Book: The Life of Charlotte Bronte

E >> Elizabeth Claghorn Gaskell >> The Life of Charlotte Bronte




"I hope you are not frozen up; the cold here is dreadful. I do
not remember such a series of North-Pole days. England might
really have taken a slide up into the Arctic Zone; the sky looks
like ice; the earth is frozen; the wind is as keen as a two-edged
blade. We have all had severe colds and coughs in consequence of
the weather. Poor Anne has suffered greatly from asthma, but is
now, we are glad to say, rather better. She had two nights last
week when her cough and difficulty of breathing were painful
indeed to hear and witness, and must have been most distressing
to suffer; she bore it, as she bears all affliction, without one
complaint, only sighing now and then when nearly worn out. She
has an extraordinary heroism of endurance. I admire, but I
certainly could not imitate her." . . . "You say I am to 'tell
you plenty.' What would you have me say? Nothing happens at
Haworth; nothing, at least, of a pleasant kind. One little
incident occurred about a week ago, to sting us to life; but if
it gives no more pleasure for you to hear, than it did for us to
witness, you will scarcely thank me for adverting to it. It was
merely the arrival of a Sheriff's officer on a visit to B.,
inviting him either to pay his debts or take a trip to York. Of
course his debts had to be paid. It is not agreeable to lose
money, time after time, in this way; but where is the use of
dwelling on such subjects? It will make him no better."

"December 28th.

"I feel as if it was almost a farce to sit down and write to you
now, with nothing to say worth listening to; and, indeed, if it
were not for two reasons, I should put off the business at least
a fortnight hence. The first reason is, I want another letter
from you, for your letters are interesting, they have something
in them; some results of experience and observation; one receives
them with pleasure, and reads them with relish; and these letters
I cannot expect to get, unless I reply to them. I wish the
correspondence could be managed so as to be all on one side. The
second reason is derived from a remark in your last, that you
felt lonely, something as I was at Brussels, and that
consequently you had a peculiar desire to hear from old
acquaintance. I can understand and sympathise with this. I
remember the shortest note was a treat to me, when I was at the
above-named place; therefore I write. I have also a third reason:
it is a haunting terror lest you should imagine I forget
you--that my regard cools with absence. It is not in my nature to
forget your nature; though, I dare say, I should spit fire and
explode sometimes if we lived together continually; and you, too,
would get angry, and then we should get reconciled and jog on as
before. Do you ever get dissatisfied with your own temper when
you are long fixed to one place, in one scene, subject to one
monotonous species of annoyance? I do: I am now in that
unenviable frame of mind; my humour, I think, is too soon over-
thrown, too sore, too demonstrative and vehement. I almost long
for some of the uniform serenity you describe in Mrs. ----'s
disposition; or, at least, I would fain have her power of self-
control and concealment; but I would not take her artificial
habits and ideas along with her composure. After all I should
prefer being as I am. . . You do right not to be annoyed at any
maxims of conventionality you meet with. Regard all new ways in
the light of fresh experience for you: if you see any honey
gather it." . . . "I don't, after all, consider that we ought to
despise everything we see in the world, merely because it is not
what we are accustomed to. I suspect, on the contrary, that there
are not unfrequently substantial reasons underneath for customs
that appear to us absurd; and if I were ever again to find myself
amongst strangers, I should be solicitous to examine before I
condemned. Indiscriminating irony and faultfinding are just
sumphishness, and that is all. Anne is now much better, but papa
has been for near a fortnight far from well with the influenza;
he has at times a most distressing cough, and his spirits are
much depressed."

So ended the year 1846.



CHAPTER II

The next year opened with a spell of cold dreary weather, which
told severely on a constitution already tried by anxiety and
care. Miss Bronte describes herself as having utterly lost her
appetite, and as looking "grey, old, worn and sunk," from her
sufferings during the inclement season. The cold brought on
severe toothache; toothache was the cause of a succession of
restless miserable nights; and long wakefulness told acutely upon
her nerves, making them feel with redoubled sensitiveness all the
harass of her oppressive life. Yet she would not allow herself to
lay her bad health to the charge of an uneasy mind; "for after
all," said she at this time, "I have many, many things to be
thankful for." But the real state of things may be gathered from
the following extracts from her letters.

