Maria, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Patrick Branwell, Emily, and Anne were the six children of Maria and Patrick Brontë, a Yorkshire parson. In 1820, Patrick Brontë gained the Parsonage at Haworth, and it was in this bleak and lonely locale that the family lived. Their new home was a grey stone house, which stood at the top of the hill on which Haworth was built. From the front windows, the house looked out over the cemetery; behind windswept moors spread a wealth of brown, green, and grey hues. A year after the family arrived at Haworth, the elder Maria Brontë died of ovarian cancer, leaving her six children in the care of her spinster sister. Elizabeth Branwell came from her home in Penzance to manage the household and tend to the children’s needs. Miss Branwell taught her nieces to sew and keep house, leaving Patrick in charge of lessons and general education. He would frequently discuss politics, government, and literature with them – matters normally beyond the range of children – in which the young Brontës took a great interest. In 1824, an opportunity arose to further the education of the Brontë girls, with the opening of the Clergy Daughter’s School at Cowan Bridge. Here tuition, lodging, boarding, and clothing could be obtained at the price of £14 per annum. Patrick sent Maria and Elizabeth in July, bringing Charlotte and Emily shortly thereafter. All but Maria, whom Patrick intended to become housekeeper at Haworth Parsonage, were to be trained as governesses. The early years of this institution, when the Brontës attended, were not hygienic – each bed was shared by two girls and the food was prepared by a slovenly and indifferent cook. Within the first six months of their attendance, there was an outbreak of ‘low fever’ or typhus, which infected twelve of the fifty-three students. This lesser disease masked the severity of the consumption (Tuberculosis) from which both Maria and Elizabeth suffered. When Patrick was finally notified two months after Maria’s first symptoms began to show, he brought her home and nursed her; despite his care, she died on May

6, 1825 at the age of eleven. Shortly thereafter, Elizabeth was sent home; she died on the fifth of June. She was ten years old. Fearing for their safety, Patrick hurried to remove Charlotte and Emily from this place of danger. When Charlotte and Emily returned home, the children sought comfort in each other’s company. They returned to the entertainment they had previously enjoyed with their two older sisters: that of creating and acting out stories and plays. The Brontë children were particularly inspired by “Blackwood’s Magazine,” a monthly journal published by William Blackwood of Edinburgh. It was this magazine that introduced them to contemporary figures, such as the Duke of Wellington, who became their heroes and served as protagonists in their plays. On June 6, 1826 Patrick gave Branwell a set of twelve wooden soldiers, which delighted the children. Charlotte wrote of the experience, “papa bought Branwell some soldiers at Leeds when papa came home it was night and we where in Bed so next morning Branwell came to our Door with a Box of soldiers Emily and I jumped out of Bed and I snat[c]hed up one and exclaimed this is the Duke of Wellington it shall be mine!! When I said this Emily likewise took one and said it should be hers when Anne came down she took one also. Mine was the prettiest of the whole and perfect in every part Emilys was a Grave looking ferllow we called him Gravey Anne’s was a queer little thing very much like herself he was called waiting Boy Branwell chose Bonaparte” These toys helped inspire their Young Men plays and the play of the islanders. These would later develop into Branwell and Charlotte’s fictional world of Angria, and Emily and Anne’s Gondal. Along with writing and play-acting, each of the Brontë children enjoyed drawing and painting. Branwell in particular showed strong artistic talent, so much so that Patrick intended it to be his son’s career. Charlotte also hoped to pursue work as an artist, as she preferred that to becoming a governess.

Overview of Early Lives

Maria Branwell to Patrick; Woodhouse Grove, Rawdon, 21

September 1812

Could my beloved friend see my heart he would then be convinced that the affection I bear him is not at all inferior to that which he feels for me – indeed I do sometimes think that in truth and constancy it excels… The anticipation of sharing with you all the pleasures and pains, the cares and anxieties of life, of contributing to your comfort and becoming the companion of your pilgrimage, is more delightful to me than any other prospect which this world can possibly present.

This drawing by Charlotte depicts Kirkstall Abbey, which she knew to be the location

of many merry picnics and outings, during the time when her father was courting her mother. In 1851, Patrick Brontë gave Charlotte a small bundle of letters that Maria Branwell had sent him in the months prior to their marriage. Through these letters Charlotte learned of the refined and modest nature of her mother. Though saddened that she could never know Maria, her letters impressed Charlotte with the similarities “of a mind whence my own sprang.” Maria’s letters underline the depth of the love that the Brontë family bore for one another. Each child felt the same overwhelming devotion to Haworth and the family that Maria wrote of to Patrick.

Kirkstall Abbey by Charlotte Brontëc. May 1834Pencil on Card, 99 x 141 mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

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Charlotte copied this drawing from an engraving by Louis Schalz of Raphael’s “Madonna and Fish.” It was typical of the time for children

to learn to draw by copying works of notable artists. Thus, a third of Charlotte’s surviving works are copies.

During their young lives, the two oldest daughters, Maria and Elizabeth Brontë, had served as mother figures to their younger siblings. Thus their deaths deprived Charlotte, Branwell, Emily, and Anne of those they relied upon the most, and as such, were doubly painful to the children. In her biography Life of Charlotte Brontë Elizabeth Gaskell writes: Charlotte was thus suddenly called into the responsibilities of eldest daughter in a motherless family. She remembered how anxiously her dear sister Maria had striven, in her grave, earnest way, to be a tender helper and a counselor to them all; and the duties that now fell upon her seemed almost like a legacy from the gentle little sufferer so lately dead. Though Charlotte strove to care for her younger siblings as a mother, she treated her eldest sister’s memory as a subject of veneration, which, in her mind, she could never equal. According to Juliet Barker’s book The Brontës, the deaths of Elizabeth and Maria deeply impacted the Brontë siblings writings and novels. With the exception of Anne’s Agnes Grey, each of the protagonists in the sisters’ novels is an orphan. It is conjectured that because Anne was the youngest and knew her eldest sisters the least, she was the most capable of having a mother/daughter relationship with Aunt Branwell. As a result the heroines Anne created were happy with their family life.

Madonna and Child by Charlotte Brontëc. 1835Pencil on PaperCourtesy of the Brontë Society

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On Carolineundated

The light of thy ancestral hall,

Thy Caroline, no longer smiles:She has changed her palace for a pall,Her garden walks for minster aisles:Eternal sleep has stilled her breast

Where peace and pleasure made their shrine;Her golden head has sunk to rest –

Oh, would that rest made calmer mine!

To thee, while watching o’er the bedWhere, mute and motionless, she lay,

How slow the midnight moments sped!How void of sunlight woke the day!

Nor ope’d her eyes to morning’s beam,Though all around thee woke to her;Nor broke thy raven-pinioned dream

Of coffin, shroud, and sepulcher.

Why beats thy breast when hers is still?Why linger’st thou when she is gone?

Hop’st thou to light on good or ill?To find companionship alone?

Perhaps thou think’st the churchyard stoneCan hide past smiles and bury sighs:

That Memory, with her soul, has flown;That thou can’st leave her where she lies.

No! Joy itself is but a shade,

So well may its remembrance die;But cares, life’s conquerors, never fade,

So strong is their reality!Thou may’st forget the day which gave

That child of beauty to thy side,But not the moment when the graveTook back again thy borrowed bride.

On Caroline by Branwell BrontëNorris, Pamela. The Brontës: Everyman’s Poetry, 1997.

This poem, is believed to be a tribute to the oldest Brontë sister, Maria.

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Education of the Brontë Girls

In 1831, Charlotte was sent to Miss Margaret Wooler’s School at Roe Head, where she met her two greatest friends: Ellen Nussey and Mary Taylor. Charlotte remained here as a pupil

for three terms – or half years; she was a diligent student, preferring to read and study even during the hours of leisure. Though she came to school with less general knowledge, such as grammar or geography, than the other girls, she was very well informed about poetry, literature, and drawing. She learned quickly, and during each semester of her attendance she earned a silver medal for achievement. After her schooling at Roe Head ended, she returned to Haworth to teach her younger sisters. Patrick himself had taken charge of Branwell’s education. In 1835, Charlotte returned to Roe Head as a teacher, with Emily following as a student. However, Emily longed to return to Haworth – the change in scene and restrictiveness of the school made her physically ill. Thus she left Roe Head, allowing Anne to take her place. Anne remained at the school until 1837, Charlotte until 1839, after which they both found positions as governesses. Emily tried teaching, but it was not to her liking, and she contented herself with keeping house at Haworth. In 1842, Charlotte and Emily, hoping to complete their educations, left for Brussels where they studied at Pensionnat Heger. Here they were instructed in French, drawing, music, singing, writing, arithmetic, and German; Charlotte in particular hoped to become fluent in French. The three sisters planned to open a school of their own at Haworth Parsonage; they believed that by studying in Brussels they would obtain the skills desirable in teachers of young ladies. However, they were unable to obtain students – they had returned too late, and local parents had already enrolled their daughters elsewhere.

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Portrait of Isaac Kirby by Branwell Brontëc. 1838-9Oil on Wood Panel355 x 305mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

In his youth, Branwell displayed great artistic potential. It was determined that he would study art, with the ultimate goal of becoming a portrait painter. Patrick had hoped that Branwell would be able to attend the Royal Academy in London; however, it was clear that he did not then have the requisite skills. Thus, William Robinson of Leed, a talented and successful painter of the day, was hired as a tutor. Like Charlotte, Branwell learned through emulation; Jane Sellars writes in her essay on Branwell that “[d]rawing teachers supplied their pupils with their own drawings and canvases from which to copy and there were also numerous drawing manuals.” Robinson instructed Branwell in all but the study of human anatomy, preparing him for the Royal Academy. Yet it appears that Branwell never actually applied. Though Branwell drafted a letter to the Royal Academy, the school has no record of his application. Ellen Nussey wrote to Elizabeth Gaskell “I do not know whether it was conduct or want of finances that prevented Branwell from going to the Royal Academy. Probably there were impediments of both kinds.” Branwell did not give up on his scheme of becoming a portrait painter. In July 1838, he set up a studio in Bradford, where he found lodgings in the house of Isaac Kirby. It is suggested that Branwell painted portraits of Kirby’s family in lieu of rent; these portraits are considered to be his best works in oils. In Bradford, Branwell was able to mix with an artistic crowd, and he befriended several notable artists of the day. Though Branwell was able to find a patron and wealthy sitters, it was not enough to pay for much more than lodgings and supplies. Unfortunately, Branwell had chosen a place already populated with portrait painters and competition was fierce. The daguerreotype photograph was an inexpensive alternative to sitting for a portrait. In February of 1839, Branwell returned to Haworth. This was the first in a long line of failed career choices for the only son of Patrick Brontë.

