I haven't heard of this writer, what novels/short stories did he write?

Amy, the last volume I read of Jane Eyre had a brief bio of C. Bronte. In it the author suggested she probably died of pneumonia helped along by her fear of an early death like her siblings.

Sorry I meant that to go under the other topic. As for Branwell, I believe he was a talented painter as well as writer but as so often is the case he was ate up by demons. Considering his end , I think the biographers have him pretty close to the truth.

Terry: the only thing that Branwell, who was Charlotte, Emily, & Anne's brother, published during his lifetime were some poems in the local newspapers. He was Charlotte's partner in Glasstown (later Angria), their juvenalia, and was said to be a talented & imaginative writer. Unfortunately, it seems he couldn't keep his Byronic passions in check and became a drunkard & opium addict, finally dying young of consumption, helped by his own physical self-destruction. It seems a very sad, wasted life, if we can believe the biographers (and Charlotte's letters -- I don't think she'd have reason to lie). He was the apple of his father's eye, being the only male, & turned out a terrible disappointment.

Sherry: So you heard it was pneumonia? It seems that every book I read propounds a different theory. Lyndall Gordon, in CHARLOTTE BRONTE, A PASSIONATE LIFE, theorizes that Tabby, who died a month before Charlotte, might have infected her with a fatal disease. There's also the theory that Charlotte had had consumption for a long time, & that pregnancy may have aggravated this condition. It's just so frustrating not to know for sure!!

I am now in the midst of an 800 page bio of the Brontes, by Juliet Barker. She is basically Branwell's biggest fan & apologist. According to HER version, it was Branwell's affair with Mrs. Robinson while he was acting as tutor in her home which flung him down the wayward path. But everyone else, from eyewitnesses at the Black Bull to Charlotte, point to his drunkenness & dissolute ways much earlier. Anybody have any thoughts? I'm all for character redemption if it's true, but wondering if Barker has let her prejudices get the better of her (and I think some people on this Boa d know about P&P!)

I thought Barker wasn't too bad on Branwell. He deserved some rehabilitation, and Patrick Bronte certainly deserved the reappraisal he received at her hands. I read somewhere (it might have been Barker or it might have been in an essay on Branwell's artistic efforts) that if he hadn't been so concerned with the extremes of heaven and hell, hadn't been so caught up with an idea of life as a duality consisting either ectasy or agony, and rather had just got on with the business of earning a living, he might have been a very competant artist. Had he ever been able to muster the energy and commitment, he may very well have made a decent writer. Some of his existing verse is on a parr with Anne's and Charlotte's. His artistic skills should not be judged by the portraits of his sisters. There are several examples of portraits he did that are rather competant, though not brilliant.

I think that if he hadn't been such a prisoner of his emotions, Branwell could have been a great writer too. I guess what I take issue with in Barker is laying all the blame at Mrs. Robinson's feet -- it was clear that Branwell's character & dissolution began long before he showed up at Thorp Green. I can agree more with Barker's re-assessment of Mr. Bronte, who has been given a terrible rap ever since Mrs. Gaskell's LIFE.

Earlier Bronte biographers blaimed Mrs Robinson for being the instigator in their affair (seducer seems to strong a word). His family and Mrs Gaskell certainly felt she was.Then came a period where it was doubted that the affair had even happened - a lot of biographers felt (and still do) that it was Branwell's excuse for yet another failure.I think what Barker was trying to do was examine the whys and wherefores of the matter, and suggest a triggering catalyst for his final dissolution. If it hadn't been Mrs Robinson it probably would have been something else - I can't help but think of Emily's assessment of Branwell as a "hopeless being". But whatever happened at Thorpe Green was the begining of the end.

Absolutely. That's when poor Branwell completely fell apart. But as you say, the final impetus could have been anything -- in a way, I'm surprised it wasn't his being sacked from the railroad job. Maybe Barker was looking for a single "dramatic" incident that could explain it all away, but it was clear that Branwell had been drinking heavily & drugging long before he went to Thorpe Green, if we can believe other eyewitness accounts.

The other interesting aspect to Branwell's story is the creative synthesis he shared with Charlotte when they were younger. The dynamics of their writing relationship, the way in which their works fed off/into each other, is an intrinsic part of Charlotte's development as a writer. At the time of the glasstown saga, she was enamoured of male narrators for her stories. It was when she adopted the female persona for her narrators that she really found her authorial voice - look at the difference between "The Professor" and "Jane Eyre". Charlotte's hard reaction to Branwell's dissolution seems to betoken a feeling of profound betrayal.