"March 1st.

"Even at the risk of appearing very exacting, I can't help saying
that I should like a letter as long as your last, every time you
write. Short notes give one the feeling of a very small piece of
a very good thing to eat,--they set the appetite on edge, and
don't satisfy it,--a letter leaves you more contented; and yet,
after all, I am very glad to get notes; so don't think, when you
are pinched for time and materials, that it is useless to write a
few lines; be assured, a few lines are very acceptable as far as
they go; and though I like long letters, I would by no means have
you to make a task of writing them. . . . I really should like
you to come to Haworth, before I again go to B----. And it is
natural and right that I should have this wish. To keep
friendship in proper order, the balance of good offices must be
preserved, otherwise a disquieting and anxious feeling creeps in,
and destroys mutual comfort. In summer and in fine weather, your
visit here might be much better managed than in winter. We could
go out more, be more independent of the house and of our room.
Branwell has been conducting himself very badly lately. I expect,
from the extravagance of his behaviour, and from mysterious hints
he drops (for he never will speak out plainly), that we shall be
hearing news of fresh debts contracted by him soon. My health is
better: I lay the blame of its feebleness on the cold weather,
more than on an uneasy mind."

"March 24th, 1847.

"It is at Haworth, if all be well, that we must next see each
other again. I owe you a grudge for giving Miss M---- some very
exaggerated account about my not being well, and setting her on
to urge my leaving home as quite a duty. I'll take care not to
tell you next time, when I think I am looking specially old and
ugly; as if people could not have that privilege, without being
supposed to be at the last gasp! I shall be thirty-one next
birthday. My youth is gone like a dream; and very little use have
I ever made of it. What have I done these last thirty years?
Precious little."

The quiet, sad year stole on. The sisters were contemplating near
at hand, and for a long time, the terrible effects of talents
misused and faculties abused in the person of that brother, once
their fond darling and dearest pride. They had to cheer the poor
old father, into whose heart all trials sank the deeper, because
of the silent stoicism of his endurance. They had to watch over
his health, of which, whatever was its state, he seldom
complained. They had to save, as much as they could, the precious
remnants of his sight. They had to order the frugal household
with increased care, so as to supply wants and expenditure
utterly foreign to their self-denying natures. Though they shrank
from overmuch contact with their fellow-beings, for all whom they
met they had kind words, if few; and when kind actions were
needed, they were not spared, if the sisters at the parsonage
could render them. They visited the parish-schools duly; and
often were Charlotte's rare and brief holidays of a visit from
home shortened by her sense of the necessity of being in her
place at the Sunday-school.

In the intervals of such a life as this, "Jane Eyre" was making
progress. "The Professor" was passing slowly and heavily from
publisher to publisher. "Wuthering Heights" and "Agnes Grey" had
been accepted by another publisher, "on terms somewhat
impoverishing to the two authors;" a bargain to be alluded to
more fully hereafter. It was lying in his hands, awaiting his
pleasure for its passage through the press, during all the months
of early summer.

The piece of external brightness to which the sisters looked
during these same summer months, was the hope that the friend to
whom so many of Charlotte's letters are addressed, and who was
her chosen companion, whenever circumstances permitted them to be
together, as well as a favourite with Emily and Anne, would be
able to pay them a visit at Haworth. Fine weather had come in
May, Charlotte writes, and they hoped to make their visitor
decently comfortable. Their brother was tolerably well, having
got to the end of a considerable sum of money which he became
possessed of in the spring, and therefore under the wholesome
restriction of poverty. But Charlotte warns her friend that she
must expect to find a change in his appearance, and that he is
broken in mind; and ends her note of entreating invitation by
saying, "I pray for fine weather, that we may get out while you
stay."

At length the day was fixed.

"Friday will suit us very well. I DO trust nothing will now arise
to prevent your coming. I shall be anxious about the weather on
that day; if it rains, I shall cry. Don't expect me to meet you;
where would be the good of it? I neither like to meet, nor to be
met. Unless, indeed, you had a box or a basket for me to carry;
then there would be some sense in it. Come in black, blue, pink,
white, or scarlet, as you like. Come shabby or smart, neither the
colour nor the condition signifies; provided only the dress
contain E----, all will be right."