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It was at this time that Branwell’s promising future came to an abrupt end. He had long since abandoned his artistic career and had been working as a private tutor with the Robinson family at Thorp Green, where Anne Brontë was governess. Here he began a love affair with Lydia Robinson, his employer’s wife. In a letter to his friend, Francis Grundy, dated October 1845, Branwell describes his situation: This Lady (though her husband detested me) shewed toward me a degree of kindness which…opened into an unexpected declaration of more than ordinary feeling. My admiration of her mental and personal attractions which, though she is 17 years older than myself, are both very great, my knowledge of her totally unselfish generosity, sweet temper and unwearied care for all others with ill requital in return, my horror at the heartless and unmanly manner in which she was treated by a eunuch like fellow who though possessed of such a treasure never even occupied the same apartment with her – All combined to make me reciprocate an attachment I had little dared to look for. During nearly three years I had daily ‘troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear’ in the society of one whom I must, till death, call my wife. Three months since, while at home, I received a furious letter from my Employer threat[e]ning to shoot me if I returned from the vacation… The probability of his state of health ere long leaving her free to give me herself and her estate as was her hearts resolve never rose to drive off the prospect of her decline under her present grief and sufferings and I dreaded too the wreck of my mind and body which God knows have both during a short life been severely tried. Branwell remained at Haworth in a state of perpetual despair. To distract himself, he attempted to write a novel and tried unsuccessfully to find work. His moping presence at Haworth was disgusting and repellent to his sisters.

Interestingly, Charlotte also had the misfortune to fall in love with someone older and already married: Constantin Heger – her teacher at the Pensionnat Heger in Brussels. However, unlike Branwell’s affair, the feeling was not mutual. Charlotte never spoke to her friends at Haworth of her love for her teacher, though she did write to him passionately in French. Yet Heger very seldom responded; in the few instances that he did write, he provided her only with fatherly advice.

Charlotte to Ellen Nussey, 31 July 1845 [Haworth]Dear EllenAll you say about Mr Rooker amused me much—still I cannot put out of my mind one fear—viz. that you should think too much about him—faulty as he is and you know him to be—he has still certain qualities which might create an interest in your mind before you <are> were aware—he has the art of impressing ladies by something apparently involuntary in his look & manner—exciting in them the notion that he cares for them while his words and actions are all careless, inattentive and quite uncompromising for himself. It is only men who have seen much of life and of the world and are become in a measure indifferent to female attractions that possess this art—so be on your guard—these are not pleasant or flattering words—but they are the words of one who has known you long enough to be indifferent about being temporarily disagreeable provided she can be permanently useful. I got home very well—There was a gentleman in the rail-road carriage whome I recognized by his features immediately as a foreigner and a Frenchman—so sure was I of it that I ventured to say to him in French “Monsieur est français n’est-ce pas?” He gave a start of surprise and answered immediately in his own tongue. he appeared still more astonished & even puzzled when after a few minutes further conversation—I enquired if he had not passed the greater part of his life in Germany He said the surmise was correct—I had guessed it from his speaking French with the German accent. It was ten o’clock at night when I got home—I found Branwell ill—he is so very often owing to his own fault—I was not therefore shocked at first—but when Anne informed me of the immediate cause of his present illness I was greatly shocked, he had last Thursday received a note from Mr Robinson sternly dismissing him <from> intimating that he had discovered his proceedings which he characterized as bad beyond expression and charging him on pain of exposure to break off instantly and for ever all communication with every member of his family—We have had sad work with Branwell since—he thought of nothing but stunning <his>, or drowning his distress of mind—no one in the house could have rest—and at last we have been obliged to send him from home for a week with some one to look after him—he had written to me this morning and expresses some sense of contrition for his frantic folly—he promises amendment on his return—but so long as he remains at home I scarce dare hope for peace in the house—We must all I fear prepare for a season of distress and disquietude—Good-bye dear Nell C Brontë

Charlotte to Ellen Nussey, 31 July 1845 Courtesy of the Brontë Society

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Anne Brontë was a frequent and willing subject for Charlotte and Branwell’s painting and drawing. This portrait dates from the period (1832–5) when Charlotte spent her time

practicing the craft of miniature portraiture, as she hoped to make a career in art. Jane Sellars writes in her The Art of the Brontës, in the margin of this drawing is “a detail study of the eye, forehead, nose and curl of the main portrait… There are also several experiments in hatching by Charlotte along the right side of this drawing.” (Sellars 2010). Anne Brontë was of a quiet and gentle nature; though she spent much time among strangers as a governess, she was too shy to expand her circle of intimate acquaintances beyond the door of Haworth Parsonage. Ellen Nussey describes her and her older sister, Emily, thus: Anne – dear, gentle Anne – was quite different in appearance from the others. She was her aunt’s favorite. Her hair was a very pretty, light brown, and fell on her neck in graceful curls. She had lovely, violet-blue eyes, fine penciled eyebrows, and clear, almost transparent complexion. Emily Brontë had by this time acquired a lithesome, graceful figure. She was the tallest person in the house, except her father. Her hair, which was naturally as beautiful as Charlotte’s, was in the same unbecoming tight curl and frizz, and there was the same want of complexion. She had very beautiful eyes – kind, kindling, liquid eyes; but she did not often look at you; she was too reserved. Their colour might be said to be dark gray, at other times dark blue, they varied so. She talked very little. She and Anne were like twins – inseparable companions, and in the very closest sympathy, which never had any interruption. Charlotte Brontë was later described by John Stores Smith: She was diminutive in height and extremely fragile in figure. Her hand was one of the smallest I have ever grasped. She had no pretensions to being considered beautiful, and was as far removed from being plain. She had rather light brown hair, somewhat thin, and drawn plainly over her brow. Her complexion had no trace of colour in it, and her lips were pallid also; but she had a most sweet smile, with a touch of tender melancholy in it. Altogether she was as unpretending, undemonstrative, quiet a little lady as you could well meet.

Portrait of Anne Brontë by Charlotte Brontë 17 April 1833Pencil on Paper300 x 233mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

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The Brontës in Literature

In the autumn of 1845, Charlotte discovered a handwritten volume of Emily’s fiery poetry; upon subduing Emily’s displeasure at the finding, Charlotte and her sisters decided

to write a book of verse. Each chose a small collection of her own poetry and a pseudonym. Thus Charlotte, Emily, and Anne Brontë became Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell. The publishing house of Aylott & Jones agreed to print the volume at the authors’ expense. Though only two copies ever sold, the book of poems encouraged the sisters to try their hands at writing novels. Charlotte wrote The Professor, Emily Wuthering Heights, and Anne Agnes Grey. They hoped to get the novels published as a three-volume collection, with each story as a different volume. However, upon realizing that this hindered their chances of publication, each sister submitted her own work to different publishing houses. T.C. Newby of London agreed to publish Emily and Anne’s works at their own expense, yet The Professor was unsuccessful. However, Smith, Elder & Co. also of London, promised to give serious consideration to Currer Bell’s next work. Thus Charlotte was encouraged to finish Jane Eyre, which rocketed its author and her sisters into literary fame upon its publication in 1847. Anne Brontë published her second novel, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, in 1848.

Charlotte to Mary Taylor, 4 September 1848 Haworth.Dear Polly I write to you a great many more letters than you write to me—though whether they all reach you or not, Heaven knows. I daresay you will not be without a certain desire to know how our affairs get on—I will give you therefore a notion—as briefly as may be. “Acton Bell” has published another book—it is in 3. vols. but I do not like it quite as well as “Agnes Grey” the subject not being such as the author had pleasure in handling—it has been praised by some reviews and blamed by others—as yet only £25 have been realized for the copyright—and as “Acton Bell’s” publisher is a shuffling scamp—I expect no more. About 2 months since, I had a letter from my publishers, Smith & Elder—saying that “Jane Eyre” had had a great run in America—and that a publisher there had consequently bid high for the first sheets of the next work by “Currer Bell”, which they had promised to let him have. Presently after came a second missive from Smith & Elder—all in alarm, suspicion<s> and wrath—their American correspondent had written to them complaining that the first sheets of a new work by “Currer Bell” had been already received and not by their house but by a rival publisher—and asking the meaning of such false play—it inclosed an extract from a letter from Mr. Newby (A&E Bell’s publisher) affirming that “to the best of his belief” “Jane Eyre” “Wuthering Heights”—Agnes Grey“—and the “Tenant of Wildfell Hall” (the new work) were all the production of one writer” This was a lie, as Newby had been told repeatedly that they were the productions of 3 different authors—but the fact was that he wanted to make a dishonest move in the game—to make the Public & “the Trade” believe that he had got hold of “Currer Bell” & thus cheat Smith & Elder—by securing the American publishers’ bid.

