Brontës

by Juliet Barker

  Even before she was buried, another self-important busybody had got to work. John Greenwood was the Haworth stationer. Earlier in life he had been a wool-comber but he had been unable to support his large family because of his ill health. Selling paper as a sideline, he had been encouraged by the patronage of the Brontë family (who must have singlehandedly kept him in business), and Charlotte, in particular, had gone out of her way to help him extend into the bookselling trade by ensuring that her publishers supplied him with the cheap editions of her books to sell.102 Clearly he knew the family, though no better than many others in the township, but he had literary pretensions himself and therefore highly prized his connections with ‘Currer Bell’.

  It was John Greenwood who took it upon himself to inform Charlotte’s famous friends of her death, taking care to portray himself as one of her intimate circle. Mrs Gaskell responded in shock and dismay.

  I can not tell you how VERY sad your note has made me. My dear dear friend that I shall never see again on earth! I did not even know she was ill … You may well say you have lost your best friend; strangers might know her by her great fame, but we loved her dearly for her goodness, truth, and kindness, & those lovely qualities she carried with her where she is gone.103

  Not knowing it was the very day of Charlotte’s funeral, she wrote immediately to Patrick offering her sympathy, only to receive somewhat of a rebuff.

  I thank you for your kind sympathy – My Daughter, is indeed, dead, and the solemn truth presses upon her worthy, and affectionate Husband/ and me, with great, and, it may be, with unusual weight – But, others, also, have, or shall have their sorrows, and we feel our own the most – The marriage that took place, seem’d to hold forth, long, and bright prospects of happiness, but in the inscrutable providence of God, all our hopes have ended in disappointment, and our joy in mourning – May we resign to the will of the Most High – After three months of Sickness, a tranquil death closed the scene. But our loss we trust is her gain – But why should I trouble you/ longer with our sorrows. ‘The heart knoweth its own bitterness’ – and we ought to bear with fortitude our own grievances, & not to bring others – into our sufferings –

  In a touching postscript Patrick added, ‘Excuse this scrawl, I am not fit, at present, to write much – nor to write satisfactorily.’104 Interestingly, having asked John Greenwood for further details and discovered that her friend had died in pregnancy, Mrs Gaskell regretted even more that she had not kept in touch. ‘How I wish I had known! … it is no use regretting what is past; but I do fancy that if I had come, I could have induced her, – even though they had all felt angry with me at first, – to do what was so absolutely necessary, for her very life!’105 If the thought of abortion had occurred to Mrs Gaskell, had it occurred to Charlotte, her father or her husband?

  Another of Charlotte’s famous friends whom John Greenwood contacted before she had even been laid in the family vault was Harriet Martineau. Despite having had no contact with Charlotte since their quarrel over Villette, Miss Martineau responded in private and in public with generous tributes. To Greenwood himself she wrote:

  I am indebted to you for your kindness in informing me of my poor friend’s departure. It is seldom that I use the word ‘poor’, which has now slipped from my pen; but she so loved life, her lot was so singular in surviving so many of her family, and I trust so happy at last in having formed new ties, that I did hope for longer life for her, though I often feared it could hardly be … Vast as was her genius, and infinitely as I admired it, I honoured yet more her integrity and unspoiled uprightness, simplicity, and sense. She was a noble woman, such as society ill can spare.106

  Like Mrs Gaskell, she sought further details of Charlotte’s life from the more than willing John Greenwood, but then she proceeded to blazon the story across the pages of the Daily News. In a tribute which began with the dramatic opening line ‘“Currer Bell” is dead!’, Harriet Martineau drew on Charlotte’s Biographical Notice of her sisters, John Greenwood’s information and her own memories, to draw the outline of a picture that Mrs Gaskell would embellish and which would become part of the Brontë legend. Most of the half-truths, misconceptions and downright untruths which would give such lurid colouring to the story of Charlotte’s life were already evident here: a father who was ‘simple and unworldly’ and ‘too much absorbed in his studies to notice her occupations’; an only brother ‘a young man of once splendid promise which was early blighted’; a home among the ‘wild Yorkshire hills … in a place where newspapers were never seen’. Against all the odds, Charlotte had triumphed.