But there came the first of a series of disappointments to be
borne. One feels how sharp it must have been to have wrung out
the following words.

"May 20th.

"Your letter of yesterday did indeed give me a cruel chill of
disappointment. I cannot blame you, for I know it was not your
fault. I do not altogether exempt ---- from reproach. . . . This
is bitter, but I feel bitter. As to going to B----, I will not go
near the place till you have been to Haworth. My respects to all
and sundry, accompanied with a large amount of wormwood and gall,
from the effusion of which you and your mother are alone
excepted.--C. B.

"You are quite at liberty to tell what I think, if you judge
proper. Though it is true I may be somewhat unjust, for I am
deeply annoyed. I thought I had arranged your visit tolerably
comfortable for you this time. I may find it more difficult on
another occasion."

I must give one sentence from a letter written about this time,
as it shows distinctly the clear strong sense of the writer.

"I was amused by what she says respecting her wish that, when she
marries, her husband will, at least, have a will of his own, even
should he be a tyrant. Tell her, when she forms that aspiration
again, she must make it conditional if her husband has a strong
will, he must also have strong sense, a kind heart, and a
thoroughly correct notion of justice; because a man with a WEAK
BRAIN and a STRONG WILL, is merely an intractable brute; you can
have no hold of him; you can never lead him right. A TYRANT under
any circumstances is a curse."

Meanwhile, "The Professor" had met with many refusals from
different publishers; some, I have reason to believe, not
over-courteously worded in writing to an unknown author, and none
alleging any distinct reasons for its rejection. Courtesy is
always due; but it is, perhaps, hardly to be expected that, in
the press of business in a great publishing house, they should
find time to explain why they decline particular works. Yet,
though one course of action is not to be wondered at, the
opposite may fall upon a grieved and disappointed mind with all
the graciousness of dew; and I can well sympathise with the
published account which "Currer Bell" gives, of the feelings
experienced on reading Messrs. Smith and Elder's letter
containing the rejection of "The Professor".

"As a forlorn hope, we tried one publishing house more. Ere long,
in a much shorter space than that on which experience had taught
him to calculate, there came a letter, which he opened in the
dreary anticipation of finding two hard hopeless lines,
intimating that "Messrs. Smith and Elder were not disposed to
publish the MS.," and, instead, he took out of the envelope a
letter of two pages. He read it trembling. It declined, indeed,
to publish that tale, for business reasons, but it discussed its
merits and demerits, so courteously, so considerately, in a
spirit so rational, with a discrimination so enlightened, that
this very refusal cheered the author better than a
vulgarly-expressed acceptance would have done. It was added, that
a work in three volumes would meet with careful attention."

Mr. Smith has told me a little circumstance connected with the
reception of this manuscript, which seems to me indicative of no
ordinary character. It came (accompanied by the note given below)
in a brown paper parcel, to 65 Cornhill. Besides the address to
Messrs. Smith and Co., there were on it those of other publishers
to whom the tale had been sent, not obliterated, but simply
scored through, so that Messrs. Smith at once perceived the names
of some of the houses in the trade to which the unlucky parcel
had gone, without success.

To MESSRS. SMITH AND ELDER.

"July 15th, 1847.

"Gentlemen--I beg to submit to your consideration the
accompanying manuscript. I should be glad to learn whether it be
such as you approve, and would undertake to publish at as early a
period as possible. Address, Mr. Currer Bell, under cover to Miss
Bronte, Haworth, Bradford, Yorkshire."

Some time elapsed before an answer was returned.

A little circumstance may be mentioned here, though it belongs to
a somewhat earlier period, as showing Miss Bronte's inexperience
of the ways of the world, and willing deference to the opinion of
others. She had written to a publisher about one of her
manuscripts, which she had sent him, and, not receiving any
reply, she consulted her brother as to what could be the reason
for the prolonged silence. He at once set it down to her not
having enclosed a postage-stamp in her letter. She accordingly
wrote again, to repair her former omission, and apologise for it.

To MESSRS. SMITH AND ELDER.

"August 2nd, 1847.

"Gentlemen,--About three weeks since, I sent for your
consideration a MS. entitled "The Professor", a tale by Currer
Bell. I should be glad to know whether it reached your hands
safely, and likewise to learn, at your earliest convenience,
whether it be such as you can undertake to publish.--I am,
gentlemen, yours respectfully,

"CURRER BELL.

