p>Rule 4th states the clothing and toilette articles which a girl is +expected to bring with her; and thus concludes: “The pupils all +appear in the same dress. They wear plain straw cottage bonnets; +in summer white frocks on Sundays, and nankeen on other days; in winter, +purple stuff frocks, and purple cloth cloaks. For the sake of +uniformity, therefore, they are required to bring 3<i>l</i>. in lieu +of frocks, pelisse, bonnet, tippet, and frills; making the whole sum +which each pupil brings with her to the school—</p> +<blockquote><p>7<i>l</i>. half-year in advance.<br /> +1<i>l</i>. entrance for books.<br /> +1<i>l</i>. entrance for clothes.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The 8th rule is,—“All letters and parcels are inspected +by the superintendent;” but this is a very prevalent regulation +in all young ladies’ schools, where I think it is generally understood +that the schoolmistress may exercise this privilege, although it is +certainly unwise in her to insist too frequently upon it.</p> +<p>There is nothing at all remarkable in any of the other regulations, +a copy of which was doubtless in Mr. Brontë’s hands when +he formed the determination to send his daughters to Cowan Bridge School; +and he accordingly took Maria and Elizabeth thither in July, 1824.</p> +<p>I now come to a part of my subject which I find great difficulty +in treating, because the evidence relating to it on each side is so +conflicting that it seems almost impossible to arrive at the truth. +Miss Brontë more than once said to me, that she should not have +written what she did of Lowood in “Jane Eyre,” if she had +thought the place would have been so immediately identified with Cowan +Bridge, although there was not a word in her account of the institution +but what was true at the time when she knew it; she also said that she +had not considered it necessary, in a work of fiction, to state every +particular with the impartiality that might be required in a court of +justice, nor to seek out motives, and make allowances for human failings, +as she might have done, if dispassionately analysing the conduct of +those who had the superintendence of the institution. I believe +she herself would have been glad of an opportunity to correct the over-strong +impression which was made upon the public mind by her vivid picture, +though even she, suffering her whole life long, both in heart and body, +from the consequences of what happened there, might have been apt, to +the last, to take her deep belief in facts for the facts themselves—her +conception of truth for the absolute truth.</p> +<p>In some of the notices of the previous editions of this work, it +is assumed that I derived the greater part of my information with regard +to her sojourn at Cowan Bridge from Charlotte Brontë herself. +I never heard her speak of the place but once, and that was on the second +day of my acquaintance with her. A little child on that occasion +expressed some reluctance to finish eating his piece of bread at dinner; +and she, stooping down, and addressing him in a low voice, told him +how thankful she should have been at his age for a piece of bread; and +when we—though I am not sure if I myself spoke—asked her +some question as to the occasion she alluded to, she replied with reserve +and hesitation, evidently shying away from what she imagined might lead +to too much conversation on one of her books. She spoke of the +oat-cake at Cowan Bridge (the clap-bread of Westmorland) as being different +to the leaven-raised oat-cake of Yorkshire, and of her childish distaste +for it. Some one present made an allusion to a similar childish +dislike in the true tale of “The terrible knitters o’ Dent” +given in Southey’s “Common-place Book:” and she smiled +faintly, but said that the mere difference in food was not all: that +the food itself was spoilt by the dirty carelessness of the cook, so +that she and her sisters disliked their meals exceedingly; and she named +her relief and gladness when the doctor condemned the meat, and spoke +of having seen him spit it out. These are all the details I ever +heard from her. She so avoided particularizing, that I think Mr. +Carus Wilson’s name never passed between us.</p> +<p>I do not doubt the general accuracy of my informants,—of those +who have given, and solemnly repeated, the details that follow,—but +it is only just to Miss Brontë to say that I have stated above +pretty nearly all that I ever heard on the subject from her.</p> +<p>A clergyman, living near Kirby Lonsdale, the Reverend William Carus +Wilson, was the prime mover in the establishment of this school. +He was an energetic man, sparing no labour for the accomplishment of +his ends. He saw that it was an extremely difficult task for clergymen +with limited incomes to provide for the education of their children; +and he devised a scheme, by which a certain sum was raised annually +by subscription, to complete the amount required to furnish a solid +and sufficient English education, for which the parent’s payment +of 14<i>l</i>. a year would not have been sufficient. Indeed, +that made by the parents was considered to be exclusively appropriated +to the expenses of lodging and boarding, and the education provided +for by the subscriptions. Twelve trustees were appointed; Mr. +Wilson being not only a trustee, but the treasurer and secretary; in +fact, taking most of the business arrangements upon himself; a responsibility +which appropriately fell to him, as he lived nearer the school than +any one else who was interested in it. So his character for prudence +and judgment was to a certain degree implicated in the success or failure +of Cowan Bridge School; and the working of it was for many years the +great object and interest of his life. But he was apparently unacquainted +with the prime element in good administration—seeking out thoroughly +competent persons to fill each department, and then making them responsible +for, and judging them by, the result, without perpetual interference +with the details.</p> +<p>So great was the amount of good which Mr. Wilson did, by his constant, +unwearied superintendence, that I cannot help feeling sorry that, in +his old age and declining health, the errors which he was believed to +have committed, should have been brought up against him in a form which +received such wonderful force from the touch of Miss Brontë’s +great genius. No doubt whatever can be entertained of the deep +interest which he felt in the success of the school. As I write, +I have before me his last words on giving up the secretaryship in 1850: +he speaks of the “withdrawal, from declining health, of an eye, +which, at all events, has loved to watch over the schools with an honest +and anxious interest;”—and again he adds, “that he +resigns, therefore, with a desire to be thankful for all that God has +been pleased to accomplish through his instrumentality (the infirmities +and unworthinesses of which he deeply feels and deplores).”</p> +<p>Cowan Bridge is a cluster of some six or seven cottages, gathered +together at both ends of a bridge, over which the high road from Leeds +to Kendal crosses a little stream, called the Leck. This high +road is nearly disused now; but formerly, when the buyers from the West +Riding manufacturing districts had frequent occasion to go up into the +North to purchase the wool of the Westmorland and Cumberland farmers, +it was doubtless much travelled; and perhaps the hamlet of Cowan Bridge +had a more prosperous look than it bears at present. It is prettily +situated; just where the Leck-fells swoop into the plain; and by the +course of the beck alder-trees and willows and hazel bushes grow. +The current of the stream is interrupted by broken pieces of grey rock; +and the waters flow over a bed of large round white pebbles, which a +flood heaves up and moves on either side out of its impetuous way till +in some parts they almost form a wall. By the side of the little, +shallow, sparkling, vigorous Leck, run long pasture fields, of the fine +short grass common in high land; for though Cowan Bridge is situated +on a plain, it is a plain from which there is many a fall and long descent +before you and the Leck reach the valley of the Lune. I can hardly +understand how the school there came to be so unhealthy, the air all +round about was so sweet and thyme-scented, when I visited it last summer. +But at this day, every one knows that the site of a building intended +for numbers should be chosen with far greater care than that of a private +dwelling, from the tendency to illness, both infectious and otherwise, +produced by the congregation of people in close proximity.</p> +<p>The house is still remaining that formed part of that occupied by +the school. It is a long, bow-windowed cottage, now divided into +two dwellings. It stands facing the Leck, between which and it +intervenes a space, about seventy yards deep, that was once the school +garden. This original house was an old dwelling of the Picard +family, which they had inhabited for two generations. They sold +it for school purposes, and an additional building was erected, running +at right angles from the older part. This new part was devoted +expressly to schoolrooms, dormitories, &c.; and after the school +was removed to Casterton, it was used for a bobbin-mill connected with +the stream, where wooden reels were made out of the alders, which grow +profusely in such ground as that surrounding Cowan Bridge. This +mill is now destroyed. The present cottage was, at the time of +which I write, occupied by the teachers’ rooms, the dinner-room +and kitchens, and some smaller bedrooms. On going into this building, +I found one part, that nearest to the high road, converted into a poor +kind of public-house, then to let, and having all the squalid appearance +of a deserted place, which rendered it difficult to judge what it would +look like when neatly kept up, the broken panes replaced in the windows, +and the rough-cast (now cracked and discoloured) made white and whole. +The other end forms a cottage, with the low ceilings and stone floors +of a hundred years ago; the windows do not open freely and widely; and +the passage upstairs, leading to the bedrooms, is narrow and tortuous: +altogether, smells would linger about the house, and damp cling to it. +But sanitary matters were little understood thirty years ago; and it +was a great thing to get a roomy building close to the high road, and +not too far from the habitation of Mr. Wilson, the originator of the +educational scheme. There was much need of such an institution; +numbers of ill-paid clergymen hailed the prospect with joy, and eagerly +put down the names of their children as pupils when the establishment +should be ready to receive them. Mr. Wilson was, no doubt, pleased +by the impatience with which the realisation of his idea was anticipated, +and opened the school with less than a hundred pounds in hand, and with +pupils, the number of whom varies according to different accounts; Mr. +W. W. Carus Wilson, the son of the founder, giving it as seventy; while +Mr. Shepheard, the son-in-law, states it to have been only sixteen.</p> +<p>Mr. Wilson felt, most probably, that the responsibility of the whole +plan rested upon him. The payment made by the parents was barely +enough for food and lodging; the subscriptions did not flow very freely +into an untried scheme; and great economy was necessary in all the domestic +arrangements. He determined to enforce this by frequent personal +inspection; carried perhaps to an unnecessary extent, and leading occasionally +to a meddling with little matters, which had sometimes the effect of +producing irritation of feeling. Yet, although there was economy +in providing for the household, there does not appear to have been any +parsimony. The meat, flour, milk, &c., were contracted for, +but were of very fair quality; and the dietary, which has been shown +to me in manuscript, was neither bad nor unwholesome; nor, on the whole, +was it wanting in variety. Oatmeal porridge for breakfast; a piece +of oat-cake for those who required luncheon; baked and boiled beef, +and mutton, potato-pie, and plain homely puddings of different kinds +for dinner. At five o’clock, bread and milk for the younger +ones; and one piece of bread (this was the only time at which the food +was limited) for the elder pupils, who sat up till a later meal of the +same description.</p> +<p>Mr. Wilson himself ordered in the food, and was anxious that it should +be of good quality. But the cook, who had much of his confidence, +and against whom for a long time no one durst utter a complaint, was +careless, dirty, and wasteful. To some children oatmeal porridge +is distasteful, and consequently unwholesome, even when properly made; +at Cowan Bridge School it was too often sent up, not merely burnt, but +with offensive fragments of other substances discoverable in it. +The beef, that should have been carefully salted before it was dressed, +had often become tainted from neglect; and girls, who were school-fellows +with the Brontës, during the reign of the cook of whom I am speaking, +tell me that the house seemed to be pervaded, morning, noon, and night, +by the odour of rancid fat that steamed out of the oven in which much +of their food was prepared. There was the same carelessness in +making the puddings; one of those ordered was rice boiled in water, +and eaten with a sauce of treacle and sugar; but it was often uneatable, +because the water had been taken out of the rain tub, and was strongly +impregnated with the dust lodging on the roof, whence it had trickled +down into the old wooden cask, which also added its own flavour to that +of the original rain water. The milk, too, was often “bingy,” +to use a country expression for a kind of taint that is far worse than +sourness, and suggests the idea that it is caused by want of cleanliness +about the milk pans, rather than by the heat of the weather. On +Saturdays, a kind of pie, or mixture of potatoes and meat, was served +up, which was made of all the fragments accumulated during the week. +Scraps of meat from a dirty and disorderly larder, could never be very +appetizing; and, I believe, that this dinner was more loathed than any +in the early days of Cowan Bridge School. One may fancy how repulsive +such fare would be to children whose appetites were small, and who had +been accustomed to food, far simpler perhaps, but prepared with a delicate +cleanliness that made it both tempting and wholesome. At many +a meal the little Brontës went without food, although craving with +hunger. They were not strong when they came, having only just +recovered from a complication of measles and hooping-cough: indeed, +I suspect they had scarcely recovered; for there was some consultation +on the part of the school authorities whether Maria and Elizabeth should +be received or not, in July 1824. Mr. Brontë came again, +in the September of that year, bringing with him Charlotte and Emily +to be admitted as pupils.</p> +<p>It appears strange that Mr. Wilson should not have been informed +by the teachers of the way in which the food was served up; but we must +remember that the cook had been known for some time to the Wilson family, +while the teachers were brought together for an entirely different work—that +of education. They were expressly given to understand that such +was their department; the buying in and management of the provisions +rested with Mr. Wilson and the cook. The teachers would, of course, +be unwilling to lay any complaints on the subject before him.</p> +<p>There was another trial of health common to all the girls. +The path from Cowan Bridge to Tunstall Church, where Mr. Wilson preached, +and where they all attended on the Sunday, is more than two miles in +length, and goes sweeping along the rise and fall of the unsheltered +country, in a way to make it a fresh and exhilarating walk in summer, +but a bitter cold one in winter, especially to children like the delicate +little Brontës, whose thin blood flowed languidly in consequence +of their feeble appetites rejecting the food prepared for them, and +thus inducing a half-starved condition. The church was not warmed, +there being no means for this purpose. It stands in the midst +of fields, and the damp mist must have gathered round the walls, and +crept in at the windows. The girls took their cold dinner with +them, and ate it between the services, in a chamber over the entrance, +opening out of the former galleries. The arrangements for this +day were peculiarly trying to delicate children, particularly to those +who were spiritless and longing for home, as poor Maria Brontë +must have been; for her ill health was increasing, and the old cough, +the remains of the hooping-cough, lingered about her.</p> +<p>She was far superior in mind to any of her play-fellows and companions, +and was lonely amongst them from that very cause; and yet she had faults +so annoying that she was in constant disgrace with her teachers, and +an object of merciless dislike to one of them, who is depicted as “Miss +Scatcherd” in “Jane Eyre,” and whose real name I will +be merciful enough not to disclose. I need hardly say, that Helen +Burns is as exact a transcript of Maria Brontë as Charlotte’s +wonderful power of reproducing character could give. Her heart, +to the latest day on which we met, still beat with unavailing indignation +at the worrying and the cruelty to which her gentle, patient, dying +sister had been subjected by this woman. Not a word of that part +of “Jane Eyre” but is a literal repetition of scenes between +the pupil and the teacher. Those who had been pupils at the same +time knew who must have written the book from the force with which Helen +Burns’ sufferings are described. They had, before that, +recognised the description of the sweet dignity and benevolence of Miss +Temple as only a just tribute to the merits of one whom all that knew +her appear to hold in honour; but when Miss Scatcherd was held up to +opprobrium they also recognised in the writer of “Jane Eyre” +an unconsciously avenging sister of the sufferer.</p> +<p>One of their fellow-pupils, among other statements even worse, gives +me the following:—The dormitory in which Maria slept was a long +room, holding a row of narrow little beds on each side, occupied by +the pupils; and at the end of this dormitory there was a small bed-chamber +opening out of it, appropriated to the use of Miss Scatcherd. +Maria’s bed stood nearest to the door of this room. One +morning, after she had become so seriously unwell as to have had a blister +applied to her side (the sore from which was not perfectly healed), +when the getting-up bell was heard, poor Maria moaned out that she was +so ill, so very ill, she wished she might stop in bed; and some of the +girls urged her to do so, and said they would explain it all to Miss +Temple, the superintendent. But Miss Scatcherd was close at hand, +and her anger would have to be faced before Miss Temple’s kind +thoughtfulness could interfere; so the sick child began to dress, shivering +with cold, as, without leaving her bed, she slowly put on her black +worsted stockings over her thin white legs (my informant spoke as if +she saw it yet, and her whole face flushed out undying indignation). +Just then Miss Scatcherd issued from her room, and, without asking for +a word of explanation from the sick and frightened girl, she took her +by the arm, on the side to which the blister had been applied, and by +one vigorous movement whirled her out into the middle of the floor, +abusing her all the time for dirty and untidy habits. There she +left her. My informant says, Maria hardly spoke, except to beg +some of the more indignant girls to be calm; but, in slow, trembling +movements, with many a pause, she went down-stairs at last,—and +was punished for being late.</p> +<p>Any one may fancy how such an event as this would rankle in Charlotte’s +mind. I only wonder that she did not remonstrate against her father’s +decision to send her and Emily back to Cowan Bridge, after Maria’s +and Elizabeth’s deaths. But frequently children are unconscious +of the effect which some of their simple revelations would have in altering +the opinions entertained by their friends of the persons placed around +them. Besides, Charlotte’s earnest vigorous mind saw, at +an unusually early age, the immense importance of education, as furnishing +her with tools which she had the strength and the will to wield, and +she would be aware that the Cowan Bridge education was, in many points, +the best that her father could provide for her.</p> +<p>Before Maria Brontë’s death, that low fever broke out, +in the spring of 1825, which is spoken of in “Jane Eyre.” +Mr. Wilson was extremely alarmed at the first symptoms of this. +He went to a kind motherly woman, who had had some connection with the +school—as laundress, I believe—and asked her to come and +tell him what was the matter with them. She made herself ready, +and drove with him in his gig. When she entered the schoolroom, +she saw from twelve to fifteen girls lying about; some resting their +aching heads on the table, others on the ground; all heavy-eyed, flushed, +indifferent, and weary, with pains in every limb. Some peculiar +odour, she says, made her recognise that they were sickening for “the +fever;” and she told Mr. Wilson so, and that she could not stay +there for fear of conveying the infection to her own children; but he +half commanded, and half entreated her to remain and nurse them; and +finally mounted his gig and drove away, while she was still urging that +she must return to her own house, and to her domestic duties, for which +she had provided no substitute. However, when she was left in +this unceremonious manner, she determined to make the best of it; and +a most efficient nurse she proved: although, as she says, it was a dreary +time.</p> +<p>Mr. Wilson supplied everything ordered by the doctors, of the best +quality and in the most liberal manner; the invalids were attended by +Dr. Batty, a very clever surgeon in Kirby, who had had the medical superintendence +of the establishment from the beginning, and who afterwards became Mr. +Wilson’s brother-in-law. I have heard from two witnesses +besides Charlotte Brontë, that Dr. Batty condemned the preparation +of the food by the expressive action of spitting out a portion of it. +He himself, it is but fair to say, does not remember this circumstance, +nor does he speak of the fever itself as either alarming or dangerous. +About forty of the girls suffered from this, but none of them died at +Cowan Bridge; though one died at her own home, sinking under the state +of health which followed it. None of the Brontës had the +fever. But the same causes, which affected the health of the other +pupils through typhus, told more slowly, but not less surely, upon their +constitutions. The principal of these causes was the food.</p> +<p>The bad management of the cook was chiefly to be blamed for this; +she was dismissed, and the woman who had been forced against her will +to serve as head nurse, took the place of housekeeper; and henceforward +the food was so well prepared that no one could ever reasonably complain +of it. Of course it cannot be expected that a new institution, +comprising domestic and educational arrangements for nearly a hundred +persons, should work quite smoothly at the beginning.</p> +<p>All this occurred during the first two years of the establishment, +and in estimating its effect upon the character of Charlotte Brontë, +we must remember that she was a sensitive thoughtful child, capable +of reflecting deeply, if not of analyzing truly; and peculiarly susceptible, +as are all delicate and sickly children, to painful impressions. +What the healthy suffer from but momentarily and then forget, those +who are ailing brood over involuntarily and remember long,—perhaps +with no resentment, but simply as a piece of suffering that has been +stamped into their very life. The pictures, ideas, and conceptions +of character received into the mind of the child of eight years old, +were destined to be reproduced in fiery words a quarter of a century +afterwards. She saw but one side of Mr. Wilson’s character; +and many of those who knew him at that time assure me of the fidelity +with which this is represented, while at the same time they regret that +the delineation should have obliterated, as it were, nearly all that +was noble or conscientious. And that there were grand and fine +qualities in Mr. Wilson, I have received abundant evidence. Indeed +for several weeks past I have received letters almost daily, bearing +on the subject of this chapter; some vague, some definite; many full +of love and admiration for Mr. Wilson, some as full of dislike and indignation; +few containing positive facts. After giving careful consideration +to this mass of conflicting evidence, I have made such alterations and +omissions in this chapter as seem to me to be required. It is +but just to state that the major part of the testimony with which I +have been favoured from old pupils is in high praise of Mr. Wilson. +Among the letters that I have read, there is one whose evidence ought +to be highly respected. It is from the husband of “Miss +Temple.” She died in 1856, but he, a clergyman, thus wrote +in reply to a letter addressed to him on the subject by one of Mr. Wilson’s +friends:—“Often have I heard my late dear wife speak of +her sojourn at Cowan Bridge; always in terms of admiration of Mr. Carus +Wilson, his parental love to his pupils, and their love for him; of +the food and general treatment, in terms of approval. I have heard +her allude to an unfortunate cook, who used at times to spoil the porridge, +but who, she said, was soon dismissed.”</p> +<p>The recollections left of the four Brontë sisters at this period +of their lives, on the minds of those who associated with them, are +not very distinct. Wild, strong hearts, and powerful minds, were +hidden under an enforced propriety and regularity of demeanour and expression, +just as their faces had been concealed by their father, under his stiff, +unchanging mask. Maria was delicate, unusually clever and thoughtful +for her age, gentle, and untidy. Of her frequent disgrace from +this last fault—of her sufferings, so patiently borne—I +have already spoken. The only glimpse we get of Elizabeth, through +the few years of her short life, is contained in a letter which I have +received from “Miss Temple.” “The second, Elizabeth, +is the only one of the family of whom I have a vivid recollection, from +her meeting with a somewhat alarming accident, in consequence of which +I had her for some days and nights in my bedroom, not only for the sake +of greater quiet, but that I might watch over her myself. Her +head was severely cut, but she bore all the consequent suffering with +exemplary patience, and by it won much upon my esteem. Of the +two younger ones (if two there were) I have very slight recollections, +save that one, a darling child, under five years of age, was quite the +pet nursling of the school.” This last would be Emily. +Charlotte was considered the most talkative of the sisters—a “bright, +clever, little child.” Her great friend was a certain “Mellany +Hane” (so Mr. Brontë spells the name), whose brother paid +for her schooling, and who had no remarkable talent except for music, +which her brother’s circumstances forbade her to cultivate. +She was “a hungry, good-natured, ordinary girl;” older than +Charlotte, and ever ready to protect her from any petty tyranny or encroachments +on the part of the elder girls. Charlotte always remembered her +with affection and gratitude.</p> +<p>I have quoted the word “bright” in the account of Charlotte. +I suspect that this year of 1825 was the last time it could ever be +applied to her. In the spring of it, Maria became so rapidly worse +that Mr. Brontë was sent for. He had not previously been +aware of her illness, and the condition in which he found her was a +terrible shock to him. He took her home by the Leeds coach, the +girls crowding out into the road to follow her with their eyes over +the bridge, past the cottages, and then out of sight for ever. +She died a very few days after her arrival at home. Perhaps the +news of her death falling suddenly into the life of which her patient +existence had formed a part, only a little week or so before, made those +who remained at Cowan Bridge look with more anxiety on Elizabeth’s +symptoms, which also turned out to be consumptive. She was sent +home in charge of a confidential servant of the establishment; and she, +too, died in the early summer of that year. Charlotte was thus +suddenly called into the responsibilities of eldest sister in a motherless +family. She remembered how anxiously her dear sister Maria had +striven, in her grave earnest way, to be a tender helper and a counsellor +to them all; and the duties that now fell upon her seemed almost like +a legacy from the gentle little sufferer so lately dead.</p> +<p>Both Charlotte and Emily returned to school after the Midsummer holidays +in this fatal year. But before the next winter it was thought +desirable to advise their removal, as it was evident that the damp situation +of the house at Cowan Bridge did not suit their health. <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a></p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>For the reason just stated, the little girls were sent home in the +autumn of 1825, when Charlotte was little more than nine years old.</p> +<p>About this time, an elderly woman of the village came to live as +servant at the parsonage. She remained there, as a member of the +household, for thirty years; and from the length of her faithful service, +and the attachment and respect which she inspired, is deserving of mention. +Tabby was a thorough specimen of a Yorkshire woman of her class, in +dialect, in appearance, and in character. She abounded in strong +practical sense and shrewdness. Her words were far from flattery; +but she would spare no deeds in the cause of those whom she kindly regarded. +She ruled the children pretty sharply; and yet never grudged a little +extra trouble to provide them with such small treats as came within +her power. In return, she claimed to be looked upon as a humble +friend; and, many years later, Miss Brontë told me that she found +it somewhat difficult to manage, as Tabby expected to be informed of +all the family concerns, and yet had grown so deaf that what was repeated +to her became known to whoever might be in or about the house. +To obviate this publication of what it might be desirable to keep secret, +Miss Brontë used to take her out for a walk on the solitary moors; +where, when both were seated on a tuft of heather, in some high lonely +place, she could acquaint the old woman, at leisure, with all that she +wanted to hear.</p> +<p>Tabby had lived in Haworth in the days when the pack-horses went +through once a week, with their tinkling bells and gay worsted adornment, +carrying the produce of the country from Keighley over the hills to +Colne and Burnley. What is more, she had known the “bottom,” +or valley, in those primitive days when the fairies frequented the margin +of the “beck” on moonlight nights, and had known folk who +had seen them. But that was when there were no mills in the valleys; +and when all the wool-spinning was done by hand in the farm-houses round. +“It wur the factories as had driven ‘em away,” she +said. No doubt she had many a tale to tell of by-gone days of +the country-side; old ways of living, former inhabitants, decayed gentry, +who had melted away, and whose places knew them no more; family tragedies, +and dark superstitious dooms; and in telling these things, without the +least consciousness that there might ever be anything requiring to be +softened down, would give at full length the bare and simple details.</p> +<p>Miss Branwell instructed the children at regular hours in all she +could teach, making her bed-chamber into their schoolroom. Their +father was in the habit of relating to them any public news in which +he felt an interest; and from the opinions of his strong and independent +mind they would gather much food for thought; but I do not know whether +he gave them any direct instruction. Charlotte’s deep thoughtful +spirit appears to have felt almost painfully the tender responsibility +which rested upon her with reference to her remaining sisters. +She was only eighteen months older than Emily; but Emily and Anne were +simply companions and playmates, while Charlotte was motherly friend +and guardian to both; and this loving assumption of duties beyond her +years, made her feel considerably older than she really was.</p> +<p>Patrick Branwell, their only brother, was a boy of remarkable promise, +and, in some ways, of extraordinary precocity of talent. Mr. Brontë’s +friends advised him to send his son to school; but, remembering both +the strength of will of his own youth and his mode of employing it, +he believed that Patrick was better at home, and that he himself could +teach him well, as he had taught others before. So Patrick, or +as his family called him—Branwell, remained at Haworth, working +hard for some hours a day with his father; but, when the time of the +latter was taken up with his parochial duties, the boy was thrown into +chance companionship with the lads of the village—for youth will +to youth, and boys will to boys.</p> +<p>Still, he was associated in many of his sisters’ plays and +amusements. These were mostly of a sedentary and intellectual +nature. I have had a curious packet confided to me, containing +an immense amount of manuscript, in an inconceivably small space; tales, +dramas, poems, romances, written principally by Charlotte, in a hand +which it is almost impossible to decipher without the aid of a magnifying +glass. No description will give so good an idea of the extreme +minuteness of the writing as the annexed facsimile of a page.</p> +<p>Among these papers there is a list of her works, which I copy, as +a curious proof how early the rage for literary composition had seized +upon her:—</p> +<blockquote><p>CATALOGUE OF MY BOOKS, WITH THE PERIOD OF THEIR COMPLETION, +UP TO AUGUST 3RD, 1830.</p> +<p>Two romantic tales in one volume; viz., The Twelve Adventurers and +the Adventures in Ireland, April 2nd, 1829.</p> +<p>The Search after Happiness, a Tale, Aug. 1st, 1829.</p> +<p>Leisure Hours, a Tale, and two Fragments, July 6th 1829.</p> +<p>The Adventures of Edward de Crack, a Tale, Feb. 2nd, 1830.</p> +<p>The Adventures of Ernest Alembert, a Tale, May 26th, 1830.</p> +<p>An interesting Incident in the Lives of some of the most eminent +Persons of the Age, a Tale, June 10th, 1830.</p> +<p>Tales of the Islanders, in four volumes. Contents of the 1st +Vol.:—l. An Account of their Origin; 2. A Description +of Vision Island; 3. Ratten’s Attempt; 4. Lord Charles +Wellesley and the Marquis of Douro’s Adventure; completed June +31st, 1829. 2nd Vol.:—1. The School-rebellion; 2. +The strange Incident in the Duke of Wellington’s Life; 3. +Tale to his Sons; 4. The Marquis of Douro and Lord Charles Wellesley’s +Tale to his little King and Queen; completed Dec. 2nd, 1829. 3rd +Vol.:—1. The Duke of Wellington’s Adventure in the +Cavern; 2. The Duke of Wellington and the little King’s +and Queen’s visit to the Horse-Guards; completed May 8th, 1830. +4th Vol.:—1. The three old Washer-women of Strathfieldsaye; +2. Lord C. Wellesley’s Tale to his Brother; completed July +30th, 1830.</p> +<p>Characters of Great Men of the Present Age, Dec. 17th 1829.</p> +<p>The Young Men’s Magazines, in Six Numbers, from August to December, +the latter months double number, completed December the 12th, 1829. +General index to their contents:—1. A True Story; 2. +Causes of the War; 3. A Song; 4. Conversations; 5. +A True Story continued; 6. The Spirit of Cawdor; 7. Interior +of a Pothouse, a Poem; 8. The Glass Town, a Song; 9. The +Silver Cup, a Tale; 10. The Table and Vase in the Desert, a Song; +11. Conversations; 12. Scene on the Great Bridge; 13. +Song of the Ancient Britons; 14. Scene in my Tun, a Tale; 15. +An American Tale; 16. Lines written on seeing the Garden of a +Genius; 17. The Lay of the Glass Town; 18. The Swiss Artist, +a Tale; 19. Lines on the Transfer of this Magazine; 20. +On the Same, by a different hand; 21. Chief Genii in Council; +22. Harvest in Spain; 23. The Swiss Artists continued; 24. +Conversations.</p> +<p>The Poetaster, a Drama, in 2 volumes, July 12th, 1830.</p> +<p>A Book of Rhymes, finished December 17th, 1829. Contents:—1. +The Beauty of Nature; 2. A Short Poem; 3. Meditations while +Journeying in a Canadian Forest; 4. Song of an Exile; 5. +On Seeing the Ruins of the Tower of Babel; 6. <i>A Thing of</i> +14 <i>lines</i>; 7. Lines written on the Bank of a River +one fine Summer Evening; 8. Spring, a Song; 9. Autumn, a +Song.</p> +<p>Miscellaneous Poems, finished May 30th, 1830. Contents:—1. +The Churchyard; 2. Description of the Duke of Wellington’s +Palace on the Pleasant Banks of the Lusiva; this article is a small +prose tale or incident; 3. Pleasure; 4. Lines written +on the Summit of a high Mountain of the North of England; 5. Winter; +6. Two Fragments, namely, 1st, The Vision; 2nd, A Short untitled +Poem; the Evening Walk, a Poem, June 23rd, 1830.</p> +<p>Making in the whole twenty-two volumes.</p> +<p>C. BRONTË, <i>August</i> 3, 1830</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As each volume contains from sixty to a hundred pages, and the size +of the page lithographed is rather less than the average, the amount +of the whole seems very great, if we remember that it was all written +in about fifteen months. So much for the quantity; the quality +strikes me as of singular merit for a girl of thirteen or fourteen. +Both as a specimen of her prose style at this time, and also as revealing +something of the quiet domestic life led by these children, I take an +extract from the introduction to “Tales of the Islanders,” +the title of one of their “Little Magazines:”—</p> +<blockquote><p>“June the 31st, 1829.</p> +<p>“The play of the ‘Islanders’ was formed in December, +1827, in the following manner. One night, about the time when +the cold sleet and stormy fogs of November are succeeded by the snow-storms, +and high piercing night winds of confirmed winter, we were all sitting +round the warm blazing kitchen fire, having just concluded a quarrel +with Tabby concerning the propriety of lighting a candle, from which +she came off victorious, no candle having been produced. A long +pause succeeded, which was at last broken by Branwell saying, in a lazy +manner, ‘I don’t know what to do.’ This was +echoed by Emily and Anne.</p> +<p>“<i>Tabby</i>. ‘Wha ya may go t’ bed.’</p> +<p>“<i>Branwell</i>. ‘I’d rather do anything +than that.’</p> +<p>“<i>Charlotte</i>. ‘Why are you so glum to-night, +Tabby? Oh! suppose we had each an island of our own.’</p> +<p>“<i>Branwell</i>. ‘If we had I would choose the +Island of Man.’</p> +<p>“<i>Charlotte</i>. ‘And I would choose the Isle +of Wight.’</p> +<p>“<i>Emily</i>. ‘The Isle of Arran for me.’</p> +<p>“<i>Anne</i>. ‘And mine shall be Guernsey.’</p> +<p>“We then chose who should be chief men in our islands. +Branwell chose John Bull, Astley Cooper, and Leigh Hunt; Emily, Walter +Scott, Mr. Lockhart, Johnny Lockhart; Anne, Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, +Sir Henry Halford. I chose the Duke of Wellington and two sons, +Christopher North and Co., and Mr. Abernethy. Here our conversation +was interrupted by the, to us, dismal sound of the clock striking seven, +and we were summoned off to bed. The next day we added many others +to our list of men, till we got almost all the chief men of the kingdom. +After this, for a long time, nothing worth noticing occurred. +In June, 1828, we erected a school on a fictitious island, which was +to contain 1,000 children. The manner of the building was as follows. +The Island was fifty miles in circumference, and certainly appeared +more like the work of enchantment than anything real,” &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Two or three things strike me much in this fragment; one is the graphic +vividness with which the time of the year, the hour of the evening, +the feeling of cold and darkness outside, the sound of the night-winds +sweeping over the desolate snow-covered moors, coming nearer and nearer, +and at last shaking the very door of the room where they were sitting—for +it opened out directly on that bleak, wide expanse—is contrasted +with the glow, and busy brightness of the cheerful kitchen where these +remarkable children are grouped. Tabby moves about in her quaint +country-dress, frugal, peremptory, prone to find fault pretty sharply, +yet allowing no one else to blame her children, we may feel sure. +Another noticeable fact is the intelligent partisanship with which they +choose their great men, who are almost all stanch Tories of the time. +Moreover, they do not confine themselves to local heroes; their range +of choice has been widened by hearing much of what is not usually considered +to interest children. Little Anne, aged scarcely eight, picks +out the politicians of the day for her chief men.</p> +<p>There is another scrap of paper, in this all but illegible handwriting, +written about this time, and which gives some idea of the sources of +their opinions.</p> +<h3>THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR 1829.</h3> +<p>“Once Papa lent my sister Maria a book. It was an old +geography-book; she wrote on its blank leaf, ‘Papa lent me this +book.’ This book is a hundred and twenty years old; it is +at this moment lying before me. While I write this I am in the +kitchen of the Parsonage, Haworth; Tabby, the servant, is washing up +the breakfast-things, and Anne, my youngest sister (Maria was my eldest), +is kneeling on a chair, looking at some cakes which Tabby has been baking +for us. Emily is in the parlour, brushing the carpet. Papa +and Branwell are gone to Keighley. Aunt is upstairs in her room, +and I am sitting by the table writing this in the kitchen. Keighley +is a small town four miles from here. Papa and Branwell are gone +for the newspaper, the ‘Leeds Intelligencer,’ a most excellent +Tory newspaper, edited by Mr. Wood, and the proprietor, Mr. Henneman. +We take two and see three newspapers a week. We take the ‘Leeds +Intelligencer,’ Tory, and the ‘Leeds Mercury,’ Whig, +edited by Mr. Baines, and his brother, son-in-law, and his two sons, +Edward and Talbot. We see the ‘John Bull;’ it is a +high Tory, very violent. Mr. Driver lends us it, as likewise ‘Blackwood’s +Magazine,’ the most able periodical there is. The Editor +is Mr. Christopher North, an old man seventy-four years of age; the +1st of April is his birth-day; his company are Timothy Tickler, Morgan +O’Doherty, Macrabin Mordecai, Mullion, Warnell, and James Hogg, +a man of most extraordinary genius, a Scottish shepherd. Our plays +were established; ‘Young Men,’ June, 1826; ‘Our Fellows,’ +July, 1827; ‘Islanders,’ December, 1827. These are +our three great plays, that are not kept secret. Emily’s +and my best plays were established the 1st of December, 1827; the others +March, 1828. Best plays mean secret plays; they are very nice +ones. All our plays are very strange ones. Their nature +I need not write on paper, for I think I shall always remember them. +The ‘Young Men’s’ play took its rise from some wooden +soldiers Branwell had: ‘Our Fellows’ from ‘Æsop’s +Fables;’ and the ‘Islanders’ from several events which +happened. I will sketch out the origin of our plays more explicitly +if I can. First, ‘Young Men.’ Papa bought Branwell +some wooden soldiers at Leeds; when Papa came home it was night, and +we were in bed, so next morning Branwell came to our door with a box +of soldiers. Emily and I jumped out of bed, and I snatched up +one and exclaimed, ‘This is the Duke of Wellington! This +shall be the Duke!’ When I had said this, Emily likewise +took up one and said it should be hers; when Anne came down, she said +one should be hers. Mine was the prettiest of the whole, and the +tallest, and the most perfect in every part. Emily’s was +a grave-looking fellow, and we called him ‘Gravey.’ +Anne’s was a queer little thing, much like herself, and we called +him ‘Waiting-Boy.’ Branwell chose his, and called +him ‘Buonaparte.’”</p> +<p>The foregoing extract shows something of the kind of reading in which +the little Brontës were interested; but their desire for knowledge +must have been excited in many directions, for I find a “list +of painters whose works I wish to see,” drawn up by Charlotte +when she was scarcely thirteen:—</p> +<p>“Guido Reni, Julio Romano, Titian, Raphael, Michael Angelo, +Correggio, Annibal Caracci, Leonardo da Vinci, Fra Bartolomeo, Carlo +Cignani, Vandyke, Rubens, Bartolomeo Ramerghi.”</p> +<p>Here is this little girl, in a remote Yorkshire parsonage, who has +probably never seen anything worthy the name of a painting in her life, +studying the names and characteristics of the great old Italian and +Flemish masters, whose works she longs to see some time, in the dim +future that lies before her! There is a paper remaining which +contains minute studies of, and criticisms upon, the engravings in “Friendship’s +Offering for 1829;” showing how she had early formed those habits +of close observation, and patient analysis of cause and effect, which +served so well in after-life as handmaids to her genius.</p> +<p>The way in which Mr. Brontë made his children sympathise with +him in his great interest in politics, must have done much to lift them +above the chances of their minds being limited or tainted by petty local +gossip. I take the only other remaining personal fragment out +of “Tales of the Islanders;” it is a sort of apology, contained +in the introduction to the second volume, for their not having been +continued before; the writers had been for a long time too busy, and +latterly too much absorbed in politics.</p> +<p>“Parliament was opened, and the great Catholic question was +brought forward, and the Duke’s measures were disclosed, and all +was slander, violence, party-spirit, and confusion. Oh, those +six months, from the time of the King’s speech to the end! +Nobody could write, think, or speak on any subject but the Catholic +question, and the Duke of Wellington, and Mr. Peel. I remember +the day when the Intelligence Extraordinary came with Mr. Peel’s +speech in it, containing the terms on which the Catholics were to be +let in! With what eagerness Papa tore off the cover, and how we +all gathered round him, and with what breathless anxiety we listened, +as one by one they were disclosed, and explained, and argued upon so +ably, and so well! and then when it was all out, how aunt said that +she thought it was excellent, and that the Catholics could do no harm +with such good security! I remember also the doubts as to whether +it would pass the House of Lords, and the prophecies that it would not; +and when the paper came which was to decide the question, the anxiety +was almost dreadful with which we listened to the whole affair: the +opening of the doors; the hush; the royal dukes in their robes, and +the great duke in green sash and waistcoat; the rising of all the peeresses +when he rose; the reading of his speech—Papa saying that his words +were like precious gold; and lastly, the majority of one to four (sic) +in favour of the Bill. But this is a digression,” &c., +&c.</p> +<p>This must have been written when she was between thirteen and fourteen.</p> +<p>It will be interesting to some of my readers to know what was the +character of her purely imaginative writing at this period. While +her description of any real occurrence is, as we have seen, homely, +graphic, and forcible, when she gives way to her powers of creation, +her fancy and her language alike run riot, sometimes to the very borders +of apparent delirium. Of this wild weird writing, a single example +will suffice. It is a letter to the editor of one of the “Little +Magazines.”</p> +<blockquote><p>“Sir,—It is well known that the Genii have +declared that unless they perform certain arduous duties every year, +of a mysterious nature, all the worlds in the firmament will be burnt +up, and gathered together in one mighty globe, which will roll in solitary +grandeur through the vast wilderness of space, inhabited only by the +four high princes of the Genii, till time shall be succeeded by Eternity; +and the impudence of this is only to be paralleled by another of their +assertions, namely, that by their magic might they can reduce the world +to a desert, the purest waters to streams of livid poison, and the clearest +lakes to stagnant waters, the pestilential vapours of which shall slay +all living creatures, except the blood-thirsty beast of the forest, +and the ravenous bird of the rock. But that in the midst of this +desolation the palace of the Chief Genii shall rise sparkling in the +wilderness, and the horrible howl of their war-cry shall spread over +the land at morning, at noontide and night; but that they shall have +their annual feast over the bones of the dead, and shall yearly rejoice +with the joy of victors. I think, sir, that the horrible wickedness +of this needs no remark, and therefore I haste to subscribe myself, +&c.</p> +<p>“July 14, 1829.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is not unlikely that the foregoing letter may have had some allegorical +or political reference, invisible to our eyes, but very clear to the +bright little minds for whom it was intended. Politics were evidently +their grand interest; the Duke of Wellington their demi-god. All +that related to him belonged to the heroic age. Did Charlotte +want a knight-errant, or a devoted lover, the Marquis of Douro, or Lord +Charles Wellesley, came ready to her hand. There is hardly one +of her prose-writings at this time in which they are not the principal +personages, and in which their “august father” does not +appear as a sort of Jupiter Tonans, or Deus ex Machinâ.</p> +<p>As one evidence how Wellesley haunted her imagination, I copy out +a few of the titles to her papers in the various magazines.</p> +<p>“Liffey Castle,” a Tale by Lord C. Wellesley.</p> +<p>“Lines to the River Aragua,” by the Marquis of Douro.</p> +<p>“An Extraordinary Dream,” by Lord C. Wellesley.</p> +<p>“The Green Dwarf, a Tale of the Perfect Tense,” by the +Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley.</p> +<p>“Strange Events,” by Lord C. A. F. Wellesley.</p> +<p>Life in an isolated village, or a lonely country-house, presents +many little occurrences which sink into the mind of childhood, there +to be brooded over. No other event may have happened, or be likely +to happen, for days, to push one of these aside, before it has assumed +a vague and mysterious importance. Thus, children leading a secluded +life are often thoughtful and dreamy: the impressions made upon them +by the world without—the unusual sights of earth and sky—the +accidental meetings with strange faces and figures (rare occurrences +in those out-of-the-way places)—are sometimes magnified by them +into things so deeply significant as to be almost supernatural. +This peculiarity I perceive very strongly in Charlotte’s writings +at this time. Indeed, under the circumstances, it is no peculiarity. +It has been common to all, from the Chaldean shepherds—“the +lonely herdsman stretched on the soft grass through half a summer’s +day”—the solitary monk—to all whose impressions from +without have had time to grow and vivify in the imagination, till they +have been received as actual personifications, or supernatural visions, +to doubt which would be blasphemy.</p> +<p>To counterbalance this tendency in Charlotte, was the strong common +sense natural to her, and daily called into exercise by the requirements +of her practical life. Her duties were not merely to learn her +lessons, to read a certain quantity, to gain certain ideas; she had, +besides, to brush rooms, to run errands up and down stairs, to help +in the simpler forms of cooking, to be by turns play-fellow and monitress +to her younger sisters and brother, to make and to mend, and to study +economy under her careful aunt. Thus we see that, while her imagination +received vivid impressions, her excellent understanding had full power +to rectify them before her fancies became realities. On a scrap +of paper, she has written down the following relation:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“June 22, 1830, 6 o’clock p.m.<br /> +“Haworth, near Bradford.</p> +<p>“The following strange occurrence happened on the 22nd of June, +1830:—At the time Papa was very ill, confined to his bed, and +so weak that he could not rise without assistance. Tabby and I +were alone in the kitchen, about half-past nine ante-meridian. +Suddenly we heard a knock at the door; Tabby rose and opened it. +An old man appeared, standing without, who accosted her thus:—</p> +<p>“<i>Old Man</i>.—‘Does the parson live here?’</p> +<p>“<i>Tabby</i>.—‘Yes.’</p> +<p>“<i>Old Man</i>.—‘I wish to see him.’</p> +<p>“<i>Tabby</i>.—‘He is poorly in bed.’</p> +<p>“<i>Old Man</i>.—‘I have a message for him.’</p> +<p>“<i>Tabby</i>.—‘Who from?’</p> +<p>“<i>Old Man</i>.—‘From the Lord.’</p> +<p>“<i>Tabby</i>.—‘Who?’</p> +<p>“<i>Old Man</i>.—‘The Lord. He desires me +to say that the Bridegroom is coming, and that we must prepare to meet +him; that the cords are about to be loosed, and the golden bowl broken; +the pitcher broken at the fountain.’</p> +<p>“Here he concluded his discourse, and abruptly went his way. +As Tabby closed the door, I asked her if she knew him. Her reply +was, that she had never seen him before, nor any one like him. +Though I am fully persuaded that he was some fanatical enthusiast, well +meaning perhaps, but utterly ignorant of true piety; yet I could not +forbear weeping at his words, spoken so unexpectedly at that particular +period.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Though the date of the following poem is a little uncertain, it may +be most convenient to introduce it here. It must have been written +before 1833, but how much earlier there are no means of determining. +I give it as a specimen of the remarkable poetical talent shown in the +various diminutive writings of this time; at least, in all of them which +I have been able to read.</p> +<h3>THE WOUNDED STAG.</h3> +<p>Passing amid the deepest shade<br /> + Of the wood’s sombre heart,<br /> +Last night I saw a wounded deer<br /> + Laid lonely and apart.</p> +<p>Such light as pierced the crowded boughs<br /> + (Light scattered, scant and dim,)<br /> +Passed through the fern that formed his couch<br /> + And centred full on him.</p> +<p>Pain trembled in his weary limbs,<br /> + Pain filled his patient eye,<br /> +Pain-crushed amid the shadowy fern<br /> + His branchy crown did lie.</p> +<p>Where were his comrades? where his mate?<br /> + All from his death-bed gone!<br /> +And he, thus struck and desolate,<br /> + Suffered and bled alone.</p> +<p>Did he feel what a man might feel,<br /> + Friend-left, and sore distrest?<br /> +Did Pain’s keen dart, and Grief’s sharp sting<br /> + Strive in his mangled breast?</p> +<p>Did longing for affection lost<br /> + Barb every deadly dart;<br /> +Love unrepaid, and Faith betrayed,<br /> + Did these torment his heart?</p> +<p>No! leave to man his proper doom!<br /> + These are the pangs that rise<br /> +Around the bed of state and gloom,<br /> + Where Adam’s offspring dies!