Charlotte to Mary Taylor, 4 September 1848Reproduced by courtesy of the University Librarian and Director, The John Rylands University Library, The University of Manchester

Among reviewers, the identities of Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell were matters of great interest. Unsure of the genders of these new writers,

critics spent much time searching the Bell’s novels for clues that would reveal if the author were a man or a woman. It was also conjectured that Currer Bell had written all of the four novels: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Agnes Grey, and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. People believed that he (or she) had printed his earlier, less mature works under multiple pseudonyms so as not to affect the sales or popularity of Jane Eyre. Though the sisters were irritated by the critics’ incessant desire to discover their gender, for novels penned by women were held to a different standard than those written by men, the Brontës remained silent about their identities. It wasn’t until the events described in this letter that the sisters felt it prudent to identify themselves to their publishers. However, as Charlotte has stated, the rest of the world was not let in on the secret until almost a year later. Emily Brontë had no intention of revealing her identity – merely for Smith, Elder & Co. to realize that the Bells were, in fact, three separate people. Charlotte wrote to William Smith Williams on the 31 of July, two weeks after their visit: Permit me to caution you not to speak of my Sisters when you write to me – I mean do not use the word in the plural. ‘Ellis Bell’ will not endure to be alluded to under any other appellation than the ‘nom de plume.’ I committed a grand error in betraying [her: deleted] his identity to you and Mr Smith – it was inadvertent – the words ‘we are three Sisters’ escaped me before I was aware – I regretted the avowal the moment I had made it; I regret it bitterly now, for I find it is against every feeling and intention of ‘Ellis Bell.’

The upshot of it was that on the very day I received Smith & Elder’s letter—Anne & I packed up a small box, sent it down to Keighley—set out ourselves after tea—walked through a thunderstorm to the station, got to Leeds and whirled up by the Night train to London—with the view of proving our separate identity to Smith & Elder and confronting Newby with his lie— We arrived at the Chapter Coffee House—(our old place Polly—we did not know where else to go) about eight o’clock in the morning—We washed ourselves—had some breakfast—sat a few minutes and then set of[f] in queer, inward excitement, to 65. Cornhill. Neither Mr. Smith nor Mr. Williams knew we were coming they had never seen us—they did not know whether we were men or women—but had always written to us as men. We found 65—to be a large bookseller’s shop in a street almost as bustling as the Strand—we went in—walked up to the counter—there were a great many young men and lads here and there—I said to the first I could accost—“May I see Mr. Smith—?” he hesitated, looked a little surprised—but went to fetch him—We sat down and waited awhile—looking a[t] some books on the counter—publications of theirs well known to us—of many of which they had sent us copies as presents. At last somebody came up and said dubiously “Did you wish to see me, Ma’am?” “Is it Mr. Smith?” `I said¢ looking up through my spectacles at a young, tall, gentlemanly man

“It is.”I then put his own letter into his hand directed to “Currer Bell.” He looked at it—then at me—again—yet again—I laughed at his queer perplexity—A recognition took place—. I gave him my real name—“Miss Brontë— ” We were both hurried from the shop into a little back room—ceiled with a great skylight and only large enough to hold 3 chairs and a desk—and there explanations were rapidly gone into—Mr. Newby being anathematized, I fear with undue vehemence. Smith hurried out and

returned quickly with one whom he introduced as Mr. Williams—a pale, mild, stooping man of fifty—very much like a faded Tom Dixon—Another recognition—a long, nervous shaking of hands—Then followed talk—talk—talk—Mr. Williams being silent—Mr. Smith loquacious— “Allow me to introduce you to mother & sisters—How long do you stay in Town.? You must make the most of the time—to-night you must go to the Italian opera—you must see the Exhibition—Mr. Thackeray would be pleased to see you—If Mr. Lewes knew “Currer Bell” was in town—he would have to be shut up—I will ask them both to dinner at my house &c.“ I stopped his projects and discourse by a grave explanation—that though I should very much like to see both Mr. Lewes and still more Mr. Thackeray—we were as resolved as ever to preserve our incognito—We had only confessed ourselves to our publisher—in order to do away with the inconveniences that had arisen from our too well preserved mystery—to all the rest of the world we must be “gentlemen” as heretofore. Williams understood me directly—Smith comprehended by slower degrees—he did not like the quiet plan—he would have liked some excitement, éclat &c. He then urged us to meet a literary party incognito—he would introduce us a[s] “country cousins” …I declined even this—I felt it would have ended in our being made a show of—a thing I have ever resolved to avoid. …We returned to our Inn—and I paid for the excitement of the interview by a thundering head-ache & harassing sickness—towards evening as I got no<t> better & expected the Smiths to call… I was in grievous bodily case when they were announced—They came in two elegant, young ladies in full dress—prepared for the Opera—Smith himself in evening costume white gloves &c. a distinguished, handsome fellow enough—We had by no means understood that it was settled that we were

to go to the Opera—and were not ready—Moreover we had no fine, elegant dresses either with us or in the world. however on brief rumination, I though[t] it would be wise to make no objections—I put my headache in my pocket—we attired ourselves in the plain—high made, country garments we possessed—and went with them to their carriage—where we found Williams likewise in full dress. They must have thought us queer, quizzical looking beings—especially me with my spectacles—I smiled inwardly at the contrast which must have been apparent between me and Mr. Smith as I walked with him up the crimson carpeted staircase of the Opera House and stood amongst a brilliant throng at the box-door which was not yet open. Fine ladies & gentlemen glanced at us with a slight, graceful superciliousness quite warranted by the circumstances—Still I felt pleasurably excited—in spite of headache sickness & conscious clownishness; and I saw Anne was calm and gentle which she always is— The Performance was Ros[s]ini’s opera of the “Barber of Seville— ” very brilliant though I fancy there are things I should like better—We got home after one o’-clock—We had never been in bed the night before—had been in constant excitement for 24 hours—you may imagine we were tired… …On Tuesday Morning we left London—laden with books Mr. Smith had given us—and got safely home. A more jaded wretch than I looked when I returned, it would be difficult to conceive—I was thin when I went but was meager indeed when I returned, my face looked grey & very old—with strange, deep lines plough[ed] in it—my eyes stared unnaturally—I was weak and yet restless. In a while however these bad effects of excitement went off and I regained my normal condition— We saw Newby—but of him more another [time] Good by—God bless you—write CB

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This oil painting of Margaret Hartley, the niece of Isaac Kirby, Branwell’s landlord in Bradford, is one of Branwell’s best works from his year as a

portrait painter. Miss Hartley described Branwell in 1838, “He was low in stature, about 5 foot, 3 inches high, and slight in build, though well proportioned… He was a very steady young gentleman, his conduct was exemplary, and we liked him very much.” Thus the change in this young man is all the more astonishing, when on 17 June 1846 Charlotte writes: We – I am sorry to say – have been somewhat more harassed than usual lately – The death of Mr Robinson – which took place about three weeks or a month ago – served Branwell for a pretext to throw all about him into hubbub and confusion with his emotions – &c. &c. Shortly after came news from all hands that Mr Robinson had altered his will before he died and effectually prevented all chance of a marriage between his widow and Branwell by stipulating that she should not have a shilling if she ever ventured to reopen any communication with him – Of course he then became intolerable – to papa he allows rest neither day nor night – and he is continually screwing money out of him sometimes threatening that he will kill himself if it is withheld from him – He says Mrs R- is now insane – that her mind is a complete wreck – owing to remorse for her conduct toward Mr R- (whose end it appears was hastened by distress of mind) – and grief for having lost him. I do not know how much to believe of what he says but I fear she is very ill – Branwell declares now that he neither can nor will do anything for himself – good situations have been offered more than once – for which by a fortnight’s work he might have qualified himself – but he will do nothing – except drink, and make us all wretched – However, much of what Branwell believed to be fact, were lies concocted by his lover, Mrs. Robinson. For now that her husband was dead, she refused to lower herself by marrying the son of a country parson. She made up a story about her husband’s will, and had her coachman deliver the “news” to Branwell. Overcome with despair, Branwell numbed his sorrow with alcohol and opium.

Miss Margaret Hartley by Branwell Brontëc. 1838-9Oil on Wood Panel330 x 271 mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

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Charlotte to William Smith Williams, 2 October 1848

Despite their love for their brother, the Bronte sisters could not mourn Branwell’s death as they ought to. His disruptive conduct had destroyed the comfort of home. As a result,

Charlotte mourned the world’s loss of Branwell’s talent, and she regretted that he had done little of value in his short life.

Charlotte – W.S. Williams, 2 October 1848 [Haworth]My dear Sir“We have buried our dead out of our sight.” A lull begins to succeed the gloomy tumult of last week. It is not permitted us to grieve for him who is gone as others grieve for those they lose; the removal of our only brother must necessarily be regarded by us rather in the light of a mercy than a chastisement. Branwell was his Father’s and his sisters’ pride and hope in boyhood, but since Manhood the case has been otherwise. It has been our lot to see him take a wrong bent; to hope, expect, wait his return to the right path; to know the sickness of hope deferred, the dismay of prayer baffled, to experience despair at last; and now to behold the sudden early obscure close of what might have been a noble career. I do not weep from a sense of bereavement–there is no prop withdrawn, no consolation torn away, no dear companion lost–but for the wreck of talent, the ruin

Thank God—for my father’s sake—I am better now—though I still seem feeble—I wish indeed I had more general physical strength—the want of it is sadly in my way. I cannot do what I would do, for want of sustained animal spirits—and efficient bodily vigour. My unhappy brother never knew what his sisters had done in literature—he was not aware that they had ever published a line; we could not tell him of our efforts for fear of causing him too deep a pang of remorse for his own time misspent, and talents misapplied—Now he will never know. I cannot dwell longer on the subject at present; it is too painful. I thank you for your kind sympathy—and pray earnestly that your sons may all do well and that you may be spared the sufferings my Father has gone through.

