by Nick Holland
In Manchester, Charlotte and Emily spoke to a Dr Wilson, one of the leading eye surgeons of the time. He agreed to perform the operation and an appointment was made for the following week. The operation took place on 25 August, and rather than the couching, the lenses were cut away completely. All this was done without anaesthetic, and Charlotte, who had accompanied Patrick, was amazed at how controlled and uncomplaining her father was under this trial, a trait that was passed down to his youngest daughter, Anne.
Charlotte and Patrick had taken lodgings at Mount Pleasant, Boundary Street, Manchester, just off Oxford Road. Patrick would have to stay there in darkness and peace for weeks until the bandages could come off and they could return together to Haworth. On the day the operation was due to take place, Charlotte received a letter that had been forwarded from the parsonage. It was yet another rejection for her unloved and unwelcome book. She was in a strange city, looking after an ageing and temporarily blinded father, yet even then she refused to despair, instead taking up her pen once more. Mrs Gaskell writes of this event:
She had the heart of Robert Bruce within her, and failure upon failure daunted her no more than him. Not only did ‘The Professor’ return again to try his chance among the London publishers, but she began, in this time of care and depressing inquietude – in those grey, weary, uniform streets, where all faces, save that of her kind doctor, were strange and untouched with sunlight to her, – there and then, did the genius begin ‘Jane Eyre’.1
A nurse was also present in the house, and she twice had to administer leeches to reduce inflammation, eight on one occasion and six on the other. In notes that he later wrote in the margins of a medical textbook, Patrick explained that in these cases the leeches must be applied to the temple rather than the eyelids. He also stated that the operation had not been as painful as he had expected, and he had felt merely a burning sensation in his eyes. They were to remain at 83 Mount Pleasant for over a month, with Charlotte’s primary concern at that time being, as she confessed in a letter, how to prepare and cook meals, tasks that she was used to Emily performing. She made the most of her time in the Manchester sick room and made swift progress on her second novel. It was soon to be called upon.
Back in Haworth, Anne was understandably concerned about her father. Would the operation cure him or leave him blinded permanently? If he did indeed become blind, she would be ready and willing to do her duty. She would take his arm and walk him across the moor, she would guide him to church and read the scriptures to him. That was the duty of a daughter, and it was the duty of Anne, as she saw it, to serve people whenever and wherever she could.
To the delight of Anne and Emily, but hardly acknowledged by Branwell, who in his moments of sobriety hated not being the centre of attention himself, in September 1846 they saw their father walk through the parsonage door unaided, with a smiling Charlotte behind him. The operation had been a complete success, and Patrick could now see and read clearly again. This relief would carry the sisters through the winter and spring, and by the following summer Anne and Emily were correcting the proofs of their now accepted books.
Thomas Newby had arranged that the books should be published in a three-volume format, with Emily’s Wuthering Heights occupying the first two volumes, and Anne’s Agnes Grey being published as the third volume. They received the proof copies eagerly but were disheartened to find that they contained a number of printing errors. These errors were diligently corrected and the proofs were returned; now they had only to wait for the completed volumes themselves to arrive.
Anne waited with her usual patient resignation on the surface, which as always belied a maelstrom of emotions underneath. If this was the moment she had been waiting for would it bring affirmation or disappointment? For her sister the wait was even worse. Emily did not know whether she wanted to see the first edition of Wuthering Heights or not, she was still in turmoil over the decision to go public with her work and in dread lest local people such as the book-loving Heatons of Ponden Hall should recognise the local landmarks contained within it. They would be made to wait yet longer and were to find that Newby’s could never be relied upon to do things in a timely or appropriate fashion. While they were waiting, something entirely unexpected happened.
Charlotte had nearly exhausted her list of publishing contacts, when in late July the manuscript of The Professor landed back at the parsonage again. It had been sent by Smith, Elder & Co. of Cornhill, London, but this time there was not the one line note that she was used to, but an actual letter. Once more the book was declined, but this time the publisher went to some length to give Charlotte some feedback. They explained that the main factor mitigating against the publication of The Professor was its brevity, and they intimated that if she had a longer novel, one that would be suited to a three-volume treatment, they would look upon it with some interest.