</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>This is perhaps a fitting time to give some personal description +of Miss Brontë. In 1831, she was a quiet, thoughtful girl, +of nearly fifteen years of age, very small in figure—“stunted” +was the word she applied to herself,—but as her limbs and head +were in just proportion to the slight, fragile body, no word in ever +so slight a degree suggestive of deformity could properly be applied +to her; with soft, thick, brown hair, and peculiar eyes, of which I +find it difficult to give a description, as they appeared to me in her +later life. They were large and well shaped; their colour a reddish +brown; but if the iris was closely examined, it appeared to be composed +of a great variety of tints. The usual expression was of quiet, +listening intelligence; but now and then, on some just occasion for +vivid interest or wholesome indignation, a light would shine out, as +if some spiritual lamp had been kindled, which glowed behind those expressive +orbs. I never saw the like in any other human creature. +As for the rest of her features, they were plain, large, and ill set; +but, unless you began to catalogue them, you were hardly aware of the +fact, for the eyes and power of the countenance over-balanced every +physical defect; the crooked mouth and the large nose were forgotten, +and the whole face arrested the attention, and presently attracted all +those whom she herself would have cared to attract. Her hands +and feet were the smallest I ever saw; when one of the former was placed +in mine, it was like the soft touch of a bird in the middle of my palm. +The delicate long fingers had a peculiar fineness of sensation, which +was one reason why all her handiwork, of whatever kind—writing, +sewing, knitting—was so clear in its minuteness. She was +remarkably neat in her whole personal attire; but she was dainty as +to the fit of her shoes and gloves.</p> +<p>I can well imagine that the grave serious composure, which, when +I knew her, gave her face the dignity of an old Venetian portrait, was +no acquisition of later years, but dated from that early age when she +found herself in the position of an elder sister to motherless children. +But in a girl only just entered on her teens, such an expression would +be called (to use a country phrase) “old-fashioned;” and +in 1831, the period of which I now write, we must think of her as a +little, set, antiquated girl, very quiet in manners, and very quaint +in dress; for besides the influence exerted by her father’s ideas +concerning the simplicity of attire befitting the wife and daughters +of a country clergyman, her aunt, on whom the duty of dressing her nieces +principally devolved, had never been in society since she left Penzance, +eight or nine years before, and the Penzance fashions of that day were +still dear to her heart.</p> +<p>In January, 1831, Charlotte was sent to school again. This +time she went as a pupil to Miss W---, who lived at Roe Head, a cheerful +roomy country house, standing a little apart in a field, on the right +of the road from Leeds to Huddersfield. Three tiers of old-fashioned +semicircular bow windows run from basement to roof; and look down upon +a long green slope of pasture-land, ending in the pleasant woods of +Kirklees, Sir George Armitage’s park. Although Roe Head +and Haworth are not twenty miles apart, the aspect of the country is +as totally dissimilar as if they enjoyed a different climate. +The soft curving and heaving landscape round the former gives a stranger +the idea of cheerful airiness on the heights, and of sunny warmth in +the broad green valleys below. It is just such a neighbourhood +as the monks loved, and traces of the old Plantagenet times are to be +met with everywhere, side by side with the manufacturing interests of +the West Riding of to-day. There is the park of Kirklees, full +of sunny glades, speckled with black shadows of immemorial yew-trees; +the grey pile of building, formerly a “House of professed Ladies;” +the mouldering stone in the depth of the wood, under which Robin Hood +is said to lie; close outside the park, an old stone-gabled house, now +a roadside inn, but which bears the name of the “Three Nuns,” +and has a pictured sign to correspond. And this quaint old inn +is frequented by fustian-dressed mill-hands from the neighbouring worsted +factories, which strew the high road from Leeds to Huddersfield, and +form the centres round which future villages gather. Such are +the contrasts of modes of living, and of times and seasons, brought +before the traveller on the great roads that traverse the West Riding. +In no other part of England, I fancy, are the centuries brought into +such close, strange contact as in the district in which Roe Head is +situated. Within six miles of Miss W---’s house—on +the left of the road, coming from Leeds—lie the remains of Howley +Hall, now the property of Lord Cardigan, but formerly belonging to a +branch of the Saviles. Near to it is Lady Anne’s well; “Lady +Anne,” according to tradition, having been worried and eaten by +wolves as she sat at the well, to which the indigo-dyed factory people +from Birstall and Batley woollen mills would formerly repair on Palm +Sunday, when the waters possess remarkable medicinal efficacy; and it +is still believed by some that they assume a strange variety of colours +at six o’clock on the morning of that day.</p> +<p>All round the lands held by the farmer who lives in the remains of +Howley Hall are stone houses of to-day, occupied by the people who are +making their living and their fortunes by the woollen mills that encroach +upon and shoulder out the proprietors of the ancient halls. These +are to be seen in every direction, picturesque, many-gabled, with heavy +stone carvings of coats of arms for heraldic ornament; belonging to +decayed families, from whose ancestral lands field after field has been +shorn away, by the urgency of rich manufacturers pressing hard upon +necessity.</p> +<p>A smoky atmosphere surrounds these old dwellings of former Yorkshire +squires, and blights and blackens the ancient trees that overshadow +them; cinder-paths lead up to them; the ground round about is sold for +building upon; but still the neighbours, though they subsist by a different +state of things, remember that their forefathers lived in agricultural +dependence upon the owners of these halls; and treasure up the traditions +connected with the stately households that existed centuries ago. +Take Oakwell Hall, for instance. It stands in a pasture-field, +about a quarter of a mile from the high road. It is but that distance +from the busy whirr of the steam-engines employed in the woollen mills +at Birstall; and if you walk to it from Birstall Station about meal-time, +you encounter strings of mill-hands, blue with woollen dye, and cranching +in hungry haste over the cinder-paths bordering the high road. +Turning off from this to the right, you ascend through an old pasture-field, +and enter a short by-road, called the “Bloody Lane”—a +walk haunted by the ghost of a certain Captain Batt, the reprobate proprietor +of an old hall close by, in the days of the Stuarts. From the +“Bloody Lane,” overshadowed by trees, you come into the +field in which Oakwell Hall is situated. It is known in the neighbourhood +to be the place described as “Field Head,” Shirley’s +residence. The enclosure in front, half court, half garden; the +panelled hall, with the gallery opening into the bed-chambers running +round; the barbarous peach-coloured drawing-room; the bright look-out +through the garden-door upon the grassy lawns and terraces behind, where +the soft-hued pigeons still love to coo and strut in the sun,—are +described in “Shirley.” The scenery of that fiction +lies close around; the real events which suggested it took place in +the immediate neighbourhood.</p> +<p>They show a bloody footprint in a bed-chamber of Oakwell Hall, and +tell a story connected with it, and with the lane by which the house +is approached. Captain Batt was believed to be far away; his family +was at Oakwell; when in the dusk, one winter evening, he came stalking +along the lane, and through the hall, and up the stairs, into his own +room, where he vanished. He had been killed in a duel in London +that very same afternoon of December 9th, 1684.</p> +<p>The stones of the Hall formed part of the more ancient vicarage, +which an ancestor of Captain Batt’s had seized in the troublous +times for property which succeeded the Reformation. This Henry +Batt possessed himself of houses and money without scruple; and, at +last, stole the great bell of Birstall Church, for which sacrilegious +theft a fine was imposed on the land, and has to be paid by the owner +of the Hall to this day.</p> +<p>But the Oakwell property passed out of the hands of the Batts at +the beginning of the last century; collateral descendants succeeded, +and left this picturesque trace of their having been. In the great +hall hangs a mighty pair of stag’s horns, and dependent from them +a printed card, recording the fact that, on the 1st of September, 1763, +there was a great hunting-match, when this stag was slain; and that +fourteen gentlemen shared in the chase, and dined on the spoil in that +hall, along with Fairfax Fearneley, Esq., the owner. The fourteen +names are given, doubtless “mighty men of yore;” but, among +them all, Sir Fletcher Norton, Attorney-General, and Major-General Birch +were the only ones with which I had any association in 1855. Passing +on from Oakwell there lie houses right and left, which were well known +to Miss Brontë when she lived at Roe Head, as the hospitable homes +of some of her school-fellows. Lanes branch off for three or four +miles to heaths and commons on the higher ground, which formed pleasant +walks on holidays, and then comes the white gate into the field-path +leading to Roe Head itself.</p> +<p>One of the bow-windowed rooms on the ground floor with the pleasant +look-out I have described was the drawing-room; the other was the schoolroom. +The dining-room was on one side of the door, and faced the road.</p> +<p>The number of pupils, during the year and a half Miss Brontë +was there, ranged from seven to ten; and as they did not require the +whole of the house for their accommodation, the third story was unoccupied, +except by the ghostly idea of a lady, whose rustling silk gown was sometimes +heard by the listeners at the foot of the second flight of stairs.</p> +<p>The kind motherly nature of Miss W---, and the small number of the +girls, made the establishment more like a private family than a school. +Moreover, she was a native of the district immediately surrounding Roe +Head, as were the majority of her pupils. Most likely Charlotte +Brontë, in coming from Haworth, came the greatest distance of all. +“E.’s” home was five miles away; two other dear friends +(the Rose and Jessie Yorke of “Shirley”) lived still nearer; +two or three came from Huddersfield; one or two from Leeds.</p> +<p>I shall now quote from a valuable letter which I have received from +“Mary,” one of these early friends; distinct and graphic +in expression, as becomes a cherished associate of Charlotte Brontë’s. +The time referred to is her first appearance at Roe Head, on January +19th, 1831.</p> +<p>“I first saw her coming out of a covered cart, in very old-fashioned +clothes, and looking very cold and miserable. She was coming to +school at Miss W---’s. When she appeared in the schoolroom, +her dress was changed, but just as old. She looked a little old +woman, so short-sighted that she always appeared to be seeking something, +and moving her head from side to side to catch a sight of it. +She was very shy and nervous, and spoke with a strong Irish accent. +When a book was given her, she dropped her head over it till her nose +nearly touched it, and when she was told to hold her head up, up went +the book after it, still close to her nose, so that it was not possible +to help laughing.”</p> +<p>This was the first impression she made upon one of those whose dear +and valued friend she was to become in after-life. Another of +the girls recalls her first sight of Charlotte, on the day she came, +standing by the schoolroom window, looking out on the snowy landscape, +and crying, while all the rest were at play. “E.” +was younger than she, and her tender heart was touched by the apparently +desolate condition in which she found the oddly-dressed, odd-looking +little girl that winter morning, as “sick for home she stood in +tears,” in a new strange place, among new strange people. +Any over-demonstrative kindness would have scared the wild little maiden +from Haworth; but “E.” (who is shadowed forth in the Caroline +Helstone of “Shirley”) managed to win confidence, and was +allowed to give sympathy.</p> +<p>To quote again from “Mary’s” letter:—</p> +<p>“We thought her very ignorant, for she had never learnt grammar +at all, and very little geography.”</p> +<p>This account of her partial ignorance is confirmed by her other school-fellows. +But Miss W--- was a lady of remarkable intelligence and of delicate +tender sympathy. She gave a proof of this in her first treatment +of Charlotte. The little girl was well-read, but not well-grounded. +Miss W--- took her aside and told her she was afraid that she must place +her in the second class for some time till she could overtake the girls +of her own age in the knowledge of grammar, &c.; but poor Charlotte +received this announcement with so sad a fit of crying, that Miss W---’s +kind heart was softened, and she wisely perceived that, with such a +girl, it would be better to place her in the first class, and allow +her to make up by private study in those branches where she was deficient.</p> +<p>“She would confound us by knowing things that were out of our +range altogether. She was acquainted with most of the short pieces +of poetry that we had to learn by heart; would tell us the authors, +the poems they were taken from, and sometimes repeat a page or two, +and tell us the plot. She had a habit of writing in italics (printing +characters), and said she had learnt it by writing in their magazine. +They brought out a ‘magazine’ once a month, and wished it +to look as like print as possible. She told us a tale out of it. +No one wrote in it, and no one read it, but herself, her brother, and +two sisters. She promised to show me some of these magazines, +but retracted it afterwards, and would never be persuaded to do so. +In our play hours she sate, or stood still, with a book, if possible. +Some of us once urged her to be on our side in a game at ball. +She said she had never played, and could not play. We made her +try, but soon found that she could not see the ball, so we put her out. +She took all our proceedings with pliable indifference, and always seemed +to need a previous resolution to say ‘No’ to anything. +She used to go and stand under the trees in the play-ground, and say +it was pleasanter. She endeavoured to explain this, pointing out +the shadows, the peeps of sky, &c. We understood but little +of it. She said that at Cowan Bridge she used to stand in the +burn, on a stone, to watch the water flow by. I told her she should +have gone fishing; she said she never wanted. She always showed +physical feebleness in everything. She ate no animal food at school. +It was about this time I told her she was very ugly. Some years +afterwards, I told her I thought I had been very impertinent. +She replied, ‘You did me a great deal of good, Polly, so don’t +repent of it.’ She used to draw much better, and more quickly, +than anything we had seen before, and knew much about celebrated pictures +and painters. Whenever an opportunity offered of examining a picture +or cut of any kind, she went over it piecemeal, with her eyes close +to the paper, looking so long that we used to ask her ‘what she +saw in it.’ She could always see plenty, and explained it +very well. She made poetry and drawing at least exceedingly interesting +to me; and then I got the habit, which I have yet, of referring mentally +to her opinion on all matters of that kind, along with many more, resolving +to describe such and such things to her, until I start at the recollection +that I never shall.”</p> +<p>To feel the full force of this last sentence—to show how steady +and vivid was the impression which Miss Brontë made on those fitted +to appreciate her—I must mention that the writer of this letter, +dated January 18th, 1856, in which she thus speaks of constantly referring +to Charlotte’s opinion has never seen her for eleven years, nearly +all of which have been passed among strange scenes, in a new continent, +at the antipodes.</p> +<p>“We used to be furious politicians, as one could hardly help +being in 1832. She knew the names of the two ministries; the one +that resigned, and the one that succeeded and passed the Reform Bill. +She worshipped the Duke of Wellington, but said that Sir Robert Peel +was not to be trusted; he did not act from principle like the rest, +but from expediency. I, being of the furious radical party, told +her ‘how could any of them trust one another; they were all of +them rascals!’ Then she would launch out into praises of +the Duke of Wellington, referring to his actions; which I could not +contradict, as I knew nothing about him. She said she had taken +interest in politics ever since she was five years old. She did +not get her opinions from her father—that is, not directly—but +from the papers, &c., he preferred.”</p> +<p>In illustration of the truth of this, I may give an extract from +a letter to her brother, written from Roe Head, May 17th, 1832:—“Lately +I had begun to think that I had lost all the interest which I used formerly +to take in politics; but the extreme pleasure I felt at the news of +the Reform Bill’s being thrown out by the House of Lords, and +of the expulsion, or resignation of Earl Grey, &c., convinced me +that I have not as yet lost all my penchant for politics. I am +extremely glad that aunt has consented to take in ‘Fraser’s +Magazine;’ for, though I know from your description of its general +contents it will be rather uninteresting when compared with ‘Blackwood,’ +still it will be better than remaining the whole year without being +able to obtain a sight of any periodical whatever; and such would assuredly +be our case, as, in the little wild moorland village where we reside, +there would be no possibility of borrowing a work of that description +from a circulating library. I hope with you that the present delightful +weather may contribute to the perfect restoration of our dear papa’s +health; and that it may give aunt pleasant reminiscences of the salubrious +climate of her native place,” &c.</p> +<p>To return to “Mary’s” letter.</p> +<p>“She used to speak of her two elder sisters, Maria and Elizabeth, +who died at Cowan Bridge. I used to believe them to have been +wonders of talent and kindness. She told me, early one morning, +that she had just been dreaming; she had been told that she was wanted +in the drawing-room, and it was Maria and Elizabeth. I was eager +for her to go on, and when she said there was no more, I said, ‘but +go on! <i>Make it out</i>! I know you can.’ +She said she would not; she wished she had not dreamed, for it did not +go on nicely, they were changed; they had forgotten what they used to +care for. They were very fashionably dressed, and began criticising +the room, &c.</p> +<p>“This habit of ‘making out’ interests for themselves +that most children get who have none in actual life, was very strong +in her. The whole family used to ‘make out’ histories, +and invent characters and events. I told her sometimes they were +like growing potatoes in a cellar. She said, sadly, ‘Yes! +I know we are!’</p> +<p>“Some one at school said she ‘was always talking about +clever people; Johnson, Sheridan, &c.’ She said, ‘Now +you don’t know the meaning of <i>clever</i>, Sheridan might be +clever; yes, Sheridan was clever,—scamps often are; but Johnson +hadn’t a spark of cleverality in him.’ No one appreciated +the opinion; they made some trivial remark about ‘<i>cleverality</i>,’ +and she said no more.</p> +<p>“This is the epitome of her life. At our house she had +just as little chance of a patient hearing, for though not school-girlish, +we were more intolerant. We had a rage for practicality, and laughed +all poetry to scorn. Neither she nor we had any idea but that +our opinions were the opinions of all the <i>sensible</i> people in +the world, and we used to astonish each other at every sentence . . +. Charlotte, at school, had no plan of life beyond what circumstances +made for her. She knew that she must provide for herself, and +chose her trade; at least chose to begin it once. Her idea of +self-improvement ruled her even at school. It was to cultivate +her tastes. She always said there was enough of hard practicality +and <i>useful</i> knowledge forced on us by necessity, and that the +thing most needed was to soften and refine our minds. She picked +up every scrap of information concerning painting, sculpture, poetry, +music, &c., as if it were gold.”</p> +<p>What I have heard of her school days from other sources, confirms +the accuracy of the details in this remarkable letter. She was +an indefatigable student: constantly reading and learning; with a strong +conviction of the necessity and value of education, very unusual in +a girl of fifteen. She never lost a moment of time, and seemed +almost to grudge the necessary leisure for relaxation and play-hours, +which might be partly accounted for by the awkwardness in all games +occasioned by her shortness of sight. Yet, in spite of these unsociable +habits, she was a great favourite with her school-fellows. She +was always ready to try and do what they wished, though not sorry when +they called her awkward, and left her out of their sports. Then, +at night, she was an invaluable story-teller, frightening them almost +out of their wits as they lay in bed. On one occasion the effect +was such that she was led to scream out aloud, and Miss W---, coming +up stairs, found that one of the listeners had been seized with violent +palpitations, in consequence of the excitement produced by Charlotte’s +story.</p> +<p>Her indefatigable craving for knowledge tempted Miss W--- on into +setting her longer and longer tasks of reading for examination; and +towards the end of the year and a half that she remained as a pupil +at Roe Head, she received her first bad mark for an imperfect lesson. +She had had a great quantity of Blair’s “Lectures on Belles +Lettres” to read; and she could not answer some of the questions +upon it; Charlotte Brontë had a bad mark. Miss W--- was sorry, +and regretted that she had set Charlotte so long a task. Charlotte +cried bitterly. But her school-fellows were more than sorry—they +were indignant. They declared that the infliction of ever so slight +a punishment on Charlotte Brontë was unjust—for who had tried +to do her duty like her?—and testified their feeling in a variety +of ways, until Miss W---, who was in reality only too willing to pass +over her good pupil’s first fault, withdrew the bad mark; and +the girls all returned to their allegiance except “Mary,” +who took her own way during the week or two that remained of the half-year, +choosing to consider that Miss W---, in giving Charlotte Brontë +so long a task, had forfeited her claim to obedience of the school regulations.</p> +<p>The number of pupils was so small that the attendance to certain +subjects at particular hours, common in larger schools, was not rigidly +enforced. When the girls were ready with their lessons, they came +to Miss W--- to say them. She had a remarkable knack of making +them feel interested in whatever they had to learn. They set to +their studies, not as to tasks or duties to be got through, but with +a healthy desire and thirst for knowledge, of which she had managed +to make them perceive the relishing savour. They did not leave +off reading and learning as soon as the compulsory pressure of school +was taken away. They had been taught to think, to analyse, to +reject, to appreciate. Charlotte Brontë was happy in the +choice made for her of the second school to which she was sent. +There was a robust freedom in the out-of-doors life of her companions. +They played at merry games in the fields round the house: on Saturday +half-holidays they went long scrambling walks down mysterious shady +lanes, then climbing the uplands, and thus gaining extensive views over +the country, about which so much had to be told, both of its past and +present history.</p> +<p>Miss W--- must have had in great perfection the French art, “conter,” +to judge from her pupil’s recollections of the tales she related +during these long walks, of this old house, or that new mill, and of +the states of society consequent on the changes involved by the suggestive +dates of either building. She remembered the times when watchers +or wakeners in the night heard the distant word of command, and the +measured tramp of thousands of sad desperate men receiving a surreptitious +military training, in preparation for some great day which they saw +in their visions, when right should struggle with might and come off +victorious: when the people of England, represented by the workers of +Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Nottinghamshire, should make their voice +heard in a terrible slogan, since their true and pitiful complaints +could find no hearing in parliament. We forget, now-a-days, so +rapid have been the changes for the better, how cruel was the condition +of numbers of labourers at the close of the great Peninsular war. +The half-ludicrous nature of some of their grievances has lingered on +in tradition; the real intensity of their sufferings has become forgotten. +They were maddened and desperate; and the country, in the opinion of +many, seemed to be on the verge of a precipice, from which it was only +saved by the prompt and resolute decision of a few in authority. +Miss W--- spoke of those times; of the mysterious nightly drillings; +of thousands on lonely moors; of the muttered threats of individuals +too closely pressed upon by necessity to be prudent; of the overt acts, +in which the burning of Cartwright’s mill took a prominent place; +and these things sank deep into the mind of one, at least, among her +hearers.</p> +<p>Mr. Cartwright was the owner of a factory called Rawfolds, in Liversedge, +not beyond the distance of a walk from Roe Head. He had dared +to employ machinery for the dressing of woollen cloth, which was an +unpopular measure in 1812, when many other circumstances conspired to +make the condition of the mill-hands unbearable from the pressure of +starvation and misery. Mr. Cartwright was a very remarkable man, +having, as I have been told, some foreign blood in him, the traces of +which were very apparent in his tall figure, dark eyes and complexion, +and singular, though gentlemanly bearing. At any rate he had been +much abroad, and spoke French well, of itself a suspicious circumstance +to the bigoted nationality of those days. Altogether he was an +unpopular man, even before he took the last step of employing shears, +instead of hands, to dress his wool. He was quite aware of his +unpopularity, and of the probable consequences. He had his mill +prepared for an assault. He took up his lodgings in it; and the +doors were strongly barricaded at night. On every step of the +stairs there was placed a roller, spiked with barbed points all round, +so as to impede the ascent of the rioters, if they succeeded in forcing +the doors.</p> +<p>On the night of Saturday the 11th of April, 1812, the assault was +made. Some hundreds of starving cloth-dressers assembled in the +very field near Kirklees that sloped down from the house which Miss +W--- afterwards inhabited, and were armed by their leaders with pistols, +hatchets, and bludgeons, many of which had been extorted by the nightly +bands that prowled about the country, from such inhabitants of lonely +houses as had provided themselves with these means of self-defence. +The silent sullen multitude marched in the dead of that spring-night +to Rawfolds, and giving tongue with a great shout, roused Mr. Cartwright +up to the knowledge that the long-expected attack was come. He +was within walls, it is true; but against the fury of hundreds he had +only four of his own workmen and five soldiers to assist him. +These ten men, however, managed to keep up such a vigorous and well-directed +fire of musketry that they defeated all the desperate attempts of the +multitude outside to break down the doors, and force a way into the +mill; and, after a conflict of twenty minutes, during which two of the +assailants were killed and several wounded, they withdrew in confusion, +leaving Mr. Cartwright master of the field, but so dizzy and exhausted, +now the peril was past, that he forgot the nature of his defences, and +injured his leg rather seriously by one of the spiked rollers, in attempting +to go up his own staircase. His dwelling was near the factory. +Some of the rioters vowed that, if he did not give in, they would leave +this, and go to his house, and murder his wife and children. This +was a terrible threat, for he had been obliged to leave his family with +only one or two soldiers to defend them. Mrs. Cartwright knew +what they had threatened; and on that dreadful night, hearing, as she +thought, steps approaching, she snatched up her two infant children, +and put them in a basket up the great chimney, common in old-fashioned +Yorkshire houses. One of the two children who had been thus stowed +away used to point out with pride, after she had grown up to woman’s +estate, the marks of musket shot, and the traces of gunpowder on the +walls of her father’s mill. He was the first that had offered +any resistance to the progress of the “Luddites,” who had +become by this time so numerous as almost to assume the character of +an insurrectionary army. Mr. Cartwright’s conduct was so +much admired by the neighbouring mill-owners that they entered into +a subscription for his benefit which amounted in the end to 3,000<i>l</i>.</p> +<p>Not much more than a fortnight after this attack on Rawfolds, another +manufacturer who employed the obnoxious machinery was shot down in broad +daylight, as he was passing over Crossland Moor, which was skirted by +a small plantation in which the murderers lay hidden. The readers +of “Shirley” will recognise these circumstances, which were +related to Miss Brontë years after they occurred, but on the very +spots where they took place, and by persons who remembered full well +those terrible times of insecurity to life and property on the one hand, +and of bitter starvation and blind ignorant despair on the other.</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë himself had been living amongst these very people +in 1812, as he was then clergyman at Hartshead, not three miles from +Rawfolds; and, as I have mentioned, it was in these perilous times that +he began his custom of carrying a loaded pistol continually about with +him. For not only his Tory politics, but his love and regard for +the authority of the law, made him despise the cowardice of the surrounding +magistrates, who, in their dread of the Luddites, refused to interfere +so as to prevent the destruction of property. The clergy of the +district were the bravest men by far.</p> +<p>There was a Mr. Roberson of Heald’s Hall, a friend of Mr. Brontë’s +who has left a deep impression of himself on the public mind. +He lived near Heckmondwike, a large, straggling, dirty village, not +two miles from Roe Head. It was principally inhabited by blanket +weavers, who worked in their own cottages; and Heald’s Hall is +the largest house in the village, of which Mr. Roberson was the vicar. +At his own cost, he built a handsome church at Liversedge, on a hill +opposite the one on which his house stood, which was the first attempt +in the West Riding to meet the wants of the overgrown population, and +made many personal sacrifices for his opinions, both religious and political, +which were of the true old-fashioned Tory stamp. He hated everything +which he fancied had a tendency towards anarchy. He was loyal +in every fibre to Church and King; and would have proudly laid down +his life, any day, for what he believed to be right and true. +But he was a man of an imperial will, and by it he bore down opposition, +till tradition represents him as having something grimly demoniac about +him. He was intimate with Cartwright, and aware of the attack +likely to be made on his mill; accordingly, it is said, he armed himself +and his household, and was prepared to come to the rescue, in the event +of a signal being given that aid was needed. Thus far is likely +enough. Mr. Roberson had plenty of warlike spirit in him, man +of peace though he was.</p> +<p>But, in consequence of his having taken the unpopular side, exaggerations +of his character linger as truth in the minds of the people; and a fabulous +story is told of his forbidding any one to give water to the wounded +Luddites, left in the mill-yard, when he rode in the next morning to +congratulate his friend Cartwright on his successful defence. +Moreover, this stern, fearless clergyman had the soldiers that were +sent to defend the neighbourhood billeted at his house; and this deeply +displeased the workpeople, who were to be intimidated by the red-coats. +Although not a magistrate, he spared no pains to track out the Luddites +concerned in the assassination I have mentioned; and was so successful +in his acute unflinching energy, that it was believed he had been supernaturally +aided; and the country people, stealing into the fields surrounding +Heald’s Hall on dusky winter evenings, years after this time, +declared that through the windows they saw Parson Roberson dancing, +in a strange red light, with black demons all whirling and eddying round +him. He kept a large boys’ school; and made himself both +respected and dreaded by his pupils. He added a grim kind of humour +to his strength of will; and the former quality suggested to his fancy +strange out-of-the-way kinds of punishment for any refractory pupils: +for instance, he made them stand on one leg in a corner of the schoolroom, +holding a heavy book in each hand; and once, when a boy had run away +home, he followed him on horseback, reclaimed him from his parents, +and, tying him by a rope to the stirrup of his saddle, made him run +alongside of his horse for the many miles they had to traverse before +reaching Heald’s Hall.</p> +<p>One other illustration of his character may be given. He discovered +that his servant Betty had “a follower;” and, watching his +time till Richard was found in the kitchen, he ordered him into the +dining-room, where the pupils were all assembled. He then questioned +Richard whether he had come after Betty; and on his confessing the truth, +Mr. Roberson gave the word, “Off with him, lads, to the pump!” +The poor lover was dragged to the court-yard, and the pump set to play +upon him; and, between every drenching, the question was put to him, +“Will you promise not to come after Betty again?” +For a long time Richard bravely refused to give in; when “Pump +again, lads!” was the order. But, at last, the poor soaked +“follower” was forced to yield, and renounce his Betty.</p> +<p>The Yorkshire character of Mr. Roberson would be incomplete if I +did not mention his fondness for horses. He lived to be a very +old man, dying some time nearer to 1840 than 1830; and even after he +was eighty years of age, he took great delight in breaking refractory +steeds; if necessary, he would sit motionless on their backs for half-an-hour +or more to bring them to. There is a story current that once, +in a passion, he shot his wife’s favourite horse, and buried it +near a quarry, where the ground, some years after, miraculously opened +and displayed the skeleton; but the real fact is, that it was an act +of humanity to put a poor old horse out of misery; and that, to spare +it pain, he shot it with his own hands, and buried it where, the ground +sinking afterwards by the working of a coal-pit, the bones came to light. +The traditional colouring shows the animus with which his memory is +regarded by one set of people. By another, the neighbouring clergy, +who remember him riding, in his old age, down the hill on which his +house stood, upon his strong white horse—his bearing proud and +dignified, his shovel hat bent over and shadowing his keen eagle eyes—going +to his Sunday duty like a faithful soldier that dies in harness—who +can appreciate his loyalty to conscience, his sacrifices to duty, and +his stand by his religion—his memory is venerated. In his +extreme old age, a rubric meeting was held, at which his clerical brethren +gladly subscribed to present him with a testimonial of their deep respect +and regard.</p> +<p>This is a specimen of the strong character not seldom manifested +by the Yorkshire clergy of the Established Church. Mr. Roberson +was a friend of Charlotte Brontë’s father; lived within a +couple of miles of Roe Head while she was at school there; and was deeply +engaged in transactions, the memory of which was yet recent when she +heard of them, and of the part which he had had in them.</p> +<p>I may now say a little on the character of the Dissenting population +immediately surrounding Roe Head; for the “Tory and clergyman’s +daughter,” “taking interest in politics ever since she was +five years old,” and holding frequent discussions with such of +the girls as were Dissenters and Radicals, was sure to have made herself +as much acquainted as she could with the condition of those to whom +she was opposed in opinion.</p> +<p>The bulk of the population were Dissenters, principally Independents. +In the village of Heckmondwike, at one end of which Roe Head is situated, +there were two large chapels belonging to that denomination, and one +to the Methodists, all of which were well filled two or three times +on a Sunday, besides having various prayer-meetings, fully attended, +on week-days. The inhabitants were a chapel-going people, very +critical about the doctrine of their sermons, tyrannical to their ministers, +and violent Radicals in politics. A friend, well acquainted with +the place when Charlotte Brontë was at school, has described some +events which occurred then among them:—</p> +<p>“A scene, which took place at the Lower Chapel at Heckmondwike, +will give you some idea of the people at that time. When a newly-married +couple made their appearance at chapel, it was the custom to sing the +Wedding Anthem, just after the last prayer, and as the congregation +was quitting the chapel. The band of singers who performed this +ceremony expected to have money given them, and often passed the following +night in drinking; at least, so said the minister of the place; and +he determined to put an end to this custom. In this he was supported +by many members of the chapel and congregation; but so strong was the +democratic element, that he met with the most violent opposition, and +was often insulted when he went into the street. A bride was expected +to make her first appearance, and the minister told the singers not +to perform the anthem. On their declaring they would, he had the +large pew which they usually occupied locked; they broke it open: from +the pulpit he told the congregation that, instead of their singing a +hymn, he would read a chapter; hardly had he uttered the first word, +before up rose the singers, headed by a tall, fierce-looking weaver, +who gave out a hymn, and all sang it at the very top of their voices, +aided by those of their friends who were in the chapel. Those +who disapproved of the conduct of the singers, and sided with the minister, +remained seated till the hymn was finished. Then he gave out the +chapter again, read it, and preached. He was just about to conclude +with prayer, when up started the singers and screamed forth another +hymn. These disgraceful scenes were continued for many weeks, +and so violent was the feeling, that the different parties could hardly +keep from blows as they came through the chapel-yard. The minister, +at last, left the place, and along with him went many of the most temperate +and respectable part of the congregation, and the singers remained triumphant.</p> +<p>“I believe that there was such a violent contest respecting +the choice of a pastor, about this time, in the Upper Chapel at Heckmondwike, +that the Riot Act had to be read at a church-meeting.”</p> +<p>Certainly, the <i>soi-disant</i> Christians who forcibly ejected +Mr. Redhead at Haworth, ten or twelve years before, held a very heathen +brotherhood with the <i>soi-disant</i> Christians of Heckmondwike; though +the one set might be called members of the Church of England and the +other Dissenters.</p> +<p>The letter from which I have taken the above extract relates throughout +to the immediate neighbourhood of the place where Charlotte Brontë +spent her school-days, and describes things as they existed at that +very time. The writer says,—“Having been accustomed +to the respectful manners of the lower orders in the agricultural districts, +I was at first, much disgusted and somewhat alarmed at the great freedom +displayed by the working classes of Heckmondwike and Gomersall to those +in a station above them. The term ‘lass,’ was as freely +applied to any young lady, as the word ‘wench’ is in Lancashire. +The extremely untidy appearance of the villagers shocked me not a little, +though I must do the housewives the justice to say that the cottages +themselves were not dirty, and had an air of rough plenty about them +(except when trade was bad), that I had not been accustomed to see in +the farming districts. The heap of coals on one side of the house-door, +and the brewing tubs on the other, and the frequent perfume of malt +and hops as you walked along, proved that fire and ‘home-brewed’ +were to be found at almost every man’s hearth. Nor was hospitality, +one of the main virtues of Yorkshire, wanting. Oat-cake, cheese, +and beer were freely pressed upon the visitor.</p> +<p>“There used to be a yearly festival, half-religious, half social, +held at Heckmondwike, called ‘The Lecture.’ I fancy +it had come down from the times of the Nonconformists. A sermon +was preached by some stranger at the Lower Chapel, on a week-day evening, +and the next day, two sermons in succession were delivered at the Upper +Chapel. Of course, the service was a very long one, and as the +time was June, and the weather often hot, it used to be regarded by +myself and my companions as no pleasurable way of passing the morning. +The rest of the day was spent in social enjoyment; great numbers of +strangers flocked to the place; booths were erected for the sale of +toys and gingerbread (a sort of ‘Holy Fair’); and the cottages, +having had a little extra paint and white-washing, assumed quite a holiday +look.</p> +<p>“The village of Gomersall” (where Charlotte Brontë’s +friend “Mary” lived with her family), “which was a +much prettier place than Heckmondwike, contained a strange-looking cottage, +built of rough unhewn stones, many of them projecting considerably, +with uncouth heads and grinning faces carved upon them; and upon a stone +above the door was cut, in large letters, ‘SPITE HALL.’ +It was erected by a man in the village, opposite to the house of his +enemy, who had just finished for himself a good house, commanding a +beautiful view down the valley, which this hideous building quite shut +out.”</p> +<p>Fearless—because this people were quite familiar to all of +them—amidst such a population, lived and walked the gentle Miss +W---’s eight or nine pupils. She herself was born and bred +among this rough, strong, fierce set, and knew the depth of goodness +and loyalty that lay beneath their wild manners and insubordinate ways. +And the girls talked of the little world around them, as if it were +the only world that was; and had their opinions and their parties, and +their fierce discussions like their elders—possibly, their betters. +And among them, beloved and respected by all, laughed at occasionally +by a few, but always to her face—lived, for a year and a half, +the plain, short-sighted, oddly-dressed, studious little girl they called +Charlotte Brontë.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>Miss Brontë left Roe Head in 1832, having won the affectionate +regard both of her teacher and her school-fellows, and having formed +there the two fast friendships which lasted her whole life long; the +one with “Mary,” who has not kept her letters; the other +with “E.,” who has kindly entrusted me with a large portion +of Miss Brontë’s correspondence with her. This she +has been induced to do by her knowledge of the urgent desire on the +part of Mr. Brontë that the life of his daughter should be written, +and in compliance with a request from her husband that I should be permitted +to have the use of these letters, without which such a task could be +but very imperfectly executed. In order to shield this friend, +however, from any blame or misconstruction, it is only right to state +that, before granting me this privilege, she throughout most carefully +and completely effaced the names of the persons and places which occurred +in them; and also that such information as I have obtained from her +bears reference solely to Miss Brontë and her sisters, and not +to any other individuals whom I may find it necessary to allude to in +connection with them.</p> +<p>In looking over the earlier portion of this correspondence, I am +struck afresh by the absence of hope, which formed such a strong characteristic +in Charlotte. At an age when girls, in general, look forward to +an eternal duration of such feelings as they or their friends entertain, +and can therefore see no hindrance to the fulfilment of any engagements +dependent on the future state of the affections, she is surprised that +“E.” keeps her promise to write. In after-life, I +was painfully impressed with the fact, that Miss Brontë never dared +to allow herself to look forward with hope; that she had no confidence +in the future; and I thought, when I heard of the sorrowful years she +had passed through, that it had been this this pressure of grief which +had crushed all buoyancy of expectation out of her. But it appears +from the letters, that it must have been, so to speak, constitutional; +or, perhaps, the deep pang of losing her two elder sisters combined +with a permanent state of bodily weakness in producing her hopelessness. +If her trust in God had been less strong, she would have given way to +unbounded anxiety, at many a period of her life. As it was, we +shall see, she made a great and successful effort to leave “her +times in His hands.”</p> +<p>After her return home, she employed herself in teaching her sisters, +over whom she had had superior advantages. She writes thus, July +21st, 1832, of her course of life at the parsonage:—</p> +<p>“An account of one day is an account of all. In the morning, +from nine o’clock till half-past twelve, I instruct my sisters, +and draw; then we walk till dinner-time. After dinner I sew till +tea-time, and after tea I either write, read, or do a little fancy-work, +or draw, as I please. Thus, in one delightful, though somewhat +monotonous course, my life is passed. I have been only out twice +to tea since I came home. We are expecting company this afternoon, +and on Tuesday next we shall have all the female teachers of the Sunday-school +to tea.”</p> +<p>I may here introduce a quotation from a letter which I have received +from “Mary” since the publication of the previous editions +of this memoir.</p> +<p>“Soon after leaving school she admitted reading something of +Cobbett’s. ‘She did not like him,’ she said; +‘but all was fish that came to her net.’ At this time +she wrote to me that reading and drawing were the only amusements she +had, and that her supply of books was very small in proportion to her +wants. She never spoke of her aunt. When I saw Miss Branwell +she was a very precise person, and looked very odd, because her dress, +&c., was so utterly out of fashion. She corrected one of us +once for using the word ‘spit’ or ‘spitting.’ +She made a great favourite of Branwell. She made her nieces sew, +with purpose or without, and as far as possible discouraged any other +culture. She used to keep the girls sewing charity clothing, and +maintained to me that it was not for the good of the recipients, but +of the sewers. ‘It was proper for them to do it,’ +she said. Charlotte never was ‘in wild excitement’ +that I know of. When in health she used to talk better, and indeed +when in low spirits never spoke at all. She needed her best spirits +to say what was in her heart, for at other times she had not courage. +She never gave decided opinions at such times . . .</p> +<p>“Charlotte said she could get on with any one who had a bump +at the top of their heads (meaning conscientiousness). I found +that I seldom differed from her, except that she was far too tolerant +of stupid people, if they had a grain of kindness in them.”</p> +<p>It was about this time that Mr. Brontë provided his children +with a teacher in drawing, who turned out to be a man of considerable +talent, but very little principle. Although they never attained +to anything like proficiency, they took great interest in acquiring +this art; evidently, from an instinctive desire to express their powerful +imaginations in visible forms. Charlotte told me, that at this +period of her life, drawing, and walking out with her sisters, formed +the two great pleasures and relaxations of her day.</p> +<p>The three girls used to walk upwards toward the “purple-black” +moors, the sweeping surface of which was broken by here and there a +stone-quarry; and if they had strength and time to go far enough, they +reached a waterfall, where the beck fell over some rocks into the “bottom.” +They seldom went downwards through the village. They were shy +of meeting even familiar faces, and were scrupulous about entering the +house of the very poorest uninvited. They were steady teachers at the +Sunday-School, a habit which Charlotte kept up very faithfully, even +after she was left alone; but they never faced their kind voluntary, +and always preferred the solitude and freedom of the moors.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>In the September of this year, Charlotte went to pay her first visit +to her friend “E.” It took her into the neighbourhood +of Roe Head, and brought her into pleasant contact with many of her +old school-fellows. After this visit she and her friend seem to +have agreed to correspond in French, for the sake of improvement in +the language. But this improvement could not be great, when it +could only amount to a greater familiarity with dictionary words, and +when there was no one to explain to them that a verbal translation of +English idioms hardly constituted French composition; but the effort +was laudable, and of itself shows how willing they both were to carry +on the education which they had begun under Miss W-. I will +give an extract which, whatever may be thought of the language, is graphic +enough, and presents us with a happy little family picture; the eldest +sister returning home to the two younger, after a fortnight’s +absence.</p> +<p>“J’arrivait à Haworth en parfaite sauveté +sans le moindre accident ou malheur. Mes petites sœurs couraient +hors de la maison pour me rencontrer aussitôt que la voiture se +fit voir, et elles m’embrassaient avec autant d’empressement +et de plaisir comme si j’avais été absente pour +plus d’an. Mon Papa, ma Tante, et le monsieur dent men frère +avoit parlé, furent tous assemblés dans le Salon, et en +peu de temps je m’y rendis aussi. C’est souvent l’ordre +du Ciel que quand on a perdu un plaisir il y en a un autre prêt +à prendre sa place. Ainsi je venois de partir de très-chers +amis, mais tout à l’heure je revins à des parens +aussi chers et bon dans le moment. Même que vous me perdiez +(ose-je croire que mon départ vous était un chagrin?) +vous attendites l’arrivée de votre frère, et de +votre sœur. J’ai donné à mes sœurs +les pommes que vous leur envoyiez avec tant de bonté; elles disent +qu’elles sont sûr que Mademoiselle E. est très-aimable +et bonne; l’une et l’autre sont extrêmement impatientes +de vous voir; j’espère qu’en peu de mois elles auront +ce plaisir.”</p> +<p>But it was some time yet before the friends could meet, and meanwhile +they agreed to correspond once a month. There were no events to +chronicle in the Haworth letters. Quiet days, occupied in reaching, +and feminine occupations in the house, did not present much to write +about; and Charlotte was naturally driven to criticise books.</p> +<p>Of these there were many in different plights, and according to their +plight, kept in different places. The well-bound were ranged in +the sanctuary of Mr. Brontë’s study; but the purchase of +books was a necessary luxury to him, but as it was often a choice between +binding an old one, or buying a new one, the familiar volume, which +had been hungrily read by all the members of the family, was sometimes +in such a condition that the bedroom shelf was considered its fitting +place. Up and down the house were to be found many standard works +of a solid kind. Sir Walter Scott’s writings, Wordsworth’s +and Southey’s poems were among the lighter literature; while, +as having a character of their own—earnest, wild, and occasionally +fanatical—may be named some of the books which came from the Branwell +side of the family—from the Cornish followers of the saintly John +Wesley—and which are touched on in the account of the works to +which Caroline Helstone had access in “Shirley:”—“Some +venerable Lady’s Magazines, that had once performed a voyage with +their owner, and undergone a storm”—(possibly part of the +relics of Mrs. Brontë’s possessions, contained in the ship +wrecked on the coast of Cornwall)—“and whose pages were +stained with salt water; some mad Methodist Magazines full of miracles +and apparitions, and preternatural warnings, ominous dreams, and frenzied +fanaticisms; and the equally mad letters of Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe from +the Dead to the Living.”</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë encouraged a taste for reading in his girls; and +though Miss Branwell kept it in due bounds, by the variety of household +occupations, in which she expected them not merely to take a part, but +to become proficients, thereby occupying regularly a good portion of +every day, they were allowed to get books from the circulating library +at Keighley; and many a happy walk, up those long four miles, must they +have had, burdened with some new book, into which they peeped as they +hurried home. Not that the books were what would generally be +called new; in the beginning of 1833, the two friends seem almost simultaneously +to have fallen upon “Kenilworth,” and Charlotte writes as +follows about it:—</p> +<p>“I am glad you like ‘Kenilworth;’ it is certainly +more resembling a romance than a novel: in my opinion, one of the most +interesting works that ever emanated from the great Sir Walter’s +pen. Varney is certainly the personification of consummate villainy; +and in the delineation of his dark and profoundly artful mind, Scott +exhibits a wonderful knowledge of human nature, as well as a surprising +skill in embodying his perceptions, so as to enable others to become +participators in that knowledge.”