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Title: Charlotte Brontë and Her Circle
Author: Shorter, Clement King, 1857-1926
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Charlotte Brontë and Her Circle" ***
CHARLOTTE BRONTE AND HER CIRCLE
BY CLEMENT K. SHORTER
LONDON
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27 PATERNOSTER ROW
1896
[Picture: CHARLOTTE BRONTE]
PREFACE
It is claimed for the following book of some five hundred pages that the
larger part of it is an addition of entirely new material to the romantic
story of the Brontes. For this result, but very small credit is due to
me; and my very hearty acknowledgments must be made, in the first place,
to the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls, for whose generous surrender of
personal inclination I must ever be grateful. It has been with extreme
unwillingness that Mr. Nicholls has broken the silence of forty years,
and he would not even now have consented to the publication of certain
letters concerning his marriage, had he not been aware that these letters
were already privately printed and in the hands of not less than eight or
ten people. To Miss Ellen Nussey of Gomersall, I have also to render
thanks for having placed the many letters in her possession at my
disposal, and for having furnished a great deal of interesting
information. Without the letters from Charlotte Bronte to Mr. W. S.
Williams, which were kindly lent to me by his son and daughter, Mr. and
Mrs. Thornton Williams, my book would have been the poorer. Sir Wemyss
Reid, Mr. J. J. Stead, of Heckmondwike, Mr. Butler Wood, of Bradford, Mr.
W. W. Yates, of Dewsbury, Mr. Erskine Stuart, Mr. Buxton Forman, and Mr.
Thomas J. Wise are among the many Bronte specialists who have helped me
with advice or with the loan of material. Mr. Wise, in particular, has
lent me many valuable manuscripts. Finally, I have to thank my friend
Dr. Robertson Nicoll for the kindly pressure which has practically
compelled me to prepare this little volume amid a multitude of
journalistic duties.
CLEMENT K. SHORTER.
198 STRAND, LONDON,
_September_ 1_st_, 1896.
CONTENTS
PRELIMINARY
CHAPTER I PATRICK BRONTE AND MARIA HIS WIFE
CHAPTER II CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER III SCHOOL AND GOVERNESS LIFE
CHAPTER IV PENSIONNAT HEGER, BRUSSELS
CHAPTER V PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTE
CHAPTER VI EMILY JANE BRONTE
CHAPTER VII ANNE BRONTE
CHAPTER VIII ELLEN NUSSEY
CHAPTER IX MARY TAYLOR
CHAPTER X MARGARET WOOLER
CHAPTER XI THE CURATES AT HAWORTH
CHAPTER XII CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S LOVERS
CHAPTER XIII LITERARY AMBITIONS
CHAPTER XIV WILLIAM SMITH WILLIAMS
CHAPTER XV WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
CHAPTER XVI LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS
CHAPTER XVII ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
CHARLOTTE BRONTE Frontispiece
PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTE facing page 120
FACSIMILE OF PAGE OF EMILY BRONTE'S DIARY facing page 146
FACSIMILE OF TWO PAGES OF EMILY BRONTE'S DIARY facing page 154
ANNE BRONTE facing page 182
MISS ELLEN NUSSEY AS A SCHOOLGIRL )
MISS ELLEN NUSSEY TO-DAY ) facing page 207
THE REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS facing page 467
A BRONTE CHRONOLOGY
_Patrick Bronte born_ 17 _March_ 1777
_Maria Bronte born_ 1783
_Patrick leaves Ireland for Cambridge_ 1802
_Degree of A.B._ 1806
_Curacy at Wetherfield_, _Essex_ 1806
,, _Dewsbury Yorks_ 1809
,, _Hartshead-cum-Clifton_ 1811
_Publishes_ '_Cottage Poems_' (_Halifax_) 1811
_Married to Maria Branwell_ 18 _Dec._ 1812
_First Child_, _Maria_, _born_ 1813
_Publishes_ '_The Rural Minstrel_' 1813
_Elizabeth born_ 1814
_Publishes_ '_The Cottage in the Wood_' 1815
_Curacy at Thornton_ 1816
_Charlotte Bronte born at Thornton_ 21 _April_ 1816
_Patrick Branwell Bronte born_ 1817
_Emily Jane Bronte born_ 1818
'_The Maid of Killarney_' _published_ 1818
_Anne Bronte born_ 1819
_Removal to Incumbency of Haworth_ _February_ 1820
_Mrs. Bronte died_ 15 _September_ 1821
_Maria and Elizabeth Bronte at Cowan Bridge_ _July_ 1824
_Charlotte and Emily_ ,, ,, _September_ 1824
_Leave Cowan Bridge_ 1825
_Maria Bronte died_ 6 _May_ 1825
_Elizabeth Bronte died_ 15 _June_ 1825
_Charlotte Bronte at School_, _January_ 1831
_Roe Head_
_Leaves Roe Head School_ 1832
_First Visit to Ellen Nussey at The Rydings_ _September_ 1832
_Returns to Roe Head as governess_ 29 _July_ 1835
_Branwell visits London_ 1835
_Emily spends three months at Roe Head_, _when Anne 1835
takes her place and she returns home_
_Ellen Nussey visits Haworth in Holidays_ _July_ 1836
_Miss Wooler's School removed to Dewsbury Moor_ 1836
_Emily at a School at Halifax for six months_ 1836
(_Miss Patchet of Law Hill_)
_First Proposal of Marriage_ (_Henry Nussey_) _March_ 1839
_Anne Bronte becomes governess at Blake Hall_, _April_ 1839
(_Mrs. Ingham's_)
_Charlotte governess at Mrs. Sidgwick's at Stonegappe_, 1839
_and at Swarcliffe_, _Harrogate_
_Second Proposal of Marriage_ (_Mr. Price_) 1839
_Charlotte and Emily at Haworth_, 1840
_Anne at Blake Hall_
_Charlotte's second situation as governess with _March_ 1841
Mrs. White_, _Upperwood House_, _Rawdon_
_Charlotte and Emily go to School at Brussels_ _February_ 1842
_Miss Branwell died at Haworth_ 29 _Oct._ 1842
_Charlotte and Emily return to Haworth_ _Nov._ 1842
_Charlotte returns to Brussels_ _Jan._ 1843
_Returns to Haworth_ _Jan._ 1844
_Anne and Branwell at Thorp Green_ 1845
_Charlotte visits Mary Taylor at Hounsden_ 1845
_Visits Miss Nussey at Brookroyd_ 1845
_Publication of Poems by Currer_, 1846
_Ellis and Acton Bell_
_Charlotte Bronte visits Manchester with her father for _Aug._ 1846
him to see an Oculist_
'_Jane Eyre_' _published_ (_Smith & Elder_) _Oct._ 1847
'_Wuthering Heights_' _and_ '_Agnes Grey_', (_Newby_) _Dec._ 1847
_Charlotte and Emily visit London_ _June_ 1848
'_Tenant of Wildfell Hall_' 1848
_Branwell died_ 24 _Sept._ 1848
_Emily died_ 19 _Dec._ 1848
_Anne Bronte died at Scarborough_ 28 _May_ 1849
'_Shirley_' _published_ 1849
_Visit to London_, _first meeting with Thackeray_ _Nov._ 1849
_Visit to London_, _sits for Portrait to Richmond_ 1850
_Third Offer of Marriage_ (_James Taylor_) 1851
_Visit to London for Exhibition_ 1851
'_Villette_' _published_ 1852
_Visit to London_ 1853
_Visit to Manchester to Mrs. Gaskell_ 1853
_Marriage_ 29 _June_ 1854
_Death_ 31 _March_ 1855
_Patrick Bronte died_ 7 _June_ 1861
PRELIMINARY: MRS. GASKELL
In the whole of English biographical literature there is no book that can
compare in widespread interest with the _Life of Charlotte Bronte_ by
Mrs. Gaskell. It has held a position of singular popularity for forty
years; and while biography after biography has come and gone, it still
commands a place side by side with Boswell's _Johnson_ and Lockhart's
_Scott_. As far as mere readers are concerned, it may indeed claim its
hundreds as against the tens of intrinsically more important rivals.
There are obvious reasons for this success. Mrs. Gaskell was herself a
popular novelist, who commanded a very wide audience, and _Cranford_, at
least, has taken a place among the classics of our literature. She
brought to bear upon the biography of Charlotte Bronte all those literary
gifts which had made the charm of her seven volumes of romance. And
these gifts were employed upon a romance of real life, not less
fascinating than anything which imagination could have furnished.
Charlotte Bronte's success as an author turned the eyes of the world upon
her. Thackeray had sent her his _Vanity Fair_ before he knew her name or
sex. The precious volume lies before me--
[Picture: First Thackeray Inscription]
And Thackeray did not send many inscribed copies of his books even to
successful authors. Speculation concerning the author of _Jane Eyre_ was
sufficiently rife during those seven sad years of literary renown to make
a biography imperative when death came to Charlotte Bronte in 1855. All
the world had heard something of the three marvellous sisters, daughters
of a poor parson in Yorkshire, going one after another to their death
with such melancholy swiftness, but leaving--two of them, at
least--imperishable work behind them. The old blind father and the
bereaved husband read the confused eulogy and criticism, sometimes with a
sad pleasure at the praise, oftener with a sadder pain at the grotesque
inaccuracy. Small wonder that it became impressed upon Mr. Bronte's mind
that an authoritative biography was desirable. His son-in-law, Mr.
Arthur Bell Nicholls, who lived with him in the Haworth parsonage during
the six weary years which succeeded Mrs. Nicholls's death, was not so
readily won to the unveiling of his wife's inner life; and although we,
who read Mrs. Gaskell's _Memoir_, have every reason to be thankful for
Mr. Bronte's decision, peace of mind would undoubtedly have been more
assured to Charlotte Bronte's surviving relatives had the most rigid
silence been maintained. The book, when it appeared in 1857, gave
infinite pain to a number of people, including Mr. Bronte and Mr.
Nicholls; and Mrs. Gaskell's subsequent experiences had the effect of
persuading her that all biographical literature was intolerable and
undesirable. She would seem to have given instructions that no biography
of herself should be written; and now that thirty years have passed since
her death we have no substantial record of one of the most fascinating
women of her age. The loss to literature has been forcibly brought home
to the present writer, who has in his possession a bundle of letters
written by Mrs. Gaskell to numerous friends of Charlotte Bronte during
the progress of the biography. They serve, all of them, to impress one
with the singular charm of the woman, her humanity and breadth of
sympathy. They make us think better of Mrs. Gaskell, as Thackeray's
letters to Mrs. Brookfield make us think better of the author of _Vanity
Fair_.
Apart from these letters, a journey in the footsteps, as it were, of Mrs.
Gaskell reveals to us the remarkable conscientiousness with which she set
about her task. It would have been possible, with so much fame behind
her, to have secured an equal success, and certainly an equal pecuniary
reward, had she merely written a brief monograph with such material as
was voluntarily placed in her hands. Mrs. Gaskell possessed a higher
ideal of a biographer's duties. She spared no pains to find out the
facts; she visited every spot associated with the name of Charlotte
Bronte--Thornton, Haworth, Cowan Bridge, Birstall, Brussels--and she
wrote countless letters to the friends of Charlotte Bronte's earlier
days.
But why, it may be asked, was Mrs. Gaskell selected as biographer? The
choice was made by Mr. Bronte, and not, as has been suggested, by some
outside influence. When Mr. Bronte had once decided that there should be
an authoritative biography--and he alone was active in the matter--there
could be but little doubt upon whom the task would fall. Among all the
friends whom fame had brought to Charlotte, Mrs. Gaskell stood prominent
for her literary gifts and her large-hearted sympathy. She had made the
acquaintance of Miss Bronte when the latter was on a visit to Sir James
Kay Shuttleworth, in 1850; and a letter from Charlotte to her father, and
others to Mr. W. S. Williams, indicate the beginning of a friendship
which was to leave so permanent a record in literary history:--
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'20_th_ _November_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--You said that if I wished for any copies of _Shirley_
to be sent to individuals I was to name the parties. I have thought
of one person to whom I should much like a copy to be
offered--Harriet Martineau. For her character--as revealed in her
works--I have a lively admiration, a deep esteem. Will you inclose
with the volume the accompanying note?
'The letter you forwarded this morning was from Mrs. Gaskell,
authoress of _Mary Barton_; she said I was not to answer it, but I
cannot help doing so. The note brought the tears to my eyes. She is
a good, she is a great woman. Proud am I that I can touch a chord of
sympathy in souls so noble. In Mrs. Gaskell's nature it mournfully
pleases me to fancy a remote affinity to my sister Emily. In Miss
Martineau's mind I have always felt the same, though there are wide
differences. Both these ladies are above me--certainly far my
superiors in attainments and experience. I think I could look up to
them if I knew them.--I am, dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 29_th_, 1849.
'DEAR SIR,--I inclose two notes for postage. The note you sent
yesterday was from Harriet Martineau; its contents were more than
gratifying. I ought to be thankful, and I trust I am, for such
testimonies of sympathy from the first order of minds. When Mrs.
Gaskell tells me she shall keep my works as a treasure for her
daughters, and when Harriet Martineau testifies affectionate
approbation, I feel the sting taken from the strictures of another
class of critics. My resolution of seclusion withholds me from
communicating further with these ladies at present, but I now know
how they are inclined to me--I know how my writings have affected
their wise and pure minds. The knowledge is present support and,
perhaps, may be future armour.
'I trust Mrs. Williams's health and, consequently, your spirits are
by this time quite restored. If all be well, perhaps I shall see you
next week.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 1_st_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--May I beg that a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ may be
sent to Mrs. Gaskell; her present address is 3 Sussex Place, Regent's
Park. She has just sent me the _Moorland Cottage_. I felt
disappointed about the publication of that book, having hoped it
would be offered to Smith, Elder & Co.; but it seems she had no
alternative, as it was Mr. Chapman himself who asked her to write a
Christmas book. On my return home yesterday I found two packets from
Cornhill directed in two well-known hands waiting for me. You are
all very very good.
'I trust to have derived benefit from my visit to Miss Martineau. A
visit more interesting I certainly never paid. If self-sustaining
strength can be acquired from example, I ought to have got good. But
my nature is not hers; I could not make it so though I were to submit
it seventy times seven to the furnace of affliction, and discipline
it for an age under the hammer and anvil of toil and self-sacrifice.
Perhaps if I was like her I should not admire her so much as I do.
She is somewhat absolute, though quite unconsciously so; but she is
likewise kind, with an affection at once abrupt and constant, whose
sincerity you cannot doubt. It was delightful to sit near her in the
evenings and hear her converse, myself mute. She speaks with what
seems to me a wonderful fluency and eloquence. Her animal spirits
are as unflagging as her intellectual powers. I was glad to find her
health excellent. I believe neither solitude nor loss of friends
would break her down. I saw some faults in her, but somehow I liked
them for the sake of her good points. It gave me no pain to feel
insignificant, mentally and corporeally, in comparison with her.
'Trusting that you and yours are well, and sincerely wishing you all
a happy new year,--I am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'THE BRIERY, WINDERMERE,
'_August_ 10_th_, 1850.
'DEAR PAPA,--I reached this place yesterday evening at eight o'clock,
after a safe though rather tedious journey. I had to change
carriages three times and to wait an hour and a half at Lancaster.
Sir James came to meet me at the station; both he and Lady
Shuttleworth gave me a very kind reception. This place is
exquisitely beautiful, though the weather is cloudy, misty, and
stormy; but the sun bursts out occasionally and shows the hills and
the lake. Mrs. Gaskell is coming here this evening, and one or two
other people. Miss Martineau, I am sorry to say, I shall not see, as
she is already gone from home for the autumn.
'Be kind enough to write by return of post and tell me how you are
getting on and how you are. Give my kind regards to Tabby and
Martha, and--Believe me, dear papa, your affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
And this is how she writes to a friend from Haworth, on her return, after
that first meeting:--
'Lady Shuttleworth never got out, being confined to the house with a
cold; but fortunately there was Mrs. Gaskell, the authoress of _Mary
Barton_, who came to the Briery the day after me. I was truly glad
of her companionship. She is a woman of the most genuine talent, of
cheerful, pleasing, and cordial manners, and, I believe, of a kind
and good heart.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 20_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I herewith send you a very roughly written copy of
what I have to say about my sisters. When you have read it you can
better judge whether the word "Notice" or "Memoir" is the most
appropriate. I think the former. Memoir seems to me to express a
more circumstantial and different sort of account. My aim is to give
a just idea of their identity, not to write any narration of their
simple, uneventful lives. I depend on you for faithfully pointing
out whatever may strike you as faulty. I could not write it in the
conventional form--_that_ I found impossible.
'It gives me real pleasure to hear of your son's success. I trust he
may persevere and go on improving, and give his parents cause for
satisfaction and honest pride.
'I am truly pleased, too, to learn that Miss Kavanagh has managed so
well with Mr. Colburn. Her position seems to me one deserving of all
sympathy. I often think of her. Will her novel soon be published?
Somehow I expect it to be interesting.
'I certainly did hope that Mrs. Gaskell would offer her next work to
Smith & Elder. She and I had some conversation about publishers--a
comparison of our literary experiences was made. She seemed much
struck with the differences between hers and mine, though I did not
enter into details or tell her all. Unless I greatly mistake, she
and you and Mr. Smith would get on well together; but one does not
know what causes there may be to prevent her from doing as she would
wish in such a case. I think Mr. Smith will not object to my
occasionally sending her any of the Cornhill books that she may like
to see. I have already taken the liberty of lending her Wordsworth's
_Prelude_, as she was saying how much she wished to have the
opportunity of reading it.
'I do not tack remembrances to Mrs. Williams and your daughters and
Miss Kavanagh to all my letters, because that makes an empty form of
what should be a sincere wish, but I trust this mark of courtesy and
regard, though rarely expressed, is always understood.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Miss Bronte twice visited Mrs. Gaskell in her Manchester home, first in
1851 and afterwards in 1853, and concerning this latter visit we have the
following letter:--
TO MRS. GASKELL, MANCHESTER
'HAWORTH, _April_ 14_th_, 1853.
'MY DEAR MRS. GASKELL,--Would it suit you if I were to come next
Thursday, the 21st?
'If that day tallies with your convenience, and if my father
continues as well as he is now, I know of no engagement on my part
which need compel me longer to defer the pleasure of seeing you.
'I should arrive by the train which reaches Manchester at 7 o'clock
P.M. That, I think, would be about your tea-time, and, of course, I
should dine before leaving home. I always like evening for an
arrival; it seems more cosy and pleasant than coming in about the
busy middle of the day. I think if I stay a week that will be a very
long visit; it will give you time to get well tired of me.
'Remember me very kindly to Mr. Gaskell and Marianna. As to Mesdames
Flossy and Julia, those venerable ladies are requested beforehand to
make due allowance for the awe with which they will be sure to
impress a diffident admirer. I am sorry I shall not see
Meta.--Believe me, my dear Mrs. Gaskell, yours affectionately and
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
In the autumn of 1853 Mrs. Gaskell returned Charlotte Bronte's visit at
Haworth. She was not, however, at Charlotte's wedding in Haworth Church.
{8}
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _September_ 8_th_.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Your letter was truly kind, and made me warmly
wish to join you. My prospects, however, of being able to leave home
continue very unsettled. I am expecting Mrs. Gaskell next week or
the week after, the day being yet undetermined. She was to have come
in June, but then my severe attack of influenza rendered it
impossible that I should receive or entertain her. Since that time
she has been absent on the Continent with her husband and two eldest
girls; and just before I received yours I had a letter from her
volunteering a visit at a vague date, which I requested her to fix as
soon as possible. My father has been much better during the last
three or four days.
'When I know anything certain I will write to you again.--Believe me,
my dear Miss Wooler, yours respectfully and affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.'
But the friendship, which commenced so late in Charlotte Bronte's life,
never reached the stage of downright intimacy. Of this there is abundant
evidence in the biography; and Mrs. Gaskell was forced to rely upon the
correspondence of older friends of Charlotte's. Mr. George Smith, the
head of the firm of Smith and Elder, furnished some twenty letters. Mr.
W. S. Williams, to whom is due the credit of 'discovering' the author of
_Jane Eyre_, lent others; and another member of Messrs. Smith and Elder's
staff, Mr. James Taylor, furnished half-a-dozen more; but the best help
came from another quarter.
Of the two schoolfellows with whom Charlotte Bronte regularly
corresponded from childhood till death, Mary Taylor and Ellen Nussey, the
former had destroyed every letter; and thus it came about that by far the
larger part of the correspondence in Mrs. Gaskell's biography was
addressed to Miss Ellen Nussey, now as 'My dearest Nell,' now simply as
'E.' The unpublished correspondence in my hands, which refers to the
biography, opens with a letter from Mrs. Gaskell to Miss Nussey, dated
July 6th, 1855. It relates how, in accordance with a request from Mr.
Bronte, she had undertaken to write the work, and had been over to
Haworth. There she had made the acquaintance of Mr. Nicholls for the
first time. She told Mr. Bronte how much she felt the difficulty of the
task she had undertaken. Nevertheless, she sincerely desired to make his
daughter's character known to all who took deep interest in her writings.
Both Mr. Bronte and Mr. Nicholls agreed to help to the utmost, although
Mrs. Gaskell was struck by the fact that it was Mr. Nicholls, and not Mr.
Bronte, who was more intellectually alive to the attraction which such a
book would have for the public. His feelings were opposed to any
biography at all; but he had yielded to Mr. Bronte's 'impetuous wish,'
and he brought down all the materials he could find, in the shape of
about a dozen letters. Mr. Nicholls, moreover, told Mrs. Gaskell that
Miss Nussey was the person of all others to apply to; that she had been
the friend of his wife ever since Charlotte was fifteen, and that he was
writing to Miss Nussey to beg her to let Mrs. Gaskell see some of the
correspondence.
But here is Mr. Nicholls's actual letter, unearthed after forty years, as
well as earlier letters from and to Miss Nussey, which would seem to
indicate a suggestion upon the part of 'E' that some attempt should be
made to furnish a biography of her friend--if only to set at rest, once
and for all, the speculations of the gossiping community with whom
Charlotte Bronte's personality was still shrouded in mystery; and indeed
it is clear from these letters that it is to Miss Nussey that we really
owe Mrs. Gaskell's participation in the matter:--
TO REV. A. B. NICHOLLS
'BROOKROYD, _June_ 6_th_, 1855.
'DEAR MR. NICHOLLS,--I have been much hurt and pained by the perusal
of an article in _Sharpe_ for this month, entitled "A Few Words about
_Jane Eyre_." You will be certain to see the article, and I am sure
both you and Mr. Bronte will feel acutely the misrepresentations and
the malignant spirit which characterises it. Will you suffer the
article to pass current without any refutations? The writer merits
the contempt of silence, but there will be readers and believers.
Shall such be left to imbibe a tissue of malignant falsehoods, or
shall an attempt be made to do justice to one who so highly deserved
justice, whose very name those who best knew her but speak with
reverence and affection? Should not her aged father be defended from
the reproach the writer coarsely attempts to bring upon him?
'I wish Mrs. Gaskell, who is every way capable, would undertake a
reply, and would give a sound castigation to the writer. Her
personal acquaintance with Haworth, the Parsonage, and its inmates,
fits her for the task, and if on other subjects she lacked
information I would gladly supply her with facts sufficient to set
aside much that is asserted, if you yourself are not provided with
all the information that is needed on the subjects produced. Will
you ask Mrs. Gaskell to undertake this just and honourable defence?
I think she would do it gladly. She valued dear Charlotte, and such
an act of friendship, performed with her ability and power, could
only add to the laurels she has already won. I hope you and Mr.
Bronte are well. My kind regards to both.--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'E. NUSSEY.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _June_ 11_th_, 1855.
'DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--We had not seen the article in _Sharpe_, and very
possibly should not, if you had not directed our attention to it. We
ordered a copy, and have now read the "Few Words about _Jane Eyre_."
The writer has certainly made many mistakes, but apparently not from
any unkind motive, as he professes to be an admirer of Charlotte's
works, pays a just tribute to her genius, and in common with
thousands deplores her untimely death. His design seems rather to be
to gratify the curiosity of the multitude in reference to one who had
made such a sensation in the literary world. But even if the article
had been of a less harmless character, we should not have felt
inclined to take any notice of it, as by doing so we should have
given it an importance which it would not otherwise have obtained.
Charlotte herself would have acted thus; and her character stands too
high to be injured by the statements in a magazine of small
circulation and little influence--statements which the writer
prefaces with the remark that he does not vouch for their accuracy.
The many laudatory notices of Charlotte and her works which appeared
since her death may well make us indifferent to the detractions of a
few envious or malignant persons, as there ever will be such.
'The remarks respecting Mr. Bronte excited in him only
amusement--indeed, I have not seen him laugh as much for some months
as he did while I was reading the article to him. We are both well
in health, but lonely and desolate.
'Mr. Bronte unites with me in kind regards.--Yours sincerely,
'A. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 24_th_, 1855.
'DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--Some other erroneous notices of Charlotte having
appeared, Mr. Bronte has deemed it advisable that some authentic
statement should be put forth. He has therefore adopted your
suggestion and applied to Mrs. Gaskell, who has undertaken to write a
life of Charlotte. Mrs. Gaskell came over yesterday and spent a few
hours with us. The greatest difficulty seems to be in obtaining
materials to show the development of Charlotte's character. For this
reason Mrs. Gaskell is anxious to see her letters, especially those
of any early date. I think I understood you to say that you had
some; if so, we should feel obliged by your letting us have any that
you may think proper, not for publication, but merely to give the
writer an insight into her mode of thought. Of course they will be
returned after a little time.
'I confess that the course most consonant with my own feelings would
be to take no steps in the matter, but I do not think it right to
offer any opposition to Mr. Bronte's wishes.
'We have the same object in view, but should differ in our mode of
proceeding. Mr. Bronte has not been very well. Excitement on Sunday
(our Rush-bearing) and Mrs. Gaskell's visit yesterday have been
rather much for him.--Believe me, sincerely yours,
'A. B. NICHOLLS.'
Mrs. Gaskell, however, wanted to make Miss Nussey's acquaintance, and
asked if she might visit her; and added that she would also like to see
Miss Wooler, Charlotte's schoolmistress, if that lady were still alive.
To this letter Miss Nussey made the following reply:--
TO MRS. GASKELL, MANCHESTER
'ILKLEY, _July_ 26_th_, 1855.
'MY DEAR MADAM,--Owing to my absence from home your letter has only
just reached me. I had not heard of Mr. Bronte's request, but I am
most heartily glad that he has made it. A letter from Mr. Nicholls
was forwarded along with yours, which I opened first, and was thus
prepared for your communication, the subject of which is of the
deepest interest to me. I will do everything in my power to aid the
righteous work you have undertaken, but I feel my powers very
limited, and apprehend that you may experience some disappointment
that I cannot contribute more largely the information which you
desire. I possess a great many letters (for I have destroyed but a
small portion of the correspondence), but I fear the early letters
are not such as to unfold the character of the writer except in a few
points. You perhaps may discover more than is apparent to me. You
will read them with a purpose--I perused them only with interests of
affection. I will immediately look over the correspondence, and I
promise to let you see all that I can confide to your friendly
custody. I regret that my absence from home should have made it
impossible for me to have the pleasure of seeing you at Brookroyd at
the time you propose. I am engaged to stay here till Monday week,
and shall be happy to see you any day you name after that date, or,
if more convenient to you to come Friday or Saturday in next week, I
will gladly return in time to give you the meeting. I am staying
with our schoolmistress, Miss Wooler, in this place. I wish her very
much to give me leave to ask you here, but she does not yield to my
wishes; it would have been pleasanter to me to talk with you among
these hills than sitting in my home and thinking of one who had so
often been present there.--I am, my dear madam, yours sincerely,
'ELLEN NUSSEY.'
Mrs. Gaskell and Miss Nussey met, and the friendship which ensued was
closed only by death; and indeed one of the most beautiful letters in the
collection in my hands is one signed 'Meta Gaskell,' and dated January
22, 1866. It tells in detail, with infinite tenderness and pathos, of
her mother's last moments. {14} That, however, was ten years later than
the period with which we are concerned. In 1856 Mrs. Gaskell was
energetically engaged upon a biography of her friend which should lack
nothing of thoroughness, as she hoped. She claimed to have visited the
scenes of all the incidents in Charlotte's life, 'the two little pieces
of private governess-ship excepted.' She went one day with Mr. Smith to
the Chapter Coffee House, where the sisters first stayed in London.
Another day she is in Yorkshire, where she makes the acquaintance of Miss
Wooler, which permitted, as she said, 'a more friendly manner of writing
towards Charlotte Bronte's old schoolmistress.' Again she is in
Brussels, where Madame Heger refused to see her, although M. Heger was
kind and communicative, 'and very much indeed I both like and respect
him.' Her countless questions were exceedingly interesting. They
covered many pages of note-paper. Did Branwell Bronte know of the
publication of _Jane Eyre_,' she asks, 'and how did he receive the news?'
Mrs. Gaskell was persuaded in her own mind that he had never known of its
publication, and we shall presently see that she was right. Charlotte
had distinctly informed her, she said, that Branwell was not in a fit
condition at the time to be told. 'Where did the girls get the books
which they read so continually? Did Emily accompany Charlotte as a pupil
when the latter went as a teacher to Roe Head? Why did not Branwell go
to the Royal Academy in London to learn painting? Did Emily ever go out
as a governess? What were Emily's religious opinions? Did _she_ ever
make friends?' Such were the questions which came quick and fast to Miss
Nussey, and Miss Nussey fortunately kept her replies.
TO MRS. GASKELL, MANCHESTER
'BROOKROYD, _October_ 22_nd_, 1856.
'MY DEAR MRS. GASKELL,--If you go to London pray try what may be done
with regard to a portrait of dear Charlotte. It would greatly
enhance the value and interest of the memoir, and be such a
satisfaction to people to see something that would settle their ideas
of the personal appearance of the dear departed one. It has been a
surprise to every stranger, I think, that she was so gentle and
lady-like to look upon.
'Emily Bronte went to Roe Head as pupil when Charlotte went as
teacher; she stayed there but two months; she never settled, and was
ill from nothing but home-sickness. Anne took her place and remained
about two years. Emily was a teacher for one six months in a ladies'
school in Halifax or the neighbourhood. I do not know whether it was
conduct or want of finances that prevented Branwell from going to the
Royal Academy. Probably there were impediments of both kinds.
'I am afraid if you give me my name I shall feel a prominence in the
book that I altogether shrink from. My very last wish would be to
appear in the book more than is absolutely necessary. If it were
possible, I would choose not to be known at all. It is my friend
only that I care to see and recognise, though your framing and
setting of the picture will very greatly enhance its value.--I am, my
dear Mrs. Gaskell, yours very sincerely,
'ELLEN NUSSEY.'
The book was published in two volumes, under the title of _The Life of
Charlotte Bronte_, in the spring of 1857. At first all was well. Mr.
Bronte's earliest acknowledgment of the book was one of approbation. Sir
James Shuttleworth expressed the hope that Mr. Nicholls would 'rejoice
that his wife would be known as a Christian heroine who could bear her
cross with the firmness of a martyr saint.' Canon Kingsley wrote a
charming letter to Mrs. Gaskell, published in his _Life_, and more than
once reprinted since.
'Let me renew our long interrupted acquaintance,' he writes from St.
Leonards, under date May 14th, 1857, 'by complimenting you on poor
Miss Bronte's _Life_. You have had a delicate and a great work to
do, and you have done it admirably. Be sure that the book will do
good. It will shame literary people into some stronger belief that a
simple, virtuous, practical home life is consistent with high
imaginative genius; and it will shame, too, the prudery of a not over
cleanly though carefully white-washed age, into believing that purity
is now (as in all ages till now) quite compatible with the knowledge
of evil. I confess that the book has made me ashamed of myself.
_Jane Eyre_ I hardly looked into, very seldom reading a work of
fiction--yours, indeed, and Thackeray's, are the only ones I care to
open. _Shirley_ disgusted me at the opening, and I gave up the
writer and her books with a notion that she was a person who liked
coarseness. How I misjudged her! and how thankful I am that I never
put a word of my misconceptions into print, or recorded my
misjudgments of one who is a whole heaven above me.
'Well have you done your work, and given us the picture of a valiant
woman made perfect by suffering. I shall now read carefully and
lovingly every word she has written, especially those poems, which
ought not to have fallen dead as they did, and which seem to be (from
a review in the current _Fraser_) of remarkable strength and purity.'
It was a short-lived triumph, however, and Mrs. Gaskell soon found
herself, as she expressed it, 'in a veritable hornet's nest.' Mr.
Bronte, to begin with, did not care for the references to himself and the
suggestion that he had treated his wife unkindly. Mrs. Gaskell had
associated him with numerous eccentricities and ebullitions of temper,
which during his later years he always asserted, and undoubtedly with
perfect truth, were, at the best, the fabrications of a dismissed
servant. Mr. Nicholls had also his grievance. There was just a
suspicion implied that he had not been quite the most sympathetic of
husbands. The suspicion was absolutely ill-founded, and arose from Mr.
Nicholls's intense shyness. But neither Mr. Bronte nor Mr. Nicholls gave
Mrs. Gaskell much trouble. They, at any rate, were silent. Trouble,
however, came from many quarters. Yorkshire people resented the air of
patronage with which, as it seemed to them, a good Lancashire lady had
taken their county in hand. They were not quite the backward savages,
they retorted, which some of Mrs. Gaskell's descriptions in the beginning
of her book would seem to suggest. Between Lancashire and Yorkshire
there is always a suspicion of jealousy. It was intensified for the
moment by these sombre pictures of 'this lawless, yet not unkindly
population.' {17} A son-in-law of Mr. Redhead wrote to deny the account
of that clergyman's association with Haworth. 'He gives another as true,
in which I don't see any great difference.' Miss Martineau wrote sheet
after sheet explanatory of her relations with Charlotte Bronte. 'Two
separate householders in London _each_ declares that the first interview
between Miss Bronte and Miss Martineau took place at _her_ house.' In
one passage Mrs. Gaskell had spoken of wasteful young servants, and the
young servants in question came upon Mr. Bronte for the following
testimonial:--
'HAWORTH, _August_ 17_th_, 1857.
'I beg leave to state to all whom it may concern, that Nancy and
Sarah Garrs, during the time they were in my service, were kind to my
children, and honest, and not wasteful, but sufficiently careful in
regard to food, and all other articles committed to their charge.
P. BRONTE, A.B.,
'_Incumbent of Haworth_, _Yorkshire_.'
Three whole pages were devoted to the dramatic recital of a scandal at
Haworth, and this entirely disappears from the third edition. A casual
reference to a girl who had been seduced, and had found a friend in Miss
Bronte, gave further trouble. 'I have altered the word "seduced" to
"betrayed,"' writes Mrs. Gaskell to Martha Brown, 'and I hope that this
will satisfy the unhappy girl's friends.' But all these were small
matters compared with the Cowan Bridge controversy and the threatened
legal proceedings over Branwell Bronte's suggested love affairs. Mrs.
Gaskell defended the description in _Jane Eyre_ of Cowan Bridge with
peculiar vigour. Mr. Carus Wilson, the Brocklehurst of _Jane Eyre_, and
his friends were furious. They threatened an action. There were letters
in the _Times_ and letters in the _Daily News_. Mr. Nicholls broke
silence--the only time in the forty years that he has done so--with two
admirable letters to the _Halifax Guardian_. The Cowan Bridge
controversy was a drawn battle, in spite of numerous and glowing
testimonials to the virtues of Mr. Carus Wilson. Most people who know
anything of the average private schools of half a century ago are
satisfied that Charlotte Bronte's description was substantially correct.
'I want to show you many letters,' writes Mrs. Gaskell, 'most of them
praising the character of our dear friend as she deserves, and from
people whose opinion she would have cared for, such as the Duke of
Argyll, Kingsley, Greig, etc. Many abusing me. I should think seven or
eight of this kind from the Carus Wilson clique.'
The Branwell matter was more serious. Here Mrs. Gaskell had, indeed,
shown a singular recklessness. The lady referred to by Branwell was Mrs.
Robinson, the wife of the Rev. Edmund Robinson of Thorp Green, and
afterwards Lady Scott. Anne Bronte was governess in her family for two
years, and Branwell tutor to the son for a few months. Branwell, under
the influence of opium, made certain statements about his relations with
Mrs. Robinson which have been effectually disproved, although they were
implicitly believed by the Bronte girls, who, womanlike, were naturally
ready to regard a woman as the ruin of a beloved brother. The
recklessness of Mrs. Gaskell in accepting such inadequate testimony can
be explained only on the assumption that she had a novelist's
satisfaction in the romance which the 'bad woman' theory supplied. She
wasted a considerable amount of rhetoric upon it. 'When the fatal attack
came on,' she says, 'his pockets were found filled with old letters from
the woman to whom he was attached. He died! she lives still--in May
Fair. I see her name in county papers, as one of those who patronise the
Christmas balls; and I hear of her in London drawing-rooms'--and so on.
There were no love-letters found in Branwell Bronte's pockets. {19} When
Mrs. Gaskell's husband came post-haste to Haworth to ask for proofs of
Mrs. Robinson's complicity in Branwell's downfall, none were obtainable.
I am assured by Mr. Leslie Stephen that his father, Sir James Stephen,
was employed at the time to make careful inquiry, and that he and other
eminent lawyers came to the conclusion that it was one long tissue of
lies or hallucinations. The subject is sufficiently sordid, and indeed
almost redundant in any biography of the Brontes; but it is of moment,
because Charlotte Bronte and her sisters were so thoroughly persuaded
that a woman was at the bottom of their brother's ruin; and this belief
Charlotte impressed upon all the friends who were nearest and dearest to
her. Her letters at the time of her brother's death are full of censure
of the supposed wickedness of another. It was a cruel infamy that the
word of this wretched boy should have been so powerful for mischief.
Here, at any rate, Mrs. Gaskell did not show the caution which a
masculine biographer, less prone to take literally a man's accounts of
his amours, would undoubtedly have displayed.
Yet, when all is said, Mrs. Gaskell had done her work thoroughly and
well. Lockhart's _Scott_ and Froude's _Carlyle_ are examples of great
biographies which called for abundant censure upon their publication; yet
both these books will live as classics of their kind. To be interesting,
it is perhaps indispensable that the biographer should be indiscreet, and
certainly the Branwell incident--a matter of two or three pages--is the
only part of Mrs. Gaskell's biography in which indiscretion becomes
indefensible. And for this she suffered cruelly. 'I did so try to tell
the truth,' she said to a friend, 'and I believe _now_ I hit as near to
the truth as any one could do.' 'I weighed every line with my whole
power and heart,' she said on another occasion, 'so that every line
should go to its great purpose of making _her_ known and valued, as one
who had gone through such a terrible life with a brave and faithful
heart.' And that clearly Mrs. Gaskell succeeded in doing. It is quite
certain that Charlotte Bronte would not stand on so splendid a pedestal
to-day but for the single-minded devotion of her accomplished biographer.
It has sometimes been implied that the portrait drawn by Mrs. Gaskell was
far too sombre, that there are passages in Charlotte's letters which show
that ofttimes her heart was merry and her life sufficiently cheerful.
That there were long periods of gaiety for all the three sisters, surely
no one ever doubted. To few people, fortunately, is it given to have
lives wholly without happiness. And yet, when this is acknowledged, how
can one say that the picture was too gloomy? Taken as a whole, the life
of Charlotte Bronte was among the saddest in literature. At a miserable
school, where she herself was unhappy, she saw her two elder sisters
stricken down and carried home to die. In her home was the narrowest
poverty. She had, in the years when that was most essential, no mother's
care; and perhaps there was a somewhat too rigid disciplinarian in the
aunt who took the mother's place. Her second school brought her, indeed,
two kind friends; but her shyness made that school-life in itself a
prolonged tragedy. Of the two experiences as a private governess I shall
have more to say. They were periods of torture to her sensitive nature.
The ambition of the three girls to start a school on their own account
failed ignominiously. The suppressed vitality of childhood and early
womanhood made Charlotte unable to enter with sympathy and toleration
into the life of a foreign city, and Brussels was for her a further
disaster. Then within two years, just as literary fame was bringing its
consolation for the trials of the past, she saw her two beloved sisters
taken from her. And, finally, when at last a good man won her love,
there were left to her only nine months of happy married life. 'I am not
going to die. We have been so happy.' These words to her husband on her
death-bed are not the least piteously sad in her tragic story. That her
life was a tragedy, was the opinion of the woman friend with whom on the
intellectual side she had most in common. Miss Mary Taylor wrote to Mrs.
Gaskell the following letter from New Zealand upon receipt of the
_Life_:--
'WELLINGTON, 30_th_ _July_ 1857.
'MY DEAR MRS. GASKELL,--I am unaccountably in receipt by post of two
vols. containing the Life of C. Bronte. I have pleasure in
attributing this compliment to you; I beg, therefore, to thank you
for them. The book is a perfect success, in giving a true picture of
a melancholy life, and you have practically answered my puzzle as to
how you would give an account of her, not being at liberty to give a
true description of those around. Though not so gloomy as the truth,
it is perhaps as much so as people will accept without calling it
exaggerated, and feeling the desire to doubt and contradict it. I
have seen two reviews of it. One of them sums it up as "a life of
poverty and self-suppression," the other has nothing to the purpose
at all. Neither of them seems to think it a strange or wrong state
of things that a woman of first-rate talents, industry, and integrity
should live all her life in a walking nightmare of "poverty and
self-suppression." I doubt whether any of them will.
'It must upset most people's notions of beauty to be told that the
portrait at the beginning is that of an ugly woman. {22} I do not
altogether like the idea of publishing a flattered likeness. I had
rather the mouth and eyes had been nearer together, and shown the
veritable square face and large disproportionate nose.
'I had the impression that Cartwright's mill was burnt in 1820 not in
1812. You give much too favourable an account of the black-coated
and Tory savages that kept the people down, and provoked excesses in
those days. Old Robertson said he "would wade to the knees in blood
rather than the then state of things should be altered,"--a state
including Corn law, Test law, and a host of other oppressions.
'Once more I thank you for the book--the first copy, I believe, that
arrived in New Zealand.--Sincerely yours,
'MARY TAYLOR.'
And in another letter, written a little later (28th January 1858), Miss
Mary Taylor writes to Miss Ellen Nussey in similar strain:--
'Your account of Mrs. Gaskell's book was very interesting,' she says.
'She seems a hasty, impulsive person, and the needful drawing back
after her warmth gives her an inconsistent look. Yet I doubt not her
book will be of great use. You must be aware that many strange
notions as to the kind of person Charlotte really was will be done
away with by a knowledge of the true facts of her life. I have heard
imperfectly of farther printing on the subject. As to the mutilated
edition that is to come, I am sorry for it. Libellous or not, the
first edition was all true, and except the declamation all, in my
opinion, useful to be published. Of course I don't know how far
necessity may make Mrs. Gaskell give them up. You know one dare not
always say the world moves.'
We who do know the whole story in fullest detail will understand that it
was desirable to 'mutilate' the book, and that, indeed, truth did in some
measure require it. But with these letters of Mary Taylor's before us,
let us not hear again that the story of Charlotte Bronte's life was not,
in its main features, accurately and adequately told by her gifted
biographer.
Why then, I am naturally asked, add one further book to the Bronte
biographical literature? The reply is, I hope, sufficient. Forty years
have gone by, and they have been years of growing interest in the
subject. In the year 1895 ten thousand people visited the Bronte Museum
at Haworth. Interesting books have been written, notably Sir Wemyss
Reid's _Monograph_ and Mr. Leyland's _Bronte Family_, but they have gone
out of print. Many new facts have come to light, and many details,
moreover, which were too trivial in 1857 are of sufficient importance
to-day; and many facts which were rightly suppressed then may honestly
and honourably be given to the public at an interval of nearly half a
century. Added to all this, fortune has been kind to me.
Some three or four years ago Miss Ellen Nussey placed in my hands a
printed volume of some 400 pages, which bore no publisher's name, but
contained upon its title-page the statement that it was _The Story of
Charlotte Bronte's Life_, _as told through her Letters_. These are the
Letters--370 in number--which Miss Nussey had lent to Mrs. Gaskell and to
Sir Wemyss Reid. Of these letters Mrs. Gaskell published about 100, and
Sir Wemyss Reid added as many more as he considered circumstances
justified twenty years back.
It was explained to me that the volume had been privately printed under a
misconception, and that only some dozen copies were extant. Miss Nussey
asked me if I would write something around what might remain of the
unpublished letters, and if I saw my way to do anything which would add
to the public appreciation of the friend who from early childhood until
now has been the most absorbing interest of her life. A careful study of
the volume made it perfectly clear that there were still some letters
which might with advantage be added to the Bronte story. At the same
time arose the possibility of a veto being placed upon their publication.
An examination of Charlotte Bronte's will, which was proved at York by
her husband in 1855, suggested an easy way out of the difficulty. I made
up my mind to try and see Mr. Nicholls. I had heard of his
disinclination to be in any way associated with the controversy which had
gathered round his wife for all these years; but I wrote to him
nevertheless, and received a cordial invitation to visit him in his Irish
home.
It was exactly forty years to a day after Charlotte died--March 31st,
1895--when I alighted at the station in a quiet little town in the centre
of Ireland, to receive the cordial handclasp of the man into whose
keeping Charlotte Bronte had given her life. It was one of many visits,
and the beginning of an interesting correspondence. Mr. Nicholls placed
all the papers in his possession in my hands. They were more varied and
more abundant than I could possibly have anticipated. They included MSS.
of childhood, of which so much has been said, and stories of adult life,
one fragment indeed being later than the _Emma_ which appeared in the
_Cornhill Magazine_ for 1856, with a note by Thackeray. Here were the
letters Charlotte Bronte had written to her brother and to her sisters
during her second sojourn in Brussels--to 'Dear Branwell' and 'Dear E.
J.,' as she calls Emily--letters even to handle will give a thrill to the
Bronte enthusiast. Here also were the love-letters of Maria Branwell to
her lover Patrick Bronte, which are referred to in Mrs. Gaskell's
biography, but have never hitherto been printed.
'The four small scraps of Emily and Anne's manuscript,' writes Mr.
Nicholls, 'I found in the small box I send you; the others I found in
the bottom of a cupboard tied up in a newspaper, where they had lain
for nearly thirty years, and where, had it not been for your visit,
they must have remained during my lifetime, and most likely
afterwards have been destroyed.'
Some slight extracts from Bronte letters in _Macmillan's Magazine_,
signed 'E. Balmer Williams,' brought me into communication with a gifted
daughter of Mr. W. S. Williams. Mrs. Williams and her husband generously
placed the whole series of these letters of Charlotte Bronte to their
father at my disposal. It was of some of these letters that Mrs. Gaskell
wrote in enthusiastic terms when she had read them, and she was only
permitted to see a few. Then I have to thank Mr. Joshua Taylor, the
nephew of Miss Mary Taylor, for permission to publish his aunt's letters.
Mr. James Taylor, again, who wanted to marry Charlotte Bronte, and who
died twenty years afterwards in Bombay, left behind him a bundle of
letters which I found in the possession of a relative in the north of
London. {25} I discovered through a letter addressed to Miss Nussey that
the 'Brussels friend' referred to by Mrs. Gaskell was a Miss Laetitia
Wheelwright, and I determined to write to all the Wheelwrights in the
London Directory. My first effort succeeded, and _the_ Miss Wheelwright
kindly lent me all the letters that she had preserved. It is scarcely
possible that time will reveal many more unpublished letters from the
author of _Jane Eyre_. Several of those already in print are forgeries,
and I have actually seen a letter addressed from Paris, a city which Miss
Bronte never visited. I have the assurance of Dr. Heger of Brussels that
Miss Bronte's correspondence with his father no longer exists. In any
case one may safely send forth this little book with the certainty that
it is a fairly complete collection of Charlotte Bronte's correspondence,
and that it is altogether a valuable revelation of a singularly
interesting personality. Steps will be taken henceforth, it may be
added, to vindicate Mr. Nicholls's rights in whatever may still remain of
his wife's unpublished correspondence.
CHAPTER I: PATRICK BRONTE AND MARIA HIS WIFE
It would seem quite clear to any careful investigator that the Reverend
Patrick Bronte, Incumbent of Haworth, and the father of three famous
daughters, was a much maligned man. We talk of the fierce light which
beats upon a throne, but what is that compared to the fierce light which
beats upon any man of some measure of individuality who is destined to
live out his life in the quiet of a country village--in the very centre,
as it were, of 'personal talk' and gossip not always kindly to the
stranger within the gate? The view of Mr. Bronte, presented by Mrs.
Gaskell in the early editions of her biography of Charlotte Bronte, is
that of a severe, ill-tempered, and distinctly disagreeable character.
It is the picture of a man who disliked the vanities of life so
intensely, that the new shoes of his children and the silk dress of his
wife were not spared by him in sudden gusts of passion. A stern old
ruffian, one is inclined to consider him. His pistol-shooting rings
picturesquely, but not agreeably, through Mrs. Gaskell's memoirs. It has
been already explained in more than one quarter that this was not the
real Patrick Bronte, and that much of the unfavourable gossip was due to
the chatter of a dismissed servant, retailed to Mrs. Gaskell on one of
her missions of inquiry in the neighbourhood. The stories of the burnt
shoes and the mutilated dress have been relegated to the realm of myth,
and the pistol-shooting may now be acknowledged as a harmless pastime not
more iniquitous than the golfing or angling of a latter-day clergyman.
It is certain, were the matter of much interest to-day, that Mr. Bronte
was fond of the use of firearms. The present Incumbent of Haworth will
point out to you, on the old tower of Haworth Church, the marks of pistol
bullets, which he is assured were made by Mr. Bronte. I have myself
handled both the gun and the pistol--this latter a very ornamental
weapon, by the way, manufactured at Bradford--which Mr. Bronte possessed
during the later years of his life. From both he had obtained much
innocent amusement; but his son-in-law, Mr. Nicholls, who, at the
distance of forty years still cherishes a reverent and enthusiastic
affection for old Mr. Bronte, informs me that the bullet marks upon
Haworth Church were the irresponsible frolic of a rather juvenile
curate--Mr. Smith. All this is trivial enough in any case, and one turns
very readily to more important factors in the life of the father of the
Brontes. Patrick Bronte was born at Ahaderg, County Down, in Ireland, on
St. Patrick's Day, March 17, 1777. He was one of the ten children of
Hugh Brunty, farmer, and his nine brothers and sisters seem all of them
to have spent their lives in their Irish home, to have married and been
given in marriage, and to have gone to their graves in peace. Patrick
alone had ambition, and, one must add, the opportune friend, without whom
ambition counts for little in the great struggle of life. At sixteen he
was a kind of village schoolmaster, or assistant schoolmaster, and at
twenty-five, stirred thereto by the vicar of his parish, Mr. Tighe, he
was on his way from Ireland to St. John's College, Cambridge. It was in
1802 that Patrick Bronte went to Cambridge, and entered his name in the
college books. There, indeed, we find the name, not of Patrick Bronte,
but of Patrick Branty, {28} and this brings us to an interesting point as
to the origin of the name. In the register of his birth his name is
entered, as are the births of his brothers and sisters, as 'Brunty' and
'Bruntee'; and it can scarcely be doubted that, as Dr. Douglas Hyde has
pointed out, the original name was O'Prunty. {29} The Irish, at the
beginning of the century, were well-nigh as primitive in some matters as
were the English of a century earlier; and one is not surprised to see
variations in the spelling of the Bronte name--it being in the case of
his brothers and sisters occasionally spelt 'Brontee.' To me it is
perfectly clear that for the change of name Lord Nelson was responsible,
and that the dukedom of Bronte, which was conferred upon the great sailor
in 1799, suggested the more ornamental surname. There were no Irish
Brontes in existence before Nelson became Duke of Bronte; but all
Patrick's brothers and sisters, with whom, it must be remembered, he was
on terms of correspondence his whole life long, gradually, with a true
Celtic sense of the picturesqueness of the thing, seized upon the more
attractive surname. For this theory there is, of course, not one scrap
of evidence; we only know that the register of Patrick's native parish
gives us Brunty, and that his signature through his successive curacies
is Bronte.
From Cambridge, after taking orders in 1806, Mr. Bronte moved to a curacy
at Weatherfield in Essex; and Mr. Augustine Birrell has told us, with
that singular literary charm of his, how the good-looking Irish curate
made successful love to a young parishioner--Miss Mary Burder. Mary
Burder would have married him, it seems, but for an obdurate uncle and
guardian. She was spirited away from the neighbourhood, and the lovers
never met again. There are doubtful points in Mr. Birrell's story. Mary
Burder, as the wife of a Nonconformist minister, died in 1866, in her
seventy-seventh year. This lady, from whom doubtless either directly or
indirectly the tradition was obtained, may have amplified and exaggerated
a very innocent flirtation. One would like further evidence for the
statement that when Mr. Bronte lost his wife in 1821 he asked his old
sweetheart, Mary Burder, to become the mother of his six children, and
that she answered 'no'. In any case, Mr. Bronte left Weatherfield in
1809 for a curacy at Dewsbury, and Dewsbury gossip also had much to say
concerning the flirtations of its Irish curate. His next curacy,
however, which was obtained in 1811, by a removal to Hartshead, near
Huddersfield, brought flirtation for Mr. Bronte to a speedy end. In
1812, when thirty-three years of age, he married Miss Maria Branwell, of
Penzance. Miss Branwell had only a few months before left her Cornish
home for a visit to an uncle in Yorkshire. This uncle was a Mr. John
Fennell, a clergyman of the Church of England, who had been a Methodist
minister. To Methodism, indeed, the Cornish Branwells would seem to have
been devoted at one time or another, for I have seen a copy of the
_Imitation_ inscribed 'M. Branwell, July 1807,' with the following
title-page:--
AN EXTRACT OF THE CHRISTIAN'S PATTERN: OR, A TREATISE ON THE
IMITATION OF CHRIST. WRITTEN IN LATIN BY THOMAS A KEMPIS. ABRIDGED
AND PUBLISHED IN ENGLISH BY JOHN WESLEY, M.A., LONDON. PRINTED AT
THE CONFERENCE OFFICE, NORTH GREEN, FINSBURY SQUARE. G. STORY,
AGENT. SOLD BY G. WHITFIELD, CITY ROAD. 1803. PRICE BOUND 1s.
The book was evidently brought by Mrs. Bronte from Penzance, and given by
her to her husband or left among her effects. The poor little woman had
been in her grave for five or six years when it came into the hands of
one of her daughters, as we learn from Charlotte's hand-writing on the
fly-leaf:--
'_C. Bronte's book_. _This book was given to me in July 1826_. _It
is not certainly known who is the author_, _but it is generally
supposed that Thomas a Kempis is_. _I saw a reward of_ 10,000 pounds
_offered in the Leeds Mercury to any one who could find out for a
certainty who is the author_.'
The conjunction of the names of John Wesley, Maria Branwell, and
Charlotte Bronte surely gives this little volume, 'price bound 1s.,' a
singular interest!
But here I must refer to the letters which Maria Branwell wrote to her
lover during the brief courtship. Mrs. Gaskell, it will be remembered,
makes but one extract from this correspondence, which was handed to her
by Mr. Bronte as part of the material for her memoir. Long years before,
the little packet had been taken from Mr. Bronte's desk, for we find
Charlotte writing to a friend on February 16th, 1850:--
'A few days since, a little incident happened which curiously touched
me. Papa put into my hands a little packet of letters and papers,
telling me that they were mamma's, and that I might read them. I did
read them, in a frame of mind I cannot describe. The papers were
yellow with time, all having been written before I was born. It was
strange now to peruse, for the first time, the records of a mind
whence my own sprang; and most strange, and at once sad and sweet, to
find that mind of a truly fine, pure, and elevated order. They were
written to papa before they were married. There is a rectitude, a
refinement, a constancy, a modesty, a sense, a gentleness about them
indescribable. I wish she had lived, and that I had known her.'
Yet another forty years or so and the little packet is in my possession.
Handling, with a full sense of their sacredness, these letters, written
more than eighty years ago by a good woman to her lover, one is tempted
to hope that there is no breach of the privacy which should, even in our
day, guide certain sides of life, in publishing the correspondence in its
completeness. With the letters I find a little MS., which is also of
pathetic interest. It is entitled 'The Advantages of Poverty in
Religious Concerns,' and it is endorsed in the handwriting of Mr. Bronte,
written, doubtless, many years afterwards:--
'_The above was written by my dear wife_, _and is for insertion in
one of the periodical publications_. _Keep it as a memorial of
her_.'
There is no reason to suppose that the MS. was ever published; there is
no reason why any editor should have wished to publish it. It abounds in
the obvious. At the same time, one notes that from both father and
mother alike Charlotte Bronte and her sisters inherited some measure of
the literary faculty. It is nothing to say that not one line of the
father's or mother's would have been preserved had it not been for their
gifted children. It is sufficient that the zest for writing was there,
and that the intense passion for handling a pen, which seems to have been
singularly strong in Charlotte Bronte, must have come to a great extent
from a similar passion alike in father and mother. Mr. Bronte, indeed,
may be counted a prolific author. He published, in all, four books,
three pamphlets, and two sermons. Of his books, two were in verse and
two in prose. _Cottage Poems_ was published in 1811; _The Rural
Minstrel_ in 1812, the year of his marriage; _The Cottage in the Wood_ in
1815; and _The Maid of Killarney_ in 1818. After his wife's death he
published no more books. Reading over these old-fashioned volumes now,
one admits that they possess but little distinction. It has been pointed
out, indeed, that one of the strongest lines in _Jane Eyre_--'To the
finest fibre of my nature, sir.'--is culled from Mr. Bronte's verse. It
is the one line of his that will live. Like his daughter Charlotte, Mr.
Bronte is more interesting in his prose than in his poetry. _The Cottage
in the Wood_; _or_, _the Art of Becoming Rich and Happy_, is a kind of
religious novel--a spiritual _Pamela_, in which the reprobate pursuer of
an innocent girl ultimately becomes converted and marries her. _The Maid
of Killarney_; _or_, _Albion and Flora_ is more interesting. Under the
guise of a story it has something to say on many questions of importance.
We know now why Charlotte never learnt to dance until she went to
Brussels, and why children's games were unknown to her, for here are many
mild diatribes against dancing and card-playing. The British
Constitution and the British and Foreign Bible Society receive a
considerable amount of criticism. But in spite of this didactic weakness
there are one or two pieces of really picturesque writing, notably a
description of an Irish wake, and a forcible account of the defence of a
house against some Whiteboys. It is true enough that the books are
merely of interest to collectors and that they live only by virtue of
Patrick Bronte's remarkable children. But many a prolific writer of the
day passes muster as a genius among his contemporaries upon as small a
talent; and Mr. Bronte does not seem to have given himself any airs as an
author. Thirty years were to elapse before there were to be any more
books from this family of writers; but _Jane Eyre_ owes something, we may
be sure, to _The Maid of Killarney_.
Mr. Bronte, as I have said, married Maria Branwell in 1812. She was in
her twenty-ninth year, and was one of five children--one son and four
daughters--the father of whom, Mr. Thomas Branwell, had died in 1809. By
a curious coincidence, another sister, Charlotte, was married in Penzance
on the same day--the 18th of December 1812. {33} Before me are a bundle
of samplers, worked by three of these Branwell sisters. Maria Branwell
'ended her sampler' April the 15th, 1791, and it is inscribed with the
text, _Flee from sin as from a serpent_, _for if thou comest too near to
it_, _it will bite thee_. _The teeth thereof are as the teeth of a lion
to slay the souls of men_. Another sampler is by Elizabeth Branwell;
another by Margaret, and another by Anne. These, some miniatures, and
the book and papers to which I have referred, are all that remain to us
as a memento of Mrs. Bronte, apart from the children that she bore to her
husband. The miniatures, which are in the possession of Miss Branwell,
of Penzance, are of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Branwell--Charlotte Bronte's
maternal grandfather and grandmother--and of Mrs. Bronte and her sister
Elizabeth Branwell as children.
To return, however, to our bundle of love-letters. Comment is needless,
if indeed comment or elucidation were possible at this distance of time.
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _August_ 26_th_, 1812.
'MY DEAR FRIEND,--This address is sufficient to convince you that I
not only permit, but approve of yours to me--I do indeed consider you
as my _friend_; yet, when I consider how short a time I have had the
pleasure of knowing you, I start at my own rashness, my heart fails,
and did I not think that you would be disappointed and grieved at it,
I believe I should be ready to spare myself the task of writing. Do
not think that I am so wavering as to repent of what I have already
said. No, believe me, this will never be the case, unless you give
me cause for it. You need not fear that you have been mistaken in my
character. If I know anything of myself, I am incapable of making an
ungenerous return to the smallest degree of kindness, much less to
you whose attentions and conduct have been so particularly obliging.
I will frankly confess that your behaviour and what I have seen and
heard of your character has excited my warmest esteem and regard, and
be assured you shall never have cause to repent of any confidence you
may think proper to place in me, and that it will always be my
endeavour to deserve the good opinion which you have formed, although
human weakness may in some instances cause me to fall short. In
giving you these assurances I do not depend upon my own strength, but
I look to Him who has been my unerring guide through life, and in
whose continued protection and assistance I confidently trust.
'I thought on you much on Sunday, and feared you would not escape the
rain. I hope you do not feel any bad effects from it? My cousin
wrote you on Monday and expects this afternoon to be favoured with an
answer. Your letter has caused me some foolish embarrassment, tho'
in pity to my feelings they have been very sparing of their raillery.
'I will now candidly answer your questions. The _politeness of
others_ can never make me forget your kind attentions, neither can I
_walk our accustomed rounds_ without thinking on you, and, why should
I be ashamed to add, wishing for your presence. If you knew what
were my feelings whilst writing this you would pity me. I wish to
write the truth and give you satisfaction, yet fear to go too far,
and exceed the bounds of propriety. But whatever I may say or write
I will _never deceive_ you, or _exceed the truth_. If you think I
have not placed the _utmost confidence_ in you, consider my
situation, and ask yourself if I have not confided in you
sufficiently, perhaps too much. I am very sorry that you will not
have this till after to-morrow, but it was out of my power to write
sooner. I rely on your goodness to pardon everything in this which
may appear either too free or too stiff; and beg that you will
consider me as a warm and faithful friend.
'My uncle, aunt, and cousin unite in kind regards.
'I must now conclude with again declaring myself to be yours
sincerely,
'MARIA BRANWELL.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B, HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _September_ 5_th_, 1812.
MY DEAREST FRIEND,--I have just received your affectionate and very
welcome letter, and although I shall not be able to send this until
Monday, yet I cannot deny myself the pleasure of writing a few lines
this evening, no longer considering it a task, but a pleasure, next
to that of reading yours. I had the pleasure of hearing from Mr.
Fennell, who was at Bradford on Thursday afternoon, that you had
rested there all night. Had you proceeded, I am sure the walk would
have been too much for you; such excessive fatigue, often repeated,
must injure the strongest constitution. I am rejoiced to find that
our forebodings were without cause. I had yesterday a letter from a
very dear friend of mine, and had the satisfaction to learn by it
that all at home are well. I feel with you the unspeakable
obligations I am under to a merciful Providence--my heart swells with
gratitude, and I feel an earnest desire that I may be enabled to make
some suitable return to the Author of all my blessings. In general,
I think I am enabled to cast my care upon Him, and then I experience
a calm and peaceful serenity of mind which few things can destroy.
In all my addresses to the throne of grace I never ask a blessing for
myself but I beg the same for you, and considering the important
station which you are called to fill, my prayers are proportionately
fervent that you may be favoured with all the gifts and graces
requisite for such calling. O my dear friend, let us pray much that
we may live lives holy and useful to each other and all around us!
'_Monday morn_.--My cousin and I were yesterday at Coverley church,
where we heard Mr. Watman preach a very excellent sermon from "learn
of Me, for I am meek and lowly of heart." He displayed the character
of our Saviour in a most affecting and amiable light. I scarcely
ever felt more charmed with his excellencies, more grateful for his
condescension, or more abased at my own unworthiness; but I lament
that my heart is so little retentive of those pleasing and profitable
impressions.
'I pitied you in your solitude, and felt sorry that it was not in my
power to enliven it. Have you not been too hasty in informing your
friends of a certain event? Why did you not leave them to guess a
little longer? I shrink from the idea of its being known to every
body. I do, indeed, _sometimes_ think of you, but I will not say how
often, lest I raise your vanity; and we sometimes talk of you and the
doctor. But I believe I should seldom mention your name myself were
it not now and then introduced by my cousin. I have never mentioned
a word of what is past to any body. Had I thought this necessary I
should have requested you to do it. But I think there is no need, as
by some means or other they seem to have a pretty correct notion how
matters stand betwixt us; and as their hints, etc., meet with no
contradiction from me, my silence passes for confirmation. Mr.
Fennell has not neglected to give me some serious and encouraging
advice, and my aunt takes frequent opportunities of dropping little
sentences which I may turn to some advantage. I have long had reason
to know that the present state of things would give pleasure to all
parties. Your ludicrous account of the scene at the Hermitage was
highly diverting, we laughed heartily at it; but I fear it will not
produce all that compassion in Miss Fennell's breast which you seem
to wish. I will now tell you what I was thinking about and doing at
the time you mention. I was then toiling up the hill with Jane and
Mrs. Clapham to take our tea at Mr. Tatham's, thinking on the evening
when I first took the same walk with you, and on the change which had
taken place in my circumstances and views since then--not wholly
without a wish that I had your arm to assist me, and your
conversation to shorten the walk. Indeed, all our walks have now an
insipidity in them which I never thought they would have possessed.
When I work, if I wish to get _forward_ I may be glad that you are at
a distance. Jane begs me to assure you of her kind regards. Mr.
Morgan is expected to be here this evening. I must assume a bold and
steady countenance to meet his attacks!
'I have now written a pretty long letter without reserve or caution,
and if all the sentiments of my heart are not laid open to you,
believe me it is not because I wish them to be concealed, for I hope
there is nothing there that would give you pain or displeasure. My
most sincere and earnest wishes are for your happiness and welfare,
for this includes my own. Pray much for me that I may be made a
blessing and not a hindrance to you. Let me not interrupt your
studies nor intrude on that time which ought to be dedicated to
better purposes. Forgive my freedom, my dearest friend, and rest
assured that you are and ever will be dear to
MARIA BRANWELL.
'Write very soon.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _September_ 11_th_, 1812.
'MY DEAREST FRIEND,--Having spent the day yesterday at Miry Shay, a
place near Bradford, I had not got your letter till my return in the
evening, and consequently have only a short time this morning to
write if I send it by this post. You surely do not think you
_trouble_ me by writing? No, I think I may venture to say if such
were your opinion you would _trouble_ me no more. Be assured, your
letters are and I hope always will be received with extreme pleasure
and read with delight. May our Gracious Father mercifully grant the
fulfilment of your prayers! Whilst we depend entirely on Him for
happiness, and receive each other and all our blessings as from His
hands, what can harm us or make us miserable? Nothing temporal or
spiritual.
'Jane had a note from Mr. Morgan last evening, and she desires me to
tell you that the Methodists' service in church hours is to commence
next Sunday week. You may expect frowns and hard words from her when
you make your appearance here again, for, if you recollect, she gave
you a note to carry to the Doctor, and he has never received it.
What have you done with it? If you can give a good account of it you
may come to see us as soon as you please and be sure of a hearty
welcome from all parties. Next Wednesday we have some thoughts, if
the weather be fine, of going to Kirkstall Abbey once more, and I
suppose your presence will not make the walk less agreeable to any of
us.
'The old man is come and waits for my letter. In expectation of
seeing you on Monday or Tuesday next,--I remain, yours faithfully and
affectionately,
'M. B.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _September_ 18_th_, 1812.
'How readily do I comply with my dear Mr. B's request! You see, you
have only to express your wishes and as far as my power extends I
hesitate not to fulfil them. My heart tells me that it will always
be my pride and pleasure to contribute to your happiness, nor do I
fear that this will ever be inconsistent with my duty as a Christian.
My esteem for you and my confidence in you is so great, that I firmly
believe you will never exact anything from me which I could not
conscientiously perform. I shall in future look to you for
assistance and instruction whenever I may need them, and hope you
will never withhold from me any advice or caution you may see
necessary.
['For some years I have been perfectly my own mistress, subject to no
_control_ whatever--so far from it, that my sisters who are many
years older than myself, and even my dear mother, used to consult me
in every case of importance, and scarcely ever doubted the propriety
of my opinions and actions. Perhaps you will be ready to accuse me
of vanity in mentioning this, but you must consider that I do not
_boast_ of it, I have many times felt it a disadvantage; and
although, I thank God, it never led me into error, yet in
circumstances of perplexity and doubt, I have deeply felt the want of
a guide and instructor.] {39}
'At such times I have seen and felt the necessity of supernatural
aid, and by fervent applications to a throne of grace I have
experienced that my heavenly Father is able and willing to supply the
place of every earthly friend. I shall now no longer feel this want,
this sense of helpless weakness, for I believe a kind Providence has
intended that I shall find in you every earthly friend united; nor do
I fear to trust myself under your protection, or shrink from your
control. It is pleasant to be subject to those we love, especially
when they never exert their authority but for the good of the
subject. How few would write in this way! But I do not fear that
_you_ will make a bad use of it. You tell me to write my thoughts,
and thus as they occur I freely let my pen run away with them.
'_Sat. morn_.--I do not know whether you dare show your face here
again or not after the blunder you have committed. When we got to
the house on Thursday evening, even before we were within the doors,
we found that Mr. and Mrs. Bedford had been there, and that they had
requested you to mention their intention of coming--a single hint of
which you never gave! Poor I too came in for a share in the hard
words which were bestowed upon you, for they all agreed that I was
the cause of it. Mr. Fennell said you were certainly _mazed_, and
talked of sending you to York, etc. And even I begin to think that
_this_, together with the _note_, bears some marks of _insanity_!
However, I shall suspend my judgment until I hear what excuse you can
make for yourself, I suppose you will be quite ready to make one of
some kind or another.
'Yesterday I performed a difficult and yet a pleasing task in writing
to my sisters. I thought I never should accomplish the end for which
the letter was designed; but after a good deal of perambulation I
gave them to understand the nature of my engagement with you, with
the motives and inducements which led me to form such an engagement,
and that in consequence of it I should not see them again so soon as
I had intended. I concluded by expressing a hope that they would not
be less pleased with the information than were my friends here. I
think they will not suspect me to have made a wrong step, their
partiality for me is so great. And their affection for me will lead
them to rejoice in my welfare, even though it should diminish
somewhat of their own. I shall think the time tedious till I hear
from you, and must beg you will write as soon as possible. Pardon
me, my dear friend, if I again caution you against giving way to a
weakness of which I have heard you complain. When you find your
heart oppressed and your thoughts too much engrossed by one subject,
let prayer be your refuge--this you no doubt know by experience to be
a sure remedy, and a relief from every care and error. Oh, that we
had more of the spirit of prayer! I feel that I need it much.
'Breakfast-time is near, I must bid you farewell for the time, but
rest assured you will always share in the prayers and heart of your
own
MARIA.
'Mr. Fennell has crossed my letter to my sisters. With his usual
goodness he has supplied my _deficiencies_, and spoken of me in terms
of commendation of which I wish I were more worthy. Your character
he has likewise displayed in the most favourable light; and I am sure
they will not fail to love and esteem you though unknown.
'All here unite in kind regards. Adieu.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _September_ 23_rd_, 1812.
'MY DEAREST FRIEND,--Accept of my warmest thanks for your kind
affectionate letter, in which you have rated mine so highly that I
really blush to read my own praises. Pray that God would enable me
to deserve all the kindness you manifest towards me, and to act
consistently with the good opinion you entertain of me--then I shall
indeed be a helpmeet for you, and to be this shall at all times be
the care and study of my future life. We have had to-day a large
party of the Bradford folks--the Rands, Fawcets, Dobsons, etc. My
thoughts often strayed from the company, and I would have gladly left
them to follow my present employment. To write to and receive
letters from my friends were always among my chief enjoyments, but
none ever gave me so much pleasure as those which I receive from and
write to my newly adopted friend. I am by no means sorry you have
given up all thought of the house you mentioned. With my cousin's
help I have made known your plans to my uncle and aunt. Mr. Fennell
immediately coincided with that which respects your present abode,
and observed that it had occurred to him before, but that he had not
had an opportunity of mentioning it to you. My aunt did not fall in
with it so readily, but her objections did not appear to me to be
very weighty. For my own part, I feel all the force of your
arguments in favour of it, and the objections are so trifling that
they can scarcely be called objections. My cousin is of the same
opinion. Indeed, you have such a method of considering and digesting
a plan before you make it known to your friends, that you run very
little risque of incurring their disapprobations, or of having your
schemes frustrated. I greatly admire your talents this way--may they
never be perverted by being used in a bad cause! And whilst they are
exerted for good purposes, may they prove irresistible! If I may
judge from your letter, this middle scheme is what would please you
best, so that if there should arise no new objection to it, perhaps
it will prove the best you can adopt. However, there is yet
sufficient time to consider it further. I trust in this and every
other circumstance you will be guided by the wisdom that cometh from
above--a portion of which I doubt not has guided you hitherto. A
belief of this, added to the complete satisfaction with which I read
your reasonings on the subject, made me a ready convert to your
opinions. I hope nothing will occur to induce you to change your
intention of spending the next week at Bradford. Depend on it you
shall have letter for letter; but may we not hope to see you here
during that time, surely you will not think the way more tedious than
usual? I have not heard any particulars respecting the church since
you were at Bradford. Mr. Rawson is now there, but Mr. Hardy and his
brother are absent, and I understand nothing decisive can be
accomplished without them. Jane expects to hear something more
to-morrow. Perhaps ere this reaches you, you will have received some
intelligence respecting it from Mr. Morgan. If you have no other
apology to make for your blunders than that which you have given me,
you must not expect to be excused, for I have not mentioned it to any
one, so that however it may clear your character in my opinion it is
not likely to influence any other person. Little, very little, will
induce me to cover your faults with a veil of charity. I already
feel a kind of participation in all that concerns you. All praises
and censures bestowed on you must equally affect me. Your joys and
sorrows must be mine. Thus shall the one be increased and the other
diminished. While this is the case we shall, I hope, always find
"life's cares" to be "comforts." And may we feel every trial and
distress, for such must be our lot at times, bind us nearer to God
and to each other! My heart earnestly joins in your comprehensive
prayers. I trust they will unitedly ascend to a throne of grace, and
through the Redeemer's merits procure for us peace and happiness here
and a life of eternal felicity hereafter. Oh, what sacred pleasure
there is in the idea of spending an eternity together in perfect and
uninterrupted bliss! This should encourage us to the utmost exertion
and fortitude. But whilst I write, my own words condemn me--I am
ashamed of my own indolence and backwardness to duty. May I be more
careful, watchful, and active than I have ever yet been!
'My uncle, aunt, and Jane request me to send their kind regards, and
they will be happy to see you any time next week whenever you can
conveniently come down from Bradford. Let me hear from you soon--I
shall expect a letter on Monday. Farewell, my dearest friend. That
you may be happy in yourself and very useful to all around you is the
daily earnest prayer of yours truly,
'MARIA BRANWELL.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _October_ 3_rd_, 1812.
'How could my dear friend so cruelly disappoint me? Had he known how
much I had set my heart on having a letter this afternoon, and how
greatly I felt the disappointment when the bag arrived and I found
there was nothing for me, I am sure he would not have permitted a
little matter to hinder him. But whatever was the reason of your not
writing, I cannot believe it to have been neglect or unkindness,
therefore I do not in the least blame you, I only beg that in future
you will judge of my feelings by your own, and if possible never let
me expect a letter without receiving one. You know in my last which
I sent you at Bradford I said it would not be in my power to write
the next day, but begged I might be favoured with hearing from you on
Saturday, and you will not wonder that I hoped you would have
complied with this request. It has just occurred to my mind that it
is possible this note was not received; if so, you have felt
disappointed likewise; but I think this is not very probable, as the
old man is particularly careful, and I never heard of his losing
anything committed to his care. The note which I allude to was
written on Thursday morning, and you should have received it before
you left Bradford. I forget what its contents were, but I know it
was written in haste and concluded abruptly. Mr. Fennell talks of
visiting Mr. Morgan to-morrow. I cannot lose the opportunity of
sending this to the office by him as you will then have it a day
sooner, and if you have been daily expecting to hear from me,
twenty-four hours are of some importance. I really am concerned to
find that this, what many would deem trifling incident, has so much
disturbed my mind. I fear I should not have slept in peace to-night
if I had been deprived of this opportunity of relieving my mind by
scribbling to you, and now I lament that you cannot possibly receive
this till Monday. May I hope that there is now some intelligence on
the way to me? or must my patience be tried till I see you on
Wednesday? But what nonsense am I writing? Surely after this you
can have no doubt that you possess all my heart. Two months ago I
could not possibly have believed that you would ever engross so much
of my thoughts and affections, and far less could I have thought that
I should be so forward as to tell you so. I believe I must forbid
you to come here again unless you can assure me that you will not
steal any more of my regard. Enough of this; I must bring my pen to
order, for if I were to suffer myself to revise what I have written I
should be tempted to throw it in the fire, but I have determined that
you shall see my whole heart. I have not yet informed you that I
received your serio-comic note on Thursday afternoon, for which
accept my thanks.
'My cousin desires me to say that she expects a long poem on her
birthday, when she attains the important age of twenty-one. Mr.
Fennell joins with us in requesting that you will not fail to be here
on Wednesday, as it is decided that on Thursday we are to go to the
Abbey if the weather, etc., permits.
'_Sunday morning_.--I am not sure if I do right in adding a few lines
to-day, but knowing that it will give you pleasure I wish to finish
that you may have it to-morrow. I will just say that if my feeble
prayers can aught avail, you will find your labours this day both
pleasant and profitable, as they concern your own soul and the souls
of those to whom you preach. I trust in your hours of retirement you
will not forget to pray for me. I assure you I need every assistance
to help me forward; I feel that my heart is more ready to attach
itself to earth than heaven. I sometimes think there never was a
mind so dull and inactive as mine is with regard to spiritual things.
'I must not forget to thank you for the pamphlets and tracts which
you sent us from Bradford. I hope we shall make good use of them. I
must now take my leave. I believe I need scarcely assure you that I
am yours truly and very affectionately,
'MARIA BRANWELL.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _October_ 21_st_ 1812.
'With the sincerest pleasure do I retire from company to converse
with him whom I love beyond all others. Could my beloved friend see
my heart he would then be convinced that the affection I bear him is
not at all inferior to that which he feels for me--indeed I sometimes
think that in truth and constancy it excels. But do not think from
this that I entertain any suspicions of your sincerity--no, I firmly
believe you to be sincere and generous, and doubt not in the least
that you feel all you express. In return, I entreat that you will do
me the justice to believe that you have not only a _very large
portion_ of my _affection_ and _esteem_, but _all_ that I am capable
of feeling, and from henceforth measure my feelings by your own.
Unless my love for you were very great how could I so contentedly
give up my home and all my friends--a home I loved so much that I
have often thought nothing could bribe me to renounce it for any
great length of time together, and friends with whom I have been so
long accustomed to share all the vicissitudes of joy and sorrow? Yet
these have lost their weight, and though I cannot always think of
them without a sigh, yet the anticipation of sharing with you all the
pleasures and pains, the cares and anxieties of life, of contributing
to your comfort and becoming the companion of your pilgrimage, is
more delightful to me than any other prospect which this world can
possibly present. I expected to have heard from you on Saturday
last, and can scarcely refrain from thinking you unkind to keep me in
suspense two whole days longer than was necessary, but it is well
that my patience should be sometimes tried, or I might entirely lose
it, and this would be a loss indeed! Lately I have experienced a
considerable increase of hopes and fears, which tend to destroy the
calm uniformity of my life. These are not unwelcome, as they enable
me to discover more of the evils and errors of my heart, and
discovering them I hope through grace to be enabled to correct and
amend them. I am sorry to say that my cousin has had a very serious
cold, but to-day I think she is better; her cough seems less, and I
hope we shall be able to come to Bradford on Saturday afternoon,
where we intend to stop till Tuesday. You may be sure we shall not
soon think of taking such another journey as the last. I look
forward with pleasure to Monday, when I hope to meet with you, for as
we are no _longer twain_ separation is painful, and to meet must ever
be attended with joy.
'_Thursday morning_.--I intended to have finished this before
breakfast, but unfortunately slept an hour too long. I am every
moment in expectation of the old man's arrival. I hope my cousin is
still better to-day; she requests me to say that she is much obliged
to you for your kind inquiries and the concern you express for her
recovery. I take all possible care of her, but yesterday she was
naughty enough to venture into the yard without her bonnet! As you
do not say anything of going to Leeds I conclude you have not been.
We shall most probably hear from the Dr. this afternoon. I am much
pleased to hear of his success at Bierly! O that you may both be
zealous and successful in your efforts for the salvation of souls,
and may your own lives be holy, and your hearts greatly blessed while
you are engaged in administering to the good of others! I should
have been very glad to have had it in my power to lessen your fatigue
and cheer your spirits by my exertions on Monday last. I will hope
that this pleasure is still reserved for me. In general, I feel a
calm confidence in the providential care and continued mercy of God,
and when I consider his past deliverances and past favours I am led
to wonder and adore. A sense of my small returns of love and
gratitude to him often abases me and makes me think I am little
better than those who profess no religion. Pray for me, my dear
friend, and rest assured that you possess a very very large portion
of the prayers, thoughts, and heart of yours truly,
'M. BRANWELL.
'Mr. Fennell requests Mr. Bedford to call on the man who has had
orders to make blankets for the Grove and desire him to send them as
soon as possible. Mr. Fennell will be greatly obliged to Mr. Bedford
if he will take this trouble.'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _November_ 18_th_, 1812.
'MY DEAR SAUCY PAT,--Now don't you think you deserve this epithet far
more than I do that which you have given me? I really know not what
to make of the beginning of your last; the winds, waves, and rocks
almost stunned me. I thought you were giving me the account of some
terrible dream, or that you had had a presentiment of the fate of my
poor box, having no idea that your lively imagination could make so
much of the slight reproof conveyed in my last. What will you say
when you get a _real_, _downright scolding_? Since you show such a
readiness to atone for your offences after receiving a mild rebuke, I
am inclined to hope you will seldom deserve a severe one. I accept
with pleasure your atonement, and send you a free and full
forgiveness. But I cannot allow that your affection is more deeply
rooted than mine. However, we will dispute no more about this, but
rather embrace every opportunity to prove its sincerity and strength
by acting in every respect as friends and fellow-pilgrims travelling
the same road, actuated by the same motives, and having in view the
same end. I think if our lives are spared twenty years hence I shall
then pray for you with the same, if not greater, fervour and delight
that I do now. I am pleased that you are so fully convinced of my
candour, for to know that you suspected me of a deficiency in this
virtue would grieve and mortify me beyond expression. I do not
derive any merit from the possession of it, for in me it is
constitutional. Yet I think where it is possessed it will rarely
exist alone, and where it is wanted there is reason to doubt the
existence of almost every other virtue. As to the other qualities
which your partiality attributes to me, although I rejoice to know
that I stand so high in your good opinion, yet I blush to think in
how small a degree I possess them. But it shall be the pleasing
study of my future life to gain such an increase of grace and wisdom
as shall enable me to act up to your highest expectations and prove
to you a helpmeet. I firmly believe the Almighty has set us apart
for each other; may we, by earnest, frequent prayer, and every
possible exertion, endeavour to fulfil His will in all things! I do
not, cannot, doubt your love, and here I freely declare I love you
above all the world besides. I feel very, very grateful to the great
Author of all our mercies for His unspeakable love and condescension
towards us, and desire "to show forth my gratitude not only with my
lips, but by my life and conversation." I indulge a hope that our
mutual prayers will be answered, and that our intimacy will tend much
to promote our temporal and eternal interest.
['I suppose you never expected to be much the richer for me, but I am
sorry to inform you that I am still poorer than I thought myself. I
mentioned having sent for my books, clothes, etc. On Saturday
evening about the time you were writing the description of your
imaginary shipwreck, I was reading and feeling the effects of a real
one, having then received a letter from my sister giving me an
account of the vessel in which she had sent my box being stranded on
the coast of Devonshire, in consequence of which the box was dashed
to pieces with the violence of the sea, and all my little property,
with the exception of a very few articles, swallowed up in the mighty
deep. If this should not prove the prelude to something worse, I
shall think little of it, as it is the first disastrous circumstance
which has occurred since I left my home], {49} and having been so
highly favoured it would be highly ungrateful in me were I to suffer
this to dwell much on my mind.
'Mr. Morgan was here yesterday, indeed he only left this morning. He
mentioned having written to invite you to Bierly on Sunday next, and
if you complied with his request it is likely that we shall see you
both here on Sunday evening. As we intend going to Leeds next week,
we should be happy if you would accompany us on Monday or Tuesday. I
mention this by desire of Miss Fennell, who begs to be remembered
affectionately to you. Notwithstanding Mr. Fennell's complaints and
threats, I doubt not but he will give you a cordial reception
whenever you think fit to make your appearance at the Grove. Which
you may likewise be assured of receiving from your ever truly
affectionate,
MARIA.
'Both the doctor and his lady very much wish to know what kind of
address we make use of in our letters to each other. I think they
would scarcely hit on _this_!!'
TO REV. PATRICK BRONTE, A.B., HARTSHEAD
'WOOD HOUSE GROVE, _December_ 5_th_, 1812.
'MY DEAREST FRIEND,--So you _thought_ that _perhaps_ I _might_ expect
to hear from you. As the case was so doubtful, and you were in such
great haste, you might as well have deferred writing a few days
longer, for you seem to suppose it is a matter of perfect
indifference to me whether I hear from you or not. I believe I once
requested you to judge of my feelings by your own--am I to think that
_you_ are thus indifferent? I feel very unwilling to entertain such
an opinion, and am grieved that you should suspect me of such a cold,
heartless, attachment. But I am too serious on the subject; I only
meant to rally you a little on the beginning of your last, and to
tell you that I fancied there was a coolness in it which none of your
former letters had contained. If this fancy was groundless, forgive
me for having indulged it, and let it serve to convince you of the
sincerity and warmth of my affection. Real love is ever apt to
suspect that it meets not with an equal return; you must not wonder
then that my fears are sometimes excited. My pride cannot bear the
idea of a diminution of your attachment, or to think that it is
stronger on my side than on yours. But I must not permit my pen so
fully to disclose the feelings of my heart, nor will I tell you
whether I am pleased or not at the thought of seeing you on the
appointed day.
'Miss Fennell desires her kind regards, and, with her father, is
extremely obliged to you for the trouble you have taken about the
carpet, and has no doubt but it will give full satisfaction. They
think there will be no occasion for the green cloth.
'We intend to set about making the cakes here next week, but as the
fifteen or twenty persons whom you mention live probably somewhere in
your neighbourhood, I think it will be most convenient for Mrs. B. to
make a small one for the purpose of distributing there, which will
save us the difficulty of sending so far.
'You may depend on my learning my lessons as rapidly as they are
given me. I am already tolerably perfect in the A B C, etc. I am
much obliged to you for the pretty little hymn which I have already
got by heart, but cannot promise to sing it scientifically, though I
will endeavour to gain a little more assurance.
'Since I began this Jane put into my hands Lord Lyttelton's _Advice
to a Lady_. When I read those lines, "Be never cool reserve with
passion joined, with caution choose, but then be fondly kind, etc."
my heart smote me for having in some cases used too much reserve
towards you. Do you think you have any cause to complain of me? If
you do, let me know it. For were it in my power to prevent it, I
would in no instance occasion you the least pain or uneasiness. I am
certain no one ever loved you with an affection more pure, constant,
tender, and ardent than that which I feel. Surely this is not saying
too much; it is the truth, and I trust you are worthy to know it. I
long to improve in every religious and moral quality, that I may be a
help, and if possible an ornament to you. Oh let us pray much for
wisdom and grace to fill our appointed stations with propriety, that
we may enjoy satisfaction in our own souls, edify others, and bring
glory to the name of Him who has so wonderfully preserved, blessed,
and brought us together.
'If there is anything in the commencement of this which looks like
pettishness, forgive it; my mind is now completely divested of every
feeling of the kind, although I own I am sometimes too apt to be
overcome by this disposition.
'Let me have the pleasure of hearing from you again as soon as
convenient. This writing is uncommonly bad, but I too am in haste.
'Adieu, my dearest.--I am your affectionate and sincere
'MARIA.'
Mr. Bronte was at Hartshead, where he married, for five years, and there
his two eldest children, Maria and Elizabeth, were born. He then moved
to Thornton, near Bradford, where Charlotte was born on the 21st of April
1816, Branwell in 1817, Emily in 1818, and Anne in 1819. In 1820 the
family removed to the parsonage of Haworth, and in 1821 the poor mother
was dead. A year or two later Miss Elizabeth Branwell came from Penzance
to act as a mother to her orphaned nephew and nieces. There is no reason
to accept the theory that Miss Branwell was quite as formidable or
offensive a personage as the Mrs. Read in _Jane Eyre_. That she was a
somewhat rigid and not over demonstrative woman, we may take for granted.
The one letter to her of any importance that I have seen--it is printed
in Mrs. Gaskell's life--was the attempt of Charlotte to obtain her
co-operation in the projected visit to a Brussels school. Miss Branwell
provided the money readily enough it would seem, and one cannot doubt
that in her later years she was on the best of terms with her nieces.
There may have been too much discipline in childhood, but discipline
which would now be considered too severe was common enough at the
beginning of the century. The children, we may be sure, were left
abundantly alone. The writing they accomplished in their early years
would sufficiently demonstrate that. Miss Branwell died in 1842; and
from her will, which I give elsewhere, it will be seen that she behaved
very justly to her three nieces.
The reception by Mr. Bronte of his children's literary successes has been
very pleasantly recorded by Charlotte. He was proud of his daughters,
and delighted with their fame. He seems to have had no small share of
their affection. Charlotte loved and esteemed him. There are hundreds
of her letters, in many of which are severe and indeed unprintable things
about this or that individual; but of her father these letters contain
not one single harsh word. She wrote to him regularly when absent. Not
only did he secure the affection of his daughter, but the people most
intimately associated with him next to his own children gave him a
lifelong affection and regard. Martha Brown, the servant who lived with
him until his death, always insisted that her old master had been
grievously wronged, and that a kinder, more generous, and in every way
more worthy man had never lived. Nancy Garrs, another servant, always
spoke of Mr. Bronte as 'the kindest man who ever drew breath,' and as a
good and affectionate father. Forty years have gone by since Charlotte
Bronte died; and thirty-six years have flown since Mr. Nicholls left the
deathbed of his wife's father; but through all that period he has
retained the most kindly memories of one with whom his life was
intimately associated for sixteen years, with whom at one crisis of his
life, as we shall see, he had a serious difference, but whom he ever
believed to have been an entirely honourable and upright man.
A lady visitor to Haworth in December 1860 did not, it is true, carry
away quite so friendly an impression. 'I have been to see old Mr.
Bronte,' she writes, 'and have spent about an hour with him. He is
completely confined to his bed, but talks hopefully of leaving it again
when the summer comes round. I am afraid that it will not be leaving it
as he plans, poor old man! He is touchingly softened by illness; but
still talks in his pompous way, and mingles moral remarks and somewhat
stale sentiments with his conversation on ordinary subjects.' This is
severe, but after all it was a literary woman who wrote it. On the whole
we may safely assume, with the evidence before us, that Mr. Bronte was a
thoroughly upright and honourable man who came manfully through a
somewhat severe life battle. That is how his daughters thought of him,
and we cannot do better than think with them. {53}
Mr. Bronte died on June 7, 1861, and his funeral in Haworth Church is
described in the _Bradford Review_ of the following week:--
'Great numbers of people had collected in the churchyard, and a few
minutes before noon the corpse was brought out through the eastern
gate of the garden leading into the churchyard. The Rev. Dr. Burnet,
Vicar of Bradford, read the funeral service, and led the way into the
church, and the following clergymen were the bearers of the coffin:
The Rev. Dr. Cartman of Skipton; Rev. Mr. Sowden of Hebden Bridge;
the Incumbents of Cullingworth, Oakworth, Morton, Oxenhope, and St.
John's Ingrow. The chief mourners were the Rev. Arthur Bell
Nicholls, son-in-law of the deceased; Martha Brown, the housekeeper;
and her sister; Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Wainwright. There were several
gentlemen followed the corpse whom we did not know. All the shops in
Haworth were closed, and the people filled every pew, and the aisles
in the church, and many shed tears during the impressive reading of
the service for the burial of the dead, by the vicar. The body of
Mr. Bronte was laid within the altar rails, by the side of his
daughter Charlotte. He is the last that can be interred inside of
Haworth Church. On the coffin was this inscription: "Patrick Bronte,
died June 7th, 1861, aged 84 years."'
His will, which was proved at Wakefield, left the bulk of his property,
as was natural, to the son-in-law who had faithfully served and tended
him for the six years which succeeded Charlotte Bronte's death.
Extracted from the Principal Registry of the Probate Divorce and
Admiralty Division of the High Court of Justice.
_Being of sound mind and judgment_, _in the name of God the Father_,
_Son_, _and Holy Ghost_, _I_, PATRICK BRONTE, B.A., _Incumbent of
Haworth_, _in the Parish of Bradford and county of York_, _make this
my last Will and Testament_: _I leave forty pounds to be equally
divided amongst all my brothers and sisters to whom I gave
considerable sums in times past_; _And I direct the same sum of forty
pounds to be sent for distribution to Mr. Hugh Bronte_,
_Ballinasceaugh_, _near Loughbrickland_, _Ireland_; _I leave thirty
pounds to my servant_, _Martha Brown_, _as a token of regard for long
and faithful services to me and my children_; _To my beloved and
esteemed son-in-law_, _the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls_, B.A., _I leave
and bequeath the residue of my personal estate of every description
which I shall be possessed of at my death for his own absolute
benefit_; _And I make him my sole executor_; _And I revoke all former
and other Wills_, _in witness whereof I_, _the said_ PATRICK BRONTE,
_have to this my last Will_, _contained in this sheet of paper_, _set
my hand this twentieth day of June_, _one thousand eight hundred and
fifty-five_.
PATRICK BRONTE.--_Signed and acknowledged by the said_ PATRICK BRONTE
_as his Will in the presence of us present at the same time_, _and
who in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto
subscribed our names as witnesses_: JOSEPH REDMAN, ELIZA BROWN.
The Irish relatives are not forgotten, and indeed this will gives the
most direct evidence of the fact that for the sixty years that he had
been absent from his native land he had always kept his own country, or
at least his relatives in County Down, sufficiently in mind.
CHAPTER II: CHILDHOOD
Eighty years have passed over Thornton since that village had the honour
of becoming the birthplace of Charlotte Bronte. The visitor of to-day
will find the Bell Chapel, in which Mr. Bronte officiated, a mere ruin,
and the font in which his children were baptized ruthlessly exposed to
the winds of heaven. {56a} The house in which Patrick Bronte resided is
now a butcher's shop, and indeed little, one imagines, remains the same.
But within the new church one may still overhaul the registers, and find,
with but little trouble, a record of the baptism of the Bronte children.
There, amid the names of the rough and rude peasantry of the
neighbourhood, we find the accompanying entries, {56b} differing from
their neighbours only by the fact that Mr. Morgan or Mr. Fennell came to
the help of their relatives and officiated in place of Mr. Bronte. Mr.
Bronte, it will be observed, had already received his appointment to
Haworth when Anne was baptized.
There were, it is well known, two elder children, Maria and Elizabeth,
born at Hartshead, and doomed to die speedily at Haworth. A vague memory
of Maria lives in the Helen Burns of _Jane Eyre_, but the only tangible
records of the pair, as far as I am able to ascertain, are a couple of
samplers, of the kind which Mrs. Bronte and her sisters had worked at
Penzance a generation earlier.
_Maria Bronte finished this Sampler on the 16th of May at the age of
eight years_
one of them tells us, and the other:
_Elizabeth Bronte finished this Sampler the 27th of July at the age
of seven years_.
Maria died at the age of twelve in May 1825, and Elizabeth in June of the
same year, at the age of eleven. It is, however, with their three
sisters that we have most concern, although all the six children
accompanied their parents to Haworth in 1820.
Haworth, we are told, has been over-described; and yet it may not be
amiss to discover from the easily available directories what manner of
place it was during the Bronte residence there. Pigot's Yorkshire
Directory of 1828 gives the census during the first year of Mr. Bronte's
incumbency thus:--
HAWORTH, _a populous manufacturing village_, _in the honour of
Pontefract_, _Morley wapentake_, _and in the parish of Bradford_, _is
four miles south of Keighley_, _containing_, _by the census of_ 1821,
4668 _inhabitants_.
_Gentry and Clergy_: _Bronte_, _Rev. Patrick_, _Haworth_; _Heaton_,
_Robert_, _gent._, _Ponden Hall_; _Miles_, _Rev. Oddy_, _Haworth_;
_Saunders_, _Rev. Moses_, _Haworth_.
From the same source twenty years later we obtain more explicit detail,
which is not without interest to-day.
HAWORTH _is a chapelry_, _comprising the hamlets of Haworth_,
_Stanbury_, _and Near and Far Oxenhope_, _in the parish of Bradford_,
_and wapentake of Morley_, _West Riding_--_Haworth being ten miles
from Bradford_, _about the same distance from Halifax_, _Colne_, _and
Skipton_, _three and a half miles S. from Keighley_, _and eight from
Hebden Bridge_, _at which latter place is a station on the Leeds and
Manchester railway_. _Haworth is situated on the side of a hill_,
_and consists of one irregularly built street_--_the habitations in
that part called Oxenhope being yet more scattered_, _and Stanbury
still farther distant_; _the entire chapelry occupying a wide space_.
_The spinning of worsted_, _and the manufacture of stuffs_, _are
branches which here prevail extensively_.
_The Church or rather chapel_ (_subject to Bradford_), _dedicated to
St. Michael_, _was rebuilt in_ 1757: _the living is a perpetual
curacy_, _in the presentation of the vicar of Bradford and certain
trustees_; _the present curate is the Rev. Patrick_ _Bronte_. _The
other places of worship are two chapels for baptists_, _one each for
primitive and Wesleyan methodists_, _and another at Oxenhope for the
latter denomination_. _There are two excellent free schools_--_one
at Stanbury_, _the other_, _called the Free Grammar School_, _near
Oxenhope_; _besides which there are several neat edifices erected for
Sunday teaching_. _There are three annual fairs_: _they are held on
Easter-Monday_, _the second Monday after St. Peter's day_ (_old
style_), _and the first Monday after Old Michaelmas day_. _The
chapelry of Haworth_, _and its dependent hamlets_, _contained by the
returns for_ 1831, 5835 _inhabitants_; _and by the census taken in
June_, 1841, _the population amounted to_ 6301.
Haworth needs even to-day no further description, but the house in which
Mr. Bronte resided, from 1820 till his death in 1861, has not been
over-described, perhaps because Mr. Bronte's successor has not been too
well disposed to receive the casual visitor to Haworth under his roof.
Many changes have been made since Mr. Bronte died, but the house still
retains its essentially interesting features. In the time of the
Brontes, it is true, the front outlook was as desolate as to-day it is
attractive. Then there was a little piece of barren ground running down
to the walls of the churchyard, with here and there a currant-bush as the
sole adornment. Now we see an abundance of trees and a well-kept lawn.
Miss Ellen Nussey well remembers seeing Emily and Anne, on a fine summer
afternoon, sitting on stools in this bit of garden plucking currants from
the poor insignificant bushes. There was no premonition of the time, not
so far distant, when the rough doorway separating the churchyard from the
garden, which was opened for their mother when they were little children,
should be opened again time after time in rapid succession for their own
biers to be carried through. This gateway is now effectively bricked up.
In the days of the Brontes it was reserved for the passage of the dead--a
grim arrangement, which, strange to say, finds no place in any one of the
sisters' stories. We enter the house, and the door on the right leads
into Mr. Bronte's study, always called the parlour; that on the left into
the dining-room, where the children spent a great portion of their lives.
From childhood to womanhood, indeed, the three girls regularly
breakfasted with their father in his study. In the dining-room--a square
and simple room of a kind common enough in the houses of the poorer
middle-classes--they ate their mid-day dinner, their tea and supper. Mr.
Bronte joined them at tea, although he always dined alone in his study.
The children's dinner-table has been described to me by a visitor to the
house. At one end sat Miss Branwell, at the other, Charlotte, with Emily
and Anne on either side. Branwell was then absent. The living was of
the simplest. A single joint, followed invariably by one kind or another
of milk-pudding. Pastry was unknown in the Bronte household.
Milk-puddings, or food composed of milk and rice, would seem to have made
the principal diet of Emily and Anne Bronte, and to this they added a
breakfast of Scotch porridge, which they shared with their dogs. It is
more interesting, perhaps, to think of all the daydreams in that room, of
the mass of writing which was achieved there, of the conversations and
speculation as to the future. Miss Nussey has given a pleasant picture
of twilight when Charlotte and she walked with arms encircling one
another round and round the table, and Emily and Anne followed in similar
fashion. There was no lack of cheerfulness and of hope at that period.
Behind Mr. Bronte's studio was the kitchen; and there we may easily
picture the Bronte children telling stories to Tabby or Martha, or to
whatever servant reigned at the time, and learning, as all of them did,
to become thoroughly domesticated--Emily most of all. Behind the
dining-room was a peat-room, which, when Charlotte was married in 1854,
was cleared out and converted into a little study for Mr. Nicholls. The
staircase with its solid banister remains as it did half a century ago;
and at its foot one is still shown the corner which tradition assigns as
the scene of Emily's conflict with her dog Keeper. On the right, at the
back, as you mount the staircase, was a small room allotted to Branwell
as a studio. On the other side of this staircase, also at the back, was
the servants' room. In the front of the house, immediately over the
dining-room, was Miss Branwell's room, afterwards the spare bedroom until
Charlotte Bronte married. In that room she died. On the left, over Mr.
Bronte's study, was Mr. Bronte's bedroom. It was the room which, for
many years, he shared with Branwell, and it was in that room that
Branwell and his father died at an interval of twenty years. On the
staircase, half-way up, was a grandfather's clock, which Mr. Bronte used
to wind up every night on his way to bed. He always went to bed at nine
o'clock, and Miss Nussey well remembers his stentorian tones as he called
out as he left his study and passed the dining-room door--'Don't be up
late, children'--which they usually were. Between these two front rooms
upstairs, and immediately over the passage, with a door facing the
staircase, was a box room; but this was the children's nursery, where for
many years the children slept, where the bulk of their little books were
compiled, and where, it is more than probable, _The Professor_ and _Jane
Eyre_ were composed.
Of the work of the Bronte children in these early years, a great deal
might be written. Mrs. Gaskell gives a list of some eighteen booklets,
but at least eighteen more from the pen of Charlotte are in existence.
Branwell was equally prolific; and of him, also, there remains an immense
mass of childish effort. That Emily and Anne were industrious in a like
measure there is abundant reason to believe; but scarcely one of their
juvenile efforts remains to us, nor even the unpublished fragments of
later years, to which reference will be made a little later. Whether
Emily and Anne on the eve of their death deliberately destroyed all their
treasures, or whether they were destroyed by Charlotte in the days of her
mourning, will never be known. Meanwhile one turns with interest to the
efforts of Charlotte and Branwell. Charlotte's little stories commence
in her thirteenth year, and go on until she is twenty-three. From
thirteen to eighteen she would seem to have had one absorbing hero. It
was the Duke of Wellington; and her hero-worship extended to the children
of the Duke, who, indeed, would seem even more than their father to have
absorbed her childish affections. Whether the stories are fairy tales or
dramas of modern life, they all alike introduce the Marquis of Douro, who
afterwards became the second Duke of Wellington, and Lord Charles
Wellesley, whose son is now the third Duke of Wellington. The length of
some of these fragments is indeed incredible. They fill but a few sheets
of notepaper in that tiny handwriting; but when copied by zealous
admirers, it is seen that more than one of them is twenty thousand words
in length.
_The Foundling_, by Captain Tree, written in 1833, is a story of
thirty-five thousand words, though the manuscript has only eighteen
pages. _The Green Dwarf_, written in the same year, is even longer, and
indeed after her return from Roe Head in 1833, Charlotte must have
devoted herself to continuous writing. _The Adventures of Ernest
Alembert_ is a booklet of this date, and _Arthuriana_, _or Odds and
Ends_: _being a Miscellaneous Collection of Pieces in Prose and Verse_,
by Lord Charles Wellesley, is yet another.
The son of the Iron Duke is made to talk, in these little books, in a way
which would have gladdened the heart of a modern interviewer:
'Lord Charles,' said Mr. Rundle to me one afternoon lately, 'I have
an engagement to drink tea with an old college chum this evening, so
I shall give you sixty lines of the _AEneid_ to get ready during my
absence. If it is not ready by the time I come back you know the
consequences.' 'Very well, Sir,' said I, bringing out the books with
a prodigious bustle, and making a show as if I intended to learn a
whole book instead of sixty lines of the _AEneid_. This appearance
of industry, however, lasted no longer than until the old gentleman's
back was turned. No sooner had he fairly quitted the room than I
flung aside the musty tomes, took my cap, and speeding through
chamber, hall, and gallery, was soon outside the gates of Waterloo
Palace.'
_The Secret_, another story, of which Mrs. Gaskell gave a facsimile of
the first page, was also written in 1833, and indeed in this, her
seventeenth year, Charlotte Bronte must have written as much as in any
year of her life. When at Roe Head, 1832-3, she would seem to have
worked at her studies, and particularly her drawing; but in the interval
between Cowan Bridge and Roe Head she wrote a great deal. The earliest
manuscripts in my possession bear date 1829--that is to say, in
Charlotte's thirteenth year. They are her _Tales of the Islanders_,
which extend to four little volumes in brown paper covers neatly
inscribed 'First Volume,' 'Second Volume,' and so on. The Duke is of
absorbing importance in these 'Tales.' 'One evening the Duke of
Wellington was writing in his room in Downing Street. He was reposing at
his ease in a simple easy chair, smoking a homely tobacco-pipe, for he
disdained all the modern frippery of cigars . . . ' and so on in an
abundance of childish imaginings. _The Search after Happiness_ and
_Characters of Great Men of the Present Time_ were also written in 1829.
Perhaps the only juvenile fragment which is worth anything is also the
only one in which she escapes from the Wellington enthusiasm. It has an
interest also in indicating that Charlotte in her girlhood heard
something of her father's native land. It is called--
AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND
During my travels in the south of Ireland the following adventure
happened to me. One evening in the month of August, after a long
walk, I was ascending the mountain which overlooks the village of
Cahill, when I suddenly came in sight of a fine old castle. It was
built upon a rock, and behind it was a large wood and before it was a
river. Over the river there was a bridge, which formed the approach
to the castle. When I arrived at the bridge I stood still awhile to
enjoy the prospect around me: far below was the wide sheet of still
water in which the reflection of the pale moon was not disturbed by
the smallest wave; in the valley was the cluster of cabins which is
known by the appellation of Cahin, and beyond these were the
mountains of Killala. Over all, the grey robe of twilight was now
stealing with silent and scarcely perceptible advances. No sound
except the hum of the distant village and the sweet song of the
nightingale in the wood behind me broke upon the stillness of the
scene. While I was contemplating this beautiful prospect, a
gentleman, whom I had not before observed, accosted me with 'Good
evening, sir; are you a stranger in these parts?' I replied that I
was. He then asked me where I was going to stop for the night; I
answered that I intended to sleep somewhere in the village. 'I am
afraid you will find very bad accommodation there,' said the
gentleman; 'but if you will take up your quarters with me at the
castle, you are welcome.' I thanked him for his kind offer, and
accepted it.