Yes, Elena, absolutely. I've read theories that she felt she easily could have become Branwell, had she given in to her despair over M. Heger the way he did over Mrs. Robsinson. I think that this latent guilt addd to her contempt for her. I just finished reading all of Charlotte's source letters up to 1847, & she doesn't fail to mention to Ellen after 1846 how much Branwell is annoying & disappointing her. I think this was a case of "there for the grace of God go I."

She probably also felt a good deal of resentment over the fact that while Branwell, as the (formerly) favoured male child was able to parade his misfortunes in love and wallow in the drama publically, Charlotte had to be miserable in silence. That would be enough to discolour anyones view of a sibling. I still keep coming back to the Heger letters and the extraordinary story of their survival. Had Madame Heger not preserved them, we would have had nothing beyond speculation to hint at her grand passion. What else has not survived - twists and turns in their stories that are mere conjecture or undreamed of? What was the truth to the Anne/William Weightman story? What did Charlotte write to Mary Taylor? And Emily...well, ANYTHING about Emily would be better than the near nothing that exists.

Elena, these are my questios -exactly.- Especially: what did M. Heger's letters BACK to Charlotte say? Did he in fact instruct her to address him secretly at the Athenee Royale so that Madame Heger wouldn't know about thier correspondence? I also think that Charlotte's letters to Mary Taylor, which Mary burned, would have provided us with a much deeper insight into Charlotte's character. With Mary (unlike Ellen) C. would have been free to open up our heart, & we would know so much more about her views on art, women, literature, even the M. Heger affair. Alas! But at least we do have a fairly voluminous C. correspondence, whereas any letters from Anne & Emily are so sparse.

Was it Barker that suggested that it was Charlotte rather than Anne that loved William Weightman? I thought that was rather intriguing.

Yes, it was Barker. At first, I dismissed the idea out of hand; but after reading Margaret Smith's THE LETTERS OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE (which go up to 1847) I actually think that Barker had a point. Charlotte mentions Weightman almost obsessively in her letters to Ellen, & she expresses an almost jealous bitterness when she discovers him to be a "thorough-going male flirt."

Hi all. Is it too late to participate in this conference? I'm so happy to find this site and all you Bronte enthusiasts. I'm fascinated by all the Brontes, and am in the middle of collaborating a musical piece concerning Branwell and Charlotte. (We hope to perform it in San Francisco next spring.) I do think Branwell's life is tragic. If I remember my reading right, there's a point in Charlotte's life (while she's serving as a governess) when she realizes that she needs to spend less time with her imagination fully engaged in Glass Town. All that feverish excitement is a temptation she can' afford to yield to much, if she's going to cope with the dreary responsibilities of being an adult. Around that time, she begins writing stories in which the Duke of Zamorna and the Percy's, in slightly modified form, become inhabitants of Yorkshire instead of Verdopolis. Part of Branwell's tragedy, I think, is that he never made that leap. He couldn't leave Glass Town. Also, he couldn't stand the intermediary steps between being a talented youth and being a working adult artist. Unlike in the cases of Charlotte, Emily and Anne, the way was not barred for him. As a man, he could have made his way into the world. But -- like Charlotte with her reluctance to reap the benefits of being a "literary lioness" -- the possibility didn't free him On the contrary, he imploded under the pressure it created. I'd welcome any and all comments or conversation. What a delight to find this website.

Your comments on Branwell were interesting, Michael. I've always felt that he was, if not quite a figure of tragic stature, certainly a very sad one. His stilted attempts at breaking away from the juvenalia make an intersting comparison with his sisters. Charlotte made the break and Emily didn't. I've never felt that Emily's work is any less than her sister's because of this. Charlotte found her imaginary world too seductive, for Emily it was sustaining.

Welcome Michael! We're very glad you found us!! I have mixed feelings about Branwell -- yes, he was a tragic figure, but primarily of his own making. He had as much literary talent as his sisters, but chose to throw away all of his promise in dead-end affairs, drink, opium, and an excess of self-pity. I actually think that Charlotte's breaking away from Glasstown & Angria improved the quality of her work -- her literary love affairs have a real quality which I don't think Emily's do (especially the co pletely non-sexual aspect of them). Not to denigrate Emily in any way -- she was a supreme genius. But Charlotte's leaving "the infernal world" colored her work with the real one, which I think enhances it.

