DEATH OF BRANWELL.
Branwell's failing Health--Chronic Bronchitis and Marasmus--His
Death--Charlotte's allusions to it--Correction of some Statements
relating to it--Summary of the subsequent History of the Bronte
Family.
The spring and summer of the year 1848 were wild, wet, and
unfavourable, and the fine weather in August was of little benefit
to Branwell. His appetite was diminished, and he was weaker. He was
suffering, in addition to his chronic bronchitis, from marasmus, a
consumptive wasting away, arising from hereditary tendency, as well as
from mental agony and the effects of irregular life. However, neither
himself nor his family, nor his medical attendants had any
anticipation of immediate danger.
He was not, indeed, altogether confined to the house, and he was in
the village only two days before his death; but, on that occasion,
his strength failed before he reached his home. William Brown, the
sexton's brother, found him in the lane which leads up to the
parsonage, quite exhausted, panting for breath, and unable to proceed.
He was helped to the house, which he never again left alive.
In the last few days of his life, Branwell was more reconciled, more
subdued, and better feelings filled his mind. The affection of his
family returned undiminished, and they watched with intense anxiety
the end of their cherished brother. The strange madness that had
clouded his mind for so many months, left him now, and the simple
thoughts and feelings of his early years came back to him again. He
died on the morning of Sunday, September the 24th. He had talked
through the night of his mis-spent life, his wasted youth, and his
shame, with compunction. He was also filled with the
'Sense of past youth and manhood come in vain,
Of genius given, and knowledge won in vain.'
His natural love likewise came out in beautiful and touching words,
that consoled and satisfied those he was about to leave for ever.
Some time before the end, John Brown entered Branwell's room, and they
were alone. The young man, though faint and dying, spoke of the life
they had led together. He took a short retrospect of his past excesses,
in which the grave-digger had often partaken; but in it he made no
mention of the lady whose image had distracted his brain. He appeared,
in the calmness of approaching death, and the self-possession that
preceded it, to be unconscious that he had ever loved any but the
members of his family, for the depth and tenderness of which affection
he could find no language to express. But, presently, seizing Brown's
hand, he uttered the words: 'Oh, John, I am dying!' then, turning, as
if within himself, he murmured: 'In all my past life I have done
nothing either great or good.' Conscious that the last moment was near,
the sexton summoned the household; and retreated to the belfry. It was
about nine in the morning when the agony began. Branwell's struggles
and convulsions were great, and continued for some time: in the last
gasp, he started convulsively, almost to his feet, and fell dead into
his father's arms.
Mrs. Gaskell says, of this event: 'I have heard, from one who attended
Branwell in his last illness, that he resolved on standing up to die.
He had repeatedly said, that as long as there was life, there was
strength of will to do what it chose; and, when the last agony began,
he insisted on assuming the position just mentioned.' This account
does not accord with that given to me by the Browns, and, perhaps, it
arose from some exaggeration of what actually took place.
On October the 9th, Charlotte writes thus of her brother's end: 'The
past three weeks have been a dark interval in our humble home.
Branwell's constitution has 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. He is in God's hands now;
and the All-Powerful is likewise the All-Merciful. A deep conviction
that he rests at last--rests well after his brief, erring, suffering,
feverish life--fills and quiets my mind now. The final separation, the
spectacle of his pale corpse, gave me more acute, bitter pain than I
could have imagined. Till the last hour comes, we never know how much
we can forgive, pity, regret a near relative. All his vices were and
are nothing now. We remember only his woes. Papa was acutely
distressed at first, but, on the whole, has borne the event well.[48]
[48] Gaskell's 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap. xvi.
