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Charlotte Brontë and Her Circle by Clement King Shorter
CHAPTER VI: EMILY JANE BRONTE
Emily Bronte is the sphinx of our modern literature. She came into being in the family of an obscure clergyman, and she went out of it at twenty-nine years of age without leaving behind her one single significant record which was any key to her character or to her mode of thought, save only the one famous novel, _Wuthering Heights_, and a few poems--some three or four of which will live in our poetic anthologies for ever. And she made no single friend other than her sister Anne. With Anne she must have corresponded during the two or three periods of her life when she was separated from that much loved sister; and we may be sure that the correspondence was of a singularly affectionate character. Charlotte, who never came very near to her in thought or sympathy, although she loved her younger sister so deeply, addressed her in one letter 'mine own bonnie love'; and it is certain that her own letters to her two sisters, and particularly to Anne, must have been peculiarly tender and in no way lacking in abundant self-revelation. When Emily and Anne had both gone to the grave, Charlotte, it is probable, carefully destroyed every scrap of their correspondence, and, indeed, of their literary effects; and thus it is that, apart from her books and literary fragments, we know Emily only by two formal letters to her sister's friend. Beyond these there is not one scrap of information as to Emily's outlook upon life. In infancy she went with Charlotte to Cowan Bridge, and was described by the governess as 'a pretty little thing.' In girlhood she went to Miss Wooler's school at Roe Head; but there, unlike Charlotte, she made no friends. She and Anne were inseparable when at home, but of what they said to one another there is no record. The sisters must have differed in many ways. Anne, gentle and persuasive, grew up like Charlotte, devoted to the Christianity of her father and mother, and entirely in harmony with all the conditions of a parsonage. It is impossible to think that the author of 'The Old Stoic' and 'Last Lines' was equally attached to the creeds of the churches; but what Emily thought on religious subjects the world will never know. Mrs. Gaskell put to Miss Nussey this very question: 'What was Emily's religion?' But Emily was the last person in the world to have spoken to the most friendly of visitors about so sacred a theme. For a short time, as we know, Emily was in a school at Law Hill near Halifax--a Miss Patchet's. {145a} She was, for a still longer period, at the Heger Pensionnat at Brussels. Mrs. Gaskell's business was to write the life of Charlotte Bronte and not of her sister Emily; and as a result there is little enough of Emily in Mrs. Gaskell's book--no record of the Halifax and Brussels life as seen through Emily's eyes. Time, however, has brought its revenge. The cult which started with Mr. Sydney Dobell, and found poetic expression in Mr. Matthew Arnold's fine lines on her, 'Whose soul Knew no fellow for might, Passion, vehemence, grief, Daring, since Byron died,' {145b} culminated in an enthusiastic eulogy by Mr. Swinburne, who placed her in the very forefront of English women of genius. We have said that Emily Bronte is a sphinx whose riddle no amount of research will enable us to read; and this chapter, it may be admitted, adds but little to the longed-for knowledge of an interesting personality. One scrap of Emily's handwriting, of a personal character, has indeed come to me--overlooked, I doubt not, by Charlotte when she burnt her sister's effects. I have before me a little tin box about two inches long, which one day last year Mr. Nicholls turned out from the bottom of a desk. It is of a kind in which one might keep pins or beads, certainly of no value whatever apart from its associations. Within were four little pieces of paper neatly folded to the size of a sixpence. These papers were covered with handwriting, two of them by Emily, and two by Anne Bronte. They revealed a pleasant if eccentric arrangement on the part of the sisters, which appears to have been settled upon even after they had passed their twentieth year. They had agreed to write a kind of reminiscence every four years, to be opened by Emily on her birthday. The papers, however, tell their own story, and I give first the two which were written in 1841. Emily writes at Haworth, and Anne from her