Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle Part 19

There is a sampler worked by Anne, bearing date January 23rd, 1830, and there is a later book than the Prayer Book, with Anne's name in it, and, as might be expected, it is a good-conduct prize. _Prize for good conduct presented to Miss A. Bronte with Miss Wooler's kind love_, _Roe Head_, _Dec._ 14_th_, 1836, is the inscription in a copy of Watt _On the Improvement of the Mind_.

Apart from the correspondence we know little more than this--that Anne was the least a.s.sertive of the three sisters, and that she was more distinctly a general favourite. We have Charlotte's own word for it that even the curates ventured upon 'sheep's eyes' at Anne. We know all too little of her two experiences as governess, first at Blake Hall with Mrs.

Ingham, and later at Thorp Green with Mrs. Robinson. The painful episode of Branwell's madness came to disturb her sojourn at the latter place, but long afterwards her old pupils, the Misses Robinson, called to see her at Haworth; and one of them, who became a Mrs. Clapham of Keighley, always retained the most kindly memories of her gentle governess.

[Picture: Anne Bronte]

With the exception of these two uncomfortable episodes as governess, Anne would seem to have had no experience of the larger world. Even before Anne's death, Charlotte had visited Brussels, London, and Hathersage (in Derbyshire). Anne never, I think, set foot out of her native county, although she was the only one of her family to die away from home. Of her correspondence I have only the two following letters:--

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, _October_ 4_th_, 1847.

'MY DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--Many thanks to you for your unexpected and welcome epistle. Charlotte is well, and meditates writing to you.

Happily for all parties the east wind no longer prevails. During its continuance she complained of its influence as usual. I too suffered from it in some degree, as I always do, more or less; but this time, it brought me no reinforcement of colds and coughs, which is what I dread the most. Emily considers it a very uninteresting wind, but it does not affect her nervous system. Charlotte agrees with me in thinking the --- {183a} a very provoking affair. You are quite mistaken about her parasol; she affirms she brought it back, and I can bear witness to the fact, having seen it yesterday in her possession. As for my book, I have no wish to see it again till I see you along with it, and then it will be welcome enough for the sake of the bearer. We are all here much as you left us. I have no news to tell you, except that Mr. Nicholls begged a holiday and went to Ireland three or four weeks ago, and is not expected back till Sat.u.r.day; but that, I dare say, is no news at all. We were all and severally pleased and gratified for your kind and judiciously selected presents, from papa down to Tabby, or down to myself, perhaps I ought rather to say. The crab-cheese is excellent, and likely to be very useful, but I don't intend to need it. It is not choice but necessity has induced me to choose such a tiny sheet of paper for my letter, having none more suitable at hand; but perhaps it will contain as much as you need wish to read, and I to write, for I find I have nothing more to say, except that your little Tabby must be a charming little creature. That is all, for as Charlotte is writing, or about to write to you herself, I need not send any messages from her. Therefore accept my best love. I must not omit the Major's {183b} compliments. And--Believe me to be your affectionate friend,

'ANNE BRONTE.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, _January_ 4_th_, 1848.

'MY DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--I am not going to give you a "nice _long_ letter"--on the contrary, I mean to content myself with a shabby little note, to be ingulfed in a letter of Charlotte's, which will, of course, be infinitely more acceptable to you than any production of mine, though I do not question your friendly regard for me, or the indulgent welcome you would accord to a missive of mine, even without a more agreeable companion to back it; but you must know there is a lamentable deficiency in my organ of language, which makes me almost as bad a hand at writing as talking, unless I have something particular to say. I have now, however, to thank you and your friend for your kind letter and her pretty watch-guards, which I am sure we shall all of us value the more for being the work of her own hands.

You do not tell us how _you_ bear the present unfavourable weather.

We are all cut up by this cruel east wind. Most of us, i.e.

Charlotte, Emily, and I have had the influenza, or a bad cold instead, twice over within the s.p.a.ce of a few weeks. Papa has had it once. Tabby has escaped it altogether. I have no news to tell you, for we have been nowhere, seen no one, and done nothing (to speak of) since you were here--and yet we contrive to be busy from morning till night. Flossy is fatter than ever, but still active enough to relish a sheep-hunt. I hope you and your circle have been more fortunate in the matter of colds than we have.

'With kind regards to all,--I remain, dear Miss Nussey, yours ever affectionately,

'ANNE BRONTE.'