</p> +<p>Commonplace as this extract may seem, it is noteworthy on two or +three accounts: in the first place, instead of discussing the plot or +story, she analyses the character of Varney; and next, she, knowing +nothing of the world, both from her youth and her isolated position, +has yet been so accustomed to hear “human nature” distrusted, +as to receive the notion of intense and artful villainy without surprise.</p> +<p>What was formal and set in her way of writing to “E.” +diminished as their personal acquaintance increased, and as each came +to know the home of the other; so that small details concerning people +and places had their interest and their significance. In the summer +of 1833, she wrote to invite her friend to come and pay her a visit. +“Aunt thought it would be better” (she says) “to defer +it until about the middle of summer, as the winter, and even the spring +seasons, are remarkably cold and bleak among our mountains.”</p> +<p>The first impression made on the visitor by the sisters of her school-friend +was, that Emily was a tall, long-armed girl, more fully grown than her +elder sister; extremely reserved in manner. I distinguish reserve from +shyness, because I imagine shyness would please, if it knew how; whereas, +reserve is indifferent whether it pleases or not. Anne, like her +eldest sister, was shy; Emily was reserved.</p> +<p>Branwell was rather a handsome boy, with “tawny” hair, +to use Miss Brontë’s phrase for a more obnoxious colour. +All were very clever, original, and utterly different to any people +or family “E.” had ever seen before. But, on the whole, +it was a happy visit to all parties. Charlotte says, in writing +to “E.,” just after her return home—“Were I +to tell you of the impression you have made on every one here, you would +accuse me of flattery. Papa and aunt are continually adducing you as +an example for me to shape my actions and behaviour by. Emily +and Anne say ‘they never saw any one they liked so well as you.’ +And Tabby, whom you have absolutely fascinated, talks a great deal more +nonsense about your ladyship than I care to repeat. It is now +so dark that, notwithstanding the singular property of seeing in the +night-time, which the young ladies at Roe Head used to attribute to +me, I can scribble no longer.”</p> +<p>To a visitor at the parsonage, it was a great thing to have Tabby’s +good word. She had a Yorkshire keenness of perception into character, +and it was not everybody she liked.</p> +<p>Haworth is built with an utter disregard of all sanitary conditions: +the great old churchyard lies above all the houses, and it is terrible +to think how the very water-springs of the pumps below must be poisoned. +But this winter of 1833-4 was particularly wet and rainy, and there +were an unusual number of deaths in the village. A dreary season +it was to the family in the parsonage: their usual walks obstructed +by the spongy state of the moors—the passing and funeral bells +so frequently tolling, and filling the heavy air with their mournful +sound—and, when they were still, the “chip, chip,” +of the mason, as he cut the grave-stones in a shed close by. In +many, living, as it were, in a churchyard, and with all the sights and +sounds connected with the last offices to the dead things of everyday +occurrence, the very familiarity would have bred indifference. +But it was otherwise with Charlotte Brontë. One of her friends +says:—“I have seen her turn pale and feel faint when, in +Hartshead church, some one accidentally remarked that we were walking +over graves. Charlotte was certainly afraid of death. Not only +of dead bodies, or dying people. She dreaded it as something horrible. +She thought we did not know how long the ‘moment of dissolution’ +might really be, or how terrible. This was just such a terror +as only hypochondriacs can provide for themselves. She told me +long ago that a misfortune was often preceded by the dream frequently +repeated which she gives to ‘Jane Eyre,’ of carrying a little +wailing child, and being unable to still it. She described herself +as having the most painful sense of pity for the little thing, lying +<i>inert</i>, as sick children do, while she walked about in some gloomy +place with it, such as the aisle of Haworth Church. The misfortunes +she mentioned were not always to herself. She thought such sensitiveness +to omens was like the cholera, present to susceptible people,—some +feeling more, some less.”</p> +<p>About the beginning of 1834, “E.” went to London for +the first time. The idea of her friend’s visit seems to +have stirred Charlotte strangely. She appears to have formed her +notions of its probable consequences from some of the papers in the +“British Essayists,” “The Rambler,” “The +Mirror,” or “The Lounger,” which may have been among +the English classics on the parsonage bookshelves; for she evidently +imagines that an entire change of character for the worse is the usual +effect of a visit to “the great metropolis,” and is delighted +to find that “E.” is “E.” still. And, +as her faith in her friend’s stability is restored, her own imagination +is deeply moved by the idea of what great wonders are to be seen in +that vast and famous city.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Haworth, February 20th, 1834.</p> +<p>“Your letter gave me real and heartfelt pleasure, mingled with +no small share of astonishment. Mary had previously informed me +of your departure for London, and I had not ventured to calculate on +any communication from you while surrounded by the splendours and novelties +of that great city, which has been called the mercantile metropolis +of Europe. Judging from human nature, I thought that a little +country girl, for the first time in a situation so well calculated to +excite curiosity, and to distract attention, would lose all remembrance, +for a time at least, of distant and familiar objects, and give herself +up entirely to the fascination of those scenes which were then presented +to her view. Your kind, interesting, and most welcome epistle +showed me, however, that I had been both mistaken and uncharitable in +these suppositions. I was greatly amused at the tone of nonchalance +which you assumed, while treating of London and its wonders. Did +you not feel awed while gazing at St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey? +Had you no feeling of intense and ardent interest, when in St. James’s +you saw the palace where so many of England’s kings have held +their courts, and beheld the representations of their persons on the +walls? You should not be too much afraid of appearing <i>country-bred</i>; +the magnificence of London has drawn exclamations of astonishment from +travelled men, experienced in the world, its wonders and beauties. +Have you yet seen anything of the great personages whom the sitting +of Parliament now detains in London—the Duke of Wellington, Sir +Robert Peel, Earl Grey, Mr. Stanley, Mr. O’Connell? If I +were you, I would not be too anxious to spend my time in reading whilst +in town. Make use of your own eyes for the purposes of observation +now, and, for a time at least, lay aside the spectacles with which authors +would furnish us.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In a postscript she adds:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Will you be kind enough to inform me of the number +of performers in the King’s military band?”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And in something of the same strain she writes on</p> +<blockquote><p>“June 19th.<br /> +“My own Dear E.,</p> +<p>“I may rightfully and truly call you so now. You <i>have</i> +returned or <i>are</i> returning from London—from the great city +which is to me as apocryphal as Babylon, or Nineveh, or ancient Rome. +You are withdrawing from the world (as it is called), and bringing with +you—if your letters enable me to form a correct judgment—a +heart as unsophisticated, as natural, as true, as that you carried there. +I am slow, <i>very</i> slow, to believe the protestations of another; +I know my own sentiments, I can read my own mind, but the minds of the +rest of man and woman kind are to me sealed volumes, hieroglyphical +scrolls, which I cannot easily either unseal or decipher. Yet +time, careful study, long acquaintance, overcome most difficulties; +and, in your case, I think they have succeeded well in bringing to light +and construing that hidden language, whose turnings, windings, inconsistencies, +and obscurities, so frequently baffle the researches of the honest observer +of human nature . . . I am truly grateful for your mindfulness of so +obscure a person as myself, and I hope the pleasure is not altogether +selfish; I trust it is partly derived from the consciousness that my +friend’s character is of a higher, a more steadfast order than +I was once perfectly aware of. Few girls would have done as you +have done—would have beheld the glare, and glitter, and dazzling +display of London with dispositions so unchanged, heart so uncontaminated. +I see no affectation in your letters, no trifling, no frivolous contempt +of plain, and weak admiration of showy persons and things.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In these days of cheap railway trips, we may smile at the idea of +a short visit to London having any great effect upon the character, +whatever it may have upon the intellect. But her London—her +great apocryphal city—was the “town” of a century +before, to which giddy daughters dragged unwilling papas, or went with +injudicious friends, to the detriment of all their better qualities, +and sometimes to the ruin of their fortunes; it was the Vanity Fair +of the “Pilgrim’s Progress” to her.</p> +<p>But see the just and admirable sense with which she can treat a subject +of which she is able to overlook all the bearings.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Haworth, July 4th, 1834.</p> +<p>“In your last, you request me to tell you of your faults. +Now, really, how can you be so foolish! I <i>won’t</i> tell +you of your faults, because I don’t know them. What a creature +would that be, who, after receiving an affectionate and kind letter +from a beloved friend, should sit down and write a catalogue of defects +by way of answer! Imagine me doing so, and then consider what +epithets you would bestow on me. Conceited, dogmatical, hypocritical, +little humbug, I should think, would be the mildest. Why, child! +I’ve neither time nor inclination to reflect on your <i>faults</i> +when you are so far from me, and when, besides, kind letters and presents, +and so forth, are continually bringing forth your goodness in the most +prominent light. Then, too, there are judicious relations always +round you, who can much better discharge that unpleasant office. +I have no doubt their advice is completely at your service; why then +should I intrude mine? If you will not hear them, it will be vain +though one should rise from the dead to instruct you. Let us have +no more nonsense, if you love me. Mr. --- is going to be married, +is he? Well, his wife elect appeared to me to be a clever and +amiable lady, as far as I could judge from the little I saw of her, +and from your account. Now to that flattering sentence must I tack on +a list of her faults? You say it is in contemplation for you to +leave ---. I am sorry for it. --- is a pleasant spot, one +of the old family halls of England, surrounded by lawn and woodland, +speaking of past times, and suggesting (to me at least) happy feelings. +M. thought you grown less, did she? I am not grown a bit, but +as short and dumpy as ever. You ask me to recommend you some books +for your perusal. I will do so in as few words as I can. If you +like poetry, let it be first-rate; Milton, Shakspeare, Thomson, Goldsmith, +Pope (if you will, though I don’t admire him), Scott, Byron, Campbell, +Wordsworth, and Southey. Now don’t be startled at the names +of Shakspeare and Byron. Both these were great men, and their +works are like themselves. You will know how to choose the good, +and to avoid the evil; the finest passages are always the purest, the +bad are invariably revolting; you will never wish to read them over +twice. Omit the comedies of Shakspeare, and the Don Juan, perhaps +the Cain, of Byron, though the latter is a magnificent poem, and read +the rest fearlessly; that must indeed be a depraved mind which can gather +evil from Henry VIII., from Richard III., from Macbeth, and Hamlet, +and Julius Cæsar. Scott’s sweet, wild, romantic poetry +can do you no harm. Nor can Wordsworth’s, nor Campbell’s, +nor Southey’s—the greatest part at least of his; some is +certainly objectionable. For history, read Hume, Rollin, and the +Universal History, if you can; I never did. For fiction, read +Scott alone; all novels after his are worthless. For biography, +read Johnson’s Lives of the Poets, Boswell’s Life of Johnson, +Southey’s Life of Nelson, Lockhart’s Life of Burns, Moore’s +Life of Sheridan, Moore’s Life of Byron, Wolfe’s Remains. +For natural history, read Bewick and Audubon, and Goldsmith and White’s +history of Selborne. For divinity, your brother will advise you +there. I can only say, adhere to standard authors, and avoid novelty.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From this list, we see that she must have had a good range of books +from which to choose her own reading. It is evident, that the +womanly consciences of these two correspondents were anxiously alive +to many questions discussed among the stricter religionists. The morality +of Shakspeare needed the confirmation of Charlotte’s opinion to +the sensitive “E.;” and a little later, she inquired whether +dancing was objectionable, when indulged in for an hour or two in parties +of boys and girls. Charlotte replies, “I should hesitate +to express a difference of opinion from Mr. ---, or from your excellent +sister, but really the matter seems to me to stand thus. It is +allowed on all hands, that the sin of dancing consists not in the mere +action of ‘shaking the shanks’ (as the Scotch say), but +in the consequences that usually attend it; namely, frivolity and waste +of time; when it is used only, as in the case you state, for the exercise +and amusement of an hour among young people (who surely may without +any breach of God’s commandments be allowed a little light-heartedness), +these consequences cannot follow. Ergo (according to my manner +of arguing), the amusement is at such times perfectly innocent.”</p> +<p>Although the distance between Haworth and B--- was but seventeen +miles, it was difficult to go straight from the one to the other without +hiring a gig or vehicle of some kind for the journey. Hence a visit +from Charlotte required a good deal of pre-arrangement. <i>The</i> +Haworth gig was not always to be had; and Mr. Brontë was often +unwilling to fall into any arrangement for meeting at Bradford or other +places, which would occasion trouble to others. The whole family +had an ample share of that sensitive pride which led them to dread incurring +obligations, and to fear “outstaying their welcome” when +on any visit. I am not sure whether Mr. Brontë did not consider +distrust of others as a part of that knowledge of human nature on which +he piqued himself. His precepts to this effect, combined with +Charlotte’s lack of hope, made her always fearful of loving too +much; of wearying the objects of her affection; and thus she was often +trying to restrain her warm feelings, and was ever chary of that presence +so invariably welcome to her true friends. According to this mode +of acting, when she was invited for a month, she stayed but a fortnight +amidst “E.’s” family, to whom every visit only endeared +her the more, and by whom she was received with that kind of quiet gladness +with which they would have greeted a sister.</p> +<p>She still kept up her childish interest in politics. In March, +1835, she writes: “What do you think of the course politics are +taking? I make this enquiry, because I now think you take a wholesome +interest in the matter; formerly you did not care greatly about it. +B., you see, is triumphant. Wretch! I am a hearty hater, +and if there is any one I thoroughly abhor, it is that man. But +the Opposition is divided, Red-hots, and Luke-warms; and the Duke (par +excellence <i>the</i> Duke) and Sir Robert Peel show no signs of insecurity, +though they have been twice beat; so ‘Courage, mon amie,’ +as the old chevaliers used to say, before they joined battle.”</p> +<p>In the middle of the summer of 1835, a great family plan was mooted +at the parsonage. The question was, to what trade or profession +should Branwell be brought up? He was now nearly eighteen; it +was time to decide. He was very clever, no doubt; perhaps to begin +with, the greatest genius in this rare family. The sisters hardly recognised +their own, or each others’ powers, but they knew <i>his</i>. +The father, ignorant of many failings in moral conduct, did proud homage +to the great gifts of his son; for Branwell’s talents were readily +and willingly brought out for the entertainment of others. Popular +admiration was sweet to him. And this led to his presence being sought +at “arvills” and all the great village gatherings, for the +Yorkshiremen have a keen relish for intellect; and it likewise procured +him the undesirable distinction of having his company recommended by +the landlord of the Black Bull to any chance traveller who might happen +to feel solitary or dull over his liquor. “Do you want some +one to help you with your bottle, sir? If you do, I’ll send +up for Patrick” (so the villagers called him till the day of his +death, though in his own family he was always “Branwell”). +And while the messenger went, the landlord entertained his guest with +accounts of the wonderful talents of the boy, whose precocious cleverness, +and great conversational powers, were the pride of the village. +The attacks of ill health to which Mr. Brontë had been subject +of late years, rendered it not only necessary that he should take his +dinner alone (for the sake of avoiding temptations to unwholesome diet), +but made it also desirable that he should pass the time directly succeeding +his meals in perfect quiet. And this necessity, combined with +due attention to his parochial duties, made him partially ignorant how +his son employed himself out of lesson-time. His own youth had +been spent among people of the same conventional rank as those into +whose companionship Branwell was now thrown; but he had had a strong +will, and an earnest and persevering ambition, and a resoluteness of +purpose which his weaker son wanted.</p> +<p>It is singular how strong a yearning the whole family had towards +the art of drawing. Mr. Brontë had been very solicitous to +get them good instruction; the girls themselves loved everything connected +with it—all descriptions or engravings of great pictures; and, +in default of good ones, they would take and analyse any print or drawing +which came in their way, and find out how much thought had gone to its +composition, what ideas it was intended to suggest, and what it <i>did</i> +suggest. In the same spirit, they laboured to design imaginations +of their own; they lacked the power of execution, not of conception. +At one time, Charlotte had the notion of making her living as an artist, +and wearied her eyes in drawing with pre-Raphaelite minuteness, but +not with pre-Raphaelite accuracy, for she drew from fancy rather than +from nature.</p> +<p>But they all thought there could be no doubt about Branwell’s +talent for drawing. I have seen an oil painting of his, done I +know not when, but probably about this time. It was a group of +his sisters, life-size, three-quarters’ length; not much better +than sign-painting, as to manipulation; but the likenesses were, I should +think, admirable. I could only judge of the fidelity with which +the other two were depicted, from the striking resemblance which Charlotte, +upholding the great frame of canvas, and consequently standing right +behind it, bore to her own representation, though it must have been +ten years and more since the portraits were taken. The picture +was divided, almost in the middle, by a great pillar. On the side +of the column which was lighted by the sun, stood Charlotte, in the +womanly dress of that day of gigot sleeves and large collars. +On the deeply shadowed side, was Emily, with Anne’s gentle face +resting on her shoulder. Emily’s countenance struck me as full +of power; Charlotte’s of solicitude; Anne’s of tenderness. +The two younger seemed hardly to have attained their full growth, though +Emily was taller than Charlotte; they had cropped hair, and a more girlish +dress. I remember looking on those two sad, earnest, shadowed +faces, and wondering whether I could trace the mysterious expression +which is said to foretell an early death. I had some fond superstitious +hope that the column divided their fates from hers, who stood apart +in the canvas, as in life she survived. I liked to see that the +bright side of the pillar was towards <i>her</i>—that the light +in the picture fell on <i>her</i>: I might more truly have sought in +her presentment—nay, in her living face—for the sign of +death—in her prime. They were good likenesses, however badly +executed. From thence I should guess his family augured truly that, +if Branwell had but the opportunity, and, alas! had but the moral qualities, +he might turn out a great painter.</p> +<p>The best way of preparing him to become so appeared to be to send +him as a pupil to the Royal Academy. I dare say he longed and +yearned to follow this path, principally because it would lead him to +that mysterious London—that Babylon the great—which seems +to have filled the imaginations and haunted the minds of all the younger +members of this recluse family. To Branwell it was more than a +vivid imagination, it was an impressed reality. By dint of studying +maps, he was as well acquainted with it, even down to its by-ways, as +if he had lived there. Poor misguided fellow! this craving to +see and know London, and that stronger craving after fame, were never +to be satisfied. He was to die at the end of a short and blighted +life. But in this year of 1835, all his home kindred were thinking +how they could best forward his views, and how help him up to the pinnacle +where he desired to be. What their plans were, let Charlotte explain. +These are not the first sisters who have laid their lives as a sacrifice +before their brother’s idolized wish. Would to God they +might be the last who met with such a miserable return!</p> +<blockquote><p>“Haworth, July 6th, 1835.</p> +<p>“I had hoped to have had the extreme pleasure of seeing you +at Haworth this summer, but human affairs are mutable, and human resolutions +must bend to the course of events. We are all about to divide, +break up, separate. Emily is going to school, Branwell is going +to London, and I am going to be a governess. This last determination +I formed myself, knowing that I should have to take the step sometime, +‘and better sune as syne,’ to use the Scotch proverb; and +knowing well that papa would have enough to do with his limited income, +should Branwell be placed at the Royal Academy, and Emily at Roe Head. +Where am I going to reside? you will ask. Within four miles of +you, at a place neither of us is unacquainted with, being no other than +the identical Roe Head mentioned above. Yes! I am going +to teach in the very school where I was myself taught. Miss W--- +made me the offer, and I preferred it to one or two proposals of private +governess-ship, which I had before received. I am sad—very +sad—at the thoughts of leaving home; but duty—necessity—these +are stern mistresses, who will not be disobeyed. Did I not once +say you ought to be thankful for your independence? I felt what +I said at the time, and I repeat it now with double earnestness; if +anything would cheer me, it is the idea of being so near you. +Surely, you and Polly will come and see me; it would be wrong in me +to doubt it; you were never unkind yet. Emily and I leave home +on the 27th of this month; the idea of being together consoles us both +somewhat, and, truth, since I must enter a situation, ‘My lines +have fallen in pleasant places.’ I both love and respect +Miss W-.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>On the 29th of July, 1835, Charlotte, now a little more than nineteen +years old, went as teacher to Miss W---’s. Emily accompanied her +as a pupil; but she became literally ill from home-sickness, and could +not settle to anything, and after passing only three months at Roe Head, +returned to the parsonage and the beloved moors.</p> +<p>Miss Brontë gives the following reasons as those which prevented +Emily’s remaining at school, and caused the substitution of her +younger sister in her place at Miss W---’s:—</p> +<p>“My sister Emily loved the moors. Flowers brighter than +the rose bloomed in the blackest of the heath for her;—out of +a sullen hollow in a livid hill-side, her mind could make an Eden. +She found in the bleak solitude many and dear delights; and not the +least and best-loved was—liberty. Liberty was the breath +of Emily’s nostrils; without it she perished. The change +from her own home to a school, and from her own very noiseless, very +secluded, but unrestricted and unartificial mode of life, to one of +disciplined routine (though under the kindest auspices), was what she +failed in enduring. Her nature proved here too strong for her +fortitude. Every morning, when she woke, the vision of home and +the moors rushed on her, and darkened and saddened the day that lay +before her. Nobody knew what ailed her but me. I knew only +too well. In this struggle her health was quickly broken: her +white face, attenuated form, and failing strength, threatened rapid +decline. I felt in my heart she would die, if she did not go home, +and with this conviction obtained her recall. She had only been +three months at school; and it was some years before the experiment +of sending her from home was again ventured on.”</p> +<p>This physical suffering on Emily’s part when absent from Haworth, +after recurring several times under similar circumstances, became at +length so much an acknowledged fact, that whichever was obliged to leave +home, the sisters decided that Emily must remain there, where alone +she could enjoy anything like good health. She left it twice again +in her life; once going as teacher to a school in Halifax for six months, +and afterwards accompanying Charlotte to Brussels for ten. When +at home, she took the principal part of the cooking upon herself, and +did all the household ironing; and after Tabby grew old and infirm, +it was Emily who made all the bread for the family; and any one passing +by the kitchen-door, might have seen her studying German out of an open +book, propped up before her, as she kneaded the dough; but no study, +however interesting, interfered with the goodness of the bread, which +was always light and excellent. Books were, indeed, a very common +sight in that kitchen; the girls were taught by their father theoretically, +and by their aunt, practically, that to take an active part in all household +work was, in their position, woman’s simple duty; but in their +careful employment of time, they found many an odd five minutes for +reading while watching the cakes, and managed the union of two kinds +of employment better than King Alfred.</p> +<p>Charlotte’s life at Miss W---’s was a very happy one, +until her health failed. She sincerely loved and respected the +former schoolmistress, to whom she was now become both companion and +friend. The girls were hardly strangers to her, some of them being +younger sisters of those who had been her own playmates. Though +the duties of the day might be tedious and monotonous, there were always +two or three happy hours to look forward to in the evening, when she +and Miss W--- sat together—sometimes late into the night—and +had quiet pleasant conversations, or pauses of silence as agreeable, +because each felt that as soon as a thought or remark occurred which +they wished to express, there was an intelligent companion ready to +sympathise, and yet they were not compelled to “make talk.”</p> +<p>Miss W--- was always anxious to afford Miss Brontë every opportunity +of recreation in her power; but the difficulty often was to persuade +her to avail herself of the invitations which came, urging her to spend +Saturday and Sunday with “E.” and “Mary,” in +their respective homes, that lay within the distance of a walk. +She was too apt to consider, that allowing herself a holiday was a dereliction +of duty, and to refuse herself the necessary change, from something +of an over-ascetic spirit, betokening a loss of healthy balance in either +body or mind. Indeed, it is clear that such was the case, from +a passage, referring to this time, in the letter of “Mary” +from which I have before given extracts.</p> +<p>“Three years after—” (the period when they were +at school together)—“I heard that she had gone as teacher +to Miss W---’s. I went to see her, and asked how she could +give so much for so little money, when she could live without it. +She owned that, after clothing herself and Anne, there was nothing left, +though she had hoped to be able to save something. She confessed +it was not brilliant, but what could she do? I had nothing to +answer. She seemed to have no interest or pleasure beyond the +feeling of duty, and, when she could get, used to sit alone, and ‘make +out.’ She told me afterwards, that one evening she had sat +in the dressing-room until it was quite dark, and then observing it +all at once, had taken sudden fright.” No doubt she remembered +this well when she described a similar terror getting hold upon Jane +Eyre. She says in the story, “I sat looking at the white +bed and overshadowed walls—occasionally turning a fascinated eye +towards the gleaming mirror—I began to recall what I had heard +of dead men troubled in their graves . . . I endeavoured to be firm; +shaking my hair from my eyes, I lifted my head and tried to look boldly +through the dark room; at this moment, a ray from the moon penetrated +some aperture in the blind. No! moon light was still, and this +stirred . . . prepared as my mind was for horror, shaken as my nerves +were by agitation, I thought the swift-darting beam was a herald of +some coming vision from another world. My heart beat thick, my +head grew hot; a sound filled my ears which I deemed the rustling of +wings; something seemed near me.” <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a></p> +<p>“From that time,” Mary adds, “her imaginations +became gloomy or frightful; she could not help it, nor help thinking. +She could not forget the gloom, could not sleep at night, nor attend +in the day.</p> +<p>“She told me that one night, sitting alone, about this time, +she heard a voice repeat these lines:</p> +<blockquote><p>“‘Come thou high and holy feeling,<br /> +Shine o’er mountain, flit o’er wave,<br /> +Gleam like light o’er dome and shielding.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“There were eight or ten more lines which I forget. She +insisted that she had not made them, that she had heard a voice repeat +them. It is possible that she had read them, and unconsciously +recalled them. They are not in the volume of poems which the sisters +published. She repeated a verse of Isaiah, which she said had +inspired them, and which I have forgotten. Whether the lines were +recollected or invented, the tale proves such habits of sedentary, monotonous +solitude of thought as would have shaken a feebler mind.”</p> +<p>Of course, the state of health thus described came on gradually, +and is not to be taken as a picture of her condition in 1836. +Yet even then there is a despondency in some of her expressions, that +too sadly reminds one of some of Cowper’s letters. And it +is remarkable how deeply his poems impressed her. His words, his +verses, came more frequently to her memory, I imagine, than those of +any other poet.</p> +<p>“Mary” says: “Cowper’s poem, ‘The Castaway,’ +was known to them all, and they all at times appreciated, or almost +appropriated it. Charlotte told me once that Branwell had done +so; and though his depression was the result of his faults, it was in +no other respect different from hers. Both were not mental but +physical illnesses. She was well aware of this, and would ask +how that mended matters, as the feeling was there all the same, and +was not removed by knowing the cause. She had a larger religious +toleration than a person would have who had never questioned, and the +manner of recommending religion was always that of offering comfort, +not fiercely enforcing a duty. One time I mentioned that some +one had asked me what religion I was of (with the view of getting me +for a partizan), and that I had said that that was between God and me;—Emily +(who was lying on the hearth-rug) exclaimed, ‘That’s right.’ +This was all I ever heard Emily say on religious subjects. Charlotte +was free from religious depression when in tolerable health; when that +failed, her depression returned. You have probably seen such instances. +They don’t get over their difficulties; they forget them, when +their stomach (or whatever organ it is that inflicts such misery on +sedentary people) will let them. I have heard her condemn Socinianism, +Calvinism, and many other ‘isms’ inconsistent with Church +of Englandism. I used to wonder at her acquaintance with such +subjects.”</p> +<blockquote><p>“May 10th, 1836.</p> +<p>“I was struck with the note you sent me with the umbrella; +it showed a degree of interest in my concerns which I have no right +to expect from any earthly creature. I won’t play the hypocrite; +I won’t answer your kind, gentle, friendly questions in the way +you wish me to. Don’t deceive yourself by imagining I have +a bit of real goodness about me. My darling, if I were like you, +I should have my face Zion-ward, though prejudice and error might occasionally +fling a mist over the glorious vision before me—but I <i>am not +like you</i>. If you knew my thoughts, the dreams that absorb +me, and the fiery imagination that at times eats me up, and makes me +feel society, as it is, wretchedly insipid, you would pity and I dare +say despise me. But I know the treasures of the <i>Bible</i>; +I love and adore them. I can <i>see</i> the Well of Life in all +its clearness and brightness; but when I stoop down to drink of the +pure waters they fly from my lips as if I were Tantalus.</p> +<p>“You are far too kind and frequent in your invitations. +You puzzle me. I hardly know how to refuse, and it is still more +embarrassing to accept. At any rate, I cannot come this week, +for we are in the very thickest melée of the Repetitions. +I was hearing the terrible fifth section when your note arrived. +But Miss Wooler says I must go to Mary next Friday, as she promised +for me on Whit-Sunday; and on Sunday morning I will join you at church, +if it be convenient, and stay till Monday. There’s a free +and easy proposal! Miss W--- has driven me to it. She says +her character is implicated.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Good, kind Miss W---! however monotonous and trying were the duties +Charlotte had to perform under her roof, there was always a genial and +thoughtful friend watching over her, and urging her to partake of any +little piece of innocent recreation that might come in her way. +And in those Midsummer holidays of 1836, her friend E. came to stay +with her at Haworth, so there was one happy time secured.</p> +<p>Here follows a series of letters, not dated, but belonging to the +latter portion of this year; and again we think of the gentle and melancholy +Cowper.</p> +<blockquote><p>“My dear dear E.,</p> +<p>“I am at this moment trembling all over with excitement, after +reading your note; it is what I never received before—it is the +unrestrained pouring out of a warm, gentle, generous heart . . . I thank +you with energy for this kindness. I will no longer shrink from +answering your questions. I <i>do</i> wish to be better than I +am. I pray fervently sometimes to be made so. I have stings +of conscience, visitings of remorse, glimpses of holy, of inexpressible +things, which formerly I used to be a stranger to; it may all die away, +and I may be in utter midnight, but I implore a merciful Redeemer, that, +if this be the dawn of the gospel, it may still brighten to perfect +day. Do not mistake me—do not think I am good; I only wish +to be so. I only hate my former flippancy and forwardness. +Oh! I am no better than ever I was. I am in that state of horrid, +gloomy uncertainty that, at this moment, I would submit to be old, grey-haired, +to have passed all my youthful days of enjoyment, and to be settling +on the verge of the grave, if I could only thereby ensure the prospect +of reconciliation to God, and redemption through his Son’s merits. +I never was exactly careless of these matters, but I have always taken +a clouded and repulsive view of them; and now, if possible, the clouds +are gathering darker, and a more oppressive despondency weighs on my +spirits. You have cheered me, my darling; for one moment, for +an atom of time, I thought I might call you my own sister in the spirit; +but the excitement is past, and I am now as wretched and hopeless as +ever. This very night I will pray as you wish me. May the +Almighty hear me compassionately! and I humbly hope he will, for you +will strengthen my polluted petitions with your own pure requests. +All is bustle and confusion round me, the ladies pressing with their +sums and their lessons . . . If you love me, <i>do, do, do</i> come +on Friday: I shall watch and wait for you, and if you disappoint me +I shall weep. I wish you could know the thrill of delight which +I experienced, when, as I stood at the dining-room window, I saw ---, +as he whirled past, toss your little packet over the wall.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Huddersfield market-day was still the great period for events at +Roe Head. Then girls, running round the corner of the house and +peeping between tree-stems, and up a shadowy lane, could catch a glimpse +of a father or brother driving to market in his gig; might, perhaps, +exchange a wave of the hand; or see, as Charlotte Brontë did from +the window, a white packet tossed over the avail by come swift strong +motion of an arm, the rest of the traveller’s body unseen.</p> +<p>“Weary with a day’s hard work . . . I am sitting down +to write a few lines to my dear E. Excuse me if I say nothing +but nonsense, for my mind is exhausted and dispirited. It is a +stormy evening, and the wind is uttering a continual moaning sound, +that makes me feel very melancholy. At such times—in such +moods as these—it is my nature to seek repose in some calm tranquil +idea, and I have now summoned up your image to give me rest. There +you sit, upright and still in your black dress, and white scarf, and +pale marble-like face—just like reality. I wish you would +speak to me. If we should be separated—if it should be our +lot to live at a great distance, and never to see each other again—in +old age, how I should conjure up the memory of my youthful days, and +what a melancholy pleasure I should feel in dwelling on the recollection +of my early friend! . . . I have some qualities that make me very miserable, +some feelings that you can have no participation in—that few, +very few, people in the world can at all understand. I don’t +pride myself on these peculiarities. I strive to conceal and suppress +them as much as I can; but they burst out sometimes, and then those +who see the explosion despise me, and I hate myself for days afterwards +. . . I have just received your epistle and what accompanied it. +I can’t tell what should induce you and your sisters to waste +your kindness on such a one as me. I’m obliged to them, +and I hope you’ll tell them so. I’m obliged to you +also, more for your note than for your present. The first gave +me pleasure, the last something like pain.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>The nervous disturbance, which is stated to have troubled her while +she was at Miss W---’s, seems to have begun to distress her about +this time; at least, she herself speaks of her irritable condition, +which was certainly only a temporary ailment.</p> +<p>“You have been very kind to me of late, and have spared me +all those little sallies of ridicule, which, owing to my miserable and +wretched touchiness of character, used formerly to make me wince, as +if I had been touched with a hot iron; things that nobody else cares +for, enter into my mind and rankle there like venom. I know these +feelings are absurd, and therefore I try to hide them, but they only +sting the deeper for concealment.”</p> +<p>Compare this state of mind with the gentle resignation with which +she had submitted to be put aside as useless, or told of her ugliness +by her school-fellows, only three years before.</p> +<p>“My life since I saw you has passed as monotonously and unbroken +as ever; nothing but teach, teach, teach, from morning till night. +The greatest variety I ever have is afforded by a letter from you, or +by meeting with a pleasant new book. The ‘Life of Oberlin,’ +and ‘Leigh Richmond’s Domestic Portraiture,’ are the +last of this description. The latter work strongly attracted and +strangely fascinated my attention. Beg, borrow, or steal it without +delay; and read the ‘Memoir of Wilberforce,’—that +short record of a brief uneventful life; I shall never forget it; it +is beautiful, not on account of the language in which it is written, +not on account of the incidents it details, but because of the simple +narrative it gives of a young talented sincere Christian.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>About this time Miss W--- removed her school from the fine, open, +breezy situation of Roe Head, to Dewsbury Moor, only two or three miles +distant. Her new residence was on a lower site, and the air was +less exhilarating to one bred in the wild hill-village of Haworth. +Emily had gone as teacher to a school at Halifax, where there were nearly +forty pupils.</p> +<p>“I have had one letter from her since her departure,” +writes Charlotte, on October 2nd, 1836: “it gives an appalling +account of her duties; hard labour from six in the morning to eleven +at night, with only one half-hour of exercise between. This is +slavery. I fear she can never stand it.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>When the sisters met at home in the Christmas holidays, they talked +over their lives, and the prospect which they afforded of employment +and remuneration. They felt that it was a duty to relieve their +father of the burden of their support, if not entirely, or that of all +three, at least that of one or two; and, naturally, the lot devolved +upon the elder ones to find some occupation which would enable them +to do this. They knew that they were never likely to inherit much +money. Mr. Brontë had but a small stipend, and was both charitable +and liberal. Their aunt had an annuity of 50<i>l</i>., but it +reverted to others at her death, and her nieces had no right, and were +the last persons in the world to reckon upon her savings. What +could they do? Charlotte and Emily were trying teaching, and, +as it seemed, without much success. The former, it is true, had +the happiness of having a friend for her employer, and of being surrounded +by those who knew her and loved her; but her salary was too small for +her to save out of it; and her education did not entitle her to a larger. +The sedentary and monotonous nature of the life, too, was preying upon +her health and spirits, although, with necessity “as her mistress,” +she might hardly like to acknowledge this even to herself. But +Emily—that free, wild, untameable spirit, never happy nor well +but on the sweeping moors that gathered round her home—that hater +of strangers, doomed to live amongst them, and not merely to live but +to slave in their service—what Charlotte could have borne patiently +for herself, she could not bear for her sister. And yet what to +do? She had once hoped that she herself might become an artist, +and so earn her livelihood; but her eyes had failed her in the minute +and useless labour which she had imposed upon herself with a view to +this end.</p> +<p>It was the household custom among these girls to sew till nine o’clock +at night. At that hour, Miss Branwell generally went to bed, and +her nieces’ duties for the day were accounted done. They +put away their work, and began to pace the room backwards and forwards, +up and down,—as often with the candles extinguished, for economy’s +sake, as not,—their figures glancing into the fire-light, and +out into the shadow, perpetually. At this time, they talked over +past cares and troubles; they planned for the future, and consulted +each other as to their plans. In after years this was the time +for discussing together the plots of their novels. And again, +still later, this was the time for the last surviving sister to walk +alone, from old accustomed habit, round and round the desolate room, +thinking sadly upon the “days that were no more.” +But this Christmas of 1836 was not without its hopes and daring aspirations. +They had tried their hands at story-writing, in their miniature magazine, +long ago; they all of them “made out” perpetually. +They had likewise attempted to write poetry; and had a modest confidence +that they had achieved a tolerable success. But they knew that +they might deceive themselves, and that sisters’ judgments of +each other’s productions were likely to be too partial to be depended +upon. So Charlotte, as the eldest, resolved to write to Southey. +I believe (from an expression in a letter to be noticed hereafter), +that she also consulted Coleridge; but I have not met with any part +of that correspondence.</p> +<p>On December 29th, her letter to Southey was despatched; and from +an excitement not unnatural in a girl who has worked herself up to the +pitch of writing to a Poet Laureate and asking his opinion of her poems, +she used some high-flown expressions which, probably, gave him the idea +that she was a romantic young lady, unacquainted with the realities +of life.</p> +<p>This, most likely, was the first of those adventurous letters that +passed through the little post-office of Haworth. Morning after +morning of the holidays slipped away, and there was no answer; the sisters +had to leave home, and Emily to return to her distasteful duties, without +knowing even whether Charlotte’s letter had ever reached its destination.</p> +<p>Not dispirited, however, by the delay, Branwell determined to try +a similar venture, and addressed the following letter to Wordsworth. +It was given by the poet to Mr. Quillinan in 1850, after the name of +Brontë had become known and famous. I have no means of ascertaining +what answer was returned by Mr. Wordsworth; but that he considered the +letter remarkable may, I think, be inferred both from its preservation, +and its recurrence to his memory when the real name of Currer Bell was +made known to the public.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Haworth, near Bradford,<br /> +“Yorkshire, January 19, 1837.</p> +<p>“Sir,—I most earnestly entreat you to read and pass your +judgment upon what I have sent you, because from the day of my birth +to this the nineteenth year of my life, I have lived among secluded +hills, where I could neither know what I was, or what I could do. +I read for the same reason that I ate or drank; because it was a real +craving of nature. I wrote on the same principle as I spoke—out +of the impulse and feelings of the mind; nor could I help it, for what +came, came out, and there was the end of it. For as to self-conceit, +that could not receive food from flattery, since to this hour, not half +a dozen people in the world know that I have ever penned a line.</p> +<p>“But a change has taken place now, sir: and I am arrived at +an age wherein I must do something for myself: the powers I possess +must be exercised to a definite end, and as I don’t know them +myself I must ask of others what they are worth. Yet there is +not one here to tell me; and still, if they are worthless, time will +henceforth be too precious to be wasted on them.</p> +<p>“Do pardon me, sir, that I have ventured to come before one +whose works I have most loved in our literature, and who most has been +with me a divinity of the mind, laying before him one of my writings, +and asking of him a judgment of its contents. I must come before +some one from whose sentence there is no appeal; and such a one is he +who has developed the theory of poetry as well as its practice, and +both in such a way as to claim a place in the memory of a thousand years +to come.</p> +<p>“My aim, sir, is to push out into the open world, and for this +I trust not poetry alone—that might launch the vessel, but could +not bear her on; sensible and scientific prose, bold and vigorous efforts +in my walk in life, would give a farther title to the notice of the +world; and then again poetry ought to brighten and crown that name with +glory; but nothing of all this can be ever begun without means, and +as I don’t possess these, I must in every shape strive to gain +them. Surely, in this day, when there is not a <i>writing</i> +poet worth a sixpence, the field must be open, if a better man can step +forward.</p> +<p>“What I send you is the Prefatory Scene of a much longer subject, +in which I have striven to develop strong passions and weak principles +struggling with a high imagination and acute feelings, till, as youth +hardens towards age, evil deeds and short enjoyments end in mental misery +and bodily ruin. Now, to send you the whole of this would be a +mock upon your patience; what you see, does not even pretend to be more +than the description of an imaginative child. But read it, sir; +and, as you would hold a light to one in utter darkness—as you +value your own kindheartedness—<i>return</i> me an <i>answer</i>, +if but one word, telling me whether I should write on, or write no more. +Forgive undue warmth, because my feelings in this matter cannot be cool; +and believe me, sir, with deep respect,</p> +<p>“Your really humble servant,<br /> +“P. B. Brontë”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The poetry enclosed seems to me by no means equal to parts of the +letter; but, as every one likes to judge for himself, I copy the six +opening stanzas—about a third of the whole, and certainly not +the worst.</p> +<blockquote><p>So where he reigns in glory bright,<br /> +Above those starry skies of night,<br /> +Amid his Paradise of light<br /> + Oh, why may I not be?</p> +<p>Oft when awake on Christmas morn,<br /> +In sleepless twilight laid forlorn,<br /> +Strange thoughts have o’er my mind been borne,<br /> + How he has died for me.</p> +<p>And oft within my chamber lying,<br /> +Have I awaked myself with crying<br /> +From dreams, where I beheld Him dying<br /> + Upon the accursed Tree.</p> +<p>And often has my mother said,<br /> +While on her lap I laid my head,<br /> +She feared for time I was not made,<br /> + But for Eternity.</p> +<p>So “I can read my title clear,<br /> +To mansions in the skies,<br /> +And let me bid farewell to fear,<br /> + And wipe my weeping eyes.”</p> +<p>I’ll lay me down on this marble stone,<br /> +And set the world aside,<br /> +To see upon her ebon throne<br /> + The Moon in glory ride.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Soon after Charlotte returned to Dewsbury Moor, she was distressed +by hearing that her friend “E.” was likely to leave the +neighbourhood for a considerable length of time.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Feb. 20th.</p> +<p>“What shall I do without you? How long are we likely +to be separated? Why are we to be denied each other’s society? +It is an inscrutable fatality. I long to be with you, because +it seems as if two or three days, or weeks, spent in your company would +beyond measure strengthen me in the enjoyment of those feelings which +I have so lately begun to cherish. You first pointed out to me +that way in which I am so feebly endeavouring to travel, and now I cannot +keep you by my side, I must proceed sorrowfully alone. Why are +we to be divided? Surely, it must be because we are in danger +of loving each other too well—of losing sight of the <i>Creator</i> +in idolatry of the <i>creature</i>. At first, I could not say +‘Thy will be done!’ I felt rebellious, but I knew +it was wrong to feel so. Being left a moment alone this morning, +I prayed fervently to be enabled to resign myself to <i>every</i> decree +of God’s will, though it should be dealt forth by a far severer +hand than the present disappointment; since then I have felt calmer +and humbler, and consequently happier. Last Sunday I took up my +Bible in a gloomy state of mind: I began to read—a feeling stole +over me such as I have not known for many long years—a sweet, +placid sensation, like those, I remember, which used to visit me when +I was a little child, and, on Sunday evenings in summer, stood by the +open window reading the life of a certain French nobleman, who attained +a purer and higher degree of sanctity than has been known since the +days of the early martyrs.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>“E.’s” residence was equally within a walk from +Dewsbury Moor as it had been from Roe Head; and on Saturday afternoons +both “Mary” and she used to call upon Charlotte, and often +endeavoured to persuade her to return with them, and be the guest of +one of them till Monday morning; but this was comparatively seldom. +Mary says:—“She visited us twice or thrice when she was +at Miss W---’s. We used to dispute about politics and religion. +She, a Tory and clergyman’s daughter, was always in a minority +of one in our house of violent Dissent and Radicalism. She used +to hear over again, delivered <i>with authority</i>, all the lectures +I had been used to give her at school on despotic aristocracy, mercenary +priesthood, &c. She had not energy to defend herself; sometimes +she owned to a <i>little</i> truth in it, but generally said nothing. +Her feeble health gave her her yielding manner, for she could never +oppose any one without gathering up all her strength for the struggle. +Thus she would let me advise and patronise most imperiously, sometimes +picking out any grain of sense there might be in what I said, but never +allowing any one materially to interfere with her independence of thought +and action. Though her silence sometimes left one under the impression +that she agreed when she did not, she never gave a flattering opinion, +and thus her words were golden, whether for praise or blame.”