‘Papa I’ve been writing a book.’ ‘Have you my dear?’ and he went on reading. ‘But Papa I want you to look at it.’ ‘I can’t be troubled to read MS.’ ‘But it is printed.’ ‘I hope you have not been involving yourself in any such silly expense’ ‘I think I shall gain some money by it. May I read you some reviews.10
In this matter-of-fact way, Patrick learnt that his quiet, reclusive, thirty-one-year-old daughter was ‘Currer Bell’, the literary sensation of London. As Mrs Gaskell reported it to a friend after hearing the story directly from Charlotte herself, Patrick’s reaction was equally subdued. He invited his daughters to tea the same afternoon and informed them: ‘Children, Charlotte has been writing a book – and I think it is a better one than I expected.’11 Though Patrick may not have immediately recognized the brilliance of Jane Eyre, there is manifold evidence of his pride and joy in Charlotte’s achievement which was to be the comfort of his declining years. Displaying his quiet sense of humour, he may even have passed on the book to one of his clerical friends whose daughters had been at the Clergy Daughters’ School, for Charlotte reported to Williams:
I saw an elderly clergyman reading it the other day, and had the satisfaction of hearing him exclaim ‘Why – they have got – school, and Mr – here, I declare! and Miss – (naming the originals of Lowood, Mr Brocklehurst and Miss Temple) He had known them all: I wondered whether he would recognize the portraits, and was gratified to find that he did and that moreover he pronounced them faithful and just – he said too that Mr – (Brocklehurst) ‘deserved the chastisement he had got.’12
The ‘elderly clergyman’ is likely to have been Thomas Crowther, vicar of Cragg Vale, who had sent his daughters to the Clergy Daughters’ School in the early 1830s and later made ‘disparaging remarks’ about it to Arthur Nicholls. With barely concealed glee, Charlotte noted that though her ‘elderly clergyman’ had recognized her characters, he had not recognized ‘Currer Bell’: ‘What author would be without the advantage of being able to walk invisible?’ she declared with no small satisfaction. ‘One is thereby enabled to keep such a quiet mind.’13
Charlotte was well aware that she could not afford to rest on her laurels for long, however, and for some time had been pondering the problem of her next work. Wisely, in view of her preferred method of writing through numerous drafts, she rejected her publishers’ suggestion of a serial and decided on ‘another venture in the 3 vol: novel form’.14 Finding a subject was more difficult and she discussed the problem at length with both William Smith Williams and George Henry Lewes, an author and reviewer who, somewhat self-importantly, had written to Currer Bell to say that he intended to review Jane Eyre. In so doing, he had warned her to ‘beware of Melodrame’ and ‘adhere to the real’, suggesting that she ought not to ‘stray far from the ground of experience’. Charlotte had replied by telling him the cautionary tale of The Professor; which was declared by all to be ‘original, faithful to Nature’ but was rejected seven times on the grounds that ‘such a work would not sell’. The experience had taught her the importance of allowing the imagination free rein: ‘is not the real experience of each individual very limited?’ she demanded:
and if a writer dwells upon that solely or principally is he not in danger of repeating himself, and also of becoming an egotist?
Then too, Imagination is a strong, restless faculty which claims to be heard and exercised, are we to be quite deaf to her cry and insensate to her struggles?15
Having read Lewes’ reviews of Jane Eyre, Charlotte wrote to thank him for his generous treatment, adding an explanation for her defence of the imaginative over the real.