_Agnes Grey_, as we have noted, was published by Newby, in one volume, in 1847. _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_ was issued by the same publisher, in three volumes, in 1848. It is not generally known that _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_ went into a second edition the same year; and I should have p.r.o.nounced it incredible, were not a copy of the later issue in my possession, that Anne Bronte had actually written a preface to this edition. The fact is entirely ignored in the correspondence. The preface in question makes it quite clear, if any evidence of that were necessary, that Anne had her brother in mind in writing the book. 'I could not be understood to suppose,' she says, 'that the proceedings of the unhappy scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here introduced, are a specimen of the common practices of society: the case is an extreme one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive; but I knew that such characters do exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from following in their steps, or prevented one thoughtless girl from falling into the very natural error of my heroine, the book has not been written in vain.' 'One word more and I have done,' she continues. 'Respecting the author's ident.i.ty, I would have it to be distinctly understood that Acton Bell is neither Currer nor Ellis Bell, and, therefore, let not his faults be attributed to them. As to whether the name is real or fict.i.tious, it cannot greatly signify to those who know him only by his works.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_January_ 18_th_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--In sitting down to write to you I feel as if I were doing a wrong and a selfish thing. I believe I ought to discontinue my correspondence with you till times change, and the tide of calamity which of late days has set so strongly in against us takes a turn. But the fact is, sometimes I feel it absolutely necessary to unburden my mind. To papa I must only speak cheeringly, to Anne only encouragingly--to you I may give some hint of the dreary truth.

'Anne and I sit alone and in seclusion as you fancy us, but we do not study. Anne cannot study now, she can scarcely read; she occupies Emily's chair; she does not get well. A week ago we sent for a medical man of skill and experience from Leeds to see her. He examined her with the stethoscope. His report I forbear to dwell on for the present--even skilful physicians have often been mistaken in their conjectures.

'My first impulse was to hasten her away to a warmer climate, but this was forbidden: she must not travel; she is not to stir from the house this winter; the temperature of her room is to be kept constantly equal.

'Had leave been given to try change of air and scene, I should hardly have known how to act. I could not possibly leave papa; and when I mentioned his accompanying us, the bare thought distressed him too much to be dwelt upon. Papa is now upwards of seventy years of age; his habits for nearly thirty years have been those of absolute retirement; any change in them is most repugnant to him, and probably could not, at this time especially when the hand of G.o.d is so heavy upon his old age, be ventured upon without danger.

'When we lost Emily I thought we had drained the very dregs of our cup of trial, but now when I hear Anne cough as Emily coughed, I tremble lest there should be exquisite bitterness yet to taste.

However, I must not look forwards, nor must I look backwards. Too often I feel like one crossing an abyss on a narrow plank--a glance round might quite unnerve.

'So circ.u.mstanced, my dear sir, what claim have I on your friendship, what right to the comfort of your letters? My literary character is effaced for the time, and it is by that only you know me. Care of papa and Anne is necessarily my chief present object in life, to the exclusion of all that could give me interest with my publishers or their connections. Should Anne get better, I think I could rally and become Currer Bell once more, but if otherwise, I look no farther: sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.

'Anne is very patient in her illness, as patient as Emily was unflinching. I recall one sister and look at the other with a sort of reverence as well as affection--under the test of suffering neither has faltered.

'All the days of this winter have gone by darkly and heavily like a funeral train. Since September, sickness has not quitted the house.

It is strange it did not use to be so, but I suspect now all this has been coming on for years. Unused, any of us, to the possession of robust health, we have not noticed the gradual approaches of decay; we did not know its symptoms: the little cough, the small appet.i.te, the tendency to take cold at every variation of atmosphere have been regarded as things of course. I see them in another light now.

'If you answer this, write to me as you would to a person in an average state of tranquillity and happiness. I want to keep myself as firm and calm as I can. While papa and Anne want me, I hope, I pray, never to fail them. Were I to see you I should endeavour to converse on ordinary topics, and I should wish to write on the same--besides, it will be less hara.s.sing to yourself to address me as usual.

'May G.o.d long preserve to you the domestic treasures you value; and when bereavement at last comes, may He give you strength to bear it.--Yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_February_ 1_st_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--Anne seems so tranquil this morning, so free from pain and fever, and looks and speaks so like herself in health, that I too feel relieved, and I take advantage of the respite to write to you, hoping that my letter may reflect something of the comparative peace I feel.

'Whether my hopes are quite fallacious or not, I do not know; but sometimes I fancy that the remedies prescribed by Mr. Teale, and approved--as I was glad to learn--by Dr. Forbes, are working a good result. Consumption, I am aware, is a flattering malady, but certainly Anne's illness has of late a.s.sumed a less alarming character than it had in the beginning: the hectic is allayed; the cough gives a more frequent reprieve. Could I but believe she would live two years--a year longer, I should be thankful: I dreaded the terrors of the swift messenger which s.n.a.t.c.hed Emily from us, as it seemed, in a few days.