HI, everyone, and a merry Christmas. This is my first time on this topic, and after just having read all the above, I couldn't resist trying my clumsy hand at a humble reply. Recently I've done alot of thinking about Branwell's presentation in various biographies, especially that of Dr. Barker. I found it a good and very well researched work, though she seemed at times almost too keen to 'shed new light' on certain matters. But that's perhaps also not a bad thing - looking at issues in different lights and from different angles, is what keeps us interested and going on the Bronte topic. Over the past year I've read quite alot about the Brontes, and it's allways struck me that something about Branwell's downfall somehow doesn't seem to quite add up. What puzzles me most are the following two questions: Why did HE of all people shout his affair with Mrs. Robinson from the rooftops? No-one else did. Secondly, Anne wrote in a private writing that she had been a witness to the WORST kind of morall error (something like that, I can't quote accurately on this, but anyone who has read a biography of her will probably know what I'm referring to) being committed at Thorpe Green. The worst kind? I will start my speculation concentrating on the second issue first. Anne, so I've gathered, was the closest the sisters ever came to being 'women of the world'. She was the only sister who managed to stay away from home for any length of time, earning a living and being independent. Living with more than one upperclass family, where parties and social gatherings were the rule, rather than an exception, surely she had at some point seen forms of infidelity. Shallowness and not particularly high moral tanderds were no strangers to that class of people in the 1800's, and Anne's own books are no icons on noble moral behaviour either. So surely Branwell's falling in love with the wrong woman, and the fact that it was forbidden could not have been the WORST kind ofmoral wrongdoing she had ever witnessed, could it? Also, we continually read that she was kind, gentle, quiet, patient etc., etc.; as such one would expect HER to have been the sister who supported Branwell, indeed be the sympathetic sister sh was to her other siblings. What vexed her into loosing all empathy with her once so dear big brother? Before continuing on this, I want to go back to the first question: Why did Branwell himself make such a big issue of his affair with Mrs. Robinson? After all, he got sacked very quietly, almost too quietly for one who has been making eyes for his employer's wife. If Mr Robinson kept the reasons for his dismissal quiet, and Anne was obviously keen to keep it quiet as well, why did HE blurt it all out? After all, even in this day and age, no young man would willingly go to his parents (especially with clergyman for a father) after having had a similar experience, and having had the chance to keep it quiet, and so elaborately reveal the whole thing. Why was he so keen on everyone KNOWING? He was an intelligent chap - what if he was trying to make sure that everyone knew about his blunder, in order to conceal his true 'sin'? I don't mean to cause havoc, but what if Branwell was in fact homosexual? I mean, imagine being homosexual in the 1800's - that WAS one of the worst moral sins of the day, was i not? The kind of thing that would repell kind, gentle, religious Anne, and even Charlotte who was once closest to him; but it was also the kind of thing Emily would probably have had the mental capacity to understand - remember, she was the only sister who remained close to him right up until the end, even his doting father didn't. Emily was the only one who would not have condemned him out of hand, as she posessed a much, much broader vision than probably ANY woman in those days. Did Branwell get the sack, because he in fact became infatuated with his young pupil, Edmund Robinson? Could this have led to his intense self-hatred, his absolute determination to destroy himself, and his need to remain intoxicated? If he were homosexual, he would have regarded it as a terrible moral sin HIMSELF (sadly), therefore believed himself evil, and his life utterly worthless. Did he destroy himself as a kind of self-punishment for his 'great sin'? Greetings