  From her feeble constitution of body, her sufferings by the death of her whole family, and the secluded and monotonous life she led, she became morbidly sensitive in some respects; but in her high vocation, she had, in addition to the deep intuitions of a gifted woman, the strength of a man, the patience of a hero, and the conscientiousness of a saint.

  Having suffered herself from criticism of her ‘masculine’ occupation as a writer, Harriet Martineau was anxious to dispel the view that there was anything unnatural or unfeminine in Charlotte’s profession.

  There was something inexpressibly affecting in the aspect of the frail little creature who had done such wonderful things, and who was able to bear up, with so bright an eye and so composed a countenance, under such a weight of sorrow, and such a prospect of solitude. In her deep mourning dress (neat as a quaker’s), with her beautiful hair, smooth and brown, her fine eyes blazing with meaning, and her sensible face indicating a habit of self-control, if not of silence, she seemed a perfect household image – irresistibly recalling Wordsworth’s description of that domestic treasure. And she was this. She was as able at the needle as the pen. The household knew the excellence of her cookery before they heard of that of her books. In so utter a seclusion as she lived in – in those dreary wilds, where she was not strong enough to roam over the hills, in that retreat where her studious father rarely broke the silence – and there was no one else to do it; in that forlorn house, planted on the very clay of the churchyard, where the graves of her sisters were before her window; in such a living sepulchre her mind could not [but] prey upon itself; and how it did suffer, we see in the more painful portions of her last novel – ‘Villette.’107

  The myth of Charlotte Brontë was born.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  SAINTLINESS, TREASON AND PLOT

  Charlotte had died at the beginning of Holy Week, one of the busiest times of the church year. It was an indication of the measure of their grief that neither Patrick nor Arthur, both strong and conscientious men, could perform their duties. Sutcliffe Sowden proved a good friend, taking not only Charlotte’s burial service but four more during the week; J.H. Mitchell, the incumbent of CuUingworth, also lent assistance by preaching the sermons on Easter Day and taking Patrick’s place in addressing the Haworth Mechanics’ Institute the following day.1 Michael Merrall, Chairman of the Institute, deeply impressed the gathering in his opening speech

  by a brief but touching and pathetic reference to the mournful death of the Institute’s most distinguished member and patroness, ‘Currer Bell’. The talented authoress was a life member of the Institution, and from its commencement down to the latest period of her life, ever evinced a deep interest in its welfare and prosperity. Copies of all her valuable works she presented to its library; and at its soiree of 1854, as also on several previous occasions, she presided at one of the tea tables, and honoured the meeting with her presence.2

  Letters of sympathy continued to flood in as the news of Charlotte’s death spread; they came from all kinds of people, from friends of friends, like Mary Hewitt, to one-time intimates, like George Smith. There was even one from the ‘good and dear’ bishop, Charles Longley, who had tactfully supported Nicholls’ suit. To him Patrick wrote a moving response.

  I have lived long enough to bury a beloved wife, and six children – all that I had. I greatly enjoyed their conversation and company
, and many of them were well-fitted to being companions to the wisest and best – Now they are all gone – their image and memory remain, and meet me at every turn – but they themselves have left me, a bereaved old man … I have not only my own sorrow to bear, but I am distressed for Mr Nicholls, whose grief is very great – his union with my daughter was a very happy one – they were well fitted for each other, and naturally look’d forward to future scenes of happiness for a long time to come – but the lord gave and took early away – may we both be able from our hearts to say blessed be the name of the Lord, But I have often found, and find in this last sad trial that it is frequently extremely difficult to walk entirely by faith, and sincerely to pray – ‘Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven’. Mr Nicholls who is everything I could desire to the Church and to me, intends to stay with me for the brief remainder of my life – May we beg that your lordship will sometimes remember us in your prayers –3

  The private eulogies of Charlotte were both a comfort and a sad pleasure, but neither Patrick nor Arthur could take much satisfaction from the increasingly prurient and speculative notices which appeared in the press. The trend had begun with Harriet Martineau’s well-meant but highly coloured obituary. This inspired at least one genuine tribute, Matthew Arnold’s poem, ‘Haworth Churchyard’, which appeared in the May issue of Fraser’s Magazine.