situation as governess to Mr. Robinson's children at Thorp Green. At this time, at any rate, Emily was fairly happy and in excellent health; and although it is five years from the publication of the volume of poems, she is full of literary projects, as is also her sister Anne. The _Gondaland Chronicles_, to which reference is made, must remain a mystery for us. They were doubtless destroyed, with abundant other memorials of Emily, by the heart-broken sister who survived her. We have plentiful material in the way of childish effort by Charlotte and by Branwell, but there is hardly a scrap in the early handwriting of Emily and Anne. This chapter would have been more interesting if only one possessed _Solala Vernon's Life_ by Anne Bronte, or the _Gondaland Chronicles_ by Emily! [Picture: Facsimile of page of Emily Bronte's Diary] _A PAPER to be opened_ _when Anne is_ 25 _years old_, _or my next birthday after_ _if_ _all be well_. _Emily Jane Bronte_. _July the_ 30_th_, 1841. _It is Friday evening_, _near 9 o'clock_--_wild rainy weather_. _I am seated in the dining-room_, _having just concluded tidying our desk boxes_, _writing this document_. _Papa is in the parlour_--_aunt upstairs in her room_. _She has been reading Blackwood's Magazine to papa_. _Victoria and Adelaide are ensconced in the peat-house_. _Keeper is in the kitchen_--_Hero in his cage_. _We are all stout and hearty_, _as I hope is the case with Charlotte_, _Branwell_, _and Anne_, _of whom the first is at John White_, _Esq._, _Upperwood House_, _Rawdon_; _the second is at Luddenden Foot_; _and the third is_, _I believe_, _at Scarborough_, _enditing perhaps a paper corresponding to this_. _A scheme is at present in agitation for setting us up in a school of
our own_; _as yet nothing is determined_, _but I hope and trust it may go on and prosper and answer our highest expectations_. _This day four years I wonder whether we shall still be dragging on in our present condition or established to our hearts' content_. _Time will show_. _I guess that at the time appointed for the opening of this paper we_, i.e. _Charlotte_, _Anne_, _and I_, _shall be all merrily seated in our own sitting-room in some pleasant and flourishing seminary_, _having just gathered in for the midsummer ladyday_. _Our debts will be paid off_, _and we shall have cash in hand to a considerable amount_. _Papa_, _aunt_, _and Branwell will either_ _have been or be coming to visit us_. _It will be a fine warm_, _summer evening_, _very different from this bleak look-out_, _and Anne and I will perchance slip out into the garden for a few minutes to peruse our papers_. _I hope either this or something better will be the case_. _The_ Gondaliand _are at present in a threatening state_, _but there is no open rupture as yet_. _All the princes and princesses of the Royalty are at the Palace of Instruction_. _I have a good many books on hand_, _but I am sorry to say that as usual I make small progress with any_. _However_, _I have just made a new regularity paper_! _and I must verb sap to do great things_. _And now I close_, _sending from far an exhortation of courage_, _boys_! _courage_, _to exiled and harassed Anne_, _wishing she was here_. Anne, as I have said, writes from Thorp Green. _July the_ 30_th_, A.D. 1841. _This is Emily's birthday_. _She has now completed her_ 23_rd_ _year_, _and is_, _I believe_, _at home_. _Charlotte is a governess in the family of Mr. White_. _Branwell is a clerk in the railroad station at Luddenden Foot_, _and I am a governess in the family of Mr. Robinson_. _I dislike the situation and wish to change it for another_. _I am now at Scarborough_. _My pupils are gone to bed and I am hastening to finish this before I follow them_. _We are thinking of setting up a school of our own_, _but nothing definite is settled about it yet_, _and we do not know whether we shall be able to or not_. _I hope we shall_. _And I wonder what will be our condition and how or where we shall all be on this day four years hence_; _at which time_, _all be well_, _I shall be_ 25 _years and_ 6 _months old_, _Emily will be_ 27 _years old_, _Branwell_ 28 _years and_ 1 _month_, _and Charlotte_ 29 _years and a quarter_. _We are now all separate and not likely to meet again for many a weary week_, _but we are none of us ill_ _that I know of and all are doing something for our own livelihood except Emily_, _who_, _however_, _is as busy as any of us_, _and in reality earns her food and raiment as much as we