A few days later she wrote to another friend, speaking of her brother's
death. 'The event to which you allude came upon us indeed with
startling suddenness, and was a severe shock to us all.... I thank
you for your kind sympathy. Many, under the circumstances, would
think our loss rather a relief than otherwise; in truth, we must
acknowledge, in all humility and gratitude, that God has greatly
tempered judgment with mercy; but, yet, as you doubtless know from
experience, the last earthly separation cannot take place between
near relations without the keenest pangs on the part of the
survivors. Every wrong and sin is forgotten then; pity and grief
share the hearts and the memory between them. Yet we are not without
comfort in our affliction. A most propitious change marked the last
few days of poor Branwell's life ... and this change could not be
owing to the fear of death, for within half-an-hour of his decease he
seemed unconscious of danger.'
Charlotte concludes by referring to her own health, which had given
way under the strain.[49]
[49] 'Charlotte Bronte: a Monograph,' by T. Wemyss Reid, p.
90.
Branwell was buried in the grave in which the remains of his sisters
Maria and Elizabeth lay, and his name is placed next after theirs on
the tablet. Thus, after twenty-three years, he joined in the dust
those from whom in life he had never been separated in affection.
It would have been well if, when the grave closed over his mortal
remains, it had buried in oblivion the memory of his failings and
his sorrows. Charlotte, as we have seen, when her brother was gone,
remembered nothing but his woes; and, if the biographers of herself
and her sister Emily had consulted the feelings of those on whom they
wrote--which have been so touchingly and tearfully expressed by
Charlotte--they would have drawn the veil over whatever offences
Branwell, as mortal, might have committed. But, amongst Mrs. Gaskell's
other statements regarding him, there is one, relating even to his
death, which cannot be passed over in silence here, since, though she
had been compelled to omit it, with her other charges, from the second
edition of her work, Miss Robinson has reproduced it recently in her
'Emily Bronte.' The statement was to the effect that, when Branwell
died, his pockets were filled with the letters of the lady whom he had
admired.[50] To this bold statement Martha Brown gave to me a flat
contradiction, declaring that she was employed in the sick-room at the
time, and had personal knowledge that not one letter, nor a vestige of
one, from the lady in question was so found. The letters were mostly
from a gentleman of Branwell's acquaintance, then living near the
place of his former employment. Martha was indignant at the
misrepresentation.
[50] Gaskell's 'Life of Charlotte Bronte,' chap. xvi. 1st
Ed.
It may not be amiss here, in the briefest possible way, to give an
outline of the subsequent history of the Bronte family. Emily's health
began rapidly to fail after Branwell's death, which was a great shock
to her, and she never left the house alive after the Sunday succeeding
it. Her cough was very obstinate, and she was troubled with shortness
of breath. Charlotte saw the danger, but could do nothing to ward it
off, for Emily was silent and reserved, gave no answers to questions,
and took no remedies that were prescribed. She grew weaker daily,
and the end came on Tuesday, December the 19th. At the same time
Anne was slowly failing, but she lingered longer. 'Anne's decline,'
said Charlotte, 'is gradual and fluctuating; but its nature is not
doubtful.' Unlike Emily, she looked for sympathy, took medicines,
and did her best to get well. It was arranged at last that Charlotte
and she should go to Scarborough, hoping the change of air might
invigorate her, and they left the parsonage on May the 24th, 1849. But
the change had no beneficial effect, and Anne died on May the 28th, at
Scarborough, where she was buried.
After this the more purely literary portion of Charlotte's life
commenced. She completed 'Shirley' early in September, 1849, and
it was published on October the 26th. Her real name, and the
neighbourhood in which she resided, became now generally known. The
reviews showered rapidly; but Charlotte thought that one the best by
Eugene Forcade, in the 'Revue des deux Mondes.' The cloud now passed
away from her, and she visited London, made the acquaintance of
Thackeray, Miss Martineau, and others, and entered eagerly into the
occupations of literary life. 'Villette' was completed in November,
1852. Charlotte married the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, who had long
been her father's curate, on June the 29th, 1854, and she died on
Saturday, March the 31st, 1855. The Rev. Patrick Bronte, whom I knew,
a fine, tall, grey-haired, and venerable old man, survived all his
children, and died at Haworth on January 7th, 1861.