"A ... lady lean and pale
Who totters forth wrapt in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,"

were responsible for the "plot" of Jane Eyre including an insane lady who wanders out of her chamber at night and dons a vapoury veil.

And evidence of the enthusiasm with which Charlotte Brontë applied herself to Jane Eyre is the fact that she at once took from Montagu's little volume for this her second story based upon the book's suggestions, the names of

Broughton, Poole (from Pooley), Eshton, Georgiana, Lynn (from Linton), Lowood (from Low-wood), Mason, Ingram, Helen,[16] and possibly Millcote (from Weathercote).

Thus far we see Charlotte Brontë drew Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre from the same source; that in a word, Jane Eyre, was Charlotte's second attempt to utilize and amplify the suggestions in Montagu's work which had appealed to her when she began Wuthering Heights, and we see the suggestions she utilized in Jane Eyre always bear unmistakable relationship to those she had utilized in her Wuthering Heights. But the use Charlotte Brontë made of Montagu's book was not in the nature of literary theft; that volume simply afforded suggestions which she enlarged upon.

I shall presently show how I find Jane Eyre is the second attempt of Currer Bell to enlarge upon suggestions that had appealed to her when she first read Montagu. For a commencement I will refer to the early construction of her Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. As simple stories they both are based upon the description Montagu gives of an isolated hostelry with an inhospitable hostess, a midnight apparition, and an air of mystery that surrounds the hostess and a peculiar, uncouth servant, to whom I have already alluded. The stage properties of this narrative, the characters, and the "action" or plot, I will give side by side, as they appear severally, first in Montagu, next in Wuthering Heights, and finally in Jane Eyre. Herewith the reader will have excellent examples of the two chief methods I find Charlotte Brontë employed often when she drew from a character in more than one work or instance, or when she desired to veil the identity of her originals. Charlotte Brontë's Methods I. and II., being discovered equally in Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre show, as conclusively as any other evidence, that she was the author of both works. No consideration whatsoever can alter the iron fact or depreciate from its significance, that it was absolutely my discovery of Charlotte Brontë's Methods I. and II., which revealed to me the sensational verbal and other parallels between Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre I give in The Key to the Brontë Works:—

Read carefully:—

Charlotte Brontë's Method I.—The interchange of sexes. Thus the original of A may be a woman, and the original of B a man; but A may be represented as a man, and B as a woman.

Charlotte Brontë's Method II.—Altering the age of a character portrayed. Thus the original of C may be young, and the original of D old; but C may be represented as old, and D as young.

The literal extracts to which I have referred I print as occurring in the three works:—Montagu the original, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre. I will first give the substance, or subject matter, side by side:—

Montagu. Wuthering Heights. Jane Eyre.
Montagu goes on horseback to a solitary house at a distance from any habitable dwelling, alone, and seeks a night's repose. But though comfort is all around, he finds an air of mystery surrounds the inhospitable hostess and her deep-voiced, Yorkshire dialect-speaking, country-bred man-servant. Lockwood, of whom Montagu was palpably the original, goes on horseback to a solitary house at a distance from any habitable dwelling, alone, and seeks a night's repose. But he finds an air of mystery surrounds the inhospitable host (Charlotte Brontë's Method I., interchange of the sexes) and his harsh-voiced, Yorkshire dialect-speaking, country-bred man-servant. Jane (Method I., interchange of the sexes) goes to a solitary house, alone. Comfort is all around, but an air of mystery surrounds the master's wife and a peculiar harsh-voiced female servant (Method I., interchange of the sexes).
Montagu is shown to bed up a step-ladder that leads through a trap, and sleeps only fitfully, dreaming. He hears noises and perceives a gleam of light He starts to find the white-faced apparition of his hostess standing at his bedside, lighted candle in hand, her features convulsed with diabolical rage. The deep-voiced, Yorkshire dialect-speaking peculiar man-servant he sees by looking down the step-ladder through the trap. Lockwood is shown to bed, and sleeps only fitfully, dreaming. He hears noises and perceives a gleam of light. He starts to find the white-faced apparition of his host standing at his bedside, lighted candle in hand, his features convulsed with diabolical rage. The harsh-voiced, Yorkshire dialect-speaking man-servant, a sour old man (Charlotte Brontë's Method II., the altering of the age of a character portrayed), comes down a step-ladder that vanished through a trap. Jane, in bed one night, sleeps only fitfully, dreaming. She hears noises and perceives a gleam of light. She starts to find the apparition of her master's wife standing at her bedside, lighted candle in hand, her features convulsed with diabolical rage. The harsh-voiced, peculiar female servant Jane first encountered after having gone to the attics and through a trap-door to the roof.

