No More Learning

What is the power that came to our assistance? Who is the
divinity that worked this miracle? The love of good living.
When the Britons, Germans, Teutons, Cimmerians, and Scyth-
ians made their irruption into France, they brought a rare
voracity, and stomachs of no ordinary capacity. They did not
long remain satisfied with the official cheer which a forced hos-
pitality had to supply them with. They aspired to enjoyments
of greater refinement; and soon the Queen City was nothing
but a huge refectory. Everywhere they were seen eating, those
intruders in the restaurants, the eating-houses, the inns, the
taverns, the stalls, and even in the streets. They gorged them-
selves with flesh, fish, game, truffles, pastry, and especially with
fruit. They drank with an avidity equal to their appetite, and
always ordered the most expensive wines, in the hope of finding
in them some enjoyment hitherto unknown, and seemed quite
astonished when they were disappointed. Superficial observers
did not know what to think of this menagerie without bounds or
limits; but your genuine Parisian laughed and rubbed his hands.
"We have them now! " said he; "and to-night they'll have paid
us back more than was counted out to them this morning from
the public treasury! "
―――――――
That was a lucky time for those who provide for the enjoy、
ments of the sense of taste. Véry made his fortune; Achard laid
the foundation of his; Beauvilliers made a third; and Madame
Sullot, whose shop in the Palais Royal was a mere box of a
place, sold as many as twelve thousand tarts a day.
The effect still lasts. Foreigners flow in from all quarters of
Europe to renew during peace the delightful habits which they


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2372
BRILLAT-SAVARIN
contracted during the war. They must come to Paris, and when
they are there, they must be regaled at any price. If our funds
are in favor, it is due not so much to the higher interest they
pay, as to the instinctive confidence which foreigners cannot help
placing in a people amongst whom every lover of good living
finds so much happiness.
Love of good living is by no means unbecoming in women.
It agrees with the delicacy of their organization, and serves as a
compensation for some pleasures which they are obliged to abstain
from, and for some hardships to which nature seems to have
condemned them. There is no more pleasant sight than a pretty
gourmande under arms. Her napkin is nicely adjusted; one of
her hands rests on the table, the other carries to her mouth little
morsels artistically carved, or the wing of a partridge which must
be picked. Her eyes sparkle, her lips are glossy, her talk is cheer-
ful, all her movements graceful; nor is there lacking some spice
of the coquetry which accompanies all that women do. With so
many advantages, she is irresistible, and Cato the Censor himself
could not help yielding to the influence.
The love of good living is in some sort instinctive in women,
because it is favorable to beauty. It has been proved, by a series
of rigorously exact observations, that by a succulent, delicate, and
choice regimen, the external appearances of age are kept away
for a long time. It gives more brilliancy to the eye, more fresh-
ness to the skin, more support to the muscles; and as it is certain
in physiology that wrinkles, those formidable enemies of beauty,
are caused by the depression of muscle, it is equally true that,
other things being equal, those who understand eating are com-
paratively four years younger than those ignorant of that science.
Painters and sculptors are deeply impenetrated with this truth;
for in representing those who practice abstinence by choice or
duty as misers or anchorites, they always give them the pallor
of disease, the leanness of misery, and the wrinkles of decrepitude.
Good living is one of the main links of society, by gradually
extending that spirit of conviviality by which different classes are
daily brought closer together and welded into one whole; by
animating the conversation, and rounding off the angles of con-
ventional inequality. To the same cause we can also ascribe all
the efforts a host makes to receive his guests properly, as well as
their gratitude for his pains so well bestowed. What disgrace
should ever be heaped upon those senseless feeders who, with


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BRILLAT-SAVARIN
2373
unpardonable indifference, swallow down morsels of the rarest
quality, or gulp with unrighteous carelessness some fine-flavored
and sparkling wine.
As a general maxim: Whoever shows a desire to please will
be certain of having a delicate compliment paid him by every
well-bred man.
Again, when shared, the love of good living has the most
marked influence on the happiness of the conjugal state. A
wedded pair with this taste in common have once a day at
least a pleasant opportunity of meeting. For even when they
sleep apart (and a great many do so), they at least eat at the
same table, they have a subject of conversation which is ever
new, they speak not only of what they are eating, but also of
what they have eaten or will eat, of dishes which are in vogue,
of novelties, etc. Everybody knows that a familiar chat is
delightful.
Music, no doubt, has powerful attractions for those who are
fond of it, but one must set about it—it is an exertion. Be-
sides, one sometimes has a cold, the music is mislaid, the instru-
ments are out of tune, one has a fit of the blues, or it is a
forbidden day. Whereas, in the other case, a common want
summons the spouses to table, the same inclination keeps them
there; they naturally show each other these little attentions as a
proof of their wish to oblige, and the mode of conducting their
meals has a great share in the happiness of their lives.
This observation, though new in France, has not escaped the
notice of Richardson, the English moralist. He has worked out
the idea in his novel 'Pamela,' by painting the different manner
in which two married couples finish their day. The first husband
is a lord, an eldest son, and therefore heir to all the family prop-
erty; the second is his younger brother, the husband of Pamela,
who has been disinherited on account of his marriage, and lives
on half-pay in a state but little removed from abject poverty.
The lord and lady enter their dining-room by different doors,
and salute each other coldly, though they have not met the whole
day before. Sitting down at a table which is magnificently cov-
ered, surrounded by lackeys in brilliant liveries, they help them-
selves in silence, and eat without pleasure. As soon, however,
as the servants have withdrawn, a sort of conversation is begun
between the pair, which quickly shows a bitter tone, passing into
a regular fight, and they rise from the table in a fury of anger,