"I enclose a directed cover for your reply."

This time her note met with a prompt answer; for, four days
later, she writes (in reply to the letter which she afterwards
characterised in the Preface to the second edition of "Wuthering
Heights", as containing a refusal so delicate, reasonable, and
courteous, as to be more cheering than some acceptances):

"Your objection to the want of varied interest in the tale is, I
am aware, not without grounds; yet it appears to me that it might
be published without serious risk, if its appearance were
speedily followed up by another work from the same pen, of a more
striking and exciting character. The first work might serve as an
introduction, and accustom the public to the author's the success
of the second might thereby be rendered more probable. I have a
second narrative in three volumes, now in progress, and nearly
completed, to which I have endeavoured to impart a more vivid
interest than belongs to "The Professor". In about a month I hope
to finish it, so that if a publisher were found for "The
Professor", the second narrative might follow as soon as was
deemed advisable; and thus the interest of the public (if any
interest was aroused) might not be suffered to cool. Will you be
kind enough to favour me with your judgment on this plan?"

While the minds of the three sisters were in this state of
suspense, their long-expected friend came to pay her promised
visit. She was with them at the beginning of the glowing August
of that year. They were out on the moors for the greater part of
the day basking in the golden sunshine, which was bringing on an
unusual plenteousness of harvest, for which, somewhat later,
Charlotte expressed her earnest desire that there should be a
thanksgiving service in all the churches. August was the season
of glory for the neighbourhood of Haworth. Even the smoke, lying
in the valley between that village and Keighley, took beauty from
the radiant colours on the moors above, the rich purple of the
heather bloom calling out an harmonious contrast in the tawny
golden light that, in the full heat of summer evenings, comes
stealing everywhere through the dun atmosphere of the hollows.
And up, on the moors, turning away from all habitations of men,
the royal ground on which they stood would expand into long
swells of amethyst-tinted hills, melting away into aerial tints;
and the fresh and fragrant scent of the heather, and the "murmur
of innumerable bees," would lend a poignancy to the relish with
which they welcomed their friend to their own true home on the
wild and open hills.

There, too, they could escape from the Shadow in the house below.

Throughout this time--during all these confidences--not a word
was uttered to their friend of the three tales in London; two
accepted and in the press--one trembling in the balance of a
publisher's judgment; nor did she hear of that other story
"nearly completed," lying in manuscript in the grey old parsonage
down below. She might have her suspicions that they all wrote
with an intention of publication some time; but she knew the
bounds which they set to themselves in their communications; nor
could she, nor can any one else, wonder at their reticence, when
remembering how scheme after scheme had failed, just as it seemed
close upon accomplishment.

Mr. Bronte, too, had his suspicions of something going on; but,
never being spoken to, he did not speak on the subject, and
consequently his ideas were vague and uncertain, only just
prophetic enough to keep him from being actually stunned when,
later on, he heard of the success of "Jane Eyre"; to the progress
of which we must now return.

To MESSRS. SMITH AND ELDER.

"August 24th.

"I now send you per rail a MS. entitled 'Jane Eyre,' a novel in
three volumes, by Currer Bell. I find I cannot prepay the
carriage of the parcel, as money for that purpose is not received
at the small station-house where it is left. If, when you
acknowledge the receipt of the MS., you would have the goodness
to mention the amount charged on delivery, I will immediately
transmit it in postage stamps. It is better in future to address
Mr. Currer Bell, under cover to Miss Bronte, Haworth, Bradford,
Yorkshire, as there is a risk of letters otherwise directed not
reaching me at present. To save trouble, I enclose an envelope."

"Jane Eyre" was accepted, and printed and published by October
16th.

While it was in the press, Miss Bronte went to pay a short visit
to her friend at B----. The proofs were forwarded to her there,
and she occasionally sat at the same table with her friend,
correcting them; but they did not exchange a word on the subject.

Immediately on her return to the Parsonage, she wrote:

"September.

"I had a very wet, windy walk home from Keighley; but my fatigue
quite disappeared when I reached home, and found all well. Thank
God for it.