Hi all -- it's MichaelM. Between the holidays and my forgetting my password it took me awhile to get back here! I just bought Barker's book and haven't had a chance to do more than start it yet. I'm excited to continue my researches! I loved everyone's responses. I don't think that anyone lost in the world of imagination could have depicted romantic relationships with as much reality as Charlotte does, particularly in Villette. At the same time, I agree with Elena that Emily didn't need to subdue her attachment to imaginary worlds in order to create great works. For Branwell, though, the case was different. He got lost. I need to do more reading, but my gut instinct is that Riette has totally hit the nail on the head. Branwell's story doesn't add up. Why does he make extravagant claims to have had an affair with Mrs. Robinson when in fact the Robinsons never seem to have had any domestic quarrels, even after Branwell's dismissal? Why did Mr. Robinson threaten to "expose" Branwell? How could he do so without exposing his own wife? On the other hand, he COULD expose Branwell for making overtures to his son or for being involved in some other homosexual liaison -- the shame would be more squarely Branwell's. There is also the matter of the mysterious payments that Branwell received. Did he have a secret benefactor? Or was someone paying him to keep silence? Could he have been blackmailing the Robinsons? This is all merely speculative. I don't know how old Branwell's pupil was at the time of his employment, so I won't venture an opinion there. But I agree with Riette: If you add homosexuality to the picture, it begins to make sense how Branwell's drunken pecadilloes could loom so large in his mind and cause him such moral anguish. It all reminds me of William Beckford at the beginning of the century and Oscar Wilde at the end, who were both "exposed" by the fathers of young men they were involved with and suffered hugely (and with great morbidity) under the stigma. Looking forward to more!

Hi all! This argument about Branwell seducing young Edmund Robinson has been put forward before. Edmund was about 12 at the time, BTW. That -is- an intriguing question about why Branwell choose to trumpet his affair from the rooftops rather than keeping it quiet. But it seemed his personality was so self-aggrandizing and filled with self-pity that it wouldn't have been out of character for him to do so. Maybe blaming Lydia Robinson gave him a scapegoat to blame or a false deity on which to base his h pes (that she was going to marry him after her husband died). I also think that to a very religious person like Anne, adultery was taken very seriously & viewed as a terrible moral transgression. So that's my view. Anything is possible of course but I tend to believe Barker & her assertations that the affair bet. Mrs. Robinson actually happened, and that it hastened his ruin.

Hi - just came back from wonderful holiday in Namibia, my home country. Sigh. Amy, do you still know where you read the argument about Branwell seducing Edmund Robinson? As you can imagine, I'd love to read it!

I've seen it mentioned in bios, but I can't remember which ones specifically. I think it's an old theory which has been bandied about for some time now. If I come across it again, I'll let you know.

Hi. I'm still reading the Barker book, currently in the chapter called "Mrs. Robinson" which discusses what happened to Branwell. Barker writes: "Every possible explanation has been put forward [about what happened to Branwell at Thorp Green], from Branwell's having used his undoubted skills in handwriting to forge his employer's signature to the suggestion that he corrupted and seduced the young Edmund Robinson who was alone in his care." (Barker, p. 456) The footnote leads to "Mildred Christian, 'Branwell Bronte and the Robinsons of Thorp Green': unpublished typescript. (c.1965), in Mildred Christian Papers, BPM; Du Maurier, pp. 163-4." I think the homosexuality theory is in Du Maurier's The Infernal World of Branwell Bronte (Garmondsworth, Penguin Books, 1972), which I haven't read. Barker thinks the affair with Mrs. Robinson really happened, and offers all the evidence available to her to support that. On the other hand, I've read excerpts from some of Branwell's letters (also quoted by Barker) to my friends, and everybody thinks there may be something to the homosexuality idea. Without my prompting. Sexuality being what it is (fluid and subject to different interpretations at different times in history), it's quite possible that Branwell was somewhat homosexual but nevertheless did have an affair with a strong and bold women 17 years his senior. Things like this happen all the time. I haven't finished the chapter yet. I'm still enjoying Barker very much, although I agree with you, Amy, that she doesn't seem to like Charlotte much. I don't know why...I love Charlotte for some of the very reasons she seems disdainful. Anyway, I can't wait to read more. It's a fascinating story!

I think Barker backs up her thesis very ably that the affair with Mrs. Robinson did happen. Other biographers dismiss it as a product of Branwell's overactive imagination & proclivity to self-aggrandizement. Remember too Anne's comments about this affair -- something along the line that she had seen the worst human nature had to offer at Thorp Green. She was very moral, so this may have meant simple adultery. But we don't know.

