'BRANWELL'S FALL,' AS SET FORTH IN THE BIOGRAPHIES OF HIS SISTERS.
Branwell after his Disappointment--Parallel for his State of Mind
in that of Lady Byron--Mrs. Gaskell's Misconceptions--True State
of the Case--Charlotte Illustrates it in her Poem of 'Preference'
--She alludes to Branwell's Condition in 'The Professor'--Mrs.
Gaskell Compelled to Omit her Account in the Later Editions of her
Work--Branwell's Prostration and Ill-health at the Time.
After the first shock to his feelings had been sustained, and, by its
own intensity, toned down to less oppressive anguish and pain, a
strange calm succeeded in Branwell, more agonizing and appalling to his
friends than the stormy ebullitions which had preceded it. There is
evidence that his family at this time misunderstood the actual state of
his mind, and that their very anxiety about him caused them--but more
especially Charlotte--to regard his acts, irresponsible though they
might be, as inveterate offences and habitual sins. It has indeed been
said by some that Charlotte did not afterwards speak to him for the
space of two years.
The reproaches of his sister were probably as unwise as they were
passionate, unmeasured, and, in outward semblance, unfeeling; yet they
were censures pronounced in momentary anger, utterances of the deep
affection she had for her brother, and of sincere sorrow for his
unhappy, hopeless, and insane passion. But Branwell's friends and
acquaintances saw clearly that on one subject, and one only, his mind
had given way; and that was in his conception of the undoubted love
which the lady of his heart bore him. They also saw, notwithstanding
this morbid perversion of the ordinary powers of his mind in one
particular illusion, that he was not affected in his faculty of
reasoning correctly and consistently on all other subjects. They knew,
if the Bronte family did not, that Branwell's mind, naturally morbid
and depressed, had been unhinged by the sudden and unexpected ruin of
his hopes; and that his heart and his intellect had been so far bruised
and wounded, that for many of the acts done, and the things said, under
the abiding grief which followed it, he was irresponsible. This will
shortly appear.
The sisters did not, however, long remain in ignorance of the true
state of Branwell's mind. They became aware that he suffered from
monomania touching the object of his sorrow, and the circumstance
impressed them exceedingly. In several of their novels they have,
indeed, dwelt upon this condition, and have lamented the misery and
mental prostration which it entails. Lucy Snowe suffers from it
severely, as I have mentioned. But, in 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,'
one of the characters charges Gilbert Markham--whose circumstances are
precisely those of Branwell in regard to his love for a married
lady--with monomania in this very matter; and, in 'Wuthering Heights,'
speaking of the events that preceded Heathcliff's death, Nelly Dean
alleges that he suffers from monomania in his love for the wife of
Edgar Linton. Branwell's sisters, however, never took the tragic view
of his conduct that impressed Mrs. Gaskell.
For a time Branwell could talk of nothing but of the lady to whom he
was attached, and he made statements of circumstances regarding her
which had no foundation but in his own heated imagination. The lady, he
said, loved him to distraction. She was in a state of inconceivable
agony at his loss. Her husband, cruel, brutal, and unfeeling,
threatened her with his dire indignation, and deprivation of every
comfort. Branwell, indeed, told his friend W----, by letter, that, in
consequence of this persecution, the suffering lady 'had placed herself
under his protection!' and many other stories, equally unfounded,
extravagant, and impossible, were circulated. In a word, he went about
among his friends, telling to each, in strict confidence, the woes
under which he suffered, and painting in gloomy colours the miseries
which the lady of his love had been compelled to undergo. If all other
proof were wanting of the unsound state of Branwell's mind on this one
point, it would be enough, in all conscience, that he proclaimed
abroad, of the lady he undertook to protect, circumstances that must
infallibly redound to her infamy; and which, indeed, in the hands of
injudicious persons, gave rise to the public scandal of his life, and
ultimately made his name, and that of the lady whom he had loved and
traduced in the same breath, of reproach among men.[10]
[10] The condition into which Branwell fell at this period is
one very well-known to mental physiologists. Thus Carpenter
speaks of it: 'In most forms of monomania, there is more or
less of disorder in the _ideational_ process, leading to the
formation of positive _delusions_ or _hallucinations_, that is
to say, of fixed beliefs or dominant ideas which are palpably
inconsistent with reality. These delusions, however, are not
attributable to original perversions of the reasoning process,
but arise out of the perverted _emotional state_. They give
rise, in the first place, to _misinterpretation of actual
facts_ or _occurrences_, in accordance with the prevalent
state of the feelings.'--'Principles of Mental Physiology,'
(1874), p. 667.