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2374
BRILLAT-SAVARIN
and go off to their separate apartments to reflect upon the pleas-
ures of a single life.
The younger brother, on the contrary, is, on reaching his
unpretentious home, received with a gentle, loving heartiness and
the fondest caresses. He sits down to a frugal meal, but every-
thing he eats is excellent; and how could it be otherwise? It is
Pamela herself who has prepared it all. They eat with enjoy-
ment, talking of their affairs, their plans, their love for each
other. A half-bottle of Madeira serves to prolong their repast
and conversation, and soon after they retire together, to forget
in sleep their present hardships, and to dream of a better future.
All honor to the love of good living, such as it is the pur-
pose of this book to describe, so long as it does not come
between men and their occupations or duties! For, as all the
debaucheries of a Sardanapalus cannot bring disrespect upon
womankind in general, so the excesses of a Vitellius need not
make us turn our backs upon a well-appointed banquet. Should
the love of good living pass into gluttony, voracity, intemper-
ance, it then loses its name and advantages, escapes from our
jurisdiction, and falls within that of the moralist to ply it with
good counsel, or of the physician who will cure it by his
remedies.
ON PEOPLE FOND OF GOOD LIVING
THERE are individuals to whom nature has denied a refine-
ment of organs, or a continuity of attention, without which the
most succulent dishes pass unobserved. Physiology has already
recognized the first of these varieties, by showing us the tongue
of these unhappy ones, badly furnished with nerves for inhaling
and appreciating flavors. These excite in them but an obtuse
sentiment; such persons are, with regard to objects of taste, what
the blind are with regard to light. The second class are the
absent-minded, chatterboxes, persons engrossed in business or
ambition, and others who seek to occupy themselves with two
things at once, and eat only to be filled. Such, for example,
was Napoleon; he was irregular in his meals, and ate fast and
badly. But there again was to be traced that absolute will which
he carried into everything he did. The moment appetite was
felt, it was necessary that it should be satisfied; and his estab-
lishment was so arranged that, in any place and at any hour,
chicken, cutlets, and coffee might be forthcoming at a word.


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BRILLAT-SAVARIN
2375
There is a privileged class of persons who are summoned to
the enjoyments of taste by a physical and organic predisposition.
I have always believed in physiognomy and phrenology. Men
have inborn tendencies; and since there are some who come into
the world seeing, hearing, and walking badly, because they are
short-sighted, deaf, or crippled, why should there not be others.
who are specially predisposed to experience a certain series of
sensations? Moreover, even an ordinary observer will constantly
discover faces which bear the unmistakable imprint of a ruling
passion such as superciliousness, self-satisfaction, misanthropy,
sensuality, and many others. Sometimes, no doubt, we meet
with a face that expresses nothing; but when the physiognomy
has a marked stamp it is almost always a true index. The pas-
sions act upon the muscles, and frequently, although a man says
nothing, the various feelings by which he is moved can be read
in his face. By this tension, if in the slightest degree habitual,
perceptible traces are at last left, and the physiognomy thus
assumes its permanent and recognizable characteristics.
-
Those predisposed to epicurism are for the most part of mid-
dling height. They are broad-faced, and have bright eyes,
small forehead, short nose, fleshy lips, and rounded chin. The
women are plump, chubby, pretty rather than beautiful, with a
slight tendency to fullness of figure. It is under such an exterior
that we must look for agreeable guests. They accept all that is
offered them, eat without hurry, and taste with discrimination.
They never make any haste to get away from houses where they
have been well treated, but stay for the evening, because they
know all the games and other after-dinner amusements.
Those, on the contrary, to whom nature has denied an apti-
tude for the enjoyments of taste, are long-faced, long-nosed, and
long-eyed: whatever their stature, they have something lanky
about them. They have dark, lanky hair, and are never in good
condition. It was one of them who invented trousers. The
women whom nature has afflicted with the same misfortune are
angular, feel themselves bored at table, and live on cards and
scandal.
This theory of mine can be verified by each reader from his
own personal observation. I shall give an instance from my own
personal experience:-
Sitting one day at a grand banquet, I had opposite me a
very pretty neighbor, whose face showed the predisposition I