The fires that had nearly been extinguished were ignited again: if they wanted a ‘three-decker’ novel, she would give them a three-decker novel. Jane Eyre, begun in such unpromising circumstances in Manchester, was now almost completed, and she duly dispatched it to Smith, Elder & Co. on 24 August.
Anne was delighted to see her sister invigorated again: she could, after all, never feel joyous in her own good fortunes if those who were closest to her were suffering bad fortunes. It was Charlotte’s turn now to be in turmoil. The dreamer in her, the remnants of the young girl who had, in her own words, ‘very early cherished the dream of one day becoming author’,2 read hidden depths into the letter from Cornhill until it became almost a promissory note. The pragmatist within her took a different view. Why should Jane Eyre escape the fate that had befallen The Professor? If they read it all, it would soon be back with the familiar rejection note.
Charlotte did not have to wait very long to find out which side of her character was right. Just two weeks later she received a reply from Smith, Elder & Co. Charlotte ripped open the package, and her eyes registered instantly that there was a letter of some substance waiting for her, rather than just one line. She dared not read it at once but scanned quickly through it until she was finally convinced that it was a letter of acceptance. Emily and Anne led her back to the familiar sofa and sat her down before her legs could give way beneath her. Charlotte continued to gaze at the page before her; it was a letter to be savoured slowly, not devoured.
Her book’s first port of call had been the publisher’s chief reader, William S. Williams. It was he who had read The Professor and had since had a further letter from Charlotte asking him if he would reconsider that book, to which he again asked her to submit a three-volume work. As he opened the package that had come all the way from Keighley station in far away Yorkshire, he gained his first surprise. The sender, a Mr Currer Bell, had not been able to pay the postage but asked him to kindly confirm how much it had cost them to take delivery of the package, and he would send them postage stamps to that value by return. He laughed inwardly: this was surely no ordinary author. As he commenced reading the work, he was soon convinced that he also had no ordinary novel.
George Smith, the young and wealthy head of the company, mocked another of the reading team who said he had been enchanted by the book, but at the behest of Williams, who praised its merits to the hilt, he decided to read Jane Eyre himself. It was now Sunday morning, and Smith decided that he would start reading Currer Bell’s manuscript in the hours leading up to a dinner appointment at twelve o’ clock. When twelve came he found that he could not put the book down and instead sent a note to his friend asking to be forgiven for his absence. Later that day a servant came to tell him that lunch was ready, but again he would not leave the book and asked for sandwiches and a glass of wine instead. By that evening, he had completed the book and was in no doubt that he held a work of rare genius in his hands.
The letter sent from London to Mr Currer Bell left Charlotte in no doubt of the high esteem they held the novel in. There was no payment asked for in advance, and they offered the author £100 fo
r the copyright to the book, on condition that they also had first option on her next two novels as well. Charlotte, of course, was quick to agree the deal with Smith, Elder & Co., although she did write to them saying that £100 seemed small remuneration for a year’s work. With royalties, she was to earn around £500 a year from her books, around twenty times what she could have expected to receive as a teacher.
The Cornhill publishers were quick to act. Charlotte had sent the novel to them from Keighley railway station on 24 August 1847, and by 16 October 1847 it was published and in the hands of the public. This rapidity had been completely unexpected, and she was at Ellen Nussey’s house Brookroyd when the first proofs were forwarded to her by Anne. This caused a dilemma for Charlotte, to work on the proofs now, as she wanted to, would be impossible to achieve under Ellen’s nose, yet she had made a promise to her sisters that their life as novelists would be revealed to nobody. In compromise, Charlotte swore Ellen to secrecy and asked her never to let Anne and Emily realise that she knew their secret. Ellen Nussey was the first woman outside of the sisters themselves to discover the identity of the Bell brothers, but she kept her word and held her tongue.
