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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:54:41 -0700 |
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diff --git a/19011-h/19011-h.htm b/19011-h/19011-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e739b7b --- /dev/null +++ b/19011-h/19011-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,23199 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle, by Clement K. Shorter</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle, by Clement +K. Shorter + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle + + +Author: Clement K. Shorter + + + +Release Date: August 8, 2006 [eBook #19011] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARLOTTE BRONTE AND HER CIRCLE*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1896 Hodder and Stoughton edition by Les +Bowler.</p> +<h1>CHARLOTTE BRONTË AND HER CIRCLE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">BY CLEMENT K. SHORTER</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">HODDER AND STOUGHTON</p> +<p style="text-align: center">27 PATERNOSTER ROW</p> +<p style="text-align: center">1896</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"> +<img alt="CHARLOTTE BRONTË" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2><!-- page v--><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>PREFACE</h2> +<p>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 Brontës. 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 <!-- page vi--><a name="pagevi"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. vi</span>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 +Brontë 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 Brontë +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.</p> +<p> CLEMENT K. SHORTER.<br /> +198 <span class="smcap">Strand</span>, <span +class="smcap">London</span>,<br /> + <i>September</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1896.</p> +<h2><!-- page vii--><a name="pagevii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +vii</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<p>PRELIMINARY<br /> +CHAPTER I PATRICK BRONTË AND MARIA HIS WIFE<br /> +CHAPTER II CHILDHOOD<br /> +CHAPTER III SCHOOL AND GOVERNESS LIFE<br /> +CHAPTER IV PENSIONNAT HÉGER, BRUSSELS<br /> +CHAPTER V PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTË<br /> +<!-- page viii--><a name="pageviii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +viii</span>CHAPTER VI EMILY JANE BRONTË<br /> +CHAPTER VII ANNE BRONTË<br /> +CHAPTER VIII ELLEN NUSSEY<br /> +CHAPTER IX MARY TAYLOR<br /> +CHAPTER X MARGARET WOOLER<br /> +CHAPTER XI THE CURATES AT HAWORTH<br /> +CHAPTER XII CHARLOTTE BRONTË’S LOVERS<br /> +CHAPTER XIII LITERARY AMBITIONS<br /> +<!-- page ix--><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>CHAPTER XIV WILLIAM SMITH WILLIAMS<br /> +CHAPTER XV WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY<br /> +CHAPTER XVI LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS<br /> +CHAPTER XVII ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS</p> +<h2><!-- page xi--><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<p>CHARLOTTE BRONTË + Frontispiece<br /> +PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTË + facing page 120<br /> +FACSIMILE OF PAGE OF EMILY BRONTË’S DIARY +facing page 146<br /> +FACSIMILE OF TWO PAGES OF EMILY BRONTË’S DIARY facing page +154<br /> +ANNE BRONTË + +facing page 182<br /> +MISS ELLEN NUSSEY AS A SCHOOLGIRL +)<br /> +MISS ELLEN NUSSEY TO-DAY + ) facing page 207<br /> +THE REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS + facing page 467</p> +<h2><!-- page xiii--><a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiii</span>A BRONTË CHRONOLOGY</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Patrick Brontë born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">17 <i>March</i> 1777</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Maria Brontë born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1783</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Patrick leaves Ireland for Cambridge</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1802</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Degree of A.B.</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1806</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Curacy at Wetherfield</i>, <i>Essex</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1806</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p> „ <i>Dewsbury Yorks</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1809</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p> „ <i>Hartshead-cum-Clifton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1811</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Publishes</i> ‘<i>Cottage Poems</i>’ (<i>Halifax</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1811</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Married to Maria Branwell</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">18 <i>Dec.</i> 1812</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>First Child</i>, <i>Maria</i>, <i>born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1813</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Publishes</i> ‘<i>The Rural Minstrel</i>’</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1813</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Elizabeth born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1814</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Publishes</i> ‘<i>The Cottage in the Wood</i>’</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1815</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Curacy at Thornton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1816</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte Brontë born at Thornton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">21 <i>April</i> 1816</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Patrick Branwell Brontë born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1817</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Emily Jane Brontë born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1818</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>The Maid of Killarney</i>’ <i>published</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1818</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><!-- page xiv--><a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiv</span><i>Anne Brontë born</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1819</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Removal to Incumbency of Haworth</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>February</i> 1820</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Mrs. Brontë died</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">15 <i>September</i> 1821</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Maria and Elizabeth Brontë at Cowan Bridge</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 1824</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte and Emily</i> „ „</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>September</i> 1824</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Leave Cowan Bridge</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1825</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Maria Brontë died</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">6 <i>May</i> 1825</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Elizabeth Brontë died</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">15 <i>June</i> 1825</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte Brontë at School</i>, <i>Roe Head</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>January</i> 1831</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Leaves Roe Head School</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1832</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>First Visit to Ellen Nussey at The Rydings</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>September</i> 1832</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Returns to Roe Head as governess</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">29 <i>July</i> 1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Branwell visits London</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Emily spends three months at Roe Head</i>, <i>when Anne takes her +place and she returns home</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Ellen Nussey visits Haworth in Holidays</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Miss Wooler’s School removed to Dewsbury Moor</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Emily at a School at Halifax for six months</i> (<i>Miss Patchet of +Law Hill</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>First Proposal of Marriage</i> (<i>Henry Nussey</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Anne Brontë becomes governess at Blake Hall</i>, (<i>Mrs. +Ingham’s</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>April</i> 1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte governess at Mrs. Sidgwick’s at Stonegappe</i>, +<i>and at Swarcliffe</i>, <i>Harrogate</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><!-- page xv--><a name="pagexv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xv</span><i>Second Proposal of Marriage</i> (<i>Mr. Price</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte and Emily at Haworth</i>, <i>Anne at Blake Hall</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1840</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte’s second situation as governess with Mrs. White</i>, +<i>Upperwood House</i>, <i>Rawdon</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 1841</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte and Emily go to School at Brussels</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>February</i> 1842</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Miss Branwell died at Haworth</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">29 <i>Oct.</i> 1842</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte and Emily return to Haworth</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Nov.</i> 1842</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte returns to Brussels</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan.</i> 1843</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Returns to Haworth</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Jan.</i> 1844</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Anne and Branwell at Thorp Green</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1845</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte visits Mary Taylor at Hounsden</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1845</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Visits Miss Nussey at Brookroyd</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1845</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Publication of Poems by Currer</i>, <i>Ellis and Acton Bell</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1846</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte Brontë visits Manchester with her father for him to +see an Oculist</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Aug.</i> 1846</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>Jane Eyre</i>’ <i>published</i> (<i>Smith & +Elder</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Oct.</i> 1847</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>Wuthering Heights</i>’ <i>and</i> ‘<i>Agnes +Grey</i>’, (<i>Newby</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Dec.</i> 1847</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte and Emily visit London</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 1848</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>’</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1848</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Branwell died</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">24 <i>Sept.</i> 1848</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Emily died</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">19 <i>Dec.</i> 1848</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Anne Brontë died at Scarborough</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">28 <i>May</i> 1849</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>Shirley</i>’ <i>published</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1849</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Visit to London</i>, <i>first meeting with Thackeray</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Nov.</i> 1849</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><!-- page xvi--><a name="pagexvi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xvi</span><i>Visit to London</i>, <i>sits for Portrait to Richmond</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1850</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Third Offer of Marriage</i> (<i>James Taylor</i>)</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1851</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Visit to London for Exhibition</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1851</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>Villette</i>’ <i>published</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1852</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Visit to London</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1853</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Visit to Manchester to Mrs. Gaskell</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1853</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Marriage</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">29 <i>June</i> 1854</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Death</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">31 <i>March</i> 1855</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Patrick Brontë died</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">7 <i>June</i> 1861</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>PRELIMINARY: MRS. GASKELL</h2> +<p>In the whole of English biographical literature there is no book that +can compare in widespread interest with the <i>Life of Charlotte +Brontë</i> 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 +<i>Johnson</i> and Lockhart’s <i>Scott</i>. 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 <i>Cranford</i>, at least, has taken a +place among the classics of our literature. She brought to bear upon +the biography of Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontë’s +success as an author turned the eyes of the world upon her. Thackeray +had sent her his <i>Vanity Fair</i> before he knew her name or sex. +The precious volume lies before me—</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/firstsignature.jpg"> +<img alt="First Thackeray Inscription" src="images/firstsignature.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p><!-- page 2--><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>And +Thackeray did not send many inscribed copies of his books even to +successful authors. Speculation concerning the author of <i>Jane +Eyre</i> was sufficiently rife during those seven sad years of literary +renown to make a biography imperative when death came to Charlotte +Brontë 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. Brontë’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 <i>Memoir</i>, have every reason to be thankful for Mr. +Brontë’s decision, peace of mind would undoubtedly have been +more assured to Charlotte Brontë’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. Brontë +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 +Brontë during the progress of the biography. They serve, <!-- +page 3--><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>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 <i>Vanity Fair</i>.</p> +<p>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 Brontë—Thornton, Haworth, Cowan Bridge, +Birstall, Brussels—and she wrote countless letters to the friends of +Charlotte Brontë’s earlier days.</p> +<p>But why, it may be asked, was Mrs. Gaskell selected as biographer? +The choice was made by Mr. Brontë, and not, as has been suggested, by +some outside influence. When Mr. Brontë 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 Brontë 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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘20<i>th</i> <i>November</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—You said that if I +wished for any copies <!-- page 4--><a name="page4"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 4</span>of <i>Shirley</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘The letter you forwarded this morning was from Mrs. Gaskell, +authoress of <i>Mary Barton</i>; 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 5</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—May I beg that a +copy of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> may be sent to Mrs. Gaskell; her present +address is 3 Sussex Place, Regent’s Park. She has just sent me +the <i>Moorland Cottage</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Trusting that you and yours are well, and sincerely wishing you +all a happy new year,—I am, my dear sir, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">The Briery</span>, +<span class="smcap">Windermere</span>,<br /> +‘<i>August</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—I reached this place +yesterday evening at eight <!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 6</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And this is how she writes to a friend from Haworth, on her return, +after that first meeting:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘Lady Shuttleworth never got out, being confined to the house with +a cold; but fortunately there was Mrs. Gaskell, the authoress of <i>Mary +Barton</i>, 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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—<i>that</i> I found impossible.</p> +<p>‘It gives me real pleasure to hear of your son’s +success. I <!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>trust he may persevere and go on improving, and give his parents +cause for satisfaction and honest pride.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Prelude</i>, as she was saying how much she wished to have the +opportunity of reading it.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Miss Brontë 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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MRS. GASKELL, <span +class="smcap">Manchester</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>April</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,—Would it +suit you if I were to come next Thursday, the 21st?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>‘I should arrive by the train which reaches Manchester at 7 +o’clock <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In the autumn of 1853 Mrs. Gaskell returned Charlotte +Brontë’s visit at Haworth. She was not, however, at +Charlotte’s wedding in Haworth Church. <a name="citation8"></a><a +href="#footnote8" class="citation">[8]</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 8<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘When I know anything certain I will write to you +again.—Believe me, my dear Miss Wooler, yours respectfully and +affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>But +the friendship, which commenced so late in Charlotte Brontë’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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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.</p> +<p>Of the two schoolfellows with whom Charlotte Brontë 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. Brontë, 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. Brontë 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. Brontë 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. Brontë, 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. Brontë’s ‘impetuous wish,’ and he +brought down all the materials he could find, in the shape of about a dozen +<!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>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.</p> +<p>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 Brontë’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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. A. B. NICHOLLS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brookroyd</span>, +<i>June</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1855.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Nicholls</span>,—I have been +much hurt and pained by the perusal of an article in <i>Sharpe</i> for this +month, entitled “A Few Words about <i>Jane Eyre</i>.” You +will be certain to see the article, and I am sure both you and Mr. +Brontë 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?</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 11</span>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. Brontë are well. My kind regards to +both.—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">E. +Nussey</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>June</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1855.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Nussey</span>,—We had not +seen the article in <i>Sharpe</i>, 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>.” 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.</p> +<p>‘The remarks respecting Mr. Brontë excited in him only +amusement—indeed, I have not seen him laugh as much for <!-- page +12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>some months as +he did while I was reading the article to him. We are both well in +health, but lonely and desolate.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Brontë unites with me in kind regards.—Yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">A. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1855.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Nussey</span>,—Some other +erroneous notices of Charlotte having appeared, Mr. Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘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. Brontë’s wishes.</p> +<p>‘We have the same object in view, but should differ in our mode of +proceeding. Mr. Brontë 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">A. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 13</span>TO MRS. GASKELL, <span +class="smcap">Manchester</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Ilkley</span>, +<i>July</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1855.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Madam</span>,—Owing to my +absence from home your letter has only just reached me. I had not +heard of Mr. Brontë’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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Ellen +Nussey</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mrs. Gaskell and Miss Nussey met, and the friendship which ensued was +closed only by death; and indeed one <!-- page 14--><a +name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>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. <a +name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14" class="citation">[14]</a> +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 Brontë’s old +schoolmistress.’ Again she is in Brussels, where Madame +Héger refused to see her, although M. Héger 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 Brontë know of the publication of <i>Jane Eyre</i>,’ +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 <i>she</i> ever make friends?’ Such were +the questions which came quick and <!-- page 15--><a +name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>fast to Miss Nussey, +and Miss Nussey fortunately kept her replies.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MRS. GASKELL, <span +class="smcap">Manchester</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brookroyd</span>, +<i>October</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1856.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Emily Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Ellen +Nussey</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The book was published in two volumes, under the title of <i>The Life of +Charlotte Brontë</i>, in the spring of 1857. At first all was +well. Mr. Brontë’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 <!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 16</span>Kingsley wrote a charming letter to Mrs. +Gaskell, published in his <i>Life</i>, and more than once reprinted +since.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘Let me renew our long interrupted acquaintance,’ he writes +from St. Leonards, under date May 14th, 1857, ‘by complimenting you +on poor Miss Brontë’s <i>Life</i>. 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. +<i>Jane Eyre</i> I hardly looked into, very seldom reading a work of +fiction—yours, indeed, and Thackeray’s, are the only ones I +care to open. <i>Shirley</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Fraser</i>) of remarkable strength and +purity.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was a short-lived triumph, however, and Mrs. Gaskell soon found +herself, as she expressed it, ‘in a veritable hornet’s +nest.’ Mr. Brontë, 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 <!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 17</span>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. Brontë 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.’ <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> 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 Brontë. ‘Two separate +householders in London <i>each</i> declares that the first interview +between Miss Brontë and Miss Martineau took place at <i>her</i> +house.’ In one passage Mrs. Gaskell had spoken of wasteful +young servants, and the young servants in question came upon Mr. +Brontë for the following testimonial:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, <i>August</i> 17<i>th</i>, +1857.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 18--><a +name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>sufficiently careful in +regard to food, and all other articles committed to their charge.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">P. Brontë</span>, +<span class="smcap">A.B.</span>,<br /> +‘<i>Incumbent of Haworth</i>, <i>Yorkshire</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Brontë, 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 Brontë’s suggested love affairs. +Mrs. Gaskell defended the description in <i>Jane Eyre</i> of Cowan Bridge +with peculiar vigour. Mr. Carus Wilson, the Brocklehurst of <i>Jane +Eyre</i>, and his friends were furious. They threatened an +action. There were letters in the <i>Times</i> and letters in the +<i>Daily News</i>. Mr. Nicholls broke silence—the only time in +the forty years that he has done so—with two admirable letters to the +<i>Halifax Guardian</i>. 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 +Brontë’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.’</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 19</span>Scott. Anne Brontë 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 +Brontë 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 Brontë’s pockets. <a name="citation19"></a><a +href="#footnote19" class="citation">[19]</a> 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 Brontës; but it is +of moment, because Charlotte Brontë 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 <!-- +page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>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.</p> +<p>Yet, when all is said, Mrs. Gaskell had done her work thoroughly and +well. Lockhart’s <i>Scott</i> and Froude’s <i>Carlyle</i> +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 +<i>now</i> 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 <i>her</i> 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 Brontë would not stand on so splendid a pedestal to-day but +for the single-minded devotion of her accomplished biographer.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 21--><a +name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>picture was too +gloomy? Taken as a whole, the life of Charlotte Brontë 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 +<i>Life</i>:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +30<i>th</i> <i>July</i> 1857.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,—I am +unaccountably in receipt by post of two vols. containing the Life of C. +Brontë. 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 <!-- page +22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>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.</p> +<p>‘It must upset most people’s notions of beauty to be told +that the portrait at the beginning is that of an ugly woman. <a +name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" class="citation">[22]</a> +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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Once more I thank you for the book—the first copy, I +believe, that arrived in New Zealand.—Sincerely yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Mary +Taylor</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And in another letter, written a little later (28th January 1858), Miss +Mary Taylor writes to Miss Ellen Nussey in similar strain:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘Your account of Mrs. Gaskell’s book was very +interesting,’ she says. ‘She seems a hasty, impulsive +person, and the <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 +Brontë’s life was not, in its main features, accurately and +adequately told by her gifted biographer.</p> +<p>Why then, I am naturally asked, add one further book to the Brontë +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 +Brontë Museum at Haworth. Interesting books have been written, +notably Sir Wemyss Reid’s <i>Monograph</i> and Mr. Leyland’s +<i>Brontë Family</i>, 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.</p> +<p>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 <i>The Story of +Charlotte Brontë’s Life</i>, <!-- page 24--><a +name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span><i>as told through her +Letters</i>. 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.</p> +<p>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 Brontë story. At the same +time arose the possibility of a veto being placed upon their +publication. An examination of Charlotte Brontë’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.</p> +<p>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 Brontë 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 <i>Emma</i> which <!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 25</span>appeared in the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i> for +1856, with a note by Thackeray. Here were the letters Charlotte +Brontë 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 Brontë enthusiast. Here also were the love-letters +of Maria Branwell to her lover Patrick Brontë, which are referred to +in Mrs. Gaskell’s biography, but have never hitherto been +printed.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Some slight extracts from Brontë letters in <i>Macmillan’s +Magazine</i>, 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 Brontë 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 Brontë, 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. <a +name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25" class="citation">[25]</a> +I discovered through a letter addressed to Miss Nussey that the +‘Brussels friend’ referred to by Mrs. Gaskell was a Miss +Lætitia Wheelwright, and I determined to write to all the <!-- page +26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>Wheelwrights in +the London Directory. My first effort succeeded, and <i>the</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>. Several of those already in +print are forgeries, and I have actually seen a letter addressed from +Paris, a city which Miss Brontë never visited. I have the +assurance of Dr. Héger of Brussels that Miss Brontë’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 Brontë’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.</p> +<h2><!-- page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>CHAPTER I: PATRICK BRONTË AND MARIA HIS WIFE</h2> +<p>It would seem quite clear to any careful investigator that the Reverend +Patrick Brontë, 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. Brontë, presented by +Mrs. Gaskell in the early editions of her biography of Charlotte +Brontë, 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 Brontë, 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 <!