In the literal extracts I now give the reader will perceive that in the description of the bedside, candle-bearing apparition in Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë followed Montagu almost word for word, and in the whole staging of the midnight episode at the house of the inhospitable host in Wuthering Heights followed him entirely in outlining the story. Both the Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre versions give unequivocal evidence of being refractions from Montagu conveyed through one brain alone, the peculiar idiosyncrasy and elective sensitiveness of which are undeniably recognizable as Charlotte Brontë's:—

Montagu. Wuthering Heights. Jane Eyre.
A Night's Repose. A Night's Repose. A Night's Repose.
My servant having lamed his steed ... I arrived alone at a small hostelry in a secluded part of the country, and apparently at some distance from any habitable dwelling. Having determined to rest for the night, I discovered in the woman who seemed to be the hostess an anxiety to get rid of me; but with the usual obstinacy of curiosity caused by this apparent anxiety, I determined not to be thwarted; so, putting up my horse, I entered the house, and sat down to a humble but substantial meal, prepared during my absence in the stable; and though comfort had sway with all around me, yet there was an evident air of profound mystery between my hostess and her boy-of-all-work, a thick-set son of the north, with a deep voice and a sturdy manner; whilst I, with all the malignant pleasure of counteracting any mystery, secretly enjoyed the hope of discovering the reason of wishing my absence.... I was not at all disconcerted, but philosophically finished my meal ... and at an early hour requested to be shown where I was to rest for the night. Refusing to listen to any excuse, I was shown up a ladder into a small room.... I thanked my guide, and ... laid down with the expectation of sleeping hard, an expectation which was not realized, for thoughts obtruded themselves upon me, wholly preventing repose. Midnight had scarcely fallen when I heard voices in the room below, and by a light which grew stronger every moment I felt some person was about to ascend the ladder.
   Before Charlotte Brontë proceeds with the dramatic experiences of this terrible night she provides entirely original matter independent of Montagu, as a preface. I will give Montagu his space, however, for we have here a duet in unison, so to speak, between Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre. The trio will be resumed in perfect sequence after Montagu has rested a few bars in the introduction. My reader will note with sensational interest, I am sure, that in both of Charlotte Brontë's introductions to the appearance of the candle-bearing, frenzied, bedside apparition, the separate narrators tell us that a gale is blowing; that they dreamed most disagreeably twice. The first dream being in each instance that of journeying upon an unknown road, and the second dream that of an unknown ice-cold little child (always referred to in the neuter "it"), which "wailed piteously" and "clung" to the narrators in "terror," intense horror being accentuated by their being unable to rid themselves of the clinging, shivering small "creature," as Charlotte Brontë calls "it." The "doleful" moaning and the "blast" play their part in each version, and in both a "branch" is duly grasped or seized by the dreamer. For the origin of this wailing little creature see my chapter, "Charlotte Brontë's Child Apparition."
   Further, the reader will observe that in both Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre Montagu's bedside, candle-bearing apparition is not a dream, but a candlelit reality, immediately sequent to the dream of the tenacious child phantom.
   I will here resume Montagu's narrative: ... By a light which grew stronger every moment, I felt some person was about to ascend the ladder. At this moment every murder ... I had heard of crowded upon my brain, and I instantly determined to make the best fight I could, ... and with my partially closed eyes turned towards the trap-door. I had only just time to make my arrangements when, clad in a white gown, fastened close up to her neck, with her black hair, matted by carelessness, hanging over her collar, and as pale as death, ascended my hostess. Never shall I forget her dreadfully hideous expression. She came up to the bedside and looked at me for a full minute, and after passing the candle carefully before my eyes, left me, and carefully descended the ladder.
   Montagu arises, and, looking down the ladder, finds the thick-set servant is also astir with the mysterious, hideous visitant. Then Montagu hears his trap-door replaced; and he wakes to learn he has had the nightmare.
Heathcliffe, when he saw my horse's breast fairly pushing the barrier, did put out his hand to unchain it ... calling as we entered the court, "Joseph, take Mr. Lockwood's horse; and bring some wine."
   Joseph was an elderly, nay an old man, very old perhaps, though hale and sinewy. "The Lord help us!" he soliloquised in an undertone of peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse, looking ... in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of Divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no reference to my unexpected advent.
   "Guests are so exceedingly rare in this house that I and my dogs hardly know how to receive them," says Heathcliffe.
   Resuming his narrative in Chapter II., Lockwood tells us he goes again to Wuthering Heights and gains admittance with difficulty, after muttering, "Wretched inmates, you deserve perpetual isolation ... for your churlish inhospitality. I don't care, I will get in."
   "As to staying here," cries Heathcliffe, "I don't keep accommodations for visitors: you must share a bed with Joseph [the country-bred servant] if you do."