Yours sincerelyC Brontë

of promise, the untimely, dreary extinction of what might have been a burning and a shining light. My brother was a year my junior; I had aspirations and ambitions for him once–long ago–they have perished mournfully–nothing remains of him but a memory of errors and sufferings–There is such a bitterness of pity for his life and death–such a yearning for the emptiness of his whole existence as I cannot describe–I trust time will allay these feelings. My poor Father naturally thought more of his only son than of his daughters, and much and long as he had suffered on his account–he cried out for his loss like David for that of Absalom–My Son! My Son! And refused at first to be comforted–and then–when I ought to have been able to collect my strength, and be at hand to support him–I fell with an illness whose approaches I had felt for some time previously–and of which the crisis was hastened by the awe and trouble of the death-scene–the first I had ever witnessed. The past has seemed to me a strange week–

1

Maria, Elizabeth, Charlotte, Patrick Branwell, Emily, and Anne were the six children of Maria and Patrick Brontë, a Yorkshire parson. In 1820, Patrick Brontë gained the Parsonage at Haworth, and it was in this bleak and lonely locale that the family lived. Their new home was a grey stone house, which stood at the top of the hill on which Haworth was built. From the front windows, the house looked out over the cemetery; behind windswept moors spread a wealth of brown, green, and grey hues. A year after the family arrived at Haworth, the elder Maria Brontë died of ovarian cancer, leaving her six children in the care of her spinster sister. Elizabeth Branwell came from her home in Penzance to manage the household and tend to the children’s needs. Miss Branwell taught her nieces to sew and keep house, leaving Patrick in charge of lessons and general education. He would frequently discuss politics, government, and literature with them – matters normally beyond the range of children – in which the young Brontës took a great interest. In 1824, an opportunity arose to further the education of the Brontë girls, with the opening of the Clergy Daughter’s School at Cowan Bridge. Here tuition, lodging, boarding, and clothing could be obtained at the price of £14 per annum. Patrick sent Maria and Elizabeth in July, bringing Charlotte and Emily shortly thereafter. All but Maria, whom Patrick intended to become housekeeper at Haworth Parsonage, were to be trained as governesses. The early years of this institution, when the Brontës attended, were not hygienic – each bed was shared by two girls and the food was prepared by a slovenly and indifferent cook. Within the first six months of their attendance, there was an outbreak of ‘low fever’ or typhus, which infected twelve of the fifty-three students. This lesser disease masked the severity of the consumption (Tuberculosis) from which both Maria and Elizabeth suffered. When Patrick was finally notified two months after Maria’s first symptoms began to show, he brought her home and nursed her; despite his care, she died on May

6, 1825 at the age of eleven. Shortly thereafter, Elizabeth was sent home; she died on the fifth of June. She was ten years old. Fearing for their safety, Patrick hurried to remove Charlotte and Emily from this place of danger. When Charlotte and Emily returned home, the children sought comfort in each other’s company. They returned to the entertainment they had previously enjoyed with their two older sisters: that of creating and acting out stories and plays. The Brontë children were particularly inspired by “Blackwood’s Magazine,” a monthly journal published by William Blackwood of Edinburgh. It was this magazine that introduced them to contemporary figures, such as the Duke of Wellington, who became their heroes and served as protagonists in their plays. On June 6, 1826 Patrick gave Branwell a set of twelve wooden soldiers, which delighted the children. Charlotte wrote of the experience, “papa bought Branwell some soldiers at Leeds when papa came home it was night and we where in Bed so next morning Branwell came to our Door with a Box of soldiers Emily and I jumped out of Bed and I snat[c]hed up one and exclaimed this is the Duke of Wellington it shall be mine!! When I said this Emily likewise took one and said it should be hers when Anne came down she took one also. Mine was the prettiest of the whole and perfect in every part Emilys was a Grave looking ferllow we called him Gravey Anne’s was a queer little thing very much like herself he was called waiting Boy Branwell chose Bonaparte” These toys helped inspire their Young Men plays and the play of the islanders. These would later develop into Branwell and Charlotte’s fictional world of Angria, and Emily and Anne’s Gondal. Along with writing and play-acting, each of the Brontë children enjoyed drawing and painting. Branwell in particular showed strong artistic talent, so much so that Patrick intended it to be his son’s career. Charlotte also hoped to pursue work as an artist, as she preferred that to becoming a governess.

Overview of Early Lives

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Charlotte to George Smith, 12 November 1848 [Haworth]

My dear Sir The parcel has arrived safely. On opening it, I was not surprised, though truly pleased to find that its contents were just such as, I believe, I should myself have selected had you given me carte blanche to choose amongst all your stores: every volume has an interest for me, some a peculiar attraction—and the number of the set is such as will furnish a stock of pleasant and profitable reading for a long time to come. Under present circumstances, I must repeat, a more acceptable attention could not have been shewn us: whatever solaces sickness is invaluable both to the invalid and to relatives. I wish I could speak of my dear Sister as convalescent, but as yet her state inspires only anxiety. I am thankful however to say that the other members of our family, who were indisposed, are now better. With best wishes for your own welfare and that of all those in whom you are interested, Believe me, my dear Sir, Yours sincerely C Brontë

The sudden strike of illness and the rapidity of Branwell, Emily, and Anne Brontë’s deaths is generally considered to be the greatest tragedy in the

family’s history. These three siblings each died within nine month of one another: Branwell on the 24th of September 1848, Emily on the 19th of December 1848, and Anne on May 28, 1849. This was a violent blow to Charlotte, who in less than a year was deprived of her best friends and worthiest critics. Patrick too suffered pangs of anguish; for at the age of seventy-two he had lived to see his wife and five of his six children taken to the grave. Branwell’s death had been precipitated by his addiction to and habitual use of opium and alcohol, which had begun after his banishment from Lydia Robinson’s presence. Elizabeth Gaskell writes of Branwell in her biography Life of Charlotte Brontë, He took opium, because it made him forget for a time more effectually than drink; and, besides, it was more portable. For some time before his death he had attacks of delirium tremens of the most frightful character; he slept in his father’s room, and he would sometimes declare that either he or his father should be dead before morning. …The sisters often listened for the report of a pistol in the dead of the night, till watchful eye and hearkening ear grew heavy and dull with the perpetual strain upon their nerves. In the mornings, young Brontë would saunter out, saying, with a drunkard’s incontinence of speech, “The poor old man and I have had a terrible night of it; he does his best–the poor old man! But it’s all over with me” (whimpering, “It’s her fault, her fault”)(Gaskell 262).

In September 1848, Branwell collapsed outside the family home. Upon the doctor’s arrival, it was discovered that the effects of Branwell’s addictions were masking the symptoms of consumption. By this time the tuberculosis was too far advanced and could not be cured. He died two days later; in his pockets were found the letters Lydia Robinson had sent. Branwell is often quoted as having said upon his deathbed, “All my life I have done nothing either great or good.”

Charlotte writes of the event on October ninth: The past three weeks have been a dark interval in our humble home. Branwell’s constitution had been failing fast all the summer; but still neither the doctors nor himself thought him so near his end as he was. He was entirely confined to his bed but for one single day, and was in the village two days before his death. He died, after twenty minutes’ struggle, on Sunday morning, September 24th. He was perfectly conscious till the last agony came on. His mind had undergone the peculiar change which frequently precedes death, two days previously; the calm of better feelings filled it; a return of natural affection marked his last moments. …A deep conviction that he rests at last–rests well after his brief, erring, suffering, feverish life–fills and quiets my mind now. (Gaskell 335) While attending Branwell’s funeral in unfavorable weather, Emily, with her already fragile constitution, caught cold. She suffered from shortness of breathing, a cough, and a pain in her side, for which symptoms she would seek no medical advice, nor would she take any medication. Though she never ventured outside after her first attack of illness, Emily still attempted to live her daily life as housekeeper and sister. I told you Emily was ill, in my last letter. She has not rallied yet. She is very ill. I believe, if you were to see her, your impression would be that there is no hope. A more hollow, wasted, pallid aspect I have not beheld. The deep tight cough continues; the breathing after the least exertion is a rapid pant; and these symptoms are accompanied by pains in the chest and side. Her pulse, the only time she allowed it to be felt, was found to beat 115 per minute. In this state she resolutely refuses to see a doctor; she will give no explanation of her feelings, she will scarcely allow her feelings to be alluded to. Our position is, and has been for some weeks, exquisitely painful. God only knows how all this is to terminate. More than once, I have been forced boldly to regard the terrible event of her loss as possible, and even probable. But nature shrinks from such thoughts. I think Emily seems the nearest thing to my heart in the world. (Gaskell 338) At noon, December 19th, Emily whispered to her elder sister. “If you will send for a doctor, I will see him now.” It was too little and too late; Emily Brontë died at two o’clock that same day.

Emily had scarcely been buried before Anne fell ill, suffering from symptoms much the same as her sister’s. Anne was the weakest and most prone to illness of the family, as such Charlotte and Patrick were not too alarmed by her symptoms. In January, Anne was diagnosed with tubercular consumption. Anne describes her illness to Ellen Nussey, a family friend; I am decidedly weaker, and very much thinner. My cough still troubles me a good deal, especially in the night, and what seems worse than all, I am subject to great shortness of breath on going upstairs or any slight exertion. …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 Nussey, would give as much of your company as you possibly could to Charlotte, and be a sister to her in my stead. But I wish it would please God to spare me, not only for Papa’s and Charlotte’s sakes, but because I long to do some good in the world before I leave it. I have many schemes in my head for future practice–humble and limited indeed–but still I should not like them all to come to nothing, and myself to have lived to so little purpose. But God’s will be done. In great difference to Emily’s actions, Anne was willing to talk about her illness with Charlotte and think of ways to recover health. Acting on her doctor’s suggestion, Anne planned to go to the seaside at Scarborough, which she had visited while working with the Robinsons, and asked Charlotte and Ellen to go with her. On Thursday, May 24th the sisters left Haworth for the seaside. Though the warm air did not have the desired restorative effect, the beauty of the scenery did much to calm Anne, for she was able to revel in the glory of God. Yet, she felt she had not long to live and asked to return to Haworth, for she feared the effect it would have on Charlotte to ride home with a corpse for company. This was not to be. On May 28th 1849, Anne died in their lodgings at Scarborough; her final words to her sister were “Take courage, Charlotte; take courage.” The next day, Charlotte arranged to have Anne’s remains buried in Scarborough, “to lay the flower in the place where it had fallen (Gaskell 360).”

