if I shew 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 shew 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.55
Discovering a few days later that Williams and George Smith had an informal evening chat each day with James Taylor, the manager in charge of the staff of clerks at 65, Cornhill, Charlotte felt that Taylor’s exclusion might seem invidious and therefore exempted him also from her general prohibition. Desperately anxious not to produce a second novel inferior to her first, Charlotte declared, ‘I court the keenest criticism’, before exhorting them, ‘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.’56
It was to be nearly a month before Charlotte heard Smith, Elder & Co.’s verdict on Shirley. The passage of time probably reflected the difficulty facing her friends at the firm: they were undoubtedly sensitive to Charlotte’s vulnerability at this time and, though an honest opinion had been sought, it was not possible to foresee the consequences if it was given. In the end, they settled for a general approbation which would encourage their author while expressing reservations on only one or two issues. Both Williams and James Taylor, for instance, complained of a lack of distinctness and impressiveness in Shirleys male characters – a criticism which Charlotte acknowledged as being probably just: ‘When I write about women I am sure of my ground’, she told Taylor,’– in the other case, I am not so sure.’57
The main criticism, however, was reserved for the first chapter with its boisterous and unflattering portrayal of the ‘shower of curates’. Both George Smith and Williams were of the opinion that this was a misjudgement so serious that it warranted complete removal and the substitution of a new beginning. Charlotte, however, displayed her customary stubbornness. Promising that their advice would be ‘duly weighed’, she nevertheless defended it on the same grounds as she had defended the ‘Lowood’ portion of Jane Eyre: ‘– it is true’, she wrote emphatically, ‘The curates and their ongoings are merely photographed from the life’.58
There was certainly little love lost between Charlotte and the curates who had passed through Haworth Parsonage in recent years. As long ago as the summer of 1845 she had written sharply to Ellen:
I have no desire at all to see your medical clerical curate – I think he must be like all the other curates I have seen – and they seem to me a self-seeking, vain, empty race. At this blessed moment we have no less than three of them in Haworth-Parish – and God knows there is not one to mend another.
The other day they all three – accompanied by Mr Smith (of whom by the bye I have grievous things to tell you) dropped or rather rushed in unexpectedly to tea It was Monday and I was hot & tired – still if they had behaved quietly and decently – I would have served them out their tea in peace – but they began glorifying themselves and abusing Dissenters in such a manner – that my temper lost its balance and I pronounced a few sentences sharply & rapidly which struck them all dumb – Papa was greatly horrified also – I don’t regret it.59
Charlotte’s vittiolic pen had spared none of them. James Smith was savagely indicted as Mr Malone, but at least there was some justice in the portrayal; James Bradley, the curate of Oakworth, and Joseph Grant, the incumbent of Oxenhope, suffered less severely but had their every failing exposed with more accuracy than charity. To their intense mortification – and the great glee of their parishioners – they were each instantly recognizable, an eventuality Charlotte had not foreseen.
Nevertheless, she did not regret her portrayal of the curates in Shirley. She questioned Williams relentlessly as to why he disliked the opening chapter: ‘is it because you think this chapter will render the work liable to severe handling by the press? Is it because knowing as you now do the identity of “Currer Bell” – this scene strikes you as unfeminine –? Is it because it is intrinsically defective and inferior –? I am afraid the two first reasons would not weigh with me – the last would.’ When he and James Taylor replied in unison that the subject required a more artistic treatment, Charlotte rounded on them:
Say what you will – gentlemen – say it as ably as you will – Truth is better than Art. Burns’ Songs are better than Bulwer’s Epics. Thackeray’s rude, careless sketches are preferable to thousands of carefully finished paintings. Ignorant as I am, I dare to hold and maintain that doctrine.60
When she later came to end her novel with a brief resume of the subsequent careers of her curates, she could not resist a sly dig at Williams and Taylor: ‘Were I to give the catastrophe of your life and conversation’, she declared of Malone, ‘“Impossible!” would be pronounced here: “untrue!” would be responded there. “Inartistic!” would be solemnly decided. Note well! Whenever you present the actual, simple truth, it is, somehow, always denounced as a lie.’61
Charlotte’s sudden burst of enthusiasm for her writing was to be as short-lived as the reprieve on Anne’s failing health. By the middle of March she was in decline again, a gradual and fluctuating decline but nevertheless inexorable. Both Charlotte and Patrick found it an almost unbearable duty to answer correspondence, particularly when Anne was going through a bad period and the unspoken thought that her death was imminent coloured every waking moment. Charlotte was compelled to answer a letter from Laetitia Wheelwright, one of her Brussels friends, who complained of her silence since her last letter. As that had been written on 14 September, only ten days before the unimagined horror of the train of events was set in motion, Charlotte’s reply was a painful recitation of recurrent death and illness. ‘God has hitherto supported me in some sort through all these bitter calamities’, she claimed, ‘but there have been hours – days – weeks of inexpressible anguish to undergo – and the cloud of impending distress still lowers dark and sullen above us.’62
Patrick, similarly, had to reply to anxious enquiries from the Rands, the former teachers of the Haworth National School, who had moved to Stalybridge. ‘1 have indeed had my ample share of trouble –’, he told Mr Rand. ‘But it has been the Lord’s will – and it is my duty, to resign – My Only Son has died, and soon after him, a beloved Daughter, died also – For these things we may weep, since Christ himself wept over his dead freind … Yet, whilst we grieve, it should not be without hope.’ He ended his letter, eloquent in its brevity, with kind regards from ‘All my Family that remain’.63
Towards the end of March Ellen wrote with a kind offer to relieve Charlotte of some of the burden of nursing her sister: Anne was invited to Brookroyd, where she would be looked after by Ellen and her sisters. Anne was touched by the proposal but felt it would not be appropriate to quarter an invalid on the already overcrowded Nussey household. She had, instead, a proposal of her own to make which she relayed through Charlotte: if Patrick could not be persuaded to leave home and Charlotte was obliged to remain with him at Haworth, would Ellen consider accompanying her to the seaside or an inland watering place, whichever the doctor recommended? In putting forward this plan, Charlotte expressed her own, very strong, reservations.