For Branwell's state of mind at this time, and for the circumstances
that followed upon it, we have an exact parallel in the case of Lady
Byron, after her separation from her husband. This unhappy lady, living
in retirement with her friends, had maintained, for more than five
years after the poet's death, relations of the most friendly nature
with his sister, the Honourable Mrs. Leigh. But, at the end of that
period, weakened by misfortunes and by brooding upon particular evils,
her mind gave way on one point; and she made, in the full belief of
their truth, the most horrible of charges against her dead husband and
his sister. These charges were, by some people, believed for a time;
but a very little reflection showed that Lady Byron's mind must have
been unhinged, for all the acts of her life went to disprove the
statements she made. It was not in the nature of things possible that
she could remain on affectionate terms with her sister-in-law, had she
known--as in her monomania she asserted she did--the utter depth of
that sister-in-law's imagined infamy. But it is not to be supposed that
the unhappy lady was visibly insane; she was, on the contrary, as all
remarked, gifted with a clear and accurate observation, with a lucid
and logical method of thought, and with an expression more than
ordinarily calm and natural.
It was precisely the same with Branwell Bronte; for, when the paroxysm
of his grief was over, though he was ordinarily calm and his thoughts
always clear and logical, strange impressions and misinterpretations of
facts grew upon him, and he made, with all the certainty of belief,
statements of circumstances relating to the lady of his dearest
affections, redounding to her shame--which, had he been of sound mind,
he must not only have known to be false, but would have carried, had
they been true, in secrecy to the grave.
Just, too, as Lady Byron whispered the story of her woes in strict
faith to many people, so did Branwell Bronte make confidants of
several friends, revealing to each the extent of his misfortunes.
And, further, just as the story circulated by Lady Byron was confided
among others to good, honest, well-meaning Mrs. Beecher Stowe, who,
conceiving herself to be the chosen champion of oppressed virtue,
rushed into print, in 'Macmillan' of September, 1869, with the
literary _bonne-bouche_ she had received; so did Mrs. Gaskell, clad in
like panoply, with anger far over-riding discretion, publish to the
world the scandal she had collected from the busy _gobe-mouches_ of
Haworth, to the utter undoing of the fair fame of Patrick Branwell
Bronte, and of the lady on whom he had fixed his hopeless affection.
The scandal which was spread about Lord Byron, through the delusions
of his wife, was very soon overthrown; but that with which Branwell
was concerned, though thirty-seven years have passed over his grave,
has been republished and is still believed--all the biographers of his
sisters having, with one accord, consigned his name to obloquy and
contempt.
The stories originated by Branwell lost nothing in their circulation,
but they gained immensely; and years had made the tales of disappointed
love into scandals unfit to be detailed, when Mrs. Gaskell, eager for
information, visited Haworth, and collected materials for her work from
too-willing hands, who added their own embellishments to the original
statements of Branwell.
In order to show how far Mrs. Gaskell deviated from the right direction
in her account of these circumstances, it will be better to place
before the reader much of what she has said in direct reference to it,
so that the whole matter may be made plain; and, before he closes this
book, he will probably be convinced that she was wholly misled in her
version of the story.
