Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (547 page)

And Charon’s boat, prepared, o’er Lethe’s river

Our souls to waft, and all our thoughts to sever

From what was once life’s Light; still there may be

Some well-loved bosom to whose pillow we

Could heartily our utter self deliver;

And if, toward her grave — Death’s dreary road —

Our Darling’s feet should tread, each step by her

Would draw our own steps to the same abode,

And make a festival of sepulture;

For what gave joy, and joy to us had owed,

Should death affright us from, when he would her restore?

‘Yours most sincerely,

‘P. B. Brontë.’

The sketch, referred to in this letter, is in Indian-ink, and is of a female figure, with clasped hands, streaming hair, and averted face. We need not entertain a doubt as to whom it is intended to represent. It is inscribed, in Spanish, ‘Nuestra Señora de la Pena’ — Our Lady of Grief — which also appears on a headstone in the sketch.

The sonnet, which concludes this letter to Leyland, is beautiful as it is sad, and not only possesses the musical cadences, and completeness of theme, so essential in this mode of expression, but exhibits the high culture of Branwell’s mind, and the direction in which the irrepressible emotions of his heart are moved.

Branwell, in this communication, makes no further mention of his novel. Yet the experience of his sisters with their poems had only confirmed the judgment he expressed six months before, that no pecuniary advantage was to be obtained by publishing verse. The sisters had expended, on their little volume, over thirty pounds; but they valued it rightly as an effort to succeed. It was issued from the press early in May.

Charlotte had conducted the negotiations with the publishers in a very business-like way. She had directed them as to the copies to be sent for review, and as to the advertisements, on which she wished to expend little. The book appeared, and the world took little note of it: it was scarcely mentioned anywhere; but the sisters at Haworth waited patiently, and they were not dismayed that they waited in vain; for they had new-born hope in their other literary venture of the three prose stories. ‘The book,’ says Charlotte of the Poems, ‘was printed: it is scarcely known, and all of it that merits to be known are the poems of Ellis Bell. 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.’

In his letter Branwell expresses himself as still anxious for employment; and wise in the direction in which he seeks it. A total change of scene and circumstance would have been, at this time, his best cure and greatest blessing. Unhappily, he failed in the attempt; and we find him again writing to Mr. Grundy, inquiring for some kind of occupation.

CHAPTER VIII.

DESPONDENCY. — BRANWELL’S LETTERS.

Death of Branwell’s late Employer — Branwell’s Disappointment — His Letters — His Delusion — Leyland’s Medallion of Him — Mr. Brontë’s Blindness — Branwell’s Statement to Mr. Grundy in Reference to ‘Wuthering Heights’ — The Sisters Relinquish the Intention of Opening a School.

An event occurred, in the early summer of 1846, which plunged Branwell into a despair, wilder, and more distracting than the one from which he had partially recovered. This resulted from the death of his late employer. No doubt, during the interval which had elapsed between his dismissal from his tutorship, and the event last named, he had encouraged himself, it might be unconsciously for the most part, with the hope that, on the death of her husband, the lady on whom he doted would marry him. In this frame of mind, when his illusion was intensified by the clearance of the path before him, and his self-control unbridled, it may not be a subject of wonder, if he became troublesome to the inmates of the dwelling afflicted by death.

The following story, with variations, has been told as having reference to some actual or intended act of indiscretion of Branwell’s at the time. It has been said that, at this juncture, a messenger was sent over to Haworth by Mrs. —
 
— , forbidding Branwell ‘ever to see her again, as, if he did, she would forfeit her fortune.’
  
It will be seen shortly that no such provision was made in her husband’s will, and that the fortune she had secured to her could not be forfeited by any such act of Branwell’s. The whole story, therefore, to which Mrs. Gaskell and Miss Robinson have devoted so much space may well be discredited. But Mrs. Gaskell says absolutely that Mrs. —
 
— ‘despatched
a
servant in hot haste to Haworth. He stopped at the “Black Bull,” and a messenger was sent up to the parsonage for Branwell. He came down, &c.’
  