</p> +<p>“Mary’s” father was a man of remarkable intelligence, +but of strong, not to say violent prejudices, all running in favour +of Republicanism and Dissent. No other county but Yorkshire could +have produced such a man. His brother had been a <i>détenu</i> +in France, and had afterwards voluntarily taken up his residence there. +Mr. T. himself had been much abroad, both on business and to see the +great continental galleries of paintings. He spoke French perfectly, +I have been told, when need was; but delighted usually in talking the +broadest Yorkshire. He bought splendid engravings of the pictures +which he particularly admired, and his house was full of works of art +and of books; but he rather liked to present his rough side to any stranger +or new-comer; he would speak his broadest, bring out his opinions on +Church and State in their most startling forms, and, by and by, if he +found his hearer could stand the shock, he would involuntarily show +his warm kind heart, and his true taste, and real refinement. +His family of four sons and two daughters were brought up on Republican +principles; independence of thought and action was encouraged; no “shams” +tolerated. They are scattered far and wide: Martha, the younger +daughter, sleeps in the Protestant cemetery at Brussels; Mary is in +New Zealand; Mr. T. is dead. And so life and death have dispersed +the circle of “violent Radicals and Dissenters” into which, +twenty years ago, the little, quiet, resolute clergyman’s daughter +was received, and by whom she was truly loved and honoured.</p> +<p>January and February of 1837 had passed away, and still there was +no reply from Southey. Probably she had lost expectation and almost +hope when at length, in the beginning of March, she received the letter +inserted in Mr. C. C. Southey’s life of his Father, vol. iv. p. +327.</p> +<p>After accounting for his delay in replying to hers by the fact of +a long absence from home, during which his letters had accumulated, +whence “it has lain unanswered till the last of a numerous file, +not from disrespect or indifference to its contents, but because in +truth it is not an easy task to answer it, nor a pleasant one to cast +a damp over the high spirits and the generous desires of youth,” +he goes on to say: “What you are I can only infer from your letter, +which appears to be written in sincerity, though I may suspect that +you have used a fictitious signature. Be that as it may, the letter +and the verses bear the same stamp, and I can well understand the state +of mind they indicate.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“It is not my advice that you have asked as to the direction +of your talents, but my opinion of them, and yet the opinion may be +worth little, and the advice much. You evidently possess, and +in no inconsiderable degree, what Wordsworth calls the ‘faculty +of verse.’ I am not depreciating it when I say that in these +times it is not rare. Many volumes of poems are now published +every year without attracting public attention, any one of which if +it had appeared half a century ago, would have obtained a high reputation +for its author. Whoever, therefore, is ambitious of distinction +in this way ought to be prepared for disappointment.</p> +<p>“But it is not with a view to distinction that you should cultivate +this talent, if you consult your own happiness. I, who have made +literature my profession, and devoted my life to it, and have never +for a moment repented of the deliberate choice, think myself, nevertheless, +bound in duty to caution every young man who applies as an aspirant +to me for encouragement and advice, against taking so perilous a course. +You will say that a woman has no need of such a caution; there can be +no peril in it for her. In a certain sense this is true; but there +is a danger of which I would, with all kindness and all earnestness, +warn you. The day dreams in which you habitually indulge are likely +to induce a distempered state of mind; and in proportion as all the +ordinary uses of the world seem to you flat and unprofitable, you will +be unfitted for them without becoming fitted for anything else. +Literature cannot be the business of a woman’s life, and it ought +not to be. The more she is engaged in her proper duties, the less +leisure will she have for it, even as an accomplishment and a recreation. +To those duties you have not yet been called, and when you are you will +be less eager for celebrity. You will not seek in imagination +for excitement, of which the vicissitudes of this life, and the anxieties +from which you must not hope to be exempted, be your state what it may, +will bring with them but too much.</p> +<p>“But do not suppose that I disparage the gift which you possess; +nor that I would discourage you from exercising it. I only exhort +you so to think of it, and so to use it, as to render it conducive to +your own permanent good. Write poetry for its own sake; not in +a spirit of emulation, and not with a view to celebrity; the less you +aim at that the more likely you will be to deserve and finally to obtain +it. So written, it is wholesome both for the heart and soul; it +may be made the surest means, next to religion, of soothing the mind +and elevating it. You may embody in it your best thoughts and +your wisest feelings, and in so doing discipline and strengthen them.</p> +<p>“Farewell, madam. It is not because I have forgotten +that I was once young myself, that I write to you in this strain; but +because I remember it. You will neither doubt my sincerity nor +my good will; and however ill what has here been said may accord with +your present views and temper, the longer you live the more reasonable +it will appear to you. Though I may be but an ungracious adviser, +you will allow me, therefore, to subscribe myself, with the best wishes +for your happiness here and hereafter, your true friend,</p> +<p>“ROBERT SOUTHEY.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>I was with Miss Brontë when she received Mr. Cuthbert Southey’s +note, requesting her permission to insert the foregoing letter in his +father’s life. She said to me, “Mr. Southey’s +letter was kind and admirable; a little stringent, but it did me good.”</p> +<p>It is partly because I think it so admirable, and partly because +it tends to bring out her character, as shown in the following reply, +that I have taken the liberty of inserting the foregoing extracts from +it.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Sir, March 16th.</p> +<p>“I cannot rest till I have answered your letter, even though +by addressing you a second time I should appear a little intrusive; +but I must thank you for the kind and wise advice you have condescended +to give me. I had not ventured to hope for such a reply; so considerate +in its tone, so noble in its spirit. I must suppress what I feel, +or you will think me foolishly enthusiastic.</p> +<p>“At the first perusal of your letter, I felt only shame and +regret that I had ever ventured to trouble you with my crude rhapsody; +I felt a painful heat rise to my face when I thought of the quires of +paper I had covered with what once gave me so much delight, but which +now was only a source of confusion; but after I had thought a little +and read it again and again, the prospect seemed to clear. You +do not forbid me to write; you do not say that what I write is utterly +destitute of merit. You only warn me against the folly of neglecting +real duties for the sake of imaginative pleasures; of writing for the +love of fame; for the selfish excitement of emulation. You kindly +allow me to write poetry for its own sake, provided I leave undone nothing +which I ought to do, in order to pursue that single, absorbing, exquisite +gratification. I am afraid, sir, you think me very foolish. +I know the first letter I wrote to you was all senseless trash from +beginning to end; but I am not altogether the idle dreaming being it +would seem to denote. My father is a clergyman of limited, though +competent income, and I am the eldest of his children. He expended +quite as much in my education as he could afford in justice to the rest. +I thought it therefore my duty, when I left school, to become a governess. +In that capacity I find enough to occupy my thoughts all day long, and +my head and hands too, without having a moment’s time for one +dream of the imagination. In the evenings, I confess, I do think, +but I never trouble any one else with my thoughts. I carefully +avoid any appearance of preoccupation and eccentricity, which might +lead those I live amongst to suspect the nature of my pursuits. +Following my father’s advice—who from my childhood has counselled +me, just in the wise and friendly tone of your letter—I have endeavoured +not only attentively to observe all the duties a woman ought to fulfil, +but to feel deeply interested in them. I don’t always succeed, +for sometimes when I’m teaching or sewing I would rather be reading +or writing; but I try to deny myself; and my father’s approbation +amply rewarded me for the privation. Once more allow me to thank +you with sincere gratitude. I trust I shall never more feel ambitious +to see my name in print: if the wish should rise, I’ll look at +Southey’s letter, and suppress it. It is honour enough for +me that I have written to him, and received an answer. That letter +is consecrated; no one shall ever see it, but papa and my brother and +sisters. Again I thank you. This incident, I suppose, will +be renewed no more; if I live to be an old woman, I shall remember it +thirty years hence as a bright dream. The signature which you +suspected of being fictitious is my real name. Again, therefore, +I must sign myself,</p> +<p>“C. Brontë.</p> +<p>“P.S.—Pray, sir, excuse me for writing to you a second +time; I could not help writing, partly to tell you how thankful I am +for your kindness, and partly to let you know that your advice shall +not be wasted; however sorrowfully and reluctantly it may be at first +followed.</p> +<p>“C. B.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I cannot deny myself the gratification of inserting Southey’s +reply:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Keswick, March 22, 1837.</p> +<p>“Dear Madam,</p> +<p>“Your letter has given me great pleasure, and I should not +forgive myself if I did not tell you so. You have received admonition +as considerately and as kindly as it was given. Let me now request +that, if you ever should come to these Lakes while I am living here, +you will let me see you. You would then think of me afterwards +with the more good-will, because you would perceive that there is neither +severity nor moroseness in the state of mind to which years and observation +have brought me.</p> +<p>“It is, by God’s mercy, in our power to attain a degree +of self-government, which is essential to our own happiness, and contributes +greatly to that of those around us. Take care of over-excitement, +and endeavour to keep a quiet mind (even for your health it is the best +advice that can be given you): your moral and spiritual improvement +will then keep pace with the culture of your intellectual powers.</p> +<p>“And now, madam, God bless you!</p> +<p>“Farewell, and believe me to be your sincere friend,</p> +<p>“ROBERT SOUTHEY.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Of this second letter, also, she spoke, and told me that it contained +an invitation for her to go and see the poet if ever she visited the +Lakes. “But there was no money to spare,” said she, +“nor any prospect of my ever earning money enough to have the +chance of so great a pleasure, so I gave up thinking of it.” +At the time we conversed together on the subject we were at the Lakes. +But Southey was dead.</p> +<p>This “stringent” letter made her put aside, for a time, +all idea of literary enterprise. She bent her whole energy towards +the fulfilment of the duties in hand; but her occupation was not sufficient +food for her great forces of intellect, and they cried out perpetually, +“Give, give,” while the comparatively less breezy air of +Dewsbury Moor told upon her health and spirits more and more. +On August 27, 1837, she writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am again at Dewsbury, engaged in the old business,—teach, +teach, teach . . . <i>When will you come home</i>? Make haste! +You have been at Bath long enough for all purposes; by this time you +have acquired polish enough, I am sure; if the varnish is laid on much +thicker, I am afraid the good wood underneath will be quite concealed, +and your Yorkshire friends won’t stand that. Come, come. +I am getting really tired of your absence. Saturday after Saturday +comes round, and I can have no hope of hearing your knock at the door, +and then being told that ‘Miss E. is come.’ Oh, dear! +in this monotonous life of mine, that was a pleasant event. I +wish it would recur again; but it will take two or three interviews +before the stiffness—the estrangement of this long separation—will +wear away.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>About this time she forgot to return a work-bag she had borrowed, +by a messenger, and in repairing her error she says:—“These +aberrations of memory warn me pretty intelligibly that I am getting +past my prime.” AEtat 21! And the same tone of despondency +runs through the following letter:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I wish exceedingly that I could come to you before +Christmas, but it is impossible; another three weeks must elapse before +I shall again have my comforter beside me, under the roof of my own +dear quiet home. If I could always live with you, and daily read +the Bible with you—if your lips and mine could at the same time +drink the same draught, from the same pure fountain of mercy—I +hope, I trust, I might one day become better, far better than my evil, +wandering thoughts, my corrupt heart, cold to the spirit and warm to +the flesh, will now permit me to be. I often plan the pleasant +life which we might lead together, strengthening each other in that +power of self-denial, that hallowed and glowing devotion, which the +first saints of God often attained to. My eyes fill with tears +when I contrast the bliss of such a state, brightened by hopes of the +future, with the melancholy state I now live in, uncertain that I ever +felt true contrition, wandering in thought and deed, longing for holiness, +which I shall <i>never</i>, <i>never</i> obtain, smitten at times to +the heart with the conviction that ghastly Calvinistic doctrines are +true—darkened, in short, by the very shadows of spiritual death. +If Christian perfection be necessary to salvation, I shall never be +saved; my heart is a very hotbed for sinful thoughts, and when I decide +on an action I scarcely remember to look to my Redeemer for direction. +I know not how to pray; I cannot bend my life to the grand end of doing +good; I go on constantly seeking my own pleasure, pursuing the gratification +of my own desires. I forget God, and will not God forget me? +And, meantime, I know the greatness of Jehovah; I acknowledge the perfection +of His word; I adore the purity of the Christian faith; my theory is +right, my practice horribly wrong.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Christmas holidays came, and she and Anne returned to the parsonage, +and to that happy home circle in which alone their natures expanded; +amongst all other people they shrivelled up more or less. Indeed, +there were only one or two strangers who could be admitted among the +sisters without producing the same result. Emily and Anne were +bound up in their lives and interests like twins. The former from +reserve, the latter from timidity, avoided all friendships and intimacies +beyond their family. Emily was impervious to influence; she never +came in contact with public opinion, and her own decision of what was +right and fitting was a law for her conduct and appearance, with which +she allowed no one to interfere. Her love was poured out on Anne, +as Charlotte’s was on her. But the affection among all the +three was stronger than either death or life.</p> +<p>“E.” was eagerly welcomed by Charlotte, freely admitted +by Emily, and kindly received by Anne, whenever she could visit them; +and this Christmas she had promised to do so, but her coming had to +be delayed on account of a little domestic accident detailed in the +following letter:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Dec. 29, 1837.</p> +<p>“I am sure you will have thought me very remiss in not sending +my promised letter long before now; but I have a sufficient and very +melancholy excuse in an accident that befell our old faithful Tabby, +a few days after my return home. She was gone out into the village +on some errand, when, as she was descending the steep street, her foot +slipped on the ice, and she fell; it was dark, and no one saw her mischance, +till after a time her groans attracted the attention of a passer-by. +She was lifted up and carried into the druggist’s near; and, after +the examination, it was discovered that she had completely shattered +and dislocated one leg. Unfortunately, the fracture could not +be set till six o’clock the next morning, as no surgeon was to +be had before that time, and she now lies at our house in a very doubtful +and dangerous state. Of course we are all exceedingly distressed +at the circumstance, for she was like one of our own family. Since +the event we have been almost without assistance—a person has +dropped in now and then to do the drudgery, but we have as yet been +able to procure no regular servant; and consequently, the whole work +of the house, as well as the additional duty of nursing Tabby, falls +on ourselves. Under these circumstances I dare not press your +visit here, at least until she is pronounced out of danger; it would +be too selfish of me. Aunt wished me to give you this information +before, but papa and all the rest were anxious I should delay until +we saw whether matters took a more settled aspect, and I myself kept +putting it off from day to day, most bitterly reluctant to give up all +the pleasure I had anticipated so long. However, remembering what +you told me, namely, that you had commended the matter to a higher decision +than ours, and that you were resolved to submit with resignation to +that decision, whatever it might be, I hold it my duty to yield also, +and to be silent; it may be all for the best. I fear, if you had +been here during this severe weather, your visit would have been of +no advantage to you, for the moors are blockaded with snow, and you +would never have been able to get out. After this disappointment, +I never dare reckon with certainty on the enjoyment of a pleasure again; +it seems as if some fatality stood between you and me. I am not +good enough for you, and you must be kept from the contamination of +too intimate society. I would urge your visit yet—I would +entreat and press it—but the thought comes across me, should Tabby +die while you are in the house, I should never forgive myself. +No! it must not be, and in a thousand ways the consciousness of that +mortifies and disappoints me most keenly, and I am not the only one +who is disappointed. All in the house were looking to your visit +with eagerness. Papa says he highly approves of my friendship +with you, and he wishes me to continue it through life.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A good neighbour of the Brontës—a clever, intelligent +Yorkshire woman, who keeps a druggist’s shop in Haworth, and from +her occupation, her experience, and excellent sense, holds the position +of village doctress and nurse, and, as such, has been a friend, in many +a time of trial, and sickness, and death, in the households round—told +me a characteristic little incident connected with Tabby’s fractured +leg. Mr. Brontë is truly generous and regardful of all deserving +claims. Tabby had lived with them for ten or twelve years, and +was, as Charlotte expressed it, “one of the family.” +But on the other hand, she was past the age for any very active service, +being nearer seventy than sixty at the time of the accident; she had +a sister living in the village; and the savings she had accumulated, +during many years’ service, formed a competency for one in her +rank of life. Or if, in this time of sickness, she fell short +of any comforts which her state rendered necessary, the parsonage could +supply them. So reasoned Miss Branwell, the prudent, not to say +anxious aunt; looking to the limited contents of Mr. Brontë’s +purse, and the unprovided-for-future of her nieces; who were, moreover, +losing the relaxation of the holidays, in close attendance upon Tabby.</p> +<p>Miss Branwell urged her views upon Mr. Brontë as soon as the +immediate danger to the old servant’s life was over. He +refused at first to listen to the careful advice; it was repugnant to +his liberal nature. But Miss Branwell persevered; urged economical +motives; pressed on his love for his daughters. He gave way. +Tabby was to be removed to her sister’s, and there nursed and +cared for, Mr. Brontë coming in with his aid when her own resources +fell short. This decision was communicated to the girls. +There were symptoms of a quiet, but sturdy rebellion, that winter afternoon, +in the small precincts of Haworth parsonage. They made one unanimous +and stiff remonstrance. Tabby had tended them in their childhood; +they, and none other, should tend her in her infirmity and age. +At tea-time, they were sad and silent, and the meal went away untouched +by any of the three. So it was at breakfast; they did not waste +many words on the subject, but each word they did utter was weighty. +They “struck” eating till the resolution was rescinded, +and Tabby was allowed to remain a helpless invalid entirely dependent +upon them. Herein was the strong feeling of Duty being paramount +to pleasure, which lay at the foundation of Charlotte’s character, +made most apparent; for we have seen how she yearned for her friend’s +company; but it was to be obtained only by shrinking from what she esteemed +right, and that she never did, whatever might be the sacrifice.</p> +<p>She had another weight on her mind this Christmas. I have said +that the air of Dewsbury Moor did not agree with her, though she herself +was hardly aware how much her life there was affecting her health. +But Anne had begun to suffer just before the holidays, and Charlotte +watched over her younger sisters with the jealous vigilance of some +wild creature, that changes her very nature if danger threatens her +young. Anne had a slight cough, a pain at her side, a difficulty +of breathing. Miss W--- considered it as little more than a common +cold; but Charlotte felt every indication of incipient consumption as +a stab at her heart, remembering Maria and Elizabeth, whose places once +knew them, and should know them no more.</p> +<p>Stung by anxiety for this little sister, she upbraided Miss W--- +for her fancied indifference to Anne’s state of health. +Miss W--- felt these reproaches keenly, and wrote to Mr. Brontë +about them. He immediately replied most kindly, expressing his +fear that Charlotte’s apprehensions and anxieties respecting her +sister had led her to give utterance to over-excited expressions of +alarm. Through Miss W---’s kind consideration, Anne was +a year longer at school than her friends intended. At the close +of the half-year Miss W--- sought for the opportunity of an explanation +of each other’s words, and the issue proved that “the falling +out of faithful friends, renewing is of love.” And so ended +the first, last, and only difference Charlotte ever had with good, kind +Miss W ---.</p> +<p>Still her heart had received a shock in the perception of Anne’s +delicacy; and all these holidays she watched over her with the longing, +fond anxiety, which is so full of sudden pangs of fear.</p> +<p>Emily had given up her situation in the Halifax school, at the expiration +of six months of arduous trial, on account of her health, which could +only be re-established by the bracing moorland air and free life of +home. Tabby’s illness had preyed on the family resources. +I doubt whether Branwell was maintaining himself at this time. +For some unexplained reason, he had given up the idea of becoming a +student of painting at the Royal Academy, and his prospects in life +were uncertain, and had yet to be settled. So Charlotte had quietly +to take up her burden of teaching again, and return to her previous +monotonous life.</p> +<p>Brave heart, ready to die in harness! She went back to her +work, and made no complaint, hoping to subdue the weakness that was +gaining ground upon her. About this time, she would turn sick +and trembling at any sudden noise, and could hardly repress her screams +when startled. This showed a fearful degree of physical weakness +in one who was generally so self-controlled; and the medical man, whom +at length, through Miss W---’s entreaty, she was led to consult, +insisted on her return to the parsonage. She had led too sedentary +a life, he said; and the soft summer air, blowing round her home, the +sweet company of those she loved, the release, the freedom of life in +her own family, were needed, to save either reason or life. So, +as One higher than she had over-ruled that for a time she might relax +her strain, she returned to Haworth; and after a season of utter quiet, +her father sought for her the enlivening society of her two friends, +Mary and Martha T. At the conclusion of the following letter, +written to the then absent E., there is, I think, as pretty a glimpse +of a merry group of young people as need be; and like all descriptions +of doing, as distinct from thinking or feeling, in letters, it saddens +one in proportion to the vivacity of the picture of what was once, and +is now utterly swept away.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Haworth, June 9, 1838.</p> +<p>“I received your packet of despatches on Wednesday; it was +brought me by Mary and Martha, who have been staying at Haworth for +a few days; they leave us to-day. You will be surprised at the +date of this letter. I ought to be at Dewsbury Moor, you know; +but I stayed as long as I was able, and at length I neither could nor +dared stay any longer. My health and spirits had utterly failed +me, and the medical man whom I consulted enjoined me, as I valued my +life, to go home. So home I went, and the change has at once roused +and soothed me; and I am now, I trust, fairly in the way to be myself +again.</p> +<p>“A calm and even mind like yours cannot conceive the feelings +of the shattered wretch who is now writing to you, when, after weeks +of mental and bodily anguish not to be described, something like peace +began to dawn again. Mary is far from well. She breathes +short, has a pain in her chest, and frequent flushings of fever. +I cannot tell you what agony these symptoms give me; they remind me +too strongly of my two sisters, whom no power of medicine could save. +Martha is now very well; she has kept in a continual flow of good humour +during her stay here, and has consequently been very fascinating . . +. ”</p> +<p>“They are making such a noise about me I cannot write any more. +Mary is playing on the piano; Martha is chattering as fast as her little +tongue can run; and Branwell is standing before her, laughing at her +vivacity.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Charlotte grew much stronger in this quiet, happy period at home. +She paid occasional visits to her two great friends, and they in return +came to Haworth. At one of their houses, I suspect, she met with +the person to whom the following letter refers—some one having +a slight resemblance to the character of “St. John,” in +the last volume of “Jane Eyre,” and, like him, in holy orders.</p> +<blockquote><p>“March 12, 1839.</p> +<p>. . . “I had a kindly leaning towards him, because he is an +amiable and well-disposed man. Yet I had not, and could not have, +that intense attachment which would make me willing to die for him; +and if ever I marry, it must be in that light of adoration that I will +regard my husband. Ten to one I shall never have the chance again; +but <i>n’importe</i>. Moreover, I was aware that he knew +so little of me he could hardly be conscious to whom he was writing. +Why! it would startle him to see me in my natural home character; he +would think I was a wild, romantic enthusiast indeed. I could +not sit all day long making a grave face before my husband. I +would laugh, and satirize, and say whatever came into my head first. +And if he were a clever man, and loved me, the whole world, weighed +in the balance against his smallest wish, should be light as air.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So that—her first proposal of marriage—was quietly declined +and put on one side. Matrimony did not enter into the scheme of +her life, but good, sound, earnest labour did; the question, however, +was as yet undecided in what direction she should employ her forces. +She had been discouraged in literature; her eyes failed her in the minute +kind of drawing which she practised when she wanted to express an idea; +teaching seemed to her at this time, as it does to most women at all +times, the only way of earning an independent livelihood. But +neither she nor her sisters were naturally fond of children. The +hieroglyphics of childhood were an unknown language to them, for they +had never been much with those younger than themselves. I am inclined +to think, too, that they had not the happy knack of imparting information, +which seems to be a separate gift from the faculty of acquiring it; +a kind of sympathetic tact, which instinctively perceives the difficulties +that impede comprehension in a child’s mind, and that yet are +too vague and unformed for it, with its half-developed powers of expression, +to explain by words. Consequently, teaching very young children +was anything but a “delightful task” to the three Brontë +sisters. With older girls, verging on womanhood, they might have +done better, especially if these had any desire for improvement. +But the education which the village clergyman’s daughters had +received, did not as yet qualify them to undertake the charge of advanced +pupils. They knew but little French, and were not proficients +in music; I doubt whether Charlotte could play at all. But they +were all strong again, and, at any rate, Charlotte and Anne must put +their shoulders to the wheel. One daughter was needed at home, +to stay with Mr. Brontë and Miss Branwell; to be the young and +active member in a household of four, whereof three—the father, +the aunt, and faithful Tabby—were past middle age. And Emily, +who suffered and drooped more than her sisters when away from Haworth, +was the one appointed to remain. Anne was the first to meet with +a situation.</p> +<blockquote><p>“April 15th, 1839.</p> +<p>“I could not write to you in the week you requested, as about +that time we were very busy in preparing for Anne’s departure. +Poor child! she left us last Monday; no one went with her; it was her +own wish that she might be allowed to go alone, as she thought she could +manage better and summon more courage if thrown entirely upon her own +resources. We have had one letter from her since she went. +She expresses herself very well satisfied, and says that Mrs. --- is +extremely kind; the two eldest children alone are under her care, the +rest are confined to the nursery, with which and its occupants she has +nothing to do . . . I hope she’ll do. You would be astonished +what a sensible, clever letter she writes; it is only the talking part +that I fear. But I do seriously apprehend that Mrs. --- will sometimes +conclude that she has a natural impediment in her speech. For +my own part, I am as yet ‘wanting a situation,’ like a housemaid +out of place. By the way, I have lately discovered I have quite +a talent for cleaning, sweeping up hearths, dusting rooms, making beds, +&c.; so, if everything else fails, I can turn my hand to that, if +anybody will give me good wages for little labour. I won’t +be a cook; I hate soothing. I won’t be a nurserymaid, nor +a lady’s-maid, far less a lady’s companion, or a mantua-maker, +or a straw-bonnet maker, or a taker-in of plain work. I won’t +be anything but a housemaid . . . With regard to my visit to G., I have +as yet received no invitation; but if I should be asked, though I should +feel it a great act of self-denial to refuse, yet I have almost made +up my mind to do so, though the society of the T.’s is one of +the most rousing pleasures I have ever known. Good-bye, my darling +E., &c.</p> +<p>“P. S.—Strike out that word ‘darling;’ it +is humbug. Where’s the use of protestations? We’ve +known each other, and liked each other, a good while; that’s enough.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Not many weeks after this was written, Charlotte also became engaged +as a governess. I intend carefully to abstain from introducing +the names of any living people, respecting whom I may have to tell unpleasant +truths, or to quote severe remarks from Miss Brontë’s letters; +but it is necessary that the difficulties she had to encounter in her +various phases of life, should be fairly and frankly made known, before +the force “of what was resisted” can be at all understood. +I was once speaking to her about “Agnes Grey”—the +novel in which her sister Anne pretty literally describes her own experience +as a governess—and alluding more particularly to the account of +the stoning of the little nestlings in the presence of the parent birds. +She said that none but those who had been in the position of a governess +could ever realise the dark side of “respectable” human +nature; under no great temptation to crime, but daily giving way to +selfishness and ill-temper, till its conduct towards those dependent +on it sometimes amounts to a tyranny of which one would rather be the +victim than the inflicter. We can only trust in such cases that +the employers err rather from a density of perception and an absence +of sympathy, than from any natural cruelty of disposition. Among +several things of the same kind, which I well remember, she told me +what had once occurred to herself. She had been entrusted with +the care of a little boy, three or four years old, during the absence +of his parents on a day’s excursion, and particularly enjoined +to keep him out of the stable-yard. His elder brother, a lad of +eight or nine, and not a pupil of Miss Brontë’s, tempted +the little fellow into the forbidden place. She followed, and +tried to induce him to come away; but, instigated by his brother, he +began throwing stones at her, and one of them hit her so severe a blow +on the temple that the lads were alarmed into obedience. The next +day, in full family conclave, the mother asked Miss Brontë what +occasioned the mark on her forehead. She simply replied, “An +accident, ma’am,” and no further inquiry was made; but the +children (both brothers and sisters) had been present, and honoured +her for not “telling tales.” From that time, she began +to obtain influence over all, more or less, according to their different +characters; and as she insensibly gained their affection, her own interest +in them was increasing. But one day, at the children’s dinner, +the small truant of the stable-yard, in a little demonstrative gush, +said, putting his hand in hers, “I love ‘ou, Miss Brontë.” +Whereupon, the mother exclaimed, before all the children, “Love +the <i>governess</i>, my dear!”</p> +<p>“The family into which she first entered was, I believe, that +of a wealthy Yorkshire manufacturer. The following extracts from +her correspondence at this time will show how painfully the restraint +of her new mode of life pressed upon her. The first is from a +letter to Emily, beginning with one of the tender expressions in which, +in spite of ‘humbug,’ she indulged herself. ‘Mine +dear love,’ ‘Mine-bonnie love,’ are her terms of address +to this beloved sister.</p> +<p>“June 8th, 1839.</p> +<p>“I have striven hard to be pleased with my new situation. +The country, the house and the grounds are, as I have said, divine; +but, alack-a-day! there is such a thing as seeing all beautiful around +you—pleasant woods, white paths, green lawns, and blue sunshiny +sky—and not having a free moment or a free thought left to enjoy +them. The children are constantly with me. As for correcting +them, I quickly found that was out of the question; they are to do as +they like. A complaint to the mother only brings black looks on +myself, and unjust, partial excuses to screen the children. I +have tried that plan once, and succeeded so notably, I shall try no +more. I said in my last letter that Mrs. --- did not know me. +I now begin to find she does not intend to know me; that she cares nothing +about me, except to contrive how the greatest possible quantity of labour +may be got out of me; and to that end she overwhelms me with oceans +of needle-work; yards of cambric to hem, muslin nightcaps to make, and, +above all things, dolls to dress. I do not think she likes me +at all, because I can’t help being shy in such an entirely novel +scene, surrounded as I have hitherto been by strange and constantly +changing faces . . . I used to think I should like to be in the stir +of grand folks’ society; but I have had enough of it—it +is dreary work to look on and listen. I see more clearly than +I have ever done before, that a private governess has no existence, +is not considered as a living rational being, except as connected with +the wearisome duties she has to fulfil . . . One of the pleasantest +afternoons I have spent here—indeed, the only one at all pleasant—was +when Mr. --- walked out with his children, and I had orders to follow +a little behind. As he strolled on through his fields, with his +magnificent Newfoundland dog at his side, he looked very like what a +frank, wealthy, Conservative gentleman ought to be. He spoke freely +and unaffectedly to the people he met, and, though he indulged his children +and allowed them to tease himself far too much, he would not suffer +them grossly to insult others.”</p> +<p>(WRITTEN IN PENCIL TO A FRIEND.)</p> +<p>“July, 1839.</p> +<p>“I cannot procure ink, without going into the drawing-room, +where I do not wish to go . . . I should have written to you long since, +and told you every detail of the utterly new scene into which I have +lately been cast, had I not been daily expecting a letter from yourself, +and wondering and lamenting that you did not write; for you will remember +it was your turn. I must not bother you too much with my sorrows, +of which, I fear, you have heard an exaggerated account. If you +were near me, perhaps I might be tempted to tell you all, to grow egotistical, +and pour out the long history of a private governess’s trials +and crosses in her first situation. As it is, I will only ask +you to imagine the miseries of a reserved wretch like me, thrown at +once into the midst of a large family, at a time when they were particularly +gay—when the house was filled with company—all strangers—people +whose faces I had never seen before. In this state I had charge +given me of a set of pampered, spoilt, turbulent children, whom I was +expected constantly to amuse, as well as to instruct. I soon found +that the constant demand on my stock of animal spirits reduced them +to the lowest state of exhaustion; at times I felt—and, I suppose, +seemed—depressed. To my astonishment, I was taken to task +on the subject by Mrs. --- with a sternness of manner and a harshness +of language scarcely credible; like a fool, I cried most bitterly. +I could not help it; my spirits quite failed me at first. I thought +I had done my best—strained every nerve to please her; and to +be treated in that way, merely because I was shy and sometimes melancholy, +was too bad. At first I was for giving all up and going home. +But, after a little reflection, I determined to summon what energy I +had, and to weather the storm. I said to myself, ‘I have +never yet quitted a place without gaining a friend; adversity is a good +school; the poor are born to labour, and the dependent to endure.’ +I resolved to be patient, to command my feelings, and to take what came; +the ordeal, I reflected, would not last many weeks, and I trusted it +would do me good. I recollected the fable of the willow and the +oak; I bent quietly, and now, I trust, the storm is blowing over me. +Mrs. --- is generally considered an agreeable woman; so she is, I doubt +not, in general society. She behaves somewhat more civilly to +me now than she did at first, and the children are a little more manageable; +but she does not know my character, and she does not wish to know it. +I have never had five minutes’ conversation with her since I came, +except while she was scolding me. I have no wish to be pitied, +except by yourself; if I were talking to you I could tell you much more.”</p> +<p>(TO EMILY, ABOUT THIS TIME.)</p> +<p>“Mine bonnie love, I was as glad of your letter as tongue can +express: it is a real, genuine pleasure to hear from home; a thing to +be saved till bedtime, when one has a moment’s quiet and rest +to enjoy it thoroughly. Write whenever you can. I could +like to be at home. I could like to work in a mill. I could +like to feel some mental liberty. I could like this weight of +restraint to be taken off. But the holidays will come. Coraggio.”</p> +<p>Her temporary engagement in this uncongenial family ended in the +July of this year; not before the constant strain upon her spirits and +strength had again affected her health; but when this delicacy became +apparent in palpitations and shortness of breathing, it was treated +as affectation—as a phase of imaginary indisposition, which could +be dissipated by a good scolding. She had been brought up rather +in a school of Spartan endurance than in one of maudlin self-indulgence, +and could bear many a pain and relinquish many a hope in silence.</p> +<p>After she had been at home about a week, her friend proposed that +she should accompany her in some little excursion, having pleasure alone +for its object. She caught at the idea most eagerly at first; +but her hope stood still, waned, and had almost disappeared before, +after many delays, it was realised. In its fulfilment at last, +it was a favourable specimen of many a similar air-bubble dancing before +her eyes in her brief career, in which stern realities, rather than +pleasures, formed the leading incidents.</p> +<blockquote><p>“July 26th, 1839.</p> +<p>“Your proposal has almost driven me ‘clean daft’—if +you don’t understand that ladylike expression, you must ask me +what it means when I see you. The fact is, an excursion with you +anywhere,—whether to Cleathorpe or Canada,—just by ourselves, +would be to me most delightful. I should, indeed, like to go; +but I can’t get leave of absence for longer than a week, and I’m +afraid that would not suit you—must I then give it up entirely? +I feel as if I <i>could not</i>; I never had such a chance of enjoyment +before; I do want to see you and talk to you, and be with you. +When do you wish to go? Could I meet you at Leeds? To take +a gig from Haworth to B., would be to me a very serious increase of +expense, and I happen to be very low in cash. Oh! rich people +seem to have many pleasures at their command which we are debarred from! +However, no repining.</p> +<p>“Say when you go, and I shall be able in my answer to say decidedly +whether I can accompany you or not. I must—I will—I’m +set upon it—I’ll be obstinate and bear down all opposition.</p> +<p>“P.S.—Since writing the above, I find that aunt and papa +have determined to go to Liverpool for a fortnight, and take us all +with them. It is stipulated, however, that I should give up the +Cleathorpe scheme. I yield reluctantly.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I fancy that, about this time, Mr. Brontë found it necessary, +either from failing health or the increased populousness of the parish, +to engage the assistance of a curate. At least, it is in a letter +written this summer that I find mention of the first of a succession +of curates, who henceforward revolved round Haworth Parsonage, and made +an impression on the mind of one of its inmates which she has conveyed +pretty distinctly to the world. The Haworth curate brought his +clerical friends and neighbours about the place, and for a time the +incursions of these, near the parsonage tea-time, formed occurrences +by which the quietness of the life there was varied, sometimes pleasantly, +sometimes disagreeably. The little adventure recorded at the end +of the following letter is uncommon in the lot of most women, and is +a testimony in this case to the unusual power of attraction—though +so plain in feature—which Charlotte possessed, when she let herself +go in the happiness and freedom of home.</p> +<blockquote><p>“August 4th, 1839.</p> +<p>“The Liverpool journey is yet a matter of talk, a sort of castle +in the air; but, between you and me, I fancy it is very doubtful whether +it will ever assume a more solid shape. Aunt—like many other +elderly people—likes to talk of such things; but when it comes +to putting them into actual execution, she rather falls off. Such +being the case, I think you and I had better adhere to our first plan +of going somewhere together independently of other people. I have +got leave to accompany you for a week—at the utmost a fortnight—but +no more. Where do you wish to go? Burlington, I should think, +from what M. says, would be as eligible a place as any. When do +you set off? Arrange all these things according to your convenience; +I shall start no objections. The idea of seeing the sea—of +being near it—watching its changes by sunrise, sunset, moonlight, +and noon-day—in calm, perhaps in storm—fills and satisfies +my mind. I shall be discontented at nothing. And then I +am not to be with a set of people with whom I have nothing in common—who +would be nuisances and bores: but with you, whom I like and know, and +who knows me.</p> +<p>“I have an odd circumstance to relate to you: prepare for a +hearty laugh! The other day, Mr. ---, a vicar, came to spend the +day with us, bringing with him his own curate. The latter gentleman, +by name Mr. B., is a young Irish clergyman, fresh from Dublin University. +It was the first time we had any of us seen him, but, however, after +the manner of his countrymen, he soon made himself at home. His +character quickly appeared in his conversation; witty, lively, ardent, +clever too; but deficient in the dignity and discretion of an Englishman. +At home, you know, I talk with ease, and am never shy—never weighed +down and oppressed by that miserable <i>mauvaise honte</i> which torments +and constrains me elsewhere. So I conversed with this Irishman, +and laughed at his jests; and, though I saw faults in his character, +excused them because of the amusement his originality afforded. +I cooled a little, indeed, and drew in towards the latter part of the +evening, because he began to season his conversation with something +of Hibernian flattery, which I did not quite relish. However, +they went away, and no more was thought about them. A few days +after, I got a letter, the direction of which puzzled me, it being in +a hand I was not accustomed to see. Evidently, it was neither +from you nor Mary, my only correspondents. Having opened and read +it, it proved to be a declaration of attachment and proposal of matrimony, +expressed in the ardent language of the sapient young Irishman! +I hope you are laughing heartily. This is not like one of my adventures, +is it? It more nearly resembles Martha’s. I am certainly +doomed to be an old maid. Never mind. I made up my mind +to that fate ever since I was twelve years old.</p> +<p>“Well! thought I, I have heard of love at first sight, but +this beats all! I leave you to guess what my answer would be, +convinced that you will not do me the injustice of guessing wrong.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On the 14th of August she still writes from Haworth:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I have in vain packed my box, and prepared everything +for our anticipated journey. It so happens that I can get no conveyance +this week or the next. The only gig let out to hire in Haworth, +is at Harrowgate, and likely to remain there, for aught I can hear. +Papa decidedly objects to my going by the coach, and walking to B., +though I am sure I could manage it. Aunt exclaims against the +weather, and the roads, and the four winds of heaven, so I am in a fix, +and, what is worse, so are you. On reading over, for the second +or third time, your last letter (which, by the by, was written in such +hieroglyphics that, at the first hasty perusal, I could hardly make +out two consecutive words), I find you intimate that if I leave this +journey till Thursday I shall be too late. I grieve that I should +have so inconvenienced you; but I need not talk of either Friday or +Saturday now, for I rather imagine there is small chance of my ever +going at all. The elders of the house have never cordially acquiesced +in the measure; and now that impediments seem to start up at every step, +opposition grows more open. Papa, indeed, would willingly indulge +me, but this very kindness of his makes me doubt whether I ought to +draw upon it; so, though I could battle out aunt’s discontent, +I yield to papa’s indulgence. He does not say so, but I +know he would rather I stayed at home; and aunt meant well too, I dare +say, but I am provoked that she reserved the expression of her decided +disapproval till all was settled between you and myself. Reckon +on me no more; leave me out in your calculations: perhaps I ought, in +the beginning, to have had prudence sufficient to shut my eyes against +such a prospect of pleasure, so as to deny myself the hope of it. +Be as angry as you please with me for disappointing you. I did +not intend it, and have only one thing more to say—if you do not +go immediately to the sea, will you come to see us at Haworth? +This invitation is not mine only, but papa’s and aunt’s.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>However, a little more patience, a little more delay, and she enjoyed +the pleasure she had wished for so much. She and her friend went +to Easton for a fortnight in the latter part of September. It +was here she received her first impressions of the sea.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Oct. 24th.</p> +<p>“Have you forgotten the sea by this time, E.? Is it grown +dim in your mind? Or can you still see it, dark, blue, and green, +and foam-white, and hear it roaring roughly when the wind is high, or +rushing softly when it is calm? . . . I am as well as need be, and very +fat. I think of Easton very often, and of worthy Mr. H., and his +kind-hearted helpmate, and of our pleasant walks to H--- Wood, and to +Boynton, our merry evenings, our romps with little Hancheon, &c., +&c. If we both live, this period of our lives will long be +a theme for pleasant recollection. Did you chance, in your letter +to Mr. H., to mention my spectacles? I am sadly inconvenienced +by the want of them. I can neither read, write, nor draw with +comfort in their absence. I hope Madame won’t refuse to +give them up . . . Excuse the brevity of this letter, for I have been +drawing all day, and my eyes are so tired it is quite a labour to write.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But, as the vivid remembrance of this pleasure died away, an accident +occurred to make the actual duties of life press somewhat heavily for +a time.</p> +<blockquote><p>“December 21st, 1839</p> +<p>“We are at present, and have been during the last month, rather +busy, as, for that space of time, we have been without a servant, except +a little girl to run errands. Poor Tabby became so lame that she +was at length obliged to leave us. She is residing with her sister, +in a little house of her own, which she bought with her savings a year +or two since. She is very comfortable, and wants nothing; as she +is near, we see her very often. In the meantime, Emily and I are +sufficiently busy, as you may suppose: I manage the ironing, and keep +the rooms clean; Emily does the baking, and attends to the kitchen. +We are such odd animals, that we prefer this mode of contrivance to +having a new face amongst us. Besides, we do not despair of Tabby’s +return, and she shall not be supplanted by a stranger in her absence. +I excited aunt’s wrath very much by burning the clothes, the first +time I attempted to iron; but I do better now. Human feelings +are queer things; I am much happier black-leading the stoves, making +the beds, and sweeping the floors at home, than I should be living like +a fine lady anywhere else. I must indeed drop my subscription +to the Jews, because I have no money to keep it up. I ought to +have announced this intention to you before, but I quite forgot I was +a subscriber. I intend to force myself to take another situation +when I can get one, though I <i>hate</i> and <i>abhor</i> the very thoughts +of governess-ship. But I must do it; and, therefore, I heartily +wish I could hear of a family where they need such a commodity as a +governess.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>The year 1840 found all the Brontës living at home, except Anne. +As I have already intimated, for some reason with which I am unacquainted, +the plan of sending Branwell to study at the Royal Academy had been +relinquished; probably it was found, on inquiry, that the expenses of +such a life, were greater than his father’s slender finances could +afford, even with the help which Charlotte’s labours at Miss W---’s +gave, by providing for Anne’s board and education. I gather +from what I have heard, that Branwell must have been severely disappointed +when the plan fell through. His talents were certainly very brilliant, +and of this he was fully conscious, and fervently desired, by their +use, either in writing or drawing, to make himself a name. At +the same time, he would probably have found his strong love of pleasure +and irregular habits a great impediment in his path to fame; but these +blemishes in his character were only additional reasons why he yearned +after a London life, in which he imagined he could obtain every stimulant +to his already vigorous intellect, while at the same time he would have +a license of action to be found only in crowded cities. Thus his +whole nature was attracted towards the metropolis; and many an hour +must he have spent poring over the map of London, to judge from an anecdote +which has been told me. Some traveller for a London house of business +came to Haworth for a night; and according to the unfortunate habit +of the place, the brilliant “Patrick” was sent for to the +inn, to beguile the evening by his intellectual conversation and his +flashes of wit. They began to talk of London; of the habits and +ways of life there; of the places of amusement; and Branwell informed +the Londoner of one or two short cuts from point to point, up narrow +lanes or back streets; and it was only towards the end of the evening +that the traveller discovered, from his companion’s voluntary +confession, that he had never set foot in London at all.</p> +<p>At this time the young man seemed to have his fate in his own hands. +He was full of noble impulses, as well as of extraordinary gifts; not +accustomed to resist temptation, it is true, from any higher motive +than strong family affection, but showing so much power of attachment +to all about him that they took pleasure in believing that, after a +time, he would “right himself,” and that they should have +pride and delight in the use he would then make of his splendid talents. +His aunt especially made him her great favourite. There are always +peculiar trials in the life of an only boy in a family of girls. +He is expected to act a part in life; to <i>do</i>, while they are only +to <i>be</i>; and the necessity of their giving way to him in some things, +is too often exaggerated into their giving way to him in all, and thus +rendering him utterly selfish. In the family about whom I am writing, +while the rest were almost ascetic in their habits, Branwell was allowed +to grow up self-indulgent; but, in early youth, his power of attracting +and attaching people was so great, that few came in contact with him +who were not so much dazzled by him as to be desirous of gratifying +whatever wishes he expressed. Of course, he was careful enough +not to reveal anything before his father and sisters of the pleasures +he indulged in; but his tone of thought and conversation became gradually +coarser, and, for a time, his sisters tried to persuade themselves that +such coarseness was a part of manliness, and to blind themselves by +love to the fact that Branwell was worse than other young men. +At present, though he had, they were aware, fallen into some errors, +the exact nature of which they avoided knowing, still he was their hope +and their darling; their pride, who should some time bring great glory +to the name of Brontë.