Jane Eyre received almost uniformly rapturous reviews and enjoyed unprecedented sales for a first novel set before the public. Charlotte, safely hidden, even from her publishers, behind her male pseudonym, had become an overnight success. Jane Eyre is a novel that lingers long in the memory, and it shows the huge strides the author had made in the year since writing The Professor. Some of the scenes in the book are drawn from her personal experience, so that in the strong, strict, yet secretly kind-hearted man that is Mr Rochester, we see a reflection of Constantin Heger. As Jane leads the now blinded Rochester by the arm and feeds him, we see a reflection of what Charlotte was doing for her father at the time of the book’s genesis. Other aspects of the book, however, owe a clear debt to Anne’s Agnes Grey.
The three distinct sections of Jane Eyre, Lowood, Thornfield Hall and then post-Thornfield Hall, mirror the three sections of Agnes Grey. Jane Eyre, like Anne’s novel written a year earlier, is the story of a simple governess who falls in love with a man she meets during her work. The heroines of both novels advertise for a position. Both lose their father, Jane before the novel commences and Agnes during the novel. They are both separated from the man they love, seemingly forever, until fate somehow throws them back together again. Both books end with the heroine marrying their true love and raising a family.
In some aspects the character of Jane Eyre herself bears resemblance to Anne. She is described as being small and plain, in effect ‘queer looking’, which is how Charlotte still thought of Anne, even if others did not agree. Jane leaves her post at Thornfield Hall because she is unable to live any longer in what she perceives to be a nest of sin, just as Anne had done at Thorp Green Hall. Jane’s advertising for a governess’s position, determined to make her own way in the world, mirrors what Anne herself did. Jane keeps her feelings locked within her, and her still, thoughtful, reserved nature matches Charlotte’s description of Anne to W.S. Williams. Jane plays piano ‘a little’ and paints wild and unconventional seascapes. It cannot be said that Jane and Anne are an exact match, but it isn’t hard to imagine Charlotte’s thoughts turning to her sister when in need of inspiration for her main character.
The instant success of Jane Eyre brought real joy into the lives of the sisters, and after a discussion they agreed to, at last, let their father into their secret. Charlotte knocked on the door to Patrick’s study and then, at his bidding, entered; Anne and Emily remained in the doorway, looking in to see what his reaction would be. In one hand Charlotte held her book and in the other a selection of reviews, including the rare critical ones. Pragmatic as always, she did not want herself or anyone else to get carried away. Elizabeth Gaskell recalled how Charlotte related the event to her:
‘Papa I’ve been writing a book.’
‘Have you my dear?’
‘Yes, and I want you to read it.’
‘I am afraid it will try my eyes too much.’
‘But it is not in manuscript: it is printed.’
‘My dear! You’ve never thought of the expense it will be! It will be almost sure to be a loss, for how can you get a book sold? No one knows you or your name.’
‘But, papa, I don’t think it will be a loss; no more will you, if you will just let me read you a review or two, and tell you more about it.’
So she sat down and read some of the reviews to her father; and then, giving him the copy of Jane Eyre that she intended for him, she left him to read it. When he came into tea, he said, ‘Girls, do you know Charlotte has been writing a book, and it is much better than likely?’3
This statement is full of the restraint and self-effacement that Patrick would share with all his daughters, if not his son. Behind the cold and studied words, Patrick was extremely proud of his daughter’s achievements and would continue to be so for the rest of his life. Whilst Charlotte’s secret was out, those of Anne and Emily remained concealed. The end of the year grew closer, and despite them signing a publishing deal with Thomas Cautley Newby two months before Charlotte did likewise with Smith, Elder & Co., there was still no sign of Agnes Grey or Wuthering Heights in print.