Miss Robinson, twenty-five years later, amplifies the story. She says: ‘
two
men came riding to the village post haste. They sent for Branwell, and when he arrived, in a great state of excitement, one of the riders dismounted and went with him into the “Black Bull.”‘
  
Without inquiring into Branwell’s excitement, or into the variations in the two accounts — for there is but one point in the story on which the two authors are perfectly agreed,
viz.
, that Branwell, on the occasion, ‘bleated like a calf!’ — there can be little doubt that this case, on such evidence, could not get upon its legs before any country jury impanelled to try petty causes. But Branwell himself, in his letter to Mr. Grundy, given below, says the coachman
came
to
see
him, not that the lady
sent
him; and we may justly infer — if ever he came at all — that he come on his own account, having been personally acquainted with Branwell when he was tutor at —
 
— . But, can it be believed that, supposing Mrs. —
 
— to have been enamoured of Branwell, as asserted, she could find no other confidant than her ‘coachman,’ as a means of communicating her sorrows and lamentations to the distracted object of her devotion? There is, in this story, the inconsistency of madness. And it must be borne in mind that the other stories, relating to Branwell at the time of his tutorship at —
 
— , which appear to have so much interested the biographers of Charlotte and Emily, have their paternity at Haworth, and are not the more trustworthy on that account.

I regret to trouble the reader still further with the errors of fact, and the exaggerated statements into which Mrs. Gaskell has fallen respecting this event. She says of Mrs. —
 
— : ‘
Her husband had made a will, in which what property he left her was bequeathed solely on the condition that she should never see Branwell Brontë again
.’
  
(The Italics are my own.) Mrs. Gaskell’s postulations concerning this will are quite as erroneous as that she made in reference to Miss Branwell’s, so far as it related to her nephew. Indeed, like her other allegations respecting this most painful epoch of Branwell’s life, she derived the information on which they were based, more from hearsay than from respectable or documentary evidence. It is clear she never saw the wills about which she speaks with so much assurance.

Mrs. —
 
— , by virtue of an indenture and a certain marriage settlement, was put into possession of an income that would, after her husband’s death, have enabled her to live for the term of her life with Branwell in comparative plenty. To his wife, Mr. —
 
— , in addition to this, left the interest arising from his real and personal estate. She was also principal trustee, executor, and guardian of his children. Moreover, he enjoined upon her co-trustees always to regard the wishes and interests of his wife, and to do nothing without consulting her about the administering of his affairs. But all this — and it is quite usual — was to continue only during her widowhood; and this common arrangement, let it be borne in mind, was no more directed against Branwell than anyone else. What then, it may well be asked, becomes of Mrs. Gaskell’s assertion that the property left to Mrs. —
 
— was bequeathed solely on the condition that ‘she should never see Branwell Brontë again’? Whatever Mrs. Gaskell and her followers may have asserted respecting Mr. —
 
— ‘s will, it was made without the slightest reference to Branwell, who himself misconceived its character, and whose very existence is unknown to it, its provisions being made without the most distant allusion to the affair that worried the unfortunate tutor day and night.

If the widow’s love for Branwell had not been a mere figment of his wounded humanity, but the real affection which he fervently believed it to be, she had now the opportunity, with a sufficient income for the residue of her days, of enjoying with him an honourable and peaceful life. But the affection that makes sacrifices light, where they present themselves, was not there to call for them on behalf of Branwell, even had they now been needed. Moreover, there is no evidence worth the name that Mrs. —
 
— ever committed the acts in relation to him attributed to her; on the contrary, the sincere affection and touching reliance on his wife, manifested throughout his will, is proof enough that her husband had had no cause to call her fidelity in question. It is, indeed, true that, while the lady’s reputation was unblemished in the wide circle of her friends in the neighbourhood of her residence, she was being traduced, misrepresented, and belied at Haworth and its vicinity alone. This was all known to Charlotte Brontë when she wrote her poem of ‘Preference.’

The state of Branwell’s mind, and the extent of his hallucinations under their last phase, may be observed in the following letters, written in the month of June, 1846, the first being to Mr. Grundy.
  

‘Haworth, Bradford,
‘York.

‘Dear Sir,

‘I must again trouble you with — ‘ (Here comes another prayer for employment, with, at the same time, a confession that his health alone renders the wish all but hopeless.) Subsequently he says, ‘The gentleman with whom I have been is dead. His property is left in trust for the family, provided I do not see the widow; and if I do, it reverts to the executing trustees, with ruin to her. She is now distracted with sorrows and agonies; and the statement of her case, as given by her coachman, who has come to see me at Haworth, fills me with inexpressible grief. Her mind is distracted to the verge of insanity, and mine is so wearied that I wish I were in my grave.