       Chapter III.
   Lockwood at last is guided to bed by a servant. While leading the way, she recommended ... "I should hide the candle, ... for her master had an odd notion about the chamber ... and never let anybody lodge there willingly."... I sank back in bed and fell asleep.... Alas! what could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don't remember another that I can compare with it since I was capable of suffering.
   ... I began to dream.... I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road. We came to a chapel.... Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter-rappings; ... at last, to my unspeakable relief, they awoke me.... What ... had suggested the tumult? ... the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by....
   I dreamt again, if possible still more disagreeably than before.... I heard the gusty wind, ... I thought I rose ... to unhasp the casement. "I must stop [the fir bough's teasing sound]," I muttered, knocking my hand through the glass and stretching an arm out to seize the ... branch; instead of which my fingers closed on the fingers of an ice-cold hand! The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed.... I discerned ... a child's face looking through the window. Terror made me cruel, and finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, ... rubbing it to and fro till the blood ran down; ... still it wailed ... and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear.
   I said, "Let me go!" The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine ... and stopped my ears.... Yet the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry, moaning;... I tried to jump up, but could not stir a limb....
   Hasty footsteps approached my chamber door, ... a light glimmered ... at the top of the bed. I sat shuddering yet, and wiping the perspiration from my forehead. The intruder appeared to hesitate....
   ... Heathcliffe stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers, with a candle dripping over his fingers and his face white.... The first creak of the oak startled him, ... the light leaped from his hold....
   "It is only your guest, sir," I called out. "I had the nightmare."
   "Mr. Lockwood ... who showed you up to this room?" grinding his teeth to control the maxillary convulsions.
   "It was your servant, Zillah," I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and ... resuming my garments.... "The place ... is swarming with ghosts and goblins."
   "What do you mean?" asked Heathcliffe.... "Lie down and finish out the night since you are here...."
   I descended; ... nothing was stirring ... and then Joseph [shuffled] down a wooden ladder that vanished through a trap—the ascent to his garret, I suppose.
Jane is shown the bedrooms of the secluded Thornfield Hall:—
   "Do the servants sleep in these rooms?"
   "No ... no one sleeps here. One would ... say that if there were a ghost at Thornfield Hall this would be its haunt."
   ... I followed ... to the attics, and thence by a trap-door to the roof of the hall ... a laugh struck my ear ... "Who is it?"
   ... the laugh was as preternatural ... as any I ever heard....
   The ... door opened, and a servant came out—a woman of between thirty and forty; a set, square-made figure ... and with a hard, plain face....
   One day Jane, out for a walk, sees a horseman approaching who, in sympathy with Montagu's story of laming a horse, has an accident.
   "Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?" Jane asks later of a servant.
   "Yes, it slipped."
   Thus Jane learns the horseman is the master of Thornfield Hall. She discovers an air of mystery surrounds the master of the house; and a thick-set woman servant is involved.

       Chapter XV.
   Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I could not sleep for thinking of the [mystery that seemed to surround Mr. Rochester].... I hardly knew whether I had slept or not after this musing; at any rate I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur.... I wished I had kept my candle burning; the night was drearily dark.... I rose and sat up in bed listening;... I was chilled with fear.... I began to feel the return of slumber. But it was not fated ... I should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely approached my ear when it fled affrighted.... There was a demonia laugh ... at my chamber door.... I thought the goblin laughter stood at my bedside.... Something ... moaned. "Was that Grace Poole?" [the thick-set servant] thought I.... There was a candle burning outside.

