THE BRONTES.*

Mn. MAIMAM- DEMBLEBY thinks be has made a discovery and has written a book to prove that he has done so. The dis- covery is that Charlotte Bronte wrote not only the works which she herself acknowledged but also Wuthering Heights. He believes the story of this book to be a counterpart of the plot of Jane Eyre, The Professor, and Villette, and that in all of them is reflected the episode of Charlotte Bronte's attachment to M. Heger. The writer is so obsessed with his idea that evidence seems to have no effect upon him ; his favourite method is to make some highly controversial statement, giving no reason beyond a mere assumption, and then later on refer to this statement as if it was a proved and acknow- ledged fact. Indeed, the author's method is like that of Charles Keene's Shakespeare scholar in Punch, who proved that Horatio was Hamlet's father, from the latter saying to the former "and smelt so pa." But the most astonishing thing is that Mr. Malham-Dembleby makes no apology for attributing to Charlotte Brontë not only a peculiarly offensive form of insincerity, but also actual fraud. What are we to think of Charlotte Bronte's professed passion for truth if we were to believe that, when she wrote the noble preface to Wuthering Heights after the death of Emily, she was really only playing a part P The writer of the book before us passes by this preface, and does not attempt to face it. Indeed, if be did his whole structure would tumble about his ears. Ellis Bell, when she published her book, entered into an agreement with the publisher, Mr. Newby, that her next book should be offered to him. So that if Charlotte wrote Wuthering Heights, she de- liberately broke her contract when Jane Eyre issued from the house of Smith and Elder. Mr. Malham-Dembleby, when commenting on this, merely remarks that such a pro- ceeding "of course made impossible thereafter Charlotte Bronte's acknowledging her authorship of this work " (Wuthering Heights). His sight is so distorted by his theory that he sees nothing extraordinary in the morbidly scrupulous and sensitive Charlotte engaging in such a shady transaction. Thus we have to accept these two actions, both diametrically opposed to all we know of Charlotte, in order that we may believe Heathcliffe to be a previous incarnation of M. Paul, and take the elder Catherine for Charlotte herself ! In the minute inquiry into the sisters' books it has been possible to show many small points of resemblance between them, but was this to be wondered at considering the circumstances of their origin P The sisters lived isolated lives, and were reticent to those outside their family circle ; also we know that they were in the habit of discussing their works with each other ; also we must remember that the people they studied and used as materials for their books were known to each: it is therefore not strange, but natural, that a certain number of details are common to the several books.

The only thing of interest in the book before us is the discovery the author has made of a story by Eugene Sue, which was published in different versions in English and

French, in which be uses many of the incidents of Jane Eyre. There seems reason to suppose that he was acquainted with M. Heger and that his story reflects a good deal of what took place in Brussels. Sue's story, which shows knowledge of the Heger family, was published in 1850— that is, after Jane Ere, but before Villette.

Perhaps the best corrective to such wild speculations as those contained in Mr. Malham-Dembleby's volume is to be found in the sober introduction Sir W. Robertson Nicoll has written to the complete edition of Emily Bronte's poetry.

*(1) The Key to the Droste Works. By John Malham-Dembleby. London: The Walter Scott Publishing Co. [es. ](d) The Complete Works of Emily Brontl. Vol. I., Poetry. Edited by Clement Shorter. London: Hodder and Stoughton. [66. net.l

It is impossible to read the record of absolute truthfulness and sisterly devotion and not to feel that Charlotte Brenta would have considered it nothing short of an outrage to have

represented her as making out Emily the authoress of Wuthering Heights when she really wrote it herself, and for no more reason than to escape from the terms of a con- tract entered into with a publisher. The preposterous identifi-

cation of M. Heger with Heathcliffe is an added atrocity.

In the preface to the poems of Emily, published after her death, her sister says that from what was left she has gathered "a tiny nosegay." Until now we have been in doubt

as to the quality of what remained. The sixty-seven poems now given to the world reveal the fact that Charlotte was an excellent literary critic. She took all that' was best, and how good that best was can be realised by recalling the names of the principal poems : "The Lady to her Guitar " ; the stanzas beginning " Often rebuked yet always back returning"; and those wonderful "Last lines." Emily Brontë died at the age of thirty, but she was evidently not one of those who mature early. Her genius was developing steadily and surely, and had she lived to go on writing poetry after she had

finished Wuthering Heights, she might have fully estab- lished her right to rank with the great poets. If in these hitherto unpublished poems there is nothing that is surprising

by its excellence, there are several short poems which have in them a reflection of the great qualities which shone forth occasionally. Here are a few examples :-

"In dungeons dark I cannot sing, In sorrow's thrall 'tis hard to smile; What bird can soar with broken wing?

What heart can bleed and joy the while ?

"Heaven's glory shone where he was laid In life's decline !

I turned me from that young saint's bed To gaze on thine.

It was a summer day that saw His spirit's flight; Thine parted in a time of awe A winter's night."

The joy of Spring comes to ns in the lines— "There are bees in every blossom And birds on every tree,"

and the mystery of night in " That wan moon struggling through the cloud." It is .therefore on the poems already known to us that Emily Bronte's reputation must depend. The poignancy of passion she could call forth will always make her lines memorable. There is something akin to the spirit of Tscbaikowsky in such lines as these :—

" Then did I check the tears of useless passion,

Weaned my young heart from yearning after thine ; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb already more than mine.

" And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain ; And drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again ? "

We will conclude with quoting the last verses of the last poem Emily Brontë wrote. Here the nobility and grandeur of thought and words rise like the crescendo of some great orchestra :- "With wide-embracing love

Thy spirit animates eternal years, Pervades and broods above, Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

"Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes ceased to be. And Thou were left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee.

" There is no room for Death,

Nor atom that this might could render void; Thou—Thom art Being and Breath,

And what Thou art may never be destroyed."