When we arrived at the castle I was shown into a large parlour, in
which was an old lady sitting in an arm-chair by the fireside,
knitting. On the rug lay a very pretty tortoise-shell cat. As soon
as mentioned, the old lady rose; and when Mr. O'Callaghan (for that,
I learned, was his name) told her who I was, she said in the most
cordial tone that I was welcome, and asked me to sit down. In the
course of conversation I learned that she was Mr. O'Callaghan's
mother, and that his father had been dead about a year. We had sat
about an hour, when supper was announced, and after supper Mr.
O'Callaghan asked me if I should like to retire for the night. I
answered in the affirmative, and a little boy was commissioned to
show me to my apartment. It was a snug, clean, and comfortable
little old-fashioned room at the top of the castle. As soon as we
had entered, the boy, who appeared to be a shrewd, good-tempered
little fellow, said with a shrug of the shoulder, 'If it was going to
bed I was, it shouldn't be here that you'd catch me.' 'Why?' said I.
'Because,' replied the boy, 'they say that the ould masther's ghost
has been seen sitting on that there chair.' 'And have you seen him?'
'No; but I've heard him washing his hands in that basin often and
often.' 'What is your name, my little fellow?' 'Dennis Mulready,
please your honour.' 'Well, good-night to you.' 'Good-night,
masther; and may the saints keep you from all fairies and brownies,'
said Dennis as he left the room.
As soon as I had laid down I began to think of what the boy had been
telling me, and I confess I felt a strange kind of fear, and once or
twice I even thought I could discern something white through the
darkness which surrounded me. At length, by the help of reason, I
succeeded in mastering these, what some would call idle fancies, and
fell asleep. I had slept about an hour when a strange sound awoke
me, and I saw looking through my curtains a skeleton wrapped in a
white sheet. I was overcome with terror and tried to scream, but my
tongue was paralysed and my whole frame shook with fear. In a deep
hollow voice it said to me, 'Arise, that I may show thee this world's
wonders,' and in an instant I found myself encompassed with clouds
and darkness. But soon the roar of mighty waters fell upon my ear,
and I saw some clouds of spray arising from high falls that rolled in
awful majesty down tremendous precipices, and then foamed and
thundered in the gulf beneath as if they had taken up their unquiet
abode in some giant's cauldron. But soon the scene changed, and I
found myself in the mines of Cracone. There were high pillars and
stately arches, whose glittering splendour was never excelled by the
brightest fairy palaces. There were not many lamps, only those of a
few poor miners, whose rough visages formed a striking contrast to
the dazzling figures and grandeur which surrounded them. But in the
midst of all this magnificence I felt an indescribable sense of fear
and terror, for the sea raged above us, and by the awful and
tumultuous noises of roaring winds and dashing waves, it seemed as if
the storm was violent. And now the mossy pillars groaned beneath the
pressure of the ocean, and the glittering arches seemed about to be
overwhelmed. When I heard the rushing waters and saw a mighty flood
rolling towards me I gave a loud shriek of terror. The scene
vanished, and I found myself in a wide desert full of barren rocks
and high mountains. As I was approaching one of the rocks, in which
there was a large cave, my foot stumbled and I fell. Just then I
heard a deep growl, and saw by the unearthly light of his own fiery
eyes a royal lion rousing himself from his kingly slumbers. His
terrible eye was fixed upon me, and the desert rang and the rocks
echoed with the tremendous roar of fierce delight which he uttered as
he sprang towards me. 'Well, masther, it's been a windy night,
though it's fine now,' said Dennis, as he drew the window-curtain and
let the bright rays of the morning sun into the little old-fashioned
room at the top of O'Callaghan Castle.
C. BRONTE.
_April the_ 28_th_, 1829.
Six numbers of _The Young Men's Magazine_ were written in 1829; a very
juvenile poem, _The Evening Walk_, by the Marquis of Douro, in 1830; and
another, of greater literary value, _The Violet_, in the same year. In
1831 we have an unfinished poem, _The Trumpet Hath Sounded_; and in 1832
a very long poem called _The Bridal_. Some of them, as for example a
poem called _Richard Coeur de Lion and Blondel_, are written in penny and
twopenny notebooks of the kind used by laundresses. Occasionally her
father has purchased a sixpenny book and has written within the cover--
_All that is written in this book must be in a good_, _plain_, _and
legible hand_.--P. B.
While upon this topic, I may as well carry the record up to the date of
publication of Currer Bell's poems. _A Leaf from an Unopened Volume_ was
written in 1834, as were also _The Death of Darius_, and _Corner Dishes_.
_Saul_: _a Poem_, was written in 1835, and a number of other still
unpublished verses. There is a story called _Lord Douro_, bearing date
1837, and a manuscript book of verses of 1838, but that pretty well
exhausts the manuscripts before me previous to the days of serious
literary activity. During the years as private governess (1839-1841) and
the Brussels experiences (1842-1844), Charlotte would seem to have put
all literary effort on one side.
There is only one letter of Charlotte Bronte's childhood. It is indorsed
by Mr. Bronte on the cover _Charlotte's First Letter_, possibly for the
guidance of Mrs. Gaskell, who may perhaps have thought it of insufficient
importance. That can scarcely be the opinion of any one to-day.
Charlotte, aged thirteen, is staying with the Fennells, her mother's
friends of those early love-letters.
TO THE REV. P. BRONTE
'PARSONAGE HOUSE, CROSSTONE,
_September_ 23_rd_, 1829.
'MY DEAR PAPA,--At Aunt's request I write these lines to inform you
that "if all be well" we shall be at home on Friday by dinner-time,
when we hope to find you in good health. On account of the bad
weather we have not been out much, but notwithstanding we have spent
our time very pleasantly, between reading, working, and learning our
lessons, which Uncle Fennell has been so kind as to teach us every
day. Branwell has taken two sketches from nature, and Emily, Anne,
and myself have likewise each of us drawn a piece from some views of
the lakes which Mr. Fennell brought with him from Westmoreland. The
whole of these he intends keeping. Mr. Fennell is sorry he cannot
accompany us to Haworth on Friday, for want of room, but hopes to
have the pleasure of seeing you soon. All unite in sending their
kind love with your affectionate daughter,
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'
The following list includes the whole of the early Bronte Manuscripts
known to me, or of which I can find any record:--
UNPUBLISHED BRONTE LITERATURE.
BY CHARLOTTE BRONTE
_The Young Men's Magazines_. In Six Numbers 1829
[Only four out of these six numbers appear to have been preserved.]
_The Search after Happiness_: _A Tale_. _By Charlotte Bronte_ 1829
_Two Romantic Tales_; _viz. The Twelve Adventures_, _and An 1829
Adventure in Ireland_
_Characters of Great Men of the Present Age_, _Dec._ 17_th_ 1829
_Tales of the Islanders_. _By Charlotte Bronte_:--
Vol. i. dated _June_ 31, 1829
Vol. ii. dated _December_ 2, 1829
Vol. iii. dated _May_ 8, 1830
Vol. iv. dated _July_ 30, 1830
[Accompanying these volumes is a one-page document detailing 'The
Origin of the _Islanders_.' Dated _March_ 12, 1829.]
_The Evening Walk_: _A Poem_. _By the Marquis Douro_ 1830
_A Translation into English Verse of the First Book of Voltaire's 1830
Henriade_. _By Charlotte Bronte_
_Albion and Marina_: _A Tale_. _By Lord Wellesley_ 1830
_The Adventures of Ernest Alembert_: _A Fairy Tale_. _By 1830
Charlotte Bronte_
_The Violet: A Poem_. _With several smaller Pieces_. _By the 1830
Marquess of Douro_. _Published by Seargeant Tree_. _Glasstown_,
1830
_The Bridal_. _By C. Bronte_ 1832
_Arthuriana_; _or_, _Odds and Ends_: _Being a Miscellaneous 1833
Collection of Pieces in Prose and Verse_. _By Lord Charles A. F.
Wellesley_
_Something about Arthur_. _Written by Charles Albert Florian 1833
Wellesley_
_The Vision_. _By Charlotte Bronte_ 1833
_The Secret and Lily Hart_: _Two Tales_. _By Lord Charles 1833
Wellesley_
[The first page of this book is given in facsimile in vol. i. of
Mrs. Gaskell's _Life of Charlotte Bronte_.]
_Visits in Verdopolis_. _By the Honourable Charles Albert Florian 1833
Wellesley_. _Two vols._
_The Green Dwarf_: _A Tale of the Perfect Tense_. _By Lord Charles 1833
Albert Florian Wellesley_. _Charlotte Bronte_.
_The Foundling_: _A Tale of our own Times_. _By Captain Tree_ 1833
_Richard Coeur de Lion and Blondel_. _By Charlotte Bronte_, 1833
8vo, pp. 20. Signed in full _Charlotte Bronte_, and dated
_Haworth_, _near Bradford_, Dec. 27_th_, 1833
_My Angria and the Angrians_. _By Lord Charles Albert Florian 1834
Wellesley_
_A Leaf from an Unopened Volume_; _or_, _The Manuscript of an 1834
Unfortunate Author_. _Edited by Lord Charles Albert Florian
Wellesley_
_Corner Dishes_: _Being a small Collection of_ . . . _Trifles in 1834
Prose and Verse_. _By Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley_
_The Spell_: _An Extravaganza_. _By Lord Charles Albert Florian
Wellesley_. Signed _Charlotte Bronte_, _June_ 21_st_, 1834.
The contents include: 1. Preface, half page; 2. _The Spell_, 26
pages; 3. _High Life in Verdopolis_: _or The Difficulties
of Annexing a Suitable Title to a Work Practically Illustrated in
Six Chapters_. _By Lord C. A. F. Wellesley_, _March_ 20, 1834, 22
pages; 4. _The Scrap-Book_: _A Mingling of Many Things_.
_Compiled by Lord C. A. F. Wellesley_. _C. Bronte_, _March_
17_th_, 1835, 31 pages.
[This volume is in the British Museum.]
_Death of Darius Cadomanus_: _A Poem_. _By Charlotte Bronte_. 1835
Pp. 24. Signed in full, and dated
_Saul and Memory_: _Two Poems_. _By C. Bronte_. Pp. 12 1835
_Passing Events_ 1836
'_We Wove a Web in Childhood_': A poem (pp. vi.), signed _C. 1835
Bronte_, _Haworth_, _Dec'br_. 19_th_, 1835
_The Wounded Stag_, _and other Poems_. _Signed C. Bronte_. 1836
_Jan'y._ 19, 1836. Pp. 20
_Lord Douro_: _A Story_. _Signed C. Bronte_. _July_ 21_st_, 1837 1837
_Poems_. _By C. Bronte_. Pp. 16 1838
_Lettre d'Invitation a un Ecclesiastique_. Signed 1842
_Charlotte Bronte_. _Le_ 21 _Juillet_, 1842. Large 8vo, pp. 4.
A French exercise written at Brussels
_John Henry_. _By Charlotte Bronte_, Crown 8vo, pp. 36, _circa_ 1852
written in pencil
_Willie Ellin_. _By Charlotte Bronte_. _May and June_ 1853
Crown 8vo, pp. 18
The following, included in Charlotte's 'Catalogue of my Books'
printed by Mrs. Gaskell, are not now forthcoming:
_Leisure Hours_: _A Tale_, _and two Fragments_ _July_ 6_th_, 1829
_The Adventures of Edward de Crak_: _A Tale_ _Feb._ 2_nd_, 1830
_An Interesting Incident in the Lives of some _June_ 10_th_, 1830
of the most eminent Persons of the Age_: _A Tale_
_The Poetaster_: _A Drama_. _In two volumes_, _July_ 12_th_, 1830
_A Book of Rhymes_, _finished_ _December_ 17_th_, 1829
_Miscellaneous Poems_, _finished_ _May_ 3_rd_, 1830
[These _Miscellaneous Poems_ are probably poems written upon
separate sheets, and not forming a complete book--indeed, some
half dozen such separate poems are still extant. The last item
given in Charlotte's list of these _Miscellaneous Poems_ is
_The Evening Walk_, 1820; this is a separate book, and is included
in the list above.]
BY EMILY BRONTE
A volume of_ Poems_, 8vo, pp. 29; signed (at the top of the first 1844
page) _E. J. B_. _Transcribed February_ 1814. Each poem is
headed with the date of its composition. Of the poems
included in this book four are still unprinted, the remainder
were published in the _Poems_ of 1846. The whole are written in
microscopic characters
A volume of _Poems_, square 8vo, pp. 24. Each poem is dated, 1837-1839
and the first is signed _E. J. Bronte_, _August_ 19_th_, 1837.
Written in an ordinary, and not a minute, handwriting. All
unpublished
A series of poems written in a minute hand upon both sides of 1833-1839
fourteen or fifteen small slips of paper of various sizes. All
unpublished
_Lettre and Reponse_. An exercise in French. Large 8vo, 1842
pp. 4. Signed _E. J. Bronte_, and dated 16 _Juillet_
_L'Amour Filial_. An exercise in French. Small quarto, pp. 4. 1842
Signed in full _Emily J. Bronte_, and dated 5 _Aout_
BY ANNE BRONTE.
_Verses by Lady Geralda_, and other poems. A crown 8vo volume 1836-1837
of 28 pages. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated, the
dates extending from 1836 to 1837. The poems are all
unpublished
_The North Wind_, and other poems. A crown 8vo volume of 26 1838-1840
pages. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated, some
having in addition to her own name the nom-de-guerre
_Alexandrina Zenobia_ or _Olivia Vernon_. The dates extend
from 1838 to 1840. The poems are all unpublished
_To Cowper_, and other poems. 8vo, pp. 22. Of the nine 1842-1845
poems contained in this volume three are signed _Anne Bronte_,
four are signed _A. Bronte_, and two are initialled '_A. B._'
All are dated. Part of these Poems are unpublished, the
remainder appeared in the _Poems_ of 1846
A thin 8vo volume of poems (mostly dated 1845), pp. 14, _circa_ 1845
each being signed _A. Bronte_, or simply '_A. B._'--some
having in addition to, or instead of, her own name the
nom-de-guerre _Zerona_. A few of these poems are unprinted;
the remainder are a portion of Anne's contribution to the
_Poems_ of 1846
_Song_: '_Should Life's first feelings be forgot_' (one octavo 1845
leaf)
[A fair copy (2 pp. 8vo) of a poem by Branwell Bronte, in the
hand-writing of Anne Bronte.]
_The Power of Love_, and other poems. Post octavo, pp. 26. 1845-1846
Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated
_Self Communion_, a Poem. 8vo, pp. 19. Signed '_A. B_.' and 1848
dated _April_ 17_th_, 1848
BY BRANWELL BRONTE.
_The Battle of Washington_. By _P. B. Bronte_. With full-page 1827
coloured illustrations
[An exceedingly childish production, and the earliest of all the
Bronte manuscripts.]
_History of the Rebellion in my Army_ 1828
_The Travels of Rolando Segur_: _Comprising his Adventures 1829
throughout the Voyage_, _and in America_, _Europe_, _the South
Pole_, _etc._ _By Patrick Branwell Bronte_. _In two
volumes_
_A Collection of Poems_. _By Young Soult the Rhymer_. 1829
_Illustrated with Notes and Commentaries by Monsieur
Chateaubriand_. _In two volumes_
_The Liar Detected_. _By Captain Bud_ 1830
_Caractacus_: _A Dramatic Poem_. _By Young Soult_ 1830
_The Revenge_: _A Tragedy_, _in three Acts_. _By Young Soult_. 1830
_P. B. Bronte_. _In two volumes_. _Glasstown_
[Although the title page reads 'in two volumes,' the book is
complete in one volume only.]
_The History of the Young Men_. _By John Bud_ 1831
_Letters from an Englishman_. _By Captain John Flower_. _In 1830-1832
six volumes_
_The Monthly Intelligencer_. _No._ 1 _March_ 27, 1833
[The only number produced of a projected manuscript newspaper,
by Branwell Bronte. The MS. consists of 4 pp. 4to, arranged
in columns, precisely after the manner of an ordinary journal.]
_Real Life in Verdopolis_: _A Tale_. _By Captain John Flower_, 1833
_M.P._ _In two volumes_. _P. B. Bronte_
_The Politics of Verdopolis_: _A Tale_. _By Captain John Flower_. 1833
_P. B. Bronte_
_The Pirate_: _A Tale_. _By Captain John Flower_ 1833
[The most pretentious of Branwell's prose stories.]
_Thermopylae_: _A Poem_. _By P. B. Bronte_. 8vo, pp. 14 1834
_And the Weary are at Rest_: _A Tale_. _By P. B. Bronte_ 1834
_The Wool is Rising_: _An Angrian Adventure_. _By the Right 1834
Honourable John Baron Flower_
_Ode to the Polar Star, and other Poems_. _By P. B. Bronte_. 1834
Quarto, pp. 24
_The Life of Field Marshal the Right Honourable Alexander 1835
Percy_, _Earl of Northangerland_. _In two volumes_. _By John
Bud_. _P. B. Bronte_
_The Rising of the Angrians_: _A Tale_. _By P. B. Bronte_ 1836
_A Narrative of the First War_. _By P. B. Bronte_ 1836
_The Angrian Welcome_: _A Tale_. _By P. B. Bronte_ 1836
_Percy_: _A Story_. _By P. B. Bronte_ 1837
A packet containing four small groups of _Poems_, of about six
or eight pages each, mostly without titles, but all either
signed or initialled, and dated from 1836 to 1838
_Love and Warfare_: _A Story_. _By P. B. Bronte_ 1839
_Lord Nelson_, _and other Poems_. _By P. B. Bronte_. Written in 1844
pencil. Small 8vo, pp. 26
[This book contains a full-page pencil portrait of Branwell
Bronte, drawn by himself, as well as four carefully finished heads.
These give an excellent idea of the extent of Branwell's artistic
skill.]
CHAPTER III: SCHOOL AND GOVERNESS LIFE
In seeking for fresh light upon the development of Charlotte Bronte, it
is not necessary to discuss further her childhood's years at Cowan
Bridge. She left the school at nine years of age, and what memories of
it were carried into womanhood were, with more or less of picturesque
colouring, embodied in Jane Eyre. {74} From 1825 to 1831 Charlotte was
at home with her sisters, reading and writing as we have seen, but
learning nothing very systematically. In 1831-32 she was a boarder at
Miss Wooler's school at Roe Head, some twenty miles from Haworth. Miss
Wooler lived to a green old age, dying in the year 1885. She would seem
to have been very proud of her famous pupil, and could not have been
blind to her capacity in the earlier years. Charlotte was with her as
governess at Roe Head, and later at Dewsbury Moor. It is quite clear
that Miss Bronte was head of the school in all intellectual pursuits, and
she made two firm friends--Ellen Nussey and Mary Taylor. A very fair
measure of French and some skill in drawing appear to have been the most
striking accomplishments which Charlotte carried back from Roe Head to
Haworth. There are some twenty drawings of about this date, and a
translation into English verse of the first book of Voltaire's
_Henriade_. With Ellen Nussey commenced a friendship which terminated
only with the pencilled notes written from Charlotte Bronte's deathbed.
The first suggestion of a regular correspondence is contained in the
following letter.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 21_st_, 1832.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--Your kind and interesting letter gave me the
sincerest pleasure. I have been expecting to hear from you almost
every day since my arrival at home, and I at length began to despair
of receiving the wished-for letter. You ask me to give you a
description of the manner in which I have passed every day since I
left school. This is soon done, as an account of one day is an
account of all. In the mornings, from nine o'clock to half-past
twelve, I instruct my sisters and draw, then we walk till dinner;
after dinner I sew till tea-time, and after tea I either read, write,
do a little fancy-work, or draw, as I please. Thus in one
delightful, though somewhat monotonous course, my life is passed. I
have only been out to tea twice since I came home. We are expecting
company this afternoon, and on Tuesday next we shall have all the
female teachers of the Sunday school to tea. I do hope, my dearest
Ellen, that you will return to school again for your own sake, though
for mine I would rather that you would remain at home, as we shall
then have more frequent opportunities of correspondence with each
other. Should your friends decide against your returning to school,
I know you have too much good-sense and right feeling not to strive
earnestly for your own improvement. Your natural abilities are
excellent, and under the direction of a judicious and able friend
(and I know you have many such), you might acquire a decided taste
for elegant literature, and even poetry, which, indeed, is included
under that general term. I was very much disappointed by your not
sending the hair; you may be sure, my dearest Ellen, that I would not
grudge double postage to obtain it, but I must offer the same excuse
for not sending you any. My aunt and sisters desire their love to
you. Remember me kindly to your mother and sisters, and accept all
the fondest expressions of genuine attachment, from your real friend
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
'_P.S._--Remember the mutual promise we made of a regular
correspondence with each other. Excuse all faults in this wretched
scrawl. Give my love to the Miss Taylors when you see them.
Farewell, my _dear_, _dear_, _dear_ Ellen.'
Reading, writing, and as thorough a domestic training as the little
parsonage could afford, made up the next few years. Then came the
determination to be a governess--a not unnatural resolution when the size
of the family and the modest stipend of its head are considered. Far
more prosperous parents are content in our day that their daughters
should earn their living in this manner. In 1835 Charlotte went back to
Roe Head as governess, and she continued in that position when Miss
Wooler removed her school to Dewsbury Moor in 1836.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'DEWSBURY MOOR, _August_ 24_th_, 1837.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I have determined to write lest you should begin to
think I have forgotten you, and in revenge resolve to forget me. As
you will perceive by the date of this letter, I am again engaged in
the old business--teach, teach, teach. Miss and Mrs. Wooler are
coming here next Christmas. Miss Wooler will then relinquish the
school in favour of her sister Eliza, but I am happy to say worthy
Miss Wooler will continue to reside in the house. I should be sorry
indeed to part with her. When will you come _home_? Make haste, you
have been at Bath long enough for all purposes. By this time you
have acquired polish enough, I am sure. If the varnish is laid on
much thicker, I am afraid the good wood underneath will be quite
concealed, and your old Yorkshire friends won't stand that. Come,
come, I am getting really tired of your absence. Saturday after
Saturday comes round, and I can have no hope of hearing your knock at
the door and then being told that "Miss E. N. is come." Oh dear! in
this monotonous life of mine that was a pleasant event. I wish it
would recur again, but it will take two or three interviews before
the stiffness, the estrangement of this long separation will quite
wear away. I have nothing at all to tell you now but that Mary
Taylor is better, and that she and Martha are gone to take a tour in
Wales. Patty came on her pony about a fortnight since to inform me
that this important event was in contemplation. She actually began
to fret about your long absence, and to express the most eager wishes
for your return. My own dear Ellen, good-bye. If we are all spared
I hope soon to see you again. God bless you.
'C. BRONTE.'
Things were not always going on quite so smoothly, as the following
letter indicates.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'DEWSBURY MOOR, _January_ 4_th_, 1838.
'Your letter, Ellen, was a welcome surprise, though it contained
something like a reprimand. I had not, however, forgotten our
agreement. You were right in your conjectures respecting the cause
of my sudden departure. Anne continued wretchedly ill, neither the
pain nor the difficulty of breathing left her, and how could I feel
otherwise than very miserable. I looked on her case in a different
light to what I could wish or expect any uninterested person to view
it in. Miss Wooler thought me a fool, and by way of proving her
opinion treated me with marked coldness. We came to a little
eclaircissement one evening. I told her one or two rather plain
truths, which set her a-crying; and the next day, unknown to me, she
wrote papa, telling him that I had reproached her bitterly, taken her
severely to task, etc. Papa sent for us the day after he had
received her letter. Meantime I had formed a firm resolution to quit
Miss Wooler and her concerns for ever; but just before I went away,
she took me to her room, and giving way to her feelings, which in
general she restrains far too rigidly, gave me to understand that in
spite of her cold, repulsive manners, she had a considerable regard
for me, and would be very sorry to part with me. If any body likes
me, I cannot help liking them; and remembering that she had in
general been very kind to me, I gave in and said I would come back if
she wished me. So we are settled again for the present, but I am not
satisfied. I should have respected her far more if she had turned me
out of doors, instead of crying for two days and two nights together.
I was in a regular passion; my "_warm_ temper" quite got the better
of me, of which I don't boast, for it was a weakness; nor am I
ashamed of it, for I had reason to be angry.
'Anne is now much better, though she still requires a great deal of
care. However, I am relieved from my worst fears respecting her. I
approve highly of the plan you mention, except as it regards
committing a verse of the Psalms to memory. I do not see the direct
advantage to be derived from that. We have entered on a new year.
Will it be stained as darkly as the last with all our sins, follies,
secret vanities, and uncontrolled passions and propensities? I trust
not; but I feel in nothing better, neither humbler nor purer. It
will want three weeks next Monday to the termination of the holidays.
Come to see me, my dear Ellen, as soon as you can; however bitterly I
sometimes feel towards other people, the recollection of your mild,
steady friendship consoles and softens me. I am glad you are not
such a passionate fool as myself. Give my best love to your mother
and sisters. Excuse the most hideous scrawl that ever was penned,
and--Believe me always tenderly yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
Dewsbury Moor, however, did not agree with Charlotte. That was probably
the core of the matter. She returned to Haworth, but only to look around
for another 'situation.' This time she accepted the position of private
governess in the family of a Mr. Sidgwick, at Stonegappe, in the same
county. Her letters from his house require no comment. A sentence from
the first was quoted by Mrs. Gaskell.
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'STONEGAPPE, _June_ 8_th_, 1839.
'DEAREST LAVINIA,--I am most exceedingly obliged to you for the
trouble you have taken in seeking up my things and sending them all
right. The box and its contents were most acceptable. I only wish I
had asked you to send me some letter-paper. This is my last sheet
but two. When you can send the other articles of raiment now
manufacturing, I shall be right down glad of them.
'I have striven hard to be pleased with my new situation. The
country, the house, and the grounds are, as I have said, divine.
But, alack-a-day! there is such a thing as seeing all beautiful
around you--pleasant woods, winding white paths, green lawns, and
blue sunshiny sky--and not having a free moment or a free thought
left to enjoy them in. The children are constantly with me, and more
riotous, perverse, unmanageable cubs never grew. As for correcting
them, I soon quickly found that was entirely out of the question:
they are to do as they like. A complaint to Mrs. Sidgwick brings
only black looks upon oneself, and unjust, partial excuses to screen
the children. I have tried that plan once. It succeeded so notably
that I shall try it no more. I said in my last letter that Mrs.
Sidgwick did not know me. I now begin to find that she does not
intend to know me, that she cares nothing in the world about me
except to contrive how the greatest possible quantity of labour may
be squeezed out of me, and to that end she overwhelms me with oceans
of needlework, yards of cambric to hem, muslin night-caps to make,
and, above all things, dolls to dress. I do not think she likes me
at all, because I can't help being shy in such an entirely novel
scene, surrounded as I have hitherto been by strange and constantly
changing faces. I see now more clearly than I have ever done before
that a private governess has no existence, is not considered as a
living and rational being except as connected with the wearisome
duties she has to fulfil. While she is teaching the children,
working for them, amusing them, it is all right. If she steals a
moment for herself she is a nuisance. Nevertheless, Mrs. Sidgwick is
universally considered an amiable woman. Her manners are fussily
affable. She talks a great deal, but as it seems to me not much to
the purpose. Perhaps I may like her better after a while. At
present I have no call to her. Mr. Sidgwick is in my opinion a
hundred times better--less profession, less bustling condescension,
but a far kinder heart. It is very seldom that he speaks to me, but
when he does I always feel happier and more settled for some minutes
after. He never asks me to wipe the children's smutty noses or tie
their shoes or fetch their pinafores or set them a chair. One of the
pleasantest afternoons I have spent here--indeed, the only one at all
pleasant--was when Mr. Sidgwick walked out with his children, and I
had orders to follow a little behind. As he strolled on through his
fields with his magnificent Newfoundland dog at his side, he looked
very like what a frank, wealthy, Conservative gentleman ought to be.
He spoke freely and unaffectedly to the people he met, and though he
indulged his children and allowed them to tease himself far too much,
he would not suffer them grossly to insult others.
'I am getting quite to have a regard for the Carter family. At home
I should not care for them, but here they are friends. Mr. Carter
was at Mirfield yesterday and saw Anne. He says she was looking
uncommonly well. Poor girl, _she_ must indeed wish to be at home.
As to Mrs. Collins' report that Mrs. Sidgwick intended to keep me
permanently, I do not think that such was ever her design. Moreover,
I would not stay without some alterations. For instance, this burden
of sewing would have to be removed. It is too bad for anything. I
never in my whole life had my time so fully taken up. Next week we
are going to Swarcliffe, Mr. Greenwood's place near Harrogate, to
stay three weeks or a month. After that time I hope Miss Hoby will
return. Don't show this letter to papa or aunt, only to Branwell.
They will think I am never satisfied wherever I am. I complain to
you because it is a relief, and really I have had some unexpected
mortifications to put up with. However, things may mend, but Mrs.
Sidgwick expects me to do things that I cannot do--to love her
children and be entirely devoted to them. I am really very well. I
am so sleepy that I can write no more. I must leave off. Love to
all.--Good-bye.
'Direct your next dispatch--J. Greenwood, Esq., Swarcliffe, near
Harrogate.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'SWARCLIFFE, _June_ 15_th_, 1839.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--I am writing a letter to you with pencil because
I cannot just now procure ink without going into the drawing-room,
where I do not wish to go. I only received your letter yesterday,
for we are not now residing at Stonegappe but at Swarcliffe, a summer
residence of Mr. Greenwood's, Mrs. Sidgwick's father; it is near
Harrogate and Ripon. I should have written to you long since, and
told you every detail of the utterly new scene into which I have
lately been cast, had I not been daily expecting a letter from
yourself, and wondering and lamenting that you did not write, for you
will remember it was your turn. I must not bother you too much with
my sorrows, of which, I fear, you have heard an exaggerated account.
If you were near me, perhaps I might be tempted to tell you all, to
grow egotistical, and pour out the long history of a private
governess's trials and crosses in her first situation. As it is, I
will only ask you to imagine the miseries of a reserved wretch like
me thrown at once into the midst of a large family, proud as peacocks
and wealthy as Jews, at a time when they were particularly gay, when
the house was filled with company--all strangers: people whose faces
I had never seen before. In this state I had a charge given of a set
of horrid children, whom I was expected constantly to amuse, as well
as instruct. I soon found that the constant demand on my stock of
animal spirits reduced them to the lowest state of exhaustion; at
times I felt--and, I suppose seemed--depressed. To my astonishment,
I was taken to task on the subject by Mrs. Sidgwick, with a sternness
of manner and a harshness of language scarcely credible. Like a
fool, I cried most bitterly. I could not help it; my spirits quite
failed me at first. I thought I had done my best, strained every
nerve to please her; and to be treated in that way, merely because I
was shy and sometimes melancholy, was too bad. At first I was for
giving all up and going home. But after a little reflection, I
determined to summon what energy I had, and to weather the storm. I
said to myself, "I had never yet quitted a place without gaining a
friend; adversity is a good school; the poor are born to labour, and
the dependent to endure." I resolved to be patient, to command my
feelings, and to take what came; the ordeal, I reflected, would not
last many weeks, and I trusted it would do me good. I recollected
the fable of the willow and the oak; I bent quietly, and now I trust
the storm is blowing over. Mrs. Sidgwick is generally considered an
agreeable woman; so she is, I doubt not, in general society. Her
health is sound, her animal spirits good, consequently she is
cheerful in company. But oh! does this compensate for the absence of
every fine feeling, of every gentle and delicate sentiment? She
behaves somewhat more civilly to me now than she did at first, and
the children are a little more manageable; but she does not know my
character, and she does not wish to know it. I have never had five
minutes conversation with her since I came, except when she was
scolding me. I have no wish to be pitied, except by yourself. If I
were talking to you I could tell you much more. Good-bye, dear, dear
Ellen. Write to me again very soon, and tell me how you are.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 26_th_, 1839.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I left Swarcliffe a week since. I never was so glad to
get out of a house in my life; but I'll trouble you with no
complaints at present. Write to me directly; explain your plans more
fully. Say when you go, and I shall be able in my answer to say
decidedly whether I can accompany you or not. I must, I will, I'm
set upon it--I'll be obstinate and bear down all
opposition.--Good-bye, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
That experience with the Sidgwicks rankled for many a day, and we find
Charlotte Bronte referring to it in her letters from Brussels. At the
same time it is not necessary to assume any very serious inhumanity on
the part of the Sidgwicks or their successors the Whites, to whom
Charlotte was indebted for her second term as private governess. Hers
was hardly a temperament adapted for that docile part, and one thinks of
the author of _Villette_, and the possessor of one of the most vigorous
prose styles in our language, condemned to a perpetual manufacture of
night-caps, with something like a shudder. And at the same time it may
be urged that Charlotte Bronte did not suffer in vain, and that through
her the calling of a nursery governess may have received some added
measure of dignity and consideration on the part of sister-women.
A month or two later we find Charlotte dealing with the subject in a
letter to Ellen Nussey.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 24_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--You could never live in an unruly, violent family of
modern children, such for instance as those at Blake Hall. Anne is
not to return. Mrs. Ingham is a placid, mild woman; but as for the
children, it was one struggle of life-wearing exertion to keep them
in anything like decent order. I am miserable when I allow myself to
dwell on the necessity of spending my life as a governess. The chief
requisite for that station seems to me to be the power of taking
things easily as they come, and of making oneself comfortable and at
home wherever we may chance to be--qualities in which all our family
are singularly deficient. I know I cannot live with a person like
Mrs. Sidgwick, but I hope all women are not like her, and my motto is
"try again." Mary Taylor, I am sorry to hear, is ill--have you seen
her or heard anything of her lately? Sickness seems very general,
and death too, at least in this neighbourhood.--Ever yours,
'C. B.'
She 'tried again' but with just as little success. In March 1841 she
entered the family of a Mr. White of Upperwood House, Rawdon.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, _April_ 1_st_, 1841.
'MY DEAR NELL,--It is twelve o'clock at night, but I must just write
to you a word before I go to bed. If you think I am going to refuse
your invitation, or if you sent it me with that idea, you're
mistaken. As soon as I read your shabby little note, I gathered up
my spirits directly, walked on the impulse of the moment into Mrs.
White's presence, popped the question, and for two minutes received
no answer. Will she refuse me when I work so hard for her? thought
I. "Ye-e-es" was said in a reluctant, cold tone. "Thank you, m'am,"
said I, with extreme cordiality, and was marching from the room when
she recalled me with: "You'd better go on Saturday afternoon then,
when the children have holiday, and if you return in time for them to
have all their lessons on Monday morning, I don't see that much will
be lost." You _are_ a genuine Turk, thought I, but again I assented.
Saturday after next, then, is the day appointed--_not next Saturday_,
_mind_. I do not quite know whether the offer about the gig is not
entirely out of your own head or if George has given his consent to
it--whether that consent has not been wrung from him by the most
persevering and irresistible teasing on the part of a certain young
person of my acquaintance. I make no manner of doubt that if he does
send the conveyance (as Miss Wooler used to denominate all wheeled
vehicles) it will be to his own extreme detriment and inconvenience,
but for once in my life I'll not mind this, or bother my head about
it. I'll come--God knows with a thankful and joyful heart--glad of a
day's reprieve from labour. If you don't send the gig I'll walk.
Now mind, I am not coming to Brookroyd with the idea of dissuading
Mary Taylor from going to New Zealand. I've said everything I mean
to say on that subject, and she has a perfect right to decide for
herself. I am coming to taste the pleasure of liberty, a bit of
pleasant congenial talk, and a sight of two or three faces I like.
God bless you. I want to see you again. Huzza for Saturday
afternoon after next! Good-night, my lass.
'C. BRONTE.
'Have you lit your pipe with Mr. Weightman's valentine?'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, _May_ 4_th_, 1841.
'DEAR NELL,--I have been a long time without writing to you; but I
think, knowing as you do how I am situated in the matter of time, you
will not be angry with me. Your brother George will have told you
that he did not go into the house when we arrived at Rawdon, for
which omission of his Mrs. White was very near blowing me up. She
went quite red in the face with vexation when she heard that the
gentleman had just driven within the gates and then back again, for
she is very touchy in the matter of opinion. Mr. White also seemed
to regret the circumstance from more hospitable and kindly motives.
I assure you, if you were to come and see me you would have quite a
fuss made over you. During the last three weeks that hideous
operation called "a thorough clean" has been going on in the house.
It is now nearly completed, for which I thank my stars, as during its
progress I have fulfilled the twofold character of nurse and
governess, while the nurse has been transmuted into cook and
housemaid. That nurse, by-the-bye, is the prettiest lass you ever
saw, and when dressed has much more the air of a lady than her
mistress. Well can I believe that Mrs. White has been an exciseman's
daughter, and I am convinced also that Mr. White's extraction is very
low. Yet Mrs. White talks in an amusing strain of pomposity about
his and her family and connections, and affects to look down with
wondrous hauteur on the whole race of tradesfolk, as she terms men of
business. I was beginning to think Mrs. White a good sort of body in
spite of all her bouncing and boasting, her bad grammar and worse
orthography, but I have had experience of one little trait in her
character which condemns her a long way with me. After treating a
person in the most familiar terms of equality for a long time, if any
little thing goes wrong she does not scruple to give way to anger in
a very coarse, unladylike manner. I think passion is the true test
of vulgarity or refinement.
'This place looks exquisitely beautiful just now. The grounds are
certainly lovely, and all is as green as an emerald. I wish you
would just come and look at it. Mrs. White would be as proud as
Punch to show it you. Mr. White has been writing an urgent
invitation to papa, entreating him to come and spend a week here. I
don't at all wish papa to come, it would be like incurring an
obligation. Somehow, I have managed to get a good deal more control
over the children lately--this makes my life a good deal easier;
also, by dint of nursing the fat baby, it has got to know me and be
fond of me. I suspect myself of growing rather fond of it. Exertion
of any kind is always beneficial. Come and see me if you can in any
way get, I _want_ to see you. It seems Martha Taylor is fairly gone.
Good-bye, my lassie.--Yours insufferably,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY, EARNLEY RECTORY
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON,
'_May_ 9_th_, 1841.
'DEAR SIR,--I am about to employ part of a Sunday evening in
answering your last letter. You will perhaps think this hardly
right, and yet I do not feel that I am doing wrong. Sunday evening
is almost my only time of leisure. No one would blame me if I were
to spend this spare hour in a pleasant chat with a friend--is it
worse to spend it in a friendly letter?
'I have just seen my little noisy charges deposited snugly in their
cribs, and I am sitting alone in the school-room with the quiet of a
Sunday evening pervading the grounds and gardens outside my window.
I owe you a letter--can I choose a better time than the present for
paying my debt? Now, Mr. Nussey, you need not expect any gossip or
news, I have none to tell you--even if I had I am not at present in
the mood to communicate them. You will excuse an unconnected letter.
If I had thought you critical or captious I would have declined the
task of corresponding with you. When I reflect, indeed, it seems
strange that I should sit down to write without a feeling of
formality and restraint to an individual with whom I am personally so
little acquainted as I am with yourself; but the fact is, I cannot be
formal in a letter--if I write at all I must write as I think. It
seems Ellen has told you that I am become a governess again. As you
say, it is indeed a hard thing for flesh and blood to leave home,
especially a _good_ home--not a wealthy or splendid one. My home is
humble and unattractive to strangers, but to me it contains what I
shall find nowhere else in the world--the profound, the intense
affection which brothers and sisters feel for each other when their
minds are cast in the same mould, their ideas drawn from the same
source--when they have clung to each other from childhood, and when
disputes have never sprung up to divide them.
'We are all separated now, and winning our bread amongst strangers as
we can--my sister Anne is near York, my brother in a situation near
Halifax, I am here. Emily is the only one left at home, where her
usefulness and willingness make her indispensable. Under these
circumstances should we repine? I think not--our mutual affection
ought to comfort us under all difficulties. If the God on whom we
must all depend will but vouchsafe us health and the power to
continue in the strict line of duty, so as never under any temptation
to swerve from it an inch, we shall have ample reason to be grateful
and contented.
'I do not pretend to say that I am always contented. A governess
must often submit to have the heartache. My employers, Mr. and Mrs.
White, are kind worthy people in their way, but the children are
indulged. I have great difficulties to contend with sometimes.
Perseverance will perhaps conquer them. And it has gratified me much
to find that the parents are well satisfied with their children's
improvement in learning since I came. But I am dwelling too much
upon my own concerns and feelings. It is true they are interesting
to me, but it is wholly impossible they should be so to you, and,
therefore, I hope you will skip the last page, for I repent having
written it.
'A fortnight since I had a letter from Ellen urging me to go to
Brookroyd for a single day. I felt such a longing to have a respite
from labour, and to get once more amongst "old familiar faces," that
I conquered diffidence and asked Mrs. White to let me go. She
complied, and I went accordingly, and had a most delightful holiday.
I saw your mother, your sisters Mercy, Ellen, and poor Sarah, and
your brothers Richard and George--all were well. Ellen talked of
endeavouring to get a situation somewhere. I did not encourage the
idea much. I advised her rather to go to Earnley for a while. I
think she wants a change, and I dare say you would be glad to have
her as a companion for a few months.--I remain, yours respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
The above letter was written to Miss Nussey's brother, whose attachment
to Charlotte Bronte has already more than once been mentioned in the
current biographies. The following letter to Miss Nussey is peculiarly
interesting because of the reference to Ireland. It would have been
strange if Charlotte Bronte had returned as a governess to her father's
native land. Speculation thereon is sufficiently foolish, and yet one is
tempted to ask if Ireland might not have gained some of that local
literary colour--one of its greatest needs--which always makes Scotland
dear to the readers of _Waverley_, and Yorkshire classic ground to the
admirers of _Shirley_.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, _June_ 10_th_, 1841.
'DEAR NELL,--If I don't scrawl you a line of some sort I know you
will begin to fancy that I neglect you, in spite of all I said last
time we met. You can hardly fancy it possible, I dare say, that I
cannot find a quarter of an hour to scribble a note in; but when a
note is written it is to be carried a mile to the post, and consumes
nearly an hour, which is a large portion of the day. Mr. and Mrs.
White have been gone a week. I heard from them this morning; they
are now at Hexham. No time is fixed for their return, but I hope it
will not be delayed long, or I shall miss the chance of seeing Anne
this vacation. She came home, I understand, last Wednesday, and is
only to be allowed three weeks' holidays, because the family she is
with are going to Scarborough. I should like to see her to judge for
myself of the state of her health. I cannot trust any other person's
report, no one seems minute enough in their observations. I should
also very much have liked you to see her.
'I have got on very well with the servants and children so far, yet
it is dreary, solitary work. You can tell as well as me the lonely
feeling of being without a companion. I offered the Irish concern to
Mary Taylor, but she is so circumstanced that she cannot accept it.
Her brothers have a feeling of pride that revolts at the thought of
their sister "going out." I hardly knew that it was such a
degradation till lately.
'Your visit did me much good. I wish Mary Taylor would come, and yet
I hardly know how to find time to be with her. Good-bye. God bless
you.
'C. BRONTE.
'I am very well, and I continue to get to bed before twelve o'clock
P.M. I don't tell people that I am dissatisfied with my situation.
I can drive on; there is no use in complaining. I have lost my
chance of going to Ireland.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 1_st_, 1841.
'DEAR NELL,--I was not at home when I got your letter, but I am at
home now, and it feels like paradise. I came last night. When I
asked for a vacation, Mrs. White offered me a week or ten days, but I
demanded three weeks, and stood to my tackle with a tenacity worthy
of yourself, lassie. I gained the point, but I don't like such
victories. I have gained another point. You are unanimously
requested to come here next Tuesday and stay as long as you can.
Aunt is in high good-humour. I need not write a long
letter.--Good-bye, dear Nell.
'C. B.
'_P.S._--I have lost the chance of seeing Anne. She is gone back to
"The land of Egypt and the house of bondage." Also, little black Tom
is dead. Every cup, however sweet, has its drop of bitterness in it.
Probably you will be at a loss to ascertain the identity of black
Tom, but don't fret about it, I'll tell you when you come. Keeper is
as well, big, and grim as ever. I'm too happy to write. Come, come,
lassie.'
It must have been during this holiday that the resolution concerning a
school of their own assumed definite shape. Miss Wooler talked of giving
up Dewsbury Moor--should Charlotte and Emily take it? Charlotte's
recollections of her illness there settled the question in the negative,
and Brussels was coming to the front.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, _October_ 17_th_, 1841.
'DEAR NELL,--It is a cruel thing of you to be always upbraiding me
when I am a trifle remiss or so in writing a letter. I see I can't
make you comprehend that I have not quite as much time on my hands as
Miss Harris or Mrs. Mills. I never neglect you on purpose. I could
not _do_ it, you little teazing, faithless wretch.
'The humour I am in is worse than words can describe. I have had a
hideous dinner of some abominable spiced-up indescribable mess and it
has exasperated me against the world at large. So you are coming
home, are you? Then don't expect me to write a long letter. I am
not going to Dewsbury Moor, as far as I can see at present. It was a
decent friendly proposal on Miss Wooler's part, and cancels all or
most of her little foibles, in my estimation; but Dewsbury Moor is a
poisoned place to me; besides, I burn to go somewhere else. I think,
Nell, I see a chance of getting to Brussels. Mary Taylor advises me
to this step. My own mind and feelings urge me. I can't write a
word more.
'C. B.'
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON,
'_Nov_. 7_th_, 1841.
'DEAR E. J.,--You are not to suppose that this note is written with a
view of communicating any information on the subject we both have
considerably at heart: I have written letters but I have received no
letters in reply yet. Belgium is a long way off, and people are
everywhere hard to spur up to the proper speed. Mary Taylor says we
can scarcely expect to get off before January. I have wished and
intended to write to both Anne and Branwell, but really I have not
had time.
'Mr. Jenkins I find was mistakenly termed the British Consul at
Brussels; he is in fact the English Episcopal clergyman.
'I think perhaps we shall find that the best plan will be for papa to
write a letter to him by and bye, but not yet. I will give an
intimation when this should be done, and also some idea of what had
best be said. Grieve not over Dewsbury Moor. You were cut out there
to all intents and purposes, so in fact was Anne, Miss Wooler would
hear of neither for the first half year.
'Anne seems omitted in the present plan, but if all goes right I
trust she will derive her full share of benefit from it in the end.
I exhort all to hope. I believe in my heart this is acting for the
best, my only fear is lest others should doubt and be dismayed.
Before our half year in Brussels is completed, you and I will have to
seek employment abroad. It is not my intention to retrace my steps
home till twelve months, if all continues well and we and those at
home retain good health.
'I shall probably take my leave of Upperwood about the 15th or 17th
of December. When does Anne talk of returning? How is she? What
does W. W. {92} say to these matters? How are papa and aunt, do they
flag? How will Anne get on with Martha? Has W. W. been seen or
heard of lately? Love to all. Write quickly.--Good-bye.
'C. BRONTE.
'I am well.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'RAWDON, _December_ 10_th_, 1841.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I hear from Mary Taylor that you are come home, and
also that you have been ill. If you are able to write comfortably,
let me know the feelings that preceded your illness, and also its
effects. I wish to see you. Mary Taylor reports that your looks are
much as usual. I expect to get back to Haworth in the course of a
fortnight or three weeks. I hope I shall then see you. I would
rather you came to Haworth than I went to Brookroyd. My plans
advance slowly and I am not yet certain where I shall go, or what I
shall do when I leave Upperwood House. Brussels is still my promised
land, but there is still the wilderness of time and space to cross
before I reach it. I am not likely, I think, to go to the Chateau de
Kockleberg. I have heard of a less expensive establishment. So far
I had written when I received your letter. I was glad to get it.
Why don't you mention your illness. I had intended to have got this
note off two or three days past, but I am more straitened for time
than ever just now. We have gone to bed at twelve or one o'clock
during the last three nights. I must get this scrawl off to-day or
you will think me negligent. The new governess, that is to be, has
been to see my plans, etc. My dear Ellen, Good-bye.--Believe me, in
heart and soul, your sincere friend,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_December_ 17_th_, 1841.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I am yet uncertain when I shall leave Upperwood, but
of one thing I am very certain, when I do leave I must go straight
home. It is absolutely necessary that some definite arrangement
should be commenced for our future plans before I go visiting
anywhere. That I wish to see you I know, that I intend and _hope_ to
see you before long I also know, that you will at the first impulse
accuse me of neglect, I fear, that upon consideration you will acquit
me, I devoutly trust. Dear Ellen, come to Haworth if you can, if you
cannot I will endeavour to come for a day at least to Brookroyd, but
do not depend on this--come to Haworth. I thank you for Mr. Jenkins'
address. You always think of other people's convenience, however ill
and affected you are yourself. How very much I wish to see you, you
do not know; but if I were to go to Brookroyd now, it would deeply
disappoint those at home. I have some hopes of seeing Branwell at
Xmas, and when I shall be able to see him afterwards I cannot tell.
He has never been at home for the last five months.--Good-night, dear
Ellen,
'C. B.'
TO MISS MERCY NUSSEY
'RAWDON, _December_ 17_th_.
'MY DEAR MISS MERCY,--Though I am very much engaged I must find time
to thank you for the kind and polite contents of your note. I should
act in the manner most consonant with my own feelings if I at once,
and without qualification, accepted your invitation. I do not
however consider it advisable to indulge myself so far at present.
When I leave Upperwood I must go straight home. Whether I shall
afterwards have time to pay a short visit to Brookroyd I do not yet
know--circumstances must determine that. I would fain see Ellen at
Haworth instead; our visitations are not shared with any show of
justice. It shocked me very much to hear of her illness--may it be
the first and last time she ever experiences such an attack! Ellen,
I fear, has thought I neglected her, in not writing sufficiently long
or frequent letters. It is a painful idea to me that she has had
this feeling--it could not be more groundless. I know her value, and
I would not lose her affection for any probable compensation I can
imagine. Remember me to your mother. I trust she will soon regain
her health.--Believe me, my dear Miss Mercy, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 10_th_, 1842.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--Will you write as soon as you get this and fix your
own day for coming to Haworth? I got home on Christmas Eve. The
parting scene between me and my late employers was such as to efface
the memory of much that annoyed me while I was there, but indeed,
during the whole of the last six months they only made too much of
me. Anne has rendered herself so valuable in her difficult situation
that they have entreated her to return to them, if it be but for a
short time. I almost think she will go back, if we can get a good
servant who will do all our work. We want one about forty or fifty
years old, good-tempered, clean, and honest. You shall hear all
about Brussels, etc., when you come. Mr. Weightman is still here,
just the same as ever. I have a curiosity to see a meeting between
you and him. He will be again desperately in love, I am convinced.
_Come_.
'C. B.' {95}
CHAPTER IV: THE PENSIONNAT HEGER, BRUSSELS
Had not the impulse come to Charlotte Bronte to add somewhat to her
scholastic accomplishments by a sojourn in Brussels, our literature would
have lost that powerful novel _Villette_, and the singularly charming
_Professor_. The impulse came from the persuasion that without
'languages' the school project was an entirely hopeless one. Mary and
Martha Taylor were at Brussels, staying with friends, and thence they had
sent kindly presents to Charlotte, at this time raging under the yoke of
governess at Upperwood House. Charlotte wrote the diplomatic letter to
her aunt which ended so satisfactorily. {96} The good lady--Miss
Branwell was then about sixty years of age--behaved handsomely by her
nieces, and it was agreed that Charlotte and Emily were to go to the
Continent, Anne retaining her post of governess with Mrs. Robinson at
Thorp Green. But Brussels schools did not seem at the first blush to be
very satisfactory. Something better promised at Lille.
Here is a letter written at this period of hesitation and doubt. A
portion of it only was printed by Mrs. Gaskell.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 20_th_, 1842.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I cannot quite enter into your friends' reasons for not
permitting you to come to Haworth; but as it is at present, and in
all human probability will be for an indefinite time to come,
impossible for me to get to Brookroyd, the balance of accounts is not
so unequal as it might otherwise be. We expect to leave England in
less than three weeks, but we are not yet certain of the day, as it
will depend upon the convenience of a French lady now in London,
Madame Marzials, under whose escort we are to sail. Our place of
destination is changed. Papa received an unfavourable account from
Mr. or rather Mrs. Jenkins of the French schools in Brussels, and on
further inquiry, an Institution in Lille, in the North of France, was
recommended by Baptist Noel and other clergymen, and to that place it
is decided that we are to go. The terms are fifty pounds for each
pupil for board and French alone.
'I considered it kind in aunt to consent to an extra sum for a
separate room. We shall find it a great privilege in many ways. I
regret the change from Brussels to Lille on many accounts, chiefly
that I shall not see Martha Taylor. Mary has been indefatigably kind
in providing me with information. She has grudged no labour, and
scarcely any expense, to that end. Mary's price is above rubies. I
have, in fact, two friends--you and her--staunch and true, in whose
faith and sincerity I have as strong a belief as I have in the Bible.
I have bothered you both, you especially; but you always get the
tongs and heap coals of fire upon my head. I have had letters to
write lately to Brussels, to Lille, and to London. I have lots of
chemises, night-gowns, pocket-handkerchiefs, and pockets to make,
besides clothes to repair. I have been, every week since I came
home, expecting to see Branwell, and he has never been able to get
over yet. We fully expect him, however, next Saturday. Under these
circumstances how can I go visiting? You tantalise me to death with
talking of conversations by the fireside. Depend upon it, we are not
to have any such for many a long month to come. I get an interesting
impression of old age upon my face, and when you see me next I shall
certainly wear caps and spectacles.--Yours affectionately,
'C. B.'
This Mr. Jenkins was chaplain to the British Embassy at Brussels, and not
Consul, as Charlotte at first supposed. The brother of his wife was a
clergyman living in the neighbourhood of Haworth. Mr. Jenkins, whose
English Episcopal chapel Charlotte attended during her stay in Brussels,
finally recommended the Pensionnat Heger in the Rue d'Isabelle. Madame
Heger wrote, accepting the two girls as pupils, and to Brussels their
father escorted them in February 1842, staying one night at the house of
Mr. Jenkins and then returning to Haworth.
The life of Charlotte Bronte at Brussels has been mirrored for us with
absolute accuracy in _Villette_ and _The Professor_. That, indeed, from
the point of view of local colour, is made sufficiently plain to the
casual visitor of to-day who calls in the Rue d'Isabelle. The house, it
is true, is dismantled with a view to its incorporation into some city
buildings in the background, but one may still eat pears from the 'old
and huge fruit-trees' which flourished when Charlotte and Emily walked
under them half a century ago; one may still wander through the
school-rooms, the long dormitories, and into the 'vine-draped
_berceau_'--little enough is changed within and without. Here is the
dormitory with its twenty beds, the two end ones being occupied by Emily
and Charlotte, they alone securing the privilege of age or English
eccentricity to curtain off their beds from the gaze of the eighteen
girls who shared the room with them. The crucifix, indeed, has been
removed from the niche in the _Oratoire_ where the children offered up
prayer every morning; but with a copy of _Villette_ in hand it is
possible to restore every feature of the place, not excluding the
adjoining Athenee with its small window overlooking the garden of the
Pensionnat and the _allee defendu_. It was from this window that Mr.
Crimsworth of _The Professor_ looked down upon the girls at play. It was
here, indeed, at the Royal Athenee, that M. Heger was Professor of Latin.
Externally, then, the Pensionnat Heger remains practically the same as it
appeared to Charlotte and Emily Bronte in February 1842, when they made
their first appearance in Brussels. The Rue Fossette of _Villette_, the
Rue d'Isabelle of _The Professor_, is the veritable Rue d'Isabelle of
Currer Bell's experience.
What, however, shall we say of the people who wandered through these
rooms and gardens--the hundred or more children, the three or four
governesses, the professor and his wife? Here there has been much
speculation and not a little misreading of the actual facts. Charlotte
and Emily went to Brussels to learn. They did learn with energy. It was
their first experience of foreign travel, and it came too late in life
for them to enter into it with that breadth of mind and tolerance of the
customs of other lands, lacking which the Englishman abroad is always an
offence. Charlotte and Emily hated the land and people. They had been
brought up ultra-Protestants. Their father was an Ulster man, and his
one venture into the polemics of his age was to attack the proposals for
Catholic emancipation. With this inheritance of intolerance, how could
Charlotte and Emily face with kindliness the Romanism which they saw
around them? How heartily they disapproved of it many a picture in
_Villette_ has made plain to us.
Charlotte had been in Brussels three months when she made the friendship
to which I am indebted for anything that there may be to add to this
episode in her life. Miss Laetitia Wheelwright was one of five sisters,
the daughters of a doctor in Lower Phillimore Place, Kensington. Dr.
Wheelwright went to Brussels for his health and for his children's
education. The girls were day boarders at the Pensionnat, but they lived
in the house for a full month or more at a time when their father and
mother were on a trip up the Rhine. Otherwise their abode was a flat in
the Hotel Clusyenaar in the Rue Royale, and there during her later stay
in Brussels Charlotte frequently paid them visits. In this earlier
period Charlotte and Emily were too busy with their books to think of
'calls' and the like frivolities, and it must be confessed also that at
this stage Laetitia Wheelwright would have thought it too high a price
for a visit from Charlotte to receive as a fellow-guest the apparently
unamiable Emily. Miss Wheelwright, who was herself fourteen years of age
when she entered the Pensionnat Heger, recalls the two sisters, thin and
sallow-looking, pacing up and down the garden, friendless and alone. It
was the sight of Laetitia standing up in the class-room and glancing
round with a semi-contemptuous air at all these Belgian girls which
attracted Charlotte Bronte to her. 'It was so very English,' Miss Bronte
laughingly remarked at a later period to her friend. There was one other
English girl at this time of sufficient age to be companionable; but with
Miss Maria Miller, whom Charlotte Bronte has depicted under the guise of
Ginevra Fanshawe, she had less in common. In later years Miss Miller
became Mrs. Robertson, the wife of an author in one form or another.
To Miss Wheelwright, and those of her sisters who are still living, the
descriptions of the Pensionnat Heger which are given in _Villette_ and
_The Professor_ are perfectly accurate. M. Heger, with his heavy black
moustache and his black hair, entering the class-room of an evening to
read to his pupils was a sufficiently familiar object, and his keen
intelligence amounting almost to genius had affected the Wheelwright
girls as forcibly as it had done the Brontes. Mme. Heger, again, for
ever peeping from behind doors and through the plate-glass partitions
which separate the passages from the school-rooms, was a constant source
of irritation to all the English pupils. This prying and spying is, it
is possible, more of a fine art with the school-mistresses of the
Continent than with those of our own land. In any case, Mme. Heger was
an accomplished spy, and in the midst of the most innocent work or
recreation the pupils would suddenly see a pair of eyes pierce the dusk
and disappear. This, and a hundred similar trifles, went to build up an
antipathy on both sides, which had, however, scarcely begun when
Charlotte and Emily were suddenly called home by their aunt's death in
October. A letter to Miss Nussey on her return sufficiently explains the
situation.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 10_th_, 1842.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I was not yet returned to England when your letter
arrived. We received the first news of aunt's illness, Wednesday,
Nov. 2nd. We decided to come home directly. Next morning a second
letter informed us of her death. We sailed from Antwerp on Sunday;
we travelled day and night and got home on Tuesday morning--and of
course the funeral and all was over. We shall see her no more. Papa
is pretty well. We found Anne at home; she is pretty well also. You
say you have had no letter from me for a long time. I wrote to you
three weeks ago. When you answer this note, I will write to you more
in detail. Aunt, Martha Taylor, and Mr. Weightman are now all gone;
how dreary and void everything seems. Mr. Weightman's illness was
exactly what Martha's was--he was ill the same length of time and
died in the same manner. Aunt's disease was internal obstruction;
she also was ill a fortnight.
'Good-bye, my dear Ellen.
'C. BRONTE.'
The aunt whose sudden death brought Charlotte and Emily Bronte thus
hastily from Brussels to Haworth must have been a very sensible woman in
the main. She left her money to those of her nieces who most needed it.
A perusal of her will is not without interest, and indeed it will be seen
that it clears up one or two errors into which Mrs. Gaskell and
subsequent biographers have rashly fallen through failing to expend the
necessary half-guinea upon a copy. This is it:--
Extracted from the District Probate Registry at York attached to Her
Majesty's High Court of Justice.
_Depending on the Father_, _Son_, _and Holy Ghost for peace here_,
_and glory and bliss forever hereafter_, _I leave this my last Will
and Testament_: _Should I die at Haworth_, _I request that my remains
may be deposited in the church in that place as near as convenient to
the remains of my dear sister_; _I moreover will that all my just
debts and funeral expenses be paid out of my property_, _and that my
funeral shall be conducted in a moderate and decent manner_. _My
Indian workbox I leave to my niece_, _Charlotte Bronte_; _my workbox
with a china top I leave to my niece_, _Emily Jane Bronte_, _together
with my ivory fan_; _my Japan dressing-box I leave to my nephew_,
_Patrick Branwell Bronte_; _to my niece Anne Bronte_, _I leave my
watch with all that belongs to it_; _as also my eye-glass and its
chain_, _my rings_, _silver-spoons_, _books_, _clothes_, _etc._,
_etc._, _I leave to be divided between my above-named three nieces_,
_Charlotte Bronte_, _Emily Jane Bronte_, _and Anne Bronte_,
_according as their father shall think proper_. _And I will that all
the money that shall remain_, _including twenty-five pounds
sterling_, _being the part of the proceeds of the sale of my goods
which belong to me in consequence of my having advanced to my sister
Kingston the sum of twenty-five pounds in lieu of her share of the
proceeds of my goods aforesaid_, _and deposited in the bank of
Bolitho Sons and Co._, _Esqrs._, _of Chiandower_, _near Penzance_,
_after the aforesaid sums and articles shall have been paid and
deducted_, _shall be put into some safe bank or lent on good landed
security_, _and there left to accumulate for the sole benefit of my
four nieces_, _Charlotte Bronte_, _Emily Jane Bronte_, _Anne Bronte_,
_and Elizabeth Jane Kingston_; _and this sum or sums_, _and whatever
other property I may have_, _shall be equally divided between them
when the youngest of them then living shall have arrived at the age
of twenty-one years_. _And should any one or more of these my four
nieces die_, _her or their part or parts shall be equally divided
amongst the survivors_; _and if but one is left_, _all shall go to
that one_: _And should they all die before the age of twenty-one
years_, _all their parts shall be given to my sister_, _Anne
Kingston_; _and should she die before that time specified_, _I will
that all that was to have been hers shall be equally divided between
all the surviving children of my dear brother and sisters_. _I
appoint my brother-in-law_, _the Rev. P. Bronte_, A.B., _now
Incumbent of Haworth_, _Yorkshire_; _the Rev. John Fennell_, _now
Incumbent of Cross Stone_, _near Halifax_; _the Rev. Theodore Dury_,
_Rector of Keighley_, _Yorkshire_; _and Mr. George Taylor of
Stanbury_, _in the chapelry of Haworth aforesaid_, _my executors_.
_Written by me_, ELIZABETH BRANWELL, _and signed_, _sealed_, _and
delivered on the_ 30_th_ _of April_, _in the year of our Lord one
thousand eight hundred and thirty-three_, ELIZABETH BRANWELL.
_Witnesses present_, _William Brown_, _John Tootill_, _William
Brown_, _Junr_.
_The twenty-eighth day of December_, 1842, _the Will of_ ELIZABETH
BRANWELL, _late of Haworth_, _in the parish of Bradford_, _in the
county of York_, _spinster (having bona notabilia within the province
of York_). _Deceased was proved in the prerogative court of York by
the oaths of the Reverend Patrick Bronte_, _clerk_, _brother-in-law_;
_and George Taylor_, _two of the executors to whom administration was
granted_ (_the Reverend Theodore Dury_, _another of the executors_,
_having renounced_), _they having been first sworn duly to
administer_.
Effects sworn under 1500 pounds.
Testatrix died 29th October 1842.
Now hear Mrs. Gaskell:--
_The small property_, _which she had accumulated by dint of personal
frugality and self-denial_, _was bequeathed to her nieces_.
_Branwell_, _her darling_, _was to have had his share_, _but his
reckless expenditure had distressed the good old lady_, _and his name
was omitted in her will_.
A perusal of the will in question indicates that it was made in 1833,
before Branwell had paid his first visit to London, and when, as all his
family supposed, he was on the high road to fame and fortune as an
artist. The old lady doubtless thought that the boy would be able to
take good care of himself. She had, indeed, other nieces down in
Cornwall, but with the general sympathy of her friends and relatives in
Penzance, Elizabeth Jane Kingston, who it was thought would want it most,
was to have a share. Had the Kingston girl, her mother, and the Bronte
girls all died before him, the boy Branwell, it will be seen, would have
shared the property with his Branwell cousins in Penzance, of whom two
are still alive. In any case, Branwell's name was mentioned, and he
received 'my Japan dressing-box,' whatever that may have been worth.
Three or four letters, above and beyond these already published, were
written by Charlotte to her friend in the interval between Miss
Branwell's death and her return to Brussels; and she paid a visit to Miss
Nussey at Brookroyd, and it was returned.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 20_th_, 1842.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I hope your brother is sufficiently recovered now to
dispense with your constant attendance. Papa desires his compliments
to you, and says he should be very glad if you could give us your
company at Haworth a little while. Can you come on Friday next? I
mention so early a day because Anne leaves us to return to York on
Monday, and she wishes very much to see you before her departure. I
think your brother is too good-natured to object to your coming.
There is little enough pleasure in this world, and it would be truly
unkind to deny to you and me that of meeting again after so long a
separation. Do not fear to find us melancholy or depressed. We are
all much as usual. You will see no difference from our former
demeanour. Send an immediate answer.
'My love and best wishes to your sister and mother.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 25_th_, 1842.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I hope that invitation of yours was given in real
earnest, for I intend to accept it. I wish to see you, and as in a
few weeks I shall probably again leave England, I will not be too
delicate and ceremonious and so let the present opportunity pass.
Something says to me that it will not be too convenient to have a
guest at Brookroyd while there is an invalid there--however, I listen
to no such suggestions. Anne leaves Haworth on Tuesday at 6 o'clock
in the morning, and we should reach Bradford at half-past eight.
There are many reasons why I should have preferred your coming to
Haworth, but as it appears there are always obstacles which prevent
that, I'll break through ceremony, or pride, or whatever it is, and,
like Mahomet, go to the mountain which won't or can't come to me.
The coach stops at the Bowling Green Inn, in Bradford. Give my love
to your sister and mother.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 10_th_, 1843.
'DEAR NELL,--It is a singular state of things to be obliged to write
and have nothing worth reading to say. I am glad you got home safe.
You are an excellent good girl for writing to me two letters,
especially as they were such long ones. Branwell wants to know why
you carefully exclude all mention of him when you particularly send
your regards to every other member of the family. He desires to know
whether and in what he has offended you, or whether it is considered
improper for a young lady to mention the gentlemen of a house. We
have been one walk on the moors since you left. We have been to
Keighley, where we met a person of our acquaintance, who uttered an
interjection of astonishment on meeting us, and when he could get his
breath, informed us that he had heard I was dead and buried.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 15_th_, 1843.
'DEAR NELL,--I am much obliged to you for transferring the roll of
muslin. Last Saturday I found the other gift, for which you deserve
smothering. I will deliver Branwell your message. You have left
your Bible--how can I send it? I cannot tell precisely what day I
leave home, but it will be the last week in this month. Are you
going with me? I admire exceedingly the costume you have chosen to
appear in at the Birstall rout. I think you say pink petticoat,
black jacket, and a wreath of roses--beautiful! For a change I would
advise a black coat, velvet stock and waistcoat, white pantaloons,
and smart boots. Address Rue d'Isabelle. Write to me again, that's
a good girl, very soon. Respectful remembrances to your mother and
sister.
'C. BRONTE.'
Then she is in Brussels again, as the following letter indicates.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'BRUSSELS, _January_ 30_th_, 1843.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I left Leeds for London last Friday at nine o'clock;
owing to delay we did not reach London till ten at night--two hours
after time. I took a cab the moment I arrived at Euston Square, and
went forthwith to London Bridge Wharf. The packet lay off that
wharf, and I went on board the same night. Next morning we sailed.
We had a prosperous and speedy voyage, and landed at Ostend at seven
o'clock next morning. I took the train at twelve and reached Rue
d'Isabelle at seven in the evening. Madame Heger received me with
great kindness. I am still tired with the continued excitement of
three days' travelling. I had no accident, but of course some
anxiety. Miss Dixon called this afternoon. {107} Mary Taylor had
told her I should be in Brussels the last week in January. I am
going there on Sunday, D.V. Address--Miss Bronte, Chez Mme. Heger,
32 Rue d'Isabelle, Bruxelles.--Good-bye, dear.
'C. B.'
This second visit of Charlotte Bronte to Brussels has given rise to much
speculation, some of it of not the pleasantest kind. It is well to face
the point bluntly, for it has been more than once implied that Charlotte
Bronte was in love with M. Heger, as her prototype Lucy Snowe was in love
with Paul Emanuel. The assumption, which is absolutely groundless, has
had certain plausible points in its favour, not the least obvious, of
course, being the inclination to read autobiography into every line of
Charlotte Bronte's writings. Then there is a passage in a printed letter
to Miss Nussey which has been quoted as if to bear out this suggestion:
'I returned to Brussels after aunt's death,' she writes, 'against my
conscience, prompted by what then seemed an irresistible impulse. I was
punished for my selfish folly by a total withdrawal for more than two
years of happiness and peace of mind.'
It is perfectly excusable for a man of the world, unacquainted with
qualifying facts, to assume that for these two years Charlotte Bronte's
heart was consumed with an unquenchable love for her professor--held in
restraint, no doubt, as the most censorious admit, but sufficiently
marked to secure the jealousy and ill-will of Madame Heger. Madame Heger
and her family, it must be admitted, have kept this impression afloat.
Madame Heger refused to see Mrs. Gaskell when she called upon her in the
Rue d'Isabelle; and her daughters will tell you that their father broke
off his correspondence with Miss Bronte because his favourite English
pupil showed an undue extravagance of devotion. 'Her attachment after
her return to Yorkshire,' to quote a recent essay on the subject, 'was
expressed in her frequent letters in a tone that her Brussels friends
considered it not only prudent but kind to check. She was warned by them
that the exaltation these letters betrayed needed to be toned down and
replaced by what was reasonable. She was further advised to write only
once in six months, and then to limit the subject of her letters to her
own health and that of her family, and to a plain account of her
circumstances and occupations.' {109a} Now to all this I do not hesitate
to give an emphatic contradiction, a contradiction based upon the only
independent authority available. Miss Laetitia Wheelwright and her
sisters saw much of Charlotte Bronte during this second sojourn in
Brussels, and they have a quite different tale to tell. That misgiving
of Charlotte, by the way, which weighed so heavily upon her mind
afterwards, was due to the fact that she had left her father practically
unprotected from the enticing company of a too festive curate. He gave
himself up at this time to a very copious whisky drinking, from which
Charlotte's home-coming speedily rescued him. {109b}
Madame Heger did indeed hate Charlotte Bronte in her later years. This
is not unnatural when we remember how that unfortunate woman has been
gibbeted for all time in the characters of Mlle. Zoraide Reuter and
Madame Beck. But in justice to the creator of these scathing portraits,
it may be mentioned that Charlotte Bronte took every precaution to
prevent _Villette_ from obtaining currency in the city which inspired it.
She told Miss Wheelwright, with whom naturally, on her visits to London,
she often discussed the Brussels life, that she had received a promise
that there should be no translation, and that the book would never appear
in the French language. One cannot therefore fix upon Charlotte Bronte
any responsibility for the circumstance that immediately after her death
the novel appeared in the only tongue understood by Madame Heger.
Miss Wheelwright informs me that Charlotte Bronte did certainly admire M.
Heger, as did all his pupils, very heartily. Charlotte's first
impression, indeed, was not flattering: 'He is professor of rhetoric, a
man of power as to mind, but very choleric and irritable in temperament;
a little black being, with a face that varies in expression. Sometimes
he borrows the lineaments of an insane tom-cat, sometimes those of a
delirious hyena; occasionally, but very seldom, he discards these
perilous attractions and assumes an air not above 100 degrees removed
from mild and gentleman-like.' But he was particularly attentive to
Charlotte; and as he was the first really intelligent man she had met,
the first man, that is to say, with intellectual interests--for we know
how much she despised the curates of her neighbourhood--she rejoiced at
every opportunity of doing verbal battle with him, for Charlotte
inherited, it may be said, the Irish love of debate. Some time after
Charlotte had returned to England, and when in the height of her fame,
she met her Brussels school-fellow in London. Miss Wheelwright asked her
whether she still corresponded with M. Heger. Charlotte replied that she
had discontinued to do so. M. Heger had mentioned in one letter that his
wife did not like the correspondence, and he asked her therefore to
address her letters to the Royal Athenee, where, as I have mentioned, he
gave lessons to the boys. 'I stopped writing at once,' Charlotte told
her friend. 'I would not have dreamt of writing to him when I found it
was disagreeable to his wife; certainly I would not write unknown to
her.' 'She said this,' Miss Wheelwright adds, 'with the sincerity of
manner which characterised her every utterance, and I would sooner have
doubted myself than her.' Let, then, this silly and offensive imputation
be now and for ever dismissed from the minds of Charlotte Bronte's
admirers, if indeed it had ever lodged there. {110}
Charlotte had not visited the Wheelwrights in the Rue Royale during her
first visit to Brussels. She had found the companionship of Emily
all-sufficing, and Emily was not sufficiently popular with the
Wheelwrights to have made her a welcome guest. They admitted her
cleverness, but they considered her hard, unsympathetic, and abrupt in
manner. We know that she was self-contained and homesick, pining for her
native moors. This was not evident to a girl of ten, the youngest of the
Wheelwright children, who was compelled to receive daily a music lesson
from Emily in her play-hours. When, however, Charlotte came back to
Brussels alone she was heartily welcomed into two or three English
families, including those of Mr. Dixon, of the Rev. Mr. Jenkins, and of
Dr. Wheelwright. With the Wheelwright children she sometimes spent the
Sunday, and with them she occasionally visited the English Episcopal
church which the Wheelwrights attended, and of which the clergyman was a
Mr. Drury. When Dr. Wheelwright took his wife for a Rhine trip in May he
left his four children--one little girl had died at Brussels, aged seven,
in the preceding November--in the care of Madame Heger at the Pensionnat,
and under the immediate supervision of Charlotte.
At this period there was plenty of cheerfulness in her life. She was
learning German. She was giving English lessons to M. Heger and to his
brother-in-law, M. Chappelle. She went to the Carnival, and described it
'animating to see the immense crowds and the general gaiety.' 'Whenever
I turn back,' she writes, 'to compare what I am with what I was, my place
here with my place at Mrs. Sidgwick's or Mrs. White's, I am thankful.'
In a letter to her brother, however, we find the darker side of the
picture. It reveals many things apart from what is actually written
down. In this, the only letter to Branwell that I have been able to
discover, apart from one written in childhood, it appears that the
brother and sister are upon very confidential terms. Up to this time, at
any rate, Branwell's conduct had not excited any apprehension as to his
future, and the absence of any substantial place in his aunt's will was
clearly not due to misconduct. Branwell was now under the same roof as
his sister Anne, having obtained an appointment as tutor to young Edmund
Robinson at Thorp Green, near York, where Anne was governess. The letter
is unsigned, concluding playfully with 'yourn; and the initials follow a
closing message to Anne on the same sheet of paper.
TO BRANWELL BRONTE
'BRUSSELS, _May_ 1_st_, 1843.
'DEAR BRANWELL,--I hear you have written a letter to me. This
letter, however, as usual, I have never received, which I am
exceedingly sorry for, as I have wished very much to hear from you.
Are you sure that you put the right address and that you paid the
English postage, 1s. 6d.? Without that, letters are never forwarded.
I heard from papa a day or two since. All appears to be going on
reasonably well at home. I grieve only that Emily is so solitary;
but, however, you and Anne will soon be returning for the holidays,
which will cheer the house for a time. Are you in better health and
spirits, and does Anne continue to be pretty well? I understand papa
has been to see you. Did he seem cheerful and well? Mind when you
write to me you answer these questions, as I wish to know. Also give
me a detailed account as to how you get on with your pupil and the
rest of the family. I have received a general assurance that you do
well and are in good odour, but I want to know particulars.
'As for me, I am very well and wag on as usual. I perceive, however,
that I grow exceedingly misanthropic and sour. You will say that
this is no news, and that you never knew me possessed of the contrary
qualities--philanthropy and sugariness. _Das ist wahr_ (which being
translated means, that is true); but the fact is, the people here are
no go whatsoever. Amongst 120 persons which compose the daily
population of this house, I can discern only one or two who deserve
anything like regard. This is not owing to foolish fastidiousness on
my part, but to the absence of decent qualities on theirs. They have
not intellect or politeness or good-nature or good-feeling. They are
nothing. I don't hate them--hatred would be too warm a feeling.
They have no sensations themselves and they excite none. But one
wearies from day to day of caring nothing, fearing nothing, liking
nothing, hating nothing, being nothing, doing nothing--yes, I teach
and sometimes get red in the face with impatience at their stupidity.
But don't think I ever scold or fly into a passion. If I spoke
warmly, as warmly as I sometimes used to do at Roe-Head, they would
think me mad. Nobody ever gets into a passion here. Such a thing is
not known. The phlegm that thickens their blood is too gluey to
boil. They are very false in their relations with each other, but
they rarely quarrel, and friendship is a folly they are unacquainted
with. The black Swan, M. Heger, is the only sole veritable exception
to this rule (for Madame, always cool and always reasoning, is not
quite an exception). But I rarely speak to Monsieur now, for not
being a pupil I have little or nothing to do with him. From time to
time he shows his kind-heartedness by loading me with books, so that
I am still indebted to him for all the pleasure or amusement I have.
Except for the total want of companionship I have nothing to complain
of. I have not too much to do, sufficient liberty, and I am rarely
interfered with. I lead an easeful, stagnant, silent life, for
which, when I think of Mrs. Sidgwick, I ought to be very thankful.
Be sure you write to me soon, and beg of Anne to inclose a small
billet in the same letter; it will be a real charity to do me this
kindness. Tell me everything you can think of.
'It is a curious metaphysical fact that always in the evening when I
am in the great dormitory alone, having no other company than a
number of beds with white curtains, I always recur as fanatically as
ever to the old ideas, the old faces, and the old scenes in the world
below.
'Give my love to Anne.--And believe me, yourn
'DEAR ANNE,--Write to me.--Your affectionate Schwester,
'C. B.
'Mr. Heger has just been in and given me a little German Testament as
a present. I was surprised, for since a good many days he has hardly
spoken to me.'
A little later she writes to Emily in similar strain.
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'BRUSSELS, _May_ 29_th_, 1843.
'DEAR E. J.,--The reason of the unconscionable demand for money is
explained in my letter to papa. Would you believe it, Mdlle. Muhl
demands as much for one pupil as for two, namely, 10 francs per
month. This, with the 5 francs per month to the Blanchisseuse, makes
havoc in 16 pounds per annum. You will perceive I have begun again
to take German lessons. Things wag on much as usual here. Only
Mdlle. Blanche and Mdlle. Hausse are at present on a system of war
without quarter. They hate each other like two cats. Mdlle. Blanche
frightens Mdlle. Hausse by her white passions (for they quarrel
venomously). Mdlle. Hausse complains that when Mdlle. Blanche is in
fury, "_elle n'a pas de levres_." I find also that Mdlle. Sophie
dislikes Mdlle. Blanche extremely. She says she is heartless,
insincere, and vindictive, which epithets, I assure you, are richly
deserved. Also I find she is the regular spy of Mme. Heger, to whom
she reports everything. Also she invents--which I should not have
thought. I have now the entire charge of the English lessons. I
have given two lessons to the first class. Hortense Jannoy was a
picture on these occasions, her face was black as a "blue-piled
thunder-loft," and her two ears were red as raw beef. To all
questions asked her reply was, "_je ne sais pas_." It is a pity but
her friends could meet with a person qualified to cast out a devil.
I am richly off for companionship in these parts. Of late days, M.
and Mde. Heger rarely speak to me, and I really don't pretend to care
a fig for any body else in the establishment. You are not to suppose
by that expression that I am under the influence of _warm_ affection
for Mde. Heger. I am convinced she does not like me--why, I can't
tell, nor do I think she herself has any definite reason for the
aversion; but for one thing, she cannot comprehend why I do not make
intimate friends of Mesdames Blanche, Sophie, and Hausse. M. Heger
is wonderously influenced by Madame, and I should not wonder if he
disapproves very much of my unamiable want of sociability. He has
already given me a brief lecture on universal _bienveillance_, and,
perceiving that I don't improve in consequence, I fancy he has taken
to considering me as a person to be let alone--left to the error of
her ways; and consequently he has in a great measure withdrawn the
light of his countenance, and I get on from day to day in a
Robinson-Crusoe-like condition--very lonely. That does not signify.
In other respects I have nothing substantial to complain of, nor is
even this a cause for complaint. Except the loss of M. Heger's
goodwill (if I have lost it) I care for none of 'em. I hope you are
well and hearty. Walk out often on the moors. Sorry am I to hear
that Hannah is gone, and that she has left you burdened with the
charge of the little girl, her sister. I hope Tabby will continue to
stay with you--give my love to her. Regards to the fighting gentry,
and to old asthma.--Your
'C. B.
'I have written to Branwell, though I never got a letter from him.'
In August she is still more dissatisfied, but 'I will continue to stay
some months longer, till I have acquired German, and then I hope to see
all your faces again.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'BRUSSELS, _August_ 6_th_, 1843.
'DEAR ELLEN,--You never answered my last letter; but, however,
forgiveness is a part of the Christian Creed, and so having an
opportunity to send a letter to England, I forgive you and write to
you again. Last Sunday afternoon, being at the Chapel Royal, in
Brussels, I was surprised to hear a voice proceed from the pulpit
which instantly brought all Birstall and Batley before my mind's eye.
I could see nothing, but certainly thought that that unclerical
little Welsh pony, Jenkins, was there. I buoyed up my mind with the
expectation of receiving a letter from you, but as, however, I have
got none, I suppose I must have been mistaken.
'C. B.
'Mr. Jenkins has called. He brought no letter from you, but said you
were at Harrogate, and that they could not find the letter you had
intended to send. He informed me of the death of your sister. Poor
Sarah, when I last bid her good-bye I little thought I should never
see her more. Certainly, however, she is happy where she is
gone--far happier than she was here. When the first days of mourning
are past, you will see that you have reason rather to rejoice at her
removal than to grieve for it. Your mother will have felt her death
much--and you also. I fear from the circumstance of your being at
Harrogate that you are yourself ill. Write to me soon.'
It was in September that the incident occurred which has found so
dramatic a setting in _Villette_--the confession to a priest of the Roman
Catholic Church of a daughter of the most militant type of Protestantism;
and not the least valuable of my newly-discovered Bronte treasures is the
letter which Charlotte wrote to Emily giving an unembellished account of
the incident.
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'BRUSSELS, _September_ 2_nd_, 1843.
'DEAR E. J.,--Another opportunity of writing to you coming to pass, I
shall improve it by scribbling a few lines. More than half the
holidays are now past, and rather better than I expected. The
weather has been exceedingly fine during the last fortnight, and yet
not so Asiatically hot as it was last year at this time.
Consequently I have tramped about a great deal and tried to get a
clearer acquaintance with the streets of Bruxelles. This week, as no
teacher is here except Mdlle. Blanche, who is returned from Paris, I
am always alone except at meal-times, for Mdlle. Blanche's character
is so false and so contemptible I can't force myself to associate
with her. She perceives my utter dislike and never now speaks to
me--a great relief.
'However, I should inevitably fall into the gulf of low spirits if I
stayed always by myself here without a human being to speak to, so I
go out and traverse the Boulevards and streets of Bruxelles sometimes
for hours together. Yesterday I went on a pilgrimage to the
cemetery, and far beyond it on to a hill where there was nothing but
fields as far as the horizon. When I came back it was evening; but I
had such a repugnance to return to the house, which contained nothing
that I cared for, I still kept threading the streets in the
neighbourhood of the Rue d'Isabelle and avoiding it. I found myself
opposite to Ste. Gudule, and the bell, whose voice you know, began to
toll for evening salut. I went in, quite alone (which procedure you
will say is not much like me), wandered about the aisles where a few
old women were saying their prayers, till vespers begun. I stayed
till they were over. Still I could not leave the church or force
myself to go home--to school I mean. An odd whim came into my head.
In a solitary part of the Cathedral six or seven people still
remained kneeling by the confessionals. In two confessionals I saw a
priest. I felt as if I did not care what I did, provided it was not
absolutely wrong, and that it served to vary my life and yield a
moment's interest. I took a fancy to change myself into a Catholic
and go and make a real confession to see what it was like. Knowing
me as you do, you will think this odd, but when people are by
themselves they have singular fancies. A penitent was occupied in
confessing. They do not go into the sort of pew or cloister which
the priest occupies, but kneel down on the steps and confess through
a grating. Both the confessor and the penitent whisper very low, you
can hardly hear their voices. After I had watched two or three
penitents go and return I approached at last and knelt down in a
niche which was just vacated. I had to kneel there ten minutes
waiting, for on the other side was another penitent invisible to me.
At last that went away and a little wooden door inside the grating
opened, and I saw the priest leaning his ear towards me. I was
obliged to begin, and yet I did not know a word of the formula with
which they always commence their confessions. It was a funny
position. I felt precisely as I did when alone on the Thames at
midnight. I commenced with saying I was a foreigner and had been
brought up a Protestant. The priest asked if I was a Protestant
then. I somehow could not tell a lie and said "yes." He replied
that in that case I could not "_jouir du bonheur de la confesse_";
but I was determined to confess, and at last he said he would allow
me because it might be the first step towards returning to the true
church. I actually did confess--a real confession. When I had done
he told me his address, and said that every morning I was to go to
the rue du Parc--to his house--and he would reason with me and try to
convince me of the error and enormity of being a Protestant!!! I
promised faithfully to go. Of course, however, the adventure stops
there, and I hope I shall never see the priest again. I think you
had better not tell papa of this. He will not understand that it was
only a freak, and will perhaps think I am going to turn Catholic.
Trusting that you and papa are well, and also Tabby and the Holyes,
and hoping you will write to me immediately,--I am, yours,
'C. B.'
'The Holyes,' it is perhaps hardly necessary to add, is Charlotte's
irreverent appellation for the curates--Mr. Smith and Mr. Grant.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'BRUSSELS, _October_ 13_th_, 1843.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I was glad to receive your last letter; but when I read
it, its contents gave me some pain. It was melancholy indeed that so
soon after the death of a sister you should be called from a distant
county by the news of the severe illness of a brother, and, after
your return home, your sister Ann should fall ill too. Mary Dixon
informs me your brother is scarcely expected to recover--is this
true? I hope not, for his sake and yours. His loss would indeed be
a blow--a blow which I hope Providence may avert. Do not, my dear
Ellen, fail to write to me soon of affairs at Brookroyd. I cannot
fail to be anxious on the subject, your family being amongst the
oldest and kindest friends I have. I trust this season of affliction
will soon pass. It has been a long one.
'C. B.'
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'BRUSSELS, _December_ 19_th_, 1843.
'DEAR E. J.,--I have taken my determination. I hope to be at home
the day after New Year's Day. I have told Mme. Heger. But in order
to come home I shall be obliged to draw on my cash for another 5
pounds. I have only 3 pounds at present, and as there are several
little things I should like to buy before I leave Brussels--which you
know cannot be got as well in England--3 pounds would not suffice.
Low spirits have afflicted me much lately, but I hope all will be
well when I get home--above all, if I find papa and you and B. and A.
well. I am not ill in body. It is only the mind which is a trifle
shaken--for want of comfort.
'I shall try to cheer up now.--Good-bye.
'C. B.'
CHAPTER V: PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTE
The younger Patrick Bronte was always known by his mother's family name
of Branwell. The name derived from the patron Saint of Ireland, with
which the enthusiastic Celt, Romanist and Protestant alike, delights to
disfigure his male child, was speedily banished from the Yorkshire
Parsonage. Branwell was a year younger than Charlotte, and it is clear
that she and her brother were 'chums,' in the same way as Emily and Anne
were 'chums,' in the earlier years, before Charlotte made other friends.
Even until two or three years from Branwell's death, we find Charlotte
writing to him with genuine sisterly affection, and, indeed, the only two
family letters addressed to Branwell which are extant are from her. One
of them, written from Brussels, I have printed elsewhere. The other,
written from Roe Head, when Charlotte, aged sixteen, was at school there,
was partly published by Mrs. Gaskell, but may as well be given here,
copied direct from the original.
[Picture: Patrick Branwell Bronte]
TO BRANWELL BRONTE
'ROE HEAD, _May_ 17_th_, 1832.
'DEAR BRANWELL,--As usual I address my weekly letter to you, because
to you I find the most to say. I feel exceedingly anxious to know
how and in what state you arrived at home after your long and (I
should think) very fatiguing journey. I could perceive when you
arrived at Roe Head that you were very much tired, though you refused
to acknowledge it. After you were gone, many questions and subjects
of conversation recurred to me which I had intended to mention to
you, but quite forgot them in the agitation which I felt at the
totally unexpected pleasure of seeing you. Lately I had begun to
think that I had lost all the interest which I used formerly to take
in politics, but the extreme pleasure I felt at the news of the
Reform Bill's being thrown out by the House of Lords, and of the
expulsion or resignation of Earl Grey, etc., etc., convinced me that
I have not as yet lost _all_ my penchant for politics. I am
extremely glad that aunt has consented to take in _Fraser's
Magazine_, for though I know from your description of its general
contents it will be rather uninteresting when compared with
_Blackwood_, still it will be better than remaining the whole year
without being able to obtain a sight of any periodical publication
whatever; and such would assuredly be our case, as in the little
wild, moorland village where we reside, there would be no possibility
of borrowing or obtaining a work of that description from a
circulating library. I hope with you that the present delightful
weather may contribute to the perfect restoration of our dear papa's
health, and that it may give aunt pleasant reminiscences of the
salubrious climate of her native place.
'With love to all,--Believe me, dear Branwell, to remain your
affectionate sister,
CHARLOTTE.'
'As to you I find the most to say' is significant. And to Branwell,
Charlotte refers again and again in most affectionate terms in many a
later letter. It is to her enthusiasm, indeed that we largely owe
the extravagant estimate of Branwell's ability which has found so
abundant expression in books on the Brontes.
Branwell has himself been made the hero of at least three biographies.
{121} Mr. Francis Grundy has no importance for our day other than that
he prints certain letters from Branwell in his autobiography. Miss Mary
F. Robinson, whatever distinction may pertain to her verse, should never
have attempted a biography of Emily Bronte. Her book is mainly of
significance because, appearing in a series of _Eminent Women_, it served
to emphasise the growing opinion that Emily, as well as Charlotte, had a
place among the great writers of her day. Miss Robinson added nothing to
our knowledge of Emily Bronte, and her book devoted inordinate space to
the shortcomings of Branwell, concerning which she had no new
information.
Mr. Leyland's book is professedly a biography of Branwell, and is,
indeed, a valuable storehouse of facts. It might have had more success
had it been written with greater brightness and verve. As it stands, it
is a dull book, readable only by the Bronte enthusiast. Mr. Leyland has
no literary perception, and in his eagerness to show that Branwell was a
genius, prints numerous letters and poems which sufficiently demonstrate
that he was not.
Charlotte never hesitated in the earlier years to praise her brother as
the genius of the family. We all know how eagerly the girls in any home
circle are ready to acknowledge and accept as signs of original power the
most impudent witticisms of a fairly clever brother. The Bronte
household was not exceptionally constituted in this respect. It is
evident that the boy grew up with talent of a kind. He could certainly
draw with more idea of perspective than his sisters, and one or two
portraits by him are not wanting in merit. But there is no evidence of
any special writing faculty, and the words 'genius' and 'brilliant' which
have been freely applied to him are entirely misplaced. Branwell was
thirty-one years of age when he died, and it was only during the last
year or two of his life that opium and alcohol had made him
intellectually hopeless. Yet, unless we accept the preposterous
statement that he wrote _Wuthering Heights_, he would seem to have
composed nothing which gives him the slightest claim to the most
inconsiderable niche in the temple of literature.
Branwell appears to have worked side by side with his sisters in the
early years, and innumerable volumes of the 'little writing' bearing his
signature have come into my hands. Verdopolis, the imaginary city of his
sisters' early stories, plays a considerable part in Branwell's. _Real
Life in Verdopolis_ bears date 1833. _The Battle of Washington_ is
evidently a still more childish effusion. _Caractacus_ is dated 1830,
and the poems and tiny romances continue steadily on through the years
until they finally stop short in 1837--when Branwell is twenty years
old--with a story entitled _Percy_. By the light of subsequent events it
is interesting to note that a manuscript of 1830 bears the title of _The
Liar Detected_.
It would be unfair to take these crude productions of Branwell Bronte's
boyhood as implying that he had no possibilities in him of anything
better, but judging from the fact that his letters, as a man of eight and
twenty, are as undistinguished as his sister's are noteworthy at a like
age, we might well dismiss Branwell Bronte once and for all, were not
some epitome of his life indispensable in an account of the Bronte
circle.
Branwell was born at Thornton in 1817. When the family removed to
Haworth he studied at the Grammar School, although, doubtless, he owed
most of his earlier tuition to his father. When school days were over it
was decided that he should be an artist. To a certain William Robinson,
of Leeds, he was indebted for his first lessons. Mrs. Gaskell describes
a life-size drawing of Charlotte, Emily, and Anne which Branwell painted
about this period. The huge canvas stood for many years at the top of
the staircase at the parsonage. {123} In 1835 Branwell went up to London
with a view to becoming a pupil at the Royal Academy Art Schools. The
reason for his almost immediate reappearance at Haworth has never been
explained. Probably he wasted his money and his father refused supplies.
He had certainly been sufficiently in earnest at the start, judging from
this letter, of which I find a draft among his papers.
TO THE SECRETARY, ROYAL ACADEMY OF ARTS
'SIR,--Having an earnest desire to enter as probationary student in
the Royal Academy, but not being possessed of information as to the
means of obtaining my desire, I presume to request from you, as
Secretary to the Institution, an answer to the questions--
'Where am I to present my drawings?
'At what time?
and especially,
'Can I do it in August or September?
--Your obedient servant,
BRANWELL BRONTE.'
In 1836 we find him as 'brother' of the 'Lodge of the Three Graces' at
Haworth. In the following year he is practising as an artist in
Bradford, and painting a number of portraits of the townsfolk. At this
same period he wrote to Wordsworth, sending verses, which he was at the
time producing with due regularity. In January 1840 Branwell became
tutor in the family of Mr. Postlethwaite at Broughton-in-Furness. It was
from that place that he wrote the incoherent and silly letter which has
been more than once printed, and which merely serves to show that then,
as always, he had an ill-regulated mind. It was from
Broughton-in-Furness also that he addresses Hartley Coleridge, and the
letters are worth printing if only on account of the similar destiny of
the two men.
TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE
'BROUGHTON-IN-FURNESS,
'LANCASHIRE, _April_ 20_th_, 1840.
'SIR,--It is with much reluctance that I venture to request, for the
perusal of the following lines, a portion of the time of one upon
whom I can have no claim, and should not dare to intrude, but I do
not, personally, know a man on whom to rely for an answer to the
questions I shall put, and I could not resist my longing to ask a man
from whose judgment there would be little hope of appeal.
'Since my childhood I have been wont to devote the hours I could
spare from other and very different employments to efforts at
literary composition, always keeping the results to myself, nor have
they in more than two or three instances been seen by any other. But
I am about to enter active life, and prudence tells me not to waste
the time which must make my independence; yet, sir, I like writing
too well to fling aside the practice of it without an effort to
ascertain whether I could turn it to account, not in _wholly_
maintaining myself, but in aiding my maintenance, for I do not sigh
after fame, and am not ignorant of the folly or the fate of those
who, without ability, would depend for their lives upon their pens;
but I seek to know, and venture, though with shame, to ask from one
whose word I must respect: whether, by periodical or other writing, I
could please myself with writing, and make it subservient to living.
'I would not, with this view, have troubled you with a composition in
verse, but any piece I have in prose would too greatly trespass upon
your patience, which, I fear, if you look over the verse, will be
more than sufficiently tried.
'I feel the egotism of my language, but I have none, sir, in my
heart, for I feel beyond all encouragement from myself, and I hope
for none from you.
'Should you give any opinion upon what I send, it will, however
condemnatory, be most gratefully received by,--Sir, your most humble
servant,
'P. B. BRONTE.
'_P.S._--The first piece is only the sequel of one striving to depict
the fall from unguided passion into neglect, despair, and death. It
ought to show an hour too near those of pleasure for repentance, and
too near death for hope. The translations are two out of many made
from Horace, and given to assist an answer to the question--would it
be possible to obtain remuneration for translations for such as those
from that or any other classic author?'
Branwell would appear to have gone over to Ambleside to see Hartley
Coleridge, if we may judge by that next letter, written from Haworth upon
his return.
TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE
'HAWORTH, _June_ 27_th_, 1840.
'SIR,--You will, perhaps, have forgotten me, but it will be long
before I forget my first conversation with a man of real intellect,
in my first visit to the classic lakes of Westmoreland.
'During the delightful day which I had the honour of spending with
you at Ambleside, I received permission to transmit to you, as soon
as finished, the first book of a translation of Horace, in order
that, after a glance over it, you might tell me whether it was worth
further notice or better fit for the fire.
'I have--I fear most negligently, and amid other very different
employments--striven to translate two books, the first of which I
have presumed to send to you. And will you, sir, stretch your past
kindness by telling me whether I should amend and pursue the work or
let it rest in peace?
'Great corrections I feel it wants, but till I feel that the work
might benefit me, I have no heart to make them; yet if your judgment
prove in any way favourable, I will re-write the whole, without
sparing labour to reach perfection.
'I dared not have attempted Horace but that I saw the utter
worthlessness of all former translations, and thought that a better
one, by whomsoever executed, might meet with some little
encouragement. I long to clear up my doubts by the judgment of one
whose opinion I should revere, and--but I suppose I am dreaming--one
to whom I should be proud indeed to inscribe anything of mine which
any publisher would look at, unless, as is likely enough, the work
would disgrace the name as much as the name would honour the work.
'Amount of remuneration I should not look to--as anything would be
everything--and whatever it might be, let me say that my bones would
have no rest unless by written agreement a division should be made of
the profits (little or much) between myself and him through whom
alone I could hope to obtain a hearing with that formidable
personage, a London bookseller.
'Excuse my unintelligibility, haste, and appearance of presumption,
and--Believe me to be, sir, your most humble and grateful servant,
'P. B. BRONTE.
'If anything in this note should displease you, lay it, sir, to the
account of inexperience and _not_ impudence.'
In October 1840, we find Branwell clerk-in-charge at the Station of
Sowerby Bridge on the Leeds and Manchester Railway, and the following
year at Luddenden Foot, where Mr. Grundy, the railway engineer, became
acquainted with him, and commenced the correspondence contained in
_Pictures of the Past_.
I have in my possession a small memorandum book, evidently used by
Branwell when engaged as a railway clerk. There are notes in it upon the
then existing railways, demonstrating that he was trying to prime himself
with the requisite facts and statistics for a career of that kind. But
side by side with these are verses upon 'Lord Nelson,' 'Robert Burns,'
and kindred themes, with such estimable sentiments as this:--
'Then England's love and England's tongue
And England's heart shall reverence long
The wisdom deep, the courage strong,
Of English Johnson's name.'
Altogether a literary atmosphere had been kindled for the boy had he had
the slightest strength of character to go with it. The railway company,
however, were soon tired of his vagaries, and in the beginning of 1842 he
returns to the Haworth parsonage. The following letter to his friend Mr.
Grundy is of biographical interest.
TO FRANCIS H. GRUNDY
'_October_ 25_th_, 1842.
'MY DEAR SIR,--There is no misunderstanding. I have had a long
attendance at the death-bed of the Rev. Mr. Weightman, one of my
dearest friends, and now I am attending at the deathbed of my aunt,
who has been for twenty years as my mother. I expect her to die in a
few hours.
'As my sisters are far from home, I have had much on my mind, and
these things must serve as an apology for what was never intended as
neglect of your friendship to us.
'I had meant not only to have written to you, but to the Rev. James
Martineau, gratefully and sincerely acknowledging the receipt of his
most kindly and truthful criticism--at least in advice, though too
generous far in praise; but one sad ceremony must, I fear, be gone
through first. Give my most sincere respects to Mr. Stephenson, and
excuse this scrawl--my eyes are too dim with sorrow to see
well.--Believe me, your not very happy but obliged friend and
servant,
'P. B. BRONTE.'
A week later he writes to the same friend:--
'I am incoherent, I fear, but I have been waking two nights
witnessing such agonising suffering as I would not wish my worst
enemy to endure; and I have now lost the guide and director of all
the happy days connected with my childhood. I have suffered much
sorrow since I last saw you at Haworth.'
Charlotte and Anne, it will be remembered, were at this time on their way
home from Brussels, and Anne had to seek relief from her governess bonds
at Mrs. Robinson's. Branwell would seem to have returned with Anne to
Thorp Green, as tutor to Mr. Robinson's son. He commenced his duties in
December 1842.
It would not be rash to assume--although it is only an assumption--that
Branwell took to opium soon after he entered upon his duties at Thorp
Green. I have already said something of the trouble which befel Mrs.
Gaskell in accepting the statements of Charlotte Bronte, and--after
Charlotte's death--of her friends, to the effect that Branwell became the
prey of a designing woman, who promised to marry him when her husband--a
venerable clergyman--should be dead. The story has been told too often.
Branwell was dismissed, and returned to the parsonage to rave about his
wrongs. If Mr. Robinson should die, the widow had promised to marry him,
he assured his friends. Mr. Robinson did die (May 26, 1846), and then
Branwell insisted that by his will he had prohibited his wife from
marrying, under penalties of forfeiting the estate. A copy of the
document is in my possession:
_The eleventh day of September_ 1846 _the Will of the Reverend Edmund
Robinson_, _late of Thorp Green_, _in the Parish of Little Ouseburn_,
_in the County of York_, _Clerk_, _deceased_, _was proved in the
Prerogative Court of York by the oaths of Lydia Robinson_, _Widow_,
_his Relict_; _the Venerable Charles Thorp and Henry Newton_, _the
Executors_, _to whom administration was granted_.
Needless to say, the will, a lengthy document, put no restraint whatever
upon the actions of Mrs. Robinson. Upon the publication of Mrs.
Gaskell's Life she was eager to clear her character in the law-courts,
but was dissuaded therefrom by friends, who pointed out that a withdrawal
of the obnoxious paragraphs in succeeding editions of the Memoir, and the
publication of a letter in the _Times_, would sufficiently meet the case.
Here is the letter from the advertisement pages of the Times.
'8 BEDFORD ROW,
'LONDON, _May_ 26_th_, 1857.
'DEAR SIRS,--As solicitor for and on behalf of the Rev. W. Gaskell
and of Mrs. Gaskell, his wife, the latter of whom is authoress of the
_Life of Charlotte Bronte_, I am instructed to retract every
statement contained in that work which imputes to a widowed lady,
referred to, but not named therein, any breach of her conjugal, of
her maternal, or of her social duties, and more especially of the
statement contained in chapter 13 of the first volume, and in chapter
2 of the second volume, which imputes to the lady in question a
guilty intercourse with the late Branwell Bronte. All those
statements were made upon information which at the time Mrs. Gaskell
believed to be well founded, but which, upon investigation, with the
additional evidence furnished to me by you, I have ascertained not to
be trustworthy. I am therefore authorised not only to retract the
statements in question, but to express the deep regret of Mrs.
Gaskell that she should have been led to make them.--I am, dear sirs,
yours truly,
'WILLIAM SHAEN.
'Messrs. Newton & Robinson, Solicitors, York.'
A certain 'Note' in the _Athenaeum_ a few days later is not without
interest now.
'We are sorry to be called upon to return to Mrs. Gaskell's _Life of
Charlotte Bronte_, but we must do so, since the book has gone forth
with our recommendation. Praise, it is needless to point out,
implied trust in the biographer as an accurate collector of facts.
This, we regret to state, Mrs. Gaskell proves not to have been. To
the gossip which for weeks past has been seething and circulating in
the London _coteries_, we gave small heed; but the _Times_ advertises
a legal apology, made on behalf of Mrs. Gaskell, withdrawing the
statements put forth in her book respecting the cause of Mr. Branwell
Bronte's wreck and ruin. These Mrs. Gaskell's lawyer is now fain to
confess his client advanced on insufficient testimony. The telling
of an episodical and gratuitous tale so dismal as concerns the dead,
so damaging to the living, could only be excused by the story of sin
being severely, strictly true; and every one will have cause to
regret that due caution was not used to test representations not, it
seems, to be justified. It is in the interest of Letters that
biographers should be deterred from rushing into print with mere
impressions in place of proofs, however eager and sincere those
impressions may be. They _may be_ slanders, and as such they may
sting cruelly. Meanwhile the _Life of Charlotte Bronte_ must undergo
modification ere it can be further circulated.'
Meanwhile let us return to Branwell Bronte's life as it is contained in
his sister's correspondence.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 3_rd_, 1846.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I must write to you to-day whether I have anything to
say or not, or else you will begin to think that I have forgotten
you; whereas, never a day passes, seldom an hour, that I do not think
of you, _and the scene of trial_ in which you live, move, and have
your being. Mary Taylor's letter was deeply interesting and strongly
characteristic. I have no news whatever to communicate. No changes
take place here. Branwell offers no prospect of hope; he professes
to be too ill to think of seeking for employment; he makes comfort
scant at home. I hold to my intention of going to Brookroyd as soon
as I can--that is, provided you will have me.
'Give my best love to your mother and sisters.--Yours, dear Nell,
always faithful,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 13_th_, 1845.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I have often said and thought that you have had many
and heavy trials to bear in your still short life. You have always
borne them with great firmness and calm so far--I hope fervently you
will still be enabled to do so. Yet there is something in your
letter that makes me fear the present is the greatest trial of all,
and the most severely felt by you. I hope it will soon pass over and
leave no shadow behind it. I do earnestly desire to be with you, to
talk to you, to give you what comfort I can. Branwell and Anne leave
us on Saturday. Branwell has been quieter and less irritable on the
whole this time than he was in summer. Anne is as usual--always
good, mild, and patient. I think she too is a little stronger than
she was.--Good-bye, dear Ellen,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_December_ 31_st_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I don't know whether most to thank you for the very
pretty slippers you have sent me or to scold you for occasioning
yourself, in the slightest degree, trouble or expense on my account.
I will have them made up and bring them with me, if all be well, when
I come to Brookroyd.