       Chapter XXV.
   ... After I went to bed I could not sleep—a sense of anxious excitement depressed me. The gale still rising seemed to my ear to muffle a ... doleful undersound.... During my first sleep I was following the windings of an unknown road; ... rain pelted me; I was burdened with the charge of a little child—a very small creature, ... which shivered in my cold arms and wailed piteously in my ear.
   I dreamt another dream.... I still carried the unknown little child: I might not lay it down anywhere, however tired were my arms—however its weight impeded my progress, I must retain it.... I climbed the thin wall [of the house] with frantic, perilous haste, ... the stones rolled from under my feet, the ivy branches I grasped gave way, the child clung round my neck in terror, and almost strangled me.... The blast blew so strong ... I sat down on the narrow ledge; I hushed the scared infant, ... the wall crumbled; I was shaken; the child rolled from my knee; I lost my balance, fell, and awoke.

   "Now, Jane, that is all," put in Rochester. To which Jane Eyre replies, "All the preface; the tale is yet to come." On waking a gleam dazzled my eyes; ... it was candle light.... A form emerged from the closet; it took the light and held it aloft.... I had risen up in bed, I bent forward, ... then my blood crept cold through my veins.... It was not even that strange woman Grace Poole [the thick-set servant].... It seemed ... a woman ... with thick and dark hair hanging long down her back. I know not what dress she had on: it was white and straight; but whether gown, sheet or shroud I cannot tell. The features were fearful and ghastly to me; ... it was a savage face. I wish I could forget ... the lineaments.... Just at my bedside the figure stopped: the fiery eye glared upon me—she thrust up her candle close to my face, and extinguished it under my eyes.
   "Now," says Rochester. "I'll explain to you all about it. It was half dream, half reality: a woman did, I doubt not, enter your room; and that woman was—must have been—Grace Poole [the thick-set servant]. You call her a strange being yourself."

Truly Montagu's description of the coarse-voiced, thick-set, country-bred servant, and his implication with the mystery of the lonely house had impressed Charlotte Brontë considerably. Whether she portrayed him as the Joseph of Wuthering Heights or, by her Method I., as the Grace Poole of Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë respects the original associations of this character as they were figured to her by Frederic Montagu's little fiction of "A Night's Repose." Herewith have we evidence as to mental idiosyncrasy and elective-sensitiveness recognizable as Charlotte Brontë's—proof that her brain and none other was responsible for both the Wuthering Heights and the Jane Eyre versions of the midnight incident from Montagu.


CHAPTER III.

ORIGIN OF THE FOUNDLING HEATHCLIFFE AND HIS NAME IN "WUTHERING HEIGHTS"—ORIGIN OF THE INSANE LADY AND THE WHITE VEIL SCENE IN "JANE EYRE."

We have now seen that Montagu's book provided Charlotte Brontë with the idea for a lonely house of mystery—a mystery which should surround a host with a peculiar, harsh-voiced, uncouth, north-country servant, and I have shown how that idea was adopted by her for Wuthering Heights and afterwards for Jane Eyre. At one time Charlotte Brontë wrote the Tale of a Foundling, and she certainly read with interest a remarkable story told by Montagu of a foundling who, he tells us in the letter next before the Malham letter, was discovered by a shepherd on the top of a craggy "mountain," a circumstance which perhaps led her in making use of this foundling story to name the child Heathcliffe. I will place the substance of the two stories side by side:—

Montagu. Wuthering Heights.
On the top of a craggy height a male infant "was found by a shepherd, who took it to his home, and after feeding and clothing it he had the child named Simon; being himself but a poor man he was unable to maintain the foundling," when was agreed to by his friends that the child should be kept "ameng 'em." The child was called Simon Amenghem. In a wild, hilly country, a male infant was brought home by a farmer who had found it homeless. He brought up the child, and the rest of its career is the obvious "cuckoo story": the child ousts the poor farmer's family. It was called Heathcliffe.

The cuckoo story derived obviously from the history Montagu gives of the foundling became thus the backbone of Wuthering Heights; but it is possible that the cuckoo story requiring the foundling should be painted with all the viciousness and cruelty of character necessary to his part, Charlotte Brontë found herself dissatisfied with the story. And portraying herself in the narrative as Catherine Earnshaw, her hero became M. Héger. This naturally led to an awkward clashing. Whether the extreme "demonism" of Heathcliffe must be understood as being in the main due to his rôle as the "cuckoo," who was to oust the poor farmer's offspring "like unfledged dunnocks," to quote Mrs. Dean, I will not in this chapter inquire.

