Anne Brontë

“ I looked at her pale cheek and glittering eye, but answered nothing.
"Only for a moment," pleaded she. "Just step aside into this other field," she glanced at the reapers, some of whom were directing looks of impertinent curiosity towards her—"I won't keep you a minute."
I accompanied her through the gap.
"Arthur, darling, run and gather those bluebells," said she, pointing to some that were gleaming, at some distance, under the hedge along which we walked. The child hesitated, as if unwilling to quit my side. "Go, love!" ”

“ My knees trembled under me; my brain swam round: I was ready to faint. She must not see me thus. I shrunk among the bushes, and leant against the trunk of a tree to let her pass.
"Ah, Huntingdon!" said she reproachfully, pausing where I had stood with him the night before—"it was here you kissed that woman!" she looked back into the leafy shade. Advancing thence, he answered, with a careless laugh—
"Well, dearest, I couldn't help it. You know I must keep straight with her as long as I can. Havn't I seen you kiss your dolt of a husband, scores of times?—and do I ever complain?" ”

“ My own forebodings tell me more— For me, I know by presage sure, They'll ne'er return again. Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me Will bring or joy or gloom; They reach not that Eternity Which soon will be my home." Eight months are gone, the summer sun Sets in a glorious sky; A quiet field, all green and lone, Receives its rosy dye. Jane sits upon a shaded stile, Alone she sits there now; Her head rests on her hand the while, And thought o'ercasts her brow. She's thinking of one winter's day, A few short months ago, Then Emma's bier was borne away O'er wastes of frozen snow. ”

“ She was buried in Haworth church by the side of her mother, Branwell and Emily. The father followed in 1861, and then her husband returned to Ireland, where he remained some years afterwards, dying in 1906.
The bare recital of the Brontë story can give no idea of its undying interest, its exceeding pathos. Their life as told by their biographer Mrs Gaskell is as interesting as any novel. Their achievement, however, will stand on its own merits. Anne Brontë’s two novels, it is true, though constantly reprinted, survive principally through the exceeding vitality of the Brontë tradition. ”

“ A momentary blush suffused her face - perhaps, a blush of sympathetic shame for such an awkward style of presentation: she gravely examined the volume on both sides; then silently turned over the leaves, knitting her brows the while, in serious cogitation; then closed the book, and turning from it to me, quietly asked the price of it - I felt the hot blood rush to my face.
'I'm sorry to offend you, Mr. Markham,' said she, 'but unless I pay for the book, I cannot take it.' And she laid it on the table.
'Why cannot you?'
'Because,' - she paused, and looked at the carpet. ”

“ Ellen Nussey, as we have seen, accompanied Anne Brontë to Scarborough, and was at her death-bed. She attended Charlotte’s wedding, and lived to mourn over her tomb. For forty years she has been the untiring advocate and staunch champion, hating to hear a word in her great friend’s dispraise, loving to note the glorious recognition, of which there has been so rich and so full a harvest. ”

“ Her sister trembles for her too. Yesterday morning, one of October's brightest, loveliest days, Milicent and I were in the garden enjoying a brief half-hour together with our children, while Annabella was lying on the drawing-room sofa, deep in the last new novel. We had been romping with the little creatures, almost as merry and wild as themselves, and now paused in the shade of the tall copper beech, to recover breath and rectify our hair, disordered by the rough play and the frolicsome breeze, while they toddled together along the broad, sunny walk ”

“ I should only the sooner be rid of him."
"Oh, Annabella!" cried Milicent. "How can you say such wicked things! It would indeed be a just punishment, as far as you are concerned, if providence should take you at your word, and make you feel what others feel that—" She paused as a sudden burst of loud talking and laughter reached us from the dining room, in which the voice of Hattersley was preeminently conspicuous, even to my unpractised ear.
"What you feel at this moment, I suppose?" said Lady Lowborough, with a malicious smile, fixing her eyes upon her cousin's distressed countenance. ”

“ Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls. He growled, and tried to look sulky, and then, we all took our seats at the table, in obedience to the thrice repeated summons of Rose.
"Now take your tea," said she; "and I'll tell you what I've been doing. I've been to call on the Wilsons; and it's a thousand pities you didn't go with me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there!" ”