'The parcel came yesterday. You and Mr. Smith do nothing by halves.

Neither of you care for being thanked, so I will keep my grat.i.tude in my own mind. The choice of books is perfect. Papa is at this moment reading Macaulay's _History_, which he had wished to see. Anne is engaged with one of Frederika Bremer's tales.

'I wish I could send a parcel in return; I had hoped to have had one by this time ready to despatch. When I saw you and Mr. Smith in London, I little thought of all that was to come between July and Spring: how my thoughts were to be caught away from imagination, enlisted and absorbed in realities the most cruel.

'I will tell you what I want to do; it is to show you the first volume of my MS., which I have copied. In reading Mary Barton (a clever though painful tale) I was a little dismayed to find myself in some measure antic.i.p.ated both in subject and incident. I should like to have your opinion on this point, and to know whether the resemblance appears as considerable to a stranger as it does to myself. I should wish also to have the benefit of such general strictures and advice as you choose to give. Shall I therefore send the MS. when I return the first batch of books?

'But remember, if I show it to you it is on two conditions: the first, that you give me a faithful opinion--I do not promise to be swayed by it, but I should like to have it; the second, that you show it and speak of it to _none_ but Mr. Smith. I have always a great horror of premature announcements--they may do harm and can never do good. Mr. Smith must be so kind as not to mention it yet in his quarterly circulars. All human affairs are so uncertain, and my position especially is at present so peculiar, that I cannot count on the time, and would rather that no allusion should be made to a work of which great part is yet to create.

'There are two volumes in the first parcel which, having seen, I cannot bring myself to part with, and must beg Mr. Smith's permission to retain: Mr. Thackeray's _Journey from Cornhill_, _etc_. and _The testimony to the Truth_. That last is indeed a book after my own heart. I _do_ like the mind it discloses--it is of a fine and high order. Alexander Harris may be a clown by birth, but he is a n.o.bleman by nature. When I could read no other book, I read his and derived comfort from it. No matter whether or not I can agree in all his views, it is the principles, the feelings, the heart of the man I admire.

'Write soon and tell me whether you think it advisable that I should send the MS.--Yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'HAWORTH, _February_ 4_th_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I send the parcel up without delay, according to your request. The ma.n.u.script has all its errors upon it, not having been read through since copying. I have kept _Madeline_, along with the two other books I mentioned; I shall consider it the gift of Miss Kavanagh, and shall value it both for its literary excellence and for the modest merit of the giver. We already possess Tennyson's _Poems_ and _Our Street_. Emerson's _Essays_ I read with much interest, and often with admiration, but they are of mixed gold and clay--deep and invigorating truth, dreary and depressing fallacy seem to me combined therein. In George Borrow's works I found a wild fascination, a vivid graphic power of description, a fresh originality, an athletic simplicity (so to speak), which give them a stamp of their own.

After reading his _Bible in Spain_ I felt as if I had actually travelled at his side, and seen the "wild Sil" rush from its mountain cradle; wandered in the hilly wilderness of the Sierras; encountered and conversed with Manehegan, Castillian, Andalusian, Arragonese, and, above all, with the savage Gitanos.

'Your mention of Mr. Taylor suggests to me that possibly you and Mr.

Smith might wish him to share the little secret of the MS.--that exclusion might seem invidious, that it might make your mutual evening chat less pleasant. If so, admit him to the confidence by all means. He is attached to the firm, and will no doubt keep its secrets. I shall be glad of another censor, and if a severe one, so much the better, provided he is also just. I court the keenest criticism. Far rather would I never publish more, than publish anything inferior to my first effort. Be honest, therefore, all three of you. If you think this book promises less favourably than _Jane Eyre_, say so; it is but trying again, _i.e._, if life and health be spared.

'Anne continues a little better--the mild weather suits her. At times I hear the renewal of hope's whisper, but I dare not listen too fondly; she deceived me cruelly before. A sudden change to cold would be the test. I dread such change, but must not antic.i.p.ate.

Spring lies before us, and then summer--surely we may hope a little!

'Anne expresses a wish to see the notices of the poems. You had better, therefore, send them. We shall expect to find painful allusions to one now above blame and beyond praise; but these must be borne. For ourselves, we are almost indifferent to censure. I read the _Quarterly_ without a pang, except that I thought there were some sentences disgraceful to the critic. He seems anxious to let it be understood that he is a person well acquainted with the habits of the upper cla.s.ses. Be this as it may, I am afraid he is no gentleman; and moreover, that no training could make him such. {190} Many a poor man, born and bred to labour, would disdain that reviewer's cast of feeling.--Yours sincerely,