‘Yours very sincerely,

‘P. B. Brontë.’

He also wrote to Leyland in great distraction.

‘I should have sent you “Morley Hall” ere now, but I am unable to finish it at present, from agony to which the grave would be far preferable. Mr. —
 
— is
dead
, and he has left his widow in a dreadful state of health…. Through the will, she is left quite powerless. The executing trustees’ (the principal one of whom, as we have seen, was the very lady whose hopeless love for him he was deploring) ‘detest me, and one declares that, if he sees me, he will shoot me.

‘These things I do not care about, but I do care for the life of the one who suffers even more than I do….

‘You, though not much older than myself, have known life. I now know it, with a vengeance — for four nights I have not slept — for three days I have not tasted food — and, when I think of the state of her I love best on earth, I could wish that my head was as cold and stupid as the medallion which lies in your studio.

‘I write very egotistically, but it is because my mind is crowded with one set of thoughts, and I long for one sentence from a friend.

‘What shall I
do
? I know not — I am too hard to die, and too wretched to live. My wretchedness is not about castles in the air, but about stern realities; my hardihood lies in bodily vigour; but, dear sir, my mind sees only a dreary future, which I as little wish to enter on as could a martyr to be bound to a stake.

‘I sincerely trust that you are quite well, and hope that this wretched scrawl will not make me appear to you a worthless fool, or a thorough bore.

‘Believe me, yours most sincerely,

‘P. B. Brontë.’

With this letter was enclosed a pen-and-ink sketch of Branwell bound to the stake, his wrists chained together, and surrounded by flames and smoke. The rigidity of the muscles, the fixed expression of the face, and the manifest beginning of pain are well portrayed. Underneath the drawing, in a constrained hand, is written, ‘Myself.’

Again he writes to Leyland a letter in which he dwells on his unavailing grief, and vividly points out its effects upon him. He says, alluding to the lady of his distracted thoughts, ‘Well, my dear sir, I have got my finishing stroke at last, and I feel stunned into marble by the blow.

‘I have this morning received a long, kind, and faithful letter from the medical gentleman who attended —
 
— in his last illness, and who has since had an interview with one whom I can never forget.

‘He knows me
well
, and pities my case most sincerely…. It’s hard work for me, dear sir; I would bear it, but my health is so bad that the body seems as if it could not bear the mental shock…. My appetite is lost, my nights are dreadful, and having nothing to do makes me dwell on past scenes, — on her own self — her own voice — her person — her thoughts — till I could be glad if God would take me. In the next world I could not be worse than I am in this.’

On June the 17th, Charlotte writes:

‘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.’
  

It would seem that the sisters were unaware of the depth of his present misery, and in part misunderstood the disturbed condition of their brother’s mind at this juncture. But Branwell, although suffering great mental prostration under the infliction of any sudden and unexpected disappointment, was possessed of considerable recuperative power; and, after a period of brooding melancholy over his woes, he appeared to take renewed interest in the events that were passing around him. This seems to have been the case even under his late circumstances; there was, in the depth of his own heart, a woe from which he endeavoured to escape by engaging in the pursuits and pleasures of his friends.

On the 3rd of July, having, to all appearance, somewhat recovered from this disappointment, Branwell wrote to his friend the sculptor:

‘Dear Sir,

‘John Brown told me that you had a relievo of my very wretched self, framed in your studio.

‘If it be a
duplicate
, I should like the carrier to bring it to Haworth; not that I care a fig for it, save from regard for its maker, — but my sisters ask me to try to obtain it; and I write in obedience to them.

‘I earnestly trust that you are heartier than I am, and I promise to send you “Morley Hall” as soon as dreary days and nights will give me leave to do so.

‘Believe me,

‘Yours most sincerely,

‘P. B. Brontë.’

This was a life-size medallion of him, head and shoulders, which Leyland had modelled. The work was in very high relief, and the likeness was perfect. It was inserted in a deep oval recess, lined with crimson velvet, and this was fixed in a massive oak frame, glazed. It projected, when hung up in the drawing-room of the parsonage at Haworth, some eight inches from the wall; this was the one Mrs. Gaskell saw, of which she says: — ‘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.’
  
Mrs. Gaskell had only an imperfect view of the work she describes, for it was hung on the wall directly
opposite
to the windows, so that it was destitute of any side-light.