“ There he stood before me; but I had not strength to confront him now; my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth, I was well nigh sinking to the earth, and I almost wondered he did not hear the beating of my heart above the low sighing of the wind, and the fitful rustle of the falling leaves. My senses seemed to fail me, but still I saw his shadowy form pass before me, and through the rushing sound in my ears, I distinctly heard him say, as he stood looking up the lawn—
"There goes the fool! Run Annabella, run! There—in with you! Ah, he didn't see! That's right Grimsby, keep him back!" ”

“ These shells they had broken up and were pounding into small fragments, to what end I could not imagine; but so long as they were quiet and not in positive mischief, I did not care; and, with a feeling of unusual repose, I sat by the fire, putting the finishing stitches to a frock for Mary Ann’s doll; intending, when that was done, to begin a letter to my mother. Suddenly the door opened, and the dingy head of Mr. Bloomfield looked in.
“All very quiet here! What are you doing?” said he. “No harm to-day, at least,” thought I. But he was of a different opinion. ”

“ Anne Brontë's gentle poems, like Emily's, will appeal particularly to such readers as have sympathetic temperaments; they will not call to the human heart like the clarion notes of Charlotte Brontë's poem "Passion," but mayhap their low whisperings may waken sadly [Pg 158] pleasant memories. With Currer Bell's poems I deal in various chapters, wherein we perceive their relationship to Wuthering Heights and her other books which resulted from the harsh rigours of her tempest-bestormed night. ”

“ Milicent glanced at me with a half-reproachful look, as if I could hinder it; but her countenance changed when she heard Hattersley's voice, shouting through door and wall, - 'I'm your man! Send for more wine: here isn't half enough!'
We had scarcely entered the drawing-room before we were joined by Lord Lowborough.
'What can induce you to come so soon?' exclaimed his lady, with a most ungracious air of dissatisfaction.
'You know I never drink, Annabella,' replied he seriously.
'Well, but you might stay with them a little: it looks so silly to be always dangling after the women ”

“ I think I must trouble you, now, to tell me the nearest way to it; for if this beautiful weather continue, I shall, perhaps, be able to walk there, and take my sketch; I have exhausted every other subject for painting; and I long to see it.'
I was about to comply with her request, but Rose would not suffer me to proceed.
'Oh, don't tell her, Gilbert!' cried she; 'she shall go with us. It's - Bay you are thinking about, I suppose, Mrs. Graham? It is a very long walk, too far for you, and out of the question for Arthur. ”

“ He reproached her with a look of mingled bitterness and surprise, and, sinking into a chair, suppressed a heavy sigh, bit his pale lips, and fixed his eyes upon the floor.
“You did right to leave them, Lord Lowborough,” said I. “I trust you will always continue to honour us so early with your company. And if Annabella knew the value of true wisdom, and the misery of folly and—and intemperance, she would not talk such nonsense—even in jest.” ”

“ It can scarcely be doubted that Anne Brontë’s two novels, Agnes Grey and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, would have long since fallen into oblivion but for the inevitable association with the romances of her two greater sisters. While this may he taken for granted, it is impossible not to feel, even at the distance of half a century, a sense of Anne’s personal charm. Gentleness is a word always associated with her by those who knew her. When Mr. Nicholls saw what professed to be a portrait of Anne in a magazine article, he wrote: ‘What an awful caricature of the dear, gentle Anne Brontë!’ Mr. ”

“ But I'm not cross; I'm only sorry; for,' added she, in a low, tremulous accent, withdrawing her hand from his arm, and bending her looks on the rug, 'if you don't love me, you don't, and it can't be helped.'
'Very true; but who told you I didn't? Did I say I loved Annabella?'
'You said you adored her.'
'True, but adoration isn't love. I adore Annabella, but I don't love her; and I love thee, Milicent, but I don't adore thee.' In proof of his affection, he clutched a handful of her light brown ringlets, and appeared to twist them unmercifully. ”