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 28</span>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. Brontë 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. Brontë. I have myself handled +both the gun and the pistol—this latter a very ornamental weapon, by +the way, manufactured at Bradford—which Mr. Brontë 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. Brontë, 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 +Brontës. Patrick Brontë 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 Brontë went to +Cambridge, and entered his name in the college books. There, indeed, +we find the name, not of Patrick Brontë, but of Patrick Branty, <a +name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28" class="citation">[28]</a> and +this brings us to an <!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>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. <a +name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29" class="citation">[29]</a> +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 Brontë +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 +Brontë, which was conferred upon the great sailor in 1799, suggested +the more ornamental surname. There were no Irish Brontës in +existence before Nelson became Duke of Brontë; 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 +Brontë.</p> +<p>From Cambridge, after taking orders in 1806, Mr. Brontë 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. +<!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>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. Brontë +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. Brontë 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. Brontë 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 +<i>Imitation</i> inscribed ‘M. Branwell, July 1807,’ with the +following title-page:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">an extract of the christian’s pattern</span>: +<span class="smcap">or</span>, <span class="smcap">a treatise on the +imitation of christ</span>. <span class="smcap">written in latin by +thomas à kempis</span>. <span class="smcap">abridged and +published in english by john wesley</span>, <span +class="smcap">m.a.</span>, <span class="smcap">london</span>. <span +class="smcap">printed at the conference office</span>, <span +class="smcap">north green</span>, <span class="smcap">finsbury +square</span>. <span class="smcap">g. story</span>, <span +class="smcap">agent</span>. <span class="smcap">sold by g. +whitfield</span>, <span class="smcap">city road</span>. 1803. +<span class="smcap">price bound</span> 1s.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>The book was evidently brought by Mrs. Brontë 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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘<i>C. Brontë’s book</i>. <i>This book was given +to me in July 1826</i>. <i>It is not certainly known who is the +author</i>, <i>but it is generally supposed that Thomas à Kempis +is</i>. <i>I saw a reward of</i> £10,000 <i>offered in the +Leeds Mercury to any one who could find out for a certainty who is the +author</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The conjunction of the names of John Wesley, Maria Branwell, and +Charlotte Brontë surely gives this little volume, ‘price bound +1s.,’ a singular interest!</p> +<p>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. Brontë as part of the material for her +memoir. Long years before, the little packet had been taken from Mr. +Brontë’s desk, for we find Charlotte writing to a friend on +February 16th, 1850:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>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. Brontë, written, doubtless, many years +afterwards:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘<i>The above was written by my dear wife</i>, <i>and is for +insertion in one of the periodical publications</i>. <i>Keep it as a +memorial of her</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Brontë 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 Brontë, must have +come to a great extent from a similar passion alike in father and +mother. Mr. Brontë, 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. +<i>Cottage Poems</i> was published in 1811; <i>The Rural Minstrel</i> in +1812, the year of his marriage; <i>The Cottage in the Wood</i> in 1815; and +<i>The Maid of Killarney</i> 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 <!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 33</span>one of the strongest lines in <i>Jane +Eyre</i>—‘To the finest fibre of my nature, +sir.’—is culled from Mr. Brontë’s verse. It is +the one line of his that will live. Like his daughter Charlotte, Mr. +Brontë is more interesting in his prose than in his poetry. +<i>The Cottage in the Wood</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>the Art of Becoming Rich and +Happy</i>, is a kind of religious novel—a spiritual <i>Pamela</i>, in +which the reprobate pursuer of an innocent girl ultimately becomes +converted and marries her. <i>The Maid of Killarney</i>; <i>or</i>, +<i>Albion and Flora</i> 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 Brontë’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. +Brontë 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> owes something, we +may be sure, to <i>The Maid of Killarney</i>.</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë, 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. <a +name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33" class="citation">[33]</a> +<!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>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, <i>Flee from sin +as from a serpent</i>, <i>for if thou comest too near to it</i>, <i>it will +bite thee</i>. <i>The teeth thereof are as the teeth of a lion to +slay the souls of men</i>. 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. Brontë, 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 +Brontë’s maternal grandfather and grandmother—and of Mrs. +Brontë and her sister Elizabeth Branwell as children.</p> +<p>To return, however, to our bundle of love-letters. Comment is +needless, if indeed comment or elucidation were possible at this distance +of time.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>August</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Friend</span>,—This address is +sufficient to convince you <!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 35</span>that I not only permit, but approve of yours to +me—I do indeed consider you as my <i>friend</i>; 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I will now candidly answer your questions. The +<i>politeness of others</i> can never make me forget your kind attentions, +neither can I <i>walk our accustomed rounds</i> 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 <i>never deceive</i> you, or <i>exceed the truth</i>. If +you think I have not placed the <i>utmost confidence</i> in <!-- page +36--><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>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.</p> +<p>‘My uncle, aunt, and cousin unite in kind regards.</p> +<p>‘I must now conclude with again declaring myself to be yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Maria +Branwell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B, <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>September</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1812.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">My dearest Friend</span>,—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!</p> +<p><!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>‘<i>Monday morn</i>.—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.</p> +<p>‘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, <i>sometimes</i> 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 <!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>have now an insipidity in them which I never thought they would +have possessed. When I work, if I wish to get <i>forward</i> 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!</p> +<p>‘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</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Maria Branwell</span>.</p> +<p>‘Write very soon.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>September</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Friend</span>,—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 <i>trouble</i> me by writing? No, I think I may venture +to say if such were your opinion you would <i>trouble</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 39--><a +name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘M. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>September</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>[‘For some years I have been perfectly my own mistress, subject to +no <i>control</i> 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 <i>boast</i> +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.] <a +name="citation39"></a><a href="#footnote39" class="citation">[39]</a></p> +<p>‘At such times I have seen and felt the necessity of supernatural +<!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>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 <i>you</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Sat. morn</i>.—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 <i>mazed</i>, and +talked of sending you to York, etc. And even I begin to think that +<i>this</i>, together with the <i>note</i>, bears some marks of +<i>insanity</i>! 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 41--><a +name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Maria</span>.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Fennell has crossed my letter to my sisters. With his +usual goodness he has supplied my <i>deficiencies</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘All here unite in kind regards. Adieu.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>September</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Friend</span>,—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 <!-- +page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>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 <!-- page 43--><a +name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>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!</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Maria +Branwell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>October</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 44</span>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 <!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Sunday morning</i>.—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Maria +Branwell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>October</i> 21<i>st</i> 1812.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 46--><a +name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>will do me the justice +to believe that you have not only a <i>very large portion</i> of my +<i>affection</i> and <i>esteem</i>, but <i>all</i> 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 <i>longer twain</i> separation is painful, and +to meet must ever be attended with joy.</p> +<p>‘<i>Thursday morning</i>.—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 <!-- page +47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">M. +Branwell</span>.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>November</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear saucy Pat</span>,—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 <i>real</i>, +<i>downright scolding</i>? Since you show such a readiness to atone +<!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>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.</p> +<p>[‘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 <!-- page 49--><a +name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>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], <a +name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49" class="citation">[49]</a> and +having been so highly favoured it would be highly ungrateful in me were I +to suffer this to dwell much on my mind.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Maria</span>.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>this</i>!!’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. PATRICK BRONTË, A.B., <span +class="smcap">Hartshead</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wood House +Grove</span>, <i>December</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1812.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Friend</span>,—So you +<i>thought</i> that <i>perhaps</i> I <i>might</i> expect to hear from +you. As the case was so doubtful, and you <!-- page 50--><a +name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>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 <i>you</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>‘Since I began this Jane put into my hands Lord +Lyttelton’s <i>Advice to a Lady</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Adieu, my dearest.—I am your affectionate and sincere</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Maria</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Brontë 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 <!-- +page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 52</span>as +formidable or offensive a personage as the Mrs. Read in <i>Jane +Eyre</i>. 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.</p> +<p>The reception by Mr. Brontë 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. Brontë as ‘the +kindest man who ever drew breath,’ and as a good and affectionate +father. Forty years have gone by <!-- page 53--><a +name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>since Charlotte +Brontë 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.</p> +<p>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. Brontë,’ 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. Brontë 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. <a name="citation53"></a><a href="#footnote53" +class="citation">[53]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>Mr. Brontë died on June 7, 1861, and his funeral in Haworth +Church is described in the <i>Bradford Review</i> of the following +week:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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. Brontë 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 Brontë, died June 7th, +1861, aged 84 years.”’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Brontë’s death.</p> +<p><!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>Extracted from the Principal Registry of the Probate Divorce and +Admiralty Division of the High Court of Justice.</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>Being of sound mind and judgment</i>, <i>in the name of God the +Father</i>, <i>Son</i>, <i>and Holy Ghost</i>, <i>I</i>, <span +class="smcap">Patrick Brontë</span>, B.A., <i>Incumbent of +Haworth</i>, <i>in the Parish of Bradford and county of York</i>, <i>make +this my last Will and Testament</i>: <i>I leave forty pounds to be equally +divided amongst all my brothers and sisters to whom I gave considerable +sums in times past</i>; <i>And I direct the same sum of forty pounds to be +sent for distribution to Mr. Hugh Brontë</i>, <i>Ballinasceaugh</i>, +<i>near Loughbrickland</i>, <i>Ireland</i>; <i>I leave thirty pounds to my +servant</i>, <i>Martha Brown</i>, <i>as a token of regard for long and +faithful services to me and my children</i>; <i>To my beloved and esteemed +son-in-law</i>, <i>the Rev. Arthur Bell Nicholls</i>, B.A., <i>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</i>; <i>And +I make him my sole executor</i>; <i>And I revoke all former and other +Wills</i>, <i>in witness whereof I</i>, <i>the said</i> <span +class="smcap">Patrick Brontë</span>, <i>have to this my last Will</i>, +<i>contained in this sheet of paper</i>, <i>set my hand this twentieth day +of June</i>, <i>one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five</i>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Patrick Brontë</span>.—<i>Signed and +acknowledged by the said</i> <span class="smcap">Patrick Brontë</span> +<i>as his Will in the presence of us present at the same time</i>, <i>and +who in his presence and in the presence of each other have hereunto +subscribed our names as witnesses</i>: <span class="smcap">Joseph +Redman</span>, <span class="smcap">Eliza Brown</span>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<h2><!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>CHAPTER II: CHILDHOOD</h2> +<p>Eighty years have passed over Thornton since that village had the honour +of becoming the birthplace of Charlotte Brontë. The visitor of +to-day will find the Bell Chapel, in which Mr. Brontë officiated, a +mere ruin, and the font in which his children were baptized ruthlessly +exposed to the winds of heaven. <a name="citation56a"></a><a +href="#footnote56a" class="citation">[56a]</a> The house in which +Patrick Brontë 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 Brontë children. There, amid the +names of the rough and rude peasantry of the neighbourhood, we find the +accompanying entries, <a name="citation56b"></a><a href="#footnote56b" +class="citation">[56b]</a> 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. Brontë. Mr. Brontë, it will be +observed, had already received his appointment to Haworth when Anne was +baptized.</p> +<p>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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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. Brontë and her sisters had +worked at Penzance a generation earlier.</p> +<blockquote> +<p><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span><i>Maria Brontë finished this Sampler on the 16th of May at +the age of eight years</i></p> +</blockquote> +<p>one of them tells us, and the other:</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>Elizabeth Brontë finished this Sampler the 27th of July at the +age of seven years</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<p><!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>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 Brontë residence there. Pigot’s +Yorkshire Directory of 1828 gives the census during the first year of Mr. +Brontë’s incumbency thus:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, <i>a populous manufacturing +village</i>, <i>in the honour of Pontefract</i>, <i>Morley wapentake</i>, +<i>and in the parish of Bradford</i>, <i>is four miles south of +Keighley</i>, <i>containing</i>, <i>by the census of</i> 1821, 4668 +<i>inhabitants</i>.</p> +<p><i>Gentry and Clergy</i>: <i>Brontë</i>, <i>Rev. Patrick</i>, +<i>Haworth</i>; <i>Heaton</i>, <i>Robert</i>, <i>gent.</i>, <i>Ponden +Hall</i>; <i>Miles</i>, <i>Rev. Oddy</i>, <i>Haworth</i>; <i>Saunders</i>, +<i>Rev. Moses</i>, <i>Haworth</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From the same source twenty years later we obtain more explicit detail, +which is not without interest to-day.</p> +<blockquote> +<p><span class="smcap">Haworth</span> <i>is a chapelry</i>, <i>comprising +the hamlets of Haworth</i>, <i>Stanbury</i>, <i>and Near and Far +Oxenhope</i>, <i>in the parish of Bradford</i>, <i>and wapentake of +Morley</i>, <i>West Riding</i>—<i>Haworth being ten miles from +Bradford</i>, <i>about the same distance from Halifax</i>, <i>Colne</i>, +<i>and Skipton</i>, <i>three and a half miles S. from Keighley</i>, <i>and +eight from Hebden Bridge</i>, <i>at which latter place is a station on the +Leeds and Manchester railway</i>. <i>Haworth is situated on the side +of a hill</i>, <i>and consists of one irregularly built +street</i>—<i>the habitations in that part called Oxenhope being yet +more scattered</i>, <i>and Stanbury still farther distant</i>; <i>the +entire chapelry occupying a wide space</i>. <i>The spinning of +worsted</i>, <i>and the manufacture of stuffs</i>, <i>are branches which +here prevail extensively</i>.</p> +<p><i>The Church or rather chapel</i> (<i>subject to Bradford</i>), +<i>dedicated to St. Michael</i>, <i>was rebuilt in</i> 1757: <i>the living +is a perpetual curacy</i>, <i>in the presentation of the vicar of Bradford +and certain trustees</i>; <i>the present curate is the Rev. Patrick</i> +<!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span><i>Brontë</i>. <i>The other places of worship are two +chapels for baptists</i>, <i>one each for primitive and Wesleyan +methodists</i>, <i>and another at Oxenhope for the latter +denomination</i>. <i>There are two excellent free +schools</i>—<i>one at Stanbury</i>, <i>the other</i>, <i>called the +Free Grammar School</i>, <i>near Oxenhope</i>; <i>besides which there are +several neat edifices erected for Sunday teaching</i>. <i>There are +three annual fairs</i>: <i>they are held on Easter-Monday</i>, <i>the +second Monday after St. Peter’s day</i> (<i>old style</i>), <i>and +the first Monday after Old Michaelmas day</i>. <i>The chapelry of +Haworth</i>, <i>and its dependent hamlets</i>, <i>contained by the returns +for</i> 1831, 5835 <i>inhabitants</i>; <i>and by the census taken in +June</i>, 1841, <i>the population amounted to</i> 6301.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Haworth needs even to-day no further description, but the house in which +Mr. Brontë resided, from 1820 till his death in 1861, has not been +over-described, perhaps because Mr. Brontë’s successor has not +been too well disposed to receive the casual visitor to Haworth under his +roof.</p> +<p>Many changes have been made since Mr. Brontë died, but the house +still retains its essentially interesting features. In the time of +the Brontës, 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 +Brontës it was reserved for the <!-- page 60--><a +name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 60</span>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. Brontë’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. Brontë 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 Brontë +household. Milk-puddings, or food composed of milk and rice, would +seem to have made the principal diet of Emily and Anne Brontë, 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. Brontë’s studio was the +kitchen; and there we may easily picture the Brontë 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 <!-- page 61--><a +name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 61</span>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 +Brontë married. In that room she died. On the left, over +Mr. Brontë’s study, was Mr. Brontë’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. Brontë 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, <i>The +Professor</i> and <i>Jane Eyre</i> were composed.</p> +<p>Of the work of the Brontë 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 <!-- page 62--><a +name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 62</span>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.</p> +<p><i>The Foundling</i>, by Captain Tree, written in 1833, is a story of +thirty-five thousand words, though the manuscript has only eighteen +pages. <i>The Green Dwarf</i>, 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. <i>The Adventures of +Ernest Alembert</i> is a booklet of this date, and <i>Arthuriana</i>, <i>or +Odds and Ends</i>: <i>being a Miscellaneous Collection of Pieces in Prose +and Verse</i>, by Lord Charles Wellesley, is yet another.</p> +<p>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:</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘Lord Charles,’ said Mr. Rundle to me one afternoon lately, +<!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>‘I have an engagement to drink tea with an old college chum +this evening, so I shall give you sixty lines of the <i>Æneid</i> 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 +<i>Æneid</i>. 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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>The Secret</i>, 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 Brontë 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 <i>Tales of the +Islanders</i>, 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. <i>The Search after Happiness</i> and +<i>Characters of Great Men of the Present Time</i> 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—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 64</span>AN ADVENTURE IN IRELAND</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 65--><a +name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>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.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 66--><a +name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>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.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.<br /> +<i>April the</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1829.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Six numbers of <i>The Young Men’s Magazine</i> were written in +1829; a very juvenile poem, <i>The Evening Walk</i>, by the Marquis of +Douro, in 1830; and another, of greater literary value, <i>The Violet</i>, +in the same year. In 1831 we have an unfinished poem, <i>The Trumpet +Hath Sounded</i>; and in 1832 a very long poem called <i>The +Bridal</i>. Some of them, as for example a poem called <i>Richard +Coeur de Lion and Blondel</i>, 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—</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>All that is written in this book must be in a good</i>, <i>plain</i>, +<i>and legible hand</i>.—P. B.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>While upon this topic, I may as well carry the record up to the +date of publication of Currer Bell’s poems. <i>A Leaf from an +Unopened Volume</i> was written in 1834, as were also <i>The Death of +Darius</i>, and <i>Corner Dishes</i>. <i>Saul</i>: <i>a Poem</i>, was +written in 1835, and a number of other still unpublished verses. +There is a story called <i>Lord Douro</i>, 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.</p> +<p>There is only one letter of Charlotte Brontë’s +childhood. It is indorsed by Mr. Brontë on the cover +<i>Charlotte’s First Letter</i>, 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO THE REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Parsonage +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Crosstone</span>,<br /> +<i>September</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1829.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Papa</span>,—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, <!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>but hopes to have the pleasure of seeing you soon. All unite +in sending their kind love with your affectionate daughter,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The following list includes the whole of the early Brontë +Manuscripts known to me, or of which I can find any record:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">UNPUBLISHED BRONTË LITERATURE.<br /> +BY CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +</blockquote> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Young Men’s Magazines</i>. In Six Numbers</p> +<p>[Only four out of these six numbers appear to have been preserved.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Search after Happiness</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By Charlotte +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Two Romantic Tales</i>; <i>viz. The Twelve Adventures</i>, <i>and An +Adventure in Ireland</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Characters of Great Men of the Present Age</i>, <i>Dec.</i> +17<i>th</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Tales of the Islanders</i>. <i>By Charlotte +Brontë</i>:—</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p> Vol. i. dated <i>June</i> 31, 1829</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p> Vol. ii. dated <i>December</i> 2, 1829</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p> Vol. iii. dated <i>May</i> 8, 1830</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p> Vol. iv. dated <i>July</i> 30, 1830</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>[Accompanying these volumes is a one-page document detailing ‘The +Origin of the <i>Islanders</i>.’ Dated <i>March</i> 12, +1829.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Evening Walk</i>: <i>A Poem</i>. <i>By the Marquis +Douro</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>A Translation into English Verse of the First Book of +Voltaire’s Henriade</i>. <i>By Charlotte Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Albion and Marina</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By Lord +Wellesley</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Adventures of Ernest Alembert</i>: <i>A Fairy Tale</i>. +<i>By Charlotte Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Violet: A Poem</i>. <i>With several smaller +Pieces</i>. <i>By the Marquess of Douro</i>. <i>Published by +Seargeant Tree</i>. <i>Glasstown</i>, 1830</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Bridal</i>. <i>By C. Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1832</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span><i>Arthuriana</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>Odds and Ends</i>: <i>Being a +Miscellaneous Collection of Pieces in Prose and Verse</i>. <i>By Lord +Charles A. F. Wellesley</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Something about Arthur</i>. <i>Written by Charles Albert +Florian Wellesley</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Vision</i>. <i>By Charlotte Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Secret and Lily Hart</i>: <i>Two Tales</i>. <i>By Lord +Charles Wellesley</i></p> +<p>[The first page of this book is given in facsimile in vol. i. of Mrs. +Gaskell’s <i>Life of Charlotte Brontë</i>.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Visits in Verdopolis</i>. <i>By the Honourable Charles Albert +Florian Wellesley</i>. <i>Two vols.</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Green Dwarf</i>: <i>A Tale of the Perfect Tense</i>. <i>By +Lord Charles Albert Florian Wellesley</i>. <i>Charlotte +Brontë</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Foundling</i>: <i>A Tale of our own Times</i>. <i>By +Captain Tree</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Richard Cœur de Lion and Blondel</i>. <i>By Charlotte +Brontë</i>, 8vo, pp. 20. Signed in full <i>Charlotte +Brontë</i>, and dated <i>Haworth</i>, <i>near Bradford</i>, Dec. +27<i>th</i>, 1833</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>My Angria and the Angrians</i>. <i>By Lord Charles Albert +Florian Wellesley</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>A Leaf from an Unopened Volume</i>; <i>or</i>, <i>The Manuscript of +an Unfortunate Author</i>. <i>Edited by Lord Charles Albert Florian +Wellesley</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Corner Dishes</i>: <i>Being a small Collection of</i> . . . +<i>Trifles in Prose and Verse</i>. <i>By Lord Charles Albert Florian +Wellesley</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Spell</i>: <i>An Extravaganza</i>. <i>By Lord Charles +Albert Florian Wellesley</i>. Signed <i>Charlotte Brontë</i>, +<i>June</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1834. The contents include: 1. Preface, half +page; 2. <i>The Spell</i>, 26 pages; 3. <i>High Life in Verdopolis</i>: +<i>or The Difficulties of Annexing a Suitable Title to a Work Practically +Illustrated in Six Chapters</i>. <i>By Lord C. A. F. Wellesley</i>, +<i>March</i> 20, 1834, 22 pages; 4. <i>The Scrap-Book</i>: <i>A Mingling of +Many Things</i>. <i>Compiled by Lord C. A. F. Wellesley</i>. +<i>C. Brontë</i>, <i>March</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1835, 31 pages.</p> +<p>[This volume is in the British Museum.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><!-- page 70--><a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +70</span><i>Death of Darius Cadomanus</i>: <i>A Poem</i>. <i>By +Charlotte Brontë</i>. Pp. 24. Signed in full, and +dated</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Saul and Memory</i>: <i>Two Poems</i>. <i>By C. +Brontë</i>. Pp. 12</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Passing Events</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>‘<i>We Wove a Web in Childhood</i>’: A poem (pp. vi.), +signed <i>C. Brontë</i>, <i>Haworth</i>, <i>Dec’br</i>. +19<i>th</i>, 1835</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Wounded Stag</i>, <i>and other Poems</i>. <i>Signed C. +Brontë</i>. <i>Jan’y.