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2376
BRILLAT-SAVARIN
have described. Leaning to the guest beside me, I said quietly
that from her physiognomy, the young lady on the other side of
the table must be fond of good eating. "You must be mad! "
he answered; "she is but fifteen at most, which is certainly not
the age for such a thing. However, let us watch. "
At first, things were by no means in my favor, and I was
somewhat afraid of having compromised myself, for during the
first two courses the young lady quite astonished me by her dis-
cretion, and I suspected we had stumbled upon an exception,
remembering that there are some for every rule. But at last
the dessert came,-a dessert both magnificent and abundant,-
and my hopes were again revived. Nor did I hope in vain: not
only did she eat of all that was offered her, but she even got
dishes brought to her from the farthest parts of the table.
In a
word, she tasted everything, and my neighbor at last expressed
his astonishment that the little stomach could hold so many
things. Thus was my diagnosis verified, and once again science
triumphed.
-
Whilst I was writing the above, on a fine winter's evening,
M. Cartier, formerly the first violinist at the Opera, paid me a
visit, and sat down at the fireside. Being full of my subject, I
said, after looking at him attentively for some time, "How does
it happen, my dear professor, that you are no epicure, when you
have all the features of one? " "I was one," he replied, "and
among the foremost; but now I refrain. " "On principle, I sup-
pose? " said I; but all the answer I had was a sigh, like one of
Sir Walter Scott's- that is to say, almost a groan.
As some are gourmands by predestination, so others become
so by their state in society or their calling. There are four
classes which I should signalize by way of eminence: the mon-
eyed class, the doctors, men of letters, and the devout.
Inequality of condition implies inequality of wealth, but in-
equality of wealth docs not imply inequality of wants; and he
who can afford every day a dinner sufficient for a hundred per-
sons is often satisfied by eating the thigh of a chicken. Hence
the necessity for the many devices of art to reanimate that ghost
of an appetite by dishes which maintain it without injury, and
caress without stifling it.
The causes which act upon doctors are very different, though
not less powerful. They become epicures in spite of themselves,
and must be made of bronze to resist the seductive power of


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BRILLAT-SAVARIN
2377
circumstances. The "dear doctor" is all the more kindly wel-
comed that health is the most precious of boons; and thus they
are always waited for with impatience and received with eager-
Some are kind to them from hope, others from gratitude.
They are fed like pet pigeons. They let things take their course,
and in six months the habit is confirmed, and they are gour-
mands past redemption.
ness.
I ventured one day to express this opinion at a banquet in
which, with eight others, I took a part, with Dr. Corvisart at the
head of the table. It was about the year 1806.
"You! " cried I, with the inspired tone of a Puritan preacher;
«< you are the last remnant of a body which formerly covered the
whole of France. Alas! its members are annihilated or widely
scattered. No more fermiers-généraux, no abbés nor knights nor
white-coated friars. The members of your profession constitute
the whole gastronomic body. Sustain with firmness that great
responsibility, even if you must share the fate of the three hun-
dred Spartans at the Pass of Thermopyla. "
At the same dinner I observed the following noteworthy fact.
The doctor, who, when in the mood, was a most agreeable com-
panion, drank nothing but iced champagne; and therefore in the
earlier part of the dinner, whilst others were engaged in eating,
he kept talking loudly and telling stories. But at dessert, on
the contrary, and when the general conversation began to be
lively, he became serious, silent, and sometimes low-spirited.
From this observation, confirmed by many others, I have
deduced the following theorem: — "Champagne, though at first
exhilarating, ultimately produces stupefying effects;" a result,
moreover, which is a well-known characteristic of the carbonic
acid which it contains.
Whilst I have the university doctors under my grasp, I must,
before I die, reproach them with the extreme severity which
they use towards their patients. As soon as one has the misfor-
tune to fall into their hands, he must undergo a whole litany of
prohibitions, and give up everything that he is accustomed to
think agreeable. I rise up to oppose such interdictions, as being
for the most part useless. I say useless, because the patient
never longs for what is hurtful. A doctor of judgment will never
lose sight of the instinctive tendency of our inclinations, or forget
that if painful sensations are naturally fraught with danger, those
which are pleasant have a healthy tendency. We have seen a