I mean to observe your warning about being careful how I undertake new works: my stock of materials is not abundant but very slender, and besides neither my experience, my acquirements, nor my powers are sufficiently varied to justify my ever becoming a frequent writer …
If I ever do write another book, I think I will have nothing of what you call ‘melodrame’; I think so, but I am not sure. I think too I will endeavour to follow the counsel which shines out of Miss Austen’s ‘mild eyes’; ‘to finish more, and be more subdued’; but neither am I sure of that. When authors write best, or at least, when they write most fluently, an influence seems to waken in them which becomes their master, which will have its own way, putting out of view all behests but its own, dictating certain words, and insisting on their being used, whether vehement or measured in their nature; new moulding characters, giving unthought-of turns to incidents, rejecting carefully elaborated old ideas, and suddenly creating and adopting new ones. Is it not so? And should we try to counteract this influence? Can we indeed counteract it?16
The acclaimed author of Jane Eyre was still at heart the same girl who had once written, ‘I’m just going to write because I cannot help it’, and whose Angrian dreams had been so vivid and compulsive that they had appeared more real than her Roe Head surroundings. Curiously, until Lewes suggested it, Charlotte had never read any Jane Austen. She then read Pride and Prejudice, famously declaring it
An accurate daguerreotyped portrait of a common-place face; a carefully-fenced, highly cultivated garden with neat borders and delicate flowers – but no glance of a bright vivid physiognomy – no open country – no fresh air – no blue hill – no bonny beck. I should hardly like to live with her ladies and gentlemen in their elegant but confined houses.17
While Charlotte realized, as Lewes did not, that Jane Austen’s style and tone were the absolute antithesis of her own, she nevertheless also recognized his criticism of her tendency to melodrama and her ‘untrue’ pictures of high society. It was, after all, what many of the reviewers had found fault with and Williams himself advised her to avoid. Thanking him for his literary advice, Charlotte told Williams that she kept his letters and referred ‘not unfrequently’ to them. ‘Circumstances may render it impracticable for me to act up to the letter of what you counsel,’ she told him,
but I think I comprehend the spirit of your precepts – and trust I shall be able to profit thereby. Details – Situations Which/ I do not understand, and cannot personally inspect, I would not for the world meddle with, lest I should make even a more ridiculous mess of the matter than
Trying hard to learn from all the criticism proffered by reviewers and newly found literary friends alike, Charlotte searched with increasing desperation for a suitable subject. Three times she began a new novel, only to be dissatisfied and abandon the results almost at once. Searching through her papers for inspiration she came across the manuscript of her much-rejected first novel. It still occupied a soft spot in her heart and she wrote to Williams to plead on its behalf.
A few days since I looked over ‘the Professor.’ I found the beginning very feeble, the whole narrative deficient in incident and in general attractiveness; yet the middle and latter portion of the work, all that relates to Brussels, the Belgian school &c. is as good as I can write; it contains more pith, more substance, more reality, in my judgement, than much of ‘Jane Eyre.’ It gives, I think, a new view of a grade, an occupation, and a class of characters – all very common-place, very insignificant in themselves, but not more so than the materials composing that portion of ‘Jane Eyre’ which seems to please most generally –.
My wish is to recast ‘the Professor’, add as well as I can, what is deficient, retrench some parts, develop others – and make of it a 3 vol. work; no easy task, I know, yet I trust not an impracticable one.19
Williams, with more sense than sentiment, swiftly stamped on the idea and Charlotte was obliged to look elsewhere, eventually finding her inspiration for Shirley in an unfinished Angrian tale she had written some years before.20
Despite Charlotte’s forebodings, the second edition of Jane Eyre was selling as well as the first. Indeed, such was the book’s popularity that an enterp
rising dramatist, John Courtney, adapted it for the stage; by the beginning of February 1848 Jane Eyre, subtitled The Secrets of Thornfield Manor, was in production at the Victoria Theatre in London. Drawing this somewhat startling information to Charlotte’s attention, the erstwhile theatre critic of the Spectator, Williams, offered to attend and send her his report if ‘Currer Bell’ was unable to go in person. Though curious to know what the play would be like, Charlotte refused to influence his decision on whether to go or not, though declining that possibility for herself.