Hi again. I finished reading the chapter. It is so hard to tell what did or didn't happen. I guess we'll never know. I agree that Barker does a wonderful job of supporting her theory. On the other hand, a lot of the evidence comes from Branwell himself (his letters to Leyland, the things he said to his family that they dared to record in surviving letters), and Branwell doesn't seem entirely reliable. The hard evidence we have about the Robinson family does not add up to Branwell and Lydia having an affair, notwithstanding Barker's conjectures about "what the gardener saw." But it's clear that Branwell was broken-hearted. Barker astutely suggests that part of Charlotte's irritation with Branwell may well have been that she herself had spent two years miserable because of her love for a married man, but had NOT embarked on an adulterous affair with M. Heger & had done her best to suppress all expression of her feelings (at least until she wrote Villette). Branwell, on the other hand, seems to have got to experience both the affair and the whirlwind of publicity about his sorrow. In other words, Charlotte spent two years choking on her frustration, while Branwell got to carry on like the Duke of Zamorna. What strikes me over and over again about this story is how SIMILAR Charlotte and Branwell are. They really are partners in their emotional reaction to their world, as well as in their literary ambitions. In their mid to late twenties, they both suffered terrible anguish over their love for married, unavailable people, and they both wrote tortured poetry about it. Anyway, just rambling on. I'm so fascinated by this biography. Now I have to brace myself for reading the account of 1848. Till later!

Michael: You are absolutely right about the similarities bet. Charlotte & Branwell. I think her extreme contempt & even hatred of him during his dissipated days was that he was the living embodiment of what she was FEELING inside. I daresay that if Msr. Heger had shown up on her doorstep in Haworth, she would have run away with him, wife & 6 kids or not. So I think the contempt she felt for herself was transferred to her feelings for Branwell.

I agree! I also think she felt more betrayed by Branwell's downfall than any other family member did. Following 1848 Charlotte spoke and wrote often of her deep attachment to Emily. I don't doubt that attachment, but it's nevertheless true that Charlotte's true co-hort in creative activity was Branwell, just as Emily's was Anne. It's as if Charlotte reimagined the relationships after her siblings were dead as a way of further disassociating herself from Branwell. I've just been reading the section in Barker's book about Charlotte's big trip to London, including dinner at the Thackeray's, etc. I really think that only Branwell could have joined Charlotte in these kinds of pleasures. I can't imagine Emily ever bothering herself about literary chitchat with strangers. Anne might have enjoyed what was there to enjoy but found the whole thing pretty vain. But Branwell, he would have eaten it up, just as Charlotte did in her modest way. Branwell and Charlotte were the Verdopolites, after all. I'm plowing on in Barker. One day I might actually finish it, but I'm not holding my breath!

The Barker is tough going, I know. You're right about Emily not caring about what went on in London society -- though she may have enjoyed the tales which Charlotte told when she returned from her many trips there. I think the extent to which Charlotte loathed Branwell really does reflect her disappointment in his dissipation, the loss of a treasured partner, and the pain in seeing him freely act out what she could only suppress (love for a married person). Did Charlotte soften her views toward him after his death?

I'm still plowing on in Barker, but I've seen no sign of a significant change in her feelings except those recorded in a letter to Smith Williams shortly after his death: "When the struggle was over-- and a marble calm began to succeed the last dread agony -- I felt as I had never felt before that there was peace and forgiveness for him in Heaven. All his errors -- to speak plainly -- all his vices seemed nothing to me in that moment; every wrong he had done, every pain he had caused, vanished; his sufferings only were remembered; the wrench to the natural affections only was felt... -- He is at rest -- and that comforts us all long before he quitted this world -- Life had not happiness for him." -- Quoted in Barker on p. 568; I don't know what she left out. I've just read Barker's account of Charlotte refusal of a marriage proposal from James Taylor -- a man for whom Charlotte felt physical repulsion. Barker suggests "...what lay at the bottom of that aversion was deeply revealing. Small in stature, red-headed, with his 'determined, dreadful nose,' James Taylor reminded her irresistibly of Branwell. It says much about Chrlotte's relationship with her brother that this was the only occasion on which a resemblance to oner of her dead siblings did not predispose Charlotte in that person's favour but had the opposite effect." (p. 670) Barker's analysis isn't so hot here. I would read this mainly as evidence that Charlotte's feelings towards Branwell remained powerful. (No need to do a Freudian analysis, is there?) Not softened, but not lessened either.

I think it's a stretch to say that Charlote rejected James Taylor merely because he had red hair. She had also heard disreputable things about his character at Smith Elder Publishing, and I think that's what swayed her more than his appearance.