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2378
BRILLAT-SAVARIN
drop of wine, a cup of coffee, or a thimbleful of liqueur, call up
a smile to the most Hippocratic face.
Those severe prescribers must, moreover, know very well that
their prescriptions remain almost always without result. The
patient tries to evade the duty of taking them; those about him
easily find a good excuse for humoring him, and thus his death.
is neither hastened nor retarded. In 1815 the medical allowance of
a sick Russian would have made a drayman drunk, and that
of an Englishman was enough for a Limousin.
Nor was any
diminution possible, for there were military inspectors constantly
going round our hospitals to examine the supply and the con-
sumption.
I am the more confident in announcing my opinion because it
is based upon numerous facts, and the most successful practi-
tioners have used a system closely resembling it.
Canon Rollet, who died some fifty years ago, was a hard
drinker, according to the custom of those days. He fell ill, and
the doctor's first words were a prohibition of wine in any form.
On his very next visit, however, our physician found beside the
bed of his patient the corpus delicti itself, to wit, a table covered
with a snow-white cloth, a crystal cup, a handsome-looking bottle,
and a napkin to wipe the lips. At this sight he flew into a vio-
lent passion and spoke of leaving the house, when the wretched
canon cried to him in tones of lamentation, "Ah, doctor, remem-
ber that in forbidding me to drink, you have not forbidden me
the pleasure of looking at the bottle! "
The physician who treated Montlusin of Pont de Veyle was
still more severe, for not only did he forbid the use of wine to
his patient, but also prescribed large doses of water. Shortly
after the doctor's departure, Madame Montlusin, anxious to give
full effect to the medical orders and assist in the recovery of her
husband's health, offered him a large glass of the finest and
clearest water. The patient took it with docility, and began to
drink it with resignation; but stopping short at the first mouth-
ful, he handed back the glass to his wife. "Take it, my dear,"
said he, "and keep it for another time; I have always heard it
said that we should not trifle with remedies. "
In the domain of gastronomy the men of letters are near
neighbors to the doctors. A hundred years ago literary men
were all hard drinkers. They followed the fashion, and the
memoirs of the period are quite edifying on that subject. At


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BRILLAT-SAVARIN
2379
the present day they are gastronomes, and it is a step in the
right direction. I by no means agree with the cynical Geoffroy,
who used to say that if our modern writings are weak, it is be-
cause literary men now drink nothing stronger than lemonade.
The present age is rich in talents, and the very number of books
probably interferes with their proper appreciation; but posterity,
being more calm and judicial, will see amongst them much to
admire, just as we ourselves have done justice to the master-
pieces of Racine and Molière, which were received by their con-
temporaries with coldness.
Never has the social position of men of letters been more
pleasant than at present. They no longer live in wretched gar-
rets; the fields of literature are become more fertile, and even
the study of the Muses has become productive. Received on an
equality in any rank of life, they no longer wait for patronage;
and to fill up their cup of happiness, good living bestows upon
them its dearest favors. Men of letters are invited because of
the good opinion men have of their talents; because their con-
versation has, generally speaking, something piquant in it, and
also because now every dinner-party must as a matter of course
have its literary man.
Those gentlemen always arrive a little late, but are welcomed,
because expected. They are treated as favorites so that they
may come again, and regaled that they may shine; and as they
find all this very natural, by being accustomed to it they become,
are, and remain gastronomes.
Finally, amongst the most faithful in the ranks of gastronomy
we must reckon many of the devout-i. e. , those spoken of by
Louis XIV. and Molière, whose religion consists in outward show;
-nothing to do with those who are really pious and charitable.
Let us consider how this comes about. Of those who wish to
secure their salvation, the greater number try to find the most
pleasant road. Men who flee from society, sleep on the ground,
and wear hair-cloth next the skin, have always been, and must
ever be, exceptions. Now there are certain things unquestionably
to be condemned, and on no account to be indulged in-as balls,
theatres, gambling, and other similar amusements; and whilst
they and all that practice them are to be hated, good living
presents itself insinuatingly in a thoroughly orthodox guise.
By right divine, man is king of nature, and all that the earth
produces was created for him. It is for him that the quail is