Turning again to Montagu's book, Charlotte saw a further suggestion that contained excellent "plot" possibilities. This was the question of lunacy being an exception to the objection against the separation of husband and wife, Montagu's relation being Barry Cornwall (to whom, by the way, Thackeray dedicated Vanity Fair), who was a Metropolitan Commissioner in Lunacy. To Charlotte Brontë, however, the subject came simply as a useful suggestion. She had no views upon it, and she desired only that her heroine would marry Rochester, the hero with an insane wife. At heart Charlotte was indifferent as to the vital point, even nullifying the very theme of the plot by making Rochester aver that if Jane Eyre had been the mad wife, he would still have loved and cherished her.

It would appear that in conjunction with Montagu's remarks on lunacy and the separation of husband and wife, an extract he gives from Shelley is also responsible for a wife's lunacy being the theme of the plot of Jane Eyre. The extract which Montagu quotes in the Malham letter is where the poet speaks of "The Waning Moon" as like—

"A ... lady lean and pale
Who totters forth wrapt in a gauzy veil
Out of her chamber led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain."

Thus was evidently suggested to Charlotte Brontë the hanging up in the closet of the "vapoury veil" for the stage purposes of the "insane lady"; and in Jane Eyre Montagu's night-wandering, candle-bearing hostess became a lady who passed, after the manner of the lines he quoted,

Out of her chamber led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain—

became Mrs. Rochester. Norton Conyers, a house near Ripon, it is said, is associated with the story that a mad woman was once confined there.[17] If Charlotte Brontë was familiar with this story, and we are told the interior is somewhat similar to the descriptions of Thornfield, we can understand that, perusing Montagu's book at the time when she was utilizing his narrative of the candle-bearing, hideous-faced, white-clad midnight visitant in a house of mystery, she would the more readily appropriate the further suggestions his work contained in regard to a wife's insanity, and the "veil-clad" apparition of a night-roaming insane lady. It is important to note, however, that the evidence of my preceding chapter proves indubitably the "mad woman" was but a secondary suggestion—the primary suggestion responsible for the plot of Jane Eyre being that of Montagu's midnight apparition. And just as the thick-set country-bred servant denotes in the question as to the origin and author of the candle-bearing bedside visitant in Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre, the "gauzy veil" likewise denotes as to the origin of the mad woman of Jane Eyre. So we read in the beginning of Chapter XXV. of Jane Eyre, that Jane leaves the vapoury veil in the closet:—

To conceal the strange, wraith-like apparel it contained; which, at this evening hour ... gave out certainly a most ghostly shimmer through the shadow of my apartment. "I will leave you by yourself, white dream," I said.

Then farther on we read that:—

The moon shut herself wholly within her chamber, and drew close her curtain of cloud,

which is simply an antithetical paraphrase of Montagu's quoted verse on "The Waning Moon" which, like

A ... lady ... pale ... totters forth wrapt in a gauzy veil, out of her chamber.

And in the same chapter of Jane Eyre we read finally that the insane lady, who has come out of her chamber,

"... took my veil from its place; she held it up, gazed at it long, and then she threw it over her head, and turned to the mirror ... it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and flinging both on the floor, trampled on them."


CHAPTER IV.

A RAINY DAY IN CHARLOTTE BRONTË'S CHILDHOOD: THE OPENING INCIDENT IN THE AUTOBIOGRAPHIES OF THE HEROINES OF "WUTHERING HEIGHTS" AND "JANE EYRE."

Seeing Catherine Earnshaw, the heroine of Wuthering Heights, was drawn, as I find, by Charlotte Brontë for her autobiographical self, the real commencement of that work, in so far as personal narrative was concerned, is the diary extract she wrote of herself in her earliest childhood.[18] In Jane Eyre she placed her earliest childhood memories at the beginning of the story. I will give extracts side by side, when it will be seen they agree practically word for word. It is of course undeniable that none but Charlotte Brontë herself would or could have penned these incidents of her own childhood.