Papa says her state is most precarious – she may be spared for some time – or a sudden alteration might remove her ere we were aware – were such an alteration to take place while She was far/ from home and alone with you – it would be too terrible – the idea of it distresses me inexpressibly, and I tremble whenever she alludes to the project of a journey. In short I wish we could gain time and see how she gets on –64
In an effort to gain that time, which Anne was all too well aware that she did not have, Charlotte persuaded Ellen to ‘write such an answer to this note as I can shew Anne – you can write any additional remarks to me on a separate piece of paper’. Ellen obliged, expressing her willingness to go with Anne but saying that ‘her friends’ were reluctant for her to undertake the responsibility of
accompanying an invalid; besides, she added, repeating Charlotte’s argument that May was generally a bad month for weather, it would be better to go in June or even July, when they could be assured of warmer, drier days.65
No doubt realizing that Charlotte, torn between wanting to accede to her sister’s wish and yet fearing its consequences, was trying to influence Ellen’s decision, Anne decided, with characteristically patient perseverance, to write to Ellen herself. It was at least two months since she had last put pen to paper, but seeing the beautifully neat, even handwriting, clear and easy to read despite the fact that each page is crossed, it is easy to forget the physical and mental effort which that letter must have cost Anne. If Charlotte would not act the part of honest broker, Anne must act for herself. ‘I do not think there would be any great responsibility in the matter’, she earnestly informed Ellen, adding, with great dignity,
I know, and everybody knows that you would be as kind and helpful as any one could possibly be; and I hope I should not be very troublesome. It would be as a companion not as a nurse that I should wish for your company; otherwise, I should not venture to ask it.
Laboriously, she countered Ellen’s arguments one by one, undoubtedly using the same reasoning she had already used on Charlotte. ‘You say May is a trying month, and so say others’, Anne declared, tacitly pointing out that she had recognized her sister’s hand in framing Ellen’s reply.
The earlier part is often cold enough I acknowledge, but, according to my experience, we are almost certain of some fine warm days in the latter half when the laburnums and lilacs are in bloom; whereas June is often cold and July gener[a]lly wet.
Dismissing Ellen’s arguments as the feeble excuses that they were, Anne appealed to her common sense.
But I have a more serious reason than this for my impatience of delay: the doctors say that change of air or removal to a better climate would hardly ever fail of success
Unlike poor Charlotte, who could not even bring herself to mention the word in her letter to Ellen, Anne now faced the prospect of her own death with calm courage.
I have no horror of death: if I thought it inevitable I think I could quietly resign myself to the prospect, in the hope that you, dear Miss Nussy, would give to have lived to so little purpose. But God’s will be done.66
Anne’s schemes, which remain shrouded in mystery, would indeed come to nothing, as would her attempt to foil her sister’s conspiracy. Ellen enclosed her letter in one of her own to Charlotte: having read it Charlotte’s only comment was ‘it was touching enough – as you say. Just as obdurate in her own way as Emily, Charlotte chose to ignore Anne’s own wishes and persisted in doing what she herself considered best, confessing to Ellen that she was glad her mother and sisters had also objected to Anne’s plan, and that, even if they had consented, she never could: ‘it would never do’.67
In the battle to prevent Anne going away, Charlotte had tried to enlist the support of Mr Teale, but, contrary to her expectation, he had no objections to the scheme and actually recommended Scarborough, which was Anne’s own first choice of destination. His advice, carefully recorded by Patrick in the margins of his Graham’s Modern Domestic Medicine, only confirmed what Anne herself had said: ‘change of place & climate, could prove beneficial, only in the early stage of consumption – that afterwards, the excitement caused by change of scenes, and beds, and strange company, did harm –’. Though Anne could hardly be said to be in the early stages of consumption, Mr Teale was also quite happy for Anne to go in May, as she wished.68
Charlotte’s last defence against the plan, her often-stated comment that her father would not leave home and could not be left alone, finally gave way when Patrick himself intervened: it was his express wish that Charlotte should accompany Anne – he would be perfectly satisfied to be left in the care of their two faithful servants, Tabby Aykroyd and Martha Brown.69 In all conscience, Charlotte could not now oppose Anne’s wishes and, dragging her heels in the process, she began to make the necessary arrangements.