A representation of ‘Jane Eyre’ at a Minor Theatre would no doubt be a rather afflicting spectacle to the author of that work: I suppose all would be wofully exaggerated and painfully vulgarised by the actors and actresses on such a stage. What – I cannot help asking myself– would they make of Mr Rochester? And the picture my fancy conjures up by way of reply is a somewhat humiliating one. What would they make of Jane Eyre? I see something very pert and very affected as an answer to that query.21
Williams decided to try the play and duly reported back with a vivid description; ‘you have raised the veil from a corner of your great world – your London –’, Charlotte wrote in response, ‘and have shewn me a glimpse of what I might call – loathsome, but which I prefer calling strange. Such then is a sample of what amuses the Metropolitan populace!… You must try now to forget entirely what you saw’. Hot on the heels of the play came further proof of Jane Eyre’s popularity: a French lady wrote to ask its author’s consent to a French translation and, more solidly, Smith, Elder & Co. sent a further remittance of one hundred pounds.22
The success of Jane Eyre had opened up a whole new world for Charlotte, a world that contrasted sharply with her life at home in Haworth. ‘I cannot thank you sufficiently for your letters,’ she wrote to Williams, ‘and I can give you but a faint idea of the pleasure they afford me; they seem to introduce such light and life to the torpid retirement where we live like dormice.’23 In addition to her regular correspondence with Williams, Charlotte had had letters from her fellow novelists George Henry Lewes, William Thackeray and Julia Kavanagh. With the last, Charlotte felt a strong empathy, partly because she detected in her letters ‘a slight, pleasant echo of the Irish accent, as well as to feel the warmth of an Irish heart’ and partly because Miss Kavanagh lived alone with her aged mother, whom she supported by her writing.24 Charlotte had also begun to receive complimentary copies of books. Some, like R. H. Horne’s ‘very real, very sweet’ poem Orion, were gifts from other Smith, Elder & Co. authors but most, like Leigh Hunt’s AJar of Honey from Mount Hybla, were the latest works issuing from the press and were from the publishers themselves.25 This kindness was worth more than the simple monetary value of the books to the Brontës; for the first time in their lives they were able to see and read the newest books as they were published instead of having to wait for them to be available in the circulating and subscription libraries. Not only were they kept abreast of contemporary literature but also, because Charlotte felt under an obligation to repay the gifts with some sort of critical comment, her letters are full of her analyses of the new publications. Charlotte thus developed her own critical powers while also creating a lifeline to the literary society and conversation she so craved.
Emily and Anne benefited as much as Charlotte from Smith, Elder & Co.’s munificence but, despite her efforts to persuade them otherwise, they refused to change their publisher. Having tried and failed the previous November, Charlotte returned to the attack in the spring. ‘If Mr Newby always does business in this way,’ she had told Williams, ‘few authors would like to have him for their publisher a second time.’26 Williams had, of course, again responded by offering to publish Ellis and Acton Bell’s next works but Emily and Anne had no intention of coming to Smith, Elder & Co. under Charlotte’s patronage. Mr Newby reported that Wuthering Heights was selling well, so there was every prospect of Emily and Anne recovering their initial deposit; ‘consequently’, Charlotte reported in a miffed tone, ‘Mr Newby is getting into marvellously good tune with his authors.’ So much so, that Emily and Anne both did exactly what Charlotte had prophesied they would not, and offered him their second novels. This left Charlotte in the embarrassing predicament of having to turn down the offer which she herself had extracted from Smith, Elder & Co.: ‘their present engagements to Mr Newby are such as to prevent their consulting freely their own inclinations and interests’,27 she fibbed, knowing that her sisters had deliberately renewed their contracts even while she was negotiating on their behalf. For once, she would not be able to organize her sisters’ lives.