'Never doubt that I shall come to Brookroyd as soon as I can, Nell.
I dare say my wish to see you is equal to your wish to see me.
'I had a note on Saturday from Ellen Taylor, informing me that
letters have been received from Mary in New Zealand, and that she was
well and in good spirits. I suppose you have not yet seen them, as
you do not mention them; but you will probably have them in your
possession before you get this note.
'You say well in speaking of Branwell that no sufferings are so awful
as those brought on by dissipation. Alas! I see the truth of this
observation daily proved.
'Your friends must have a weary and burdensome life of it in waiting
upon _their_ unhappy brother. It seems grievous, indeed, that those
who have not sinned should suffer so largely.
'Write to me a little oftener, Ellen--I am very glad to get your
notes. Remember me kindly to your mother and sisters.--Yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'_January_ 30_th_, 1846.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I have not yet paid my usual visit to
Brookroyd, but I frequently hear from Ellen, and she did not fail to
tell me that you were gone into Worcestershire. She was unable,
however, to give me your address; had I known it I should have
written to you long since.
'I thought you would wonder how we were getting on when you heard of
the Railway Panic, and you may be sure I am very glad to be able to
answer your kind inquiries by an assurance that our small capital is
as yet undiminished. The "York and Midland" is, as you say, a very
good line, yet I confess to you I should wish, for my part, to be
wise in time. I cannot think that even the very best lines will
continue for many years at their present premiums, and I have been
most anxious for us to sell our shares ere it be too late, and to
secure the proceeds in some safer, if, for the present, less
profitable investment. I cannot, however, persuade my sisters to
regard the affair precisely from my point of view, and I feel as if I
would rather run the risk of loss than hurt Emily's feelings by
acting in direct opposition to her opinion. She managed in a most
handsome and able manner for me when I was at Brussels, and prevented
by distance from looking after my own interests; therefore, I will
let her manage still, and take the consequences. Disinterested and
energetic she certainly is, and if she be not quite so tractable or
open to conviction as I could wish, I must remember perfection is not
the lot of humanity. And as long as we can regard those we love, and
to whom we are closely allied, with profound and very unshaken
esteem, it is a small thing that they should vex us occasionally by,
what appear to us, unreasonable and headstrong notions. You, my dear
Miss Wooler, know full as well as I do the value of sisters'
affection to each other; there is nothing like it in this world, I
believe, when they are nearly equal in age, and similar in education,
tastes, and sentiments.
'You ask about Branwell. He never thinks of seeking employment, and
I begin to fear he has rendered himself incapable of filling any
respectable station in life; besides, if money were at his disposal
he would use it only to his own injury; the faculty of
self-government is, I fear, almost destroyed in him. You ask me if I
do not think men are strange beings. I do, indeed--I have often
thought so; and I think too that the mode of bringing them up is
strange, they are not half sufficiently guarded from temptations.
Girls are protected as if they were something very frail and silly
indeed, while boys are turned loose on the world as if they, of all
beings in existence, were the wisest and the least liable to be led
astray.
'I am glad you like Bromsgrove. I always feel a peculiar
satisfaction when I hear of your enjoying yourself, because it proves
to me that there is really such a thing as retributive justice even
in this life; now you are free, and that while you have still, I
hope, many years of vigour and health in which you can enjoy freedom.
Besides, I have another and very egotistical motive for being
pleased: it seems that even "a lone woman" can be happy, as well as
cherished wives and proud mothers. I am glad of that--I speculate
much on the existence of unmarried and never-to-be married woman
now-a-days, and I have already got to the point of considering that
there is no more respectable character on this earth than an
unmarried woman who makes her own way through life quietly,
perseveringly, without support of husband or mother, and who, having
attained the age of forty-five or upwards, retains in her possession
a well-regulated mind, a disposition to enjoy simple pleasures,
fortitude to support inevitable pains, sympathy with the sufferings
of others, and willingness to relieve want as far as her means
extend. I wish to send this letter off by to-day's post, I must
therefore conclude in haste.--Believe me, my dear Miss Wooler, yours,
most affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 4_th_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--You do not reproach me in your last, but I fear you
must have thought me unkind in being so long without answering you.
The fact is, I had hoped to be able to ask you to come to Haworth.
Branwell seemed to have a prospect of getting employment, and I
waited to know the result of his efforts in order to say, "Dear
Ellen, come and see us"; but the place (a secretaryship to a Railroad
Committee) is given to another person. Branwell still remains at
home, and while he is here you shall not come. I am more confirmed
in that resolution the more I know of him. I wish I could say one
word to you in his favour, but I cannot, therefore I will hold my
tongue.
'Emily and Anne wish me to tell you that they think it very unlikely
for little Flossy to be expected to rear so numerous a family; they
think you are quite right in protesting against all the pups being
preserved, for, if kept, they will pull their poor little mother to
pieces.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 14_th_, 1846.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I assure you I was very glad indeed to get your last
note; for when three or four days elapsed after my second despatch to
you and I got no answer, I scarcely doubted something was wrong. It
relieved me much to find my apprehensions unfounded. I return you
Miss Ringrose's notes with thanks. I always like to read them, they
appear to me so true an index of an amiable mind, and one not too
conscious of its own worth; beware of awakening in her this
consciousness by undue praise. It is the privilege of
simple-hearted, sensible, but not brilliant people, that they can
_be_ and _do_ good without comparing their own thoughts and actions
too closely with those of other people, and thence drawing strong
food for self-appreciation. Talented people almost always know full
well the excellence that is in them. I wish I could say anything
favourable, but how can we be more comfortable so long as Branwell
stays at home, and degenerates instead of improving? It has been
lately intimated to him, that he would be received again on the
railroad where he was formerly stationed if he would behave more
steadily, but he refuses to make an effort; he will not work; and at
home he is a drain on every resource--an impediment to all happiness.
But there is no use in complaining.
'My love to all. Write again soon.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 17_th_, 1846.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I was glad to perceive, by the tone of your last
letter, that you are beginning to be a little more settled. We, I am
sorry to say, have been somewhat more harassed than usual lately.
The death of Mr. Robinson, which took place about three weeks or a
month ago, served Branwell for a pretext to throw all about him into
hubbub and confusion with his emotions, etc., etc. Shortly after
came news from all hands that Mr. Robinson had altered his will
before he died, and effectually prevented all chance of a marriage
between his widow and Branwell, by stipulating that she should not
have a shilling if she ever ventured to re-open any communication
with him. Of course he then became intolerable. To papa he allows
rest neither day nor night, and he is continually screwing money out
of him, sometimes threatening that he will kill himself if it is
withheld from him. He says Mrs. Robinson is now insane; that her
mind is a complete wreck owing to remorse for her conduct towards Mr.
Robinson (whose end it appears was hastened by distress of mind) and
grief for having lost him. I do not know how much to believe of what
he says, but I fear she is very ill. Branwell declares that he
neither can nor will do anything for himself. Good situations have
been offered him more than once, for which, by a fortnight's work, he
might have qualified himself, but he will do nothing, except drink
and make us all wretched. I had a note from Ellen Taylor a week ago,
in which she remarks that letters were received from New Zealand a
month since, and that all was well. I should like to hear from you
again soon. I hope one day to see Brookroyd again, though I think it
will not be yet--these are not times of amusement. Love to all.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _March_ 1_st_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Branwell has been conducting himself very badly lately.
I expect from the extravagance of his behaviour, and from mysterious
hints he drops (for he never will speak out plainly), that we shall
be hearing news of fresh debts contracted by him soon. The Misses
Robinson, who had entirely ceased their correspondence with Anne for
half a year after their father's death, have lately recommenced it.
For a fortnight they sent her a letter almost every day, crammed with
warm protestations of endless esteem and gratitude. They speak with
great affection too of their mother, and never make any allusion
intimating acquaintance with her errors. We take special care that
Branwell does not know of their writing to Anne. My health is
better: I lay the blame of its feebleness on the cold weather more
than on an uneasy mind, for, after all, I have many things to be
thankful for. Write again soon.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 12_th_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--We shall all be glad to see you on the Thursday or
Friday of next week, whichever day will suit you best. About what
time will you be likely to get here, and how will you come? By coach
to Keighley, or by a gig all the way to Haworth? There must be no
impediments now? I cannot do with them, I want very much to see you.
I hope you will be decently comfortable while you stay.
'Branwell is quieter now, and for a good reason: he has got to the
end of a considerable sum of money, and consequently is obliged to
restrict himself in some degree. You must expect to find him weaker
in mind, and a complete rake in appearance. I have no apprehension
of his being at all uncivil to you; on the contrary, he will be as
smooth as oil. I pray for fine weather that we may be able to get
out while you stay. Goodbye for the present. Prepare for much
dulness and monotony. Give my love to all at Brookroyd.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_July_ 28_th_, 1848.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Branwell is the same in conduct as ever. His
constitution seems much shattered. Papa, and sometimes all of us,
have sad nights with him: he sleeps most of the day, and consequently
will lie awake at night. But has not every house its trial?
'Write to me very soon, dear Nell, and--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Branwell Bronte died on Sunday, September the 24th, 1848, {138} and the
two following letters from Charlotte to her friend Mr. Williams are
peculiarly interesting.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 2_nd_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--"We have hurried our dead out of our sight." A lull
begins to succeed the gloomy tumult of last week. It is not
permitted us to grieve for him who is gone as others grieve for those
they lose. The removal of our only brother must necessarily be
regarded by us rather in the light of a mercy than a chastisement.
Branwell was his father's and his sisters' pride and hope in boyhood,
but since manhood the case has been otherwise. It has been our lot
to see him take a wrong bent; to hope, expect, wait his return to the
right path; to know the sickness of hope deferred, the dismay of
prayer baffled; to experience despair at last--and now to behold the
sudden early obscure close of what might have been a noble career.
'I do not weep from a sense of bereavement--there is no prop
withdrawn, no consolation torn away, no dear companion lost--but for
the wreck of talent, the ruin of promise, the untimely dreary
extinction of what might have been a burning and a shining light. My
brother was a year my junior. I had aspirations and ambitions for
him once, long ago--they have perished mournfully. Nothing remains
of him but a memory of errors and sufferings. There is such a
bitterness of pity for his life and death, such a yearning for the
emptiness of his whole existence as I cannot describe. I trust time
will allay these feelings.
'My poor father naturally thought more of his _only_ son than of his
daughters, and, much and long as he had suffered on his account, he
cried out for his loss like David for that of Absalom--my son my
son!--and refused at first to be comforted. And then when I ought to
have been able to collect my strength and be at hand to support him,
I fell ill with an illness whose approaches I had felt for some time
previously, and of which the crisis was hastened by the awe and
trouble of the death-scene--the first I had ever witnessed. The past
has seemed to me a strange week. Thank God, for my father's sake, I
am better now, though still feeble. I wish indeed I had more general
physical strength--the want of it is sadly in my way. I cannot do
what I would do for want of sustained animal spirits and efficient
bodily vigour.
'My unhappy brother never knew what his sisters had done in
literature--he was not aware that they had ever published a line. We
could not tell him of our efforts for fear of causing him too deep a
pang of remorse for his own time mis-spent, and talents misapplied.
Now he will _never_ know. I cannot dwell longer on the subject at
present--it is too painful.
'I thank you for your kind sympathy, and pray earnestly that your
sons may all do well, and that you may be spared the sufferings my
father has gone through.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _October_ 6_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I thank you for your last truly friendly letter, and
for the number of _Blackwood_ which accompanied it. Both arrived at
a time when a relapse of illness had depressed me much. Both did me
good, especially the letter. I have only one fault to find with your
expressions of friendship: they make me ashamed, because they seem to
imply that you think better of me than I merit. I believe you are
prone to think too highly of your fellow-creatures in general--to see
too exclusively the good points of those for whom you have a regard.
Disappointment must be the inevitable result of this habit. Believe
all men, and women too, to be dust and ashes--a spark of the divinity
now and then kindling in the dull heap--that is all. When I looked
on the noble face and forehead of my dead brother (nature had
favoured him with a fairer outside, as well as a finer constitution,
than his sisters) and asked myself what had made him go ever wrong,
tend ever downwards, when he had so many gifts to induce to, and aid
in, an upward course, I seemed to receive an oppressive revelation of
the feebleness of humanity--of the inadequacy of even genius to lead
to true greatness if unaided by religion and principle. In the
value, or even the reality, of these two things he would never
believe till within a few days of his end; and then all at once he
seemed to open his heart to a conviction of their existence and
worth. The remembrance of this strange change now comforts my poor
father greatly. I myself, with painful, mournful joy, heard him
praying softly in his dying moments; and to the last prayer which my
father offered up at his bedside he added, "Amen." How unusual that
word appeared from his lips, of course you, who did not know him,
cannot conceive. Akin to this alteration was that in his feelings
towards his relations--all the bitterness seemed gone.
'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
left. If man can thus experience total oblivion of his fellow's
imperfections, how much more can the Eternal Being, who made man,
forgive His creature?
'Had his sins been scarlet in their dye, I believe now they are white
as wool. He is at rest, and that comforts us all. Long before he
quitted this world, life had no happiness for him.
'_Blackwood's_ mention of _Jane Eyre_ gratified me much, and will
gratify me more, I dare say, when the ferment of other feelings than
that of literary ambition shall have a little subsided in my mind.
'The doctor has told me I must not expect too rapid a restoration to
health; but to-day I certainly feel better. I am thankful to say my
father has hitherto stood the storm well; and so have my _dear_
sisters, to whose untiring care and kindness I am chiefly indebted
for my present state of convalescence.--Believe me, my dear sir,
yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
The last letter in order of date that I have concerning Branwell is
addressed to Ellen Nussey's sister:--
TO MISS MERCY NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _October_ 25_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--Accept my sincere thanks for your kind letter.
The event to which you allude came upon us with startling suddenness,
and was a severe shock to us all. My poor brother has long had a
shaken constitution, and during the summer his appetite had been
diminished, and he had seemed weaker, but neither we, nor himself,
nor any medical man who was consulted on the case, thought it one of
immediate danger. He was out of doors two days before death, and was
only confined to bed one single day.
'I thank you for your kind sympathy. Many, under the circumstances,
would think our loss rather a relief than otherwise; in truth, we
must acknowledge, in all humility and gratitude, that God has greatly
tempered judgment with mercy. But yet, as you doubtless know from
experience, the last earthly separation cannot take place between
near relatives without the keenest pangs on the part of the
survivors. Every wrong and sin is forgotten then, pity and grief
share the heart and the memory between them. Yet we are not without
comfort in our affliction. A most propitious change marked the few
last days of poor Branwell's life: his demeanour, his language, his
sentiments were all singularly altered and softened. This change
could not be owing to the fear of death, for till within half-an-hour
of his decease he seemed unconscious of danger. In God's hands we
leave him: He sees not as man sees.
'Papa, I am thankful to say, has borne the event pretty well. His
distress was great at first--to lose an only son is no ordinary
trial, but his physical strength has not hitherto failed him, and he
has now in a great measure recovered his mental composure; my dear
sisters are pretty well also. Unfortunately, illness attacked me at
the crisis when strength was most needed. I bore up for a day or
two, hoping to be better, but got worse. Fever, sickness, total loss
of appetite, and internal pain were the symptoms. The doctor
pronounced it to be bilious fever, but I think it must have been in a
mitigated form; it yielded to medicine and care in a few days. I was
only confined to my bed a week, and am, I trust, nearly well now. I
felt it a grievous thing to be incapacitated from action and effort
at a time when action and effort were most called for. The past
month seems an overclouded period in my life.
'Give my best love to Mrs. Nussey and your sister, and--Believe me,
my dear Miss Nussey, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
_My unhappy brother never knew what his sisters had done in
literature_--_he was not aware that they had ever published a line_.
Who that reads these words addressed to Mr. Williams can for a moment
imagine that Charlotte is speaking other than the truth? And yet we have
Mr. Grundy writing:
_Patrick Bronte declared to me that he wrote a great portion of_
'_Wuthering Heights_' _himself_.
And Mr. George Searle Phillips, {142} with more vivid imagination,
describes Branwell holding forth to his friends in the parlour of the
Black Bull at Haworth, upon the genius of his sisters, and upon the
respective merits of _Jane Eyre_ and other works. Mr. Leyland is even so
foolish as to compare Branwell's poetry with Emily's, to the advantage of
the former--which makes further comment impossible. 'My unhappy brother
never knew what his sisters had done in literature'--these words of
Charlotte's may be taken as final for all who had any doubts concerning
the authorship of _Wuthering Heights_.
CHAPTER VI: EMILY JANE BRONTE
Emily Bronte is the sphinx of our modern literature. She came into being
in the family of an obscure clergyman, and she went out of it at
twenty-nine years of age without leaving behind her one single
significant record which was any key to her character or to her mode of
thought, save only the one famous novel, _Wuthering Heights_, and a few
poems--some three or four of which will live in our poetic anthologies
for ever. And she made no single friend other than her sister Anne.
With Anne she must have corresponded during the two or three periods of
her life when she was separated from that much loved sister; and we may
be sure that the correspondence was of a singularly affectionate
character. Charlotte, who never came very near to her in thought or
sympathy, although she loved her younger sister so deeply, addressed her
in one letter 'mine own bonnie love'; and it is certain that her own
letters to her two sisters, and particularly to Anne, must have been
peculiarly tender and in no way lacking in abundant self-revelation.
When Emily and Anne had both gone to the grave, Charlotte, it is
probable, carefully destroyed every scrap of their correspondence, and,
indeed, of their literary effects; and thus it is that, apart from her
books and literary fragments, we know Emily only by two formal letters to
her sister's friend. Beyond these there is not one scrap of information
as to Emily's outlook upon life. In infancy she went with Charlotte to
Cowan Bridge, and was described by the governess as 'a pretty little
thing.' In girlhood she went to Miss Wooler's school at Roe Head; but
there, unlike Charlotte, she made no friends. She and Anne were
inseparable when at home, but of what they said to one another there is
no record. The sisters must have differed in many ways. Anne, gentle
and persuasive, grew up like Charlotte, devoted to the Christianity of
her father and mother, and entirely in harmony with all the conditions of
a parsonage. It is impossible to think that the author of 'The Old
Stoic' and 'Last Lines' was equally attached to the creeds of the
churches; but what Emily thought on religious subjects the world will
never know. Mrs. Gaskell put to Miss Nussey this very question: 'What
was Emily's religion?' But Emily was the last person in the world to
have spoken to the most friendly of visitors about so sacred a theme.
For a short time, as we know, Emily was in a school at Law Hill near
Halifax--a Miss Patchet's. {145a} She was, for a still longer period, at
the Heger Pensionnat at Brussels. Mrs. Gaskell's business was to write
the life of Charlotte Bronte and not of her sister Emily; and as a result
there is little enough of Emily in Mrs. Gaskell's book--no record of the
Halifax and Brussels life as seen through Emily's eyes. Time, however,
has brought its revenge. The cult which started with Mr. Sydney Dobell,
and found poetic expression in Mr. Matthew Arnold's fine lines on her,
'Whose soul
Knew no fellow for might,
Passion, vehemence, grief,
Daring, since Byron died,' {145b}
culminated in an enthusiastic eulogy by Mr. Swinburne, who placed her in
the very forefront of English women of genius.
We have said that Emily Bronte is a sphinx whose riddle no amount of
research will enable us to read; and this chapter, it may be admitted,
adds but little to the longed-for knowledge of an interesting
personality. One scrap of Emily's handwriting, of a personal character,
has indeed come to me--overlooked, I doubt not, by Charlotte when she
burnt her sister's effects. I have before me a little tin box about two
inches long, which one day last year Mr. Nicholls turned out from the
bottom of a desk. It is of a kind in which one might keep pins or beads,
certainly of no value whatever apart from its associations. Within were
four little pieces of paper neatly folded to the size of a sixpence.
These papers were covered with handwriting, two of them by Emily, and two
by Anne Bronte. They revealed a pleasant if eccentric arrangement on the
part of the sisters, which appears to have been settled upon even after
they had passed their twentieth year. They had agreed to write a kind of
reminiscence every four years, to be opened by Emily on her birthday.
The papers, however, tell their own story, and I give first the two which
were written in 1841. Emily writes at Haworth, and Anne from her
situation as governess to Mr. Robinson's children at Thorp Green. At
this time, at any rate, Emily was fairly happy and in excellent health;
and although it is five years from the publication of the volume of
poems, she is full of literary projects, as is also her sister Anne. The
_Gondaland Chronicles_, to which reference is made, must remain a mystery
for us. They were doubtless destroyed, with abundant other memorials of
Emily, by the heart-broken sister who survived her. We have plentiful
material in the way of childish effort by Charlotte and by Branwell, but
there is hardly a scrap in the early handwriting of Emily and Anne. This
chapter would have been more interesting if only one possessed _Solala
Vernon's Life_ by Anne Bronte, or the _Gondaland Chronicles_ by Emily!
[Picture: Facsimile of page of Emily Bronte's Diary]
_A PAPER to be opened_
_when Anne is_
25 _years old_,
_or my next birthday after_
_if_
_all be well_.
_Emily Jane Bronte_. _July the_ 30_th_, 1841.
_It is Friday evening_, _near 9 o'clock_--_wild rainy weather_. _I
am seated in the dining-room_, _having just concluded tidying our
desk boxes_, _writing this document_. _Papa is in the
parlour_--_aunt upstairs in her room_. _She has been reading
Blackwood's Magazine to papa_. _Victoria and Adelaide are ensconced
in the peat-house_. _Keeper is in the kitchen_--_Hero in his cage_.
_We are all stout and hearty_, _as I hope is the case with
Charlotte_, _Branwell_, _and Anne_, _of whom the first is at John
White_, _Esq._, _Upperwood House_, _Rawdon_; _the second is at
Luddenden Foot_; _and the third is_, _I believe_, _at Scarborough_,
_enditing perhaps a paper corresponding to this_.
_A scheme is at present in agitation for setting us up in a school of
our own_; _as yet nothing is determined_, _but I hope and trust it
may go on and prosper and answer our highest expectations_. _This
day four years I wonder whether we shall still be dragging on in our
present condition or established to our hearts' content_. _Time will
show_.
_I guess that at the time appointed for the opening of this paper
we_, i.e. _Charlotte_, _Anne_, _and I_, _shall be all merrily seated
in our own sitting-room in some pleasant and flourishing seminary_,
_having just gathered in for the midsummer ladyday_. _Our debts will
be paid off_, _and we shall have cash in hand to a considerable
amount_. _Papa_, _aunt_, _and Branwell will either_ _have been or be
coming to visit us_. _It will be a fine warm_, _summer evening_,
_very different from this bleak look-out_, _and Anne and I will
perchance slip out into the garden for a few minutes to peruse our
papers_. _I hope either this or something better will be the case_.
_The_ Gondaliand _are at present in a threatening state_, _but there
is no open rupture as yet_. _All the princes and princesses of the
Royalty are at the Palace of Instruction_. _I have a good many books
on hand_, _but I am sorry to say that as usual I make small progress
with any_. _However_, _I have just made a new regularity paper_!
_and I must verb sap to do great things_. _And now I close_,
_sending from far an exhortation of courage_, _boys_! _courage_, _to
exiled and harassed Anne_, _wishing she was here_.
Anne, as I have said, writes from Thorp Green.
_July the_ 30_th_, A.D. 1841.
_This is Emily's birthday_. _She has now completed her_ 23_rd_
_year_, _and is_, _I believe_, _at home_. _Charlotte is a governess
in the family of Mr. White_. _Branwell is a clerk in the railroad
station at Luddenden Foot_, _and I am a governess in the family of
Mr. Robinson_. _I dislike the situation and wish to change it for
another_. _I am now at Scarborough_. _My pupils are gone to bed and
I am hastening to finish this before I follow them_.
_We are thinking of setting up a school of our own_, _but nothing
definite is settled about it yet_, _and we do not know whether we
shall be able to or not_. _I hope we shall_. _And I wonder what
will be our condition and how or where we shall all be on this day
four years hence_; _at which time_, _all be well_, _I shall be_ 25
_years and_ 6 _months old_, _Emily will be_ 27 _years old_,
_Branwell_ 28 _years and_ 1 _month_, _and Charlotte_ 29 _years and a
quarter_. _We are now all separate and not likely to meet again for
many a weary week_, _but we are none of us ill_ _that I know of and
all are doing something for our own livelihood except Emily_, _who_,
_however_, _is as busy as any of us_, _and in reality earns her food
and raiment as much as we do_.
_How little know we what we are_
_How less what we may be_!
_Four years ago I was at school_. _Since then I have been a
governess at Blake Hall_, _left it_, _come to Thorp Green_, _and seen
the sea and York Minster_. _Emily has been a teacher at Miss
Patchet's school_, _and left it_. _Charlotte has left Miss
Wooler's_, _been a governess at Mrs. Sidgwick's_, _left her_, _and
gone to Mrs. White's_. _Branwell has given up painting_, _been a
tutor in Cumberland_, _left it_, _and become a clerk on the
railroad_. _Tabby has left us_, _Martha Brown has come in her
place_. _We have got Keeper_, _got a sweet little cat and lost it_,
_and also got a hawk_. _Got a wild goose which has flown away_, _and
three tame ones_, _one of which has been killed_. _All these
diversities_, _with many others_, _are things we did not expect or
foresee in the July of_ 1837. _What will the next four years bring
forth_? _Providence only knows_. _But we ourselves have sustained
very little alteration since that time_. _I have the same faults
that I had then_, _only I have more wisdom and experience_, _and a
little more self-possession than I then enjoyed_. _How will it be
when we open this paper and the one Emily has written_? _I wonder
whether the Gondaliand will still be flourishing_, _and what will be
their condition_. _I am now engaged in writing the fourth volume of
Solala Vernon's Life_.
_For some time I have looked upon_ 25 _as a sort of era in my
existence_. _It may prove a true presentiment_, _or it may be only a
superstitious fancy_; _the latter seems most likely_, _but time will
show_.
_Anne Bronte_.
Let us next take up the other two little scraps of paper. They are dated
July the 30th, 1845, or Emily's twenty-seventh birthday. Many things
have happened, as she says. She has been to Brussels, and she has
settled definitely at home again. They are still keenly interested in
literature, and we still hear of the Gondals. There is wonderfully
little difference in the tone or spirit of the journals. The concluding
'best wishes for this whole house till July the 30th, 1848, and as much
longer as may be,' contain no premonition of coming disaster. Yet July
1848 was to find Branwell Bronte on the verge of the grave, and Emily on
her deathbed. She died on the 14th of December of that year.
_Haworth_, _Thursday_, _July_ 30_th_, 1845.
_My birthday_--_showery_, _breezy_, _cool_. _I am twenty-seven years
old to-day_. _This morning Anne and I opened the papers we wrote
four years since_, _on my twenty-third birthday_. _This paper we
intend_, _if all be well_, _to open on my thirtieth_--_three years
hence_, _in_ 1848. _Since the_ 1841 _paper the following events have
taken place_. _Our school scheme has been abandoned_, _and instead
Charlotte and I went to Brussels on the_ 8_th_ _of February_ 1842.
_Branwell left his place at Luddenden Foot_. _C. and I returned from
Brussels_, _November_ 8_th_ 1842, _in consequence of aunt's death_.
_Branwell went to Thorp Green as a tutor_, _where Anne still
continued_, _January_ 1843.
_Charlotte returned to Brussels the same month_, _and_, _after
staying a year_, _came back again on New Year's Day_ 1844.
_Anne left her situation at Thorp Green of her own accord_, _June_
1845.
_Anne and I went our first long journey by ourselves together_,
_leaving home on the_ 30_th_ _of June_, _Monday_, _sleeping at York_,
_returning to Keighley Tuesday evening_, _sleeping there and walking
home on Wednesday morning_. _Though the weather was broken we
enjoyed ourselves very much_, _except during a few hours at
Bradford_. _And during our_ _excursion we were_, _Ronald Macalgin_,
_Henry Angora_, _Juliet Augusteena_, _Rosabella Esmaldan_, _Ella and
Julian Egremont_, _Catharine Navarre_, _and Cordelia Fitzaphnold_,
_escaping from the palaces of instruction to join the Royalists who
are hard driven at present by the victorious Republicans_. _The
Gondals still flourish bright as ever_. _I am at present writing a
work on the First War_. _Anne has been writing some articles on
this_, _and a book by Henry Sophona_. _We intend sticking firm by
the rascals as long as they delight us_, _which I am glad to say they
do at present_. _I should have mentioned that last summer the school
scheme was revived in full vigour_. _We had prospectuses printed_,
_despatched letters to all acquaintances imparting our plans_, _and
did our little all_; _but it was found no go_. _Now I don't desire a
school at all_, _and none of us have any great longing for it_. _We
have cash enough for our present wants_, _with a prospect of
accumulation_. _We are all in decent health_, _only that papa has a
complaint in his eyes_, _and with the exception of B._, _who_, _I
hope_, _will be better and do better hereafter_. _I am quite
contented for myself_: _not as idle as formerly_, _altogether as
hearty_, _and having learnt to make the most of the present and long
for the future with the fidgetiness that I cannot do all I wish_;
_seldom or ever troubled with nothing to do_, _and merely desiring
that everybody could be as comfortable as myself and as
undesponding_, _and then we should have a very tolerable world of
it_.
_By mistake I find we have opened the paper on the_ 31_st_ _instead
of the_ 30_th_. _Yesterday was much such a day as this_, _but the
morning was divine_.
_Tabby_, _who was gone in our last paper_, _is come back_, _and has
lived with us two years and a half_; _and is in good health_.
_Martha_, _who also departed_, _is here too_. _We have got Flossy_;
_got and lost Tiger_; _lost the hawk Hero_, _which_, _with the
geese_, _was given away_, _and is doubtless dead_, _for when I came
back from Brussels I inquired on all hands and could_ _hear nothing
of him_. _Tiger died early last year_. _Keeper and Flossy are
well_, _also the canary acquired four years since_. _We are now all
at home_, _and likely to be there some time_. _Branwell went to
Liverpool on Tuesday to stay a week_. _Tabby has just been teasing
me to turn as formerly to_ '_Pilloputate_.' _Anne and I should have
picked the black currants if it had been fine and sunshiny_. _I must
hurry off now to my turning and ironing_. _I have plenty of work on
hands_, _and writing_, _and am altogether full of business_. _With
best wishes for the whole house till_ 1848, _July_ 30_th_, _and as
much longer as may be_,--_I conclude_.
_Emily Bronte_.
Finally, I give Anne's last fragment, concerning which silence is
essential. Interpretation of most of the references would be mere
guess-work.
_Thursday_, _July the_ 31_st_, 1845. _Yesterday was Emily's
birthday_, _and the time when we should have opened our_ 1845
_paper_, _but by mistake we opened it to-day instead_. _How many
things have happened since it was written_--_some pleasant_, _some
far otherwise_. _Yet I was then at Thorp Green_, _and now I am only
just escaped from it_. _I was wishing to leave it then_, _and if I
had known that I had four years longer to stay how wretched I should
have been_; _but during my stay I have had some very unpleasant and
undreamt-of experience of human nature_. _Others have seen more
changes_. _Charlotte has left Mr. White's and been twice to
Brussels_, _where she stayed each time nearly a year_. _Emily has
been there too_, _and stayed nearly a year_. _Branwell has left
Luddenden Foot_, _and been a tutor at Thorp Green_, _and had much
tribulation and ill health_. _He was very ill on Thursday_, _but he
went with John Brown to Liverpool_, _where he now is_, _I suppose_;
_and we hope he will be better and do better in future_. _This is a
dismal_, _cloudy_, _wet evening_. _We have had so far a very cold
wet summer_. _Charlotte has lately been to Hathersage_, _in_
_Derbyshire_, _on a visit of three weeks to Ellen Nussey_. _She is
now sitting sewing in the dining-room_. _Emily is ironing upstairs_.
_I am sitting in the dining-room in the rocking-chair before the fire
with my feet on the fender_. _Papa is in the parlour_. _Tabby and
Martha are_, _I think_, _in the kitchen_. _Keeper and Flossy are_,
_I do not know where_. _Little Dick is hopping in his cage_. _When
the last paper was written we were thinking of setting up a school_.
_The scheme has been dropt_, _and long after taken up again and dropt
again because we could not get pupils_. _Charlotte is thinking about
getting another situation_. _She wishes to go to Paris_. _Will she
go_? _She has let Flossy in_, _by-the-by_, _and he is now lying on
the sofa_. _Emily is engaged in writing the Emperor Julius's life_.
_She has read some of it_, _and I want very much to hear the rest_.
_She is writing some poetry_, _too_. _I wonder what it is about_?
_I have begun the third volume of Passages in the Life of an
Individual_. _I wish I had finished it_. _This afternoon I began to
set about making my grey figured silk frock that was dyed at
Keighley_. _What sort of a hand shall I make of it_? _E. and I have
a great deal of work to do_. _When shall we sensibly diminish it_?
_I want to get a habit of early rising_. _Shall I succeed_? _We
have not yet finished our Gondal Chronicles that we began three years
and a half ago_. _When will they be done_? _The Gondals are at
present in a sad state_. _The Republicans are uppermost_, _but the
Royalists are not quite overcome_. _The young sovereigns_, _with
their brothers and sisters_, _are still at the Palace of
Instruction_. _The Unique Society_, _above half a year ago_, _were
wrecked on a desert island as they were returning from Gaul_. _They
are still there_, _but we have not played at them much yet_. _The
Gondals in general are not in first-rate playing condition_. _Will
they improve_? _I wonder how we shall all be and where and how
situated on the thirtieth of July_ 1848, _when_, _if we are all
alive_, _Emily will be just_ 30. _I shall_ _be in my_ 29th _year_,
_Charlotte in her_ 33rd, _and Branwell in his_ 32nd; _and what
changes shall we have seen and known_; _and shall we be much changed
ourselves_? _I hope not_, _for the worse at least_. _I for my part
cannot well be flatter or older in mind than I am now_. _Hoping for
the best_, _I conclude_.
_Anne Bronte_.
Exactly fifty years were to elapse before these pieces of writing saw the
light. The interest which must always centre in Emily Bronte amply
justifies my publishing a fragment in facsimile; and it has the greater
moment on account of the rough drawing which Emily has made of herself
and of her dog Keeper. Emily's taste for drawing is a pathetic element
in her always pathetic life. I have seen a number of her sketches.
There is one in the possession of Mr. Nicholls of Keeper and Flossy, the
former the bull-dog which followed her to the grave, the latter a little
King Charlie which one of the Miss Robinsons gave to Anne. The sketch,
however, like most of Emily's drawings, is technically full of errors.
She was not a born artist, and possibly she had not the best
opportunities of becoming one by hard work. Another drawing before me is
of the hawk mentioned in the above fragment; and yet another is of the
dog Growler, a predecessor of Keeper, which is not, however, mentioned in
the correspondence. Upon Emily Bronte, the poet, I do not propose to
write here. She left behind her, and Charlotte preserved, a manuscript
volume containing the whole of the poems in the two collections of her
verse, and there are other poems not yet published. Here, for example,
are some verses in which the Gondals make a slight reappearance.
[Picture: Facsimile of two pages of Emily Bronte's Diary]
'_May_ 21_st_, 1838.
GLENEDEN'S DREAM.
'Tell me, whether is it winter?
Say how long my sleep has been.
Have the woods I left so lovely
Lost their robes of tender green?
'Is the morning slow in coming?
Is the night time loth to go?
Tell me, are the dreary mountains
Drearier still with drifted snow?
'"Captive, since thou sawest the forest,
All its leaves have died away,
And another March has woven
Garlands for another May.
'"Ice has barred the Arctic waters;
Soft Southern winds have set it free;
And once more to deep green valley
Golden flowers might welcome thee."
'Watcher in this lonely prison,
Shut from joy and kindly air,
Heaven descending in a vision
Taught my soul to do and bear.
'It was night, a night of winter,
I lay on the dungeon floor,
And all other sounds were silent--
All, except the river's roar.
'Over Death and Desolation,
Fireless hearths, and lifeless homes;
Over orphans' heartsick sorrows,
Patriot fathers' bloody tombs;
'Over friends, that my arms never
Might embrace in love again;
Memory ponderous until madness
Struck its poniard in my brain.
'Deepest slumbers followed raving,
Yet, methought, I brooded still;
Still I saw my country bleeding,
Dying for a Tyrant's will.
'Not because my bliss was blasted,
Burned within the avenging flame;
Not because my scattered kindred
Died in woe or lived in shame.
'God doth know I would have given
Every bosom dear to me,
Could that sacrifice have purchased
Tortured Gondal's liberty!
'But that at Ambition's bidding
All her cherished hopes should wane,
That her noblest sons should muster,
Strive and fight and fall in vain.
'Hut and castle, hall and cottage,
Roofless, crumbling to the ground,
Mighty Heaven, a glad Avenger
Thy eternal Justice found.
'Yes, the arm that once would shudder
Even to grieve a wounded deer,
I beheld it, unrelenting,
Clothe in blood its sovereign's prayer.
'Glorious Dream! I saw the city
Blazing in Imperial shine,
And among adoring thousands
Stood a man of form divine.
'None need point the princely victim--
Now he smiles with royal pride!
Now his glance is bright as lightning,
Now the knife is in his side!
'Ah! I saw how death could darken,
Darken that triumphant eye!
His red heart's blood drenched my dagger;
My ear drank his dying sigh!
'Shadows come! what means this midnight?
O my God, I know it all!
Know the fever dream is over,
Unavenged, the Avengers fall!'
There are, indeed, a few fragments, all written in that tiny handwriting
which the girls affected, and bearing various dates from 1833 to 1840. A
new edition of Emily's poems, will, by virtue of these verses, have a
singular interest for her admirers. With all her gifts as a poet,
however, it is by _Wuthering Heights_ that Emily Bronte is best known to
the world; and the weirdness and force of that book suggest an inquiry
concerning the influences which produced it. Dr. Wright, in his
entertaining book, _The Brontes in Ireland_, recounts the story of
Patrick Bronte's origin, and insists that it was in listening to her
father's anecdotes of his own Irish experiences that Emily obtained the
weird material of _Wuthering Heights_. It is not, of course, enough to
point out that Dr. Wright's story of the Irish Brontes is full of
contradictions. A number of tales picked up at random from an illiterate
peasantry might very well abound in inconsistencies, and yet contain some
measure of truth. But nothing in Dr. Wright's narrative is confirmed,
save only the fact that Patrick Bronte continued throughout his life in
some slight measure of correspondence with his brothers and sisters--a
fact rendered sufficiently evident by a perusal of his will. Dr. Wright
tells of many visits to Ireland in order to trace the Bronte traditions
to their source; and yet he had not--in his first edition--marked the
elementary fact that the registry of births in County Down records the
existence of innumerable Bruntys and of not a single Bronte. Dr. Wright
probably made his inquiries with the stories of Emily and Charlotte well
in mind. He sought for similar traditions, and the quick-witted Irish
peasantry gave him all that he wanted. They served up and embellished
the current traditions of the neighbourhood for his benefit, as the
peasantry do everywhere for folklore enthusiasts. Charlotte Bronte's
uncle Hugh, we are told, read the _Quarterly Review_ article upon _Jane
Eyre_, and, armed with a shillelagh, came to England, in order to wreak
vengeance upon the writer of the bitter attack. He landed at Liverpool,
walked from Liverpool to Haworth, saw his nieces, who 'gathered round
him,' and listened to his account of his mission. He then went to London
and made abundant inquiries--but why pursue this ludicrous story further?
In the first place, the _Quarterly Review_ article was published in
December 1848--after Emily was dead, and while Anne was dying. Very soon
after the review appeared Charlotte was informed of its authorship, and
references to Miss Rigby and the _Quarterly_ are found more than once in
her correspondence with Mr. Williams. {158}
This is a lengthy digression from the story of Emily's life, but it is of
moment to discover whether there is any evidence of influences other than
those which her Yorkshire home afforded. I have discussed the matter
with Miss Ellen Nussey, and with Mr. Nicholls. Miss Nussey never, in all
her visits to Haworth, heard a single reference to the Irish legends
related by Dr. Wright, and firmly believes them to be mythical. Mr.
Nicholls, during the six years that he lived alone at the parsonage with
his father-in-law, never heard one single word from Mr. Bronte--who was
by no means disposed to reticence--about these stories, and is also of
opinion that they are purely legendary.
It has been suggested that Emily would have been guilty almost of a crime
to have based the more sordid part of her narrative upon her brother's
transgressions. This is sheer nonsense. She wrote _Wuthering Heights_
because she was impelled thereto, and the book, with all its morbid force
and fire, will remain, for all time, as a monument of the most striking
genius that nineteenth century womanhood has given us. It was partly her
life in Yorkshire--the local colour was mainly derived from her brief
experience as a governess at Halifax--but it was partly, also, the German
fiction which she had devoured during the Brussels period, that inspired
_Wuthering Heights_.
Here, however, are glimpses of Emily Bronte on a more human side.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 25_th_, 1844.
'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 flower seeds.
She wishes to know if the Sicilian pea and crimson corn-flower are
hardy flowers, or if they are delicate, and should be sown in warm
and sheltered situations? Tell me also if you went to Mrs. John
Swain's on Friday, and if you enjoyed yourself; talk to me, in short,
as you would do if we were together. Good-morning, dear Nell; I
shall say no more to you at present.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 5_th_, 1844.
'DEAR NELL,--We were all very glad to get your letter this morning.
_We_, I say, as both Papa and Emily were anxious to hear of the safe
arrival of yourself and the little _varmint_. {159} As you
conjecture, Emily and I set-to to shirt-making the very day after you
left, and we have stuck to it pretty closely ever since. We miss
your society at least as much as you miss ours, depend upon it; would
that you were within calling distance. Be sure you write to me. I
shall expect another letter on Thursday--don't disappoint me. Best
regards to your mother and sisters.--Yours, somewhat irritated,
'C. BRONTE.'
Earlier than this Emily had herself addressed a letter to Miss Nussey,
and, indeed, the two letters from Emily Bronte to Ellen Nussey which I
print here are, I imagine, the only letters of Emily's in existence. Mr.
Nicholls informs me that he has never seen a letter in Emily's
handwriting. The following letter is written during Charlotte's second
stay in Brussels, and at a time when Ellen Nussey contemplated joining
her there--a project never carried out.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 12, 1843.
'DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--I should be wanting in common civility if I did
not thank you for your kindness in letting me know of an opportunity
to send postage free.
'I have written as you directed, though if next Tuesday means
to-morrow I fear it will be too late. Charlotte has never mentioned
a word about coming home. If you would go over for half-a-year,
perhaps you might be able to bring her back with you--otherwise, she
might vegetate there till the age of Methuselah for mere lack of
courage to face the voyage.
'All here are in good health; so was Anne according to her last
account. The holidays will be here in a week or two, and then, if
she be willing, I will get her to write you a proper letter, a feat
that I have never performed.--With love and good wishes,
'EMILY J. BRONTE.'
The next letter is written at the time that Charlotte is staying with her
friend at Mr. Henry Nussey's house at Hathersage in Derbyshire.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _February_ 9_th_, 1846.
'DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--I fancy this note will be too late to decide one
way or other with respect to Charlotte's stay. Yours only came this
morning (Wednesday), and unless mine travels faster you will not
receive it till Friday. Papa, of course, misses Charlotte, and will
be glad to have her back. Anne and I ditto; but as she goes from
home so seldom, you may keep her a day or two longer, if your
eloquence is equal to the task of persuading her--that is, if she
still be with you when you get this permission. Love from
Anne.--Yours truly,
'EMILY J. BRONTE.'
_Wuthering Heights_ and _Agnes Grey_, 'by Ellis and Acton Bell,' were
published together in three volumes in 1847. The former novel occupied
two volumes, and the latter one. By a strange freak of publishing, the
book was issued as _Wuthering Heights_, vol. I. and II., and _Agnes
Grey_, vol. III., in deference, it must be supposed, to the passion for
the three volume novel. Charlotte refers to the publication in the next
letter, which contained as inclosure the second preface to _Jane
Eyre_--the preface actually published. {161} An earlier preface,
entitled 'A Word to the _Quarterly_,' was cancelled.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 21_st_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I am, for my own part, dissatisfied with the preface I
sent--I fear it savours of flippancy. If you see no objection I
should prefer substituting the inclosed. It is rather more lengthy,
but it expresses something I have long wished to express.
'Mr. Smith is kind indeed to think of sending me _The Jar of Honey_.
When I receive the book I will write to him. I cannot thank you
sufficiently for your letters, and I can give you but a faint idea of
the pleasure they afford me; they seem to introduce such light and
life to the torpid retirement where we live like dormice. But,
understand this distinctly, you must never write to me except when
you have both leisure and inclination. I know your time is too fully
occupied and too valuable to be often at the service of any one
individual.
'You are not far wrong in your judgment respecting _Wuthering
Heights_ and _Agnes Grey_. Ellis has a strong, original mind, full
of strange though sombre power. When he writes poetry that power
speaks in language at once condensed, elaborated, and refined, but in
prose it breaks forth in scenes which shock more than they attract.
Ellis will improve, however, because he knows his defects. _Agnes
Grey_ is the mirror of the mind of the writer. The orthography and
punctuation of the books are mortifying to a degree: almost all the
errors that were corrected in the proof-sheets appear intact in what
should have been the fair copies. If Mr. Newby always does business
in this way, few authors would like to have him for their publisher a
second time.--Believe me, dear sir, yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.'
When _Jane Eyre_ was performed at a London theatre--and it has been more
than once adapted for the stage, and performed many hundreds of times in
England and America--Charlotte Bronte wrote to her friend Mr. Williams as
follows:--
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 5_th_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--A representation of _Jane Eyre_ at a minor theatre would
no doubt be a rather afflicting spectacle to the author of that work.
I suppose all would be wofully exaggerated and painfully vulgarised
by the actors and actresses on such a stage. What, I cannot help
asking myself, would they make of Mr. Rochester? And the picture my
fancy conjures up by way of reply is a somewhat humiliating one.
What would they make of Jane Eyre? I see something very pert and
very affected as an answer to that query.
'Still, were it in my power, I should certainly make a point of being
myself a witness of the exhibition. Could I go quietly and alone, I
undoubtedly should go; I should endeavour to endure both rant and
whine, strut and grimace, for the sake of the useful observations to
be collected in such a scene.
'As to whether I wish _you_ to go, that is another question. I am
afraid I have hardly fortitude enough really to wish it. One can
endure being disgusted with one's own work, but that a friend should
share the repugnance is unpleasant. Still, I know it would interest
me to hear both your account of the exhibition and any ideas which
the effect of the various parts on the spectators might suggest to
you. In short, I should like to know what you would think, and to
hear what you would say on the subject. But you must not go merely
to satisfy my curiosity; you must do as you think proper. Whatever
you decide on will content me: if you do not go, you will be spared a
vulgarising impression of the book; if you _do_ go, I shall perhaps
gain a little information--either alternative has its advantage.
{163}
'I am glad to hear that the second edition is selling, for the sake
of Messrs. Smith & Elder. I rather feared it would remain on hand,
and occasion loss. _Wuthering Heights_ it appears is selling too,
and consequently Mr. Newby is getting into marvellously good tune
with his authors.--I remain, my dear sir, yours faithfully,
'CURRER BELL.'
I print the above letter here because of its sequel, which has something
to say of Ellis--of Emily Bronte.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 15_th_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--Your letter, as you may fancy, has given me something to
think about. It has presented to my mind a curious picture, for the
description you give is so vivid, I seem to realise it all. I wanted
information and I have got it. You have raised the veil from a
corner of your great world--your London--and have shown me a glimpse
of what I might call loathsome, but which I prefer calling _strange_.
Such, then, is a sample of what amuses the metropolitan populace!
Such is a view of one of their haunts!
'Did I not say that I would have gone to this theatre and witnessed
this exhibition if it had been in my power? What absurdities people
utter when they speak of they know not what!
'You must try now to forget entirely what you saw.
'As to my next book, I suppose it will grow to maturity in time, as
grass grows or corn ripens; but I cannot force it. It makes slow
progress thus far: it is not every day, nor even every week that I
can write what is worth reading; but I shall (if not hindered by
other matters) be industrious when the humour comes, and in due time
I hope to see such a result as I shall not be ashamed to offer you,
my publishers, and the public.
'Have you not two classes of writers--the author and the bookmaker?
And is not the latter more prolific than the former? Is he not,
indeed, wonderfully fertile; but does the public, or the publisher
even, make much account of his productions? Do not both tire of him
in time?
'Is it not because authors aim at a style of living better suited to
merchants, professed gain-seekers, that they are often compelled to
degenerate to mere bookmakers, and to find the great stimulus of
their pen in the necessity of earning money? If they were not
ashamed to be frugal, might they not be more independent?
'I should much--very much--like to take that quiet view of the "great
world" you allude to, but I have as yet won no right to give myself
such a treat: it must be for some future day--when, I don't know.
Ellis, I imagine, would soon turn aside from the spectacle in
disgust. I do not think he admits it as his creed that "the proper
study of mankind is man"--at least not the artificial man of cities.
In some points I consider Ellis somewhat of a theorist: now and then
he broaches ideas which strike my sense as much more daring and
original than practical; his reason may be in advance of mine, but
certainly it often travels a different road. I should say Ellis will
not be seen in his full strength till he is seen as an essayist.
'I return to you the note inclosed under your cover, it is from the
editor of the _Berwick Warder_; he wants a copy of _Jane Eyre_ to
review.
'With renewed thanks for your continued goodness to me,--I remain, my
dear sir, yours faithfully,
'CURRER BELL.'
A short time afterwards the illness came to Emily from which she died the
same year. Branwell died in September 1848, and a month later Charlotte
writes with a heart full of misgivings:--
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_October_ 29_th_, 1848.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I am sorry you should have been uneasy at my not
writing to you ere this, but you must remember it is scarcely a week
since I received your last, and my life is not so varied that in the
interim much should have occurred worthy of mention. You insist that
I should write about myself; this puts me in straits, for I really
have nothing interesting to say about myself. I think I have now
nearly got over the effects of my late illness, and am almost
restored to my normal condition of health. I sometimes wish that it
was a little higher, but we ought to be content with such blessings
as we have, and not pine after those that are out of our reach. I
feel much more uneasy about my sisters than myself just now. Emily's
cold and cough are very obstinate. I fear she has pain in the chest,
and I sometimes catch a shortness in her breathing, when she has
moved at all quickly. She looks very, very thin and pale. Her
reserved nature occasions me great uneasiness of mind. It is useless
to question her--you get no answers. It is still more useless to
recommend remedies--they are never adopted. Nor can I shut my eyes
to the fact of Anne's great delicacy of constitution. The late sad
event has, I feel, made me more apprehensive than common. I cannot
help feeling much depressed sometimes. I try to leave all in God's
hands; to trust in His goodness; but faith and resignation are
difficult to practise under some circumstances. The weather has been
most unfavourable for invalids of late: sudden changes of
temperature, and cold penetrating winds have been frequent here.
Should the atmosphere become settled, perhaps a favourable effect
might be produced on the general health, and those harassing coughs
and colds be removed. Papa has not quite escaped, but he has, so
far, stood it out better than any of us. You must not mention my
going to Brookroyd this winter. I could not, and would not, leave
home on any account. I am truly sorry to hear of Miss Heald's
serious illness, it seems to me she has been for some years out of
health now. These things make one _feel_ as well as _know_, that
this world is not our abiding-place. We should not knit human ties
too close, or clasp human affections too fondly. They must leave us,
or we must leave them, one day. Good-bye for the present. God
restore health and strength to you and to all who need it.--Yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 2_nd_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have received, since I last wrote to you, two
papers, the _Standard of Freedom_ and the _Morning Herald_, both
containing notices of the Poems; which notices, I hope, will at least
serve a useful purpose to Mr. Smith in attracting public attention to
the volume. As critiques, I should have thought more of them had
they more fully recognised Ellis Bell's merits; but the lovers of
abstract poetry are few in number.
'Your last letter was very welcome, it was written with so kind an
intention: you made it so interesting in order to divert my mind. I
should have thanked you for it before now, only that I kept waiting
for a cheerful day and mood in which to address you, and I grieve to
say the shadow which has fallen on our quiet home still lingers round
it. I am better, but others are ill now. Papa is not well, my
sister Emily has something like slow inflammation of the lungs, and
even our old servant, who lived with us nearly a quarter of a
century, is suffering under serious indisposition.
'I would fain hope that Emily is a little better this evening, but it
is difficult to ascertain this. She is a real stoic in illness: she
neither seeks nor will accept sympathy. To put any questions, to
offer any aid, is to annoy; she will not yield a step before pain or
sickness till forced; not one of her ordinary avocations will she
voluntarily renounce. You must look on and see her do what she is
unfit to do, and not dare to say a word--a painful necessity for
those to whom her health and existence are as precious as the life in
their veins. When she is ill there seems to be no sunshine in the
world for me. The tie of sister is near and dear indeed, and I think
a certain harshness in her powerful and peculiar character only makes
me cling to her more. But this is all family egotism (so to
speak)--excuse it, and, above all, never allude to it, or to the name
Emily, when you write to me. I do not always show your letters, but
I never withhold them when they are inquired after.
'I am sorry I cannot claim for the name Bronte the honour of being
connected with the notice in the _Bradford Observer_. That paper is
in the hands of dissenters, and I should think the best articles are
usually written by one or two intelligent dissenting ministers in the
town. Alexander Harris {168a} is fortunate in your encouragement, as
Currer Bell once was. He has not forgotten the first letter he
received from you, declining indeed his MS. of _The Professor_, but
in terms so different from those in which the rejections of the other
publishers had been expressed--with so much more sense and kind
feeling, it took away the sting of disappointment and kindled new
hope in his mind.
'Currer Bell might expostulate with you again about thinking too well
of him, but he refrains; he prefers acknowledging that the expression
of a fellow creature's regard--even if more than he deserves--does
him good: it gives him a sense of content. Whatever portion of the
tribute is unmerited on his part, would, he is aware, if exposed to
the test of daily acquaintance, disperse like a broken bubble, but he
has confidence that a portion, however minute, of solid friendship
would remain behind, and that portion he reckons amongst his
treasures.
'I am glad, by-the-bye, to hear that _Madeline_ is come out at last,
and was happy to see a favourable notice of that work and of _The
Three Paths_ in the _Morning Herald_. I wish Miss Kavanagh all
success. {168b}
'Trusting that Mrs. Williams's health continues strong, and that your
own and that of all your children is satisfactory, for without health
there is little comfort,--I am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
The next letter gives perhaps the most interesting glimpse of Emily that
has been afforded us.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 22_nd_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I put your most friendly letter into Emily's hands as
soon as I had myself perused it, taking care, however, not to say a
word in favour of homoeopathy--that would not have answered. It is
best usually to leave her to form her own judgment, and _especially_
not to advocate the side you wish her to favour; if you do, she is
sure to lean in the opposite direction, and ten to one will argue
herself into non-compliance. Hitherto she has refused medicine,
rejected medical advice; no reasoning, no entreaty, has availed to
induce her to see a physician. After reading your letter she said,
"Mr. Williams's intention was kind and good, but he was under a
delusion: Homoeopathy was only another form of quackery." Yet she
may reconsider this opinion and come to a different conclusion; her
second thoughts are often the best.
'The _North American Review_ is worth reading; there is no mincing
the matter there. What a bad set the Bells must be! What appalling
books they write! To-day, as Emily appeared a little easier, I
thought the _Review_ would amuse her, so I read it aloud to her and
Anne. As I sat between them at our quiet but now somewhat melancholy
fireside, I studied the two ferocious authors. Ellis, the "man of
uncommon talents, but dogged, brutal, and morose," sat leaning back
in his easy chair drawing his impeded breath as he best could, and
looking, alas! piteously pale and wasted; it is not his wont to
laugh, but he smiled half-amused and half in scorn as he listened.
Acton was sewing, no emotion ever stirs him to loquacity, so he only
smiled too, dropping at the same time a single word of calm amazement
to hear his character so darkly portrayed. I wonder what the
reviewer would have thought of his own sagacity could he have beheld
the pair as I did. Vainly, too, might he have looked round for the
masculine partner in the firm of "Bell & Co." How I laugh in my
sleeve when I read the solemn assertions that _Jane Eyre_ was written
in partnership, and that it "bears the marks of more than one mind
and one sex."
'The wise critics would certainly sink a degree in their own
estimation if they knew that yours or Mr. Smith's was the first
masculine hand that touched the MS. of _Jane Eyre_, and that till you
or he read it no masculine eye had scanned a line of its contents, no
masculine ear heard a phrase from its pages. However, the view they
take of the matter rather pleases me than otherwise. If they like, I
am not unwilling they should think a dozen ladies and gentlemen aided
at the compilation of the book. Strange patchwork it must seem to
them--this chapter being penned by Mr., and that by Miss or Mrs.
Bell; that character or scene being delineated by the husband, that
other by the wife! The gentleman, of course, doing the rough work,
the lady getting up the finer parts. I admire the idea vastly.
'I have read _Madeline_. It is a fine pearl in simple setting.
Julia Kavanagh has my esteem; I would rather know her than many far
more brilliant personages. Somehow my heart leans more to her than
to Eliza Lynn, for instance. Not that I have read either _Amymone_
or _Azeth_, but I have seen extracts from them which I found it
literally impossible to digest. They presented to my imagination
Lytton Bulwer in petticoats--an overwhelming vision. By-the-bye, the
American critic talks admirable sense about Bulwer--candour obliges
me to confess that.
'I must abruptly bid you good-bye for the present.--Yours sincerely,
'CURRER BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 7_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I duly received Dr. Curie's work on Homoeopathy, and
ought to apologise for having forgotten to thank you for it. I will
return it when I have given it a more attentive perusal than I have
yet had leisure to do. My sister has read it, but as yet she remains
unshaken in her former opinion: she will not admit there can be
efficacy in such a system. Were I in her place, it appears to me
that I should be glad to give it a trial, confident that it can
scarcely do harm and might do good.
'I can give no favourable report of Emily's state. My father is very
despondent about her. Anne and I cherish hope as well as we can, but
her appearance and her symptoms tend to crush that feeling. Yet I
argue that the present emaciation, cough, weakness, shortness of
breath are the results of inflammation, now, I trust, subsided, and
that with time these ailments will gradually leave her. But my
father shakes his head and speaks of others of our family once
similarly afflicted, for whom he likewise persisted in hoping against
hope, and who are now removed where hope and fear fluctuate no more.
There were, however, differences between their case and
hers--important differences I think. I must cling to the expectation
of her recovery, I cannot renounce it.
'Much would I give to have the opinion of a skilful professional man.
It is easy, my dear sir, to say there is nothing in medicine, and
that physicians are useless, but we naturally wish to procure aid for
those we love when we see them suffer; most painful is it to sit
still, look on, and do nothing. Would that my sister added to her
many great qualities the humble one of tractability! I have again
and again incurred her displeasure by urging the necessity of seeking
advice, and I fear I must yet incur it again and again. Let me leave
the subject; I have no right thus to make you a sharer in our sorrow.
'I am indeed surprised that Mr. Newby should say that he is to
publish another work by Ellis and Acton Bell. Acton has had quite
enough of him. I think I _have_ before intimated that that author
never more intends to have Mr. Newby for a publisher. Not only does
he seem to forget that engagements made should be fulfilled, but by a
system of petty and contemptible manoeuvring he throws an air of
charlatanry over the works of which he has the management. This does
not suit the "Bells": they have their own rude north-country ideas of
what is delicate, honourable, and gentlemanlike.
'Newby's conduct in no sort corresponds with these notions; they have
found him--I will not say what they have found him. Two words that
would exactly suit him are at my pen point, but I shall not take the
trouble to employ them.
'Ellis Bell is at present in no condition to trouble himself with
thoughts either of writing or publishing. Should it please Heaven to
restore his health and strength, he reserves to himself the right of
deciding whether or not Mr. Newby has forfeited every claim to his
second work.
'I have not yet read the second number of _Pendennis_. The first I
thought rich in indication of ease, resource, promise; but it is not
Thackeray's way to develop his full power all at once. _Vanity Fair_
began very quietly--it was quiet all through, but the stream as it
rolled gathered a resistless volume and force. Such, I doubt not,
will be the case with _Pendennis_.
'You must forget what I said about Eliza Lynn. She may be the best
of human beings, and I am but a narrow-minded fool to express
prejudice against a person I have never seen.
'Believe me, my dear sir, in haste, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
The next four letters speak for themselves.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 9_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Your letter seems to relieve me from a difficulty and
to open my way. I know it would be useless to consult Drs. Elliotson
or Forbes: my sister would not see the most skilful physician in
England if he were brought to her just now, nor would she follow his
prescription. With regard to Homoeopathy, she has at least admitted
that it cannot do much harm; perhaps if I get the medicines she may
consent to try them; at any rate, the experiment shall be made.
'Not knowing Dr. Epps's address, I send the inclosed statement of her
case through your hands. {173}
'I deeply feel both your kindness and Mr. Smith's in thus interesting
yourselves in what touches me so nearly.--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_December_ 15_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I mentioned your coming here to Emily as a mere
suggestion, with the faint hope that the prospect might cheer her, as
she really esteems you perhaps more than any other person out of this
house. I found, however, it would not do; any, the slightest
excitement or putting out of the way is not to be thought of, and
indeed I do not think the journey in this unsettled weather, with the
walk from Keighley and walk back, at all advisable for yourself. Yet
I should have liked to see you, and so would Anne. Emily continues
much the same; yesterday I thought her a little better, but to-day
she is not so well. I hope still, for I _must_ hope--she is dear to
me as life. If I let the faintness of despair reach my heart I shall
become worthless. The attack was, I believe, in the first place,
inflammation of the lungs; it ought to have been met promptly in
time. She is too intractable. I _do_ wish I knew her state and
feelings more clearly. The fever is not so high as it was, but the
pain in the side, the cough, the emaciation are there still.
'Remember me kindly to all at Brookroyd, and believe me, yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_December_ 21_st_, 1848.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--Emily suffers no more from pain or weakness now.
She will never suffer more in this world. She is gone, after a hard,
short conflict. She died on _Tuesday_, the very day I wrote to you.
I thought it very possible she might be with us still for weeks, and
a few hours afterwards she was in eternity. Yes, there is no Emily
in time or on earth now. Yesterday we put her poor, wasted, mortal
frame quietly under the church pavement. We are very calm at
present. Why should we be otherwise? The anguish of seeing her
suffer is over; the spectacle of the pains of death is gone by; the
funeral day is past. We feel she is at peace. No need now to
tremble for the hard frost and the keen wind. Emily does not feel
them. She died in a time of promise. We saw her taken from life in
its prime. But it is God's will, and the place where she is gone is
better than she has left.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 25_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I will write to you more at length when my heart can
find a little rest--now I can only thank you very briefly for your
letter, which seemed to me eloquent in its sincerity.
'Emily is nowhere here now, her wasted mortal remains are taken out
of the house. We have laid her cherished head under the church aisle
beside my mother's, my two sisters'--dead long ago--and my poor,
hapless brother's. But a small remnant of the race is left--so my
poor father thinks.
'Well, the loss is ours, not hers, and some sad comfort I take, as I
hear the wind blow and feel the cutting keenness of the frost, in
knowing that the elements bring her no more suffering; their severity
cannot reach her grave; her fever is quieted, her restlessness
soothed, her deep, hollow cough is hushed for ever; we do not hear it
in the night nor listen for it in the morning; we have not the
conflict of the strangely strong spirit and the fragile frame before
us--relentless conflict--once seen, never to be forgotten. A dreary
calm reigns round us, in the midst of which we seek resignation.
'My father and my sister Anne are far from well. As for me, God has
hitherto most graciously sustained me; so far I have felt adequate to
bear my own burden and even to offer a little help to others. I am
not ill; I can get through daily duties, and do something towards
keeping hope and energy alive in our mourning household. My father
says to me almost hourly, "Charlotte, you must bear up, I shall sink
if you fail me"; these words, you can conceive, are a stimulus to
nature. The sight, too, of my sister Anne's very still but deep
sorrow wakens in me such fear for her that I dare not falter.
Somebody _must_ cheer the rest.
'So I will not now ask why Emily was torn from us in the fulness of
our attachment, rooted up in the prime of her own days, in the
promise of her powers; why her existence now lies like a field of
green corn trodden down, like a tree in full bearing struck at the
root. I will only say, sweet is rest after labour and calm after
tempest, and repeat again and again that Emily knows that now.--Yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
And then there are these last pathetic references to the beloved sister.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 2_nd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Untoward circumstances come to me, I think, less
painfully than pleasant ones would just now. The lash of the
_Quarterly_, however severely applied, cannot sting--as its praise
probably would not elate me. Currer Bell feels a sorrowful
independence of reviews and reviewers; their approbation might indeed
fall like an additional weight on his heart, but their censure has no
bitterness for him.
'My sister Anne sends the accompanying answer to the letter received
through you the other day; will you be kind enough to post it? She
is not well yet, nor is papa, both are suffering under severe
influenza colds. My letters had better be brief at present--they
cannot be cheerful. I am, however, still sustained. While looking
with dismay on the desolation sickness and death have wrought in our
home, I can combine with awe of God's judgments a sense of gratitude
for his mercies. Yet life has become very void, and hope has proved
a strange traitor; when I shall again be able to put confidence in
her suggestions, I know not: she kept whispering that Emily would
not, _could_ not die, and where is she now? Out of my reach, out of
my world--torn from me.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
'_March_ 3_rd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Hitherto, I have always forgotten to acknowledge the
receipt of the parcel from Cornhill. It came at a time when I could
not open it nor think of it; its contents are still a mystery. I
will not taste, till I can enjoy them. I looked at it the other day.
It reminded me too sharply of the time when the first parcel arrived
last October: Emily was then beginning to be ill--the opening of the
parcel and examination of the books cheered her; their perusal
occupied her for many a weary day. The very evening before her last
morning dawned I read to her one of Emerson's essays. I read on,
till I found she was not listening--I thought to recommence next day.
Next day, the first glance at her face told me what would happen
before night-fall.
'C. BRONTE.'
'_November_ 19_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am very sorry to hear that Mr. Taylor's illness has
proved so much more serious than was anticipated, but I do hope he is
now better. That he should be quite well cannot be as yet expected,
for I believe rheumatic fever is a complaint slow to leave the system
it has invaded.
'Now that I have almost formed the resolution of coming to London,
the thought begins to present itself to me under a pleasant aspect.
At first it was sad; it recalled the last time I went and with whom,
and to whom I came home, and in what dear companionship I again and
again narrated all that had been seen, heard, and uttered in that
visit. Emily would never go into any sort of society herself, and
whenever I went I could on my return communicate to her a pleasure
that suited her, by giving the distinct faithful impression of each
scene I had witnessed. When pressed to go, she would sometimes say,
"What is the use? Charlotte will bring it all home to me." And
indeed I delighted to please her thus. My occupation is gone now.
'I shall come to be lectured. I perceive you are ready with
animadversion; you are not at all well satisfied on some points, so I
will open my ears to hear, nor will I close my heart against
conviction; but I forewarn you, I have my own doctrines, not
acquired, but innate, some that I fear cannot be rooted up without
tearing away all the soil from which they spring, and leaving only
unproductive rock for new seed.
'I have read the _Caxtons_, I have looked at _Fanny Hervey_. I think
I will not write what I think of either--should I see you I will
speak it.
'Take a hundred, take a thousand of such works and weigh them in the
balance against a page of Thackeray. I hope Mr. Thackeray is
recovered.
'The _Sun_, the _Morning Herald_, and the _Critic_ came this morning.
None of them express disappointment from _Shirley_, or on the whole
compare her disadvantageously with _Jane_. It strikes me that those
worthies--the _Athenaeum_, _Spectator_, _Economist_, made haste to be
first with their notices that they might give the tone; if so, their
manoeuvre has not yet quite succeeded.
'The _Critic_, our old friend, is a friend still. Why does the pulse
of pain beat in every pleasure? Ellis and Acton Bell are referred
to, and where are they? I will not repine. Faith whispers they are
not in those graves to which imagination turns--the feeling,
thinking, the inspired natures are beyond earth, in a region more
glorious. I believe them blessed. I think, I _will_ think, my loss
has been _their_ gain. Does it weary you that I refer to them? If
so, forgive me.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.
'Before closing this I glanced over the letter inclosed under your
cover. Did you read it? It is from a lady, not quite an old maid,
but nearly one, she says; no signature or date; a queer, but
good-natured production, it made me half cry, half laugh. I am sure
_Shirley_ has been exciting enough for her, and too exciting. I
cannot well reply to the letter since it bears no address, and I am
glad--I should not know what to say. She is not sure whether I am a
gentleman or not, but I fancy she thinks so. Have you any idea who
she is? If I were a gentleman and like my heroes, she suspects she
should fall in love with me. She had better not. It would be a pity
to cause such a waste of sensibility. You and Mr. Smith would not
let me announce myself as a single gentleman of mature age in my
preface, but if you had permitted it, a great many elderly spinsters
would have been pleased.'
The last words that I have to say concerning Emily are contained in a
letter to me from Miss Ellen Nussey.
'So very little is known of Emily Bronte,' she writes, 'that every
little detail awakens an interest. Her extreme reserve seemed
impenetrable, yet she was intensely lovable; she invited confidence
in her moral power. Few people have the gift of looking and smiling
as she could look and smile. One of her rare expressive looks was
something to remember through life, there was such a depth of soul
and feeling, and yet a shyness of revealing herself--a strength of
self-containment seen in no other. She was in the strictest sense a
law unto herself, and a heroine in keeping to her law. She and
gentle Anne were to be seen twined together as united statues of
power and humility. They were to be seen with their arms lacing each
other in their younger days whenever their occupations permitted
their union. On the top of a moor or in a deep glen Emily was a
child in spirit for glee and enjoyment; or when thrown entirely on
her own resources to do a kindness, she could be vivacious in
conversation and enjoy giving pleasure. A spell of mischief also
lurked in her on occasions when out on the moors. She enjoyed
leading Charlotte where she would not dare to go of her own
free-will. Charlotte had a mortal dread of unknown animals, and it
was Emily's pleasure to lead her into close vicinity, and then to
tell her of how and of what she had done, laughing at her horror with
great amusement. If Emily wanted a book she might have left in the
sitting-room she would dart in again without looking at any one,
especially if any guest were present. Among the curates, Mr.
Weightman was her only exception for any conventional courtesy. The
ability with which she took up music was amazing; the style, the
touch, and the expression was that of a professor absorbed heart and
soul in his theme. The two dogs, Keeper and Flossy, were always in
quiet waiting by the side of Emily and Anne during their breakfast of
Scotch oatmeal and milk, and always had a share handed down to them
at the close of the meal. Poor old Keeper, Emily's faithful friend
and worshipper, seemed to understand her like a human being. One
evening, when the four friends were sitting closely round the fire in
the sitting-room, Keeper forced himself in between Charlotte and
Emily and mounted himself on Emily's lap; finding the space too
limited for his comfort he pressed himself forward on to the guest's
knees, making himself quite comfortable. Emily's heart was won by
the unresisting endurance of the visitor, little guessing that she
herself, being in close contact, was the inspiring cause of
submission to Keeper's preference. Sometimes Emily would delight in
showing off Keeper--make him frantic in action, and roar with the
voice of a lion. It was a terrifying exhibition within the walls of
an ordinary sitting-room. Keeper was a solemn mourner at Emily's
funeral and never recovered his cheerfulness.'
CHAPTER VII: ANNE BRONTE
It can scarcely be doubted that Anne Bronte'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 Bronte!' Mr. Nicholls has a portrait of Anne in his
possession, drawn by Charlotte, which he pronounces to be an admirable
likeness, and this does convey the impression of a sweet and gentle
nature.
Anne, as we have seen, was taken in long clothes from Thornton to
Haworth. Her godmother was a Miss Outhwaite, a fact I learn from an
inscription in Anne's _Book of Common Prayer_. '_Miss Outhwaite to her
goddaughter_, _Anne Bronte_, _July _13_th_, 1827.' Miss Outhwaite was
not forgetful of her goddaughter, for by her will she left Anne 200
pounds.
There is a sampler worked by Anne, bearing date January 23rd, 1830, and
there is a later book than the Prayer Book, with Anne's name in it, and,
as might be expected, it is a good-conduct prize. _Prize for good
conduct presented to Miss A. Bronte with Miss Wooler's kind love_, _Roe
Head_, _Dec._ 14_th_, 1836, is the inscription in a copy of Watt _On the
Improvement of the Mind_.
Apart from the correspondence we know little more than this--that Anne
was the least assertive of the three sisters, and that she was more
distinctly a general favourite. We have Charlotte's own word for it that
even the curates ventured upon 'sheep's eyes' at Anne. We know all too
little of her two experiences as governess, first at Blake Hall with Mrs.
Ingham, and later at Thorp Green with Mrs. Robinson. The painful episode
of Branwell's madness came to disturb her sojourn at the latter place,
but long afterwards her old pupils, the Misses Robinson, called to see
her at Haworth; and one of them, who became a Mrs. Clapham of Keighley,
always retained the most kindly memories of her gentle governess.
[Picture: Anne Bronte]
With the exception of these two uncomfortable episodes as governess, Anne
would seem to have had no experience of the larger world. Even before
Anne's death, Charlotte had visited Brussels, London, and Hathersage (in
Derbyshire). Anne never, I think, set foot out of her native county,
although she was the only one of her family to die away from home. Of
her correspondence I have only the two following letters:--
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _October_ 4_th_, 1847.
'MY DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--Many thanks to you for your unexpected and
welcome epistle. Charlotte is well, and meditates writing to you.
Happily for all parties the east wind no longer prevails. During its
continuance she complained of its influence as usual. I too suffered
from it in some degree, as I always do, more or less; but this time,
it brought me no reinforcement of colds and coughs, which is what I
dread the most. Emily considers it a very uninteresting wind, but it
does not affect her nervous system. Charlotte agrees with me in
thinking the --- {183a} a very provoking affair. You are quite
mistaken about her parasol; she affirms she brought it back, and I
can bear witness to the fact, having seen it yesterday in her
possession. As for my book, I have no wish to see it again till I
see you along with it, and then it will be welcome enough for the
sake of the bearer. We are all here much as you left us. I have no
news to tell you, except that Mr. Nicholls begged a holiday and went
to Ireland three or four weeks ago, and is not expected back till
Saturday; but that, I dare say, is no news at all. We were all and
severally pleased and gratified for your kind and judiciously
selected presents, from papa down to Tabby, or down to myself,
perhaps I ought rather to say. The crab-cheese is excellent, and
likely to be very useful, but I don't intend to need it. It is not
choice but necessity has induced me to choose such a tiny sheet of
paper for my letter, having none more suitable at hand; but perhaps
it will contain as much as you need wish to read, and I to write, for
I find I have nothing more to say, except that your little Tabby must
be a charming little creature. That is all, for as Charlotte is
writing, or about to write to you herself, I need not send any
messages from her. Therefore accept my best love. I must not omit
the Major's {183b} compliments. And--Believe me to be your
affectionate friend,
'ANNE BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 4_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--I am not going to give you a "nice _long_
letter"--on the contrary, I mean to content myself with a shabby
little note, to be ingulfed in a letter of Charlotte's, which will,
of course, be infinitely more acceptable to you than any production
of mine, though I do not question your friendly regard for me, or the
indulgent welcome you would accord to a missive of mine, even without
a more agreeable companion to back it; but you must know there is a
lamentable deficiency in my organ of language, which makes me almost
as bad a hand at writing as talking, unless I have something
particular to say. I have now, however, to thank you and your friend
for your kind letter and her pretty watch-guards, which I am sure we
shall all of us value the more for being the work of her own hands.
You do not tell us how _you_ bear the present unfavourable weather.
We are all cut up by this cruel east wind. Most of us, i.e.
Charlotte, Emily, and I have had the influenza, or a bad cold
instead, twice over within the space of a few weeks. Papa has had it
once. Tabby has escaped it altogether. I have no news to tell you,
for we have been nowhere, seen no one, and done nothing (to speak of)
since you were here--and yet we contrive to be busy from morning till
night. Flossy is fatter than ever, but still active enough to relish
a sheep-hunt. I hope you and your circle have been more fortunate in
the matter of colds than we have.
'With kind regards to all,--I remain, dear Miss Nussey, yours ever
affectionately,
'ANNE BRONTE.'
_Agnes Grey_, as we have noted, was published by Newby, in one volume, in
1847. _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_ was issued by the same publisher, in
three volumes, in 1848. It is not generally known that _The Tenant of
Wildfell Hall_ went into a second edition the same year; and I should
have pronounced it incredible, were not a copy of the later issue in my
possession, that Anne Bronte had actually written a preface to this
edition. The fact is entirely ignored in the correspondence. The
preface in question makes it quite clear, if any evidence of that were
necessary, that Anne had her brother in mind in writing the book. 'I
could not be understood to suppose,' she says, 'that the proceedings of
the unhappy scapegrace, with his few profligate companions I have here
introduced, are a specimen of the common practices of society: the case
is an extreme one, as I trusted none would fail to perceive; but I knew
that such characters do exist, and if I have warned one rash youth from
following in their steps, or prevented one thoughtless girl from falling
into the very natural error of my heroine, the book has not been written
in vain.' 'One word more and I have done,' she continues. 'Respecting
the author's identity, I would have it to be distinctly understood that
Acton Bell is neither Currer nor Ellis Bell, and, therefore, let not his
faults be attributed to them. As to whether the name is real or
fictitious, it cannot greatly signify to those who know him only by his
works.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 18_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--In sitting down to write to you I feel as if I were
doing a wrong and a selfish thing. I believe I ought to discontinue
my correspondence with you till times change, and the tide of
calamity which of late days has set so strongly in against us takes a
turn. But the fact is, sometimes I feel it absolutely necessary to
unburden my mind. To papa I must only speak cheeringly, to Anne only
encouragingly--to you I may give some hint of the dreary truth.
'Anne and I sit alone and in seclusion as you fancy us, but we do not
study. Anne cannot study now, she can scarcely read; she occupies
Emily's chair; she does not get well. A week ago we sent for a
medical man of skill and experience from Leeds to see her. He
examined her with the stethoscope. His report I forbear to dwell on
for the present--even skilful physicians have often been mistaken in
their conjectures.
'My first impulse was to hasten her away to a warmer climate, but
this was forbidden: she must not travel; she is not to stir from the
house this winter; the temperature of her room is to be kept
constantly equal.
'Had leave been given to try change of air and scene, I should hardly
have known how to act. I could not possibly leave papa; and when I
mentioned his accompanying us, the bare thought distressed him too
much to be dwelt upon. Papa is now upwards of seventy years of age;
his habits for nearly thirty years have been those of absolute
retirement; any change in them is most repugnant to him, and probably
could not, at this time especially when the hand of God is so heavy
upon his old age, be ventured upon without danger.
'When we lost Emily I thought we had drained the very dregs of our
cup of trial, but now when I hear Anne cough as Emily coughed, I
tremble lest there should be exquisite bitterness yet to taste.
However, I must not look forwards, nor must I look backwards. Too
often I feel like one crossing an abyss on a narrow plank--a glance
round might quite unnerve.
'So circumstanced, my dear sir, what claim have I on your friendship,
what right to the comfort of your letters? My literary character is
effaced for the time, and it is by that only you know me. Care of
papa and Anne is necessarily my chief present object in life, to the
exclusion of all that could give me interest with my publishers or
their connections. Should Anne get better, I think I could rally and
become Currer Bell once more, but if otherwise, I look no farther:
sufficient for the day is the evil thereof.
'Anne is very patient in her illness, as patient as Emily was
unflinching. I recall one sister and look at the other with a sort
of reverence as well as affection--under the test of suffering
neither has faltered.
'All the days of this winter have gone by darkly and heavily like a
funeral train. Since September, sickness has not quitted the house.
It is strange it did not use to be so, but I suspect now all this has
been coming on for years. Unused, any of us, to the possession of
robust health, we have not noticed the gradual approaches of decay;
we did not know its symptoms: the little cough, the small appetite,
the tendency to take cold at every variation of atmosphere have been
regarded as things of course. I see them in another light now.
'If you answer this, write to me as you would to a person in an
average state of tranquillity and happiness. I want to keep myself
as firm and calm as I can. While papa and Anne want me, I hope, I
pray, never to fail them. Were I to see you I should endeavour to
converse on ordinary topics, and I should wish to write on the
same--besides, it will be less harassing to yourself to address me as
usual.
'May God long preserve to you the domestic treasures you value; and
when bereavement at last comes, may He give you strength to bear
it.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 1_st_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Anne seems so tranquil this morning, so free from pain
and fever, and looks and speaks so like herself in health, that I too
feel relieved, and I take advantage of the respite to write to you,
hoping that my letter may reflect something of the comparative peace
I feel.
'Whether my hopes are quite fallacious or not, I do not know; but
sometimes I fancy that the remedies prescribed by Mr. Teale, and
approved--as I was glad to learn--by Dr. Forbes, are working a good
result. Consumption, I am aware, is a flattering malady, but
certainly Anne's illness has of late assumed a less alarming
character than it had in the beginning: the hectic is allayed; the
cough gives a more frequent reprieve. Could I but believe she would
live two years--a year longer, I should be thankful: I dreaded the
terrors of the swift messenger which snatched Emily from us, as it
seemed, in a few days.
'The parcel came yesterday. You and Mr. Smith do nothing by halves.
Neither of you care for being thanked, so I will keep my gratitude in
my own mind. The choice of books is perfect. Papa is at this moment
reading Macaulay's _History_, which he had wished to see. Anne is
engaged with one of Frederika Bremer's tales.
'I wish I could send a parcel in return; I had hoped to have had one
by this time ready to despatch. When I saw you and Mr. Smith in
London, I little thought of all that was to come between July and
Spring: how my thoughts were to be caught away from imagination,
enlisted and absorbed in realities the most cruel.
'I will tell you what I want to do; it is to show you the first
volume of my MS., which I have copied. In reading Mary Barton (a
clever though painful tale) I was a little dismayed to find myself in
some measure anticipated both in subject and incident. I should like
to have your opinion on this point, and to know whether the
resemblance appears as considerable to a stranger as it does to
myself. I should wish also to have the benefit of such general
strictures and advice as you choose to give. Shall I therefore send
the MS. when I return the first batch of books?
'But remember, if I show it to you it is on two conditions: the
first, that you give me a faithful opinion--I do not promise to be
swayed by it, but I should like to have it; the second, that you show
it and speak of it to _none_ but Mr. Smith. I have always a great
horror of premature announcements--they may do harm and can never do
good. Mr. Smith must be so kind as not to mention it yet in his
quarterly circulars. All human affairs are so uncertain, and my
position especially is at present so peculiar, that I cannot count on
the time, and would rather that no allusion should be made to a work
of which great part is yet to create.
'There are two volumes in the first parcel which, having seen, I
cannot bring myself to part with, and must beg Mr. Smith's permission
to retain: Mr. Thackeray's _Journey from Cornhill_, _etc_. and _The
testimony to the Truth_. That last is indeed a book after my own
heart. I _do_ like the mind it discloses--it is of a fine and high
order. Alexander Harris may be a clown by birth, but he is a
nobleman by nature. When I could read no other book, I read his and
derived comfort from it. No matter whether or not I can agree in all
his views, it is the principles, the feelings, the heart of the man I
admire.
'Write soon and tell me whether you think it advisable that I should
send the MS.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _February_ 4_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I send the parcel up without delay, according to your
request. The manuscript has all its errors upon it, not having been
read through since copying. I have kept _Madeline_, along with the
two other books I mentioned; I shall consider it the gift of Miss
Kavanagh, and shall value it both for its literary excellence and for
the modest merit of the giver. We already possess Tennyson's _Poems_
and _Our Street_. Emerson's _Essays_ I read with much interest, and
often with admiration, but they are of mixed gold and clay--deep and
invigorating truth, dreary and depressing fallacy seem to me combined
therein. In George Borrow's works I found a wild fascination, a
vivid graphic power of description, a fresh originality, an athletic
simplicity (so to speak), which give them a stamp of their own.
After reading his _Bible in Spain_ I felt as if I had actually
travelled at his side, and seen the "wild Sil" rush from its mountain
cradle; wandered in the hilly wilderness of the Sierras; encountered
and conversed with Manehegan, Castillian, Andalusian, Arragonese,
and, above all, with the savage Gitanos.
'Your mention of Mr. Taylor suggests to me that possibly you and Mr.
Smith might wish him to share the little secret of the MS.--that
exclusion might seem invidious, that it might make your mutual
evening chat less pleasant. If so, admit him to the confidence by
all means. He is attached to the firm, and will no doubt keep its
secrets. I shall be glad of another censor, and if a severe one, so
much the better, provided he is also just. I court the keenest
criticism. Far rather would I never publish more, than publish
anything inferior to my first effort. Be honest, therefore, all
three of you. If you think this book promises less favourably than
_Jane Eyre_, say so; it is but trying again, _i.e._, if life and
health be spared.
'Anne continues a little better--the mild weather suits her. At
times I hear the renewal of hope's whisper, but I dare not listen too
fondly; she deceived me cruelly before. A sudden change to cold
would be the test. I dread such change, but must not anticipate.
Spring lies before us, and then summer--surely we may hope a little!
'Anne expresses a wish to see the notices of the poems. You had
better, therefore, send them. We shall expect to find painful
allusions to one now above blame and beyond praise; but these must be
borne. For ourselves, we are almost indifferent to censure. I read
the _Quarterly_ without a pang, except that I thought there were some
sentences disgraceful to the critic. He seems anxious to let it be
understood that he is a person well acquainted with the habits of the
upper classes. Be this as it may, I am afraid he is no gentleman;
and moreover, that no training could make him such. {190} Many a
poor man, born and bred to labour, would disdain that reviewer's cast
of feeling.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 2_nd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--My sister still continues better: she has less languor
and weakness; her spirits are improved. This change gives cause, I
think, both for gratitude and hope.
'I am glad that you and Mr. Smith like the commencement of my present
work. I wish it were _more than a commencement_; for how it will be
reunited after the long break, or how it can gather force of flow
when the current has been checked or rather drawn off so long, I know
not.
'I sincerely thank you both for the candid expression of your
objections. What you say with reference to the first chapter shall
be duly weighed. At present I feel reluctant to withdraw it,
because, as I formerly said of the Lowood part of _Jane Eyre_, _it is
true_. The curates and their ongoings are merely photographed from
the life. I should like you to explain to me more fully the ground
of your objections. Is it because you think this chapter will render
the work liable to severe handling by the press? Is it because
knowing as you now do the identity of "Currer Bell," this scene
strikes you as unfeminine? Is it because it is intrinsically
defective and inferior? I am afraid the two first reasons would not
weigh with me--the last would.
'Anne and I thought it very kind in you to preserve all the notices
of the Poems so carefully for us. Some of them, as you said, were
well worth reading. We were glad to find that our old friend the
_Critic_ has again a kind word for us. I was struck with one curious
fact, viz., that four of the notices are fac-similes of each other.
How does this happen? I suppose they copy.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 8_th_, 1849.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Anne's state has apparently varied very little during
the last fortnight or three weeks. I wish I could say she gains
either flesh, strength, or appetite; but there is no progress on
these points, nor I hope, as far as regards the two last at least,
any falling off; she is piteously thin. Her cough, and the pain in
her side continue the same.
'I write these few lines that you may not think my continued silence
strange; anything like frequent correspondence I cannot keep up, and
you must excuse me. I trust you and all at Brookroyd are happy and
well. Give my love to your mother and all the rest, and--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 11_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--My sister has been something worse since I wrote last.
We have had nearly a week of frost, and the change has tried her, as
I feared it would do, though not so severely as former experience had
led me to apprehend. I am thankful to say she is now again a little
better. Her state of mind is usually placid, and her chief
sufferings consist in the harassing cough and a sense of languor.
'I ought to have acknowledged the safe arrival of the parcel before
now, but I put it off from day to day, fearing I should write a
sorrowful letter. A similar apprehension induces me to abridge this
note.
'Believe me, whether in happiness or the contrary, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT
'HAWORTH, _March_ 15_th_, 1849.
'DEAR LAETITIA,--I have not quite forgotten you through the winter,
but I have remembered you only like some pleasant waking idea
struggling through a dreadful dream. You say my last letter was
dated September 14th. You ask how I have passed the time since.
What has happened to me? Why have I been silent?
'It is soon told.
'On the 24th of September my only brother, after being long in weak
health, and latterly consumptive--though we were far from
apprehending immediate danger--died, quite suddenly as it seemed to
us. He had been out two days before. The shock was great. Ere he
could be interred I fell ill. A low nervous fever left me very weak.
As I was slowly recovering, my sister Emily, whom you knew, was
seized with inflammation of the lungs; suppuration took place; two
agonising months of hopes and fears followed, and on the 19th of
December _she died_.
'She was scarcely cold in her grave when Anne, my youngest and last
sister, who has been delicate all her life, exhibited symptoms that
struck us with acute alarm. We sent for the first advice that could
be procured. She was examined with the stethoscope, and the dreadful
fact was announced that her lungs too were affected, and that
tubercular consumption had already made considerable progress. A
system of treatment was prescribed, which has since been ratified by
the opinion of Dr. Forbes, whom your papa will, I dare say, know. I
hope it has somewhat delayed disease. She is now a patient invalid,
and I am her nurse. God has hitherto supported me in some sort
through all these bitter calamities, and my father, I am thankful to
say, has been wonderfully sustained; but there have been hours, days,
weeks of inexpressible anguish to undergo, and the cloud of impending
distress still lowers dark and sullen above us. I cannot write much.
I can only pray Providence to preserve you and yours from such
affliction as He has seen good to accumulate on me and mine.
'With best regards to your dear mamma and all your circle,--Believe
me, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _March_ 24_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I have delayed answering your letter in the
faint hope that I might be able to reply favourably to your inquiries
after my sister's health. This, however, is not permitted me to do.
Her decline is gradual and fluctuating, but its nature is not
doubtful. The symptoms of cough, pain in the side and chest, wasting
of flesh, strength, and appetite, after the sad experience we have
had, cannot but be regarded by us as equivocal.
'In spirit she is resigned; at heart she is, I believe, a true
Christian. She looks beyond this life, and regards her home and rest
as elsewhere than on earth. May God support her and all of us
through the trial of lingering sickness, and aid her in the last hour
when the struggle which separates soul from body must be gone
through!
'We saw Emily torn from the midst of us when our hearts clung to her
with intense attachment, and when, loving each other as we did--well,
it seemed as if (might we but have been spared to each other) we
could have found complete happiness in our mutual society and
affection. She was scarcely buried when Anne's health failed, and we
were warned that consumption had found another victim in her, and
that it would be vain to reckon on her life.
'These things would be too much if Reason, unsupported by Religion,
were condemned to bear them alone. I have cause to be most thankful
for the strength which has hitherto been vouchsafed both to my father
and myself. God, I think, is specially merciful to old age; and for
my own part, trials which in prospective would have seemed to me
quite intolerable, when they actually came, I endured without
prostration. Yet, I must confess, that in the time which has elapsed
since Emily's death, there have been moments of solitary, deep, inert
affliction, far harder to bear than those which immediately followed
our loss. The crisis of bereavement has an acute pang which goads to
exertion, the desolate after-feeling sometimes paralyses.
'I have learned that we are not to find solace in our own strength:
we must seek it in God's omnipotence. Fortitude is good, but
fortitude itself must be shaken under us to teach us how weak we are.
'With best wishes to yourself and all dear to you, and sincere thanks
for the interest you so kindly continue to take in me and my
sister,--Believe me, my dear Miss Wooler, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_April_ 16_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Your kind advice on the subject of Homoeopathy
deserves and has our best thanks. We find ourselves, however, urged
from more than one quarter to try different systems and medicines,
and I fear we have already given offence by not listening to all.
The fact is, were we in every instance compliant, my dear sister
would be harassed by continual changes. Cod-liver oil and carbonate
of iron were first strongly recommended. Anne took them as long as
she could, but at last she was obliged to give them up: the oil
yielded her no nutriment, it did not arrest the progress of
emaciation, and as it kept her always sick, she was prevented from
taking food of any sort. Hydropathy was then strongly advised. She
is now trying Gobold's Vegetable Balsam; she thinks it does her some
good; and as it is the first medicine which has had that effect, she
would wish to persevere with it for a time. She is also looking
hopefully forward to deriving benefit from change of air. We have
obtained Mr. Teale's permission to go to the seaside in the course of
six or eight weeks. At first I felt torn between two duties--that of
staying with papa and going with Anne; but as it is papa's own most
kindly expressed wish that I should adopt the latter plan, and as,
besides, he is now, thank God! in tolerable health, I hope to be
spared the pain of resigning the care of my sister to other hands,
however friendly. We wish to keep together as long as we can. I
hope, too, to derive from the change some renewal of physical
strength and mental composure (in neither of which points am I what I
ought or wish to be) to make me a better and more cheery nurse.
'I fear I must have seemed to you hard in my observations about _The
Emigrant Family_. The fact was, I compared Alexander Harris with
himself only. It is not equal to the _Testimony to the Truth_, but,
tried by the standard of other and very popular books too, it is very
clever and original. Both subject and the manner of treating it are
unhackneyed: he gives new views of new scenes and furnishes
interesting information on interesting topics. Considering the
increasing necessity for and tendency to emigration, I should think
it has a fair chance of securing the success it merits.
'I took up Leigh Hunt's book _The Town_ with the impression that it
would be interesting only to Londoners, and I was surprised, ere I
had read many pages, to find myself enchained by his pleasant,
graceful, easy style, varied knowledge, just views, and kindly
spirit. There is something peculiarly anti-melancholic in Leigh
Hunt's writings, and yet they are never boisterous. They resemble
sunshine, being at once bright and tranquil.
'I like Carlyle better and better. His style I do not like, nor do I
always concur in his opinions, nor quite fall in with his hero
worship; but there is a manly love of truth, an honest recognition
and fearless vindication of intrinsic greatness, of intellectual and
moral worth, considered apart from birth, rank, or wealth, which
commands my sincere admiration. Carlyle would never do for a
contributor to the _Quarterly_. I have not read his _French
Revolution_.
'I congratulate you on the approaching publication of Mr. Ruskin's
new work. If the _Seven Lamps of Architecture_ resemble their
predecessor, _Modern Painters_, they will be no lamps at all, but a
new constellation--seven bright stars, for whose rising the reading
world ought to be anxiously agaze.
'Do not ask me to mention what books I should like to read. Half the
pleasure of receiving a parcel from Cornhill consists in having its
contents chosen for us. We like to discover, too, by the leaves cut
here and there, that the ground has been travelled before us. I may
however say, with reference to works of fiction, that I should much
like to see one of Godwin's works, never having hitherto had that
pleasure--_Caleb Williams_ or _Fleetwood_, or which you thought best
worth reading.
'But it is yet much too soon to talk of sending more books; our
present stock is scarcely half exhausted. You will perhaps think I
am a slow reader, but remember, Currer Bell is a country housewife,
and has sundry little matters connected with the needle and kitchen
to attend to which take up half his day, especially now when, alas!
there is but one pair of hands where once there were three. I did
not mean to touch that chord, its sound is too sad.
'I try to write now and then. The effort was a hard one at first.
It renewed the terrible loss of last December strangely. Worse than
useless did it seem to attempt to write what there no longer lived an
"Ellis Bell" to read; the whole book, with every hope founded on it,
faded to vanity and vexation of spirit.
'One inducement to persevere and do my best I still have, however,
and I am thankful for it: I should like to please my kind friends at
Cornhill. To that end I wish my powers would come back; and if it
would please Providence to restore my remaining sister, I think they
would.
'Do not forget to tell me how you are when you write again. I trust
your indisposition is quite gone by this time.--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 1_st_, 1849.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I returned Mary Taylor's letter to Hunsworth as soon as
I had read it. Thank God she was safe up to that time, but I do not
think the earthquake was then over. I shall long to hear tidings of
her again.
'Anne was worse during the warm weather we had about a week ago. She
grew weaker, and both the pain in her side and her cough were worse;
strange to say, since it is colder, she has appeared rather to revive
than sink. I still hope that if she gets over May she may last a
long time.
'We have engaged lodgings at Scarbro'. We stipulated for a
good-sized sitting-room and an airy double-bedded lodging room, with
a sea view, and if not deceived, have obtained these desiderata at
No. 2 Cliff. Anne says it is one of the best situations in the
place. It would not have done to have taken lodgings either in the
town or on the bleak steep coast, where Miss Wooler's house is
situated. If Anne is to get any good she must have every advantage.
Miss Outhwaite [her godmother] left her in her will a legacy of 200
pounds, and she cannot employ her money better than in obtaining what
may prolong existence, if it does not restore health. We hope to
leave home on the 23rd, and I think it will be advisable to rest at
York, and stay all night there. I hope this arrangement will suit
you. We reckon on your society, dear Ellen, as a real privilege and
pleasure. We shall take little luggage, and shall have to buy
bonnets and dresses and several other things either at York or
Scarbro'; which place do you think would be best? Oh, if it would
please God to strengthen and revive Anne, how happy we might be
together! His will, however, must be done, and if she is not to
recover, it remains to pray for strength and patience.
'C. B.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_May_ 8_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I hasten to acknowledge the two kind letters for which
I am indebted to you. That fine spring weather of which you speak
did not bring such happiness to us in its sunshine as I trust it did
to you and thousands besides--the change proved trying to my sister.
For a week or ten days I did not know what to think, she became so
weak, and suffered so much from increased pain in the side, and
aggravated cough. The last few days have been much colder, yet,
strange to say, during their continuance she has appeared rather to
revive than sink. She not unfrequently shows the very same symptoms
which were apparent in Emily only a few days before she died--fever
in the evenings, sleepless nights, and a sort of lethargy in the
morning hours; this creates acute anxiety--then comes an improvement,
which reassures. In about three weeks, should the weather be genial
and her strength continue at all equal to the journey, we hope to go
to Scarboro'. It is not without misgiving that I contemplate a
departure from home under such circumstances; but since she herself
earnestly wishes the experiment to be tried, I think it ought not to
be neglected. We are in God's hands, and must trust the results to
Him. An old school-fellow of mine, a tried and faithful friend, has
volunteered to accompany us. I shall have the satisfaction of
leaving papa to the attentions of two servants equally tried and
faithful. One of them is indeed now old and infirm, and unfit to
stir much from her chair by the kitchen fireside; but the other is
young and active, and even she has lived with us seven years. I have
reason, therefore, you see, to be thankful amidst sorrow, especially
as papa still possesses every faculty unimpaired, and though not
robust, has good general health--a sort of chronic cough is his sole
complaint.
'I hope Mr. Smith will not risk a cheap edition of _Jane Eyre_ yet,
he had better wait awhile--the public will be sick of the name of
that one book. I can make no promise as to when another will be
ready--neither my time nor my efforts are my own. That absorption in
my employment to which I gave myself up without fear of doing wrong
when I wrote _Jane Eyre_, would now be alike impossible and blamable;
but I do what I can, and have made some little progress. We must all
be patient.
'Meantime, I should say, let the public forget at their ease, and let
us not be nervous about it. And as to the critics, if the Bells
possess real merit, I do not fear impartial justice being rendered
them one day. I have a very short mental as well as physical sight
in some matters, and am far less uneasy at the idea of public
impatience, misconstruction, censure, etc., than I am at the thought
of the anxiety of those two or three friends in Cornhill to whom I
owe much kindness, and whose expectations I would earnestly wish not
to disappoint. If they can make up their minds to wait tranquilly,
and put some confidence in my goodwill, if not my power, to get on as
well as may be, I shall not repine; but I verily believe that the
"nobler sex" find it more difficult to wait, to plod, to work out
their destiny inch by inch, than their sisters do. They are always
for walking so fast and taking such long steps, one cannot keep up
with them. One should never tell a gentleman that one has commenced
a task till it is nearly achieved. Currer Bell, even if he had no
let or hindrance, and if his path were quite smooth, could never
march with the tread of a Scott, a Bulwer, a Thackeray, or a Dickens.
I want you and Mr. Smith clearly to understand this. I have always
wished to guard you against exaggerated anticipations--calculate low
when you calculate on me. An honest man--and woman too--would always
rather rise above expectation than fall below it.
'Have I lectured enough? and am I understood?
'Give my sympathising respects to Mrs. Williams. I hope her little
daughter is by this time restored to perfect health. It pleased me
to see with what satisfaction you speak of your son. I was glad,
too, to hear of the progress and welfare of Miss Kavanagh. The
notices of Mr. Harris's works are encouraging and just--may they
contribute to his success!
'Should Mr. Thackeray again ask after Currer Bell, say the secret is
and will be well kept because it is not worth disclosure. This fact
his own sagacity will have already led him to divine. In the hope
that it may not be long ere I hear from you again,--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _May_ 16_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I will lose no time in thanking you for your
letter and kind offer of assistance. We have, however, already
engaged lodgings. I am not myself acquainted with Scarbro', but Anne
knows it well, having been there three or four times. She had a
particular preference for the situation of some lodgings (No. 2
Cliff). We wrote about them, and finding them disengaged, took them.
Your information is, notwithstanding, valuable, should we find this
place in any way ineligible. It is a satisfaction to be provided
with directions for future use.
'Next Wednesday is the day fixed for our departure. Ellen Nussey
accompanies us (by Anne's expressed wish). I could not refuse her
society, but I dared not urge her to go, for I have little hope that
the excursion will be one of pleasure or benefit to those engaged in
it. Anne is extremely weak. She herself has a fixed impression that
the sea air will give her a chance of regaining strength; that
chance, therefore, we must have. Having resolved to try the
experiment, misgivings are useless; and yet, when I look at her,
misgivings will rise. She is more emaciated than Emily was at the
very last; her breath scarcely serves her to mount the stairs,
however slowly. She sleeps very little at night, and often passes
most of the forenoon in a semi-lethargic state. Still, she is up all
day, and even goes out a little when it is fine. Fresh air usually
acts as a stimulus, but its reviving power diminishes.
'With best wishes for your own health and welfare,--Believe me, my
dear Miss Wooler, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'No. 2 CLIFF, SCARBORO', _May_ 27_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--The date above will inform you why I have not answered
your last letter more promptly. I have been busy with preparations
for departure and with the journey. I am thankful to say we reached
our destination safely, having rested one night at York. We found
assistance wherever we needed it; there was always an arm ready to do
for my sister what I was not quite strong enough to do: lift her in
and out of the carriages, carry her across the line, etc.
'It made her happy to see both York and its Minster, and Scarboro'
and its bay once more. There is yet no revival of bodily strength--I
fear indeed the slow ebb continues. People who see her tell me I
must not expect her to last long--but it is something to cheer her
mind.
'Our lodgings are pleasant. As Anne sits at the window she can look
down on the sea, which this morning is calm as glass. She says if
she could breathe more freely she would be comfortable at this
moment--but she cannot breathe freely.
'My friend Ellen is with us. I find her presence a solace. She is a
calm, steady girl--not brilliant, but good and true. She suits and
has always suited me well. I like her, with her phlegm, repose,
sense, and sincerity, better than I should like the most talented
without these qualifications.
'If ever I see you again I should have pleasure in talking over with
you the topics you allude to in your last--or rather, in hearing
_you_ talk them over. We see these things through a glass darkly--or
at least I see them thus. So far from objecting to speculation on,
or discussion of, the subject, I should wish to hear what others have
to say. By _others_, I mean only the serious and reflective--levity
in such matters shocks as much as hypocrisy.
'Write to me. In this strange place your letters will come like the
visits of a friend. Fearing to lose the post, I will add no more at
present.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_May_ 30_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--My poor sister is taken quietly home at last. She
died on Monday. With almost her last breath she said she was happy,
and thanked God that death was come, and come so gently. I did not
think it would be so soon.
'You will not expect me to add more at present.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_June_ 25_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am now again at home, where I returned last
Thursday. I call it _home_ still--much as London would be called
London if an earthquake should shake its streets to ruins. But let
me not be ungrateful: Haworth parsonage is still a home for me, and
not quite a ruined or desolate home either. Papa is there, and two
most affectionate and faithful servants, and two old dogs, in their
way as faithful and affectionate--Emily's large house-dog which lay
at the side of her dying bed, and followed her funeral to the vault,
lying in the pew couched at our feet while the burial service was
being read--and Anne's little spaniel. The ecstasy of these poor
animals when I came in was something singular. At former returns
from brief absences they always welcomed me warmly--but not in that
strange, heart-touching way. I am certain they thought that, as I
was returned, my sisters were not far behind. But here my sisters
will come no more. Keeper may visit Emily's little bed-room--as he
still does day by day--and Flossy may look wistfully round for Anne,
they will never see them again--nor shall I--at least the human part
of me. I must not write so sadly, but how can I help thinking and
feeling sadly? In the daytime effort and occupation aid me, but when
evening darkens, something in my heart revolts against the burden of
solitude--the sense of loss and want grows almost too much for me. I
am not good or amiable in such moments, I am rebellious, and it is
only the thought of my dear father in the next room, or of the kind
servants in the kitchen, or some caress from the poor dogs, which
restores me to softer sentiments and more rational views. As to the
night--could I do without bed, I would never seek it. Waking, I
think, sleeping, I dream of them; and I cannot recall them as they
were in health, still they appear to me in sickness and suffering.
Still, my nights were worse after the first shock of Branwell's
death--they were terrible then; and the impressions experienced on
waking were at that time such as we do not put into language. Worse
seemed at hand than was yet endured--in truth, worse awaited us.
'All this bitterness must be tasted. Perhaps the palate will grow
used to the draught in time, and find its flavour less acrid. This
pain must be undergone; its poignancy, I trust, will be blunted one
day. Ellen would have come back with me but I would not let her. I
knew it would be better to face the desolation at once--later or
sooner the sharp pang must be experienced.
'Labour must be the cure, not sympathy. Labour is the only radical
cure for rooted sorrow. The society of a calm, serenely cheerful
companion--such as Ellen--soothes pain like a soft opiate, but I find
it does not probe or heal the wound; sharper, more severe means, are
necessary to make a remedy. Total change might do much; where that
cannot be obtained, work is the best substitute.
'I by no means ask Miss Kavanagh to write to me. Why should she
trouble herself to do it? What claim have I on her? She does not
know me--she cannot care for me except vaguely and on hearsay. I
have got used to your friendly sympathy, and it comforts me. I have
tried and trust the fidelity of one or two other friends, and I lean
upon it. The natural affection of my father and the attachment and
solicitude of our two servants are precious and consolatory to me,
but I do not look round for general pity; conventional condolence I
do not want, either from man or woman.
'The letter you inclosed in your last bore the signature H. S.
Mayers--the address, Sheepscombe, Stroud, Gloucestershire; can you
give me any information respecting the writer? It is my intention to
acknowledge it one day. I am truly glad to hear that your little
invalid is restored to health, and that the rest of your family
continue well. Mrs. Williams should spare herself for her husband's
and children's sake. Her life and health are too valuable to those
round her to be lavished--she should be careful of them.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
It is not necessary to tell over again the story of Anne's death. Miss
Ellen Nussey, who was an eye witness, has related it once for all in Mrs.