Wuthering Heights. Jane Eyre.
Chapter III. Chapter I.
A rainy day in the early childhood of Catherine Earnshaw, as told by herself. A rainy day in the early childhood of Jane Eyre, as told by herself.
———— ————
... All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church. There was no possibility of taking a walk that day, ... the cold winter wind had brought with it a rain so penetrating that further outdoor exercise was out of the question.
Hindley [Branwell Brontë] and his wife [? Sister Maria] basked downstairs before a comfortable fire. Eliza, John [Branwell Brontë], and Georgiana were now clustered round their mamma [Aunt Branwell] in the drawing-room ... by the fireside ... looking perfectly happy.
Heathcliffe [Method I., interchange of the sexes. In the childhood of Heathcliffe Charlotte often portrays herself], myself, and the ... ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books and mount ... on a sack ... [in the garret. They go downstairs again].
   "You forget you have a master in me," says the tyrant [Hindley: Branwell Brontë].
   ... We made ourselves ... snug ... in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph.[19]... He tears down my handiwork [the curtain], boxes my ears, and ... thrust [a book] upon us.... I took my ... volume ... and hurled it into the dog-kennel, vowing I hated a good book.
Me she had dispensed from joining the group.... A small breakfast-room adjoined the drawing-room; I slipped in there, ... I possessed myself of a volume, ... I mounted into the window-seat, ... and having drawn the ... curtain nearly close, I was shrined in ... retirement.... With ... [a book] on my knee I was ... happy; ... but interruption ... came too soon. The ... door opened: "Boh!" cried the voice of John Reed [Branwell Brontë].
   "It is well I drew the curtain," thought I, ... but Eliza ... said: "She is in the window-seat, ... Jack [Branwell]."
Hindley [Branwell Brontë] hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing ... us ... hurled both into the back-kitchen. I came out immediately, for I trembled at the idea of being dragged forth by the said Jack [Branwell Brontë].
   "What were you doing behind the curtain?" he asked. "I'll teach you to rummage my bookshelves, for they are mine; all the house belongs to me, or soon will do.... Go ... by the door."
   I did so, ... but ... I saw him lift the book and stand in the act to hurl it.... The volume was flung.... He ran ... at me.... I saw in him a tyrant.... Then Mrs. Reed [Aunt Branwell] subjoined: "Take her to the red-room."...
... How little did I dream that Hindley [Branwell Brontë] would ever make me cry so.... My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can't give over. ... All John Reed's [Branwell Brontë's] violent tyrannies ... turned in my disturbed mind.... My head still ached ... no one reproved John [Branwell].... How all my brain was in tumult.... I could not answer the question why I thus suffered; now at the distance of—I will not say how many years—I see it clearly.

Thus we see the "volume-hurling" incident with which John Reed is associated had its origin in some incident connected with Charlotte Brontë's childhood and her brother Branwell. As Catherine, Charlotte Brontë calls Hindley "a tyrant" in this connection, and as Jane Eyre she calls John Reed "a tyrant" here. Branwell, as John Reed, is made to tell Jane in connection with this incident that "all this house belongs to me, or will do"; and as Hindley Earnshaw he tells his sister Catherine, "You forget you have a master here." By Charlotte Brontë's Method II., altering the age of a character portrayed, Branwell is represented in the Wuthering Heights scene as a man in years. Without further appeal it was likely enough that Hindley Earnshaw, Catherine's brother, was drawn for Charlotte Brontë's brother, seeing Catherine was Charlotte. Herewith we find an explanation for a fact Mr. Francis A. Leyland has strongly emphasized in his work The Brontë Family, that in Wuthering Heights incidents (the carving-knife incident, etc.) and epithets known by his intimates to have been common to Branwell Brontë are associated with Hindley Earnshaw in the days of his moral deterioration. That deterioration is reflected in the portrayal of the latter end of John Reed in Jane Eyre; in Wuthering Heights it is given in detail. As for Emily Brontë, she always liked and commiserated with Branwell Brontë.[20]

I hope the attempt to interfere with this tradition recently has no relation to the fact that I briefly stated in my Fortnightly Review article that John Reed and Hindley Earnshaw were one and the same. It is plain to see that if Emily really liked Branwell, as people stated who gleaned from hearsay, she could not have portrayed him as Hindley Earnshaw. But a wrong estimate of the nature of the evidence I promised to bring has been formed if it were thought I should base my book upon such a point. It is enough that Charlotte Brontë's private letters regarding Branwell are quite in agreement with her own harsh portrayals of him in her Wuthering Heights and Jane Eyre.

It is interesting to recall Branwell avowed he, and not Emily, wrote Wuthering Heights. This fact and the association of Branwell Brontë incidents and epithets with the book induced Mr. Leyland to advocate Branwell's authorship. The Key to the Brontë Works shows the absurdness of such a claim. Mr. Leyland suggested Branwell may have collaborated with Emily; and he professed to discover a break in the style. I find, however, that though there were violent psychical fluctuations in the mood of the writer of Wuthering Heights, the book is throughout the work of Charlotte Brontë. This may be proved alone by the Chapter III., with which I now deal: it is the "key" chapter, and is, so to speak, a microcosm of Wuthering Heights, as the reader will perceive by help of my index. Whosoever was the writer of this third chapter wrote the whole of Wuthering Heights, and we see it was Currer Bell.