Anne’s earlier joy was becoming tinged with doubt and concern, could she really be sure that the publisher hadn’t simply taken her money? At the bidding of her sisters, Charlotte wrote to her publisher to ask if they knew of Thomas Cautley Newby and whether they were reputable and could be trusted.4
In this aspect at least, Thomas Newby could be trusted. He had been in no hurry to unveil the two new novels, but the publication of Jane Eyre changed all that. Newby was a man who always had an eye on profit, and his eyes lit up when he realised that he had books by the brothers of Currer Bell, the now esteemed author of Jane Eyre . He waited a further two months until public demand for Currer Bell was at its height, and then he finally published Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey. Anne and Emily received six copies each, and they launched eagerly into them. Their elation was tempered somewhat by the fact that many of the errors they had corrected in the proofs were still present in the final printed copy, but this was a fleeting concern when they considered that they had done it at last: they were published novelists. It was December 1847, and now all three sisters’ works were before the public.
Notes
1. Gaskell, Elizabeth, The Life of Charlotte Brontë, p.305
2. Brontë, Charlotte, Biographical Notice of Ellis and Acton Bell, p.2
3. Gaskell, Elizabeth, The Life of Charlotte Brontë, p.325
4. ‘I should like to know if Mr Newby often acts as he has done to my relatives, or whether this is an exceptional instance of his method. Do you know, and can you tell me anything about him?’ Smith, Margaret (ed.), The Letters of Charlotte Brontë, Volume 1, pp.561–2
14
THE SCANDALOUS TENANT OF
WILDFELL HALL
My object in writing the following pages, was not simply to amuse the Reader, neither was it to gratify my own taste, nor yet to ingratiate myself with the Press and the Public: I wished to tell the truth, for truth always conveys its own moral to those who are able to receive it … Let it not be imagined, however, that I consider myself competent to reform the errors and abuses of society, but only that I would fain contribute my humble quota towards so good an aim, and if I can gain the public ear at all, I would rather whisper a few wholesome truths therein than much soft nonsense.
Preface to the second edition of The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
The print run of the three-volume edition of Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey was 250 copies, rather than the 350 that Thomas Cautley Newby had promised, but despite Newby’s limited advertising spend, it garnered considerable interest in the press. Word soon spread that the brothers of Currer Bell, Messrs Ellis and Acton, had also produced novels, but what the public and critics found was not at all what they had expected, despite the advert placed by
their publisher.
The adverts appearing in national newspapers such as The Examiner suggested that the books were the work of one man and linked the three volumes repeatedly to Jane Eyre. They read, ‘Mr Bell’s Successful Novel, In 3 Vols. Wuthering Heights And Agnes Grey’, going on to include quotes such as The Athenaeum’s, ‘Here are two tales so nearly related to “Jane Eyre” in cast of thought, incident, and language, as to excite curiosity’, and The Spectator’s, ‘It bears affinity to “Jane Eyre”’.
Wuthering Heights made up the first two volumes of the triple-decker, and following on from that contrasting novel did Agnes Grey few favours. The wonderful delicacy and elegant charms of Agnes Grey are indeed things to savour when on their own, like a beautiful consommé that is all the tastier for its simplicity and clarity, but if such a consommé is produced after a large, highly spiced meal it will go unnoticed. The sheer unstoppable ferocity of Wuthering Heights attracted critical attention, while the perfectly crafted Agnes Grey, with not a phrase or word out of place, was paid mere lip service.
The Star was especially fulsome in its praise of Ellis Bell’s debut novel, saying, ‘It is not often that two such novels as “Jane Eyre” and “Wuthering Heights” are published in the same season.’2
Whilst critics generally admired Wuthering Heights, many found it to be a flawed work of genius, too brutal and ill mannered to be acceptable to all readers. That was not a charge they could lay against Agnes Grey, but it was instead damned by faint praise. The Atlas was typical when it proclaimed that ‘“Agnes Grey” is more level and more sunny’, but then went on to call it a ‘somewhat coarse imitation of one of Miss Austin’s [sic] charming stories’ and concluded that ‘It leaves no painful impression on the mind – some may think it leaves no impression at all.’3