"My boxes came safe this morning. I have distributed the
presents. Papa says I am to remember him most kindly to you. The
screen will be very useful, and he thanks you for it. Tabby was
charmed with her cap. She said, 'she never thought o' naught o'
t' sort as Miss sending her aught, and, she is sure, she can
never thank her enough for it.' I was infuriated on finding a jar
in my trunk. At first, I hoped it was empty, but when I found it
heavy and replete, I could have hurled it all the way back to
B----. However, the inscription A. B. softened me much. It was at
once kind and villainous in you to send it. You ought first to be
tenderly kissed, and then afterwards as tenderly whipped. Emily
is just now on the floor of the bed-room where I am writing,
looking at her apples. She smiled when I gave the collar to her
as your present, with an expression at once well-pleased and
slightly surprised. All send their love.--Yours, in a mixture of
anger and love."

When the manuscript of "Jane Eyre" had been received by the
future publishers of that remarkable novel, it fell to the share
of a gentleman connected with the firm to read it first. He was
so powerfully struck by the character of the tale, that he
reported his impression in very strong terms to Mr. Smith, who
appears to have been much amused by the admiration excited. "You
seem to have been so enchanted, that I do not know how to believe
you," he laughingly said. But when a second reader, in the person
of a clear-headed Scotchman, not given to enthusiasm, had taken
the MS. home in the evening, and became so deeply interested in
it, as to sit up half the night to finish it, Mr. Smith's
curiosity was sufficiently excited to prompt him to read it for
himself; and great as were the praises which had been bestowed
upon it, he found that they had not exceeded the truth.

On its publication, copies were presented to a few private
literary friends. Their discernment had been rightly reckoned
upon. They were of considerable standing in the world of letters;
and one and all returned expressions of high praise along with
their thanks for the book. Among them was the great writer of
fiction for whom Miss Bronte felt so strong an admiration; he
immediately appreciated, and, in a characteristic note to the
publishers, acknowledged its extraordinary merits.

The Reviews were more tardy, or more cautious. The Athenaeum and
the Spectator gave short notices, containing qualified admissions
of the power of the author. The Literary Gazette was uncertain as
to whether it was safe to praise an unknown author. The Daily
News declined accepting the copy which had been sent, on the
score of a rule "never to review novels;" but a little later on,
there appeared a notice of the Bachelor of the Albany in that
paper; and Messrs. Smith and Elder again forwarded a copy of
"Jane Eyre" to the Editor, with a request for a notice. This time
the work was accepted; but I am not aware what was the character
of the article upon it.

The Examiner came forward to the rescue, as far as the opinions
of professional critics were concerned. The literary articles in
that paper were always remarkable for their genial and generous
appreciation of merit nor was the notice of "Jane Eyre" an
exception; it was full of hearty, yet delicate and discriminating
praise. Otherwise, the press in general did little to promote the
sale of the novel; the demand for it among librarians had begun
before the appearance of the review in the Examiner; the power of
fascination of the tale itself made its merits known to the
public, without the kindly finger-posts of professional
criticism; and, early in December, the rush began for copies.

I will insert two or three of Miss Bronte's letters to her
publishers, in order to show how timidly the idea of success was
received by one so unaccustomed to adopt a sanguine view of any
subject in which she was individually concerned. The occasions on
which these notes were written, will explain themselves.

"Oct. 19th, 1847.

"Gentlemen,--The six copies of "Jane Eyre" reached me this
morning. You have given the work every advantage which good
paper, clear type, and a seemly outside can supply;--if it fails,
the fault will lie with the author,--you are exempt.

"I now await the judgment of the press and the public.--I am,
Gentlemen, yours respectfully,

C. BELL."

MESSRS. SMITH, ELDER, AND CO.

"Oct. 26th, 1847.

"Gentlemen,--I have received the newspapers. They speak quite as
favourably of "Jane Eyre" as I expected them to do. The notice in
the Literary Gazette seems certainly to have been indited in
rather a flat mood, and the Athenaeum has a style of its own,
which I respect, but cannot exactly relish; still when one
considers that journals of that standing have a dignity to
maintain which would be deranged by a too cordial recognition of
the claims of an obscure author, I suppose there is every reason
to be satisfied.

"Meantime a brisk sale would be effectual support under the
hauteur of lofty critics.--I am, Gentlemen, yours respectfully,

"C. BELL."

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.