I had never liked Charlotte Bronte, probably because some biographer had said she destroyed Emily's unpublished writings after the latter's death. Even J. Barker's previous biography of the family hardly redeemed her in my opinion; it was more positive in presenting poor Branwell Bronte and their father, Patrick, in more favorable lights than had previous biographers. However, as I remember, it failed to show the closeness of the sisters and how much Charlotte depended on Emily, though having to handle her with kid gloves, as the only person with whom she was totally open and thoroughly "bleshed," until long after Emily's death. Emily was a difficult person if anyone intruded into her space; well, she was difficult, anyway. Wild.
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Today I finished reading this volume of letters to, by and about Charlotte. Of course, anyone who ever received a letter from Currer Bell/Charlotte Bronte kept it for posterity, and Barker succeeded in digging up a 400-page book's worth of them--not all from Charlotte, but also those she received from relatives, close friends and her publishers.
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What that woman suffered, what she knew and what she accomplished, makes me decide that I would trust her judgment in anything concerning that family. She only spoke coldly of her brother Branwell when his alcoholism had totally destroyed any hope he had of a decent future, and before he fell dead of the illness (tuberculosis) which none of them had known he had.
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In September of 1848, Branwell died suddenly, fell in the street and was dead 24 hours later. In December of that same year, Emily died of tuberculosis. In May of 1849, the youngest sister, Anne, was so ill that Charlotte took her to a beach resort, where she died and was buried, as Charlotte couldn't manage getting the body back to Haworth, Yorkshire.
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In one letter, after Branwell had died and Emily and Anne were both ill, Charlotte wrote that she couldn't stand to think of the past or of the future. She felt she was crossing an abyss on a narrow plank, and if she ever looked back or to the side, she would lose her grip on reality.
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Still she survived, and wrote another book. Emily had written Wuthering Heights and was working on another novel until she fell ill. Anne had written Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall--which, by the way, I consider as good a novel as Jane Eyre. Charlotte's third published novel was Vilette, which I've never read. Before her siblings' deaths, she had written The Professor, which was refused by the publishers; Jane Eyre, and Shirley--which was the name of a place, not of a person.
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Of all their books, I still think Wuthering Heights is the only great novel. It isn't pretty or sweet, but it's great.
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Charlotte could have married at least three times before she finally married her father's curate, Arthur Nicholls. And so she got pregnant, and literally vomited herself to death after less than a year of marriage, a month short of her 39th birthday.
Charlotte Bronte, 21 April 1816-31 Mar. 1855 (Zodiac sign Taurus)
Patrick Branwell Bronte, 26 June 1817-24 Sept. 1848 (Cancer)
Emily Jane Bronte, 30 July 1818-19 Dec. 1848 (Leo)
Anne Bronte, 17 Jan. 1820-28 May 1849 (Capricorn)
Ted Kennedy died yesterday, the last of the Old Ones. I hope they're all united in a good place. For this country, his death marks the end of a very special era--a time of hope, optimism, patriotism and good will. Regardless of their individual faults, to think of the Kennedys always brings me memories of good times and the possibility of better times than these.