Gaskell's Memoir. The tomb at Scarborough hears the following
inscription:--
HERE LIE THE REMAINS OF
ANNE BRONTE
DAUGHTER OF THE REV. P. BRONTE
INCUMBENT OF HAWORTH, YORKSHIRE
_She Died_, _Aged_ 28, _May_ 28_th_, 1849
CHAPTER VIII: ELLEN NUSSEY
If to be known by one's friends is the index to character that it is
frequently assumed to be, Charlotte Bronte comes well out of that ordeal.
She was discriminating in friendship and leal to the heart's core. With
what gratitude she thought of the publisher who gave her the 'first
chance' we know by recognising that the manly Dr. John of _Villette_ was
Mr. George Smith of Smith & Elder. Mr. W. S. Williams, again, would seem
to have been a singularly gifted and amiable man. To her three girl
friends, Ellen Nussey, Mary Taylor, and Laetitia Wheelwright, she was
loyal to her dying day, and pencilled letters to the two of them who were
in England were written in her last illness. Of all her friends, Ellen
Nussey must always have the foremost place in our esteem. Like Mary
Taylor, she made Charlotte's acquaintance when, at fifteen years of age,
she first went to Roe Head School. Mrs. Gaskell has sufficiently
described the beginnings of that friendship which death was not to break.
Ellen Nussey and Charlotte Bronte corresponded with a regularity which
one imagines would be impossible had they both been born half a century
later. The two girls loved one another profoundly. They wrote at times
almost daily. They quarrelled occasionally over trifles, as friends
will, but Charlotte was always full of contrition when a few hours had
passed. Towards the end of her life she wrote to Mr. Williams a letter
concerning Miss Nussey which may well be printed here.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 3_rd_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have to acknowledge the receipt of the _Morning
Chronicle_ with a good review, and of the _Church of England
Quarterly_ and the _Westminster_ with bad ones. I have also to thank
you for your letter, which would have been answered sooner had I been
alone; but just now I am enjoying the treat of my friend Ellen's
society, and she makes me indolent and negligent--I am too busy
talking to her all day to do anything else. You allude to the
subject of female friendships, and express wonder at the infrequency
of sincere attachments amongst women. As to married women, I can
well understand that they should be absorbed in their husbands and
children--but single women often like each other much, and derive
great solace from their mutual regard. Friendship, however, is a
plant which cannot be forced. True friendship is no gourd, springing
in a night and withering in a day. When I first saw Ellen I did not
care for her; we were school-fellows. In course of time we learnt
each other's faults and good points. We were contrasts--still, we
suited. Affection was first a germ, then a sapling, then a strong
tree--now, no new friend, however lofty or profound in intellect--not
even Miss Martineau herself--could be to me what Ellen is; yet she is
no more than a conscientious, observant, calm, well-bred Yorkshire
girl. She is without romance. If she attempts to read poetry, or
poetic prose, aloud, I am irritated and deprive her of the book--if
she talks of it, I stop my ears; but she is good; she is true; she is
faithful, and I love her.
'Since I came home, Miss Martineau has written me a long and truly
kindly letter. She invites me to visit her at Ambleside. I like the
idea. Whether I can realise it or not, it is pleasant to have in
prospect.
'You ask me to write to Mrs. Williams. I would rather she wrote to
me first; and let her send any kind of letter she likes, without
studying mood or manner.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Good, True, Faithful--friendship has no sweeter words than these; and it
was this loyalty in Miss Nussey which has marked her out in our day as a
fine type of sweet womanliness, and will secure to her a lasting name as
the friend of Charlotte Bronte.
Miss Ellen Nussey was one of a large family of children, all of whom she
survives. Her home during the years of her first friendship with
Charlotte Bronte was at the Rydings, at that time the property of an
uncle, Reuben Walker, a distinguished court physician. The family in
that generation and in this has given many of its members to high public
service in various professions. Two Nusseys, indeed, and two Walkers,
were court physicians in their day. When Earl Fitzwilliam was canvassing
for the county in 1809, he was a guest at the Rydings for two weeks, and
on his election was chaired by the tenantry. Reuben Walker, this uncle
of Miss Nussey's, was the only Justice of the Peace for the district
which included Leeds, Bradford, Huddersfield, and Halifax, during the
Luddite riots--a significant reminder of the growth of population since
that day. Ellen Nussey's home was at the Rydings, then tenanted by her
brother John, until 1837, and she then removed to Brookroyd, where she
lived until long after Charlotte Bronte died.
The first letter to Ellen Nussey is dated May 31, 1831, Charlotte having
become her school-fellow in the previous January. It would seem to have
been a mere play exercise across the school-room, as the girls were then
together at Roe Head.
[Picture: Ellen Nussey as schoolgirl and adult]
'DEAR MISS NUSSEY,--I take advantage of the earliest opportunity to
thank you for the letter you favoured me with last week, and to
apologise for having so long neglected to write to you; indeed, I
believe this will be the first letter or note I have ever addressed
to you. I am extremely obliged to Mary for her kind invitation, and
I assure you that I should very much have liked to hear the Lectures
on Galvanism, as they would doubtless have been amusing and
instructive. But we are often compelled to bend our inclination to
our duty (as Miss Wooler observed the other day), and since there are
so many holidays this half-year, it would have appeared almost
unreasonable to ask for an extra holiday; besides, we should perhaps
have got behindhand with our lessons, so that, everything considered,
it is perhaps as well that circumstances have deprived us of this
pleasure.--Believe me to remain, your affectionate friend,
'C. BRONTE.'
But by the Christmas holidays, 'Dear Miss Nussey' has become 'Dear
Ellen,' and the friendship has already well commenced.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 13_th_, 1832.
'DEAR ELLEN,--The receipt of your letter gave me an agreeable
surprise, for notwithstanding your faithful promises, you must excuse
me if I say that I had little confidence in their fulfilment, knowing
that when school girls once get home they willingly abandon every
recollection which tends to remind them of school, and indeed they
find such an infinite variety of circumstances to engage their
attention and employ their leisure hours, that they are easily
persuaded that they have no time to fulfil promises made at school.
It gave me great pleasure, however, to find that you and Miss Taylor
are exceptions to the general rule. The cholera still seems slowly
advancing, but let us yet hope, knowing that all things are under the
guidance of a merciful Providence. England has hitherto been highly
favoured, for the disease has neither raged with the astounding
violence, nor extended itself with the frightful rapidity which
marked its progress in many of the continental countries.--From your
affectionate friend,
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 1_st_, 1833.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I believe we agreed to correspond once a month. That
space of time has now elapsed since I received your last interesting
letter, and I now therefore hasten to reply. Accept my
congratulations on the arrival of the New Year, every succeeding day
of which will, I trust, find you _wiser_ and _better_ in the true
sense of those much-used words. The first day of January always
presents to my mind a train of very solemn and important reflections,
and a question more easily asked than answered frequently occurs,
viz.--How have I improved the past year, and with what good
intentions do I view the dawn of its successor? These, my dearest
Ellen, are weighty considerations which (young as we are) neither you
nor I can too deeply or too seriously ponder. I am sorry your too
great diffidence, arising, I think, from the want of sufficient
confidence in your own capabilities, prevented you from writing to me
in French, as I think the attempt would have materially contributed
to your improvement in that language. You very kindly caution me
against being tempted by the fondness of my sisters to consider
myself of too much importance, and then in a parenthesis you beg me
not to be offended. O Ellen, do you think I could be offended by any
good advice you may give me? No, I thank you heartily, and love you,
if possible, better for it. I am glad you like _Kenilworth_. It is
certainly a splendid production, more resembling a romance than a
novel, and, in my opinion, one of the most interesting works that
ever emanated from the great Sir Walter's pen. I was exceedingly
amused at the characteristic and naive manner in which you expressed
your detestation of Varney's character--so much so, indeed, that I
could not forbear laughing aloud when I perused that part of your
letter. He is certainly the personification of consummate villainy;
and in the delineation of his dark and profoundly artful mind, Scott
exhibits a wonderful knowledge of human nature as well as surprising
skill in embodying his perceptions so as to enable others to become
participators in that knowledge. Excuse the want of news in this
very barren epistle, for I really have none to communicate. Emily
and Anne beg to be kindly remembered to you. Give my best love to
your mother and sisters, and as it is very late permit me to conclude
with the assurance of my unchanged, unchanging, and unchangeable
affection for you.--Adieu, my sweetest Ellen, I am ever yours,
'CHARLOTTE.'
Here is a pleasant testimony to Miss Nussey's attractions from Emily and
Anne.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _September_ 11_th_, 1833.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have hitherto delayed answering your last letter
because from what you said I imagined you might be from home. Since
you were here Emily has been very ill. Her ailment was erysipelas in
the arm, accompanied by severe bilious attacks, and great general
debility. Her arm was obliged to be cut in order to relieve it. It
is now, I am happy to say, nearly healed--her health is, in fact,
almost perfectly re-established. The sickness still continues to
recur at intervals. Were I to tell you of the impression you have
made on every one here you would accuse me of flattery. Papa and
aunt are continually adducing you as an example for me to shape my
actions and behaviour by. Emily and Anne say "they never saw any one
they liked so well as Miss Nussey," and Tabby talks a great deal more
nonsense about you than I choose to report. You must read this
letter, dear Ellen, without thinking of the writing, for I have
indited it almost all in the twilight. It is now so dark that,
notwithstanding the singular property of "seeing in the night-time"
which the young ladies at Roe Head used to attribute to me, I can
scribble no longer. All the family unite with me in wishes for your
welfare. Remember me respectfully to your mother and sisters, and
supply all those expressions of warm and genuine regard which the
increasing darkness will not permit me to insert.
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _February_ 11_th_, 1834.
'DEAR ELLEN,--My letters are scarcely worth the postage, and
therefore I have, till now, delayed answering your last
communication; but upwards of two months having elapsed since I
received it, I have at length determined to take up my pen in reply
lest your anger should be roused by my apparent negligence. It
grieved me extremely to hear of your precarious state of health. I
trust sincerely that your medical adviser is mistaken in supposing
you have any tendency to a pulmonary affection. Dear Ellen, that
would indeed be a calamity. I have seen enough of consumption to
dread it as one of the most insidious and fatal diseases incident to
humanity. But I repeat it, I _hope_, nay _pray_, that your alarm is
groundless. If you remember, I used frequently to tell you at school
that you were constitutionally nervous--guard against the gloomy
impressions which such a state of mind naturally produces. Take
constant and regular exercise, and all, I doubt not, will yet be
well. What a remarkable winter we have had! Rain and wind
continually, but an almost total absence of frost and snow. Has
_general_ ill health been the consequence of wet weather at Birstall
or not? With us an unusual number of deaths have lately taken place.
According to custom I have no news to communicate, indeed I do not
write either to retail gossip or to impart solid information; my
motives for maintaining our mutual correspondence are, in the first
place, to get intelligence from you, and in the second that we may
remind each other of our separate existences; without some such
medium of reciprocal converse, according to the nature of things,
_you_, who are surrounded by society and friends, would soon forget
that such an insignificant being as myself ever lived. _I_, however,
in the solitude of our wild little hill village, think of my only
unrelated friend, my dear ci-devant school companion daily--nay,
almost hourly. Now Ellen, don't you think I have very cleverly
contrived to make up a letter out of nothing? Goodbye, dearest.
That God may bless you is the earnest prayer of your ever faithful
friend,
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 10_th_, 1834.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have been a long while, a very long while without
writing to you. A letter I received from Mary Taylor this morning
reminded me of my neglect, and made me instantly sit down to atone
for it, if possible. She tells me your aunt, of Brookroyd, is dead,
and that Sarah is very ill; for this I am truly sorry, but I hope her
case is not yet without hope. You should however remember that
death, should it happen, will undoubtedly be great gain to her. In
your last, dear Ellen, you ask my opinion respecting the amusement of
dancing, and whether I thought it objectionable when indulged in for
an hour or two in parties of boys and girls. I should hesitate to
express a difference of opinion from Mr. Atkinson, but really the
matter seems to me to stand thus: It is allowed on all hands that the
sin of dancing consists not in the mere action of shaking the shanks
(as the Scotch say), but in the consequences that usually attend
it--namely, frivolity and waste of time; when it is used only, as in
the case you state, for the exercise and amusement of an hour among
young people (who surely may without any breach of God's commandments
be allowed a little light-heartedness), these consequences cannot
follow. Ergo (according to my manner of arguing), the amusement is
at such times perfectly innocent. Having nothing more to say, I will
conclude with the expression of my sincere and earnest attachment
for, Ellen, your own dear self.
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 12_th_, 1835.
'DEAREST ELLEN,--I thought it better not to answer your kind letter
too soon, lest I should (in the present fully occupied state of your
time) appear intrusive. I am happy to inform you papa has given me
permission to accept the invitation it conveyed, and ere long I hope
once more to have the pleasure of seeing _almost_ the _only_ and
certainly the _dearest_ friend I possess (out of our own family). I
leave it to you to fix the time, only requesting you not to appoint
too early a day; let it be a fortnight or three weeks at least from
the date of the present letter. I am greatly obliged to you for your
kind offer of meeting me at Bradford, but papa thinks that such a
plan would involve uncertainty, and be productive of trouble to you.
He recommends that I should go direct in a gig from Haworth at the
time you shall determine, or, if that day should prove unfavourable,
the first subsequent fine one. Such an arrangement would leave us
both free, and if it meets with your approbation would perhaps be the
best we could finally resolve upon. Excuse the brevity of this
epistle, dear Ellen, for I am in a great hurry, and we shall, I
trust, soon see each other face to face, which will be better than a
hundred letters. Give my respectful love to your mother and sisters,
accept the kind remembrances of all our family, and--Believe me in
particular to be, your firm and faithful friend,
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
'_P.S._--You ask me to stay a month when I come, but as I do not wish
to tire you with my company, and as, besides, papa and aunt both
think a fortnight amply sufficient, I shall not exceed that period.
Farewell, _dearest_, _dearest_.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'ROE HEAD, _September_ 10_th_, 1835.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--You are far too kind and frequent in your
invitations. You puzzle me: I hardly know how to refuse, and it is
still more embarrassing to accept. At any rate, I cannot come this
week, for we are in the very thickest _melee_ of the repetitions; I
was hearing the terrible fifth section when your note arrived. But
Miss Wooler says I must go to Gomersall next Friday as she promised
for me on Whitsunday; and on Sunday morning I will join you at
church, if it be convenient, and stay at Rydings till Monday morning.
There's a free and easy proposal! Miss Wooler has driven me to
it--she says her character is implicated! I am very sorry to hear
that your mother has been ill. I do hope she is better now, and that
all the rest of the family are well. Will you be so kind as to
deliver the accompanying note to Miss Taylor when you see her at
church on Sunday? Dear Ellen, excuse the most horrid scrawl ever
penned by mortal hands. Remember me to your mother and sisters,
and--Believe me, E. Nussey's friend,
'CHARLOTTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_February_ 20_th_, 1837.
'I read your letter with dismay, Ellen--what shall I do without you?
Why are we so to be denied each other's society? It is an
inscrutable fatality. I long to be with you because it seems as if
two or three days or weeks spent in your company would beyond measure
strengthen me in the enjoyment of those feelings which I have so
lately begun to cherish. You first pointed out to me that way in
which I am so feebly endeavouring to travel, and now I cannot keep
you by my side, I must proceed sorrowfully alone.
'Why are we to be divided? Surely, Ellen, it must be because we are
in danger of loving each other too well--of losing sight of the
_Creator_ in idolatry of the _creature_. At first I could not say,
"Thy will be done." I felt rebellious; but I know it was wrong to
feel so. Being left a moment alone this morning I prayed fervently
to be enabled to resign myself to _every_ decree of God's
will--though it should be dealt forth with a far severer hand than
the present disappointment. Since then, I have felt calmer and
humbler--and consequently happier. Last Sunday I took up my Bible in
a gloomy frame of mind; I began to read; a feeling stole over me such
as I have not known for many long years--a sweet placid sensation
like those that I remember used to visit me when I was a little
child, and on Sunday evenings in summer stood by the open window
reading the life of a certain French nobleman who attained a purer
and higher degree of sanctity than has been known since the days of
the early Martyrs. I thought of my own Ellen--I wished she had been
near me that I might have told her how happy I was, how bright and
glorious the pages of God's holy word seemed to me. But the
"foretaste" passed away, and earth and sin returned. I must see you
before you go, Ellen; if you cannot come to Roe Head I will contrive
to walk over to Brookroyd, provided you will let me know the time of
your departure. Should you not be at home at Easter I dare not
promise to accept your mother's and sisters' invitation. I should be
miserable at Brookroyd without you, yet I would contrive to visit
them for a few hours if I could not for a few days. I love them for
your sake. I have written this note at a venture. When it will
reach you I know not, but I was determined not to let slip an
opportunity for want of being prepared to embrace it. Farewell, may
God bestow on you all His blessings. My darling--Farewell. Perhaps
you may return before midsummer--do you think you possibly can? I
wish your brother John knew how unhappy I am; he would almost pity
me.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 8_th_, 1837.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--The inclosed, as you will perceive, was written
before I received your last. I had intended to send it by this, but
what you said altered my intention. I scarce dare build a hope on
the foundation your letter lays--we have been disappointed so often,
and I fear I shall not be able to prevail on them to part with you;
but I will try my utmost, and at any rate there is a chance of our
meeting soon; with that thought I will comfort myself. You do not
know how selfishly _glad_ I am that you still continue to dislike
London and the Londoners--it seems to afford a sort of proof that
your affections are not changed. Shall we really stand once again
together on the moors of Haworth? I _dare_ not flatter myself with
too sanguine an expectation. I see many doubts and difficulties.
But with Miss Wooler's leave, which I have asked and in part
obtained, I will go to-morrow and try to remove them.--Believe me, my
own Ellen, yours always truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 12_th_, 1839.
'MY _dear kind_ ELLEN,--I can hardly help laughing when I reckon up
the number of urgent invitations I have received from you during the
last three months. Had I accepted all or even half of them, the
Birstallians would certainly have concluded that I had come to make
Brookroyd my permanent residence. When you set your mind upon it,
you have a peculiar way of edging one in with a circle of dilemmas,
so that they hardly know how to refuse you; however, I shall take a
running leap and clear them all. Frankly, my dear Ellen, I _cannot
come_. Reflect for yourself a moment. Do you see nothing absurd in
the idea of a person coming again into a neighbourhood within a month
after they have taken a solemn and formal leave of all their
acquaintance? However, I thank both you and your mother for the
invitation, which was most kindly expressed. You give no answer to
my proposal that you should come to Haworth with the Taylors. I
still think it would be your best plan. I wish you and the Taylors
were safely here; there is no pleasure to be had without toiling for
it. You must invite me no more, my dear Ellen, until next Midsummer
at the nearest. All here desire to be remembered to you, aunt
particularly. Angry though you are, I will venture to sign myself as
usual (no, not as usual, but as suits circumstances).--Yours, under a
cloud,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 5_th_, 1838.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--Yesterday I heard that you were ill. Mr. and
Miss Heald were at Dewsbury Moor, and it was from them I obtained the
information. This morning I set off to Brookroyd to learn further
particulars, from whence I am but just returned. Your mother is in
great distress about you, she can hardly mention your name without
tears; and both she and Mercy wish very much to see you at home
again. Poor girl, you have been a fortnight confined to your bed;
and while I was blaming you in my own mind for not writing, you were
suffering in sickness without one kind _female_ friend to watch over
you. I should have heard all this before and have hastened to
express my sympathy with you in this crisis had I been able to visit
Brookroyd in the Easter holidays, but an unexpected summons back to
Dewsbury Moor, in consequence of the illness and death of Mr. Wooler,
prevented it. Since that time I have been a fortnight and two days
quite alone, Miss Wooler being detained in the interim at Rouse Mill.
You will now see, Ellen, that it was not neglect or failure of
affection which has occasioned my silence, though I fear you will
long ago have attributed it to those causes. If you are well enough,
do write to me just two lines--just to assure me of your
convalescence; not a word, however, if it would harm you--not a
syllable. They value you at home. Sickness and absence call forth
expressions of attachment which might have remained long enough
unspoken if their object had been present and well. I wish your
_friends_ (I include myself in that word) may soon cease to have
cause for so painful an excitement of their regard. As yet I have
but an imperfect idea of the nature of your illness--of its
extent--or of the degree in which it may now have subsided. When you
can let me know all, no particular, however minute, will be
uninteresting to me. How have your spirits been? I trust not much
overclouded, for that is the most melancholy result of illness. You
are not, I understand, going to Bath at present; they seem to have
arranged matters strangely. When I parted from you near White-lee
Bar, I had a more sorrowful feeling than ever I experienced before in
our temporary separations. It is foolish to dwell too much on the
idea of presentiments, but I certainly had a feeling that the time of
our reunion had never been so indefinite or so distant as then. I
doubt not, my dear Ellen, that amidst your many trials, amidst the
sufferings that you have of late felt in yourself, and seen in
several of your relations, you have still been able to look up and
find support in trial, consolation in affliction, and repose in
tumult, where human interference can make no change. I think you
know in the right spirit how to withdraw yourself from the vexation,
the care, the meanness of life, and to derive comfort from purer
sources than this world can afford. You know how to do it silently,
unknown to others, and can avail yourself of that hallowed communion
the Bible gives us with God. I am charged to transmit your mother's
and sister's love. Receive mine in the same parcel, I think it will
scarcely be the smallest share. Farewell, my dear Ellen.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 15_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I read your last letter with a great deal of
interest. Perhaps it is not always well to tell people when we
approve of their actions, and yet it is very pleasant to do so; and
as, if you had done wrongly, I hope I should have had honesty enough
to tell you so, so now, as you have done rightly, I shall gratify
myself by telling you what I think.
'If I made you my father confessor I could reveal weaknesses which
you do not dream of. I do not mean to intimate that I attach a _high
value_ to empty compliments, but a word of panegyric has often made
me feel a sense of confused pleasure which it required my strongest
effort to conceal--and on the other hand, a hasty expression which I
could construe into neglect or disapprobation has tortured me till I
have lost half a night's rest from its rankling pangs.
'C. BRONTE.
'_P.S._--Don't talk any more of sending for me--when I come I will
_send_ myself. All send their love to you. I have no prospect of a
situation any more than of going to the moon. Write to me again as
soon as you can.'
Here is the only glimpse that we find of her Penzance relatives in these
later years. They would seem to have visited Haworth when Charlotte was
twenty-four years of age. The impression they left was not a kindly one.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 14_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--As you only sent me a note, I shall only send you
one, and that not out of revenge, but because like you I have but
little to say. The freshest news in our house is that we had, a
fortnight ago, a visit from some of our South of England relations,
John Branwell and his wife and daughter. They have been staying
above a month with Uncle Fennell at Crosstone. They reckon to be
very grand folks indeed, and talk largely--I thought assumingly. I
cannot say I much admired them. To my eyes there seemed to be an
attempt to play the great Mogul down in Yorkshire. Mr. Branwell was
much less assuming than the womenites; he seemed a frank, sagacious
kind of man, very tall and vigorous, with a keen active look. The
moment he saw me he exclaimed that I was the very image of my aunt
Charlotte. Mrs. Branwell sets up for being a woman of great talent,
tact, and accomplishment. I thought there was much more noise than
work. My cousin Eliza is a young lady intended by nature to be a
bouncing, good-looking girl--art has trained her to be a languishing,
affected piece of goods. I would have been friendly with her, but I
could get no talk except about the Low Church, Evangelical clergy,
the Millennium, Baptist Noel, botany, and her own conversion. A
mistaken education has utterly spoiled the lass. Her face tells that
she is naturally good-natured, though perhaps indolent. Her
affectations were so utterly out of keeping with her round rosy face
and tall bouncing figure, I could hardly refrain from laughing as I
watched her. Write a long letter next time and I'll write you ditto.
Good-bye.'
We have already read the letters which were written to Miss Nussey during
the governess period, and from Brussels. On her final return from
Brussels, Charlotte implores a letter.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _February_ 10_th_, 1844.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I cannot tell what occupies your thoughts and time.
Are you ill? Is some one of your family ill? Are you married? Are
you dead? If it be so, you may as well write a word and let me
know--for my part, I am again in old England. I shall tell you
nothing further till you write to me.
'C. BRONTE.
'Write to me directly, that is a good girl; I feel really anxious,
and have felt so for a long time to hear from you.'
She visits Miss Nussey soon afterwards at Brookroyd, and a little later
writes as follows:
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 7_th_, 1844.
'DEAR NELL,--I have received your note. It communicated a piece of
good news which I certainly did not expect to hear. I want, however,
further enlightenment on the subject. Can you tell me what has
caused the change in Mary's plans, and brought her so suddenly back
to England? Is it on account of Mary Dixon? Is it the wish of her
brother, or is it her own determination? I hope, whatever the reason
be, it is nothing which can give her uneasiness or do her harm. Do
you know how long she is likely to stay in England? or when she
arrives at Hunsworth?
'You ask how I am. I really have felt much better the last week--I
think my visit to Brookroyd did me good. What delightful weather we
have had lately. I wish we had had such while I was with you. Emily
and I walk out a good deal on the moors, to the great damage of our
shoes, but I hope to the benefit of our health.
'Good-bye, dear Ellen. Send me another of your little notes soon.
Kindest regards to all,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 9_th_, 1844.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--Anne and Branwell are now at home, and they and
Emily add their request to mine, that you will join us at the
beginning of next week. Write and let us know what day you will
come, and how--if by coach, we will meet you at Keighley. Do not let
your visit be later than the beginning of next week, or you will see
little of Anne and Branwell as their holidays are very short. They
will soon have to join the family at Scarborough. Remember me kindly
to your mother and sisters. I hope they are all well.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 14_th_, 1844.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Your letter came very apropos, as, indeed, your letters
always do; but this morning I had something of a headache, and was
consequently rather out of spirits, and the epistle (scarcely legible
though it be--excuse a rub) cheered me. In order to evince my
gratitude, as well as to please my own inclination, I sit down to
answer it immediately. I am glad, in the first place, to hear that
your brother is going to be married, and still more so to learn that
his wife-elect has a handsome fortune--not that I advocate marrying
for money in general, but I think in many cases (and this is one)
money is a very desirable contingent of matrimony.
'I wonder when Mary Taylor is expected in England. I trust you will
be at home while she is at Hunsworth, and that you, she, and I, may
meet again somewhere under the canopy of heaven. I cannot, dear
Ellen, make any promise about myself and Anne going to Brookroyd at
Christmas; her vacations are so short she would grudge spending any
part of them from home.
'The catastrophe, which you related so calmly, about your book-muslin
dress, lace bertha, etc., convulsed me with cold shudderings of
horror. You have reason to curse the day when so fatal a present was
offered you as that infamous little "varmint." The perfect serenity
with which you endured the disaster proves most fully to me that you
would make the best wife, mother, and mistress in the world. You and
Anne are a pair for marvellous philosophical powers of endurance; no
spoilt dinners, scorched linen, dirtied carpets, torn sofa-covers,
squealing brats, cross husbands, would ever discompose either of you.
You ought never to marry a good-tempered man, it would be mingling
honey with sugar, like sticking white roses upon a black-thorn
cudgel. With this very picturesque metaphor I close my letter.
Good-bye, and write very soon.
'C. BRONTE.'
Much has been said concerning Charlotte Bronte's visit to Hathersage in
Derbyshire, and it is interesting because of the fact that Miss Bronte
obtained the name of 'Eyre' from a family in that neighbourhood, and
Morton in _Jane Eyre_ may obviously be identified with Hathersage. {221}
Miss Ellen Nussey's brother Henry became Vicar of Hathersage, and he
married shortly afterwards. While he was on his honeymoon his sister
went to Hathersage to keep house for him, and she invited her friend
Charlotte Bronte to stay with her. The visit lasted three weeks. This
was the only occasion that Charlotte visited Hathersage. Here are two or
three short notes referring to that visit.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 10_th_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--It is very vexatious for you to have had to go to
Sheffield in vain. I am glad to hear that there is an omnibus on
Thursday, and I have told Emily and Anne I will try to come on that
day. The opening of the railroad is now postponed till July 7th. I
should not like to put you off again, and for that and some other
reasons they have decided to give up the idea of going to Scarbro',
and instead, to make a little excursion next Monday and Tuesday, to
Ilkley or elsewhere. I hope no other obstacle will arise to prevent
my going to Hathersage. I do long to be with you, and I feel
nervously afraid of being prevented, or put off in some way.
Branwell only stayed a week with us, but he is to come home again
when the family go to Scarboro'. I will write to Brookroyd directly.
Yesterday I had a little note from Henry inviting me to go to see
you. This is one of your contrivances, for which you deserve
smothering. You have written to Henry to tell him to write to me.
Do you think I stood on ceremony about the matter?
'The French papers have ceased to come. Good-bye for the present.
'C. B.'
TO MRS. NUSSEY
'_July_ 23_rd_, 1845.
'MY DEAR MRS. NUSSEY,--I lose no time after my return home in writing
to you and offering you my sincere thanks for the kindness with which
you have repeatedly invited me to go and stay a few days at
Brookroyd. It would have given me great pleasure to have gone, had
it been only for a day, just to have seen you and Miss Mercy (Miss
Nussey I suppose is not at home) and to have been introduced to Mrs.
Henry, but I have stayed so long with Ellen at Hathersage that I
could not possibly now go to Brookroyd. I was expected at home; and
after all _home_ should always have the first claim on our attention.
When I reached home (at ten o'clock on Saturday night) I found papa,
I am thankful to say, pretty well, but he thought I had been a long
time away.
'I left Ellen well, and she had generally good health while I stayed
with her, but she is very anxious about matters of business, and
apprehensive lest things should not be comfortable against the
arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Henry--she is so desirous that the day of
their arrival at Hathersage should be a happy one to both.
'I hope, my dear Mrs. Nussey, you are well; and I should be very
happy to receive a little note either from you or from Miss Mercy to
assure me of this.--Believe me, yours affectionately and sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_July_ 24_th_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--A series of toothaches, prolonged and severe, bothering
me both day and night, have kept me very stupid of late, and
prevented me from writing to you. More than once I have sat down and
opened my desk, but have not been able to get up to par. To-day,
after a night of fierce pain, I am better--much better, and I take
advantage of the interval of ease to discharge my debt. I wish I had
50 pounds to spare at present, and that you, Emily, Anne, and I were
all at liberty to leave home without our absence being detrimental to
any body. How pleasant to set off _en masse_ to the seaside, and
stay there a few weeks, taking in a stock of health and strength.--We
could all do with recreation. Adversity agrees with you, Ellen.
Your good qualities are never so obvious as when under the pressure
of affliction. Continued prosperity might develope too much a
certain germ of ambition latent in your character. I saw this little
germ putting out green shoots when I was staying with you at
Hathersage. It was not then obtrusive, and perhaps might never
become so. Your good sense, firm principle, and kind feeling might
keep it down. Holding down my head does not suit my toothache. Give
my love to your mother and sisters. Write again as soon as may
be.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 18_th_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I am writing to you, not because I have anything to
tell you, but because I want you to write to me. I am glad to see
that you were pleased with your new sister. When I was at Hathersage
you were talking of writing to Mary Taylor. I have lately written to
her a brief, shabby epistle of which I am ashamed, but I found when I
began to write I had really very little to say. I sent the letter to
Hunsworth, and I suppose it will go sometime. You must write to me
soon, a long letter. Remember me respectfully to Mr. and Mrs. Henry
Nussey. Give my love to Miss R.--Yours,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_December_ 14_th_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I was glad to get your last note, though it was so
short and crusty. Three weeks had elapsed without my having heard a
word from you, and I began to fear some new misfortune had occurred.
I was relieved to find such was not the case. Anne is obliged by the
kind regret you express at not being able to ask her to Brookroyd.
She wishes you could come to Haworth. Do you scold me out of habit,
or are you really angry? In either case it is all nonsense. You
know as well as I do that to go to Brookroyd is always a pleasure to
me, and that to one who has so little change, and so few friends as I
have, it must be a _great pleasure_, but I am not at all times in the
mood or circumstances to take my pleasure. I wish so much to see
you, that I shall certainly sometime after New Year's Day, if all be
well, be going over to Birstall. Now I could _not go_ if I _would_.
If you think I stand upon ceremony in this matter, you miscalculate
sadly. I have known you, and your mother and sisters, too long to be
ceremonious with any of you. Invite me no more now, till I invite
myself--be too proud to trouble yourself; and if, when at last I
mention coming (for I shall give you warning), it does not happen to
suit you, tell me so, with quiet hauteur. I should like a long
letter next time. No more lovers' quarrels.
'Good-bye. Best love to your mother and sisters.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 28_th_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Long may you look young and handsome enough to dress in
white, dear, and long may you have a right to feel the consciousness
that you look agreeable. I know you have too much judgment to let an
overdose of vanity spoil the blessing and turn it into a misfortune.
After all though, age will come on, and it is well you have something
better than a nice face for friends to turn to when that is changed.
I hope this excessively cold weather has not harmed you or yours
much. It has nipped me severely, taken away my appetite for a while
and given me toothache; in short, put me in the ailing condition, in
which I have more than once had the honour of making myself such a
nuisance both at Brookroyd and Hunsworth. The consequence is that at
this present speaking I look almost old enough to be your
mother--grey, sunk, and withered. To-day, however, it is milder, and
I hope soon to feel better; indeed I am not _ill_ now, and my
toothache is now subsided, but I experience a loss of strength and a
deficiency of spirit which would make me a sorry companion to you or
any one else. I would not be on a visit now for a large sum of
money.
'Write soon. Give my best love to your mother and
sisters.--Good-bye, dear Nell,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 21_st_, 1847.
'DEAR NELL,--I am very much obliged to you for your gift, which you
must not undervalue, for I like the articles; they look extremely
pretty and light. They are for wrist frills, are they not? Will you
condescend to accept a yard of lace made up into nothing? I thought
I would not offer to spoil it by stitching it into any shape. Your
creative fingers will turn it to better account than my destructive
ones. I hope, such as it is, they will not peck it out of the
envelope at the Bradford Post-office, where they generally take the
liberty of opening letters when they feel soft as if they contained
articles. I had forgotten all about your birthday and mine, till
your letter arrived to remind me of it. I wish you many happy
returns of yours. Of course your visit to Haworth must be regulated
by Miss Ringrose's movements. I was rather amused at your fearing I
should be jealous. I never thought of it. She and I could not be
rivals in your affections. You allot her, I know, a different set of
feelings to what you allot me. She is amiable and estimable, I am
not amiable, but still we shall stick to the last I don't doubt. In
short, I should as soon think of being jealous of Emily and Anne in
these days as of you. If Miss Ringrose does not come to Brookroyd
about Whitsuntide, I should like you to come. I shall feel a good
deal disappointed if the visit is put off--I would rather Miss
Ringrose fixed her time in summer, and then I would come to see you
(D.V.) in the autumn. I don't think it will be at all a good plan to
go back with you. We see each other so seldom, that I would far
rather divide the visits. Remember me to all.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 25_th_, 1847.
'DEAR NELL,--I have a small present for Mercy. You must fetch it,
for I repeat you shall _come to Haworth before I go to Brookroyd._
'I do not say this from pique or anger--I am not angry now--but
because my leaving home at present would from solid reasons be
difficult to manage. If all be well I will visit you in the autumn,
at present I _cannot_ come. Be assured that if I could come I
should, after your last letter, put scruples and pride away and "go
over into Macedonia" at once. I never could manage to help you yet.
You have always found me something like a new servant, who requires
to be told where everything is, and shown how everything is to be
done.
'My sincere love to your mother and Mercy.--Yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 29_th_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Your letter and its contents were most welcome. You
must direct your luggage to Mr. Bronte's, and we will tell the
carrier to inquire for it. The railroad has been opened some time,
but it only comes as far as Keighley. If you arrive about 4 o'clock
in the afternoon, Emily, Anne, and I will all meet you at the
station. We can take tea jovially together at the Devonshire Arms,
and walk home in the cool of the evening. This arrangement will be
much better than fagging through four miles in the heat of noon.
Write by return of post if you can, and say if this plan suits
you.--Yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 10_th_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--The old pang of fearing you should fancy I forget you
drives me to write to you, though heaven knows I have precious little
to say, and if it were not that I wish to hear from you, and hate to
appear disregardful when I am not so, I might let another week or
perhaps two slip away without writing. There is much in Ruth's
letter that I thought very melancholy. Poor girls! theirs, I fear,
must be a very unhappy home. Yours and mine, with all disadvantages,
all absences of luxury and wealth and style, are, I doubt not,
happier. I wish to goodness you were rich, that you might give her a
temporary asylum, and a relief from uneasiness, suffering, and gloom.
What you say about the effects of ether on your sister rather
startled me. I had always consoled myself with the idea of having
some teeth extracted some day under its soothing influence, but now I
should think twice before I consented to inhale it; one would not
like to make a fool of one's self.--I am, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 11_th_, 1848.
'DEAR ELLEN,--There is a great deal of good-sense in your last
letter. Be thankful that God gave you sense, for what are beauty,
wealth, or even health without it? I had a note from Miss Ringrose
the other day. I do not think I shall write again, for the reasons I
before mentioned to you; but the note moved me much, it was almost
all about her dear Ellen, a kind of gentle enthusiasm of affection,
enough to make one smile and weep--her feelings are half truth, half
illusion. No human being could be altogether what she supposes you
to be, yet your kindness must have been very great. If one were only
rich, how delightful it would be to travel and spend the winter in
climates where there are no winters. Give my love to your mother and
sisters.--Believe me, faithfully yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 22_nd_, 1848.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have just received your little parcel, and beg to
thank you in all our names for its contents, and also for your
letter, of the arrival of which I was, to speak truth, getting rather
impatient.
'The housewife's travelling companion is a most commodious
thing--just the sort of article which suits one to a T, and which yet
I should never have the courage or industry to sit down and make for
myself. I shall keep it for occasions of going from home, it will
save me a world of trouble. It must have required some thought to
arrange the various compartments and their contents so aptly. I had
quite forgotten till your letter reminded me that it was the
anniversary of your birthday and mine. I am now thirty-two. Youth
is gone--gone--and will never come back; can't help it. I wish you
many returns of your birthday and increase of happiness with increase
of years. It seems to me that sorrow must come sometime to every
body, and those who scarcely taste it in their youth often have a
more brimming and bitter cup to drain in after-life; whereas, those
who exhaust the dregs early, who drink the lees before the wine, may
reasonably expect a purer and more palatable draught to succeed. So,
at least, one fain would hope. It touched me at first a little
painfully to hear of your purposed governessing, but on second
thoughts I discovered this to be quite a foolish feeling. You are
doing right even though you should not gain much. The effort will do
you good; no one ever does regret a step towards self-help; it is so
much gained in independence.
'Give my love to your mother and sisters.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 24_th_, 1848.
'Dear Ellen,--I shall begin by telling you that you have no right to
be angry at the length of time I have suffered to slip by since
receiving your last, without answering it, because you have often
kept me waiting much longer; and having made this gracious speech,
thereby obviating reproaches, I will add that I think it a great
shame when you receive a long and thoroughly interesting letter, full
of the sort of details you fully relish, to read the same with
selfish pleasure and not even have the manners to thank your
correspondent, and express how much you enjoyed the narrative. I
_did_ enjoy the narrative in your last very keenly; the exquisitely
characteristic traits concerning the Bakers were worth gold; just
like not only them but all their class--respectable, well-meaning
people enough, but with all that petty assumption of dignity, that
small jealousy of senseless formalities, which to such people seems
to form a second religion. Your position amongst them was
detestable. I admire the philosophy with which you bore it. Their
taking offence because you stayed all night at their aunt's is rich.
It is right not to think much of casual attentions; it is quite
justifiable also to derive from them temporary gratification,
insomuch as they prove that their object has the power of pleasing.
Let them be as ephemera--to last an hour, and not be regretted when
gone.
'Write to me again soon and--Believe me, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 3, 1849.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have received the furs safely. I like the sables
very much, and shall keep them; and 'to save them' shall keep the
squirrel, as you prudently suggested. I hope it is not too much like
the steel poker to save the brass one. I return Mary's letter. It
is another page from the volume of life, and at the bottom is written
"Finis"--mournful word. Macaulay's _History_ was only _lent_ to
myself--all the books I have from London I accept only as a loan,
except in peculiar cases, where it is the author's wish I should
possess his work.
'Do you think in a few weeks it will be possible for you to come to
see me? I am only waiting to get my labour off my hands to permit
myself the pleasure of asking you. At our house you can read as much
as you please.
'I have been much better, very free from oppression or irritation of
the chest, during the last fortnight or ten days. Love to
all.--Good-bye, dear Nell.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 23_rd_, 1849.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Papa has not been well at all lately--he has had
another attack of bronchitis. I felt very uneasy about him for some
days, more wretched indeed than I care to tell you. After what has
happened, one trembles at any appearance of sickness, and when
anything ails papa I feel too keenly that he is the _last_, the
_only_ near and dear relation I have in the world. Yesterday and
to-day he has seemed much better, for which I am truly thankful.
'For myself, I should be pretty well but for a continually recurring
feeling of slight cold, slight soreness in the throat and chest, of
which, do what I will, I cannot quite get rid. Has your cough
entirely left you? I wish the atmosphere would return to a
salubrious condition, for I really think it is not healthy. English
cholera has been very prevalent here.
'I _do_ wish to see you.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 16, 1850.
'DEAR NELL,--I am going on Monday (D.V.) a journey, whereof the
prospect cheers me not at all, to Windermere, in Westmoreland, to
spend a few days with Sir J. K. S., who has taken a house there for
the autumn and winter. I consented to go with reluctance, chiefly to
please papa, whom a refusal on my part would have much annoyed; but I
dislike to leave him. I trust he is not worse, but his complaint is
still weakness. It is not right to anticipate evil, and to be always
looking forward in an apprehensive spirit; but I think grief is a
two-edged sword--it cuts both ways: the memory of one loss is the
anticipation of another. Take moderate exercise and be careful, dear
Nell, and--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 10_th_, 1851.
'DEAR NELL,--Poor little Flossy! I have not yet screwed up nerve to
tell papa about her fate, it seems to me so piteous. However, she
had a happy life with a kind mistress, whatever her death has been.
Little hapless plague! She had more goodness and patience shown her
than she deserved, I fear.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 26_th_, 1852.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I should not have written to you to-day by choice.
Lately I have again been harassed with headache--the heavy electric
atmosphere oppresses me much, yet I am less miserable just now than I
was a little while ago. A severe shock came upon me about papa. He
was suddenly attacked with acute inflammation of the eye. Mr.
Ruddock was sent for; and after he had examined him, he called me
into another room, and said papa's pulse was bounding at 150 per
minute, that there was a strong pressure of blood upon the brain,
that, in short, the symptoms were decidedly apoplectic.
'Active measures were immediately taken. By the next day the pulse
was reduced to ninety. Thank God he is now better, though not well.
The eye is a good deal inflamed. He does not know his state. To
tell him he had been in danger of apoplexy would almost be to kill
him at once--it would increase the rush to the brain and perhaps
bring about rupture. He is kept very quiet.
'Dear Nell, you will excuse a short note. Write again soon. Tell me
all concerning yourself that can relieve you.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 3_rd_, 1852.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I write a line to say that papa is now considered out
of danger. His progress to health is not without relapse, but I
think he gains ground, if slowly, surely. Mr. Ruddock says the
seizure was quite of an apoplectic character; there was a partial
paralysis for two days, but the mind remained clear, in spite of a
high degree of nervous irritation. One eye still remains inflamed,
and papa is weak, but all muscular affection is gone, and the pulse
is accurate. One cannot be too thankful that papa's sight is yet
spared--it was the fear of losing that which chiefly distressed him.
'With best wishes for yourself, dear Ellen,--I am, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.
'My headaches are better. I have needed no help, but I thank you
sincerely for your kind offers.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _August_ 12_th_, 1852.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Papa has varied occasionally since I wrote to you last.
Monday was a very bad day, his spirits sunk painfully. Tuesday and
yesterday, however, were much better, and to-day he seems wonderfully
well. The prostration of spirits which accompanies anything like a
relapse is almost the most difficult point to manage. Dear Nell, you
are tenderly kind in offering your society; but rest very tranquil
where you are; be fully assured that it is not now, nor under present
circumstances, that I feel the lack either of society or occupation;
my time is pretty well filled up, and my thoughts appropriated.
'Mr. Ruddock now seems quite satisfied there is no present danger
whatever; he says papa has an excellent constitution and may live
many years yet. The true balance is not yet restored to the
circulation, but I believe that impetuous and dangerous termination
to the head is quite obviated. I cannot permit myself to comment
much on the chief contents of your last; advice is not necessary. As
far as I can judge, you seem hitherto enabled to take these trials in
a good and wise spirit. I can only pray that such combined strength
and resignation may be continued to you. Submission, courage,
exertion, when practicable--these seem to be the weapons with which
we must fight life's long battle.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
To Miss Nussey we owe many other letters than those here printed--indeed,
they must needs play an important part in Charlotte Bronte's biography.
They do not deal with the intellectual interests which are so marked in
the letters to W. S. Williams, and which, doubtless, characterised the
letters to Miss Mary Taylor. 'I ought to have written this letter to
Mary,' Charlotte says, when on one occasion she dropped into literature
to her friend; but the friendship was as precious as most intellectual
friendships, because it was based upon a common esteem and an unselfish
devotion. Ellen Nussey, as we have seen, accompanied Anne Bronte 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. That she still lives
to receive our reverent gratitude for preserving so many interesting
traits of the Brontes, is matter for full and cordial congratulation,
wherever the names of the authors of _Jane Eyre_ and _Wuthering Heights_
are held in just and wise esteem.
CHAPTER IX: MARY TAYLOR
Mary Taylor, the 'M---' of Mrs. Gaskell's biography, and the 'Rose Yorke'
of _Shirley_, will always have a peculiar interest to those who care for
the Brontes. She shrank from publicity, and her name has been less
mentioned than that of any other member of the circle. And yet hers was
a personality singularly strenuous and strong. She wrote two books 'with
a purpose,' and, as we shall see, vigorously embodied her teaching in her
life. It will be remembered that Charlotte Bronte, Ellen Nussey, and
Mary Taylor first met at Roe Head School, when Charlotte and Mary were
fifteen and her friend about fourteen years of age. Here are Miss
Nussey's impressions--
'She was pretty, and very childish-looking, dressed in a red-coloured
frock with short sleeves and low neck, as then worn by young girls.
Miss Wooler in later years used to say that when Mary went to her as
a pupil she thought her too pretty to live. She was not talkative at
school, but industrious, and always ready with lessons. She was
always at the top in class lessons, with Charlotte Bronte and the
writer; seldom a change was made, and then only with the three--one
move. Charlotte and she were great friends for a time, but there was
no withdrawing from me on either side, and Charlotte never quite knew
how an estrangement arose with Mary, but it lasted a long time. Then
a time came that both Charlotte and Mary were so proficient in
schoolroom attainments there was no more for them to learn, and Miss
Wooler set them Blair's _Belles Lettres_ to commit to memory. We all
laughed at their studies. Charlotte persevered, but Mary took her
own line, flatly refused, and accepted the penalty of disobedience,
going supper-less to bed for about a month before she left school.
When it was moonlight, we always found her engaged in drawing on the
chest of drawers, which stood in the bay window, quite happy and
cheerful. Her rebellion was never outspoken. She was always quiet
in demeanour. Her sister Martha, on the contrary, spoke out
vigorously, daring Miss Wooler so much, face to face, that she
sometimes received a box on the ear, which hardly any saint could
have withheld. Then Martha would expatiate on the danger of boxing
ears, quoting a reverend brother of Miss Wooler's. Among her school
companions, Martha was called "Miss Boisterous," but was always a
favourite, so piquant and fascinating were her ways. She was not in
the least pretty, but something much better, full of change and
variety, rudely outspoken, lively, and original, producing laughter
with her own good-humour and affection. She was her father's pet
child. He delighted in hearing her sing, telling her to go to the
piano, with his affectionate "Patty lass."
'Mary never had the impromptu vivacity of her sister, but was lively
in games that engaged her mind. Her music was very correct, but
entirely cultivated by practice and perseverance. Anything underhand
was detestable to both Mary and Martha; they had no mean pride
towards others, but accepted the incidents of life with imperturbable
good-sense and insight. They were not dressed as well as other
pupils, for economy at that time was the rule of their household.
The girls had to stitch all over their new gloves before wearing
them, by order of their mother, to make them wear longer. Their dark
blue cloth coats were worn when _too short_, and black beaver bonnets
quite plainly trimmed, with the ease and contentment of a fashionable
costume. Mr. Taylor was a banker as well as a monopolist of army
cloth manufacture in the district. He lost money, and gave up
banking. He set his mind on paying all creditors, and effected this
during his lifetime as far as possible, willing that his sons were to
do the remainder, which two of his sons carried out, as was
understood, during their lifetime--Mark and Martin of _Shirley_.'
Let us now read Charlotte's description in _Shirley_, and I think we have
a tolerably fair estimate of the sisters.
'The two next are girls, Rose and Jessie; they are both now at their
father's knee; they seldom go near their mother, except when obliged
to do so. Rose, the elder, is twelve years old; she is like her
father--the most like him of the whole group--but it is a granite
head copied in ivory; all is softened in colour and line. Yorke
himself has a harsh face; his daughter's is not harsh, neither is it
quite pretty; it is simple--childlike in feature; the round cheeks
bloom; as to the grey eyes, they are otherwise than childlike--a
serious soul lights them--a young soul yet, but it will mature, if
the body lives; and neither father nor mother has a spirit to compare
with it. Partaking of the essence of each, it will one day be better
than either--stronger, much purer, more aspiring. Rose is a still,
and sometimes a stubborn girl now; her mother wants to make of her
such a woman as she is herself--a woman of dark and dreary duties;
and Rose has a mind full-set, thick-sown with the germs of ideas her
mother never knew. It is agony to her often to have these ideas
trampled on and repressed. She has never rebelled yet; but if hard
driven, she will rebel one day, and then it will be once for all.
Rose loves her father; her father does not rule her with a rod of
iron; he is good to her. He sometimes fears she will not live, so
bright are the sparks of intelligence which, at moments, flash from
her glance and gleam in her language. This idea makes him often
sadly tender to her.
'He has no idea that little Jessie will die young, she is so gay and
chattering, arch--original even now; passionate when provoked, but
most affectionate if caressed; by turns gentle and rattling; exacting
yet generous; fearless--of her mother, for instance, whose
irrationally hard and strict rule she has often defied--yet reliant
on any who will help her. Jessie, with her little piquant face,
engaging prattle, and winning ways, is made to be a pet; and her
father's pet she accordingly is.'
Mary Taylor was called 'Pag' by her friends, and the first important
reference to her that I find is contained in a letter written by
Charlotte to Ellen Nussey, when she was seventeen years of age.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _June_ 20_th_, 1833.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I know you will be very angry because I have not
written sooner; my reason, or rather my motive for this apparent
neglect was, that I had determined not to write until I could ask you
to pay us your long-promised visit. Aunt thought it would be better
to defer it until about the middle of summer, as the winter and even
the spring seasons are remarkably cold and bleak among our mountains.
Papa now desires me to present his respects to your mother, and say
that he should feel greatly obliged if she would allow us the
pleasure of your company for a few weeks at Haworth. I will leave it
to you to fix whatever day may be most convenient, but let it be an
early one. I received a letter from Pag Taylor yesterday; she was in
high dudgeon at my inattention in not promptly answering her last
epistle. I however sat down immediately and wrote a very humble
reply, candidly confessing my faults and soliciting forgiveness; I
hope it has proved successful. Have you suffered much from that
troublesome though not (I am happy to hear) generally fatal disease,
the influenza? We have so far steered clear of it, but I know not
how long we may continue to escape. Your last letter revealed a
state of mind which seemed to promise much. As I read it I could not
help wishing that my own feelings more resembled yours; but unhappily
all the good thoughts that enter _my mind_ evaporate almost before I
have had time to ascertain their existence; every right resolution
which I form is so transient, so fragile, and so easily broken, that
I sometimes fear I shall never be what I ought. Earnestly hoping
that this may not be your case, that you may continue steadfast till
the end,--I remain, dearest Ellen, your ever faithful friend,
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.'
The next letter refers to Mr. Taylor's death. Mr. Taylor, it is scarcely
necessary to add, is the Mr. Yorke of Briarmains, who figures so largely
in _Shirley_. I have visited the substantial red-brick house near the
high-road at Gomersall, but descriptions of the Bronte country do not
come within the scope of this volume.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 3_rd_, 1841.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I received the news in your last with no surprise,
and with the feeling that this removal must be a relief to Mr. Taylor
himself and even to his family. The bitterness of death was past a
year ago, when it was first discovered that his illness must
terminate fatally; all between has been lingering suspense. This is
at an end now, and the present certainty, however sad, is better than
the former doubt. What will be the consequence of his death is
another question; for my own part, I look forward to a dissolution
and dispersion of the family, perhaps not immediately, but in the
course of a year or two. It is true, causes may arise to keep them
together awhile longer, but they are restless, active spirits, and
will not be restrained always. Mary alone has more energy and power
in her nature than any ten men you can pick out in the united
parishes of Birstall and Haworth. It is vain to limit a character
like hers within ordinary boundaries--she will overstep them. I am
morally certain Mary will establish her own landmarks, so will the
rest of them.
'C. BRONTE.'
Soon after her father's death Mary Taylor turned her eyes towards New
Zealand, where she had friends, but two years were to go by before
anything came of the idea.
TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE
'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, _April_ 2_nd_, 1841.
'DEAR E. J.,--I received your last letter with delight as usual. I
must write a line to thank you for it and the inclosure, which
however is too bad--you ought not to have sent me those packets. I
had a letter from Anne yesterday; she says she is well. I hope she
speaks absolute truth. I had written to her and Branwell a few days
before. I have not heard from Branwell yet. It is to be hoped that
his removal to another station will turn out for the best. As you
say, it _looks_ like getting on at any rate.
'I have got up my courage so far as to ask Mrs. White to grant me a
day's holiday to go to Birstall to see Ellen Nussey, who has offered
to send a gig for me. My request was granted, but so coldly and
slowly. However, I stuck to my point in a very exemplary and
remarkable manner. I hope to go next Saturday. Matters are
progressing very strangely at Gomersall. Mary Taylor and Waring have
come to a singular determination, but I almost think under the
peculiar circumstances a defensible one, though it sounds
outrageously odd at first. They are going to emigrate--to quit the
country altogether. Their destination unless they change is Port
Nicholson, in the northern island of New Zealand!!! Mary has made up
her mind she can not and will not be a governess, a teacher, a
milliner, a bonnet-maker nor housemaid. She sees no means of
obtaining employment she would like in England, so she is leaving it.
I counselled her to go to France likewise and stay there a year
before she decided on this strange unlikely-sounding plan of going to
New Zealand, but she is quite resolved. I cannot sufficiently
comprehend what her views and those of her brothers may be on the
subject, or what is the extent of their information regarding Port
Nicholson, to say whether this is rational enterprise or absolute
madness. With love to papa, aunt, Tabby, etc.--Good-bye.
'C. B.
'_P.S._--I am very well; I hope you are. Write again soon.'
Soon after this Mary went on a long visit to Brussels, which, as we have
seen, was the direct cause of Charlotte and Emily establishing themselves
at the Pensionnat Heger. In Brussels Martha Taylor found a grave. Here
is one of her letters.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY.
'BRUSSELS, _Sept_. 9_th_, 1841.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I received your letter from Mary, and you say I am
to write though I have nothing to say. My sister will tell you all
about me, for she has more time to write than I have.
'Whilst Mary and John have been with me, we have been to Liege and
Spa, where we stayed eight days. I found my little knowledge of
French very useful in our travels. I am going to begin working again
very hard, now that John and Mary are going away. I intend beginning
German directly. I would write some more but this pen of Mary's
won't write; you must scold her for it, and tell her to write you a
long account of my proceedings. You must write to me sometimes.
George Dixon is coming here the last week in September, and you must
send a letter for me to Mary to be forwarded by him. Good-bye. May
you be happy.
'MARTHA TAYLOR.'
It was while Charlotte was making her second stay in Brussels that she
heard of Mary's determination to go with her brother Waring to New
Zealand, with a view to earning her own living in any reasonable manner
that might offer.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'BRUSSELS, _April_ 1_st_, 1843.
'DEAR ELLEN,--That last letter of yours merits a good dose of
panegyric--it was both long and interesting; send me quickly such
another, longer still if possible. You will have heard of Mary
Taylor's resolute and intrepid proceedings. Her public letters will
have put you in possession of all details--nothing is left for me to
say except perhaps to express my opinion upon it. I have turned the
matter over on all sides and really I cannot consider it otherwise
than as very rational. Mind, I did not jump to this opinion at once,
but was several days before I formed it conclusively.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_Sunday Evening_, _June_ 1_st_, 1845.
'DEAR ELLEN,--You probably know that another letter has been received
from Mary Taylor. It is, however, possible that your absence from
home will have prevented your seeing it, so I will give you a sketch
of its contents. It was written at about 4 degrees N. of the
Equator. The first part of the letter contained an account of their
landing at Santiago. Her health at that time was very good, and her
spirits seemed excellent. They had had contrary winds at first
setting out, but their voyage was then prosperous. In the latter
portion of the letter she complains of the excessive heat, and says
she lives chiefly on oranges; but still she was well, and freer from
headache and other ailments than any other person on board. The
receipt of this letter will have relieved all her friends from a
weight of anxiety. I am uneasy about what you say respecting the
French newspapers--do you mean to intimate that you have received
none? I have despatched them regularly. Emily and I keep them
usually three days, sometimes only two, and then send them forward to
you. I see by the cards you sent, and also by the newspaper, that
Henry is at last married. How did you like your office of
bridesmaid? and how do you like your new sister and her family? You
must write to me as soon as you can, and give me an _observant_
account of everything.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'MANCHESTER, _September_ 13_th_, 1846.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Papa thinks his own progress rather slow, but the
doctor affirms he is getting on very well. He complains of extreme
weakness and soreness in the eye, but I suppose that is to be
expected for some time to come. He is still kept in the dark, but
now sits up the greater part of the day, and is allowed a little fire
in the room, from the light of which he is carefully screened.
'By this time you will have got Mary's letters; most interesting they
are, and she is in her element because she is where she has a
toilsome task to perform, an important improvement to effect, a weak
vessel to strengthen. You ask if I had any enjoyment here; in truth,
I can't say I have, and I long to get home, though, unhappily, home
is not now a place of complete rest. It is sad to think how it is
disquieted by a constant phantom, or rather two--sin and suffering;
they seem to obscure the cheerfulness of day, and to disturb the
comfort of evening.
'Give my love to all at Brookroyd, and believe me, yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 5_th_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I return you Mary Taylor's letter; it made me somewhat
sad to read it, for I fear she is not quite content with her
existence in New Zealand. She finds it too barren. I believe she is
more home-sick than she will confess. Her gloomy ideas respecting
you and me prove a state of mind far from gay. I have also received
a letter; its tone is similar to your own, and its contents too.
'What brilliant weather we have had. Oh! I do indeed regret you
could not come to Haworth at the time fixed, these warm sunny days
would have suited us exactly; but it is not to be helped. Give my
best love to your mother and Mercy.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _June_ 26_th_, 1848.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I should have answered your last long ago if I had
known your address, but you omitted to give it me, and I have been
waiting in the hope that you would perhaps write again and repair the
omission. Finding myself deceived in this expectation however, I
have at last hit on the plan of sending the letter to Brookroyd to be
directed; be sure to give me your address when you reply to this.
'I was glad to hear that you were well received at London, and that
you got safe to the end of your journey. Your _naivete_ in gravely
inquiring my opinion of the "last new novel" amuses me. We do not
subscribe to a circulating library at Haworth, and consequently "new
novels" rarely indeed come in our way, and consequently, again, we
are not qualified to give opinions thereon.
'About three weeks ago, I received a brief note from Hunsworth, to
the effect that Mr. Joe Taylor and his cousin Henry would make some
inquiries respecting Mme. Heger's school on account of Ellen Taylor,
and that if I had no objection, they would ride over to Haworth in a
day or two. I said they might come if they would. They came,
accompanied by Miss Mossman, of Bradford, whom I had never seen, only
heard of occasionally. It was a pouring wet and windy day; we had
quite ceased to expect them. Miss Mossman was quite wet, and we had
to make her change her things, and dress her out in ours as well as
we could. I do not know if you are acquainted with her; I thought
her unaffected and rather agreeable-looking, though she has very red
hair. Henry Taylor does indeed resemble John most strongly. Joe
looked thin; he was in good spirits, and I think in tolerable
good-humour. I would have given much for you to have been there. I
had not been very well for some days before, and had some difficulty
in keeping up the talk, but I managed on the whole better than I
expected. I was glad Miss Mossman came, for she helped. Nothing new
was communicated respecting Mary. Nothing of importance in any way
was said the whole time; it was all rattle, rattle, of which I should
have great difficulty now in recalling the substance. They left
almost immediately after tea. I have not heard a word respecting
them since, but I suppose they got home all right. The visit strikes
me as an odd whim. I consider it quite a caprice, prompted probably
by curiosity.
'Joe Taylor mentioned that he had called at Brookroyd, and that Anne
had told him you were ill, and going into the South for change of
air.
'I hope you will soon write to me again and tell me particularly how
your health is, and how you get on. Give my regards to Mary Gorham,
for really I have a sort of regard for her by hearsay, and--Believe
me, dear Nell, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
The Ellen Taylor mentioned in the above letter did not go to Brussels.
She joined her cousin Mary in New Zealand instead.
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, _April_ 10_th_, 1849.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--I've been delighted to receive a very interesting
letter from you with an account of your visit to London, etc. I
believe I have tacked this acknowledgment to the tail of my last
letter to you, but since then it has dawned on my comprehension that
you are becoming a very important personage in this little world, and
therefore, d'ye see? I must write again to you. I wish you would
give me some account of Newby, and what the man said when confronted
with the real Ellis Bell. By the way, having got your secret, will
he keep it? And how do you contrive to get your letters under the
address of Mr. Bell? The whole scheme must be particularly
interesting to hear about, if I could only talk to you for half a
day. When do you intend to tell the good people about you?
'I am now hard at work expecting Ellen Taylor. She may possibly be
here in two months. I once thought of writing you some of the dozens
of schemes I have for Ellen Taylor, but as the choice depends on her
I may as well wait and tell you the one she chooses. The two most
reasonable are keeping a school and keeping a shop. The last is
evidently the most healthy, but the most difficult of accomplishment.
I have written an account of the earthquakes for _Chambers_, and
intend (now don't remind me of this a year hence, because _la femme
propose_) to write some more. What else I shall do I don't know. I
find the writing faculty does not in the least depend on the leisure
I have, but much more on the _active_ work I have to do. I write at
my novel a little and think of my other book. What this will turn
out, God only knows. It is not, and never can be forgotten. It is
my child, my baby, and _I assure you_ such a wonder as never was. I
intend him when full grown to revolutionise society and _faire
epoque_ in history.
'In the meantime I'm doing a collar in crochet work.
'PAG.'
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND,
'_July_ 24_th_, 1849.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--About a month since I received and read _Jane
Eyre_. It seemed to me incredible that you had actually written a
book. Such events did not happen while I was in England. I begin to
believe in your existence much as I do in Mr. Rochester's. In a
believing mood I don't doubt either of them. After I had read it I
went on to the top of Mount Victoria and looked for a ship to carry a
letter to you. There was a little thing with one mast, and also
H.M.S. _Fly_, and nothing else. If a cattle vessel came from Sydney
she would probably return in a few days, and would take a mail, but
we have had east wind for a month and nothing can come in.
'_Aug_. 1.--The _Harlequin_ has just come from Otago, and is to sail
for Singapore _when the wind changes_, and by that route (which I
hope to take myself sometime) I send you this. Much good may it do
you. Your novel surprised me by being so perfect as a work of art.
I expected something more changeable and unfinished. You have
polished to some purpose. If I were to do so I should get tired, and
weary every one else in about two pages. No sign of this weariness
in your book--you must have had abundance, having kept it all to
yourself!
'You are very different from me in having no doctrine to preach. It
is impossible to squeeze a moral out of your production. Has the
world gone so well with you that you have no protest to make against
its absurdities? Did you never sneer or declaim in your first
sketches? I will scold you well when I see you. I do not believe in
Mr. Rivers. There are no _good_ men of the Brocklehurst species. A
missionary either goes into his office for a piece of bread, or he
goes from enthusiasm, and that is both too good and too bad a quality
for St. John. It's a bit of your absurd charity to believe in such a
man. You have done wisely in choosing to imagine a high class of
readers. You never stop to explain or defend anything, and never
seem bothered with the idea. If Mrs. Fairfax or any other
well-intentioned fool gets hold of this what will she think? And
yet, you know, the world is made up of such, and worse. Once more,
how have you written through three volumes without declaring war to
the knife against a few dozen absurd doctrines, each of which is
supported by "a large and respectable class of readers"? Emily seems
to have had such a class in her eye when she wrote that strange thing
_Wuthering Heights_. Anne, too, stops repeatedly to preach
commonplace truths. She has had a still lower class in her mind's
eye. Emily seems to have followed the bookseller's advice. As to
the price you got, it was certainly Jewish. But what could the
people do? If they had asked you to fix it, do you know yourself how
many ciphers your sum would have had? And how should they know
better? And if they did, that's the knowledge they get their living
by. If I were in your place, the idea of being bound in the sale of
two more would prevent me from ever writing again. Yet you are
probably now busy with another. It is curious for me to see among
the old letters one from Anne sending _a copy of a whole article_ on
the currency question written by Fonblanque! I exceedingly regret
having burnt your letters in a fit of caution, and I've forgotten all
the names. Was the reader Albert Smith? What do they all think of
you?
'I mention the book to no one and hear no opinions. I lend it a good
deal because it's a novel, and _it's as good as another_! They say
"it makes them cry." They are not literary enough to give an
opinion. If ever I hear one I'll embalm it for you. As to my own
affair, I have written 100 pages, and lately 50 more. It's no use
writing faster. I get so disgusted, I can do nothing.
'If I could command sufficient money for a twelve-month, I would go
home by way of India and write my travels, which would prepare the
way for my novel. With the benefit of your experience I should
perhaps make a better bargain than you. I am most afraid of my
health. Not that I should die, but perhaps sink into a state of
betweenity, neither well nor ill, in which I should observe nothing,
and be very miserable besides. My life here is not disagreeable. I
have a great resource in the piano, and a little employment in
teaching.
'It's a pity you don't live in this world, that I might entertain you
about the price of meat. Do you know, I bought six heifers the other
day for 23 pounds, and now it is turned so cold I expect to hear
one-half of them are dead. One man bought twenty sheep for 8 pounds,
and they are all dead but one. Another bought 150 and has 40 left.
'I have now told you everything I can think of except that the cat's
on the table and that I'm going to borrow a new book to read--no less
than an account of all the systems of philosophy of modern Europe. I
have lately met with a wonder, a man who thinks Jane Eyre would have
done better to marry Mr. Rivers! He gives no reason--such people
never do.
'MARY TAYLOR.'
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, NEW ZEALAND.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--I have set up shop! I am delighted with it as a
whole--that is, it is as pleasant or as little disagreeable as you
can expect an employment to be that you earn your living by. The
best of it is that your labour has some return, and you are not
forced to work on hopelessly without result. _Du reste_, it is very
odd. I keep looking at myself with one eye while I'm using the
other, and I sometimes find myself in very queer positions.
Yesterday I went along the shore past the wharfes and several
warehouses on a street where I had never been before during all the
five years I have been in Wellington. I opened the door of a long
place filled with packages, with passages up the middle, and a row of
high windows on one side. At the far end of the room a man was
writing at a desk beneath a window. I walked all the length of the
room very slowly, for what I had come for had completely gone out of
my head. Fortunately the man never heard me until I had recollected
it. Then he got up, and I asked him for some stone-blue, saltpetre,
tea, pickles, salt, etc. He was very civil. I bought some things
and asked for a note of them. He went to his desk again; I looked at
some newspapers lying near. On the top was a circular from Smith &
Elder containing notices of the most important new works. The first
and longest was given to _Shirley_, a book I had seen mentioned in
the _Manchester Examiner_ as written by Currer Bell. I blushed all
over. The man got up, folding the note. I pulled it out of his hand
and set off to the door, looking odder than ever, for a partner had
come in and was watching. The clerk said something about sending
them, and I said something too--I hope it was not very silly--and
took my departure.
'I have seen some extracts from _Shirley_ in which you talk of women
working. And this first duty, this great necessity, you seem to
think that some women may indulge in, if they give up marriage, and
don't make themselves too disagreeable to the other sex. You are a
coward and a traitor. A woman who works is by that alone better than
one who does not; and a woman who does not happen to be rich and who
_still_ earns no money and does not wish to do so, is guilty of a
great fault, almost a crime--a dereliction of duty which leads
rapidly and almost certainly to all manner of degradation. It is
very wrong of you to _plead_ for toleration for workers on the ground
of their being in peculiar circumstances, and few in number or
singular in disposition. Work or degradation is the lot of all
except the very small number born to wealth.
'Ellen is with me, or I with her. I cannot tell how our shop will
turn out, but I am as sanguine as ever. Meantime we certainly amuse
ourselves better than if we had nothing to do. We _like_ it, and
that's the truth. By the _Cornelia_ we are going to send our
sketches and fern leaves. You must look at them, and it will need
all your eyes to understand them, for they are a mass of confusion.
They are all within two miles of Wellington, and some of them rather
like--Ellen's sketch of me especially. During the last six months I
have seen more "society" than in all the last four years. Ellen is
half the reason of my being invited, and my improved circumstances
besides. There is no one worth mentioning particularly. The women
are all ignorant and narrow, and the men selfish. They are of a
decent, honest kind, and some intelligent and able. A Mr. Woodward
is the only _literary_ man we know, and he seems to have fair sense.
This was the clerk I bought the stone-blue of. We have just got a
mechanic's institute, and weekly lectures delivered there. It is
amusing to see people trying to find out whether or not it is
fashionable and proper to patronise it. Somehow it seems it is. I
think I have told you all this before, which shows I have got to the
end of my news. Your next letter to me ought to bring me good news,
more cheerful than the last. You will somehow get drawn out of your
hole and find interests among your fellow-creatures. Do you know
that living among people with whom you have not the slightest
interest in common is just like living alone, or worse? Ellen Nussey
is the only one you can talk to, that I know of at least. Give my
love to her and to Miss Wooler, if you have the opportunity. I am
writing this on just such a night as you will likely read it--rain
and storm, coming winter, and a glowing fire. Ours is on the ground,
wood, no fender or irons; no matter, we are very comfortable.
'PAG.'
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, N. Z., _April_ 3_rd_, 1850.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--About a week since I received your last melancholy
letter with the account of Anne's death and your utter indifference
to everything, even to the success of your last book. Though you do
not say this, it is pretty plain to be seen from the style of your
letter. It seems to me hard indeed that you who would succeed,
better than any one, in making friends and keeping them, should be
condemned to solitude from your poverty. To no one would money bring
more happiness, for no one would use it better than you would. For
me, with my headlong self-indulgent habits, I am perhaps better
without it, but I am convinced it would give you great and noble
pleasures. Look out then for success in writing; you ought to care
as much for that as you do for going to Heaven. Though the
advantages of being employed appear to you now the best part of the
business, you will soon, please God, have other enjoyments from your
success. Railway shares will rise, your books will sell, and you
will acquire influence and power; and then most certainly you will
find something to use it in which will interest you and make you
exert yourself.
'I have got into a heap of social trickery since Ellen came, never
having troubled my head before about the comparative numbers of young
ladies and young gentlemen. To Ellen it is quite new to be of such
importance by the mere fact of her femininity. She thought she was
coming wofully down in the world when she came out, and finds herself
better received than ever she was in her life before. And the class
are not _in education_ inferior, though they are in money. They are
decent well-to-do people: six grocers, one draper, two parsons, two
clerks, two lawyers, and three or four nondescripts. All these but
one have families to "take tea with," and there are a lot more single
men to flirt with. For the last three months we have been out every
Sunday sketching. We seldom succeed in making the slightest
resemblance to the thing we sit down to, but it is wonderfully
interesting. Next year we hope to send a lot home. With all this my
novel stands still; it might have done so if I had had nothing to do,
for it is not want of time but want of freedom of mind that makes me
unable to direct my attention to it. Meantime it grows in my head,
for I never give up the idea. I have written about a volume I
suppose. Read this letter to Ellen Nussey.
'MARY TAYLOR.'
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, _August_ 13_th_, 1850.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--After waiting about six months we have just got
_Shirley_. It was landed from the _Constantinople_ on Monday
afternoon, just in the thick of our preparations for a "small party"
for the next day. We stopped spreading red blankets over everything
(New Zealand way of arranging the room) and opened the box and read
all the letters. Soyer's _Housewife_ and _Shirley_ were there all
right, but Miss Martineau's book was not. In its place was a silly
child's tale called _Edward Orland_. On Tuesday we stayed up dancing
till three or four o'clock, what for I can't imagine. However, it
was a piece of business done. On Wednesday I began _Shirley_ and
continued in a curious confusion of mind till now, principally at the
handsome foreigner who was nursed in our house when I was a little
girl. By the way, you've put him in the servant's bedroom. You make
us all talk much as I think we should have done if we'd ventured to
speak at all. What a little lump of perfection you've made me!
There is a strange feeling in reading it of hearing us all talking.
I have not seen the matted hall and painted parlour windows so plain
these five years. But my father is not like. He hates well enough
and perhaps loves too, but he is not honest enough. It was from my
father I learnt not to marry for money nor to tolerate any one who
did, and he never would advise any one to do so, or fail to speak
with contempt of those who did. Shirley is much more interesting
than Jane Eyre, who never interests you at all until she has
something to suffer. All through this last novel there is so much
more life and stir that it leaves you far more to remember than the
other. Did you go to London about this too? What for? I see by a
letter of yours to Mr. Dixon that you _have_ been. I wanted to
contradict some of your opinions, now I can't. As to when I'm coming
home, you may well ask. I have wished for fifteen years to begin to
earn my own living; last April I began to try--it is too soon to say
yet with what success. I am woefully ignorant, terribly wanting in
tact, and obstinately lazy, and almost too old to mend. Luckily
there is no other dance for me, so I must work. Ellen takes to it
kindly, it gratifies a deep ardent _wish_ of hers as of mine, and she
is habitually industrious. For _her_, ten years younger, our shop
will be a blessing. She may possibly secure an independence, and
skill to keep it and use it, before the prime of life is past. As to
my writings, you may as well ask the Fates about that too. I can
give you no information. I write a page now and then. I never
forget or get strange to what I have written. When I read it over it
looks very interesting.
'MARY TAYLOR.'
The Ellen Taylor referred to so frequently was, as I have said, a cousin
of Mary's. Her early death in New Zealand gives the single letter I have
of hers a more pathetic interest.
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, N. Z.
'MY DEAR MISS BRONTE,--I shall tell you everything I can think of,
since you said in one of your letters to Pag that you wished me to
write to you. I have been here a year. It seems a much shorter
time, and yet I have thought more and done more than I ever did in my
life before. When we arrived, Henry and I were in such a hurry to
leave the ship that we didn't wait to be fetched, but got into the
first boat that came alongside. When we landed we inquired where
Waring lived, but hadn't walked far before we met him. I had never
seen him before, but he guessed we were the cousins he expected, so
caught us and took us along with him. Mary soon joined us, and we
went home together. At first I thought Mary was not the least
altered, but when I had seen her for about a week I thought she
looked rather older. The first night Mary and I sat up till 2 A.M.
talking. Mary and I settled we would do something together, and we
talked for a fortnight before we decided whether we would have a
school or shop; it ended in favour of the shop. Waring thought we
had better be quiet, and I believe he still thinks we are doing it
for amusement; but he never refuses to help us. He is teaching us
book-keeping, and he buys things for us now and then. Mary gets as
fierce as a dragon and goes to all the wholesale stores and looks at
things, gets patterns, samples, etc., and asks prices, and then comes
home, and we talk it over; and then she goes again and buys what we
want. She says the people are always civil to her. Our keeping shop
astonishes every body here; I believe they think we do it for fun.
Some think we shall make nothing of it, or that we shall get tired;
and all laugh at us. Before I left home I used to be afraid of being
laughed at, but now it has very little effect upon me.
'Mary and I are settled together now: I can't do without Mary and she
couldn't get on by herself. I built the house we live in, and we
made the plan ourselves, so it suits us. We take it in turns to
serve in the shop, and keep the accounts, and do the housework--I
mean, Mary takes the shop for a week and I the kitchen, and then we
change. I think we shall do very well if no more severe earthquakes
come, and if we can prevent fire. When a wooden house takes fire it
doesn't stop; and we have got an oil cask about as high as I am, that
would help it. If some sparks go out at the chimney-top the shingles
are in danger. The last earthquake but one about a fortnight ago
threw down two medicine bottles that were standing on the table and
made other things jingle, but did no damage. If we have nothing
worse than that I don't care, but I don't want the chimney to come
down--it would cost 10 pounds to build it up again. Mary is making
me stop because it is nearly 9 P.M. and we are going to Waring's to
supper. Good-bye.--Yours truly,
'ELLEN TAYLOR.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 4_th_, 1849.
'I get on as well as I can. Home is not the home it used to be--that
you may well conceive; but so far, I get on.
'I cannot boast of vast benefits derived from change of air yet; but
unfortunately I brought back the seeds of a cold with me from that
dismal Easton, and I have not got rid of it yet. Still I think I
look better than I did before I went. How are you? You have never
told me.
'Mr. Williams has written to me twice since my return, chiefly on the
subject of his third daughter, who wishes to be a governess, and has
some chances of a presentation to Queen's College, an establishment
connected with the Governess Institution; this will secure her four
years of instruction. He says Mr. George Smith is kindly using his
influence to obtain votes, but there are so many candidates he is not
sanguine of success.
'I had a long letter from Mary Taylor--interesting but sad, because
it contained many allusions to those who are in this world no more.
She mentioned you, and seemed impressed with an idea of the
lamentable nature of your unoccupied life. She spoke of her own
health as being excellent.
'Give my love to your mother and sisters, and,--Believe me, yours,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _May_ 18_th_.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I inclose Mary Taylor's letter announcing Ellen's
death, and two last letters--sorrowful documents, all of them. I
received them this morning from Hunsworth without any note or
directions where to send them, but I think, if I mistake not, Amelia
in a previous note told me to transmit them to you.--Yours
faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTE
'WELLINGTON, N. Z.
'DEAR CHARLOTTE,--I began a letter to you one bitter cold evening
last week, but it turned out such a sad one that I have left it and
begun again. I am sitting all alone in my own house, or rather what
is to be mine when I've paid for it. I bought it of Henry when Ellen
died--shop and all, and carry on by myself. I have made up my mind
not to get any assistance. I have not too much work, and the
annoyance of having an unsuitable companion was too great to put up
with without necessity. I find now that it was Ellen that made me so
busy, and without her to nurse I have plenty of time. I have begun
to keep the house very tidy; it makes it less desolate. I take great
interest in my trade--as much as I could do in anything that was not
_all_ pleasure. But the best part of my life is the excitement of
arrivals from England. Reading all the news, written and printed, is
like living another life quite separate from this one. The old
letters are strange--very, when I begin to read them, but quite
familiar notwithstanding. So are all the books and newspapers,
though I never see a human being to whom it would ever occur to me to
mention anything I read in them. I see your _nom de guerre_ in them
sometimes. I saw a criticism on the preface to the second edition of
_Wuthering Heights_. I saw it among the notables who attended
Thackeray's lectures. I have seen it somehow connected with Sir J.
K. Shuttleworth. Did he want to marry you, or only to lionise you?
_or was it somebody else_?
'Your life in London is a "new country" to me, which I cannot even
picture to myself. You seem to like it--at least some things in it,
and yet your late letters to Mrs. J. Taylor talk of low spirits and
illness. "What's the matter with you now?" as my mother used to say,
as if it were the twentieth time in a fortnight. It is really
melancholy that now, in the prime of life, in the flush of your
hard-earned prosperity, you can't be well. Did not Miss Martineau
improve you? If she did, why not try her and her plan again? But I
suppose if you had hope and energy to try, you would be well. Well,
it's nearly dark and you will surely be well when you read this, so
what's the use of writing? I should like well to have some details
of your life, but how can I hope for it? I have often tried to give
you a picture of mine, but I have not the skill. I get a heap of
details, mostly paltry in themselves, and not enough to give you an
idea of the whole. Oh, for one hour's talk! You are getting too far
off and beginning to look strange to me. Do you look as you used to
do, I wonder? What do you and Ellen Nussey talk about when you meet?
There! it's dark.
'_Sunday night_.--I have let the vessel go that was to take this. As
there were others going soon I did not much care. I am in the height
of cogitation whether to send for some worsted stockings, etc. They
will come next year at this time, and who can tell what I shall want
then, or shall be doing? Yet hitherto we have sent such orders, and
have guessed or known pretty well what we should want. I have just
been looking over a list of four pages long in Ellen's handwriting.
These things ought to come by the next vessel, or part of them at
least. When tired of that I began to read some pages of "my book"
intending to write some more, but went on reading for pleasure. I
often do this, and find it very interesting indeed. It does not get
on fast, though I have written about one volume and a half. It's
full of music, poverty, disputing, politics, and original views of
life. I can't for the life of me bring the lover into it, nor tell
what he's to do when he comes. Of the men generally I can never tell
what they'll do next. The women I understand pretty well, and rare
_tracasserie_ there is among them--they are perfectly _feminine_ in
that respect at least.
'I am just now in a state of famine. No books and no news from
England for this two months. I am thinking of visiting a circulating
library from sheer dulness. If I had more time I should get
melancholy. No one can prize activity more than I do. I never am
long without it than a gloom comes over me. The cloud seems to be
always there behind me, and never quite out of sight but when I keep
on at a good rate. Fortunately, the more I work the better I like
it. I shall take to scrubbing the floor before it's dirty and
polishing pans on the outside in my old age. It is the only thing
that gives me an appetite for dinner.
'PAG.
'Give my love to Ellen Nussey.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'WELLINGTON, N. Z., 8_th_ _Jan_. 1857.
'DEAR ELLEN,--A few days ago I got a letter from you, dated 2nd May
1856, along with some patterns and fashion-book. They seem to have
been lost somehow, as the box ought to have come by the _Hastings_,
and only now makes its appearance by the _Philip Lang_. It has come
very _apropos_ for a new year's gift, and the patterns were not
opened twenty-four hours before a silk cape was cut out by one of
them. I think I made a very impertinent request when I asked you to
give yourself so much trouble. The poor woman for whom I wanted them
is now a first-rate dressmaker--her drunken husband, who was her main
misfortune, having taken himself off and not been heard of lately.
'I am glad to hear that Mrs. Gaskell is progressing with the _Life_.
'I wish I had kept Charlotte's letters now, though I never felt it
safe to do so until latterly that I have had a home of my own. They
would have been much better evidence than my imperfect recollection,
and infinitely more interesting. A settled opinion is very likely to
look absurd unless you give the grounds for it, and even if I could
remember them it might look as if there might be other facts which I
have neglected which ought to have altered it. Your news of the
"neighbours" is very interesting, especially of Miss Wooler and my
old schoolfellows. I wish I knew how to give you some account of my
ways here and the effect of my position on me. First of all, it
agrees with me. I am in better health than at any time since I left
school. My life now is not overburdened with work, and what I do has
interest and attraction in it. I think it is that part that I shall
think most agreeable when I look back on my death-bed--a number of
small pleasures scattered over my way, that, when seen from a
distance, will seem to cover it thick. They don't cover it by any
means, but I never had so many.
'I look after my shopwoman, make out bills, decide who shall have
"trust" and who not. Then I go a-buying, not near such an anxious
piece of business now that I understand my trade, and have, moreover,
a good "credit." I read a good deal, sometimes on the sofa, a vice I
am much given to in hot weather. Then I have some friends--not many,
and no geniuses, which fact pray keep strictly to yourself, for how
the doings and sayings of Wellington people in England always come
out again to New Zealand! They are not very interesting any way.
This is my fault in part, for I can't take interest in their
concerns. A book is worth any of them, and a good book worth them
all put together.
'_Our_ east winds are much the pleasantest and healthiest we have.
The soft moist north-west brings headache and depression--it even
blights the trees.--Yours affectionately,
'MARY TAYLOR.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'WELLINGTON, 4_th_ _June_ 1858.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have lately heard that you are leaving Brookroyd. I
shall not even see Brookroyd again, and one of the people who lived
there; and _one_ whom I used to see there I shall never see more.
Keep yourself well, dear Ellen, and gather round you as much
happiness and interest as you can, and let me find you cheery and
thriving when I come. When that will be I don't yet know; but one
thing is sure, I have given over ordering goods from England, so that
I must sometime give over for want of anything to sell. The last
things ordered I expect to arrive about the beginning of the year
1859. In the course of that year, therefore, I shall be left without
anything to do or motive for staying. Possibly this time twelve
months I may be leaving Wellington.
'We are here in the height of a political crisis. The election for
the highest office in the province (Superintendent) comes off in
about a fortnight. There is altogether a small storm going on in our
teacup, quite brisk enough to stir everything in it. My principal
interest therein is the sale of election ribbons, though I am afraid,
owing to the bad weather, there will be little display. Besides the
elections, there is nothing interesting. We all go on pretty well.
I have got a pony about four feet high, that carries me about ten
miles from Wellington, which is much more than walking distance, to
which I have been confined for the last ten years. I have given over
most of the work to Miss Smith, who will finally take the business,
and if we had fine weather I think I should enjoy myself. My main
want here is for books enough to fill up my idle time. It seems to
me that when I get home I will spend half my income on books, and
sell them when I have read them to make it go further. I know this
is absurd, but people with an unsatisfied appetite think they can eat
enormously.
'Remember me kindly to Miss Wooler, and tell me all about her in your
next.--Yours affectionately,
'MARY TAYLOR.'
Miss Taylor wrote one or two useful letters to Mrs. Gaskell, while the
latter was preparing her Memoir of Charlotte Bronte, and her favourable
estimate of the book we have already seen. About 1859 or 1860 she
returned to England and lived out the remainder of her days in complete
seclusion in a Yorkshire home that she built for herself. The novel to
which she refers in a letter to her friend never seems to have got itself
written, or at least published, for it was not until 1890 that Miss Mary
Taylor produced a work of fiction--_Miss Miles_. {259a} This novel
strives to inculcate the advantages as well as the duty of women learning
to make themselves independent of men. It is well, though not
brilliantly written, and might, had the author possessed any of the
latter-day gifts of self-advertisement, have attracted the public, if
only by the mere fact that its author was a friend of Currer Bell's. But
Miss Taylor, it is clear, hated advertisement, and severely refused to be
lionised by Bronte worshippers. Twenty years earlier than _Miss Miles_,
I may add, she had preached the same gospel in less attractive guise. A
series of papers in the _Victorian Magazine_ were reprinted under the
title of _The First Duty of Women_. {259b} 'To inculcate the duty of
earning money,' she declares, 'is the principal point in these articles.'
'It is to the feminine half of the world that the commonplace duty of
providing for themselves is recommended,' and she enforces her doctrine
with considerable point, and by means of arguments much more accepted in
our day than in hers. Miss Taylor died in March 1893, at High Royd, in
Yorkshire, at the age of seventy-six. She will always occupy an
honourable place in the Bronte story.
CHAPTER X: MARGARET WOOLER
The kindly, placid woman who will ever be remembered as Charlotte
Bronte's schoolmistress, had, it may be safely said, no history. She was
a good-hearted woman, who did her work and went to her rest with no
possible claim to a place in biography, save only that she assisted in
the education of two great women. For that reason her brief story is
worth setting forth here.
'I am afraid we cannot give you very much information about our aunt,
Miss Wooler,' writes one of her kindred. 'She was the eldest of a
large family, born June 10th, 1792. She was extremely intelligent
and highly educated, and throughout her long life, which lasted till
within a week of completing her ninety-third year, she took the
greatest interest in religious, political, and every charitable work,
being a life governor to many institutions. Part of her early life
was spent in the Isle of Wight with relations, where she was very
intimate with the Sewell family, one of whom was the author of _Amy
Herbert_. By her own family, she was ever looked up to with the
greatest respect, being always called "Sister" by her brothers and
sisters all her life. After she retired from her school at Roe Head,
and afterwards Dewsbury Moor, she used sometimes to make her home for
months together with my father and mother at Heckmondwike Vicarage;
then she would go away for a few months to the sea-side, either alone
or with one of her sisters. The last ten or twelve years of her life
were spent at Gomersall, along with two of her sisters and a niece.
The three sisters all died within a year, the youngest going first
and the eldest last. They are buried in Birstall Churchyard, close
to my parents and sister.
'Miss Bronte was her pupil when at Roe Head; the late Miss Taylor and
Miss E. Nussey were also her pupils at the same time. Afterwards
Miss Bronte stayed on as governess. My father prepared Miss Bronte
for confirmation when he was curate-in-charge at Mirfield Parish
Church. When Miss Bronte was married, Miss Wooler was one of the
guests. Mr. Bronte, not feeling well enough to go to Church that
morning, my aunt gave her away, as she had no other relative there to
do it.
'Miss Wooler kept up a warm friendship with her former pupil, up to
the time of her death.
'My aunt was a most loyal subject, and devotedly attached to the
Church. She made a point of reading the Bible steadily through every
year, and a chapter out of her Italian Testament each day, for she
used to say "she never liked to lose anything she had learnt." It
was always a pleasure, too, if she met with any one who could
converse with her in French.
'I fear these few items will not be of much use, but it is difficult
to record anything of one who led such a quiet and retiring, but
useful life.'
'My recollections of Miss Wooler,' writes Miss Nussey, 'are, that she
was short and stout, but graceful in her movements, very fluent in
conversation and with a very sweet voice. She had Charlotte and
myself to stay with her sometimes after we left school. We had
delightful sitting-up times with her when the pupils had gone to bed.
She would treat us so confidentially, relating her six years'
residence in the Isle of Wight with an uncle and aunt--Dr. More and
his wife. Dr. More was on the military staff, and the society of the
island had claims upon him. Mrs. More was a fine woman and very
benevolent. Personally, Miss Wooler was like a lady abbess. She
wore white, well-fitting dresses embroidered. Her long hair plaited,
formed a coronet, and long large ringlets fell from her head to
shoulders. She was not pretty or handsome, but her quiet dignity
made her presence imposing. She was nobly scrupulous and
conscientious--a woman of the greatest self-denial. Her income was
small. She lived on half of it, and gave the remainder to charitable
objects.'
It is clear that Charlotte was very fond of her schoolmistress, although
they had one serious difference during the brief period of her stay at
Dewsbury Moor with Anne. Anne was home-sick and ill, and Miss Wooler,
with her own robust constitution, found it difficult to understand Anne's
illness. Charlotte, in arms for her sister, spoke out with vehemence,
and both the sisters went home soon afterwards. {262} Here are a bundle
of letters addressed to Miss Wooler.
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _August_ 28_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Since you wish to hear from me while you are
from home, I will write without further delay. It often happens that
when we linger at first in answering a friend's letter, obstacles
occur to retard us to an inexcusably late period.
'In my last I forgot to answer a question you asked me, and was sorry
afterwards for the omission; I will begin, therefore, by replying to
it, though I fear what I can give will now come a little late. You
said Mrs. Chapham had some thoughts of sending her daughter to
school, and wished to know whether the Clergy Daughters' School at
Casterton was an eligible place.
'My personal knowledge of that institution is very much out of date,
being derived from the experience of twenty years ago; the
establishment was at that time in its infancy, and a sad rickety
infancy it was. Typhus fever decimated the school periodically, and
consumption and scrofula in every variety of form, which bad air and
water, and bad, insufficient diet can generate, preyed on the
ill-fated pupils. It would not then have been a fit place for any of
Mrs. Chapham's children. But, I understand, it is very much altered
for the better since those days. The school is removed from Cowan
Bridge (a situation as unhealthy as it was picturesque--low, damp,
beautiful with wood and water) to Casterton; the accommodation, the
diet, the discipline, the system of tuition, all are, I believe,
entirely altered and greatly improved. I was told that such pupils
as behaved well and remained at school till their educations were
finished were provided with situations as governesses if they wish to
adopt that vocation, and that much care was exercised in the
selection; it was added they were also furnished with an excellent
wardrobe on quitting Casterton.
'If I have the opportunity of reading _The Life of Dr. Arnold_, I
shall not fail to profit thereby; your recommendation makes me
desirous to see it. Do you remember once speaking with approbation
of a book called _Mrs. Leicester's School_, which you said you had
met with, and you wondered by whom it was written? I was reading the
other day a lately published collection of the _Letters of Charles
Lamb_, edited by Serjeant Talfourd, where I found it mentioned that
_Mrs. Leicester's School_ was the first production of Lamb and his
sister. These letters are themselves singularly interesting; they
have hitherto been suppressed in all previous collections of Lamb's
works and relics, on account of the frequent allusions they contain
to the unhappy malady of Miss Lamb, and a frightful incident which
darkened her earlier years. She was, it appears, a woman of the
sweetest disposition, and, in her normal state, of the highest and
clearest intellect, but afflicted with periodical insanity which came
on once a year, or oftener. To her parents she was a most tender and
dutiful daughter, nursing them in their old age, when one was
physically and the other mentally infirm, with unremitting care, and
at the same time toiling to add something by needlework to the
slender resources of the family. A succession of laborious days and
sleepless nights brought on a frenzy fit, in which she had the
miserable misfortune to kill her own mother. She was afterwards
placed in a madhouse, where she would have been detained for life,
had not her brother Charles promised to devote himself to her and
take her under his care--and for her sake renounce a project of
marriage he then entertained. An instance of abnegation of self
scarcely, I think, to be paralleled in the annals of the "coarser
sex." They passed their subsequent lives together--models of
fraternal affection, and would have been very happy but for the dread
visitation to which Mary Lamb continued liable all her life. I
thought it both a sad and edifying history. Your account of your
little niece's naive delight in beholding the morning sea for the
first time amused and pleased me; it proves she has some
sensations--a refreshing circumstance in a day and generation when
the natural phenomenon of children wholly destitute of all pretension
to the same is by no means an unusual occurrence.
'I have written a long letter as you requested me, but I fear you
will not find it very amusing. With love to your little
companion,--Believe me, my dear Miss Wooler, yours affectionately and
respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.
'Papa, I am most thankful to say, continues in very good health,
considering his age. My sisters likewise are pretty well.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _March_ 31_st_, 1848.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I had been wishing to hear from you for some
time before I received your last. There has been so much sickness
during the last winter, and the influenza especially has been so
severe and so generally prevalent, that the sight of suffering around
us has frequently suggested fears for absent friends. Ellen Nussey
told me, indeed, that neither you nor Miss C. Wooler had escaped the
influenza, but, since your letter contains no allusion to your own
health or hers, I trust you are completely recovered. I am most
thankful to say that papa has hitherto been exempted from any attack.
My sister and myself have each had a visit from it, but Anne is the
only one with whom it stayed long or did much mischief; in her case
it was attended with distressing cough and fever; but she is now
better, though it has left her chest weak.
'I remember well wishing my lot had been cast in the troubled times
of the late war, and seeing in its exciting incidents a kind of
stimulating charm which it made my pulse beat fast only to think
of--I remember even, I think, being a little impatient that you would
not fully sympathise with my feelings on this subject, that you heard
my aspirations and speculations very tranquilly, and by no means
seemed to think the flaming sword could be any pleasant addition to
the joys of paradise. I have now outlived youth; and, though I dare
not say that I have outlived all its illusions, that the romance is
quite gone from life, the veil fallen from truth, and that I see both
in naked reality, yet, certainly, many things are not to me what they
were ten years ago; and amongst the rest, "the pomp and circumstance
of war" have quite lost in my eyes their factitious glitter. I have
still no doubt that the shock of moral earthquakes wakens a vivid
sense of life both in nations and individuals; that the fear of
dangers on a broad national scale diverts men's minds momentarily
from brooding over small private perils, and, for the time, gives
them something like largeness of views; but, as little doubt have I
that convulsive revolutions put back the world in all that is good,
check civilisation, bring the dregs of society to its surface--in
short, it appears to me that insurrections and battles are the acute
diseases of nations, and that their tendency is to exhaust by their
violence the vital energies of the countries where they occur. That
England may be spared the spasms, cramps, and frenzy-fits now
contorting the Continent and threatening Ireland, I earnestly pray!
'With the French and Irish I have no sympathy. With the Germans and
Italians I think the case is different--as different as the love of
freedom is from the lust of license.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _September_ 27_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--When I tell you that I have already been to
the Lakes this season, and that it is scarcely more than a month
since I returned, you will understand that it is no longer within my
power to accept your kind invitation.
'I wish I could have gone to you. I wish your invitation had come
first; to speak the truth, it would have suited me better than the
one by which I profited. It would have been pleasant, soothing, in
many ways beneficial, to have spent two weeks with you in your
cottage-lodgings. But these reflections are vain. I have already
had my excursion, and there is an end of it. Sir J. K. Shuttleworth
is residing near Windermere, at a house called "The Briary," and it
was there I was staying for a little while in August. He very kindly
showed me the scenery--_as it can be seen from a carriage_--and I
discerned that the "Lake Country" is a glorious region, of which I
had only seen the similitude in dream--waking or sleeping. But, my
dear Miss Wooler, I only half enjoyed it, because I was only half at
my ease. Decidedly I find it does not agree with me to prosecute the
search of the picturesque in a carriage; a waggon, a spring-cart,
even a post-chaise might do, but the carriage upsets everything. I
longed to slip out unseen, and to run away by myself in amongst the
hills and dales. Erratic and vagrant instincts tormented me, and
these I was obliged to control, or rather, suppress, for fear of
growing in any degree enthusiastic, and thus drawing attention to the
"lioness," the authoress, the artist. Sir J. K. Shuttleworth is a
man of ability and intellect, but not a man in whose presence one
willingly unbends.
'You say you suspect I have found a large circle of acquaintance by
this time. No, I cannot say that I have. I doubt whether I possess
either the wish or the power to do so. A few friends I should like
to know well; if such knowledge brought proportionate regard I could
not help concentrating my feelings. Dissipation, I think, appears
synonymous with dilution. However, I have as yet scarcely been
tried. During the month I spent in London in the spring, I kept very
quiet, having the fear of "lionising" before my eyes. I only went
out once to dinner, and was once present at an evening party; and the
only visits I have paid have been to Sir J. K. Shuttleworth and my
publishers. From this system I should not like to depart. As far as
I can see, indiscriminate visiting tends only to a waste of time and
a vulgarising of character. Besides, it would be wrong to leave papa
often; he is now in his 75th year, the infirmities of age begin to
creep upon him. During the summer he has been much harassed by
chronic bronchitis, but, I am thankful to say, he is now somewhat
better. I think my own health has derived benefit from change and
exercise.
'You ask after Ellen Nussey. When I saw Ellen, about two months ago,
she looked remarkably well. I sometimes hear small fragments of
gossip which amuse me. Somebody professes to have authority for
saying that "When Miss Bronte was in London she neglected to attend
divine service on the Sabbath, and in the week spent her time in
going about to balls, theatres, and operas." On the other hand, the
London quidnuncs make my seclusion a matter of wonder, and devise
twenty romantic fictions to account for it. Formerly I used to
listen to report with interest and a certain credulity; I am now
grown deaf and sceptical. Experience has taught me how absolutely
devoid of foundations her stories may be.
'With the sincere hope that your own health is better, and kind
remembrances to all old friends whenever you see them or write to
them (and whether or not their feeling to me has ceased to be
friendly, which I fear is the case in some instances),--I am, my dear
Miss Wooler, always yours, affectionately and respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _July_ 14_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--My first feeling on receiving your note was
one of disappointment; but a little consideration sufficed to show me
that "all was for the best." In truth, it was a great piece of
extravagance on my part to ask you and Ellen together; it is much
better to divide such good things. To have your visit in _prospect_
will console me when hers is in _retrospect_. Not that I mean to
yield to the weakness of clinging dependently to the society of
friends, however dear, but still as an occasional treat I must value
and even seek such society as a necessary of life. Let me know,
then, whenever it suits your convenience to come to Haworth, and,
unless some change I cannot now foresee occurs, a ready and warm
welcome will await you. Should there be any cause rendering it
desirable to defer the visit, I will tell you frankly.
'The pleasures of society I cannot offer you, nor those of fine
scenery, but I place very much at your command the moors, some books,
a series of "curling-hair times," and an old pupil into the bargain.
Ellen may have told you that I have spent a month in London this
summer. When you come you shall ask what questions you like on that
point, and I will answer to the best of my stammering ability. Do
not press me much on the subject of the "Crystal Palace." I went
there five times, and certainly saw some interesting things, and the
_coup d'oeil_ is striking and bewildering enough, but I never was
able to get up any raptures on the subject, and each renewed visit
was made under coercion rather than my own free-will. It is an
excessively bustling place; and, after all, it's wonders appeal too
exclusively to the eye and rarely touch the heart or head. I make an
exception to the last assertion in favour of those who possess a
large range of scientific knowledge. Once I went with Sir David
Brewster, and perceived that he looked on objects with other eyes
than mine.
'Ellen I find is writing, and will therefore deliver her own messages
of regard. If papa were in the room he would, I know, desire his
respects; and you must take both respects and a good bundle of
something more cordial from yours very faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _September_ 22_nd_, 1851.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Our visitor (a relative from Cornwall) having
left us, the coast is now clear, so that whenever you feel inclined
to come, papa and I will be truly glad to see you. I _do_ wish the
splendid weather we have had and are having may accompany you here.
I fear I have somewhat grudged the fine days, fearing a change before
you come.--Believe me, with papa's regards, yours respectfully and
affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.
'Come soon; if you can, on Wednesday.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_October_ 3_rd_, 1851.
'DEAR NELL,--Do not think I have forgotten you because I have not
written since your last. Every day I have had you more or less in my
thoughts, and wondered how your mother was getting on; let me have a
line of information as soon as possible. I have been busy, first
with a somewhat unexpected visitor, a cousin from Cornwall, who has
been spending a few days with us, and now with Miss Wooler, who came
on Monday. The former personage we can discuss any time when we
meet. Miss Wooler is and has been very pleasant. She is like good
wine: I think time improves her; and really whatever she may be in
person, in mind she is younger than when at Roe Head. Papa and she
get on extremely well. I have just heard papa walk into the
dining-room and pay her a round compliment on her good-sense. I
think so far she has been pretty comfortable and likes Haworth, but
as she only brought a small hand-basket of luggage with her she
cannot stay long.
'How are _you_? Write directly. With my love to your mother, etc.,
good-bye, dear Nell.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.
TO MISS WOOLER
'_February_ 6_th_, 1852.
'Ellen Nussey, it seems, told you I spent a fortnight in London last
December; they wished me very much to stay a month, alleging that I
should in that time be able to secure a complete circle of
acquaintance, but I found a fortnight of such excitement quite
enough. The whole day was usually spent in sight-seeing, and often
the evening was spent in society; it was more than I could bear for a
length of time. On one occasion I met a party of my critics--seven
of them; some of them had been very bitter foes in print, but they
were prodigiously civil face to face. These gentlemen seemed
infinitely grander, more pompous, dashing, showy, than the few
authors I saw. Mr. Thackeray, for instance, is a man of quiet,
simple demeanour; he is however looked upon with some awe and even
distrust. His conversation is very peculiar, too perverse to be
pleasant. It was proposed to me to see Charles Dickens, Lady Morgan,
Mesdames Trollope, Gore, and some others, but I was aware these
introductions would bring a degree of notoriety I was not disposed to
encounter; I declined, therefore, with thanks.
'Nothing charmed me more during my stay in town than the pictures I
saw. One or two private collections of Turner's best water-colour
drawings were indeed a treat; his later oil-paintings are strange
things--things that baffle description.
'I twice saw Macready act--once in _Macbeth_ and once in _Othello_.
I astonished a dinner-party by honestly saying I did not like him.
It is the fashion to rave about his splendid acting. Anything more
false and artificial, less genuinely impressive than his whole style
I could scarcely have imagined. The fact is, the stage-system
altogether is hollow nonsense. They act farces well enough: the
actors comprehend their parts and do them justice. They comprehend
nothing about tragedy or Shakespeare, and it is a failure. I said
so; and by so saying produced a blank silence--a mute consternation.
I was, indeed, obliged to dissent on many occasions, and to offend by
dissenting. It seems now very much the custom to admire a certain
wordy, intricate, obscure style of poetry, such as Elizabeth Barrett
Browning writes. Some pieces were referred to about which Currer
Bell was expected to be very rapturous, and failing in this, he
disappointed.
'London people strike a provincial as being very much taken up with
little matters about which no one out of particular town-circles
cares much; they talk, too, of persons--literary men and women--whose
names are scarcely heard in the country, and in whom you cannot get
up an interest. I think I should scarcely like to live in London,
and were I obliged to live there, I should certainly go little into
company, especially I should eschew the literary coteries.
'You told me, my dear Miss Wooler, to write a long letter. I have
obeyed you.--Believe me now, yours affectionately and respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _March_ 12_th_, 1852.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Your kind note holds out a strong temptation,
but one that _must be resisted_. From home I must not go unless
health or some cause equally imperative render a change necessary.
For nearly four months now (_i.e._ since I became ill) I have not put
pen to paper. My work has been lying untouched, and my faculties
have been rusting for want of exercise. Further relaxation is out of
the question, and I _will not permit myself to think of it_. My
publisher groans over my long delays; I am sometimes provoked to
check the expression of his impatience with short and crusty answers.
'Yet the pleasure I now deny myself I would fain regard as only
deferred. I heard something about your proposing to visit Scarbro'
in the course of the summer, and could I by the close of July or
August bring my task to a certain point, how glad should I be to join
you there for awhile!
'Ellen will probably go to the south about May to make a stay of two
or three months; she has formed a plan for my accompanying her and
taking lodgings on the Sussex Coast; but the scheme seems to me
impracticable for many reasons, and, moreover, my medical man doubts
the advisability of my going southward in summer, he says it might
prove very enervating, whereas Scarbro' or Burlington would brace and
strengthen. However, I dare not lay plans at this distance of time.
For me so much must depend, first on papa's health (which throughout
the winter has been, I am thankful to say, really excellent), and
second, on the progress of work, a matter not wholly contingent on
wish or will, but lying in a great measure beyond the reach of effort
and out of the pale of calculation.
'I will not write more at present, as I wish to save this post. All
in the house would join in kind remembrances to you if they knew I
was writing. Tabby and Martha both frequently inquire after Miss
Wooler, and desire their respects when an opportunity offers of
presenting the same.--Believe me, yours always affectionately and
respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _September_ 2_nd_, 1852.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I have delayed answering your very kind letter
till I could speak decidedly respecting papa's health. For some
weeks after the attack there were frequent variations, and once a
threatening of a relapse, but I trust his convalescence may now be
regarded as confirmed. The acute inflammation of the eye, which
distressed papa so much as threatening loss of sight, but which I
suppose was merely symptomatic of the rush of blood to the brain, is
now quite subsided; the partial paralysis has also disappeared; the
appetite is better; weakness with occasional slight giddiness seem
now the only lingering traces of disease. I am assured that with
papa's excellent constitution, there is every prospect of his still
being spared to me for many years.
'For two things I have reason to be most thankful, viz., that the
mental faculties have remained quite untouched, and also that my own
health and strength have been found sufficient for the occasion.