</p> +<p>He and his sister Charlotte were both slight and small of stature, +while the other two were of taller and larger make. I have seen +Branwell’s profile; it is what would be generally esteemed very +handsome; the forehead is massive, the eye well set, and the expression +of it fine and intellectual; the nose too is good; but there are coarse +lines about the mouth, and the lips, though of handsome shape, are loose +and thick, indicating self-indulgence, while the slightly retreating +chin conveys an idea of weakness of will. His hair and complexion +were sandy. He had enough of Irish blood in him to make his manners +frank and genial, with a kind of natural gallantry about them. +In a fragment of one of his manuscripts which I have read, there is +a justness and felicity of expression which is very striking. +It is the beginning of a tale, and the actors in it are drawn with much +of the grace of characteristic portrait-painting, in perfectly pure +and simple language which distinguishes so many of Addison’s papers +in the “Spectator.” The fragment is too short to afford +the means of judging whether he had much dramatic talent, as the persons +of the story are not thrown into conversation. But altogether +the elegance and composure of style are such as one would not have expected +from this vehement and ill-fated young man. He had a stronger +desire for literary fame burning in his heart, than even that which +occasionally flashed up in his sisters’. He tried various +outlets for his talents. He wrote and sent poems to Wordsworth +and Coleridge, who both expressed kind and laudatory opinions, and he +frequently contributed verses to the <i>Leeds Mercury</i>. In +1840, he was living at home, employing himself in occasional composition +of various kinds, and waiting till some occupation, for which he might +be fitted without any expensive course of preliminary training, should +turn up; waiting, not impatiently; for he saw society of one kind (probably +what he called “life”) at the Black Bull; and at home he +was as yet the cherished favourite.</p> +<p>Miss Branwell was unaware of the fermentation of unoccupied talent +going on around her. She was not her nieces’ confidante—perhaps +no one so much older could have been; but their father, from whom they +derived not a little of their adventurous spirit, was silently cognisant +of much of which she took no note. Next to her nephew, the docile, +pensive Anne was her favourite. Of her she had taken charge from +her infancy; she was always patient and tractable, and would submit +quietly to occasional oppression, even when she felt it keenly. +Not so her two elder sisters; they made their opinions known, when roused +by any injustice. At such times, Emily would express herself as +strongly as Charlotte, although perhaps less frequently. But, +in general, notwithstanding that Miss Branwell might be occasionally +unreasonable, she and her nieces went on smoothly enough; and though +they might now and then be annoyed by petty tyranny, she still inspired +them with sincere respect, and not a little affection. They were, +moreover, grateful to her for many habits she had enforced upon them, +and which in time had become second nature: order, method, neatness +in everything; a perfect knowledge of all kinds of household work; an +exact punctuality, and obedience to the laws of time and place, of which +no one but themselves, I have heard Charlotte say, could tell the value +in after-life; with their impulsive natures, it was positive repose +to have learnt implicit obedience to external laws. People in +Haworth have assured me that, according to the hour of day—nay, +the very minute—could they have told what the inhabitants of the +parsonage were about. At certain times the girls would be sewing +in their aunt’s bedroom—the chamber which, in former days, +before they had outstripped her in their learning, had served them as +a schoolroom; at certain (early) hours they had their meals; from six +to eight, Miss Branwell read aloud to Mr. Brontë; at punctual eight, +the household assembled to evening prayers in his study; and by nine +he, the aunt, and Tabby, were all in bed,—the girls free to pace +up and down (like restless wild animals) in the parlour, talking over +plans and projects, and thoughts of what was to be their future life.</p> +<p>At the time of which I write, the favourite idea was that of keeping +a school. They thought that, by a little contrivance, and a very +little additional building, a small number of pupils, four or six, might +be accommodated in the parsonage. As teaching seemed the only +profession open to them, and as it appeared that Emily at least could +not live away from home, while the others also suffered much from the +same cause, this plan of school-keeping presented itself as most desirable. +But it involved some outlay; and to this their aunt was averse. +Yet there was no one to whom they could apply for a loan of the requisite +means, except Miss Branwell, who had made a small store out of her savings, +which she intended for her nephew and nieces eventually, but which she +did not like to risk. Still, this plan of school-keeping remained +uppermost; and in the evenings of this winter of 1839-40, the alterations +that would be necessary in the house, and the best way of convincing +their aunt of the wisdom of their project, formed the principal subject +of their conversation.</p> +<p>This anxiety weighed upon their minds rather heavily, during the +months of dark and dreary weather. Nor were external events, among +the circle of their friends, of a cheerful character. In January, +1840, Charlotte heard of the death of a young girl who had been a pupil +of hers, and a schoolfellow of Anne’s, at the time when the sisters +were together at Roe Head; and had attached herself very strongly to +the latter, who, in return, bestowed upon her much quiet affection. +It was a sad day when the intelligence of this young creature’s +death arrived. Charlotte wrote thus on January 12th, 1840:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Your letter, which I received this morning, was +one of painful interest. Anne C., it seems, is <i>dead</i>; when +I saw her last, she was a young, beautiful, and happy girl; and now +‘life’s fitful fever’ is over with her, and she ‘sleeps +well.’ I shall never see her again. It is a sorrowful +thought; for she was a warm-hearted, affectionate being, and I cared +for her. Wherever I seek for her now in this world, she cannot +be found, no more than a flower or a leaf which withered twenty years +ago. A bereavement of this kind gives one a glimpse of the feeling +those must have who have seen all drop round them, friend after friend, +and are left to end their pilgrimage alone. But tears are fruitless, +and I try not to repine.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>During this winter, Charlotte employed her leisure hours in writing +a story. Some fragments of the manuscript yet remain, but it is +in too small a hand to be read without great fatigue to the eyes; and +one cares the less to read it, as she herself condemned it, in the preface +to the “Professor,” by saying that in this story she had +got over such taste as she might once have had for the “ornamental +and redundant in composition.” The beginning, too, as she +acknowledges, was on a scale commensurate with one of Richardson’s +novels, of seven or eight volumes. I gather some of these particulars +from a copy of a letter, apparently in reply to one from Wordsworth, +to whom she had sent the commencement of the story, sometime in the +summer of 1840.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Authors are generally very tenacious of their +productions, but I am not so much attached to this but that I can give +it up without much distress. No doubt, if I had gone on, I should +have made quite a Richardsonian concern of it . . . I had materials +in my head for half-a-dozen volumes . . . Of course, it is with considerable +regret I relinquish any scheme so charming as the one I have sketched. +It is very edifying and profitable to create a world out of your own +brains, and people it with inhabitants, who are so many Melchisedecs, +and have no father nor mother but your own imagination . . . I am sorry +I did not exist fifty or sixty years ago, when the ‘Ladies’ +Magazine’ was flourishing like a green bay-tree. In that +case, I make no doubt, my aspirations after literary fame would have +met with due encouragement, and I should have had the pleasure of introducing +Messrs. Percy and West into the very best society, and recording all +their sayings and doings in double-columned close-printed pages . . +. I recollect, when I was a child, getting hold of some antiquated volumes, +and reading them by stealth with the most exquisite pleasure. +You give a correct description of the patient Grisels of those days. +My aunt was one of them; and to this day she thinks the tales of the +‘Ladies’ Magazine’ infinitely superior to any trash +of modern literature. So do I; for I read them in childhood, and +childhood has a very strong faculty of admiration, but a very weak one +of criticism . . . I am pleased that you cannot quite decide whether +I am an attorney’s clerk or a novel-reading dress-maker. +I will not help you at all in the discovery; and as to my handwriting, +or the ladylike touches in my style and imagery, you must not draw any +conclusion from that—I may employ an amanuensis. Seriously, +sir, I am very much obliged to you for your kind and candid letter. +I almost wonder you took the trouble to read and notice the novelette +of an anonymous scribe, who had not even the manners to tell you whether +he was a man or a woman, or whether his ‘C. T.’ meant Charles +Timms or Charlotte Tomkins.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There are two or three things noticeable in the letter from which +these extracts are taken. The first is the initials with which +she had evidently signed the former one to which she alludes. +About this time, to her more familiar correspondents, she occasionally +calls herself “Charles Thunder,” making a kind of pseudonym +for herself out of her Christian name, and the meaning of her Greek +surname. In the next place, there is a touch of assumed smartness, +very different from the simple, womanly, dignified letter which she +had written to Southey, under nearly similar circumstances, three years +before. I imagine the cause of this difference to be twofold. +Southey, in his reply to her first letter, had appealed to the higher +parts of her nature, in calling her to consider whether literature was, +or was not, the best course for a woman to pursue. But the person +to whom she addressed this one had evidently confined himself to purely +literary criticisms, besides which, her sense of humour was tickled +by the perplexity which her correspondent felt as to whether he was +addressing a man or a woman. She rather wished to encourage the +former idea; and, in consequence, possibly, assumed something of the +flippancy which very probably existed in her brother’s style of +conversation, from whom she would derive her notions of young manhood, +not likely, as far as refinement was concerned, to be improved by the +other specimens she had seen, such as the curates whom she afterwards +represented in “Shirley.”</p> +<p>These curates were full of strong, High-Church feeling. Belligerent +by nature, it was well for their professional character that they had, +as clergymen, sufficient scope for the exercise of their warlike propensities. +Mr. Brontë, with all his warm regard for Church and State, had +a great respect for mental freedom; and, though he was the last man +in the world to conceal his opinions, he lived in perfect amity with +all the respectable part of those who differed from him. Not so +the curates. Dissent was schism, and schism was condemned in the +Bible. In default of turbaned Saracens, they entered on a crusade +against Methodists in broadcloth; and the consequence was that the Methodists +and Baptists refused to pay the church-rates. Miss Brontë +thus describes the state of things at this time:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Little Haworth has been all in a bustle about +church-rates, since you were here. We had a stirring meeting in +the schoolroom. Papa took the chair, and Mr. C. and Mr. W. acted +as his supporters, one on each side. There was violent opposition, +which set Mr. C.’s Irish blood in a ferment, and if papa had not +kept him quiet, partly by persuasion and partly by compulsion, he would +have given the Dissenters their kale through the reek—a Scotch +proverb, which I will explain to you another time. He and Mr. +W. both bottled up their wrath for that time, but it was only to explode +with redoubled force at a future period. We had two sermons on +dissent, and its consequences, preached last Sunday—one in the +afternoon by Mr. W., and one in the evening by Mr. C. All the +Dissenters were invited to come and hear, and they actually shut up +their chapels, and came in a body; of course the church was crowded. +Mr. W. delivered a noble, eloquent, High-Church, Apostolical-Succession +discourse, in which he banged the Dissenters most fearlessly and unflinchingly. +I thought they had got enough for one while, but it was nothing to the +dose that was thrust down their throats in the evening. A keener, +cleverer, bolder, and more heart-stirring harangue than that which Mr. +C. delivered from Haworth pulpit, last Sunday evening, I never heard. +He did not rant; he did not cant; he did not whine; he did not sniggle; +he just got up and spoke with the boldness of a man who was impressed +with the truth of what he was saying, who has no fear of his enemies, +and no dread of consequences. His sermon lasted an hour, yet I +was sorry when it was done. I do not say that I agree either with +him, or with Mr. W., either in all or in half their opinions. +I consider them bigoted, intolerant, and wholly unjustifiable on the +ground of common sense. My conscience will not let me be either +a Puseyite or a Hookist; <i>mais</i>, if I were a Dissenter, I would +have taken the first opportunity of kicking, or of horse-whipping both +the gentlemen for their stern, bitter attack on my religion and its +teachers. But in spite of all this, I admired the noble integrity +which could dictate so fearless an opposition against so strong an antagonist.</p> +<p>“P.S.—Mr. W. has given another lecture at the Keighley +Mechanics’ Institution, and papa has also given a lecture; both +are spoken of very highly in the newspapers, and it is mentioned as +a matter of wonder that such displays of intellect should emanate from +the village of Haworth, ‘situated among the bogs and mountains, +and, until very lately, supposed to be in a state of semi-barbarism.’ +Such are the words of the newspaper.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To fill up the account of this outwardly eventless year, I may add +a few more extracts from the letters entrusted to me.</p> +<blockquote><p>“May 15th, 1840.</p> +<p>“Do not be over-persuaded to marry a man you can never respect—I +do not say <i>love</i>; because, I think, if you can respect a person +before marriage, moderate love at least will come after; and as to intense +<i>passion</i>, I am convinced that that is no desirable feeling. +In the first place, it seldom or never meets with a requital; and, in +the second place, if it did, the feeling would be only temporary: it +would last the honeymoon, and then, perhaps, give place to disgust, +or indifference, worse, perhaps, than disgust. Certainly this +would be the case on the man’s part; and on the woman’s—God +help her, if she is left to love passionately and alone.</p> +<p>“I am tolerably well convinced that I shall never marry at +all. Reason tells me so, and I am not so utterly the slave of +feeling but that I can <i>occasionally hear</i> her voice.”</p> +<p>“June 2nd, 1840.</p> +<p>“M. is not yet come to Haworth; but she is to come on the condition +that I first go and stay a few days there. If all be well, I shall +go next Wednesday. I may stay at G--- until Friday or Saturday, +and the early part of the following week I shall pass with you, if you +will have me—which last sentence indeed is nonsense, for as I +shall be glad to see you, so I know you will be glad to see me. +This arrangement will not allow much time, but it is the only practicable +one which, considering all the circumstances, I can effect. Do +not urge me to stay more than two or three days, because I shall be +obliged to refuse you. I intend to walk to Keighley, there to +take the coach as far as B---, then to get some one to carry my box, +and to walk the rest of the way to G-. If I manage this, I think +I shall contrive very well. I shall reach B. by about five o’clock, +and then I shall have the cool of the evening for the walk. I +have communicated the whole arrangement to M. I desire exceedingly +to see both her and you. Good-bye.</p> +<p>C. B.<br /> +C. B.<br /> +C. B.<br /> +C. B.</p> +<p>“If you have any better plan to suggest I am open to conviction, +provided your plan is practicable.”</p> +<p>“August 20th, 1840.</p> +<p>“Have you seen anything of Miss H. lately? I wish they, +or somebody else, would get me a situation. I have answered advertisements +without number, but my applications have met with no success.</p> +<p>“I have got another bale of French books from G. containing +upwards of forty volumes. I have read about half. They are +like the rest, clever, wicked, sophistical, and immoral. The best +of it is, they give one a thorough idea of France and Paris, and are +the best substitute for French conversation that I have met with.</p> +<p>“I positively have nothing more to say to you, for I am in +a stupid humour. You must excuse this letter not being quite as +long as your own. I have written to you soon, that you might not +look after the postman in vain. Preserve this writing as a curiosity +in caligraphy—I think it is exquisite—all brilliant black +blots, and utterly illegible letters. ‘CALIBAN.’</p> +<p>“‘The wind bloweth where it listeth. Thou hearest +the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, nor whither +it goeth.’ That, I believe, is Scripture, though in what +chapter or book, or whether it be correctly quoted, I can’t possibly +say. However, it behoves me to write a letter to a young woman +of the name of E., with whom I was once acquainted, ‘in life’s +morning march, when my spirit was young.’ This young woman +wished me to write to her some time since, though I have nothing to +say—I e’en put it off, day by day, till at last, fearing +that she will ‘curse me by her gods,’ I feel constrained +to sit down and tack a few lines together, which she may call a letter +or not as she pleases. Now if the young woman expects sense in +this production, she will find herself miserably disappointed. +I shall dress her a dish of salmagundi—I shall cook a hash—compound +a stew—toss up an <i>omelette soufflèe à la Française</i>, +and send it her with my respects. The wind, which is very high +up in our hills of Judea, though, I suppose, down in the Philistine +flats of B. parish it is nothing to speak of, has produced the same +effects on the contents of my knowledge-box that a quaigh of usquebaugh +does upon those of most other bipeds. I see everything <i>couleur +de rose</i>, and am strongly inclined to dance a jig, if I knew how. +I think I must partake of the nature of a pig or an ass—both which +animals are strongly affected by a high wind. From what quarter +the wind blows I cannot tell, for I never could in my life; but I should +very much like to know how the great brewing-tub of Bridlington Bay +works, and what sort of yeasty froth rises just now on the waves.</p> +<p>“A woman of the name of Mrs. B., it seems, wants a teacher. +I wish she would have me; and I have written to Miss W. to tell her +so. Verily, it is a delightful thing to live here at home, at +full liberty to do just what one pleases. But I recollect some +scrubby old fable about grasshoppers and ants, by a scrubby old knave +yclept Æsop; the grasshoppers sang all the summer, and starved +all the winter.</p> +<p>“A distant relation of mine, one Patrick Branwell, has set +off to seek his fortune in the wild, wandering, adventurous, romantic, +knight-errant-like capacity of clerk on the Leeds and Manchester Railroad. +Leeds and Manchester—where are they? Cities in the wilderness, +like Tadmor, alias Palmyra—are they not?</p> +<p>“There is one little trait respecting Mr. W. which lately came +to my knowledge, which gives a glimpse of the better side of his character. +Last Saturday night he had been sitting an hour in the parlour with +Papa; and, as he went away, I heard Papa say to him ‘What is the +matter with you? You seem in very low spirits to-night.’ +‘Oh, I don’t know. I’ve been to see a poor young +girl, who, I’m afraid, is dying.’ ‘Indeed; what +is her name?’ ‘Susan Bland, the daughter of John Bland, +the superintendent.’ Now Susan Bland is my oldest and best +scholar in the Sunday-school; and, when I heard that, I thought I would +go as soon as I could to see her. I did go on Monday afternoon, +and found her on her way to that ‘bourn whence no traveller returns.’ +After sitting with her some time, I happened to ask her mother, if she +thought a little port wine would do her good. She replied that +the doctor had recommended it, and that when Mr. W. was last there, +he had brought them a bottle of wine and jar of preserves. She +added, that he was always good-natured to poor folks, and seemed to +have a deal of feeling and kindheartedness about him. No doubt, +there are defects in his character, but there are also good qualities +. . . God bless him! I wonder who, with his advantages, would +be without his faults. I know many of his faulty actions, many +of his weak points; yet, where I am, he shall always find rather a defender +than an accuser. To be sure, my opinion will go but a very little +way to decide his character; what of that? People should do right +as far as their ability extends. You are not to suppose, from +all this, that Mr. W. and I are on very amiable terms; we are not at +all. We are distant, cold, and reserved. We seldom speak; +and when we do, it is only to exchange the most trivial and common-place +remarks.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Mrs. B. alluded to in this letter, as in want of a governess, +entered into a correspondence with Miss Brontë, and expressed herself +much pleased with the letters she received from her, with the “style +and candour of the application,” in which Charlotte had taken +care to tell her, that if she wanted a showy, elegant, or fashionable +person, her correspondent was not fitted for such a situation. +But Mrs. B. required her governess to give instructions in music and +singing, for which Charlotte was not qualified: and, accordingly, the +negotiation fell through. But Miss Brontë was not one to +sit down in despair after disappointment. Much as she disliked +the life of a private governess, it was her duty to relieve her father +of the burden of her support, and this was the only way open to her. +So she set to advertising and inquiring with fresh vigour.</p> +<p>In the meantime, a little occurrence took place, described in one +of her letters, which I shall give, as it shows her instinctive aversion +to a particular class of men, whose vices some have supposed she looked +upon with indulgence. The extract tells all that need be known, +for the purpose I have in view, of the miserable pair to whom it relates.</p> +<blockquote><p>“You remember Mr. and Mrs. ---? Mrs. --- +came here the other day, with a most melancholy tale of her wretched +husband’s drunken, extravagant, profligate habits. She asked +Papa’s advice; there was nothing she said but ruin before them. +They owed debts which they could never pay. She expected Mr. ---’s +instant dismissal from his curacy; she knew, from bitter experience, +that his vices were utterly hopeless. He treated her and her child +savagely; with much more to the same effect. Papa advised her +to leave him for ever, and go home, if she had a home to go to. +She said, this was what she had long resolved to do; and she would leave +him directly, as soon as Mr. B. dismissed him. She expressed great +disgust and contempt towards him, and did not affect to have the shadow +of regard in any way. I do not wonder at this, but I do wonder +she should ever marry a man towards whom her feelings must always have +been pretty much the same as they are now. I am morally certain +no decent woman could experience anything but aversion towards such +a man as Mr. ---. Before I knew, or suspected his character, and +when I rather wondered at his versatile talents, I felt it in an uncontrollable +degree. I hated to talk with him—hated to look at him; though +as I was not certain that there was substantial reason for such a dislike, +and thought it absurd to trust to mere instinct, I both concealed and +repressed the feeling as much as I could; and, on all occasions, treated +him with as much civility as I was mistress of. I was struck with +Mary’s expression of a similar feeling at first sight; she said, +when we left him, ‘That is a hideous man, Charlotte!’ +I thought ‘He is indeed.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>Early in March, 1841, Miss Brontë obtained her second and last +situation as a governess. This time she esteemed herself fortunate +in becoming a member of a kind-hearted and friendly household. +The master of it, she especially regarded as a valuable friend, whose +advice helped to guide her in one very important step of her life. +But as her definite acquirements were few, she had to eke them out by +employing her leisure time in needlework; and altogether her position +was that of “bonne” or nursery governess, liable to repeated +and never-ending calls upon her time. This description of uncertain, +yet perpetual employment, subject to the exercise of another person’s +will at all hours of the day, was peculiarly trying to one whose life +at home had been full of abundant leisure. <i>Idle</i> she never +was in any place, but of the multitude of small talks, plans, duties, +pleasures, &c., that make up most people’s days, her home +life was nearly destitute. This made it possible for her to go +through long and deep histories of feeling and imagination, for which +others, odd as it sounds, have rarely time. This made it inevitable +that—later on, in her too short career—the intensity of +her feeling should wear out her physical health. The habit of +“making out,” which had grown with her growth, and strengthened +with her strength, had become a part of her nature. Yet all exercise +of her strongest and most characteristic faculties was now out of the +question. She could not (as while she was at Miss W---’s) +feel, amidst the occupations of the day, that when evening came, she +might employ herself in more congenial ways. No doubt, all who +enter upon the career of a governess have to relinquish much; no doubt, +it must ever be a life of sacrifice; but to Charlotte Brontë it +was a perpetual attempt to force all her faculties into a direction +for which the whole of her previous life had unfitted them. Moreover, +the little Brontës had been brought up motherless; and from knowing +nothing of the gaiety and the sportiveness of childhood—from never +having experienced caresses or fond attentions themselves—they +were ignorant of the very nature of infancy, or how to call out its +engaging qualities. Children were to them the troublesome necessities +of humanity; they had never been drawn into contact with them in any +other way. Years afterwards, when Miss Brontë came to stay +with us, she watched our little girls perpetually; and I could not persuade +her that they were only average specimens of well brought up children. +She was surprised and touched by any sign of thoughtfulness for others, +of kindness to animals, or of unselfishness on their part: and constantly +maintained that she was in the right, and I in the wrong, when we differed +on the point of their unusual excellence. All this must be borne +in mind while reading the following letters. And it must likewise +be borne in mind—by those who, surviving her, look back upon her +life from their mount of observation—how no distaste, no suffering +ever made her shrink from any course which she believed it to be her +duty to engage in.</p> +<blockquote><p>“March 3rd, 1841.</p> +<p>“I told some time since, that I meant to get a situation, and +when I said so my resolution was quite fixed. I felt that however +often I was disappointed, I had no intention of relinquishing my efforts. +After being severely baffled two or three times,—after a world +of trouble, in the way of correspondence and interviews,—I have +at length succeeded, and am fairly established in my new place.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<blockquote><p>“The house is not very large, but exceedingly comfortable +and well regulated; the grounds are fine and extensive. In taking +the place, I have made a large sacrifice in the way of salary, in the +hope of securing comfort,—by which word I do not mean to express +good eating and drinking, or warm fire, or a soft bed, but the society +of cheerful faces, and minds and hearts not dug out of a lead-mine, +or cut from a marble quarry. My salary is not really more than +16<i>l</i>. per annum, though it is nominally 20<i>l</i>., but the expense +of washing will be deducted therefrom. My pupils are two in number, +a girl of eight, and a boy of six. As to my employers, you will +not expect me to say much about their characters when I tell you that +I only arrived here yesterday. I have not the faculty of telling +an individual’s disposition at first sight. Before I can +venture to pronounce on a character, I must see it first under various +lights and from various points of view. All I can say therefore +is, both Mr. and Mrs. --- seem to me good sort of people. I have +as yet had no cause to complain of want of considerateness or civility. +My pupils are wild and unbroken, but apparently well-disposed. +I wish I may be able to say as much next time I write to you. +My earnest wish and endeavour will be to please them. If I can +but feel that I am giving satisfaction, and if at the same time I can +keep my health, I shall, I hope, be moderately happy. But no one +but myself can tell how hard a governess’s work is to me—for +no one but myself is aware how utterly averse my whole mind and nature +are for the employment. Do not think that I fail to blame myself +for this, or that I leave any means unemployed to conquer this feeling. +Some of my greatest difficulties lie in things that would appear to +you comparatively trivial. I find it so hard to repel the rude +familiarity of children. I find it so difficult to ask either +servants or mistress for anything I want, however much I want it. +It is less pain for me to endure the greatest inconvenience than to +go into the kitchen to request its removal. I am a fool. +Heaven knows I cannot help it!</p> +<p>“Now can you tell me whether it is considered improper for +governesses to ask their friends to come and see them. I do not +mean, of course, to stay, but just for a call of an hour or two? +If it is not absolute treason, I do fervently request that you will +contrive, in some way or other, to let me have a sight of your face. +Yet I feel, at the same time, that I am making a very foolish and almost +impracticable demand; yet this is only four miles from B---!”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<blockquote><p>“March 21st.</p> +<p>“You must excuse a very short answer to your most welcome letter; +for my time is entirely occupied. Mrs. --- expected a good deal +of sewing from me. I cannot sew much during the day, on account +of the children, who require the utmost attention. I am obliged, +therefore, to devote the evenings to this business. Write to me +often; very long letters. It will do both of us good. This +place is far better than ---, but God knows, I have enough to do to +keep a good heart in the matter. What you said has cheered me +a little. I wish I could always act according to your advice. +Home-sickness affects me sorely. I like Mr. --- extremely. +The children are over-indulged, and consequently hard at times to manage. +<i>Do, do</i>, do come and see me; if it be a breach of etiquette, never +mind. If you can only stop an hour, come. Talk no more about +my forsaking you; my darling, I could not afford to do it. I find +it is not in my nature to get on in this weary world without sympathy +and attachment in some quarter; and seldom indeed do we find it. +It is too great a treasure to be ever wantonly thrown away when once +secured.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Miss Brontë had not been many weeks in her new situation before +she had a proof of the kind-hearted hospitality of her employers. +Mr. --- wrote to her father, and urgently invited him to come and make +acquaintance with his daughter’s new home, by spending a week +with her in it; and Mrs. --- expressed great regret when one of Miss +Brontë’s friends drove up to the house to leave a letter +or parcel, without entering. So she found that all her friends +might freely visit her, and that her father would be received with especial +gladness. She thankfully acknowledged this kindness in writing +to urge her friend afresh to come and see her; which she accordingly +did.</p> +<blockquote><p>“June, 1841.</p> +<p>“You can hardly fancy it possible, I dare say, that I cannot +find a quarter of an hour to scribble a note in; but so it is; and when +a note is written, it has to be carried a mile to the post, and that +consumes nearly an hour, which is a large portion of the day. +Mr. and Mrs. --- have been gone a week. I heard from them this +morning. No time is fixed for their return, but I hope it will +not be delayed long, or I shall miss the chance of seeing Anne this +vacation. She came home, I understand, last Wednesday, and is +only to be allowed three weeks’ vacation, because the family she +is with are going to Scarborough. <i>I should like to see her</i>, +to judge for myself of the state of her health. I dare not trust +any other person’s report, no one seems minute enough in their +observations. I should very much have liked you to have seen her. +I have got on very well with the servants and children so far; yet it +is dreary, solitary work. You can tell as well as me the lonely +feeling of being without a companion.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Soon after this was written, Mr. and Mrs. --- returned, in time to +allow Charlotte to go and look after Anne’s health, which, as +she found to her intense anxiety, was far from strong. What could +she do to nurse and cherish up this little sister, the youngest of them +all? Apprehension about her brought up once more the idea of keeping +a school. If, by this means, they three could live together, and +maintain themselves, all might go well. They would have some time +of their own, in which to try again and yet again at that literary career, +which, in spite of all baffling difficulties, was never quite set aside +as an ultimate object; but far the strongest motive with Charlotte was +the conviction that Anne’s health was so delicate that it required +a degree of tending which none but her sister could give. Thus +she wrote during those midsummer holidays.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Haworth, July 18th, 1841.</p> +<p>“We waited long and anxiously for you, on the Thursday that +you promised to come. I quite wearied my eyes with watching from +the window, eye-glass in hand, and sometimes spectacles on nose. +However, you are not to blame . . . and as to disappointment, why, all +must suffer disappointment at some period or other of their lives. +But a hundred things I had to say to you will now be forgotten, and +never said. There is a project hatching in this house, which both +Emily and I anxiously wished to discuss with you. The project +is yet in its infancy, hardly peeping from its shell; and whether it +will ever come out a fine full-fledged chicken, or will turn addle and +die before it cheeps, is one of those considerations that are but dimly +revealed by the oracles of futurity. Now, don’t be nonplussed +by all this metaphorical mystery. I talk of a plain and everyday +occurrence, though, in Delphic style, I wrap up the information in figures +of speech concerning eggs, chickens etceatera, etcaeterorum. To +come to the point: Papa and aunt talk, by fits and starts, of our—id +est, Emily, Anne, and myself—commencing a school! I have +often, you know, said how much I wished such a thing; but I never could +conceive where the capital was to come from for making such a speculation. +I was well aware, indeed, that aunt had money, but I always considered +that she was the last person who would offer a loan for the purpose +in question. A loan, however, she <i>has</i> offered, or rather +intimates that she perhaps <i>will</i> offer in case pupils can be secured, +an eligible situation obtained, &c. This sounds very fair, +but still there are matters to be considered which throw something of +a damp upon the scheme. I do not expect that aunt will sink more +than 150<i>l</i>. in such a venture; and would it be possible to establish +a respectable (not by any means a <i>showy</i>) school, and to commence +housekeeping with a capital of only that amount? Propound the +question to your sister, if you think she can answer it; if not, don’t +say a word on the subject. As to getting into debt, that is a +thing we could none of us reconcile our mind to for a moment. +We do not care how modest, how humble our commencement be, so it be +made on sure grounds, and have a safe foundation. In thinking +of all possible and impossible places where we could establish a school, +I have thought of Burlington, or rather of the neighbourhood of Burlington. +Do you remember whether there was any other school there besides that +of Miss ---? This is, of course, a perfectly crude and random +idea. There are a hundred reasons why it should be an impracticable +one. We have no connections, no acquaintances there; it is far +from home, &c. Still, I fancy the ground in the East Riding +is less fully occupied than in the West. Much inquiry and consideration +will be necessary, of course, before any place is decided on; and I +fear much time will elapse before any plan is executed . . . Write as +soon as you can. I shall not leave my present situation till my +future prospects assume a more fixed and definite aspect.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A fortnight afterwards, we see that the seed has been sown which +was to grow up into a plan materially influencing her future life.</p> +<blockquote><p>“August 7th, 1841.</p> +<p>“This is Saturday evening; I have put the children to bed; +now I am going to sit down and answer your letter. I am again +by myself—housekeeper and governess—for Mr. and Mrs. --- +are staying at ---. To speak truth, though I am solitary while +they are away, it is still by far the happiest part of my time. +The children are under decent control, the servants are very observant +and attentive to me, and the occasional absence of the master and mistress +relieves me from the duty of always endeavouring to seem cheerful and +conversable. Martha ---, it appears, is in the way of enjoying +great advantages; so is Mary, for you will be surprised to hear that +she is returning immediately to the Continent with her brother; not, +however, to stay there, but to take a month’s tour and recreation. +I have had a long letter from Mary, and a packet containing a present +of a very handsome black silk scarf, and a pair of beautiful kid gloves, +bought at Brussels. Of course, I was in one sense pleased with +the gift—pleased that they should think of me so far off, amidst +the excitements of one of the most splendid capitals of Europe; and +yet it felt irksome to accept it. I should think Mary and Martha +have not more than sufficient pocket-money to supply themselves. +I wish they had testified their regard by a less expensive token. +Mary’s letters spoke of some of the pictures and cathedrals she +had seen—pictures the most exquisite, cathedrals the most venerable. +I hardly know what swelled to my throat as I read her letter: such a +vehement impatience of restraint and steady work; such a strong wish +for wings—wings such as wealth can furnish; such an urgent thirst +to see, to know, to learn; something internal seemed to expand bodily +for a minute. I was tantalised by the consciousness of faculties +unexercised,—then all collapsed, and I despaired. My dear, +I would hardly make that confession to any one but yourself; and to +you, rather in a letter than <i>vivâ voce</i>. These rebellious +and absurd emotions were only momentary; I quelled them in five minutes. +I hope they will not revive, for they were acutely painful. No +further steps have been taken about the project I mentioned to you, +nor probably will be for the present; but Emily, and Anne, and I, keep +it in view. It is our polar star, and we look to it in all circumstances +of despondency. I begin to suspect I am writing in a strain which +will make you think I am unhappy. This is far from being the case; +on the contrary, I know my place is a favourable one, for a governess. +What dismays and haunts me sometimes, is a conviction that I have no +natural knack for my vocation. If teaching only were requisite, +it would be smooth and easy; but it is the living in other people’s +houses—the estrangement from one’s real character—the +adoption of a cold, rigid, apathetic exterior, that is painful . . . +You will not mention our school project at present. A project +not actually commenced is always uncertain. Write to me often, +my dear Nell; you <i>know</i> your letters are valued. Your ‘loving +child’ (as you choose to call me so),</p> +<p>C. B.</p> +<p>“P.S. I am well in health; don’t fancy I am not, +but I have one aching feeling at my heart (I must allude to it, though +I had resolved not to). It is about Anne; she has so much to endure: +far, far more than I ever had. When my thoughts turn to her, they +always see her as a patient, persecuted stranger. I know what +concealed susceptibility is in her nature, when her feelings are wounded. +I wish I could be with her, to administer a little balm. She is +more lonely—less gifted with the power of making friends, even +than I am. ‘Drop the subject.’”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She could bear much for herself; but she could not patiently bear +the sorrows of others, especially of her sisters; and again, of the +two sisters, the idea of the little, gentle, youngest suffering in lonely +patience, was insupportable to her. Something must be done. +No matter if the desired end were far away; all time was lost in which +she was not making progress, however slow, towards it. To have +a school, was to have some portion of daily leisure, uncontrolled but +by her own sense of duty; it was for the three sisters, loving each +other with so passionate an affection, to be together under one roof, +and yet earning their own subsistence; above all, it was to have the +power of watching over these two whose life and happiness were ever +to Charlotte far more than her own. But no trembling impatience +should lead her to take an unwise step in haste. She inquired +in every direction she could, as to the chances which a new school might +have of success. In all there seemed more establishments like +the one which the sisters wished to set up than could be supported. +What was to be done? Superior advantages must be offered. +But how? They themselves abounded in thought, power, and information; +but these are qualifications scarcely fit to be inserted in a prospectus. +Of French they knew something; enough to read it fluently, but hardly +enough to teach it in competition with natives or professional masters. +Emily and Anne had some knowledge of music; but here again it was doubtful +whether, without more instruction, they could engage to give lessons +in it.</p> +<p>Just about this time, Miss W--- was thinking of relinquishing her +school at Dewsbury Moor; and offered to give it up in favour of her +old pupils, the Brontës. A sister of hers had taken the active +management since the time when Charlotte was a teacher; but the number +of pupils had diminished; and, if the Brontës undertook it, they +would have to try and work it up to its former state of prosperity. +This, again, would require advantages on their part which they did not +at present possess, but which Charlotte caught a glimpse of. She +resolved to follow the clue, and never to rest till she had reached +a successful issue. With the forced calm of a suppressed eagerness, +that sends a glow of desire through every word of the following letter, +she wrote to her aunt thus.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Dear Aunt,</p> +<p>“Sept. 29th, 1841.</p> +<p>“I have heard nothing of Miss W--- yet since I wrote to her, +intimating that I would accept her offer. I cannot conjecture +the reason of this long silence, unless some unforeseen impediment has +occurred in concluding the bargain. Meantime, a plan has been +suggested and approved by Mr. and Mrs. --- ” (the father and mother +of her pupils) “and others, which I wish now to impart to you. +My friends recommend me, if I desire to secure permanent success, to +delay commencing the school for six months longer, and by all means +to contrive, by hook or by crook, to spend the intervening time in some +school on the continent. They say schools in England are so numerous, +competition so great, that without some such step towards attaining +superiority, we shall probably have a very hard struggle, and may fail +in the end. They say, moreover, that the loan of 100<i>l</i>., +which you have been so kind as to offer us, will, perhaps, not be all +required now, as Miss W--- will lend us the furniture; and that, if +the speculation is intended to be a good and successful one, half the +sum, at least, ought to be laid out in the manner I have mentioned, +thereby insuring a more speedy repayment both of interest and principal.</p> +<p>“I would not go to France or to Paris. I would go to +Brussels, in Belgium. The cost of the journey there, at the dearest +rate of travelling, would be 5<i>l</i>.; living is there little more +than half as dear as it is in England, and the facilities for education +are equal or superior to any other place in Europe. In half a +year, I could acquire a thorough familiarity with French. I could +improve greatly in Italian, and even get a dash of German, i.e., providing +my health continued as good as it is now. Mary is now staying +at Brussels, at a first-rate establishment there. I should not +think of going to the Château de Kokleberg, where she is resident, +as the terms are much too high; but if I wrote to her, she, with the +assistance of Mrs. Jenkins, the wife of the British Chaplain, would +be able to secure me a cheap, decent residence and respectable protection. +I should have the opportunity of seeing her frequently; she would make +me acquainted with the city; and, with the assistance of her cousins, +I should probably be introduced to connections far more improving, polished, +and cultivated, than any I have yet known.</p> +<p>“These are advantages which would turn to real account, when +we actually commenced a school; and, if Emily could share them with +me, we could take a footing in the world afterwards which we can never +do now. I say Emily instead of Anne; for Anne might take her turn +at some future period, if our school answered. I feel certain, +while I am writing, that you will see the propriety of what I say. +You always like to use your money to the best advantage. You are +not fond of making shabby purchases; when you do confer a favour, it +is often done in style; and depend upon it, 50<i>l</i>., or 100<i>l</i>., +thus laid out, would be well employed. Of course, I know no other +friend in the world to whom I could apply on this subject except yourself. +I feel an absolute conviction that, if this advantage were allowed us, +it would be the making of us for life. Papa will, perhaps, think +it a wild and ambitious scheme; but who ever rose in the world without +ambition? When he left Ireland to go to Cambridge University, +he was as ambitious as I am now. I want us <i>all</i> to get on. +I know we have talents, and I want them to be turned to account. +I look to you, aunt, to help us. I think you will not refuse. +I know, if you consent, it shall not be my fault if you ever repent +your kindness.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This letter was written from the house in which she was residing +as governess. It was some little time before an answer came. +Much had to be talked over between the father and aunt in Haworth Parsonage. +At last consent was given. Then, and not till then, she confided +her plan to an intimate friend. She was not one to talk over-much +about any project, while it remained uncertain—to speak about +her labour, in any direction, while its result was doubtful.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Nov. 2nd, 1841.</p> +<p>“Now let us begin to quarrel. In the first place, I must +consider whether I will commence operations on the defensive, or the +offensive. The defensive, I think. You say, and I see plainly, +that your feelings have been hurt by an apparent want of confidence +on my part. You heard from others of Miss W---’s overtures +before I communicated them to you myself. This is true. +I was deliberating on plans important to my future prospects. +I never exchanged a letter with you on the subject. True again. +This appears strange conduct to a friend, near and dear, long-known, +and never found wanting. Most true. I cannot give you my +<i>excuses</i> for this behaviour; this word <i>excuse</i> implies confession +of a fault, and I do not feel that I have been in fault. The plain +fact is, I <i>was</i> not, I am not now, certain of my destiny. +On the contrary, I have been most uncertain, perplexed with contradictory +schemes and proposals. My time, as I have often told you, is fully +occupied; yet I had many letters to write, which it was absolutely necessary +should be written. I knew it would avail nothing to write to you +then to say I was in doubt and uncertainty—hoping this, fearing +that, anxious, eagerly desirous to do what seemed impossible to be done. +When I thought of you in that busy interval, it was to resolve, that +you should know all when my way was clear, and my grand end attained. +If I could, I would always work in silence and obscurity, and let my +efforts be known by their results. Miss W--- did most kindly propose +that I should come to Dewsbury Moor and attempt to revive the school +her sister had relinquished. She offered me the use of her furniture. +At first, I received the proposal cordially, and prepared to do my utmost +to bring about success; but a fire was kindled in my very heart, which +I could not quench. I so longed to increase my attainments—to +become something better than I am; a glimpse of what I felt, I showed +to you in one of my former letters—only a glimpse; Mary cast oil +upon the flames—encouraged me, and in her own strong, energetic +language, heartened me on. I longed to go to Brussels; but how +could I get there? I wished for one, at least, of my sisters to +share the advantage with me. I fixed on Emily. She deserved +the reward, I knew. How could the point be managed? In extreme +excitement, I wrote a letter home, which carried the day. I made +an appeal to aunt for assistance, which was answered by consent. +Things are not settled; yet it is sufficient to say we have a <i>chance</i> +of going for half a year. Dewsbury Moor is relinquished. +Perhaps, fortunately so. In my secret soul, I believe there is +no cause to regret it. My plans for the future are bounded to +this intention: if I once get to Brussels, and if my health is spared, +I will do my best to make the utmost of every advantage that shall come +within my reach. When the half-year is expired, I will do what +I can.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<blockquote><p>“Believe me, though I was born in April, the month +of cloud and sunshine, I am not changeful. My spirits are unequal, +and sometimes I speak vehemently, and sometimes I say nothing at all; +but I have a steady regard for you, and if you will let the cloud and +shower pass by, be sure the sun is always behind, obscured, but still +existing.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>At Christmas she left her situation, after a parting with her employers +which seems to have affected and touched her greatly. “They +only made too much of me,” was her remark, after leaving this +family; “I did not deserve it.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>All four children hoped to meet together at their father’s +house this December. Branwell expected to have a short leave of +absence from his employment as a clerk on the Leeds and Manchester Railway, +in which he had been engaged for five months. Anne arrived before +Christmas-day. She had rendered herself so valuable in her difficult +situation, that her employers vehemently urged her to return, although +she had announced her resolution to leave them; partly on account of +the harsh treatment she had received, and partly because her stay at +home, during her sisters’ absence in Belgium, seemed desirable, +when the age of the three remaining inhabitants of the parsonage was +taken into consideration.</p> +<p>After some correspondence and much talking over plans at home, it +seemed better, in consequence of letters which they received from Brussels +giving a discouraging account of the schools there, that Charlotte and +Emily should go to an institution at Lille, in the north of France, +which was highly recommended by Baptist Noel, and other clergymen. +Indeed, at the end of January, it was arranged that they were to set +off for this place in three weeks, under the escort of a French lady, +then visiting in London. The terms were 50<i>l</i>. each pupil, +for board and French alone, but a separate room was to be allowed for +this sum; without this indulgence, it was lower. Charlotte writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“January 20th, 1842.