Though one may sympathize with her predicament, it is not easy to understand Charlotte’s reluctance to take Anne to Scarborough. It was certainly not the fear that the journey would be too much for her sister because the advice had always been the earlier the better, and the longer it was put off, the greater the risk to the invalid. The likeliest explanation seems to be that Charlotte, watching her last remaining sister fade before her eyes, could not bring herself to face the idea that she was about to die. At this time, Charlotte was increasingly haunted by her memories of Emily’s shocking death. ‘I cannot forget Emily’s death-day;’ she told Ellen on 12 April, ‘it becomes a more fixed – a darker, a more frequently recurring idea in my mind than ever: it was very terrible; she was torn conscious, panting, reluctant though resolute out of a happy life. But it will not do to dwell on these things.’70 To add to the terror of facing yet another death scene, which, like Branwell’s and Emily’s, might fall suddenly and unexpectedly, Charlotte was undoubtedly afraid that this would occur among strangers. At least if it happened at home she would have the comfort of supporting and being supported by her father.
By 1 May, Charlotte was still hoping to put off the journey for another two or three weeks. Writing to Ellen, whose offer to accompany them to Scarborough had been gratefully accepted, Charlotte found further cause for delay in Anne’s sudden relapse.
The change to finer weather has not proved beneficial so far; she has sometimes been so weak and suffered so much from pain in her side during the last few days – that I have not known what to think. It may however be only a temporary aggravation of symptoms; she may rally again and be much better – but there must be some improvement before I can feel justified in taking her away from home.
Not surprisingly, as Charlotte was aware, Anne was feeling increasingly resentful of the delay, though she did not voice her reproaches.
Yet to delay is painful – for as is always the case I believe under her circumstances – she seems herself but half conscious of the necessity for such delay: she wonders I believe why I do not talk more about the journey: it grieves me to think she may even be hurt by my seeming tardiness.
She is very much emaciated – far more so than when you were here – her arms are no thicker than a little child’s. The least exertion brings on shortness of breath – She goes out a little every day – but we creep rather than walk.71
By the middle of May, Anne’s persistence paid off and Charlotte at last capitulated. They booked rooms in Wood’s Lodgings at No. 2, The Cliff, where Anne had previously stayed with the Robinsons and which she declared to be one of the best situations in the town. They were to have a good-sized sitting room and an airy, double-bedded lodging room overlooking the sea, all for thirty shillings a week. The money was to come from a luckily timed legacy of £200 from Anne’s godmother, Fanny Outhwaite, who had died in February; as Charlotte pointed out, it could not be better employed than in an attempt to prolong if not restore Anne’s life.72 Margaret Wooler, who had a house in the bleaker North Bay at Scarborough, wrote to offer her assis
tance, but everything was in hand. The journey was finally fixed for Wednesday, 23 May, though in the event it was put off to the following day. Even up to the last minute Charlotte had her misgivings about the wisdom of going, but she could no longer gainsay her sister who had ‘a fixed impression that the sea-air will give her a chance of regaining strength – that chance therefore she must have’.73
Ellen Nussey came to stay the night before so that they could all set off together, Charlotte having warned her not to be shocked – or rather, not to betray her shock – at Anne’s appearance.74 Around noon on the Thursday, Patrick, Tabby and Martha gathered to say goodbye to Anne: there was little that could be said so the farewells were doubtless fairly muted. Another painful ceremony had also to be undergone before she could depart: she had to give a last caress to Emily’s dog, Keeper, and her own faithful spaniel, Flossy, neither of whom would comprehend the finality of this parting.
Patrick had firmly rejected all Charlotte’s attempts to organize him in her absence and had refused even the solace of Mr Nicholls’ company. One can only guess his feelings as he watched his youngest child being carried away from home. He and the servants were resigned to the knowledge that this was likely to be the last time they would ever see her on earth.75
Anne, Charlotte and Ellen travelled down to Keighley where they caught the 1.30 p.m. train to Leeds. There they readily found assistance in helping the invalid across the lines and in and out of carriages.76 They journeyed on by rail as far as York that day, staying overnight at the George Hotel, a coaching inn in Coney Street. After a rest and dinner there, Anne was so far revived as to be able to go out in a bathchair. Like most tourists and holidaymakers, they had some shopping to do. Neither Anne nor Charlotte had a wardrobe appropriate to a fashionable seaside resort, so Charlotte had drawn up a list of the things they needed to purchase in York – bonnets, combs, black silk stockings, dresses, gloves and a ribbon for the neck. They then had to go through the ‘dreary mockery of wandering round the shops to find the items, a task that evidently proved too much for Anne, as they only bought the essential bonnets and gloves.77
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