Deaths of the Brontës

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Though it is possible that Emily copied Thomas Bewick’s illustration of “The Merlin” in A History of British Birds, all her studies from this book were made twelve years before this painting. “Nero” instead

resembles her late animal illustrations that were drawn from nature. It is likely that Emily used Bewick’s picture as a reference, and drew her own pet merlin, Nero, from life. Emily rescued Nero, in early 1841, from an abandoned nest she found on the moorlands of her backyard.

Emily had a great attachment to animals, indeed at the Parsonage there were plenty of pets. Emily’s diary paper from 31 July 1845, gives one a glimpse into the domestic life of the Brontës. We have got Flossey, got and lost Tiger – lost the Hawk Nero which with the geese was driven away and is doubtless dead for when I came back from Brussels I enquired on all hands and could hear nothing of him – Tiger died early last year – Keeper and Flossy are well also the canary acquired 4 years since – All the Brontë sisters loved and cared for animals but Emily seemed to have had a particular affinity with them. This can be seen by the large portion of her artwork devoted to the family’s pets. Emily’s particular favorite was Keeper, a tawny bull-dog. Elizabeth Gaskell tells of an incident at Haworth, that reveals much of Emily’s character: In the gathering dust of an autumn evening, Tabby came, half triumphantly, half tremblingly, but in great wrath, to tell Emily that Keeper was lying on the best bed, in drowsy voluptuousness. Charlotte saw Emily’s whitening face and set mouth, but dared not speak to interfere; no one dared when Emily’s eyes glowed in that manner out of the paleness of her face, and when her lips were so compressed into stone. She went upstairs, and Tabby and Charlotte stood in the gloomy passage below… Downstairs came Emily, dragging after her the unwilling Keeper, his hind legs set in a heavy attitude of resistance, held by the “scuft of his neck,” but growling low and savagely all the time. The watchers would fain have spoken, but durst not, for fear of taking off Emily’s attention, and causing her to avert her head for a moment from the enraged brute. She let him go, planted in a dark corner at the bottom of the stairs; no time was there to fetch stick or rod, for fear of the strangling clutch at her throat–her bare clenched fist struck against his red fierce eyes, before he had time to make his spring, and, in the language of the turn, she “punished him” till his eyes were swelled up, and the half-blind, stupefied beast was led to his accustomed lair, to have his swollen head fomented and cared for by the very Emily herself. The generous dog owed her no grudge; he loved her dearly ever after; he walked first among the mourners to her funeral ; he slept moaning for nights at the door of her empty room, and never, so to speak, rejoiced, dog fashion, after her death.

Nero by Emily BrontëOctober 27, 1841Watercolor on Card245 x 209mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

W hat You Please was drawn by Anne while vacationing at Scarborough with the Robinson family. While the family was on holiday in the

seaside town, Anne likely had more leisure time than was typical for a governess, allowing her to pursue favored activities such as painting and writing. This image of the girl standing in the forest was likely copied from print, as the level of detail goes beyond that of Anne’s artistic education. Anne returned to this location in 1849, hoping to recover from the illness that proved to be fatal.

Of the Brontë sisters, Anne was the most religious and had a wondrous love for God. James Latrobe, a Moravian Minister and friend of Anne, said that at 17 Anne was, “well acquainted with the main truths of the Bible respecting our salvation, but seeing them more through the law than the gospel, more as a requirement from God than His gift in His Son, but her heart opened to the sweet views of salvation, pardon, and peace in the blood of Christ, and she accepted His welcome to the weary and heavy laden sinner, conscious more of her not loving the Lord her God than of acts of enmity to Him “ (Barker, p. 281). While her life dwindled away at Scarborough, Anne Brontë’s thoughts had already ascended to heaven. Ellen Nussey wrote of Anne’s final illness in her Reminiscences: By her request they went to the Minster, and to her it was an overpowering pleasure; not for its own imposing and impressive grandeur only, but because it brought to her susceptible nature a vital and overwhelming sense of omnipotence. She said, while gazing at the structure, ‘If finite power can do this, what is the…?’ and here emotion stayed her speech, and she was hastened to a less exciting scene. Her weakness of body was great, but her gratitude for every mercy greater. After such exertion as walking to her bed-room, she would clasp her hands and raise her eyes in silent thanks, and she did this not to the exclusion of wonted prayer, for that too was performed on bended knee, ere she accepted the rest of her couch.

What You Please by Anne BrontëJuly 25, 1840Pencil on card182 x 214mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

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No Coward Soul is Mine by Emily BrontëNorris, Pamela. The Brontës. Everyman’s Poetry. 1997.

‘No coward soul is mine’2 January 1846

No coward soul is mine,No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere.

I see Heaven’s glories shineAnd Faith shines equal arming me from Fear.

O God within my breast,Almighty ever-present Deity,

Life, that in me hast restAs I Undying Life, have power in thee.

Vain are the thousand creedsThat move men’s hearts, unutterably vain,

Worthless as withered weedsOr idlest froth amid the boundless main

To waken doubt in oneHolding so fast by thy infinity,

So surely anchored onThe steadfast rock of Immortality.

With wide-embracing loveThy spirit animates eternal years,

Pervades and broods above,Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears.

Though Earth and moon were gone And suns and universes ceased to be

And thou wert left alone,Every Existence would exist in thee.

There is not room for DeathNor atom that his might could render void

Since thou art Being and BreathAnd what thou art may never be destroyed.

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A dreadful darkness closes inOn my bewildered mind;

O let me suffer and not sin,Be tortured yet resigned.

Through all this world of blinding mistStill let me look to thee,

And give me courage to resistThe Tempter till he flee.

Weary I am – O give me strength,

And leave me not to faint,Say thou wilt comfort me at length

And pity my complaint.

I’ve begged to serve thee heart and soul,To sacrifice to thee

No niggard portion, but the wholeOf my identity.

I hoped amid the brave and strong

My portioned task might lie,To toil amid the labouring throng

With purpose keen and high;

But thou hast fixed another part,And thou hast fixed it well.

I said so with my breaking heartWhen first the anguish fell.

O thou hast taken my delight

And hope of life away,And bid me watch the painful night

And wait the weary day.

The hope and the delight were thine,I bless thee for their loan;

I gave thee while I deemed them mineToo little thanks, I own.

Last Lines by Anne BrontëNorris, Pamela. The Brontës. Everyman’s Poetry. 1997January 7, 1849

This poem was written on the day Anne learned she was consumptive and could have no hope of a cure.

Shall I with joy thy blessings shareAnd not endure their loss,

Or hope the martyr’s crown to wearAnd cast away the cross?

These weary hours will not be lost,These days of passive misery,

These nights of darkness anguish-tost,If I can fix my heart on thee.

The wretch that weak and weary liesCrushed with sorrow, worn with pain,

Still to Heaven may lift his eyesAnd strive and labour not in vain.

Weak and weary though I lieCrushed with sorrow, worn with pain,

I may lift to Heaven mine eyeAnd strive and labour not in vain.

That inward strife against the sinsThat ever wait on suffering

To watch and strike where first beginsEach ill that would corruption bring;

That secret labour to sustain

With humble patience every blow,To gather fortitude from pain

And hope and holiness from woe.

Thus let me serve thee from my heartWhatever be my written fate,Whether thus early to depart

Or yet awhile to wait.

If thou shouldst bring me back to life,More humbled I should be,

More wise, more strengthened for the strife,More apt to lean on thee.

Should Death be standing at the gateThus should I keep my vow,

But hard whate’er my future fate,So let me serve thee now.

Last Lines 28 January 1849

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Charlotte Brontë In Literature

Upon the deaths of her siblings, Charlotte Brontë was halfway finished with her third manuscript, Shirley. Without the aid of her two best editors, Emily and Anne,

Charlotte found it a challenge to continue writing. According to Juliet Barker’s The Brontës: A Life in Letters, “She returned to Shirley with something akin to desperation. Painful as it was to write, especially without the companionship and stimulus her sisters had always provided, work was to be her salvation. It enabled her to retreat from the terrible reality of her own loss and the desolation of the life she was compelled to lead.” Shirley was published in 1849 to mixed reviews. The novel, set in England during the after effects of the Napoleonic Wars, was intended to be a broad chronicle of society. Charlotte declared she wanted to focus on “something real and unromantic as Monday morning.” Jane Eyre’s success and the excitement aroused by Shirley made permanent Charlotte Brontë’s literary fame. Her publisher, George Smith, was excited to show off the renowned “Currer Bell”; though she was unable to keep her incognito for long once her Haworth acquaintances began to recognize themselves in the characters of Shirley. During the next couple of years, Charlotte was introduced to and associated with various members of England’s high literary society, including Thackeray, G.H. Lewes, and Harriet Martineau. It was during this time that Charlotte met Elizabeth Gaskell; the two quickly became great friends. Upon her friend’s death, Mrs Gaskell wrote Life of Charlotte Brontë, the first biography of the authoress. After the publication of Shirley, Charlotte occupied herself with editing the second editions of her sisters’ works and writing the biographical notices that were to accompany them. She relished this as a chance to once and for all prove that Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell were three very different people. The second editions of Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey were published on December 10, 1850. Near the end of 1851, Charlotte began writing a manuscript for what was to become her third published novel, Villette.