</i> 19, 1836. Pp. 20</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Lord Douro</i>: <i>A Story</i>. <i>Signed C. +Brontë</i>. <i>July</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1837</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1837</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Poems</i>. <i>By C. Brontë</i>. Pp. 16</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1838</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Lettre d’Invitation à un +Ecclésiastique</i>. Signed <i>Charlotte Brontë</i>. +<i>Le</i> 21 <i>Juillet</i>, 1842. Large 8vo, pp. 4. A French +exercise written at Brussels</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1842</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>John Henry</i>. <i>By Charlotte Brontë</i>, Crown 8vo, pp. +36, written in pencil</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>circa</i> 1852</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Willie Ellin</i>. <i>By Charlotte Brontë</i>. Crown +8vo, pp. 18</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May and June</i> 1853</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>The following, included in Charlotte’s ‘Catalogue of my +Books’ printed by Mrs. Gaskell, are not now forthcoming:</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Leisure Hours</i>: <i>A Tale</i>, <i>and two Fragments</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Adventures of Edward de Crak</i>: <i>A Tale</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Feb.</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>An Interesting Incident in the Lives of some of the most eminent +Persons of the Age</i>: <i>A Tale</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>June</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Poetaster</i>: <i>A Drama</i>. <i>In two volumes</i>,</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>July</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>A Book of Rhymes</i>, <i>finished</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>December</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Miscellaneous Poems</i>, <i>finished</i></p> +<p>[These <i>Miscellaneous Poems</i> 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 <i>Miscellaneous Poems</i> is <i>The +Evening Walk</i>, 1820; this is a separate book, and is included in the +list above.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>May</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">BY EMILY BRONTË</p> +</blockquote> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p>A volume of<i> Poems</i>, 8vo, pp. 29; signed (at the top of the first +page) <i>E. J. B</i>. <i>Transcribed February</i> 1814. <!-- +page 71--><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>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 +<i>Poems</i> of 1846. The whole are written in microscopic +characters</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1844</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>A volume of <i>Poems</i>, square 8vo, pp. 24. Each poem is dated, +and the first is signed <i>E. J. Brontë</i>, <i>August</i> +19<i>th</i>, 1837. Written in an ordinary, and not a minute, +handwriting. All unpublished</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1837-1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>A series of poems written in a minute hand upon both sides of fourteen +or fifteen small slips of paper of various sizes. All unpublished</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833-1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Lettre and Réponse</i>. An exercise in French. +Large 8vo, pp. 4. Signed <i>E. J. Brontë</i>, and dated 16 +<i>Juillet</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1842</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>L’Amour Filial</i>. An exercise in French. Small +quarto, pp. 4. Signed in full <i>Emily J. Brontë</i>, and dated +5 <i>Aout</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1842</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">BY ANNE BRONTË.</p> +</blockquote> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Verses by Lady Geralda</i>, and other poems. A crown 8vo volume +of 28 pages. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated, the dates +extending from 1836 to 1837. The poems are all unpublished</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836-1837</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The North Wind</i>, and other poems. A crown 8vo volume of 26 +pages. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated, some having in +addition to her own name the nom-de-guerre <i>Alexandrina Zenobia</i> or +<i>Olivia Vernon</i>. The dates extend from 1838 to 1840. The +poems are all unpublished</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1838-1840</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>To Cowper</i>, and other poems. 8vo, pp. 22. Of the nine +poems contained in this volume three are signed <i>Anne Brontë</i>, +four are signed <i>A. Brontë</i>, and two are initialled ‘<i>A. +B.</i>’ All are dated. Part of these Poems are +unpublished, the remainder appeared in the <i>Poems</i> of 1846</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1842-1845</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>A thin 8vo volume of poems (mostly dated 1845), pp. 14, each being +signed <i>A. Brontë</i>, or simply <!-- page 72--><a +name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 72</span>‘<i>A. +B.</i>’—some having in addition to, or instead of, her own name +the nom-de-guerre <i>Zerona</i>. A few of these poems are unprinted; +the remainder are a portion of Anne’s contribution to the +<i>Poems</i> of 1846</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>circa</i> 1845</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Song</i>: ‘<i>Should Life’s first feelings be +forgot</i>’ (one octavo leaf)</p> +<p>[A fair copy (2 pp. 8vo) of a poem by Branwell Brontë, in the +hand-writing of Anne Brontë.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1845</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Power of Love</i>, and other poems. Post octavo, pp. +26. Each poem is signed (or initialled) and dated</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1845-1846</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Self Communion</i>, a Poem. 8vo, pp. 19. Signed +‘<i>A. B</i>.’ and dated <i>April</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1848</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1848</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">BY BRANWELL BRONTË.</p> +</blockquote> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Battle of Washington</i>. By <i>P. B. +Brontë</i>. With full-page coloured illustrations</p> +<p>[An exceedingly childish production, and the earliest of all the +Brontë manuscripts.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1827</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>History of the Rebellion in my Army</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1828</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Travels of Rolando Segur</i>: <i>Comprising his Adventures +throughout the Voyage</i>, <i>and in America</i>, <i>Europe</i>, <i>the +South Pole</i>, <i>etc.</i> <i>By Patrick Branwell +Brontë</i>. <i>In two volumes</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>A Collection of Poems</i>. <i>By Young Soult the +Rhymer</i>. <i>Illustrated with Notes and Commentaries by Monsieur +Chateaubriand</i>. <i>In two volumes</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1829</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Liar Detected</i>. <i>By Captain Bud</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Caractacus</i>: <i>A Dramatic Poem</i>. <i>By Young +Soult</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Revenge</i>: <i>A Tragedy</i>, <i>in three Acts</i>. <i>By +Young Soult</i>. <i>P. B. Brontë</i>. <i>In two +volumes</i>. <i>Glasstown</i></p> +<p>[Although the title page reads ‘in two volumes,’ the book is +complete in one volume only.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The History of the Young Men</i>. <i>By John Bud</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1831</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Letters from an Englishman</i>. <i>By Captain John +Flower</i>. <i>In six volumes</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1830-1832</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span><i>The Monthly Intelligencer</i>. <i>No.</i> 1</p> +<p>[The only number produced of a projected manuscript newspaper, by +Branwell Brontë. The MS. consists of 4 pp. 4to, arranged in +columns, precisely after the manner of an ordinary journal.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>March</i> 27, 1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Real Life in Verdopolis</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By Captain John +Flower</i>, <i>M.P.</i> <i>In two volumes</i>. <i>P. B. +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Politics of Verdopolis</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By Captain +John Flower</i>. <i>P. B. Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Pirate</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By Captain John +Flower</i></p> +<p>[The most pretentious of Branwell’s prose stories.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1833</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Thermopylae</i>: <i>A Poem</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i>. 8vo, pp. 14</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>And the Weary are at Rest</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Wool is Rising</i>: <i>An Angrian Adventure</i>. <i>By the +Right Honourable John Baron Flower</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Ode to the Polar Star, and other Poems</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i>. Quarto, pp. 24</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1834</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Life of Field Marshal the Right Honourable Alexander Percy</i>, +<i>Earl of Northangerland</i>. <i>In two volumes</i>. <i>By +John Bud</i>. <i>P. B. Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1835</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Rising of the Angrians</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>A Narrative of the First War</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>The Angrian Welcome</i>: <i>A Tale</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1836</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Percy</i>: <i>A Story</i>. <i>By P. B. Brontë</i></p> +<p>A packet containing four small groups of <i>Poems</i>, of about six or +eight pages each, mostly without titles, but all either signed or +initialled, and dated from 1836 to 1838</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1837</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Love and Warfare</i>: <i>A Story</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1839</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Lord Nelson</i>, <i>and other Poems</i>. <i>By P. B. +Brontë</i>. Written in pencil. Small 8vo, pp. 26</p> +<p>[This book contains a full-page pencil portrait of Branwell Brontë, +drawn by himself, as well as four carefully finished heads. These +give an excellent idea of the extent of Branwell’s artistic +skill.]</p> +</td> +<td> +<p style="text-align: right">1844</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>CHAPTER III: SCHOOL AND GOVERNESS LIFE</h2> +<p>In seeking for fresh light upon the development of Charlotte +Brontë, 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. <a name="citation74"></a><a +href="#footnote74" class="citation">[74]</a> From 1825 to 1831 <!-- +page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 75</span>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 Brontë 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 <!-- page 76--><a +name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 76</span>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 <i>Henriade</i>. With Ellen Nussey +commenced a friendship which terminated only with the pencilled notes +written from Charlotte Brontë’s deathbed. The first +suggestion of a regular correspondence is contained in the following +letter.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1832.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page +77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—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 <i>dear</i>, <i>dear</i>, <i>dear</i> +Ellen.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Dewsbury +Moor</span>, <i>August</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1837.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>home</i>? 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 <!-- page +78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Things were not always going on quite so smoothly, as the following +letter indicates.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Dewsbury +Moor</span>, <i>January</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1838.</p> +<p>‘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 éclaircissement 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 +<!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>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 “<i>warm</i> +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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 80</span>TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Stonegappe</span>, +<i>June</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dearest Lavinia</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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. <!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 81</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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, <i>she</i> 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. <!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Direct your next dispatch—J. Greenwood, Esq., Swarcliffe, +near Harrogate.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Swarcliffe</span>, +<i>June</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—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. <!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 83</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That experience with the Sidgwicks rankled for many a <!-- page 84--><a +name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 84</span>day, and we find +Charlotte Brontë 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 <i>Villette</i>, 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 Brontë 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.</p> +<p>A month or two later we find Charlotte dealing with the subject in a +letter to Ellen Nussey.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>She ‘tried again’ but with just as little success. In +<!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 85</span>March +1841 she entered the family of a Mr. White of Upperwood House, Rawdon.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <i>April</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Nell</span>,—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 <i>are</i> a genuine Turk, thought I, but again I +assented. Saturday after next, then, is the day +appointed—<i>not next Saturday</i>, <i>mind</i>. 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 <!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘Have you lit your pipe with Mr. Weightman’s +valentine?’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <i>May</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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 <!-- page 87--><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +87</span>not scruple to give way to anger in a very coarse, unladylike +manner. I think passion is the true test of vulgarity or +refinement.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>want</i> to see you. It seems Martha Taylor is fairly +gone. Good-bye, my lassie.—Yours insufferably,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY, <span +class="smcap">Earnley Rectory</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Rawdon</span>,<br /> +‘<i>May</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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?</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 88--><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +88</span>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 <i>good</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The above letter was written to Miss Nussey’s brother, whose +attachment to Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontë 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 +<i>Waverley</i>, and Yorkshire classic ground to the admirers of +<i>Shirley</i>.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <i>June</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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 <!-- page 90--><a +name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘I am very well, and I continue to get to bed before twelve +o’clock <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—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 <!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 91</span>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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <i>October</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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 <i>do</i> it, you little +teazing, faithless wretch.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Rawdon</span>,<br /> +‘<i>Nov</i>. 7<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear E. J.</span>,—You are not to +suppose that this note is written with a view of communicating any +information on the subject we <!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Jenkins I find was mistakenly termed the British Consul at +Brussels; he is in fact the English Episcopal clergyman.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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. <a name="citation92"></a><a href="#footnote92" +class="citation">[92]</a> 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘I am well.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Rawdon</span>, +<i>December</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>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 Château 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>hope</i> 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 <!-- +page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS MERCY NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Rawdon</span>, +<i>December</i> 17<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Mercy</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1842.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span>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. <i>Come</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’ <a +name="citation95"></a><a href="#footnote95" class="citation">[95]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 96--><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +96</span>CHAPTER IV: THE PENSIONNAT HÉGER, BRUSSELS</h2> +<p>Had not the impulse come to Charlotte Brontë to add somewhat to her +scholastic accomplishments by a sojourn in Brussels, our literature would +have lost that powerful novel <i>Villette</i>, and the singularly charming +<i>Professor</i>. 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. <a +name="citation96"></a><a href="#footnote96" class="citation">[96]</a> +<!-- page 97--><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>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.</p> +<p>Here is a letter written at this period of hesitation and doubt. A +portion of it only was printed by Mrs. Gaskell.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 98--><a name="page98"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 98</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1842.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Héger in the Rue +d’Isabelle. Madame Héger 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.</p> +<p>The life of Charlotte Brontë at Brussels has been mirrored for us +with absolute accuracy in <i>Villette</i> and <i>The Professor</i>. +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 <i>berceau</i>’—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 +<i>Oratoire</i> where the children offered up prayer every morning; but +with a copy of <i>Villette</i> in hand it is possible to restore every +feature of the place, not excluding the adjoining Athenée with its +small window overlooking the garden of the <!-- page 100--><a +name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>Pensionnat and the +<i>allée défendu</i>. It was from this window that Mr. +Crimsworth of <i>The Professor</i> looked down upon the girls at +play. It was here, indeed, at the Royal Athenée, that M. +Héger was Professor of Latin. Externally, then, the Pensionnat +Héger remains practically the same as it appeared to Charlotte and +Emily Brontë in February 1842, when they made their first appearance +in Brussels. The Rue Fossette of <i>Villette</i>, the Rue +d’Isabelle of <i>The Professor</i>, is the veritable Rue +d’Isabelle of Currer Bell’s experience.</p> +<p>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 <i>Villette</i> has made plain to +us.</p> +<p>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 Lætitia 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 <!-- page 101--><a +name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>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 Lætitia 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 Héger, recalls the two sisters, thin and sallow-looking, +pacing up and down the garden, friendless and alone. It was the sight +of Lætitia standing up in the class-room and glancing round with a +semi-contemptuous air at all these Belgian girls which attracted Charlotte +Brontë to her. ‘It was so very English,’ Miss +Brontë 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 Brontë 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.</p> +<p>To Miss Wheelwright, and those of her sisters who are still living, the +descriptions of the Pensionnat Héger which are given in +<i>Villette</i> and <i>The Professor</i> are perfectly accurate. M. +Héger, 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 +Brontës. Mme. Héger, 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 <!-- page +102--><a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>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. Héger 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1842.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye, my dear Ellen.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The aunt whose sudden death brought Charlotte and Emily Brontë 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 <!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Extracted from the District Probate Registry at York attached to Her +Majesty’s High Court of Justice.</p> +<p><i>Depending on the Father</i>, <i>Son</i>, <i>and Holy Ghost for peace +here</i>, <i>and glory and bliss forever hereafter</i>, <i>I leave this my +last Will and Testament</i>: <i>Should I die at Haworth</i>, <i>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>; <i>I moreover will that +all my just debts and funeral expenses be paid out of my property</i>, +<i>and that my funeral shall be conducted in a moderate and decent +manner</i>. <i>My Indian workbox I leave to my niece</i>, +<i>Charlotte Brontë</i>; <i>my workbox with a china top I leave to my +niece</i>, <i>Emily Jane Brontë</i>, <i>together with my ivory +fan</i>; <i>my Japan dressing-box I leave to my nephew</i>, <i>Patrick +Branwell Brontë</i>; <i>to my niece Anne Brontë</i>, <i>I leave +my watch with all that belongs to it</i>; <i>as also my eye-glass and its +chain</i>, <i>my rings</i>, <i>silver-spoons</i>, <i>books</i>, +<i>clothes</i>, <i>etc.</i>, <i>etc.</i>, <i>I leave to be divided between +my above-named three nieces</i>, <i>Charlotte Brontë</i>, <i>Emily +Jane Brontë</i>, <i>and Anne Brontë</i>, <i>according as their +father shall think proper</i>. <i>And I will that all the money that +shall remain</i>, <i>including twenty-five pounds sterling</i>, <i>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</i>, <i>and deposited in the bank of Bolitho Sons and Co.</i>, +<i>Esqrs.</i>, <i>of Chiandower</i>, <i>near Penzance</i>, <i>after the +aforesaid sums and articles shall have been paid and deducted</i>, <i>shall +be put into some safe bank or lent on good landed security</i>, <i>and +there left to accumulate for the sole benefit of my four nieces</i>, +<i>Charlotte Brontë</i>, <i>Emily Jane Brontë</i>, <i>Anne +Brontë</i>, <i>and Elizabeth Jane Kingston</i>; <i>and this sum or +sums</i>, <i>and whatever other property I may have</i>, <i>shall be +equally divided between them when the youngest of them then living shall +have arrived at the age of twenty-one years</i>. <i>And should any +one or more of these my four nieces die</i>, <i>her or their part or parts +shall be equally divided amongst the survivors</i>; <!-- page 104--><a +name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span><i>and if but one is +left</i>, <i>all shall go to that one</i>: <i>And should they all die +before the age of twenty-one years</i>, <i>all their parts shall be given +to my sister</i>, <i>Anne Kingston</i>; <i>and should she die before that +time specified</i>, <i>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>. <i>I appoint my brother-in-law</i>, <i>the Rev. P. +Brontë</i>, A.B., <i>now Incumbent of Haworth</i>, <i>Yorkshire</i>; +<i>the Rev. John Fennell</i>, <i>now Incumbent of Cross Stone</i>, <i>near +Halifax</i>; <i>the Rev. Theodore Dury</i>, <i>Rector of Keighley</i>, +<i>Yorkshire</i>; <i>and Mr. George Taylor of Stanbury</i>, <i>in the +chapelry of Haworth aforesaid</i>, <i>my executors</i>. <i>Written by +me</i>, <span class="smcap">Elizabeth Branwell</span>, <i>and signed</i>, +<i>sealed</i>, <i>and delivered on the</i> 30<i>th</i> <i>of April</i>, +<i>in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and thirty-three</i>, +<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Branwell</span>. <i>Witnesses +present</i>, <i>William Brown</i>, <i>John Tootill</i>, <i>William +Brown</i>, <i>Junr</i>.</p> +<p><i>The twenty-eighth day of December</i>, 1842, <i>the Will of</i> <span +class="smcap">Elizabeth Branwell</span>, <i>late of Haworth</i>, <i>in the +parish of Bradford</i>, <i>in the county of York</i>, <i>spinster (having +bona notabilia within the province of York</i>). <i>Deceased was +proved in the prerogative court of York by the oaths of the Reverend +Patrick Brontë</i>, <i>clerk</i>, <i>brother-in-law</i>; <i>and George +Taylor</i>, <i>two of the executors to whom administration was granted</i> +(<i>the Reverend Theodore Dury</i>, <i>another of the executors</i>, +<i>having renounced</i>), <i>they having been first sworn duly to +administer</i>.</p> +<p>Effects sworn under £1500.</p> +<p>Testatrix died 29th October 1842.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Now hear Mrs. Gaskell:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>The small property</i>, <i>which she had accumulated by dint of +personal frugality and self-denial</i>, <i>was bequeathed to her +nieces</i>. <i>Branwell</i>, <i>her darling</i>, <i>was to have had +his share</i>, <i>but his reckless expenditure had distressed the good old +lady</i>, <i>and his name was omitted in her will</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>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 +Brontë 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1842.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘My love and best wishes to your sister and mother.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1842.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—I hope that +invitation of yours was given <!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 106</span>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.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth,</span> +<i>January</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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. <!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 107</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then she is in Brussels again, as the following letter indicates.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>January</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 Héger 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. <a name="citation107"></a><a +href="#footnote107" class="citation">[107]</a> 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 Brontë, Chez Mme. +Héger, 32 Rue d’Isabelle, Bruxelles.—Good-bye, dear.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This second visit of Charlotte Brontë to Brussels has given rise to +much speculation, some of it of not the <!-- page 108--><a +name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>pleasantest +kind. It is well to face the point bluntly, for it has been more than +once implied that Charlotte Brontë was in love with M. Héger, +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 +Brontë’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.’</p> +<p>It is perfectly excusable for a man of the world, unacquainted with +qualifying facts, to assume that for these two years Charlotte +Brontë’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 +Héger. Madame Héger and her family, it must be +admitted, have kept this impression afloat. Madame Héger +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 Brontë 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 <!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 109</span>and occupations.’ <a +name="citation109a"></a><a href="#footnote109a" +class="citation">[109a]</a> Now to all this I do not hesitate to give +an emphatic contradiction, a contradiction based upon the only independent +authority available. Miss Lætitia Wheelwright and her sisters +saw much of Charlotte Brontë 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. <a +name="citation109b"></a><a href="#footnote109b" +class="citation">[109b]</a></p> +<p>Madame Héger did indeed hate Charlotte Brontë 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. +Zoraïde Reuter and Madame Beck. But in justice to the creator of +these scathing portraits, it may be mentioned that Charlotte Brontë +took every precaution to prevent <i>Villette</i> 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 Brontë any responsibility for the +circumstance that immediately after her death the novel appeared in the +only tongue understood by Madame Héger.</p> +<p>Miss Wheelwright informs me that Charlotte Brontë did certainly +admire M. Héger, 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 <!-- page 110--><a +name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>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. Héger. Charlotte replied that she had discontinued to +do so. M. Héger 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 Athenée, 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 Brontë’s +admirers, if indeed it had ever lodged there. <a name="citation110"></a><a +href="#footnote110" class="citation">[110]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>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 Héger +at the Pensionnat, and under the immediate supervision of Charlotte.</p> +<p>At this period there was plenty of cheerfulness in her life. She +was learning German. She was giving English lessons to M. +Héger 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.’ <!-- page 112--><a +name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>‘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.’</p> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO BRANWELL BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>May</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Branwell</span>,—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 <!-- +page 113--><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>assurance that you do well and are in good odour, but I want to +know particulars.</p> +<p>‘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. <i>Das ist wahr</i> +(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. Héger, +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 <!-- +page 114--><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Give my love to Anne.—And believe me, yourn</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Anne</span>,—Write to +me.—Your affectionate Schwester,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Héger 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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A little later she writes to Emily in similar strain.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>May</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear E. J.