“ He departed. "Mrs. Huntingdon," she exclaimed, turning to me and still holding me fast by the hand, "I'm quite shocked at you—you're just as angry, and distant, and cold as he is: and I'm determined you shall be as good friends as ever, before you go."
"Esther, how can you be so rude!" cried Mrs. Hargrave, who was seated gravely knitting in her easy chair. "Surely, you never will learn to conduct yourself like a lady!"
"Well mamma, you said, yourself—" But the young lady was silenced by the uplifted finger of her mamma, accompanied with a very stern shake of the head. ”

“ I perfectly adore her! But never mind, Milicent: I wouldn't have her for my wife, not if she'd a kingdom for her dowry! I'm better satisfied with the one I have. Now then! what do you look so sulky for? don't you believe me?'
'Yes, I believe you,' murmured she, in a tone of half sad, half sullen resignation, as she turned away to stroke the hair of her sleeping infant, that she had laid on the sofa beside her. ”

“ I carelessly turned to the window, and stood looking out upon the desolate garden, leaving her to talk to Rose for a minute or two; and then, telling my sister it was time to go, shook hands with the little gentleman, coolly bowed to the lady, and moved towards the door. But, having bid adieu to Rose, Mrs. Graham presented her hand to me, saying, with a soft voice, and by no means a disagreeable smile, - 'Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, Mr. Markham. I'm sorry I offended you by my abruptness.'
When a lady condescends to apologise, there is no keeping one's anger, of course ”

“ She could not greatly influence her daughter-in-law against me, because, between that lady and herself there was a mutual dislike—chiefly shown by her in secret detractions and calumniations; by the other, in an excess of frigid formality in her demeanour; and no fawning flattery of the elder could thaw away the wall of ice which the younger interposed between them. But with her son, the old lady had better success: he would listen to all she had to say, provided she could soothe his fretful temper, and refrain from irritating him by her own asperities ”

“ Anne Brontë did not have their imaginative power, but she reproduced what she had seen and learned of life with conscientious devotion to truth. Wuthering Heights and Agnes Grey, Anne Brontë's first book, were published together in three volumes so as to meet the popular demand that novels, like the graces, should appear in threes. It is a photographic representation of the life of a governess in England during the forties. Agnes's courage in determining to augment the family income by seeking a position as governess; the high hopes with which she enters upon her first position ”

“ I came to hear your explanation."
"And I tell you I won't give it!" retorted she, pacing the room in a state of strong excitement, with her hands clasped tightly together, breathing short, and flashing fires of indignation from her eyes. "I will not condescend to explain myself to one that can make a jest of such horrible suspicions, and be so easily led to entertain them." ”

“ Emily Dickinson’s niece and biographer, Martha Dickinson Bianchi, has written an introduction for the work.
Having begun, in spontaneity and pleasure, with poetry, let us stick to it a while. Here are three more volumes by women poets, sisters, the Brontës, no less. Clement K. Shorter has edited them and C. W. Hatfield has provided the bibliographies and notes. They are The Complete Poems—of Charlotte Brontë, of Anne Brontë, of Emily Jane Brontë, respectively. Each is a first complete collection, and each contains a large percentage of poems never before published. ”

“ She turned white in the face, and drew her breath through her teeth in a savage sort of way;—but she offered no extenuation or defence; and with a kind of shameless calmness—shocking indeed to witness in one so young—as good as told me that my remonstrance was unavailing, and my pastoral advice quite thrown away upon her—nay, that my very presence was displeasing while I spoke such things. And I withdrew at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could be done—and sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless. But I am fully determined, Mrs. Markham, that my daughters—shall—not—consort with her. ”

“ You can pity a dolt of a servant for breaking a dish; but you have no compassion for me when my head is split in two and all on fire with this consuming fever.”
He leant his head on his hand, and sighed. I went to him and put my hand on his forehead. It was burning indeed.
“Then come with me into the drawing-room, Arthur; and don’t take any more wine: you have taken several glasses since dinner, and eaten next to nothing all the day. How can that make you better?”
With some coaxing and persuasion, I got him to leave the table. When the baby was brought I tried to amuse him with that ”