Bound in faded purple leather, the minuscule object made the book cart look absurdly unnecessary. At just 9.5 centimeters long and 4 centimeters wide, the manuscript fit in the palm of my hand. But nestled inside was a treasure rare enough to take any literature lover’s breath away: a single page covered in the microscopic handwriting of a 14-year-old Charlotte Brontë. [...]
The incident in question was strange but true. On that early summer night, Brontë was sitting in the kitchen of Haworth Parsonage, her family’s home in West Yorkshire, England. Her father, Patrick Brontë, was the parson of the local parish. But he “was very ill, confined to his bed and so weak that he could not rise without assistance,” as the author writes. (An inflammation of the lungs would keep Patrick in bed for a total of three weeks in June and July of that year.)
“Suddenly,” Brontë continues, “we heard a knock at the door.” Tabitha “Tabby” Aykroyd, the family servant, “rose and opened it. An old man appeared, standing without.”
Brontë records the exchange between the servant and the old man in dialogue form. The stranger asked to see Patrick, but after he was informed that the parson was ill in bed, the encounter took an unsettling turn. The visitor came, he claimed, with a message for the parson from God himself:
The Lord, he desires me to say that the bridegroom is coming and that he must prepare to meet him; that the cords are about to be loosed and the golden bowl broken; the pitcher broken at the fountain and the wheel stopped at the cistern.
Appropriately enough, these cryptic words quoted a Bible verse. Taken from Ecclesiastes, the passage comes at a moment when King Solomon of Israel is giving advice to a young man about how to live and die. The images of shattered objects convey the irrevocability of death, as Solomon implores his companion to remember God “before the silver cord is broken.” Apparently, the stranger at Haworth Parsonage had come to tell Patrick that he was going to die.
The man’s words—also drawn from the Book of Matthew, which states that “The bridegroom was a long time in coming”—evidently unnerved young Brontë, much as she tried to resist believing his prophecy.
“Though I am fully persuaded that he was some fanatical enthusiast, well-meaning perhaps but utterly ignorant of true piety, yet I could not forbear weeping at his words, spoken so unexpectedly at that particular period,” she concludes at the bottom of the tiny page. [...]
The stranger, moreover, turned out to be a local farmer who would later be consigned to an asylum. “A Strange Occurrence” may not have turned out to be a real encounter with the paranormal, but it provides evidence of a side of Brontë that even her most avid readers rarely see or notice—one fit for a season of spooky tales. From a young age, Brontë had an affinity for the supernatural. What’s more, her attraction to the strange and horrific was an early vehicle for her love of storytelling. (V.M. Braganza)
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