## p. 2380 (#578) ###########################################

2380
BRILLAT-SAVARIN
fattened, for him that Mocha possesses so agreeable an aroma,
for him that sugar has such wholesome properties. How then
neglect to use, within reasonable limits, the good things which
Providence presents to us; especially if we continue to regard
them as things that perish with the using, especially if they raise
our thankfulness towards the Author of all!
Other equally strong reasons come to strengthen these. Can
we be too hospitable in receiving those who have charge of our
souls, and keep us in the way of safety? Should those meetings.
with so excellent an object not be made pleasant, and therefore
frequent?
Sometimes, also, the gifts of Comus arrive unsought-perhaps
a souvenir of college days, a present from an old friend, a peace-
offering from a penitent or a college chum recalling himself to
one's memory. How refuse to accept such offerings, or to make
systematic use of them? It is simply a necessity.
The monasteries were real magazines of charming dainties,
which is one reason why certain connoisseurs so bitterly regret
them. Several of the monastic orders, especially that of St.
Bernard, made a profession of good cheer. The limits of gastro-
nomic art have been extended by the cooks of the clergy, and
when M. de Pressigni (afterwards Archbishop of Besançon) re-
turned from the Conclave at the election of Pius VI. , he said
that the best dinner he had had in Rome was at the table of the
head of the Capuchins.
We cannot conclude this article better than by honorably
mentioning two classes of men whom we have seen in all their
glory, and whom the Revolution has eclipsed-the chevaliers and
the abbés. How they enjoyed good living, those dear old fellows!
That could be told at a glance by their nervous nostrils, their
clear eyes, their moist lips and mobile tongues. Each class had
at the same time its own special manner of eating: the chevalier
having something military and dignified in his air and attitude;
while the abbé gathered himself together, as it were, to be nearer
his plate, with his right hand curved inward like the paw of a
cat drawing chestnuts from the fire, whilst in every feature was
shown enjoyment and an indefinable look of close attention.
So far from good living being hurtful to health, it has been
arithmetically proved by Dr. Villermé in an able paper read
before the Académie des Sciences, that other things being equal,
the gourmands live longer than ordinary men.


## p. 2380 (#579) ###########################################



## p. 2380 (#580) ###########################################


CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
W. Grosch


## p. 2380 (#581) ###########################################

2381
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## p. 2380 (#582) ###########################################



## p. 2381 (#583) ###########################################

2381
CHARLOTTE BRONTÉ AND HER SISTERS
(1816-1855)
HE least that can be said of Charlotte Bronté is that she
is a unique figure in literature. Nowhere else do we find
another personality combining such extraordinary qualities
of mind and heart,- qualities strangely contrasted, but still more
strangely harmonized. At times they are baffling, but always fasci-
nating. Nowhere else do we find so intimate an association of the
personality of the author with the work, so thorough an identifica-
tion with it of the author's life, even to the smaller details. So true
is this in the case of Charlotte Bronté that the four novels 'Jane
Eyre,' 'Shirley,' 'Villette,' and 'The Professor' might with some
justice be termed 'Charlotte Bronté; her life and her friends. ' Her
works were in large part an expression of herself; at times the best
expression of herself-of her actual self in experience and of her
spiritual self in travail and in aspiration. It is manifestly impossible
therefore to consider the works of Charlotte Bronté with justice apart
from herself. A correct understanding of her books can be obtained
only from a study of her remarkable personality and of the sad cir-
cumstances of her life.
Public interest in Charlotte Bronté was first roused in 1847. In
October of that year there appeared in London a novel that created
a sensation, the like of which had not been known since the publi-
cation of 'Waverley. ' Its stern and paradoxical disregard for the con-
ventional, its masculine energy, and its intense realism, startled the
public, and proclaimed to all in accents unmistakable that a new,
strange, and splendid power had come into literature, "but yet a
woman. "
And with the success of 'Jane Eyre' came a lively curiosity to
know something of the personality of the author. This was not
gratified for some time. There were many conjectures, all of them
far amiss. The majority of readers asserted confidently that the
work must be that of a man: the touch was unmistakably mascu-
line. In some quarters it met with hearty abuse. The Quarterly
Review, in an article still notorious for its brutality, condemned the
book as coarse, and stated that if 'Jane Eyre' were really written by
a woman, she must be an improper woman, who had forfeited the
society of her sex. This was said in December, 1848, of one of the
noblest and purest of womankind. It is not a matter of surprise that