Mrs. Gaskell writes: 'All the disgraceful details came out. Branwell
was in no state to conceal his agony of remorse, or, strange to say,
his agony of guilty love, from any dread of shame. He gave passionate
way to his feelings; he shocked and distressed those loving sisters
inexpressibly; the blind father sat stunned, sorely tempted to curse
the profligate woman who had tempted his boy--his only son--into the
deep disgrace of deadly crime.
'All the variations of spirits and of temper--the reckless gaiety, the
moping gloom of many months were now explained. There was a reason
deeper than any mere indulgence of appetite, to account for his
intemperance; he began his career as an habitual drunkard to drown
remorse.
'The pitiable part, as far as he was concerned, was the yearning love
he still bore to the woman who had got so strong a hold upon him. It is
true, that she professed equal love; we shall see how her professions
held good. There was a strange lingering of conscience, when, meeting
her clandestinely by appointment at Harrogate some months after, he
refused to consent to the elopement which she proposed; there was some
good left in this corrupted, weak young man, even to the very last of
his miserable days. The case presents the reverse of the usual
features: the man became the victim; the man's life was blighted, and
crushed out of him by suffering, and guilt entailed by guilt; the man's
family were stung by keenest shame. The woman--to think of her father's
pious name--the blood of honourable families mixed in her veins--her
early home, underneath whose roof-tree sat those whose names are held
saint-like for their good deeds,--she goes flaunting about to this day
in respectable society; a showy woman for her age; kept afloat by her
reputed wealth. I see her name in county papers, as one of those who
patronize the Christmas balls; and I hear of her in London
drawing-rooms. Now let us read, not merely of the suffering of her
guilty accomplice, but of the misery she caused to innocent victims,
whose premature deaths may, in part, be laid at her door.'[11]
[11] 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap, xiii., 1st edition.
Mrs. Gaskell further states: 'A few months later the invalid husband of
the woman with whom he had intrigued, died. Branwell had been looking
forward to this event with guilty hope. After her husband's death, his
paramour would be free; strange as it seems, the young man still loved
her passionately, and now he imagined the time was come when they might
look forward to being married, and live together without reproach or
blame. She had offered to elope with him; she had written to him
perpetually; she had sent him money--twenty pounds at a time; he
remembered the criminal advances she had made; she had braved shame,
and her children's menaced disclosures, for his sake; he thought she
must love him; he little knew how bad a depraved woman can be.'[12]
[12] 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap, xiii., 1st edition.
As Mrs. Gaskell had formed no conception of the possible state of
Branwell's mind, she seems to have known no reason for doubting the
absolute truth of what she had heard; and, with an overweening
confidence, and with no deficient expression of righteous indignation,
she deals with the episode in this startling manner.
In support of the charges thus made, Mrs. Gaskell refers to the
contents of the will of the lady's husband, by which, she says, what
property he left to his wife was so left on the condition that she
never saw Branwell again; and she adds that, on the death of her
husband, the lady sent her coachman to Haworth; for, at the very time
when the will was being read, she did not know but that Branwell might
be on his way to her. Mrs. Gaskell furthers says that, after the
interview with the coachman, Branwell was found utterly prostrated by
the intimation that he must never again even see the lady whom he
thought he might then marry.[13]
[13] 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap, xiii., 1st edition.
The biographer of Charlotte, having obtained her information from the
floating rumours of Haworth, formed an inconsiderate, erroneous, and
hasty opinion on this affair and its supposed consequences. But she
found many circumstances in the proceedings of Branwell and his sisters
which failed to corroborate her views, and that were, in fact, at
variance with what would naturally have been expected had Branwell's
misconduct really been of so deep a dye as she states. In order to
bring out fully the force of what she here says, Mrs. Gaskell had,
previously, as we have seen, in speaking of Charlotte's stay in
Brussels eighteen months before, alluded to intelligence from home
calculated to distress Charlotte exceedingly with fears respecting
Branwell. Yet, in the January of 1844, shortly after her return from
Brussels, Charlotte told her friend 'E' that Anne and Branwell were
'both wonderfully valued in their situations.' And again, writing of
the year 1845, Mrs. Gaskell says: 'He was so beguiled by this mature
and wicked woman, that he went home for his holidays reluctantly,
stayed there as short a time as possible, perplexing and distressing
them all by his extraordinary conduct--at one time in the highest
spirits; at another, in the deepest depression--accusing himself of
blackest guilt and treachery, without specifying what they were; and
altogether evincing an irritability of disposition bordering on
insanity. Charlotte and her sister suffered acutely from his mysterious
behaviour ... an indistinct dread was creeping over their minds that he
might turn out their deep disgrace.'[14] And it must be added that, when
in the expurgated edition the opening of this passage was omitted, Mrs.