Solitary as I certainly was at Filey, I yet derived great benefit
from the change.
'It would be pleasant at the sea-side this fine warm weather, and I
should dearly like to be there with you; to such a treat, however, I
do not now look forward at all. You will fully understand the
impossibility of my enjoying peace of mind during absence from papa
under present circumstances; his strength must be very much more
fully restored before I can think of leaving home.
'My dear Miss Wooler, in case you should go to Scarbro' this season,
may I request you to pay one visit to the churchyard and see if the
inscription on the stone has been altered as I directed. We have
heard nothing since on the subject, and I fear the alteration may
have been neglected.
'Ellen has made a long stay in the south, but I believe she will soon
return now, and I am looking forward to the pleasure of having her
company in the autumn.
'With kind regards to all old friends, and sincere love to
yourself,--I am, my dear Miss Wooler, yours affectionately and
respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _September_ 21_st_, 1852.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I was truly sorry to hear that when Ellen
called at the Parsonage you were suffering from influenza. I know
that an attack of this debilitating complaint is no trifle in your
case, as its effects linger with you long. It has been very
prevalent in this neighbourhood. I did not escape, but the sickness
and fever only lasted a few days and the cough was not severe. Papa,
I am thankful to say, continues pretty well; Ellen thinks him little,
if at all altered.
'And now for your kind present. The book will be precious to
me--chiefly, perhaps, for the sake of the giver, but also for its own
sake, for it is a good book; and I wish I may be enabled to read it
with some approach to the spirit you would desire. Its perusal came
recommended in such a manner as to obviate danger of neglect; its
place shall always be on my dressing-table.
'As to the other part of the present, it arrived under these
circumstances:
'For a month past an urgent necessity to buy and make some things for
winter-wear had been importuning my conscience; the _buying_ might be
soon effected, but the _making_ was a more serious consideration. At
this juncture Ellen arrives with a good-sized parcel, which, when
opened, discloses the things I required, perfectly made and of
capital useful fabric; adorned too--which seemly decoration it is but
too probable I might myself have foregone as an augmentation of
trouble not to be lightly incurred. I felt strong doubts as to my
right to profit by this sort of fairy gift, so unlooked for and so
curiously opportune; on reading the note accompanying the garments, I
am told that to accept will be to confer a favour(!) The doctrine is
too palatable to be rejected; I even waive all nice scrutiny of its
soundness--in short, I submit with as good a grace as may be.
'Ellen has only been my companion one little week. I would not have
her any longer, for I am disgusted with myself and my delays, and
consider it was a weak yielding to temptation in me to send for her
at all; but, in truth, my spirits were getting low--prostrate
sometimes, and she has done me inexpressible good. I wonder when I
shall see you at Haworth again. Both my father and the servants have
again and again insinuated a distinct wish that you should be
requested to come in the course of the summer and autumn, but I
always turned a deaf ear: "Not yet," was my thought, "I want first to
be free--work first, then pleasure."
'I venture to send by Ellen a book which may amuse an hour: a Scotch
tale by a minister's wife. It seems to me well told, and may serve
to remind you of characters and manners you have seen in Scotland.
When you have time to write a line, I shall feel anxious to hear how
you are. With kind regards to all old friends, and truest affection
to yourself; in which Ellen joins me,--I am, my dear Miss Wooler,
yours gratefully and respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _October_ 8_th_, 1852.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I wished much to write to you immediately on
my return home, but I found several little matters demanding
attention, and have been kept busy till now.
'I reached home about five o'clock in the afternoon, and the anxiety
which is inseparable from a return after absence was pleasantly
relieved by finding papa well and cheerful. He inquired after you
with interest. I gave him your kind regards, and he specially
charged me whenever I wrote to present his in return, and to say also
that he hoped to see you at Haworth at the earliest date which shall
be convenient to you.
'The week I spent at Hornsea was a happy and pleasant week. Thank
you, my dear Miss Wooler, for the true kindness which gave it its
chief charm. I shall think of you often, especially when I walk out,
and during the long evenings. I believe the weather has at length
taken a turn: to-day is beautifully fine. I wish I were at Hornsea
and just now preparing to go out with you to walk on the sands or
along the lake.
I would not have you to fatigue yourself with writing to me when you
are not inclined, but yet I should be glad to hear from you some day
ere long. When you _do_ write, tell me how you liked _The Experience
of Life_, and whether you have read _Esmond_, and what you think of
it.--Believe me always yours, with true affection and respect,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'BROOKROYD, _December_ 7_th_, 1852.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Since you were so kind as to take some
interest in my small tribulation of Saturday, I write a line to tell
you that on Sunday morning a letter came which put me out of pain and
obviated the necessity of an impromptu journey to London.
'The _money transaction_, of course, remains the same, and perhaps is
not quite equitable; but when an author finds that his work is
cordially approved, he can pardon the rest--indeed, my chief regret
now lies in the conviction that papa will be disappointed: he
expected me to earn 500 pounds, nor did I myself anticipate that a
lower sum would be offered; however, 250 pounds is not to be
despised. {275}
'Your sudden departure from Brookroyd left a legacy of consternation
to the bereaved breakfast-table. Ellen was not easily to be soothed,
though I diligently represented to her that you had quitted Haworth
with the same inexorable haste. I am commissioned to tell you,
first, that she has decided not to go to Yarmouth till after
Christmas, her mother's health having within the last few days
betrayed some symptoms not unlike those which preceded her former
illness; and though it is to be hoped that those may pass without any
untoward result, yet they naturally increase Ellen's reluctance to
leave home for the present.
'Secondly, I am to say, that when the present you left came to be
examined, the costliness and beauty of it inspired some concern.
Ellen thinks you are too kind, as I also think every morning, for I
am now benefiting by your kind gift.
'With sincere regards to all at the Parsonage,--I am, my dear Miss
Wooler, yours respectfully and affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.
'_P.S._--I shall direct that _Esmond_ (Mr. Thackeray's work) shall be
sent on to you as soon as the Hunsworth party have read it. It has
already reached a second edition.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _January_ 20_th_, 1853.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Your last kind note would not have remained so
long unanswered if I had been in better health. While Ellen was with
me, I seemed to revive wonderfully, but began to grow worse again the
day she left; and this falling off proved symptomatic of a relapse.
My doctor called the next day; he said the headache from which I was
suffering arose from inertness in the liver.
'Thank God, I now feel better; and very grateful am I for the
improvement--grateful no less for my dear father's sake than for my
own.
'Most fully can I sympathise with you in the anxiety you express
about your friend. The thought of his leaving England and going out
alone to a strange country, with all his natural sensitiveness and
retiring diffidence, is indeed painful; still, my dear Miss Wooler,
should he actually go to America, I can but then suggest to you the
same source of comfort and support you have suggested to me, and of
which indeed I know you never lose sight--namely, reliance on
Providence. "God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb," and He will
doubtless care for a good, though afflicted man, amidst whatever
difficulties he may be thrown. When you write again, I should be
glad to know whether your anxiety on this subject is relieved. I was
truly glad to learn through Ellen that Ilkley still continued to
agree with your health. Earnestly trusting that the New Year may
prove to you a happy and tranquil time,--I am, my dear Miss Wooler,
sincerely and affectionately yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'_January_ 27_th_, 1853.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--I received your letter here in London where I
have been staying about three weeks, and shall probably remain a few
days longer. _Villette_ is to be published to-morrow. Its
appearance has been purposely delayed hitherto, to avoid discourteous
clashing with Mrs. Gaskell's new work. Your name was one of the
first on the list of presentees, and directed to the Parsonage, where
I shall also send this letter, as you mention that you are to leave
Halifax at the close of this week. I will bear in mind what you say
about Mrs. Morgan; and should I ever have an opportunity of serving
her, will not omit to do so. I only wish my chance of being useful
were greater. Schools seem to be considered almost obsolete in
London. Ladies' colleges, with professors for every branch of
instruction, are superseding the old-fashioned seminary. How the
system will work I can't tell. I think the college classes might be
very useful for finishing the education of ladies intended to go out
as governesses, but what progress little girls will make in them
seems to me another question.
'My dear Miss Wooler, I read attentively all you say about Miss
Martineau; the sincerity and constancy of your solicitude touches me
very much. I should grieve to neglect or oppose your advice, and yet
I do not feel that it would be right to give Miss Martineau up
entirely. There is in her nature much that is very noble. Hundreds
have forsaken her, more, I fear, in the apprehension that their fair
names may suffer if seen in connection with hers, than from any pure
convictions, such as you suggest, of harm consequent on her fatal
tenets. With these fair-weather friends I cannot bear to rank. And
for her sin, is it not one of those which God and not man must judge?
'To speak the truth, my dear Miss Wooler, I believe if you were in my
place, and knew Miss Martineau as I do--if you had shared with me the
proofs of her rough but genuine kindliness, and had seen how she
secretly suffers from abandonment, you would be the last to give her
up; you would separate the sinner from the sin, and feel as if the
right lay rather in quietly adhering to her in her strait, while that
adherence is unfashionable and unpopular, than in turning on her your
back when the world sets the example. I believe she is one of those
whom opposition and desertion make obstinate in error, while patience
and tolerance touch her deeply and keenly, and incline her to ask of
her own heart whether the course she has been pursuing may not
possibly be a faulty course. However, I have time to think of this
subject, and I shall think of it seriously.
'As to what I have seen in London during my present visit, I hope one
day to tell you all about it by our fireside at home. When you write
again will you name a time when it would suit you to come and see me;
everybody in the house would be glad of your presence; your last
visit is pleasantly remembered by all.
'With kindest regards,--I am always, affectionately and respectfully
yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
A note to Miss Nussey written after Charlotte's death indicates a fairly
shrewd view on the part of Miss Wooler as regards the popularity of her
friend.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'MY DEAR MISS ELLEN,--The third edition of Charlotte's Life has at
length ventured out. Our curate tells me he is assured it is quite
inferior to the former ones. So you see Mrs. Gaskell displayed
worldly wisdom in going out of her way to furnish gossip for the
discerning public. Did I mention to you that Mrs. Gibson knows two
or three young ladies in Hull who finished their education at Mme.
Heger's pension? Mrs. G. said they read _Villette_ with keen
interest--of course they would. I had a nice walk with a Suffolk
lady, who was evidently delighted to meet with one who had personally
known our dear C. B., and would not soon have wearied of a
conversation in which she was the topic.--Love to yourself and
sisters, from--Your affectionate,
'M. WOOLER.'
CHAPTER XI: THE CURATES AT HAWORTH
Something has already been said concerning the growth of the population
of Haworth during the period of Mr. Bronte's Incumbency. It was 4668 in
1821, and 6301 in 1841. This makes it natural that Mr. Bronte should
have applied to his Bishop for assistance in his pastoral duty, and such
aid was permanently granted him in 1838, when Mr. William Weightman
became his first curate. {280} Mr. Weightman would appear to have been a
favourite. He many times put in an appearance at the parsonage, although
I do not recognise him in any one of Charlotte's novels, and he certainly
has no place among the three famous curates of _Shirley_. He would seem
to have been the only man, other than her father and brother, whom Emily
was known to tolerate. We know that the girls considered him effeminate,
and they called him 'Celia Amelia,' under which name he frequently
appears in Charlotte's letters to Ellen Nussey. That he was good-natured
seems to be indisputable. There is one story of his walking to Bradford
to post valentines to the incumbent's daughters, when he found they had
never received any. There is another story of a trip to Keighley to hear
him lecture. He was a bit of a poet, it seems, and Ellen Nussey was the
heroine of some of his verses when she visited at Haworth. Here is a
letter which throws some light upon Charlotte's estimate of the young
man--he was twenty-three years of age at this time.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 17_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR MRS. ELEANOR,--I wish to scold you with a forty-horse power
for having told Mary Taylor that I had requested you not to tell her
everything, which piece of information has thrown her into tremendous
ill-humour, besides setting the teeth of her curiosity on edge. Tell
her forthwith every individual occurrence, including valentines,
"Fair E---, Fair E---," etc.; "Away fond love," etc.; "Soul divine,"
and all; likewise the painting of Miss Celia Amelia Weightman's
portrait, and that _young lady's_ frequent and agreeable visits.
By-the-bye, I inquired into the opinion of that intelligent and
interesting young person respecting you. It was a favourable one.
"She" thought you a fine-looking girl, and a very good girl into the
bargain. Have you received the newspaper which has been despatched,
containing a notice of "her" lecture at Keighley? Mr. Morgan came
and stayed three days. By Miss Weightman's aid, we got on pretty
well. It was amazing to see with what patience and good-temper the
innocent creature endured that fat Welshman's prosing, though she
confessed afterwards that she was almost done up by his long stories.
We feel very dull without you. I wish those three weeks were to come
over again. Aunt has been at times precious cross since you
went--however, she is rather better now. I had a bad cold on Sunday
and stayed at home most of the day. Anne's cold is better, but I
don't consider her strong yet. What did your sister Anne say about
my omitting to send a drawing for the Jew basket? I hope she was too
much occupied with the thoughts of going to Earnley to think of it.
I am obliged to cut short my letter. Everybody in the house unites
in sending their love to you. Miss Celia Amelia Weightman also
desires to be remembered. Write soon again and--Believe me, yours
unalterably,
'CHARIVARI.'
He would seem to have been a much teased curate. Now it is Miss Ellen
Nussey, now a Miss Agnes Walton, who is supposed to be the object of his
devotion.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 9_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR MRS. MENELAUS,--I think I am exceedingly good to write to
you so soon, indeed I am quite afraid you will begin to consider me
intrusive with my frequent letters. I ought by right to let an
interval of a quarter of a year elapse between each communication,
and I will, in time; never fear me. I shall improve in
procrastination as I get older.
'My hand is trembling like that of an old man, so I don't expect you
will be able to read my writing; never mind, put the letter by and
I'll read it to you the next time I see you.
'I have been painting a portrait of Agnes Walton for our friend Miss
Celia Amelia. You would laugh to see how his eyes sparkle with
delight when he looks at it, like a pretty child pleased with a new
plaything. Good-bye to you. Let me have no more of your humbug
about Cupid, etc. You know as well as I do it is all groundless
trash.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 20_th_, 1840.
'DEAR MRS. ELLEN,--I was very well pleased with your capital long
letter. A better farce than the whole affair of that letter-opening
(ducks and Mr. Weightman included) was never imagined. {282}
By-the-bye, speaking of Mr. W., I told you he was gone to pass his
examination at Ripon six weeks ago. He is not come back yet, and
what has become of him we don't know. Branwell has received one
letter since he went, speaking rapturously of Agnes Walton,
describing certain balls at which he had figured, and announcing that
he had been twice over head and ears desperately in love. It is my
devout belief that his reverence left Haworth with the fixed
intention of never returning. If he does return, it will be because
he has not been able to get a "living." Haworth is not the place for
him. He requires novelty, a change of faces, difficulties to be
overcome. He pleases so easily that he soon gets weary of pleasing
at all. He ought not to have been a parson; certainly he ought not.
Our _august_ relations, as you choose to call them, are gone back to
London. They never stayed with us, they only spent one day at our
house. Have you seen anything of the Miss Woolers lately? I wish
they, or somebody else, would get me a situation. I have answered
advertisements without number, but my applications have met with no
success.
'CALIBAN.'
One wonders if a single letter by Charlotte Bronte applying for a
'situation' has been preserved! I have not seen one.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_September_ 29_th_, 1840.
'I know Mrs. Ellen is burning with eagerness to hear something about
William Weightman. I think I'll plague her by not telling her a
word. To speak heaven's truth, I have precious little to say,
inasmuch as I seldom see him, except on a Sunday, when he looks as
handsome, cheery, and good-tempered as usual. I have indeed had the
advantage of one long conversation since his return from Westmorland,
when he poured out his whole warm fickle soul in fondness and
admiration of Agnes Walton. Whether he is in love with her or not I
can't say; I can only observe that it sounds very like it. He sent
us a prodigious quantity of game while he was away--a brace of wild
ducks, a brace of black grouse, a brace of partridges, ditto of
snipes, ditto of curlews, and a large salmon. If you were to ask Mr.
Weightman's opinion of my character just now, he would say that at
first he thought me a cheerful chatty kind of body, but that on
farther acquaintance he found me of a capricious changeful temper,
never to be reckoned on. He does not know that I have regulated my
manner by his--that I was cheerful and chatty so long as he was
respectful, and that when he grew almost contemptuously familiar I
found it necessary to adopt a degree of reserve which was not
natural, and therefore was very painful to me. I find this reserve
very convenient, and consequently I intend to keep it up.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 12_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR NELL,--You will excuse this scrawled sheet of paper,
inasmuch as I happen to be out of that article, this being the only
available sheet I can find in my desk. I have effaced one of the
delectable portraitures, but have spared the others--lead pencil
sketches of horse's head, and man's head--being moved to that act of
clemency by the recollection that they are not the work of my hand,
but of the sacred fingers of his reverence William Weightman. You
will discern that the eye is a little too elevated in the horse's
head, otherwise I can assure you it is no such bad attempt. It shows
taste and something of an artist's eye. The fellow had no copy for
it. He sketched it, and one or two other little things, when he
happened to be here one evening, but you should have seen the vanity
with which he afterwards regarded his productions. One of them
represented the flying figure of Fame inscribing his own name on the
clouds.
'Mrs. Brook and I have interchanged letters. She expressed herself
pleased with the style of my application--with its candour, etc. (I
took care to tell her that if she wanted a showy, elegant,
fashionable personage, I was not the man for her), but she wants
music and singing. I can't give her music and singing, so of course
the negotiation is null and void. Being once up, however, I don't
mean to sit down till I have got what I want; but there is no sense
in talking about unfinished projects, so we'll drop the subject.
Consider this last sentence a hint from me to be applied practically.
It seems Miss Wooler's school is in a consumptive state of health. I
have been endeavouring to obtain a reinforcement of pupils for her,
but I cannot succeed, because Mrs. Heap is opening a new school in
Bradford.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 10_th_, 1841.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I promised to write to you, and therefore I must
keep my promise, though I have neither much to say nor much time to
say it in.
'Mary Taylor's visit has been a very pleasant one to us, and I
believe to herself also. She and Mr. Weightman have had several
games at chess, which generally terminated in a species of mock
hostility. Mr. Weightman is better in health; but don't set your
heart on him, I'm afraid he is very fickle--not to you in particular,
but to half a dozen other ladies. He has just cut his _inamorata_ at
Swansea, and sent her back all her letters. His present object of
devotion is Caroline Dury, to whom he has just despatched a most
passionate copy of verses. Poor lad, his sanguine temperament
bothers him grievously.
'That Swansea affair seems to me somewhat heartless as far as I can
understand it, though I have not heard a very clear explanation. He
sighs as much as ever. I have not mentioned your name to him yet,
nor do I mean to do so until I have a fair opportunity of gathering
his real mind. Perhaps I may never mention it at all, but on the
contrary carefully avoid all allusion to you. It will just depend
upon the further opinion I may form of his character. I am not
pleased to find that he was carrying on a regular correspondence with
this lady at Swansea all the time he was paying such pointed
attention to you; and now the abrupt way in which he has cut her off,
and the evident wandering instability of his mind is no favourable
symptom at all. I shall not have many opportunities of observing him
for a month to come. As for the next fortnight, he will be
sedulously engaged in preparing for his ordination, and the fortnight
after he will spend at Appleby and Crackenthorp with Mr. and Miss
Walton. Don't think about him; I am not afraid you will break your
heart, but don't think about him.
'Give my love to Mercy and your mother, and,--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'CA'IRA.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'RAWDON, _March_ 3_rd_, 1841.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I dare say you have received a valentine this year
from our bonny-faced friend the curate of Haworth. I got a precious
specimen a few days before I left home, but I knew better how to
treat it than I did those we received a year ago. I am up to the
dodges and artifices of his lordship's character. He knows I know
him, and you cannot conceive how quiet and respectful he has long
been. Mind I am not writing against him--I never _will_ do that. I
like him very much. I honour and admire his generous, open
disposition, and sweet temper--but for all the tricks, wiles, and
insincerities of love, the gentleman has not his match for twenty
miles round. He would fain persuade every woman under thirty whom he
sees that he is desperately in love with her. I have a great deal
more to say, but I have not a moment's time to write it in. My dear
Ellen, _do_ write to me soon, don't forget.--Good-bye.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 21_st_, 1841.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--I do not know how to wear your pretty little
handcuffs. When you come you shall explain the mystery. I send you
the precious valentine. Make much of it. Remember the writer's blue
eyes, auburn hair, and rosy cheeks. You may consider the concern
addressed to yourself, for I have no doubt he intended it to suit
anybody.
'Fare-thee-well.
'C. B.'
Then there are these slighter inferences, that concerning Anne being
particularly interesting.
'Write long letters to me, and tell me everything you can think of,
and about everybody. "His young reverence," as you tenderly call
him, is looking delicate and pale; poor thing, don't you pity him? I
do from my heart! When he is well, and fat, and jovial, I never
think of him, but when anything ails him I am always sorry. He sits
opposite to Anne at church, sighing softly, and looking out of the
corners of his eyes to win her attention, and Anne is so quiet, her
look so downcast, they are a picture.'
'_July_ 19_th_, 1841.
'Our revered friend, W. W., is quite as bonny, pleasant,
lighthearted, good-tempered, generous, careless, fickle, and
unclerical as ever. He keeps up his correspondence with Agnes
Walton. During the last spring he went to Appleby, and stayed
upwards of a month.'
During the governess and Brussels episodes in Charlotte's life we lose
sight of Mr. Weightman, and the next record is of his death, which took
place in September 1842, while Charlotte and Emily were in Brussels. Mr.
Bronte preached the funeral sermon, {287} stating by way of introduction
that for the twenty years and more that he had been in Haworth he had
never before read his sermon. 'This is owing to a conviction in my
mind,' he says, 'that in general, for the ordinary run of hearers,
extempore preaching, though accompanied with some peculiar disadvantages,
is more likely to be of a colloquial nature, and better adapted, on the
whole, to the majority.' His departure from the practice on this
occasion, he explains, is due to the request that his sermon should be
printed.
Mr. Weightman, he told his hearers, was a native of Westmoreland,
educated at the University of Durham. 'While he was there,' continued
Mr. Bronte, 'I applied to the justly venerated Apostolical Bishop of this
diocese, requesting his Lordship to send me a curate adequate to the
wants and wishes of the parishioners. This application was not in vain.
Our Diocesan, in the scriptural character of the Overlooker and Head of
his clergy, made an admirable choice, which more than answered my
expectations, and probably yours. The Church Pastoral Aid Society, in
their pious liberality, lent their pecuniary aid, without which all
efforts must have failed.' 'He had classical attainments of the first
order, and, above all, his religious principles were sound and orthodox,'
concludes Mr. Bronte. Mr. Weightman was twenty-six years of age when he
died. His successor was Mr. Peter Augustus Smith, whom Charlotte Bronte
has made famous in _Shirley_ as Mr. Malone, curate of Briarfield. Mr.
Smith was Mr. A. B. Nicholls's predecessor at Haworth. Here is Charlotte
Bronte's vigorous treatment of him in a letter to her friend.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 26_th_, 1844.
'DEAR NELL,--We were all very glad to get your letter this morning.
_We_, I say, as both papa and Emily were anxious to hear of the safe
arrival of yourself and the little _varmint_. {288}
'As you conjecture, Emily and I set to shirt-making the very day
after you left, and we have stuck to it pretty closely ever since.
We miss your society at least as much as you miss ours, depend upon
it. Would that you were within calling distance, that you could as
you say burst in upon us in an afternoon, and, being despoiled of
your bonnet and shawl, be fixed in the rocking-chair for the evening
once or twice every week. I certainly cherished a dream during your
stay that such might one day be the case, but the dream is somewhat
dissipating. I allude of course to Mr. Smith, to whom you do not
allude in your letter, and I think you foolish for the omission. I
say the dream is dissipating, because Mr. Smith has not mentioned
your name since you left, except once when papa said you were a nice
girl, he said, "Yes, she is a nice girl--rather quiet. I suppose she
has money," and that is all. I think the words speak volumes; they
do not prejudice one in favour of Mr. Smith. I can well believe what
papa has often affirmed, and continues to affirm, _i.e._, that Mr.
Smith is a very fickle man, that if he marries he will soon get tired
of his wife, and consider her as a burden, also that money will be a
principal consideration with him in marrying.
'Papa has two or three times expressed a fear that since Mr. Smith
paid you so much attention he will perhaps have made an impression on
your mind which will interfere with your comfort. I tell him I think
not, as I believe you to be mistress of yourself in those matters.
Still, he keeps saying that I am to write to you and dissuade you
from thinking of him. I never saw papa make himself so uneasy about
a thing of the kind before; he is usually very sarcastic on such
subjects.
'Mr. Smith be hanged! I never thought very well of him, and I am
much disposed to think very ill of him at this blessed minute. I
have discussed the subject fully, for where is the use of being
mysterious and constrained?--it is not worth while.
'Be sure you write to me and immediately, and tell me whether you
have given up eating and drinking altogether. I am not surprised at
people thinking you looked pale and thin. I shall expect another
letter on Thursday--don't disappoint me.
'My best regards to your mother and sisters.--Yours, somewhat
irritated,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'DEAR NELL,--I did not "swear at the postman" when I saw another
letter from you. And I hope you will not "swear" at me when I tell
you that I cannot think of leaving home at present, even to have the
pleasure of joining you at Harrogate, but I am obliged to you for
thinking of me. I have nothing new about Rev. Lothario Smith. I
think I like him a little bit less every day. Mr. Weightman was
worth 200 Mr. Smiths tied in a bunch. Good-bye. I fear by what you
say, "Flossy jun." behaves discreditably, and gets his mistress into
scrapes.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 16_th_, 1844.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I received your kind note last Saturday, and should
have answered it immediately, but in the meantime I had a letter from
Mary Taylor, and had to reply to her, and to write sundry letters to
Brussels to send by opportunity. My sight will not allow me to write
several letters per day, so I was obliged to do it gradually.
'I send you two more circulars because you ask for them, not because
I hope their distribution will produce any result. I hope that if a
time should come when Emily, Anne, or I shall be able to serve you,
we shall not forget that you have done your best to serve us.
'Mr. Smith is gone hence. He is in Ireland at present, and will stay
there six weeks. He has left neither a bad nor a good character
behind him. Nobody regrets him, because nobody could attach
themselves to one who could attach himself to nobody. I thought once
he had a regard for you, but I do not think so now. He has never
asked after you since you left, nor even mentioned you in my hearing,
except to say once when I purposely alluded to you, that you were
"not very locomotive." The meaning of the observation I leave you to
divine.
'Yet the man is not without points that will be most useful to
himself in getting through life. His good qualities, however, are
all of the selfish order, but they will make him respected where
better and more generous natures would be despised, or at least
neglected.
'Mr. Grant fills his shoes at present decently enough--but one cares
naught about these sort of individuals, so drop them.
'Mary Taylor is going to leave our hemisphere. To me it is something
as if a great planet fell out of the sky. Yet, unless she marries in
New Zealand, she will not stay there long.
'Write to me again soon and I promise to write you a regular long
letter next time.
'C. BRONTE.'
The Mr. Grant here described had come to Haworth as master of the small
grammar school in which Branwell had received some portion of his
education. He is the Mr. Donne, curate of Whinbury, in _Shirley_.
Whinbury is Oxenhope, of which village and district Mr. Grant after a
time became incumbent. The district was taken out of Haworth Chapelry,
and Mr. Grant collected the funds to build a church, schoolhouse, and
parsonage. He died at Oxenhope, many years ago, greatly respected by his
parishioners. He seems to have endured good-naturedly much chaff from
Mr. Bronte and others, who always called him Mr. Donne. It was the
opinion of many of his acquaintances that the satire of _Shirley_ had
improved his disposition.
Mr. Smith left Haworth in 1844, to become curate of the parish church of
Keighley. He became, at a later date, incumbent of a district church,
but, his health failing, he returned to his native country, where he
died.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_October_ 15_th_, 1844.
'DEAR NELL,--I send you two additional circulars, and will send you
two more, if you desire it, when I write again. I have no news to
give you. Mr. Smith leaves in the course of a fortnight. He will
spend a few weeks in Ireland previously to settling at Keighley. He
continues just the same: often anxious and bad-tempered, sometimes
rather tolerable--just supportable. How did your party go off? How
are you? Write soon, and at length, for your letters are a great
comfort to me. We are all pretty well. Remember me kindly to each
member of the household at Brookroyd.--Yours,
'C. B.'
The third curate of _Shirley_, Mr. Sweeting of Nunnely, was Mr. Richard
Bradley, curate of Oakworth, an outlying district of Keighley parish. He
is at this present time vicar of Haxby, Yorkshire, but far too aged and
infirm to have any memories of those old Haworth days.
Mr. Bronte's one other curate was Mr. De Renzi, who occupied the position
for a little more than a year,--during the period, in fact, of Mr.
Bronte's quarrel with Mr. Nicholls for aspiring to become his son-in-law.
After he left Haworth, Mr. De Renzi became a curate at Bradford. He has
been dead for some years. The story of Mr. Nicholls's curacy belongs to
another chapter. It is sufficient testimony to his worth, however, that
he was able to win Charlotte Bronte in spite of the fact that his
predecessors had inspired in her such hearty contempt. 'I think he must
be like all the curates I have seen,' she writes of one; 'they seem to me
a self-seeking, vain, empty race.'
CHAPTER XII: CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S LOVERS
Charlotte Bronte was not beautiful, but she must have been singularly
fascinating. That she was not beautiful there is abundant evidence.
When, as a girl of fifteen, she became a pupil at Roe Head, Mary Taylor
once told her to her face that she was ugly. Ugly she was not in later
years. All her friends emphasise the soft silky hair, and the beautiful
grey eyes which in moments of excitement seemed to glisten with
remarkable brilliancy. But she had a sallow complexion, and a large nose
slightly on one side. She was small in stature, and, in fact, the casual
observer would have thought her a quaint, unobtrusive little body. Mr.
Grundy's memory was very defective when he wrote about the Brontes; but,
with the exception of the reference to red hair--and all the girls had
brown hair--it would seem that he was not very wide of the mark when he
wrote of '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.'
Charlotte was indeed painfully shy. Miss Wheelwright, who saw much of
her during her visits to London in the years of her literary success,
says that she would never enter a room without sheltering herself under
the wing of some taller friend. A resident of Haworth, still alive,
remembers the girls passing him frequently on the way down to the shops,
and their hands would involuntarily be lifted to the face on the side
nearest to him, with a view to avoid observation. This was not
affectation; it was absolute timidity. Miss Wheelwright always thought
George Richmond's portrait--for which Charlotte sat during a stay at Dr.
Wheelwright's in Phillimore Place--entirely flattering. Many of
Charlotte's friends were pleased that it should be so, but there can be
no doubt that the magnificent expanse of forehead was an exaggeration.
Charlotte's forehead was high, but very narrow.
All this is comparatively unimportant. Charlotte certainly was under no
illusion; and we who revere her to-day as one of the greatest of
Englishwomen need have no illusions. It is sufficient that, if not
beautiful, Charlotte possessed a singular charm of manner, and, when
interested, an exhilarating flow of conversation which carried
intelligent men off their feet. She had at least four offers of
marriage. The three lovers she refused have long since gone to their
graves, and there can be no harm now in referring to the actual facts as
they present themselves in Charlotte's letters. Two of these offers of
marriage were made in one year, when she was twenty-three years of age.
Her first proposal came from the brother of her friend Ellen Nussey.
Henry Nussey was a curate at Donnington when he asked Charlotte Bronte to
be his wife. Two letters on the subject, one of which is partly printed
in a mangled form in Mrs. Gaskell's Memoir, speak for themselves.
TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _March_ 5_th_, 1839.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Before answering your letter I might have spent a long
time in consideration of its subject; but as from the first moment of
its reception and perusal I determined on what course to pursue, it
seemed to me that delay was wholly unnecessary. You are aware that I
have many reasons to feel grateful to your family, that I have
peculiar reasons for affection towards one at least of your sisters,
and also that I highly esteem yourself--do not therefore accuse me of
wrong motives when I say that my answer to your proposal must be a
_decided negative_. In forming this decision, I trust I have
listened to the dictates of conscience more than to those of
inclination. I have no personal repugnance to the idea of a union
with you, but I feel convinced that mine is not the sort of
disposition calculated to form the happiness of a man like you. It
has always been my habit to study the characters of those amongst
whom I chance to be thrown, and I think I know yours and can imagine
what description of woman would suit you for a wife. The character
should not be too marked, ardent, and original, her temper should be
mild, her piety undoubted, her spirits even and cheerful, and her
_personal attractions_ sufficient to please your eyes and gratify
your just pride. As for me, you do not know me; I am not the
serious, grave, cool-headed individual you suppose; you would think
me romantic and eccentric; you would say I was satirical and severe.
However, I scorn deceit, and I will never, for the sake of attaining
the distinction of matrimony and escaping the stigma of an old maid,
take a worthy man whom I am conscious I cannot render happy. Before
I conclude, let me thank you warmly for your other proposal regarding
the school near Donnington. It is kind in you to take so much
interest about me; but the fact is, I could not at present enter upon
such a project because I have not the capital necessary to insure
success. It is a pleasure to me to hear that you are so comfortably
settled and that your health is so much improved. I trust God will
continue His kindness towards you. Let me say also that I admire the
good-sense and absence of flattery and cant which your letter
displayed. Farewell. I shall always be glad to hear from you as a
_friend_.--Believe me, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _March_ 12_th_, 1839.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--When your letter was put into my hands, I said,
"She is coming at last, I hope," but when I opened it and found what
the contents were, I was vexed to the heart. You need not ask me to
go to Brookroyd any more. Once for all, and at the hazard of being
called the most stupid little wretch that ever existed, I _won't_ go
till you have been to Haworth. I don't blame _you_, I believe you
would come if you might; perhaps I ought not to blame others, but I
am grieved.
'Anne goes to Blake Hall on the 8th of April, unless some further
unseen cause of delay should occur. I've heard nothing more from
Mrs. Thos. Brook as yet. Papa wishes me to remain at home a little
longer, but I begin to be anxious to set to work again; and yet it
will be _hard work_ after the indulgence of so many weeks, to return
to that dreary "gin-horse" round.
'You ask me, my dear Ellen, whether I have received a letter from
Henry. I have, about a week since. The contents, I confess, did a
little surprise me, but I kept them to myself, and unless you had
questioned me on the subject, I would never have adverted to it.
Henry says he is comfortably settled at Donnington, that his health
is much improved, and that it is his intention to take pupils after
Easter. He then intimates that in due time he should want a wife to
take care of his pupils, and frankly asks me to be that wife.
Altogether the letter is written without cant or flattery, and in a
common-sense style, which does credit to his judgment.
'Now, my dear Ellen, there were in this proposal some things which
might have proved a strong temptation. I thought if I were to marry
Henry Nussey, his sister could live with me, and how happy I should
be. But again I asked myself two questions: Do I love him as much as
a woman ought to love the man she marries? Am I the person best
qualified to make him happy? Alas! Ellen, my conscience answered
_no_ to both these questions. I felt that though I esteemed, though
I had a kindly leaning towards him, because he is an amiable and
well-disposed man, yet I had not, and could not have, that intense
attachment which would make me willing to die for him; and, if ever I
marry, it must be in that light of adoration that I will regard my
husband. Ten to one I shall never have the chance again; but
_n'importe_. Moreover, I was aware that Henry knew so little of me
he could hardly be conscious to whom he was writing. Why, it would
startle him to see me in my natural home character; he would think I
was a wild, romantic enthusiast indeed. I could not sit all day long
making a grave face before my husband. I would laugh, and satirise,
and say whatever came into my head first. And if he were a clever
man, and loved me, the whole world weighed in the balance against his
smallest wish should be light as air. Could I, knowing my mind to be
such as that, conscientiously say that I would take a grave, quiet,
young man like Henry? No, it would have been deceiving him, and
deception of that sort is beneath me. So I wrote a long letter back,
in which I expressed my refusal as gently as I could, and also
candidly avowed my reasons for that refusal. I described to him,
too, the sort of character that would suit him for a wife.--Good-bye,
my dear Ellen.
'C. BRONTE.'
Mr. Nussey was a very good man, with a capacity for making himself
generally esteemed, becoming in turn vicar of Earnley, near Chichester,
and afterwards of Hathersage, in Derbyshire. It was honourable to his
judgment that he had aspired to marry Charlotte Bronte, who, as we know,
had neither money nor much personal attraction, and at the time no
possible prospect of literary fame. Her common-sense letter in reply to
his proposal had the desired effect. He speedily took the proffered
advice, and six months later we find her sending him a letter of
congratulation upon his engagement to be married.
TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _October_ 28_th_, 1839.
'DEAR SIR,--I have delayed answering your last communication in the
hopes of receiving a letter from Ellen, that I might be able to
transmit to you the latest news from Brookroyd; however, as she does
not write, I think I ought to put off my reply no longer lest you
should begin to think me negligent. As you rightly conjecture, I had
heard a little hint of what you allude to before, and the account
gave me pleasure, coupled as it was with the assurance that the
object of your regard is a worthy and estimable woman. The step no
doubt will by many of your friends be considered scarcely as a
prudent one, _since_ fortune is not amongst the number of the young
lady's advantages. For my own part, I must confess that I esteem you
the more for not hunting after wealth if there be strength of mind,
firmness of principle, and sweetness of temper to compensate for the
absence of that usually all-powerful attraction. The wife who brings
riches to her husband sometimes also brings an idea of her own
importance and a tenacity about what she conceives to be her rights,
little calculated to produce happiness in the married state. Most
probably she will wish to control when nature and affection bind her
to submit--in this case there cannot, I should think, be much
comfort.
'On the other hand, it must be considered that when two persons marry
without money, there ought to be moral courage and physical exertion
to atone for the deficiency--there should be spirit to scorn
dependence, patience to endure privation, and energy to labour for a
livelihood. If there be these qualities, I think, with the blessing
of God, those who join heart and hand have a right to expect success
and a moderate share of happiness, even though they may have departed
a step or two from the stern maxims of worldly prudence. The bread
earned by honourable toil is sweeter than the bread of idleness; and
mutual love and domestic calm are treasures far preferable to the
possessions rust can corrupt and moths consume away.
'I enjoyed my late excursion with Ellen with the greater zest because
such pleasures have not often chanced to fall in my way. I will not
tell you what I thought of the sea, because I should fall into my
besetting sin of enthusiasm. I may, however, say that its glories,
changes, its ebbs and flow, the sound of its restless waves, formed a
subject for contemplation that never wearied either the eye, the ear,
or the mind. Our visit at Easton was extremely pleasant; I shall
always feel grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Hudson for their kindness. We
saw Agnes Burton, during our stay, and called on two of your former
parishioners--Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Dalton. I was pleased to hear your
name mentioned by them in terms of encomium and sincere regard.
Ellen will have detailed to you all the minutia of our excursion; a
recapitulation from me would therefore be tedious. I am happy to say
that her health appeared to be greatly improved by the change of air
and regular exercise. I am still at home, as I have not yet heard of
any situation which meets with the approbation of my friends. I
begin, however, to grow exceedingly impatient of a prolonged period
of inaction. I feel I ought to be doing something for myself, for my
health is now so perfectly re-established by this long rest that it
affords me no further pretext for indolence. With every wish for
your future welfare, and with the hope that whenever your proposed
union takes place it may contribute in the highest sense to your good
and happiness,--Believe me, your sincere friend,
'C. BRONTE.
'_P.S._--Remember me to your sister Mercy, who, I understand, is for
the present your companion and housekeeper.'
The correspondence did not end here. Indeed, Charlotte was so excellent
a letter-writer, that it must have been hard indeed for any one who had
had any experience of her in that capacity to readily forgo its
continuance.
TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _May_ 26_th_, 1840.
'DEAR SIR,--In looking over my papers this morning I found a letter
from you of the date of last February with the mark upon it
unanswered. Your sister Ellen often accuses me of want of
punctuality in answering letters, and I think her accusation is here
justified. However, I give you credit for as much considerateness as
will induce you to excuse a greater fault than this, especially as I
shall hasten directly to repair it.
'The fact is, when the letter came Ellen was staying with me, and I
was so fully occupied in talking to her that I had no time to think
of writing to others. This is no great compliment, but it is no
insult either. You know Ellen's worth, you know how seldom I see
her, you partly know my regard for her; and from these premises you
may easily draw the inference that her company, when once obtained,
is too valuable to be wasted for a moment. One woman can appreciate
the value of another better than a man can do. Men very often only
see the outside gloss which dazzles in prosperity, women have
opportunities for closer observation, and they learn to value those
qualities which are useful in adversity.
'There is much, too, in that mild even temper and that placid
equanimity which keep the domestic hearth always bright and
peaceful--this is better than the ardent nature that changes twenty
times in a day. I have studied Ellen and I think she would make a
good wife--that is, if she had a good husband. If she married a fool
or a tyrant there is spirit enough in her composition to withstand
the dictates of either insolence or weakness, though even then I
doubt not her sense would teach her to make the best of a bad
bargain.
'You will see my letters are all didactic. They contain no news,
because I know of none which I think it would interest you to hear
repeated. I am still at home, in very good health and spirits, and
uneasy only because I cannot yet hear of a situation.
'I shall always be glad to have a letter from you, and I promise when
you write again to be less dilatory in answering. I trust your
prospects of happiness still continue fair; and from what you say of
your future partner I doubt not she will be one who will help you to
get cheerfully through the difficulties of this world and to obtain a
permanent rest in the next; at least I hope such may be the case.
You do right to conduct the matter with due deliberation, for on the
step you are about to take depends the happiness of your whole
lifetime.
'You must not again ask me to write in a regular literary way to you
on some particular topic. I cannot do it at all. Do you think I am
a blue-stocking? I feel half inclined to laugh at you for the idea,
but perhaps you would be angry. What was the topic to be?
Chemistry? or astronomy? or mechanics? or conchology? or entomology?
or what other ology? I know nothing at all about any of these. I am
not scientific; I am not a linguist. You think me far more learned
than I am. If I told you all my ignorance, I am afraid you would be
shocked; however, as I wish still to retain a little corner in your
good opinion, I will hold my tongue.--Believe me, yours respectfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY
'_January_ 11th, 1841.
'DEAR SIR,--It is time I should reply to your last, as I shall fail
in fulfilling my promise of not being so dilatory as on a former
occasion.
'I shall be glad to receive the poetry which you offer to send me.
You ask me to return the gift in kind. How do you know that I have
it in my power to comply with that request? Once indeed I was very
poetical, when I was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen years
old, but I am now twenty-four, approaching twenty-five, and the
intermediate years are those which begin to rob life of some of its
superfluous colouring. At this age it is time that the imagination
should be pruned and trimmed, that the judgment should be cultivated,
and a few, at least, of the countless illusions of early youth should
be cleared away. I have not written poetry for a long while.
'You will excuse the dulness, morality, and monotony of this epistle,
and--Believe me, with all good wishes for your welfare here and
hereafter, your sincere friend,
'C. BRONTE.'
This letter closes the correspondence; but, as we have seen, Charlotte
spent three pleasant weeks in Mr. Nussey's home with his sister Ellen
when that gentleman became vicar of Hathersage, in Derbyshire. She thus
congratulates her friend when Mr. Nussey is appointed to the latter
living.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_July_ 29_th_, 1844.
'DEAR NELL,--I am very glad to hear of Henry's good fortune. It
proves to me what an excellent thing perseverance is for getting on
in the world. Calm self-confidence (not impudence, for that is
vulgar and repulsive) is an admirable quality; but how are those not
naturally gifted with it to attain it? We all here get on much as
usual. Papa wishes he could hear of a curate, that Mr. Smith may be
at liberty to go. Good-bye, dear Ellen. I wish to you and yours
happiness, health, and prosperity.
'Write again before you go to Burlington. My best love to Mary.
'C. BRONTE.'
Meanwhile, as I have said, a second lover appeared on the field in this
same year, 1839, and the quickness of his wooing is a remarkable
testimony to the peculiar fascination which Miss Bronte must have
exercised.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 4_th_, 1839.
'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--I have an odd circumstance to relate to
you--prepare for a hearty laugh! The other day Mr. Hodgson, papa's
former curate, now a vicar, came over to spend the day with us,
bringing with him his own curate. The latter gentleman, by name Mr.
Price, is a young Irish clergyman, fresh from Dublin University. It
was the first time we had any of us seen him, but, however, after the
manner of his countrymen, he soon made himself at home. His
character quickly appeared in his conversation: witty, lively,
ardent, clever too, but deficient in the dignity and discretion of an
Englishman. At home, you know, Ellen, I talk with ease, and am never
shy, never weighed down and oppressed by that miserable _mauvaise
honte_ which torments and constrains me elsewhere. So I conversed
with this Irishman and laughed at his jests, and though I saw faults
in his character, excused them because of the amusement his
originality afforded. I cooled a little, indeed, and drew in towards
the latter part of the evening, because he began to season his
conversation with something of Hibernian flattery, which I did not
quite relish. However, they went away, and no more was thought about
them. A few days after I got a letter, the direction of which
puzzled me, it being in a hand I was not accustomed to see.
Evidently, it was neither from you nor Mary Taylor, my only
correspondents. Having opened and read it, it proved to be a
declaration of attachment and proposal of matrimony, expressed in the
ardent language of the sapient young Irishman! Well! thought I, I
have heard of love at first sight, but this beats all. I leave you
to guess what my answer would be, convinced that you will not do me
the injustice of guessing wrong. When we meet I'll show you the
letter. I hope you are laughing heartily. This is not like one of
my adventures, is it? It more nearly resembles Martha Taylor's. I
am certainly doomed to be an old maid. Never mind, I made up my mind
to that fate ever since I was twelve years old. Write soon.
'C. BRONTE.'
It was not many months after this that we hear the last of poor Mr.
Price.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 24_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--Mr. Price is dead. He had fallen into a state of
delicate health for some time, and the rupture of a blood-vessel
carried him off. He was a strong, athletic-looking man when I saw
him, and that is scarcely six months ago. Though I knew so little of
him, and of course could not be deeply or permanently interested in
what concerned him, I confess, when I suddenly heard he was dead, I
felt both shocked and saddened: it was no shame to feel so, was it?
I scold you, Ellen, for writing illegibly and badly, but I think you
may repay the compliment with cent per cent interest. I am not in
the humour for writing a long letter, so good-bye. God bless you.
'C. B.'
There are many thoughts on marriage scattered through Charlotte's
correspondence. It was a subject upon which she never wearied of asking
questions, and of finding her own answers. 'I believe it is better to
marry _to_ love than to marry _for_ love,' she says on one occasion. And
in reference to the somewhat uncertain attitude of the admirer of one of
her friends, she thus expresses herself to Miss Nussey:
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 20_th_, 1840.
'MY DEAREST NELL,--That last letter of thine treated of matters so
high and important I cannot delay answering it for a day. Now I am
about to write thee a discourse, and a piece of advice which thou
must take as if it came from thy grandmother. But in the first
place, before I begin with thee, I have a word to whisper in the ear
of Mr. Vincent, and I wish it could reach him. In the name of St.
Chrysostom, St. Simon, and St. Jude, why does not that amiable young
gentleman come forward like a man and say all that he has to say
personally, instead of trifling with kinsmen and kinswomen. "Mr.
Vincent," I say, "go personally, and say: 'Miss ---, I want to speak
to you.' Miss --- will of course civilly answer: 'I am at your
service, Mr. Vincent.' And then, when the room is cleared of all but
yourself and herself, just take a chair nearer. Insist upon her
laying down that silly . . . work, and listening to you. Then begin,
in a clear, distinct, deferential, but determined voice: 'Miss ---, I
have a question to put to you--a very important question: "Will you
take me as your husband, for better, for worse. I am not a rich man,
but I have sufficient to support us. I am not a great man, but I
love you honestly and truly. Miss ---, if you knew the world better
you would see that this is an offer not to be despised--a kind
attached heart and a moderate competency." Do this, Mr. Vincent, and
you may succeed. Go on writing sentimental and love-sick letters to
---, and I would not give sixpence for your suit." So much for Mr.
Vincent. Now Miss ---'s turn comes to swallow the black bolus,
called a friend's advice. Say to her: "Is the man a fool? is he a
knave? a humbug, a hypocrite, a ninny, a noodle? If he is any or all
of these, of course there is no sense in trifling with him. Cut him
short at once--blast his hopes with lightning rapidity and keenness.
Is he something better than this? has he at least common sense, a
good disposition, a manageable temper? Then consider the matter."
Say further: "You feel a disgust towards him now--an utter
repugnance. Very likely, but be so good as to remember you don't
know him; you have only had three or four days' acquaintance with
him. Longer and closer intimacy might reconcile you to a wonderful
extent. And now I'll tell you a word of truth, at which you may be
offended or not as you like." Say to her: "From what I know of your
character, and I think I know it pretty well, I should say you will
never love before marriage. After that ceremony is over, and after
you have had some months to settle down, and to get accustomed to the
creature you have taken for your worse half, you will probably make a
most affectionate and happy wife; even if the individual should not
prove all you could wish, you will be indulgent towards his little
follies and foibles, and will not feel much annoyance at them. This
will especially be the case if he should have sense sufficient to
allow you to guide him in important matters." Say also: "I hope you
will not have the romantic folly to wait for what the French call
'une grande passion.' My good girl, 'une grande passion' is 'une
grande folie.' Mediocrity in all things is wisdom; mediocrity in the
sensations is superlative wisdom." Say to her: "When you are as old
as I am (I am sixty at least, being your grandmother), you will find
that the majority of those worldly precepts, whose seeming coldness
shocks and repels us in youth, are founded in wisdom."
'No girl should fall in love till the offer is actually made. This
maxim is just. I will even extend and confirm it: No young lady
should fall in love till the offer has been made, accepted, the
marriage ceremony performed, and the first half-year of wedded life
has passed away. A woman may then begin to love, but with great
precaution, very coolly, very moderately, very rationally. If she
ever loves so much that a harsh word or a cold look cuts her to the
heart she is a fool. If she ever loves so much that her husband's
will is her law, and that she has got into a habit of watching his
looks in order that she may anticipate his wishes, she will soon be a
neglected fool.
'I have two studies: you are my study for the success, the credit,
and the respectability of a quiet, tranquil character; Mary is my
study for the contempt, the remorse, the misconstruction which follow
the development of feelings in themselves noble, warm, generous,
devoted, and profound, but which, being too freely revealed, too
frankly bestowed, are not estimated at their real value. I never
hope to see in this world a character more truly noble. She would
die willingly for one she loved. Her intellect and her attainments
are of the very highest standard. Yet I doubt whether Mary will ever
marry. Mr. Weightman expresses himself very strongly on young ladies
saying "No," when they mean "Yes." He assures me he means nothing
personal. I hope not. Assuredly I quite agree with him in his
disapprobation of such a senseless course. It is folly indeed for
the tongue to stammer a negative when the heart is proclaiming an
affirmative. Or rather, it is an act of heroic self-denial, of which
_I_ for one confess myself wholly incapable. _I would not tell such
a lie_ to gain a thousand pounds. Write to me again soon. What made
you say I admired Hippocrates? It is a confounded "fib." I tried to
find something admirable in him, and failed.'
'He is perhaps only like the majority of men' (she says of an
acquaintance). 'Certainly those men who lead a gay life in their
youth, and arrive at middle-age with feelings blunted and passions
exhausted, can have but one aim in marriage--the selfish advancement
of their interest. Hard to think that such men take as wives--as
second-selves--women young, modest, sincere, pure in heart and life,
with feelings all fresh and emotions all unworn, and bind such virtue
and vitality to their own withered existence, such sincerity to their
own hollowness, such disinterestedness to their own haggard
avarice--to think this, troubles the soul to its inmost depths.
Nature and justice forbid the banns of such wedlock.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_August_ 9_th_, 1846.
'DEAR NELL,--Anne and I both thank you for your kind invitation. And
our thanks are not mere words of course--they are very sincere, both
as addressed to yourself and your mother and sisters. But we cannot
accept it; and I _think_ even _you_ will consider our motives for
declining valid this time.
'In a fortnight I hope to go with papa to Manchester to have his eyes
couched. Emily and I made a pilgrimage there a week ago to search
out an operator, and we found one in the person of Mr. Wilson. He
could not tell from the description whether the eyes were ready for
an operation. Papa must therefore necessarily take a journey to
Manchester to consult him. If he judges the cataract ripe, we shall
remain; if, on the contrary, he thinks it not yet sufficiently
hardened, we shall have to return--and Papa must remain in darkness a
while longer.
'There is a defect in your reasoning about the feelings a wife ought
to experience. Who holds the purse will wish to be master, Ellen,
depend on it, whether man or woman. Who provided the cash will now
and then value himself, or herself, upon it, and, even in the case of
ordinary minds, reproach the less wealthy partner. Besides, no
husband ought to be an object of charity to his wife, as no wife to
her husband. No, dear Ellen; it is doubtless pleasant to marry
_well_, as they say, but with all pleasures are mixed bitters. I do
not wish for my friend a very rich husband. I should not like her to
be regarded by any man ever as "a sweet object of charity." Give my
sincere love to all.--Yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
Many years were to elapse before Charlotte Bronte received her third
offer of marriage. These were the years of Brussels life, and the year
during which she lost her sisters. It came in the period of her early
literary fame, and indeed was the outcome of it. Mr. James Taylor was in
the employment of Smith & Elder. He was associated with the literary
department, and next in command to Mr. W. S. Williams as adviser to the
firm. Mr. Williams appears to have written to Miss Bronte suggesting
that Mr. Taylor should come to Haworth in person for the manuscript of
her new novel, _Shirley_, and here is Charlotte's reply.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_August_ 24_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I think the best title for the book would be
_Shirley_, without any explanation or addition--the simpler and
briefer, the better.
'If Mr. Taylor calls here on his return to town he might take charge
of the Ms.; I would rather intrust it to him than send it by the
ordinary conveyance. Did I see Mr. Taylor when I was in London? I
cannot remember him.
'I would with pleasure offer him the homely hospitalities of the
Parsonage for a few days, if I could at the same time offer him the
company of a brother, or if my father were young enough and strong
enough to walk with him on the moors and show him the neighbourhood,
or if the peculiar retirement of papa's habits were not such as to
render it irksome to him to give much of his society to a stranger,
even in the house. Without being in the least misanthropical or
sour-natured, papa habitually prefers solitude to society, and custom
is a tyrant whose fetters it would now be impossible for him to
break. Were it not for difficulties of this sort, I believe I should
ere this have asked you to come down to Yorkshire. Papa, I know,
would receive any friend of Mr. Smith's with perfect kindness and
goodwill, but I likewise know that, unless greatly put out of his
way, he could not give a guest much of his company, and that,
consequently, his entertainment would be but dull.
'You will see the force of these considerations, and understand why I
only ask Mr. Taylor to come for a day instead of requesting the
pleasure of his company for a longer period; you will believe me
also, and so will he, when I say I shall be most happy to see him.
He will find Haworth a strange uncivilised little place, such as, I
daresay, he never saw before. It is twenty miles distant from Leeds;
he will have to come by rail to Keighley (there are trains every two
hours I believe). He must remember that at a station called Shipley
the carriages are changed, otherwise they will take him on to Skipton
or Colne, or I know not where. When he reaches Keighley, he will yet
have four miles to travel; a conveyance may be hired at the
Devonshire Arms--there is no coach or other regular communication.
'I should like to hear from him before he comes, and to know on what
day to expect him, that I may have the MS. ready; if it is not quite
finished I might send the concluding chapter or two by post.
'I advise you to send this letter to Mr. Taylor--it will save you the
trouble of much explanation, and will serve to apprise him of what
lies before him; he can then weigh well with himself whether it would
suit him to take so much trouble for so slight an end.--Believe me,
my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL.
'_September_ 3_rd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--It will be quite convenient to my father and myself to
secure your visit on Saturday the 8th inst.
'The MS. is now complete, and ready for you.
'Trusting that you have enjoyed your holiday and derived from your
excursion both pleasure and profit,--I am, dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Mr. Taylor was small and red-haired. There are two portraits of him
before me. They indicate a determined, capable man, thick-set, well
bearded: on the whole a vigorous and interesting personality. In any
case, Mr. Taylor lost his heart to Charlotte, and was much more
persistent than earlier lovers. He had also the advantage of Mr.
Bronte's goodwill. This is all there is to add to the letters
themselves.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_September_ 14_th_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I found after sealing my last note to you that I had
forgotten after all to inclose Amelia's letter; however, it appears
it does not signify. While I think of it I must refer to an act of
petty larceny committed by me when I was last at Brookroyd. Do you
remember lending me a parasol, which I should have left with you when
we parted at Leeds? I unconsciously carried it away in my hand. You
shall have it when you next come to Haworth.
'I wish, dear Ellen, you would tell me what is the "twaddle about my
marrying, etc.," which you hear. If I knew the details I should have
a better chance of guessing the quarter from which such gossip
comes--as it is, I am quite at a loss. Whom am I to marry? I think
I have scarcely seen a single man with whom such a union would be
possible since I left London. Doubtless there are men whom, if I
chose to encourage, I might marry; but no matrimonial lot is even
remotely offered me which seems to me truly desirable. And even if
that were the case, there would be many obstacles. The least
allusion to such a thing is most offensive to papa.
'An article entitled _Currer Bell_ has lately appeared in the
_Palladium_, a new periodical published in Edinburgh. It is an
eloquent production, and one of such warm sympathy and high
appreciation as I had never expected to see. It makes mistakes about
authorships, etc., but these I hope one day to set right. Mr. Taylor
(the little man) first informed me of this article. I was somewhat
surprised to receive his letter, having concluded nine months ago
that there would be no more correspondence from that quarter. I
inclose you a note from him received subsequently, in answer to my
acknowledgment. Read it and tell me exactly how it impresses you
regarding the writer's character, etc. His little newspaper
disappeared for some weeks, and I thought it was gone to the tomb of
the Capulets; however, it has reappeared, with an explanation that he
had feared its regular transmission might rather annoy than gratify.
I told him this was a mistake--that I was well enough pleased to
receive it, but hoped he would not make a task of sending it. For
the rest, I cannot consider myself placed under any personal
obligation by accepting this newspaper, for it belongs to the
establishment of Smith & Elder. This little Taylor is deficient
neither in spirit nor sense.
'The report about my having published again is, of course, an arrant
lie.
'Give my kind regards to all, and--Believe me, yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
Her friend's reference to _Jupiter_ is to another suggested lover, and
the kindly allusion to the 'little man' may be taken to imply that had he
persevered, or not gone off to India, whither he was sent to open a
branch establishment in Bombay for Smith & Elder, Mr. Taylor might
possibly have been successful in the long run.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 30_th_, 1851.
'DEAR NELL,--I am very sorry to hear that Amelia is again far from
well; but I think both she and I should try and not be too anxious.
Even if matters do not prosper this time, all may go as well some
future day. I think it is not these _early_ mishaps that break the
constitution, but those which occur in a much later stage. She must
take heart--there may yet be a round dozen of little Joe Taylors to
look after--run after--to sort and switch and train up in the way
they should go--that is, with a generous use of pickled birch. From
whom do you think I have received a couple of notes lately? From
Alice. They are returned from the Continent, it seems, and are now
at Torquay. The first note touched me a little by what I thought its
subdued tone; I trusted her character might be greatly improved.
There were, indeed, traces of the "old Adam," but such as I was
willing to overlook. I answered her soon and kindly. In reply I
received to-day a longish letter, full of clap-trap sentiment and
humbugging attempts at fine writing. In each production the old
trading spirit peeps out; she asks for autographs. It seems she had
read in some paper that I was staying with Miss Martineau; thereupon
she applies for specimens of her handwriting, and Wordsworth's, and
Southey's, and my own. The account of her health, if given by any
one else, would grieve and alarm me. She talks of fearing that her
constitution is almost broken by repeated trials, and intimates a
doubt as to whether she shall live long: but, remembering her of old,
I have good hopes that this may be a mistake. Her "beloved papa and
mama" and her "precious sister," she says, are living, and "gradely."
(That last is my word. I don't know whether they use it in Birstall
as they do here--it means in a middling way.)
'You are to say no more about "Jupiter" and "Venus"--what do you mean
by such heathen trash? The fact is, no fallacy can be wilder, and I
won't have it hinted at even in jest, because my common sense laughs
it to scorn. The idea of the "little man" shocks me less--it would
be a more likely match if "matches" were at all in question, which
_they are not_. He still sends his little newspaper; and the other
day there came a letter of a bulk, volume, pith, judgment, and
knowledge, worthy to have been the product of a giant. You may laugh
as much and as wickedly as you please; but the fact is, there is a
quiet constancy about this, my diminutive and red-haired friend,
which adds a foot to his stature, turns his sandy locks dark, and
altogether dignifies him a good deal in my estimation. However, I am
not bothered by much vehement ardour--there is the nicest distance
and respect preserved now, which makes matters very comfortable.
'This is all nonsense, Nell, and so you will understand it.--Yours
very faithfully,
'C. B.
'The name of Miss Martineau's coadjutor is Atkinson. She often writes to
me with exceeding cordiality.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL
'_March_ 22_nd_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Yesterday I despatched a box of books to Cornhill,
including the number of the _North British Review_ which you kindly
lent me. The article to which you particularly directed my attention
was read with pleasure and interest, and if I do not now discuss it
more at length, it is because I am well aware how completely your
attention must be at present engrossed, since, if I rightly
understood a brief paragraph in Mr. Smith's last note, you are now on
the eve of quitting England for India.
'I will limit myself, then, to the expression of a sincere wish for
your welfare and prosperity in this undertaking, and to the hope that
the great change of climate will bring with it no corresponding risk
to health. I should think you will be missed in Cornhill, but
doubtless "business" is a Moloch which demands such sacrifices.
'I do not know when you go, nor whether your absence is likely to be
permanent or only for a time; whichever it be, accept my best wishes
for your happiness, and my farewell, if I should not again have the
opportunity of addressing you.--Believe me, sincerely yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL
'_March_ 24_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I had written briefly to you before I received yours,
but I fear the note would not reach you in time. I will now only say
that both my father and myself will have pleasure in seeing you on
your return from Scotland--a pleasure tinged with sadness certainly,
as all partings are, but still a pleasure.
'I do most entirely agree with you in what you say about Miss
Martineau's and Mr. Atkinson's book. I deeply regret its publication
for the lady's sake; it gives a death-blow to her future usefulness.
Who can trust the word, or rely on the judgment, of an avowed
atheist?
'May your decision in the crisis through which you have gone result
in the best effect on your happiness and welfare; and indeed, guided
as you are by the wish to do right and a high sense of duty, I trust
it cannot be otherwise. The change of climate is all I fear; but
Providence will over-rule this too for the best--in Him you can
believe and on Him rely. You will want, therefore, neither solace
nor support, though your lot be cast as a stranger in a strange
land.--I am, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.
'When you shall have definitely fixed the time of your return
southward, write me a line to say on what day I may expect you at
Haworth.
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 5_th_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Mr. Taylor has been and is gone; things are just as
they were. I only know in addition to the slight information I
possessed before, that this Indian undertaking is necessary to the
continued prosperity of the firm of Smith, Elder, & Co., and that he,
Taylor, alone was pronounced to possess the power and means to carry
it out successfully--that mercantile honour, combined with his own
sense of duty, obliged him to accept the post of honour and of danger
to which he has been appointed, that he goes with great personal
reluctance, and that he contemplates an absence of five years.
'He looked much thinner and older. I saw him very near, and once
through my glass; the resemblance to Branwell struck me forcibly--it
is marked. He is not ugly, but very peculiar; the lines in his face
show an inflexibility, and, I must add, a hardness of character which
do not attract. As he stood near me, as he looked at me in his keen
way, it was all I could do to stand my ground tranquilly and
steadily, and not to recoil as before. It is no use saying anything
if I am not candid. I avow then, that on this occasion, predisposed
as I was to regard him very favourably, his manners and his personal
presence scarcely pleased me more than at the first interview. He
gave me a book at parting, requesting in his brief way that I would
keep it for his sake, and adding hastily, "I shall hope to hear from
you in India--your letters _have_ been and _will_ be a greater
refreshment than you can think or I can tell."
'And so he is gone; and stern and abrupt little man as he is--too
often jarring as are his manners--his absence and the exclusion of
his idea from my mind leave me certainly with less support and in
deeper solitude than before.
'You see, dear Nell, though we are still precisely on the same
level--_you_ are not isolated. I feel that there is a certain
mystery about this transaction yet, and whether it will ever be
cleared up to me I do not know; however, my plain duty is to wean my
mind from the subject, and if possible to avoid pondering over it.
In his conversation he seemed studiously to avoid reference to Mr.
Smith individually, speaking always of the "house"--the "firm." He
seemed throughout quite as excited and nervous as when I first saw
him. I feel that in his way he has a regard for me--a regard which I
cannot bring myself entirely to reciprocate in kind, and yet its
withdrawal leaves a painful blank.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 9_th_, 1851.
'DEAR NELL,--Thank you for your kind note; it was just like you to
write it _though_ it was your school-day. I never knew you to let a
slight impediment stand in the way of a friendly action.
'Certainly I shall not soon forget last Friday, and _never_, I think,
the evening and night succeeding that morning and afternoon. Evils
seldom come singly. And soon after Mr. Taylor was gone, papa, who
had been better, grew much worse. He went to bed early, and was very
sick and ill for an hour; and when at last he began to doze, and I
left him, I came down to the dining-room with a sense of weight,
fear, and desolation hard to express and harder to endure. A wish
that you were with me _did_ cross my mind, but I repulsed it as a
most selfish wish; indeed, it was only short-lived: my natural
tendency in moments of this sort is to get through the struggle
alone--to think that one is burdening and racking others makes all
worse.
'You speak to me in soft consolating accents, but I hold far sterner
language to myself, dear Nell.
'An absence of five years--a dividing expanse of three oceans--the
wide difference between a man's active career and a woman's passive
existence--these things are almost equivalent to an eternal
separation. But there is another thing which forms a barrier more
difficult to pass than any of these. Would Mr. Taylor and I ever
suit? Could I ever feel for him enough love to accept him as a
husband? Friendship--gratitude--esteem I have, but each moment he
came near me, and that I could see his eyes fastened on me, my veins
ran ice. Now that he is away I feel far more gently towards him; it
is only close by that I grow rigid--stiffening with a strange mixture
of apprehension and anger, which nothing softens but his retreat and
a perfect subduing of his manner. I did not want to be proud, nor
intend to be proud, but I was forced to be so.
'Most true is it that we are over-ruled by one above us--that in his
hands our very will is as clay in the hands of the potter.
'Papa continues very far from well, though yesterday, and I hope this
morning, he is a little better. How is your mother? Give my love to
her and your sister. How are you? Have you suffered from tic since
you returned home? Did they think you improved in looks?
'Write again soon.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 23_rd_, 1851.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I have heard from Mr. Taylor to-day--a quiet little
note. He returned to London a week since on Saturday; he has since
kindly chosen and sent me a parcel of books. He leaves England May
20th. His note concludes with asking whether he has any chance of
seeing me in London before that time. I must tell him that I have
already fixed June for my visit, and therefore, in all human
probability, we shall see each other no more.
'There is still a want of plain mutual understanding in this
business, and there is sadness and pain in more ways than one. My
conscience, I can truly say, does not _now_ accuse me of having
treated Mr. Taylor with injustice or unkindness. What I once did
wrong in this way, I have endeavoured to remedy both to himself and
in speaking of him to others--Mr. Smith to wit, though I more than
doubt whether that last opinion will ever reach him. I am sure he
has estimable and sterling qualities; but with every disposition and
with every wish, with every intention even to look on him in the most
favourable point of view at his last visit, it was impossible to me
in my inward heart to think of him as one that might one day be
acceptable as a husband. It would sound harsh were I to tell even
_you_ of the estimate I felt compelled to form respecting him. Dear
Nell, I looked for something of the gentleman--something I mean of
the _natural_ gentleman; you know I can dispense with acquired
polish, and for looks, I know myself too well to think that I have
any right to be exacting on that point. I could not find one gleam,
I could not see one passing glimpse of true good-breeding. It is
hard to say, but it is true. In mind too, though clever, he is
second-rate--thoroughly second-rate. One does not like to say these
things, but one had better be honest. Were I to marry him my heart
would bleed in pain and humiliation; I could not, _could not_ look up
to him. No; if Mr. Taylor be the only husband fate offers to me,
single I must always remain. But yet, at times I grieve for him, and
perhaps it is superfluous, for I cannot think he will suffer much: a
hard nature, occupation, and change of scene will befriend him.
'With kind regards to all,--I am, dear Nell, your middle-aged friend,
'C. BRONTE.
'Write soon.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 5_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I have had a long kind letter from Miss Martineau
lately. She says she is well and happy. Also, I have had a very
long letter from Mr. Williams. He speaks with much respect of Mr.
Taylor. I discover with some surprise, papa has taken a decided
liking to Mr. Taylor. The marked kindness of his manner when he bid
him good-bye, exhorting him to be "true to himself, his country, and
his God," and wishing him all good wishes, struck me with some
astonishment. Whenever he has alluded to him since, it has been with
significant eulogy. When I alluded that he was no gentleman, he
seemed out of patience with me for the objection. You say papa has
penetration. On this subject I believe he has indeed. I have told
him nothing, yet he seems to be _au fait_ to the whole business. I
could think at some moments his guesses go farther than mine. I
believe he thinks a prospective union, deferred for five years, with
such a decorous reliable personage, would be a very proper and
advisable affair.
'How has your tic been lately? I had one fiery night when this same
dragon "tic" held me for some hours with pestilent violence. It
still comes at intervals with abated fury. Owing to this and broken
sleep, I am looking singularly charming, one of my true London
looks--starved out and worn down. Write soon, dear Nell.--Yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'112 GLOUCESTER PLACE,
'HYDE PARK, _June_ 2_nd_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Mr. Taylor has gone some weeks since. I hear more open
complaints now about his temper. Of Mr. Williams' society I have
enjoyed one evening's allowance, and liked it and him as usual. On
such occasions his good qualities of ease, kindliness, and
intelligence are seen, and his little faults and foibles hidden. Mr.
Smith is somewhat changed in appearance. He looks a little older,
darker, and more careworn; his ordinary manner is graver, but in the
evening his spirits flow back to him. Things and circumstances seem
here to be as usual, but I fancy there has been some crisis in which
his energy and filial affection have sustained them all. This I
judge from the fact that his mother and sisters are more peculiarly
bound to him than ever, and that his slightest wish is an
unquestioned law.--Faithfully yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'November 4_th_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Papa, Tabby, and Martha are at present all better, yet
none of them well. Martha at present looks feeble. I wish she had a
better constitution. As it is, one is always afraid of giving her
too much to do; and yet there are many things I cannot undertake
myself, and we do not like to change when we have had her so long.
How are you getting on in the matter of servants? The other day I
received a long letter from Mr. Taylor. I told you I did not expect
to hear thence, nor did I. The letter is long, but it is worth your
while to read it. In its way it has merit, that cannot be denied;
abundance of information, talent of a certain kind, alloyed (I think)
here and there with errors of taste. He might have spared many of
the details of the bath scene, which, for the rest, tallies exactly
with Mr. Thackeray's account of the same process. This little man
with all his long letters remains as much a conundrum to me as ever.
Your account of the domestic joys at Hunsworth amused me much. The
good folks seem very happy--long may they continue so! It somewhat
cheers me to know that such happiness _does_ exist on the earth.
Return Mr. Taylor's letter when you have read it. With love to your
mother,--I am, dear Nell, sincerely yours,
'C. B.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, BOMBAY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 15_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Both your communications reached me safely--the note
of the 17th September and the letter of the 2nd October. You do
yourself less than justice when you stigmatise the latter as
"ill-written." I found it quite legible, nor did I lose a word,
though the lines and letters were so close. I should have been sorry
if such had not been the case, as it appeared to me throughout highly
interesting. It is observable that the very same information which
we have previously collected, perhaps with rather languid attention,
from printed books, when placed before us in familiar manuscript, and
comprising the actual experience of a person with whom we are
acquainted, acquires a new and vital interest: when we know the
narrator we seem to realise the tale.
'The bath scene amused me much. Your account of that operation
tallies in every point with Mr. Thackeray's description in the
_Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo_. The usage seems a little
rough, and I cannot help thinking that equal benefit might be
obtained through less violent means; but I suppose without the
previous fatigue the after-sensation would not be so enjoyable, and
no doubt it is that indolent after-sensation which the self-indulgent
Mahometans chiefly cultivate. I think you did right to disdain it.
'It would seem to me a matter of great regret that the society at
Bombay should be so deficient in all intellectual attraction.
Perhaps, however, your occupations will so far absorb your thoughts
as to prevent them from dwelling painfully on this circumstance. No
doubt there will be moments when you will look back to London and
Scotland, and the friends you have left there, with some yearning;
but I suppose business has its own excitement. The new country, the
new scenes too, must have their interest; and as you will not lack
books to fill your leisure, you will probably soon become reconciled
to a change which, for some minds, would too closely resemble exile.
'I fear the climate--such as you describe it--must be very trying to
an European constitution. In your first letter, you mentioned
October as the month of danger; it is now over. Whether you have
passed its ordeal safely, must yet for some weeks remain unknown to
your friends in England--they can but _wish_ that such may be the
case. You will not expect me to write a letter that shall form a
parallel with your own either in quantity or quality; what I write
must be brief, and what I communicate must be commonplace and of
trivial interest.
'My father, I am thankful to say, continues in pretty good health. I
read portions of your letter to him and he was interested in hearing
them. He charged me when I wrote to convey his very kind
remembrances.
'I had myself ceased to expect a letter from you. On taking leave at
Haworth you said something about writing from India, but I doubted at
the time whether it was not one of those forms of speech which
politeness dictates; and as time passed, and I did not hear from you,
I became confirmed in this view of the subject. With every good wish
for your welfare,--I am, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 19_th_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--All here is much as usual, and I was thinking of
writing to you this morning when I received your note. I am glad to
hear your mother bears this severe weather tolerably, as papa does
also. I had a cold, chiefly in the throat and chest, but I applied
cold water, which relieved me, I think, far better than hot
applications would have done. The only events in my life consist in
that little change occasional letters bring. I have had two from
Miss Wooler since she left Haworth which touched me much. She seems
to think so much of a little congenial company. She says she has not
for many days known such enjoyment as she experienced during the ten
days she stayed here. Yet you know what Haworth is--dull enough.
'How could you imagine your last letter offended me? I only
disagreed with you on _one point_. The little man's disdain of the
sensual pleasure of a Turkish bath had, I must own, my approval.
Before answering his epistle I got up my courage to write to Mr.
Williams, through whose hands or those of Mr. Smith I knew the Indian
letter had come, and beg him to give me an impartial judgment of Mr.
Taylor's character and disposition, owning that I was very much in
the dark. I did not like to continue correspondence without further
information. I got the answer, which I inclose. You say nothing
about the Hunsworth Turtle-doves--how are they? and how is the branch
of promise? I hope doing well.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 1_st_, 1852.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am glad of the opportunity of writing to you, for I
have long wished to send you a little note, and was only deterred
from doing so by the conviction that the period preceding Christmas
must be a very busy one to you.
'I have wished to thank you for your last, which gave me very genuine
pleasure. You ascribe to Mr. Taylor an excellent character; such a
man's friendship, at any rate, should not be disregarded; and if the
principles and disposition be what you say, faults of manner and even
of temper ought to weigh light in the balance. I always believed in
his judgment and good-sense, but what I doubted was his kindness--he
seemed to me a little too harsh, rigid, and unsympathising. Now,
judgment, sense, principle are invaluable and quite indispensable
points, but one would be thankful for a _little_ feeling, a _little_
indulgence in addition--without these, poor fallible human nature
shrinks under the domination of the sterner qualities. I answered
Mr. Taylor's letter by the mail of the 19th November, sending it
direct, for, on reflection, I did not see why I should trouble you
with it.
'Did your son Frank call on Mrs. Gaskell? and how did he like her?
'My health has not been very satisfactory lately, but I think, though
I vary almost daily, I am much better than I was a fortnight ago.
All the winter the fact of my never being able to stoop over a desk
without bringing on pain and oppression in the chest has been a great
affliction to me, and the want of tranquil rest at night has tried me
much, but I hope for the better times. The doctors say that there is
no organic mischief.
'Wishing a happy New Year to you,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 7_th_, 1852.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I hope both your mother's cold and yours are quite well
ere this. Papa has got something of his spring attack of bronchitis,
but so far it is in a greatly ameliorated form, very different to
what it has been for three years past. I do trust it may pass off
thus mildly. I continue better.
'Dear Nell, I told you from the beginning that my going to Sussex was
a most improbable event; I tell you now that unless want of health
should absolutely compel me to give up work and leave home (which I
trust and hope will not be the case) I _certainly shall not think of
going_. It is better to be decided, and decided I must be. You can
never want me less than when in Sussex surrounded by amusement and
friends. I do not know that I shall go to Scarbro', but it might be
possible to spare a fortnight to go there (for the sake of a sad duty
rather than pleasure), when I could not give a month to a longer
excursion. I have not a word of news to tell you. Many mails have
come from India since I was at Brookroyd. Expectation would at times
be on the alert, but disappointment knocked her down. I have not
heard a syllable, and cannot think of making inquiries at Cornhill.
Well, long suspense in any matter usually proves somewhat cankering,
but God orders all things for us, and to His Will we must submit. Be
sure to keep a calm mind; expect nothing.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
When Mr. Taylor returned to England in 1856 Charlotte Bronte was dead.
His after-life was more successful than happy. He did not, it is true,
succeed in Bombay with the firm of Smith, Taylor & Co. That would seem
to have collapsed. But he made friends in Bombay and returned there in
1863 as editor of the _Bombay Gazette_ and the _Bombay Quarterly Review_.
A little later he became editor of the _Bombay Saturday Review_, which
had not, however, a long career. Mr. Taylor's successes were not
journalistic but mercantile. As Secretary of the Bombay Chamber of
Commerce, which appointment he obtained in 1865, he obtained much real
distinction. To this post he added that of Registrar of the University
of Bombay and many other offices. He was elected Sheriff in 1874, in
which year he died. An imposing funeral ceremony took place in the
Cathedral, and he was buried in the Bombay cemetery, where his tomb may
be found to the left of the entrance gates, inscribed--
JAMES TAYLOR. DIED APRIL 29, 1874, AGED 57.
He married during his visit to England, but the marriage was not a happy
one. That does not belong to the present story. Here, however, is a
cutting from the _Times_ marriage record in 1863:--
'On the 23rd inst., at the Church of St. John the Evangelist, St.
Pancras, by the Rev. James Moorhouse, M.A., James Taylor, Esq., of
Furnival's-inn, and Bombay, to Annie, widow of Adolph Ritter, of
Vienna, and stepdaughter of Thos. Harrison, Esq., of Birchanger
Place, Essex.'
CHAPTER XIII: LITERARY AMBITIONS
We have seen how Charlotte Bronte and her sisters wrote from their
earliest years those little books which embodied their vague aspirations
after literary fame. Now and again the effort is admirable, notably in
_The Adventures of Ernest Alembert_, but on the whole it amounts to as
little as did the juvenile productions of Shelley. That poet, it will be
remembered, wrote _Zastrozzi_ at nineteen, and much else that was bad,
some of which he printed. Charlotte Bronte was mercifully restrained by
a well-nigh empty purse from this ill-considered rashness. It was not
till the death of their aunt had added to their slender resources that
the Bronte girls conceived the idea of actually publishing a book at
their own expense. They communicated with the now extinct firm of Aylott
& Jones of Paternoster Row, and Charlotte appears to have written many
letters to the firm, {325} only two or three of which are printed by Mrs.
Gaskell. The correspondence is comparatively insignificant, but as the
practical beginning of Charlotte's literary career, the hitherto
unpublished letters which have been preserved are perhaps worth
reproducing here.
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_January_ 28_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--May I request to be informed whether you would undertake
the publication of a collection of short poems in one volume, 8vo.
'If you object to publishing the work at your own risk, would you
undertake it on the author's account?--I am, gentlemen, your obedient
humble servant,
'C. BRONTE.
'Address--Rev. P. Bronte, Haworth, Bradford, Yorkshire.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_March_ 3_rd_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--I send a draft for 31 pounds, 10s., being the amount of
your estimate.
'I suppose there is nothing now to prevent your immediately
commencing the printing of the work.
'When you acknowledge the receipt of the draft, will you state how
soon it will be completed?--I am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_March_ 11_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--I have received the proof-sheet, and return it
corrected. If there is any doubt at all about the printer's
competency to correct errors, I would prefer submitting each sheet to
the inspection of the authors, because such a mistake, for instance,
as _tumbling_ stars, instead of _trembling_, would suffice to throw
an air of absurdity over a whole poem; but if you know from
experience that he is to be relied on, I would trust to your
assurance on the subject, and leave the task of correction to him, as
I know that a considerable saving both of time and trouble would be
thus effected.
'The printing and paper appear to me satisfactory. Of course I wish
to have the work out as soon as possible, but I am still more anxious
that it should be got up in a manner creditable to the publishers and
agreeable to the authors.--I am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_March_ 13_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--I return you the second proof. The authors have finally
decided that they would prefer having all the proofs sent to them in
turn, but you need not inclose the Ms., as they can correct the
errors from memory.--I am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_March_ 23_rd_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--As the proofs have hitherto come safe to hand under the
direction of C. Bronte, _Esq_., I have not thought it necessary to
request you to change it, but a little mistake having occurred
yesterday, I think it will be better to send them to me in future
under my real address, which is Miss Bronte, Rev. P. Bronte, etc.--I
am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_April_ 6_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--C., E., and A. Bell are now preparing for the press a
work of fiction, consisting of three distinct and unconnected tales,
which may be published either together, as a work of three volumes,
of the ordinary novel size, or separately as single volumes, as shall
be deemed most advisable.
'It is not their intention to publish these tales on their own
account. They direct me to ask you whether you would be disposed to
undertake the work, after having, of course, by due inspection of the
Ms., ascertained that its contents are such as to warrant an
expectation of success.
'An early answer will oblige, as, in case of your negativing the
proposal, inquiry must be made of other publishers.--I am, gentlemen,
yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_April_ 15_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--I have to thank you for your obliging answer to my last.
The information you give is of value to us, and when the MS. is
completed your suggestions shall be acted on.
'There will be no preface to the poems. The blank leaf may be filled
up by a table of contents, which I suppose the printer will prepare.
It appears the volume will be a thinner one than was calculated
on.--I am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_May_ 11_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--The books may be done up in the style of Moxon's
duodecimo edition of Wordsworth.
'The price may be fixed at 5s., or if you think that too much for the
size of the volume, say 4s.
'I think the periodicals I mentioned in my last will be sufficient
for advertising in at present, and I should not wish you to lay out a
larger sum than 2 pounds, especially as the estimate is increased by
nearly 5 pounds, in consequence, it appears, of a mistake. I should
think the success of a work depends more on the notice it receives
from periodicals, than on the quantity of advertisements.
'If you do not object, the additional amount of the estimate can be
remitted when you send in your account at the end of the first six
months.
'I should be obliged to you if you could let me know how soon copies
can be sent to the editors of the magazines and newspapers
specified.--I am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_May_ 25_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--I received yours of the 22nd this morning. I now
transmit 5 pounds, being the additional sum necessary to defray the
entire expense of paper and printing. It will leave a small surplus
of 11s. 9d., which you can place to my account.
'I am glad you have sent copies to the newspapers you mention, and in
case of a notice favourable or otherwise appearing in them, or in any
of the other periodicals to which copies have been sent, I should be
obliged to you if you would send me down the numbers; otherwise, I
have not the opportunity of seeing these publications regularly. I
might miss it, and should the poems be remarked upon favourably, it
is my intention to appropriate a further sum to advertisements. If,
on the other hand, they should pass unnoticed or be condemned, I
consider it would be quite useless to advertise, as there is nothing,
either in the title of the work or the names of the authors, to
attract attention from a single individual.--I am, gentlemen, yours
truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO AYLOTT & JONES
'_July_ 10_th_, 1846.
'GENTLEMEN,--I am directed by the Messrs. Bell to acknowledge the
receipt of the _Critic_ and the _Athenaeum_ containing notices of the
poems.
'They now think that a further sum of 10 pounds may be devoted to
advertisements, leaving it to you to select such channels as you deem
most advisable.
'They would wish the following extract from the _Critic_ to be
appended to each advertisement:--
'"They in whose hearts are chords strung by Nature to sympathise with
the beautiful and the true, will recognise in these compositions the
presence of more genius than it was supposed this utilitarian age had
devoted to the loftier exercises of the intellect."
'They likewise request you to send copies of the poems to _Fraser's
Magazine_, _Chambers' Edinburgh Journal_, the Globe, and
_Examiner_.--I am, gentlemen, yours truly,
'C. BRONTE.'
To an appreciative editor Currer Bell wrote as follows:--
TO THE EDITOR OF THE 'DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE.'
'_October_ 6_th_, 1846.
'SIRS,--I thank you in my own name and that of my brothers, Ellis and
Acton, for the indulgent notice that appeared in your last number of
our first humble efforts in literature; but I thank you far more for
the essay on modern poetry which preceded that notice--an essay in
which seems to me to be condensed the very spirit of truth and
beauty. If all or half your other readers shall have derived from
its perusal the delight it afforded to myself and my brothers, your
labours have produced a rich result.
'After such criticism an author may indeed be smitten at first by a
sense of his own insignificance--as we were--but on a second and a
third perusal he finds a power and beauty therein which stirs him to
a desire to do more and better things. It fulfils the right end of
criticism: without absolutely crushing, it corrects and rouses. I
again thank you heartily, and beg to subscribe myself,--Your constant
and grateful reader,
'CURRER BELL.'
The reception which it met with from the public may be gathered from the
following letter which accompanied De Quincey's copy. {330}
TO THOMAS DE QUINCEY.
'_June_ 16_th_, 1847.
'SIRS,--My relatives, Ellis and Acton Bell, and myself, heedless of
the repeated warnings of various respectable publishers, have
committed the rash act of printing a volume of poems.
'The consequences predicted have, of course, overtaken us: our book
is found to be a drug; no man needs it or heeds it. In the space of
a year our publisher has disposed but of two copies, and by what
painful efforts he succeeded in getting rid of these two, himself
only knows.
'Before transferring the edition to the trunkmakers, we have decided
on distributing as presents a few copies of what we cannot sell; and
we beg to offer you one in acknowledgment of the pleasure and profit
we have often and long derived from your works.--I am, sir, yours
very respectfully,
'CURRER BELL.'
Charlotte Bronte could not have carried out the project of distribution
to any appreciable extent, as a considerable 'remainder' appear to have
been bound up with a new title-page by Smith & Elder. With this Smith &
Elder title-page, the book is not uncommon, whereas, with the Aylott &
Jones title-page it is exceedingly rare. Perhaps there were a dozen
review copies and a dozen presentation copies, in addition to the two
that were sold, but only three or four seem to have survived for the
pleasure of the latter-day bibliophile.
Here is the title-page in question:
POEMS
BY
CURRER, ELLIS
AND
ACTON BELL
LONDON
AYLOTT & JONES, 8 PATERNOSTER ROW
1846
We see by the letter to Aylott & Jones the first announcement of
_Wuthering Heights_, _Agnes Grey_, and _The Professor_. It would not
seem that there was much, or indeed any, difficulty in disposing of
_Wuthering Heights_ and _Agnes Grey_. They bear the imprint of Newby of
Mortimer Street, and they appeared in three uniform volumes, the two
first being taken up by _Wuthering Heights_, and the third by _Agnes
Grey_, {332a} which is quaintly marked as if it were a three-volumed
novel in itself, having 'Volume III' on title-page and binding. I have
said that there were no travels before the manuscripts of Emily and Anne.
That is not quite certain. Mrs. Gaskell implies that there were; but, at
any rate, there is no definite information on the subject. Newby, it is
clear, did not publish them until all the world was discussing _Jane
Eyre_. _The Professor_, by Currer Bell, had, however, travel enough! It
was offered to six publishers in succession before it came into the hands
of Mr. W. S. Williams, the 'reader' for Smith & Elder. The circumstance
of its courteous refusal by that firm, and the suggestion that a
three-volumed novel would be gladly considered, are within the knowledge
of all Charlotte Bronte's admirers. {332b}
One cannot but admire the fearless and uncompromising honesty with which
Charlotte Bronte sent the MSS. round with all its previous journeys
frankly indicated.
It is not easy at this time of day to understand why Mr. Williams refused
_The Professor_. The story is incomparably superior to the average
novel, and, indeed, contains touches which are equal to anything that
Currer Bell ever wrote. It seems to me possible that Charlotte Bronte
rewrote the story after its rejection, but the manuscript does not bear
out that impression. {332c}
Charlotte Bronte's method of writing was to take a piece of
cardboard--the broken cover of a book, in fact--and a few sheets of
note-paper, and write her first form of a story upon these sheets in a
tiny handwriting in pencil. She would afterwards copy the whole out upon
quarto paper very neatly in ink. None of the original pencilled MSS. of
her greater novels have been preserved. The extant manuscripts of _Jane
Eyre_ and _The Professor_ are in ink.
_Jane Eyre_ was written, then, under Mr. Williams's kind encouragement,
and immediately accepted. It was published in the first week of October
1847.
The following letters were received by Mr. Williams while the book was
beginning its course.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 4_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I thank you sincerely for your last letter. It is
valuable to me because it furnishes me with a sound opinion on points
respecting which I desired to be advised; be assured I shall do what
I can to profit by your wise and good counsel.
'Permit me, however, sir, to caution you against forming too
favourable an idea of my powers, or too sanguine an expectation of
what they can achieve. I am myself sensible both of deficiencies of
capacity and disadvantages of circumstance which will, I fear, render
it somewhat difficult for me to attain popularity as an author. The
eminent writers you mention--Mr. Thackeray, Mr. Dickens, Mrs. Marsh,
{333} etc., doubtless enjoyed facilities for observation such as I
have not; certainly they possess a knowledge of the world, whether
intuitive or acquired, such as I can lay no claim to, and this gives
their writings an importance and a variety greatly beyond what I can
offer the public.
'Still, if health be spared and time vouchsafed me, I mean to do my
best; and should a moderate success crown my efforts, its value will
be greatly enhanced by the proof it will seem to give that your kind
counsel and encouragement have not been bestowed on one quite
unworthy.--Yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 9_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I do not know whether the _Dublin University Magazine_ is
included in the list of periodicals to which Messrs. Smith & Elder
are accustomed to send copies of new publications, but as a former
work, the joint production of myself and my two relatives, Ellis and
Acton Bell, received a somewhat favourable notice in that magazine,
it appears to me that if the editor's attention were drawn to _Jane
Eyre_ he might possibly bestow on it also a few words of remark.
'The_ Critic_ and the _Athenaeum_ also gave comments on the work I
allude to. The review in the first-mentioned paper was unexpectedly
and generously eulogistic, that in the _Athenaeum_ more qualified,
but still not discouraging. I mention these circumstances and leave
it to you to judge whether any advantage is derivable from them.
'You dispensed me from the duty of answering your last letter, but my
sense of the justness of the views it expresses will not permit me to
neglect this opportunity both of acknowledging it and thanking you
for it.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _December_ 13_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--Your advice merits and shall have my most serious
attention. I feel the force of your reasoning. It is my wish to do
my best in the career on which I have entered. So I shall study and
strive; and by dint of time, thought, and effort, I hope yet to
deserve in part the encouragement you and others have so generously
accorded me. But time will be necessary--that I feel more than ever.
In case of _Jane Eyre_ reaching a second edition, I should wish some
few corrections to be made, and will prepare an errata. How would
the accompanying preface do? I thought it better to be brief.
'The _Observer_ has just reached me. I always compel myself to read
the analysis in every newspaper-notice. It is a just punishment, a
due though severe humiliation for faults of plan and construction. I
wonder if the analysis of other fictions read as absurdly as that of
_Jane Eyre_ always does.--I am, dear sir, yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.'
The following letter is interesting because it discusses the rejected
novel, and refers to the project of recasting it, which ended in the
writing of _Villette_. {335}
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 14_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I have just received your kind and welcome letter of the
11th. I shall proceed at once to discuss the principal subject of
it.
'Of course a second work has occupied my thoughts much. I think it
would be premature in me to undertake a serial now--I am not yet
qualified for the task: I have neither gained a sufficiently firm
footing with the public, nor do I possess sufficient confidence in
myself, nor can I boast those unflagging animal spirits, that even
command of the faculty of composition, which as you say, and, I am
persuaded, most justly, is an indispensable requisite to success in
serial literature. I decidedly feel that ere I change my ground I
had better make another venture in the three volume novel form.
'Respecting the plan of such a work, I have pondered it, but as yet
with very unsatisfactory results. Three commencements have I
essayed, but all three displease me. A few days since I looked over
_The Professor_. I found the beginning very feeble, the whole
narrative deficient in incident and in general attractiveness. Yet
the middle and latter portion of the work, all that relates to
Brussels, the Belgian school, etc., is as good as I can write: it
contains more pith, more substance, more reality, in my judgment,
than much of _Jane Eyre_. It gives, I think, a new view of a grade,
an occupation, and a class of characters--all very commonplace, very
insignificant in themselves, but not more so than the materials
composing that portion of _Jane Eyre_ which seems to please most
generally.
'My wish is to recast _The Professor_, add as well as I can what is
deficient, retrench some parts, develop others, and make of it a
three volume work--no easy task, I know, yet I trust not an
impracticable one.
'I have not forgotten that _The Professor_ was set aside in my
agreement with Messrs. Smith & Elder; therefore before I take any
step to execute the plan I have sketched, I should wish to have your
judgment on its wisdom. You read or looked over the Ms.--what
impression have you now respecting its worth? and what confidence
have you that I can make it better than it is?
'Feeling certain that from business reasons as well as from natural
integrity you will be quite candid with me, I esteem it a privilege
to be able thus to consult you.--Believe me, dear sir, yours
respectfully,
'C. BELL.
'_Wuthering Heights_ is, I suppose, at length published, at least Mr.
Newby has sent the authors their six copies. I wonder how it will be
received. I should say it merits the epithets of "vigorous" and
"original" much more decidedly than _Jane Eyre_ did. _Agnes Grey_
should please such critics as Mr. Lewes, for it is "true" and
"unexaggerated" enough. The books are not well got up--they abound
in errors of the press. On a former occasion I expressed myself with
perhaps too little reserve regarding Mr. Newby, yet I cannot but
feel, and feel painfully, that Ellis and Acton have not had the
justice at his hands that I have had at those of Messrs. Smith &
Elder.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 31_st_, 1847.
'DEAR SIRS,--I think, for the reasons you mention, it is better to
substitute _author_ for _editor_. I should not be ashamed to be
considered the author of _Wuthering Heights_ and _Agnes Grey_, but,
possessing no real claim to that honour, I would rather not have it
attributed to me, thereby depriving the true authors of their just
meed.
'You do very rightly and very kindly to tell me the objections made
against _Jane Eyre_--they are more essential than the praises. I
feel a sort of heart-ache when I hear the book called "godless" and
"pernicious" by good and earnest-minded men; but I know that
heart-ache will be salutary--at least I trust so.
'What is meant by the charges of _trickery_ and _artifice_ I have yet
to comprehend. It was no art in me to write a tale--it was no trick
in Messrs. Smith & Elder to publish it. Where do the trickery and
artifice lie?
'I have received the _Scotsman_, and was greatly amused to see Jane
Eyre likened to Rebecca Sharp--the resemblance would hardly have
occurred to me.
'I wish to send this note by to-day's post, and must therefore
conclude in haste.--I am, dear sir, yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _January_ 4_th_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--Your letter made me ashamed of myself that I should ever
have uttered a murmur, or expressed by any sign that I was sensible
of pain from the unfavourable opinions of some misjudging but
well-meaning people. But, indeed, let me assure you, I am not
ungrateful for the kindness which has been given me in such abundant
measure. I can discriminate the proportions in which blame and
praise have been awarded to my efforts: I see well that I have had
less of the former and more of the latter than I merit. I am not
therefore crushed, though I may be momentarily saddened by the frown,
even of the good.
'It would take a great deal to crush me, because I know, in the first
place, that my own intentions were correct, that I feel in my heart a
deep reverence for religion, that impiety is very abhorrent to me;
and in the second, I place firm reliance on the judgment of some who
have encouraged me. You and Mr. Lewes are quite as good authorities,
in my estimation, as Mr. Dilke or the editor of the _Spectator_, and
I would not under any circumstances, or for any opprobrium, regard
with shame what my friends had approved--none but a coward would let
the detraction of an enemy outweigh the encouragement of a friend.
You must not, therefore, fulfil your threat of being less
communicative in future; you must kindly tell me all.
'Miss Kavanagh's view of the maniac coincides with Leigh Hunt's. I
agree with them that the character is shocking, but I know that it is
but too natural. There is a phase of insanity which may be called
moral madness, in which all that is good or even human seems to
disappear from the mind, and a fiend-nature replaces it. The sole
aim and desire of the being thus possessed is to exasperate, to
molest, to destroy, and preternatural ingenuity and energy are often
exercised to that dreadful end. The aspect, in such cases,
assimilates with the disposition--all seem demonized. It is true
that profound pity ought to be the only sentiment elicited by the
view of such degradation, and equally true is it that I have not
sufficiently dwelt on that feeling: I have erred in making _horror_
too predominant. Mrs. Rochester, indeed, lived a sinful life before
she was insane, but sin is itself a species of insanity--the truly
good behold and compassionate it as such.
'_Jane Eyre_ has got down into Yorkshire, a copy has even penetrated
into this neighbourhood. I saw an elderly clergyman reading it the
other day, and had the satisfaction of hearing him exclaim, "Why,
they have got --- School, and Mr. --- here, I declare! and Miss ---"
(naming the originals of Lowood, Mr. Brocklehurst and Miss Temple).
He had known them all. I wondered whether he would recognise the
portraits, and was gratified to find that he did, and that, moreover,
he pronounced them faithful and just. He said, too, that Mr. ---
(Brocklehurst) "deserved the chastisement he had got."
'He did not recognise Currer Bell. What author would be without the
advantage of being able to walk invisible? One is thereby enabled to
keep such a quiet mind. I make this small observation in confidence.
'What makes you say that the notice in the _Westminster Review_ is
not by Mr. Lewes? It expresses precisely his opinions, and he said
he would perhaps insert a few lines in that periodical.
'I have sometimes thought that I ought to have written to Mr. Lewes
to thank him for his review in _Fraser_; and, indeed, I did write a
note, but then it occurred to me that he did not require the author's
thanks, and I feared it would be superfluous to send it, therefore I
refrained; however, though I have not _expressed_ gratitude I have
_felt_ it.
'I wish you, too, _many many_ happy new years, and prosperity and
success to you and yours.--Believe me, etc.,
'CURRER BELL.
'I have received the _Courier_ and the _Oxford Chronicle_.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 22_nd_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--I have received the _Morning Herald_, and was much
pleased with the notice, chiefly on account of the reference made to
that portion of the preface which concerns Messrs. Smith & Elder. If
my tribute of thanks can benefit my publishers, it is desirable that
it should have as much publicity as possible.
'I do not know if the part which relates to Mr. Thackeray is likely
to be as well received; but whether generally approved of and
understood or not, I shall not regret having written it, for I am
convinced of its truth.
'I see I was mistaken in my idea that the _Athenaeum_ and others
wished to ascribe the authorship of _Wuthering Heights_ to Currer
Bell; the contrary is the case, _Jane Eyre_ is given to Ellis Bell;
and Mr. Newby, it appears, thinks it expedient so to frame his
advertisements as to favour the misapprehension. If Mr. Newby had
much sagacity he would see that Ellis Bell is strong enough to stand
without being propped by Currer Bell, and would have disdained what
Ellis himself of all things disdains--recourse to trickery. However,
Ellis, Acton, and Currer care nothing for the matter personally; the
public and the critics are welcome to confuse our identities as much
as they choose; my only fear is lest Messrs. Smith & Elder should in
some way be annoyed by it.
'I was much interested in your account of Miss Kavanagh. The
character you sketch belongs to a class I peculiarly esteem: one in
which endurance combines with exertion, talent with goodness; where
genius is found unmarred by extravagance, self-reliance unalloyed by
self-complacency. It is a character which is, I believe, rarely
found except where there has been toil to undergo and adversity to
struggle against: it will only grow to perfection in a poor soil and
in the shade; if the soil be too indigent, the shade too dank and
thick, of course it dies where it sprung. But I trust this will not
be the case with Miss Kavanagh. I trust she will struggle ere long
into the sunshine. In you she has a kind friend to direct her, and I
hope her mother will live to see the daughter, who yields to her such
childlike duty, both happy and successful.
'You asked me if I should like any copies of the second edition of
_Jane Eyre_, and I said--no. It is true I do not want any for myself
or my acquaintances, but if the request be not unusual, I should much
like one to be given to Miss Kavanagh. If you would have the
goodness, you might write on the fly-leaf that the book is presented
with the author's best wishes for her welfare here and hereafter. My
reason for wishing that she should have a copy is because she said
the book had been to her a _suggestive_ one, and I know that
suggestive books are valuable to authors.
'I am truly sorry to hear that Mr. Smith has had an attack of the
prevalent complaint, but I trust his recovery is by this time
complete. I cannot boast entire exemption from its ravages, as I now
write under its depressing influence. Hoping that you have been more
fortunate,--I am, dear sir, yours faithfully,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 3_rd_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have received the _Christian Remembrancer_, and read
the review. It is written with some ability; but to do justice was
evidently not the critic's main object, therefore he excuses himself
from performing that duty.
'I daresay the reviewer imagines that Currer Bell ought to be
extremely afflicted, very much cut up, by some smart things he
says--this however is not the case. C. Bell is on the whole rather
encouraged than dispirited by the review: the hard-wrung praise
extorted reluctantly from a foe is the most precious praise of
all--you are sure that this, at least, has no admixture of flattery.
I fear he has too high an opinion of my abilities and of what I can
do; but that is his own fault. In other respects, he aims his shafts
in the dark, and the success, or, rather, ill-success of his hits
makes me laugh rather than cry. His shafts of sarcasm are nicely
polished, keenly pointed; he should not have wasted them in shooting
at a mark he cannot see.
'I hope such reviews will not make much difference with me, and that
if the spirit moves me in future to say anything about priests, etc.,
I shall say it with the same freedom as heretofore. I hope also that
their anger will not make _me_ angry. As a body, I had no ill-will
against them to begin with, and I feel it would be an error to let
opposition engender such ill-will. A few individuals may possibly be
called upon to sit for their portraits some time; if their brethren
in general dislike the resemblance and abuse the artist--_tant
pis_!--Believe me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
It seems that Mr. Williams had hinted that Charlotte might like to
emulate Thackeray by illustrating her own books.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 11_th_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--I have just received the copy of the second edition, and
will look over it, and send the corrections as soon as possible; I
will also, since you think it advisable, avail myself of the
opportunity of a third edition to correct the mistake respecting the
authorship of _Wuthering Heights_ and _Agnes Grey_.
'As to your second suggestion, it is, one can see at a glance, a very
judicious and happy one; but I cannot adopt it, because I have not
the skill you attribute to me. It is not enough to have the artist's
eye, one must also have the artist's hand to turn the first gift to
practical account. I have, in my day, wasted a certain quantity of
Bristol board and drawing-paper, crayons and cakes of colour, but
when I examine the contents of my portfolio now, it seems as if
during the years it has been lying closed some fairy had changed what
I once thought sterling coin into dry leaves, and I feel much
inclined to consign the whole collection of drawings to the fire; I
see they have no value. If, then, _Jane Eyre_ is ever to be
illustrated, it must be by some other hand than that of its author.
But I hope no one will be at the trouble to make portraits of my
characters. Bulwer and Byron heroes and heroines are very well, they
are all of them handsome; but my personages are mostly unattractive
in look, and therefore ill-adapted to figure in ideal portraits. At
the best, I have always thought such representations futile. You
will not easily find a second Thackeray. How he can render, with a
few black lines and dots, shades of expression so fine, so real;
traits of character so minute, so subtle, so difficult to seize and
fix, I cannot tell--I can only wonder and admire. Thackeray may not
be a painter, but he is a wizard of a draughtsman; touched with his
pencil, paper lives. And then his drawing is so refreshing; after
the wooden limbs one is accustomed to see pourtrayed by commonplace
illustrators, his shapes of bone and muscle clothed with flesh,
correct in proportion and anatomy, are a real relief. All is true in
Thackeray. If Truth were again a goddess, Thackeray should be her
high priest.
'I read my preface over with some pain--I did not like it. I wrote
it when I was a little enthusiastic, like you, about the French
Revolution. I wish I had written it in a cool moment; I should have
said the same things, but in a different manner. One may be as
enthusiastic as one likes about an author who has been dead a century
or two, but I see it is a fault to bore the public with enthusiasm
about a living author. I promise myself to take better care in
future. _Still_ I will _think_ as I please.
'Are the London republicans, and _you_ amongst the number, cooled
down yet? I suppose not, because your French brethren are acting
very nobly. The abolition of slavery and of the punishment of death
for political offences are two glorious deeds, but how will they get
over the question of the organisation of labour! Such theories will
be the sand-bank on which their vessel will run aground if they don't
mind. Lamartine, there is not doubt, would make an excellent
legislator for a nation of Lamartines--but where is that nation? I
hope these observations are sceptical and cool enough.--Believe me,
my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 16_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIRS,--I have already acknowledged in a note to Mr. Smith
the receipt of the parcel of books, and in my thanks for this
well-timed attention I am sure I ought to include you; your taste, I
thought, was recognisable in the choice of some of the volumes, and a
better selection it would have been difficult to make.
'To-day I have received the _Spectator_ and the _Revue des deux
Mondes_. The _Spectator_ consistently maintains the tone it first
assumed regarding the Bells. I have little to object to its opinion
as far as Currer Bell's portion of the volume is concerned. It is
true the critic sees only the faults, but for these his perception is
tolerably accurate. Blind is he as any bat, insensate as any stone,
to the merits of Ellis. He cannot feel or will not acknowledge that
the very finish and _labor limae_ which Currer wants, Ellis has; he
is not aware that the "true essence of poetry" pervades his
compositions. Because Ellis's poems are short and abstract, the
critics think them comparatively insignificant and dull. They are
mistaken.
'The notice in the _Revue des deux Mondes_ is one of the most able,
the most acceptable to the author, of any that has yet appeared.
Eugene Forcade understood and enjoyed _Jane Eyre_. I cannot say that
of all who have professed to criticise it. The censures are as
well-founded as the commendations. The specimens of the translation
given are on the whole good; now and then the meaning of the original
has been misapprehended, but generally it is well rendered.
'Every cup given us to taste in this life is mixed. Once it would
have seemed to me that an evidence of success like that contained in
the _Revue_ would have excited an almost exultant feeling in my mind.
It comes, however, at a time when counteracting circumstances keep
the balance of the emotions even--when my sister's continued illness
darkens the present and dims the future. That will seem to me a
happy day when I can announce to you that Emily is better. Her
symptoms continue to be those of slow inflammation of the lungs,
tight cough, difficulty of breathing, pain in the chest, and fever.
