CHAPTER X.

THE PROSPECTUSES.

Gradually Charlotte's first depression wore away. Long discussions with

Emily, as they took their walks over the moors, long silent brooding of

ways and means, as they sat together in the parlour making shirts for

Branwell, long thinking, brought new counsel. She went, moreover, to

stay with her friend Ellen, and the change helped to restore her

weakened health. She writes to her friend:--

"March 25

"DEAR NELL,

"I got home safely and was not too much tired on arriving at

Haworth. I feel rather better to-day than I have been, and

in time I hope to regain more strength. I found Emily and

papa well, and a letter from Branwell intimating that he and

Anne are pretty well too. Emily is much obliged to you for

the seeds you sent. She wishes to know if the Sicilian pea

and the crimson cornflower are hardy flowers, or if they are

delicate and should be sown in warm and sheltered

situations. Write to me to-morrow and let me know how you

all are, if your mother continues to get better....

"Good morning, dear Nell, I shall say no more to you at

present.

"C. BRONTE."

"Monday morning.

"Our poor little cat has been ill two days and is just dead.

It is piteous to see even an animal lying lifeless. Emily

_is_ sorry."

Side by side with all these lighter cares went on the schemes for the

school. At last the two sisters determined to begin as soon as they saw

a fair chance of getting pupils. They began the search in good earnest;

but fortunately, postponed the necessary alterations in the house until

they had the secure promise of, at any rate, three or four. Then their

demands lessened as day by day that chance became more difficult and

fainter. In early summer Charlotte writes: "As soon as I can get a

chance of only _one_ pupil, I will have cards of terms printed and will

commence the repairs necessary in the house. I wish all to be done

before the winter. I think of fixing the board and English education at

L25 per annum."

Still no pupil was heard of, but the girls went courageously on, writing

to every mother of daughters with whom they could claim acquaintance.

But, alas, it was the case with one, that her children were already at

school in Liverpool, with another that her child had just been promised

to Miss C., with a third that she thought the undertaking praiseworthy,

but Haworth was so very remote a spot. In vain did the girls explain

that from some points of view the retired situation was an advantage;

since, had they set up school in some fashionable place, they would have

had house-rent to pay, and could not possibly have offered an excellent

education for L25 a year. Parents are an expectant people. Still, every

lady promised to recommend the school to mothers less squeamish, or less

engaged; and, knowing how well they would show themselves worthy of the

chance, once they had obtained it, Charlotte and Emily took heart to

hope.

The holidays arrived and still nothing was settled. Anne came home and

helped in the laying of schemes and writing of letters--but, alas,

Branwell also came home, irritable, extravagant, wildly gay, or gloomily

moping. His sisters could no longer blind themselves to the fact that he

drank, drank habitually, to excess. And Anne had fears--vague, terrible,

foreboding--which she could not altogether make plain.

By this time they had raised the charge to L35, considering, perhaps,

that their first offer had been so low as to discredit their attempt.

But still they got no favourable answers. It was hard, for the girls had

not been chary of time, money, or trouble to fit themselves for their

occupation. Looking round they could count up many schoolmistresses far

less thoroughly equipped. Only the Brontes had no interest.

Meanwhile Branwell amused himself as best he could. There was always the

"Black Bull," with its admiring circle of drink-fellows, and the girls

who admired Patrick's courteous bow and Patrick's winning smile. Good

people all, who little dreamed how much vice, how much misery they were

encouraging by their approbation. Mr. Grundy, too, came over now and

then to see his old friend. "I knew them all," he says--"The father,

upright, handsome, distantly courteous, white-haired, tall; knowing me

as his son's friend, he would treat me in the Grandisonian fashion,

coming himself down to the little inn to invite me, a boy, up to his

house, where I would be coldly uncomfortable until I could escape with

Patrick Branwell to the moors. The daughters--distant and distrait,

large of nose, small of figure, red of hair (!), prominent of

spectacles; showing great intellectual development, but with eyes

constantly cast down, very silent, painfully retiring. This was about

the time of their first literary adventures, say 1843 or 1844."[14]

But of literary adventure there was at present little thought. The

school still occupied their thoughts and dreams. At last, no pupil

coming forward, some cards of terms were printed and given for

distribution to the friends of Charlotte and Anne; Emily had no friends.

There are none left of them, those pitiful cards of terms never granted;

records of such unfruitful hopes. They have fitly vanished, like the

ghosts of children never born; and quicker still to vanish was the dream

that called them forth. The weeks went on, and every week of seven

letterless mornings, every week of seven anxious nights, made the

sisters more fully aware that notice and employment would not come to

them in the way they had dreamed; made them think it well that

Branwell's home should not be the dwelling of innocent children.

Anne went back to her work leaving the future as uncertain as before.

In October Charlotte, always the spokeswoman, writes again to her friend

and diligent helper in this matter:--

"DEAR NELL,

"I, Emily, and Anne are truly obliged to you for the efforts

you have made in our behalf; and if you have not been

successful you are only like ourselves. Everyone wishes us

well; but there are no pupils to be had. We have no present

intention, however, of breaking our hearts on the subject;

still less of feeling mortified at our defeat. The effort

must be beneficial, whatever the result may be, because it

teaches us experience and an additional knowledge of this

world.

"I send you two additional circulars, and will send you two

more, if you desire it, when I write again."

Those four circulars also came to nothing; it was now more than six

months since the three sisters had begun their earnest search for

pupils: more than three years since they had taken for the ruling aim of

their endeavours the formation of this little school. Not one pupil

could they secure; not one promise. At last they knew that they were

beaten.

In November Charlotte writes again to Ellen:--

"We have made no alterations yet in our house. It would be

folly to do so while there is so little likelihood of our

ever getting pupils. I fear you are giving yourself too much

trouble on our account.

"Depend on it, if you were to persuade a mama to bring her

child to Haworth, the aspect of the place would frighten

her, and she would probably take the dear girl back with her

instanter. We are glad that we have made the attempt, and we

will not be cast down because it has not succeeded."[15]

There was no more to be said, only to put carefully by, as one puts by

the thoughts of an interrupted marriage, all the dreams that had filled

so many months only to lay aside in a drawer, as one lays aside the long

sewn at garments of a still-born child, the plans drawn out for the

builder, the printed cards, the lists of books to get; only to face

again a future of separate toil among strangers, to renounce the vision

of a home together.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 14: 'Pictures of the Past.']

[Footnote 15: Mrs. Gaskell.]