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In late May 1851, Charlotte traveled to London, hoping to have a quiet visit with her publisher and friends

from town. She remained in the metropolis for six hectic and eventful weeks, during which time Charlotte attended the Great Exhibition as well as a lecture by Thackeray, her favorite author to whom she dedicated the second edition of Jane Eyre. Despite her wish for anonymity, during this visit Charlotte received much attention as a celebrated novelist. In A Memoir with Some Pages of Autobiography, George Smith, of Smith, Elder & Co, tells of an event from which one can glean an understanding of Charlotte’s character: On another occasion Thackeray roused the hidden fire in Charlotte Brontë’s soul, and was badly scorched himself as the result. My mother and I had taken her to one of Thackeray’s lectures on “The English Humourists.’ After the lecture Thackeray came down from the platform and shook hands with many of the audience, receiving their congratulations and compliments. He was in high spirits, and rather thoughtlessly said to his mother ‘Mother, you must allow me to introduce you to Jane Eyre.’ This was uttered in a loud voice, audible over half the room. Everybody near turned round and stared at the disconcerted little lady, who grew confused and

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 6 August 1851Reproduced by courtesy of the University Librarian and Director, The John Rylands University Library, The University of Manchester.

angry when she realized that every eye was fixed upon her. My mother got her away as quickly as possible. On the next afternoon Thackeray called. I arrived at home shortly afterwards, and when I entered the drawing-room found a scene in full progress. Only these two were in the room. Thackeray was standing on the hearthrug, looking anything but happy. Charlotte Brontë stood close to him, with head thrown back and face white with anger. The first words I heard were, ‘No, Sir! If you had come to our part of the country in Yorkshire, what would you have thought of me if I had introduced you to my father, before a mixed company of strangers, as “Mr Warrington”?’ Thackeray replied, ‘No, you mean “Arthur Pendennis.”’ ‘No, I don’t mean Arthur Pendennis!’ retorted Miss Brontë; ‘I mean Mr Warrington, and Mr Warrington would not have behaved as you behaved to me yesterday.’ The spectacle of this little woman, hardly reaching to Thackeray’s elbow, but, somehow, looking stronger and fiercer than himself, and casting her incisive words at his head, resembled the dropping of shells into a fortress. By this time I had recovered my presence of mind, and hastened to interpose. Thackeray made the necessary and half-humorous apologies, and the parting was a friendly one.

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Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 6 August 1851 [Haworth]My dear Mrs. Gaskell I was too well pleased with your letter when I got it at last—to feel disposed to murmur now about the delay. About a fortnight ago I received a letter from Miss Martineau—also a long letter, and treating precisely the same subjects on which yours dwelt—viz. the Exhibition and Thackeray’s last lecture. It was interesting mentally to place the two documents side by side, to study the two aspects of mind—to view alternately the same scene through two mediums. Full striking was the difference—and the more striking because it was not the rough contrast between good and evil—but the more subtle opposition—the more delicate diversity of different kinds of good. The excellence of one nature resembled (I thought) that of some sovereign medicine—harsh—perhaps to the taste—but potent to invigorate; the good of the other seemed more akin to the nourishing efficacy of our daily bread. It is not bitter; it is not lusciously sweet; it pleases without flattering—the palate; it sustains without forcing the strength. I very much agree in all you say. For the sake of variety I could almost wish that the concord of opinion were less complete. To begin with Trafalgar Square; my taste goes with yours and Meta’s completely on this point. I have always thought it a fine site; (and sight also). The view from the summit of those steps has ever struck me as grand and imposing—Nelson Column included—the fountains—I could dispense with. With respect also to the Crystal Palace—my thoughts are precisely yours—did you notice the Amazon—the “’Female’ on horseback” as that worthy Mrs. Potter called it—? Then I feel sure you speak justly of Thackeray’s lecture. You do well to set aside odious comparisons—and to wax impatient of that trite twaddle about “nothing newness”; a jargon which simply proves in those who habitually use it—a coarse and feeble faculty of appreciation—an inability to discern the relative value of originality and novelty—a lack of that refined perception which—dispensing with the stimulus of an ever-new subject—can derive sufficiency of pleasure from freshness of treatment. To such critics—the prime of a summer morning would bring no delight; wholly occupied with railing at their cook for not having provided a novel and piquant breakfast-dish they would remain insensible to such influences as lie in Sunrise—dew and breeze; therein would be “nothing new.” Remember me kindly and respectfully to Mr. Gaskell—and though I have not seen M.A. I must beg to include her in the love I send the others. Could you manage to convey a small kiss to that dear but dangerous little person—Julia? She surreptitiously possessed herself of a minute fraction of my heart, which has been missing ever since I saw her Believe me—my dear Mrs. Gaskell Sincerely & affectionately yours C Brontë

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Branwell painted his sister, Emily, as a portion of a much larger group portrait

entitled the ‘Gun Group.’ It has been given this name due to the gun that Branwell holds, while his sisters are gathered around him. After the death of Patrick Brontë, Arthur Bell Nicholls, Charlotte’s husband, cut out Emily’s portion, as he believed it to be the only faithful representation. Nicholls destroyed the rest of the portrait, though scholars have been able to study drafts of the original. According to Jane Sellars, the picture is cracked and in poor condition “due to Branwell’s use of bitumen, a rich brown pigment made from asphaltum, which was widely used during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Bitumen never dries completely and it has been the cause of severe damage in many paintings of this period.”

Charlotte found it difficult to remain at Haworth without her siblings for company and sisters to help her write. In a letter to Ellen Nussey, Charlotte states: I do not know how life will pass, but I certainly do feel confidence in Him who has upheld me hitherto. Solitude may be cheered, and made endurable beyond what I can believe. The great trial is when evening closes and night approaches. At that hour, we used to assemble in the dining-room–we used to talk. Now I sit by myself–necessarily I am silent. I cannot help thinking of their last days, remembering their sufferings, and what they said and did, and how they looked in mortal affliction. Perhaps all this will come less poignant in time. For when Emily and Anne were alive, the three sisters would linger in the sitting room, after the rest of the family had gone to bed. Pacing back and forth, one would read aloud the latest drafts of her work for the others to critique. This was how Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, and Agnes Grey were written. Without her sisters’ support, it was difficult for Charlotte to begin her book Villette.

Portrait of Emily Brontë by Branwell Brontëc. 1833–4Oil on Canvas514 x 324mm© National Portrait Gallery, London

Since the deaths of Branwell, Emily, and Anne, Charlotte suffered from crippling depression during an Equinox, as it was the change of season

that she associated with their last days. Life at Haworth was dreary for Charlotte, with little hope of amelioration. Any visitor provided welcome entertainment for the authoress. Mrs. Gaskell says in her Life of Charlotte Brontë, A visit from Miss Wooler at this period did Miss Brontë much good for the time. She speaks of her guest’s company as being “very pleasant,” “like good wine,” both to her father and to herself. But Miss Wooler could not remain with her long; and then again the monotony of her life returned upon her in all its force; the only events of her days and weeks consisting in the small changes which occasional letters brought. It must be remembered that her health was often such as to prevent her stirring out of the house in inclement or wintry weather.. Thus Charlotte struggled to write her third novel, Villette. It was a matter of worry to her that she had not written a book since Shirley had been published two years earlier. As such, she declined her friends’ invitations to visit, intent upon writing another novel. She writes to her publisher, George Smith, alerting him that another work is in progress two weeks after this letter to Mrs. Gaskell: I have been able to work a little lately but I have quite made up my mind not to publish till Mr Thackeray’s and Miss Martineau’s books have had full career – so you will not think of me till next Autumn of thereabouts – is not this for the best? Meantime it is perhaps premature in me even to allude to the subject – but I do it partly to explain my motives for remaining at home this Winter. Winter is a better time for working than Summer – less liable to interruption. If I could always work – time would not be so long – nor hours sad to me – but blank and heavy intervals still occur – when power and will are at variance. This however is talking Greek to an eminent and spirited Publisher. He does not believe in such things.

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 6 November 1851Reproduced by courtesy of the University Librarian and Director, The John Rylands University Library, The University of Manchester.

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 6 November 1851 [Haworth]

My dear Mrs. Gaskell The cordial readiness with which you permit the introduction of the young artist gives me true pleasure; I feared so to disappoint his Father and yet I equally feared to intrude on you. If Frank be at all like his Father in feeling-he will duly and deeply prize the privilege of seeing you. Any advice you or Mr. Gaskell choose to give him, he ought and—I think—will gratefully receive. It anybody would tempt me away from home you would, but—just now—from home I must not—will not go. I feel greatly better at present than I did three weeks ago. For a month or six weeks about the Equinox (autumnal and vernal) is a period of the year which, I have noticed, strangely tries me. Sometimes the strain falls on the mental—sometimes on the physical part of me—I am ill with neuralgic headache—or I am ground to the dust with deep dejection of spirits (not however such dejection but I can keep it to myself) That weary time has—I think and trust—got over for this year. It was the anniversary of my poor brother’s death and of my Sisters’ failing health. I need say no more. As to running away from home every time I have a battle of this sort to fight—it would not do. Besides the “weird” would follow. As to shaking it off—that cannot be. I have declined to go to Mrs. Forsters (Jane Arnold) to Miss Martineau—and now—I decline to go to you. But—listen! Do not think that I throw your kindness away or that it fails of doing the good you desire. On the contrary—the feeling expressed in your letter—proved by your invitation goes right home where you would wish it to go and heals as you would wish it to heal. I do not want Ruskin’s book—keep it till I come for it—come I intend someday though I know not when—and meantime it is supporting and comforting to me to think—so friendly a haven lies within reach…

Good-bye Yours sincerely and affectionately C Brontë

The moors that surrounded her home were a

source of loneliness to Charlotte and did little to comfort her in her sufferings. For my part I am free to walk on the moors – but when I go out there alone – everything reminds me of the times when others were with me and then the moors seem a wilderness, featureless, solitary, saddening – My sister Emily had a particular love for them, and there is not a knoll of heather, not a branch of fern, not a young bilberry leaf not a fluttering lark or linnet but reminds me of her. The distant prospects were Anne’s delight, and when I look round, she is in the blue tints, the pale mists, the waves and shadows of the horizon. In the hill-country silence their poetry comes by lines and stanzas into my mind: once I loved it – now I dare not read it – and am driven often to wish I could taste one draught of oblivion and forget much that, while mind remains, I never shall forget.