</p> +<p>“I consider it kind in aunt to consent to an extra sum for +a separate room. We shall find it a great privilege in many ways. +I regret the change from Brussels to Lille on many accounts, chiefly +that I shall not see Martha. Mary has been indefatigably kind +in providing me with information. She has grudged no labour, and +scarcely any expense, to that end. Mary’s price is above +rubies. I have, in fact, two friends—you and her—staunch +and true, in whose faith and sincerity I have as strong a belief as +I have in the Bible. I have bothered you both—you especially; +but you always get the tongs and heap coals of fire upon my head. +I have had letters to write lately to Brussels, to Lille, and to London. +I have lots of chemises, nightgowns, pocket-handkerchiefs, and pockets +to make; besides clothes to repair. I have been, every week since +I came home, expecting to see Branwell, and he has never been able to +get over yet. We fully expect him, however, next Saturday. +Under these circumstances how can I go visiting? You tantalize +me to death with talking of conversations by the fireside. Depend +upon it, we are not to have any such for many a long month to come. +I get an interesting impression of old age upon my face; and when you +see me next I shall certainly wear caps and spectacles.”</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>I am not aware of all the circumstances which led to the relinquishment +of the Lille plan. Brussels had had from the first a strong attraction +for Charlotte; and the idea of going there, in preference to any other +place, had only been given up in consequence of the information received +of the second-rate character of its schools. In one of her letters +reference has been made to Mrs. Jenkins, the wife of the chaplain of +the British Embassy. At the request of his brother—a clergyman, +living not many miles from Haworth, and an acquaintance of Mr. Brontë’s—she +made much inquiry, and at length, after some discouragement in her search, +heard of a school which seemed in every respect desirable. There +was an English lady who had long lived in the Orleans family, amidst +the various fluctuations of their fortunes, and who, when the Princess +Louise was married to King Leopold, accompanied her to Brussels, in +the capacity of reader. This lady’s granddaughter was receiving +her education at the pensionnat of Madame Héger; and so satisfied +was the grandmother with the kind of instruction given, that she named +the establishment, with high encomiums, to Mrs. Jerkins; and, in consequence, +it was decided that, if the terms suited, Miss Brontë and Emily +should proceed thither. M. Héger informs me that, on receipt +of a letter from Charlotte, making very particular inquiries as to the +possible amount of what are usually termed “extras,” he +and his wife were so much struck by the simple earnest tone of the letter, +that they said to each other:—“These are the daughters of +an English pastor, of moderate means, anxious to learn with an ulterior +view of instructing others, and to whom the risk of additional expense +is of great consequence. Let us name a specific sum, within which +all expenses shall be included.”</p> +<p>This was accordingly done; the agreement was concluded, and the Brontës +prepared to leave their native county for the first time, if we except +the melancholy and memorable residence at Cowan Bridge. Mr. Brontë +determined to accompany his daughters. Mary and her brother, who +were experienced in foreign travelling, were also of the party. +Charlotte first saw London in the day or two they now stopped there; +and, from an expression in one of her subsequent letters, they all, +I believe, stayed at the Chapter Coffee House, Paternoster Row—a +strange, old-fashioned tavern, of which I shall have more to say hereafter.</p> +<p>Mary’s account of their journey is thus given.</p> +<p>“In passing through London, she seemed to think our business +was and ought to be, to see all the pictures and statues we could. +She knew the artists, and know where other productions of theirs were +to be found. I don’t remember what we saw except St. Paul’s. +Emily was like her in these habits of mind, but certainly never took +her opinion, but always had one to offer . . . I don’t know what +Charlotte thought of Brussels. We arrived in the dark, and went +next morning to our respective schools to see them. We were, of +course, much preoccupied, and our prospects gloomy. Charlotte +used to like the country round Brussels. ‘At the top of +every hill you see something.’ She took, long solitary walks +on the occasional holidays.”</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë took his daughters to the Rue d’Isabelle, Brussels; +remained one night at Mr. Jenkins’; and straight returned to his +wild Yorkshire village.</p> +<p>What a contrast to that must the Belgian capital have presented to +those two young women thus left behind! Suffering acutely from +every strange and unaccustomed contact—far away from their beloved +home, and the dear moors beyond—their indomitable will was their +great support. Charlotte’s own words, with regard to Emily, +are:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“After the age of twenty, having meantime studied +alone with diligence and perseverance, she went with me to an establishment +on the continent. The same suffering and conflict ensued, heightened +by the strong recoil of her upright heretic and English spirit from +the gentle Jesuitry of the foreign and Romish system. Once more +she seemed sinking, but this time she rallied through the mere force +of resolution: with inward remorse and shame she looked back on her +former failure, and resolved to conquer, but the victory cost her dear. +She was never happy till she carried her hard-won knowledge back to +the remote English village, the old parsonage-house, and desolate Yorkshire +hills.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>They wanted learning. They came for learning. They would +learn. Where they had a distinct purpose to be achieved in intercourse +with their fellows, they forgot themselves; at all other times they +were miserably shy. Mrs. Jenkins told me that she used to ask +them to spend Sundays and holidays with her, until she found that they +felt more pain than pleasure from such visits. Emily hardly ever +uttered more than a monosyllable. Charlotte was sometimes excited +sufficiently to speak eloquently and well—on certain subjects; +but before her tongue was thus loosened, she had a habit of gradually +wheeling round on her chair, so as almost to conceal her face from the +person to whom she was speaking.</p> +<p>And yet there was much in Brussels to strike a responsive chord in +her powerful imagination. At length she was seeing somewhat of +that grand old world of which she had dreamed. As the gay crowds +passed by her, so had gay crowds paced those streets for centuries, +in all their varying costumes. Every spot told an historic tale, +extending back into the fabulous ages when Jan and Jannika, the aboriginal +giant and giantess, looked over the wall, forty feet high, of what is +now the Rue Villa Hermosa, and peered down upon the new settlers who +were to turn them out of the country in which they had lived since the +deluge. The great solemn Cathedral of St. Gudule, the religious +paintings, the striking forms and ceremonies of the Romish Church—all +made a deep impression on the girls, fresh from the bare walls and simple +worship of Haworth Church. And then they were indignant with themselves +for having been susceptible of this impression, and their stout Protestant +hearts arrayed themselves against the false Duessa that had thus imposed +upon them.</p> +<p>The very building they occupied as pupils, in Madame Héger’s +pensionnat, had its own ghostly train of splendid associations, marching +for ever, in shadowy procession, through and through the ancient rooms, +and shaded alleys of the gardens. From the splendour of to-day +in the Rue Royale, if you turn aside, near the statue of the General +Beliard, you look down four flights of broad stone steps upon the Rue +d’Isabelle. The chimneys of the houses in it are below your +feet. Opposite to the lowest flight of steps, there is a large +old mansion facing you, with a spacious walled garden behind—and +to the right of it. In front of this garden, on the same side +as the mansion, and with great boughs of trees sweeping over their lowly +roofs, is a row of small, picturesque, old-fashioned cottages, not unlike, +in degree and uniformity, to the almshouses so often seen in an English +country town. The Rue d’Isabelle looks as though it had +been untouched by the innovations of the builder for the last three +centuries; and yet any one might drop a stone into it from the back +windows of the grand modern hotels in the Rue Royale, built and furnished +in the newest Parisian fashion.</p> +<p>In the thirteenth century, the Rue d’Isabelle was called the +Fossé-aux-Chiens; and the kennels for the ducal hounds occupied +the place where Madame Héger’s pensionnat now stands. +A hospital (in the ancient large meaning of the word) succeeded to the +kennel. The houseless and the poor, perhaps the leprous, were +received, by the brethren of a religious order, in a building on this +sheltered site; and what had been a fosse for defence, was filled up +with herb-gardens and orchards for upwards of a hundred years. +Then came the aristocratic guild of the cross-bow men—that company +the members whereof were required to prove their noble descent—untainted +for so many generations, before they could be admitted into the guild; +and, being admitted, were required to swear a solemn oath, that no other +pastime or exercise should take up any part of their leisure, the whole +of which was to be devoted to the practice of the noble art of shooting +with the cross-bow. Once a year a grand match was held, under +the patronage of some saint, to whose church-steeple was affixed the +bird, or semblance of a bird, to be hit by the victor. <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a> +The conqueror in the game was Roi des Arbalétriers for the coming +year, and received a jewelled decoration accordingly, which he was entitled +to wear for twelve months; after which he restored it to the guild, +to be again striven for. The family of him who died during the +year that he was king, were bound to present the decoration to the church +of the patron saint of the guild, and to furnish a similar prize to +be contended for afresh. These noble cross-bow men of the middle +ages formed a sort of armed guard to the powers in existence, and almost +invariably took the aristocratic, in preference to the democratic side, +in the numerous civil dissensions of the Flemish towns. Hence +they were protected by the authorities, and easily obtained favourable +and sheltered sites for their exercise-ground. And thus they came +to occupy the old fosse, and took possession of the great orchard of +the hospital, lying tranquil and sunny in the hollow below the rampart.</p> +<p>But, in the sixteenth century, it became necessary to construct a +street through the exercise-ground of the “Arbalétriers +du Grand Serment,” and, after much delay, the company were induced +by the beloved Infanta Isabella to give up the requisite plot of ground. +In recompense for this, Isabella—who herself was a member of the +guild, and had even shot down the bird, and been queen in 1615—made +many presents to the arbalétriers; and, in return, the grateful +city, which had long wanted a nearer road to St. Gudule, but been baffled +by the noble archers, called the street after her name. She, as +a sort of indemnification to the arbalétriers, caused a “great +mansion” to be built for their accommodation in the new Rue d’Isabelle. +This mansion was placed in front of their exercise-ground, and was of +a square shape. On a remote part of the walls, may still be read—</p> +<blockquote><p>PHILLIPPO IIII. HISPAN. REGE. ISABELLA-CLARA-EUGENIA +HISPAN. INFANS. MAGNÆ GULDÆ REGINA GULDÆ +FRATRIBUS POSUIT.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In that mansion were held all the splendid feasts of the Grand Serment +des Arbalétriers. The master-archer lived there constantly, +in order to be ever at hand to render his services to the guild. +The great saloon was also used for the court balls and festivals, when +the archers were not admitted. The Infanta caused other and smaller +houses to be built in her new street, to serve as residences for her +“garde noble;” and for her “garde bourgeoise,” +a small habitation each, some of which still remain, to remind us of +English almshouses. The “great mansion,” with its +quadrangular form; the spacious saloon—once used for the archducal +balls, where the dark, grave Spaniards mixed with the blond nobility +of Brabant and Flanders—now a schoolroom for Belgian girls; the +cross-bow men’s archery-ground—all are there—the pensionnat +of Madame Héger.</p> +<p>This lady was assisted in the work of instruction by her husband—a +kindly, wise, good, and religious man—whose acquaintance I am +glad to have made, and who has furnished me with some interesting details, +from his wife’s recollections and his own, of the two Miss Brontës +during their residence in Brussels. He had the better opportunities +of watching them, from his giving lessons in the French language and +literature in the school. A short extract from a letter, written +to me by a French lady resident in Brussels, and well qualified to judge, +will help to show the estimation in which he is held.</p> +<p>“Je ne connais pas personnellement M. Héger, mais je +sais qu’il est peu de caractères aussi nobles, aussi admirables +que le sien. Il est un des membres les plus zélés +de cette Société de S. Vincent de Paul dont je t’ai +déjà parlé, et ne se contente pas de servir les +pauvres et les malades, mais leur consacre encore les soirées. +Après des journées absorbées tout entières +par les devoirs que sa place lui impose, il réunit les pauvres, +les ouvriers, leur donne des cours gratuits, et trouve encore le moyen +de les amuser en les instruisant. Ce dévouement te dira +assez que M. Héger est profondement et ouvertement religieux. +Il a des manières franches et avenantes; il se fait aimer de +tous ceux qui l’approchent, et surtout des enfants. Il a +la parole facile, et possde à un haut degré l’éloquence +du bon sens et du coeur. Il n’est point auteur. Homme +de zèle et de conscience, il vient de se démettre des +fonctions élevées et lucratives qu’il exerçait +à l’Athénée, celles de Préfet des +Etudes, parce qu’il ne peut y réaliser le bien qu’il +avait espéré, introduire l’enseignement religieux +dans le programme des études. J’ai vu une fois Madame +Héger, qui a quelque chose de froid et de compassé dans +son maintien, et qui prévient peu en sa faveur. Je la crois +pourtant aimée et appréciée par ses élèves.”</p> +<p>There were from eighty to a hundred pupils in the pensionnat, when +Charlotte and Emily Brontë entered in February 1842.</p> +<p>M. Héger’s account is that they knew nothing of French. +I suspect they knew as much (or as little), for all conversational purposes, +as any English girls do, who have never been abroad, and have only learnt +the idioms and pronunciation from an Englishwoman. The two sisters +clung together, and kept apart from the herd of happy, boisterous, well-befriended +Belgian girls, who, in their turn, thought the new English pupils wild +and scared-looking, with strange, odd, insular ideas about dress; for +Emily had taken a fancy to the fashion, ugly and preposterous even during +its reign, of gigot sleves, and persisted in wearing them long after +they were “gone out.” Her petticoats, too, had not +a curve or a wave in them, but hung down straight and long, clinging +to her lank figure. The sisters spoke to no one but from necessity. +They were too full of earnest thought, and of the exile’s sick +yearning, to be ready for careless conversation or merry game. +M. Héger, who had done little but observe, during the few first +weeks of their residence in the Rue d’Isabelle, perceived that +with their unusual characters, and extraordinary talents, a different +mode must be adopted from that in which he generally taught French to +English girls. He seems to have rated Emily’s genius as +something even higher than Charlotte’s; and her estimation of +their relative powers was the same. Emily had a head for logic, +and a capability of argument, unusual in a man, and rare indeed in a +woman, according to M. Héger. Impairing the force of this +gift, was a stubborn tenacity of will, which rendered her obtuse to +all reasoning where her own wishes, or her own sense of right, was concerned. +“She should have been a man—a great navigator,” said +M. Héger in speaking of her. “Her powerful reason +would have deduced new spheres of discovery from the knowledge of the +old; and her strong imperious will would never have been daunted by +opposition or difficulty; never have given way but with life.” +And yet, moreover, her faculty of imagination was such that, if she +had written a history, her view of scenes and characters would have +been so vivid, and so powerfully expressed, and supported by such a +show of argument, that it would have dominated over the reader, whatever +might have been his previous opinions, or his cooler perceptions of +its truth. But she appeared egotistical and exacting compared +to Charlotte, who was always unselfish (this is M. Héger’s +testimony); and in the anxiety of the elder to make her younger sister +contented she allowed her to exercise a kind of unconscious tyranny +over her.</p> +<p>After consulting with his wife, M. Héger told them that he +meant to dispense with the old method of grounding in grammar, vocabulary, +&c., and to proceed on a new plan—something similar to what +he had occasionally adopted with the elder among his French and Belgian +pupils. He proposed to read to them some of the master-pieces +of the most celebrated French authors (such as Casimir de la Vigne’s +poem on the “Death of Joan of Arc,” parts of Bossuet, the +admirable translation of the noble letter of St. Ignatius to the Roman +Christians in the “Bibliothèque Choisie des Pères +de l’Eglise,” &c.), and after having thus impressed +the complete effect of the whole, to analyse the parts with them, pointing +out in what such or such an author excelled, and where were the blemishes. +He believed that he had to do with pupils capable, from their ready +sympathy with the intellectual, the refined, the polished, or the noble, +of catching the echo of a style, and so reproducing their own thoughts +in a somewhat similar manner.</p> +<p>After explaining his plan to them, he awaited their reply. +Emily spoke first; and said that she saw no good to be derived from +it; and that, by adopting it, they should lose all originality of thought +and expression. She would have entered into an argument on the +subject, but for this, M. Héger had no time. Charlotte +then spoke; she also doubted the success of the plan; but she would +follow out M. Héger’s advice, because she was bound to +obey him while she was his pupil. Before speaking of the results, +it may be desirable to give an extract from one of her letters, which +shows some of her first impressions of her new life.</p> +<p>“Brussels, 1842 (May?).</p> +<p>“I was twenty-six years old a week or two since; and at this +ripe time of life I am a school-girl, and, on the whole, very happy +in that capacity. It felt very strange at first to submit to authority +instead of exercising it—to obey orders instead of giving them; +but I like that state of things. I returned to it with the same +avidity that a cow, that has long been kept on dry hay, returns to fresh +grass. Don’t laugh at my simile. It is natural to +me to submit, and very unnatural to command.</p> +<p>“This is a large school, in which there are about forty externes, +or day pupils, and twelve pensionnaires, or boarders. Madame Héger, +the head, is a lady of precisely the same cast of mind, degree of cultivation, +and quality of intellect as Miss ---. I think the severe points +are a little softened, because she has not been disappointed, and consequently +soured. In a word, she is a married instead of a maiden lady. +There are three teachers in the school—Mademoiselle Blanche, Mademoiselle +Sophie, and Mademoiselle Marie. The two first have no particular +character. One is an old maid, and the other will be one. +Mademoiselle Marie is talented and original, but of repulsive and arbitrary +manners, which have made the whole school, except myself and Emily, +her bitter enemies. No less than seven masters attend, to teach +the different branches of education—French, Drawing, Music, Singing, +Writing, Arithmetic, and German. All in the house are Catholics +except ourselves, one other girl, and the gouvernante of Madame’s +children, an Englishwoman, in rank something between a lady’s +maid and a nursery governess. The difference in country and religion +makes a broad line of demarcation between us and all the rest. +We are completely isolated in the midst of numbers. Yet I think +I am never unhappy; my present life is so delightful, so congenial to +my own nature, compared to that of a governess. My time, constantly +occupied, passes too rapidly. Hitherto both Emily and I have had +good health, and therefore we have been able to work well. There +is one individual of whom I have not yet spoken—M. Héger, +the husband of Madame. He is professor of rhetoric, a man of power +as to mind, but very choleric and irritable in temperament. He +is very angry with me just at present, because I have written a translation +which he chose to stigmatize as ‘<i>peu correct</i>.’ +He did not tell me so, but wrote the word on the margin of my book, +and asked, in brief stern phrase, how it happened that my compositions +were always better than my translations? adding that the thing seemed +to him inexplicable. The fact is, some weeks ago, in a high-flown +humour, he forbade me to use either dictionary or grammar in translating +the most difficult English compositions into French. This makes +the task rather arduous, and compels me every now and then to introduce +an English word, which nearly plucks the eyes out of his head when he +sees it. Emily and he don’t draw well together at all. +Emily works like a horse, and she has had great difficulties to contend +with—far greater than I have had. Indeed, those who come +to a French school for instruction ought previously to have acquired +a considerable knowledge of the French language, otherwise they will +lose a great deal of time, for the course of instruction is adapted +to natives and not to foreigners; and in these large establishments +they will not change their ordinary course for one or two strangers. +The few private lessons that M. Héger has vouchsafed to give +us, are, I suppose, to be considered a great favour; and I can perceive +they have already excited much spite and jealousy in the school.</p> +<p>“You will abuse this letter for being short and dreary, and +there are a hundred things which I want to tell you, but I have not +time. Brussels is a beautiful city. The Belgians hate the +English. Their external morality is more rigid than ours. +To lace the stays without a handkerchief on the neck is considered a +disgusting piece of indelicacy.”</p> +<p>The passage in this letter where M. Héger is represented as +prohibiting the use of dictionary or grammar, refers, I imagine, to +the time I have mentioned, when he determined to adopt a new method +of instruction in the French language, of which they were to catch the +spirit and rhythm rather from the ear and the heart, as its noblest +accents fell upon them, than by over-careful and anxious study of its +grammatical rules. It seems to me a daring experiment on the part +of their teacher; but, doubtless, he knew his ground; and that it answered +is evident in the composition of some of Charlotte’s <i>devoirs</i>, +written about this time. I am tempted, in illustration of this +season of mental culture, to recur to a conversation which I had with +M. Héger on the manner in which he formed his pupils’ style, +and to give a proof of his success, by copying a <i>devoir</i> of Charlotte’s +with his remarks upon it.</p> +<p>He told me that one day this summer (when the Brontës had been +for about four months receiving instruction from him) he read to them +Victor Hugo’s celebrated portrait of Mirabeau, “mais, dans +ma leçon je me bornais à ce qui concerne <i>Mirabeau orateur</i>. +C’est après l’analyse de ce morceau, considéré +surtout du point de vue du fond, de la disposition de ce qu’on +pourrait appeler <i>la charpente</i> qu’ont été +faits les deux portraits que je vous donne.” He went on +to say that he had pointed out to them the fault in Victor Hugo’s +style as being exaggeration in conception, and, at the same time, he +had made them notice the extreme beauty of his “nuances” +of expression. They were then dismissed to choose the subject +of a similar kind of portrait. This selection M. Héger +always left to them; for “it is necessary,” he observed, +“before sitting down to write on a subject, to have thoughts and +feelings about it. I cannot tell on what subject your heart and +mind have been excited. I must leave that to you.” +The marginal comments, I need hardly say, are M. Héger’s; +the words in italics are Charlotte’s, for which he substitutes +a better form of expression, which is placed between brackets. <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a></p> +<h3>IMITATION.</h3> +<blockquote><p>“Le 31 Juillet, 1842.</p> +<p>PORTRAIT DE PIERRE L’HERMITE. CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p>“De temps en temps, il paraît sur la terre des hommes +destinés à être les instruments [prédestinés] +{Pourquoi cette suppression?} de grands changements moraux ou politiques. +Quelquefois c’est un conquérant, un Alexandre ou un Attila, +qui passe comme un ouragan, et purifie l’atmosphère moral, +comme l’orage purifie l’atmosphère physique; quelquefois, +c’est un révolutionnaire, un Cromwell, ou un Robespierre, +qui fait expier par un roi {les fautes et} les vices de toute une dynastie; +quelquefois c’est un enthousiaste religieux comme Mahomet, ou +Pierre l’Hermite, qui, avec le seul levier de la pensée, +soulève des nations entières, les déracine et les +transplante dans des climats nouveaux, <i>peuplant l’Asie avec +les habitants de l’Europe</i>. Pierre l’Hermite était +gentilhomme de Picardie, en France, {Invtile, quand vous ecrivez er +français} pourquoi donc n’a-t-il passé sa vie comma +les autres gentilhommes, ses contemporains, ont passé la leur, +à table, à la chasse, dans son lit, sans s’inquiéter +de Saladin, ou de ses Sarrasins? N’est-ce pas, parce qu’il +y a dans certaines natures, <i>une ardour</i> [un foyer d’activité] +indomptable qui ne leur permet pas de rester inactives, <i>qui les force +à se remuer afin d’exercer les facultes puissantes, qui +même en dormant sont prêtes, comme Sampson, à briser +les noeuds qui les retiennent</i>?</p> +<p>{Vous avez commencé à parler de Pierre: vous êtes +entrée dans le sujet: marchez au but.}</p> +<p>“Pierre prit la profession des armes; <i>si son ardeur avait +été de cette espèce</i> [s’il n’avait +eu que cette ardeur vulgaire] qui provient d’une robuste santé, +<i>il aurait</i> [c’eut] été un brave militaire, +et rien de plus; mais son ardeur était celle de l’âme, +sa flamme était pure et elle s’élevait vers le ciel.</p> +<p>“<i>Sans doute</i> [Il est vrai que] la jeunesse de Pierre +<i>était</i> [fét] troublée par passions orageuses; +les natures puissantes sont extrèmes en tout, elles ne connaissent +la tiédeur ni dans le bien, ni dans le mal; Pierre donc chercha +d’abord avidement la gloire qui se flétrit et les plaisirs +qui trompent, mais <i>il fit bientôt la découverte</i> +[bientôt il s’aperçut] que ce qu’il poursuivait +n’était qe’une illusion à laquelle il ne pourrait +jamais atteindre; {Vnutile, quand vous avez dit illusion} il retourna +donc sur ses pas, il recommença le voyage de la vie, mais cette +fois il évita le chemin spacieux qui mène à la +perdition et il prit le chemin étroit qui mène à +la vie; <i>puisque</i> [comme] le trajet était long et difficile +il jeta la casque et les armes du soldat, et se vêtit de l’habit +simple du moine. A la vie militaire succéda la vie monastique, +car les extrêmes se touchent, et <i>chez l’homme sincère</i> +la sincérité du repentir amène [nécessairement +à la suite] <i>avec lui</i> la rigueur de la pénitence. +[Voilà donc Pierre devenu moine!]</p> +<p>“Mais <i>Pierre</i> [il] avait en lui un principe qui l’empêchait +de rester long-temps inactif, ses idées, sur quel sujet <i>qu’il +soit</i> [que ce fût] ne pouvaient pas être bornées; +il ne lui suffisait pas que lui-même fût religieux, que +lui-même fût convaincu de la réalité de Christianismé +(sic), il fallait que toute l’Europe, que toute l’Asie, +partageât sa conviction et professât la croyance de la Croix. +La Piété [fervente] élevée par la Génie, +nourrie par la Solitude, <i>fit naître une espèce d’inspiration</i> +[exalta son âme jusqu’à l’inspiration] <i>dans +son ame</i>, et lorsqu’il quitta sa cellule et reparut dans le +monde, il portait comme Moïse l’empreinte de la Divinité +sur son front, et <i>tout</i> [tous] reconnurent en lui la véritable +apôtre de la Croix.</p> +<p>“Mahomet n’avait jamais remué les molles nations +de l’Orient comme alors Pierre remua les peuples austères +de l’Occident; il fallait que cette éloquence fût +d’une force presque miraculeuse <i>qui pouvait</i> [presqu’elle] +persuad<i>er</i> [ait] aux rois de vendre leurs royaumes <i>afin de +procurer</i> [pour avoir] des armes et des soldats <i>pour aider</i> +[à offrir] à Pierre dans la guerre sainte qu’il +voulait livrer aux infidèles. La puissance de Pierre [l’Hermite] +n’était nullement une puissance physique, car la nature, +ou pour mieux dire, Dieu est impartial dans la distribution de ses dons; +il accorde à l’un de ses enfants la grâce, la beauté, +les perfections corporelles, à l’autre l’esprit, +la grandeur morale. Pierre donc était un homme petit, d’une +physionomie peu agréable; mais il avait ce courage, cette constance, +cet enthousiasme, cette énergie de sentiment qui écrase +toute opposition, et qui fait que la volonté d’un seul +homme devient la loi de toute une nation. Pour se former une juste +idée de l’influence qu’exerça cet homme sur +les <i>caractères</i> [choses] et les idées de son temps, +il faut se le représenter au milieu de l’armée des +croisées dans son double rôle de prophète et de +guerrier; le pauvre hermite, vêtu <i>du pauvre</i> [de l’humble] +habit gris est là plus puissant qieun roi; il est entouré +<i>d’une</i> [de la] multitude [avide] une multitude qui ne voit +que lui, tandis qui lui, il ne voit que le ciel; ses yeux levés +semblent dire, ‘Je vois Dieu et les anges, et j’ai perdu +de vue la terre!’</p> +<p>“<i>Dans ce moment le</i> [mais ce] pauvre <i>habit</i> [froc] +gris est pour lui comme le manteau d’Elijah; il l’enveloppe +d’inspiration; <i>il</i> [Pierre] lit dans l’avenir; il +voit Jérusalem délivrée; [il voit] le saint sépulcre +libre; il voit le Croissant argent est arraché du Temple, et +l’Oriflamme et la Croix rouge sont établi à sa place; +non-seulement Pierre voit ces merveilles, mais il les fait voir à +tous ceux qui l’entourent; il ravive l’espérance +et le courage dans [tous ces corps épuisés de fatigues +et de privations]. La bataille ne sera livrée que demain, +mais la victoire est décidée ce soir. Pierre a promis; +et les Croisés se fient à sa parole, comme les Israëlites +se fiaient à celle de Moïse et de Josué.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>As a companion portrait to this, Emily chose to depict Harold on +the eve of the battle of Hastings. It appears to me that her <i>devoir</i> +is superior to Charlotte’s in power and in imagination, and fully +equal to it in language; and that this, in both cases, considering how +little practical knowledge of French they had when they arrived at Brussels +in February, and that they wrote without the aid of dictionary or grammar, +is unusual and remarkable. We shall see the progress Charlotte +had made, in ease and grace of style, a year later.</p> +<p>In the choice of subjects left to her selection, she frequently took +characters and scenes from the Old Testament, with which all her writings +show that she was especially familiar. The picturesqueness and +colour (if I may so express it), the grandeur and breadth of its narrations, +impressed her deeply. To use M. Héger’s expression, +“Elle était nourrie de la Bible.” After he +had read De la Vigne’s poem on Joan of Arc, she chose the “Vision +and Death of Moses on Mount Nebo” to write about; and, in looking +over this <i>devoir</i>, I was much struck with one or two of M. Héger’s +remarks. After describing, in a quiet and simple manner, the circumstances +under which Moses took leave of the Israelites, her imagination becomes +warmed, and she launches out into a noble strain, depicting the glorious +futurity of the Chosen People, as, looking down upon the Promised Land, +he sees their prosperity in prophetic vision. But, before reaching +the middle of this glowing description, she interrupts herself to discuss +for a moment the doubts that have been thrown on the miraculous relations +of the Old Testament. M. Héger remarks, “When you +are writing, place your argument first in cool, prosaic language; but +when you have thrown the reins on the neck of your imagination, do not +pull her up to reason.” Again, in the vision of Moses, he +sees the maidens leading forth their flocks to the wells at eventide, +and they are described as wearing flowery garlands. Here the writer +is reminded of the necessity of preserving a certain verisimilitude: +Moses might from his elevation see mountains and plains, groups of maidens +and herds of cattle, but could hardly perceive the details of dress, +or the ornaments of the head.</p> +<p>When they had made further progress, M. Héger took up a more +advanced plan, that of synthetical teaching. He would read to +them various accounts of the same person or event, and make them notice +the points of agreement and disagreement. Where they were different, +he would make them seek the origin of that difference by causing them +to examine well into the character and position of each separate writer, +and how they would be likely to affect his conception of truth. +For instance, take Cromwell. He would read Bossuet’s description +of him in the “Oraison Funèbre de la Reine d’Angleterre,” +and show how in this he was considered entirely from the religious point +of view, as an instrument in the hands of God, preordained to His work. +Then he would make them read Guizot, and see how, in this view, Cromwell +was endowed with the utmost power of free-will, but governed by no higher +motive than that of expediency; while Carlyle regarded him as a character +regulated by a strong and conscientious desire to do the will of the +Lord. Then he would desire them to remember that the Royalist +and Commonwealth men had each their different opinions of the great +Protector. And from these conflicting characters, he would require +them to sift and collect the elements of truth, and try to unite them +into a perfect whole.</p> +<p>This kind of exercise delighted Charlotte. It called into play +her powers of analysis, which were extraordinary, and she very soon +excelled in it.</p> +<p>Wherever the Brontës could be national they were so, with the +same tenacity of attachment which made them suffer as they did whenever +they left Haworth. They were Protestant to the backbone in other +things beside their religion, but pre-eminently so in that. Touched +as Charlotte was by the letter of St. Ignatius before alluded to, she +claimed equal self-devotion, and from as high a motive, for some of +the missionaries of the English Church sent out to toil and to perish +on the poisonous African coast, and wrote as an “imitation,” +“Lettre d’un Missionnaire, Sierra Léone, Afrique.”</p> +<p>Something of her feeling, too, appears in the following letter:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Brussels, 1842.</p> +<p>“I consider it doubtful whether I shall come home in September +or not. Madame Héger has made a proposal for both me and +Emily to stay another half-year, offering to dismiss her English master, +and take me as English teacher; also to employ Emily some part of each +day in teaching music to a certain number of the pupils. For these +services we are to be allowed to continue our studies in French and +German, and to have board, &c., without paying for it; no salaries, +however, are offered. The proposal is kind, and in a great selfish +city like Brussels, and a great selfish school, containing nearly ninety +pupils (boarders and day pupils included), implies a degree of interest +which demands gratitude in return. I am inclined to accept it. +What think you? I don’t deny I sometimes wish to be in England, +or that I have brief attacks of home sickness; but, on the whole, I +have borne a very valiant heart so far; and I have been happy in Brussels, +because I have always been fully occupied with the employments that +I like. Emily is making rapid progress in French, German, music, +and drawing. Monsieur and Madame Héger begin to recognise +the valuable parts of her character, under her singularities.</p> +<p>“If the national character of the Belgians is to be measured +by the character of most of the girls is this school, it in a character +singularly cold, selfish, animal, and inferior. They are very +mutinous and difficult for the teachers to manage; and their principles +are rotten to the core. We avoid them, which it is not difficult +to do, as we have the brand of Protestantism and Anglicism upon us. +People talk of the danger which Protestants expose themselves to in +going to reside in Catholic countries, and thereby running the chance +of changing their faith. My advice to all Protestants who are +tempted to do anything so besotted as turn Catholics, is, to walk over +the sea on to the Continent; to attend mass sedulously for a time; to +note well the mummeries thereof; also the idiotic, mercenary aspect +of all the priests; and then, if they are still disposed to consider +Papistry in any other light than a most feeble, childish piece of humbug, +let them turn Papists at once—that’s all. I consider +Methodism, Quakerism, and the extremes of High and Low Churchism foolish, +but Roman Catholicism beats them all. At the same time, allow +me to tell you, that there are some Catholics who are as good as any +Christians can be to whom the Bible is a sealed book, and much better +than many Protestants.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When the Brontës first went to Brussels, it was with the intention +of remaining there for six months, or until the <i>grandes vacances</i> +began in September. The duties of the school were then suspended +for six weeks or two months, and it seemed a desirable period for their +return. But the proposal mentioned in the foregoing letter altered +their plans. Besides, they were happy in the feeling that they +were making progress in all the knowledge they had so long been yearning +to acquire. They were happy, too, in possessing friends whose +society had been for years congenial to them, and in occasional meetings +with these, they could have the inexpressible solace to residents in +a foreign country—and peculiarly such to the Brontës—of +talking over the intelligence received from their respective homes—referring +to past, or planning for future days. “Mary” and her +sister, the bright, dancing, laughing Martha, were parlour-boarders +in an establishment just beyond the barriers of Brussels. Again, +the cousins of these friends were resident in the town; and at their +house Charlotte and Emily were always welcome, though their overpowering +shyness prevented their more valuable qualities from being known, and +generally kept them silent. They spent their weekly holiday with +this family, for many months; but at the end of the time, Emily was +as impenetrable to friendly advances as at the beginning; while Charlotte +was too physically weak (as “Mary” has expressed it) to +“gather up her forces” sufficiently to express any difference +or opposition of opinion, and had consequently an assenting and deferential +manner, strangely at variance with what they knew of her remarkable +talents and decided character. At this house, the T.’s and +the Brontës could look forward to meeting each other pretty frequently. +There was another English family where Charlotte soon became a welcome +guest, and where, I suspect, she felt herself more at her ease than +either at Mrs. Jenkins’, or the friends whom I have first mentioned.</p> +<p>An English physician, with a large family of daughters, went to reside +at Brussels, for the sake of their education. He placed them at +Madame Héger’s school in July, 1842, not a month before +the beginning of the <i>grandes vacances</i> on August 15th. In +order to make the most of their time, and become accustomed to the language, +these English sisters went daily, through the holidays, to the pensionnat +in the Rue d’Isabelle. Six or eight boarders remained, besides +the Miss Brontës. They were there during the whole time, +never even having the break to their monotonous life, which passing +an occasional day with a friend would have afforded them; but devoting +themselves with indefatigable diligence to the different studies in +which they were engaged. Their position in the school appeared, +to these new comers, analogous to what is often called that of a parlour-boarder. +They prepared their French, drawing, German, and literature for their +various masters; and to these occupations Emily added that of music, +in which she was somewhat of a proficient; so much so as to be qualified +to give instruction in it to the three younger sisters of my informant.</p> +<p>The school was divided into three classes. In the first were +from fifteen to twenty pupils; in the second, sixty was about the average +number—all foreigners, excepting the two Brontës and one +other; in the third, there were from twenty to thirty pupils. +The first and second classes occupied a long room, divided by a wooden +partition; in each division were four long ranges of desks; and at the +end was the <i>estrade</i>, or platform, for the presiding instructor. +On the last row, in the quietest corner, sat Charlotte and Emily, side +by side, so deeply absorbed in their studies as to be insensible to +any noise or movement around them. The school-hours were from +nine to twelve (the luncheon hour), when the boarders and half-boarders—perhaps +two-and-thirty girls—went to the refectoire (a room with two long +tables, having an oil-lamp suspended over each), to partake of bread +and fruit; the <i>externes</i>, or morning pupils, who had brought their +own refreshment with them, adjourning to eat it in the garden. +From one to two, there was fancy-work—a pupil reading aloud some +light literature in each room; from two to four, lessons again. +At four, the externes left; and the remaining girls dined in the refectoire, +M. and Madame Héger presiding. From five to six there was +recreation, from six to seven, preparation for lessons; and, after that +succeeded the <i>lecture pieuse</i>—Charlotte’s nightmare. +On rare occasions, M. Héger himself would come in, and substitute +a book of a different and more interesting kind. At eight, there +was a slight meal of water and <i>pistolets</i> (the delicious little +Brussels rolls), which was immediately followed by prayers, and then +to bed.</p> +<p>The principal bedroom was over the long classe, or schoolroom. +There were six or eight narrow beds on each side of the apartment, every +one enveloped in its white draping curtain; a long drawer, beneath each, +served for a wardrobe, and between each was a stand for ewer, basin, +and looking-glass. The beds of the two Miss Brontës were +at the extreme end of the room, almost as private and retired as if +they had been in a separate apartment.</p> +<p>During the hours of recreation, which were always spent in the garden, +they invariably walked together, and generally kept a profound silence; +Emily, though so much the taller, leaning on her sister. Charlotte +would always answer when spoken to, taking the lead in replying to any +remark addressed to both; Emily rarely spoke to any one. Charlotte’s +quiet, gentle manner never changed. She was never seen out of +temper for a moment; and occasionally, when she herself had assumed +the post of English teacher, and the impertinence or inattention of +her pupils was most irritating, a slight increase of colour, a momentary +sparkling of the eye, and more decided energy of manner, were the only +outward tokens she gave of being conscious of the annoyance to which +she was subjected. But this dignified endurance of hers subdued +her pupils, in the long run, far more than the voluble tirades of the +other mistresses. My informant adds:—“The effect of +this manner was singular. I can speak from personal experience. +I was at that time high-spirited and impetuous, not respecting the French +mistresses; yet, to my own astonishment, at one word from her, I was +perfectly tractable; so much so, that at length, M. and Madame Héger +invariably preferred all their wishes to me through her; the other pupils +did not, perhaps, love her as I did, she was so quiet and silent; but +all respected her.”</p> +<p>With the exception of that part which describes Charlotte’s +manner as English teacher—an office which she did not assume for +some months later—all this description of the school life of the +two Brontës refers to the commencement of the new scholastic year +in October 1842; and the extracts I have given convey the first impression +which the life at a foreign school, and the position of the two Miss +Brontës therein, made upon an intelligent English girl of sixteen. +I will make a quotation from “Mary’s” letter referring +to this time.</p> +<p>“The first part of her time at Brussels was not uninteresting. +She spoke of new people and characters, and foreign ways of the pupils +and teachers. She knew the hopes and prospects of the teachers, +and mentioned one who was very anxious to marry, ‘she was getting +so old.’ She used to get her father or brother (I forget +which) to be the bearer of letters to different single men, who she +thought might be persuaded to do her the favour, saying that her only +resource was to become a sister of charity if her present employment +failed and that she hated the idea. Charlotte naturally looked +with curiosity to people of her own condition. This woman almost +frightened her. ‘She declares there is nothing she can turn +to, and laughs at the idea of delicacy,—and she is only ten years +older than I am!’ I did not see the connection till she +said, ‘Well, Polly, I should hate being a sister of charity; I +suppose that would shock some people, but I should.’ I thought +she would have as much feeling as a nurse as most people, and more than +some. She said she did not know how people could bear the constant +pressure of misery, and never to change except to a new form of it. +It would be impossible to keep one’s natural feelings. I +promised her a better destiny than to go begging any one to marry her, +or to lose her natural feelings as a sister of charity. She said, +‘My youth is leaving me; I can never do better than I have done, +and I have done nothing yet.’ At such times she seemed to +think that most human beings were destined by the pressure of worldly +interests to lose one faculty and feeling after another ‘till +they went dead altogether. I hope I shall be put in my grave as +soon as I’m dead; I don’t want to walk about so.’ +Here we always differed. I thought the degradation of nature she +feared was a consequence of poverty, and that she should give her attention +to earning money. Sometimes she admitted this, but could find +no means of earning money. At others she seemed afraid of letting +her thoughts dwell on the subject, saying it brought on the worst palsy +of all. Indeed, in her position, nothing less than entire constant +absorption in petty money matters could have scraped together a provision.</p> +<p>“Of course artists and authors stood high with Charlotte, and +the best thing after their works would have been their company. +She used very inconsistently to rail at money and money-getting, and +then wish she was able to visit all the large towns in Europe, see all +the sights and know all the celebrities. This was her notion of +literary fame,—a passport to the society of clever people . . +. When she had become acquainted with the people and ways at Brussels +her life became monotonous, and she fell into the same hopeless state +as at Miss W---’s, though in a less degree. I wrote to her, +urging her to go home or elsewhere; she had got what she wanted (French), +and there was at least novelty in a new place, if no improvement. +That if she sank into deeper gloom she would soon not have energy to +go, and she was too far from home for her friends to hear of her condition +and order her home as they had done from Miss W---’s. She +wrote that I had done her a great service, that she should certainly +follow my advice, and was much obliged to me. I have often wondered +at this letter. Though she patiently tolerated advice, she could +always quietly put it aside, and do as she thought fit. More than +once afterwards she mentioned the ‘service’ I had done her. +She sent me 10<i>l</i>. to New Zealand, on hearing some exaggerated +accounts of my circumstances, and told me she hoped it would come in +seasonably; it was a debt she owed me ‘for the service I had done +her.’ I should think 10<i>l</i>. was a quarter of her income. +The ‘service’ was mentioned as an apology, but kindness +was the real motive.”</p> +<p>The first break in this life of regular duties and employments came +heavily and sadly. Martha—pretty, winning, mischievous, +tricksome Martha—was taken ill suddenly at the Château de +Koekelberg. Her sister tended her with devoted love; but it was +all in vain; in a few days she died. Charlotte’s own short +account of this event is as follows:—</p> +<p>“Martha T.’s illness was unknown to me till the day before +she died. I hastened to Koekelberg the next morning—unconscious +that she was in great danger—and was told that it was finished. +She had died in the night. Mary was taken away to Bruxelles. +I have seen Mary frequently since. She is in no ways crushed by +the event; but while Martha was ill, she was to her more than a mother—more +than a sister: watching, nursing, cherishing her so tenderly, so unweariedly. +She appears calm and serious now; no bursts of violent emotion; no exaggeration +of distress. I have seen Martha’s grave—the place +where her ashes lie in a foreign country.”</p> +<p>Who that has read “Shirley” does not remember the few +lines—perhaps half a page—of sad recollection?</p> +<blockquote><p>“He has no idea that little Jessy will die young, +she is so gay, and chattering, and arch—original even now; passionate +when provoked, but most affectionate if caressed; by turns gentle and +rattling; exacting yet generous; fearless . . . yet reliant on any who +will help her. Jessy, with her little piquant face, engaging prattle, +and winning ways, is made to be a pet.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“Do you know this place? No, you never saw it; but you +recognise the nature of these trees, this foliage—the cypress, +the willow, the yew. Stone crosses like these are not unfamiliar +to you, nor are these dim garlands of everlasting flowers. Here +is the place: green sod and a grey marble head-stone—Jessy sleeps +below. She lived through an April day; much loved was she, much +loving. She often, in her brief life, shed tears—she had +frequent sorrows; she smiled between, gladdening whatever saw her. +Her death was tranquil and happy in Rose’s guardian arms, for +Rose had been her stay and defence through many trials; the dying and +the watching English girls were at that hour alone in a foreign country, +and the soil of that country gave Jessy a grave.</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>“But, Jessy, I will write about you no more. This is +an autumn evening, wet and wild. There is only one cloud in the +sky; but it curtains it from pole to pole. The wind cannot rest; +it hurries sobbing over hills of sullen outline, colourless with twilight +and mist. Rain has beat all day on that church tower” (Haworth): +“it rises dark from the stony enclosure of its graveyard: the +nettles, the long grass, and the tombs all drip with wet. This +evening reminds me too forcibly of another evening some years ago: a +howling, rainy autumn evening too—when certain who had that day +performed a pilgrimage to a grave new made in a heretic cemetery, sat +near a wood fire on the hearth of a foreign dwelling. They were +merry and social, but they each knew that a gap, never to be filled, +had been made in their circle. They knew they had lost something +whose absence could never be quite atoned for, so long as they lived; +and they knew that heavy falling rain was soaking into the wet earth +which covered their lost darling; and that the sad, sighing gale was +mourning above her buried head. The fire warmed them; Life and +Friendship yet blessed them: but Jessy lay cold, coffined, solitary—only +the sod screening her from the storm.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This was the first death that had occurred in the small circle of +Charlotte’s immediate and intimate friends since the loss of her +two sisters long ago. She was still in the midst of her deep sympathy +with “Mary,” when word came from home that her aunt, Miss +Branwell, was ailing—was very ill. Emily and Charlotte immediately +resolved to go home straight, and hastily packed up for England, doubtful +whether they should ever return to Brussels or not, leaving all their +relations with M. and Madame Héger, and the pensionnat, uprooted, +and uncertain of any future existence. Even before their departure, +on the morning after they received the first intelligence of illness—when +they were on the very point of starting—came a second letter, +telling them of their aunt’s death. It could not hasten +their movements, for every arrangement had been made for speed. +They sailed from Antwerp; they travelled night and day, and got home +on a Tuesday morning. The funeral and all was over, and Mr. Brontë +and Anne were sitting together, in quiet grief for the loss of one who +had done her part well in their household for nearly twenty years, and +earned the regard and respect of many who never knew how much they should +miss her till she was gone. The small property which she had accumulated, +by dint of personal frugality and self-denial, was bequeathed to her +nieces. Branwell, her darling, was to have had his share; but +his reckless expenditure had distressed the good old lady, and his name +was omitted in her will.</p> +<p>When the first shock was over, the three sisters began to enjoy the +full relish of meeting again, after the longest separation they had +had in their lives. They had much to tell of the past, and much +to settle for the future. Anne had been for some little time in +a situation, to which she was to return at the end of the Christmas +holidays. For another year or so they were again to be all three +apart; and, after that, the happy vision of being together and opening +a school was to be realised. Of course they did not now look forward +to settling at Burlington, or any other place which would take them +away from their father; but the small sum which they each independently +possessed would enable them to effect such alterations in the parsonage-house +at Haworth as would adapt it to the reception of pupils. Anne’s +plans for the interval were fixed. Emily quickly decided to be +the daughter to remain at home. About Charlotte there was much +deliberation and some discussion.