## p. 2382 (#584) ###########################################

2382
BRONTÉ SISTERS
the identity of this audacious speculator was not revealed. The
recent examination into the topic by Mr. Clement Shorter seems,
however, to fix the authorship of the notice on Lady Eastlake, at
that time Miss Driggs.
But hostile criticism of the book and its mysterious author could
not injure its popularity. The story swept all before it—press and
public. Whatever might be the source, the work stood there and
spoke for itself in commanding terms. At length the mystery was
cleared. A shrewd Yorkshireman guessed and published the truth,
and the curious world knew that the author of 'Jane Eyre' was the
daughter of a clergyman in the little village of Haworth, and that
the literary sensation of the day found its source in a nervous,
shrinking, awkward, plain, delicate young creature of thirty-one
years of age, whose life, with the exception of two years, had been
spent on the bleak and dreary moorlands of Yorkshire, and for the
most part in the narrow confines of a grim gray stone parsonage.
There she had lived a pinched and meagre little life, full of sadness
and self-denial, with two sisters more delicate than herself, a dis-
solute brother, and a father her only parent,- a stern and forbidding
father. This was no genial environment for an author, even if help-
ful to her vivid imagination. Nor was it a temporary condition,
it was a permanent one. Nearly all the influences in Charlotte
Bronté's life were such as these, which would seem to cramp if
not to stifle sensitive talent. Her brother Branwell (physically
weaker than herself, though unquestionably talented, and for a time
the idol and hope of the family) became dissipated, irresponsible,
untruthful, and a ne'er-do-weel, and finally yielding to circumstances,
ended miserably a life of failure.
But Charlotte Bronté's nature was one of indomitable courage,
that circumstances might shadow but could not obscure. Out of the
meagre elements of her narrow life she evolved works that stand
among the imperishable things of English literature. It is a paradox
that finds its explanation only in a statement of natural sources,
primitive, bardic, the sources of the early epics, the sources of such
epics as Cædmon and Beowulf bore. She wrote from a sort of
necessity; it was in obedience to the commanding authority of an
extraordinary genius,-a creative power that struggled for expres-
sion, and much of her work deserves in the best and fullest sense
the term "inspired. "
The facts of her life are few in number, but they have a direct
and significant bearing on her work. She was born at Thornton,
in the parish of Bradford, in 1816. Four years later her father
moved to Haworth, to the parsonage now indissolubly associated
with her name, and there Mr. Bronté entered upon a long period
――――――


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BRONTÉ SISTERS
2383
of pastorate service, that only ended with his death. Charlotte's
mother was dead. In 1824 Charlotte and two older sisters, Maria
and Elizabeth, went to a school at Cowan's Bridge. It was an insti-
tution for clergymen's children, a vivid picture of which appears in
'Jane Eyre. ' It was so badly managed and the food was so poor
that many of the children fell sick, among them Maria Bronté, who
died in 1825.
Elizabeth followed her a few months later, and Char-
lotte returned to Haworth, where she remained for six years, then
went to school at Roe Head for a period of three years.
She was
offered the position of teacher by Miss Wooler, the principal at Roe
Head, but considering herself unfit to teach, she resolved to go to
Brussels to study French. She spent two years there, and it was
there that her intimate and misconstrued friendship for M. Heger
developed. The incidents of that period formed the material of a
greater portion of her novel 'Villette,' filled twenty-two volumes of
from sixty to one hundred pages of fine writing, and consisted of
some forty complete novelettes or other stories and childish "maga-
zines. "
On returning to Haworth, she endeavored, together with her sister
Emily, to establish a school at their home. But pupils were not to
be had, and the outlook was discouraging. Two periods of service
as governess, and the ill health that had followed, had taught Char-
lotte the danger that threatened her. Her experiences as a governess
in the Sedgwick family were pictured by-and-by in Jane Eyre. ' In
a letter to Miss Ellen Nussey, written at this time, she gives a dark
vignette of her situation.
With her two sisters Emily and Anne she lived a quiet and
retired life. The harsh realities about them, the rough natures of
the Yorkshire people, impelled the three sisters to construct in their
home an ideal world of their own, and in this their pent-up natures
found expression. Their home was lonely and gloomy. Mr. Clement
K. Shorter, in his recent study of the novelist and her family, says
that the house is much the same to-day, though its immediate sur-
roundings are brightened. He writes:
"One day Emily confided to Charlotte that she had written some
verses. Charlotte answered with a similar confidence, and then Anne
acknowledged that she too had been secretly writing. This mutual
confession brought about a complete understanding and sympathy,
and from that time on the sisters worked together-reading their
literary productions to one another and submitting to each other's
criticism. "
This was however by no means Charlotte's first literary work.
She has left a catalogue of books written by her between 1829 and
1830. Her first printed work however appeared in a volume of 'Poems'