By Charlotte Brontë's Method I., interchange of the sexes, the interloper Jane in the early chapters of Jane Eyre and the interloper Heathcliffe in the early chapters of Wuthering Heights become one and the same; and Hindley's tyrannizing over Heathcliffe is John Reed's (Branwell Brontë's) tyrannizing over Jane Eyre (Charlotte Brontë). Again, by Method I., interchange of the sexes, old Joseph, in Charlotte's Wuthering Heights version of the rainy day incident in her childhood, serves the part of the servant Tabitha Aykroyd, for whom Bessie in the Jane Eyre version of the rainy day incident was drawn. (See "Joseph" and his bit of garden, Wuthering Heights, Chapter XXXIII.; also my footnote on page 47.) Thus Charlotte Brontë as Catherine tells us that when she was banished from the comfortable fire "Joseph" sermonizes, and that she hoped he might give "a short homily for his own sake"; and in the scene in Jane Eyre drawn from the same incident Jane was left to Bessie, who "supplied the hiatus by a homily of an hour's length, in which she proved beyond a doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned child ever reared under a roof."

Catherine's story of the rainy day in Wuthering Heights was written by her in childhood on "a 'red-hot' Methodist's tract." Hence it is interesting to read Charlotte Brontë's words in Villette, where as Lucy Snowe she says she had "once read when a child certain Wesleyan Methodist tracts seasoned with ... excitation to fanaticism." As Caroline Helstone[21] in Shirley, Charlotte tells us she had read "some mad Methodist magazines, full of miracles and apparitions, of preternatural warnings, ominous dreams, and frenzied fanaticism; ... from these faded flowers Caroline had in her childhood extracted the honey—they were tasteless to her now." Let the reader compare Charlotte Brontë's reference to Briar Chapel and the shouts, yells, ejaculations, frantic cries of "the assembly" in Chapter IX. of Shirley with the references in Chapter III. of Wuthering Heights to the frantic zeal of "the assembly" of the chapel of Gimmerden Sough. It will be at once recognized that the former is but the extension of the other, amplified by the same hand.

Thus, in the light of the name Branderham ("Brander'em," from "brander," a hot iron over a fire) for the name of the zealous Rev. Jabes Branderham,[22] of the chapel of Gimmerden Sough, of Wuthering Heights, we see a connection with the play Charlotte Brontë makes upon "burning and fire" in the hymn sung at Briar Chapel in Chapter IX. of Shirley:—

"For every fight
Is dreadful and loud—
The warrior's delight
Is slaughter and blood;
His foes overturning
Till all shall expire—
And this is with burning
And fuel and fire."

In the rainy day incident Charlotte Brontë as Catherine vowed "she hated a good book," and this rebellion against the thrusting upon her of religious "lumber," as she calls it in Wuthering Heights, was a characteristic of her childhood shown also in the "Jane Eyre and Mr. Brocklehurst" incident, where the latter asks—

"And the Psalms? I hope you like them?"

"No, sir," replied Jane.

"No? Oh, shocking!"

At heart, however, Charlotte Brontë was a true Christian, though disliking excessive zealousness in the demonstrations of the members of any church. Read what M. Emanuel says in Chap. XXXVI. of Villette; the last paragraph. Lockwood tells us in the incident connected with Catherine's diary that "a glare of white letters started from the dark as vivid as spectres—the air swarmed with Catherines." This, Charlotte Brontë's idea of spectral writing running in the air, occurs in Chap. XV. of Jane Eyre, where Rochester speaks of a phantom hag (see Charlotte Brontë's phantom hag in Chap. XII. of Wuthering Heights), who "wrote in the air a memento which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front." Says Lockwood in Wuthering Heights, continuing:—"An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began ... to decipher her hieroglyphics"—the diary.


CHAPTER V.

CHARLOTTE BRONTË'S FRIEND, TABITHA AYKROYD, THE BRONTËS' SERVANT, AS MRS. DEAN OF "WUTHERING HEIGHTS," AND AS BESSIE AND HANNAH OF "JANE EYRE."