</span>,—The reason of the +unconscionable demand for money is explained in my letter to papa. +Would you believe it, Mdlle. Mühl 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 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. Haussé are +at present on a system of war without quarter. They hate each other +like two cats. Mdlle. Blanche frightens Mdlle. Haussé by her +white passions (for they quarrel venomously). Mdlle. Haussé +complains that when Mdlle. Blanche is in fury, “<i>elle n’a pas +de levres</i>.” 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. Héger, to whom she reports +everything. Also she invents—which I should not have +thought. I have now the <!-- page 115--><a name="page115"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 115</span>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, “<i>je ne sais pas</i>.” +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. Héger 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 <i>warm</i> affection for Mde. Héger. 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 Haussé. M. Héger 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 <i>bienveillance</i>, 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. Héger’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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘I have written to Branwell, though I never got a letter from +him.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In August she is still more dissatisfied, but ‘I will <!-- page +116--><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 116</span>continue to +stay some months longer, till I have acquired German, and then I hope to +see all your faces again.’</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>August</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was in September that the incident occurred which has found so +dramatic a setting in <i>Villette</i>—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 +Brontë treasures is the letter which Charlotte wrote to Emily giving +an unembellished account of the incident.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 117--><a name="page117"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 117</span>TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>September</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear E. J.</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 118--><a name="page118"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 118</span>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 +“<i>jouir du bonheur de la confesse</i>”; 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p>‘The Holyes,’ it is perhaps hardly necessary to add, is <!-- +page 119--><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>Charlotte’s irreverent appellation for the +curates—Mr. Smith and Mr. Grant.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>October</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>December</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear E. J.</span>,—I have taken my +determination. I hope to be at home the day after New Year’s +Day. I have told Mme. Héger. But in order to come home I +shall be obliged to draw on my cash for another £5. I have only +£3 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 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.</p> +<p>‘I shall try to cheer up now.—Good-bye.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 120--><a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +120</span>CHAPTER V: PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTË</h2> +<p>The younger Patrick Brontë 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/branwell.jpg"> +<img alt="Patrick Branwell Brontë" src="images/branwell.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 121--><a name="page121"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 121</span>TO BRANWELL BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Roe Head</span>, +<i>May</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1832.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Branwell</span>,—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 <i>all</i> my penchant for politics. I am extremely +glad that aunt has consented to take in <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, for +though I know from your description of its general contents it will be +rather uninteresting when compared with <i>Blackwood</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘With love to all,—Believe me, dear Branwell, to remain your +affectionate sister,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Charlotte</span>.’</p> +<p>‘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 Brontës.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Branwell has himself been made the hero of at least three biographies. +<a name="citation121"></a><a href="#footnote121" +class="citation">[121]</a> Mr. Francis Grundy has no importance for +<!-- page 122--><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>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 +Brontë. Her book is mainly of significance because, appearing in +a series of <i>Eminent Women</i>, 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 Brontë, and her book devoted inordinate space to the +shortcomings of Branwell, concerning which she had no new information.</p> +<p>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 Brontë +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.</p> +<p>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 +Brontë 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 <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>, <!-- page 123--><a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +123</span>he would seem to have composed nothing which gives him the +slightest claim to the most inconsiderable niche in the temple of +literature.</p> +<p>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. <i>Real Life in Verdopolis</i> bears date +1833. <i>The Battle of Washington</i> is evidently a still more +childish effusion. <i>Caractacus</i> 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 <i>Percy</i>. By the light of subsequent events it is +interesting to note that a manuscript of 1830 bears the title of <i>The +Liar Detected</i>.</p> +<p>It would be unfair to take these crude productions of Branwell +Brontë’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 Brontë once +and for all, were not some epitome of his life indispensable in an account +of the Brontë circle.</p> +<p>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. <a +name="citation123"></a><a href="#footnote123" +class="citation">[123]</a> In 1835 Branwell went up to <!-- page +124--><a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO THE SECRETARY, ROYAL ACADEMY OF ARTS</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—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—</p> +<p> ‘Where am I to present my drawings?</p> +<p> ‘At what time?</p> +<p> and especially,</p> +<p> ‘Can I do it in August or September?</p> +<p>—Your obedient servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Branwell +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <!-- page 125--><a name="page125"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 125</span>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Broughton-in-Furness</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Lancashire</span>, <i>April</i> 20<i>th</i>, +1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>wholly</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 126--><a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +126</span>‘Should you give any opinion upon what I send, it will, +however condemnatory, be most gratefully received by,—Sir, your most +humble servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">P. B. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—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?’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>June</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I dared not have attempted Horace but that I saw the utter +worthlessness of all former translations, and thought that a better <!-- +page 127--><a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Excuse my unintelligibility, haste, and appearance of +presumption, and—Believe me to be, sir, your most humble and grateful +servant,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">P. B. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘If anything in this note should displease you, lay it, sir, to +the account of inexperience and <i>not</i> impudence.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 +<i>Pictures of the Past</i>.</p> +<p>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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘Then England’s love and England’s tongue<br /> +And England’s heart shall reverence long<br /> +The wisdom deep, the courage strong,<br /> +Of English Johnson’s name.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 128--><a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +128</span>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO FRANCIS H. GRUNDY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1842.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">P. B. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A week later he writes to the same friend:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <!-- page 129--><a name="page129"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 129</span>Green, as tutor to Mr. Robinson’s +son. He commenced his duties in December 1842.</p> +<p>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 +Brontë, 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:</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>The eleventh day of September</i> 1846 <i>the Will of the Reverend +Edmund Robinson</i>, <i>late of Thorp Green</i>, <i>in the Parish of Little +Ouseburn</i>, <i>in the County of York</i>, <i>Clerk</i>, <i>deceased</i>, +<i>was proved in the Prerogative Court of York by the oaths of Lydia +Robinson</i>, <i>Widow</i>, <i>his Relict</i>; <i>the Venerable Charles +Thorp and Henry Newton</i>, <i>the Executors</i>, <i>to whom administration +was granted</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Times</i>, would +sufficiently meet the case.</p> +<p><!-- page 130--><a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +130</span>Here is the letter from the advertisement pages of the Times.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">‘8 <span class="smcap">Bedford +Row</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>May</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1857.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sirs</span>,—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 <i>Life of Charlotte Brontë</i>, 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 Brontë. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">William +Shaen</span>.</p> +<p>‘Messrs. Newton & Robinson, Solicitors, York.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A certain ‘Note’ in the <i>Athenæum</i> a few days +later is not without interest now.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘We are sorry to be called upon to return to Mrs. Gaskell’s +<i>Life of Charlotte Brontë</i>, 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 <i>coteries</i>, we gave small heed; but the +<i>Times</i> advertises a legal apology, made on behalf of Mrs. Gaskell, +withdrawing the statements put forth in her book respecting the cause of +Mr. Branwell Brontë’s wreck and ruin. These Mrs. +Gaskell’s lawyer is now fain to confess his client advanced on +insufficient testimony. The telling of an <!-- page 131--><a +name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 131</span>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 <i>may be</i> slanders, and as such +they may sting cruelly. Meanwhile the <i>Life of Charlotte +Brontë</i> must undergo modification ere it can be further +circulated.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Meanwhile let us return to Branwell Brontë’s life as it is +contained in his sister’s correspondence.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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, <i>and the scene of trial</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Give my best love to your mother and sisters.—Yours, dear +Nell, always faithful,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- +page 132--><a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 31<i>st</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Your friends must have a weary and burdensome life of it in +waiting upon <i>their</i> unhappy brother. It seems grievous, indeed, +that those who have not sinned should suffer so largely.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—I have not +yet paid my usual visit to Brookroyd, but I frequently hear from Ellen, and +she <!-- page 133--><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 134--><a name="page134"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 134</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 135--><a +name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>be</i> and <i>do</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘My love to all. Write again soon.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 136--><a name="page136"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 136</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Branwell has been +conducting himself very badly lately. I expect from the extravagance +of his behaviour, <!-- page 137--><a name="page137"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 137</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Branwell is the same +in conduct as ever. His constitution seems much shattered. +Papa, and sometimes all of <!-- page 138--><a name="page138"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 138</span>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?</p> +<p>‘Write to me very soon, dear Nell, and—Believe me, yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Branwell Brontë died on Sunday, September the 24th, 1848, <a +name="citation138"></a><a href="#footnote138" class="citation">[138]</a> +and the two following letters from Charlotte to her friend Mr. Williams are +peculiarly interesting.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—“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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 139--><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +139</span>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.</p> +<p>‘My poor father naturally thought more of his <i>only</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>never</i> know. I cannot dwell +longer on the subject at present—it is too painful.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>October</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I thank you for +your last truly friendly letter, and for the number of <i>Blackwood</i> +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 <!-- page +140--><a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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. <!-- +page 141--><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>Long +before he quitted this world, life had no happiness for him.</p> +<p>‘<i>Blackwood’s</i> mention of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>dear</i> +sisters, to whose untiring care and kindness I am chiefly indebted for my +present state of convalescence.—Believe me, my dear sir, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The last letter in order of date that I have concerning Branwell is +addressed to Ellen Nussey’s sister:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS MERCY NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>October</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Nussey</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- +page 142--><a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +142</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Give my best love to Mrs. Nussey and your sister, +and—Believe me, my dear Miss Nussey, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p><i>My unhappy brother never knew what his sisters had done in +literature</i>—<i>he was not aware that they had ever published a +line</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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:</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>Patrick Brontë declared to me that he wrote a great portion +of</i> ‘<i>Wuthering Heights</i>’ <i>himself</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And Mr. George Searle Phillips, <a name="citation142"></a><a +href="#footnote142" class="citation">[142]</a> with more vivid imagination, +describes Branwell holding forth to his friends in the <!-- page 143--><a +name="page143"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 143</span>parlour of the Black +Bull at Haworth, upon the genius of his sisters, and upon the respective +merits of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>.</p> +<h2><!-- page 144--><a name="page144"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +144</span>CHAPTER VI: EMILY JANE BRONTË</h2> +<p>Emily Brontë 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, <i>Wuthering Heights</i>, 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 <!-- page 145--><a name="page145"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 145</span>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. <a +name="citation145a"></a><a href="#footnote145a" +class="citation">[145a]</a> She was, for a still longer period, at +the Héger Pensionnat at Brussels. Mrs. Gaskell’s +business was to write the life of Charlotte Brontë 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,</p> +<blockquote> +<p> +‘Whose soul<br /> +Knew no fellow for might,<br /> +Passion, vehemence, grief,<br /> +Daring, since Byron died,’ <a name="citation145b"></a><a +href="#footnote145b" class="citation">[145b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 146--><a name="page146"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +146</span>culminated in an enthusiastic eulogy by Mr. Swinburne, who placed +her in the very forefront of English women of genius.</p> +<p>We have said that Emily Brontë 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 Brontë. 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 +<i>Gondaland Chronicles</i>, 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 <i>Solala Vernon’s Life</i> by Anne Brontë, or the +<i>Gondaland Chronicles</i> by Emily!</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/diary1.jpg"> +<img alt="Facsimile of page of Emily Brontë’s Diary" +src="images/diary1.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 147--><a name="page147"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 147</span><i>A PAPER to be opened</i><br /> +<i>when Anne is</i><br /> +25 <i>years old</i>,<br /> +<i>or my next birthday after</i><br /> +<i>if</i><br /> +<i>all be well</i>.</p> +<p><i>Emily Jane Brontë</i>. <i>July the</i> 30<i>th</i>, +1841.</p> +<p><i>It is Friday evening</i>, <i>near 9 o’clock</i>—<i>wild +rainy weather</i>. <i>I am seated in the dining-room</i>, <i>having +just concluded tidying our desk boxes</i>, <i>writing this +document</i>. <i>Papa is in the parlour</i>—<i>aunt upstairs in +her room</i>. <i>She has been reading Blackwood’s Magazine to +papa</i>. <i>Victoria and Adelaide are ensconced in the +peat-house</i>. <i>Keeper is in the kitchen</i>—<i>Hero in his +cage</i>. <i>We are all stout and hearty</i>, <i>as I hope is the +case with Charlotte</i>, <i>Branwell</i>, <i>and Anne</i>, <i>of whom the +first is at John White</i>, <i>Esq.</i>, <i>Upperwood House</i>, +<i>Rawdon</i>; <i>the second is at Luddenden Foot</i>; <i>and the third +is</i>, <i>I believe</i>, <i>at Scarborough</i>, <i>enditing perhaps a +paper corresponding to this</i>.</p> +<p><i>A scheme is at present in agitation for setting us up in a school of +our own</i>; <i>as yet nothing is determined</i>, <i>but I hope and trust +it may go on and prosper and answer our highest expectations</i>. +<i>This day four years I wonder whether we shall still be dragging on in +our present condition or established to our hearts’ +content</i>. <i>Time will show</i>.</p> +<p><i>I guess that at the time appointed for the opening of this paper +we</i>, i.e. <i>Charlotte</i>, <i>Anne</i>, <i>and I</i>, <i>shall be all +merrily seated in our own sitting-room in some pleasant and flourishing +seminary</i>, <i>having just gathered in for the midsummer +ladyday</i>. <i>Our debts will be paid off</i>, <i>and we shall have +cash in hand to a considerable amount</i>. <i>Papa</i>, <i>aunt</i>, +<i>and Branwell will either</i> <!-- page 148--><a name="page148"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 148</span><i>have been or be coming to visit +us</i>. <i>It will be a fine warm</i>, <i>summer evening</i>, <i>very +different from this bleak look-out</i>, <i>and Anne and I will perchance +slip out into the garden for a few minutes to peruse our papers</i>. +<i>I hope either this or something better will be the case</i>.</p> +<p><i>The</i> Gondaliand <i>are at present in a threatening state</i>, +<i>but there is no open rupture as yet</i>. <i>All the princes and +princesses of the Royalty are at the Palace of Instruction</i>. <i>I +have a good many books on hand</i>, <i>but I am sorry to say that as usual +I make small progress with any</i>. <i>However</i>, <i>I have just +made a new regularity paper</i>! <i>and I must verb sap to do great +things</i>. <i>And now I close</i>, <i>sending from far an +exhortation of courage</i>, <i>boys</i>! <i>courage</i>, <i>to exiled and +harassed Anne</i>, <i>wishing she was here</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Anne, as I have said, writes from Thorp Green.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>July the</i> 30<i>th</i>, A.D. 1841.</p> +<p><i>This is Emily’s birthday</i>. <i>She has now completed +her</i> 23<i>rd</i> <i>year</i>, <i>and is</i>, <i>I believe</i>, <i>at +home</i>. <i>Charlotte is a governess in the family of Mr. +White</i>. <i>Branwell is a clerk in the railroad station at +Luddenden Foot</i>, <i>and I am a governess in the family of Mr. +Robinson</i>. <i>I dislike the situation and wish to change it for +another</i>. <i>I am now at Scarborough</i>. <i>My pupils are +gone to bed and I am hastening to finish this before I follow them</i>.</p> +<p><i>We are thinking of setting up a school of our own</i>, <i>but nothing +definite is settled about it yet</i>, <i>and we do not know whether we +shall be able to or not</i>. <i>I hope we shall</i>. <i>And I +wonder what will be our condition and how or where we shall all be on this +day four years hence</i>; <i>at which time</i>, <i>all be well</i>, <i>I +shall be</i> 25 <i>years and</i> 6 <i>months old</i>, <i>Emily will be</i> +27 <i>years old</i>, <i>Branwell</i> 28 <i>years and</i> 1 <i>month</i>, +<i>and Charlotte</i> 29 <i>years and a quarter</i>. <i>We are now all +separate and not likely to meet again for many a weary week</i>, <i>but we +are none of us ill</i> <!-- page 149--><a name="page149"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 149</span><i>that I know of and all are doing something +for our own livelihood except Emily</i>, <i>who</i>, <i>however</i>, <i>is +as busy as any of us</i>, <i>and in reality earns her food and raiment as +much as we do</i>.</p> +<p> <i>How little know we what we are</i><br /> + <i>How less what we may be</i>!</p> +<p><i>Four years ago I was at school</i>. <i>Since then I have been a +governess at Blake Hall</i>, <i>left it</i>, <i>come to Thorp Green</i>, +<i>and seen the sea and York Minster</i>. <i>Emily has been a teacher +at Miss Patchet’s school</i>, <i>and left it</i>. <i>Charlotte +has left Miss Wooler’s</i>, <i>been a governess at Mrs. +Sidgwick’s</i>, <i>left her</i>, <i>and gone to Mrs. +White’s</i>. <i>Branwell has given up painting</i>, <i>been a +tutor in Cumberland</i>, <i>left it</i>, <i>and become a clerk on the +railroad</i>. <i>Tabby has left us</i>, <i>Martha Brown has come in +her place</i>. <i>We have got Keeper</i>, <i>got a sweet little cat +and lost it</i>, <i>and also got a hawk</i>. <i>Got a wild goose +which has flown away</i>, <i>and three tame ones</i>, <i>one of which has +been killed</i>. <i>All these diversities</i>, <i>with many +others</i>, <i>are things we did not expect or foresee in the July of</i> +1837. <i>What will the next four years bring forth</i>? +<i>Providence only knows</i>. <i>But we ourselves have sustained very +little alteration since that time</i>. <i>I have the same faults that +I had then</i>, <i>only I have more wisdom and experience</i>, <i>and a +little more self-possession than I then enjoyed</i>. <i>How will it +be when we open this paper and the one Emily has written</i>? <i>I +wonder whether the Gondaliand will still be flourishing</i>, <i>and what +will be their condition</i>. <i>I am now engaged in writing the +fourth volume of Solala Vernon’s Life</i>.</p> +<p><i>For some time I have looked upon</i> 25 <i>as a sort of era in my +existence</i>. <i>It may prove a true presentiment</i>, <i>or it may +be only a superstitious fancy</i>; <i>the latter seems most likely</i>, +<i>but time will show</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Anne Brontë</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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. <!-- page 150--><a +name="page150"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 150</span>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 Brontë on the verge of the grave, and Emily on her +deathbed. She died on the 14th of December of that year.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Haworth</i>, <i>Thursday</i>, <i>July</i> +30<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p><i>My birthday</i>—<i>showery</i>, <i>breezy</i>, +<i>cool</i>. <i>I am twenty-seven years old to-day</i>. <i>This +morning Anne and I opened the papers we wrote four years since</i>, <i>on +my twenty-third birthday</i>. <i>This paper we intend</i>, <i>if all +be well</i>, <i>to open on my thirtieth</i>—<i>three years hence</i>, +<i>in</i> 1848. <i>Since the</i> 1841 <i>paper the following events +have taken place</i>. <i>Our school scheme has been abandoned</i>, +<i>and instead Charlotte and I went to Brussels on the</i> 8<i>th</i> <i>of +February</i> 1842.</p> +<p><i>Branwell left his place at Luddenden Foot</i>. <i>C. and I +returned from Brussels</i>, <i>November</i> 8<i>th</i> 1842, <i>in +consequence of aunt’s death</i>.</p> +<p><i>Branwell went to Thorp Green as a tutor</i>, <i>where Anne still +continued</i>, <i>January</i> 1843.</p> +<p><i>Charlotte returned to Brussels the same month</i>, <i>and</i>, +<i>after staying a year</i>, <i>came back again on New Year’s Day</i> +1844.</p> +<p><i>Anne left her situation at Thorp Green of her own accord</i>, +<i>June</i> 1845.</p> +<p><i>Anne and I went our first long journey by ourselves together</i>, +<i>leaving home on the</i> 30<i>th</i> <i>of June</i>, <i>Monday</i>, +<i>sleeping at York</i>, <i>returning to Keighley Tuesday evening</i>, +<i>sleeping there and walking home on Wednesday morning</i>. +<i>Though the weather was broken we enjoyed ourselves very much</i>, +<i>except during a few hours at Bradford</i>. <i>And during our</i> +<!-- page 151--><a name="page151"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +151</span><i>excursion we were</i>, <i>Ronald Macalgin</i>, <i>Henry +Angora</i>, <i>Juliet Augusteena</i>, <i>Rosabella Esmaldan</i>, <i>Ella +and Julian Egremont</i>, <i>Catharine Navarre</i>, <i>and Cordelia +Fitzaphnold</i>, <i>escaping from the palaces of instruction to join the +Royalists who are hard driven at present by the victorious +Republicans</i>. <i>The Gondals still flourish bright as +ever</i>. <i>I am at present writing a work on the First +War</i>. <i>Anne has been writing some articles on this</i>, <i>and a +book by Henry Sophona</i>. <i>We intend sticking firm by the rascals +as long as they delight us</i>, <i>which I am glad to say they do at +present</i>. <i>I should have mentioned that last summer the school +scheme was revived in full vigour</i>. <i>We had prospectuses +printed</i>, <i>despatched letters to all acquaintances imparting our +plans</i>, <i>and did our little all</i>; <i>but it was found no +go</i>. <i>Now I don’t desire a school at all</i>, <i>and none +of us have any great longing for it</i>. <i>We have cash enough for +our present wants</i>, <i>with a prospect of accumulation</i>. <i>We +are all in decent health</i>, <i>only that papa has a complaint in his +eyes</i>, <i>and with the exception of B.</i>, <i>who</i>, <i>I hope</i>, +<i>will be better and do better hereafter</i>. <i>I am quite +contented for myself</i>: <i>not as idle as formerly</i>, <i>altogether as +hearty</i>, <i>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</i>; +<i>seldom or ever troubled with nothing to do</i>, <i>and merely desiring +that everybody could be as comfortable as myself and as undesponding</i>, +<i>and then we should have a very tolerable world of it</i>.</p> +<p><i>By mistake I find we have opened the paper on the</i> 31<i>st</i> +<i>instead of the</i> 30<i>th</i>. <i>Yesterday was much such a day +as this</i>, <i>but the morning was divine</i>.</p> +<p><i>Tabby</i>, <i>who was gone in our last paper</i>, <i>is come +back</i>, <i>and has lived with us two years and a half</i>; <i>and is in +good health</i>. <i>Martha</i>, <i>who also departed</i>, <i>is here +too</i>. <i>We have got Flossy</i>; <i>got and lost Tiger</i>; +<i>lost the hawk Hero</i>, <i>which</i>, <i>with the geese</i>, <i>was +given away</i>, <i>and is doubtless dead</i>, <i>for when I came back from +Brussels I inquired on all hands and could</i> <!-- page 152--><a +name="page152"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 152</span><i>hear nothing of +him</i>. <i>Tiger died early last year</i>. <i>Keeper and +Flossy are well</i>, <i>also the canary acquired four years +since</i>. <i>We are now all at home</i>, <i>and likely to be there +some time</i>. <i>Branwell went to Liverpool on Tuesday to stay a +week</i>. <i>Tabby has just been teasing me to turn as formerly +to</i> ‘<i>Pilloputate</i>.’ <i>Anne and I should have +picked the black currants if it had been fine and sunshiny</i>. <i>I +must hurry off now to my turning and ironing</i>. <i>I have plenty of +work on hands</i>, <i>and writing</i>, <i>and am altogether full of +business</i>. <i>With best wishes for the whole house till</i> 1848, +<i>July</i> 30<i>th</i>, <i>and as much longer as may be</i>,—<i>I +conclude</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Emily Brontë</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Finally, I give Anne’s last fragment, concerning which silence is +essential. Interpretation of most of the references would be mere +guess-work.</p> +<blockquote> +<p><i>Thursday</i>, <i>July the</i> 31<i>st</i>, 1845. <i>Yesterday +was Emily’s birthday</i>, <i>and the time when we should have opened +our</i> 1845 <i>paper</i>, <i>but by mistake we opened it to-day +instead</i>. <i>How many things have happened since it was +written</i>—<i>some pleasant</i>, <i>some far otherwise</i>. +<i>Yet I was then at Thorp Green</i>, <i>and now I am only just escaped +from it</i>. <i>I was wishing to leave it then</i>, <i>and if I had +known that I had four years longer to stay how wretched I should have +been</i>; <i>but during my stay I have had some very unpleasant and +undreamt-of experience of human nature</i>. <i>Others have seen more +changes</i>. <i>Charlotte has left Mr. White’s and been twice +to Brussels</i>, <i>where she stayed each time nearly a year</i>. +<i>Emily has been there too</i>, <i>and stayed nearly a year</i>. +<i>Branwell has left Luddenden Foot</i>, <i>and been a tutor at Thorp +Green</i>, <i>and had much tribulation and ill health</i>. <i>He was +very ill on Thursday</i>, <i>but he went with John Brown to Liverpool</i>, +<i>where he now is</i>, <i>I suppose</i>; <i>and we hope he will be better +and do better in future</i>. <i>This is a dismal</i>, <i>cloudy</i>, +<i>wet evening</i>. <i>We have had so far a very cold wet +summer</i>. <i>Charlotte has lately been to Hathersage</i>, <i>in</i> +<!