We watch anxiously for a change for the better--may it soon come.--I
am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.
'As I was about to seal this I received your kind letter. Truly glad
am I to hear that Fanny is taking the path which pleases her parents.
I trust she may persevere in it. She may be sure that a contrary one
will never lead to happiness; and I should think that the reward of
seeing you and her mother pleased must be so sweet that she will be
careful not to run the risk of forfeiting it.
'It is somewhat singular that I had already observed to my sisters, I
did not doubt it was Mr. Lewes who had shown you the _Revue_.'
The many other letters referring to Emily's last illness have already
been printed. When the following letters were written, Emily and Anne
were both in their graves.
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL
'_March_ 1_st_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--The parcel arrived on Saturday evening. Permit me to
express my sense of the judgment and kindness which have dictated the
selection of its contents. They appear to be all good books, and
good books are, we know, the best substitute for good society; if
circumstances debar me from the latter privilege, the kind attentions
of my friends supply me with ample measure of the former.
'Thank you for your remarks on _Shirley_. Some of your strictures
tally with some by Mr. Williams. You both complain of the want of
distinctness and impressiveness in my heroes. Probably you are
right. In delineating male character I labour under disadvantages:
intuition and theory will not always adequately supply the place of
observation and experience. When I write about women I am sure of my
ground--in the other case, I am not so sure.
'Here, then, each of you has laid the critical finger on a point that
by its shrinking confesses its vulnerability; whether the
disapprobation you intimate respecting the Briarchapel scenes, the
curates, etc., be equally merited, time will show. I am well aware
what will be the author's present meed for these passages: I
anticipate general blame and no praise. And were my motive-principle
in writing a thirst for popularity, or were the chief check on my pen
a dread of censure, I should withdraw these scenes--or rather, I
should never have written them. I will not say whether the
considerations that really govern me are sound, or whether my
convictions are just; but such as they are, to their influence I must
yield submission. They forbid me to sacrifice truth to the fear of
blame. I accept their prohibition.
'With the sincere expression of my esteem for the candour by which
your critique is distinguished,--I am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_August_ 16_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Since I last wrote to you I have been getting on with
my book as well as I can, and I think I may now venture to say that
in a few weeks I hope to have the pleasure of placing the MS. in the
hands of Mr. Smith.
'The _North British Review_ duly reached me. I read attentively all
it says about _E. Wyndham_, _Jane Eyre_, and _F. Hervey_. Much of
the article is clever, and yet there are remarks which--for me--rob
it of importance.
'To value praise or stand in awe of blame we must respect the source
whence the praise and blame proceed, and I do not respect an
inconsistent critic. He says, "if _Jane Eyre_ be the production of a
woman, she must be a woman unsexed."
'In that case the book is an unredeemed error and should be
unreservedly condemned. _Jane Eyre_ is a woman's autobiography, by a
woman it is professedly written. If it is written as no woman would
write, condemn it with spirit and decision--say it is bad, but do not
eulogise and then detract. I am reminded of the _Economist_. The
literary critic of that paper praised the book if written by a man,
and pronounced it "odious" if the work of a woman.
'To such critics I would say, "To you I am neither man nor woman--I
come before you as an author only. It is the sole standard by which
you have a right to judge me--the sole ground on which I accept your
judgment."
'There is a weak comment, having no pretence either to justice or
discrimination, on the works of Ellis and Acton Bell. The critic did
not know that those writers had passed from time and life. I have
read no review since either of my sisters died which I could have
wished _them_ to read--none even which did not render the thought of
their departure more tolerable to me. To hear myself praised beyond
them was cruel, to hear qualities ascribed to them so strangely the
reverse of their real characteristics was scarce supportable. It is
sad even now; but they are so remote from earth, so safe from its
turmoils, I can bear it better.
'But on one point do I now feel vulnerable: I should grieve to see my
father's peace of mind perturbed on my account; for which reason I
keep my author's existence as much as possible out of his way. I
have always given him a carefully diluted and modified account of the
success of _Jane Eyre_--just what would please without startling him.
The book is not mentioned between us once a month. The _Quarterly_ I
kept to myself--it would have worried papa. To that same _Quarterly_
I must speak in the introduction to my present work--just one little
word. You once, I remember, said that review was written by a
lady--Miss Rigby. Are you sure of this?
'Give no hint of my intention of discoursing a little with the
_Quarterly_. It would look too important to speak of it beforehand.
All plans are best conceived and executed without noise.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. B.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_August_ 21_st_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I can only write very briefly at present--first to
thank you for your interesting letter and the graphic description it
contained of the neighbourhood where you have been staying, and then
to decide about the title of the book.
'If I remember rightly, my Cornhill critics objected to _Hollow's
Mill_, nor do I now find it appropriate. It might rather be called
_Fieldhead_, though I think _Shirley_ would perhaps be the best
title. Shirley, I fancy, has turned out the most prominent and
peculiar character in the work.
'Cornhill may decide between _Fieldhead_ and _Shirley_.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
The famous _Quarterly Review_ article by Miss Rigby, afterwards Lady
Eastlake, {348} appeared in December 1848, under the title of '_Vanity
Fair_, _Jane Eyre_, and Governesses.' It was a review of two novels and
a treatise on schools, and but for one or two offensive passages might
have been pronounced fairly complimentary. To have coupled _Jane Eyre_
with Thackeray's great book, at a time when Thackeray had already reached
to heroic proportions in the literary world, was in itself a compliment.
It is small wonder that the speculation was hazarded that J. G. Lockhart,
the editor of the _Quarterly_, had himself supplied the venom. He could
display it on occasion. It is quite clear now, however, that that was
not the case. Miss Rigby was the reviewer who thought it within a
critic's province to suggest that the writer might be a woman 'who had
forfeited the society of her sex.' Lockhart must have read the review
hastily, as editors will on occasion. He writes to his contributor on
November 13, 1848, before the article had appeared:--
'About three years ago I received a small volume of 'Poems by Currer,
Acton, and Ellis Bell,' and a queer little note by Currer, who said
the book had been published a year, and just two copies sold, so they
were to burn the rest, but distributed a few copies, mine being one.
I find what seems rather a fair review of that tiny tome in the
_Spectator_ of this week; pray look at it.
'I think the poems of Currer much better than those of Acton and
Ellis, and believe his novel is vastly better than those which they
have more recently put forth.
'I know nothing of the writers, but the common rumour is that they
are brothers of the weaving order in some Lancashire town. At first
it was generally said Currer was a lady, and Mayfair
circumstantialised by making her the _chere amie_ of Mr. Thackeray.
But your skill in "dress" settles the question of sex. I think,
however, some woman must have assisted in the school scenes of _Jane
Eyre_, which have a striking air of truthfulness to me--an ignoramus,
I allow, on such points.
'I should say you might as well glance at the novels by Acton and
Ellis Bell--_Wuthering Heights_ is one of them. If you have any
friend about Manchester, it would, I suppose, be easy to learn
accurately as to the position of these men.' {349}
This was written in November, and it was not till December that the
article appeared. Apart from the offensive imputations upon the morals
of the author of _Jane Eyre_, which reduces itself to smart impertinence
when it is understood that Miss Rigby fully believed that the author was
a man, the review is not without its compensations for a new writer. The
'equal popularity' of _Jane Eyre_ and _Vanity Fair_ is referred to. 'A
very remarkable book,' the reviewer continues; 'we have no remembrance of
another containing such undoubted power with such horrid taste.' There
is droll irony, when Charlotte Bronte's strong conservative sentiments
and church environment are considered, in the following:--
'We do not hesitate to say that the tone of mind and thought which
has overthrown authority, and violated every code, human and divine,
abroad, and fostered chartism and rebellion at home, is the same
which has also written _Jane Eyre_.'
In another passage Miss Rigby, musing upon the masculinity of the author,
finally clinches her arguments by proofs of a kind.
'No woman _trusses game_, and garnishes dessert dishes with the same
hands, or talks of so doing in the same breath. Above all, no woman
attires another in such fancy dresses as Jane's ladies assume. Miss
Ingram coming down irresistible in a _morning_ robe of sky-blue
crape, a gauze azure scarf twisted in her hair!! No lady, we
understand, when suddenly roused in the night, would think of
hurrying on "a frock." They have garments more convenient for such
occasions, and more becoming too.'
_Wuthering Heights_ is described as 'too odiously and abominably pagan to
be palatable to the most vitiated class of English readers.' This no
doubt was Miss Rigby's interpolation in the proofs in reply to her
editor's suggestion that she should 'glance at the novels by Acton and
Ellis Bell.' It is a little difficult to understand the _Quarterly_
editor's method, or, indeed, the letter to Miss Rigby which I have
quoted, as he had formed a very different estimate of the book many
months before. 'I have finished the adventures of Miss Jane Eyre,' he
writes to Mrs. Hope (Dec. 29th, 1847), 'and think her far the cleverest
that has written since Austen and Edgeworth were in their prime, worth
fifty Trollopes and Martineaus rolled into one counterpane, with fifty
Dickenses and Bulwers to keep them company--but rather a brazen Miss.'
{350}
When the _Quarterly Review_ appeared, Charlotte Bronte, as we have seen,
was in dire domestic distress, and it was not till many months later,
when a new edition of _Jane Eyre_ was projected, that she discussed with
her publishers the desirability of an effective reply, which was not
however to disclose her sex and environment. A first preface called 'A
Word to the _Quarterly_' was cancelled, and after some debate, the
preface which we now have took its place. The 'book' is of course
_Shirley_.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_August_ 29_th_, 1849.
'DEAR SIR,--The book is now finished (thank God) and ready for Mr.
Taylor, but I have not yet heard from him. I thought I should be
able to tell whether it was equal to _Jane Eyre_ or not, but I find I
cannot--it may be better, it may be worse. I shall be curious to
hear your opinion, my own is of no value. I send the Preface or
"Word to the _Quarterly_" for your perusal.
'Whatever now becomes of the work, the occupation of writing it has
been a boon to me. It took me out of dark and desolate reality into
an unreal but happier region. The worst of it is, my eyes are grown
somewhat weak and my head somewhat weary and prone to ache with close
work. You can write nothing of value unless you give yourself wholly
to the theme, and when you so give yourself, you lose appetite and
sleep--it cannot be helped.
'At what time does Mr. Smith intend to bring the book out? It is his
now. I hand it and all the trouble and care and anxiety over to
him--a good riddance, only I wish he fairly had it.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_August_ 31_st_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I cannot change my preface. I can shed no tears
before the public, nor utter any groan in the public ear. The deep,
real tragedy of our domestic experience is yet terribly fresh in my
mind and memory. It is not a time to be talked about to the
indifferent; it is not a topic for allusion to in print.
'No righteous indignation can I lavish on the _Quarterly_. I can
condescend but to touch it with the lightest satire. Believe me, my
dear sir, "C. Bronte" must not here appear; what she feels or has
felt is not the question--it is "Currer Bell" who was insulted--he
must reply. Let Mr. Smith fearlessly print the preface I have
sent--let him depend upon me this once; even if I prove a broken
reed, his fall cannot be dangerous: a preface is a short distance, it
is not three volumes.
'I have always felt certain that it is a deplorable error in an
author to assume the tragic tone in addressing the public about his
own wrongs or griefs. What does the public care about him as an
individual? His wrongs are its sport; his griefs would be a bore.
What we deeply feel is our own--we must keep it to ourselves. Ellis
and Acton Bell were, for me, Emily and Anne; my sisters--to me
intimately near, tenderly dear--to the public they were
nothing--worse than nothing--beings speculated upon, misunderstood,
misrepresented. If I live, the hour may come when the spirit will
move me to speak of them, but it is not come yet.--I am, my dear sir,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 17, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Your letter gave me great pleasure. An author who has
showed his book to none, held no consultation about plan, subject,
characters, or incidents, asked and had no opinion from one living
being, but fabricated it darkly in the silent workshop of his own
brain--such an author awaits with a singular feeling the report of
the first impression produced by his creation in a quarter where he
places confidence, and truly glad he is when that report proves
favourable.
'Do you think this book will tend to strengthen the idea that Currer
Bell is a woman, or will it favour a contrary opinion?
'I return the proof-sheets. Will they print all the French phrases
in italics? I hope not, it makes them look somehow obtrusively
conspicuous.
'I have no time to add more lest I should be too late for the
post.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 10_th_, 1849.
'DEAR SIR,--Your advice is very good, and yet I cannot follow it: I
_cannot_ alter now. It sounds absurd, but so it is.
'The circumstances of Shirley's being nervous on such a matter may
appear incongruous because I fear it is not well managed; otherwise
it is perfectly natural. In such minds, such odd points, such queer
unexpected inconsistent weaknesses _are_ found--perhaps there never
was an ardent poetic temperament, however healthy, quite without
them; but they never communicate them unless forced, they have a
suspicion that the terror is absurd, and keep it hidden. Still the
thing is badly managed, and I bend my head and expect in resignation
what, _here_, I know I deserve--the lash of criticism. I shall wince
when it falls, but not scream.
'You are right about Goth, you are very right--he is clear, deep, but
very cold. I acknowledge him great, but cannot feel him genial.
'You mention the literary coteries. To speak the truth, I recoil
from them, though I long to see some of the truly great literary
characters. However, this is not to be yet--I cannot sacrifice my
incognito. And let me be content with seclusion--it has its
advantages. In general, indeed, I am tranquil, it is only now and
then that a struggle disturbs me--that I wish for a wider world than
Haworth. When it is past, Reason tells me how unfit I am for
anything very different. Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 15_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--You observed that the French of _Shirley_ might be
cavilled at. There is a long paragraph written in the French
language in that chapter entitled "_Le coeval damped_." I forget the
number. I fear it will have a pretentious air. If you deem it
advisable, and will return the chapter, I will efface, and substitute
something else in English.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL
'_September_ 20_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--It is time I answered the note which I received from
you last Thursday; I should have replied to it before had I not been
kept more than usually engaged by the presence of a clergyman in the
house, and the indisposition of one of our servants.
'As you may conjecture, it cheered and pleased me much to learn that
the opinion of my friends in Cornhill was favourable to
_Shirley_--that, on the whole, it was considered no falling off from
_Jane Eyre_. I am trying, however, not to encourage too sanguine an
expectation of a favourable reception by the public: the seeds of
prejudice have been sown, and I suppose the produce will have to be
reaped--but we shall see.
'I read with pleasure _Friends in Council_, and with very great
pleasure _The Thoughts and Opinions of a Statesman_. It is the
record of what may with truth be termed a beautiful mind--serene,
harmonious, elevated, and pure; it bespeaks, too, a heart full of
kindness and sympathy. I like it much.
'Papa has been pretty well during the past week, he begs to join me
in kind remembrances to yourself.--Believe me, my dear sir, yours
very sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 29_th_, 1849.
'DEAR SIR,--I have made the alteration; but I have made it to please
Cornhill, not the public nor the critics.
'I am sorry to say Newby does know my real name. I wish he did not,
but that cannot be helped. Meantime, though I earnestly wish to
preserve my incognito, I live under no slavish fear of discovery. I
am ashamed of nothing I have written--not a line.
'The envelope containing the first proof and your letter had been
received open at the General Post Office and resealed there. Perhaps
it was accident, but I think it better to inform you of the
circumstance.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 1_st_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am chagrined about the envelope being opened: I see
it is the work of prying curiosity, and now it would be useless to
make a stir--what mischief is to be apprehended is already done. It
was not done at Haworth. I know the people of the post-office there,
and am sure they would not venture on such a step; besides, the
Haworth people have long since set me down as bookish and quiet, and
trouble themselves no farther about me. But the gossiping
inquisitiveness of small towns is rife at Keighley; there they are
sadly puzzled to guess why I never visit, encourage no overtures to
acquaintance, and always stay at home. Those packets passing
backwards and forwards by the post have doubtless aggravated their
curiosity. Well, I am sorry, but I shall try to wait patiently and
not vex myself too much, come what will.
'I am glad you like the English substitute for the French _devour_.
'The parcel of books came on Saturday. I write to Mr. Taylor by this
post to acknowledge its receipt. His opinion of _Shirley_ seems in a
great measure to coincide with yours, only he expresses it rather
differently to you, owing to the difference in your casts of mind.
Are you not different on some points?--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 1_st_, 1849
'MY DEAR SIR,--I reached home yesterday, and found your letter and
one from Mr. Lewes, and one from the Peace Congress Committee,
awaiting my arrival. The last document it is now too late to answer,
for it was an invitation to Currer Bell to appear on the platform at
their meeting at Exeter Hall last Tuesday! A wonderful figure Mr.
Currer Bell would have cut under such circumstances! Should the
"Peace Congress" chance to read _Shirley_ they will wash their hands
of its author.
'I am glad to hear that Mr. Thackeray is better, but I did not know
he had been seriously ill, I thought it was only a literary
indisposition. You must tell me what he thinks of _Shirley_ if he
gives you any opinion on the subject.
'I am also glad to hear that Mr. Smith is pleased with the commercial
prospects of the work. I try not to be anxious about its literary
fate; and if I cannot be quite stoical, I think I am still tolerably
resigned.
'Mr. Lewes does not like the opening chapter, wherein he resembles
you.
'I have permitted myself the treat of spending the last week with my
friend Ellen. Her residence is in a far more populous and stirring
neighbourhood than this. Whenever I go there I am unavoidably forced
into society--clerical society chiefly.
'During my late visit I have too often had reason, sometimes in a
pleasant, sometimes in a painful form, to fear that I no longer walk
invisible. _Jane Eyre_, it appears, has been read all over the
district--a fact of which I never dreamt--a circumstance of which the
possibility never occurred to me. I met sometimes with new
deference, with augmented kindness: old schoolfellows and old
teachers, too, greeted me with generous warmth. And again,
ecclesiastical brows lowered thunder at me. When I confronted one or
two large-made priests, I longed for the battle to come on. I wish
they would speak out plainly. You must not understand that my
schoolfellows and teachers were of the Clergy Daughters School--in
fact, I was never there but for one little year as a very little
girl. I am certain I have long been forgotten; though for myself, I
remember all and everything clearly: early impressions are
ineffaceable.
'I have just received the _Daily News_. Let me speak the truth--when
I read it my heart sickened over it. It is not a good review, it is
unutterably false. If _Shirley_ strikes all readers as it has struck
that one, but--I shall not say what follows.
'On the whole I am glad a decidedly bad notice has come first--a
notice whose inexpressible ignorance first stuns and then stirs me.
Are there no such men as the Helstones and Yorkes?
'Yes, there are.
'Is the first chapter disgusting or vulgar?
'_It is not_, _it is real_.
'As for the praise of such a critic, I find it silly and nauseous,
and I scorn it.
'Were my sisters now alive they and I would laugh over this notice;
but they sleep, they will wake no more for me, and I am a fool to be
so moved by what is not worth a sigh.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. B.
'You must spare me if I seem hasty, I fear I really am not so firm as
I used to be, nor so patient. Whenever any shock comes, I feel that
almost all supports have been withdrawn.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 5_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I did not receive the parcel of copies till Saturday
evening. Everything sent by Bradford is long in reaching me. It is,
I think, better to direct: Keighley. I was very much pleased with
the appearance and getting up of the book; it looks well.
'I have got the _Examiner_ and your letter. You are very good not to
be angry with me, for I wrote in indignation and grief. The critic
of the _Daily News_ struck me as to the last degree incompetent,
ignorant, and flippant. A thrill of mutiny went all through me when
I read his small effusion. To be judged by such a one revolted me.
I ought, however, to have controlled myself, and I did not. I am
willing to be judged by the _Examiner_--I like the _Examiner_.
Fonblanque has power, he has discernment--I bend to his censorship, I
am grateful for his praise; his blame deserves consideration; when he
approves, I permit myself a moderate emotion of pride. Am I wrong in
supposing that critique to be written by Mr. Fonblanque? But whether
it is by him or Forster, I am thankful.
'In reading the critiques of the other papers--when I get them--I
will try to follow your advice and preserve my equanimity. But I
cannot be sure of doing this, for I had good resolutions and
intentions before, and, you see, I failed.
'You ask me if I am related to Nelson. No, I never heard that I was.
The rumour must have originated in our name resembling his title. I
wonder who that former schoolfellow of mine was that told Mr. Lewes,
or how she had been enabled to identify Currer Bell with C. Bronte.
She could not have been a Cowan Bridge girl, none of them can
possibly remember me. They might remember my eldest sister, Maria;
her prematurely-developed and remarkable intellect, as well as the
mildness, wisdom, and fortitude of her character might have left an
indelible impression on some observant mind amongst her companions.
My second sister, Elizabeth, too, may perhaps be remembered, but I
cannot conceive that I left a trace behind me. My career was a very
quiet one. I was plodding and industrious, perhaps I was very grave,
for I suffered to see my sisters perishing, but I think I was
remarkable for nothing.--Believe me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 15_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have received since I wrote last the Globe, Standard
of Freedom, Britannia, Economist, and Weekly Chronicle.
'How is _Shirley_ getting on, and what is now the general feeling
respecting the work?
'As far as I can judge from the tone of the newspapers, it seems that
those who were most charmed with _Jane Eyre_ are the least pleased
with _Shirley_; they are disappointed at not finding the same
excitement, interest, stimulus; while those who spoke disparagingly
of _Jane Eyre_ like _Shirley_ a little better than her predecessor.
I suppose its dryer matter suits their dryer minds. But I feel that
the fiat for which I wait does not depend on newspapers, except,
indeed, such newspapers as the _Examiner_. The monthlies and
quarterlies will pronounce it, I suppose. Mere novel-readers, it is
evident, think _Shirley_ something of a failure. Still, the majority
of the notices have on the whole been favourable. That in the
_Standard of Freedom_ was very kindly expressed; and coming from a
dissenter, William Howitt, I wonder thereat.
'Are you satisfied at Cornhill, or the contrary? I have read part of
_The Caxtons_, and, when I have finished, will tell you what I think
of it; meantime, I should very much like to hear your opinion.
Perhaps I shall keep mine till I see you, whenever that may be.
'I am trying by degrees to inure myself to the thought of some day
stepping over to Keighley, taking the train to Leeds, thence to
London, and once more venturing to set foot in the strange, busy
whirl of the Strand and Cornhill. I want to talk to you a little and
to hear by word of mouth how matters are progressing. Whenever I
come, I must come quietly and but for a short time--I should be
unhappy to leave papa longer than a fortnight.--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 22_nd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--If it is discouraging to an author to see his work
mouthed over by the entirely ignorant and incompetent, it is equally
reviving to hear what you have written discussed and analysed by a
critic who is master of his subject--by one whose heart feels, whose
powers grasp the matter he undertakes to handle. Such refreshment
Eugene Forcade has given me. Were I to see that man, my impulse
would be to say, "Monsieur, you know me, I shall deem it an honour to
know you."
'I do not find that Forcade detects any coarseness in the work--it is
for the smaller critics to find that out. The master in the art--the
subtle-thoughted, keen-eyed, quick-feeling Frenchman, knows the true
nature of the ingredients which went to the composition of the
creation he analyses--he knows the true nature of things, and he
gives them their right name.
'Yours of yesterday has just reached me. Let me, in the first place,
express my sincere sympathy with your anxiety on Mrs. Williams's
account. I know how sad it is when pain and suffering attack those
we love, when that mournful guest sickness comes and takes a place in
the household circle. That the shadow may soon leave your home is my
earnest hope.
'Thank you for Sir J. Herschel's note. I am happy to hear Mr. Taylor
is convalescent. It may, perhaps, be some weeks yet before his hand
is well, but that his general health is in the way of
re-establishment is a matter of thankfulness.
'One of the letters you sent to-day addressed "Currer Bell" has
almost startled me. The writer first describes his family, and then
proceeds to give a particular account of himself in colours the most
candid, if not, to my ideas, the most attractive. He runs on in a
strain of wild enthusiasm about _Shirley_, and concludes by
announcing a fixed, deliberate resolution to institute a search after
Currer Bell, and sooner or later to find him out. There is power in
the letter--talent; it is at times eloquently expressed. The writer
somewhat boastfully intimates that he is acknowledged the possessor
of high intellectual attainments, but, if I mistake not, he betrays a
temper to be shunned, habits to be mistrusted. While laying claim to
the character of being affectionate, warm-hearted, and adhesive,
there is but a single member of his own family of whom he speaks with
kindness. He confesses himself indolent and wilful, but asserts that
he is studious and, to some influences, docile. This letter would
have struck me no more than the others rather like it have done, but
for its rash power, and the disagreeable resolve it announces to seek
and find Currer Bell. It almost makes me feel like a wizard who has
raised a spirit he may find it difficult to lay. But I shall not
think about it. This sort of fervour often foams itself away in
words.
'Trusting that the serenity of your home is by this time restored
with your wife's health,--I am, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_February_ 16_th_, 1850.
'DEAR NELL,--Yesterday, just after dinner, I heard a loud bustling
voice in the kitchen demanding to see Mr. Bronte. Somebody was shown
into the parlour. Shortly after, wine was rung for. "Who is it,
Martha?" I asked. "Some mak of a tradesman," said she. "He's not a
gentleman, I'm sure." The personage stayed about an hour, talking in
a loud vulgar key all the time. At tea-time I asked papa who it was.
"Why," said he, "no other than the vicar of B---!" {361} Papa had
invited him to take some refreshment, but the creature had ordered
his dinner at the Black Bull, and was quite urgent with papa to go
down there and join him, offering by way of inducement a bottle, or,
if papa liked, "two or three bottles of the best wine Haworth could
afford!" He said he was come from Bradford just to look at the
place, and reckoned to be in raptures with the wild scenery! He
warmly pressed papa to come and see him, and to bring his daughter
with him!!! Does he know anything about the books, do you think; he
made no allusion to them. I did not see him, not so much as the tail
of his coat. Martha said he looked no more like a parson than she
did. Papa described him as rather shabby-looking, but said he was
wondrous cordial and friendly. Papa, in his usual fashion, put him
through a regular catechism of questions: what his living was worth,
etc., etc. In answer to inquiries respecting his age he affirmed
himself to be thirty-seven--is not this a lie? He must be more.
Papa asked him if he were married. He said no, he had no thoughts of
being married, he did not like the trouble of a wife. He described
himself as "living in style, and keeping a very hospitable house."
'Dear Nell, I have written you a long letter; write me a long one in
answer.
'C. B.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_April_ 3_rd_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have received the _Dublin Review_, and your letter
inclosing the Indian Notices. I hope these reviews will do good;
they are all favourable, and one of them (the _Dublin_) is very able.
I have read no critique so discriminating since that in the _Revue
des deux Mondes_. It offers a curious contrast to Lewes's in the
_Edinburgh_, where forced praise, given by jerks, and obviously
without real and cordial liking, and censure, crude, conceited, and
ignorant, were mixed in random lumps--forming a very loose and
inconsistent whole.
'Are you aware whether there are any grounds for that conjecture in
the _Bengal Hurkaru_, that the critique in the _Times_ was from the
pen of Mr. Thackeray? I should much like to know this. If such were
the case (and I feel as if it were by no means impossible), the
circumstance would open a most curious and novel glimpse of a very
peculiar disposition. Do you think it likely to be true?
'The account you give of Mrs. Williams's health is not cheering, but
I should think her indisposition is partly owing to the variable
weather; at least, if you have had the same keen frost and cold east
winds in London, from which we have lately suffered in Yorkshire. I
trust the milder temperature we are now enjoying may quickly confirm
her convalescence. With kind regards to Mrs. Williams,--Believe me,
my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_April_ 25_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I cannot let the post go without thanking Mr. Smith
through you for the kind reply to Greenwood's application; and, I am
sure, both you and he would feel true pleasure could you see the
delight and hope with which these liberal terms have inspired a good
and intelligent though poor man. He thinks he now sees a prospect of
getting his livelihood by a method which will suit him better than
wool-combing work has hitherto done, exercising more of his faculties
and sparing his health. He will do his best, I am sure, to extend
the sale of the cheap edition of _Jane Eyre_; and whatever twinges I
may still feel at the thought of that work being in the possession of
all the worthy folk of Haworth and Keighley, such scruples are more
than counterbalanced by the attendant good;--I mean, by the
assistance it will give a man who deserves assistance. I wish he
could permanently establish a little bookselling business in Haworth:
it would benefit the place as well as himself.
'Thank you for the _Leader_, which I read with pleasure. The notice
of Newman's work in a late number was very good.--Believe me, my dear
sir, in haste, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_May_ 6_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have received the copy of _Jane Eyre_. To me the
printing and paper seem very tolerable. Will not the public in
general be of the same opinion? And are you not making yourselves
causelessly uneasy on the subject?
'I imagine few will discover the defects of typography unless they
are pointed out. There are, no doubt, technical faults and
perfections in the art of printing to which printers and publishers
ascribe a greater importance than the majority of readers.
'I will mention Mr. Smith's proposal respecting the cheap
publications to Greenwood. I believe him to be a man on whom
encouragement is not likely to be thrown away, and who, if fortune
should not prove quite adverse, will contrive to effect something by
dint of intelligence and perseverance.
'I am sorry to say my father has been far from well lately--the cold
weather has tried him severely; and, till I see him better, my
intended journey to town must be deferred. With sincere regards to
yourself and other Cornhill friends,--I am, my dear sir, yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 5_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I trust your suggestion for Miss Kavanagh's benefit
will have all success. It seems to me truly felicitous and
excellent, and, I doubt not, she will think so too. The last class
of female character will be difficult to manage: there will be nice
points in it--yet, well-managed, both an attractive and instructive
book might result therefrom. One thing may be depended upon in the
execution of this plan. Miss Kavanagh will commit no error, either
of taste, judgment, or principle; and even when she deals with the
feelings, I would rather follow the calm course of her quiet pen than
the flourishes of a more redundant one where there is not strength to
restrain as well as ardour to impel.
'I fear I seemed to you to speak coolly of the beauty of the Lake
scenery. The truth is, it was, as scenery, exquisite--far beyond
anything I saw in Scotland; but it did not give me half so much
pleasure, because I saw it under less congenial auspices. Mr. Smith
and Sir J. K. Shuttleworth are two different people with whom to
travel. I need say nothing of the former--you know him. The latter
offers me his friendship, and I do my best to be grateful for the
gift; but his is a nature with which it is difficult to
assimilate--and where there is no assimilation, how can there be real
regard? Nine parts out of ten in him are utilitarian--the tenth is
artistic. This tithe of his nature seems to me at war with all the
rest--it is just enough to incline him restlessly towards the artist
class, and far too little to make him one of them. The consequent
inability to _do_ things which he _admires_, embitters him I
think--it makes him doubt perfections and dwell on faults. Then his
notice or presence scarcely tend to set one at ease or make one
happy: he is worldly and formal. But I must stop--have I already
said too much? I think not, for you will feel it is said in
confidence and will not repeat it.
'The article in the _Palladium_ is indeed such as to atone for a
hundred unfavourable or imbecile reviews. I have expressed what I
think of it to Mr. Taylor, who kindly wrote me a letter on the
subject. I thank you also for the newspaper notices, and for some
you sent me a few weeks ago.
'I should much like to carry out your suggestions respecting a
reprint of _Wuthering Heights_ and _Agnes Grey_ in one volume, with a
prefatory and explanatory notice of the authors; but the question
occurs, Would Newby claim it? I could not bear to commit it to any
other hands than those of Mr. Smith. _Wildfell Hall_, it hardly
appears to me desirable to preserve. The choice of subject in that
work is a mistake: it was too little consonant with the character,
tastes, and ideas of the gentle, retiring, inexperienced writer. She
wrote it under a strange, conscientious, half-ascetic notion of
accomplishing a painful penance and a severe duty. Blameless in deed
and almost in thought, there was from her very childhood a tinge of
religious melancholy in her mind. This I ever suspected, and I have
found amongst her papers mournful proofs that such was the case. As
to additional compositions, I think there would be none, as I would
not offer a line to the publication of which my sisters themselves
would have objected.
'I must conclude or I shall be too late for the post.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 13_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Mr. Newby undertook first to print 350 copies of
_Wuthering Heights_, but he afterwards declared he had only printed
250. I doubt whether he could be induced to return the 50 pounds
without a good deal of trouble--much more than I should feel
justified in delegating to Mr. Smith. For my own part, the
conclusion I drew from the whole of Mr. Newby's conduct to my sisters
was that he is a man with whom it is desirable to have little to do.
I think he must be needy as well as tricky--and if he is, one would
not distress him, even for one's rights.
'If Mr. Smith thinks right to reprint _Wuthering Heights_ and _Agnes
Grey_, I would prepare a preface comprising a brief and simple notice
of the authors, such as might set at rest all erroneous conjectures
respecting their identity--and adding a few poetical remains of each.
'In case this arrangement is approved, you will kindly let me know,
and I will commence the task (a sad, but, I believe, a necessary
one), and send it when finished.--I am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 16_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--On the whole it is perhaps as well that the last
paragraph of the Preface should be omitted, for I believe it was not
expressed with the best grace in the world. You must not, however,
apologise for your suggestion--it was kindly meant and, believe me,
kindly taken; it was not _you_ I misunderstood--not for a moment, I
never misunderstand you--I was thinking of the critics and the
public, who are always crying for a moral like the Pharisees for a
sign. Does this assurance quite satisfy you?
'I forgot to say that I had already heard, first from Miss Martineau,
and subsequently through an intimate friend of Sydney Yendys (whose
real name is Mr. Dobell) that it was to the author of the _Roman_ we
are indebted for that eloquent article in the _Palladium_. I am glad
you are going to send his poem, for I much wished to see it.
'May I trouble you to look at a sentence in the Preface which I have
erased, because on reading it over I was not quite sure about the
scientific correctness of the expressions used. Metal, I know, will
burn in vivid-coloured flame, exposed to galvanic action, but whether
it is consumed, I am not sure. Perhaps you or Mr. Taylor can tell me
whether there is any blunder in the term employed--if not, it might
stand.--I am, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Miss Bronte would seem to have corresponded with Mr. George Smith, and
not with Mr. Williams, over her third novel, _Villette_, and that
correspondence is to be found in Mrs. Gaskell's biography.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 1_st_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I cannot lose any time in telling you that your
letter, after all, gave me heart-felt satisfaction, and such a
feeling of relief as it would be difficult to express in words. The
fact is, what goads and tortures me is not any anxiety of my own to
publish another book, to have my name before the public, to get cash,
etc., but a haunting fear that my dilatoriness disappoints others.
Now the "others" whose wish on the subject I really care for, reduces
itself to my father and Cornhill, and since Cornhill ungrudgingly
counsels me to take my own time, I think I can pacify such impatience
as my dear father naturally feels. Indeed, your kind and friendly
letter will greatly help me.
'Since writing the above, I have read your letter to papa. Your
arguments had weight with him: he approves, and I am content. I now
only regret the necessity of disappointing the _Palladium_, but that
cannot be helped.--Good-bye, my dear sir, yours very sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_Tuesday Morning_.
'DEAR ELLEN,--The rather dark view you seem inclined to take of the
general opinion about _Villette_ surprises me the less, dear Nell, as
only the more unfavourable reviews seem to have come in your way.
Some reports reach me of a different tendency; but no matter, time
will shew. As to the character of Lucy Snow, my intention from the
first was that she should not occupy the pedestal to which Jane Eyre
was raised by some injudicious admirers. She is where I meant her to
be, and where no charge of self-laudation can touch her.
'I cannot accept your kind invitation. I must be at home at Easter,
on two or three accounts connected with sermons to be preached,
parsons to be entertained, Mechanics' Institute meetings and
tea-drinkings to be solemnised, and ere long I have promised to go
and see Mrs. Gaskell; but till this wintry weather is passed, I would
rather eschew visiting anywhere. I trust that bad cold of yours is
_quite_ well, and that you will take good care of yourself in future.
That night work is always perilous.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS WOOLER
'HAWORTH, _April_ 13_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR MISS WOOLER,--Your last kind letter ought to have been
answered long since, and would have been, did I find it practicable
to proportion the promptitude of the response to the value I place
upon my correspondents and their communications. You will easily
understand, however, that the contrary rule often holds good, and
that the epistle which importunes often takes precedence of that
which interests.
'My publishers express entire satisfaction with the reception which
has been accorded to _Villette_, and indeed the majority of the
reviews has been favourable enough; you will be aware, however, that
there is a minority, small in number but influential in character,
which views the work with no favourable eye. Currer Bell's remarks
on Romanism have drawn down on him the condign displeasure of the
High Church party, which displeasure has been unequivocally expressed
through their principal organs--the _Guardian_, the _English
Churchman_, and the _Christian Remembrancer_. I can well understand
that some of the charges launched against me by those publications
will tell heavily to my prejudice in the minds of most readers--but
this must be borne; and for my part, I can suffer no accusation to
oppress me much which is not supported by the inward evidence of
conscience and reason.
'"Extremes meet," says the proverb; in proof whereof I would mention
that Miss Martineau finds with _Villette_ nearly the same fault as
the Puseyites. She accuses me with attacking popery "with
virulence," of going out of my way to assault it "passionately." In
other respects she has shown with reference to the work a spirit so
strangely and unexpectedly acrimonious, that I have gathered courage
to tell her that the gulf of mutual difference between her and me is
so wide and deep, the bridge of union so slight and uncertain, I have
come to the conclusion that frequent intercourse would be most
perilous and unadvisable, and have begged to adjourn _sine die_ my
long projected visit to her. Of course she is now very angry, and I
know her bitterness will not be short-lived--but it cannot be helped.
'Two or three weeks since I received a long and kind letter from Mr.
White, which I answered a short time ago. I believe Mr. White thinks
me a much hotter advocate for _change_ and what is called "political
progress" than I am. However, in my reply, I did not touch on these
subjects. He intimated a wish to publish some of his own MSS. I
fear he would hardly like the somewhat dissuasive tendency of my
answer; but really, in these days of headlong competition, it is a
great risk to publish. If all be well, I purpose going to Manchester
next week to spend a few days with Mrs. Gaskell. Ellen's visit to
Yarmouth seems for the present given up; and really, all things
considered, I think the circumstance is scarcely to be regretted.
'Do you not think, my dear Miss Wooler, that you could come to
Haworth before you go to the coast? I am afraid that when you once
get settled at the sea-side your stay will not be brief. I must
repeat that a visit from you would be anticipated with pleasure, not
only by me, but by every inmate of Haworth Parsonage. Papa has given
me a general commission to send his respects to you whenever I
write--accept them, therefore, and--Believe me, yours affectionately
and sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
CHAPTER XIV: WILLIAM SMITH WILLIAMS
In picturing the circle which surrounded Charlotte Bronte through her
brief career, it is of the utmost importance that a word of recognition
should be given, and that in no half-hearted manner, to Mr. William Smith
Williams, who, in her later years, was Charlotte Bronte's most intimate
correspondent. The letters to Mr. Williams are far and away the best
that Charlotte wrote, at least of those which have been preserved. They
are full of literary enthusiasm and of intellectual interest. They show
Charlotte Bronte's sound judgment and good heart more effectually than
any other material which has been placed at the disposal of biographers.
They are an honour both to writer and receiver, and, in fact, reflect the
mind of the one as much as the mind of the other. Charlotte has
emphasised the fact that she adapted herself to her correspondents, and
in her letters to Mr. Williams we have her at her very best. Mr.
Williams occupied for many years the post of 'reader' in the firm of
Smith & Elder. That is a position scarcely less honourable and important
than authorship itself. In our own days Mr. George Meredith and Mr. John
Morley have been 'readers,' and Mr. James Payn has held the same post in
the firm which published the Bronte novels.
Mr. Williams, who was born in 1800, and died in 1875, had an interesting
career even before he became associated with Smith & Elder. In his
younger days he was apprenticed to Taylor & Hessey of Fleet Street; and
he used to relate how his boyish ideals of Coleridge were shattered on
beholding, for the first time, the bulky and ponderous figure of the
great talker. When Keats left England, for an early grave in Rome, it
was Mr. Williams who saw him off. Hazlitt, Leigh Hunt, and many other
well-known men of letters were friendly with Mr. Williams from his
earliest days, and he had for brother-in-law, Wells, the author of
_Joseph and his Brethren_. In his association with Smith & Elder he
secured the friendship of Thackeray, of Mrs. Gaskell, and of many other
writers. He attracted the notice of Ruskin by a keen enthusiasm for the
work of Turner. It was he, in fact, who compiled that most interesting
volume of _Selections from the writings of John Ruskin_, which has long
gone out of print in its first form, but is still greatly sought for by
the curious. In connection with this volume I may print here a letter
written by John Ruskin's father to Mr. Williams, and I do so the more
readily, as Mr. Williams's name was withheld from the title-page of the
_Selections_.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
DENMARK HILL, 25_th November_, 1861.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am requested by Mrs. Ruskin to return her very
sincere and grateful thanks for your kind consideration in presenting
her with so beautifully bound a copy of the _Selections_ from her
son's writings; and which she will have great pleasure in seeing by
the side of the very magnificent volumes which the liberality of the
gentlemen of your house has already enriched our library with.
'Mrs. Ruskin joins me in offering congratulations on the great
judgment you have displayed in your _Selections_, and, sending my own
thanks and those of my son for the handsome gift to Mrs. Ruskin,--I
am, my dear sir, yours very truly,
'JOHN JAMES RUSKIN.'
What Charlotte Bronte thought of Mr. Williams is sufficiently revealed by
the multitude of letters which I have the good fortune to print, and that
she had a reason to be grateful to him is obvious when we recollect that
to him, and to him alone, was due her first recognition. The parcel
containing _The Professor_ had wandered from publisher to publisher
before it came into the hands of Mr. Williams. It was he who recognised
what all of us recognise now, that in spite of faults it is really a most
considerable book. I am inclined to think that it was refused by Smith &
Elder rather on account of its insufficient length than for any other
cause. At any rate it was the length which was assigned to her as a
reason for non-acceptance. She was told that another book, which would
make the accredited three volume novel, might receive more favourable
consideration.
Charlotte Bronte took Mr. Williams's advice. She wrote _Jane Eyre_, and
despatched it quickly to Smith & Elder's house in Cornhill. It was read
by Mr. Williams, and read afterwards by Mr. George Smith; and it was
published with the success that we know. Charlotte awoke to find herself
famous. She became a regular correspondent with Mr. Williams, and not
less than a hundred letters were sent to him, most of them treating of
interesting literary matters.
One of Mr. Williams's daughters, I may add, married Mr. Lowes Dickenson
the portrait painter; his youngest child, a baby when Miss Bronte was
alive, is famous in the musical world as Miss Anna Williams. The family
has an abundance of literary and artistic association, but the father we
know as the friend and correspondent of Charlotte Bronte. He still lives
also in the memory of a large circle as a kindly and attractive--a
singularly good and upright man.
Comment upon the following letters is in well-nigh every case
superfluous.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 25_th_ 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I thank you for your note; its contents moved me much,
though not to unmingled feelings of exultation. Louis Philippe
(unhappy and sordid old man!) and M. Guizot doubtless merit the sharp
lesson they are now being taught, because they have both proved
themselves men of dishonest hearts. And every struggle any nation
makes in the cause of Freedom and Truth has something noble in
it--something that makes me wish it success; but I cannot believe
that France--or at least Paris--will ever be the battle-ground of
true Liberty, or the scene of its real triumphs. I fear she does not
know "how genuine glory is put on." Is that strength to be found in
her which will not bend "but in magnanimous meekness"? Have not her
"unceasing changes" as yet always brought "perpetual emptiness"? Has
Paris the materials within her for thorough reform? Mean, dishonest
Guizot being discarded, will any better successor be found for him
than brilliant, unprincipled Thiers?
'But I damp your enthusiasm, which I would not wish to do, for true
enthusiasm is a fine feeling whose flash I admire wherever I see it.
'The little note inclosed in yours is from a French lady, who asks my
consent to the translation of _Jane Eyre_ into the French language.
I thought it better to consult you before I replied. I suppose she
is competent to produce a decent translation, though one or two
errors of orthography in her note rather afflict the eye; but I know
that it is not unusual for what are considered well-educated French
women to fail in the point of writing their mother tongue correctly.
But whether competent or not, I presume she has a right to translate
the book with or without my consent. She gives her address: Mdlle
B--- {373} W. Cumming, Esq., 23 North Bank, Regent's Park.
'Shall I reply to her note in the affirmative?
'Waiting your opinion and answer,--I remain, dear sir, yours
faithfully,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 28_th_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--I have done as you advised me respecting Mdlle B---,
thanked her for her courtesy, and explained that I do not wish my
consent to be regarded in the light of a formal sanction of the
translation.
'From the papers of Saturday I had learnt the abdication of Louis
Philippe, the flight of the royal family, and the proclamation of a
republic in France. Rapid movements these, and some of them
difficult of comprehension to a remote spectator. What sort of spell
has withered Louis Philippe's strength? Why, after having so long
infatuatedly clung to Guizot, did he at once ignobly relinquish him?
Was it panic that made him so suddenly quit his throne and abandon
his adherents without a struggle to retain one or aid the other?
'Perhaps it might have been partly fear, but I daresay it was still
more long-gathering weariness of the dangers and toils of royalty.
Few will pity the old monarch in his flight, yet I own he seems to me
an object of pity. His sister's death shook him; years are heavy on
him; the sword of Damocles has long been hanging over his head. One
cannot forget that monarchs and ministers are only human, and have
only human energies to sustain them; and often they are sore beset.
Party spirit has no mercy; indignant Freedom seldom shows forbearance
in her hour of revolt. I wish you _could_ see the aged gentleman
trudging down Cornhill with his umbrella and carpet-bag, in good
earnest; he would be safe in England: John Bull might laugh at him
but he would do him no harm.
'How strange it appears to see literary and scientific names figuring
in the list of members of a Provisional Government! How would it
sound if Carlyle and Sir John Herschel and Tennyson and Mr. Thackeray
and Douglas Jerrold were selected to manufacture a new constitution
for England? Whether do such men sway the public mind most
effectually from their quiet studies or from a council-chamber?
'And Thiers is set aside for a time; but won't they be glad of him
by-and-by? Can they set aside entirely anything so clever, so
subtle, so accomplished, so aspiring--in a word, so thoroughly
French, as he is? Is he not the man to bide his time--to watch while
unskilful theorists try their hand at administration and fail; and
then to step out and show them how it should be done?
'One would have thought political disturbance the natural element of
a mind like Thiers'; but I know nothing of him except from his
writings, and I always think he writes as if the shade of Bonaparte
were walking to and fro in the room behind him and dictating every
line he pens, sometimes approaching and bending over his shoulder,
_pour voir de ses yeux_ that such an action or event is represented
or misrepresented (as the case may be) exactly as he wishes it.
Thiers seems to have contemplated Napoleon's character till he has
imbibed some of its nature. Surely he must be an ambitious man, and,
if so, surely he will at this juncture struggle to rise.
'You should not apologise for what you call your "crudities." You
know I like to hear your opinions and views on whatever subject it
interests you to discuss.
'From the little inscription outside your note I conclude you sent me
the _Examiner_. I thank you therefore for your kind intention and am
sorry some unscrupulous person at the Post Office frustrated it, as
no paper has reached my hands. I suppose one ought to be thankful
that letters are respected, as newspapers are by no means sure of
safe conveyance.--I remain, dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_May_ 12_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I take a large sheet of paper, because I foresee that
I am about to write another long letter, and for the same reason as
before, viz., that yours interested me.
'I have received the _Morning Chronicle_, and was both surprised and
pleased to see the passage you speak of in one of its leading
articles. An allusion of that sort seems to say more than a regular
notice. I _do_ trust I may have the power so to write in future as
not to disappoint those who have been kind enough to think and speak
well of _Jane Eyre_; at any rate, I will take pains. But still,
whenever I hear my one book praised, the pleasure I feel is chastened
by a mixture of doubt and fear; and, in truth, I hardly wish it to be
otherwise: it is much too early for me to feel safe, or to take as my
due the commendation bestowed.
'Some remarks in your last letter on teaching commanded my attention.
I suppose you never were engaged in tuition yourself; but if you had
been, you could not have more exactly hit on the great
qualification--I had almost said the _one_ great
qualification--necessary to the task: the faculty, not merely of
acquiring but of imparting knowledge--the power of influencing young
minds--that natural fondness for, that innate sympathy with,
children, which, you say, Mrs. Williams is so happy as to possess.
He or she who possesses this faculty, this sympathy--though perhaps
not otherwise highly accomplished--need never fear failure in the
career of instruction. Children will be docile with them, will
improve under them; parents will consequently repose in them
confidence. Their task will be comparatively light, their path
comparatively smooth. If the faculty be absent, the life of a
teacher will be a struggle from beginning to end. No matter how
amiable the disposition, how strong the sense of duty, how active the
desire to please; no matter how brilliant and varied the
accomplishments; if the governess has not the power to win her young
charge, the secret to instil gently and surely her own knowledge into
the growing mind intrusted to her, she will have a wearing, wasting
existence of it. To _educate_ a child, as I daresay Mrs. Williams
has educated her children, probably with as much pleasure to herself
as profit to them, will indeed be impossible to the teacher who lacks
this qualification. But, I conceive, should circumstances--as in the
case of your daughters--compel a young girl notwithstanding to adopt
a governess's profession, she may contrive to _instruct_ and even to
instruct well. That is, though she cannot form the child's mind,
mould its character, influence its disposition, and guide its conduct
as she would wish, she may give lessons--even good, clear, clever
lessons in the various branches of knowledge. She may earn and
doubly earn her scanty salary as a daily governess. As a
school-teacher she may succeed; but as a resident governess she will
never (except under peculiar and exceptional circumstances) be happy.
Her deficiency will harass her not so much in school-time as in
play-hours; the moments that would be rest and recreation to the
governess who understood and could adapt herself to children, will be
almost torture to her who has not that power. Many a time, when her
charge turns unruly on her hands, when the responsibility which she
would wish to discharge faithfully and perfectly, becomes
unmanageable to her, she will wish herself a housemaid or kitchen
girl, rather than a baited, trampled, desolate, distracted governess.
'The Governesses' Institution may be an excellent thing in some
points of view, but it is both absurd and cruel to attempt to raise
still higher the standard of acquirements. Already governesses are
not half nor a quarter paid for what they teach, nor in most
instances is half or a quarter of their attainments required by their
pupils. The young teacher's chief anxiety, when she sets out in
life, always is to know a great deal; her chief fear that she should
not know enough. Brief experience will, in most instances, show her
that this anxiety has been misdirected. She will rarely be found too
ignorant for her pupils; the demand on her knowledge will not often
be larger than she can answer. But on her patience--on her
self-control, the requirement will be enormous; on her animal spirits
(and woe be to her if these fail!) the pressure will be immense.
'I have seen an ignorant nursery-maid who could scarcely read or
write, by dint of an excellent, serviceable, sanguine, phlegmatic
temperament, which made her at once cheerful and unmoveable; of a
robust constitution and steady, unimpassionable nerves, which kept
her firm under shocks and unharassed under annoyances--manage with
comparative ease a large family of spoilt children, while their
governess lived amongst them a life of inexpressible misery:
tyrannised over, finding her efforts to please and teach utterly
vain, chagrined, distressed, worried--so badgered, so trodden on,
that she ceased almost at last to know herself, and wondered in what
despicable, trembling frame her oppressed mind was prisoned, and
could not realise the idea of ever more being treated with respect
and regarded with affection--till she finally resigned her situation
and went away quite broken in spirit and reduced to the verge of
decline in health.
'Those who would urge on governesses more acquirements, do not know
the origin of their chief sufferings. It is more physical and mental
strength, denser moral impassibility that they require, rather than
additional skill in arts or sciences. As to the forcing system,
whether applied to teachers or taught, I hold it to be a cruel
system.
'It is true the world demands a brilliant list of accomplishments.
For 20 pounds per annum, it expects in one woman the attainments of
several professors--but the demand is insensate, and I think should
rather be resisted than complied with. If I might plead with you in
behalf of your daughters, I should say, "Do not let them waste their
young lives in trying to attain manifold accomplishments. Let them
try rather to possess thoroughly, fully, one or two talents; then let
them endeavour to lay in a stock of health, strength, cheerfulness.
Let them labour to attain self-control, endurance, fortitude,
firmness; if possible, let them learn from their mother something of
the precious art she possesses--these things, together with sound
principles, will be their best supports, their best aids through a
governess's life.
'As for that one who, you say, has a nervous horror of exhibition, I
need not beg you to be gentle with her; I am sure you will not be
harsh, but she must be firm with herself, or she will repent it in
after life. She should begin by degrees to endeavour to overcome her
diffidence. Were she destined to enjoy an independent, easy
existence, she might respect her natural disposition to seek
retirement, and even cherish it as a shade-loving virtue; but since
that is not her lot, since she is fated to make her way in the crowd,
and to depend on herself, she should say: I will try and learn the
art of self-possession, not that I may display my accomplishments,
but that I may have the satisfaction of feeling that I am my own
mistress, and can move and speak undaunted by the fear of man.
While, however, I pen this piece of advice, I confess that it is much
easier to give than to follow. What the sensations of the nervous
are under the gaze of publicity none but the nervous know; and how
powerless reason and resolution are to control them would sound
incredible except to the actual sufferers.
'The rumours you mention respecting the authorship of _Jane Eyre_
amused me inexpressibly. The gossips are, on this subject, just
where I should wish them to be, _i.e._, as far from the truth as
possible; and as they have not a grain of fact to found their
fictions upon, they fabricate pure inventions. Judge Erle must, I
think, have made up his story expressly for a hoax; the other _fib_
is amazing--so circumstantial! called on the author, forsooth! Where
did he live, I wonder? In what purlieu of Cockayne? Here I must
stop, lest if I run on further I should fill another sheet.--Believe
me, yours sincerely,
'CURRER BELL.
'_P.S._--I must, after all, add a morsel of paper, for I find, on
glancing over yours, that I have forgotten to answer a question you
ask respecting my next work. I have not therein so far treated of
governesses, as I do not wish it to resemble its predecessor. I
often wish to say something about the "condition of women" question,
but it is one respecting which so much "cant" has been talked, that
one feels a sort of repugnance to approach it. It is true enough
that the present market for female labour is quite overstocked, but
where or how could another be opened? Many say that the professions
now filled only by men should be open to women also; but are not
their present occupants and candidates more than numerous enough to
answer every demand? Is there any room for female lawyers, female
doctors, female engravers, for more female artists, more authoresses?
One can see where the evil lies, but who can point out the remedy?
When a woman has a little family to rear and educate and a household
to conduct, her hands are full, her vocation is evident; when her
destiny isolates her, I suppose she must do what she can, live as she
can, complain as little, bear as much, work as well as possible.
This is not high theory, but I believe it is sound practice, good to
put into execution while philosophers and legislators ponder over the
better ordering of the social system. At the same time, I conceive
that when patience has done its utmost and industry its best, whether
in the case of women or operatives, and when both are baffled, and
pain and want triumph, the sufferer is free, is entitled, at last to
send up to Heaven any piercing cry for relief, if by that cry he can
hope to obtain succour.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_June_ 2, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I snatch a moment to write a hasty line to you, for it
makes me uneasy to think that your last kind letter should have
remained so long unanswered. A succession of little engagements,
much more importunate than important, have quite engrossed my time
lately, to the exclusion of more momentous and interesting
occupations. Interruption is a sad bore, and I believe there is
hardly a spot on earth, certainly not in England, quite secure from
its intrusion. The fact is, you cannot live in this world entirely
for one aim; you must take along with some single serious purpose a
hundred little minor duties, cares, distractions; in short, you must
take life as it is, and make the best of it. Summer is decidedly a
bad season for application, especially in the country; for the
sunshine seems to set all your acquaintances astir, and, once bent on
amusement, they will come to the ends of the earth in search thereof.
I was obliged to you for your suggestion about writing a letter to
the _Morning Chronicle_, but I did not follow it up. I think I would
rather not venture on such a step at present. Opinions I would not
hesitate to express to you--because you are indulgent--are not mature
or cool enough for the public; Currer Bell is not Carlyle, and must
not imitate him.
'Whenever you can write to me without encroaching too much on your
valuable time, remember I shall always be glad to hear from you.
Your last letter interested me fully as much as its two predecessors;
what you said about your family pleased me; I think details of
character always have a charm even when they relate to people we have
never seen, nor expect to see. With eight children you must have a
busy life; but, from the manner in which you allude to your two
eldest daughters, it is evident that they at least are a source of
satisfaction to their parents; I hope this will be the case with the
whole number, and then you will never feel as if you had too many. A
dozen children with sense and good conduct may be less burdensome
than one who lacks these qualities. It seems a long time since I
heard from you. I shall be glad to hear from you again.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _June_ 15_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Thank you for your two last letters. In reading the
first I quite realised your May holiday; I enjoyed it with you. I
saw the pretty south-of-England village, so different from our
northern congregations of smoke-dark houses clustered round their
soot-vomiting mills. I saw in your description, fertile, flowery
Essex--a contrast indeed to the rough and rude, the mute and sombre
yet well-beloved moors over-spreading this corner of Yorkshire. I
saw the white schoolhouse, the venerable school-master--I even
thought I saw you and your daughters; and in your second letter I see
you all distinctly, for, in describing your children, you
unconsciously describe yourself.
'I may well say that your letters are of value to me, for I seldom
receive one but I find something in it which makes me reflect, and
reflect on new themes. Your town life is somewhat different from any
I have known, and your allusions to its advantages, troubles,
pleasures, and struggles are often full of significance to me.
'I have always been accustomed to think that the necessity of earning
one's subsistence is not in itself an evil, but I feel it may become
a heavy evil if health fails, if employment lacks, if the demand upon
our efforts made by the weakness of others dependent upon us becomes
greater than our strength suffices to answer. In such a case I can
imagine that the married man may wish himself single again, and that
the married woman, when she sees her husband over-exerting himself to
maintain her and her children, may almost wish--out of the very force
of her affection for him--that it had never been her lot to add to
the weight of his responsibilities. Most desirable then is it that
all, both men and women, should have the power and the will to work
for themselves--most advisable that both sons and daughters should
early be inured to habits of independence and industry. Birds teach
their nestlings to fly as soon as their wings are strong enough, they
even oblige them to quit the nest if they seem too unwilling to trust
their pinions of their own accord. Do not the swallow and the
starling thus give a lesson by which man might profit?
'It seems to me that your kind heart is pained by the thought of what
your daughter may suffer if transplanted from a free and indulged
home existence to a life of constraint and labour amongst strangers.
Suffer she probably will; but take both comfort and courage, my dear
sir, try to soothe your anxiety by this thought, which is not a
fallacious one. Hers will not be a barren suffering; she will gain
by it largely; she will "sow in tears to reap in joy." A governess's
experience is frequently indeed bitter, but its results are precious:
the mind, feeling, temper are there subjected to a discipline equally
painful and priceless. I have known many who were unhappy as
governesses, but not one who regretted having undergone the ordeal,
and scarcely one whose character was not improved--at once
strengthened and purified, fortified and softened, made more enduring
for her own afflictions, more considerate for the afflictions of
others, by passing through it.
'Should your daughter, however, go out as governess, she should first
take a firm resolution not to be too soon daunted by difficulties,
too soon disgusted by disagreeables; and if she has a high spirit,
sensitive feelings, she should tutor the one to submit, the other to
endure, _for the sake of those at home_. That is the governess's
best talisman of patience, it is the best balm for wounded
susceptibility. When tried hard she must say, "I will be patient,
not out of servility, but because I love my parents, and wish through
my perseverance, diligence, and success, to repay their anxieties and
tenderness for me." With this aid the least-deserved insult may
often be swallowed quite calmly, like a bitter pill with a draught of
fair water.
'I think you speak excellent sense when you say that girls without
fortune should be brought up and accustomed to support themselves;
and that if they marry poor men, it should be with a prospect of
being able to help their partners. If all parents thought so, girls
would not be reared on speculation with a view to their making
mercenary marriages; and, consequently, women would not be so
piteously degraded as they now too often are.
'Fortuneless people may certainly marry, provided they previously
resolve never to let the consequences of their marriage throw them as
burdens on the hands of their relatives. But as life is full of
unforeseen contingencies, and as a woman may be so placed that she
cannot possibly both "guide the house" and earn her livelihood (what
leisure, for instance, could Mrs. Williams have with her eight
children?), young artists and young governesses should think twice
before they unite their destinies.
'You speak sense again when you express a wish that Fanny were placed
in a position where active duties would engage her attention, where
her faculties would be exercised and her mind occupied, and where, I
will add, not doubting that my addition merely completes your
half-approved idea, the image of the young artist would for the
present recede into the background and remain for a few years to come
in modest perspective, the finishing point of a vista stretching a
considerable distance into futurity. Fanny may feel sure of this: if
she intends to be an artist's wife she had better try an
apprenticeship with Fortune as a governess first; she cannot undergo
a better preparation for that honourable (honourable if rightly
considered) but certainly not luxurious destiny.
'I should say then--judging as well as I can from the materials for
forming an opinion your letter affords, and from what I can thence
conjecture of Fanny's actual and prospective position--that you would
do well and wisely to put your daughter out. The experiment might do
good and could not do harm, because even if she failed at the first
trial (which is not unlikely) she would still be in some measure
benefited by the effort.
'I duly received _Mirabeau_ from Mr. Smith. I must repeat, it is
really _too_ kind. When I have read the book, I will tell you what I
think of it--its subject is interesting. One thing a little annoyed
me--as I glanced over the pages I fancied I detected a savour of
Carlyle's peculiarities of style. Now Carlyle is a great man, but I
always wish he would write plain English; and to imitate his
Germanisms is, I think, to imitate his faults. Is the author of this
work a Manchester man? I must not ask his name, I suppose.--Believe
me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'CURRER BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_June_ 22_nd_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--After reading a book which has both interested and
informed you, you like to be able, on laying it down, to speak of it
with unqualified approbation--to praise it cordially; you do not like
to stint your panegyric, to counteract its effect with blame.
'For this reason I feel a little difficulty in telling you what I
think of _The Life of Mirabeau_. It has interested me much, and I
have derived from it additional information. In the course of
reading it, I have often felt called upon to approve the ability and
tact of the writer, to admire the skill with which he conducts the
narrative, enchains the reader's attention, and keeps it fixed upon
his hero; but I have also been moved frequently to disapprobation.
It is not the political principles of the writer with which I find
fault, nor is it his talents I feel inclined to disparage; to speak
truth, it is his manner of treating Mirabeau's errors that
offends--then, I think, he is neither wise nor right--there, I think,
he betrays a little of crudeness, a little of presumption, not a
little of indiscretion.
'Could you with confidence put this work into the hands of your son,
secure that its perusal would not harm him, that it would not leave
on his mind some vague impression that there is a grandeur in vice
committed on a colossal scale? Whereas, the fact is, that in vice
there is no grandeur, that it is, on whichever side you view it, and
in whatever accumulation, only a foul, sordid, and degrading thing.
The fact is, that this great Mirabeau was a mixture of divinity and
dirt; that there was no divinity whatever in his errors, they were
all sullying dirt; that they ruined him, brought down his genius to
the kennel, deadened his fine nature and generous sentiments, made
all his greatness as nothing; that they cut him off in his prime,
obviated all his aims, and struck him dead in the hour when France
most needed him.
'Mirabeau's life and fate teach, to my perception, the most
depressing lesson I have read for years. One would fain have hoped
that so many noble qualities must have made a noble character and
achieved noble ends. No--the mighty genius lived a miserable and
degraded life, and died a dog's death, for want of self-control, for
want of morality, for lack of religion. One's heart is wrung for
Mirabeau after reading his life; and it is not of his greatness we
think, when we close the volume, so much as of his hopeless
recklessness, and of the sufferings, degradation, and untimely end in
which it issued. It appears to me that the biographer errs also in
being too solicitous to present his hero always in a striking point
of view--too negligent of the exact truth. He eulogises him too
much; he subdues all the other characters mentioned and keeps them in
the shade that Mirabeau may stand out more conspicuously. This, no
doubt, is right in art, and admissible in fiction; but in history
(and biography is the history of an individual) it tends to weaken
the force of a narrative by weakening your faith in its accuracy.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
CHAPTER COFFEE-HOUSE, IVY LANE,
'_July_ 8_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Your invitation is too welcome not to be at once
accepted. I should much like to see Mrs. Williams and her children,
and very much like to have a quiet chat with yourself. Would it suit
you if we came to-morrow, after dinner--say about seven o'clock, and
spent Sunday evening with you?
'We shall be truly glad to see you whenever it is convenient to you
to call.--I am, my dear sir, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _July_ 13_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--We reached home safely yesterday, and in a day or two
I doubt not we shall get the better of the fatigues of our journey.
'It was a somewhat hasty step to hurry up to town as we did, but I do
not regret having taken it. In the first place, mystery is irksome,
and I was glad to shake it off with you and Mr. Smith, and to show
myself to you for what I am, neither more nor less--thus removing any
false expectations that may have arisen under the idea that Currer
Bell had a just claim to the masculine cognomen he, perhaps somewhat
presumptuously, adopted--that he was, in short, of the nobler sex.
'I was glad also to see you and Mr. Smith, and am very happy now to
have such pleasant recollections of you both, and of your respective
families. My satisfaction would have been complete could I have seen
Mrs. Williams. The appearance of your children tallied on the whole
accurately with the description you had given of them. Fanny was the
one I saw least distinctly; I tried to get a clear view of her
countenance, but her position in the room did not favour my efforts.
'I had just read your article in the _John Bull_; it very clearly and
fully explains the cause of the difference obvious between ancient
and modern paintings. I wish you had been with us when we went over
the Exhibition and the National Gallery; a little explanation from a
judge of art would doubtless have enabled us to understand better
what we saw; perhaps, one day, we may have this pleasure.
'Accept my own thanks and my sister's for your kind attention to us
while in town, and--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.
'I trust Mrs. Williams is quite recovered from her indisposition.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _July_ 31_st_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have lately been reading _Modern Painters_, and I
have derived from the work much genuine pleasure and, I hope, some
edification; at any rate, it made me feel how ignorant I had
previously been on the subject which it treats. Hitherto I have only
had instinct to guide me in judging of art; I feel more as if I had
been walking blindfold--this book seems to give me eyes. I _do_ wish
I had pictures within reach by which to test the new sense. Who can
read these glowing descriptions of Turner's works without longing to
see them? However eloquent and convincing the language in which
another's opinion is placed before you, you still wish to judge for
yourself. I like this author's style much: there is both energy and
beauty in it; I like himself too, because he is such a hearty
admirer. He does not give Turner half-measure of praise or
veneration, he eulogises, he reverences him (or rather his genius)
with his whole soul. One can sympathise with that sort of devout,
serious admiration (for he is no rhapsodist)--one can respect it; and
yet possibly many people would laugh at it. I am truly obliged to
Mr. Smith for giving me this book, not having often met with one that
has pleased me more.
'You will have seen some of the notices of _Wildfell Hall_. I wish
my sister felt the unfavourable ones less keenly. She does not _say_
much, for she is of a remarkably taciturn, still, thoughtful nature,
reserved even with her nearest of kin, but I cannot avoid seeing that
her spirits are depressed sometimes. The fact is, neither she nor
any of us expected that view to be taken of the book which has been
taken by some critics. That it had faults of execution, faults of
art, was obvious, but faults of intention or feeling could be
suspected by none who knew the writer. For my own part, I consider
the subject unfortunately chosen--it was one the author was not
qualified to handle at once vigorously and truthfully. The simple
and natural--quiet description and simple pathos are, I think, Acton
Bell's forte. I liked _Agnes Grey_ better than the present work.
'Permit me to caution you not to speak of my sisters when you write
to me. I mean, do not use the word in the plural. Ellis Bell will
not endure to be alluded to under any other appellation than the _nom
de plume_. I committed a grand error in betraying his identity to
you and Mr. Smith. It was inadvertent--the words, "we are three
sisters" escaped me before I was aware. I regretted the avowal the
moment I had made it; I regret it bitterly now, for I find it is
against every feeling and intention of Ellis Bell.
'I was greatly amused to see in the _Examiner_ of this week one of
Newby's little cobwebs neatly swept away by some dexterous brush. If
Newby is not too old to profit by experience, such an exposure ought
to teach him that "Honesty is indeed the best policy."
'Your letter has just been brought to me. I must not pause to thank
you, I should say too much. Our life is, and always has been, one of
few pleasures, as you seem in part to guess, and for that reason we
feel what passages of enjoyment come in our way very keenly; and I
think if you knew _how_ pleased I am to get a long letter from you,
you would laugh at me.
'In return, however, I smile at you for the earnestness with which
you urge on us the propriety of seeing something of London society.
There would be an advantage in it--a great advantage; yet it is one
that no power on earth could induce Ellis Bell, for instance, to
avail himself of. And even for Acton and Currer, the experiment of
an introduction to society would be more formidable than you,
probably, can well imagine. An existence of absolute seclusion and
unvarying monotony, such as we have long--I may say, indeed,
ever--been habituated to, tends, I fear, to unfit the mind for lively
and exciting scenes, to destroy the capacity for social enjoyment.
'The only glimpses of society I have ever had were obtained in my
vocation of governess, and some of the most miserable moments I can
recall were passed in drawing-rooms full of strange faces. At such
times, my animal spirits would ebb gradually till they sank quite
away, and when I could endure the sense of exhaustion and solitude no
longer, I used to steal off, too glad to find any corner where I
could really be alone. Still, I know very well, that though that
experiment of seeing the world might give acute pain for the time, it
would do good afterwards; and as I have never, that I remember,
gained any important good without incurring proportionate suffering,
I mean to try to take your advice some day, in part at least--to put
off, if possible, that troublesome egotism which is always judging
and blaming itself, and to try, country spinster as I am, to get a
view of some sphere where civilised humanity is to be contemplated.
'I smile at you again for supposing that I could be annoyed by what
you say respecting your religious and philosophical views; that I
could blame you for not being able, when you look amongst sects and
creeds, to discover any one which you can exclusively and implicitly
adopt as yours. I perceive myself that some light falls on earth
from Heaven--that some rays from the shrine of truth pierce the
darkness of this life and world; but they are few, faint, and
scattered, and who without presumption can assert that he has found
the _only_ true path upwards?
'Yet ignorance, weakness, or indiscretion, must have their creeds and
forms; they must have their props--they cannot walk alone. Let them
hold by what is purest in doctrine and simplest in ritual;
_something_, they _must_ have.
'I never read Emerson; but the book which has had so healing an
effect on your mind must be a good one. Very enviable is the writer
whose words have fallen like a gentle rain on a soil that so needed
and merited refreshment, whose influence has come like a genial
breeze to lift a spirit which circumstances seem so harshly to have
trampled. Emerson, if he has cheered you, has not written in vain.
'May this feeling of self-reconcilement, of inward peace and
strength, continue! May you still be lenient with, be just to,
yourself! I will not praise nor flatter you, I should hate to pay
those enervating compliments which tend to check the exertions of a
mind that aspires after excellence; but I must permit myself to
remark that if you had not something good and superior in you,
something better, whether more _showy_ or not, than is often met
with, the assurance of your friendship would not make one so happy as
it does; nor would the advantage of your correspondence be felt as
such a privilege.
'I hope Mrs. Williams's state of health may soon improve and her
anxieties lessen. Blameable indeed are those who sow division where
there ought to be peace, and especially deserving of the ban of
society.
'I thank both you and your family for keeping our secret. It will
indeed be a kindness to us to persevere in doing so; and I own I have
a certain confidence in the honourable discretion of a household of
which you are the head.--Believe me, yours very sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 18_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Not feeling competent this evening either for study or
serious composition, I will console myself with writing to you. My
malady, which the doctors call a bilious fever, lingers, or rather it
returns with each sudden change of weather, though I am thankful to
say that the relapses have hitherto been much milder than the first
attack; but they keep me weak and reduced, especially as I am obliged
to observe a very low spare diet.
'My book, alas! is laid aside for the present; both head and hand
seem to have lost their cunning; imagination is pale, stagnant, mute.
This incapacity chagrins me; sometimes I have a feeling of cankering
care on the subject, but I combat it as well as I can; it does no
good.
'I am afraid I shall not write a cheerful letter to you. A letter,
however, of some kind I am determined to write, for I should be sorry
to appear a neglectful correspondent to one from whose communications
I have derived, and still derive, so much pleasure. Do not talk
about not being on a level with Currer Bell, or regard him as "an
awful person"; if you saw him now, sitting muffled at the fireside,
shrinking before the east wind (which for some days has been blowing
wild and keen over our cold hills), and incapable of lifting a pen
for any less formidable task than that of writing a few lines to an
indulgent friend, you would be sorry not to deem yourself greatly his
superior, for you would feel him to be a poor creature.
'You may be sure I read your views on the providence of God and the
nature of man with interest. You are already aware that in much of
what you say my opinions coincide with those you express, and where
they differ I shall not attempt to bias you. Thought and conscience
are, or ought to be, free; and, at any rate, if your views were
universally adopted there would be no persecution, no bigotry. But
never try to proselytise, the world is not yet fit to receive what
you and Emerson say: man, as he now is, can no more do without creeds
and forms in religion than he can do without laws and rules in social
intercourse. You and Emerson judge others by yourselves; all mankind
are not like you, any more than every Israelite was like Nathaniel.
'"Is there a human being," you ask, "so depraved that an act of
kindness will not touch--nay, a word melt him?" There are hundreds
of human beings who trample on acts of kindness and mock at words of
affection. I know this though I have seen but little of the world.
I suppose I have something harsher in my nature than you have,
something which every now and then tells me dreary secrets about my
race, and I cannot believe the voice of the Optimist, charm he never
so wisely. On the other hand, I feel forced to listen when a
Thackeray speaks. I know truth is delivering her oracles by his
lips.
'As to the great, good, magnanimous acts which have been performed by
some men, we trace them up to motives and then estimate their value;
a few, perhaps, would gain and many lose by this test. The study of
motives is a strange one, not to be pursued too far by one fallible
human being in reference to his fellows.
'Do not condemn me as uncharitable. I have no wish to urge my
convictions on you, but I know that while there are many good,
sincere, gentle people in the world, with whom kindness is
all-powerful, there are also not a few like that false friend (I had
almost written _fiend_) whom you so well and vividly described in one
of your late letters, and who, in acting out his part of domestic
traitor, must often have turned benefits into weapons wherewith to
wound his benefactors.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_April_ 2_nd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--My critics truly deserve and have my genuine thanks
for the friendly candour with which they have declared their opinions
on my book. Both Mr. Williams and Mr. Taylor express and support
their opinions in a manner calculated to command careful
consideration. In my turn I have a word to say. You both of you
dwell too much on what you regard as the _artistic_ treatment of a
subject. Say what you will, gentlemen--say it as ably as you
will--truth is better than art. Burns' Songs are better than
Bulwer's Epics. Thackeray's rude, careless sketches are preferable
to thousands of carefully finished paintings. Ignorant as I am, I
dare to hold and maintain that doctrine.
'You must not expect me to give up Malone and Donne too suddenly--the
pair are favourites with me; they shine with a chastened and pleasing
lustre in that first chapter, and it is a pity you do not take
pleasure in their modest twinkle. Neither is that opening scene
irrelevant to the rest of the book, there are other touches in store
which will harmonise with it.
'No doubt this handling of the surplice will stir up such
publications as the _Christian Remembrancer_ and the
_Quarterly_--those heavy Goliaths of the periodical press; and if I
alone were concerned, this possibility would not trouble me a second.
Full welcome would the giants be to stand in their greaves of brass,
poising their ponderous spears, cursing their prey by their gods, and
thundering invitations to the intended victim to "come forth" and
have his flesh given to the fowls of the air and the beasts of the
field. Currer Bell, without pretending to be a David, feels no awe
of the unwieldy Anakim; but--comprehend me rightly, gentlemen--it
would grieve him to involve others in blame: any censure that would
really injure and annoy his publishers would wound himself.
Therefore believe that he will not act rashly--trust his discretion.
'Mr. Taylor is right about the bad taste of the opening
apostrophe--that I had already condemned in my own mind. Enough said
of a work in embryo. Permit me to request in conclusion that the MS.
may now be returned as soon as convenient.
'The letter you inclosed is from Mary Howitt. It contained a
proposal for an engagement as contributor to an American periodical.
Of course I have negatived it. When I _can_ write, the book I have
in hand must claim all my attention. Oh! if Anne were well, if the
void Death has left were a little closed up, if the dreary word
_nevermore_ would cease sounding in my ears, I think I could yet do
something.
'It is a long time since you mentioned your own family affairs. I
trust Mrs. Williams continues well, and that Fanny and your other
children prosper.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_July_ 3_rd_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--You do right to address me on subjects which compel
me, in order to give a coherent answer, to quit for a moment my
habitual train of thought. The mention of your healthy-living
daughters reminds me of the world where other people live--where I
lived once. Theirs are cheerful images as you present them--I have
no wish to shut them out.
'From all you say of Ellen, the eldest, I am inclined to respect her
much. I like practical sense which works to the good of others. I
esteem a dutiful daughter who makes her parents happy.
'Fanny's character I would take on second hand from nobody, least of
all from her kind father, whose estimate of human nature in general
inclines rather to what _ought_ to be than to what _is_. Of Fanny I
would judge for myself, and that not hastily nor on first
impressions.
'I am glad to hear that Louisa has a chance of a presentation to
Queen's College. I hope she will succeed. Do not, my dear sir, be
indifferent--be earnest about it. Come what may afterwards, an
education secured is an advantage gained--a priceless advantage.
Come what may, it is a step towards independency, and one great curse
of a single female life is its dependency. It does credit both to
Louisa's heart and head that she herself wishes to get this
presentation. Encourage her in the wish. Your daughters--no more
than your sons--should be a burden on your hands. Your daughters--as
much as your sons--should aim at making their way honourably through
life. Do not wish to keep them at home. Believe me, teachers may be
hard-worked, ill-paid, and despised, but the girl who stays at home
doing nothing is worse off than the hardest-wrought and worst-paid
drudge of a school. Whenever I have seen, not merely in humble, but
in affluent homes, families of daughters sitting waiting to be
married, I have pitied them from my heart. It is doubtless
well--very well--if Fate decrees them a happy marriage; but, if
otherwise, give their existence some object, their time some
occupation, or the peevishness of disappointment and the listlessness
of idleness will infallibly degrade their nature.
'Should Louisa eventually go out as a governess, do not be uneasy
respecting her lot. The sketch you give of her character leads me to
think she has a better chance of happiness than one in a hundred of
her sisterhood. Of pleasing exterior (that is always an
advantage--children like it), good sense, obliging disposition,
cheerful, healthy, possessing a good average capacity, but no
prominent master talent to make her miserable by its cravings for
exercise, by its mutiny under restraint--Louisa thus endowed will
find the post of governess comparatively easy. If she be like her
mother--as you say she is--and if, consequently, she is fond of
children, and possesses tact for managing them, their care is her
natural vocation--she ought to be a governess.
'Your sketch of Braxborne, as it is and as it was, is sadly pleasing.
I remember your first picture of it in a letter written a year
ago--only a year ago. I was in this room--where I now am--when I
received it. I was not alone then. In those days your letters often
served as a text for comment--a theme for talk; now, I read them,
return them to their covers and put them away. Johnson, I think,
makes mournful mention somewhere of the pleasure that accrues when we
are "solitary and cannot impart it." Thoughts, under such
circumstances, cannot grow to words, impulses fail to ripen to
actions.
'Lonely as I am, how should I be if Providence had never given me
courage to adopt a career--perseverance to plead through two long,
weary years with publishers till they admitted me? How should I be
with youth past, sisters lost, a resident in a moorland parish where
there is not a single educated family? In that case I should have no
world at all: the raven, weary of surveying the deluge, and without
an ark to return to, would be my type. As it is, something like a
hope and motive sustains me still. I wish all your daughters--I wish
every woman in England, had also a hope and motive. Alas! there are
many old maids who have neither.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_July_ 26_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I must rouse myself to write a line to you, lest a
more protracted silence should seem strange.
'Truly glad was I to hear of your daughter's success. I trust its
results may conduce to the permanent advantage both of herself and
her parents.
'Of still more importance than your children's education is your
wife's health, and therefore it is still more gratifying to learn
that your anxiety on that account is likely to be alleviated. For
her own sake, no less than for that of others, it is to be hoped that
she is now secured from a recurrence of her painful and dangerous
attacks. It was pleasing, too, to hear of good qualities being
developed in the daughters by the mother's danger. May your girls
always so act as to justify their father's kind estimate of their
characters; may they never do what might disappoint or grieve him.
'Your suggestion relative to myself is a good one in some respects,
but there are two persons whom it would not suit; and not the least
incommoded of these would be the young person whom I might request to
come and bury herself in the hills of Haworth, to take a church and
stony churchyard for her prospect, the dead silence of a village
parsonage--in which the tick of the clock is heard all day long--for
her atmosphere, and a grave, silent spinster for her companion. I
should not like to see youth thus immured. The hush and gloom of our
house would be more oppressive to a buoyant than to a subdued spirit.
The fact is, my work is my best companion; hereafter I look for no
great earthly comfort except what congenial occupation can give. For
society, long seclusion has in a great measure unfitted me, I doubt
whether I should enjoy it if I might have it. Sometimes I think I
should, and I thirst for it; but at other times I doubt my capability
of pleasing or deriving pleasure. The prisoner in solitary
confinement, the toad in the block of marble, all in time shape
themselves to their lot.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_September_ 13_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I want to know your opinion of the subject of this
proof-sheet. Mr. Taylor censured it; he considers as defective all
that portion which relates to Shirley's nervousness--the bite of the
dog, etc. How did it strike you on reading it?
'I ask this though I well know it cannot now be altered. I can work
indefatigably at the correction of a work before it leaves my hands,
but when once I have looked on it as completed and submitted to the
inspection of others, it becomes next to impossible to alter or
amend. With the heavy suspicion on my mind that all may not be
right, I yet feel forced to put up with the inevitably wrong.
'Reading has, of late, been my great solace and recreation. I have
read J. C. Hare's _Guesses at Truth_, a book containing things that
in depth and far-sought wisdom sometimes recall the _Thoughts_ of
Pascal, only it is as the light of the moon recalls that of the sun.
'I have read with pleasure a little book on _English Social Life_ by
the wife of Archbishop Whately. Good and intelligent women write
well on such subjects. This lady speaks of governesses. I was
struck by the contrast offered in her manner of treating the topic to
that of Miss Rigby in the _Quarterly_. How much finer the
feeling--how much truer the feeling--how much more delicate the mind
here revealed!
'I have read _David Copperfield_; it seems to me very good--admirable
in some parts. You said it had affinity to _Jane Eyre_. It has, now
and then--only what an advantage has Dickens in his varied knowledge
of men and things! I am beginning to read Eckermann's _Goethe_--it
promises to be a most interesting work. Honest, simple,
single-minded Eckermann! Great, powerful, giant-souled, but also
profoundly egotistical, old Johann Wolfgang von Goethe! He _was_ a
mighty egotist--I see he was: he thought no more of swallowing up
poor Eckermann's existence in his own than the whale thought of
swallowing Jonah.
'The worst of reading graphic accounts of such men, of seeing graphic
pictures of the scenes, the society, in which they moved, is that it
excites a too tormenting longing to look on the reality. But does
such reality now exist? Amidst all the troubled waters of European
society does such a vast, strong, selfish, old Leviathan now roll
ponderous! I suppose not.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 19_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--The books came yesterday evening just as I was wishing
for them very much. There is much interest for me in opening the
Cornhill parcel. I wish there was not pain too--but so it is. As I
untie the cords and take out the volumes, I am reminded of those who
once on similar occasions looked on eagerly; I miss familiar voices
commenting mirthfully and pleasantly; the room seems very still, very
empty; but yet there is consolation in remembering that papa will
take pleasure in some of the books. Happiness quite unshared can
scarcely be called happiness--it has no taste.
'I hope Mrs. Williams continues well, and that she is beginning to
regain composure after the shock of her recent bereavement. She has
indeed sustained a loss for which there is no substitute. But rich
as she still is in objects for her best affections, I trust the void
will not be long or severely felt. She must think, not of what she
has lost, but of what she possesses. With eight fine children, how
can she ever be poor or solitary!--Believe me, dear sir, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_April_ 12_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I own I was glad to receive your assurance that the
Calcutta paper's surmise was unfounded. {398} It is said that when
we _wish_ a thing to be true, we are prone to believe it true; but I
think (judging from myself) we adopt with a still prompter credulity
the rumour which shocks.
'It is very kind in Dr. Forbes to give me his book. I hope Mr. Smith
will have the goodness to convey my thanks for the present. You can
keep it to send with the next parcel, or perhaps I may be in London
myself before May is over. That invitation I mentioned in a previous
letter is still urged upon me, and well as I know what penance its
acceptance would entail in some points, I also know the advantage it
would bring in others. My conscience tells me it would be the act of
a moral poltroon to let the fear of suffering stand in the way of
improvement. But suffer I shall. No matter.
'The perusal of _Southey's Life_ has lately afforded me much
pleasure. The autobiography with which it commences is deeply
interesting, and the letters which follow are scarcely less so,
disclosing as they do a character most estimable in its integrity and
a nature most amiable in its benevolence, as well as a mind admirable
in its talent. Some people assert that genius is inconsistent with
domestic happiness, and yet Southey was happy at home and made his
home happy; he not only loved his wife and children _though_ he was a
poet, but he loved them the better _because_ he was a poet. He seems
to have been without taint of worldliness. London with its pomps and
vanities, learned coteries with their dry pedantry, rather scared
than attracted him. He found his prime glory in his genius, and his
chief felicity in home affections. I like Southey.
'I have likewise read one of Miss Austen's works--_Emma_--read it
with interest and with just the degree of admiration which Miss
Austen herself would have thought sensible and suitable. Anything
like warmth or enthusiasm--anything energetic, poignant, heart-felt
is utterly out of place in commending these works: all such
demonstration the authoress would have met with a well-bred sneer,
would have calmly scorned as _outre_ and extravagant. She does her
business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English
people curiously well. There is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature
delicacy in the painting. She ruffles her reader by nothing
vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound. The passions are
perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance
with that stormy sisterhood. Even to the feelings she vouchsafes no
more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition--too
frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her
progress. Her business is not half so much with the human heart as
with the human eyes, mouth, hands, and feet. What sees keenly,
speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study; but what throbs
fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is
the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death--this Miss
Austen ignores. She no more, with her mind's eye, beholds the heart
of her race than each man, with bodily vision, sees the heart in his
heaving breast. Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady,
but a very incomplete and rather insensible (_not senseless_) woman.
If this is heresy, I cannot help it. If I said it to some people
(Lewes for instance) they would directly accuse me of advocating
exaggerated heroics, but I am not afraid of your falling into any
such vulgar error.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 9_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have read Lord John Russell's letter with very great
zest and relish, and think him a spirited sensible little man for
writing it. He makes no old-womanish outcry of alarm and expresses
no exaggerated wrath. One of the best paragraphs is that which
refers to the Bishop of London and the Puseyites. Oh! I wish Dr.
Arnold were yet living, or that a second Dr. Arnold could be found!
Were there but ten such men amongst the hierarchs of the Church of
England she might bid defiance to all the scarlet hats and stockings
in the Pope's gift. Her sanctuaries would be purified, her rites
reformed, her withered veins would swell again with vital sap; but it
is not so.
'It is well that _truth_ is _indestructible_--that ruin cannot crush
nor fire annihilate her divine essence. While forms change and
institutions perish, "_truth_ is great and shall prevail."
'I am truly glad to hear that Miss Kavanagh's health is improved.
You can send her book whenever it is most convenient. I received
from Cornhill the other day a periodical containing a portrait of
Jenny Lind--a sweet, natural, innocent peasant-girl face, curiously
contrasted with an artificial fine-lady dress. I _do_ like and
esteem Jenny's character. Yet not long since I heard her torn to
pieces by the tongue of detraction--scarcely a virtue left--twenty
odious defects imputed.
'There was likewise a most faithful portrait of R. H. Home, with his
imaginative forehead and somewhat foolish-looking mouth and chin,
indicating that mixed character which I should think he owns. Mr.
Home writes well. That tragedy on the _Death of Marlowe_ reminds me
of some of the best of Dumas' dramatic pieces.--Yours very sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I sent yesterday the _Leader_ newspaper, which you must
always send to Hunsworth as soon as you have done with it. I will
continue to forward it as long as I get it.
'I am trying a little Hydropathic treatment; I like it, and I think
it has done me good. Inclosed is a letter received a few days since.
I wish you to read it because it gives a very fair notion both of the
disposition and mind; read, return, and tell me what you think of it.
'Thackeray has given dreadful trouble by his want of punctuality.
Mr. Williams says if he had not been helped out with the vigour,
energy, and method of Mr. Smith, he must have sunk under the day and
night labour of the last few weeks.
'Write soon.
'C. B.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_July_ 21_st_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I delayed answering your very interesting letter until
the box should have reached me; and now that it is come I can only
acknowledge its arrival: I cannot say at all what I felt as I
unpacked its contents. These Cornhill parcels have something of the
magic charm of a fairy gift about them, as well as of the less
poetical but more substantial pleasure of a box from home received at
school. You have sent me this time even more books than usual, and
all good.
'What shall I say about the twenty numbers of splendid engravings
laid cozily at the bottom? The whole Vernon Gallery brought to one's
fireside! Indeed, indeed I can say nothing, except that I will take
care, and keep them clean, and send them back uninjured.--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 6_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have true pleasure in inclosing for your son Frank a
letter of introduction to Mrs. Gaskell, and earnestly do I trust the
acquaintance may tend to his good. To make all sure--for I dislike
to go on doubtful grounds--I wrote to ask her if she would permit the
introduction. Her frank, kind answer pleased me greatly.
'I have received the books. I hope to write again when I have read
_The Fair Carew_. The very title augurs well--it has no hackneyed
sound.--Believe me, sincerely yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _May_ 28_th_, 1853.
'MY DEAR SIR,--The box of books arrived safely yesterday evening, and
I feel especially obliged for the selection, as it includes several
that will be acceptable and interesting to my father.
'I despatch to-day a box of return books. Among them will be found
two or three of those just sent, being such as I had read
before--_i.e._, Moore's _Life and Correspondence_, 1st and 2nd vols.;
Lamartine's _Restoration of the Monarchy_, etc. I have thought of
you more than once during the late bright weather, knowing how genial
you find warmth and sunshine. I trust it has brought this season its
usual cheering and beneficial effect. Remember me kindly to Mrs.
Williams and her daughters, and,--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 6_th_, 1853.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I forwarded last week a box of return books to
Cornhill, which I trust arrived safely. To-day I received the
_Edinburgh Guardian_, {402} for which I thank you.
'Do not trouble yourself to select or send any more books. These
courtesies must cease some day, and I would rather give them up than
wear them out.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
CHAPTER XV: WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
The devotion of Charlotte Bronte to Thackeray, or rather to Thackeray's
genius, is a pleasant episode in literary history. In 1848 he sent Miss
Bronte, as we have seen, a copy of _Vanity Fair_. In 1852 he sent her a
copy of _Esmond_, with the more cordial inscription which came of
friendship.
[Picture: Second Thackeray Inscription]
The second edition of _Jane Eyre_ was dedicated to him as possessed of
'an intellect profounder and more unique than his contemporaries have yet
recognised,' and as 'the first social regenerator of the day.' And when
Currer Bell was dead, it was Thackeray who wrote by far the most eloquent
tribute to her memory. When a copy of Lawrence's portrait of Thackeray
{403} was sent to Haworth by Mr. George Smith, Charlotte Bronte stood in
front of it and, half playfully, half seriously, shook her fist,
apostrophising its original as 'Thou Titan!'
With all this hero-worship, it may be imagined that no favourable
criticism gave her more unqualified pleasure than that which came from
her 'master,' as she was not indisposed to consider one who was only
seven years her senior, and whose best books were practically
contemporaneous with her own.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _October_ 28_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--Your last letter was very pleasant to me to read, and is
very cheering to reflect on. I feel honoured in being approved by
Mr. Thackeray, because I approve Mr. Thackeray. This may sound
presumptuous perhaps, but I mean that I have long recognised in his
writings genuine talent, such as I admired, such as I wondered at and
delighted in. No author seems to distinguish so exquisitely as he
does dross from ore, the real from the counterfeit. I believed too
he had deep and true feelings under his seeming sternness. Now I am
sure he has. One good word from such a man is worth pages of praise
from ordinary judges.
'You are right in having faith in the reality of Helen Burns's
character; she was real enough. I have exaggerated nothing there. I
abstained from recording much that I remember respecting her, lest
the narrative should sound incredible. Knowing this, I could not but
smile at the quiet self-complacent dogmatism with which one of the
journals lays it down that "such creations as Helen Burns are very
beautiful but very untrue."
'The plot of _Jane Eyre_ may be a hackneyed one. Mr. Thackeray
remarks that it is familiar to him. But having read comparatively
few novels, I never chanced to meet with it, and I thought it
original. The work referred to by the critic of the _Athenaeum_, I
had not had the good fortune to hear of.
'The _Weekly Chronicle_ seems inclined to identify me with Mrs.
Marsh. I never had the pleasure of perusing a line of Mrs. Marsh's
in my life, but I wish very much to read her works, and shall profit
by the first opportunity of doing so. I hope I shall not find I have
been an unconscious imitator.
'I would still endeavour to keep my expectations low respecting the
ultimate success of _Jane Eyre_. But my desire that it should
succeed augments, for you have taken much trouble about the work, and
it would grieve me seriously if your active efforts should be baffled
and your sanguine hopes disappointed. Excuse me if I again remark
that I fear they are rather _too_ sanguine; it would be better to
moderate them. What will the critics of the monthly reviews and
magazines be likely to see in _Jane Eyre_ (if indeed they deign to
read it), which will win from them even a stinted modicum of
approbation? It has no learning, no research, it discusses no
subject of public interest. A mere domestic novel will, I fear, seem
trivial to men of large views and solid attainments.
'Still, efforts so energetic and indefatigable as yours ought to
realise a result in some degree favourable, and I trust they will.--I
remain, dear sir, yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.
'_October_ 28_th_, 1847.
'I have just received the _Tablet_ and the _Morning Advertiser_.
Neither paper seems inimical to the book, but I see it produces a
very different effect on different natures. I was amused at the
analysis in the _Tablet_, it is oddly expressed in some parts. I
think the critic did not always seize my meaning; he speaks, for
instance, of "Jane's inconceivable alarm at Mr. Rochester's repelling
manner." I do not remember that.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_December_ 11_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I have delayed writing to you in the hope that the parcel
you sent would reach me; but after making due inquiries at the
Keighley, Bradford, and Leeds Stations and obtaining no news of it, I
must conclude that it has been lost.
'However, I have contrived to get a sight of _Fraser's Magazine_ from
another quarter, so that I have only to regret Mr. Home's kind
present. Will you thank that gentleman for me when you see him, and
tell him that the railroad is to blame for my not having acknowledged
his courtesy before?
'Mr. Lewes is very lenient: I anticipated a degree of severity which
he has spared me. This notice differs from all the other notices.
He must be a man of no ordinary mind: there is a strange sagacity
evinced in some of his remarks; yet he is not always right. I am
afraid if he knew how much I write from intuition, how little from
actual knowledge, he would think me presumptuous ever to have written
at all. I am sure such would be his opinion if he knew the narrow
bounds of my attainments, the limited scope of my reading.
'There are moments when I can hardly credit that anything I have done
should be found worthy to give even transitory pleasure to such men
as Mr. Thackeray, Sir John Herschel, Mr. Fonblanque, Leigh Hunt, and
Mr. Lewes--that my humble efforts should have had such a result is a
noble reward.
'I was glad and proud to get the bank bill Mr. Smith sent me
yesterday, but I hardly ever felt delight equal to that which cheered
me when I received your letter containing an extract from a note by
Mr. Thackeray, in which he expressed himself gratified with the
perusal of _Jane Eyre_. Mr. Thackeray is a keen ruthless satirist.
I had never perused his writings but with blended feelings of
admiration and indignation. Critics, it appears to me, do not know
what an intellectual boa-constrictor he is. They call him
"humorous," "brilliant"--his is a most scalping humour, a most deadly
brilliancy: he does not play with his prey, he coils round it and
crushes it in his rings. He seems terribly in earnest in his war
against the falsehood and follies of "the world." I often wonder
what that "world" thinks of him. I should think the faults of such a
man would be distrust of anything good in human nature--galling
suspicion of bad motives lurking behind good actions. Are these his
failings?
'They are, at any rate, the failings of his written sentiments, for
he cannot find in his heart to represent either man or woman as at
once good and wise. Does he not too much confound benevolence with
weakness and wisdom with mere craft?
'But I must not intrude on your time by too long a letter.--Believe
me, yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.
'I have received the _Sheffield Iris_, the _Bradford Observer_, the
_Guardian_, the _Newcastle Guardian_, and the _Sunday Times_ since
you wrote. The contrast between the notices in the two last named
papers made me smile. The _Sunday Times_ almost denounces _Jane
Eyre_ as something very reprehensible and obnoxious, whereas the
_Newcastle Guardian_ seems to think it a mild potion which may be
"safely administered to the most delicate invalid." I suppose the
public must decide when critics disagree.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _December_ 23_rd_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I am glad that you and Messrs. Smith & Elder approve the
second preface.
'I send an errata of the first volume, and part of the second. I
will send the rest of the corrections as soon as possible.
'Will the inclosed dedication suffice? I have made it brief, because
I wished to avoid any appearance of pomposity or pretension.
'The notice in the _Church of England Journal_ gratified me much, and
chiefly because it _was_ the _Church of England Journal_. Whatever
such critics as he of the _Mirror_ may say, I love the Church of
England. Her ministers, indeed, I do not regard as infallible
personages, I have seen too much of them for that, but to the
Establishment, with all her faults--the profane Athanasian creed
_ex_cluded--I am sincerely attached.
'Is the forthcoming critique on Mr. Thackeray's writings in the
_Edinburgh Review_ written by Mr. Lewes? I hope it is. Mr. Lewes,
with his penetrating sagacity and fine acumen, ought to be able to do
the author of _Vanity Fair_ justice. Only he must not bring him down
to the level of Fielding--he is far, far above Fielding. It appears
to me that Fielding's style is arid, and his views of life and human
nature coarse, compared with Thackeray's.
'With many thanks for your kind wishes, and a cordial reciprocation
of them,--I remain, dear sir, yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.
'On glancing over this scrawl, I find it so illegibly written that I
fear you will hardly be able to decipher it; but the cold is partly
to blame for this--my fingers are numb.'
The dedication here referred to is that to Thackeray. People had been
already suggesting that the book might have been written by Thackeray
under a pseudonym; others had implied, knowing that there was 'something
about a woman' in Thackeray's life, that it was written by a mistress of
the great novelist. Indeed, the _Quarterly_ had half hinted as much.
Currer Bell, knowing nothing of the gossip of London, had dedicated her
book in single-minded enthusiasm. Her distress was keen when it was
revealed to her that the wife of Mr. Thackeray, like the wife of
Rochester in _Jane Eyre_, was of unsound mind. However, a correspondence
with him would seem to have ended amicably enough. {408}
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _January_ 28_th_, 1848.
'DEAR SIR,--I need not tell you that when I saw Mr. Thackeray's
letter inclosed under your cover, the sight made me very happy. It
was some time before I dared open it, lest my pleasure in receiving
it should be mixed with pain on learning its contents--lest, in
short, the dedication should have been, in some way, unacceptable to
him.
'And, to tell you the truth, I fear this must have been the case; he
does not say so, his letter is most friendly in its noble simplicity,
but he apprises me, at the commencement, of a circumstance which both
surprised and dismayed me.
'I suppose it is no indiscretion to tell you this circumstance, for
you doubtless know it already. It appears that his private position
is in some points similar to that I have ascribed to Mr. Rochester;
that thence arose a report that _Jane Eyre_ had been written by a
governess in his family, and that the dedication coming now has
confirmed everybody in the surmise.
'Well may it be said that fact is often stranger than fiction! The
coincidence struck me as equally unfortunate and extraordinary. Of
course I knew nothing whatever of Mr. Thackeray's domestic concerns,
he existed for me only as an author. Of all regarding his
personality, station, connections, private history, I was, and am
still in a great measure, totally in the dark; but I am _very very_
sorry that my inadvertent blunder should have made his name and
affairs a subject for common gossip.
'The very fact of his not complaining at all and addressing me with
such kindness, notwithstanding the pain and annoyance I must have
caused him, increases my chagrin. I could not half express my regret
to him in my answer, for I was restrained by the consciousness that
that regret was just worth nothing at all--quite valueless for
healing the mischief I had done.
'Can you tell me anything more on this subject? or can you guess in
what degree the unlucky coincidence would affect him--whether it
would pain him much and deeply; for he says so little himself on the
topic, I am at a loss to divine the exact truth--but I fear.
'Do not think, my dear sir, from my silence respecting the advice you
have, at different times, given me for my future literary guidance,
that I am heedless of, or indifferent to, your kindness. I keep your
letters and not unfrequently refer to them. Circumstances may render
it impracticable for me to act up to the letter of what you counsel,
but I think I comprehend the spirit of your precepts, and trust I
shall be able to profit thereby. Details, situations which I do not
understand and cannot personally inspect, I would not for the world
meddle with, lest I should make even a more ridiculous mess of the
matter than Mrs. Trollope did in her _Factory Boy_. Besides, not one
feeling on any subject, public or private, will I ever affect that I
do not really experience. Yet though I must limit my sympathies;
though my observation cannot penetrate where the very deepest
political and social truths are to be learnt; though many doors of
knowledge which are open for you are for ever shut for me; though I
must guess and calculate and grope my way in the dark, and come to
uncertain conclusions unaided and alone where such writers as Dickens
and Thackeray, having access to the shrine and image of Truth, have
only to go into the temple, lift the veil a moment, and come out and
say what they have seen--yet with every disadvantage, I mean still,
in my own contracted way, to do my best. Imperfect my best will be,
and poor, and compared with the works of the true masters--of that
greatest modern master Thackeray in especial (for it is him I at
heart reverence with all my strength)--it will be trifling, but I
trust not affected or counterfeit.--Believe me, my dear sir, yours
with regard and respect,
'CURRER BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 29_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--The notice from the _Church of England Quarterly
Review_ is not on the whole a bad one. True, it condemns the
tendency of _Jane Eyre_, and seems to think Mr. Rochester should have
been represented as going through the mystic process of
"regeneration" before any respectable person could have consented to
believe his contrition for his past errors sincere; true, also, that
it casts a doubt on Jane's creed, and leaves it doubtful whether she
was Hindoo, Mahommedan, or infidel. But notwithstanding these
eccentricities, it is a conscientious notice, very unlike that in the
_Mirror_, for instance, which seemed the result of a feeble sort of
spite, whereas this is the critic's real opinion: some of the ethical
and theological notions are not according to his system, and he
disapproves of them.
'I am glad to hear that Mr. Lewes's new work is soon to appear, and
pleased also to learn that Messrs. Smith & Elder are the publishers.
Mr. Lewes mentioned in the last note I received from him that he had
just finished writing his new novel, and I have been on the look out
for the advertisement of its appearance ever since. I shall long to
read it, if it were only to get a further insight into the author's
character. I read _Ranthorpe_ with lively interest--there was much
true talent in its pages. Two thirds of it I thought excellent, the
latter part seemed more hastily and sketchily written.
'I trust Miss Kavanagh's work will meet with the success that, from
your account, I am certain she and it deserve. I think I have met
with an outline of the facts on which her tale is founded in some
periodical, _Chambers' Journal_ I believe. No critic, however rigid,
will find fault with "the tendency" of her work, I should think.
'I will tell you why you cannot fully sympathise with the French, or
feel any firm confidence in their future movements: because too few
of them are Lamartines, too many Ledru Rollins. That, at least, is
my reason for watching their proceedings with more dread than hope.
With the Germans it is different: to their rational and justifiable
efforts for liberty one can heartily wish well.
'It seems, as you say, as if change drew near England too. She is
divided by the sea from the lands where it is making thrones rock,
but earthquakes roll lower than the ocean, and we know neither the
day nor the hour when the tremor and heat, passing beneath our
island, may unsettle and dissolve its foundations. Meantime, one
thing is certain, all will in the end work together for good.
'You mention Thackeray and the last number of _Vanity Fair_. The
more I read Thackeray's works the more certain I am that he stands
alone--alone in his sagacity, alone in his truth, alone in his
feeling (his feeling, though he makes no noise about it, is about the
most genuine that ever lived on a printed page), alone in his power,
alone in his simplicity, alone in his self-control. Thackeray is a
Titan, so strong that he can afford to perform with calm the most
herculean feats; there is the charm and majesty of repose in his
greatest efforts; _he_ borrows nothing from fever, his is never the
energy of delirium--his energy is sane energy, deliberate energy,
thoughtful energy. The last number of _Vanity Fair_ proves this
peculiarly. Forcible, exciting in its force, still more impressive
than exciting, carrying on the interest of the narrative in a flow,
deep, full, resistless, it is still quiet--as quiet as reflection, as
quiet as memory; and to me there are parts of it that sound as solemn
as an oracle. Thackeray is never borne away by his own ardour--he
has it under control. His genius obeys him--it is his servant, it
works no fantastic changes at its own wild will, it must still
achieve the task which reason and sense assign it, and none other.
Thackeray is unique. I _can_ say no more, I _will_ say no
less.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 2_nd_, 1849.
'Your generous indignation against the _Quarterly_ touched me. But
do not trouble yourself to be angry on Currer Bell's account; except
where the May-Fair gossip and Mr. Thackeray's name were brought in he
was never stung at all, but he certainly thought that passage and one
or two others quite unwarrantable. However, slander without a germ
of truth is seldom injurious: it resembles a rootless plant and must
soon wither away.
'The critic would certainly be a little ashamed of herself if she
knew what foolish blunders she had committed, if she were aware how
completely Mr. Thackeray and Currer Bell are strangers to each other,
that _Jane Eyre_ was written before the author had seen one line of
_Vanity Fair_, or that if C. Bell had known that there existed in Mr.
Thackeray's private circumstances the shadow of a reason for fancying
personal allusion, so far from dedicating the book to that gentleman,
he would have regarded such a step as ill-judged, insolent, and
indefensible, and would have shunned it accordingly.--Believe me, my
dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_August_ 14_th_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--My sister Anne thanks you, as well as myself, for your
just critique on _Wildfell Hall_. It appears to me that your
observations exactly hit both the strong and weak points of the book,
and the advice which accompanies them is worthy of, and shall
receive, our most careful attention.
'The first duty of an author is, I conceive, a faithful allegiance to
Truth and Nature; his second, such a conscientious study of Art as
shall enable him to interpret eloquently and effectively the oracles
delivered by those two great deities. The Bells are very sincere in
their worship of Truth, and they hope to apply themselves to the
consideration of Art, so as to attain one day the power of speaking
the language of conviction in the accents of persuasion; though they
rather apprehend that whatever pains they take to modify and soften,
an abrupt word or vehement tone will now and then occur to startle
ears polite, whenever the subject shall chance to be such as moves
their spirits within them.