Moorland Buildings by Branwell Brontë21 July 1833Pencil on Paper102 x 164mmCourtesy of the Brontë Society

“The buildings in this drawing are typical in all their detail of the vernacular architecture of the Haworth area. They were probably drawn from life, a possibility which is also suggested

by the rubbing of the paper,” writes Jane Sellars in The Art of the Brontës

Through her emotional turmoil, Charlotte Brontë forced herself

to finish her third novel, Villette. In a letter to William Smith Williams, Charlotte writes of the book: The third vol. may perhaps do away with some of the objections – others will remain in force. I do not think the interest of the story culminates anywhere to the degree you would wish. What climax there is – does not come on till near the conclusion – and even then – I doubt whether the regular novel-reader will consider ‘the agony piled sufficiently high’ – (as the Americans say) or the colours dashed on to the Canvass with the proper amount of daring. Still – I fear they must be satisfied with what is offered: my palette affords no brighter tints – were I to attempt to deepen the reds or burnish the yellows – I should but botch. Despite misgivings about the story, Charlotte finished Villette with the aid and support of her friends at Smith, Elder & Co. The novel was received favorably upon its publication in January of 1853.

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 12 January 1853Reproduced by courtesy of the University Librarian and Director, The John Rylands University Library, The University of Manchester.

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 12 January 1853 112, Gloucester Terrace Hyde Park Gardens [London]My dear Mrs. Gaskell It is with you that the ball rests; I have not heard from you since I returned Meta’s letters which you so kindly sent me, and which I read with such pleasure; but I thought I knew the reason of your silence—viz. application to work—and therefore I accepted it—not merely with resignation—but with satisfaction. But I am now in London—as the date above will shew—staying very quietly at my Publisher’s, and correcting proofs &c—Before receiving yours—I had felt and expressed to Mr. Smith—reluctance to come in the way of “Ruth.” Not that I think she—(bless her very sweet face! I have already devoured vol. 1st) would suffer from contact with “Villette”; we know not but that the damage might be the other way; but I have ever held comparisons to be odious, and would fain that neither I nor my friends should be made subjects of the same. Mr. Smith proposes accordingly to defer the publication of my book till the 24th. inst.: he says that will give “Ruth” the start in all the papers daily and weekly—and also will leave free o her all the Feby. Magazines. Should this delay appear to you insufficient—speak—and it shall be protracted. I daresay—arrange as we may—we shall not be able wholly to prevent comparisons; it is the nature of some critics to be invidious: but we need not care: we can set them at defiance: they shall not make us foes: they shall not mingle with our mutual feelings one taint of jealousy: there is my hand on that: I know you will give clasp for clasp. “Villete” has indeed no right to push itself before “Ruth”. There is a goodness, a philanthropic purpose—a social use in the latter, to which the former cannot for an instant pretend; nor can it claim precedence on the ground of surpassing power: I think it much quieter than “Jane Eyre”. As far as I have got in “Ruth”—I think it excels “Mary Barton” for beauty, whatever it does for strength. The descriptions are perfectly fine. As to the style—I find it such as my soul welcomes. Of the delineation of character I shall be better able to judge when I get to the end, but may say in passing—that Sally, the old servant seems to me “an apple of gold” deserving to be “set in a picture of silver” I wish to see you probably at least as much as you can wish to see me, and therefore shall consider your ‘invitat[ion’] for March as an engagement; about <that?t> the close of that month then—I hope to <see> pay you a brief visit With kindest remembrances to Mr. Gaskell and all your precious circle— I am [Signature lacking]

30

One of Charlotte’s flower studies from late 1832 depicting a single convolvulus stem. Charlotte most likely copied the image from contemporary engravings. It is

interesting to think that Charlotte studied avidly in her youth to become an artist, yet her career had its source in the stories that she and her brother, Branwell loved to write

Blue Convolulus by Charlotte Brontëc. December 1832Watercolor on paper; gum arabic glaze

The Bronte sisters had been anxious to write only from the “real,” and therefore based

their characters and stories from their own experiences. Charlotte believed she had altered her characters sufficiently so that acquaintances would be unable to recognize themselves. However the publication of Shirley proved her wrong. The people of Yorkshire had not only discovered themselves in the novel, but they had realized that Miss Brontë was the authoress. Though she appreciated their regard, Charlotte could not help being a little distressed at having her identity discovered. On her method of writing, Charlotte informs Ellen Nussey, “You are not to suppose any of the characters in Shirley intended as literal portraits – it would not suit the rules of Art – nor my own feelings to write in that style – we only suffer reality to suggest – never to dictate – the heroines are abstractions and the hero[e]s also – qualities I have seen, loved and admired are here and there put in as decorative gems to be preserved in that setting. Since you say you could recognize the originals of all except the heroines – pray whom did you suppose the two Moores to represent?

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 9 July 1853Reproduced by courtesy of the University Librarian and Director, The John Rylands University Library, The University of Manchester.

Charlotte to Elizabeth Gaskell, 9 July 1853 HaworthMy dear Mrs. Gaskell Thank you for your letter—: it was as pleasant as a quiet chat, as welcome as spring-showers, as reviving as a friend’s visit; in short it was very like a page of “Cranford.” That book duly reached me—coming on the very morning you should have come in person—had Fate been propitious. I have read it over twice; once to myself, and once aloud to my Father. I find it pleasurable reading—graphic, pithy, penetrating, shrewd, yet kind and indulgent. A thought occurs to me. Do you—who have so many friends, so large a circle of acquaintance—find it easy, when you sit down to write—to isolate yourself from all those ties and their sweet associations—[so] as to be quite your own woman—uninfluenced, unswayed, by the consciousness of how your work may affect other minds—what blame, what sympathy it may call forth? Does no luminous cloud ever come between you and the severe Truth—as you know it in your own secret and clear-seeing Soul? In a word <does the> are you never tempted to make your characters more amiable than the life—by the inclination to assimilate your thoughts to the thoughts of those who always feel kindly, but sometimes fail to see justly? Don’t answer the question. It is not intended to be answered. My Father continues better. I am better too, but to-day I have a head-ache again which will hardly let me write coherently. Give my kind love to Marianne and Meta—dear, happy girls as they are! Remember me too to Mr. Gaskell. You cannot now transmit any message to Flossy and Julia. I prized the little wild-flower—not that I think the sender cares for me—she does not and cannot for she does not know me—but no matter—in my reminiscences she is a person of a certain distinction—I think hers a fine little nature—frank and of a genuine promise. I often see her as she appeared stepping supreme from the portico towards the carriage that evening we went to see “Twelfth-Night”. I believe in Julia’s future: I like what speaks in her movements and what is written upon her face Yours with true attachment C Brontë

Litt

le O

useb

urn

Chu

rch

by A

nne

Bro

ntë

c. 1

840-

45P

enci

l on

card

164

x 22

0mm

Cou

rtes

y of

the

Bro

ntë

Soc

iety

L

ittl

e O

useb

urn

Chu

rch,

whi

ch A

nne

Bro

ntë

atte

nded

w

ith

the

Rob

inso

n fa

mily

, sto

od n

ear

Tho

rp G

reen

. T

his

pict

ure

was

dra

wn

from

life

; it i

s lik

ely

Ann

e sa

t in

Tow

nend

Fie

ld, v

iew

ing

the

Chu

rch

from

acr

oss

the

lake

.

In

Dec

embe

r 18

52, C

harl

otte

rec

eive

d an

offe

r of

m

arri

age

from

Art

hur

Bel

l Nic

holls

, who

had

bee

n he

r fa

ther

’s cu

rate

for

the

past

eig

ht y

ears

. She

wri

tes

of th

e ev

ent:

O

n M

onda

y ev

enin

g –

Mr N

ichol

ls –

was

her

e to

tea.

I

vagu

ely fe

lt –

with

out c

learl

y se

eing,

I ha

ve fe

lt fo

r som

e tim

e – th

e m

eani

ng o

f his

cons

tant

look

s – a

nd st

rang

e, fe

veri

sh re

stra

int.

Afte

r tea

– I

with

drew

to th

e din

ing-

room

as u

sual

. As u

sual

– M

r N

– sa

t with

Pap

a til

l bet

ween

eigh

t & n

ine o

’cloc

k. I

then

hea

rd

him

ope

n th

e par

lour

doo

r as i

f goi

ng. I

expe

cted

the c

lash

of t

he

fron

t doo

r – H

e sto

pped

in th

e pas

sage

: he t

appe

d: li

ke li

ghtn

ing

it fla

shed

on

me w

hat w

as co

min

g. H

e ent

ered

– h

e sto

od b

efor

e me.

Wha

t his

wor

ds w

ere –

you

can

gues

s, hi

s man

ner –

you

can

hard

ly

real

ize –

nor

can

I for

get i

t – S

haki

ng fr

om h

ead

to fo

ot, l

ooki

ng

dead

ly p

ale,

spea

king

low,

vehe

men

tly y

et w

ith d

ifficu

lty –

he m

ade

me f

or th

e firs

t tim

e fee

l wha

t it c

osts

a m

an to

dec

lare

affe

ctio

n wh

ere h

e dou

bts r

espo

nse.

T

he sp

ecta

cle o

f one

ord

inar

ily so

stat

ue-li

ke –

thus

tr

embl

ing,

stir

red,

and

ove

rcom

e gav

e me a

kin

d of

stra

nge s

hock

. H

e spo

ke o

f suf

feri

ngs h

e had

bor

ne fo

r mon

ths –

of s

uffe

ring

s he

coul

d en

dure

no

long

er –

and

he c

rave

d lea

ve fo

r som

e hop

e. I

coul

d on

ly en

trea

t him

to le

ave m

e the

n an

d pr

omis

e a re

ply

on th

e m

orro

w. I

ask

ed h

im if

he h

ad sp

oken

to P

apa.

He s

aid

– he

dar

ed

not –

I th

ink

I hal

f-led

, hal

f put

him

out

of t

he ro

om. W

hen

he w

as

gone

I im

med

iate

ly w

ent t

o Pa

pa –

and

told

him

wha

t had

take

n pl

ace.

Agi

tatio

n an

d A

nger

dis

prop

ortio

nate

to th

e occ

asio

n en

sued

–

if I h

ad lo

ved

Mr N

and

had

hea

rd su

ch ep

ithet

s app

lied

to h

im a

s

were

use

d –

it wo

uld

have

tran

spor

ted

me p

ast m

y pa

tienc

e – a

s it

was –

my

bloo

d bo

iled

with

a se

nse o

f inj

ustic

e – b

ut P

apa

work

ed

him

self

into

a st

ate n

ot to

be t

rifle

d wi

th –

the v

eins o

n hi

s tem

ples

st

arte

d up

like

a w

hip-

cord

– a

nd h

is ey

es b

ecam

e sud

denl

y bl

ood-

shot

– I

mad

e has

te to

pro

mis

e tha

t Mr N

ichol

ls sh

ould

on

the

mor

row

have

a d

istin

ct re

fusa

l.