</p> +<p>Even in all the haste of their sudden departure from Brussels, M. +Héger had found time to write a letter of sympathy to Mr. Brontë +on the loss which he had just sustained; a letter containing such a +graceful appreciation of the daughters’ characters, under the +form of a tribute of respect to their father, that I should have been +tempted to copy it, even had there not also been a proposal made in +it respecting Charlotte, which deserves a place in the record of her +life.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Au Révérend Monsieur Brontë, +Pasteur Évangélique, &c, &c.</p> +<p>“Samedi, 5 Obre.</p> +<p>“MONSIEUR,</p> +<p>“Un évènement bien triste décide mesdemoiselles +vas filles à retourner brusquement en Angleterre, ce départ +qui nous afflige beaucoup a cependant ma complète approbation; +il est bien naturel qu’elles cherchent à vous consoler +de ce que le ciel vient de vous ôter, on se serrant autour de +vous, poui mieux vous faire apprécier ce que le ciel vous a donné +et ce qu’il vous laisse encore. J’espère que +vous me pardonnerez, Monsieur, de profiter de cette circonstance pour +vous faire parvenir l’expression de mon respect; je n’ai +pas l’honneur de vous connaître personnellement, et cependant +j’éprouve pour votre personne un sentiment de sincère +vénération, car en jugeant un père de famille par +ses enfants on ne risque pas de se tromper, et sous ce rapport l’éducation +et les sentiments que nous avons trouvés dans mesdemoiselles +vos filles n’ont pu que nous donner une très-haute idée +de votre mérite et de votre caractère. Vous apprendrez +sans doute avec plaisir que vos enfants ont fait du progrès trèsremarquable +dans toutes les branches de l’enseignenient, et que ces progrès +sont entiérement dû à leur amour pour le travail +et à leur persévérance; nous n’avons eu que +bien peu à faire avec de pareilles éléves; leur +avancement est votre œuvre bien plus que la nôtre; nous +n’avons pas eu à leur apprendre le prix du temps et de +l’instruction, elles avaient appris tout cela dans la maison paternelle, +et nous n’avons eu, pour notre part, que le faible mérite +de diriger leurs efforts et de fournir un aliment convenable à +la louable activité que vos filles ont puisées dans votre +exemple et dans vos leçons. Puissent les éloges +méritées que nous donnons à vos enfants vous être +de quelque consolation dans le malheur que vous afflige; c’est +là notre espoir en vous écrivant, et ce sera, pour Mesdemoiselles +Charlotte et Emily, une douce et belle récompense de leurs travaux.</p> +<p>“En perdant nos deux chéres éléves, nous +ne devons pas vous cacher que nous éprouvons à la fois +et du chagrin et de l’inquiétude; nous sommes affligés +parce que cette brusque séparation vient briser l’affection +presque paternelle que nous leur avons vouée, et notre peine +s’augmente à la vue de tant de travaux interrompues, de +tant de choses bien commencées, et qui ne demandent que quelque +temps encore pour être menées à bonne fin. +Dans un an, chacune de vos demoiselles eût été entièrement +prémunie contre les éventualités de l’avenir; +chacune d’elles acquérait à la fois et l’instruction +et la science d’enseignement; Mlle Emily allait apprendre le piano; +recevoir les leçons du meilleur professeur que nous ayons en +Belgique, et déjà elle avait elle-même de petites +élèves; elle perdait donc à la fois un reste d’ignorance +et un reste plus gênant encore de timidité; Mlle Charlotte +commençait à donner des leçons en français, +et d’acquérir cette assurance, cet aplomb si nécessaire +dans l’enseignement; encore un an tout au plus et l’œuvre +était achevée et bien achevée. Alors nous +aurions pu, si cela vous eût convenu, offrir à mesdemoiselles +vos filles ou du moins à l’une des deux une position qui +eût été dans ses goùts, et qui lui eût +donné cette douce indépendance si difficile à trouver +pour une jeune personne. Ce n’est pas, croyez le bien, Monsieur, +ce n’est pas ici pour nous une question d’intérêt +personnel, c’est une question d’affection; vous me pardonnerez +si nous vous parlons de vos enfants, si nous nous occupons de leur avenir, +comme si elles faisaient partie de notre famille; leurs qualités +personnelles, leur bon vouloir, leur zèle extrême sont +les seules causes qui nous poussent à nous hasarder de la sorte. +Nous savons, Monsieur, que vous peserez plus mûrement et plus +sagement que nous la conséquence qu’aurait pour l’avenir +une interruption complète dans les études de vos deux +filles; vous déciderez ce qu’il faut faire, et vous nous +pardonnerez notre franchise, si vous daignez considérer que le +motif qui nous fait agir est une affection bien désintéressée +et qui s’affligerait beaucoup de devoir déjà se +résigner à n’être plus utile à vos +chers enfants.</p> +<p>“Agréez, je vous prie, Monsieur, l’expression +respectueuse de mes sentiments de haute considération.</p> +<p>“C. HÉGER.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There was so much truth, as well as so much kindness in this letter—it +was so obvious that a second year of instruction would be far more valuable +than the first, that there was no long hesitation before it was decided +that Charlotte should return to Brussels.</p> +<p>Meanwhile, they enjoyed their Christmas all together inexpressibly. +Branwell was with them; that was always a pleasure at this time; whatever +might be his faults, or even his vices, his sisters yet held him up +as their family hope, as they trusted that he would some day be their +family pride. They blinded themselves to the magnitude of the +failings of which they were now and then told, by persuading themselves +that such failings were common to all men of any strength of character; +for, till sad experience taught them better, they fell into the usual +error of confounding strong passions with strong character.</p> +<p>Charlotte’s friend came over to see her, and she returned the +visit. Her Brussels life must have seemed like a dream, so completely, +in this short space of time, did she fall back into the old household +ways; with more of household independence than she could ever have had +during her aunt’s lifetime. Winter though it was, the sisters +took their accustomed walks on the snow-covered moors; or went often +down the long road to Keighley, for such books as had been added to +the library there during their absence from England.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>Towards the end of January, the time came for Charlotte to return +to Brussels. Her journey thither was rather disastrous. +She had to make her way alone; and the train from Leeds to London, which +should have reached Euston-square early in the afternoon, was so much +delayed that it did not get in till ten at night. She had intended +to seek out the Chapter Coffee-house, where she had stayed before, and +which would have been near the place where the steam-boats lay; but +she appears to have been frightened by the idea of arriving at an hour +which, to Yorkshire notions, was so late and unseemly; and taking a +cab, therefore, at the station, she drove straight to the London Bridge +Wharf, and desired a waterman to row her to the Ostend packet, which +was to sail the next morning. She described to me, pretty much +as she has since described it in “Villette,” her sense of +loneliness, and yet her strange pleasure in the excitement of the situation, +as in the dead of that winter’s night she went swiftly over the +dark river to the black hull’s side, and was at first refused +leave to ascend to the deck. “No passengers might sleep +on board,” they said, with some appearance of disrespect. +She looked back to the lights and subdued noises of London—that +“Mighty Heart” in which she had no place—and, standing +up in the rocking boat, she asked to speak to some one in authority +on board the packet. He came, and her quiet simple statement of +her wish, and her reason for it, quelled the feeling of sneering distrust +in those who had first heard her request; and impressed the authority +so favourably that he allowed her to come on board, and take possession +of a berth. The next morning she sailed; and at seven on Sunday +evening she reached the Rue d’Isabelle once more; having only +left Haworth on Friday morning at an early hour.</p> +<p>Her salary was 16<i>l</i>. a year; out of which she had to pay for +her German lessons, for which she was charged as much (the lessons being +probably rated by time) as when Emily learnt with her and divided the +expense, viz., ten francs a month. By Miss Brontë’s +own desire, she gave her English lessons in the <i>classe</i>, or schoolroom, +without the supervision of Madame or M. Héger. They offered +to be present, with a view to maintain order among the unruly Belgian +girls; but she declined this, saying that she would rather enforce discipline +by her own manner and character than be indebted for obedience to the +presence of a <i>gendarme</i>. She ruled over a new schoolroom, +which had been built on the space in the play-ground adjoining the house. +Over that First Class she was <i>surveillante</i> at all hours; and +henceforward she was called <i>Mademoiselle</i> Charlotte by M. Héger’s +orders. She continued her own studies, principally attending to +German, and to Literature; and every Sunday she went alone to the German +and English chapels. Her walks too were solitary, and principally +taken in the allée défendue, where she was secure from +intrusion. This solitude was a perilous luxury to one of her temperament; +so liable as she was to morbid and acute mental suffering.</p> +<p>On March 6th, 1843, she writes thus:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I am settled by this time, of course. I +am not too much overloaded with occupation; and besides teaching English, +I have time to improve myself in German. I ought to consider myself +well off, and to be thankful for my good fortunes. I hope I am +thankful; and if I could always keep up my spirits and never feel lonely, +or long for companionship, or friendship, or whatever they call it, +I should do very well. As I told you before, M. and Madame Héger +are the only two persons in the house for whom I really experience regard +and esteem, and of course, I cannot be always with them, nor even very +often. They told me, when I first returned, that I was to consider +their sitting-room my sitting-room also, and to go there whenever I +was not engaged in the schoolroom. This, however, I cannot do. +In the daytime it is a public room, where music-masters and mistresses +are constantly passing in and out; and in the evening, I will not, and +ought not to intrude on M. and Madame Héger and their children. +Thus I am a good deal by myself, out of school-hours; but that does +not signify. I now regularly give English lessons to M. Héger +and his brother-in-law. They get on with wonderful rapidity; especially +the first. He already begins to speak English very decently. +If you could see and hear the efforts I make to teach them to pronounce +like Englishmen, and their unavailing attempts to imitate, you would +laugh to all eternity.</p> +<p>“The Carnival is just over, and we have entered upon the gloom +and abstinence of Lent. The first day of Lent we had coffee without +milk for breakfast; vinegar and vegetables, with a very little salt +fish, for dinner; and bread for supper. The Carnival was nothing +but masking and mummery. M. Héger took me and one of the +pupils into the town to see the masks. It was animating to see +the immense crowds, and the general gaiety, but the masks were nothing. +I have been twice to the D.’s” (those cousins of “Mary’s” +of whom I have before made mention). “When she leaves Bruxelles, +I shall have nowhere to go to. I have had two letters from Mary. +She does not tell me she has been ill, and she does not complain; but +her letters are not the letters of a person in the enjoyment of great +happiness. She has nobody to be as good to her as M. Héger +is to me; to lend her books; to converse with her sometimes, &c.</p> +<p>“Good-bye. When I say so, it seems to me that you will +hardly hear me; all the waves of the Channel heaving and roaring between +must deaden the sound.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From the tone of this letter, it may easily be perceived that the +Brussels of 1843 was a different place from that of 1842. Then +she had Emily for a daily and nightly solace and companion. She +had the weekly variety of a visit to the family of the D.s; and she +had the frequent happiness of seeing “Mary” and Martha. +Now Emily was far away in Haworth—where she or any other loved +one, might die, before Charlotte, with her utmost speed, could reach +them, as experience, in her aunt’s case, had taught her. +The D.s were leaving Brussels; so, henceforth, her weekly holiday would +have to be passed in the Rue d’Isabelle, or so she thought. +“Mary” was gone off on her own independent course; Martha +alone remained—still and quiet for ever, in the cemetery beyond +the Porte de Louvain. The weather, too, for the first few weeks +after Charlotte’s return, had been piercingly cold; and her feeble +constitution was always painfully sensitive to an inclement season. +Mere bodily pain, however acute, she could always put aside; but too +often ill-health assailed her in a part far more to be dreaded. +Her depression of spirits, when she was not well, was pitiful in its +extremity. She was aware that it was constitutional, and could +reason about it; but no reasoning prevented her suffering mental agony, +while the bodily cause remained in force.</p> +<p>The Hégers have discovered, since the publication of “Villette,” +that at this beginning of her career as English teacher in their school, +the conduct of her pupils was often impertinent and mutinous in the +highest degree. But of this they were unaware at the time, as +she had declined their presence, and never made any complaint. +Still it must have been a depressing thought to her at this period, +that her joyous, healthy, obtuse pupils were so little answerable to +the powers she could bring to bear upon them; and though from their +own testimony, her patience, firmness, and resolution, at length obtained +their just reward, yet with one so weak in health and spirits, the reaction +after such struggles as she frequently had with her pupils, must have +been very sad and painful.</p> +<p>She thus writes to her friend E.:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“April, 1843.</p> +<p>“Is there any talk of your coming to Brussels? During +the bitter cold weather we had through February, and the principal part +of March, I did not regret that you had not accompanied me. If +I had seen you shivering as I shivered myself, if I had seen your hands +and feet as red and swelled as mine were, my discomfort would just have +been doubled. I can do very well under this sort of thing; it +does not fret me; it only makes me numb and silent; but if you were +to pass a winter in Belgium, you would be ill. However, more genial +weather is coming now, and I wish you were here. Yet I never have +pressed you, and never would press you too warmly to come. There +are privations and humiliations to submit to; there is monotony and +uniformity of life; and, above all, there is a constant sense of solitude +in the midst of numbers. The Protestant, the foreigner, is a solitary +being, whether as teacher or pupil. I do not say this by way of +complaining of my own lot; for though I acknowledge that there are certain +disadvantages in my present position, what position on earth is without +them? And, whenever I turn back to compare what I am with what +I was—my place here with my place at Mrs. ---’s for instance—I +am thankful. There was an observation in your last letter which +excited, for a moment, my wrath. At first, I thought it would +be folly to reply to it, and I would let it die. Afterwards, I +determined to give one answer, once for all. ‘Three or four +people,’ it seems, ‘have the idea that the future <i>époux</i> +of Mademoiselle Brontë is on the Continent.’ These +people are wiser than I am. They could not believe that I crossed +the sea merely to return as teacher to Madame Hégers. I +must have some more powerful motive than respect for my master and mistress, +gratitude for their kindness, &c., to induce me to refuse a salary +of 50<i>l</i>. in England, and accept one of 16<i>l</i>. in Belgium. +I must, forsooth, have some remote hope of entrapping a husband somehow, +or somewhere. If these charitable people knew the total seclusion +of the life I lead,—that I never exchange a word with any other +man than Monsieur Héger, and seldom indeed with him,—they +would, perhaps, cease to suppose that any such chimerical and groundless +notion had influenced my proceedings. Have I said enough to clear +myself of so silly an imputation? Not that it is a crime to marry, +or a crime to wish to be married; but it is an imbecility, which I reject +with contempt, for women, who have neither fortune nor beauty, to make +marriage the principal object of their wishes and hopes, and the aim +of all their actions; not to be able to convince themselves that they +are unattractive, and that they had better be quiet, and think of other +things than wedlock.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The following is an extract, from one of the few letters which have +been preserved, of her correspondence with her sister Emily:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“May 29, 1843</p> +<p>“I get on here from day to day in a Robinson-Crusoe-like sort +of way, very lonely, but that does not signify. In other respects, +I have nothing substantial to complain of, nor is this a cause for complaint. +I hope you are well. Walk out often on the moors. My love +to Tabby. I hope she keeps well.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And about this time she wrote to her father,</p> +<blockquote><p>“June 2nd, 1818,</p> +<p>“I was very glad to hear from home. I had begun to get +low-spirited at not receiving any news, and to entertain indefinite +fears that something was wrong. You do not say anything about +your own health, but I hope you are well, and Emily also. I am +afraid she will have a good deal of hard work to do now that Hannah” +(a servant-girl who had been assisting Tabby) “is gone. +I am exceedingly glad to hear that you still keep Tabby” (considerably +upwards of seventy). “It is an act of great charity to her, +and I do not think it will be unrewarded, for she is very faithful, +and will always serve you, when she has occasion, to the best of her +abilities; besides, she will be company for Emily, who, without her, +would be very lonely.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I gave a <i>devoir</i>, written after she had been four months under +M. Héger’s tuition. I will now copy out another, +written nearly a year later, during which the progress made appears +to me very great.</p> +<blockquote><p>“31 Mai, 1843.</p> +<p>“SUR LA MORT DE NAPOLÉON.</p> +<p>“Napoléon naquit en Corse et mourut à Ste. Hélène. +Entre ces deux îles rien qu’un vaste et brûlant désert +et l’océan immense. Il naquit fils d’un simple +gentilhomme, et mourut empereur, mais sans couronne et dans les fers. +Entre son berceau et sa tombe qu’y a-t-il? la carrière +d’un soldat parvenu, des champs de bataille, une mer de sang, +un trône, puis du sang encore, et des fers. Sa vie, c’est +l’arc en ciel; les deux points extrêmes touchent la terre, +la comble lumi-neuse mesure les cieux. Sur Napoléon au +berceau une mère brillait; dans la maison paternelle il avait +des frères et des soeurs; plus tard dans son palais il eut une +femme qui l’aimait. Mais sur son lit de mort Napoléon +est seul; plus de mère, ni de frère, ni de soeur, ni de +femme, ni d’enfant!! D’autres ont dit et rediront +ses exploits, moi, je m’arrête à contempler l’abandonnement +de sa dernière heure!</p> +<p>“Il est là, exilé et captif, enchaîné +sur un écueil. Nouveau Prométhée il subit +le châtiment de son orgueil! Prométhée avait +voulu être Dieu et Créateur; il déroba le feu du +Ciel pour animer le corps qu’il avait formé. Et lui, +Buonaparte, il a voulu créer, non pas un homme, mais un empire, +et pour donner une existence, une âme, à son œuvre +gigantesque, il n’a pas hésité à arracher +la vie à des nations entières. Jupiter indigné +de l’impiété de Prométhée, le riva +vivant à la cime du Caucase. Ainsi, pour punir l’ambition +rapace de Buonaparte, la Providence l’a enchaîné, +jusqu’à ce que la mort s’en suivit, sur un roc isolé +de l’Atlantique. Peut-être là aussi a-t-il +senti lui fouillant le flanc cet insatiable vautour dont parle la fable, +peut-être a-t-il souffert aussi cette soif du coeur, cette faim +de l’âme, qui torturent l’exilé, loin de sa +famille et de sa patrie. Mais parler ainsi n’est-ce pas +attribuer gratuitement à Napoléon une humaine faiblesse +qu’il n’éprouva jamais? Quand donc s’est-il +laissé enchaîner par un lien d’affection? Sans +doute d’autres conquérants ont hésité dans +leur carrière de gloire, arrêtés par un obstacle +d’amour ou d’amitié, retenus par la main d’une +femme, rappéles par la voix d’un ami—lui, jamais! +Il n’eut pas besoin, comme Ulysse, de se lier au mât du +navire, ni de se boucher les oreilles avec de la cire; il ne redoutait +pas le chant des Sirènes—il le dédaignait; il se +fit marbre et fer pour exécuter ses grands projets. Napoléon +ne se regardait pas comme un homme, mais comme l’incarnation d’un +peuple. Il n’aimait pas; il ne considérait ses amis +et ses proches que comme des instruments auxquels il tint, tant qu’ils +furent utiles, et qu’il jeta de côté quand ils cessèrent +de l’être. Qu’on ne se permette donc pas d’approcher +du sépulcre du Corse avec sentiments de pitié, ou de souiller +de larmes la pierre qui couvre ses restes, son âme répudierait +tout cela. On a dit, je le sais, qu’elle fut cruelle la +main qui le sépara de sa femme et de son enfant. Non, c’était +une main qui, comme la sienne, ne tremblait ni de passion ni de crainte, +c’était la main d’un homme froid, convaincu, qui +avait su deviner Buonaparte; et voici ce que disait cet homme que la +défaite n’a pu humilier, ni la victoire enorgueiller. +‘Marie-Louise n’est pas la femme de Napoléon; c’est +la France que Napoléon a épousée; c’est la +France qu’il aime, leur union enfante la perte de l’Europe; +voilà la divorce que je veux; voilà l’union qu’il +faut briser.’</p> +<p>“La voix des timides et des traîtres protesta contre +cette sentence. ‘C’est abuser de droit de la victoire! +C’est fouler aux pieds le vaincu! Que l’Angleterre +se montre clémente, qu’elle ouvre ses bras pour recevoir +comme hôte son ennemi désarmé.’ L’Angleterre +aurait peut-être écouté ce conseii, car partout +et toujours il y a des âmes faibles et timorées bientôt +séduites par la flatterie ou effrayées par le reproche. +Mais la Providence permit qu’un homme se trouvât qui n’a +jamais su ce que c’est que la crainte; qui aima sa patrie mieux +que sa renommée; impénétrable devant les menaces, +inaccessible aux louanges, il se présenta devant le conseil de +la nation, et levant son front tranquille en haut, il osa dire: ‘Que +la trahison se taise! car c’est trahir que de conseiller de temporiser +avec Buonaparte. Moi je sais ce que sont ces guerres dont l’Europe +saigne encore, comme une victime sous le couteau du boucher. Il +faut en finir avec Napoléon Buonaparte. Vous vous effrayez +à tort d’un mot si dur! Je n’ai pas de magnanimité, +dit-on? Soit! que m’importe ce qu’on dit de moi? +Je n’ai pas ici à me faire une réputation de héros +magnanime, mais à guérir, si la cure est possible, l’Europe +qui se meurt, épuisée de ressources et de sang, l’Europe +dont vous négligez les vrais intérêts, pré-occupés +que vous êtes d’une vaine renommée de clémence. +Vous êtes faibles! Eh bien! je viens vous aider. Envoyez +Buonaparte à Ste. Hélène! n’hésitez +pas, ne cherchez pas un autre endroit; c’ést le seul convenable. +Je vous le dis, j’ai réfléchi pour vous; c’est +là qu’il doit êtré et non pas ailleurs. +Quant à Napoléon, homme, soldat, je n’ai rien contre +lui; c’est un lion royal, auprès de qui vous n’êtes +que des chacals. Mais Napoléon Empereur, c’est autre +chose, je l’extirperai du sol de l’Europe.’ +Et celui qui parla ainsi toujours sut garder sa promesse, celle-là +comme toutes les autres. Je l’ai dit, et je le répète, +cet homme est l’égal de Napoléon par le génie; +comme trempe de caractère, comme droiture, comme élévation +de pensée et de but, il est d’une tout autre espèce. +Napoléon Buonaparte était avide de renommée et +de gloire; Arthur Wellesley ne se soucie ni de l’une ni de l’autre; +l’opinion publique, la popularité, étaient choses +de grand valeur aux yeux de Napoléon; pour Wellington l’opinion +publique est une rumeur, un rien que le souffle de son inflexible volonté +fait disparaître comme une bulle de savon. Napoléon +flattait le peuple; Wellington le brusqne; l’un cherchait les +applau-dissements, l’autre ne se soucie que du témoignage +de sa conscience; quand elle approuve, c’est assez; toute autre +louange l’obsède. Aussi ce peuple, qui adorait Buonaparte +s’irritait, s’insurgeait contre la morgue de Wellington: +parfois il lui témoigna sa colère et sa haine par des +grognements, par des hurlements de bêtes fauves; et alors, avec +une impassibilité de sénateur romain, le moderne Coriolan +toisait du regard l’émeute furieuse; il croisait ses bras +nerveux sur sa large poitrine, et seul, debout sur son seuil, il attendait, +il bravait cette tempête populaire dont les flots venaient mourir +à quelques pas de lui: et quand la foule, honteuse de sa rebellion, +venait lécher les pieds du maître, le hautain patricien +méprisait l’hommage d’aujourd’hui comme la +haine d’hier, et dans les rues de Londres, et devant son palais +ducal d’Apsley, il repoussait d’un genre plein de froid +dédain l’incommode empressement du peuple enthousiaste. +Cette fierté néanmoins n’excluait pas en lui une +rare modestie; partout il se soustrait à l’éloge; +se dérobe au panégyrique; jamais il ne parle de ses exploits, +et jamais il ne souffre qu’un autre lui en parle en sa présence. +Son caractère égale en grandeur et surpasse en vérité +celui de tout autre héros ancien ou moderne. La gloire +de Napoléon crût en une nuit, comme la vigne de Jonas, +et il suffit d’un jour pour la flétrir; la gloire de Wellington +est comme les vieux chênes qui ombragent le château de ses +pères sur les rives du Shannon; le chêne croît lentement; +il lui faut du temps pour pousser vers le ciel ses branches noueuses, +et pour enfoncer dans le sol ces racines profondes qui s’enchevêtrent +dans les fondements solides de la terre; mais alors, l’arbre séculaire, +inébranlable comme le roc où il a sa base, brave et la +faux du temps et l’effort des vents et des tempêtes. +Il faudra peut-être un siècle à l’Angleterre +pour qu’elle connaise la valeur de son héros. Dans +un siècle, l’Europe entière saura combien Wellington +a des droits à sa reconnaissance.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>How often in writing this paper “in a strange land,” +must Miss Brontë have thought of the old childish disputes in the +kitchen of Haworth parsonage, touching the respective merits of Wellington +and Buonaparte! Although the title given to her <i>devoir</i> +is, “On the Death of Napoleon,” she seems yet to have considered +it a point of honour rather to sing praises to an English hero than +to dwell on the character of a foreigner, placed as she was among those +who cared little either for an England or for Wellington. She +now felt that she had made great progress towards obtaining proficiency +in the French language, which had been her main object in coming to +Brussels. But to the zealous learner “Alps on Alps arise.” +No sooner is one difficulty surmounted than some other desirable attainment +appears, and must be laboured after. A knowledge of German now +became her object; and she resolved to compel herself to remain in Brussels +till that was gained. The strong yearning to go home came upon +her; the stronger self-denying will forbade. There was a great +internal struggle; every fibre of her heart quivered in the strain to +master her will; and, when she conquered herself, she remained, not +like a victor calm and supreme on the throne, but like a panting, torn, +and suffering victim. Her nerves and her spirits gave way. +Her health became much shaken.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Brussels, August 1st, 1843.</p> +<p>“If I complain in this letter, have mercy and don’t blame +me, for, I forewarn you, I am in low spirits, and that earth and heaven +are dreary and empty to me at this moment. In a few days our vacation +will begin; everybody is joyous and animated at the prospect, because +everybody is to go home. I know that I am to stay here during +the five weeks that the holidays last, and that I shall be much alone +during that time, and consequently get downcast, and find both days +and nights of a weary length. It is the first time in my life +that I have really dreaded the vacation. Alas! I can hardly +write, I have such a dreary weight at my heart; and I do so wish to +go home. Is not this childish? Pardon me, for I cannot help +it. However, though I am not strong enough to bear up cheerfully, +I can still bear up; and I will continue to stay (D. V.) some months +longer, till I have acquired German; and then I hope to see all your +faces again. Would that the vacation were well over! it will pass +so slowly. Do have the Christian charity to write me a long, long +letter; fill it with the minutest details; nothing will be uninteresting. +Do not think it is because people are unkind to me that I wish to leave +Belgium; nothing of the sort. Everybody is abundantly civil, but +home-sickness keeps creeping over me. I cannot shake it off. +Believe me, very merrily, vivaciously, gaily, yours,</p> +<p>“C.B.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The <i>grandes vacances</i> began soon after the date of this letter, +when she was left in the great deserted pensionnat, with only one teacher +for a companion. This teacher, a Frenchwoman, had always been +uncongenial to her; but, left to each other’s sole companionship, +Charlotte soon discovered that her associate was more profligate, more +steeped in a kind of cold, systematic sensuality, than she had before +imagined it possible for a human being to be; and her whole nature revolted +from this woman’s society. A low nervous fever was gaining +upon Miss Brontë. She had never been a good sleeper, but +now she could not sleep at all. Whatever had been disagreeable, +or obnoxious, to her during the day, was presented when it was over +with exaggerated vividness to her disordered fancy. There were +causes for distress and anxiety in the news from home, particularly +as regarded Branwell. In the dead of the night, lying awake at +the end of the long deserted dormitory, in the vast and silent house, +every fear respecting those whom she loved, and who were so far off +in another country, became a terrible reality, oppressing her and choking +up the very life-blood in her heart. Those nights were times of +sick, dreary, wakeful misery; precursors of many such in after years.</p> +<p>In the daytime, driven abroad by loathing of her companion and by +the weak restlessness of fever, she tried to walk herself into such +a state of bodily fatigue as would induce sleep. So she went out, +and with weary steps would traverse the Boulevards and the streets, +sometimes for hours together; faltering and resting occasionally on +some of the many benches placed for the repose of happy groups, or for +solitary wanderers like herself. Then up again—anywhere +but to the pensionnat—out to the cemetery where Martha lay—out +beyond it, to the hills whence there is nothing to be seen but fields +as far as the horizon. The shades of evening made her retrace +her footsteps—sick for want of food, but not hungry; fatigued +with long continued exercise—yet restless still, and doomed to +another weary, haunted night of sleeplessness. She would thread +the streets in the neighbourhood of the Rue d’Isabelle, and yet +avoid it and its occupant, till as late an hour as she dared be out. +At last, she was compelled to keep her bed for some days, and this compulsory +rest did her good. She was weak, but less depressed in spirits +than she had been, when the school re-opened, and her positive practical +duties recommenced.</p> +<p>She writes thus:—</p> +<p>“October 13th, 1843</p> +<p>“Mary is getting on well, as she deserves to do. I often +hear from her. Her letters and yours are one of my few pleasures. +She urges me very much to leave Brussels and go to her; but, at present, +however tempted to take such a step, I should not feel justified in +doing so. To leave a certainty for a complete uncertainty, would +be to the last degree imprudent. Notwithstanding that, Brussels +is indeed desolate to me now. Since the D.s left, I have had no +friend. I had, indeed, some very kind acquaintances in the family +of a Dr. ---, but they, too, are gone now. They left in the latter +part of August, and I am completely alone. I cannot count the +Belgians anything. It is a curious position to be so utterly solitary +in the midst of numbers. Sometimes the solitude oppresses me to +an excess. One day, lately, I felt as if I could bear it no longer, +and I went to Madame Héger, and gave her notice. If it +had depended on her, I should certainly have soon been at liberty; but +M. Héger, having heard of what was in agitation, sent for me +the day after, and pronounced with vehemence his decision, that I should +not leave. I could not, at that time, have persevered in my intention +without exciting him to anger; so I promised to stay a little while +longer. How long that will be, I do not know. I should not +like to return to England to do nothing. I am too old for that +now; but if I could hear of a favourable opportunity for commencing +a school, I think I should embrace it. We have as yet no fires +here, and I suffer much from cold; otherwise, I am well in health. +Mr. --- will take this letter to England. He is a pretty-looking +and pretty behaved young man, apparently constructed without a backbone; +by which I don’t allude to his corporal spine, which is all right +enough, but to his character.</p> +<blockquote><p>“I get on here after a fashion; but now that Mary +D. has left Brussels, I have nobody to speak to, for I count the Belgians +as nothing. Sometimes I ask myself how long shall I stay here; +but as yet I have only asked the question; I have not answered it. +However, when I have acquired as much German as I think fit, I think +I shall pack up bag and baggage and depart. Twinges of home-sickness +cut me to the heart, every now and then. To-day the weather is +glaring, and I am stupified with a bad cold and headache. I have +nothing to tell you. One day is like another in this place. +I know you, living in the country, can hardly believe it is possible +life can be monotonous in the centre of a brilliant capital like Brussels; +but so it is. I feel it most on holidays, when all the girls and +teachers go out to visit, and it sometimes happens that I am left, during +several hours, quite alone, with four great desolate schoolrooms at +my disposition. I try to read, I try to write; but in vain. +I then wander about from room to room, but the silence and loneliness +of all the house weighs down one’s spirits like lead. You +will hardly believe that Madame Héger (good and kind as I have +described her) never comes near me on these occasions. I own, +I was astonished the first time I was left alone thus; when everybody +else was enjoying the pleasures of a fête day with their friends, +and she knew I was quite by myself, and never took the least notice +of me. Yet, I understand, she praises me very much to everybody, +and says what excellent lessons I give. She is not colder to me +than she is to the other teachers; but they are less dependent on her +than I am. They have relations and acquaintances in Bruxelles. +You remember the letter she wrote me, when I was in England? How +kind and affectionate that was? is it not odd? In the meantime, +the complaints I make at present are a sort of relief which I permit +myself. In all other respects I am well satisfied with my position, +and you may say so to people who inquire after me (if any one does). +Write to me, dear, whenever you can. You do a good deed when you +send me a letter, for you comfort a very desolate heart.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One of the reasons for the silent estrangement between Madame Héger +and Miss Brontë, in the second year of her residence at Brussels, +is to be found in the fact, that the English Protestant’s dislike +of Romanism increased with her knowledge of it, and its effects upon +those who professed it; and when occasion called for an expression of +opinion from Charlotte Brontë, she was uncompromising truth. +Madame Héger, on the opposite side, was not merely a Roman Catholic, +she was <i>dévote</i>. Not of a warm or impulsive temperament, +she was naturally governed by her conscience, rather than by her affections; +and her conscience was in the hands of her religious guides. She +considered any slight thrown upon her Church as blasphemy against the +Holy Truth; and, though she was not given to open expression of her +thoughts and feelings, yet her increasing coolness of behaviour showed +how much her most cherished opinions had been wounded. Thus, although +there was never any explanation of Madame Héger’s change +of manner, this may be given as one great reason why, about this time, +Charlotte was made painfully conscious of a silent estrangement between +them; an estrangement of which, perhaps, the former was hardly aware. +I have before alluded to intelligence from home, calculated to distress +Charlotte exceedingly with fears respecting Branwell, which I shall +speak of more at large when the realisation of her worst apprehensions +came to affect the daily life of herself and her sisters. I allude +to the subject again here, in order that the reader may remember the +gnawing, private cares, which she had to bury in her own heart; and +the pain of which could only be smothered for a time under the diligent +fulfilment of present duty. Another dim sorrow was faintly perceived +at this time. Her father’s eyesight began to fail; it was +not unlikely that he might shortly become blind; more of his duty must +devolve on a curate, and Mr. Brontë, always liberal, would have +to pay at a higher rate than he had heretofore done for this assistance.</p> +<p>She wrote thus to Emily:—</p> +<p>“Dec.1st, 1843.</p> +<p>“This is Sunday morning. They are at their idolatrous +‘messe,’ and I am here, that is in the Refectoire. +I should like uncommonly to be in the dining-room at home, or in the +kitchen, or in the back kitchen. I should like even to be cutting +up the hash, with the clerk and some register people at the other table, +and you standing by, watching that I put enough flour, not too much +pepper, and, above all, that I save the best pieces of the leg of mutton +for Tiger and Keeper, the first of which personages would be jumping +about the dish and carving-knife, and the latter standing like a devouring +flame on the kitchen-floor. To complete the picture, Tabby blowing +the fire, in order to boil the potatoes to a sort of vegetable glue! +How divine are these recollections to me at this moment! Yet I +have no thought of coming home just now. I lack a real pretext +for doing so; it is true this place is dismal to me, but I cannot go +home without a fixed prospect when I get there; and this prospect must +not be a situation; that would be jumping out of the frying-pan into +the fire. <i>You</i> call yourself idle! absurd, absurd! . . . +Is papa well? Are you well? and Tabby? You ask about Queen +Victoria’s visit to Brussels. I saw her for an instant flashing +through the Rue Royale in a carriage and six, surrounded by soldiers. +She was laughing and talking very gaily. She looked a little stout, +vivacious lady, very plainly dressed, not much dignity or pretension +about her. The Belgians liked her very well on the whole. +They said she enlivened the sombre court of King Leopold, which is usually +as gloomy as a conventicle. Write to me again soon. Tell +me whether papa really wants me very much to come home, and whether +you do likewise. I have an idea that I should be of no use there—a +sort of aged person upon the parish. I pray, with heart and soul, +that all may continue well at Haworth; above all in our grey half-inhabited +house. God bless the walls thereof! Safety, health, happiness, +and prosperity to you, papa, and Tabby. Amen.</p> +<p>“C. B.”</p> +<p>Towards the end of this year (1843) various reasons conspired with +the causes of anxiety which have been mentioned, to make her feel that +her presence was absolutely and imperatively required at home, while +she had acquired all that she proposed to herself in coming to Brussels +the second time; and was, moreover, no longer regarded with the former +kindliness of feeling by Madame Héger. In consequence of +this state of things, working down with sharp edge into a sensitive +mind, she suddenly announced to that lady her immediate intention of +returning to England. Both M. and Madame Héger agreed that +it would be for the best, when they learnt only that part of the case +which she could reveal to them—namely, Mr. Brontë’s +increasing blindness. But as the inevitable moment of separation +from people and places, among which she had spent so many happy hours, +drew near, her spirits gave way; she had the natural presentiment that +she saw them all for the last time, and she received but a dead kind +of comfort from being reminded by her friends that Brussels and Haworth +were not so very far apart; that access from one place to the other +was not so difficult or impracticable as her tears would seem to predicate; +nay, there was some talk of one of Madame Héger’s daughters +being sent to her as a pupil, if she fulfilled her intention of trying +to begin a school. To facilitate her success in this plan, should +she ever engage in it, M. Héger gave her a kind of diploma, dated +from, and sealed with the seal of the Athénée Royal de +Bruxelles, certifying that she was perfectly capable of teaching the +French language, having well studied the grammar and composition thereof, +and, moreover, having prepared herself for teaching by studying and +practising the best methods of instruction. This certificate is +dated December 29th 1843, and on the 2nd of January, 1844, she arrived +at Haworth.</p> +<p>On the 23rd of the month she writes as follows:—</p> +<p>“Every one asks me what I am going to do, now that I am returned +home; and every one seems to expect that I should immediately commence +a school. In truth, it is what I should wish to do. I desire +it above all things. I have sufficient money for the undertaking, +and I hope now sufficient qualifications to give me a fair chance of +success; yet I cannot yet permit myself to enter upon life—to +touch the object which seems now within my reach, and which I have been +so long straining to attain. You will ask me why? It is +on papa’s account; he is now, as you know, getting old, and it +grieves me to tell you that he is losing his sight. I have felt +for some months that I ought not to be away from him; and I feel now +that it would be too selfish to leave him (at least, as long as Branwell +and Anne are absent), in order to pursue selfish interests of my own. +With the help of God, I will try to deny myself in this matter, and +to wait.</p> +<p>“I suffered much before I left Brussels. I think, however +long I live, I shall not forget what the parting with M. Héger +cost me. It grieved me so much to grieve him who has been so true, +kind, and disinterested a friend. At parting he gave me a kind +of diploma certifying my abilities as a teacher, sealed with the seal +of the Athénée Royal, of which he is professor. +I was surprised also at the degree of regret expressed by my Belgian +pupils, when they knew I was going to leave. I did not think it +had been in their phlegmatic nature . . . I do not know whether you +feel as I do, but there are times now when it appears to me as if all +my ideas and feelings, except a few friendships and affections, are +changed from what they used to be; something in me, which used to be +enthusiasm, is tamed down and broken. I have fewer illusions; +what I wish for now is active exertion—a stake in life. +Haworth seems such a lonely, quiet spot, buried away from the world. +I no longer regard myself as young—indeed, I shall soon be twenty-eight; +and it seems as if I ought to be working and braving the rough realities +of the world, as other people do. It is, however, my duty to restrain +this feeling at present, and I will endeavour to do so.”</p> +<p>Of course her absent sister and brother obtained a holiday to welcome +her return home, and in a few weeks she was spared to pay a visit to +her friend at B. But she was far from well or strong, and the +short journey of fourteen miles seems to have fatigued her greatly.</p> +<p>Soon after she came back to Haworth, in a letter to one of the household +in which she had been staying, there occurs this passage:—“Our +poor little cat has been ill two days, and is just dead. It is +piteous to see even an animal lying lifeless. Emily is sorry.” +These few words relate to points in the characters of the two sisters, +which I must dwell upon a little. Charlotte was more than commonly +tender in her treatment of all dumb creatures, and they, with that fine +instinct so often noticed, were invariably attracted towards her. +The deep and exaggerated consciousness of her personal defects—the +constitutional absence of hope, which made her slow to trust in human +affection, and, consequently, slow to respond to any manifestation of +it—made her manner shy and constrained to men and women, and even +to children. We have seen something of this trembling distrust +of her own capability of inspiring affection, in the grateful surprise +she expresses at the regret felt by her Belgian pupils at her departure. +But not merely were her actions kind, her words and tones were ever +gentle and caressing, towards animals: and she quickly noticed the least +want of care or tenderness on the part of others towards any poor brute +creature. The readers of “Shirley” may remember that +it is one of the tests which the heroine applies to her lover.</p> +<blockquote><p>“Do you know what soothsayers I would consult?” +. . . “The little Irish beggar that comes barefoot to my door; +the mouse that steals out of the cranny in my wainscot; the bird in +frost and snow that pecks at my window for a crumb; the dog that licks +my hand and sits beside my knee. I know somebody to whose knee +the black cat loves to climb, against whose shoulder and cheek it likes +to purr. The old dog always comes out of his kennel and wags his +tail, and whines affectionately when somebody passes.” [For +“somebody” and “he,” read “Charlotte Brontë” +and “she.”] “He quietly strokes the cat, and +lets her sit while he conveniently can; and when he must disturb her +by rising, he puts her softly down, and never flings her from him roughly: +he always whistles to the dog, and gives him a caress.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The feeling, which in Charlotte partook of something of the nature +of an affection, was, with Emily, more of a passion. Some one +speaking of her to me, in a careless kind of strength of expression, +said, “she never showed regard to any human creature; all her +love was reserved for animals.” The helplessness of an animal +was its passport to Charlotte’s heart; the fierce, wild, intractability +of its nature was what often recommended it to Emily. Speaking +of her dead sister, the former told me that from her many traits in +Shirley’s character were taken; her way of sitting on the rug +reading, with her arm round her rough bull-dog’s neck; her calling +to a strange dog, running past, with hanging head and lolling tongue, +to give it a merciful draught of water, its maddened snap at her, her +nobly stern presence of mind, going right into the kitchen, and taking +up one of Tabby’s red-hot Italian irons to sear the bitten place, +and telling no one, till the danger was well-nigh over, for fear of +the terrors that might beset their weaker minds. All this, looked +upon as a well-invented fiction in “Shirley,” was written +down by Charlotte with streaming eyes; it was the literal true account +of what Emily had done. The same tawny bull-dog (with his “strangled +whistle”), called “Tartar” in “Shirley,” +was “Keeper” in Haworth parsonage; a gift to Emily. +With the gift came a warning. Keeper was faithful to the depths +of his nature as long as he was with friends; but he who struck him +with a stick or whip, roused the relentless nature of the brute, who +flew at his throat forthwith, and held him there till one or the other +was at the point of death. Now Keeper’s household fault +was this. He loved to steal upstairs, and stretch his square, +tawny limbs, on the comfortable beds, covered over with delicate white +counterpanes. But the cleanliness of the parsonage arrangements +was perfect; and this habit of Keeper’s was so objectionable, +that Emily, in reply to Tabby’s remonstrances, declared that, +if he was found again transgressing, she herself, in defiance of warning +and his well-known ferocity of nature, would beat him so severely that +he would never offend again. In the gathering dusk of an autumn +evening, Tabby came, half-triumphantly, half-tremblingly, but in great +wrath, to tell Emily that Keeper was lying on the best bed, in drowsy +voluptuousness. Charlotte saw Emily’s whitening face, and +set mouth, but dared not speak to interfere; no one dared when Emily’s +eyes glowed in that manner out of the paleness of her face, and when +her lips were so compressed into stone. She went upstairs, and +Tabby and Charlotte stood in the gloomy passage below, full of the dark +shadows of coming night. Down-stairs came Emily, dragging after +her the unwilling Keeper, his hind legs set in a heavy attitude of resistance, +held by the “scuft of his neck,” but growling low and savagely +all the time. The watchers would fain have spoken, but durst not, +for fear of taking off Emily’s attention, and causing her to avert +her head for a moment from the enraged brute. She let him go, +planted in a dark corner at the bottom of the stairs; no time was there +to fetch stick or rod, for fear of the strangling clutch at her throat—her +bare clenched fist struck against his red fierce eyes, before he had +time to make his spring, and, in the language of the turf, she “punished +him” till his eyes were swelled up, and the half-blind, stupified +beast was led to his accustomed lair, to have his swollen head fomented +and cared for by the very Emily herself. The generous dog owed +her no grudge; he loved her dearly ever after; he walked first among +the mourners to her funeral; he slept moaning for nights at the door +of her empty room, and never, so to speak, rejoiced, dog fashion, after +her death. He, in his turn, was mourned over by the surviving +sister. Let us somehow hope, in half Red Indian creed, that he +follows Emily now; and, when he rests, sleeps on some soft white bed +of dreams, unpunished when he awakens to the life of the land of shadows.</p> +<p>Now we can understand the force of the words, “Our poor little +cat is dead. Emily is sorry.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>The moors were a great resource this spring; Emily and Charlotte +walked out on them perpetually, “to the great damage of our shoes, +but I hope, to the benefit of our health.” The old plan +of school-keeping was often discussed in these rambles; but in-doors +they set with vigour to shirt-making for the absent Branwell, and pondered +in silence over their past and future life. At last they came +to a determination.</p> +<p>“I have seriously entered into the enterprise of keeping a +school—or rather, taking a limited number of pupils at home. +That is, I have begun in good earnest to seek for pupils. I wrote +to Mrs. --- ” (the lady with whom she had lived as governess, +just before going to Brussels), “not asking her for her daughter—I +cannot do that—but informing her of my intention. I received +an answer from Mr. --- expressive of, I believe, sincere regret that +I had not informed them a month sooner, in which case, he said, they +would gladly have sent me their own daughter, and also Colonel S.’s, +but that now both were promised to Miss C. I was partly disappointed +by this answer, and partly gratified; indeed, I derived quite an impulse +of encouragement from the warm assurance that if I had but applied a +little sooner they would certainly have sent me their daughter. +I own I had misgivings that nobody would be willing to send a child +for education to Haworth. These misgivings are partly done away +with. I have written also to Mrs. B., and have enclosed the diploma +which M. Héger gave me before I left Brussels. I have not +yet received her answer, but I wait for it with some anxiety. +I do not expect that she will send me any of her children, but if she +would, I dare say she could recommend me other pupils. Unfortunately, +she knows us only very slightly. As soon as I can get an assurance +of only <i>one</i> pupil, I will have cards of terms printed, and will +commence the repairs necessary in the house. I wish all that to +be done before winter. I think of fixing the board and English +education at 25<i>l</i>. per annum.”</p> +<p>Again, at a later date, July 24th, in the same year, she writes:—</p> +<p>“I am driving on with my small matter as well as I can. +I have written to all the friends on whom I have the slightest claim, +and to some on whom I have no claim; Mrs. B., for example. On +her, also, I have actually made bold to call. She was exceedingly +polite; regretted that her children were already at school at Liverpool; +thought the undertaking a most praiseworthy one, but feared I should +have some difficulty in making it succeed on account of the <i>situation</i>. +Such is the answer I receive from almost every one. I tell them +the <i>retired situation</i> is, in some points of view, an advantage; +that were it in the midst of a large town I could not pretend to take +pupils on terms so moderate (Mrs. B. remarked that she thought the terms +very moderate), but that, as it is, not having house-rent to pay, we +can offer the same privileges of education that are to be had in expensive +seminaries, at little more than half their price; and as our number +must be limited, we can devote a large share of time and pains to each +pupil. Thank you for the very pretty little purse you have sent +me. I make to you a curious return in the shape of half a dozen +cards of terms. Make such use of them as your judgment shall dictate. +You will see that I have fixed the sum at 35<i>l</i>., which I think +is the just medium, considering advantages and disadvantages.”