do_. How little know we what we are_ _How less what we may be_! _Four years ago I was at school_. _Since then I have been a governess at Blake Hall_, _left it_, _come to Thorp Green_, _and seen the sea and York Minster_. _Emily has been a teacher at Miss Patchet's school_, _and left it_. _Charlotte has left Miss Wooler's_, _been a governess at Mrs. Sidgwick's_, _left her_, _and gone to Mrs. White's_. _Branwell has given up painting_, _been a tutor in Cumberland_, _left it_, _and become a clerk on the railroad_. _Tabby has left us_, _Martha Brown has come in her place_. _We have got Keeper_, _got a sweet little cat and lost it_, _and also got a hawk_. _Got a wild goose which has flown away_, _and three tame ones_, _one of which has been killed_. _All these diversities_, _with many others_, _are things we did not expect or foresee in the July of_ 1837. _What will the next four years bring forth_? _Providence only knows_. _But we ourselves have sustained very little alteration since that time_. _I have the same faults that I had then_, _only I have more wisdom and experience_, _and a little more self-possession than I then enjoyed_. _How will it be when we open this paper and the one Emily has written_? _I wonder whether the Gondaliand will still be flourishing_, _and what will be their condition_. _I am now engaged in writing the fourth volume of Solala Vernon's Life_. _For some time I have looked upon_ 25 _as a sort of era in my existence_. _It may prove a true presentiment_, _or it may be only a superstitious fancy_; _the latter seems most likely_, _but time will show_. _Anne Bronte_. Let us next take up the other two little scraps of paper. They are dated July the 30th, 1845, or Emily's twenty-seventh birthday. Many things have happened, as she says. She has been to Brussels, and she has settled definitely at home again. They are still keenly interested in literature, and we still hear of the Gondals. There is wonderfully little difference in the tone or spirit of the journals. The concluding 'best wishes for this whole house till July the 30th, 1848, and as much longer as may be,' contain no premonition of coming disaster. Yet July 1848 was to find Branwell Bronte on the verge of the grave, and Emily on her deathbed. She died on the 14th of December of that year. _Haworth_, _Thursday_, _July_ 30_th_, 1845. _My birthday_--_showery_, _breezy_, _cool_. _I am twenty-seven years old to-day_. _This morning Anne and I opened the papers we wrote four years since_, _on my twenty-third birthday_. _This paper we intend_, _if all be well_, _to open on my thirtieth_--_three years hence_, _in_ 1848. _Since the_ 1841 _paper the following events have taken place_. _Our school scheme has been abandoned_, _and instead Charlotte and I went to Brussels on the_ 8_th_ _of February_ 1842. _Branwell left his place at Luddenden Foot_. _C. and I returned from
Brussels_, _November_ 8_th_ 1842, _in consequence of aunt's death_. _Branwell went to Thorp Green as a tutor_, _where Anne still continued_, _January_ 1843. _Charlotte returned to Brussels the same month_, _and_, _after staying a year_, _came back again on New Year's Day_ 1844. _Anne left her situation at Thorp Green of her own accord_, _June_ 1845. _Anne and I went our first long journey by ourselves together_, _leaving home on the_ 30_th_ _of June_, _Monday_, _sleeping at York_, _returning to Keighley Tuesday evening_, _sleeping there and walking home on Wednesday morning_. _Though the weather was broken we enjoyed ourselves very much_, _except during a few hours at Bradford_. _And during our_ _excursion we were_, _Ronald Macalgin_, _Henry Angora_, _Juliet Augusteena_, _Rosabella Esmaldan_, _Ella and Julian Egremont_, _Catharine Navarre_, _and Cordelia Fitzaphnold_, _escaping from the palaces of instruction to join the Royalists who are hard driven at present by the victorious Republicans_. _The Gondals still flourish bright as ever_. _I am at present writing a work on the First War_. _Anne has been writing some articles on this_, _and a book by Henry Sophona_. _We intend sticking firm by the rascals as long as they delight us_, _which I am glad to say they do at present_. _I should have mentioned that last summer the school scheme was revived in full vigour_. _We had prospectuses printed_, _despatched letters to all acquaintances imparting our plans_, _and did our little all_; _but it was found no go_. _Now I don't desire a school at all_, _and none of us have any great longing for it_. _We