-- page 153--><a name="page153"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +153</span><i>Derbyshire</i>, <i>on a visit of three weeks to Ellen +Nussey</i>. <i>She is now sitting sewing in the +dining-room</i>. <i>Emily is ironing upstairs</i>. <i>I am +sitting in the dining-room in the rocking-chair before the fire with my +feet on the fender</i>. <i>Papa is in the parlour</i>. <i>Tabby +and Martha are</i>, <i>I think</i>, <i>in the kitchen</i>. <i>Keeper +and Flossy are</i>, <i>I do not know where</i>. <i>Little Dick is +hopping in his cage</i>. <i>When the last paper was written we were +thinking of setting up a school</i>. <i>The scheme has been +dropt</i>, <i>and long after taken up again and dropt again because we +could not get pupils</i>. <i>Charlotte is thinking about getting +another situation</i>. <i>She wishes to go to Paris</i>. +<i>Will she go</i>? <i>She has let Flossy in</i>, <i>by-the-by</i>, +<i>and he is now lying on the sofa</i>. <i>Emily is engaged in +writing the Emperor Julius’s life</i>. <i>She has read some of +it</i>, <i>and I want very much to hear the rest</i>. <i>She is +writing some poetry</i>, <i>too</i>. <i>I wonder what it is +about</i>? <i>I have begun the third volume of Passages in the Life +of an Individual</i>. <i>I wish I had finished it</i>. <i>This +afternoon I began to set about making my grey figured silk frock that was +dyed at Keighley</i>. <i>What sort of a hand shall I make of +it</i>? <i>E. and I have a great deal of work to do</i>. +<i>When shall we sensibly diminish it</i>? <i>I want to get a habit +of early rising</i>. <i>Shall I succeed</i>? <i>We have not yet +finished our Gondal Chronicles that we began three years and a half +ago</i>. <i>When will they be done</i>? <i>The Gondals are at +present in a sad state</i>. <i>The Republicans are uppermost</i>, +<i>but the Royalists are not quite overcome</i>. <i>The young +sovereigns</i>, <i>with their brothers and sisters</i>, <i>are still at the +Palace of Instruction</i>. <i>The Unique Society</i>, <i>above half a +year ago</i>, <i>were wrecked on a desert island as they were returning +from Gaul</i>. <i>They are still there</i>, <i>but we have not played +at them much yet</i>. <i>The Gondals in general are not in first-rate +playing condition</i>. <i>Will they improve</i>? <i>I wonder +how we shall all be and where and how situated on the thirtieth of July</i> +1848, <i>when</i>, <i>if we are all alive</i>, <i>Emily will be just</i> +30. <i>I shall</i> <!-- page 154--><a name="page154"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 154</span><i>be in my</i> 29th <i>year</i>, <i>Charlotte +in her</i> 33rd, <i>and Branwell in his</i> 32nd; <i>and what changes shall +we have seen and known</i>; <i>and shall we be much changed +ourselves</i>? <i>I hope not</i>, <i>for the worse at +least</i>. <i>I for my part cannot well be flatter or older in mind +than I am now</i>. <i>Hoping for the best</i>, <i>I conclude</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Anne Brontë</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Exactly fifty years were to elapse before these pieces of writing saw +the light. The interest which must always centre in Emily Brontë +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 +Brontë, 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/diary2.jpg"> +<img alt="Facsimile of two pages of Emily Brontë’s Diary" +src="images/diary2.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1838.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">GLENEDEN’S DREAM.</p> +<p>‘Tell me, whether is it winter?<br /> +Say how long my sleep has been.<br /> +<!-- page 155--><a name="page155"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +155</span>Have the woods I left so lovely<br /> +Lost their robes of tender green?</p> +<p>‘Is the morning slow in coming?<br /> +Is the night time loth to go?<br /> +Tell me, are the dreary mountains<br /> +Drearier still with drifted snow?</p> +<p>‘“Captive, since thou sawest the forest,<br /> +All its leaves have died away,<br /> +And another March has woven<br /> +Garlands for another May.</p> +<p>‘“Ice has barred the Arctic waters;<br /> +Soft Southern winds have set it free;<br /> +And once more to deep green valley<br /> +Golden flowers might welcome thee.”</p> +<p>‘Watcher in this lonely prison,<br /> +Shut from joy and kindly air,<br /> +Heaven descending in a vision<br /> +Taught my soul to do and bear.</p> +<p>‘It was night, a night of winter,<br /> +I lay on the dungeon floor,<br /> +And all other sounds were silent—<br /> +All, except the river’s roar.</p> +<p>‘Over Death and Desolation,<br /> +Fireless hearths, and lifeless homes;<br /> +Over orphans’ heartsick sorrows,<br /> +Patriot fathers’ bloody tombs;</p> +<p>‘Over friends, that my arms never<br /> +Might embrace in love again;<br /> +Memory ponderous until madness<br /> +Struck its poniard in my brain.</p> +<p>‘Deepest slumbers followed raving,<br /> +Yet, methought, I brooded still;<br /> +Still I saw my country bleeding,<br /> +Dying for a Tyrant’s will.</p> +<p><!-- page 156--><a name="page156"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +156</span>‘Not because my bliss was blasted,<br /> +Burned within the avenging flame;<br /> +Not because my scattered kindred<br /> +Died in woe or lived in shame.</p> +<p>‘God doth know I would have given<br /> +Every bosom dear to me,<br /> +Could that sacrifice have purchased<br /> +Tortured Gondal’s liberty!</p> +<p>‘But that at Ambition’s bidding<br /> +All her cherished hopes should wane,<br /> +That her noblest sons should muster,<br /> +Strive and fight and fall in vain.</p> +<p>‘Hut and castle, hall and cottage,<br /> +Roofless, crumbling to the ground,<br /> +Mighty Heaven, a glad Avenger<br /> +Thy eternal Justice found.</p> +<p>‘Yes, the arm that once would shudder<br /> +Even to grieve a wounded deer,<br /> +I beheld it, unrelenting,<br /> +Clothe in blood its sovereign’s prayer.</p> +<p>‘Glorious Dream! I saw the city<br /> +Blazing in Imperial shine,<br /> +And among adoring thousands<br /> +Stood a man of form divine.</p> +<p>‘None need point the princely victim—<br /> +Now he smiles with royal pride!<br /> +Now his glance is bright as lightning,<br /> +Now the knife is in his side!</p> +<p>‘Ah! I saw how death could darken,<br /> +Darken that triumphant eye!<br /> +His red heart’s blood drenched my dagger;<br /> +My ear drank his dying sigh!</p> +<p><!-- page 157--><a name="page157"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +157</span>‘Shadows come! what means this midnight?<br /> +O my God, I know it all!<br /> +Know the fever dream is over,<br /> +Unavenged, the Avengers fall!’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Wuthering Heights</i> that Emily +Brontë 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, <i>The Brontës in Ireland</i>, +recounts the story of Patrick Brontë’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 <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>. It is not, of course, enough to point out that Dr. +Wright’s story of the Irish Brontës 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 Brontë +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 Brontë 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 Brontë. 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. <!-- page 158--><a name="page158"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 158</span>They served up and embellished the current +traditions of the neighbourhood for his benefit, as the peasantry do +everywhere for folklore enthusiasts. Charlotte Brontë’s +uncle Hugh, we are told, read the <i>Quarterly Review</i> article upon +<i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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 +<i>Quarterly Review</i> 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 <i>Quarterly</i> are found more than once in her +correspondence with Mr. Williams. <a name="citation158"></a><a +href="#footnote158" class="citation">[158]</a></p> +<p>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. +Brontë—who was by no means disposed to reticence—about +these stories, and is also of opinion that they are purely legendary.</p> +<p>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 <i>Wuthering Heights</i> because she was impelled thereto, and the +book, with all its morbid force <!-- page 159--><a name="page159"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 159</span>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 <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>.</p> +<p>Here, however, are glimpses of Emily Brontë on a more human +side.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—We were all very glad +to get your letter this morning. <i>We</i>, I say, as both Papa and +Emily were anxious to hear of the safe arrival of yourself and the little +<i>varmint</i>. <a name="citation159"></a><a href="#footnote159" +class="citation">[159]</a> 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—<!-- page 160--><a name="page160"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 160</span>don’t disappoint me. Best regards +to your mother and sisters.—Yours, somewhat irritated,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Earlier than this Emily had herself addressed a letter to Miss Nussey, +and, indeed, the two letters from Emily Brontë 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 12, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Nussey</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Emily J. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>February</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Nussey</span>,—I fancy this +note will be too late to decide one way or other with respect to +Charlotte’s stay. Yours <!-- page 161--><a +name="page161"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 161</span>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,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Emily J. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Wuthering Heights</i> and <i>Agnes Grey</i>, ‘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 <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>, vol. I. and II., and <i>Agnes Grey</i>, 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>—the +preface actually published. <a name="citation161"></a><a +href="#footnote161" class="citation">[161]</a> An earlier preface, +entitled ‘A Word to the <i>Quarterly</i>,’ was cancelled.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Smith is kind indeed to think of sending me <i>The Jar of +Honey</i>. 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 <!-- page 162--><a name="page162"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 162</span>and inclination. I know your time is too +fully occupied and too valuable to be often at the service of any one +individual.</p> +<p>‘You are not far wrong in your judgment respecting <i>Wuthering +Heights</i> and <i>Agnes Grey</i>. 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. <i>Agnes +Grey</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 Brontë wrote to her +friend Mr. Williams as follows:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—A representation of +<i>Jane Eyre</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 163--><a name="page163"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +163</span>‘As to whether I wish <i>you</i> 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 <i>do</i> go, I shall +perhaps gain a little information—either alternative has its +advantage. <a name="citation163"></a><a href="#footnote163" +class="citation">[163]</a></p> +<p>‘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. <i>Wuthering Heights</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I print the above letter here because of its sequel, which has something +to say of Ellis—of Emily Brontë.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 164--><a name="page164"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 164</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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 <i>strange</i>. Such, then, is a sample of +what amuses the metropolitan populace! Such is a view of one of their +haunts!</p> +<p>‘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!</p> +<p>‘You must try now to forget entirely what you saw.</p> +<p>‘As to my next book, I suppose it will grow to maturity in <!-- +page 165--><a name="page165"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 165</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I return to you the note inclosed under your cover, it is from +the editor of the <i>Berwick Warder</i>; he wants a copy of <i>Jane +Eyre</i> to review.</p> +<p>‘With renewed thanks for your continued goodness to me,—I +remain, my dear sir, yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>A short time afterwards the illness came to Emily from which she died +the same year. Branwell died in September <!-- page 166--><a +name="page166"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 166</span>1848, and a month +later Charlotte writes with a heart full of misgivings:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 167--><a +name="page167"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 167</span>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 <i>feel</i> as well as +<i>know</i>, 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have received, +since I last wrote to you, two papers, the <i>Standard of Freedom</i> and +the <i>Morning Herald</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 168--><a +name="page168"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 168</span>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.</p> +<p>‘I am sorry I cannot claim for the name Brontë the honour of +being connected with the notice in the <i>Bradford Observer</i>. 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 <a name="citation168a"></a><a +href="#footnote168a" class="citation">[168a]</a> 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 <i>The +Professor</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I am glad, by-the-bye, to hear that <i>Madeline</i> is come out +at last, and was happy to see a favourable notice of that work and of +<i>The Three Paths</i> in the <i>Morning Herald</i>. I wish Miss +Kavanagh all success. <a name="citation168b"></a><a href="#footnote168b" +class="citation">[168b]</a></p> +<p><!-- page 169--><a name="page169"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +169</span>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The next letter gives perhaps the most interesting glimpse of Emily that +has been afforded us.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 +homœopathy—that would not have answered. It is best +usually to leave her to form her own judgment, and <i>especially</i> 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: +Homœopathy 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.</p> +<p>‘The <i>North American Review</i> 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 <i>Review</i> 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 +<!-- page 170--><a name="page170"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +170</span>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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> was written +in partnership, and that it “bears the marks of more than one mind +and one sex.”</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘I have read <i>Madeline</i>. 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 +<i>Amymone</i> or <i>Azeth</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘I must abruptly bid you good-bye for the present.—Yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 171--><a name="page171"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 171</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I duly received Dr. +Curie’s work on Homœopathy, 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>have</i> before intimated that that <!-- +page 172--><a name="page172"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 172</span>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 manœuvring 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I have not yet read the second number of <i>Pendennis</i>. +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. +<i>Vanity Fair</i> 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 <i>Pendennis</i>.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Believe me, my dear sir, in haste, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The next four letters speak for themselves.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 173--><a +name="page173"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 173</span>Homœopathy, 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.</p> +<p>‘Not knowing Dr. Epps’s address, I send the inclosed +statement of her case through your hands. <a name="citation173"></a><a +href="#footnote173" class="citation">[173]</a></p> +<p>‘I deeply feel both your kindness and Mr. Smith’s in thus +interesting yourselves in what touches me so nearly.—Believe me, +yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- +page 174--><a name="page174"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 174</span>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 +<i>must</i> 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 <i>do</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Remember me kindly to all at Brookroyd, and believe me, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 +<i>Tuesday</i>, 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I will write to you +more at length when my <!-- page 175--><a name="page175"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 175</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>must</i> +cheer the rest.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 176--><a name="page176"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +176</span>And then there are these last pathetic references to the beloved +sister.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Untoward +circumstances come to me, I think, less painfully than pleasant ones would +just now. The lash of the <i>Quarterly</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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, +<i>could</i> not die, and where is she now? Out of my reach, out of +my world—torn from me.—Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 177--><a +name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I have read the <i>Caxtons</i>, I have looked at <i>Fanny +Hervey</i>. I think I will not write what I think of +either—should I see you I will speak it.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘The <i>Sun</i>, the <i>Morning Herald</i>, and the <i>Critic</i> +came this <!-- page 178--><a name="page178"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +178</span>morning. None of them express disappointment from +<i>Shirley</i>, or on the whole compare her disadvantageously with +<i>Jane</i>. It strikes me that those worthies—the +<i>Athenæum</i>, <i>Spectator</i>, <i>Economist</i>, made haste to be +first with their notices that they might give the tone; if so, their +manœuvre has not yet quite succeeded.</p> +<p>‘The <i>Critic</i>, 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 <i>will</i> think, +my loss has been <i>their</i> gain. Does it weary you that I refer to +them? If so, forgive me.—Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Shirley</i> 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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The last words that I have to say concerning Emily are contained in a +letter to me from Miss Ellen Nussey.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘So very little is known of Emily Brontë,’ she writes, +‘that every little detail awakens an interest. Her extreme +reserve seemed impenetrable, yet she was intensely lovable; she invited +<!-- page 179--><a name="page179"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +179</span>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 <!-- page 180--><a +name="page180"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 180</span>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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 181--><a name="page181"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +181</span>CHAPTER VII: ANNE BRONTË</h2> +<p>It can scarcely be doubted that Anne Brontë’s two novels, +<i>Agnes Grey</i> and <i>The Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>, 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 +Brontë!’ 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.</p> +<p>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 <i>Book of Common Prayer</i>. +‘<i>Miss Outhwaite to her goddaughter</i>, <i>Anne Brontë</i>, +<i>July </i>13<i>th</i>, 1827.’ Miss Outhwaite was not +forgetful of her goddaughter, for by her will she left Anne £200.</p> +<p>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. <i>Prize for +good conduct presented to Miss A. Brontë with Miss Wooler’s kind +love</i>, <!-- page 182--><a name="page182"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +182</span><i>Roe Head</i>, <i>Dec.</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1836, is the +inscription in a copy of Watt <i>On the Improvement of the Mind</i>.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/anne.jpg"> +<img alt="Anne Brontë" src="images/anne.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>October</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Nussey</span>,—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 <!-- page 183--><a name="page183"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +183</span>agrees with me in thinking the --- <a name="citation183a"></a><a +href="#footnote183a" class="citation">[183a]</a> 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 <a +name="citation183b"></a><a href="#footnote183b" class="citation">[183b]</a> +compliments. And—Believe me to be your affectionate friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Anne +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Nussey</span>,—I am not +going to give you a “nice <i>long</i> 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 <!-- page 184--><a name="page184"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +184</span>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 <i>you</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘With kind regards to all,—I remain, dear Miss Nussey, yours +ever affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Anne +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Agnes Grey</i>, as we have noted, was published by Newby, in one +volume, in 1847. <i>The Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i> was issued by the +same publisher, in three volumes, in 1848. It is not generally known +that <i>The Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i> 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 Brontë 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 <!-- page 185--><a name="page185"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 185</span>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.’</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 186--><a +name="page186"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 186</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 187--><a +name="page187"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 187</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>History</i>, which he had +wished to see. Anne is engaged with one of Frederika Bremer’s +tales.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I will tell you what I want to do; it is to show you the first +<!-- page 188--><a name="page188"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +188</span>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?</p> +<p>‘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 <i>none</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Journey from Cornhill</i>, <i>etc</i>. +and <i>The testimony to the Truth</i>. That last is indeed a book +after my own heart. I <i>do</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Write soon and tell me whether you think it advisable that I +should send the MS.—Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>February</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I send the parcel +up without delay, according to your request. The manuscript has all +its errors upon it, not <!-- page 189--><a name="page189"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 189</span>having been read through since copying. +I have kept <i>Madeline</i>, 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 <i>Poems</i> and <i>Our Street</i>. +Emerson’s <i>Essays</i> 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 +<i>Bible in Spain</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, say so; it +is but trying again, <i>i.e.</i>, if life and health be spared.</p> +<p>‘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!</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +190--><a name="page190"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 190</span>must be +borne. For ourselves, we are almost indifferent to censure. I +read the <i>Quarterly</i> 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. <a +name="citation190"></a><a href="#footnote190" +class="citation">[190]</a> Many a poor man, born and bred to labour, +would disdain that reviewer’s cast of feeling.—Yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I am glad that you and Mr. Smith like the commencement of my +present work. I wish it were <i>more than a commencement</i>; 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, <i>it is +true</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +191--><a name="page191"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 191</span>friend the +<i>Critic</i> 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Believe me, whether in happiness or the contrary, yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS LÆTITIA WHEELWRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Lætitia</span>,—I have not +quite forgotten you through the <!-- page 192--><a name="page192"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 192</span>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?</p> +<p>‘It is soon told.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>she died</i>.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘With best regards to your dear mamma and all your +circle,—Believe me, yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 193--><a name="page193"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 193</span>TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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!</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 194--><a name="page194"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +194</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Your kind advice on +the subject of Homœopathy 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 195--><a name="page195"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +195</span>‘I fear I must have seemed to you hard in my observations +about <i>The Emigrant Family</i>. The fact was, I compared Alexander +Harris with himself only. It is not equal to the <i>Testimony to the +Truth</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘I took up Leigh Hunt’s book <i>The Town</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Quarterly</i>. I have not read his <i>French Revolution</i>.</p> +<p>‘I congratulate you on the approaching publication of Mr. +Ruskin’s new work. If the <i>Seven Lamps of Architecture</i> +resemble their predecessor, <i>Modern Painters</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 196--><a +name="page196"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 196</span>works, never having +hitherto had that pleasure—<i>Caleb Williams</i> or <i>Fleetwood</i>, +or which you thought best worth reading.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 197--><a name="page197"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +197</span>‘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, 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 198--><a +name="page198"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 198</span>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.</p> +<p>‘I hope Mr. Smith will not risk a cheap edition of <i>Jane +Eyre</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, would now be alike impossible and +blamable; but I do what I can, and have made some little progress. We +must all be patient.</p> +<p>‘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, <!-- page 199--><a +name="page199"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 199</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Have I lectured enough? and am I understood?</p> +<p>‘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!</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>May</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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. <!-- page 200--><a +name="page200"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 200</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘With best wishes for your own health and welfare,—Believe +me, my dear Miss Wooler, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘No. 2 <span class="smcap">Cliff</span>, +<span class="smcap">Scarboro’</span>, <i>May</i> 27<i>th</i>, +1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 201--><a name="page201"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +201</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>you</i> 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 <i>others</i>, I mean only the serious and +reflective—levity in such matters shocks as much as hypocrisy.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘You will not expect me to add more at present.—Yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I am now again at +home, where I returned last Thursday. I call it <i>home</i> +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 <!-- +page 202--><a name="page202"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +202</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 203--><a name="page203"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +203</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">here lie the remains +of</span><br /> +ANNE BRONTË<br /> +DAUGHTER OF THE REV. P. BRONTË<br /> +<span class="smcap">incumbent of haworth</span>, <span +class="smcap">yorkshire</span><br /> +<i>She Died</i>, <i>Aged</i> 28, <i>May</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1849</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 204--><a name="page204"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +204</span>CHAPTER VIII: ELLEN NUSSEY</h2> +<p>If to be known by one’s friends is the index to character that it +is frequently assumed to be, Charlotte Brontë 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 <i>Villette</i> 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 Lætitia 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 Brontë 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 205--><a name="page205"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 205</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have to +acknowledge the receipt of the <i>Morning Chronicle</i> with a good review, +and of the <i>Church of England Quarterly</i> and the <i>Westminster</i> +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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 206--><a name="page206"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +206</span>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 Brontë.</p> +<p>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 Brontë 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 +Brontë died.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/missnussey.jpg"> +<img alt="Ellen Nussey as schoolgirl and adult" src="images/missnussey.jpg" +/> +</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p><!-- page 207--><a name="page207"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +207</span>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Nussey</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But by the Christmas holidays, ‘Dear Miss Nussey’ has become +‘Dear Ellen,’ and the friendship has already well +commenced.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1832.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1833.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—I believe we agreed +to correspond once a <!-- page 208--><a name="page208"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 208</span>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 <i>wiser</i> +and <i>better</i> 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 <i>Kenilworth</i>. 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 <!-- page 209--><a name="page209"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 209</span>assurance of my unchanged, unchanging, and +unchangeable affection for you.—Adieu, my sweetest Ellen, I am ever +yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Charlotte</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Here is a pleasant testimony to Miss Nussey’s attractions from +Emily and Anne.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1833.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>February</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1834.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 +<!