  Strew with roses the grave

  Of the early-dying. Alas!

  Early she goes on the path

  To the Silent Country, and leaves

  Half her laurels unwon,

  Dying too soon: yet green

  Laurels she had, and a course

  Short, yet redoubled by Fame.4

  Though labouring under the delusion that Charlotte and her family lay in the open churchyard at Haworth – and very cross to discover that her actual resting place did not suit his artistic notions – Arnold had at least treated the subject with the tact due to her living relations.5

  This was not the case with the newspapers and magazines which, almost universally, carried extracts from Harriet Martineau’s obituary and, with equal unanimity, homed in on its most extraordinary aspects: the harshness of the school which killed her sisters and stunted her own growth, her father’s remoteness and the isolation of her own life at Haworth.6 The public appetite for Brontë scandal was whetted and there were plenty of people waiting in the wings to keep up the supply. One disloyal and, not surprisingly, anonymous informant wrote to the Literary Gazette with further gossip.

  Mr Brontë is the incumbent of Haworth, and the father of the ‘three sisters’; two had already died, when Mr Nicholls, his curate, wished to marry his last sole hope. To this Mr Brontë objected, as it might deprive him of his only child; and though they were much attached, the connexion was so far broken that Mr Nicholls was to leave. Then the vicar of Bradford interposed, by offering to secure to Mr Nicholls the incumbency after Mr Brontës death. This obviated all objections, and last summer a new study was built to the parsonage, and the lovers were married, remaining under the father’s roof. But alas! in three months, the bride’s lungs were attacked, and in three more the father and husband committed their loved one to the grave! Is it not a sad reality in which the romance ends! May God comfort the two mourners!7

  Again the story was picked up and reprinted by the national and local papers, this time with more damaging and lasting effect. The completely untrue assertion about the intervention of the vicar of Bradford was never to be forgotten in Haworth and after Patrick’s death it was one of the reasons why the trustees, ever suspicious of any attempt by Bradford to overturn or undermine their authority, refused to accept his son-in-law in his stead.8 Arthur already had his detractors in Haworth, who resented his refusal to see his wife as anything but the woman he loved: John Greenwood, for instance, within a month of Charlotte’s death, was already agitating for daguerreotypes of Richmond’s portrait of her to be published and for a marble tablet to be erected to her memory in the church.9

  Forced to be aware of the insatiable appetite for information about his wife, Arthur’s natural inclination was to maintain a dignified silence and ignore the printed gossip and innuendo. Nevertheless, he was also well aware that Charlotte’s lack of discretion in writing to her friends had placed potentially explosive material in the hands of others who did not share his wish to keep her private life private. In sorting through his wife’s papers after her death, he realized that there were confidences made before her marriage which she had not shared with him. The one that most upset him was the discovery that James Taylor had proposed to her and that Charlotte had seriously considered accepting him. His first reaction was to go over to Brookroyd to ask Ellen for further information; she was not at home but at least, he believed, he had her promise not to let anyone read Charlotte’s letters and to destroy them in due course. He therefore wrote to Miss Wooler, who, unlike Ellen, shared his concern and entered fully into his wishes. With her customary discretion, she had already – albeit reluctantly – destroyed the letter containing Charlotte’s confidences about James Taylor on learning of her engagement to her future husband. ‘Your letter did not surprise me & required no apology’, she told him.