In all the excitement of her new career as an author, Charlotte had somewhat overlooked her old friendship with Ellen Nussey. Their letters had become infrequent over the winter months: Charlotte had more interesting correspondents in London and Ellen was preoccupied with a visit from Amelia Ringrose, her brother George’s fiancée, whom Charlotte had not yet met. Once – and that not long ago – Charlotte would have been glad that Ellen had persuaded Amelia to write to her, pitying Amelia’s plight in her unhappy home and equally unhappy engagement to a man whose sanity seemed increasingly unlikely to return. Now, however, she could scarcely conceal her impatience. ‘You must excuse the brevity of this note,’ she told Amelia in response to her first letter, ‘I do not possess your fluent pen in correspondence.’ She did not even bother to reply to Amelia’s second letter, telling Ellen, ‘I really had nothing to say worth saying or which could interest her – I might indeed have sat down and concocted something elaborate – but where is the use of scribbling letters of that sort? It is merely time thrown away.’28 As Charlotte was bound by her vow to Emily not to discuss the most important and interesting part of her life, her letters to Ellen were simply a series of responses to things Ellen had told her, combined with apologies for her lengthy silences. ‘I meant to have written to you by to-day’s post – but two or three little things have occurred to hinder me and I am afraid now I shall be too late’, she wrote at last on 28 January, omitting to tell her friend that the ‘two or three little things’ were the receipt of Thackeray’s letter thanking her for the dedication of Jane Eyre and her own appalled letter to Williams on discovering Thackeray’s secret.29 The only news she then had to impart related to the Robinsons of Thorp Green. Elizabeth and Mary ‘still amaze me by the continued frequency and constancy of their correspondence—’, she told Ellen, neglecting to mention the even more astonishing fact of their indiscretion regarding their mother.
poor girls – they still complain of their Mother’s proceedings – that woman is a hapless being; calculated to bring a curse wherever she goes by the mixture of weakness, perversion & deceit in her nature. Sir Edward Scott’s wife is said to be dying – if she goes I suppose they will marry – that is if Mrs R. can marry – She affirmed her husband’s will bound her to remain single – but I do not believe anything she says.30
A full six months before Lady Scott died, and only nine months before Mrs Robinson succeeded in marrying the widower, the Brontës were informed of her plans by her daughters: if nothing else, this confirms Mrs Robinson’s immorality in pursuing the husband of a dying woman and her ruthlessness in carrying out her plans. Branwell would not be allowed to disturb those plans and the sums of money by which she financed his habit continued to flow. As late as June 1848 Branwell was still applying to her for money with which to pay his debts at the Old Cock and Talbot inns at Halifax, staving off his creditors by telling them that ‘my receipt of money on asking, through Dr Crosby, is morally certain’.31
Branwell’s problems were becoming an increasing irrelevance to Charlotte, who was happily absorbed in her challenging new role as an author. A third edition of Jane Eyre being now in prospect, Williams offered her the chance to illustrate her book. Ironically, in view of the many hours she had spent on her ‘nimini-pimini’ copies of engravings in the hope that she might one day be a professional artist, Charlotte knew that she would have to reject the offer. ‘It is not
enough to have the artist’s eye; one must also have the artist’s hand to turn the first gift to practical account’, she told Williams.
I have, in my day, wasted a certain quantity of Bristol board and drawing-paper, crayons and cakes of colour, but when I examine the contents of my portfolio now, it seems as if during the years it has been lying closed, some fairy had changed what I once thought sterling coin into dry leaves, and I feel much inclined to consign the whole collection of drawings to the fire; I see they have no value.
As so often these days, she compared her lack of artistic talent with one who had it in abundance, her hero Thackeray. ‘How he can render with a few black lines and dots, shades of expression so fine, so real; traits of character so minute, so subtle, so difficult to seize and fix – I cannot tell; I can only wonder and admire.’32
Though she refused to illustrate Jane Eyre, she did agree to append a second preface, or rather a note, to the third edition, disclaiming the authorship of any other work of fiction: ‘my claim to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone’.33 Though intended to quash doubts about the separate identity of the Bells, whom the reviewers persisted in regarding as a single author, the note was neither prominent nor informative enough to prevent further speculation.
In fact, the publication of the third edition prompted a confrontation with Ellen Nussey. Rumours surrounding its authorship had begun to take definite shape in the Birstall and Gomersal area, where Charlotte’s literary ambitions and connections with the Clergy Daughters’ School were well known. Ellen, aware that the rumours could well be correct, wrote immediately to hint that her friend had been identified as ‘Currer Bell’. If she had hoped for a confidence, she was wrong: Charlotte snapped back at her with a sharp ‘Write another letter and explain that last note of yours distinctly.’ When Ellen elaborated, she received an equally imperious and hostile response.
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