-- page 210--><a name="page210"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +210</span>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 <i>hope</i>, nay <i>pray</i>, 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 +<i>general</i> 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, <i>you</i>, who are surrounded +by society and friends, would soon forget that such an insignificant being +as myself ever lived. <i>I</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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1834.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—I have been a long +while, a very long while without writing to you. A letter I received +from Mary Taylor <!-- page 211--><a name="page211"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 211</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1835.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dearest Ellen</span>,—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 +<i>almost</i> the <i>only</i> and certainly the <i>dearest</i> 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 <!-- page 212--><a name="page212"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 212</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—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, <i>dearest</i>, <i>dearest</i>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Roe Head</span>, +<i>September</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1835.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 +<i>mêlée</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Charlotte</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 213--><a name="page213"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 213</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1837.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Creator</i> in idolatry of the <i>creature</i>. 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 <i>every</i> 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. <!-- page 214--><a +name="page214"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 214</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1837.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—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 <i>glad</i> 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 <i>dare</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My</span> <i>dear kind</i> <span +class="smcap">Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 215--><a +name="page215"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 215</span>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 +<i>cannot come</i>. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1838.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—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 <i>female</i> 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 <!-- page 216--><a name="page216"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +216</span>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 <i>friends</i> (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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 217--><a name="page217"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 217</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>high value</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—Don’t talk any more of sending for +me—when I come I will <i>send</i> 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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 218--><a +name="page218"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 218</span>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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>February</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 219--><a name="page219"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +219</span>She visits Miss Nussey soon afterwards at Brookroyd, and a little +later writes as follows:</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye, dear Ellen. Send me another of your little notes +soon. Kindest regards to all,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 220--><a name="page220"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 220</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Much has been said concerning Charlotte Brontë’s visit to +Hathersage in Derbyshire, and it is interesting because of the <!-- page +221--><a name="page221"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 221</span>fact that +Miss Brontë obtained the name of ‘Eyre’ from a family in +that neighbourhood, and Morton in <i>Jane Eyre</i> may obviously be +identified with Hathersage. <a name="citation221"></a><a +href="#footnote221" class="citation">[221]</a> 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 +Brontë 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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?</p> +<p><!-- page 222--><a name="page222"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +222</span>‘The French papers have ceased to come. Good-bye for +the present.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MRS. NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Nussey</span>,—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 <i>home</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page +223--><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 223</span>ease to +discharge my debt. I wish I had £50 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 <i>en +masse</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page +224--><a name="page224"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 224</span>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 <i>great +pleasure</i>, 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 <i>not go</i> if I <i>would</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye. Best love to your mother and sisters.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>ill</i> now, and my +toothache is now subsided, but I <!-- page 225--><a +name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Write soon. Give my best love to your mother and +sisters.—Good-bye, dear Nell,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 226--><a name="page226"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 226</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—I have a small +present for Mercy. You must fetch it, for I repeat you shall <i>come +to Haworth before I go to Brookroyd.</i></p> +<p>‘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 <i>cannot</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘My sincere love to your mother and Mercy.—Yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Your letter and its +contents were most welcome. You must direct your luggage to Mr. +Brontë’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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- +page 227--><a name="page227"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 227</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘The housewife’s travelling companion is a most commodious +<!-- page 228--><a name="page228"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +228</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Give my love to your mother and sisters.—Yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>did</i> enjoy the narrative in your last +very keenly; the exquisitely characteristic traits <!-- page 229--><a +name="page229"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 229</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Write to me again soon and—Believe me, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 3, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 +<i>History</i> was only <i>lent</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Papa has not been +well at all lately—he has had another attack of bronchitis. I +felt very uneasy about him <!-- page 230--><a name="page230"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 230</span>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 <i>last</i>, the <i>only</i> near and dear relation I have in the +world. Yesterday and to-day he has seemed much better, for which I am +truly thankful.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I <i>do</i> wish to see you.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 16, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 231--><a name="page231"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 231</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Dear Nell, you will excuse a short note. Write again +soon. Tell me all concerning yourself that can relieve +you.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 232--><a name="page232"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +232</span>‘With best wishes for yourself, dear Ellen,—I am, +yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘My headaches are better. I have needed no help, but I thank +you sincerely for your kind offers.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>August</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To Miss Nussey we owe many other letters than those here +printed—indeed, they must needs play an important part in Charlotte +Brontë’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 <!-- page 233--><a name="page233"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +233</span>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 Brontë 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 +Brontës, is matter for full and cordial congratulation, wherever the +names of the authors of <i>Jane Eyre</i> and <i>Wuthering Heights</i> are +held in just and wise esteem.</p> +<h2><!-- page 234--><a name="page234"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +234</span>CHAPTER IX: MARY TAYLOR</h2> +<p>Mary Taylor, the ‘M---’ of Mrs. Gaskell’s biography, +and the ‘Rose Yorke’ of <i>Shirley</i>, will always have a +peculiar interest to those who care for the Brontës. 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 Brontë, 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—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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 Brontë 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 <!-- page 235--><a +name="page235"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 235</span><i>Belles Lettres</i> +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.”</p> +<p>‘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 <i>too short</i>, 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 <!-- page 236--><a name="page236"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 236</span>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 <i>Shirley</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Let us now read Charlotte’s description in <i>Shirley</i>, and I +think we have a tolerably fair estimate of the sisters.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 237--><a +name="page237"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 237</span>little piquant face, +engaging prattle, and winning ways, is made to be a pet; and her +father’s pet she accordingly is.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>June</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1833.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>my mind</i> 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, <!-- page 238--><a name="page238"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +238</span>that you may continue steadfast till the end,—I remain, +dearest Ellen, your ever faithful friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Shirley</i>. I have visited the substantial +red-brick house near the high-road at Gomersall, but descriptions of the +Brontë country do not come within the scope of this volume.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <i>April</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear E. J.</span>,—I received your last +letter with delight as <!-- page 239--><a name="page239"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 239</span>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 <i>looks</i> like getting +on at any rate.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—I am very well; I hope you are. Write +again soon.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Héger. <!-- page 240--><a +name="page240"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 240</span>In Brussels Martha +Taylor found a grave. Here is one of her letters.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>Sept</i>. 9<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Martha +Taylor</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brussels</span>, +<i>April</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1843.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 241--><a name="page241"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 241</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Sunday Evening</i>, <i>June</i> +1<i>st</i>, 1845.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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° 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 <i>observant</i> account of +everything.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Manchester</span>, +<i>September</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<!-- page 242--><a name="page242"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +242</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Give my love to all at Brookroyd, and believe me, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. BRONTË.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>June</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I was glad to hear that you were well received at London, and +that you got safe to the end of your journey. Your +<i>naïveté</i> in <!-- page 243--><a name="page243"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 243</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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. Héger’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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I hope you will soon write to me again and tell me particularly +how your health is, and how you get on. Give my <!-- page 244--><a +name="page244"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 244</span>regards to Mary +Gorham, for really I have a sort of regard for her by hearsay, +and—Believe me, dear Nell, yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Ellen Taylor mentioned in the above letter did not go to +Brussels. She joined her cousin Mary in New Zealand instead.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<i>April</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Charlotte</span>,—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?</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Chambers</i>, and +intend (now don’t remind me of this a year hence, because <i>la femme +propose</i>) 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 <i>active</i> 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>I assure you</i> such a +<!-- page 245--><a name="page245"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +245</span>wonder as never was. I intend him when full grown to +revolutionise society and <i>faire époque</i> in history.</p> +<p>‘In the meantime I’m doing a collar in crochet work.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Pag</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<span class="smcap">New Zealand</span>,<br /> +‘<i>July</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Charlotte</span>,—About a month +since I received and read <i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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. +<i>Fly</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Aug</i>. 1.—The <i>Harlequin</i> has just come from +Otago, and is to sail for Singapore <i>when the wind changes</i>, 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!</p> +<p>‘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 <i>good</i> +men of the Brocklehurst species. A missionary either goes into his +office for a piece of bread, or <!-- page 246--><a name="page246"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 246</span>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 <i>Wuthering Heights</i>. 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 <i>a copy of a whole article</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘I mention the book to no one and hear no opinions. I lend +it a good deal because it’s a novel, and <i>it’s as good as +another</i>! 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.</p> +<p>‘If I could command sufficient money for a twelve-month, I would +go home by way of India and write my travels, which <!-- page 247--><a +name="page247"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 247</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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, and now it is turned so cold I +expect to hear one-half of them are dead. One man bought twenty sheep +for £8, and they are all dead but one. Another bought 150 and +has 40 left.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">‘<span class="smcap">Mary +Taylor</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<span class="smcap">New Zealand</span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Charlotte</span>,—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. <i>Du reste</i>, 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 <!-- page 248--><a name="page248"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 248</span>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 <i>Shirley</i>, a book I had seen +mentioned in the <i>Manchester Examiner</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘I have seen some extracts from <i>Shirley</i> 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 +<i>still</i> 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 <i>plead</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>like</i> +it, and that’s the truth. By the <i>Cornelia</i> 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 <!-- page 249--><a +name="page249"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 249</span>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 <i>literary</i> 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Pag</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<span class="smcap">N. Z.</span>, <i>April</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Charlotte</span>,—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, <!-- page 250--><a name="page250"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 250</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>in education</i> 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Mary +Taylor</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<i>August</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Charlotte</span>,—After waiting +about six months we have just got <i>Shirley</i>. It was landed from +the <i>Constantinople</i> on Monday afternoon, just in the thick of our +preparations for a <!-- page 251--><a name="page251"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 251</span>“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 <i>Housewife</i> and <i>Shirley</i> were there +all right, but Miss Martineau’s book was not. In its place was +a silly child’s tale called <i>Edward Orland</i>. 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 <i>Shirley</i> 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 +<i>have</i> 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 <i>wish</i> of hers as of mine, and she is +habitually industrious. For <i>her</i>, 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 <!-- page 252--><a +name="page252"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 252</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Mary +Taylor</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<span class="smcap">N. Z.</span></p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Brontë</span>,—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 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> 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 <!-- page 253--><a +name="page253"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 253</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 to build it up +again. Mary is making me stop because it is nearly 9 <span +class="smcap">p.m.</span> and we are going to Waring’s to +supper. Good-bye.—Yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Ellen +Taylor</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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; <!-- page 254--><a +name="page254"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 254</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Give my love to your mother and sisters, and,—Believe me, +yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>May</i> 18<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<span class="smcap">N. Z.</span></p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Charlotte</span>,—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 <i>all</i> 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 <!-- page +255--><a name="page255"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 255</span>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 <i>nom de +guerre</i> in them sometimes. I saw a criticism on the preface to the +second edition of <i>Wuthering Heights</i>. 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? <i>or was it somebody else</i>?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Sunday night</i>.—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. <!-- page 256--><a +name="page256"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 256</span>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 <i>tracasserie</i> there is among them—they are perfectly +<i>feminine</i> in that respect at least.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Pag</span>.</p> +<p>‘Give my love to Ellen Nussey.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +<span class="smcap">N. Z.</span>, 8<i>th</i> <i>Jan</i>. 1857.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>Hastings</i>, and only now makes its appearance by +the <i>Philip Lang</i>. It has come very <i>apropos</i> 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 257--><a name="page257"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +257</span>‘I am glad to hear that Mrs. Gaskell is progressing with +the <i>Life</i>.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Our</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Mary +Taylor</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 258--><a name="page258"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 258</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Wellington</span>, +4<i>th</i> <i>June</i> 1858.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>one</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Remember me kindly to Miss Wooler, and tell me all about her in +your next.—Yours affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Mary +Taylor</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 259--><a name="page259"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +259</span>Miss Taylor wrote one or two useful letters to Mrs. Gaskell, +while the latter was preparing her Memoir of Charlotte Brontë, 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—<i>Miss Miles</i>. <a +name="citation259a"></a><a href="#footnote259a" +class="citation">[259a]</a> 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 +Brontë worshippers. Twenty years earlier than <i>Miss Miles</i>, +I may add, she had preached the same gospel in less attractive guise. +A series of papers in the <i>Victorian Magazine</i> were reprinted under +the title of <i>The First Duty of Women</i>. <a name="citation259b"></a><a +href="#footnote259b" class="citation">[259b]</a> ‘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 +Brontë story.</p> +<h2><!-- page 260--><a name="page260"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +260</span>CHAPTER X: MARGARET WOOLER</h2> +<p>The kindly, placid woman who will ever be remembered as Charlotte +Brontë’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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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 <i>Amy Herbert</i>. +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 <!-- page 261--><a name="page261"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +261</span>died within a year, the youngest going first and the eldest +last. They are buried in Birstall Churchyard, close to my parents and +sister.</p> +<p>‘Miss Brontë 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 Brontë stayed on as governess. My father +prepared Miss Brontë for confirmation when he was curate-in-charge at +Mirfield Parish Church. When Miss Brontë was married, Miss +Wooler was one of the guests. Mr. Brontë, 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.</p> +<p>‘Miss Wooler kept up a warm friendship with her former pupil, up +to the time of her death.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 262--><a name="page262"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 262</span>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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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. <a +name="citation262"></a><a href="#footnote262" +class="citation">[262]</a> Here are a bundle of letters addressed to +Miss Wooler.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>August</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 263--><a name="page263"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +263</span>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.</p> +<p>‘If I have the opportunity of reading <i>The Life of Dr. +Arnold</i>, 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 <i>Mrs. Leicester’s School</i>, 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 <i>Letters of Charles +Lamb</i>, edited by Serjeant Talfourd, where I found it mentioned that +<i>Mrs. Leicester’s School</i> 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 <!-- page 264--><a name="page264"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +264</span>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 naïve 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘Papa, I am most thankful to say, continues in very good health, +considering his age. My sisters likewise are pretty well.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 31<i>st</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I remember well wishing my lot had been cast in the troubled +times of the late war, and seeing in its exciting <!-- page 265--><a +name="page265"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 265</span>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!</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 266--><a name="page266"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +266</span>‘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—<i>as it can be +seen from a carriage</i>—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 267--><a +name="page267"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 267</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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 <i>prospect</i> will console me when +hers is in <i>retrospect</i>. 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 +<!-- page 268--><a name="page268"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 268</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>coup d’oeil</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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 <i>do</i> 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.—<!-- page 269--><a +name="page269"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 269</span>Believe me, with +papa’s regards, yours respectfully and affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘Come soon; if you can, on Wednesday.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘How are <i>you</i>? Write directly. With my love to +your mother, etc., good-bye, dear Nell.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 270--><a +name="page270"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 270</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I twice saw Macready act—once in <i>Macbeth</i> and once in +<i>Othello</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 271--><a name="page271"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +271</span>‘You told me, my dear Miss Wooler, to write a long +letter. I have obeyed you.—Believe me now, yours affectionately +and respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—Your kind +note holds out a strong temptation, but one that <i>must be +resisted</i>. From home I must not go unless health or some cause +equally imperative render a change necessary. For nearly four months +now (<i>i.e.</i> 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 <i>will +not permit myself to think of it</i>. My publisher groans over my +long delays; I am sometimes provoked to check the expression of his +impatience with short and crusty answers.</p> +<p>‘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!</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +272--><a name="page272"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 272</span>inquire +after Miss Wooler, and desire their respects when an opportunity offers of +presenting the same.—Believe me, yours always affectionately and +respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Ellen has made a long stay in the south, but I believe she <!-- +page 273--><a name="page273"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 273</span>will +soon return now, and I am looking forward to the pleasure of having her +company in the autumn.</p> +<p>‘With kind regards to all old friends, and sincere love to +yourself,—I am, my dear Miss Wooler, yours affectionately and +respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘As to the other part of the present, it arrived under these +circumstances:</p> +<p>‘For a month past an urgent necessity to buy and make some things +for winter-wear had been importuning my conscience; the <i>buying</i> might +be soon effected, but the <i>making</i> 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(!) <!-- page 274--><a +name="page274"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 274</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.”</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>October</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘The week I spent at Hornsea was a happy and pleasant <!-- page +275--><a name="page275"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 275</span>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.</p> +<p>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 <i>do</i> write, tell me how you liked <i>The +Experience of Life</i>, and whether you have read <i>Esmond</i>, and what +you think of it.—Believe me always yours, with true affection and +respect,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Brookroyd</span>, +<i>December</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘The <i>money transaction</i>, 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, nor did I myself anticipate that a lower sum would be +offered; however, £250 is not to be despised. <a +name="citation275"></a><a href="#footnote275" +class="citation">[275]</a></p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 276--><a name="page276"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 276</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘With sincere regards to all at the Parsonage,—I am, my dear +Miss Wooler, yours respectfully and affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—I shall direct that <i>Esmond</i> (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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +277--><a name="page277"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 277</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—I received +your letter here in London where I have been staying about three weeks, and +shall probably remain a few days longer. <i>Villette</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 278--><a name="page278"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +278</span>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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘With kindest regards,—I am always, affectionately and +respectfully yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 279--><a name="page279"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 279</span>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. +Héger’s pension? Mrs. G. said they read <i>Villette</i> +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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">M. +Wooler</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 280--><a name="page280"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +280</span>CHAPTER XI: THE CURATES AT HAWORTH</h2> +<p>Something has already been said concerning the growth of the population +of Haworth during the period of Mr. Brontë’s Incumbency. +It was 4668 in 1821, and 6301 in 1841. This makes it natural that Mr. +Brontë 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. <a name="citation280"></a><a +href="#footnote280" class="citation">[280]</a> 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 <i>Shirley</i>. 