Nobody made that stretch. Taylor sounds like a piece of work in any case, and I'm sure she was much better off with Arthur. I finally finished Barker, all except skimming the footnotes. I really enjoyed it, once all's said & done. It made me want to re-read the novels, especially Villette!

I really had a hard time getting through Barker, but then I'm not particularly interested in Patrick, Branwell, or Church rates in Haworth! I really liked CHARLOTTE BRONTE: A PASSIONATE LIFE and Rebecca Fraser's CHARLOTTE BRONTE AND HER FAMILY. Then again, my primary area of interest is Charlotte, whom Barker doesn't particulary like!

HALLO, everyone! I somehow managed to lose this page on my computer (!!!!), but now I'm back . . I see there is some heavy discussions going on, concerning Dr. Barker's book, Branwell and Charlotte. Yes, I now remember that it was that very same book with its reference to the young Edmund, which put the idea of Branwell's being homosexual into my head. I still think it a possibility - or that he liked girls AND boys; Branwell seems to have been a fairly confused young man on the whole, so I suppose we will never know. What does stand out for me, is the fact that he is generally considered to have been extremely talented - which I think, frankly, is very far from the truth. I think he was indeed intelligent and creative, but quite a bit less so than his sisters. True, he could write two seperate letters, with both hands, and at the same time. Pretty impressive, but to me merely proof of great hand-eye coordination - I am sure most of us are able to write two letters simultaneously in our heads. He could also paint, but for a chap whose dad payed for extra lessons with a good artist, his work is VERY average in my opinion. I have only seen photos, but even judging from them, as an artist, it is very obvious why he did not make it. He lacks skill where it comes to proportion, colouring, his perspectives are mostly pretty bad - which boils dow to one thing: he could paint a little, but certainly did not have the talent to go far. Then there is his writing. I must confess, I have only read bits of his juvenalia, which also failed to impress, and I know that the ghastly letters he wrote to accompany works he sent for publication must have put the publishers off him; on the other hand, if his works were THAT good, they would have been published, regardless of the letters he wrote - after all, he was a man. Again it shows how unfairly women (and men) were treated in those days. Because he was the only male sibling, it was assumed by everyone, that he had to be the talented one in the family, putting unnecessary pressure on him, and in the end making him feel like a failure. If realistic things were expected of him from the beginning, I think he might have at least died with a bit of respect for himself. On the other hand his sisters were also mistreated. Too little was expected of them, which is a shame, because all three of them were VERY good draughtswomen. With the right education I am almost certain that they might have become artists as well as writers. And, again, because too little was expected of them, they lacked the neccessary self-esteem to persue their talents without holding back. As far as Dr. Barker's book is concerned: I think Charlotte is badly mistreated in it. Branding her 'manipulative' just because she got things done is very unfair, for example Brussels: not once did Barker consider the fact that, if Charlotte hadn't dragged Emily to Brussels against her will, Wuthering Heights might not even have existed today - no matter how Emily hated it - and I am sure she learned a great deal there. The book contains a great deal of very interesting information, but I don't think it should be considered the 'Bible' of Bront� biographies. We should never stop asking questions just because Dr. Barker had a pretty good go at answering them all!