'I have already told you, I believe, that I regard Mr. Thackeray as
the first of modern masters, and as the legitimate high priest of
Truth; I study him accordingly with reverence. He, I see, keeps the
mermaid's tail below water, and only hints at the dead men's bones
and noxious slime amidst which it wriggles; _but_, his hint is more
vivid than other men's elaborate explanations, and never is his
satire whetted to so keen an edge as when with quiet mocking irony he
modestly recommends to the approbation of the public his own
exemplary discretion and forbearance. The world begins to know
Thackeray rather better than it did two years or even a year ago, but
as yet it only half knows him. His mind seems to me a fabric as
simple and unpretending as it is deep-founded and enduring--there is
no meretricious ornament to attract or fix a superficial glance; his
great distinction of the genuine is one that can only be fully
appreciated with time. There is something, a sort of "still
profound," revealed in the concluding part of _Vanity Fair_ which the
discernment of one generation will not suffice to fathom. A hundred
years hence, if he only lives to do justice to himself, he will be
better known than he is now. A hundred years hence, some thoughtful
critic, standing and looking down on the deep waters, will see
shining through them the pearl without price of a purely original
mind--such a mind as the Bulwers, etc., his contemporaries have
_not_,--not acquirements gained from study, but the thing that came
into the world with him--his inherent genius: the thing that made
him, I doubt not, different as a child from other children, that
caused him, perhaps, peculiar griefs and struggles in life, and that
now makes him as a writer unlike other writers. Excuse me for
recurring to this theme, I do not wish to bore you.
'You say Mr. Huntingdon reminds you of Mr. Rochester. Does he? Yet
there is no likeness between the two; the foundation of each
character is entirely different. Huntingdon is a specimen of the
naturally selfish, sensual, superficial man, whose one merit of a
joyous temperament only avails him while he is young and healthy,
whose best days are his earliest, who never profits by experience,
who is sure to grow worse the older he grows. Mr. Rochester has a
thoughtful nature and a very feeling heart; he is neither selfish nor
self-indulgent; he is ill-educated, misguided; errs, when he does
err, through rashness and inexperience: he lives for a time as too
many other men live, but being radically better than most men, he
does not like that degraded life, and is never happy in it. He is
taught the severe lessons of experience and has sense to learn wisdom
from them. Years improve him; the effervescence of youth foamed
away, what is really good in him still remains. His nature is like
wine of a good vintage: time cannot sour, but only mellows him. Such
at least was the character I meant to pourtray.
'Heathcliffe, again, of _Wuthering Heights_ is quite another
creation. He exemplifies the effects which a life of continued
injustice and hard usage may produce on a naturally perverse,
vindictive, and inexorable disposition. Carefully trained and kindly
treated, the black gipsy-cub might possibly have been reared into a
human being, but tyranny and ignorance made of him a mere demon. The
worst of it is, some of his spirit seems breathed through the whole
narrative in which he figures: it haunts every moor and glen, and
beckons in every fir-tree of the Heights.
'I must not forget to thank you for the _Examiner_ and _Atlas_
newspapers. Poor Mr. Newby! It is not enough that the _Examiner_
nails him by both ears to the pillory, but the _Atlas_ brands a token
of disgrace on his forehead. This is a deplorable plight, and he
makes all matters worse by his foolish little answers to his
assailants. It is a pity that he has no kind friend to suggest to
him that he had better not bandy words with the _Examiner_. His plea
about the "printer" was too ludicrous, and his second note is
pitiable. I only regret that the names of Ellis and Acton Bell
should perforce be mixed up with his proceedings. My sister Anne
wishes me to say that should she ever write another work, Mr. Smith
will certainly have the first offer of the copyright.
'I hope Mrs. Williams's health is more satisfactory than when you
last wrote. With every good wish to yourself and your
family,--Believe me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 19_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am again at home; and after the first sensations
consequent on returning to a place more dumb and vacant than it once
was, I am beginning to feel settled. I think the contrast with
London does not make Haworth more desolate; on the contrary, I have
gleaned ideas, images, pleasant feelings, such as may perhaps cheer
many a long winter evening.
'You ask my opinion of your daughters. I wish I could give you one
worth acceptance. A single evening's acquaintance does not suffice
with me to form an _opinion_, it only leaves on my mind an
_impression_. They impressed me, then, as pleasing in manners and
appearance: Ellen's is a character to which I could soon attach
myself, and Fanny and Louisa have each their separate advantages. I
can, however, read more in a face like Mrs. Williams's than in the
smooth young features of her daughters--time, trial, and exertion
write a distinct hand, more legible than smile or dimple. I was told
you had once some thoughts of bringing out Fanny as a professional
singer, and it was added Fanny did not like the project. I thought
to myself, if she does not like it, it can never be successfully
executed. It seems to me that to achieve triumph in a career so
arduous, the artist's own bent to the course must be inborn, decided,
resistless. There should be no urging, no goading; native genius and
vigorous will should lend their wings to the aspirant--nothing less
can lift her to real fame, and who would rise feebly only to fall
ignobly? An inferior artist, I am sure, you would not wish your
daughter to be, and if she is to stand in the foremost rank, only her
own courage and resolve can place her there; so, at least, the case
appears to me. Fanny probably looks on publicity as degrading, and I
believe that for a woman it is degrading if it is not glorious. If I
could not be a Lind, I would not be a singer.
'Brief as my visit to London was, it must for me be memorable. I
sometimes fancied myself in a dream--I could scarcely credit the
reality of what passed. For instance, when I walked into the room
and put my hand into Miss Martineau's, the action of saluting her and
the fact of her presence seemed visionary. Again, when Mr. Thackeray
was announced, and I saw him enter, looked up at his tall figure,
heard his voice, the whole incident was truly dream-like, I was only
certain it was true because I became miserably destitute of
self-possession. Amour propre suffers terribly under such
circumstances: woe to him that thinks of himself in the presence of
intellectual greatness! Had I not been obliged to speak, I could
have managed well, but it behoved me to answer when addressed, and
the effort was torture--I spoke stupidly.
'As to the band of critics, I cannot say they overawed me much; I
enjoyed the spectacle of them greatly. The two contrasts, Forster
and Chorley, have each a certain edifying carriage and conversation
good to contemplate. I by no means dislike Mr. Forster--quite the
contrary, but the distance from his loud swagger to Thackeray's
simple port is as the distance from Shakespeare's writing to
Macready's acting.
'Mr. Chorley tantalised me. He is a peculiar specimen--one whom you
could set yourself to examine, uncertain whether, when you had probed
all the small recesses of his character, the result would be utter
contempt and aversion, or whether for the sake of latent good you
would forgive obvious evil. One could well pardon his unpleasant
features, his strange voice, even his very foppery and grimace, if
one found these disadvantages connected with living talent and any
spark of genuine goodness. If there is nothing more than
acquirement, smartness, and the affectation of philanthropy, Chorley
is a fine creature.
'Remember me kindly to your wife and daughters, and--Believe me,
yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _December_ 19_th_, 1849.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Here I am at Haworth once more. I feel as if I had
come out of an exciting whirl. Not that the hurry or stimulus would
have seemed much to one accustomed to society and change, but to me
they were very marked. My strength and spirits too often proved
quite insufficient for the demand on their exertions. I used to bear
up as well and as long as I possibly could, for, whenever I flagged,
I could see Mr. Smith became disturbed; he always thought that
something had been said or done to annoy me, which never once
happened, for I met with perfect good breeding even from
antagonists--men who had done their best or worst to write me down.
I explained to him, over and over again, that my occasional silence
was only failure of the power to talk, never of the will, but still
he always seemed to fear there was another cause underneath.
'Mrs. Smith is rather stern, but she has sense and discrimination;
she watched me very narrowly. When surrounded by gentlemen she never
took her eye from me. I liked the surveillance, both when it kept
guard over me amongst many, or only with her cherished one. She
soon, I am convinced, saw in what light I received all, Thackeray
included. Her "George" is a very fine specimen of a young English
man of business; so I regard him, and I am proud to be one of his
props.
'Thackeray is a Titan of mind. His presence and powers impress me
deeply in an intellectual sense; I do not see him or know him as a
man. All the others are subordinate to these. I have esteem for
some, and, I trust, courtesy for all. I do not, of course, know what
they thought of me, but I believe most of them expected me to come
out in a more marked eccentric, striking light. I believe they
desired more to admire and more to blame. I felt sufficiently at my
ease with all except Thackeray, and with him I was painfully stupid.
'Now, dear Nell, when can you come to Haworth? Settle, and let me
know as soon as you can. Give my best love to all.--Yours,
'C. B.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_January_ 10_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Mrs. Ellis has made her "morning call." I rather
relished her chat about _Shirley_ and _Jane Eyre_. She praises
reluctantly and blames too often affectedly. But whenever a reviewer
betrays that he has been thoroughly influenced and stirred by the
work he criticises, it is easy to forgive the rest--hate and
personality excepted.
'I have received and perused the _Edinburgh Review_--it is very
brutal and savage. I am not angry with Lewes, but I wish in future
he would let me alone, and not write again what makes me feel so cold
and sick as I am feeling just now.
'Thackeray's Christmas Book at once grieved and pleased me, as most
of his writings do. I have come to the conclusion that whenever he
writes, Mephistopheles stands on his right hand and Raphael on his
left; the great doubter and sneerer usually guides the pen, the
Angel, noble and gentle, interlines letters of light here and there.
Alas! Thackeray, I wish your strong wings would lift you oftener
above the smoke of cities into the pure region nearer heaven!
'Good-bye for the present.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 25_th_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Your indisposition was, I have no doubt, in a great
measure owing to the change in the weather from frost to thaw. I had
one sick-headachy day; but, for me, only a slight attack. You must
be careful of cold. I have just written to Amelia a brief note
thanking her for the cuffs, etc. It was a burning shame I did not
write sooner. Herewith are inclosed three letters for your perusal,
the first from Mary Taylor. There is also one from Lewes and one
from Sir J. K. Shuttleworth, both which peruse and return. I have
also, since you went, had a remarkable epistle from Thackeray, long,
interesting, characteristic, but it unfortunately concludes with the
strict injunction, _show this letter to no one_, adding that if he
thought his letters were seen by others, he should either cease to
write or write only what was conventional; but for this circumstance
I should have sent it with the others. I answered it at length.
Whether my reply will give satisfaction or displeasure remains yet to
be ascertained. Thackeray's feelings are not such as can be gauged
by ordinary calculation: variable weather is what I should ever
expect from that quarter, yet in correspondence as in verbal
intercourse, this would torment me.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, HYDE PARK,
'LONDON, _Thursday Morning_.
'DEAR PAPA,--I write one hasty line just to tell you that I got here
quite safely at ten o'clock last night without any damage or smash in
tunnels or cuttings. Mr. and Mrs. Smith met me at the station and
gave me a kind and cordial welcome. The weather was beautiful the
whole way, and warm; it is the same to-day. I have not yet been out,
but this afternoon, if all be well, I shall go to Mr. Thackeray's
lecture. I don't know when I shall see the Exhibition, but when I
do, I shall write and tell you all about it. I hope you are well,
and will continue well and cheerful. Give my kind regards to Tabby
and Martha, and--Believe me, your affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
It cannot be said that Charlotte Bronte and Thackeray gained by personal
contact. 'With him I was painfully stupid,' she says. It was the case
of Heine and Goethe over again. Heine in the presence of the king of
German literature could talk only of the plums in the garden. Charlotte
Bronte in the presence of her hero Thackeray could not express herself
with the vigour and intelligence which belonged to her correspondence
with Mr. Williams. Miss Bronte, again, was hyper-critical of the smaller
vanities of men, and, as has been pointed out, she emphasised in
_Villette_ a trivial piece of not unpleasant egotism on Thackeray's part
after a lecture--his asking her if she had liked it. This question,
which nine men out of ten would be prone to ask of a woman friend, was
'over-eagerness' and '_naivete_' in her eyes. Thackeray, on his side,
found conversation difficult, if we may judge by a reminiscence by his
daughter Mrs. Ritchie:--
'One of the most notable persons who ever came into our bow-windowed
drawing-room in Young Street is a guest never to be forgotten by
me--a tiny, delicate, little person, whose small hand nevertheless
grasped a mighty lever which set all the literary world of that day
vibrating. I can still see the scene quite plainly--the hot summer
evening, the open windows, the carriage driving to the door as we all
sat silent and expectant; my father, who rarely waited, waiting with
us; our governess and my sister and I all in a row, and prepared for
the great event. We saw the carriage stop, and out of it sprang the
active well-knit figure of Mr. George Smith, who was bringing Miss
Bronte to see our father. My father, who had been walking up and
down the room, goes out into the hall to meet his guests, and then,
after a moment's delay, the door opens wide, and the two gentlemen
come in, leading a tiny, delicate, serious, little lady, pale, with
fair straight hair, and steady eyes. She may be a little over
thirty; she is dressed in a little _barege_ dress, with a pattern of
faint green moss. She enters in mittens, in silence, in seriousness;
our hearts are beating with wild excitement. This, then, is the
authoress, the unknown power whose books have set all London talking,
reading, speculating; some people even say our father wrote the
books--the wonderful books. To say that we little girls had been
given _Jane Eyre_ to read scarcely represents the facts of the case;
to say that we had taken it without leave, read bits here and read
bits there, been carried away by an undreamed-of and hitherto
unimagined whirlwind into things, times, places, all utterly
absorbing, and at the same time absolutely unintelligible to us,
would more accurately describe our state of mind on that summer's
evening as we look at Jane Eyre--the great Jane Eyre--the tiny little
lady. The moment is so breathless that dinner comes as a relief to
the solemnity of the occasion, and we all smile as my father stoops
to offer his arm; for, though genius she may be, Miss Bronte can
barely reach his elbow. My own personal impressions are that she is
somewhat grave and stern, especially to forward little girls who wish
to chatter. Mr. George Smith has since told me how she afterwards
remarked upon my father's wonderful forbearance and gentleness with
our uncalled-for incursions into the conversation. She sat gazing at
him with kindling eyes of interest, lighting up with a sort of
illumination every now and then as she answered him. I can see her
bending forward over the table, not eating, but listening to what he
said as he carved the dish before him.
'I think it must have been on this very occasion that my father
invited some of his friends in the evening to meet Miss Bronte--for
everybody was interested and anxious to see her. Mrs. Crowe, the
reciter of ghost-stories, was there. Mrs. Brookfield, Mrs. Carlyle,
Mr. Carlyle himself was present, so I am told, railing at the
appearance of cockneys upon Scotch mountain sides; there were also
too many Americans for his taste, "but the Americans were as gods
compared to the cockneys," says the philosopher. Besides the
Carlyles, there were Mrs. Elliott and Miss Perry, Mrs. Procter and
her daughter, most of my father's habitual friends and companions.
In the recent life of Lord Houghton I was amused to see a note quoted
in which Lord Houghton also was convened. Would that he had been
present--perhaps the party would have gone off better. It was a
gloomy and a silent evening. Every one waited for the brilliant
conversation which never began at all. Miss Bronte retired to the
sofa in the study, and murmured a low word now and then to our kind
governess, Miss Truelock. The room looked very dark, the lamp began
to smoke a little, the conversation grew dimmer and more dim, the
ladies sat round still expectant, my father was too much perturbed by
the gloom and the silence to be able to cope with it at all. Mrs.
Brookfield, who was in the doorway by the study, near the corner in
which Miss Bronte was sitting, leant forward with a little
commonplace, since brilliance was not to be the order of the evening.
"Do you like London, Miss Bronte?" she said; another silence, a
pause, then Miss Bronte answers, "Yes and No," very gravely. Mrs.
Brookfield has herself reported the conversation. My sister and I
were much too young to be bored in those days; alarmed, impressed we
might be, but not yet bored. A party was a party, a lioness was a
lioness; and--shall I confess it?--at that time an extra dish of
biscuits was enough to mark the evening. We felt all the importance
of the occasion: tea spread in the dining-room, ladies in the
drawing-room. We roamed about inconveniently, no doubt, and
excitedly, and in one of my incursions crossing the hall, after Miss
Bronte had left, I was surprised to see my father opening the front
door with his hat on. He put his fingers to his lips, walked out
into the darkness, and shut the door quietly behind him. When I went
back to the drawing-room again, the ladies asked me where he was. I
vaguely answered that I thought he was coming back. I was puzzled at
the time, nor was it all made clear to me till long years afterwards,
when one day Mrs. Procter asked me if I knew what had happened once
when my father had invited a party to meet Jane Eyre at his house.
It was one of the dullest evenings she had ever spent in her life,
she said. And then with a good deal of humour she described the
situation--the ladies who had all come expecting so much delightful
conversation, and the gloom and the constraint, and how, finally,
overwhelmed by the situation, my father had quietly left the room,
left the house, and gone off to his club. The ladies waited,
wondered, and finally departed also; and as we were going up to bed
with our candles after everybody was gone, I remember two pretty Miss
L---s, in shiny silk dresses, arriving, full of expectation. . . . We
still said we thought our father would soon be back, but the Miss
L---s declined to wait upon the chance, laughed, and drove away again
almost immediately.' {423}
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'_May_ 28_th_, 1851.
'DEAR PAPA,--I must write another line to you to tell you how I am
getting on. I have seen a great many things since I left home about
which I hope to talk to you at future tea-times at home. I have been
to the theatre and seen Macready in Macbeth. I have seen the
pictures in the National Gallery. I have seen a beautiful exhibition
of Turner's paintings, and yesterday I saw Mr. Thackeray. He dined
here with some other gentlemen. He is a very tall man--above six
feet high, with a peculiar face--not handsome, very ugly indeed,
generally somewhat stern and satirical in expression, but capable
also of a kind look. He was not told who I was, he was not
introduced to me, but I soon saw him looking at me through his
spectacles; and when we all rose to go down to dinner he just stepped
quietly up and said, "Shake hands"; so I shook hands. He spoke very
few words to me, but when he went away he shook hands again in a very
kind way. It is better, I should think, to have him for a friend
than an enemy, for he is a most formidable-looking personage. I
listened to him as he conversed with the other gentlemen. All he
says is most simple, but often cynical, harsh, and contradictory. I
get on quietly. Most people know me I think, but they are far too
well bred to show that they know me, so that there is none of that
bustle or that sense of publicity I dislike.
'I hope you continue pretty well; be sure to take care of yourself.
The weather here is exceedingly changeful, and often damp and misty,
so that it is necessary to guard against taking cold. I do not mean
to stay in London above a week longer, but I shall write again two or
three days before I return. You need not give yourself the trouble
of answering this letter unless you have something particular to say.
Remember me to Tabby and Martha.--I remain, dear papa, your
affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK, LONDON, _May_ 30_th_, 1851.
'DEAR PAPA,--I have now heard one of Mr. Thackeray's lectures and
seen the great Exhibition. On Thursday afternoon I went to hear the
lecture. It was delivered in a large and splendid kind of
saloon--that in which the great balls of Almacks are given. The
walls were all painted and gilded, the benches were sofas stuffed and
cushioned and covered with blue damask. The audience was composed of
the _elite_ of London society. Duchesses were there by the score,
and amongst them the great and beautiful Duchess of Sutherland, the
Queen's Mistress of the Robes. Amidst all this Thackeray just got up
and spoke with as much simplicity and ease as if he had been speaking
to a few friends by his own fireside. The lecture was truly good: he
has taken pains with the composition. It was finished without being
in the least studied; a quiet humour and graphic force enlivened it
throughout. He saw me as I entered the room, and came straight up
and spoke very kindly. He then took me to his mother, a fine,
handsome old lady, and introduced me to her. After the lecture
somebody came behind me, leaned over the bench, and said, "Will you
permit me, as a Yorkshireman, to introduce myself to you?" I turned
round, was puzzled at first by the strange face I met, but in a
minute I recognised the features. "You are the Earl of Carlisle," I
said. He smiled and assented. He went on to talk for some time in a
courteous, kind fashion. He asked after you, recalled the platform
electioneering scene at Haworth, and begged to be remembered to you.
Dr. Forbes came up afterwards, and Mr. Monckton Milnes, a Yorkshire
Member of Parliament, who introduced himself on the same plea as Lord
Carlisle.
'Yesterday we went to the Crystal Palace. The exterior has a strange
and elegant but somewhat unsubstantial effect. The interior is like
a mighty Vanity Fair. The brightest colours blaze on all sides; and
ware of all kinds, from diamonds to spinning jennies and printing
presses, are there to be seen. It was very fine, gorgeous, animated,
bewildering, but I liked Thackeray's lecture better.
'I hope, dear papa, that you are keeping well. With kind regards to
Tabby and Martha, and hopes that they are well too,--I am, your
affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK, _June_ 7_th_, 1851.
'DEAR PAPA,--I was very glad to hear that you continued in pretty
good health, and that Mr. Cartman came to help you on Sunday. I fear
you will not have had a very comfortable week in the dining-room; but
by this time I suppose the parlour reformation will be nearly
completed, and you will soon be able to return to your old quarters.
The letter you sent me this morning was from Mary Taylor. She
continues well and happy in New Zealand, and her shop seems to answer
well. The French newspaper duly arrived. Yesterday I went for the
second time to the Crystal Palace. We remained in it about three
hours, and I must say I was more struck with it on this occasion than
at my first visit. It is a wonderful place--vast, strange, new, and
impossible to describe. Its grandeur does not consist in _one_
thing, but in the unique assemblage of _all_ things. Whatever human
industry has created, you find there, from the great compartments
filled with railway engines and boilers, with mill-machinery in full
work, with splendid carriages of all kinds, with harness of every
description--to the glass-covered and velvet-spread stands loaded
with the most gorgeous work of the goldsmith and silversmith, and the
carefully guarded caskets full of real diamonds and pearls worth
hundreds of thousands of pounds. It may be called a bazaar or a
fair, but it is such a bazaar or fair as Eastern genii might have
created. It seems as if magic only could have gathered this mass of
wealth from all the ends of the earth--as if none but supernatural
hands could have arranged it thus, with such a blaze and contrast of
colours and marvellous power of effect. The multitude filling the
great aisles seems ruled and subdued by some invisible influence.
Amongst the thirty thousand souls that peopled it the day I was
there, not one loud noise was to be heard, not one irregular movement
seen--the living tide rolls on quietly, with a deep hum like the sea
heard from the distance.
'Mr. Thackeray is in high spirits about the success of his lectures.
It is likely to add largely both to his fame and purse. He has,
however, deferred this week's lecture till next Thursday, at the
earnest petition of the duchesses and marchionesses, who, on the day
it should have been delivered, were necessitated to go down with the
Queen and Court to Ascot Races. I told him I thought he did wrong to
put it off on their account--and I think so still. The amateur
performance of Bulwer's play for the Guild of Literature has likewise
been deferred on account of the races. I hope, dear papa, that you,
Mr. Nicholls, and all at home continue well. Tell Martha to take her
scrubbing and cleaning in moderation and not overwork herself. With
kind regards to her and Tabby,--I am, your affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK, _June_ 14_th_, 1851.
'DEAR PAPA,--If all be well, and if Martha can get the cleaning,
etc., done by that time, I think I shall be coming home about the end
of next week or the beginning of the week after. I have been pretty
well in London, only somewhat troubled with headaches, owing, I
suppose, to the closeness and oppression of the air. The weather has
not been so favourable as when I was last here, and in wet and dark
days this great Babylon is not so cheerful. All the other sights
seem to give way to the great Exhibition, into which thousands and
tens of thousands continue to pour every day. I was in it again
yesterday afternoon, and saw the ex-royal family of France--the old
Queen, the Duchess of Orleans, and her two sons, etc., pass down the
transept. I almost wonder the Londoners don't tire a little of this
vast Vanity Fair--and, indeed, a new toy has somewhat diverted the
attention of the grandees lately, viz., a fancy ball given last night
by the Queen. The great lords and ladies have been quite wrapt up in
preparations for this momentous event. Their pet and darling, Mr.
Thackeray, of course sympathises with them. He was here yesterday to
dinner, and left very early in the evening in order that he might
visit respectively the Duchess of Norfolk, the Marchioness of
Londonderry, Ladies Chesterfield and Clanricarde, and see them all in
their fancy costumes of the reign of Charles II. before they set out
for the Palace! His lectures, it appears, are a triumphant success.
He says they will enable him to make a provision for his daughters;
and Mr. Smith believes he will not get less than four thousand pounds
by them. He is going to give two courses, and then go to Edinburgh
and perhaps America, but _not_ under the auspices of Barnum. Amongst
others, the Lord Chancellor attended his last lecture, and Mr.
Thackeray says he expects a place from him; but in this I think he
was joking. Of course Mr. T. is a good deal spoiled by all this, and
indeed it cannot be otherwise. He has offered two or three times to
introduce me to some of his great friends, and says he knows many
great ladies who would receive me with open arms if I would go to
their houses; but, seriously, I cannot see that this sort of society
produces so good an effect on him as to tempt me in the least to try
the same experiment, so I remain obscure.
'Hoping you are well, dear papa, and with kind regards to Mr.
Nicholls, Tabby, and Martha, also poor old Keeper and Flossy,--I am,
your affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.
'_P.S._--I am glad the parlour is done and that you have got safely
settled, but am quite shocked to hear of the piano being dragged up
into the bedroom--there it must necessarily be absurd, and in the
parlour it looked so well, besides being convenient for your books.
I wonder why you don't like it.'
There are many pleasant references to Thackeray to be found in Mrs.
Gaskell's book, including a letter to Mr. George Smith, thanking him for
the gift of the novelist's portrait. 'He looks superb in his beautiful,
tasteful, gilded gibbet,' she says. A few years later, and Thackeray was
to write the eloquent tribute to his admirer, which is familiar to his
readers: 'I fancied an austere little Joan of Arc marching in upon us and
rebuking our easy lives, our easy morals.' 'She gave me,' he tells us,
'the impression of being a very pure, and lofty, and high-minded person.
A great and holy reverence of right and truth seemed to be with her
always. Who that has known her books has not admired the artist's noble
English, the burning love of truth, the bravery, the simplicity, the
indignation at wrong, the eager sympathy, the pious love and reverence,
the passionate honour, so to speak, of the woman? What a story is that
of the family of poets in their solitude yonder on the gloomy Yorkshire
moors!'
CHAPTER XVI: LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS
There is a letter, printed by Mrs. Gaskell, from Charlotte Bronte to
Ellen Nussey, in which Miss Bronte, when a girl of seventeen, discusses
the best books to read, and expresses a particular devotion to Sir Walter
Scott. During those early years she was an indefatigable student of
literature. She read all that her father's study and the Keighley
library could provide. When the years brought literary fame and its
accompanying friendships, she was able to hold her own with the many men
and women of letters whom she was destined to meet. Her staunchest
friend was undoubtedly Mr. Williams, who sent her, as we have seen, all
the newest books from London, and who appears to have discussed them with
her as well. Next to Mr. Williams we must place his chief at Cornhill,
Mr. George Smith, and Mr. Smith's mother. Mr. Smith happily still lives
to reign over the famous house which introduced Thackeray, John Ruskin,
and Charlotte Bronte to the world. What Charlotte thought of him may be
gathered from her frank acknowledgment that he was the original of Dr.
John in _Villette_, as his mother was the original of Mrs.
Bretton--perhaps the two most entirely charming characters in Charlotte
Bronte's novels. Mrs. Smith and her son lived, at the beginning of the
friendship, at Westbourne Place, but afterwards removed to Gloucester
Terrace, and Charlotte stayed with them at both houses. It was from the
former that this first letter was addressed.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'4 WESTBOURNE PLACE,
'BISHOP'S ROAD, LONDON.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have just remembered that as you do not know my
address you cannot write to me till you get it; it is as above. I
came to this big Babylon last Thursday, and have been in what seems
to me a sort of whirl ever since; for changes, scenes, and stimulus
which would be a trifle to others, are much to me. I found when I
mentioned to Mr. Smith my plan of going to Dr. Wheelwright's it would
not do at all--he would have been seriously hurt. He made his mother
write to me, and thus I was persuaded to make my principal stay at
his house. I have found no reason to regret this decision. Mrs.
Smith received me at first like one who had received the strictest
orders to be scrupulously attentive. I had fires in my bed-room
evening and morning, wax candles, etc., etc. Mrs. Smith and her
daughters seemed to look upon me with a mixture of respect and alarm.
But all this is changed--that is to say, the attention and politeness
continues as great as ever, but the alarm and estrangement are quite
gone. She treats me as if she liked me, and I begin to like her
much; kindness is a potent heart-winner. I had not judged too
favourably of her son on a first impression; he pleases me much. I
like him better even as a son and brother than as a man of business.
Mr. Williams, too, is really most gentlemanly and well-informed. His
weak points he certainly has, but these are not seen in society. Mr.
Taylor--the little man--has again shown his parts; in fact, I suspect
he is of the Helstone order of men--rigid, despotic, and self-willed.
He tries to be very kind and even to express sympathy sometimes, but
he does not manage it. He has a determined, dreadful nose in the
middle of his face, which, when poked into my countenance, cuts into
my soul like iron. Still, he is horribly intelligent, quick,
searching, sagacious, and with a memory of relentless tenacity. To
turn to Mr. Williams after him, or to Mr. Smith himself, is to turn
from granite to easy down or warm fur. I have seen Thackeray.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL
'_November_ 6_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am afraid Mr. Williams told you I was sadly "put
out" about the _Daily News_, and I believe it is to that circumstance
I owe your letters. But I have now made good resolutions, which were
tried this morning by another notice in the same style in the
_Observer_. The praise of such critics mortifies more than their
blame; an author who becomes the object of it cannot help momentarily
wishing he had never written. And to speak of the press being still
ignorant of my being a woman! Why can they not be content to take
Currer Bell for a man?
'I imagined, mistakenly it now appears, that _Shirley_ bore fewer
traces of a female hand than _Jane Eyre_; that I have misjudged
disappoints me a little, though I cannot exactly see where the error
lies. You keep to your point about the curates. Since you think me
to blame, you do right to tell me so. I rather fancy I shall be left
in a minority of one on that subject.
'I was indeed very much interested in the books you sent.
Eckermann's _Conversations with Goethe_, _Guesses at Truth_, _Friends
in Council_, and the little work on English social life pleased me
particularly, and the last not least. We sometimes take a partiality
to books as to characters, not on account of any brilliant intellect
or striking peculiarity they boast, but for the sake of something
good, delicate, and genuine. I thought that small book the
production of a lady, and an amiable, sensible woman, and I like it.
'You must not think of selecting any more works for me yet, my stock
is still far from exhausted.
'I accept your offer respecting the _Athenaeum_; it is a paper I
should like much to see, providing you can send it without trouble.
It shall be punctually returned.
'Papa's health has, I am thankful to say, been very satisfactory of
late. The other day he walked to Keighley and back, and was very
little fatigued. I am myself pretty well.
'With thanks for your kind letter and good wishes,--Believe me, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Mrs. Gaskell has much to say of Miss Bronte's relations with George Henry
Lewes. {432} He was a critic with whom she had much correspondence and
not a few differences. It will be remembered that Charlotte describes
him as bearing a resemblance to Emily--a curious circumstance by the
light of the fact that Lewes was always adjudged among his acquaintances
as a peculiarly ugly man. Here is a portion of a letter upon which Mrs.
Gaskell practised considerable excisions, and of which she prints the
remainder:--
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 12_th_, 1850.
'I have seen Lewes. He is a man with both weakness and sins, but
unless I err greatly, the foundation of his nature is not bad; and
were he almost a fiend in character I could not feel otherwise to him
than half-sadly, half-tenderly. A queer word that last, but I use it
because the aspect of Lewes's face almost moves me to tears, it is so
wonderfully like Emily--her eyes, her features, the very nose, the
somewhat prominent mouth, the forehead--even, at moments, the
expression. Whatever Lewes does or says, I believe I cannot hate
him. Another likeness I have seen, too, that touched me sorrowfully.
You remember my speaking of a Miss Kavanagh, a young authoress, who
supported her mother by her writings. Hearing from Mr. Williams that
she had a longing to see me, I called on her yesterday. I found a
little, almost dwarfish figure, to which even I had to look down; not
deformed--that is, not hunch-backed, but long-armed and with a large
head, and (at first sight) a strange face. She met me half-frankly,
half-tremblingly; we sat down together, and when I had talked with
her five minutes, her face was no longer strange, but mournfully
familiar--it was Martha Taylor on every lineament. I shall try to
find a moment to see her again. She lives in a poor but clean and
neat little lodging. Her mother seems a somewhat weak-minded woman,
who can be no companion to her. Her father has quite deserted his
wife and child, and this poor little, feeble, intelligent, cordial
thing wastes her brains to gain a living. She is twenty-five years
old. I do not intend to stay here, at the furthest, more than a week
longer; but at the end of that time I cannot go home, for the house
at Haworth is just now unroofed; repairs were become necessary.
'I should like to go for a week or two to the sea-side, in which case
I wonder whether it would be possible for you to join me. Meantime,
with regards to all--Believe me, yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
But her acquaintance with Lewes had apparently begun three years earlier.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_November_ 6_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I should be obliged to you if you will direct the
inclosed to be posted in London as I wish to avoid giving any clue to
my place of residence, publicity not being my ambition.
'It is an answer to the letter I received yesterday, favoured by you.
This letter bore the signature G. H. Lewes, and the writer informs me
that it is his intention to write a critique on _Jane Eyre_ for the
December number of _Fraser's Magazine_, and possibly also, he
intimates, a brief notice to the _Westminster Review_. Upon the
whole he seems favourably inclined to the work, though he hints
disapprobation of the melodramatic portions.
'Can you give me any information respecting Mr. Lewes? what station
he occupies in the literary world and what works he has written? He
styles himself "a fellow novelist." There is something in the candid
tone of his letter which inclines me to think well of him.
'I duly received your letter containing the notices from the
_Critic_, and the two magazines, and also the _Morning Post_. I hope
all these notices will work together for good; they must at any rate
give the book a certain publicity.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Mr. R. H. Horne {434} sent her his _Orion_.
TO R. H. HORNE
'_December_ 15_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--You will have thought me strangely tardy in acknowledging
your courteous present, but the fact is it never reached me till
yesterday; the parcel containing it was missent--consequently it
lingered a fortnight on its route.
'I have to thank you, not merely for the gift of a little book of 137
pages, but for that of a _poem_. Very real, very sweet is the poetry
of _Orion_; there are passages I shall recur to again and yet
again--passages instinct both with power and beauty. All through it
is genuine--pure from one flaw of affectation, rich in noble imagery.
How far the applause of critics has rewarded the author of _Orion_ I
do not know, but I think the pleasure he enjoyed in its composition
must have been a bounteous meed in itself. You could not, I imagine,
have written that epic without at times deriving deep happiness from
your work.
'With sincere thanks for the pleasure its perusal has afforded me,--I
remain, dear sir, yours faithfully,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'HAWORTH, _December_ 15_th_, 1847.
'DEAR SIR,--I write a line in haste to apprise you that I have got
the parcel. It was sent, through the carelessness of the railroad
people, to Bingley, where it lay a fortnight, till a Haworth carrier
happening to pass that way brought it on to me.
'I was much pleased to find that you had been kind enough to forward
the _Mirror_ along with _Fraser_. The article on "the last new
novel" is in substance similar to the notice in the _Sunday Times_.
One passage only excited much interest in me; it was that where
allusion is made to some former work which the author of _Jane Eyre_
is supposed to have published--there, I own, my curiosity was a
little stimulated. The reviewer cannot mean the little book of
rhymes to which Currer Bell contributed a third; but as that, and
_Jane Eyre_, and a brief translation of some French verses sent
anonymously to a magazine, are the sole productions of mine that have
ever appeared in print, I am puzzled to know to what else he can
refer.
'The reviewer is mistaken, as he is in perverting my meaning, in
attributing to me designs I know not, principles I disown.
'I have been greatly pleased with Mr. R. H. Horne's poem of _Orion_.
Will you have the kindness to forward to him the inclosed note, and
to correct the address if it is not accurate?--Believe me, dear sir,
yours respectfully,
'C. BELL.'
The following elaborate criticism of one of Mr. Lewes's now forgotten
novels is almost pathetic; it may give a modern critic pause in his
serious treatment of the abundant literary ephemera of which we hear so
much from day to day.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_May_ 1_st_, 1848.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am glad you sent me your letter just as you had
written it--without revisal, without retrenching or softening touch,
because I cannot doubt that I am a gainer by the omission.
'It would be useless to attempt opposition to your opinions, since,
in fact, to read them was to recognise, almost point for point, a
clear definition of objections I had already felt, but had found
neither the power nor the will to express. Not the power, because I
find it very difficult to analyse closely, or to criticise in
appropriate words; and not the will, because I was afraid of doing
Mr. Lewes injustice. I preferred overrating to underrating the
merits of his work.
'Mr. Lewes's sincerity, energy, and talent assuredly command the
reader's respect, but on what points he depends to win his attachment
I know not. I do not think he cares to excite the pleasant feelings
which incline the taught to the teacher as much in friendship as in
reverence. The display of his acquirements, to which almost every
page bears testimony--citations from Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish,
French, and German authors covering as with embroidery the texture of
his English--awes and astonishes the plain reader; but if, in
addition, you permit yourself to require the refining charm of
delicacy, the elevating one of imagination--if you permit yourself to
be as fastidious and exacting in these matters as, by your own
confession, it appears _you_ are, then Mr. Lewes must necessarily
inform you that he does not deal in the article; probably he will add
that _therefore_ it must be non-essential. I should fear he might
even stigmatise imagination as a figment, and delicacy as an
affectation.
'An honest rough heartiness Mr. Lewes will give you; yet in case you
have the misfortune to remark that the heartiness might be quite as
honest if it were less rough, would you not run the risk of being
termed a sentimentalist or a dreamer?
'Were I privileged to address Mr. Lewes, and were it wise or becoming
to say to him exactly what one thinks, I should utter words to this
effect--
'"You have a sound, clear judgment as far as it goes, but I conceive
it to be limited; your standard of talent is high, but I cannot
acknowledge it to be the highest; you are deserving of all attention
when you lay down the law on principles, but you are to be resisted
when you dogmatise on feelings.
'"To a certain point, Mr. Lewes, you can go, but no farther. Be as
sceptical as you please on whatever lies beyond a certain
intellectual limit; the mystery will never be cleared up to you, for
that limit you will never overpass. Not all your learning, not all
your reading, not all your sagacity, not all your perseverance can
help you over one viewless line--one boundary as impassable as it is
invisible. To enter that sphere a man must be born within it; and
untaught peasants have there drawn their first breath, while learned
philosophers have striven hard till old age to reach it, and have
never succeeded." I should not dare, nor would it be right, to say
this to Mr. Lewes, but I cannot help thinking it both of him and many
others who have a great name in the world.
'Hester Mason's character, career, and fate appeared to me so
strange, grovelling, and miserable, that I never for a moment doubted
the whole dreary picture was from the life. I thought in describing
the "rustic poetess," in giving the details of her vulgar provincial
and disreputable metropolitan notoriety, and especially in touching
on the ghastly catastrophe of her fate, he was faithfully recording
facts--thus, however repulsively, yet conscientiously "pointing a
moral," if not "adorning a tale"; but if Hester be the daughter of
Lewes's imagination, and if her experience and her doom be inventions
of his fancy, I wish him better, and higher, and truer taste next
time he writes a novel.
'Julius's exploit with the side of bacon is not defensible; he might
certainly, for the fee of a shilling or sixpence, have got a boy to
carry it for him.
'Captain Heath, too, must have cut a deplorable figure behind the
post-chaise.
'Mrs. Vyner strikes one as a portrait from the life; and it equally
strikes one that the artist hated his original model with a personal
hatred. She is made so bad that one cannot in the least degree
sympathise with any of those who love her; one can only despise them.
She is a fiend, and therefore not like Mr. Thackeray's Rebecca, where
neither vanity, heartlessness, nor falsehood have been spared by the
vigorous and skilful hand which portrays them, but where the human
being has been preserved nevertheless, and where, consequently, the
lesson given is infinitely more impressive. We can learn little from
the strange fantasies of demons--we are not of their kind; but the
vices of the deceitful, selfish man or woman humble and warn us. In
your remarks on the good girls I concur to the letter; and I must add
that I think Blanche, amiable as she is represented, could never have
loved her husband after she had discovered that he was utterly
despicable. Love is stronger than Cruelty, stronger than Death, but
perishes under Meanness; Pity may take its place, but Pity is not
Love.
'So far, then, I not only agree with you, but I marvel at the nice
perception with which you have discriminated, and at the accuracy
with which you have marked each coarse, cold, improbable, unseemly
defect. But now I am going to take another side: I am going to
differ from you, and it is about Cecil Chamberlayne.
'You say that no man who had intellect enough to paint a picture, or
write a comic opera, could act as he did; you say that men of genius
and talent may have egregious faults, but they cannot descend to
brutality or meanness. Would that the case were so! Would that
intellect could preserve from low vice! But, alas! it cannot. No,
the whole character of Cecil is painted with but too faithful a hand;
it is very masterly, because it is very true. Lewes is nobly right
when he says that intellect is _not_ the highest faculty of man,
though it may be the most brilliant; when he declares that the
_moral_ nature of his kind is more sacred than the _intellectual_
nature; when he prefers "goodness, lovingness, and quiet
self-sacrifice to all the talents in the world."
'There is something divine in the thought that genius preserves from
degradation, were it but true; but Savage tells us it was not true
for him; Sheridan confirms the avowal, and Byron seals it with
terrible proof.
'You never probably knew a Cecil Chamberlayne. If you had known such
a one you would feel that Lewes has rather subdued the picture than
overcharged it; you would know that mental gifts without moral
firmness, without a clear sense of right and wrong, without the
honourable principle which makes a man rather proud than ashamed of
honest labour, are no guarantee from even deepest baseness.
'I have received the _Dublin University Magazine_. The notice is
more favourable than I had anticipated; indeed, I had for a long time
ceased to anticipate any from that quarter; but the critic does not
strike one as too bright. Poor Mr. James is severely handled; _you_,
likewise, are hard upon him. He always strikes me as a miracle of
productiveness.
'I must conclude by thanking you for your last letter, which both
pleased and instructed me. You are quite right in thinking it
exhibits the writer's character. Yes, it exhibits it _unmistakeably_
(as Lewes would say). And whenever it shall be my lot to submit
another MS. to your inspection, I shall crave the full benefit of
certain points in that character: I shall ever entreat my _first
critic_ to be as impartial as he is friendly; what he feels to be out
of taste in my writings, I hope he will unsparingly condemn. In the
excitement of composition, one is apt to fall into errors that one
regrets afterwards, and we never feel our own faults so keenly as
when we see them exaggerated in others.
'I conclude in haste, for I have written too long a letter; but it is
because there was much to answer in yours. It interested me. I
could not help wishing to tell you how nearly I agreed with
you.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BELL.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_April_ 5_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Your note was very welcome. I purposely impose on
myself the restraint of writing to you seldom now, because I know but
too well my letters cannot be cheering. Yet I confess I am glad when
the post brings me a letter: it reminds me that if the sun of action
and life does not shine on us, it yet beams full on other parts of
the world--and I like the recollection.
'I am not going to complain. Anne has indeed suffered much at
intervals since I last wrote to you--frost and east wind have had
their effect. She has passed nights of sleeplessness and pain, and
days of depression and languor which nothing could cheer--but still,
with the return of genial weather she revives. I cannot perceive
that she is feebler now than she was a month ago, though that is not
saying much. It proves, however, that no rapid process of
destruction is going on in her frame, and keeps alive a hope that
with the renovating aid of summer she may yet be spared a long time.
'What you tell me of Mr. Lewes seems to me highly characteristic.
How sanguine, versatile, and self-confident must that man be who can
with ease exchange the quiet sphere of the author for the bustling
one of the actor! I heartily wish him success; and, in happier
times, there are few things I should have relished more than an
opportunity of seeing him in his new character.
'The Cornhill books are still our welcome and congenial resource when
Anne is well enough to enjoy reading. Carlyle's _Miscellanies_
interest me greatly. We have read _The Emigrant Family_. The
characters in the work are good, full of quiet truth and nature, and
the local colouring is excellent; yet I can hardly call it a good
novel. Reflective, truth-loving, and even elevated as is Alexander
Harris's mind, I should say he scarcely possesses the creative
faculty in sufficient vigour to excel as a writer of fiction. He
_creates_ nothing--he only copies. His characters are
portraits--servilely accurate; whatever is at all ideal is not
original. _The Testimony to the Truth_ is a better book than any
tale he can write will ever be. Am I too dogmatical in saying this?
'Anne thanks you sincerely for the kind interest you take in her
welfare, and both she and I beg to express our sense of Mrs.
Williams's good wishes, which you mentioned in a former letter. We
are grateful, too, to Mr. Smith and to all who offer us the sympathy
of friendship.
'Whenever you can write with pleasure to yourself, remember Currer
Bell is glad to hear from you, and he will make his letters as little
dreary as he can in reply.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
It was always a great trouble to Miss Wheelwright, whose friendship, it
will be remembered, she had made in Brussels, that Charlotte was
monopolised by the Smiths on her rare visits to London, but she
frequently came to call at Lower Phillimore Place.
TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT
'HAWORTH, KEIGHLEY, _December_ 17_th_, 1849.
'MY DEAR LAETITIA,--I have just time to save the post by writing a
brief note. I reached home safely on Saturday afternoon, and, I am
thankful to say, found papa quite well.
'The evening after I left you passed better than I expected. Thanks
to my substantial lunch and cheering cup of coffee, I was able to
wait the eight o'clock dinner with complete resignation, and to
endure its length quite courageously, nor was I too much exhausted to
converse; and of this I was glad, for otherwise I know my kind host
and hostess would have been much disappointed. There were only seven
gentlemen at dinner besides Mr. Smith, but of these, five were
critics--a formidable band, including the literary Rhadamanthi of the
_Times_, the _Athenaeum_, the _Examiner_, the _Spectator_, and the
_Atlas_: men more dreaded in the world of letters than you can
conceive. I did not know how much their presence and conversation
had excited me till they were gone, and then reaction commenced.
When I had retired for the night I wished to sleep; the effort to do
so was vain--I could not close my eyes. Night passed, morning came,
and I rose without having known a moment's slumber. So utterly worn
out was I when I got to Derby, that I was obliged to stay there all
night.
'The post is going. Give my affectionate love to your mamma, Emily,
Fanny, and Sarah Anne. Remember me respectfully to your papa,
and--Believe me, dear Laetitia, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
Miss Wheelwright's other sisters well remember certain episodes in
connection with these London visits. They recall Charlotte's anxiety and
trepidation at the prospect of meeting Thackeray. They recollect her
simple, dainty dress, her shy demeanour, her absolutely unspoiled
character. They tell me it was in the _Illustrated London News_, about
the time of the publication of _Shirley_, that they first learnt that
Currer Bell and Charlotte Bronte were one. They would, however, have
known that _Shirley_ was by a Brussels pupil, they declared, from the
absolute resemblance of Hortense Moore to one of their governesses--Mlle.
Hausse.
At the end of 1849 Miss Bronte and Miss Martineau became acquainted.
Charlotte's admiration for her more strong-minded sister writer was at
first profound.
TO JAMES TAYLOR
'_January_ 1_st_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I am sorry there should have occurred an irregularity
in the transmission of the papers; it has been owing to my absence
from home. I trust the interruption has occasioned no inconvenience.
Your last letter evinced such a sincere and discriminating admiration
for Dr. Arnold, that perhaps you will not be wholly uninterested in
hearing that during my late visit to Miss Martineau I saw much more
of Fox How and its inmates, and daily admired, in the widow and
children of one of the greatest and best men of his time, the
possession of qualities the most estimable and endearing. Of my kind
hostess herself I cannot speak in terms too high. Without being able
to share all her opinions, philosophical, political, or religious,
without adopting her theories, I yet find a worth and greatness in
herself, and a consistency, benevolence, perseverance in her practice
such as wins the sincerest esteem and affection. She is not a person
to be judged by her writings alone, but rather by her own deeds and
life--than which nothing can be more exemplary or nobler. She seems
to me the benefactress of Ambleside, yet takes no sort of credit to
herself for her active and indefatigable philanthropy. The
government of her household is admirably administered; all she does
is well done, from the writing of a history down to the quietest
female occupation. No sort of carelessness or neglect is allowed
under her rule, and yet she is not over strict nor too rigidly
exacting; her servants and her poor neighbours love as well as
respect her.
'I must not, however, fall into the error of talking too much about
her, merely because my own mind is just now deeply impressed with
what I have seen of her intellectual power and moral worth. Faults
she has, but to me they appear very trivial weighed in the balance
against her excellencies.
'With every good wish of the season,--I am, my dear sir, yours very
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Meanwhile the excitement which _Shirley_ was exciting in Currer Bell's
home circle was not confined to the curates. Here is a letter which
Canon Heald (Cyril Hall) wrote at this time:--
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'BIRSTALL, near LEEDS,
'8_th_ _January_ 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Fame says you are on a visit with the renowned Currer
Bell, the "great unknown" of the present day. The celebrated
_Shirley_ has just found its way hither. And as one always reads a
book with more interest when one has a correct insight into the
writer's designs, I write to ask a favour, which I ought not to be
regarded presumptuous in saying that I think I have a species of
claim to ask, on the ground of a sort of "poetical justice." The
interpretation of this enigma is, that the story goes that either I
or my father, I do not exactly know which, are part of "Currer
Bell's" stock-in-trade, under the title of Mr. Hall, in that Mr. Hall
is represented as black, bilious, and of dismal aspect, stooping a
trifle, and indulging a little now and then in the indigenous
dialect. This seems to sit very well on your humble servant--other
traits do better for my good father than myself. However, though I
had no idea that I should be made a means to amuse the public, Currer
Bell is perfectly welcome to what she can make of so unpromising a
subject. But I think _I have a fair claim in return to be let into
the secret of the company I have got into_. Some of them are good
enough to tell, and need no OEdipus to solve the riddle. I can
tabulate, for instance, the Yorke family for the Taylors, Mr.
Moore--Mr. Cartwright, and Mr. Helstone is clearly meant for Mr.
Robertson, though the authoress has evidently got her idea of his
character through an unfavourable medium, and does not understand the
full value of one of the most admirable characters I ever knew or
expect to know. May thinks she descries Cecilia Crowther and Miss
Johnston (afterwards Mrs. Westerman) in two old maids.
'Now pray get us a full light on all other names and localities that
are adumbrated in this said _Shirley_. When some of the prominent
characters will be recognised by every one who knows our quarters,
there can be no harm in letting one know who may be intended by the
rest. And, if necessary, I will bear Currer Bell harmless, and not
let the world know that I have my intelligence from head-quarters.
As I said before, I repeat now, that as I or mine are part of the
stock-in-trade, I think I have an equitable claim to this
intelligence, by way of my dividend. Mary and Harriet wish also to
get at this information; and the latter at all events seems to have
her own peculiar claim, as fame says she is "in the book" too. One
had need "walk . . . warily in these dangerous days," when, as Burns
(is it not he?) says--
'A chield's among you taking notes,
And faith he'll prent it.'--
'Yours sincerely,
'W. M. HEALD.
'Mary and Harriet unite with me in the best wishes of the season to
you and C--- B---. Pray give my best respects to Mr. Bronte also,
who may have some slight remembrance of me as a child. I just
remember him when at Hartshead.' {444}
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_February_ 2_nd_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have despatched to-day a parcel containing _The
Caxtons_, Macaulay's _Essays_, _Humboldt's Letters_, and such other
of the books as I have read, packed with a picturesque irregularity
well calculated to excite the envy and admiration of your skilful
functionary in Cornhill. By-the-bye, he ought to be careful of the
few pins stuck in here and there, as he might find them useful at a
future day, in case of having more bonnets to pack for the East
Indies. Whenever you send me a new supply of books, may I request
that you will have the goodness to include one or two of Miss
Austen's. I am often asked whether I have read them, and I excite
amazement by replying in the negative. I have read none except
_Pride and Prejudice_. Miss Martineau mentioned _Persuasion_ as the
best.
'Thank you for your account of the _First Performance_. It was
cheering and pleasant to read it, for in your animated description I
seemed to realise the scene; your criticism also enables me to form
some idea of the play. Lewes is a strange being. I always regret
that I did not see him when in London. He seems to me clever, sharp,
and coarse; I used to think him sagacious, but I believe now he is no
more than shrewd, for I have observed once or twice that he brings
forward as grand discoveries of his own, information he has casually
received from others--true sagacity disdains little tricks of this
sort. But though Lewes has many smart and some deserving points
about him, he has nothing truly great; and nothing truly great, I
should think, will he ever produce. Yet he merits just such
successes as the one you describe--triumphs public, brief, and noisy.
Notoriety suits Lewes. Fame--were it possible that he could achieve
her--would be a thing uncongenial to him: he could not wait for the
solemn blast of her trumpet, sounding long, and slowly waxing louder.
'I always like your way of mentioning Mr. Smith, because my own
opinion of him concurs with yours; and it is as pleasant to have a
favourable impression of character confirmed, as it is painful to see
it dispelled. I am sure he possesses a fine nature, and I trust the
selfishness of the world and the hard habits of business, though they
may and must modify him disposition, will never quite spoil it.
'Can you give me any information respecting Sheridan Knowles? A few
lines received from him lately, and a present of his _George Lovel_,
induce me to ask the question. Of course I am aware that he is a
dramatic writer of eminence, but do you know anything about him as a
man?
'I believe both _Shirley_ and _Jane Eyre_ are being a good deal read
in the North just now; but I only hear fitful rumours from time to
time. I ask nothing, and my life of anchorite seclusion shuts out
all bearers of tidings. One or two curiosity-hunter have made their
way to Haworth Parsonage, but our rude hill and rugged neighbourhood
will, I doubt not, form a sufficient barrier to the frequent
repetition of such visits.--Believe me, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
The most permanent friend among the curiosity-hunters, was Sir James
Kay-Shuttleworth, {446} who came a month later to Haworth.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 1_st_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I scribble you a line in haste to tell you of my
proceedings. Various folks are beginning to come boring to Haworth,
on the wise errand of seeing the scenery described in _Jane Eyre_ and
_Shirley_; amongst others, Sir J. K. Shuttleworth and Lady S. have
persisted in coming; they were here on Friday. The baronet looks in
vigorous health; he scarcely appears more than thirty-five, but he
says he is forty-four. Lady Shuttleworth is rather handsome, and
still young. They were both quite unpretending. When here they
again urged me to visit them. Papa took their side at once--would
not hear of my refusing. I must go--this left me without plea or
defence. I consented to go for three days. They wanted me to return
with them in the carriage, but I pleaded off till to-morrow. I wish
it was well over.
'If all be well I shall be able to write more about them when I come
back. Sir J. is very courtly--fine-looking; I wish he may be as
sincere as he is polished.--In haste, yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_March_ 16_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I found your letter with several others awaiting me on
my return home from a brief stay in Lancashire. The mourning border
alarmed me much. I feared that dread visitant, before whose coming
every household trembles, had invaded your hearth and taken from you
perhaps a child, perhaps something dearer still. The loss you have
actually sustained is painful, but so much _less_ painful than what I
had anticipated, that to read your letter was to be greatly relieved.
Still, I know what Mrs. Williams will feel. We can have but one
father, but one mother, and when either is gone, we have lost what
can never be replaced. Offer her, under this affliction, my sincere
sympathy. I can well imagine the cloud these sad tidings would cast
over your young cheerful family. Poor little Dick's exclamation and
burst of grief are most naive and natural; he felt the sorrow of a
child--a keen, but, happily, a transient pang. Time will, I trust,
ere long restore your own and your wife's serenity and your
children's cheerfulness.
'I mentioned, I think, that we had one or two visitors at Haworth
lately; amongst them were Sir James Kay-Shuttleworth and his lady.
Before departing they exacted a promise that I would visit them at
Gawthorpe Hall, their residence on the borders of East Lancashire. I
went reluctantly, for it is always a difficult and painful thing to
me to meet the advances of people whose kindness I am in no position
to repay. Sir James is a man of polished manners, with clear
intellect and highly cultivated mind. On the whole, I got on very
well with him.
'His health is just now somewhat broken by his severe official
labours; and the quiet drives to old ruins and old halls situate
amongst older hills and woods, the dialogues (perhaps I should rather
say monologues, for I listened far more than I talked) by the
fireside in his antique oak-panelled drawing-room, while they suited
him, did not too much oppress and exhaust me. The house, too, is
very much to my taste, near three centuries old, grey, stately, and
picturesque. On the whole, now that the visit is over, I do not
regret having paid it. The worst of it is that there is now some
menace hanging over my head of an invitation to go to them in London
during the season--this, which would doubtless be a great enjoyment
to some people, is a perfect terror to me. I should highly prize the
advantages to be gained in an extended range of observation, but I
tremble at the thought of the price I must necessarily pay in mental
distress and physical wear and tear. But you shall have no more of
my confessions--to you they will appear folly.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 19_th_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have got home again, and now that the visit is over,
I am, as usual, glad I have been; not that I could have endured to
prolong it: a few days at once, in an utterly strange place, amongst
utterly strange faces, is quite enough for me.
'When the train stopped at Burnley, I found Sir James waiting for me.
A drive of about three miles brought us to the gates of Gawthorpe,
and after passing up a somewhat desolate avenue, there towered the
hall--grey, antique, castellated, and stately--before me. It is 250
years old, and, within as without, is a model of old English
architecture. The arms and the strange crest of the Shuttleworths
are carved on the oak pannelling of each room. They are not a
parvenue family, but date from the days of Richard III. This part of
Lancashire seems rather remarkable for its houses of ancient race.
The Townleys, who live near, go back to the Conquest.
'The people, however, were of still more interest to me than the
house. Lady Shuttleworth is a little woman, thirty-two years old,
with a pretty, smooth, lively face. Of pretension to aristocratic
airs she may be entirely acquitted; of frankness, good-humour, and
activity she has enough; truth obliges me to add, that, as it seems
to me, grace, dignity, fine feeling were not in the inventory of her
qualities. These last are precisely what her husband possesses. In
manner he can be gracious and dignified; his tastes and feelings are
capable of elevation; frank he is not, but, on the contrary, politic;
he calls himself a man of the world and knows the world's ways;
courtly and affable in some points of view, he is strict and rigorous
in others. In him high mental cultivation is combined with an
extended range of observation, and thoroughly practical views and
habits. His nerves are naturally acutely sensitive, and the present
very critical state of his health has exaggerated sensitiveness into
irritability. His wife is of a temperament precisely suited to nurse
him and wait on him; if her sensations were more delicate and acute
she would not do half so well. They get on perfectly together. The
children--there are four of them--are all fine children in their way.
They have a young German lady as governess--a quiet, well-instructed,
interesting girl, whom I took to at once, and, in my heart, liked
better than anything else in the house. She also instinctively took
to me. She is very well treated for a governess, but wore the usual
pale, despondent look of her class. She told me she was home-sick,
and she looked so.
'I have received the parcel containing the cushion and all the
etcetera, for which I thank you very much. I suppose I must begin
with the group of flowers; I don't know how I shall manage it, but I
shall try. I have a good number of letters to answer--from Mr.
Smith, from Mr. Williams, from Thornton Hunt, Laetitia Wheelwright,
Harriet Dyson--and so I must bid you good-bye for the present. Write
to me soon. The brief absence from home, though in some respects
trying and painful in itself, has, I think, given me a little better
tone of spirit. All through this month of February I have had a
crushing time of it. I could not escape from or rise above certain
most mournful recollections--the last few days, the sufferings, the
remembered words, most sorrowful to me, of those who, Faith assures
me, are now happy. At evening and bed-time such thoughts would haunt
me, bringing a weary heartache. Good-bye, dear Nell.--Yours
faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 21_st_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--My visit is again postponed. Sir James Shuttleworth, I
am sorry to say, is most seriously ill. Two physicians are in
attendance twice a day, and company and conversation, even with his
own relatives, are prohibited as too exciting. Notwithstanding this,
he has written two notes to me himself, claiming a promise that I
will wait till he is better, and not allow any one else "to introduce
me" as he says, "into the Oceanic life of London." Sincerely sorry
as I was for him, I could not help smiling at this sentence. But I
shall willingly promise. I know something of him, and like part, at
least, of what I do know. I do not feel in the least tempted to
change him for another. His sufferings are very great. I trust and
hope God will be pleased to spare his mind. I have just got a note
informing me that he is something better; but, of course, he will
vary. Lady Shuttleworth is much, much to be pitied too; his nights,
it seems, are most distressing.--Good-bye, dear Nell. Write soon to
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK GARDENS, _June_ 3_rd_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I came to London last Thursday. I am staying at Mrs.
Smith's, who has changed her residence, as the address will show. A
good deal of writing backwards and forwards, persuasion, etc., took
place before this step was resolved on; but at last I explained to
Sir James that I had some little matters of business to transact, and
that I should stay quietly at my publisher's. He has called twice,
and Lady Shuttleworth once; each of them alone. He is in a fearfully
nervous state. To my great horror he talks of my going with them to
Hampton Court, Windsor, etc. God knows how I shall get on. I
perfectly dread it.
'Here I feel very comfortable. Mrs. Smith treats me with a serene,
equable kindness which just suits me. Her son is, as before, genial
and kindly. I have seen very few persons, and am not likely to see
many, as the agreement was that I was to be very quiet. We have been
to the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, to the Opera, and the
Zoological Gardens. The weather is splendid. I shall not stay
longer than a fortnight in London. The feverishness and exhaustion
beset me somewhat, but not quite so badly as before, as indeed I have
not yet been so much tried. I hope you will write soon and tell me
how you are getting on. Give my regards to all.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK GARDENS, _June_ 4_th_, 1850.
'DEAR PAPA,--I was very glad to get your letter this morning, and
still more glad to learn that your health continues in some degree to
improve. I fear you will feel the present weather somewhat
debilitating, at least if it is as warm in Yorkshire as in London. I
cannot help grudging these fine days on account of the roofing of the
house. It is a great pity the workmen were not prepared to begin a
week ago.
'Since I wrote I have been to the Opera; to the Exhibition of the
Royal Academy, where there were some fine paintings, especially a
large one by Landseer of the Duke of Wellington on the field of
Waterloo, and a grand, wonderful picture of Martin's from Campbell's
poem of the "Last Man," showing the red sun fading out of the sky,
and all the soil of the foreground made up of bones and skulls. The
secretary of the Zoological Society also sent me an honorary ticket
of admission to their gardens, which I wish you could see. There are
animals from all parts of the world inclosed in great cages in the
open air amongst trees and shrubs--lions, tigers, leopards,
elephants, numberless monkies, camels, five or six cameleopards, a
young hippopotamus with an Egyptian for its keeper; birds of all
kinds--eagles, ostriches, a pair of great condors from the Andes,
strange ducks and water-fowl which seem very happy and comfortable,
and build their nests amongst the reeds and sedges of the lakes where
they are kept. Some of the American birds make inexpressible noises.
'There are also all sorts of living snakes and lizards in cages, some
great Ceylon toads not much smaller than Flossy, some large foreign
rats nearly as large and fierce as little bull-dogs. The most
ferocious and deadly-looking things in the place were these rats, a
laughing hyena (which every now and then uttered a hideous peal of
laughter such as a score of maniacs might produce) and a cobra di
capello snake. I think this snake was the worst of all: it had the
eyes and face of a fiend, and darted out its barbed tongue sharply
and incessantly.
'I am glad to hear that Tabby and Martha are pretty well. Remember
me to them, and--Believe me, dear papa, your affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.
'I hope you don't care for the notice in _Sharpe's Magazine_; it does
not disturb me in the least. Mr. Smith says it is of no consequence
whatever in a literary sense. Sharpe, the proprietor, was an
apprentice of Mr. Smith's father.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK GARDENS, _June_ 21_st_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I am leaving London, if all be well, on Tuesday, and
shall be very glad to come to you for a few days, if that arrangement
still remains convenient to you. I intend to start at nine o'clock
A.M. by the express train, which arrives in Leeds thirty-five minutes
past two. I should then be at Batley about four in the afternoon.
Would that suit?
'My London visit has much surpassed my expectations this time; I have
suffered less and enjoyed more than before. Rather a trying
termination yet remains to me. Mrs. Smith's youngest son is at
school in Scotland, and George, her eldest, is going to fetch him
home for the vacation. The other evening he announced his intention
of taking one of his sisters with him, and proposed that Miss Bronte
should go down to Edinburgh and join them there, and see that city
and its suburbs. I concluded he was joking, laughed and declined;
however, it seems he was in earnest. The thing appearing to me
perfectly out of the question, I still refused. Mrs. Smith did not
favour it; you may easily fancy how she helped me to sustain my
opposition, but her worthy son only waxed more determined. His
mother is master of the house, but he is master of his mother. This
morning she came and entreated me to go. "George wished it so much";
he had begged her to use her influence, etc., etc. Now I believe
that George and I understand each other very well, and respect each
other very sincerely. We both know the wide breach time has made
between us; we do not embarrass each other, or very rarely; my six or
eight years of seniority, to say nothing of lack of all pretension to
beauty, etc., are a perfect safeguard. I should not in the least
fear to go with him to China. I like to see him pleased, I greatly
_dis_like to ruffle and disappoint him, so he shall have his mind;
and if all be well, I mean to join him in Edinburgh after I shall
have spent a few days with you. With his buoyant animal spirits and
youthful vigour he will make severe demands on my muscles and nerves,
but I daresay I shall get through somehow, and then perhaps come back
to rest a few days with you before I go home. With kind regards to
all at Brookroyd, your guests included,--I am, dear Ellen, yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.
'Write by return of post.'
TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT
'HAWORTH, _July_ 30_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR LAETITIA,--I promised to write to you when I should have
returned home. Returned home I am, but you may conceive that many,
many matters solicit attention and demand arrangement in a house
which has lately been turned topsy-turvy in the operation of
unroofing. Drawers and cupboards must wait a moment, however, while
I fulfil my promise, though it is imperatively necessary that this
fulfilment should be achieved with brevity.
'My stay in Scotland was short, and what I saw was chiefly comprised
in Edinburgh and the neighbourhood, in Abbotsford and Melrose, for I
was obliged to relinquish my first intention of going from Glasgow to
Oban and thence through a portion of the Highlands. But though the
time was brief, and the view of objects limited, I found such a charm
of situation, association, and circumstances that I think the
enjoyment experienced in that little space equalled in degree and
excelled in kind all which London yielded during a month's sojourn.
Edinburgh compared to London is like a vivid page of history compared
to a huge dull treatise on political economy; and as to Melrose and
Abbotsford, the very names possess music and magic.
'I am thankful to say that on my return home I found papa pretty
well. Full often had I thought of him when I was far away; and
deeply sad as it is on many accounts to come back to this old house,
yet I was glad to be with him once more.
'You were proposing, I remember, to go into the country; I trust you
are there now and enjoying this fine day in some scene where the air
will not be tainted, nor the sunshine dimmed, by London smoke. If
your papa, mamma, or any of your sisters are within reach, give them
my kindest remembrances--if not, save such remembrances till you see
them.--Believe me, my dear Laetitia, yours hurriedly but faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'AMBLESIDE, _August_ 15_th_, 1850.
'DEAR PAPA,--I think I shall not come home till Thursday. If all be
well I shall leave here on Monday and spend a day or two with Ellen
Nussey. I have enjoyed my visit exceedingly. Sir J. K. Shuttleworth
has called several times and taken me out in his carriage. He seems
very truly friendly; but, I am sorry to say, he looks pale and very
much wasted. I greatly fear he will not live very long unless some
change for the better soon takes place. Lady S. is ill too, and
cannot go out. I have seen a good deal of Dr. Arnold's family, and
like them much. As to Miss Martineau, I admire her and wonder at her
more than I can say. Her powers of labour, of exercise, and social
cheerfulness are beyond my comprehension. In spite of the unceasing
activity of her colossal intellect she enjoys robust health. She is
a taller, larger, and more strongly made woman than I had imagined
from that first interview with her. She is very kind to me, though
she must think I am a very insignificant person compared to herself.
She has just been into the room to show me a chapter of her history
which she is now writing, relating to the Duke of Wellington's
character and his proceedings in the Peninsula. She wanted an
opinion on it, and I was happy to be able to give a very approving
one. She seems to understand and do him justice.
'You must not direct any more letters here as they will not reach me
after to-day. Hoping, dear papa, that you are well, and with kind
regards to Tabby and Martha,--I am, your affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
'_October_ 2_nd_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I have to thank you for the care and kindness with
which you have assisted me throughout in correcting these _Remains_.
'Whether, when they are published, they will appear to others as they
do to me, I cannot tell. I hope not. And indeed I suppose what to
me is bitter pain will only be soft pathos to the general public.
'Miss Martineau has several times lately asked me to go and see her;
and though this is a dreary season for travelling northward, I think
if papa continues pretty well I shall go in a week or two. I feel to
my deep sorrow, to my humiliation, that it is not in my power to bear
the canker of constant solitude. I had calculated that when shut out
from every enjoyment, from every stimulus but what could be derived
from intellectual exertion, my mind would rouse itself perforce. It
is not so. Even intellect, even imagination, will not dispense with
the ray of domestic cheerfulness, with the gentle spur of family
discussion. Late in the evenings, and all through the nights, I fall
into a condition of mind which turns entirely to the past--to memory;
and memory is both sad and relentless. This will never do, and will
produce no good. I tell you this that you may check false
anticipations. You cannot help me, and must not trouble yourself in
any shape to sympathise with me. It is my cup, and I must drink it,
as others drink theirs.--Yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
Among Miss Bronte's papers I find the following letter to Miss Martineau,
written with a not unnatural resentment after the publication of a severe
critique of _Shirley_.
TO MISS HARRIET MARTINEAU.
'MY DEAR MISS MARTINEAU,--I think I best show my sense of the tone
and feeling of your last, by immediate compliance with the wish you
express that I should send your letter. I inclose it, and have
marked with red ink the passage which struck me dumb. All the rest
is fair, right, worthy of you, but I protest against this passage;
and were I brought up before the bar of all the critics in England,
to such a charge I should respond, "Not guilty."
'I know what _love_ is as I understand it; and if man or woman should
be ashamed of feeling such love, then is there nothing right, noble,
faithful, truthful, unselfish in this earth, as I comprehend
rectitude, nobleness, fidelity, truth, and disinterestedness.--Yours
sincerely,
'C. B.
'To differ from you gives me keen pain.'
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL
'_November_ 6_th_, 1850.
'MY DEAR SIR,--Mrs. Arnold seemed an amiable, and must once have been
a very pretty, woman; her daughter I liked much. There was present
also a son of Chevalier Bunsen, with his wife, or rather bride. I
had not then read Dr. Arnold's Life--otherwise, the visit would have
interested me even more than it actually did.
'Mr. Williams told me (if I mistake not) that you had recently
visited the Lake Country. I trust you enjoyed your excursion, and
that our English Lakes did not suffer too much by comparison in your
memory with the Scottish Lochs.--I am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'AMBLESIDE, _December_ 21_st_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have managed to get off going to Sir J. K.
Shuttleworth's by a promise to come some other time. I thought I
really should like to spend two or three days with you before going
home; therefore, if it is not inconvenient for you, I will come on
Monday and stay till Thursday. I shall be at Bradford (D.V.) at ten
minutes past two, Monday afternoon, and can take a cab at the station
forward to Birstall. I have truly enjoyed my visit. I have seen a
good many people, and all have been so marvellously kind; not the
least so the family of Dr. Arnold. Miss Martineau I relish
inexpressibly. Sir James has been almost every day to take me a
drive. I begin to admit in my own mind that he is sincerely
benignant to me. I grieve to say he looks to me as if wasting away.
Lady Shuttleworth is ill. She cannot go out, and I have not seen
her. Till we meet, good-bye.
'C. BRONTE.'
It was during this visit to Ambleside that Charlotte Bronte and Matthew
Arnold met.
'At seven,' writes Mr. Arnold from Fox How (December 21, 1850), 'came
Miss Martineau and Miss Bronte (Jane Eyre); talked to Miss Martineau
(who blasphemes frightfully) about the prospects of the Church of
England, and, wretched man that I am, promised to go and see her
cow-keeping miracles {457a} to-morrow--I, who hardly know a cow from
a sheep. I talked to Miss Bronte (past thirty and plain, with
expressive grey eyes, though) of her curates, of French novels, and
her education in a school at Brussels, and sent the lions roaring to
their dens at half-past nine, and came to talk to you.' {457b}
By the light of this 'impression,' it is not a little interesting to see
what Miss Bronte, 'past thirty and plain,' thought of Mr. Matthew Arnold!
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL,
'_January_ 15_th_, 1851.
'MY DEAR SIR,--I fancy the imperfect way in which my last note was
expressed must have led you into an error, and that you must have
applied to Mrs. Arnold the remarks I intended for Miss Martineau. I
remember whilst writing about "my hostess" I was sensible to some
obscurity in the term; permit me now to explain that it referred to
Miss Martineau.
'Mrs. Arnold is, indeed, as I judge from my own observations no less
than from the unanimous testimony of all who really know her, a good
and amiable woman, but the intellectual is not her forte, and she has
no pretensions to power or completeness of character. The same
remark, I think, applies to her daughters. You admire in them the
kindliest feeling towards each other and their fellow-creatures, and
they offer in their home circle a beautiful example of family unity,
and of that refinement which is sure to spring thence; but when the
conversation turns on literature or any subject that offers a test
for the intellect, you usually felt that their opinions were rather
imitative than original, rather sentimental than sound. Those who
have only seen Mrs. Arnold once will necessarily, I think, judge of
her unfavourably; her manner on introduction disappointed me
sensibly, as lacking that genuineness and simplicity one seemed to
have a right to expect in the chosen life-companion of Dr. Arnold.
On my remarking as much to Mrs. Gaskell and Sir J. K. Shuttleworth, I
was told for my consolation it was a "conventional manner," but that
it vanished on closer acquaintance; fortunately this last assurance
proved true. It is observable that Matthew Arnold, the eldest son,
and the author of the volume of poems to which you allude, inherits
his mother's defect. Striking and prepossessing in appearance, his
manner displeases from its seeming foppery. I own it caused me at
first to regard him with regretful surprise; the shade of Dr. Arnold
seemed to me to frown on his young representative. I was told,
however, that "Mr. Arnold improved upon acquaintance." So it was:
ere long a real modesty appeared under his assumed conceit, and some
genuine intellectual aspirations, as well as high educational
acquirements, displaced superficial affectations. I was given to
understand that his theological opinions were very vague and
unsettled, and indeed he betrayed as much in the course of
conversation. Most unfortunate for him, doubtless, has been the
untimely loss of his father.
'My visit to Westmoreland has certainly done me good. Physically, I
was not ill before I went there, but my mind had undergone some
painful laceration. In the course of looking over my sister's
papers, mementos, and memoranda, that would have been nothing to
others, conveyed for me so keen a sting. Near at hand there was no
means of lightening or effacing the sad impression by refreshing
social intercourse; from my father, of course, my sole care was to
conceal it--age demanding the same forbearance as infancy in the
communication of grief. Continuous solitude grew more than I could
bear, and, to speak truth, I was glad of a change. You will say that
we ought to have power in ourselves either to bear circumstances or
to bend them. True, we should do our best to this end, but sometimes
our best is unavailing. However, I am better now, and most thankful
for the respite.
'The interest you so kindly express in my sister's works touches me
home. Thank you for it, especially as I do not believe you would
speak otherwise than sincerely. The only notices that I have seen of
the new edition of _Wuthering Heights_ were those in the _Examiner_,
the _Leader_, and the _Athenaeum_. That in the _Athenaeum_ somehow
gave me pleasure: it is quiet but respectful--so I thought, at least.
'You asked whether Miss Martineau made me a convert to mesmerism?
Scarcely; yet I heard miracles of its efficacy and could hardly
discredit the whole of what was told me. I even underwent a personal
experiment; and though the result was not absolutely clear, it was
inferred that in time I should prove an excellent subject.
'The question of mesmerism will be discussed with little reserve, I
believe, in a forthcoming work of Miss Martineau's, and I have some
painful anticipations of the manner in which other subjects, offering
less legitimate ground for speculation, will be handled.
'You mention the _Leader_; what do you think of it? I have been
asked to contribute; but though I respect the spirit of fairness and
courtesy in which it is on the whole conducted, its principles on
some points are such that I have hitherto shrunk from the thought of
seeing my name in its columns.
'Thanking you for your good wishes,--I am, my dear sir, yours
sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT
'HAWORTH, _January_ 12_th_, 1851.
'DEAR LAETITIA,--A spare moment must and shall be made for you, no
matter how many letters I have to write (and just now there is an
influx). In reply to your kind inquiries, I have to say that my stay
in London and excursion to Scotland did me good--much good at the
time; but my health was again somewhat sharply tried at the close of
autumn, and I lost in some days of indisposition the additional flesh
and strength I had previously gained. This resulted from the painful
task of looking over letters and papers belonging to my sisters.
Many little mementos and memoranda conspired to make an impression
inexpressibly sad, which solitude deepened and fostered till I grew
ill. A brief trip to Westmoreland has, however, I am thankful to
say, revived me again, and the circumstance of papa being just now in
good health and spirits gives me many causes for gratitude. When we
have but one precious thing left we think much of it.
'I have been staying a short time with Miss Martineau. As you may
imagine, the visit proved one of no common interest. She is
certainly a woman of wonderful endowments, both intellectual and
physical, and though I share few of her opinions, and regard her as
fallible on certain points of judgment, I must still accord her my
sincerest esteem. The manner in which she combines the highest
mental culture with the nicest discharge of feminine duties filled me
with admiration, while her affectionate kindness earned my gratitude.
'Your description of the magician Paxton's crystal palace is quite
graphic. Whether I shall see it or not I don't know. London will be
so dreadfully crowded and busy this season, I feel a dread of going
there.
'Compelled to break off, I have only time to offer my kindest
remembrances to your whole circle, and my love to yourself.--Yours
ever,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE
'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, HYDE PARK,
'LONDON, _June_ 17_th_, 1851.
'DEAR PAPA,--I write a line in haste to tell you that I find they
will not let me leave London till next Tuesday; and as I have
promised to spend a day or two with Mrs. Gaskell on my way home, it
will probably be Friday or Saturday in next week before I return to
Haworth. Martha will thus have a few days more time, and must not
hurry or overwork herself. Yesterday I saw Cardinal Wiseman and
heard him speak. It was at a meeting for the Roman Catholic Society
of St. Vincent de Paul; the Cardinal presided. He is a big portly
man something of the shape of Mr. Morgan; he has not merely a double
but a treble and quadruple chin; he has a very large mouth with oily
lips, and looks as if he would relish a good dinner with a bottle of
wine after it. He came swimming into the room smiling, simpering,
and bowing like a fat old lady, and sat down very demure in his chair
and looked the picture of a sleek hypocrite. He was dressed in black
like a bishop or dean in plain clothes, but wore scarlet gloves and a
brilliant scarlet waistcoat. A bevy of inferior priests surrounded
him, many of them very dark-looking and sinister men. The Cardinal
spoke in a smooth whining manner, just like a canting Methodist
preacher. The audience seemed to look up to him as to a god. A
spirit of the hottest zeal pervaded the whole meeting. I was told
afterwards that except myself and the person who accompanied me there
was not a single Protestant present. All the speeches turned on the
necessity of straining every nerve to make converts to popery. It is
in such a scene that one feels what the Catholics are doing. Most
persevering and enthusiastic are they in their work! Let Protestants
look to it. It cheered me much to hear that you continue pretty
well. Take every care of yourself. Remember me kindly to Tabby and
Martha, also to Mr. Nicholls, and--Believe me, dear papa, your
affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 19_th_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I shall have to stay in London a few days longer than I
intended. Sir J. K. Shuttleworth has found out that I am here. I
have some trouble in warding off his wish that I should go directly
to his house and take up my quarters there, but Mrs. Smith helped me,
and I got off with promising to spend a day. I am engaged to spend a
day or two with Mrs. Gaskell on my way home, and could not put her
off, as she is going away for a portion of the summer. Lady
Shuttleworth looks very delicate. Papa is now very desirous I should
come home; and when I have as quickly as possible paid my debts of
engagements, home I must go. Next Tuesday I go to Manchester for two
days.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK, _June_ 24_th_, 1851.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I cannot now leave London till Friday. To-morrow is
Mr. Smith's only holiday. Mr. Taylor's departure leaves him loaded
with work. More than once since I came he has been kept in the city
till three in the morning. He wants to take us all to Richmond, and
I promised last week I would stay and go with him, his mother, and
sisters. I go to Mrs. Gaskell's on Friday.--Believe me, yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE, HAWORTH, YORKS
'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'_June_ 26_th_, 1851.
'DEAR PAPA,--I have not yet been able to get away from London, but if
all be well I shall go to-morrow, stay two days with Mrs. Gaskell at
Manchester, and return home on Monday 30th _without fail_. During
this last week or ten days I have seen many things, some of them very
interesting, and have also been in much better health than I was
during the first fortnight of my stay in London. Sir James and Lady
Shuttleworth have really been very kind, and most scrupulously
attentive. They desire their regards to you, and send all manner of
civil messages. The Marquis of Westminster and the Earl of Ellesmere
each sent me an order to see their private collection of pictures,
which I enjoyed very much. Mr. Rogers, the patriarch-poet, now
eighty-seven years old, invited me to breakfast with him. His
breakfasts, you must understand, are celebrated throughout Europe for
their peculiar refinement and taste. He never admits at that meal
more than four persons to his table: himself and three guests. The
morning I was there I met Lord Glenelg and Mrs. Davenport, a relation
of Lady Shuttleworth's, and a very beautiful and fashionable woman.
The visit was very interesting; I was glad that I had paid it after
it was over. An attention that pleased and surprised me more I think
than any other was the circumstance of Sir David Brewster, who is one
of the first scientific men of his day, coming to take me over the
Crystal Palace and pointing out and explaining the most remarkable
curiosities. You will know, dear papa, that I do not mention those
things to boast of them, but merely because I think they will give
you pleasure. Nobody, I find, thinks the worse of me for avoiding
publicity and declining to go to large parties, and everybody seems
truly courteous and respectful, a mode of behaviour which makes me
grateful, as it ought to do. Good-bye till Monday. Give my best
regards to Mr. Nicholls, Tabby, and Martha, and--Believe me your
affectionate daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
CHAPTER XVII: THE REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS
Without the kindly assistance of Mr. Arthur Bell Nicholls, this book
could not have been written, and I might therefore be supposed to guide
my pen with appalling discretion in treating of the married life of
Charlotte Bronte. There are, however, no painful secrets to reveal, no
skeletons to lay bare. Mr. Nicholls's story is a very simple one; and
that it is entirely creditable to him, there is abundant evidence. Amid
the full discussion to which the lives of the Brontes have necessarily
been subjected through their ever-continuous fame, it was perhaps
inevitable that a contrary opinion should gain ground. Many of Mr.
Nicholls's relatives in his own country have frequently sighed over the
perverted statements which have obtained currency. 'It is cruel that
your uncle Arthur, the best of men, as we know, should be thus treated,'
was the comment of Mr. Nicholls's brother to his daughter after reading
an unfriendly article concerning Charlotte's husband. Yet it was not
unnatural that such an estimate should get abroad; and I may frankly
admit that until I met Mr. Nicholls I believed that Charlotte Bronte's
marriage had been an unhappy one--an opinion gathered partly from Mrs.
Gaskell, partly from current tradition in Yorkshire. Mrs. Gaskell, in
fact, did not like Mr. Nicholls, and there were those with whom she came
in contact while writing Miss Bronte's Life who were eager to fan that
feeling in the usually kindly biographer. Mr. Nicholls himself did not
work in the direction of conciliation. He was, as we shall see, a
Scotchman, and Scottish taciturnity brought to bear upon the genial and
jovial Yorkshire folk did not make for friendliness. Further, he would
not let Mrs. Gaskell 'edit' and change _The Professor_, and here also he
did wisely and well. He hated publicity, and above all things viewed the
attempt to pierce the veil of his married life with almost morbid
detestation. Who shall say that he was not right, and that his
retirement for more than forty years from the whole region of controversy
has not abundantly justified itself? One at least of Miss Bronte's
friends has been known in our day to complain bitterly of all the trouble
to which she has been subjected by the ill-considered zeal of Bronte
enthusiasts. Mr. Nicholls has escaped all this by a judicious silence.
Now that forty years and more have passed since his wife's death, it
cannot be inopportune to tell the public all that they can fairly ask to
know.
Mr. Nicholls was born in Co. Antrim in 1817, but of Scottish parents on
both sides. He was left at the age of seven to the charge of an
uncle--the Rev. Alan Bell--who was headmaster of the Royal School at
Banagher, in King's Co. Mr. Nicholls afterwards entered Trinity College,
Dublin, and it was thence that he went to Haworth, his first curacy. He
succeeded a fellow countryman, Mr. Peter Augustus Smith, in 1844. The
first impression we have of the new curate in Charlotte's letters is
scarcely more favourable than that of his predecessors.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_October_ 9_th_, 1844.
'DEAR ELLEN,--We are getting on here the same as usual, only that
Branwell has been more than ordinarily troublesome and annoying of
late; he leads papa a wretched life. Mr. Nicholls is returned just
the same. I cannot for my life see those interesting germs of
goodness in him you discovered; his narrowness of mind always strikes
me chiefly. I fear he is indebted to your imagination for his hidden
treasure.--Yours,
'C. B.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_July_ 10_th_, 1846.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Who gravely asked you whether Miss Bronte was not going
to be married to her papa's curate? I scarcely need say that never
was rumour more unfounded. A cold faraway sort of civility are the
only terms on which I have ever been with Mr. Nicholls. I could by
no means think of mentioning such a rumour to him even as a joke. It
would make me the laughing-stock of himself and his fellow curates
for half a year to come. They regard me as an old maid, and I regard
them, one and all, as highly uninteresting, narrow, and unattractive
specimens of the coarser sex.
'Write to me again soon, whether you have anything particular to say
or not. Give my sincere love to your mother and sisters.
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_November_ 17_th_, 1846.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I will just write a brief despatch to say that I
received yours and that I was very glad to get it. I do not know
when you have been so long without writing to me before. I had begun
to imagine you were gone to your brother Joshua's.
'Papa continues to do very well. He read prayers twice in the church
last Sunday. Next Sunday he will have to take the whole duty of the
three services himself, as Mr. Nicholls is in Ireland. Remember me
to your mother and sisters. Write as soon as you possibly can after
you get to Oundle. Good luck go with you.
'C. BRONTE.'
That Scotch reticence held sway, and told against Mr. Nicholls for many a
day to come.
[Picture: THE REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS]
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_October_ 7_th_, 1847.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I have been expecting you to write to me; but as you
don't do it, and as, moreover, you may possibly think it is my turn,
and not yours, though on that point I am far from clear, I shall just
send you one of my scrubby notes for the express purpose of eliciting
a reply. Anne was very much pleased with your letter; I presume she
has answered it before now. I would fain hope that her health is a
little stronger than it was, and her spirits a little better, but she
leads much too sedentary a life, and is continually sitting stooping
either over a book or over her desk. It is with difficulty we can
prevail upon her to take a walk or induce her to converse. I look
forward to next summer with the confident intention that she shall,
if possible, make at least a brief sojourn at the sea-side.
'I am sorry I inoculated you with fears about the east wind; I did
not feel the last blast so severely as I have often done. My
sympathies were much awakened by the touching anecdote. Did you
salute your boy-messenger with a box on the ear the next time he came
across you? I think I should have been strongly tempted to have done
as much. Mr. Nicholls is not yet returned. I am sorry to say that
many of the parishioners express a desire that he should not trouble
himself to recross the Channel. This is not the feeling that ought
to exist between shepherd and flock. It is not such as is prevalent
at Birstall. It is not such as poor Mr. Weightman excited.
'Give my best love to all of them, and--Believe me, yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
The next glimpse is more kindly.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 28_th_, 1850.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I cannot but be concerned to hear of your mother's
illness; write again soon, if it be but a line, to tell me how she
gets on. This shadow will, I trust and believe, be but a passing
one, but it is a foretaste and warning of what _must come_ one day.
Let it prepare your mind, dear Ellen, for that great trial which, if
you live, it _must_ in the course of a few years be your lot to
undergo. That cutting asunder of the ties of nature is the pain we
most dread and which we are most certain to experience. Lewes's
letter made me laugh; I cannot respect him more for it. Sir J. K.
Shuttleworth's letter did not make me laugh; he has written again
since. I have received to-day a note from Miss Alexander, daughter,
she says, of Dr. Alexander. Do you know anything of her? Mary
Taylor seems in good health and spirits, and in the way of doing
well. I shall feel anxious to hear again soon.
'C. B.
'_P.S._--Mr. Nicholls has finished reading _Shirley_; he is delighted
with it. John Brown's wife seriously thought he had gone wrong in
the head as she heard him giving vent to roars of laughter as he sat
alone, clapping his hands and stamping on the floor. He would read
all the scenes about the curates aloud to Papa. He triumphed in his
own character. {468} What Mr. Grant will say is another thing. No
matter.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _July_ 27_th_, 1851.
'DEAR NELL,--I hope you have taken no cold from your wretched journey
home; you see you should have taken my advice and stayed till
Saturday. Didn't I tell you I had a "presentiment" it would be
better for you to do so?
'I am glad you found your mother pretty well. Is she disposed to
excuse the wretched petrified condition of the bilberry preserve, in
consideration of the intent of the donor? It seems they had high
company while you were away. You see what you lose by coming to
Haworth. No events here since your departure except a long letter
from Miss Martineau. (She did not write the article on "Woman" in
the _Westminster_; by the way, it is the production of a man, and one
of the first philosophers and political economists and metaphysicians
of the day.) {469} Item, the departure of Mr. Nicholls for Ireland,
and his inviting himself on the eve thereof to come and take a
farewell tea; good, mild, uncontentious. Item, a note from the
stiff-like chap who called about the epitaph for his cousin. I
inclose this--a finer gem in its way it would be difficult to
conceive. You need not, however, be at the trouble of returning it.
How are they at Hunsworth yet? It is no use saying whether I am
solitary or not; I drive on very well, and papa continues pretty
well.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
I print the next letter here because, although it contains no reference
to Mr. Nicholls, it has a bearing upon the letter following it. Dr.
Wheelwright shared Mr. Bronte's infirmity of defective eyesight.
TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT
'HAWORTH, _April_ 12_th_, 1852.
'DEAR LAETITIA,--Your last letter gave me much concern. I had hoped
you were long ere this restored to your usual health, and it both
pained and surprised me to hear that you still suffer so much from
debility. I cannot help thinking your constitution is naturally
sound and healthy. Can it be the air of London which disagrees with
you? For myself, I struggled through the winter and the early part
of spring often with great difficulty. My friend stayed with me a
few days in the early part of January--she could not be spared
longer. I was better during her visit, but had a relapse soon after
she left me, which reduced my strength very much. It cannot be
denied that the solitude of my position fearfully aggravated its
other evils. Some long, stormy days and nights there were when I
felt such a craving for support and companionship as I cannot
express. Sleepless, I lay awake night after night; weak and unable
to occupy myself, I sat in my chair day after day, the saddest
memories my only company. It was a time I shall never forget, but
God sent it and it must have been for the best.
'I am better now, and very grateful do I feel for the restoration of
tolerable health; but, as if there was always to be some affliction,
papa, who enjoyed wonderful health during the whole winter, is ailing
with his spring attack of bronchitis. I earnestly trust it may pass
over in the comparatively ameliorated form in which it has hitherto
shown itself.
'Let me not forget to answer your question about the cataract. Tell
your papa my father was seventy at the time he underwent an
operation; he was most reluctant to try the experiment--could not
believe that at his age and with his want of robust strength it would
succeed. I was obliged to be very decided in the matter and to act
entirely on my own responsibility. Nearly six years have now elapsed
since the cataract was extracted (it was not merely depressed). He
has never once, during that time, regretted the step, and a day
seldom passes that he does not express gratitude and pleasure at the
restoration of that inestimable privilege of vision whose loss he
once knew.
'I hope the next tidings you hear of your brother Charles will be
satisfactory for his parents' and sisters' sake as well as his own.
Your poor mamma has had many successive trials, and her uncomplaining
resignation seems to offer us all an example worthy to be followed.
Remember me kindly to her, to your papa, and all your circle,
and--Believe me, with best wishes to yourself, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO REV. P. BRONTE, HAWORTH, YORKS
'CLIFF HOUSE, FILEY, _June_ 2_nd_, 1852.
'DEAR PAPA,--Thank you for your letter, which I was so glad to get
that I think I must answer it by return of post. I had expected one
yesterday, and was perhaps a little unreasonably anxious when
disappointed, but the weather has been so very cold that I feared
either you were ill or Martha worse. I hope Martha will take care of
herself. I cannot help feeling a little uneasy about her.
'On the whole I get on very well here, but I have not bathed yet as I
am told it is much too cold and too early in the season. The sea is
very grand. Yesterday it was a somewhat unusually high tide, and I
stood about an hour on the cliffs yesterday afternoon watching the
tumbling in of great tawny turbid waves, that made the whole shore
white with foam and filled the air with a sound hollower and deeper
than thunder. There are so very few visitors at Filey yet that I and
a few sea-birds and fishing-boats have often the whole expanse of
sea, shore, and cliff to ourselves. When the tide is out the sands
are wide, long, and smooth, and very pleasant to walk on. When the
high tides are in, not a vestige of sand remains. I saw a great dog
rush into the sea yesterday, and swim and bear up against the waves
like a seal. I wonder what Flossy would say to that.
'On Sunday afternoon I went to a church which I should like Mr.
Nicholls to see. It was certainly not more than thrice the length
and breadth of our passage, floored with brick, the walls green with
mould, the pews painted white, but the paint almost all worn off with
time and decay. At one end there is a little gallery for the
singers, and when these personages stood up to perform they all
turned their backs upon the congregation, and the congregation turned
_their_ backs on the pulpit and parson. The effect of this manoeuvre
was so ludicrous, I could hardly help laughing; had Mr. Nicholls been
there he certainly would have laughed out. Looking up at the gallery
and seeing only the broad backs of the singers presented to their
audience was excessively grotesque. There is a well-meaning but
utterly inactive clergyman at Filey, and Methodists flourish.
'I cannot help enjoying Mr. Butterfield's defeat; and yet in one
sense this is a bad state of things, calculated to make working
people both discontented and insubordinate. Give my kind regards,
dear papa, to Mr. Nicholls, Tabby, and Martha. Charge Martha to
beware of draughts, and to get such help in her cleaning as she shall
need. I hope you will continue well.--Believe me, your affectionate
daughter,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_December_ 15_th_, 1852.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I return the note, which is highly characteristic, and
not, I fear, of good omen for the comfort of your visit. There must
be something wrong in herself as well as in her servants. I inclose
another note which, taken in conjunction with the incident
immediately preceding it, and with a long series of indications whose
meaning I scarce ventured hitherto to interpret to myself, much less
hint to any other, has left on my mind a feeling of deep concern.
This note you will see is from Mr. Nicholls.
'I know not whether you have ever observed him specially when staying
here. Your perception is generally quick enough--_too_ quick, I have
sometimes thought; yet as you never said anything, I restrained my
own dim misgivings, which could not claim the sure guide of vision.
What papa has seen or guessed I will not inquire, though I may
conjecture. He has minutely noticed all Mr. Nicholls's low spirits,
all his threats of expatriation, all his symptoms of impaired
health--noticed them with little sympathy and much indirect sarcasm.
On Monday evening Mr. Nicholls was here to tea. I vaguely felt
without clearly seeing, as without seeing I have felt for some time,
the meaning of his constant looks, and strange, feverish restraint.
After tea I withdrew to the dining-room as usual. As usual, Mr.
Nicholls sat with papa till between eight and nine o'clock; I then
heard him open the parlour door as if going. I expected the clash of
the front door. He stopped in the passage; he tapped; like lightning
it flashed on me what was coming. He entered; he stood before me.
What his words were you can guess; his manner you can hardly realise,
nor can I forget it. Shaking from head to foot, looking deadly pale,
speaking low, vehemently, yet with difficulty, he made me for the
first time feel what it costs a man to declare affection where he
doubts response.
'The spectacle of one ordinarily so statue-like thus trembling,
stirred, and overcome, gave me a kind of strange shock. He spoke of
sufferings he had borne for months, of sufferings he could endure no
longer, and craved leave for some hope. I could only entreat him to
leave me then and promise a reply on the morrow. I asked him if he
had spoken to papa. He said he dared not. I think I half led, half
put him out of the room. When he was gone I immediately went to
papa, and told him what had taken place. Agitation and anger
disproportionate to the occasion ensued; if I had _loved_ Mr.
Nicholls, and had heard such epithets applied to him as were used, it
would have transported me past my patience; as it was, my blood
boiled with a sense of injustice. But papa worked himself into a
state not to be trifled with: the veins on his temples started up
like whip-cord, and his eyes became suddenly bloodshot. I made haste
to promise that Mr. Nicholls should on the morrow have a distinct
refusal.
'I wrote yesterday and got this note. There is no need to add to
this statement any comment. Papa's vehement antipathy to the bare
thought of any one thinking of me as a wife, and Mr. Nicholls's
distress, both give me pain. Attachment to Mr. Nicholls you are
aware I never entertained, but the poignant pity inspired by his
state on Monday evening, by the hurried revelation of his sufferings
for many months, is something galling and irksome. That he cared
something for me, and wanted me to care for him, I have long
suspected, but I did not know the degree or strength of his feelings.
Dear Nell, good-bye.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.
'I have letters from Sir J. K. Shuttleworth and Miss Martineau, but I
cannot talk of them now.'
With this letter we see the tragedy beginning. Mr. Bronte, with his
daughter's fame ringing in his ears, thought she should do better than
marry a curate with a hundred pounds per annum. For once, and for the
only time in his life there is reason to believe, his passions were
thoroughly aroused. It is to the honour of Mr. Nicholls, and says much
for his magnanimity, that he has always maintained that Mr. Bronte was
perfectly justified in the attitude he adopted. His present feeling for
Mr. Bronte is one of unbounded respect and reverence, and the occasional
unfriendly references to his father-in-law have pained him perhaps even
more than when he has been himself the victim.
'Attachment to Mr. Nicholls you are aware I never entertained.' A good
deal has been made of this and other casual references of Charlotte
Bronte to her slight affection for her future husband. Martha Brown, the
servant, used in her latter days to say that Charlotte would come into
the kitchen and ask her if it was right to marry a man one did not
entirely love--and Martha Brown's esteem for Mr. Nicholls was very great.
But it is possible to make too much of all this. It is a commonplace of
psychology to say that a woman's love is of slow growth. It is quite
certain that Charlotte Bronte suffered much during this period of
alienation and separation; that she alone secured Mr. Nicholls's return
to Haworth, after his temporary estrangement from Mr. Bronte; and
finally, that the months of her married life, prior to her last illness,
were the happiest she was destined to know.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _December_ 18_th_, 1852.
'DEAR NELL,--You may well ask, how is it? for I am sure I don't know.
This business would seem to me like a dream, did not my reason tell
me it has long been brewing. It puzzles me to comprehend how and
whence comes this turbulence of feeling.
'You ask how papa demeans himself to Mr. Nicholls. I only wish you
were here to see papa in his present mood: you would know something
of him. He just treats him with a hardness not to be bent, and a
contempt not to be propitiated. The two have had no interview as
yet; all has been done by letter. Papa wrote, I must say, a most
cruel note to Mr. Nicholls on Wednesday. In his state of mind and
health (for the poor man is horrifying his landlady, Martha's mother,
by entirely rejecting his meals) I felt that the blow must be
parried, and I thought it right to accompany the pitiless despatch by
a line to the effect that, while Mr. Nicholls must never expect me to
reciprocate the feeling he had expressed, yet, at the same time, I
wished to disclaim participation in sentiments calculated to give him
pain; and I exhorted him to maintain his courage and spirits. On
receiving the two letters, he set off from home. Yesterday came the
inclosed brief epistle.
'You must understand that a good share of papa's anger arises from
the idea, not altogether groundless, that Mr. Nicholls has behaved
with disingenuousness in so long concealing his aim. I am afraid
also that papa thinks a little too much about his want of money; he
says the match would be a degradation, that I should be throwing
myself away, that he expects me, if I marry at all, to do very
differently; in short, his manner of viewing the subject is on the
whole far from being one in which I can sympathise. My own
objections arise from a sense of incongruity and uncongeniality in
feelings, tastes, principles.
'How are you getting on, dear Nell, and how are all at Brookroyd?
Remember me kindly to everybody.--Yours, wishing devoutly that papa
would resume his tranquillity, and Mr. Nicholls his beef and pudding,
'C. BRONTE.
'I am glad to say that the incipient inflammation in papa's eye is
disappearing.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_January_ 2_nd_, 1853.
'DEAR NELL,--I thought of you on New Year's night, and hope you got
well over your formidable tea-making. I trust that Tuesday and
Wednesday will also pass pleasantly. I am busy too in my little way
preparing to go to London this week, a matter which necessitates some
little application to the needle. I find it is quite necessary I
should go to superintend the press, as Mr. Smith seems quite
determined not to let the printing get on till I come. I have
actually only received three proof-sheets since I was at Brookroyd.
Papa wants me to go too, to be out of the way, I suppose; but I am
sorry for one other person whom nobody pities but me. Martha is
bitter against him; John Brown says "he should like to shoot him."
They don't understand the nature of his feelings, but I see now what
they are. He is one of those who attach themselves to very few,
whose sensations are close and deep, like an underground stream,
running strong, but in a narrow channel. He continues restless and
ill; he carefully performs the occasional duty, but does not come
near the church, procuring a substitute every Sunday. A few days
since he wrote to papa requesting permission to withdraw his
resignation. Papa answered that he should only do so on condition of
giving his written promise never again to broach the obnoxious
subject either to him or to me. This he has evaded doing, so the
matter remains unsettled. I feel persuaded the termination will be
his departure for Australia. Dear Nell, without loving him, I don't
like to think of him suffering in solitude, and wish him anywhere so
that he were happier. He and papa have never met or spoken yet. I
am very glad to learn that your mother is pretty well, and also that
the piece of challenged work is progressing. I hope you will not be
called away to Norfolk before I come home: I should like you to pay a
visit to Haworth first. Write again soon.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 4_th_, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--We had the parsons to supper as well as to tea. Mr. N.
demeaned himself not quite pleasantly. I thought he made no effort
to struggle with his dejection but gave way to it in a manner to draw
notice; the Bishop was obviously puzzled by it. Mr. Nicholls also
showed temper once or twice in speaking to papa. Martha was
beginning to tell me of certain "flaysome" looks also, but I desired
not to hear of them. The fact is, I shall be most thankful when he
is well away. I pity him, but I don't like that dark gloom of his.
He dogged me up the lane after the evening service in no pleasant
manner. He stopped also in the passage after the Bishop and the
other clergy were gone into the room, and it was because I drew away
and went upstairs that he gave that look which filled Martha's soul
with horror. She, it seems, meantime, was making it her business to
watch him from the kitchen door. If Mr. Nicholls be a good man at
bottom, it is a sad thing that nature has not given him the faculty
to put goodness into a more attractive form. Into the bargain of all
the rest he managed to get up a most pertinacious and needless
dispute with the Inspector, in listening to which all my old
unfavourable impressions revived so strongly, I fear my countenance
could not but shew them.
'Dear Nell, I consider that on the whole it is a mercy you have been
at home and not at Norfolk during the late cold weather. Love to all
at Brookroyd.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_March_ 9_th_, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I am sure Miss Wooler would enjoy her visit to you, as
much as you her company. Dear Nell, I thank you sincerely for your
discreet and friendly silence on the point alluded to. I had feared
it would be discussed between you two, and had an inexpressible
shrinking at the thought; now less than ever does it seem a matter
open to discussion. I hear nothing, and you must quite understand
that if I feel any uneasiness it is not that of confirmed and fixed
regard, but that anxiety which is inseparable from a state of
absolute uncertainty about a somewhat momentous matter. I do not
know, I am not sure myself, that any other termination would be
better than lasting estrangement and unbroken silence. Yet a good
deal of pain has been and must be gone through in that case.
However, to each his burden.
'I have not yet read the papers; D.V. I will send them
to-morrow.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.
'Understand that in whatever I have said above, it was not for pity
or sympathy. I hardly pity myself. Only I wish that in all matters
in this world there was fair and open dealing, and no underhand
work.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _April_ 6_th_, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--My visit to Manchester is for the present put off by
Mr. Morgan having written to say that since papa will not go to
Buckingham to see him he will come to Yorkshire to see papa; when, I
don't yet know, and I trust in goodness he will not stay long, as
papa really cannot bear putting out of his way. I must wait,
however, till the infliction is over.
'You ask about Mr. Nicholls. I hear he has got a curacy, but do not
yet know where. I trust the news is true. He and papa never speak.
He seems to pass a desolate life. He has allowed late circumstances
so to act on him as to freeze up his manner and overcast his
countenance not only to those immediately concerned but to every one.
He sits drearily in his rooms. If Mr. Grant or any other clergyman
calls to see, and as they think, to cheer him, he scarcely speaks. I
find he tells them nothing, seeks no confidant, rebuffs all attempts
to penetrate his mind. I own I respect him for this. He still lets
Flossy go to his rooms, and takes him to walk. He still goes over to
see Mr. Sowden sometimes, and, poor fellow, that is all. He looks
ill and miserable. I think and trust in Heaven that he will be
better as soon as he fairly gets away from Haworth. I pity him
inexpressibly. We never meet nor speak, nor dare I look at him;
silent pity is just all that I can give him, and as he knows nothing
about that, it does not comfort. He is now grown so gloomy and
reserved that nobody seems to like him. His fellow-curates shun
trouble in that shape; the lower orders dislike it. Papa has a
perfect antipathy to him, and he, I fear, to papa. Martha hates him.
I think he might almost be _dying_ and they would not speak a
friendly word to or of him. How much of all this he deserves I can't
tell; certainly he never was agreeable or amiable, and is less so now
than ever, and alas! I do not know him well enough to be sure that
there is truth and true affection, or only rancour and corroding
disappointment at the bottom of his chagrin. In this state of things
I must be, and I am, _entirely passive_. I may be losing the purest
gem, and to me far the most precious, life can give--genuine
attachment--or I may be escaping the yoke of a morose temper. In
this doubt conscience will not suffer me to take one step in
opposition to papa's will, blended as that will is with the most
bitter and unreasonable prejudices. So I just leave the matter where
we must leave all important matters.
'Remember me kindly to all at Brookroyd, and--Believe me, yours
faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 16th, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--The east winds about which you inquire have spared me
wonderfully till to-day, when I feel somewhat sick physically, and
not very blithe mentally. I am not sure that the east winds are
entirely to blame for this ailment. Yesterday was a strange sort of
a day at church. It seems as if I were to be punished for my doubts
about the nature and truth of poor Mr. Nicholls's regard. Having
ventured on Whit Sunday to stop the sacrament, I got a lesson not to
be repeated. He struggled, faltered, then lost command over
himself--stood before my eyes and in the sight of all the
communicants white, shaking, voiceless. Papa was not there, thank
God! Joseph Redman spoke some words to him. He made a great effort,
but could only with difficulty whisper and falter through the
service. I suppose he thought this would be the last time; he goes
either this week or the next. I heard the women sobbing round, and I
could not quite check my own tears. What had happened was reported
to papa either by Joseph Redman or John Brown; it excited only anger,
and such expressions as "unmanly driveller." Compassion or relenting
is no more to be looked for than sap from firewood.
'I never saw a battle more sternly fought with the feelings than Mr.