have cash enough for our present wants_, _with a prospect of accumulation_. _We are all in decent health_, _only that papa has a complaint in his eyes_, _and with the exception of B._, _who_, _I hope_, _will be better and do better hereafter_. _I am quite contented for myself_: _not as idle as formerly_, _altogether as hearty_, _and having learnt to make the most of the present and long for the future with the fidgetiness that I cannot do all I wish_; _seldom or ever troubled with nothing to do_, _and merely desiring that everybody could be as comfortable as myself and as undesponding_, _and then we should have a very tolerable world of it_. _By mistake I find we have opened the paper on the_ 31_st_ _instead of the_ 30_th_. _Yesterday was much such a day as this_, _but the morning was divine_. _Tabby_, _who was gone in our last paper_, _is come back_, _and has lived with us two years and a half_; _and is in good health_. _Martha_, _who also departed_, _is here too_. _We have got Flossy_; _got and lost Tiger_; _lost the hawk Hero_, _which_, _with the geese_, _was given away_, _and is doubtless dead_, _for when I came back from Brussels I inquired on all hands and could_ _hear nothing of him_. _Tiger died early last year_. _Keeper and Flossy are well_, _also the canary acquired four years since_. _We are now all at home_, _and likely to be there some time_. _Branwell went to Liverpool on Tuesday to stay a week_. _Tabby has just been teasing me to turn as formerly to_ '_Pilloputate_.' _Anne and I should have picked the black currants if it had been fine and sunshiny_. _I must hurry off now to my turning and ironing_. _I have plenty of work on hands_, _and writing_, _and am altogether full of business_. _With best wishes for the whole house till_ 1848, _July_ 30_th_, _and as much longer as may be_,--_I conclude_. _Emily Bronte_.
Finally, I give Anne's last fragment, concerning which silence is essential. Interpretation of most of the references would be mere guess-work. _Thursday_, _July the_ 31_st_, 1845. _Yesterday was Emily's birthday_, _and the time when we should have opened our_ 1845 _paper_, _but by mistake we opened it to-day instead_. _How many things have happened since it was written_--_some pleasant_, _some far otherwise_. _Yet I was then at Thorp Green_, _and now I am only just escaped from it_. _I was wishing to leave it then_, _and if I had known that I had four years longer to stay how wretched I should have been_; _but during my stay I have had some very unpleasant and undreamt-of experience of human nature_. _Others have seen more changes_. _Charlotte has left Mr. White's and been twice to Brussels_, _where she stayed each time nearly a year_. _Emily has been there too_, _and stayed nearly a year_. _Branwell has left Luddenden Foot_, _and been a tutor at Thorp Green_, _and had much tribulation and ill health_. _He was very ill on Thursday_, _but he went with John Brown to Liverpool_, _where he now is_, _I suppose_; _and we hope he will be better and do better in future_. _This is a dismal_, _cloudy_, _wet evening_. _We have had so far a very cold wet summer_. _Charlotte has lately been to Hathersage_, _in_ _Derbyshire_, _on a visit of three weeks to Ellen Nussey_. _She is now sitting sewing in the dining-room_. _Emily is ironing upstairs_. _I am sitting in the dining-room in the rocking-chair before the fire with my feet on the fender_. _Papa is in the parlour_. _Tabby and Martha are_, _I think_, _in the kitchen_. _Keeper and Flossy are_, _I do not know where_. _Little Dick is hopping in his cage_. _When the last paper was written we were thinking of setting up a school_. _The scheme has been dropt_, _and long after taken up again and dropt again because we could not get pupils_. _Charlotte is thinking about getting another situation_. _She wishes to go to Paris_. _Will she go_? _She has let Flossy in_, _by-the-by_, _and he is now lying on the sofa_. _Emily is engaged in writing the Emperor Julius's life_. _She has read some of it_, _and I want very much to hear the rest_. _She is writing some poetry_, _too_. _I wonder what it is about_? _I have begun the third volume of Passages in the Life of an Individual_. _I wish I had finished it_. _This afternoon I began to set about making my grey figured silk frock that was dyed at Keighley_. _What sort of a hand shall I make of it_? _E. and I have a great deal of work to do_. _When shall we sensibly diminish it_? _I want to get a habit of early rising_. _Shall