Gaskell inserted--following where she ascribes to the sisters an
'indistinct dread,'--these words: 'caused partly by his own conduct,
partly by expressions of agonizing suspicion in Anne's letters
home.'[15] But we know, from Charlotte's letter to her friend, that,
when she had returned home and found Branwell ill, which she says he
was often, she was not therefore shocked at first, but, when Anne
informed her of the immediate cause of his present illness, she was
very greatly shocked, showing clearly enough that Branwell's dismissal
and its cause were a complete surprise to her when she heard of them.
How, then, could Anne's letters home have contained expressions of
'agonizing suspicion'?
[14] 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap. xiii., 1st edition.
[15] 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap. v., 1860 edition.
Mrs. Gaskell found it necessary to summarize the portion of
Charlotte's letter which contained these expressions of surprise, and,
in her version, significantly enough, the obvious inconsistency is
lost. The succeeding part also has suffered mutilation in Mrs.
Gaskell's work, Charlotte's allusion to Branwell's 'frantic folly,'
and the sentence, 'He promises amendment on his return,' being
entirely omitted. Mr. Wemyss Reid, in publishing this letter, points
out the circumstance, and says that 'Mrs. Gaskell could not bring
herself to speak of such flagrant sins as those of which young Bronte
had been guilty under the name of folly, nor could she conceive that
there was any possibility of amendment on the part of one who had
fallen so low in vice.'[16] And, if we disregard Mrs. Gaskell's view of
'what _should have been_' Charlotte's feelings, and read the letter
with the real state of the case before us, we shall at once see that,
as Branwell had not fallen low in vice, the term 'frantic folly,'
which his sister employed in speaking of his conduct, was precisely
that which justly described it.
[16] 'Charlotte Bronte, a Monograph,' chap. vii.
The simple truth respecting Branwell's conduct is this: he had been too
fond of company and had not escaped its penalty. Doubtless Anne
occasionally saw influences upon her brother which she would have
wished entirely absent. Moreover he had, as we have seen, become wildly
in love. Reluctantly at first, and, from what we know of him, he may,
probably, in his latest vacation have accused himself of 'blackest
guilt.' But there is reason to believe that on this episode, as on
others connected with Branwell Bronte, we have been told not a little
of what _must have ensued_ from a standpoint of initial error.
Of the principal accusations which Mrs. Gaskell brings against Mrs.
---- I shall have to speak when I come to consider the consequences to
Branwell of the final defeat of his hopes; but it may be said here that
it is clear the lady never wrote letters to Branwell at all. She
carefully avoided doing anything that might implicate her in the matter
of Branwell's strange passion, and, so far as any provision of the
husband's will, which was dated near the end of the year, is concerned,
Branwell Bronte might never have existed. Mrs. Gaskell cannot have seen
the document.
If any further evidence of the view Charlotte Bronte took of Branwell's
conduct, and of that of the lady whose character has been so much
calumniated be needed, her poem entitled 'Preference' is sufficient. We
may indeed infer from it that Charlotte herself never believed the
stories concerning Mrs. ---- which were in circulation at the time, and
that she has left, in this production of her pen, her version of how
the circumstances truly stood. The lady is represented in the poem as
censuring the person who is making advances to her, and who is
addressed as a soldier for whom she has a sisterly regard, while she is
devotedly attached to one of whom she speaks in the warmest terms.