## p. 2384 (#586) ###########################################

2384
BRONTE SISTERS
by Acton, Ellis, and Currer Bell, published in 1846 at the expense of
the authors. Under these names the little book of the Bronté sisters
went forth to the world, was reviewed with mild favor in some few
periodicals, and was lost to sight.
Then came a period of novel-writing. As a result, Emily Bronté's
'Wuthering Heights,' Anne Bronté's 'Agnes Grey,' and Charlotte
Bronté's The Professor' set out together to find a publisher. The
last-named was unsuccessful; but on the day it was returned to her,
Charlotte Bronté began writing Jane Eyre. ' That first masterpiece
was shaped during a period of sorrow and discouragement. Her
father was ill and in danger of losing his eyesight. Her brother
Branwell was sinking into the slough of disgrace. No wonder 'Jane
Eyre' is not a story of sunshine and roses. She finished the story
in 1847. and it was accepted by the publishers promptly upon exam-
ination.
After its publication and the sensation produced, Charlotte Bronté
continued her literary work quietly, and unaffected by the furore she
had aroused. A few brief visits to London, where attempts were
made to lionize her, - very much to her distaste, - a few literary
friendships, notably those with Thackeray, George Henry Lewes, Mrs.
Gaskell, and Harriet Martineau, were the only features that distin-
guished her literary life from the simple life she had always led and
continued to lead at Haworth. She was ever busy, if not ever at her
desk. Success had come; she was sane in the midst of it. She
wrote slowly and only as she felt the impulse, and when she knew
she had found the proper impression. In 1849 Shirley' was pub-
lished. In 1853 appeared 'Villette,' her last finished work, and the
one considered by herself the best.
In 1854 she married her father's curate, Mr. A. B. Nicholls. She
had lost her brother Branwell and her two sisters Emily and Anne.
Sorrow upon sorrow had closed like deepening shadows about her.
All happiness in life for her had apparently ended, when this mar-
riage brought a brief ray of sunshine. It was a happy union, and
seemed to assure a period of peace and rest for the sorely tried soul.
Only a few short months, however, and fate, as if grudging her even
the bit of happiness, snapped the slender threads of her life and the
whole sad episode of her existence was ended. She died March 31st,
1855, leaving her husband and father to mourn together in the lonely
parsonage. She left a literary fragment - the story entitled 'Emma,'
which was published with an introduction by Thackeray.
Such are the main facts of this reserved life of Charlotte Bronté.
Are they dull and commonplace? Some of them are indeed inexpress-
ibly sad. Tragedy is beneath all the bitter chronicle. The sadness
of her days can be appreciated by all who read her books. Through


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BRONTÉ SISTERS
2385
all her stories there is an intense note, especially in treating the
pathos of existence, that is unmistakably subjective. There is a
keen perception of the darker depths of human nature that could
have been revealed to a human heart only by suffering and sorrow.
She did not allow sadness, however, to crush her spirit. She was
neither morbid nor melancholy, but on the contrary Charlotte was
cheerful and pleasant in disposition and manner. She was a loving
sister and devoted daughter, patient and obedient to a parent who
afterwards made obedience a severe hardship. There were other
sides to her character. She was not always calmn. She was not
ever tender and a maker of allowances. But who is such? And she
had good reason to be impatient with the world as she found it.
Her character and disposition are partially reflected in 'Jane
Eyre. ' The calm, clear mind, the brave, independent spirit are
there. But a fuller and more accurate picture of her character may
be found in Lucy Snowe, the heroine of 'Villette. ' Here we find
especially that note of hopelessness that predominated in Charlotte's
character. Mrs. Gaskell, in her admirable biography of Charlotte
Bronté, has called attention to this absence of hope in her nature.
Charlotte indeed never allowed herself to look forward to happy
issues. She had no confidence in the future. The pressure of grief
apparently crushed all buoyancy of expectation. It was in this
attitude that when literary success greeted her, she made little of it,
scarcely allowing herself to believe that the world really set a high
value on her work. Throughout all the excitement that her books
produced, she was almost indifferent. Brought up as she had been
to regard literary work as something beyond the proper limits of
her sex, she never could quite rid herself of the belief that in writing
successfully, she had made of herself not so much a literary figure
as a sort of social curiosity. Nor was that idea wholly foreign to her
time.
Personally Charlotte Bronté was not unattractive. Though some-
what too slender and pale, and plain of feature, she had a pleasant
expression, and her homelier features were redeemed by a strong
massive forehead, luxuriant glossy hair, and handsome eyes. Though
she had little faith in her powers of inspiring affection, she attracted
people strongly and was well beloved by her friends. That she
could stir romantic sentiment too was attested by the fact that she
received and rejected three proposals of marriage from as many
suitors, before her acceptance of Mr. Nicholls.
Allusion has been made to the work of Charlotte's two sisters,
Emily and Anne. Of the two Emily is by far the more remarkable,
revealing in the single novel we have from her pen a genius as dis-
tinct and individual as that of her more celebrated sister. Had she
IV-150