  … There is something peculiarly revolting in the bare idea of those communications being laid open to the public gaze, which were intended only for the eye of a confidential & sympathizing friend … I hope soon to be able to collect & look over the letters I have preserved & you may rest assured my dear Sir, that I will retain none that contain anything which might give pain to any individual, much less to you, who are so deeply interested in all that relates to one, whose memory I shall ever cherish – her loss I must ever regret, but what is it compared with yours?10

  Ellen’s reaction was as hysterical and resentful as Miss Wooler’s had been calm and supportive. Fourteen years later she could still write venomously of how, having failed to find her at Brookroyd, Arthur had tried ‘to get me into his neighbourhood to stay with some intimate friends of his, which I decidedly declined’, the implication being that he had sought to obtain the information by underhand means. Using the emotive language of which she was an absolute mistress, she could also declare sanctimoniously that ‘it was a great shock to me discovering that he had been ransacking his wife’s things so speedily after losing her’.11

  It was Ellen who finally pushed Charlotte’s father and widower, against their better judgement and to their lasting regret, into answering the scandalmongers in the press. At the beginning of June a gossipy article appeared in Sharpe’s London Magazine, which, with salacious glee, related a series of lurid anecdotes about Charlotte’s life and gave a grim portrayal of her home and father.12 With the same haste with which she had always brought bad reviews of Charlotte’s books to her attention, Ellen wrote to Arthur expressing her concern. ‘I am sure both you and Mr Brontë will feel acutely the misrepresentations and the malignant spirit which characterises it. Will you suffer the article to pass current without any refutations?’ she demanded.

  The writer merits the contempt of silence, but there will be readers and believers. Shall such be left to imbibe a tissue of malignant falsehoods, or shall an attempt be made to do justice to one who so highly deserved justice, whose very name those who best knew her but speak with reverence and affection? Should not her aged father be defended from the reproach the writer coarsely attempts to bring upon him?

  Having urged Arthur to do his duty, Ellen then proceeded to tell him how to do it, neatly asserting her own superior knowledge of Charlotte’s life in the process.

  I wish Mrs Gaskell, who is every way capable, would undertake a reply, and would give a sound castigation to the writer. Her personal acquaintance with Haworth, the Parsonage, and its inmates, fits her for the task, and if on other subjects she lacked information I would gladly supply her with facts sufficient to set aside much that is asserted, if you yourself are not provided with all the information that is needed on the subjects produced.13


  The great irony is that Mrs Gaskell was actually responsible for the article, which quoted extensively from the two letters she had written from the Lake District in 1850 after her first meeting with Charlotte. As we have seen, these were largely based on Lady Kay Shuttleworth’s gossip, itself drawn from the only servant ever to be dismissed from the Brontë household.14 Ellen was certainly right to feel indignation at the ‘misrepresentations’ and ‘tissue of malignant falsehoods’ in the article, but in nominating Mrs Gaskell as her friend’s champion she was unwittingly appointing the very person who had made them public knowledge.

  Sharpe’s London Magazine was not normally seen at the parsonage, so it was duly ordered and read. Arthur then replied with a letter that was as patient with Ellen as it was charitable towards the article. While agreeing that the writer had made many mistakes, he pointed out that he did not do so from any unkind motive but merely ‘to gratify the curiosity of the multitude in reference to one who had made such a sensation in the literary world’. He went on:

  But even if the article had been of a less harmless character, we should not have felt inclined to take any notice of it, as by doing so we should have given it an importance which it would not otherwise have obtained. Charlotte herself would have acted thus; and her character stands too high to be injured by the statements in a magazine of small circulation and little influence – statements which the writer prefaces with the remark that he does not vouch for their accuracy. The many laudatory notices of Charlotte and her works which appeared since her death may well make us indifferent to the detractions of a few envious or malignant persons, as there ever will be such.

  The remarks about Patrick, far from giving him pain, had simply made him laugh – ‘indeed, I have not seen him laugh as much for some months as he did while I was reading the article to him’. He ended his letter with the sad little comment: ‘We are both well in health, but lonely and desolate.’15