</p> +<p>This was written in July; August, September, and October passed away, +and no pupils were to be heard of. Day after day, there was a +little hope felt by the sisters until the post came in. But Haworth +village was wild and lonely, and the Brontës but little known, +owing to their want of connections. Charlotte writes on the subject, +in the early winter months, to this effect—</p> +<blockquote><p>“I, Emily, and Anne, are truly obliged to you for +the efforts you have made in our behalf; and if you have not been successful, +you are only like ourselves. Every one wishes us well; but there +are no pupils to be had. We have no present intention, however, +of breaking our hearts on the subject, still less of feeling mortified +at defeat. The effort must be beneficial, whatever the result +may be, because it teaches us experience, and an additional knowledge +of this world. I send you two more circulars.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A month later, she says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“We have made no alterations yet in our house. +It would be folly to do so, while there is so little likelihood of our +ever getting pupils. I fear you are giving yourself too much trouble +on our account. Depend upon it, if you were to persuade a mamma +to bring her child to Haworth, the aspect of the place would frighten +her, and she would probably take the dear girl back with her, instanter. +We are glad that we have made the attempt, and we will not be cast down +because it has not succeeded.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There were, probably, growing up in each sister’s heart, secret +unacknowledged feelings of relief, that their plan had not succeeded. +Yes! a dull sense of relief that their cherished project had been tried +and had failed. For that house, which was to be regarded as an +occasional home for their brother, could hardly be a fitting residence +for the children of strangers. They had, in all likelihood, become +silently aware that his habits were such as to render his society at +times most undesirable. Possibly, too, they had, by this time, +heard distressing rumours concerning the cause of that remorse and agony +of mind, which at times made him restless and unnaturally merry, at +times rendered him moody and irritable.</p> +<p>In January, 1845, Charlotte says:—“Branwell has been +quieter and less irritable, on the whole, this time than he was in summer. +Anne is, as usual, always good, mild, and patient.” The +deep-seated pain which he was to occasion to his relations had now taken +a decided form, and pressed heavily on Charlotte’s health and +spirits. Early in this year, she went to H. to bid good-bye to +her dear friend “Mary,” who was leaving England for Australia.</p> +<p>Branwell, I have mentioned, had obtained the situation of a private +tutor. Anne was also engaged as governess in the same family, +and was thus a miserable witness to her brother’s deterioration +of character at this period. Of the causes of this deterioration +I cannot speak; but the consequences were these. He went home +for his holidays reluctantly, stayed there as short a time as possible, +perplexing and distressing them all by his extraordinary conduct—at +one time in the highest spirits, at another, in the deepest depression—accusing +himself of blackest guilt and treachery, without specifying what they +were; and altogether evincing an irritability of disposition bordering +on insanity.</p> +<p>Charlotte and Emily suffered acutely from his mysterious behaviour. +He expressed himself more than satisfied with his situation; he was +remaining in it for a longer time than he had ever done in any kind +of employment before; so that for some time they could not conjecture +that anything there made him so wilful, and restless, and full of both +levity and misery. But a sense of something wrong connected with +him, sickened and oppressed them. They began to lose all hope +in his future career. He was no longer the family pride; an indistinct +dread, caused partly by his own conduct, partly by expressions of agonising +suspicion in Anne’s letters home, was creeping over their minds +that he might turn out their deep disgrace. But, I believe, they +shrank from any attempt to define their fears, and spoke of him to each +other as little as possible. They could not help but think, and +mourn, and wonder.</p> +<p>“Feb. 20th, 1845.</p> +<p>“I spent a week at H., not very pleasantly; headache, sickliness, +and flatness of spirits, made me a poor companion, a sad drag on the +vivacious and loquacious gaiety of all the other inmates of the house. +I never was fortunate enough to be able to rally, for as much as a single +hour, while I was there. I am sure all, with the exception perhaps +of Mary, were very glad when I took my departure. I begin to perceive +that I have too little life in me, now-a-days, to be fit company for +any except very quiet people. Is it age, or what else, that changes +me so?”</p> +<p>Alas! she hardly needed to have asked this question. How could +she be otherwise than “flat-spirited,” “a poor companion,” +and a “sad drag” on the gaiety of those who were light-hearted +and happy! Her honest plan for earning her own livelihood had +fallen away, crumbled to ashes; after all her preparations, not a pupil +had offered herself; and, instead of being sorry that this wish of many +years could not be realised, she had reason to be glad. Her poor +father, nearly sightless, depended upon her cares in his blind helplessness; +but this was a sacred pious charge, the duties of which she was blessed +in fulfilling. The black gloom hung over what had once been the +brightest hope of the family—over Branwell, and the mystery in +which his wayward conduct was enveloped. Somehow and sometime, +he would have to turn to his home as a hiding place for shame; such +was the sad foreboding of his sisters. Then how could she be cheerful, +when she was losing her dear and noble “Mary,” for such +a length of time and distance of space that her heart might well prophesy +that it was “for ever”? Long before, she had written +of Mary T., that she “was full of feelings noble, warm, generous, +devoted, and profound. God bless her! I never hope to see +in this world a character more truly noble. She would die willingly +for one she loved. Her intellect and attainments are of the very +highest standard.” And this was the friend whom she was +to lose! Hear that friend’s account of their final interview:—</p> +<p>“When I last saw Charlotte (Jan. 1845), she told me she had +quite decided to stay at home. She owned she did not like it. +Her health was weak. She said she should like any change at first, +as she had liked Brussels at first, and she thought that there must +be some possibility for some people of having a life of more variety +and more communion with human kind, but she saw none for her. +I told her very warmly, that she ought not to stay at home; that to +spend the next five years at home, in solitude and weak health, would +ruin her; that she would never recover it. Such a dark shadow +came over her face when I said, ‘Think of what you’ll be +five years hence!’ that I stopped, and said, ‘Don’t +cry, Charlotte!’ She did not cry, but went on walking up +and down the room, and said in a little while, ‘But I intend to +stay, Polly.’”</p> +<p>A few weeks after she parted from Mary, she gives this account of +her days at Haworth.</p> +<p>“March 24th, 1845.</p> +<p>“I can hardly tell you how time gets on at Haworth. There +is no event whatever to mark its progress. One day resembles another; +and all have heavy, lifeless physiognomies. Sunday, baking-day, +and Saturday, are the only ones that have any distinctive mark. +Meantime, life wears away. I shall soon be thirty; and I have +done nothing yet. Sometimes I get melancholy at the prospect before +and behind me. Yet it is wrong and foolish to repine. Undoubtedly, +my duty directs me to stay at home for the present. There was +a time when Haworth was a very pleasant place to me; it is not so now. +I feel as if we were all buried here. I long to travel; to work; +to live a life of action. Excuse me, dear, for troubling you with +my fruitless wishes. I will put by the rest, and not trouble you +with them. You must write to me. If you knew how welcome +your letters are, you would write very often. Your letters, and +the French newspapers, are the only messengers that come to me from +the outer world beyond our moors; and very welcome messengers they are.”</p> +<p>One of her daily employments was to read to her father, and it required +a little gentle diplomacy on her part to effect this duty; for there +were times when the offer of another to do what he had been so long +accustomed to do for himself, only reminded him too painfully of the +deprivation under which he was suffering. And, in secret, she, +too, dreaded a similar loss for herself. Long-continued ill health, +a deranged condition of the liver, her close application to minute drawing +and writing in her younger days, her now habitual sleeplessness at nights, +the many bitter noiseless tears she had shed over Branwell’s mysterious +and distressing conduct—all these causes were telling on her poor +eyes; and about this time she thus writes to M. Héger:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Il n’y a rien que je crains comme le désoeuvrement, +l’inertie, la léthargie des facultés. Quand +le corps est paresseux l’esprit souffre cruellement; je ne connaîtrais +pas cette léthargie, si je pouvais écrire. Autrefois +je passais des journées, des semaines, des mois entiers à +écrire, et pas tout-à-fait sans fruit, puisque Southey +et Coleridge, deux de nos meilleurs auteurs, à qui j’ai +envoyé certains manuscrits, en ont bien voulu témoigner +leur approbation; mais à présent, j’ai la vue trop +faible; si j’écrivais beaueoup je deviendrais aveugle. +Cette faiblesse de vue est pour moi une terrible privation; sans cela, +savez-vous ce que je ferais, Monsieur? J’écrirais +un livre et je le dédierais à mon maître de littérature, +au seul maître que j’aie jamais eu—à vous, +Monsieur! Je vous ai dit souvent en français combien je +vous respecte, combien je suis redevable à votre bonté, +à vos conseils. Je voudrais le dire une fois en anglais. +Cela ne se peut pas; il ne faut pas y penser. La carrière +des lettres m’est fermée . . . N’oubliez pas de me +dire comment vous vous portez, comment Madame et les enfants se portent. +Je compte bientôt avoir de vos nouvelles; cette idée me +souris, car le souvenir de vos bontés ne s’effacera jamais +de ma mémoire, et tant que ce souvenir durera, le respect que +vous m’avez inspiré durera aussi. Agréez, +Monsieur,” &c.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is probable, that even her sisters and most intimate friends did +not know of this dread of ultimate blindness which beset her at this +period. What eyesight she had to spare she reserved for the use +of her father. She did but little plain-sewing; not more writing +than could be avoided, and employed herself principally in knitting.</p> +<p>“April 2nd, 1845.</p> +<p>“I see plainly it is proved to us that there is scarcely a +draught of unmingled happiness to be had in this world. ---’s +illness comes with ---’s marriage. Mary T. finds herself +free, and on that path to adventure and exertion to which she has so +long been seeking admission. Sickness, hardship, danger are her +fellow travellers—her inseparable companions. She may have +been out of the reach of these S. W. N. W. gales, before they began +to blow, or they may have spent their fury on land, and not ruffled +the sea much. If it has been otherwise, she has been sorely tossed, +while we have been sleeping in our beds, or lying awake thinking about +her. Yet these real, material dangers, when once past, leave in +the mind the satisfaction of having struggled with difficulty, and overcome +it. Strength, courage, and experience are their invariable results; +whereas, I doubt whether suffering purely mental has any good result, +unless it be to make us by comparison less sensitive to physical suffering +. . . Ten years ago, I should have laughed at your account of the blunder +you made in mistaking the bachelor doctor for a married man. I +should have certainly thought you scrupulous over-much, and wondered +how you could possibly regret being civil to a decent individual, merely +because he happened to be single, instead of double. Now, however, +I can perceive that your scruples are founded on common sense. +I know that if women wish to escape the stigma of husband-seeking, they +must act and look like marble or clay—cold, expressionless, bloodless; +for every appearance of feeling, of joy, sorrow, friendliness, antipathy, +admiration, disgust, are alike construed by the world into the attempt +to hook a husband. Never mind! well-meaning women have their own +consciences to comfort them after all. Do not, therefore, be too +much afraid of showing yourself as you are, affectionate and good-hearted; +do not too harshly repress sentiments and feelings excellent in themselves, +because you fear that some puppy may fancy that you are letting them +come out to fascinate him; do not condemn yourself to live only by halves, +because if you showed too much animation some pragmatical thing in breeches +might take it into his pate to imagine that you designed to dedicate +your life to his inanity. Still, a composed, decent, equable deportment +is a capital treasure to a woman, and that you possess. Write +again soon, for I feel rather fierce, and want stroking down.”</p> +<blockquote><p>“June 13th, 1845.</p> +<p>“As to the Mrs. ---, who, you say, is like me, I somehow feel +no leaning to her at all. I never do to people who are said to +be like me, because I have always a notion that they are only like me +in the disagreeable, outside, first-acquaintance part of my character; +in those points which are obvious to the ordinary run of people, and +which I know are not pleasing. You say she is ‘clever’—‘a +clever person.’ How I dislike the term! It means rather +a shrewd, very ugly, meddling, talking woman . . . I feel reluctant +to leave papa for a single day. His sight diminishes weekly; and +can it be wondered at that, as he sees the most precious of his faculties +leaving him, his spirits sometimes sink? It is so hard to feel +that his few and scanty pleasures must all soon go. He has now +the greatest difficulty in either reading or writing; and then he dreads +the state of dependence to which blindness will inevitably reduce him. +He fears that he will be nothing in his parish. I try to cheer +him; sometimes I succeed temporarily, but no consolation can restore +his sight, or atone for the want of it. Still he is never peevish; +never impatient; only anxious and dejected.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>For the reason just given, Charlotte declined an invitation to the +only house to which she was now ever asked to come. In answer +to her correspondent’s reply to this letter, she says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“You thought I refused you coldly, did you? +It was a queer sort of coldness, when I would have given my ears to +say Yes, and was obliged to say No. Matters, however, are now +a little changed. Anne is come home, and her presence certainly +makes me feel more at liberty. Then, if all be well, I will come +and see you. Tell me only when I must come. Mention the +week and the day. Have the kindness also to answer the following +queries, if you can. How far is it from Leeds to Sheffield? +Can you give me a notion of the cost? Of course, when I come, +you will let me enjoy your own company in peace, and not drag me out +a visiting. I have no desire at all to see your curate. +I think he must be like all the other curates I have seen; and they +seem to me a self-seeking, vain, empty race. At this blessed moment, +we have no less than three of them in Haworth parish—and there +is not one to mend another. The other day, they all three, accompanied +by Mr. S., dropped, or rather rushed, in unexpectedly to tea. +It was Monday (baking day), and I was hot and tired; still, if they +had behaved quietly and decently, I would have served them out their +tea in peace; but they began glorifying themselves, and abusing Dissenters +in such a manner, that my temper lost its balance, and I pronounced +a few sentences sharply and rapidly, which struck them all dumb. +Papa was greatly horrified also, but I don’t regret it.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>On her return from this short visit to her friend, she travelled +with a gentleman in the railway carriage, whose features and bearing +betrayed him, in a moment, to be a Frenchman. She ventured to +ask him if such was not the case; and, on his admitting it, she further +inquired if he had not passed a considerable time in Germany, and was +answered that he had; her quick ear detected something of the thick +guttural pronunciation, which, Frenchmen say, they are able to discover +even in the grandchildren of their countrymen who have lived any time +beyond the Rhine. Charlotte had retained her skill in the language +by the habit of which she thus speaks to M. Héger:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Je crains beaucoup d’oublier le français—j’apprends +tous les jours une demie page de français par coeur, et j’ai +grand plaisir à apprendre cette leçon, Veuillez presenter +à Madame l’assurance de mon estime; je crains que Maria-Louise +et Claire ne m’aient déjà oubliées; mais +je vous reverrai un jour; aussitôt que j’aurais gagné +assez d’argent pour alter à Bruxelles, j’y irai.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And so her journey back to Haworth, after the rare pleasure of this +visit to her friend, was pleasantly beguiled by conversation with the +French gentleman; and she arrived at home refreshed and happy. +What to find there?</p> +<p>It was ten o’clock when she reached the parsonage. Branwell +was there, unexpectedly, very ill. He had come home a day or two +before, apparently for a holiday; in reality, I imagine, because some +discovery had been made which rendered his absence imperatively desirable. +The day of Charlotte’s return, he had received a letter from Mr. +---, sternly dismissing him, intimating that his proceedings were discovered, +characterising them as bad beyond expression, and charging him, on pain +of exposure, to break off immediately, and for ever, all communication +with every member of the family.</p> +<p>Whatever may have been the nature and depth of Branwell’s sins,—whatever +may have been his temptation, whatever his guilt,—there is no +doubt of the suffering which his conduct entailed upon his poor father +and his innocent sisters. The hopes and plans they had cherished +long, and laboured hard to fulfil, were cruelly frustrated; henceforward +their days were embittered and the natural rest of their nights destroyed +by his paroxysms of remorse. Let us read of the misery caused +to his poor sisters in Charlotte’s own affecting words:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“We have had sad work with Branwell. He thought +of nothing but stunning or drowning his agony of mind. No one +in this house could have rest; and, at last, we have been obliged to +send him from home for a week, with some one to look after him. +He has written to me this morning, expressing some sense of contrition +. . . but as long as he remains at home, I scarce dare hope for peace +in the house. We must all, I fear, prepare for a season of distress +and disquietude. When I left you, I was strongly impressed with +the feeling that I was going back to sorrow.”</p> +<p>“August, 1845.</p> +<p>“Things here at home are much as usual; not very bright as +it regards Branwell, though his health, and consequently his temper, +have been somewhat better this last day or two, because he is now <i>forced +to</i> abstain.”</p> +<p>“August 18th, 1845.</p> +<p>“I have delayed writing, because I have no good news to communicate. +My hopes ebb low indeed about Branwell. I sometimes fear he will +never be fit for much. The late blow to his prospects and feelings +has quite made him reckless. It is only absolute want of means +that acts as any check to him. One ought, indeed, to hope to the +very last; and I try to do so, but occasionally hope in his case seems +so fallacious.”</p> +<p>“Nov. 4th, 1845.</p> +<p>“I hoped to be able to ask you to come to Haworth. It +almost seemed as if Branwell had a chance of getting employment, and +I waited to know the result of his efforts in order to say, dear ---, +come and see us. But the place (a secretaryship to a railway committee) +is given to another person. Branwell still remains at home; and +while <i>he</i> is here, <i>you</i> shall not come. I am more +confirmed in that resolution the more I see of him. I wish I could +say one word to you in his favour, but I cannot. I will hold my +tongue. We are all obliged to you for your kind suggestion about +Leeds; but I think our school schemes are, for the present, at rest.”</p> +<p>“Dec. 31st, 1845.</p> +<p>“You say well, in speaking of ---, that no sufferings are so +awful as those brought on by dissipation; alas! I see the truth of this +observation daily proved. —and—must have as weary and burdensome +a life of it in waiting upon their unhappy brother. It seems grievous, +indeed, that those who have not sinned should suffer so largely.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In fact, all their latter days blighted with the presence of cruel, +shameful suffering,—the premature deaths of two at least of the +sisters,—all the great possibilities of their earthly lives snapped +short,—may be dated from Midsummer 1845.</p> +<p>For the last three years of Branwell’s life, he took opium +habitually, by way of stunning conscience; he drank moreover, whenever +he could get the opportunity. The reader may say that I have mentioned +his tendency to intemperance long before. It is true; but it did +not become habitual, as far as I can learn, until after he was dismissed +from his tutorship. He took opium, because it made him forget +for a time more effectually than drink; and, besides, it was more portable. +In procuring it he showed all the cunning of the opium-eater. +He would steal out while the family were at church—to which he +had professed himself too ill to go—and manage to cajole the village +druggist out of a lump; or, it might be, the carrier had unsuspiciously +brought him some in a packet from a distance. For some time before +his death he had attacks of delirium tremens of the most frightful character; +he slept in his father’s room, and he would sometimes declare +that either he or his father should be dead before the morning. +The trembling sisters, sick with fright, would implore their father +not to expose himself to this danger; but Mr. Brontë is no timid +man, and perhaps he felt that he could possibly influence his son to +some self-restraint, more by showing trust in him than by showing fear. +The sisters often listened for the report of a pistol in the dead of +the night, till watchful eye and hearkening ear grew heavy and dull +with the perpetual strain upon their nerves. In the mornings young +Brontë would saunter out, saying, with a drunkard’s incontinence +of speech, “The poor old man and I have had a terrible night of +it; he does his best—the poor old man! but it’s all over +with me.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<p>In the course of this sad autumn of 1845, a new interest came up; +faint, indeed, and often lost sight of in the vivid pain and constant +pressure of anxiety respecting their brother. In the biographical +notice of her sisters, which Charlotte prefixed to the edition of “Wuthering +Heights” and “Agnes Grey,” published in 1850—a +piece of writing unique, as far as I know, in its pathos and its power—she +says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“One day in the autumn of 1845, I accidentally +lighted on a MS. volume of verse, in my sister Emily’s handwriting. +Of course, I was not surprised, knowing that she could and did write +verse: I looked it over, and something more than surprise seized me—a +deep conviction that these were not common effusions, nor at all like +the poetry women generally write. I thought them condensed and +terse, vigorous and genuine. To my ear they had also a peculiar +music, wild, melancholy, and elevating. My sister Emily was not +a person of demonstrative character, nor one on the recesses of whose +mind and feelings even those nearest and dearest to her could, with +impunity, intrude unlicensed: it took hours to reconcile her to the +discovery I had made, and days to persuade her that such poems merited +publication . . . Meantime, my younger sister quietly produced some +of her own compositions, intimating that since Emily’s had given +me pleasure, I might like to look at hers. I could not but be +a partial judge, yet I thought that these verses too had a sweet sincere +pathos of their own. We had very early cherished the dream of +one day being authors. We agreed to arrange a small selection +of our poems, and, if possible, get them printed. Averse to personal +publicity, we veiled our own names under those of Currer, Ellis, and +Acton Bell; the ambiguous choice being dictated by a sort of conscientious +scruple at assuming Christian names, positively masculine, while we +did not like to declare ourselves women, because—without at the +time suspecting that our mode of writing and thinking was not what is +called ‘feminine,’ we had a vague impression that authoresses +are liable to be looked on with prejudice; we noticed how critics sometimes +use for their chastisement the weapon of personality, and for their +reward, a flattery, which is not true praise. The bringing out +of our little book was hard work. As was to be expected, neither +we nor our poems were at all wanted; but for this we had been prepared +at the outset; though inexperienced ourselves, we had read the experience +of others. The great puzzle lay in the difficulty of getting answers +of any kind from the publishers to whom we applied. Being greatly +harassed by this obstacle, I ventured to apply to the Messrs. Chambers, +of Edinburgh, for a word of advice; <i>they</i> may have forgotten the +circumstance, but <i>I</i> have not, for from them I received a brief +and business-like, but civil and sensible reply, on which we acted, +and at last made way.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I inquired from Mr. Robert Chambers, and found, as Miss Brontë +conjectured, that he had entirely forgotten the application which had +been made to him and his brother for advice; nor had they any copy or +memorandum of the correspondence.</p> +<p>There is an intelligent man living in Haworth, who has given me some +interesting particulars relating to the sisters about this period. +He says:—</p> +<p>“I have known Miss Brontë, as Miss Brontë, a long +time; indeed, ever since they came to Haworth in 1819. But I had +not much acquaintance with the family till about 1843, when I began +to do a little in the stationery line. Nothing of that kind could +be had nearer than Keighley before I began. They used to buy a +great deal of writing paper, and I used to wonder whatever they did +with so much. I sometimes thought they contributed to the Magazines. +When I was out of stock, I was always afraid of their coming; they seemed +so distressed about it, if I had none. I have walked to Halifax +(a distance of ten miles) many a time, for half a ream of paper, for +fear of being without it when they came. I could not buy more +at a time for want of capital. I was always short of that. +I did so like them to come when I had anything for them; they were so +much different to anybody else; so gentle and kind, and so very quiet. +They never talked much. Charlotte sometimes would sit and inquire +about our circumstances so kindly and feelingly! . . . Though I am a +poor working man (which I have never felt to be any degradation), I +could talk with her with the greatest freedom. I always felt quite +at home with her. Though I never had any school education, I never +felt the want of it in her company.”</p> +<p>The publishers to whom she finally made a successful application +for the production of “Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell’s poems,” +were Messrs. Aylott and Jones, Paternoster Row. Mr. Aylott has +kindly placed the letters which she wrote to them on the subject at +my disposal. The first is dated January 28th, 1846, and in it +she inquires if they will publish one volume octavo of poems; if not +at their own risk, on the author’s account. It is signed +“C. Brontë.” They must have replied pretty speedily, +for on January 31st she writes again:—</p> +<p>“GENTLEMEN,</p> +<p>“Since you agree to undertake the publication of the work respecting +which I applied to you, I should wish now to know, as soon as possible, +the cost of paper and printing. I will then send the necessary +remittance, together with the manuscript. I should like it to +be printed in one octavo volume, of the same quality of paper and size +of type as Moxon’s last edition of Wordsworth. The poems +will occupy, I should think, from 200 to 250 pages. They are not +the production of a clergyman, nor are they exclusively of a religious +character; but I presume these circumstances will be immaterial. +It will, perhaps, be necessary that you should see the manuscript, in +order to calculate accurately the expense of publication; in that case +I will send it immediately. I should like, however, previously, +to have some idea of the probable cost; and if, from what I have said, +you can make a rough calculation on the subject, I should be greatly +obliged to you.”</p> +<p>In her next letter, February 6th, she says:—</p> +<p>“You will perceive that the poems are the work of three persons, +relatives—their separate pieces are distinguished by their respective +signatures.”</p> +<p>She writes again on February 15th; and on the 16th she says:—</p> +<p>“The MS. will certainly form a thinner volume than I had anticipated. +I cannot name another model which I should like it precisely to resemble, +yet, I think, a duodecimo form, and a somewhat reduced, though still +<i>clear</i> type, would be preferable. I only stipulate for <i>clear</i> +type, not too small, and good paper.”</p> +<p>On February 21st she selects the “long primer type” for +the poems, and will remit 31<i>l</i>. 10<i>s</i>. in a few days.</p> +<p>Minute as the details conveyed in these notes are, they are not trivial, +because they afford such strong indications of character. If the +volume was to be published at their own risk, it was necessary that +the sister conducting the negotiation should make herself acquainted +with the different kinds of type, and the various sizes of books. +Accordingly she bought a small volume, from which to learn all she could +on the subject of preparation for the press. No half-knowledge—no +trusting to other people for decisions which she could make for herself; +and yet a generous and full confidence, not misplaced, in the thorough +probity of Messrs. Aylott and Jones. The caution in ascertaining +the risk before embarking in the enterprise, and the prompt payment +of the money required, even before it could be said to have assumed +the shape of a debt, were both parts of a self-reliant and independent +character. Self-contained also was she. During the whole +time that the volume of poems was in the course of preparation and publication, +no word was written telling anyone, out of the household circle, what +was in progress.</p> +<p>I have had some of the letters placed in my hands, which she addressed +to her old schoolmistress, Miss W-. They begin a little before +this time. Acting on the conviction, which I have all along entertained, +that where Charlotte Brontë’s own words could be used, no +others ought to take their place, I shall make extracts from this series, +according to their dates.</p> +<p>“Jan. 30th, 1846.</p> +<p>“MY DEAR MISS W---,</p> +<p>“I have not yet paid my visit to ---; it is, indeed, more than +a year since I was there, but I frequently hear from E., and she did +not fail to tell me that you were gone into Worcestershire; she was +unable, however, to give me your exact address. Had I known it, +I should have written to you long since. I thought you would wonder +how we were getting on, when you heard of the railway panic; and you +may be sure that I am very glad to be able to answer your kind inquiries +by the assurance that our small capital is as yet undiminished. +The York and Midland is, as you say, a very good line, yet, I confess +to you, I should wish, for my own part, to be wise in time. I +cannot think that even the very best lines will continue for many years +at their present premiums; and I have been most anxious for us to sell +our shares ere it be too late, and to secure the proceeds in some safer, +if, for the present, less profitable investment. I cannot, however, +persuade my sisters to regard the affair precisely from my point of +view; and I feel as if I would rather run the risk of loss than hurt +Emily’s feelings by acting in direct opposition to her opinion. +She managed in a most handsome and able manner for me, when I was in +Brussels, and prevented by distance from looking after my own interests; +therefore, I will let her manage still, and take the consequences. +Disinterested and energetic she certainly is; and if she be not quite +so tractable or open to conviction as I could wish, I must remember +perfection is not the lot of humanity; and as long as we can regard +those we love, and to whom we are closely allied, with profound and +never-shaken esteem, it is a small thing that they should vex us occasionally +by what appear to us unreasonable and headstrong notions.</p> +<blockquote><p>“You, my dear Miss W---, know, full as well as +I do, the value of sisters’ affection to each other; there is +nothing like it in this world, I believe, when they are nearly equal +in age, and similar in education, tastes, and sentiments. You +ask about Branwell; he never thinks of seeking employment, and I begin +to fear that he has rendered himself incapable of filling any respectable +station in life; besides, if money were at his disposal, he would use +it only to his own injury; the faculty of self-government is, I fear, +almost destroyed in him. You ask me if I do not think that men +are strange beings? I do, indeed. I have often thought so; +and I think, too, that the mode of bringing them up is strange: they +are not sufficiently guarded from temptation. Girls are protected +as if they were something very frail or silly indeed, while boys are +turned loose on the world, as if they, of all beings in existence, were +the wisest and least liable to be led astray. I am glad you like +Broomsgrove, though, I dare say, there are few places you would <i>not</i> +like, with Mrs. M. for a companion. I always feel a peculiar satisfaction +when I hear of your enjoying yourself, because it proves that there +really is such a thing as retributive justice even in this world. +You worked hard; you denied yourself all pleasure, almost all relaxation, +in your youth, and in the prime of life; now you are free, and that +while you have still, I hope, many years of vigour and health in which +you can enjoy freedom. Besides, I have another and very egotistical +motive for being pleased; it seems that even ‘a lone woman’ +can be happy, as well as cherished wives and proud mothers. I +am glad of that. I speculate much on the existence of unmarried +and never-to-be-married women now-a-days; and I have already got to +the point of considering that there is no more respectable character +on this earth than an unmarried woman, who makes her own way through +life quietly, perseveringly, without support of husband or brother; +and who, having attained the age of forty-five or upwards, retains in +her possession a well-regulated mind, a disposition to enjoy simple +pleasures, and fortitude to support inevitably pains, sympathy with +the sufferings of others, and willingness to relieve want as far as +her means extend.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>During the time that the negotiation with Messrs. Aylott and Co. +was going on, Charlotte went to visit her old school-friend, with whom +she was in such habits of confidential intimacy; but neither then nor +afterwards, did she ever speak to her of the publication of the poems; +nevertheless, this young lady suspected that the sisters wrote for Magazines; +and in this idea she was confirmed when, on one of her visits to Haworth, +she saw Anne with a number of “Chambers’s Journal,” +and a gentle smile of pleasure stealing over her placid face as she +read.</p> +<p>“What is the matter?” asked the friend. “Why +do you smile?”</p> +<p>“Only because I see they have inserted one of my poems,” +was the quiet reply; and not a word more was said on the subject.</p> +<p>To this friend Charlotte addressed the following letters:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“March 3rd, 1846.</p> +<p>“I reached home a little after two o’clock, all safe +and right yesterday; I found papa very well; his sight much the same. +Emily and Anne were going to Keighley to meet me; unfortunately, I had +returned by the old road, while they were gone by the new, and we missed +each other. They did not get home till half-past four, and were +caught in the heavy shower of rain which fell in the afternoon. +I am sorry to say Anne has taken a little cold in consequence, but I +hope she will soon be well. Papa was much cheered by my report +of Mr. C.’s opinion, and of old Mrs. E.’s experience; but +I could perceive he caught gladly at the idea of deferring the operation +a few months longer. I went into the room where Branwell was, +to speak to him, about an hour after I got home: it was very forced +work to address him. I might have spared myself the trouble, as +he took no notice, and made no reply; he was stupified. My fears +were not in vain. I hear that he got a sovereign while I have +been away, under pretence of paying a pressing debt; he went immediately +and changed it at a public-house, and has employed it as was to be expected. +--- concluded her account by saying he was a ‘hopeless being;’ +it is too true. In his present state it is scarcely possible to +stay in the room where he is. What the future has in store I do +not know.”</p> +<p>“March 31st, 1846.</p> +<p>“Our poor old servant Tabby had a sort of fit, a fortnight +since, but is nearly recovered now. Martha” (the girl they +had to assist poor old Tabby, and who remains still the faithful servant +at the parsonage,) “is ill with a swelling in her knee, and obliged +to go home. I fear it will be long before she is in working condition +again. I received the number of the ‘Record’ you sent +. . . I read D’Aubigné’s letter. It is clever, +and in what he says about Catholicism very good. The Evangelical +Alliance part is not very practicable, yet certainly it is more in accordance +with the spirit of the Gospel to preach unity among Christians than +to inculcate mutual intolerance and hatred. I am very glad I went +to—when I did, for the changed weather has somewhat changed my +health and strength since. How do you get on? I long for +mild south and west winds. I am thankful papa continues pretty +well, though often made very miserable by Branwell’s wretched +conduct. <i>There</i>—there is no change but for the worse.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Meanwhile the printing of the volume of poems was quietly proceeding. +After some consultation and deliberation, the sisters had determined +to correct the proofs themselves, Up to March 28th the publishers had +addressed their correspondent as C. Brontë, Esq.; but at this time +some “little mistake occurred,” and she desired Messrs. +Aylott and Co. in future to direct to her real address, “<i>Miss</i> +Brontë,” &c. She had, however, evidently left it +to be implied that she was not acting on her own behalf, but as agent +for the real authors, since in a note dated April 6th, she makes a proposal +on behalf of “C., E., and A. Bell,” which is to the following +effect, that they are preparing for the press a work of fiction, consisting +of three distinct and unconnected tales, which may be published either +together, as a work of three volumes, of the ordinary novel size, or +separately, as single volumes, as may be deemed most advisable. +She states, in addition, that it is not their intention to publish these +tales on their own account; but that the authors direct her to ask Messrs. +Aylott and Co. whether they would be disposed to undertake the work, +after having, of course, by due inspection of the MS., ascertained that +its contents are such as to warrant an expectation of success. +To this letter of inquiry the publishers replied speedily, and the tenor +of their answer may be gathered from Charlotte’s, dated April +11th.</p> +<blockquote><p>“I beg to thank you, in the name of C., E., and +A. Bell, for your obliging offer of advice. I will avail myself +of it, to request information on two or three points. It is evident +that unknown authors have great difficulties to contend with, before +they can succeed in bringing their works before the public. Can +you give me any hint as to the way in which these difficulties are best +met? For instance, in the present case, where a work of fiction +is in question, in what form would a publisher be most likely to accept +the MS.? Whether offered as a work of three vols., or as tales +which might be published in numbers, or as contributions to a periodical?</p> +<p>“What publishers would be most likely to receive favourably +a proposal of this nature?</p> +<p>“Would it suffice to <i>write</i> to a publisher on the subject, +or would it be necessary to have recourse to a personal interview?</p> +<p>“Your opinion and advice on these three points, or on any other +which your experience may suggest as important, would be esteemed by +us as a favour.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It is evident from the whole tenor of this correspondence, that the +truthfulness and probity of the firm of publishers with whom she had +to deal in this her first literary venture, were strongly impressed +upon her mind, and was followed by the inevitable consequence of reliance +on their suggestions. And the progress of the poems was not unreasonably +lengthy or long drawn out. On April 20th she writes to desire +that three copies may be sent to her, and that Messrs. Aylott will advise +her as to the reviewers to whom copies ought to be sent.</p> +<p>I give the next letter as illustrating the ideas of these girls as +to what periodical reviews or notices led public opinion.</p> +<p>“The poems to be neatly done up in cloth. Have the goodness +to send copies and advertisements, <i>as early as possible</i>, to each +of the undermentioned periodicals.</p> +<p>“‘Colburn’s New Monthly Magazine.’</p> +<p>“‘Bentley’s Magazine.’</p> +<p>“‘Hood’s Magazine.’</p> +<p>“‘Jerrold’s Shilling Magazine.’</p> +<p>“‘Blackwood’s Magazine.’</p> +<p>“‘The Edinburgh Review.’</p> +<p>“‘Tait’s Edinburgh Magazine.’</p> +<p>“‘The Dublin University Magazine.’</p> +<p>“Also to the ‘Daily News’ and to the ‘Britannia’ +papers.</p> +<p>“If there are any other periodicals to which you have been +in the habit of sending copies of works, let them be supplied also with +copies. I think those I have mentioned will suffice for advertising.”</p> +<p>In compliance with this latter request, Messrs. Aylott suggest that +copies and advertisements of the work should be sent to the “Athenæum,” +“Literary Gazette,” “Critic,” and “Times;” +but in her reply Miss Brontë says, that she thinks the periodicals +she first mentioned will be sufficient for advertising in at present, +as the authors do not wish to lay out a larger sum than two pounds in +advertising, esteeming the success of a work dependent more on the notice +it receives from periodicals than on the quantity of advertisements. +In case of any notice of the poems appearing, whether favourable or +otherwise, Messrs. Aylott and Co. are requested to send her the name +and number of those periodicals in which such notices appear; as otherwise, +since she has not the opportunity of seeing periodicals regularly, she +may miss reading the critique. “Should the poems be remarked +upon favourably, it is my intention to appropriate a further sum for +advertisements. If, on the other hand, they should pass unnoticed +or be condemned, I consider it would be quite useless to advertise, +as there is nothing, either in the title of the work, or the names of +the authors, to attract attention from a single individual.”</p> +<p>I suppose the little volume of poems was published some time about +the end of May, 1846. It stole into life; some weeks passed over, +without the mighty murmuring public discovering that three more voices +were uttering their speech. And, meanwhile, the course of existence +moved drearily along from day to day with the anxious sisters, who must +have forgotten their sense of authorship in the vital care gnawing at +their hearts. On June 17th, Charlotte writes:—</p> +<p>“Branwell declares that he neither can nor will do anything +for himself; good situations have been offered him, for which, by a +fortnight’s work, he might have qualified himself, but he will +do nothing except drink and make us all wretched.”</p> +<p>In the “Athenæum” of July 4th, under the head of +poetry for the million, came a short review of the poems of C., E., +and A. Bell. The reviewer assigns to Ellis the highest rank of +the three “brothers,” as he supposes them to be; he calls +Ellis “a fine, quaint spirit;” and speaks of “an evident +power of wing that may reach heights not here attempted.” +Again, with some degree of penetration, the reviewer says, that the +poems of Ellis “convey an impression of originality beyond what +his contributions to these volumes embody.” Currer is placed +midway between Ellis and Acton. But there is little in the review +to strain out, at this distance of time, as worth preserving. +Still, we can fancy with what interest it was read at Haworth Parsonage, +and how the sisters would endeavour to find out reasons for opinions, +or hints for the future guidance of their talents.</p> +<p>I call particular attention to the following letter of Charlotte’s, +dated July 10th, 1846. To whom it was written, matters not; but +the wholesome sense of duty in it—the sense of the supremacy of +that duty which God, in placing us in families, has laid out for us, +seems to deserve especial regard in these days.</p> +<blockquote><p>“I see you are in a dilemma, and one of a peculiar +and difficult nature. Two paths lie before you; you conscientiously +wish to choose the right one, even though it be the most steep, strait, +and rugged; but you do not know which is the right one; you cannot decide +whether duty and religion command you to go out into the cold and friendless +world, and there to earn your living by governess drudgery, or whether +they enjoin your continued stay with your aged mother, neglecting, <i>for +the present</i>, every prospect of independency for yourself, and putting +up with daily inconvenience, sometimes even with privations. I +can well imagine, that it is next to impossible for you to decide for +yourself in this matter, so I will decide it for you. At least, +I will tell you what is my earnest conviction on the subject; I will +show you candidly how the question strikes me. The right path +is that which necessitates the greatest sacrifice of self-interest—which +implies the greatest good to others; and this path, steadily followed, +will lead, I believe, in time, to prosperity and to happiness, though +it may seem, at the outset, to tend quite in a contrary direction. +Your mother is both old and infirm; old and infirm people have but few +sources of happiness—fewer almost than the comparatively young +and healthy can conceive; to deprive them of one of these is cruel. +If your mother is more composed when you are with her, stay with her. +If she would be unhappy in case you left her, stay with her. It +will not apparently, as far as short-sighted humanity can see, be for +your advantage to remain at ---, nor will you be praised and admired +for remaining at home to comfort your mother; yet, probably, your own +conscience will approve, and if it does, stay with her. I recommend +you to do what I am trying to do myself.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The remainder of this letter is only interesting to the reader as +it conveys a peremptory disclaimer of the report that the writer was +engaged to be married to her father’s curate—the very same +gentleman to whom, eight years afterwards, she was united; and who, +probably, even now, although she was unconscious of the fact, had begun +his service to her, in the same tender and faithful spirit as that in +which Jacob served for Rachel. Others may have noticed this, though +she did not.</p> +<p>A few more notes remain of her correspondence “on behalf of +the Messrs. Bell” with Mr. Aylott. On July 15th she says, +“I suppose, as you have not written, no other notices have yet +appeared, nor has the demand for the work increased. Will you +favour me with a line stating whether <i>any</i>, or how many copies +have yet been sold?”</p> +<p>But few, I fear; for, three days later, she wrote the following:—</p> +<p>“The Messrs. Bell desire me to thank you for your suggestion +respecting the advertisements. They agree with you that, since +the season is unfavourable, advertising had better be deferred. +They are obliged to you for the information respecting the number of +copies sold.”</p> +<p>On July 23rd she writes to the Messrs. Aylott:—</p> +<p>“The Messrs. Bell would be obliged to you to post the enclosed +note in London. It is an answer to the letter you forwarded, which +contained an application for their autographs from a person who professed +to have read and admired their poems. I think I before intimated, +that the Messrs. Bell are desirous for the present of remaining unknown, +for which reason they prefer having the note posted in London to sending +it direct, in order to avoid giving any clue to residence, or identity +by post-mark, &c.”</p> +<p>Once more, in September, she writes, “As the work has received +no further notice from any periodical, I presume the demand for it has +not greatly increased.”</p> +<p>In the biographical notice of her sisters, she thus speaks of the +failure of the modest hopes vested in this publication. “The +book was printed; it is scarcely known, and all of it that merits to +be known are the poems of Ellis Bell.</p> +<p>“The fixed conviction I held, and hold, of the worth of these +poems, has not, indeed, received the confirmation of much favourable +criticism; but I must retain it notwithstanding.”</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> A reviewer +pointed out the discrepancy between the age (twenty-seven years) assigned, +on the mural tablet, to Anne Brontë at the time of her death in +1849, and the alleged fact that she was born at Thornton, from which +place Mr. Brontë removed on February 25th, 1820. I was aware +of the discrepancy, but I did not think it of sufficient consequence +to be rectified by an examination of the register of births. Mr. +Brontë’s own words, on which I grounded my statement as to +the time of Anne Brontë’s birth, are as follows:—</p> +<p>“In Thornton, Charlotte, Patrick Branwell, Emily Jane, and +Anne were born.” And such of the inhabitants of Haworth +as have spoken on the subject say that all the children of Mr. and Mrs. +Brontë were born before they removed to Haworth. There is +probably some mistake in the inscription on the tablet.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> In the +month of April 1858, a neat mural tablet was erected within the Communion +railing of the Church at Haworth, to the memory of the deceased members +of the Brontë family. The tablet is of white Carrara marble +on a ground of dove-coloured marble, with a cornice surmounted by an +ornamental pediment of chaste design. Between the brackets which +support the tablet, is inscribed the sacred monogram I.H.S., in old +English letters.</p> +<p>In Memory of</p> +<p>Maria, wife of the Rev. P. Brontë, A.B., Minister of Haworth,</p> +<p>She died Sept. 15th, 1821, in the 39th year of her age.</p> +<p>Also, of Maria, their daughter, who died May 6th, 1825, in the 12th +year of her age.</p> +<p>Also, of Elizabeth, their daughter, who died June 15th, 1825, in +the 11th year of her age.</p> +<p>Also, of Patrick Branwell, their son, who died Sept. 24th, 1848, +aged 31 years.</p> +<p>Also, of Emily Jane, their daughter, who died Dec. 19th, 1848, aged +30 years.</p> +<p>Also, of Anne, their daughter, who died May 28th, 1849, aged 29 years. +She was buried at the Old Church, Scarborough.</p> +<p>Also, of Charlotte, their daughter, wife of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls, +B.A. She died March 31st, 1855, in the 39th year of her age.</p> +<p>“The sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the +law, but thanks be to God which giveth us the victory through our Lord +Jesus Christ.”—1 Cor. xv. 56, 57.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> With regard +to my own opinion of the present school, I can only give it as formed +after what was merely a cursory and superficial inspection, as I do +not believe that I was in the house above half an hour; but it was and +is this,—that the house at Casterton seemed thoroughly healthy +and well kept, and is situated in a lovely spot; that the pupils looked +bright, happy, and well, and that the lady superintendent was a most +prepossessing looking person, who, on my making some inquiry as to the +accomplishments taught to the pupils, said that the scheme of education +was materially changed since the school had been opened. I would +have inserted this testimony in the first edition, had I believed that +any weight could be attached to an opinion formed on such slight and +superficial grounds.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> “Jane +Eyre,” vol. I., page 20.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> Scott +describes the sport, “Shooting at the Popinjay,” “as +an ancient game formerly practised with archery, but at this period +(1679) with firearms. This was the figure of a bird decked with +parti-coloured feathers, so as to resemble a popinjay or parrot. +It was suspended to a pole, and served for a mark at which the competitors +discharged their fusees and carbines in rotation, at the distance of +seventy paces. He whose ball brought down the mark held the proud +title of Captain of the Popinjay for the remainder of the day, and was +usually escorted in triumph to the most respectable change-house in +the neighbourhood, where the evening was closed with conviviality, conducted +under his auspices, and if he was able to maintain it, at his expense.”—Old +Mortality.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> In this +Gutenberg eBook M. Héger’s comments are given in {} at +approximately the place where they occur—DP.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE -</p> +<pre> +VOLUME 1*** + + +***** This file should be named 1827-h.htm or 1827-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/2/1827 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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