Hi all. Riette, I basically agree with everything you've said, although I reserve some belief in Branwell's talents. I'll concede in advance, though, that it doesn't matter in the long run because he never produced anything great. If you compare Branwell's output with Charlotte's up to the time of The Professor, you'll find that they both wrote poetry that didn't quite scale the heights and stories that didn't quite grip by the throat. (Not that I've read all of the things they wrote; that's just my impression from the things I've read.) I think throughout his life Branwell displayed plenty of raw talent in his use of language, and a very vivid imagination. Up until 1845 he doesn't show any LESS talent than anyone in the family, with the exception of Emily who was already writing great poetry. I don't think Charlotte was ready to write Jane Eyre even a minute before she sat down to write it. I'm repeating myself, but to me the tragedy of Branwell Bronte is that he underwent a lifelong apprenticeship as a writer, just as his sisters did, but when the rest of the family got down to writing masterpieces he self- destructed instead. In the end it doesn't matter how good he might have been, because he didn't DO anything. & That, of course, is the moral of the story. My personal angle on this (other than your usual busload of projection and identification) is that I've known lots of talented people who just imploded. Branwell is like a stand-in or spokesman for all the "mute Miltons" I've known. Charlotte, of course, points the way out. I mean, EVERYTHING got her down, and she didn't permit ANY of it to stop her. The other major difference between Charlotte and Branwell, I think, is that she was honest enough with herself to learn from her own experience. She did finally figure out what it was she was feeling for M. Heger, and she eventually took responsibility for the misery that ensued her return from Brussells. Branwell didn't quit blaming Mrs. Robinson until he was on his deathbed, and yet the whole story of his "affair" with her seems to be such a red herring. He never took responsibility for his own experience, and I think alcohol and opium were his accessories in this. I recently read E.F. Bensen's book on Charlotte Bronte, and I think his analysis of Charlotte and Branwell is the best I've read. He likes Emily the best and Anne the least, and isn't so good on either of them. But with Charlotte and Branwell he's really good at adding up the evidence and drawing conclusions about character. A lot of the things Barker doesn't like about Charlotte are discussed helpfully and non-judgmentally in Bensen. Bensen thinks that Branwell wrote the opening chapters of Wuthering Heights, which I can't bring myself to believe. But I do agree with him that Charlotte took Branwell's downfall more personally than anyone else in the family, and judged him the most harshly in part because in some ways they were very alike. That's enough from me for now!

Hi there! Michael, you make some good points. I very much agree that Branwell had a pretty self-destructive streak, which was his ultimate ruin. Am I to believe, though, that you think his self-destructive habits had nothing to do with his level of intelligence? Why do you think he was so self-destructive - because he was simply a spineless loafer? Because he was intelligent, but lacked the guts to persue his talents? My opinion is that he thought himself more intelligent than he in fact was. I will compare i with art: do you ever go to exhibitions? If so, has it not struck you at times, how very good and how very bad different works by one artist can be? I have seen exhibitions here in Z�rich of a certain local artist, whose name I will obviously not reveal, as she is also a friend. She is quite well-known here, yet I often get the impression at her exhibitions that those works that turn out well, turn out well by sheer chance, not because she is a great artist - and she is wise enough to admit this hers lf. With Branwell I get the same impression. He had a certain amount of talent, and a few things he wrote/painted turned out pretty well, as pretty well goes. But he lacked consistency, which comes down to lack of that sparkling quality that makes a true and solid talent. If he was, as is your opinion, as intelligent as say, Charlotte (I think Emily was more intelligent than any of the others, and so it would be unfair to use her as a comparison), why did he ruin himself and she not? Charlotte had the intelligence to face up to her faults, and take, as you so wisely put it, responsibility for it. Did Branwell then not lack just those one or two peas not to be able to see his? I think so. He was a damned clever chap, don't misunderstand me, but he did lack the genius whi h two of his sisters possessed. I think Anne was cleverer than him too! (I'm sure the origin of 'Girl Power' lies with the Bront� sisters!!)

Riette, Well, to get straight to the point, it seems clear that Branwell was addicted to alcohol and drugs. In my opinion, addiction is not a sign of intelligence or lack or intelligence, it's simply a sign of addiction. So to blame him or judge him for not being able to get off the skid he was on is somewhat beside the point. I'd say that kicking self-destructive habits of that magnitude is a matter of grace rather than intelligence. It's hard to measure intelligence, and come to a conclusion that one of the Bronte siblings was smarter than another. I don't think Branwell was a particularly good painter, but his letters -- especially the "naughty" ones that almost nobody but Barker quotes at full length -- are very lively and, I think, funny. They remind me of Boswell's "London Journal" -- full of bragadoccio, a smart young man trying to figure out his place in the world. Boswell is maybe a good person to compare Branwell with. He wrote a few things when he was young -- none of which he is remembered for -- and spent a fair portion of his adult life drunk, committing adultery and taking brutal cures for venereal disease. He was wildly self-destructive, and barely managed to finish his masterpiece, "Life of Johnson," inbetween drinking bouts. You could certainly accuse Boswell of being a fool, but you couldn't say he was lacking in intelligence. His habitual drinking didn't make him stupid, it just made him drunk. Branwell died young. Who knows what he would have made of his life if he'd lived long enough? He was a lot like Charlotte, but he never would have written a book like Jane Eyre. (I think it more likely he would have written a book like James Hogg's Confessions of Justified Sinner, but that's an idle speculation. E.F. Benson thinks he DID write the opening chapters of Wuthering Heights.) When Charlotte read Thackeray's lecture on Fielding, she was distraught that Thackeray didn't use the lecture to point a moral. She thought that men weren't properly warned of the dangers that lay in wait for them in the world, and it seems pretty likely that she was thinking of Branwell when she wrote this. She thought that Thackeray, like Fielding, was too "soft" on lapses. I would argue that Branwell wasn't the only person in the family with self-destructive tendencies (see Charlotte and her hopeless infatua- tions, Emily with her ideas on health care, Anne in her wrestling with fierce religious doctrines). They weren't exactly a sunny crowd! Branwell's indulgences, however, were truly incapacitating. I really don't know which of the Bronte's was smartest, but I think it's worth repeating that we wouldn't read the three Bronte women if they hadn't written what they did between 1845 and 1847, and those are the years that Branwell was most useless. Who knows who was smartest? Who knows what would have happened if the especially immature Branwell had ever had a chance to grow up? I hope I said something clear in all that. Love to hear your response!