I succeed_? _We have not yet finished our Gondal Chronicles that we began three years and a half ago_. _When will they be done_? _The Gondals are at present in a sad state_. _The Republicans are uppermost_, _but the Royalists are not quite overcome_. _The young sovereigns_, _with their brothers and sisters_, _are still at the Palace of Instruction_. _The Unique Society_, _above half a year ago_, _were wrecked on a desert island as they were returning from Gaul_. _They are still there_, _but we have not played at them much yet_. _The Gondals in general are not in first-rate playing condition_. _Will they improve_? _I wonder how we shall all be and where and how situated on the thirtieth of July_ 1848, _when_, _if we are all alive_, _Emily will be just_ 30. _I shall_ _be in my_ 29th _year_, _Charlotte in her_ 33rd, _and Branwell in his_ 32nd; _and what changes shall we have seen and known_; _and shall we be much changed ourselves_? _I hope not_, _for the worse at least_. _I for my part cannot well be flatter or older in mind than I am now_. _Hoping for the best_, _I conclude_. _Anne Bronte_. Exactly fifty years were to elapse before these pieces of writing saw the light. The interest which must always centre in Emily Bronte amply justifies my publishing a fragment in facsimile; and it has the greater moment on account of the rough drawing which Emily has made of herself and of her dog Keeper. Emily's taste for drawing is a pathetic element in her always pathetic life. I have seen a number of her sketches. There is one in the possession of Mr. Nicholls of Keeper and Flossy, the former the bull-dog which followed her to the grave, the latter a little King Charlie which one of the Miss Robinsons gave to Anne. The sketch, however, like most of Emily's drawings, is technically full of errors. She was not a born artist, and possibly she had not the best opportunities of becoming one by hard work. Another drawing before me is of the hawk mentioned in the above fragment; and yet another is of the dog Growler, a predecessor of Keeper, which is not, however, mentioned in the correspondence. Upon Emily Bronte, the poet, I do not propose to write here. She left behind her, and Charlotte preserved, a manuscript volume containing the whole of the poems in the two collections of her verse, and there are other poems not yet published. Here, for example, are some verses in which the Gondals make a slight reappearance. [Picture: Facsimile of two pages of Emily Bronte's Diary] '_May_ 21_st_, 1838. GLENEDEN'S DREAM. 'Tell me, whether is it winter? Say how long my sleep has been. Have the woods I left so lovely Lost their robes of tender green? 'Is the morning slow in coming? Is the night time loth to go? Tell me, are the dreary mountains Drearier still with drifted snow? '"Captive, since thou sawest the forest, All its leaves have died away, And another March has woven Garlands for another May. '"Ice has barred the Arctic waters; Soft Southern winds have set it free; And once more to deep green valley Golden flowers might welcome thee." 'Watcher in this lonely prison, Shut from joy and kindly air, Heaven descending in a vision Taught my soul to do and bear. 'It was night, a night of winter,
I lay on the dungeon floor, And all other sounds were silent-- All, except the river's roar. 'Over Death and Desolation, Fireless hearths, and lifeless homes; Over orphans' heartsick sorrows, Patriot fathers' bloody tombs; 'Over friends, that my arms never Might embrace in love again; Memory ponderous until madness Struck its poniard in my brain. 'Deepest slumbers followed raving, Yet, methought, I brooded still; Still I saw my country bleeding, Dying for a Tyrant's will. 'Not because my bliss was blasted, Burned within the avenging flame; Not because my scattered kindred Died in woe or lived in shame. 'God doth know I would have given Every bosom dear to me, Could that sacrifice have purchased Tortured Gondal's liberty! 'But that at Ambition's bidding All her cherished hopes should wane, That her noblest sons should muster, Strive and fight and fall in vain. 'Hut and castle, hall and cottage, Roofless, crumbling to the ground, Mighty Heaven, a glad Avenger Thy eternal Justice found. 'Yes, the arm that once would shudder Even to grieve a wounded deer, I beheld it, unrelenting, Clothe in blood its sovereign's prayer. 'Glorious Dream! I saw the city Blazing in Imperial shine, And among adoring thousands Stood a man of form divine. 'None need point the princely victim--