## p. 2386 (#588) ###########################################

2386
BRONTÉ SISTERS
lived, it is more than likely that her literary achievements would
have rivaled Charlotte's.
Emily Bronté has always been something of a puzzle to biogra-
phers. She was eccentric, an odd mixture of bashful reserve and
unexpected spells of frankness, sweet, gentle, and retiring in disposi-
tion, but possessed of great courage. She was two years younger
than Charlotte, but taller. She was slender, though well formed, and
was pale in complexion, with great gray eyes of remarkable beauty.
Emily's literary work is to be found in the volume of 'Poems of her
sisters, her share in that work being considered superior in imaginat-
ive quality and in finish to that of the others; and in the novel
'Wuthering Heights,' a weird, horrid story of astonishing power, writ-
ten when she was twenty-eight years of age. Considered purely as an
imaginative work, Wuthering Heights' is one of the most remarkable
stories in English literature, and is worthy to be ranked with the
works of Edgar A. Poe. Many will say that it might better not have
been written, so utterly repulsive is it, but others will value it as a
striking, though distorted, expression of unmistakable genius. It is
a ghastly and gruesome creation. Not one bright ray redeems it.
It deals with the most evil characters and the most evil phases of
human experience. But it fascinates. Heathcliff, the chief figure in
the book, is one of the greatest villains in fiction, an abhorrent
creature, strange, monstrous, Frankensteinesque.
Anne Bronté is known by her share in the book of Poems' and
by two novels, Agnes Gray' and 'The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,'
both of which are disappointing. The former is based on the
author's experiences as a governess, and is written in the usual
placid style of romances of the time. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall'
found its suggestion in the wretched career of Branwell Bronté, and
presents a sad and depressing picture of a life of degradation. The
book was not a success, and would no doubt have sunk long ago
into oblivion but for its association with the novels of Emily and
Charlotte.
<
-
In studying the work of Charlotte Bronté, the gifted older sister
of the group, one of the first of the qualities that impress the reader
is her actual creative power. To one of her imaginative power, the
simplest life was sufficient, the smallest details a fund of material.
Mr. Swinburne has called attention to the fact that Charlotte Bronté's
characters are individual creations, not types constructed out of ele-
ments gathered from a wide observation of human nature, and that
they are real creations; that they compel our interest and command
our assent because they are true, inevitably true. Perhaps no better
example of this individualism could be cited than Rochester. The
character is unique. It is not a type, nor has it even a prototype,


## p. 2387 (#589) ###########################################

BRONTÉ SISTERS
2387
like so many of Charlotte Bronté's characters. Gossip insisted at one
time that the author intended to picture Thackeray in Rochester, but
this is groundless. Rochester is an original creation. The character
of Jane Eyre, too, while reflecting something of the author's nature,
was distinctly individual; and it is interesting to note here that with
Jane Eyre came a new heroine into fiction, a woman of calm, clear
reason, of firm positive character, and what was most novel, a plain
woman, a homely heroine.
་ "Why is it," Charlotte had once said, "that heroines must always
be beautiful ? » The hero of romance was always noble and hand-
some, the heroine lovely and often insipid, and the scenes set in an
atmosphere of exaggerated idealism. Against this idealism Charlotte
Bronté revolted. Her effort was always toward realism.
In her realism she reveals a second characteristic scarcely less
marked than her creative powers,—an extraordinary faculty of obser-
vation. She saw the essence, the spirit of things, and the simplest
details of life revealed to her the secrets of human nature. What
she had herself seen and felt - the plain rugged types of Yorkshire
character, the wild scenery of the moorlands—she reflected with liv-
ing truth. She got the real fact out of every bit of material in
humanity and nature that her simple life afforded her. And where
her experience could not afford her the necessary material, she drew
upon some mysterious resources in her nature, which were appar-
ently not less reliable than actual experience. On being asked once
how she could describe so accurately the effects of opium as she
does in Villette,' she replied that she knew nothing of opium, but
that she had followed the process she always adopted in cases of
this kind. She had thought intently on the matter for many a night
before falling asleep; till at length, after some time, she waked in
the morning with all clear before her, just as if she had actually
gone through the experience, and then could describe it word for
word as it happened.
Her sensitiveness to impressions of nature was exceedingly keen.
She had what Swinburne calls "an instinct for the tragic use of
landscape. " By constant and close observation during her walks
she had established a fellowship with nature in all her phases; learn-
ing her secrets from the voices of the night, from the whisper of
the trees, and from the eerie moaning of the moorland blasts. She
studied the cold sky, and had watched the "coming night-clouds
trailing low like banners drooping. "
Other qualities that distinguish her work are purity, depth and
ardor of passion, and spiritual force and fervor. Her genius was
lofty and noble, and an exalted moral quality predominates in her
stories. She was ethical as sincerely as she was emotional.


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