Nicholls fights with his, and when he yields momentarily, you are
almost sickened by the sense of the strain upon him. However, he is
to go, and I cannot speak to him or look at him or comfort him a
whit, and I must submit. Providence is over all, that is the only
consolation.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 19_th_, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I cannot help feeling a certain satisfaction in finding
that the people here are getting up a subscription to offer a
testimonial of respect to Mr. Nicholls on his leaving the place.
Many are expressing both their commiseration and esteem for him. The
Churchwardens recently put the question to him plainly: Why was he
going? Was it Mr. Bronte's fault or his own? "His own," he
answered. Did he blame Mr. Bronte? "No! he did not: if anybody was
wrong it was himself." Was he willing to go? "No! it gave him great
pain." Yet he is not always right. I must be just. He shows a
curious mixture of honour and obstinacy--feeling and sullenness.
Papa addressed him at the school tea-drinking, with _constrained_
civility, but still with _civility_. He did not reply civilly; he
cut short further words. This sort of treatment offered in public is
what papa never will forget or forgive, it inspires him with a silent
bitterness not to be expressed. I am afraid both are unchristian in
their mutual feelings. Nor do I know which of them is least
accessible to reason or least likely to forgive. It is a dismal
state of things.
'The weather is fine now, dear Nell. We will take these sunny days
as a good omen for your visit to Yarmouth. With kind regards to all
at Brookroyd, and best wishes to yourself,--I am, yours sincerely,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _May_ 27_th_, 1853.
'DEAR ELLEN,--You will want to know about the leave-taking? The
whole matter is but a painful subject, but I must treat it briefly.
The testimonial was presented in a public meeting. Mr. Taylor and
Mr. Grant were there. Papa was not very well and I advised him to
stay away, which he did. As to the last Sunday, it was a cruel
struggle. Mr. Nicholls ought not to have had to take any duty.
'He left Haworth this morning at six o'clock. Yesterday evening he
called to render into papa's hands the deeds of the National School,
and to say good-bye. They were busy cleaning--washing the paint,
etc., in the dining-room, so he did not find me there. I would not
go into the parlour to speak to him in papa's presence. He went out,
thinking he was not to see me; and indeed, till the very last moment,
I thought it best not. But perceiving that he stayed long before
going out at the gate, and remembering his long grief, I took courage
and went out, trembling and miserable. I found him leaning against
the garden door in a paroxysm of anguish, sobbing as women never sob.
Of course I went straight to him. Very few words were interchanged,
those few barely articulate. Several things I should have liked to
ask him were swept entirely from my memory. Poor fellow! But he
wanted such hope and such encouragement as I could not give him.
Still, I trust he must know now that I am not cruelly blind and
indifferent to his constancy and grief. For a few weeks he goes to
the south of England, afterwards he takes a curacy somewhere in
Yorkshire, but I don't know where.
'Papa has been far from strong lately. I dare not mention Mr.
Nicholls's name to him. He speaks of him quietly and without
opprobrium to others, but to me he is implacable on the matter.
However, he is gone--gone, and there's an end of it. I see no chance
of hearing a word about him in future, unless some stray shred of
intelligence comes through Mr. Sowden or some other second-hand
source. In all this it is not I who am to be pitied at all, and of
course nobody pities me. They all think in Haworth that I have
disdainfully refused him. If pity would do Mr. Nicholls any good, he
ought to have, and I believe has it. They may abuse me if they will;
whether they do or not I can't tell.
'Write soon and say how your prospects proceed. I trust they will
daily brighten.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT
'HAWORTH, _March_ 18_th_, 1854.
'MY DEAR LAETITIA,--I was very glad to see your handwriting again; it
is, I believe, a year since I heard from you. Again and again you
have recurred to my thoughts lately, and I was beginning to have some
sad presages as to the cause of your silence. Your letter happily
does away with all these; it brings, on the whole, good tidings both
of your papa, mamma, your sister, and, last but not least, your dear
respected English self.
'My dear father has borne the severe winter very well, a circumstance
for which I feel the more thankful, as he had many weeks of very
precarious health last summer, following an attack from which he
suffered last June, and which for a few hours deprived him totally of
sight, though neither his mind, speech, nor even his powers of motion
were in the least affected. I can hardly tell you how thankful I
was, dear Laetitia, when, after that dreary and almost despairing
interval of utter darkness, some gleam of daylight became visible to
him once more. I had feared that paralysis had seized the optic
nerve. A sort of mist remained for a long time, and indeed his
vision is not yet perfectly clear, but he can read, write, and walk
about, and he preaches _twice_ every Sunday, the curate only reading
the prayers. _You_ can well understand how earnestly I pray that
sight may be spared him to the end; he so dreads the privation of
blindness. His mind is just as strong and active as ever, and
politics interest him as they do _your_ papa. The Czar, the war, the
alliance between France and England--into all these things he throws
himself heart and soul. They seem to carry him back to his
comparatively young days, and to renew the excitement of the last
great European struggle. Of course, my father's sympathies, and mine
too, are all with justice and Europe against tyranny and Russia.
'Circumstanced as I have been, you will comprehend that I had neither
the leisure nor inclination to go from home much during the past
year. I spent a week with Mrs. Gaskell in the spring, and a
fortnight with some other friends more recently, and that includes
the whole of my visiting since I saw you last. My life is indeed
very uniform and retired, more so than is quite healthful either for
mind or body; yet I feel reason for often renewed feelings of
gratitude in the sort of support which still comes and cheers me from
time to time. My health, though not unbroken, is, I sometimes fancy,
rather stronger on the whole than it was three years ago; headache
and dyspepsia are my worst ailments. Whether I shall come up to town
this season for a few days I do not yet know; but if I do I shall
hope to call in Phillimore Place. With kindest remembrances to your
papa, mamma, and sisters,--I am, dear Laetitia, affectionately yours,
'C. BRONTE.'
Mr. Nicholls's successor did not prove acceptable to Mr. Bronte. He
complained again and again, and one day Charlotte turned upon her father
and told him pretty frankly that he was alone to blame--that he had only
to let her marry Mr. Nicholls, with whom she corresponded and whom she
really loved, and all would be well. A little arrangement, the transfer
of Mr. Nicholls's successor, Mr. De Renzi, to a Bradford church, and Mr.
Nicholls left his curacy at Kirk-Smeaton and returned once more to
Haworth as an accepted lover.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _March_ 28_th_, 1854.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--The inclosure in yours of yesterday puzzled me at
first, for I did not immediately recognise my own hand-writing; when
I did, the sensation was one of consternation and vexation, as the
letter ought by all means to have gone on Friday. It was intended to
relieve him of great anxiety. However, I trust he will get it
to-day; and on the whole, when I think it over, I can only be
thankful that the mistake was no worse, and did not throw the letter
into the hands of some indifferent and unscrupulous person. I wrote
it after some days of indisposition and uneasiness, and when I felt
weak and unfit to write. While writing to him, I was at the same
time intending to answer your note, which I suppose accounts for the
confusion of ideas, shown in the mixed and blundering address.
'I wish you could come about Easter rather than at another time, for
this reason: Mr. Nicholls, if not prevented, proposes coming over
then. I suppose he will stay at Mr. Grant's, as he has done two or
three times before, but he will be frequently coming here, which
would enliven your visit a little. Perhaps, too, he might take a
walk with us occasionally. Altogether it would be a little change,
such as, you know, I could not always offer.
'If all be well he will come under different circumstances to any
that have attended his visits before; were it otherwise, I should not
ask you to meet him, for when aspects are gloomy and unpropitious,
the fewer there are to suffer from the cloud the better.
'He was here in January and was then received, but not pleasantly. I
trust it will be a little different now.
'Papa breakfasts in bed and has not yet risen; his bronchitis is
still troublesome. I had a bad week last week, but am greatly better
now, for my mind is a little relieved, though very sedate, and rising
only to expectations the most moderate.
'Sometime, perhaps in May, I may hope to come to Brookroyd, but, as
you will understand from what I have now stated, I could not come
before.
'Think it over, dear Nell, and come to Haworth if you can. Write as
soon as you can decide.--Yours affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 1_st_, 1854.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--You certainly were right in your second
interpretation of my note. I am too well aware of the dulness of
Haworth for any visitor, not to be glad to avail myself of the chance
of offering even a slight change. But this morning my little plans
have been disarranged by an intimation that Mr. Nicholls is coming on
Monday. I thought to put him off, but have not succeeded. As Easter
now consequently seems an unfavourable period both from your point of
view and mine, we will adjourn it till a better opportunity offers.
Meantime, I thank you, dear Ellen, for your kind offer to come in
case I wanted you. Papa is still very far from well: his cough very
troublesome, and a good deal of inflammatory action in the chest.
To-day he seems somewhat better than yesterday, and I earnestly hope
the improvement may continue.
'With kind regards to your mother and all at Brookroyd,--I am, dear
Ellen, yours affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _April_ 11_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Thank you for the collar; it is very pretty, and I will
wear it for the sake of her who made and gave it.
'Mr. Nicholls came on Monday, and was here all last week. Matters
have progressed thus since July. He renewed his visit in September,
but then matters so fell out that I saw little of him. He continued
to write. The correspondence pressed on my mind. I grew very
miserable in keeping it from papa. At last sheer pain made me gather
courage to break it. I told all. It was very hard and rough work at
the time, but the issue after a few days was that I obtained leave to
continue the communication. Mr. Nicholls came in January; he was ten
days in the neighbourhood. I saw much of him. I had stipulated with
papa for opportunity to become better acquainted. I had it, and all
I learnt inclined me to esteem and affection. Still papa was very,
very hostile, bitterly unjust.
'I told Mr. Nicholls the great obstacle that lay in his way. He has
persevered. The result of this, his last visit, is, that papa's
consent is gained, that his respect, I believe, is won, for Mr.
Nicholls has in all things proved himself disinterested and
forbearing. Certainly, I must respect him, nor can I withhold from
him more than mere cool respect. In fact, dear Ellen, I am engaged.
'Mr. Nicholls, in the course of a few months, will return to the
curacy of Haworth. I stipulated that I would not leave papa; and to
papa himself I proposed a plan of residence which should maintain his
seclusion and convenience uninvaded, and in a pecuniary sense bring
him gain instead of loss. What seemed at one time impossible is now
arranged, and papa begins really to take a pleasure in the prospect.
'For myself, dear Ellen, while thankful to One who seems to have
guided me through much difficulty, much and deep distress and
perplexity of mind, I am still very calm, very inexpectant. What I
taste of happiness is of the soberest order. I trust to love my
husband. I am grateful for his tender love to me. I believe him to
be an affectionate, a conscientious, a high-principled man; and if,
with all this, I should yield to regrets that fine talents, congenial
tastes and thoughts are not added, it seems to me I should be most
presumptuous and thankless.
'Providence offers me this destiny. Doubtless, then, it is the best
for me. Nor do I shrink from wishing those dear to me one not less
happy.
'It is possible that our marriage may take place in the course of the
summer. Mr. Nicholls wishes it to be in July. He spoke of you with
great kindness, and said he hoped you would be at our wedding. I
said I thought of having no other bridesmaid. Did I say rightly? I
mean the marriage to be literally as quiet as possible.
'Do not mention these things just yet. I mean to write to Miss
Wooler shortly. Good-bye. There is a strange half-sad feeling in
making these announcements. The whole thing is something other than
imagination paints it beforehand; cares, fears, come mixed
inextricably with hopes. I trust yet to talk the matter over with
you. Often last week I wished for your presence and said so to Mr.
Nicholls--Arthur, as I now call him, but he said it was the only time
and place when he could not have wished to see you. Good-bye.--Yours
affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 15_th_, 1854.
'MY OWN DEAR NELL,--I hope to see you somewhere about the second week
in May.
'The Manchester visit is still hanging over my head. I have deferred
it, and deferred it, but have finally promised to go about the
beginning of next month. I shall only stay three days, then I spend
two or three days at Hunsworth, then come to Brookroyd. The three
visits must be compressed into the space of a fortnight, if possible.
'I suppose I shall have to go to Leeds. My purchases cannot be
either expensive or extensive. You must just resolve in your head
the bonnets and dresses; something that can be turned to decent use
and worn after the wedding-day will be best, I think.
'I wrote immediately to Miss Wooler and received a truly kind letter
from her this morning. If you think she would like to come to the
marriage I will not fail to ask her.
'Papa's mind seems wholly changed about the matter, and he has said
both to me and when I was not there, how much happier he feels since
he allowed all to be settled. It is a wonderful relief for me to
hear him treat the thing rationally, to talk over with him themes on
which once I dared not touch. He is rather anxious things should get
forward now, and takes quite an interest in the arrangement of
preliminaries. His health improves daily, though this east wind
still keeps up a slight irritation in the throat and chest.
'The feeling which had been disappointed in papa was ambition,
paternal pride--ever a restless feeling, as we all know. Now that
this unquiet spirit is exorcised, justice, which was once quite
forgotten, is once more listened to, and affection, I hope, resumes
some power.
'My hope is that in the end this arrangement will turn out more truly
to papa's advantage than any other it was in my power to achieve.
Mr. Nicholls in his last letter refers touchingly to his earnest
desire to prove his gratitude to papa, by offering support and
consolation to his declining age. This will not be mere talk with
him--he is no talker, no dealer in professions.--Yours
affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_April_ 28_th_, 1854.
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--I have delayed writing till I could give you some
clear notion of my movements. If all be well, I go to Manchester on
the 1st of May. Thence, on Thursday, to Hunsworth till Monday, when
(D.V.) I come to Brookroyd. I must be at home by the close of the
week. Papa, thank God! continues to improve much. He preached twice
on Sunday and again on Wednesday, and was not tired; his mind and
mood are different to what they were, so much more cheerful and
quiet. I trust the illusions of ambition are quite dissipated, and
that he really sees it is better to relieve a suffering and faithful
heart, to secure its fidelity, a solid good, than unfeelingly to
abandon one who is truly attached to his interest as well as mine,
and pursue some vain empty shadow.
'I thank you, dear Ellen, for your kind invitation to Mr. Nicholls.
He was asked likewise to Manchester and Hunsworth. I would not have
opposed his coming had there been no real obstacle to the
arrangement--certain little awkwardnesses of feeling I would have
tried to get over for the sake of introducing him to old friends; but
it so happens that he cannot leave on account of his rector's
absence. Mr. C. will be in town with his family till June, and he
always stipulates that his curate shall remain at Kirk-Smeaton while
he is away.
'How did you get on at the Oratorio? And what did Miss Wooler say to
the proposal of being at the wedding? I have many points to discuss
when I see you. I hope your mother and all are well. With kind
remembrances to them, and true love to you,--I am, dear Nell,
faithfully yours,
'C. BRONTE.
'When you write, address me at Mrs. Gaskell's, Plymouth Grove,
Manchester.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_May_ 22_nd_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I wonder how you are, and whether that harassing cough
is better. Be scrupulously cautious about undue exposure. Just now,
dear Ellen, an hour's inadvertence might cause you to be really ill.
So once again, take care. Since I came home I have been very busy
stitching. The little new room is got into order, and the green and
white curtains are up; they exactly suit the papering, and look neat
and clean enough. I had a letter a day or two since announcing that
Mr. Nicholls comes to-morrow. I feel anxious about him, more anxious
on one point than I dare quite express to myself. It seems he has
again been suffering sharply from his rheumatic affection. I hear
this not from himself, but from another quarter. He was ill while I
was at Manchester and Brookroyd. He uttered no complaint to me,
dropped no hint on the subject. Alas! he was hoping he had got the
better of it, and I know how this contradiction of his hopes will
sadden him. For unselfish reasons he did so earnestly wish this
complaint might not become chronic. I fear, I fear. But, however, I
mean to stand by him now, whether in weal or woe. This liability to
rheumatic pain was one of the strong arguments used against the
marriage. It did not weigh somehow. If he is doomed to suffer, it
seems that so much the more will he need care and help. And yet the
ultimate possibilities of such a case are appalling. You remember
your aunt. Well, come what may, God help and strengthen both him and
me. I look forward to to-morrow with a mixture of impatience and
anxiety. Poor fellow! I want to see with my own eyes how he is.
'It is getting late and dark. Write soon, dear Ellen. Goodnight and
God bless you.--Yours affectionately,
'C. BRONTE.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _May_ 27_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Your letter was very welcome, and I am glad and
thankful to learn you are better. Still, beware of presuming on the
improvement--don't let it make you careless. Mr. Nicholls has just
left me. Your hopes were not ill-founded about his illness. At
first I was thoroughly frightened. However, inquiring gradually
relieved me. In short, I soon discovered that my business was,
instead of sympathy, to rate soundly. The patient had wholesome
treatment while he was at Haworth, and went away singularly better;
perfectly unreasonable, however, on some points, as his fallible sex
are not ashamed to be.
'Man is, indeed, an amazing piece of mechanism when you see, so to
speak, the full weakness of what he calls his strength. There is not
a female child above the age of eight but might rebuke him for spoilt
petulance of his wilful nonsense. I bought a border for the
table-cloth and have put it on.
'Good-bye, dear Ellen. Write again soon, and mind and give a
bulletin.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_June_ 12_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Papa preached twice to-day as well and as strongly as
ever. It is strange how he varies, how soon he is depressed and how
soon revived. It makes me feel so thankful when he is better. I am
thankful too that you are stronger, dear Nell. My worthy
acquaintance at Kirk-Smeaton refuses to acknowledge himself better
yet. I am uneasy about not writing to Miss Wooler. I fear she will
think me negligent, while I am only busy and bothered. I want to
clear up my needlework a little, and have been sewing against time
since I was at Brookroyd. Mr. Nicholls hindered me for a full week.
'I like the card very well, but not the envelope. I should like a
perfectly plain envelope with a silver initial.
'I got my dresses from Halifax a day or two since, but have not had
time to have them unpacked, so I don't know what they are like.
'Next time I write, I hope to be able to give you clear information,
and to beg you to come here without further delay. Good-bye, dear
Nell.--Yours faithfully,
'C. BRONTE.
'I had almost forgotten to mention about the envelopes. Mr. Nicholls
says I have ordered far too few; he thinks sixty will be wanted. Is
it too late to remedy this error? There is no end to his string of
parson friends. My own list I have not made out.'
Charlotte Bronte's list of friends, to whom wedding-cards were to be
sent, is in her own handwriting, and is not without interest:--
SEND CARDS TO
The Rev. W. Morgan, Rectory, Hulcott, Aylesbury, Bucks. Joseph
Branwell, Esq., Thamar Terrace, Launceston. Cornwall.
Dr. Wheelwright, 29 Phillimore Place, Kensington, London.
George Smith, Esq., 65 Cornhill, London.
Mrs. and Misses Smith, 65 Cornhill, London.
W. S. Williams, Esq., 65 Cornhill, London.
R. Monckton Milnes, Esq.
Mrs. Gaskell, Plymouth Grove, Manchester.
Francis Bennoch, Esq., Park, Blackheath, London.
George Taylor, Esq., Stanbury.
Mrs. and Miss Taylor.
H. Merrall, Esq., Lea Sykes, Haworth.
E. Merrall, Esq., Ebor House, Haworth.
R. Butterfield, Esq., Woodlands, Haworth.
R. Thomas, Esq., Haworth.
J. Pickles, Esq., Brow Top, Haworth.
Wooler Family.
Brookroyd. {491}
The following was written on her wedding day, June 29th, 1854.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'_Thursday Evening_.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I scribble one hasty line just to say that after a
pleasant enough journey we have got safely to Conway; the evening is
wet and wild, though the day was fair chiefly, with some gleams of
sunshine. However, we are sheltered in a comfortable inn. My cold
is not worse. If you get this scrawl to-morrow and write by return,
direct to me at the post-office, Bangor, and I may get it on Monday.
Say how you and Miss Wooler got home. Give my kindest and most
grateful love to Miss Wooler whenever you write. On Monday, I think,
we cross the Channel. No more at present.--Yours faithfully and
lovingly,
'C. B. N.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _August_ 9_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I earnestly hope you are by yourself now, and relieved
from the fag of entertaining guests. You do not complain, but I am
afraid you have had too much of it.
'Since I came home I have not had an unemployed moment. My life is
changed indeed: to be wanted continually, to be constantly called for
and occupied seems so strange; yet it is a marvellously good thing.
As yet I don't quite understand how some wives grow so selfish. As
far as my experience of matrimony goes, I think it tends to draw you
out of, and away from yourself.
'We have had sundry callers this week. Yesterday Mr. Sowden and
another gentleman dined here, and Mr. and Mrs. Grant joined them at
tea.
'I do not think we shall go to Brookroyd soon, on papa's account. I
do not wish again to leave home for a time, but I trust you will ere
long come here.
'I really like Mr. Sowden very well. He asked after you. Mr.
Nicholls told him we expected you would be coming to stay with us in
the course of three or four weeks, and that he should then invite him
over again as he wished us to take sundry rather long walks, and as
he should have his wife to look after, and she was trouble enough, it
would be quite necessary to have a guardian for the other lady. Mr.
Sowden seemed perfectly acquiescent.
'Dear Nell, during the last six weeks, the colour of my thoughts is a
good deal changed: I know more of the realities of life than I once
did. I think many false ideas are propagated, perhaps
unintentionally. I think those married women who indiscriminately
urge their acquaintance to marry, much to blame. For my part, I can
only say with deeper sincerity and fuller significance what I always
said in theory, "Wait God's will." Indeed, indeed, Nell, it is a
solemn and strange and perilous thing for a woman to become a wife.
Man's lot is far, far different. Tell me when you think you can
come. Papa is better, but not well. How is your mother? give my
love to her.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.
'Have I told you how much better Mr. Nicholls is? He looks quite
strong and hale; he gained 12 lbs. during the four weeks we were in
Ireland. To see this improvement in him has been a main source of
happiness to me, and to speak truth, a subject of wonder too.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _August_ 29_th_.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Can you come here on Wednesday week (Sept. 6th)? Try
to arrange matters to do so if possible, for it will be better than
to delay your visit till the days grow cold and short. I want to see
you again, dear Nell, and my husband too will receive you with
pleasure; and he is not diffuse of his courtesies or partialities, I
can assure you. One friendly word from him means as much as twenty
from most people.
'We have been busy lately giving a supper and tea-drinking to the
singers, ringers, Sunday-school teachers, and all the scholars of the
Sunday and National Schools, amounting in all to some 500 souls. It
gave satisfaction and went off well.
'Papa, I am thankful to say, is much better; he preached last Sunday.
How does your mother bear this hot weather? Write soon, dear Nell,
and say you will come.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. N.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _September_ 7_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I send a French paper to-day. You would almost think I
had given them up, it is so long since one was despatched. The fact
is, they had accumulated to quite a pile during my absence. I wished
to look them over before sending them off, and as yet I have scarcely
found time. That same Time is an article of which I once had a large
stock always on hand; where it is all gone now it would be difficult
to say, but my moments are very fully occupied. Take warning, Ellen,
the married woman can call but a very small portion of each day her
own. Not that I complain of this sort of monopoly as yet, and I hope
I never shall incline to regard it as a misfortune, but it certainly
exists. We were both disappointed that you could not come on the day
I mentioned. I have grudged this splendid weather very much. The
moors are in glory, I never saw them fuller of purple bloom. I
wanted you to see them at their best; they are just turning now, and
in another week, I fear, will be faded and sere. As soon as ever you
can leave home, be sure to write and let me know.
'Papa continues greatly better. My husband flourishes; he begins
indeed to express some slight alarm at the growing improvement in his
condition. I think I am decent, better certainly than I was two
months ago, but people don't compliment me as they do Arthur--excuse
the name, it has grown natural to use it now. I trust, dear Nell,
that you are all well at Brookroyd, and that your visiting stirs are
pretty nearly over. I compassionate you from my heart for all the
trouble to which you must be put, and I am rather ashamed of people
coming sponging in that fashion one after another; get away from them
and come here.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 7_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Arthur wishes you would burn my letters. He was out
when I commenced this letter, but he has just come in. It is not
"old friends" he mistrusts, he says, but the chances of war--the
accidental passing of letters into hands and under eyes for which
they were never written.
'All this seems mighty amusing to me; it is a man's mode of viewing
correspondence. Men's letters are proverbially uninteresting and
uncommunicative. I never quite knew before why they made them so.
They may be right in a sense: strange chances do fall out certainly.
As to my own notes, I never thought of attaching importance to them
or considering their fate, till Arthur seemed to reflect on both so
seriously.
'I will write again next week if all be well to name a day for coming
to see you. I am sure you want, or at least ought to have, a little
rest before you are bothered with more company; but whenever I come,
I suppose, dear Nell, under present circumstances, it will be a quiet
visit, and that I shall not need to bring more than a plain dress or
two. Tell me this when you write.--Believe me faithfully yours,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 14_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I am only just at liberty to write to you; guests have
kept me very busy during the last two or three days. Sir J.
Kay-Shuttleworth and a friend of his came here on Saturday afternoon
and stayed till after dinner on Monday.
'When I go to Brookroyd, Arthur will take me there and stay one
night, but I cannot yet fix the time of my visit. Good-bye for the
present, dear Nell.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 21_st_, 1854,
'DEAR ELLEN,--You ask about Mr. Sowden's matter. He walked over here
on a wild rainy day. We talked it over. He is quite disposed to
entertain the proposal, but of course there must be close inquiry and
ripe consideration before either he or the patron decide. Meantime
Mr. Sowden {495} is most anxious that the affairs be kept absolutely
quiet; in the event of disappointment it would be both painful and
injurious to him if it should be rumoured at Hebden Bridge that he
has had thoughts of leaving. Arthur says if a whisper gets out these
things fly from parson to parson like wildfire. I cannot help
somehow wishing that the matter should be arranged, if all on
examination is found tolerably satisfactory.
'Papa continues pretty well, I am thankful to say; his deafness is
wonderfully relieved. Winter seems to suit him better than summer;
besides, he is settled and content, as I perceive with gratitude to
God.
'Dear Ellen, I wish you well through every trouble. Arthur is not in
just now or he would send a kind message.--Believe me, yours
faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _November_ 29_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Arthur somewhat demurs about my going to Brookroyd as
yet; fever, you know, is a formidable word. I cannot say I entertain
any apprehensions myself further than this, that I should be terribly
bothered at the idea of being taken ill from home and causing
trouble; and strangers are sometimes more liable to infection than
persons living in the house.
'Mr. Sowden has seen Sir J. K. Shuttleworth, but I fancy the matter
is very uncertain as yet. It seems the Bishop of Manchester
stipulates that the clergyman chosen should, if possible, be from his
own diocese, and this, Arthur says, is quite right and just. An
exception would have been made in Arthur's favour, but the case is
not so clear with Mr. Sowden. However, no harm will have been done
if the matter does not take wind, as I trust it will not. Write very
soon, dear Nell, and,--Believe me, yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _December_ 7_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I shall not get leave to go to Brookroyd before
Christmas now, so do not expect me. For my own part I really should
have no fear, and if it just depended on me I should come. But these
matters are not quite in my power now: another must be consulted; and
where his wish and judgment have a decided bias to a particular
course, I make no stir, but just adopt it. Arthur is sorry to
disappoint both you and me, but it is his fixed wish that a few weeks
should be allowed yet to elapse before we meet. Probably he is
confirmed in this desire by my having a cold at present. I did not
achieve the walk to the waterfall with impunity. Though I changed my
wet things immediately on returning home, yet I felt a chill
afterwards, and the same night had sore throat and cold; however, I
am better now, but not quite well.
'Did I tell you that our poor little Flossy is dead? He drooped for
a single day, and died quietly in the night without pain. The loss
even of a dog was very saddening, yet perhaps no dog ever had a
happier life or an easier death.
'Papa continues pretty well, I am happy to say, and my dear boy
flourishes. I do not mean that he continues to grow stouter, which
one would not desire, but he keeps in excellent condition.
'You would wonder, I dare say, at the long disappearance of the
French paper. I had got such an accumulation of them unread that I
thought I would not wait to send the old ones; now you will receive
them regularly. I am writing in haste. It is almost inexplicable to
me that I seem so often hurried now; but the fact is, whenever Arthur
is in I must have occupations in which he can share, or which will
not at least divert my attention from him--thus a multitude of little
matters get put off till he goes out, and then I am quite busy.
Goodbye, dear Ellen, I hope we shall meet soon.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _December_ 26_th_, 1854.
'DEAR ELLEN,--I return the letter. It is, as you say, very genuine,
truthful, affectionate, maternal--without a taint of sham or
exaggeration. Mary will love her child without spoiling it, I think.
She does not make an uproar about her happiness either. The longer I
live the more I suspect exaggerations. I fancy it is sometimes a
sort of fashion for each to vie with the other in protestations about
their wonderful felicity, and sometimes they--FIB. I am truly glad
to hear you are all better at Brookroyd. In the course of three or
four weeks more I expect to get leave to come to you. I certainly
long to see you again. One circumstance reconciles me to this
delay--the weather. I do not know whether it has been as bad with
you as with us, but here for three weeks we have had little else than
a succession of hurricanes.
'In your last you asked about Mr. Sowden and Sir James. I fear Mr.
Sowden has little chance of the living; he had heard nothing more of
it the last time he wrote to Arthur, and in a note he had from Sir
James yesterday the subject is not mentioned.
'You inquire too after Mrs. Gaskell. She has not been here, and I
think I should not like her to come now till summer. She is very
busy with her story of _North and South_.
'I must make this note short that it may not be overweight. Arthur
joins me in sincere good wishes for a happy Christmas, and many of
them to you and yours. He is well, thank God, and so am I, and he is
"my dear boy," certainly dearer now than he was six months ago. In
three days we shall actually have been married that length of time!
Good-bye, dear Nell.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
At the beginning of 1855 Mr. and Mrs. Nicholls visited Sir James
Kay-Shuttleworth at Gawthorpe. I know of only four letters by her,
written in this year.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'HAWORTH, _January_ 19_th_, 1855.
'DEAR ELLEN,--Since our return from Gawthorpe we have had a Mr. Bell,
one of Arthur's cousins, staying with us. It was a great pleasure.
I wish you could have seen him and made his acquaintance; a true
gentleman by nature and cultivation is not after all an everyday
thing.
'As to the living of Habergham or Padiham, it appears the chance is
doubtful at present for anybody. The present incumbent wishes to
retract his resignation, and declares his intention of appointing a
curate for two years. I fear Mr. Sowden hardly produced a favourable
impression; a strong wish was expressed that Arthur could come, but
that is out of the question.
'I very much wish to come to Brookroyd, and I hope to be able to
write with certainty and fix Wednesday, the 31st January, as the day;
but the fact is I am not sure whether I shall be well enough to leave
home. At present I should be a most tedious visitor. My health has
been really very good since my return from Ireland till about ten
days ago, when the stomach seemed quite suddenly to lose its tone;
indigestion and continual faint sickness have been my portion ever
since. Don't conjecture, dear Nell, for it is too soon yet, though I
certainly never before felt as I have done lately. But keep the
matter wholly to yourself, for I can come to no decided opinion at
present. I am rather mortified to lose my good looks and grow thin
as I am doing just when I thought of going to Brookroyd. Dear Ellen,
I want to see you, and I hope I shall see you well. My love to
all.--Yours faithfully,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
There were three more letters, but they were written in pencil from her
deathbed. Two of them are printed by Mrs. Gaskell--one to Miss Nussey,
the other to Miss Wheelwright. Here is the third and last of all.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
'MY DEAR ELLEN,--Thank you very much for Mrs. Hewitt's sensible clear
letter. Thank her too. In much her case was wonderfully like mine,
but I am reduced to greater weakness; the skeleton emaciation is the
same. I cannot talk. Even to my dear, patient, constant Arthur I
can say but few words at once.
'These last two days I have been somewhat better, and have taken some
beef-tea, a spoonful of wine and water, a mouthful of light pudding
at different times.
'Dear Ellen, I realise full well what you have gone through and will
have to go through with poor Mercy. Oh, may you continue to be
supported and not sink. Sickness here has been terribly rife.
Kindest regards to Mr. and Mrs. Clapham, your mother, Mercy. Write
when you can.--Yours,
'C. B. NICHOLLS.'
Little remains to be said. This is not a biography but a bundle of
correspondence, and I have only to state that Mrs. Nicholls died of an
illness incidental to childbirth on March 31st 1855, and was buried in
the Bronte tomb in Haworth church. Her will runs as follows:--
Extracted from the District Probate Registry at York attached to Her
Majesty's High Court of Justice.
_In the name of God_. _Amen_. _I_, CHARLOTTE NICHOLLS, _of Haworth
in the parish of Bradford and county of York_, _being of sound and
disposing mind_, _memory_, _and understanding_, _but mindful of my
own mortality_, _do this seventeenth day of February_, _in the year
of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five_, _make this my
last Will and Testament in manner and form following_, _that is to
say_: _In case I die without issue I give and bequeath to my husband
all my property to be his absolutely and entirely_, _but_, _In case I
leave issue I bequeath to my husband the interest of my property
during his lifetime_, _and at his death I desire that the principal
should go to my surviving child or children_; _should there be more
than one child_, _share and share alike_. _And I do hereby make and
appoint my said husband_, _Arthur Bell Nicholls_, _clerk_, _sole
executor of this my last Will and Testament_; _In witness whereof I
have to this my last Will and Testament subscribed my hand_, _the day
and year first above written_--CHARLOTTE NICHOLLS. _Signed and
acknowledged by the said testatrix_ CHARLOTTE NICHOLLS, _as and for
her last Will and Testament in the presence of us_, _who_, _at her
request_, _in her presence and in presence of each other_, _have at
the same time hereunto_ _subscribed our names as witnesses thereto_:
_Patrick Bronte_, B.A. _Incumbent of Haworth_, _Yorkshire_; _Martha
Brown_.
_The eighteenth day of April_ 1855, _the Will of_ CHARLOTTE NICHOLLS,
_late of Haworth in the parish of Bradford in the county of York_
(_wife of the Reverend Arthur Bell Nicholls_, _Clerk in Holy Orders_)
(_having bona notabilia within the province of York_). _Deceased was
proved in the prerogative court of York by the oath of the said
Arthur Bell Nicholls_ (_the husband_), _the sole executor to whom
administration was granted_, _he having been first sworn duly to
administer_.
Testatrix died 31st March 1855.
It is easy as fruitless to mourn over 'unfulfilled renown,' but it is not
easy to believe that the future had any great things in store. Miss
Bronte's four novels will remain for all time imperishable monuments of
her power. She had touched with effect in two of them all that she knew
of her home surroundings, and in two others all that was revealed to her
of a wider life. More she could not have done with equal effect had she
lived to be eighty. Hers was, it is true, a sad life, but such gifts as
these rarely bring happiness with them. It was surely something to have
tasted the sweets of fame, and a fame so indisputably lasting.
Mr. Nicholls stayed on at Haworth for the six years that followed his
wife's death. When Mr. Bronte died he returned to Ireland. Some years
later he married again--a cousin, Miss Bell by name. That second
marriage has been one of unmixed blessedness. I found him in a home of
supreme simplicity and charm, esteemed by all who knew him and idolised
in his own household. It was not difficult to understand that Charlotte
Bronte had loved him and had fought down parental opposition in his
behalf. The qualities of gentleness, sincerity, unaffected piety, and
delicacy of mind are his; and he is beautifully jealous, not only for the
fair fame of Currer Bell, but--what she would equally have loved--for her
father, who also has had much undue detraction in the years that are
past. That Mr. Nicholls may long continue to enjoy the kindly calm of
his Irish home will be the wish of all who have read of his own
continuous devotion to a wife who must ever rank among the greatest of
her sex.
FOOTNOTES
{8} Although so stated by Professor A. W. Ward in the _Dictionary of
National Biography_, vol. xxi.
{14} 'Mama's last days,' it runs, 'had been full of loving thought and
tender help for others. She was so sweet and dear and noble beyond
words.'
{17} 'Some of the West Ridingers are very angry, and declare they are
half-a-century in civilisation before some of the Lancashire folk, and
that this neighbourhood is a paradise compared with some districts not
far from Manchester.'--Ellen Nussey to Mrs. Gaskell, April 16th, 1859.
{19} 'To this bold statement (i.e. that love-letters were found in
Branwell's pockets) Martha Brown gave to me a flat contradiction,
declaring that she was employed in the sick room at the time, and had
personal knowledge that not one letter, nor a vestige of one, from the
lady in question, was so found.'--Leyland. _The Bronte Family_, vol. ii.
p. 284.
{22} Mrs. Gaskell had described Charlotte Bronte's features as 'plain,
large, and ill-set,' and had written of her 'crooked mouth and large
nose'--while acknowledging the beauty of hair and eyes.
{25} Mrs. Lawry of Muswell Hill, to whose courtesy in placing these and
other papers at my disposal I am greatly indebted.
{28} 'Patrick Branty' is written in another handwriting in the list of
admissions at St. John's College, Cambridge. Dr. J. A. Erskine Stuart,
who has a valuable note on the subject in an article on 'The Bronte
Nomenclature' (Bronte Society's Publications, Pt. III.), has found the
name as Brunty, Bruntee, Bronty, and Branty--but never in Patrick
Bronte's handwriting. There is, however, no signature of Mr. Bronte's
extant prior to 1799.
{29} 'I translated this' (_i.e._ an Irish romance) 'from a manuscript in
my possession made by one Patrick O'Prunty, an ancestor probably of
Charlotte Bronte, in 1763.' _The Story of Early Gaelic Literature_, p.
49. By Douglas Hyde, LL.D. T. Fisher Uwin, 1895.
{33} Mrs. Gaskell says 'Dec. 29th'; but Miss Charlotte Branwell of
Penzance writes to me as follows:--'My Aunt Maria Branwell, after the
death of her parents, went to Yorkshire on a visit to her relatives,
where she met the Rev. Patrick Bronte. They soon became engaged to be
married. Jane Fennell was previously engaged to the Rev. William Morgan.
And when the time arrived for their marriage, Mr. Fennell said he should
have to give his daughter and niece away, and if so, he could not marry
them; so it was arranged that Mr. Morgan should marry Mr. Bronte and
Maria Branwell, and afterwards Mr. Bronte should perform the same kindly
office towards Mr. Morgan and Jane Fennell. So the bridegrooms married
each other and the brides acted as bridesmaids to each other. My father
and mother, Joseph and Charlotte Branwell, were married at Madron, which
was then the parish church of Penzance, on the same day and hour.
Perhaps a similar case never happened before or since: two sisters and
four first cousins being united in holy matrimony at one and the same
time. And they were all happy marriages. Mr. Bronte was perhaps
peculiar, but I have always heard my own dear mother say that he was
devotedly fond of his wife, and she of him. These marriages were
solemnised on the 18th of December 1812.'
{39} The passage in brackets is quoted by Mrs. Gaskell.
{49} The passage in brackets is quoted, not quite accurately, by Mrs.
Gaskell.
{53} The following letter indicates Mr. Bronte's independence of spirit.
It was written after Charlotte's death:
'HAWORTH, NR. KEIGHLEY, _January_ 16_th_, 1858.
'SIR,--Your letter which I have received this morning gives both to
Mr. Nicholls and me great uneasiness. It would seem that application
has been made to the Duke of Devonshire for money to aid the
subscription in reference to the expense of apparatus for heating our
church and schools. This has been done without our knowledge, and
most assuredly, had we known it, would have met with our strongest
opposition. We have no claim on the Duke. His Grace honour'd us
with a visit, in token of his respect for the memory of the dead, and
his liberality and munificence are well and widely known; and the
mercenary, taking an unfair advantage of these circumstances, have
taken a step which both Mr. Nicholls and I utterly regret and
condemn. In answer to your query, I may state that the whole expense
for both the schools and church is about one hundred pounds; and that
after what has been and may be subscribed, there may fifty pounds
remain as a debt. But this may, and ought, to be raised by the
inhabitants, in the next year after the depression of trade shall, it
is hoped, have passed away. I have written to His Grace on the
subject--I remain, sir, your obedient servant,
'P. BRONTE.
'SIR JOSEPH PAXTON, BART.,
'Hardwick Hall,
'Chesterfield.'
{56a} The vicar, the Rev. J. Jolly, assures me, as these pages are
passing through the press, that he is now moving it into the new church.
{56b} _Baptisms solomnised in the Parish of Bradford and Chapelry of
Thornton in the County of York_.
_When _Child's _Parent's _Parent's _Abode_. _Quality_, _By whom the
Baptized_. Christian Name_ Name_ _Trade or Ceremony was
Name_. (_Christian_). (_Surname_). Profession_. Performed_.
1816 _Charlotte _The Rev. _Bronte_ _Thornton_ _Minister of _Wm. Morgan
29_th_ _June_ daughter of_ Patrick and Thornton_ Minster of Christ
Maria_. Church Bradford_.
1817 _Patrick _Patrick and _Bronte_ _Thornton_ _Minister_ _Jno. Fennell
_July_ 23 Branwell son Maria_. officiating
of_ Minister_.
1818 _Emily Jane _The Rev. _Bronte_ A.B. _Thornton _Minister of _Wm. Morgan
20_th_ daughter of_ Patrick and Parsonage_ Thornton_ Minster of Christ
_August_ Maria_. Church Bradford_.
1820 _Anne daughter _The Rev. _Bronte_ _Minister of _Wm. Morgan
_March_ 25_th_ of_ Patrick and Haworth_ Minster of Christ
Maria_. Church Bradford_.
{74} At the same time it is worth while quoting from a letter by 'A. H.'
in August 1855. A. H. was a teacher who was at Cowan Bridge during the
time of the residence of the little Brontes there.
'In July 1824 the Rev. Mr. Bronte arrived at Cowan Bridge with two of
his daughters, Maria and Elizabeth, 12 and 10 years of age. The
children were delicate; both had but recently recovered from the
measles and whooping-cough--so recently, indeed, that doubts were
entertained whether they could be admitted with safety to the other
pupils. They were received, however, and went on so well that in
September their father returned, bringing with him two more of his
children--Charlotte, 9 [she was really but 8] and Emily, 6 years of
age. During both these visits Mr. Bronte lodged at the school, sat
at the same table with the children, saw the whole routine of the
establishment, and, so far as I have ever known, was satisfied with
everything that came under his observation.
'"The two younger children enjoyed uniformly good health." Charlotte
was a general favourite. To the best of my recollection she was
never under disgrace, however slight; punishment she certainly did
_not _experience while she was at Cowan Bridge.
'In size, Charlotte was remarkably diminutive; and if, as has been
recently asserted, she never grew an inch after leaving the Clergy
Daughters' School, she must have been a _literal dwarf_, and could
not have obtained a situation as teacher in a school at Brussels, or
anywhere else; the idea is absurd. In respect of the treatment of
the pupils at Cowan Bridge, I will say that neither Mr. Bronte's
daughters nor any other of the children were denied a sufficient
quantity of food. Any statement to the contrary is entirely false.
The daily dinner consisted of meat, vegetables, and pudding, in
abundance; the children were permitted, and expected, to ask for
whatever they desired, and were never limited.
'It has been remarked that the food of the school was such that none
but starving children could eat it; and in support of this statement
reference is made to a certain occasion when the medical attendant
was consulted about it. In reply to this, let me say that during the
spring of 1825 a low fever, although not an alarming one, prevailed
in the school, and the managers, naturally anxious to ascertain
whether any local cause occasioned the epidemic, took an opportunity
to ask the physician's opinion of the food that happened to be then
on the table. I recollect that he spoke rather scornfully of a baked
rice pudding; but as the ingredients of this dish were chiefly, rice,
sugar, and milk, its effects could hardly have been so serious as
have been affirmed. I thus furnish you with the simple fact from
which those statements have been manufactured.
'I have not the least hesitation in saying that, upon the whole, the
comforts were as many and the privations as few at Cowan Bridge as
can well be found in so large an establishment. How far young or
delicate children are able to contend with the necessary evils of a
public school is, in my opinion, a very grave question, and does not
enter into the present discussion.
'The younger children in all larger institutions are liable to be
oppressed; but the exposure to this evil at Cowan Bridge was not more
than in other schools, but, as I believe, far less. Then, again,
thoughtless servants will occasionally spoil food, even in private
families; and in public schools they are likely to be still less
particular, unless they are well looked after.
'But in this respect the institution in question compares very
favourably with other and more expensive schools, as from personal
experience I have reason to know.--A.H., August 1855.'--From _A
Vindication of the Clergy Daughters' School and the Rev. W. Carus
Wilson from the Remarks in_ '_The Life of Charlotte Bronte_,' _by the
Rev. H. Shepheard_, _M.A. London_: _Seeley_, _Jackson_, _and
Halliday_, 1857.
{92} The Rev. William Weightman.
{95} It is interesting to note that Charlotte sent one of her little
pupils a gift-book during the holidays. The book is lost, but the
fly-leaf of it, inscribed 'Sarah Louisa White, from her friend C. Bronte,
July 20, 1841,' is in the possession of Mr. W. Lowe Fleeming, of
Wolverhampton.
{96} 'UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON, _September _29_th_, 1841.
'DEAR AUNT,--I have heard nothing of Miss Wooler yet since I wrote to
her intimating that I would accept her offer. I cannot conjecture
the reason of this long silence, unless some unforeseen impediment
has occurred in concluding the bargain. Meantime, a plan has been
suggested and approved by Mr. and Mrs. White, and others, which I
wish now to impart to you. My friends recommend me, if I desire to
secure permanent success, to delay commencing the school for six
months longer, and by all means to contrive, by hook or by crook, to
spend the intervening time in some school on the continent. They say
schools in England are so numerous, competition so great, that
without some such step towards attaining superiority we shall
probably have a very hard struggle, and may fail in the end. They
say, moreover, that the loan of 100 pounds, which you have been so
kind as to offer us, will, perhaps, not be all required now, as Miss
Wooler will lend us the furniture; and that, if the speculation is
intended to be a good and successful one, half the sum, at least,
ought to be laid out in the manner I have mentioned, thereby insuring
a more speedy repayment both of interest and principal.
'I would not go to France or to Paris. I would go to Brussels, in
Belgium. The cost of the journey there, at the dearest rate of
travelling, would be 5 pounds; living is there little more than half
as dear as it is in England, and the facilities for education are
equal or superior to any other place in Europe. In half a year, I
could acquire a thorough familiarity with French. I could improve
greatly in Italian, and even get a dash of German, _i.e._, providing
my health continued as good as it is now. Martha Taylor is now
staying in Brussels, at a first-rate establishment there. I should
not think of going to the Chateau de Kockleberg, where she is
resident, as the terms are much too high; but if I wrote to her, she,
with the assistance of Mrs. Jenkins, the wife of the British Consul,
would be able to secure me a cheap and decent residence and
respectable protection. I should have the opportunity of seeing her
frequently, she would make me acquainted with the city; and, with the
assistance of her cousins, I should probably in time be introduced to
connections far more improving, polished, and cultivated, than any I
have yet known.
'These are advantages which would turn to vast account, when we
actually commenced a school--and, if Emily could share them with me,
only for a single half-year, we could take a footing in the world
afterwards which we can never do now. I say Emily instead of Anne;
for Anne might take her turn at some future period, if our school
answered. I feel certain, while I am writing, that you will see the
propriety of what I say; you always like to use your money to the
best advantage; you are not fond of making shabby purchases; when you
do confer a favour, it is often done in style; and depend upon it 50,
or 100 pounds, thus laid out, would be well employed. Of course, I
know no other friend in the world to whom I could apply on this
subject except yourself. I feel an absolute conviction that, if this
advantage were allowed us, it would be the making of us for life.
Papa will perhaps think it a wild and ambitious scheme; but who ever
rose in the world without ambition? When he left Ireland to go to
Cambridge University, he was as ambitious as I am now. I want us all
to go on. I know we have talents, and I want them to be turned to
account. I look to you, aunt, to help us. I think you will not
refuse. I know, if you consent, it shall not be my fault if you ever
repent your kindness. With love to all, and the hope that you are
all well,--Believe me, dear aunt, your affectionate niece,
'MISS BRANWELL. C. BRONTE.'
_Mrs. Gaskell's_ '_Life_.' _Corrected and completed from original letter
in the possession of Mr. A. B. Nicholls_.
{107} Miss Mary Dixon, the sister of Mr. George Dixon, M.P., is still
alive, but she has unfortunately not preserved her letters from Charlotte
Bronte.
{109a} 'The Brontes at Brussels,' by Frederika Macdonald.--_The Woman at
Home_, July 1894.
{109b} This statement has received the separate endorsement of the Rev.
A. B. Nicholls and of Miss Ellen Nussey.
{110} M. and Mme. Heger celebrated their golden wedding in 1888, but
Mme. Heger died the next year. M. Constantin Heger lived to be
eighty-seven years of age, dying at 72 Rue Nettoyer, Brussels, on the 6th
of May 1896. He was born in Brussels in 1809, took part in the Belgian
revolution of 1830, and fought in the war of independence against the
Dutch. He was twice married, and it was his second wife who was
associated with Charlotte Bronte. She started the school in the Rue
d'Isabelle, and M. Heger took charge of the upper French classes. In an
obituary article written by M. Colin of _L'Etoile Belge_ in _The Sketch_
(June 5, 1896), which was revised by Dr. Heger, the only son of M. Heger,
it is stated that Charlotte Bronte was piqued at being refused permission
to return to the Pensionnat a third time, and that _Villette_ was her
revenge. We know that this was not the case. The Pensionnat Heger was
removed in 1894 to the Avenue Louise. The building in the Rue d'Isabelle
will shortly be pulled down.
{121} _Pictures of the Past_, by Francis H. Grundy, C.E: Griffith &
Farran, 1879; _Emily Bronte_, by A. Mary F. Robinson: W. H. Allen, 1883;
_The Bronte Family_, _with Special Reference to Patrick Branwell Bronte_,
by Francis A. Leyland: Hurst & Blackett, 2 vols. 1886.
{123} After Mr. Bronte's death Mr. Nicholls removed it to Ireland.
Being of opinion that the only accurate portrait was that of Emily, he
cut this out and destroyed the remainder. The portrait of Emily was
given to Martha Brown, the servant, on one of her visits to Mr. Nicholls,
and I have not been able to trace it. There are three or four so-called
portraits of Emily in existence, but they are all repudiated by Mr.
Nicholls as absolutely unlike her. The supposed portrait which appeared
in _The Woman at Home_ for July 1894 is now known to have been merely an
illustration from a 'Book of Beauty,' and entirely spurious.
{138} There are two portraits of Branwell in existence, both of them in
the possession of Mr. Nicholls. One of them is a medallion by his friend
Leyland, the other the silhouette which accompanies this chapter. They
both suggest, mainly on account of the clothing, a man of more mature
years than Branwell actually attained to.
{142} In the _Mirror_, 1872, Mr. Phillips, under the pseudonym of
'January Searle,' wrote a readable biography of Wordsworth.
{145a} Charlotte writes from Dewsbury Moor (October 2, 1836):--'My
sister Emily is gone into a situation as teacher in a large school of
near forty pupils, near Halifax. I have had one letter from her since
her departure--it gives an appalling account of her duties. Hard labour
from six in the morning until near eleven at night, with only one
half-hour of exercise between. This is slavery. I fear she will never
stand it.'--Mrs. Gaskell's _Life_.
{145b} _Haworth Churchyard_, _April_ 1855, by Matthew Arnold. Macmillan
& Co.
{158} See chap. xiii., page 346.
{159} A dog, referred to elsewhere as Flossie, junior.
{161} It was sent to Mr. Williams on six half-sheets of note-paper and
was preserved by him.
{163} Although _Jane Eyre_ has been dramatised by several hands, the
play has never been as popular as one might suppose from a story of such
thrilling incident. I can find no trace of the particular version which
is referred to in this letter, but in the next year the novel was
dramatised by John Brougham, the actor and dramatist, and produced in New
York on March 26, 1849. Brougham is rather an interesting figure. An
Irishman by birth, he had a chequered experience of every phase of
theatrical life both in London and New York. It was he who adapted 'The
Queen's Motto' and 'Lady Audley's Secret,' and he collaborated with Dion
Boucicault in 'London Assurance.' In 1849 he seems to have been managing
Niblo's Garden in New York, and in the following year the Lyceum Theatre
in Broadway. Miss Wemyss took the title role in _Jane Eyre_, J. Gilbert
was Rochester, and Mrs. J. Gilbert was Lady Ingram; and though the play
proved only moderately successful, it was revived in 1856 at Laura
Keene's Varieties at New York, with Laura Keene as Jane Eyre. This
version has been published by Samuel French, and is also in Dick's _Penny
Plays_. Divided into five Acts and twelve scenes, Brougham starts the
story at Lowood Academy. The second Act introduces us to Rochester's
house, and the curtain descends in the fourth as Jane announces that the
house is in flames. At the end of the fifth, Brougham reproduced
_verbatim_ much of the conversation of the dialogue between Rochester and
Jane. Perhaps the best-known dramatisation of the novel was that by the
late W. G. Wills, who divided the story into four Acts. His play was
produced on Saturday, December 23, 1882, at the Globe Theatre, by Mrs.
Bernard-Beere, with the following cast:--
_Jane Eyre_ Mrs. Bernard-Beere
_Lady Ingram_ Miss Carlotta Leclercq
_Blanche Ingram_ Miss Kate Bishop
_Mary Ingram_ Miss Maggie Hunt
_Miss Beechey_ Miss Nellie Jordan
_Mrs. Fairfax_ Miss Alexes Leighton
_Grace Poole_ Miss Masson
_Bertha_ Miss D'Almaine
_Adele_ Mdlle. Clemente Colle
_Mr. Rochester_ Mr. Charles Kelly
_Lord Desmond_ Mr. A. M. Denison
_Rev. Mr. Price_ Mr. H. E. Russel
_Nat Lee_ Mr. H. H. Cameron
_James_ Mr. C. Stevens
Mr. Wills confined the story to Thornfield Hall. One critic described
the drama at the time as 'not so much a play as a long conversation.' A
few years ago James Willing made a melodrama of _Jane Eyre_ under the
title of _Poor Relations_. This piece was performed at the Standard,
Surrey, and Park Theatres. A version of the story, dramatised by
Charlotte Birch-Pfeiffer, called _Die Waise von Lowood_, has been rather
popular in Germany.
{168a} Alexander Harris wrote _A Converted Atheist's Testimony to the
Truth of Christianity_, and other now forgotten works.
{168b} Julia Kavanagh (1824-1877). Her father, M. P. Kavanagh, wrote
_The Wanderings of Lucan and Dinah_, a poetical romance, and other works.
Miss Kavanagh was born at Thurles and died at Nice. Her first book, _The
Three Paths_, a tale for children, was published in 1847. _Madeline_, a
story founded on the life of a peasant girl of Auvergne, in 1848. _Women
in France during the Eighteenth Century_ appeared in 1850, _Nathalie_ the
same year. In the succeeding years she wrote innumerable stories and
biographical sketches.
{173} It runs thus:--
'_December_ 9_th_, 1848.
'The patient, respecting whose case Dr. Epps is consulted, and for
whom his opinion and advice are requested, is a female in her 29th
year. A peculiar reserve of character renders it difficult to draw
from her all the symptoms of her malady, but as far as they can be
ascertained they are as follows:--
Her appetite failed; she evinced a continual thirst, with a craving for
acids, and required a constant change of beverage. In appearance she
grew rapidly emaciated; her pulse--the only time she allowed it to be
felt--was found to be 115 per minute. The patient usually appeared worse
in the forenoon, she was then frequently exhausted and drowsy; toward
evening she often seemed better.
'Expectoration accompanies the cough. The shortness of breath is
aggravated by the slightest exertion. The patient's sleep is
supposed to be tolerably good at intervals, but disturbed by
paroxysms of coughing. Her resolution to contend against illness
being very fixed, she has never consented to lie in bed for a single
day--she sits up from 7 in the morning till 10 at night. All medical
aid she has rejected, insisting that Nature should be left to take
her own course. She has taken no medicine, but occasionally, a mild
aperient and Locock's cough wafers, of which she has used about 3 per
diem, and considers their effect rather beneficial. Her diet, which
she regulates herself, is very simple and light.
'The patient has hitherto enjoyed pretty good health, though she has
never looked strong, and the family constitution is not supposed to
be robust. Her temperament is highly nervous. She has been
accustomed to a sedentary and studious life.
'If Dr. Epps can, from what has here been stated, give an opinion on
the case and prescribe a course of treatment, he will greatly oblige
the patient's friends.
'Address--Miss Bronte, Parsonage, Haworth, Bradford, Yorks.'
{183a} The original of this letter is lost, so that it is not possible
to fill in the hiatus.
{183b} Emily--who was called the Major, because on one occasion she
guarded Miss Nussey from the attentions of Mr. Weightman during an
evening walk.
{190} In his next letter Mr. Williams informed her that Miss Rigby was
the writer of the _Quarterly_ article.
{221} In Hathersage Church is the altar tomb of Robert Eyre who fought
at Agincourt and died on the 21st of May 1459, also of his wife Joan Eyre
who died on the 9th of May 1464. This Joan Eyre was heiress of the house
of Padley, and brought the Padley estates into the Eyre family. There is
a Sanctus bell of the fifteenth century with a Latin inscription, 'Pray
for the souls of Robert Eyre and Joan his wife.'--Rev. Thomas Keyworth on
'Morton Village and _Jane Eyre_'--a paper read before the Bronte Society
at Keighley, 1895.
{259a} _Miss Miles_, _or A Tale of Yorkshire Life Sixty Years Ago_, by
Mary Taylor. Rivingtons, 1890.
{259b} _The First Duty of Women_. A Series of Articles reprinted from
the _Victorian Magazine_, 1865 to 1870, by Mary Taylor. 1870.
{262} See letter to Ellen Nussey, page 78.
{275} Miss Bronte was paid 1500 pounds in all for her three novels, and
Mr. Nicholls received an additional 250 pounds for the copyright of _The
Professor_.
{280} A Mr. Hodgson is spoken of earlier, but he would seem to have been
only a temporary help.
{282} Referring to a present of birds which the curate had sent to Miss
Nussey.
{287} A Funeral Sermon for the late Rev. William Weightman, M.A.,
preached in the Church at Haworth on Sunday the 2nd of October 1842 by
the Rev. Patrick Bronte, A.B., Incumbent. The profits, if any, to go in
aid of the Sunday School. Halifax--Printed by J. U. Walker, George
Street, 1842. Price sixpence.
{288} A little dog, called in the next letter 'Flossie, junr.,' which
indicates its parentage. Flossy was the little dog given by the
Robinsons to Anne.
{325} The originals are in the possession of Mr. Alfred Morrison of
Carlton House Terrace, London.
{330} _De Quincey Memorials_, by Alexander H. Japp. 2 vols. 1891.
William Heinemann.
{332a} _Agnes Grey_, a novel, by Acton Bell. Vol. III. London, Thomas
Cautley Newby, publisher, 72 Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square.
{332b} And yet the error not infrequently occurs, and was recently made
by Professor Saintsbury (_Nineteenth Century Literature_), of assuming
that it was _Jane Eyre_ which met with many refusals.
{332c} Mr. Nicholls assures me that the manuscript was not rewritten
after his marriage, although I had thought it possible, not only on
account of its intrinsic merits, which have not been sufficiently
acknowledged, but on account of the singular fact that Mlle. Henri, the
charming heroine, is married in a white muslin dress, and that her
going-away dress was of lilac silk. These were the actual wedding
dresses of Mrs. Nicholls.
{333} Anne Marsh (1791-1874), a daughter of James Caldwell, J.P., of
Linley Wood, Staffordshire, married a son of the senior partner in the
London banking firm of Marsh, Stacey, & Graham. Her first volume
appeared in 1834, and contained, under the title of _Two Old Men's
Tales_, two stories, _The Admiral's Daughter_ and _The Deformed_, which
won considerable popularity. _Emilia Wyndham_, _Time_, _the Avenger_,
_Mount Sorel_, and _Castle Avon_, are perhaps the best of her many
subsequent novels.
{335} _The Professor_ was published, with a brief note by Mr. Nicholls,
two years after the death of its author. _The Professor_, a Tale, by
Currer Bell, in two volumes. Smith, Elder & Co., 65 Cornhill, 1857.
{348} Lady Eastlake died in 1893.
{349} _Letters and Journals_ of Lady Eastlake, edited by her nephew,
Charles Eastlake Smith, vol. i. pp. 221, 222 (John Murray).
{350} _Life of J. G. Lockhart_, by Andrew Lang. Published by John
Nimmo. Mr. Lang has courteously permitted me to copy this letter from
his proof-sheets.
{361} Name of place is erased in original.
{373} Thus in original letter.
{398} That Thackeray had written a certain unfavourable critique of
_Shirley_.
{402} This article was by John Skelton (_Shirley_).
{403} Now in the possession of Mr. A. B. Nicholls.
{408} Thackeray writes to Mr. Brookfield, in October 1848, as
follows:--'Old Dilke of the _Athenaeum_ vows that Procter and his wife,
between them, wrote _Jane Eyre_; and when I protest ignorance, says,
"Pooh! you know who wrote it--you are the deepest rogue in England, etc."
I wonder whether it can be true? It is just possible. And then what a
singular circumstance is the + fire of the two dedications' [_Jane Eyre_
to Thackeray, _Vanity Fair_ to Barry Cornwall].--_A Collection of Letters
to W. M. Thackeray_, 1847-1855. Smith and Elder.
{423} _Chapters from Some Memories_, by Anne Thackeray Ritchie.
Macmillan and Co. Mrs. Ritchie and her publishers kindly permit me to
incorporate her interesting reminiscence in this chapter.
{432} George Henry Lewes (1817-1878). Published _Biographical History
of Philosophy_, 1845-46; _Ranthorpe_, 1847; _Rose_, _Blanche_, _and
Violet_, 1848; _Life of Goethe_, 1855. Editor of the _Fortnightly
Review_, 1865-66. _Problems of Life and Mind_, 1873-79; and many other
works.
{434} Richard Hengist Horne (1803-1884). Published _Cosmo de Medici_,
1837; _Orion_, an epic poem in ten books, passed through six editions in
1843, the first three editions being issued at a farthing; _A New Spirit
of the Age_, 1844; _Letters of E. B. Browning to R. H. Horne_, 1877.
{444} Printed by the kind permission of the Rev. C. W. Heald, of Chale,
I.W.
{446} Sir James Kay-Shuttleworth (1804-1877). A doctor of medicine, who
was made a baronet in 1849, on resigning the secretaryship of the
Committee of Council on Education; assumed the name of Shuttleworth on
his marriage, in 1842, to Janet, the only child and heiress of Robert
Shuttleworth of Gawthorpe Hall, Burnley (died 1872). His son, the
present baronet, is the Right Hon. Sir Ughtred James Kay-Shuttleworth.
{457a} Some experiments on a farm of two acres.
{457b} Letters of Matthew Arnold, collected and arranged by George W. E.
Russell.
{468} Mr. Nicholls is the Mr. Macarthey of _Shirley_. Here is the
reference which not unnaturally gratified him:--'Perhaps I ought to
remark that, on the premature and sudden vanishing of Mr. Malone from the
stage of Briarfield parish . . . there came as his successor, another
Irish curate, Mr. Macarthey. I am happy to be able to inform you, _with
truth_, that this gentleman did as much credit to his country as Malone
had done it discredit; he proved himself as decent, decorous, and
conscientious, as Peter was rampant, boisterous, and--(this last epithet
I choose to suppress, because it would let the cat out of the bag). He
laboured faithfully in the parish; the schools, both Sunday and
day-schools, flourished under his sway like green bay-trees. Being
human, of course he had his faults; these, however, were proper,
steady-going, clerical faults: the circumstance of finding himself
invited to tea with a dissenter would unhinge him for a week; the
spectacle of a Quaker wearing his hat in the church, the thought of an
unbaptized fellow-creature being interred with Christian rites--these
things could make strange havoc in Mr. Macarthey's physical and mental
economy; otherwise he was sane and rational, diligent and
charitable.'--_Shirley_, chap. xxxvii.
{469} John Stuart Mill, who, however, attributed the authorship of this
article to his wife.
{491} The Nusseys.
{495} The Rev. George Sowden, vicar of Hebden Bridge, Halifax, and
honorary canon of Wakefield, is still alive.
INDEX
ABBOTSFORD, 453-4.
Academy of Arts Royal, 14, 15, 124.
_Agnes Grey_--its publication, 161, 184, 331, 332; reprint, 364, 365;
Charlotte on, 162, 336, 337, 388; value of, 181.
Ahaderg, County Down, 28.
Alexander, Miss, 468.
Ambleside, 126, 205, 442, 454, 457.
_Amy Herbert_, 260.
Antwerp, 102.
Appleby, 285, 287.
Arnold, Matthew, 145, 457, 458, 459.
Arnold, Dr., 263, 400, 442, 454, 456, 457, 458, 459.
Arnold, Mrs. Thomas, 456, 458.
_Athanaeum_, 178, 334, 340, 404, 408, 431, 459.
Atkinson, Mr., 211, 312, 313.
_Atlas_, 414, 415.
Austen, Jane, 399, 445.
Aylott & Jones, 325-9, 331.
BANGOR, 491.
'Beck, Madame.' _See_ Heger, Madame.
Bedford, Mr., 40, 47.
Bell, Rev. Alan, 465.
Bell Chapel, Thornton, 56.
_Bengal Hurkaru_, 362.
Bennoch, Francis, 491.
Bernard-Beere, Mrs., 164.
_Berwick Warder_, 165.
Bierly, 47.
Birch-Pfeiffer, Charlotte, 164.
Birrell, Augustine, 29, 30.
Birstall, 3, 107, 116, 210, 214, 224, 239, 261, 312, 457.
'Black Bull,' Haworth, 143, 361.
_Blackwood's Magazine_, 121, 139, 141, 147.
Blake Hall, 84, 149, 182, 296.
Blanche, Mdlle., 114, 117.
Bolitho, Sons, & Co, 103.
_Bombay Gazette_, 323.
Borrow's _Bible in Spain_, 189.
Bowling Green Inn, Bradford, 106.
Bradford, 41, 42, 46, 51, 58, 124, 150, 206, 211, 284, 292.
_Bradford Observer_, 168, 407.
_Bradford Review_, 54.
Bradley, Rev. Richard, 291.
Branwells of Cornwall, 30.
Branwell, Anne, 34.
Branwell, Charlotte, 33, 34.
Branwell, Eliza, 217.
Branwell, Elizabeth, 34, 51, 52, 61, 92, 96, 102, 103-4, 105, 112, 147.
Branwell, John, 217.
Branwell, Joseph, 34, 491.
Branwell, Margaret, 34.
Branwell, Maria. _See_ Bronte, Mrs.
Branwell, Thomas, 33.
Branty, 28.
Braxborne, 395.
Bremer, Frederika, 187.
'Bretton Mrs.' _See_ Smith, Mrs.
Brewster, Sir David, 268, 463.
Briery, Windermere, 5.
Britannia, 358.
'Brocklehurst Mr.' _See_ Wilson, Carus.
Bromsgrove, 134.
Bronte, Anne Chapter VII., 181-203 birth, 51; baptism, 56, 57; at
Haworth, 60; as governess, 19, 88, 90, 97, 112, 128, 150, 296; at
Brussels, 128; at Scarborough, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201; in Miss
Branwell's will, 103; and Charlotte, 113, 159, 352; as Emily's chum, 120,
144, 145, 147, 148; and Miss Nussey, 160, 182-4, 208, 209, 219, 307; and
the Misses Robinson, 137, 182, 288; and Mr. Weightman, 286; her dog
(_see_ Flossie); her drawings, 67; her letters, 144; her unpublished MSS,
25, 61, 62, 71-2, 144; her novels (see _Agnes Grey_ and _The Tenant of
Wildfell Hall_) her poems, 325-331; her portrait, 123; her illness and
death, 175, 176, 185, 186, 187, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 262, 281,
393, 439, 440, 467; her grave, 203.
Bronte, Branwell Chapter V., 120-143; birth, 51, 123; baptism, 57; at
school, 123, 290, 291; at the Royal Academy of Arts, 14, 15, 124; at
Luddenden Foot, 127, 147, 148, 150, 152; in his aunt's will, 103, 104,
105; and Anne, 154; and Charlotte, 25, 81, 92, 93, 119, 120, 121, 122,
131, 140, 141; Charlotte's letters to, 112-14, 115, 120, 239; and Emily,
142; and his father, 137, 138, 139, 142, 465; and Hartley Coleridge,
125-7; and F. H. Grundy, 128; Jane Eyre, 14, 143; and Miss Nussey, 106,
219; and the Robinsons, 18, 19, 112, 128, 129-31, 136, 137, 182; his
sketches, 14, 67, 123; his writings, 72, 73, 123, 125-7; his translation
of Horace, 126; his portrait, 138; his character, 124; his idleness, 133,
134, 135, 137; his death, 61, 138-41, 165, 191.
Bronte, Charlotte birth, 51; baptism, 57; her place at the Haworth
dinner-table, 60; childhood, 56-73; her father (_see_ Bronte, Patrick)
her mother (_see_ Bronte, Mrs. Patrick) her sisters (_see_ Bronte, Anne;
Bronte, Emily; _Agnes Grey_; _Tenant of Wildfell Hall_; _Wuthering
Heights_) her brother (_see_ Bronte, Branwell) her school life (_see_
Wooler, Margaret; Cowan Bridge; and Roe Head) her school friends (_see_
Nussey, Ellen; Taylor, Mary) at the Sidgwicks' (_q.v._), 79-84; at the
Whites' (_q.v._), 85-94; at Brussels (_see_ Heger M. and Madame; Jenkins,
Rev. Mr.; The _Professor_; _Villette_; Wheelwright, Laetitia); in London,
14, 107, 214, 268, 270, 416, 417-28; her father's curates, 280-92 (_see
also_ De Renzi, Rev. Mr.; Nicholls, Rev. A. B.; Smith, Rev. Peter
Augustus; Weightman, Rev. W.; and _Shirley_) her lovers, 293-324 (_see
also_ Nicholls, Rev. A. B.; Nussey, Rev. Henry; Taylor, James) her
literary ambitions, 325-369; her unpublished literary work, 61-7, 68; her
published work (see _Jane Eyre_, _The Professor_, _Shirley_, _Villette_,
_Poems_); her publishers (_see_ Aylott & Jones, Newby, and Smith Elder &
Co); her literary friendships, 429-463 (_see also_ Gaskell, Mrs.;
Martineau, Harriet; Smith, George; Thackeray, W. M.; Williams, W. S.);
her critics (_see_ Eastlake, Lady; Kingsley, Charles; Lewes, G. H.; and
various periodicals); her marriage, 8, 261, 464, 491 (_see_ Nicholls,
Rev. A. B.); her appearance, 22, 74, 293, 457; her death, 500; her grave,
54, 500; her will, 24, 500; her biography, 1-26 (_see also_ Gaskell,
Mrs.; Grundy, F. H.; Leyland, F. A.; Nussey, Ellen; Reid, Sir Wemyss);
her portrait, 123, 294; on affection for her family, 88; on children,
376-8, 381; on female friendships, 205; on governessing, 84, 228, 382; on
ladies' college, 277; on women in the professions, 378, 382, 395, 396; on
marriage, 261, 295-6, 298, 303, 304-6, 307, 310, 383, 394, 493, 494; on
spinsters, 134; on men, 199, 490; on authors and bookmakers, 165; on her
critics, 176, 269; on lionising, 266, 270; on literary coteries, 270,
353, 389, 399; on money rewards of literature, 275; on the art of
biography, 385; on her heroes, 345; on the French, 411; on French
politics, 343, 373; on war, 264; on Shakespeare-acting, 270; on dancing,
211; on the Bible, 213, 216; on religion, 140, 166, 193, 211; on the
value of work, 203, 396.
Bronte, Elizabeth, 51, 56, 74, 358.
Bronte, Emily Chapter VI, 144-180; birth, 51; baptism, 57; at Haworth,
59, 60; her childhood, 74; her school days, 145; as a teacher, 15, 145;
at Brussels, 97, 100, 102, 111, 133, 145; as Anne's chum, 120, 144; in
Miss Branwell's will, 103; and the French newspapers, 241; Charlotte's
letters to, 25, 91, 114, 116, 117, 119; her religion, 14, 100, 145; her
portrait, 123-4; her likeness to G. H. Lewes, 432; her messages to Miss
Nussey, 160-1, 208, 209; her dog (_see_ Keeper); her sketches, 67, 154,
157; her unpublished writings, 61, 62, 70, 146, 148, 150-2; her novel
(see _Wuthering Heights_); her poetry, 144, 154, 325-31; her illness and
death, 165, 166-75, 186, 345; her character, 60, 111, 112, 144, 146, 167,
177; Matthew Arnold on, 145; Charlotte on, 4, 165, 337; Sydney Dobell on,
145; A. Mary F. Robinson on, 121, 122; Swinburne on, 146; Dr. Wright on,
157, 158;
Bronte, Hugh, 55, 158.
Bronte, Maria, 51, 56, 57, 74, 404.
Bronte, Museum, 23.
Bronte, name, 29.
Bronte, Rev. Patrick Chapter 1, 27-55 his pedigree, 28-9, 157, 158; at
Cambridge, 28, 97; at Weatherfield, 29-30; at Hartshead, 30-51, 56; at
Thornton, 51; goes to Haworth, 51; his courtship, 25, 30-51; his
marriage, 30, 51; his wife (_see_ Bronte, Mrs. Patrick); his church, 56
(_see also_ Haworth) his curates, 280-292; his home, 56; his study, 60,
61; his children at home, 60-2; takes his children to school, 74; his
view of his daughters' literary successes, 52; and Miss Branwell, 51,
104; and his son, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142; and Charlotte, 31, 161,
209, 222, 229, 264, 267, 271; Charlotte's letters to, 5, 419, 423, 451-2,
454, 461, 463, 471; and Charlotte's biography, 2, 3, 9-12, 16, 17, 31,
67; and Charlotte's wedding, 261 (_see also_ Nicholls Rev. A. B.); and
Emily, 147, 175, 193; and Mary Burder, 29, 30; and Rev. A. B. Nicholls,
28, 54, 55, 292, 474, 475-6, 477, 481, 485, 487; and Miss Nussey, 11, 12,
159, 183, 211, 237; and Flossy's death, 230; and James Taylor, 309; and
Miss Wooler, 269, 274, 369; his gun, 28; his illnesses, 176, 184, 231,
232, 241, 272, 307, 315, 451, 470, 482, 484; his poems, 32; his
character, 52, 53; his recluse habits, 186, 308; Mrs. Gaskell's view of,
16, 27; his death, 54, 501; his will, 55.
Bronte, Mrs. Patrick--her pedigree, 33; her love letters, 25, 31-51; her
marriage, 30; her life at Haworth, 59-61; her portrait, 34.
Bronte, pedigree, 28, 358.
Brook, Mrs., 284, 296.
Brookfield, Mrs., 421, 422.
Brookroyd, 10, 15, 85, 93, 94, 105, 106, 119, 131, 174, 206, 211, 213,
214, 219, 222, 224, 225, 242, 275, 291, 297, 477, 491, 493, 494, 499.
Brougham, John, 163.
Broughton-in-Furness, 124, 125.
Brown, John, 152, 468, 476, 479.
Brown, Martha, 18, 19, 52, 54, 55, 60, 124, 149, 151, 153, 202, 271, 319,
361, 424, 425, 426, 452, 455, 461, 462, 463, 471, 472, 474, 476, 478.
Brown, Tabby, 54, 55, 60, 149, 151, 152, 153, 202, 239, 271, 463.
Brown, William, 104.
Browning, Mrs., 270, 434.
Bruntee, 29.
Brunty, 29.
Brussels, 3, 14, 21, 25, 26, 52, 84, 91, 92, 93, 95, 96-119, 120, 128,
133, 150, 159, 160, 218, 287, 290, 307, 440.
Bunsen, Chevalier, 456.
Burder, Miss Mary, 29, 30.
Burnet, Rev. Dr., Vicar of Bradford, 54.
'Burns, Helen.' _See_ Bronte Maria.
Burns, Robert, 127, 392.
Butterfield, R, 491.
CALDWELL, JAMES, 333.
Carlisle, Earl of, 425.
Carlyle, Mrs., 421.
Carlyle, Thomas, 20, 195, 374, 380, 384, 421.
Carter family, 81.
Cartman, Rev. Dr., 54, 425.
Cartwright's mill, 22.
Catholics, Charlotte and, 116, 117, 459.
_Caxtons_, _The_, 177, 359, 444.
_Chambers' Journal_, 244, 329, 411.
Chapham, Mrs., 262.
Chappelle, M., 111.
Chesterfield, Lady, 427.
Chorley, Mr., 416.
_Christian Remembrancer_, 341, 368, 393.
_Church of England Journal_, 407.
Clanricarde, Lady, 427.
Clapham, Mr., 500.
Clapham, Mrs., 37, 182, 500.
Clergy Daughters' School, 74, 262, 356.
Colburn, Mr., 7.
Coleridge, Hartley, 125, 126.
Coleridge, S. T., 371.
Colin, M. of _L'Etoile Belge_, 111.
Collins, Mrs., 81.
_Cornhill Magazine_, 25.
_Cottage Poems_, 32.
_Cottage in the Wood_, 32, 33.
_Courier_, 339.
Coverley Church, 37.
Cowan Bridge, 3, 18, 63, 74, 75, 145, 263, 358.
Crackenthorp, 285.
_Cranford_, 1.
'Crimsworth', 100.
_Critic_, 178, 191, 329, 334, 434.
Crosstone Parsonage, 67, 104, 217.
Crowe, Mrs., 421.
Crystal Palace, 268, 425, 461, 463.
Curates at Haworth, 118, 280-292.
Curie's Homoeopathy, 171.
'DAILY NEWS', 18, 356, 357, 431.
Davenport, Mrs., 463.
_David Copperfield_, 397.
De Quincey, Thomas, 330.
Derby, 441.
De Renzi, Rev. Mr., 291, 292, 483.
Devonshire, Duke of, 53.
Dewsbury, 30.
Dewsbury Moor, 75, 77, 78, 79, 91, 92, 145, 215, 260, 262.
Dickens, Charles, 199, 270, 397, 410.
Dickenson, Lowes, 372.
_Die Waise von Lowood_, 164.
Dilke, C. W., 338, 408.
Dixon, George, 107, 219, 240, 251.
Dixon Miss Mary, 107, 119, 219.
Dobell, Sydney, 145, 366.
Dobsons of Bradford, 41.
'Donne, Mr.' _See_ Grant Rev. Mr.
Donnington, 294, 295.
Douro, Marquis of, 62, 66, 67, 68, 70.
Drury, Rev. Mr., 111.
_Dublin Review_, 361.
_Dublin University Magazine_, 329, 334, 438.
Dury, Caroline, 285.
Dury, Rev. Theodore, 104.
Dyson, Harriet, 449.
EARNLEY RECTORY, 87, 281, 297.
Eastlake, Lady, 158, 190, 347, 348, 349, 350, 397.
Easton, 299.
Eckermann's _Goethe_, 397, 431.
_Economist_, 178, 346, 358.
Edinburgh, Charlotte in, 452, 453, 454.
_Edinburgh Guardian_, 402.
_Edinburgh Review_, 361, 407, 418.
_Edward Orland_, 251.
Ellesmere, Earl of, 463.
Elliott, Mrs., 422.
Elliotson, Dr., 172.
Ellis, Mrs., 418.
'Emanuel Paul.' _See_ Heger, M.
Emerson, 176, 189, 391.
_Emma_, 24, 399.
Epps, Dr., 173.
_Esmond_, 275, 276, 403.
Euston Square, 107.
_Examiner_, 357, 358, 375, 388, 414, 415, 441, 459.
Exeter Hall, 355.
_Experience of Life_, 275.
Eyre, Joan, 221.
Eyre, Robert (died 1459), 221.
'FAIR CAREW, THE', 402.
_Fanny Hervey_, 177.
'Fanshawe, Ginevra.' _See_ Miller, Maria.
Fawcets of Bradford, 41.
Fennell, Rev. John, 30, 34, 36, 37, 40, 41, 42, 44, 45, 47, 49, 56, 57,
67, 104, 217.
Fennell, Jane (Mrs. Morgan), 34, 37, 49, 50.
Fielding, Henry, 407.
Filey, 471.
_First Performance_, _The_, 445.
Fitzwilliam, Earl, 206.
Fleeming, W. Lowe, 95.
Flossie, jun., 159, 288, 289.
Flossy, the dog, 135, 151, 152, 153, 154, 179, 184, 202, 230, 288, 428,
452, 471, 478, 497.
Forbes, Dr., 172, 187, 192, 398, 425.
Forcade, Eugene, 344, 359.
Forster, John, 357, 416.
Fonblanque, Mr., 357, 406.
_Fraser's Magazine_, 16, 121, 329, 339, 405, 433, 435.
GARRS, NANCY, 17, 52.
Garrs, Sarah, 17.
Gaskell Mrs--the biography of Charlotte Bronte, 1-26; its hiatuses and
blunders, 31, 34, 39, 49, 61, 97, 103, 104, 120, 294, 325; on Branwell,
18, 103, 104, 123; Charlotte on, 4, 277; visited by Charlotte, 7, 367,
369, 458, 461, 462, 463, 488; visits Charlotte, 6, 8; and Charlotte's
wedding, 491; on Emily, 14, 145; and Patrick, 2, 3, 9, 10, 12, 16, 17,
27, 31, 67; and M. Heger, 14, 108; and Kingsley, 16; and Lewes, 432; and
Rev. A. B. Nicholls, 2, 9, 12, 17, 18, 465; and Miss Nussey, 9, 15, 24,
204; and the Robinsons, 18-20, 129, 130; and Mary Taylor, 21, 257, 259;
and Thackeray, 428; and Frank Williams, 322; and Rev. Carus Wilson, 18;
Miss Wooler on, 278; _Cranford_, 1; _Mary Barton_, 4, 188; _North and
South_, 498.
Gaskell, Miss Meta, 8, 14.
Gaskell, Rev. W, 8, 19, 130.
Gawthorpe Hall, 446, 447, 448.
George Lovel, 445.
Gibson, Mrs., 278.
_Gleneden's Dream_, 154-7.
Glenelg, Lord, 463.
_Globe_, 358.
Godwin, William, 195.
Goethe, 353, 397, 420, 431, 432.
Gomersall, 238, 239, 260.
_Gondaland Chronicles_, 146, 147, 150, 153, 154.
Gorham, Mary, 244.
Grant, Rev. Mr., 118, 119, 290, 291, 468, 478, 481, 484, 492.
Greenwood, J, 82, 362, 363.
Growler, dog, 154.
Grundy's _Pictures of the Past_, 121, 127, 128, 142, 293.
Guizot, 373, 374.
HABERGHAM, 498.
Halifax, 15, 145, 159, 206, 277, 287.
Hardy, Mr., 42.
Hare's _Guesses at Truth_, 397, 431.
Harris, Miss, 91.
Harris, Alexander, 168, 188, 195, 199, 440.
Harrison, Thomas, 324.
Hartshead, 30, 34, 36, 38, 39, 41, 43, 45, 47, 49, 56.
Hathersage, 152, 160, 183, 220, 222, 223, 297.
Hausse, Mdlle., 114, 442.
Haworth--church, 28, 54, 56, 58; curates, 280-92; library, 243; museum,
23; parsonage, 51, 59, 201, 396, 415, 433; 'Lodge of the Three Graces',
124; village in 1828, 58; villagers, 17, 18, 355; Mrs. Gaskell and, 3, 8,
10; _see also_ Nicholls, Nussey, Taylor, Williams.
Haxby, 291.
Hazlitt, William, 371.
Heald, Canon, 443.
Heald, Mary, 167, 215, 444.
Heald, Harriet, 444.
Heap, Mrs., 284.
'Heathcliffe', 414.
Heaton, Robert, 58.
Hebden Bridge, 54, 58, 495.
Heckmondwike, v, 260.
Heger, Dr., 26.
Heger, M., 14, 108, 96-219.
Heger, Madame, 14, 99, 101, 102, 107, 108, 109, 111, 113, 114, 115.
Heger's Pensionnat, 96-119, 239, 243, 279.
Helps's _Friends in Council_, 354, 431.
Hero, the hawk, 147, 151.
Herschel, Sir John, 360, 374, 406.
Hervey, Fanny, 177, 346.
Hewitt, Mrs., 499.
Hexham, 90.
Hoby, Miss, 81.
Hodgson Rev. Mr., 280, 302.
Homoeopathy, 169, 171, 172, 194.
Horne, R. H., 400, 405, 434, 435.
Hornsea, 274.
Hotel Clusyenaar, 101.
Houghton. _See_ Milnes, Monckton.
Howitt, Mary, 393.
Howitt, William, 359.
Hunsworth, 219, 220, 223, 224, 243.
Hunt, Leigh, 195, 338, 371, 406.
Hunt, Thornton, 449.
Hyde, Dr. Douglas, 29.
Hydropathy, 194, 401.
ILKLEY, 13, 277.
_Illustrated London News_, 441.
_Imitation_ of Thomas a Kempis, 30, 31.
Ingham, Mrs., 84, 182.
'Ingram, Miss', 350.
Ireland, 28, 89, 90, 157, 183, 290, 465, 493.
'Ireland, An adventure in', 64-6.
'JANE EYRE,' authorship, 170, 349, 379, 404, 408; inception, 33, 74, 190,
221, 372; where written, 61; manuscript of, 333; publication, 332;
preface, 161, 350, 353; dedication, 403, 408; reprint, 198; proposed
illustration of, 342-3; in French, 373, 374; reception, 2, 141, 158, 178,
338-42, 344, 346, 350, 356, 362, 363, 376, 404, 405, 410, 433, 435, 446;
dramatised, 162-4; Cowan Bridge controversy, 18; 'Brocklehurst', 18, 245,
339; 'Helen Burns', 56, 404; 'Miss Ingram', 350; 'Mrs. Read', 52;
'Rochester', 162, 405, 409, 410, 414; 'Mrs. Rochester', 339, 408;
Charlotte on, 189, 335, 336; Branwell on, 143; Hugh Bronte on, 158;
Kingsley on, 16; Mary Taylor on, 245, 252.
Jannoy, Hortense, 115.
Japp's _De Quincey Memorials_, 330.
_Jar of Honey_, 161.
Jenkins, Rev. Mr., 92, 93, 97, 98, 99, 111, 116.
Jerrold, Douglas, 374.
_John Bull_, 386.
'John, Dr.' _See_ Smith, George.
Johnson, Dr., 395.
Jolly, Rev. J, 56.
_Journal from Cornhill_ etc, 188, 320.
'Jupiter', 311-12.
KAVANAGH, JULIA, 7, 168, 170, 189, 199, 203, 338, 340, 363, 400, 411,
432.
Kavanagh, M.P., 168.
Keats, 371.
Keene, Laura, 163.
Keeper, the dog, 61, 91, 147, 149, 152, 153, 154, 179, 180, 202, 428.
Keighley, 58, 106, 281, 291, 429, 431.
_Kenilworth_, 200.
Keyworth, Rev. Thomas, 221.
Kingsley, Charles, 16, 18.
Kingston, Anne, 104.
Kingston, Elizabeth Jane, 103, 105.
Kirk-Smeaton, 483, 490.
Kirkstall Abbey, 39, 45.
Knowles, Sheridan, 445.
LAMARTINE, 402.
Lamb, Charles, 263.
Lamb, Mary, 263.
Lang's _Lockhart_, 350.
Lawry, Mrs., of Muswell Hill, 25.
_Leader_, 459, 460.
Leeds, 49, 107, 127, 206, 359.
_Leeds Mercury_, 31.
Lewes, George Henry, 338, 339, 345, 355, 356, 358, 361, 400, 406, 407,
410, 418, 432, 433, 435, 445, 450, 468.
Leyland's _Bronte Family_, 19, 23, 121, 122, 138, 143.
Liege, 240.
Lille, 97, 98.
Lind, Jenny, 400, 416.
Lockhart, J. G., 1, 348, 350.
London. _See_ Bronte, Charlotte, in London.
London Bridge Wharf, 107.
Londonderry, Marchioness of, 427.
Louis Philippe, 373, 374.
'Lowood School', 190, 339.
Luddenden Foot, 127, 147, 150, 152.
Luddite Riots, 206.
Lynn, Eliza, 170, 172.
Lyttleton's _Advice to a Lady_, 51.
Lytton Bulwer, 170, 177, 359, 392, 414, 426.
'MACARTHEY, MR.' _See_ Nicholls.
Macaulay's _History_, 187, 229.
Macdonald, Frederika, 109.
_Macmillan's Magazine_, 25.
Macready, the actor, 270, 416, 423.
_Madeline_, 168, 170, 189.
_Maid of Killarney_, 32, 33.
'Malone, Mr.' _See_ Smith Rev. Peter A.
Manchester, 17, 241, 349, 369, 462, 463, 491.
Marsh, Mrs., 333, 404.
Martineau, Harriet, 4, 5, 6, 17, 25, 205, 251, 255, 278, 312, 313, 366,
368, 416, 442, 445, 454, 455, 456, 457, 459, 460, 469, 473.
Martineau, Rev. James, 128.
_Mary Barton_, 4, 188.
Marzials, Madame, 98.
Mayers, H. S., 203.
Meredith, George, 370.
Merrall, E, 491.
Merrall, H, 491.
Miles, Rev. Oddy, 58.
Mill, John Stuart, 469.
Miller, Maria (Mrs. Robertson), 101.
Mills, Mrs., 91.
Milnes, Monckton, 422, 425, 491.
Mirabeau, 384-85.
Mirfield, 81, 261.
_Mirror_, 142, 407, 410, 435.
Miry Shay, near Bradford, 38.
_Miss Miles_, 259.
_Mrs. Leicester's School_, 263.
_Modern Painters_, 195, 387.
Moore's _Life_, 402.
_Moorland Cottage_, 5.
More, Dr., 261.
Morgan, Lady, 270.
Morgan, Mrs., 277.
Morgan, Rev. William, 34, 38, 44, 49, 56, 57, 478, 491.
Morley, 58.
Morley, John, 370.
_Morning Chronicle_, 205, 375, 380.
_Morning Herald_, 167, 168, 177, 340.
_Morning Post_, 434.
Morrison, Alfred, 325.
Morton Village, 221.
Mossman, Miss, 243.
Muhl, Mdlle., 114.
NAPOLEON, 375.
National Gallery, 387, 423.
Near and Far Oxenhope, 58.
Nelson, Lord, 29, 73, 127, 358.
Newby, Thomas Cautley, 162, 171, 172, 244, 331, 336, 337, 354, 364, 365,
388, 415.
_Newcastle Guardian_, 407.
Newman, Cardinal, 363.
Newton & Robinson, 130.
Nicholls, Rev. A. B. Chapter XVII, 464-502; birth, 465; character, 501;
Charlotte refers to, 426, 428, 466, 467, 469, 470, 475, 476, 480, 489,
499; Mrs. Gaskell's view of, 464; and Rev. Patrick Bronte, 28, 54, 55,
292, 474, 475, 476, 477, 481, 485, 487; wooing of Charlotte, 472, 473,
475, 476, 480; marriage with Charlotte, 490-1; marriage with Miss Bell,
501; his study at Haworth, 61; in Ireland, 183, 465, 467, 501; on
Charlotte's letters, 494; and Mrs. Gaskell's biography, 2, 9, 10-12, 13,
17; and _Charlotte Bronte and her Circle_, v, 24, 97, 160, 332; and Cowan
Bridge controversy, 18; his relics of the Brontes, 123-4, 138, 154, 181,
403.
Nicholls, Mrs. A. B. (_secunda_), 501.
Nicoll, Dr. Robertson, v.
Noel, Baptist, 218.
Norfolk, Duchess of, 427.
_North American Review_, 169.
_North British Review_, 313, 346.
Nussey, Ellen Chapter VIII, 204-233; her pedigree, 206; at school, 76,
234, 261, 264; at Haworth, 59, 60, 61, 158, 273, 274, 276, 299; in
Sussex, 271, 272; visited by Charlotte, 239, 301; help to Mrs. Gaskell,
9-15, 24, 145; _The Story of Charlotte Bronte's Life_, 23, 25;
recollections of Anne, 203; recollections of Emily, 178-180;
recollections of Miss Wooler, 261; Charlotte's admiration for, 300; Mary
Taylor on, 249, 250; letters from Anne, 182-4; letters from Charlotte, v,
76-86, 89-95, 98, 102, 105-7, 116, 119, 131-2, 134-8, 166, 173, 191, 196,
206-32, 237-8, 240-4, 254, 281-91, 295-7, 302-7, 310-2, 314-9, 321, 322,
360, 367, 401, 417, 419, 429, 430, 432, 443, 446, 448-50, 452, 457, 462,
465-9, 472-500; letter from Emily, 160; letter from Canon Heald, 443;
letter from Martha Taylor, 240; letter from Mary Taylor, 256, 258.
Nussey, George, 85, 86, 89.
Nussey, Rev. Henry, 87, 119, 160, 221, 294-301.
Nussey, Mrs. Henry, 220, 222, 223.
Nussey, John, 206.
Nussey, Mrs., 208, 222, 275.
Nussey, Mercy, 89, 94, 141, 222, 226.
Nussey, Richard, 89.
Nussey, Sarah, 89.
OAKWORTH, 291.
_Observer_, 335, 431.
O'Callaghan Castle, 64-6.
O'Prunty, Patrick, 29.
_Orion_, 434, 435.
Orleans, Duchess of, 427.
Outhwaite, Miss, 181, 197.
_Oxford Chronicle_, 339.
PADIHAM, 498.
'Pag.' _See_ Taylor, Mary.
_Palladium_, 310, 364, 366, 367.
Paris, Charlotte and, 96, 153.
Pascal's _Thoughts_, 397.
Patchet, Miss, 145, 149.
Paxton, Sir Joseph, 54.
Payn, James, 370.
_Pendennis_, 172.
Penzance, 30, 33, 34, 51, 103, 105, 217.
Perry, Miss, 422.
Phillips, George Searle, 142.
Pickles, J, 491.
Poems by the sisters--in manuscript, 68-72; Aylott & Jones's edition,
325-331, 334, 348.
_Poor Relations_, 164.
Port Nicholson, N.Z., 239.
Portraits--of Anne, 181; of Branwell, 138; of Charlotte, 123, 294; of
Emily, 123.
Postlethwaite, Mr., 124.
_Prelude_, Wordsworth's, 7.
Price, Rev. Mr., 302-3.
Procter, Mrs., 408, 422.
_Professor_, _The_--its inception, 99, 100, 101; where written, 61; the
manuscript, 332; seeking a publisher, 331, 332, 372; its publication,
275, 335; Charlotte on, 336; Mrs. Gaskell's proposed recasting of, 465.
Prunty, 157.
Puseyite struggle, 368, 400.
'QUARTERLY REVIEW', 158, 176, 190, 195, 347, 348, 350, 351, 352, 393,
397, 408, 410, 412.
RAILWAY PANIC, 133.
Rands of Bradford, 41.
_Ranthorpe_, 411, 432.
Rawson, Mr., 42.
Read, Mrs. _See_ Branwell, Elizabeth.
Redhead, Rev. Mr., 17.
Redman, Joseph, 55, 479.
Reform Bill, 121.
Reid, Sir Wemyss, vi, 23, 24.
'Reuter, Mdlle. Zoraide.' _See_ Heger, Madame.
Revue des deux Mondes, 344, 345, 361.
Richmond's portrait of Charlotte, 294.
Rigby, Miss. _See_ Eastlake, Lady.
Ringrose, Miss, 135, 225, 227.
Ritchie, Mrs. Richmond, 420-23.
'Rivers, St John', 245.
Robertson, Mr. ('Helstone'), 430, 443.
Robinson, Rev. Edmund, 18, 129, 136, 146, 148.
Robinson, Mrs. Edmund, 18, 19, 128, 129, 130, 136, 137, 182.
Robinson, Edmund jun., 112, 129.
Robinson, Misses, 137, 154, 182, 288.
Robinson, William, of Leeds, 123.
Robinson's _Emily Bronte_, 121, 122.
'Rochester', 162, 405, 409, 410, 414.
'Rochester, Mrs.', 339, 408.
Roe Head, 14, 15, 62, 63, 75, 76, 113, 120, 145, 182, 204, 206, 209, 213,
260, 261, 269, 293.
Rogers, Samuel, 463.
Rouse Mill, 215.
Ruddock, Dr., 231, 232.
'Rue Fossette.' _See_ Rue d'Isabelle.
Rue d'Isabelle, 99, 100, 107, 108, 111, 117.
_Rural Minstrel_, 32.
Ruskin, John, 195, 371, 387, 429.
Ruskin John James, 371.
Russell, Lord John, 400.
Rydings, 206, 212.
S. GUDULE, 117.
St. John's College, Cambridge, 28, 97.
Samplers worked by the Branwells, 34; by the Brontes, 56, 57, 181.
Saunders, Rev. Moses, 58.
Scarborough, 147, 148, 197, 198, 200, 203, 219, 221, 233, 271, 272.
_Scotsman_, 337.
Scott, Sir Walter, 1, 199, 208, 429.
Sewell, Elizabeth, 260.
Shaen, William, 130.
_Sharpe's Magazine_, 10, 452.
_Sheffield Iris_, 407.
_Shirley_, the curates of, 190, 280, 288, 291, 443, 468; other characters
in, 234, 236, 238, 346; authorship of, 351, 431, 442; French in, 353;
Charlotte on, 345, 351, 396, 456; Charles Kingsley on, 16; Harriet
Martineau on, 4, 456; Rev. A. B. Nicholls on, 468; Mary Taylor on, 248,
251; general reception of, 178, 354, 355, 358, 360, 418, 443, 446.
Shuttleworth, Lady, 6, 446, 448, 450, 462, 463.
Shuttleworth, Sir James Kay, 3, 6, 15, 230, 255, 266, 419, 446, 447, 450,
454, 457, 458, 462, 463, 468, 473, 495, 496, 498.
Shuttleworth, Sir U. J. Kay, 446.
Sidgwicks of Stonegappe, 79-84, 112, 113, 149.
Skelton, John, 402.
_Sketch_, _The_, 111.
Skipton, 54, 58.
Smith Elder & Co, 5, 7, 9, 163, 176, 204, 271, 307, 311, 314, 331, 335,
336, 340, 370, 371, 372, 407, 408, 410.
Smith, George; and Anne, 415; and Emily, 388; and _Jane Eyre_, 198, 362,
363, 372; and _Shirley_, 178, 188, 189, 190, 351, 352, 356; and
_Villette_, 366, 429; and _Wuthering Heights_, 365; sends books to
Charlotte, 161, 188, 334, 384, 387, 398; meets Charlotte, 187, 419,
430-3, 441, 462; writes Charlotte, 449; and James Taylor, 315, 317, 321;
and Thackeray, 403, 420-1, 427, 428; Charlotte's opinion of, 318, 364,
386, 417, 430, 445; and Charlotte's marriage, 491.
Smith, Mrs. (mother of George Smith), 417, 419, 429, 430, 450, 452, 453,
462.
Smith, Rev. Peter Augustus, 28, 118, 119, 288, 302, 465.
'Snowe, Lucy', 108, 367.
Sophia, Mdlle., 114.
Southey, 399.
Sowden, Rev. George, 54, 478, 493, 494, 495, 496, 498, 499.
Sowerby Bridge, 127.
_Spectator_, 178, 338, 344, 441.
Stanbury, 58, 59.
_Standard of Freedom_, 167, 358, 359.
Stephen, Sir James, 19.
Stephen, Leslie, 19.
Stephenson, Mr., 128.
Stonegappe, 79, 80, 82.
Stuart, Dr. J. A. Erskine, 28.
_Sun_, 177.
_Sunday Times_, 407, 435.
Sutherland, Duchess of, 424.
Swain, Mrs. John, 159.
Swarcliffe, 81-3.
'Sweeting, Rev. Mr.' _See_ Bradley.
Swinburne, A. C., on Emily, 146.
'TABLET', 405.
Talfourd's _Lamb_, 263.
Tatham, Mr., 37.
Taylor, Ellen, 132, 136, 243, 244, 252, 254.
Taylor, George, 104, 491.
Taylor, Henry, 245, 254.
Taylor, James appearance, 309; history, 307, 323-24; illness, 177, 360;
at Haworth, 308, 314; Charlotte on, 310-11, 314, 315, 316, 317, 318, 321,
322, 392, 430, 462; Charlotte's letters to, 309, 313, 319, 345, 354, 442,
456, 458; his opinion of _Shirley_, 355, 393; and Mrs. Gaskell's
biography, 9; his marriage, 324; his death, 324.
Taylor, Mrs. James, 324.
Taylor, Jessie, 236.
Taylor, Joe, 243.
Taylor, John, 243.
Taylor, Joshua, 25.
Taylor, Louisa, 394, 395.
Taylor, Martha, 87, 96, 97, 98, 102, 235, 240, 433.
Taylor, Mr., father of Mary Taylor, 236, 238, 251.
Taylor, Mary Chapter IX, 234-259; at school, 9, 261; in Brussels, 91, 92,
96, 98, 239; in New Zealand, 85, 132, 220, 238, 241-59, 290; illness of,
78, 84; letters to Charlotte, 210, 244-52, 254-56, 419; description of
Charlotte, 293; Charlotte and, 77, 90, 131, 196, 207, 212, 223, 232, 306;
and Mrs. Gaskells biography, 9, 21-3, 259; Miss Nussey's description of,
234-37.
Taylor, Rose, 236.
Taylor & Hessey, 371.
Taylor Waring, 239, 240, 252, 253.
Taylor Yorke, 236.
Teale, Mr., 187, 194.
'Temple, Miss', 339.
_Tenant of Wildfell Hall_, writing of, 364; publication, 184; reception
of, 387, 412; its value, 181.
Tennyson's _Poems_, 189.
Thackeray, William Chapter XV, 403-428; on Charlotte, 25, 403, 428; on
_Jane Eyre_, 404, 406, 408; _Jane Eyre_ dedicated to, 403, 408; compared
to Charlotte, 348-49, 408; visited by Charlotte, 416, 418, 420-3, 441;
sends _Vanity Fair_ to Charlotte, 1, 403; his illness, 356; his
illustrations, 342; his lectures, 403, 427; Charlotte on, 172, 177, 188,
199, 270, 275, 276, 319, 320, 333, 340, 343, 362, 374, 391, 404, 406,
411, 412, 419, 423; Lady Eastlake on, 348; Charles Kingsley on, 16; his
friendship with W. S. Williams, 371.
Thackeray, Mrs., 408.
Thiers, 373, 374, 375.
Thomas, R, 491.
Thornton, 3, 51, 56, 123, 181.
Thorp Green, 112, 128, 146, 148, 150, 152, 182.
_Three Paths_, 168.
Tiger, 151, 152.
Tighe, Rev. Mr., 28.
_Times_, 18, 129, 130, 362, 441.
Tootill, John, 104.
Trollope, Mrs., 270, 407, 409.
Truelock, Miss, 422.
Turner, J. M. W., 270, 371, 387, 423.
UPPERWOOD HOUSE, RAWDON, 85-94, 96, 238.
'VANITY FAIR', 1, 172, 349, 403, 411, 412, 413.
'Verdopolis', 123.
Vernon, Solala, 149.
_Victorian Magazine_, 259.
Victoria, Queen, 426, 427.
_Villette_--its inception, 96, 99, 100, 101, 111, 116, 420; publication,
277; its reception, 279, 366, 367; George Smith and, 204, 429; in
Brussels, 109; confession, incident in, 116.
Vincent, Mr., 304.
Voltaire's _Henriade_, 76.
WAINWRIGHT, Mrs., 54.
Walker, Reuben, 206.
Walton, Miss Agnes, 282, 283, 285.
Watman, Rev. Mr., 37.
Watt's _Improvement of the Mind_, 182.
Weatherfield, Essex, 29, 30.
_Weekly Chronicle_, 358, 404.
Weightman, Rev. William, 86, 92, 102, 128, 179, 183, 284-7, 289, 306,
467.
Wellesley, Lord Charles, 62, 69.
Wellington, Duke of, 62, 63, 455.
Wellington, N. Z., 21, 245, 247, 249, 250, 258.
Wells's _Joseph and his Brethren_, 371.
Wesley, John, 30, 31.
Westerman, Mrs., 444.
Westminster, Marquis of, 463.
_Westminster Review_, 205, 433, 469.
Whately's _English Social Life_, 397.
Wheelwright, Dr., 100, 111, 294, 430, 469, 470, 491.
Wheelwright, Laetitia, 25, 26, 100, 101, 109, 293, 294, 440, 441, 449,
453, 460, 469, 482.
Wheelwright, Mrs., 470.
White, Sarah Louisa, 95.
Whites of Rawdon, 84-94, 96, 112, 147, 149, 152, 239.
Williams, Anna, 372.
Williams, E. Thornton, vi, 25.
Williams, Ellen, 394.
Williams, Fanny, 344, 372, 383, 384, 393, 394, 415.
Williams, Frank, 322, 402.
Williams, Louisa, 394, 395.
Williams, W. S. Chapter XIV, 370-402; discovery of Charlotte, 9; sends
books to Charlotte, 429; and _The Professor_, 332; on _Wuthering
Heights_, 161; Charlotte's letters to, vi, 3-7, 25, 138-141, 161-177,
185-191, 194-9, 200-3, 205, 232, 308, 321, 322, 333-67, 371-402, 404-17,
418, 420, 433-40, 444-8, 455; meets Charlotte, 318; Charlotte's
description of, 430; and Charlotte's wedding, 491.
Williams, Mrs., 4, 7, 359, 362, 376, 383, 386, 390, 393, 396, 398, 415,
440, 447.
Willing, James, 164.
Wills, W. G., 164.
Wilson, Rev. Carus, 18, 75, 245, 339.
Windermere, 230, 266.
Wise, Thomas J., vi.
Wiseman, Cardinal, 461.
Wood, Mr. Butler, vi.
Wood House Grove, 34, 36, 38, 39, 41, 43, 47, 49.
Woodward, Mr., of Wellington N. Z., 249.
Wooler, Miss C., 264.
Wooler, Mr., 215.
Wooler, Mrs., 77.
Wooler, Margaret Chapter x, 260-79; her history, 260-1; her school, 75,
77, 78, 91, 92, 96, 145, 181, 214, 215, 234, 235, 284; Charlotte's
letters to, 8, 132-4, 193, 199, 262-78, 367-9; Charlotte and, 87, 207,
212, 249, 262, 492; Miss Nussey on, 261-2; at the Nusseys', 477; and Mary
Taylor, 234, 249, 258; and Charlotte's wedding, 487, 491; and Mrs.
Gaskell, 12, 13, 14, 278.
Wordsworth, William, 7, 142, 312.
Wright's _Brontes in Ireland_, 157, 158.
_Wuthering Heights_--its inception, 157, 158, 159, 246, 414; authorship
of, 122, 142, 143, 340, 342; publication of, 161, 331; reception of, 255,
350, 459; reprint of, 364, 365; its light on Emily, 144; Charlotte on,
162, 336, 337; sent to Mrs. Gaskell, 5.
YARMOUTH, 369.
Yates, W. W., vi.
York, 130, 200.
'Yorke, Rose.' _See_ Taylor Mary.
'--- of Briarmains.' _See_ Taylor, Mr., banker.
_Young Men's Magazine_, 66, 68.
ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, 451.
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