Now he smiles with royal pride! Now his glance is bright as lightning, Now the knife is in his side! 'Ah! I saw how death could darken, Darken that triumphant eye! His red heart's blood drenched my dagger; My ear drank his dying sigh! 'Shadows come! what means this midnight? O my God, I know it all! Know the fever dream is over, Unavenged, the Avengers fall!' There are, indeed, a few fragments, all written in that tiny handwriting which the girls affected, and bearing various dates from 1833 to 1840. A new edition of Emily's poems, will, by virtue of these verses, have a singular interest for her admirers. With all her gifts as a poet, however, it is by _Wuthering Heights_ that Emily Bronte is best known to the world; and the weirdness and force of that book suggest an inquiry concerning the influences which produced it. Dr. Wright, in his entertaining book, _The Brontes in Ireland_, recounts the story of Patrick Bronte's origin, and insists that it was in listening to her father's anecdotes of his own Irish experiences that Emily obtained the weird material of _Wuthering Heights_. It is not, of course, enough to point out that Dr. Wright's story of the Irish Brontes is full of contradictions. A number of tales picked up at random from an illiterate peasantry might very well abound in inconsistencies, and yet contain some measure of truth. But nothing in Dr. Wright's narrative is confirmed, save only the fact that Patrick Bronte continued throughout his life in some slight measure of correspondence with his brothers and sisters--a fact rendered sufficiently evident by a perusal of his will. Dr. Wright tells of many visits to Ireland in order to trace the Bronte traditions to their source; and yet he had not--in his first edition--marked the elementary fact that the registry of births in County Down records the existence of innumerable Bruntys and of not a single Bronte. Dr. Wright probably made his inquiries with the stories of Emily and Charlotte well in mind. He sought for similar traditions, and the quick-witted Irish peasantry gave him all that he wanted. They served up and embellished the current traditions of the neighbourhood for his benefit, as the peasantry do everywhere for folklore enthusiasts. Charlotte Bronte's uncle Hugh, we are told, read the _Quarterly Review_ article upon _Jane Eyre_, and, armed with a shillelagh, came to England, in order to wreak vengeance upon the writer of the bitter attack. He landed at Liverpool, walked from Liverpool to Haworth, saw his nieces, who 'gathered round him,' and listened to his account of his mission. He then went to London and made abundant inquiries--but why pursue this ludicrous story further? In the first place, the _Quarterly Review_ article was published in December 1848--after Emily was dead, and while Anne was dying. Very soon after the review appeared Charlotte was informed of its authorship, and references to Miss Rigby and the _Quarterly_ are found more than once in her correspondence with Mr. Williams. {158} This is a lengthy digression from the story of Emily's life, but it is of moment to discover whether there is any evidence of influences other than those which her Yorkshire home afforded. I have discussed the matter with Miss Ellen Nussey, and with Mr. Nicholls. Miss Nussey never, in all her visits to Haworth, heard a single reference to the Irish legends related by Dr. Wright, and firmly believes them to be mythical. Mr. Nicholls, during the six years that he lived alone at the parsonage with his father-in-law, never heard one single word from Mr. Bronte--who was by no means disposed to reticence--about these stories, and is also of opinion that they are purely legendary. It has been suggested that Emily would have been guilty almost of a crime to have based the more sordid part of her narrative upon her brother's transgressions. This is sheer nonsense. She wrote _Wuthering Heights_ because she was impelled thereto, and the book, with all its morbid force and fire, will remain, for all time, as a monument of the most striking genius that nineteenth century womanhood has given us. It was partly her life in Yorkshire--the local colour was mainly derived from her brief experience as a governess at Halifax--but it was partly, also, the German fiction which she had devoured during the Brussels period, that inspired _Wuthering Heights_. | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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