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 <!-- +page 281--><a name="page281"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 281</span>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Eleanor</span>,—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 <i>young +lady’s</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Charivari</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He would seem to have been a much teased curate. Now <!-- page +282--><a name="page282"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 282</span>it is Miss +Ellen Nussey, now a Miss Agnes Walton, who is supposed to be the object of +his devotion.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Menelaus</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Ellen</span>,—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. <a name="citation282"></a><a href="#footnote282" +class="citation">[282]</a> 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 <!-- page 283--><a name="page283"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 283</span>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 <i>august</i> 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Caliban</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One wonders if a single letter by Charlotte Brontë applying for a +‘situation’ has been preserved! I have not seen one.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 284--><a +name="page284"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 284</span>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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 285--><a name="page285"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 285</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>inamorata</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Give my love to Mercy and your mother, and,—Believe me, +yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span +class="smcap">Ça’ira</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 286--><a name="page286"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 286</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Rawdon</span>, +<i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>will</i> 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, <i>do</i> write to +me soon, don’t forget.—Good-bye.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Fare-thee-well.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Then there are these slighter inferences, that concerning Anne being +particularly interesting.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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, <!-- page 287--><a +name="page287"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 287</span>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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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. Brontë preached the funeral sermon, <a +name="citation287"></a><a href="#footnote287" class="citation">[287]</a> +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.</p> +<p>Mr. Weightman, he told his hearers, was a native of Westmoreland, +educated at the University of Durham. ‘While he was +there,’ continued Mr. Brontë, ‘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 <!-- page 288--><a name="page288"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 288</span>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. Brontë. Mr. Weightman was +twenty-six years of age when he died. His successor was Mr. Peter +Augustus Smith, whom Charlotte Brontë has made famous in +<i>Shirley</i> as Mr. Malone, curate of Briarfield. Mr. Smith was Mr. +A. B. Nicholls’s predecessor at Haworth. Here is Charlotte +Brontë’s vigorous treatment of him in a letter to her +friend.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—We were all very glad +to get your letter this morning. <i>We</i>, I say, as both papa and +Emily were anxious to hear of the safe arrival of yourself and the little +<i>varmint</i>. <a name="citation288"></a><a href="#footnote288" +class="citation">[288]</a></p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 289--><a name="page289"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 289</span>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>i.e.</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘My best regards to your mother and sisters.—Yours, somewhat +irritated,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 290--><a name="page290"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 290</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Grant fills his shoes at present decently enough—but +one cares naught about these sort of individuals, so drop them.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Write to me again soon and I promise to write you a regular long +letter next time.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The Mr. Grant here described had come to Haworth as master of the small +grammar school in which Branwell had <!-- page 291--><a +name="page291"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 291</span>received some portion +of his education. He is the Mr. Donne, curate of Whinbury, in +<i>Shirley</i>. 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. Brontë and others, who always +called him Mr. Donne. It was the opinion of many of his acquaintances +that the satire of <i>Shirley</i> had improved his disposition.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The third curate of <i>Shirley</i>, 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.</p> +<p>Mr. Brontë’s one other curate was Mr. De Renzi, who occupied +the position for a little more than a year,—during <!-- page 292--><a +name="page292"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 292</span>the period, in fact, +of Mr. Brontë’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 +Brontë 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.’</p> +<h2><!-- page 293--><a name="page293"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +293</span>CHAPTER XII: CHARLOTTE BRONTË’S LOVERS</h2> +<p>Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontës; 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.’</p> +<p>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 <!-- page +294--><a name="page294"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 294</span>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.</p> +<p>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 Brontë 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page +295--><a name="page295"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 295</span>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 <i>decided negative</i>. 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 <i>personal attractions</i> 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 <i>friend</i>.—Believe me, yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—When your +letter was put into my <!-- page 296--><a name="page296"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 296</span>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 <i>won’t</i> go till you have been +to Haworth. I don’t blame <i>you</i>, I believe you would come +if you might; perhaps I ought not to blame others, but I am grieved.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>hard work</i> after the indulgence of so many weeks, to return +to that dreary “gin-horse” round.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>no</i> 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 <!-- page 297--><a +name="page297"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 297</span>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 +<i>n’importe</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Brontë, 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>October</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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; <!-- page 298--><a name="page298"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +298</span>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, <i>since</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 299--><a name="page299"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 299</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—Remember me to your sister Mercy, who, I +understand, is for the present your companion and housekeeper.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>May</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘The fact is, when the letter came Ellen was staying with <!-- +page 300--><a name="page300"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 300</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 301--><a +name="page301"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 301</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 11th, 1841.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—I am very glad to +hear of Henry’s good fortune. <!-- page 302--><a +name="page302"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 302</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Write again before you go to Burlington. My best love to +Mary.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 Brontë must have exercised.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1839.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Ellen</span>,—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 <i>mauvaise +honte</i> 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 <!-- page 303--><a name="page303"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 303</span>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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was not many months after this that we hear the last of poor Mr. +Price.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>to</i> love than to <!-- page 304--><a +name="page304"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 304</span>marry <i>for</i> +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:</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1840.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dearest Nell</span>,—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 <!-- page 305--><a +name="page305"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 305</span>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.”</p> +<p>‘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 +<!-- page 306--><a name="page306"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +306</span>order that she may anticipate his wishes, she will soon be a +neglected fool.</p> +<p>‘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>I</i> for one confess myself wholly incapable. <i>I would not tell +such a lie</i> 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.’</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 307--><a name="page307"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 307</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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 <i>think</i> even +<i>you</i> will consider our motives for declining valid this time.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>well</i>, 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Many years were to elapse before Charlotte Brontë 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. <!-- page +308--><a name="page308"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 308</span>Williams as +adviser to the firm. Mr. Williams appears to have written to Miss +Brontë suggesting that Mr. Taylor should come to Haworth in person for +the manuscript of her new novel, <i>Shirley</i>, and here is +Charlotte’s reply.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I think the best +title for the book would be <i>Shirley</i>, without any explanation or +addition—the simpler and briefer, the better.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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. <!-- page 309--><a name="page309"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 309</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—It will be quite +convenient to my father and myself to secure your visit on Saturday the 8th +inst.</p> +<p>‘The MS. is now complete, and ready for you.</p> +<p>‘Trusting that you have enjoyed your holiday and derived from your +excursion both pleasure and profit,—I am, dear sir, yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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. +Brontë’s goodwill. This is all there is to add to the +letters themselves.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 310--><a name="page310"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 310</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘An article entitled <i>Currer Bell</i> has lately appeared in the +<i>Palladium</i>, 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. <!-- page 311--><a +name="page311"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 311</span>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.</p> +<p>‘The report about my having published again is, of course, an +arrant lie.</p> +<p>‘Give my kind regards to all, and—Believe me, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Her friend’s reference to <i>Jupiter</i> 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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 +<i>early</i> 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 <!-- page 312--><a +name="page312"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 312</span>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.)</p> +<p>‘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 <i>they are +not</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘This is all nonsense, Nell, and so you will understand +it.—Yours very faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘The name of Miss Martineau’s coadjutor is Atkinson. +She often writes to me with exceeding cordiality.’</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Yesterday I +despatched a box of books to <!-- page 313--><a name="page313"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 313</span>Cornhill, including the number of the <i>North +British Review</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 24<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 314--><a +name="page314"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 314</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>have</i> been and <i>will</i> be a greater +refreshment than you can think or I can tell.”</p> +<p>‘And so he is gone; and stern and abrupt little man as he <!-- +page 315--><a name="page315"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +315</span>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.</p> +<p>‘You see, dear Nell, though we are still precisely on the same +level—<i>you</i> 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—Thank you for your +kind note; it was just like you to write it <i>though</i> it was your +school-day. I never knew you to let a slight impediment stand in the +way of a friendly action.</p> +<p>‘Certainly I shall not soon forget last Friday, and <i>never</i>, +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 <i>did</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘You speak to me in soft consolating accents, but I hold far +sterner language to myself, dear Nell.</p> +<p><!-- page 316--><a name="page316"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +316</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘Write again soon.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>now</i> accuse me of <!-- page +317--><a name="page317"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 317</span>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 <i>you</i> of the estimate I felt +compelled to form respecting him. Dear Nell, I looked for something +of the gentleman—something I mean of the <i>natural</i> 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, +<i>could not</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘With kind regards to all,—I am, dear Nell, your middle-aged +friend,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘Write soon.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- +page 318--><a name="page318"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 318</span>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 +<i>au fait</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘112 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Place</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>, <i>June</i> 2<i>nd</i>, +1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 319--><a name="page319"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 319</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘November 4<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>does</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, BOMBAY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 320--><a +name="page320"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 320</span>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.</p> +<p>‘The bath scene amused me much. Your account of that +operation tallies in every point with Mr. Thackeray’s description in +the <i>Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>wish</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 321--><a name="page321"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +321</span>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘How could you imagine your last letter offended me? I only +disagreed with you on <i>one point</i>. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 322--><a name="page322"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 322</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>little</i> +feeling, a <i>little</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Did your son Frank call on Mrs. Gaskell? and how did he like +her?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Wishing a happy New Year to you,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—I hope both your +mother’s cold and yours are quite well ere this. Papa has got +something of his spring <!-- page 323--><a name="page323"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 323</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>certainly shall not think of +going</i>. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>When Mr. Taylor returned to England in 1856 Charlotte Brontë 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 <i>Bombay Gazette</i> +and the <i>Bombay Quarterly Review</i>. A little later he became +editor of the <i>Bombay Saturday Review</i>, 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 <!-- page 324--><a +name="page324"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 324</span>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—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>JAMES TAYLOR. DIED APRIL 29, 1874, AGED 57.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Times</i> marriage record in 1863:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 325--><a name="page325"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +325</span>CHAPTER XIII: LITERARY AMBITIONS</h2> +<p>We have seen how Charlotte Brontë 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 <i>The Adventures of Ernest Alembert</i>, but on the whole it amounts to +as little as did the juvenile productions of Shelley. That poet, it +will be remembered, wrote <i>Zastrozzi</i> at nineteen, and much else that +was bad, some of which he printed. Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontë 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, <a +name="citation325"></a><a href="#footnote325" class="citation">[325]</a> +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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—May I request to be +informed whether you <!-- page 326--><a name="page326"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 326</span>would undertake the publication of a +collection of short poems in one volume, 8vo.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘Address—Rev. P. Brontë, Haworth, Bradford, +Yorkshire.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—I send a draft for +£31, 10s., being the amount of your estimate.</p> +<p>‘I suppose there is nothing now to prevent your immediately +commencing the printing of the work.</p> +<p>‘When you acknowledge the receipt of the draft, will you state how +soon it will be completed?—I am, gentlemen, yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—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 <i>tumbling</i> stars, instead of +<i>trembling</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 327--><a name="page327"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 327</span>TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—As the proofs have +hitherto come safe to hand under the direction of C. Brontë, +<i>Esq</i>., 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 +Brontë, Rev. P. Brontë, etc.—I am, gentlemen, yours +truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—I have to thank you +for your obliging answer to my last. The information you give is of +value to us, <!-- page 328--><a name="page328"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +328</span>and when the MS. is completed your suggestions shall be acted +on.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—The books may be done +up in the style of Moxon’s duodecimo edition of Wordsworth.</p> +<p>‘The price may be fixed at 5s., or if you think that too much for +the size of the volume, say 4s.</p> +<p>‘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, especially as the estimate is increased by nearly +£5, 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—I received yours of +the 22nd this morning. I now transmit £5, 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 329--><a name="page329"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 329</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO AYLOTT & JONES</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Gentlemen</span>,—I am directed by the +Messrs. Bell to acknowledge the receipt of the <i>Critic</i> and the +<i>Athenæum</i> containing notices of the poems.</p> +<p>‘They now think that a further sum of £10 may be devoted to +advertisements, leaving it to you to select such channels as you deem most +advisable.</p> +<p>‘They would wish the following extract from the <i>Critic</i> to +be appended to each advertisement:—</p> +<p>‘“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.”</p> +<p>‘They likewise request you to send copies of the poems to +<i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, <i>Chambers’ Edinburgh Journal</i>, +the Globe, and <i>Examiner</i>.—I am, gentlemen, yours truly,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>To an appreciative editor Currer Bell wrote as follows:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO THE EDITOR OF THE ‘DUBLIN UNIVERSITY +MAGAZINE.’</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sirs</span>,—I thank you in my own name +and that of my brothers, Ellis and Acton, for the indulgent notice that +appeared in your <!-- page 330--><a name="page330"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 330</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The reception which it met with from the public may be gathered from the +following letter which accompanied De Quincey’s copy. <a +name="citation330"></a><a href="#footnote330" +class="citation">[330]</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO THOMAS DE QUINCEY.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sirs</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 331--><a name="page331"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +331</span>Charlotte Brontë 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.</p> +<p>Here is the title-page in question:</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">POEMS</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CURRER, ELLIS<br /> +<span class="smcap">and</span><br /> +ACTON BELL</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">london</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Aylott & Jones</span>, 8 <span +class="smcap">Paternoster Row</span><br /> +1846</p> +</blockquote> +<p>We see by the letter to Aylott & Jones the first announcement of +<i>Wuthering Heights</i>, <i>Agnes Grey</i>, and <i>The +Professor</i>. It would not seem that there was much, or indeed any, +difficulty in disposing of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> and <i>Agnes +Grey</i>. They bear the imprint of Newby of Mortimer Street, and they +appeared in three uniform volumes, the two first being taken up by +<i>Wuthering Heights</i>, and the third <!-- page 332--><a +name="page332"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 332</span>by <i>Agnes Grey</i>, +<a name="citation332a"></a><a href="#footnote332a" +class="citation">[332a]</a> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>. +<i>The Professor</i>, 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 Brontë’s admirers. <a +name="citation332b"></a><a href="#footnote332b" +class="citation">[332b]</a></p> +<p>One cannot but admire the fearless and uncompromising honesty with which +Charlotte Brontë sent the MSS. round with all its previous journeys +frankly indicated.</p> +<p>It is not easy at this time of day to understand why Mr. Williams +refused <i>The Professor</i>. 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 Brontë rewrote the story after its rejection, but the +manuscript does not bear out that impression. <a name="citation332c"></a><a +href="#footnote332c" class="citation">[332c]</a></p> +<p>Charlotte Brontë’s method of writing was to take a piece <!-- +page 333--><a name="page333"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 333</span>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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> and <i>The Professor</i> are in ink.</p> +<p><i>Jane Eyre</i> was written, then, under Mr. Williams’s kind +encouragement, and immediately accepted. It was published in the +first week of October 1847.</p> +<p>The following letters were received by Mr. Williams while the book was +beginning its course.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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, +<a name="citation333"></a><a href="#footnote333" class="citation">[333]</a> +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 <!-- page +334--><a name="page334"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 334</span>writings an +importance and a variety greatly beyond what I can offer the public.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—I do not know whether +the <i>Dublin University Magazine</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> he might possibly +bestow on it also a few words of remark.</p> +<p>‘The<i> Critic</i> and the <i>Athenæum</i> also gave +comments on the work I allude to. The review in the first-mentioned +paper was unexpectedly and generously eulogistic, that in the +<i>Athenæum</i> more qualified, but still not discouraging. I +mention these circumstances and leave it to you to judge whether any +advantage is derivable from them.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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. <!-- page 335--><a name="page335"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 335</span>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 <i>Jane +Eyre</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘The <i>Observer</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> always does.—I am, dear sir, +yours respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Villette</i>. <a name="citation335"></a><a +href="#footnote335" class="citation">[335]</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—I have just received +your kind and welcome letter of the 11th. I shall proceed at once to +discuss the principal subject of it.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 336--><a name="page336"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +336</span>‘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 +<i>The Professor</i>. 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 <i>Jane +Eyre</i>. 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 +<i>Jane Eyre</i> which seems to please most generally.</p> +<p>‘My wish is to recast <i>The Professor</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘I have not forgotten that <i>The Professor</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. Bell</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>Wuthering Heights</i> 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 +<i>Jane Eyre</i> did. <i>Agnes Grey</i> 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 <!-- page 337--><a name="page337"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +337</span>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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 31<i>st</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sirs</span>,—I think, for the +reasons you mention, it is better to substitute <i>author</i> for +<i>editor</i>. I should not be ashamed to be considered the author of +<i>Wuthering Heights</i> and <i>Agnes Grey</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘You do very rightly and very kindly to tell me the objections +made against <i>Jane Eyre</i>—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.</p> +<p>‘What is meant by the charges of <i>trickery</i> and +<i>artifice</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘I have received the <i>Scotsman</i>, and was greatly amused to +see Jane Eyre likened to Rebecca Sharp—the resemblance would hardly +have occurred to me.</p> +<p>‘I wish to send this note by to-day’s post, and must +therefore conclude in haste.—I am, dear sir, yours respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- +page 338--><a name="page338"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 338</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Spectator</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>horror</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘<i>Jane Eyre</i> has got down into Yorkshire, a copy has even +<!-- page 339--><a name="page339"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +339</span>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.”</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘What makes you say that the notice in the <i>Westminster +Review</i> is not by Mr. Lewes? It expresses precisely his opinions, +and he said he would perhaps insert a few lines in that periodical.</p> +<p>‘I have sometimes thought that I ought to have written to Mr. +Lewes to thank him for his review in <i>Fraser</i>; 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 <i>expressed</i> +gratitude I have <i>felt</i> it.</p> +<p>‘I wish you, too, <i>many many</i> happy new years, and prosperity +and success to you and yours.—Believe me, etc.,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.</p> +<p>‘I have received the <i>Courier</i> and the <i>Oxford +Chronicle</i>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—I have received the +<i>Morning Herald</i>, 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 340--><a name="page340"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +340</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I see I was mistaken in my idea that the <i>Athenæum</i> +and others wished to ascribe the authorship of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> to +Currer Bell; the contrary is the case, <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘You asked me if I should like any copies of the second edition of +<i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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 <!-- page 341--><a name="page341"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 341</span>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 <i>suggestive</i> one, and I +know that suggestive books are valuable to authors.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have received the +<i>Christian Remembrancer</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>me</i> 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 <!