'Not in scorn do I reprove thee,
Not in pride thy vows I waive,
But, believe, I could not love thee,
Wert thou prince, and I a slave.'
She then tells him that he is deceiving himself in thinking she has
secret affection for him, and that her coldness towards him is assumed.
She appeals forcibly to her own personal bearing as proof that she has
no love for him.
'Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver;
Nay--be calm, for I am so;
Does it burn? Does my lip quiver?
Has mine eye a troubled glow?
Canst thou call a moment's colour
To my forehead--to my cheek?
Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor
With one flattering, feverish streak?'
Declaring that her goodwill for him is sisterly, she thus continues:
'Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless,
Fury cannot change my mind;
I but deem the feeling rootless
Which so whirls in passion's wind.
Can I love? Oh, deeply--truly--
Warmly--fondly--but not thee;
And my love is answered duly,
With an equal energy.'
Then she tells him, if he would see his rival, to draw a curtain aside,
when he will observe him, seated in a place shaded by trees, surrounded
with books, and employing his 'unresting pen.' Here Charlotte places
the 'rival' in an alcove, in the grounds of his mansion, privately
employing his leisure in the retirement of his home; and makes the lady
show her husband to the soldier who addresses her. She says:
'There he sits--the first of men!
Man of conscience--man of reason;
Stern, perchance, but ever just;
Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason,
Honour's shield and virtue's trust!
Worker, thinker, firm defender
Of Heaven's truth--man's liberty;
Soul of iron--proof to slander,
Rock where founders tyranny.'
She declares that her faith is given, and therefore the person she
addresses need not sue; for, while God reigns in earth and heaven, she
will be faithful to the man of her heart, to whom she is immovably
devoted; and who is a 'defender of Heaven's truth'--her husband.
No one, perhaps, would be better acquainted than Charlotte with the
false and foul calumnies on this head, then circulating through the
village; and it is well that she has left, in her poem of 'Preference,'
an expression of her feeling as to the affairs which caused so much
injurious gossip at the time. Yet, however desirous Charlotte might,
be, in this poem, to clear the character of the lady who has been so
cruelly aspersed, she appears to have had no mercy on her brother, who
had been the principal actor in the drama. The following is the picture
of him, in reference to this sad episode, which she puts into the mouth
of William Crimsworth in 'The Professor':
'Limited as had yet been my experience of life,' he says, 'I had once
had the opportunity of contemplating, near at hand, an example of the
results produced by a course of interesting and romantic domestic
treachery. No golden halo of fiction was about this example; I saw it
bare and real; and it was very loathsome. I saw a mind degraded by the
practice of mean subterfuge, by the habit of perfidious deception, and
a body depraved by the infectious influence of the vice-polluted soul.
I had suffered much from the forced and prolonged view of this
spectacle; those sufferings I did not now regret, for their simple
recollection acted as a most wholesome antidote to temptation. They had
inscribed on my reason the conviction that unlawful pleasure, trenching
on another's rights, is delusive and envenomed pleasure--its hollowness
disappoints at the time, its poison cruelly tortures afterwards, its
effects deprave for ever.' It is probable that Charlotte would not have
wished this passage to be applied literally to her brother; but,
unfortunately, this, and similar unguarded declarations, have largely
biassed almost all who have written on the lives and literature of the
sisters.
Mrs. Gaskell, under threat of ulterior proceedings, on the advice of
her friends, published the edition of 1860, omitting the charges
referred to, as well as those against Mr. Bronte. She did not, however,
allow the effect of her first assumption of guilt, or the moral of the
tale, to be lost. She inserted a few sentences intended to convey to
the reader that something of the kind had gone wrong with Branwell in
the place where his sister Anne was governess. Under the circumstances,
therefore, I have felt it necessary to deal with the subject at large.