Heck, Michael, the first time you replied to one of my Branwell theories, you thought I had 'hit the nail' on the head - now, every time I have a go at hitting the nail you have to move it, and make me feel like a school kid! Well, you have provoked me now, and I shall argue even harder! No, seriously, Emily has always been my favourite Bront�, but Branwell certainly makes fantastic speculative material. One just cannot pin him down, can one? Well, here goes my reply: First of all, and hopefully without causing offence; could it be a little, an ever so slight hint at male egotism I detect, when reading your comments - you defend Branwell's intelligence as only a man can! But I won't go into that yet again - I can take a point when it is made so clearly: you think Branwell was as bright as his sisters, and that's that. Fair's fair. I have to agree that I find the bits of writing I have seen from him pretty ammusing too, but I sure would not go so far as to imagine him becoming a kind of James Hogg, had he lived longer. 'Confessions of a justified sinner' is a brilliant book, brilliantly written, depressing, and damned evil, and in my opinion beyond Branwell's ability. I think more along the lines of Bernard Shaw. I think he would probably have made a pretty good playwright or something like that - I think he would have written some very good and dramatic or even very funny scripts, rather than produce novels. I think he would be capable of writing captivating and intelligent dialogue. But he didn't and that's a real shame. I'm just not sure about him - I'm not sure whether I think he lacked the intelligence or the drive or both. You know, we all have a dendency towards self-destruction, but I find it hard to comprehend when people actually manage to do just that. Especially people who have everything going for them, as he apparently did. I mean, he received a better and broader education than his sisters, had more opportunities, more privileges, everything - so why did he blow it? One would think that most intelligent human beings would stay away from drugs etc. simply for egotistical reasons - I mean it is a waste of good, well-functioning brain cells, isn't it? I know I tend to see alot of black and white, and little grey inbetween, but there you have it. Let's move on to other points, before I start calling poor Branwell 'stupid' again . . . I can already feel it coming on . . . I do think it unfair though, that you should compare his habits of self-destruction to those of his sisters. This time I'll start with Anne. NO NO NO! You are wrong! Her religious struggles had nothing to do with self-destruction, and all with guilt! I blame it on the Victorian age, as well as their upbringing. In those days all spiritual and bodily desires that didn't have anything to do with the Bible and God, were thought of as matters for hell and damnation. She was honest enough with her- self, to recognize her 'human' qualities, but she thought them wrong and sinful, and therefore struggled with religion. You get lots of people like that. They are brought up under a very strict religious regime, and start to think of themselves as doomed every time they experience the thrill of being human, with human desires (I mean, it sounds to me like hell is the dwelling place of normal people, rather than heaven!) But in the Victorian age women dared not to think of it that way, certainly not quiet, gentle Anne. Emily's eating habits were not self-destructive in my opinion either. They were as those of any woman: inconsistent. When she was happy, she ate, and when not, she didn't. And that's that. Charlotte's infatuation with Mr. Heger was only self-destructive in that she risked, and in the end did indeed end up with a broken heart. Had she lived today, I'm sure she would have persued her love for him, regardless of his wife, and might just have won his heart, instead of having to marry the Rev. Nichols, who probably satisfied her bodily needs, rather than those to do with intellect. Gee, I hope that doesn't sound too heartless - for the record: I don't generally approve of people wrecking other people's marriages!