It is a remarkable fact that of all the members of Charlotte Brontë's home circle the one to whom, excepting herself, she gave most prominence in her works was Tabitha Aykroyd, the Brontës' servant or housekeeper. For I find this good woman was portrayed by Charlotte Brontë as Mrs. Dean of Wuthering Heights, Bessie and Hannah of Jane Eyre, and, on occasion, as Mrs. Pryor of Shirley. Indeed, strange though it may sound to say, my discovery that Tabitha Aykroyd, as she appealed to Currer Bell, was the original of these characters, alone explains the chief mystery of Wuthering Heights, and shows clearly enough Charlotte Brontë was its heroine and its author. In a word, we see by this discovery that Wuthering Heights is book the first of Charlotte Brontë's life as told by herself from old Tabitha's standpoint, and Jane Eyre book the second, giving her life's story and confession as related by herself entirely from her own point of view.

Never in Wuthering Heights did Nelly Dean really understand Catherine, and "the honest but inflexible servant," as Currer Bell calls Tabitha as Hannah of Jane Eyre, never yielded herself to a surrender of her rough-hearted but genuine nature wherein Charlotte was concerned.

"Tabby," said Mrs. Gaskell, "had a Yorkshire keenness of perception into character, and it was not everybody she liked." That Tabitha Aykroyd would readily appeal to Charlotte Brontë as fitted for the narrator of the histories in Wuthering Heights we may easily perceive by reading Mrs. Gaskell's further words on this Brontë servant:—

"When Charlotte was little more than nine years old ... an elderly woman of the village came to live as servant at the parsonage. She remained there, as a member of the household, thirty years [Hannah was thirty years with the Rivers family in Jane Eyre—an approximate date, of course, when that work was written] and from the length of her faithful service, and the attachment and respect she inspired is deserving of mention. Tabby was a thorough specimen of a Yorkshire woman of her class, in dialect, in character. She abounded in strong, practical sense and shrewdness. Her words were far from flattering, but she would spare no deeds in the cause of those whom she kindly regarded. She ruled the children pretty sharply; and yet never grudged a little extra trouble to provide them with such small treats as came within her power. In return she claimed to be looked upon as a humble friend.... Tabby had lived in Haworth in the days when the pack-horses went through once a week.... What is more, she had known the 'bottom' or valley in those primitive days when the fairies frequented the margin of the 'beck' on moonlight nights, and had known folk who had seen them. [See references to 'Bessie's' fairy tales in Jane Eyre, Chaps. I., II., and IV.].... No doubt she had many a tale to tell of bygone days of the countryside: old ways of living, former inhabitants, decayed gentry, who had melted away, and whose places knew them no more; family tragedies and dark superstitious dooms; and in telling these things, without the least consciousness that there might ever be anything requiring to be softened down, would give at full length the bare and simple details."

Says Mrs. Dean, the Yorkshire servant who narrates the family tragedies of Wuthering Heights just after the manner of Tabitha Aykroyd:—

"But, Mr. Lockwood, I forget these tales cannot divert you, ... I could have told Heathcliffe's history, all that you need hear, in half-a-dozen words."

"Sit still, Mrs. Dean," cried Lockwood, "... you've done just right to tell the story leisurely. That is the method I like.... Excepting a few provincialisms, ... you have no marks of the manners ... peculiar to your class; ... you have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles."

Mrs. Dean laughed. "I certainly esteem myself a steady, reasonable kind of body," she said; "not exactly from living among the hills and seeing one set of faces, and one series of actions, from year's end to year's end; but I have undergone sharp discipline which has taught me wisdom."

"Jane" says of Mrs. Dean as "Bessie" of Jane Eyre, Chap. IV., Method II., altering the age of characters portrayed:—

When gentle, Bessie seemed to me the ... kindest being in the world;... I wished ... intensely ... she would always be so pleasant and amiable, and never push about or scold, or task me unreasonably, as she was ... wont to do. Bessie Lee[23] must, I think, have been a girl of good natural capacity, for she was smart in all she did, and had a remarkable knack of narrative; so, at least, I judge from the impression made upon me by her nursery tales.... But she had a capricious and hasty temper and indifferent ideas of principle or justice ["Hannah" would have driven off the destitute Jane Eyre], still, such as she was, I preferred her to any one else at Gateshead Hall.

"Mrs. Dean"[24] in her turn says of "Catherine"—Charlotte Brontë:—