Papa

’s ve

hem

ent a

ntip

athy

to th

e bar

e tho

ught

of a

ny o

ne

thin

king

of m

e as a

wife

– a

nd M

r Nich

olls

’ dis

tres

s – b

oth

give

me

pain

. Atta

chm

ent t

o M

r N –

you

are

awa

re I

neve

r ent

erta

ined

–

but t

he p

oign

ant p

ity in

spir

ed b

y hi

s sta

te o

n M

onda

y ev

enin

g –

by

the h

urri

ed re

vela

tion

of h

is su

fferi

ngs f

or so

man

y m

onth

s – is

so

met

hing

gal

ling

and

irks

ome.

Tha

t he c

ared

som

ethi

ng fo

r me –

an

d wa

nted

me t

o ca

re fo

r him

– I

have

long

susp

ecte

d –

but I

did

no

t kno

w th

e deg

ree o

r str

engt

h of

his

feeli

ngs.

N

icho

lls w

as n

ot a

rich

man

, as s

uch

Pat

rick

cons

ider

ed

the

mat

ch to

be

degr

adin

g. R

ealiz

ing

the

seve

rity

of h

is

situa

tion,

Nic

holls

resig

ned

his c

urac

y an

d ap

plie

d to

bec

ome

a m

issio

nary

in A

ustr

alia

. H

owev

er, d

ue to

illn

ess h

e di

d no

t le

ave

the

coun

try

and

inst

ead

obta

ined

a c

urac

y in

Yor

kshi

re.

Pity

ing

him

imm

ense

ly a

nd u

nabl

e to

refr

ain

from

thin

king

of

him

, Cha

rlotte

ent

ered

into

a se

cret

cor

resp

onde

nce

with

N

icho

lls; i

t pai

ned

her t

o ke

ep th

e kn

owle

dge

from

her

fath

er.

Fin

ally

, afte

r muc

h de

bate

, Pat

rick

cons

ente

d to

thei

r fur

ther

ac

quai

ntan

ce. I

n re

sult,

Cha

rlotte

real

ized

her

love

and

es

teem

for t

he m

an w

ho h

ad su

ffere

d so

long

for h

er sa

ke. I

n A

pril

1854

, Cha

rlotte

Bro

ntë

acce

pted

Nic

holls

’ pro

posa

l of

mar

riage

.

33

Photograph of Arthur Bell Nicholls(1819–1906)Curate of Haworth from 1845, who married Charlotte in 1854. Courtesy of the Brontë Society

34

Charlotte Brontë married Arthur Bell Nicholls on June 29, 1854, in a quiet ceremony at Haworth. At the last moment Patrick backed out of the ceremony, leaving Charlotte to be given away by Miss Wooler, her head-mistress from Roe Head. Her bridesmaid was Ellen Nussey, Charlotte’s lifelong friend. The couple honeymooned in Ireland, where they stayed with Nicholls’ family. Here, the new wife was overjoyed to see the affection and respect with which her husband was viewed by his friends and relatives. Charlotte Brontë quickly took to being a wife, remarking to Ellen on August 9, 1854, “Since I came home I have not had an unemployed moment; my life is changed indeed – to be wanted continually – to be constantly called for and occupied seems so strange: yet it is a marvelously good thing. As yet I don’t quite understand how some wives grow so selfish – As far as my experience of matrimony goes – I think it tends to draw you out of, and away from yourself. Charlotte greatly loved and esteemed her new husband, “for my dear Arthur is a very practical as well as a very punctual, methodical man… I believe it is not bad for me that his bent should be so wholly towards matters of real life and active usefulness – so little inclined to the literary and contemplative. As to his continued affection and kind attentions – it does not become me to say much of them but as yet they neither change nor diminish. However, their close relationship did strain the almost sisterly bonds between Ellen and Charlotte, especially when Nicholls warned the two women not to exchange such intimate and free correspondence. “Fire them, or there will be no more,” was his resolve. Arthur demanded that Ellen promise to burn each of Charlotte’s letters before he would allow her to continue writing so openly. Though Ellen promised, she refused to comply with his wishes, a fortunate matter for scholars.

Patrick Brontë to Ellen Nussey 7 July 1854Courtesy of the Brontë Society

The Revd Patrick Brontë to Ellen Nussey, 7 July 1854 Haworth Nr. KeighlyMy Dear Madam, I thank you for your kind and considerate letter—You are perfectly right in what you say, respecting the usual effects, of changes, in regard to those far advanced in years—They are often reminded, of Solomon’s description of the old man, with whom “fears shall be in the way, and the grasshopper shall be a burden” –I was very glad that You and Miss Wooler, my Daughters, Old and faithful Friends, were present, on the important occasion, and it gave to my Daughter, also, great pleasure—There are times, and this time was one of them, when the presence, and conversation of Friends answer a good end, in more respects than one. I hope that under Providence, the change that has occur’d, in my case, will be for the good of all the parties concern’d—in reference, both to time, and eternity— That a gracious providence may direct, and bless you in all your ways is the sincere wish & ardent prayer of My dear Madam Your sincere & faithful friend P. Bronte

35

Death of Charlotte Brontë Perhaps the greatest tragedy of Charlotte Brontë’s life was that having found happiness so late, she died after only nine months of marriage. She was thirty-eight years old.

She wrote to Ellen Nussey on January 19, 1855, “My health has been really very good ever since my return from Ireland till – about ten days ago, when the stomach seemed quite suddenly to lose its tone – indigestion and continual faint sickness have been my portion ever since. Don’t conjecture – dear Nell – for it is too soon yet – though certainly never before have I felt as I have done lately. But keep the matter wholly to yourself – for I can come to no decided opinion at present.

Charlotte’s surmise was correct; she had indeed become pregnant. Yet her body was not strong, and she had already been weakened by a cold. Her illness increased rapidly, and by the end of the month she was completely bedridden, relying on her husband and father to write letters for her. The few notes she was able to scribe were brief; though she didn’t complain of her sufferings, she lamented the pain she knew her death would cause her beloved husband and father.

On February 21, 1855 she writes, Dear Ellen, I must write one line out of my weary bed…I am not going to talk about my sufferings, it would be useless and painful –I want to give you an assurance which I know will comfort you – and that is that I find in my husband the tenderest nurse, the kindest support – the best earthly comfort that ever woman had. His patience never fails and it is tried by sad days and Broken nights…

Charlotte Brontë died on March 31, 1855 from hyperemesis gravidarum, or excessive vomiting during pregnancy, with her unborn child. Like Branwell and Emily before her, she was buried in the family vault under Haworth church four days later. It was a small and mournful ceremony, full of dreary memories of her wedding barely a year earlier. Ellen Nussey, Charlotte’s best friend, had the honor of preparing the body:

…her death chamber is in a vivid remembrance, I last saw her in death. Her maid, Martha brought me a tray full of evergreens & such flowers as she could procure to place on the lifeless form – My first feeling was, no, I cannot cannot do it – next I was grateful to the maid for giving me the tender office – what made the [task]impossible at first was the rushing recollection of the flowers I spread in her honor at her wedding breakfast & how she admired the disposal of the gathering brought by Martha from the village gardens

As Patrick Brontë wrote to George Smith: We mourn the loss of one, whose like, we hope not, ever to see again –

and as you justly state we do not mourn alone.

36

Parting29 January, 1838

There’s no use in weeping,Though we are condemned to part:

There’s such a thing as keepingA remembrance in one’s heart:

There’s such a thing as dwellingOn the thought ourselves have nurs’d,

And with scorn and courage tellingThe world to do its worst.

We’ll not let its follies grieve us,We’ll just take them as they come;And then every day will leave us

A merry laugh for home.

When we’ve left each friend and brother,When we’re parted wide and far,

We will think of one another,As even better than we are.

Every glorious sight above us,Every pleasant sight beneath,

We’ll connect with those that love us,Whom we truly love till death!

In the evening, when we’re sitting,By the fire perchance alone,

Then shall heart with warm heart meeting,Give responsive tone for tone.

We can burst the bonds which chain us,Which cold human hands have wrought,

And where none shall dare restrain usWe can meet again, in thought.

So there’s no use in weeping,Bear a cheerful spirit still;

Never doubt that Fate is keepingFuture good for present ill!

Parting by Charlotte BrontëNorris, Pamela. The Brontës. Everyman’s Poetry. 1997.January 29, 1838.

37

After outliving his wife, five daughters, and son, Patrick Brontë found solace in the company of his son-in-

law, Arthur Bell Nicholls. After Charlotte’s death, Arthur remained at the Parsonage to care for the aging Mr. Brontë. For the next six years, Arthur practically held the role of incumbent in the parish, for Patrick was too old to perform all the requisite duties. Patrick Brontë died on June 7, 1861, a day of sorrow to the people of Haworth. He had served Haworth church for forty-one years; in his honor, the shops of Haworth closed for the day of his funeral. The church itself overflowed with mourners. Arthur left Haworth for Ireland in October, 1861. According to Juliet Barker’s The Brontës “he was determined to keep everything of personal or sentimental value: all the family manuscripts, most of the Brontës’ signed books, their writing desks, even items of his wife’s clothing, he packed up and took with him to Ireland.” Arthur was a well-respected and beloved man within the community, and his departure was much regretted by those he had taught and aided during his time as curate. Three years later, Arthur remarried; his second wife was his cousin, Mary Bell. It was an affectionate union, though Arthur remained devoted to the memory of Charlotte Brontë. Arthur Bell Nicholls died at the age of eighty-seven on December 2, 1906.

Photograph of Patrick Brontëc. 1860Courtesy of the Brontë Society