It may be remarked here that the indignation of the injured lady knew
no bounds, and that she was only dissuaded from carrying the matter to
a trial by the earnest desire of her friends, who represented that Mrs.
Gaskell could not substantiate her statements, and that, as the book
could not therefore be reprinted as it stood, and its circulation was
consequently limited, it were better to let the matter rest, rather
than incur the wide-spread reports of the newspaper press when the
trial should be before the public; and, moreover, that those who knew
her did not believe a word of Mrs. Gaskell's unfounded allegations.
This had its effect, and the lady fretfully acquiesced.[17]
[17] A gentleman with whom I have recently conversed, who
knew this lady personally, on seeing the first edition of
Mrs. Gaskell's 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' expressed his
astonishment at the 'gross form of the libel,' of which he
had had no conception. He had good reason for entirely
disbelieving the stories, for which Mrs. Gaskell was
responsible, relating to the lady in question.
In Miss Robinson's 'Emily Bronte,' the stories which Charlotte's
biographer was compelled to omit, have been substantially reproduced;
and this writer, in supporting similar views to those of Mrs. Gaskell,
has found it necessary to quote her version of the letter containing
Charlotte's account of Branwell's disgrace, and has also considerably
enlarged upon the supposed contents of the letters of Anne. Much
diffidence has been felt in dealing with this subject so closely; but,
after the discussion of it in the public prints, consequent on the
issue of Miss Robinson's book, it is thought the time has come for
exposing the groundlessness of the stories. The reader will therefore
observe that I have borne this matter in mind throughout the present
work.
The distraction that overwhelmed Branwell on his dismissal from his
late employment having caused him eleven nights of 'sleepless horror,'
his wild attempt to drown his sorrow brought on an attack of delirium
tremens. On one of these nights, in all likelihood, suddenly falling
asleep, he overturned the candle and set the bedclothes on fire. The
smell of burning attracted attention, and the sisters rushed into the
room to extinguish the smouldering material. This accident would,
doubtless, have been lost sight of, had it not been for the researches
of Miss Robinson, to whom the public is indebted for an account of the
circumstance, which closely reminds us of the rescue of Mr. Rochester
in 'Jane Eyre,' and of the removal of 'Keeper,' by Emily, from the best
bed in which he had settled himself. It will be remembered also that,
on the night when Mr. Lockwood stayed at Wuthering Heights, a similar
accident befel him, through the candle falling against the books he was
trying to read.
On his return from Wales Branwell wrote to his friend Leyland, who had
to visit Haworth professionally, pressing him to come to the parsonage.
Thus he writes in the midst of his distress. The vision of his hopes
had become a haunting picture of misery, the prospect of the lady
becoming free to marry him had not arisen to his mind in his confusion;
he would never see her again, he would be forgotten; he must
communicate with her.
'Haworth, August 4, 1845.
'DEAR SIR,
'I need hardly say that I shall be most delighted to see you, as
God knows I have a tolerably heavy load on my mind just now, and
would look to an hour spent with one like yourself, as a means of
at least, temporarily, lightening it.
'I returned yesterday from a week's journey to Liverpool and North
Wales, but I found during my absence that, wherever I went, a
certain woman robed in black, and calling herself "MISERY," walked
by my side, and leant on my arm, as affectionately as if she were
my legal wife.
'Like some other husbands, I could have spared her presence.
'Yours most sincerely,
'P. B. BRONTE.'
There are in one or two of Charlotte Bronte's letters, written during
this month, allusions to her brother. She tells us that things are not
very bright as regards him, though his health, and consequently his
temper, have been somewhat better this last day or two, because he is
now '_forced_ to abstain.' And again, on the 18th, 'My hopes ebb
low indeed about Branwell. I sometimes fear he will never be fit for
much. The late blow to his prospects and feelings has quite made him
reckless.'
On the 19th, Branwell sends a short note to Leyland, in which he says,
'As to my own affairs, I only wish I could see one gleam of light amid
their gloom. You, I hope, are well and cheerful.'