-- page 342--><a +name="page342"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 342</span>some time; if their +brethren in general dislike the resemblance and abuse the +artist—<i>tant pis</i>!—Believe me, my dear sir, yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It seems that Mr. Williams had hinted that Charlotte might like to +emulate Thackeray by illustrating her own books.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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 <i>Wuthering Heights</i> and <i>Agnes +Grey</i>.</p> +<p>‘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, <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <!-- page 343--><a +name="page343"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 343</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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. +<i>Still</i> I will <i>think</i> as I please.</p> +<p>‘Are the London republicans, and <i>you</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sirs</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 344--><a name="page344"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +344</span>‘To-day I have received the <i>Spectator</i> and the +<i>Revue des deux Mondes</i>. The <i>Spectator</i> 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 <i>labor +limæ</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘The notice in the <i>Revue des deux Mondes</i> is one of the most +able, the most acceptable to the author, of any that has yet +appeared. Eugène Forçade understood and enjoyed <i>Jane +Eyre</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Revue</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 345--><a +name="page345"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 345</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Revue</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Thank you for your remarks on <i>Shirley</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 346--><a name="page346"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +346</span>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.</p> +<p>‘With the sincere expression of my esteem for the candour by which +your critique is distinguished,—I am, my dear sir, yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘The <i>North British Review</i> duly reached me. I read +attentively all it says about <i>E. Wyndham</i>, <i>Jane Eyre</i>, and +<i>F. Hervey</i>. Much of the article is clever, and yet there are +remarks which—for me—rob it of importance.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> be the +production of a woman, she must be a woman unsexed.”</p> +<p>‘In that case the book is an unredeemed error and should be +unreservedly condemned. <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 +<i>Economist</i>. The literary critic of that paper praised the book +if written by a man, and pronounced it “odious” if the work of +a woman.</p> +<p>‘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.”</p> +<p>‘There is a weak comment, having no pretence either to justice +<!-- page 347--><a name="page347"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 347</span>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 +<i>them</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>—just what would please without startling +him. The book is not mentioned between us once a month. The +<i>Quarterly</i> I kept to myself—it would have worried papa. +To that same <i>Quarterly</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘Give no hint of my intention of discoursing a little with the +<i>Quarterly</i>. It would look too important to speak of it +beforehand. All plans are best conceived and executed without +noise.—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘If I remember rightly, my Cornhill critics objected to +<i>Hollow’s Mill</i>, nor do I now find it appropriate. It +might rather be called <i>Fieldhead</i>, though I think <i>Shirley</i> +would perhaps <!-- page 348--><a name="page348"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 348</span>be the best title. Shirley, I fancy, has +turned out the most prominent and peculiar character in the work.</p> +<p>‘Cornhill may decide between <i>Fieldhead</i> and +<i>Shirley</i>.—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The famous <i>Quarterly Review</i> article by Miss Rigby, afterwards +Lady Eastlake, <a name="citation348"></a><a href="#footnote348" +class="citation">[348]</a> appeared in December 1848, under the title of +‘<i>Vanity Fair</i>, <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <i>Quarterly</i>, 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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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 +<i>Spectator</i> of this week; pray look at it.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 349--><a name="page349"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +349</span>‘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 <i>chère amie</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, which have a striking air of truthfulness to +me—an ignoramus, I allow, on such points.</p> +<p>‘I should say you might as well glance at the novels by Acton and +Ellis Bell—<i>Wuthering Heights</i> 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.’ <a +name="citation349"></a><a href="#footnote349" +class="citation">[349]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> and +<i>Vanity Fair</i> 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 +Brontë’s strong conservative sentiments and church environment +are considered, in the following:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>In another passage Miss Rigby, musing upon the <!-- page 350--><a +name="page350"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 350</span>masculinity of the +author, finally clinches her arguments by proofs of a kind.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘No woman <i>trusses game</i>, 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 <i>morning</i> 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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Wuthering Heights</i> 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 <i>Quarterly</i> 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.’ <a +name="citation350"></a><a href="#footnote350" +class="citation">[350]</a></p> +<p>When the <i>Quarterly Review</i> appeared, Charlotte Brontë, as we +have seen, was in dire domestic distress, and it was not till many months +later, when a new edition of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <!-- page 351--><a name="page351"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +351</span>‘A Word to the <i>Quarterly</i>’ was cancelled, and +after some debate, the preface which we now have took its place. The +‘book’ is of course <i>Shirley</i>.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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 +<i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 +<i>Quarterly</i>” for your perusal.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 31<i>st</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘No righteous indignation can I lavish on the +<i>Quarterly</i>. I <!-- page 352--><a name="page352"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 352</span>can condescend but to touch it with the +lightest satire. Believe me, my dear sir, “C. +Brontë” 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 17, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Do you think this book will tend to strengthen the idea that +Currer Bell is a woman, or will it favour a contrary opinion?</p> +<p>‘I return the proof-sheets. Will they print all the French +phrases in italics? I hope not, it makes them look somehow +obtrusively conspicuous.</p> +<p><!-- page 353--><a name="page353"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +353</span>‘I have no time to add more lest I should be too late for +the post.—Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—Your advice is very +good, and yet I cannot follow it: I <i>cannot</i> alter now. It +sounds absurd, but so it is.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>are</i> +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, <i>here</i>, I know I deserve—the lash of +criticism. I shall wince when it falls, but not scream.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—You observed that +the French of <i>Shirley</i> might be cavilled at. There is a long +paragraph written in the French language in that chapter entitled +“<i>Le coeval damped</i>.” I forget the number. I +fear it will have a pretentious air. If <!-- page 354--><a +name="page354"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 354</span>you deem it +advisable, and will return the chapter, I will efface, and substitute +something else in English.—Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 20<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘As you may conjecture, it cheered and pleased me much to learn +that the opinion of my friends in Cornhill was favourable to +<i>Shirley</i>—that, on the whole, it was considered no falling off +from <i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘I read with pleasure <i>Friends in Council</i>, and with very +great pleasure <i>The Thoughts and Opinions of a Statesman</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—I have made the +alteration; but I have made it to please Cornhill, not the public nor the +critics.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘The envelope containing the first proof and your letter had <!-- +page 355--><a name="page355"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 355</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I am glad you like the English substitute for the French +<i>devour</i>.</p> +<p>‘The parcel of books came on Saturday. I write to Mr. Taylor +by this post to acknowledge its receipt. His opinion of +<i>Shirley</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1849</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 356--><a +name="page356"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 356</span>under such +circumstances! Should the “Peace Congress” chance to read +<i>Shirley</i> they will wash their hands of its author.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Shirley</i> if +he gives you any opinion on the subject.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Lewes does not like the opening chapter, wherein he resembles +you.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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. <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘I have just received the <i>Daily News</i>. 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 <i>Shirley</i> strikes all +readers as it has struck that one, but—I shall not say what +follows.</p> +<p>‘On the whole I am glad a decidedly bad notice has come +first—a notice whose inexpressible ignorance first stuns and <!-- +page 357--><a name="page357"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 357</span>then +stirs me. Are there no such men as the Helstones and Yorkes?</p> +<p>‘Yes, there are.</p> +<p>‘Is the first chapter disgusting or vulgar?</p> +<p>‘<i>It is not</i>, <i>it is real</i>.</p> +<p>‘As for the praise of such a critic, I find it silly and nauseous, +and I scorn it.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I have got the <i>Examiner</i> and your letter. You are +very good not to be angry with me, for I wrote in indignation and +grief. The critic of the <i>Daily News</i> 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 <i>Examiner</i>—I +like the <i>Examiner</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘In reading the critiques of the other papers—when I get +them—I will try to follow your advice and preserve my <!-- page +358--><a name="page358"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +358</span>equanimity. But I cannot be sure of doing this, for I had +good resolutions and intentions before, and, you see, I failed.</p> +<p>‘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. +Brontë. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have received +since I wrote last the Globe, Standard of Freedom, Britannia, Economist, +and Weekly Chronicle.</p> +<p>‘How is <i>Shirley</i> getting on, and what is now the general +feeling respecting the work?</p> +<p>‘As far as I can judge from the tone of the newspapers, it seems +that those who were most charmed with <i>Jane Eyre</i> are the least +pleased with <i>Shirley</i>; they are disappointed at not finding the same +excitement, interest, stimulus; while those who spoke disparagingly of +<i>Jane Eyre</i> like <i>Shirley</i> 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 <i>Examiner</i>. +The monthlies and quarterlies will pronounce it, I suppose. Mere +novel-readers, it is evident, think <i>Shirley</i> something of a +failure. Still, the majority of the notices have on the <!-- page +359--><a name="page359"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 359</span>whole been +favourable. That in the <i>Standard of Freedom</i> was very kindly +expressed; and coming from a dissenter, William Howitt, I wonder +thereat.</p> +<p>‘Are you satisfied at Cornhill, or the contrary? I have read +part of <i>The Caxtons</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 Eugène Forçade +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.”</p> +<p>‘I do not find that Forçade 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 360--><a +name="page360"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 360</span>sickness comes and +takes a place in the household circle. That the shadow may soon leave +your home is my earnest hope.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Shirley</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘Trusting that the serenity of your home is by this time restored +with your wife’s health,—I am, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—Yesterday, just after +dinner, I heard a loud bustling voice in the kitchen demanding to see Mr. +Brontë. Somebody was shown into the parlour. Shortly +after, wine was <!-- page 361--><a name="page361"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 361</span>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---!” <a +name="citation361"></a><a href="#footnote361" +class="citation">[361]</a> 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.”</p> +<p>‘Dear Nell, I have written you a long letter; write me a long one +in answer.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have received the +<i>Dublin Review</i>, and your letter inclosing the Indian Notices. I +hope these reviews will do good; they are all favourable, and one of them +(the <i>Dublin</i>) is very able. I have read no critique so +discriminating since that in the <i>Revue des deux Mondes</i>. It +offers a curious contrast to Lewes’s in the <i>Edinburgh</i>, where +forced praise, given by <!-- page 362--><a name="page362"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 362</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Are you aware whether there are any grounds for that conjecture +in the <i>Bengal Hurkaru</i>, that the critique in the <i>Times</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>; 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 363--><a name="page363"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +363</span>‘Thank you for the <i>Leader</i>, 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have received the +copy of <i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 364--><a +name="page364"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 364</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>do</i> things which +he <i>admires</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘The article in the <i>Palladium</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘I should much like to carry out your suggestions respecting a +reprint of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> and <i>Agnes Grey</i> 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. <i>Wildfell Hall</i>, 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 <!-- page 365--><a name="page365"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +365</span>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.</p> +<p>‘I must conclude or I shall be too late for the +post.—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Mr. Newby undertook +first to print 350 copies of <i>Wuthering Heights</i>, but he afterwards +declared he had only printed 250. I doubt whether he could be induced +to return the £50 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.</p> +<p>‘If Mr. Smith thinks right to reprint <i>Wuthering Heights</i> and +<i>Agnes Grey</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—On the whole it is +perhaps as well that the last paragraph of the Preface should be omitted, +for I believe it <!-- page 366--><a name="page366"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 366</span>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 <i>you</i> 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?</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Roman</i> we are indebted for that eloquent article in the +<i>Palladium</i>. I am glad you are going to send his poem, for I +much wished to see it.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Miss Brontë would seem to have corresponded with Mr. George Smith, +and not with Mr. Williams, over her third novel, <i>Villette</i>, and that +correspondence is to be found in Mrs. Gaskell’s biography.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 367--><a +name="page367"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 367</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Palladium</i>, but +that cannot be helped.—Good-bye, my dear sir, yours very +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Tuesday Morning</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—The rather dark view +you seem inclined to take of the general opinion about <i>Villette</i> +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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>quite</i> +well, and that you will take good care of yourself in future. That +night work is always perilous.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS WOOLER</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>April</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Wooler</span>,—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 <!-- page 368--><a +name="page368"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 368</span>the contrary rule +often holds good, and that the epistle which importunes often takes +precedence of that which interests.</p> +<p>‘My publishers express entire satisfaction with the reception +which has been accorded to <i>Villette</i>, 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 <i>Guardian</i>, the <i>English Churchman</i>, +and the <i>Christian Remembrancer</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘“Extremes meet,” says the proverb; in proof whereof I +would mention that Miss Martineau finds with <i>Villette</i> 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 <i>sine die</i> +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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>change</i> 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 <!-- page 369--><a +name="page369"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 369</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 370--><a name="page370"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +370</span>CHAPTER XIV: WILLIAM SMITH WILLIAMS</h2> +<p>In picturing the circle which surrounded Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontë’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 Brontë’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 Brontë novels.</p> +<p>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 <!-- page 371--><a name="page371"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 371</span>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 +<i>Joseph and his Brethren</i>. 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 <i>Selections from the writings of John Ruskin</i>, +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 <i>Selections</i>.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Denmark Hill</span>, +25<i>th November</i>, 1861.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 +<i>Selections</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Mrs. Ruskin joins me in offering congratulations on the great +judgment you have displayed in your <i>Selections</i>, 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">John James +Ruskin</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 372--><a name="page372"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +372</span>What Charlotte Brontë 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 <i>The Professor</i> 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.</p> +<p>Charlotte Brontë took Mr. Williams’s advice. She wrote +<i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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.</p> +<p>One of Mr. Williams’s daughters, I may add, married Mr. Lowes +Dickenson the portrait painter; his youngest child, a baby when Miss +Brontë 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 Brontë. He still lives also in the memory of a large +circle as a kindly and attractive—a singularly good and upright +man.</p> +<p>Comment upon the following letters is in well-nigh every case +superfluous.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 373--><a name="page373"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 373</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 25<i>th</i> 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘The little note inclosed in yours is from a French lady, who asks +my consent to the translation of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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--- <a +name="citation373"></a><a href="#footnote373" +class="citation">[373]</a> W. Cumming, Esq., 23 North Bank, +Regent’s Park.</p> +<p>‘Shall I reply to her note in the affirmative?</p> +<p>‘Waiting your opinion and answer,—I remain, dear sir, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 374--><a name="page374"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 374</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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 <i>could</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘And Thiers is set aside for a time; but won’t they be glad +of <!-- page 375--><a name="page375"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +375</span>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?</p> +<p>‘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, <i>pour voir de ses +yeux</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘From the little inscription outside your note I conclude you sent +me the <i>Examiner</i>. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I have received the <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, 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 <i>do</i> trust I may have the power so to <!-- page +376--><a name="page376"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 376</span>write in +future as not to disappoint those who have been kind enough to think and +speak well of <i>Jane Eyre</i>; 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>one</i> 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 <i>educate</i> 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 <i>instruct</i> 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 <!-- page 377--><a name="page377"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +377</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 378--><a +name="page378"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 378</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘It is true the world demands a brilliant list of +accomplishments. For £20 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.</p> +<p>‘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, <!-- page 379--><a name="page379"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +379</span>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.</p> +<p>‘The rumours you mention respecting the authorship of <i>Jane +Eyre</i> amused me inexpressibly. The gossips are, on this subject, +just where I should wish them to be, <i>i.e.</i>, 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 <i>fib</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—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 <!-- page 380--><a name="page380"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +380</span>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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 2, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <i>Morning Chronicle</i>, +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.</p> +<p><!-- page 381--><a name="page381"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +381</span>‘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,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>June</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I have always been accustomed to think that the necessity of <!-- +page 382--><a name="page382"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 382</span>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?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 383--><a +name="page383"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 383</span>has a high spirit, +sensitive feelings, she should tutor the one to submit, the other to +endure, <i>for the sake of those at home</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 384--><a +name="page384"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 384</span>preparation for that +honourable (honourable if rightly considered) but certainly not luxurious +destiny.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I duly received <i>Mirabeau</i> from Mr. Smith. I must +repeat, it is really <i>too</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘For this reason I feel a little difficulty in telling you what I +think of <i>The Life of Mirabeau</i>. 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 <!-- page 385--><a name="page385"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 385</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 386--><a name="page386"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 386</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Chapter +Coffee-House</span>, <span class="smcap">Ivy Lane</span>,<br /> +‘<i>July</i> 8<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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?</p> +<p>‘We shall be truly glad to see you whenever it is convenient to +you to call.—I am, my dear sir, yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I had just read your article in the <i>John Bull</i>; it very +clearly and fully explains the cause of the difference obvious between +ancient and modern paintings. I wish you had been with us <!-- page +387--><a name="page387"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 387</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Accept my own thanks and my sister’s for your kind +attention to us while in town, and—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Charlotte +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘I trust Mrs. Williams is quite recovered from her +indisposition.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 31<i>st</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have lately been +reading <i>Modern Painters</i>, 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 <i>do</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘You will have seen some of the notices of <i>Wildfell +Hall</i>. I wish my sister felt the unfavourable ones less +keenly. She does not <i>say</i> 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 <!-- page 388--><a name="page388"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +388</span>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 <i>Agnes Grey</i> better than the present +work.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>nom de plume</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘I was greatly amused to see in the <i>Examiner</i> 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.”</p> +<p>‘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 <i>how</i> pleased I am to get a long letter from you, +you would laugh at me.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 389--><a name="page389"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 389</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>only</i> true path +upwards?</p> +<p>‘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; +<i>something</i>, they <i>must</i> have.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 390--><a name="page390"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 390</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>showy</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 391--><a name="page391"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +391</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘“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.</p> +<p>‘As to the great, good, magnanimous acts which have been <!-- page +392--><a name="page392"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 392</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>fiend</i>) +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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <i>artistic</i> +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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘No doubt this handling of the surplice will stir up such <!-- +page 393--><a name="page393"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +393</span>publications as the <i>Christian Remembrancer</i> and the +<i>Quarterly</i>—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>can</i> 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 +<i>nevermore</i> would cease sounding in my ears, I think I could yet do +something.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 3<i>rd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 <!-- page 394--><a +name="page394"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 394</span>images as you present +them—I have no wish to shut them out.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>ought</i> to be than to what +<i>is</i>. Of Fanny I would judge for myself, and that not hastily +nor on first impressions.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 395--><a +name="page395"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 395</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I must rouse myself +to write a line to you, lest a more protracted silence should seem +strange.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 396--><a name="page396"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +396</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>September</i> 13<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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?</p> +<p><!-- page 397--><a name="page397"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +397</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Reading has, of late, been my great solace and recreation. +I have read J. C. Hare’s <i>Guesses at Truth</i>, a book containing +things that in depth and far-sought wisdom sometimes recall the +<i>Thoughts</i> of Pascal, only it is as the light of the moon recalls that +of the sun.</p> +<p>‘I have read with pleasure a little book on <i>English Social +Life</i> 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 <i>Quarterly</i>. How +much finer the feeling—how much truer the feeling—how much more +delicate the mind here revealed!</p> +<p>‘I have read <i>David Copperfield</i>; it seems to me very +good—admirable in some parts. You said it had affinity to +<i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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 <i>Goethe</i>—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 <i>was</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 398--><a name="page398"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 398</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I own I was glad to +receive your assurance that the Calcutta paper’s surmise was +unfounded. <a name="citation398"></a><a href="#footnote398" +class="citation">[398]</a> It is said that when we <i>wish</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +399--><a name="page399"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 399</span>the act of a +moral poltroon to let the fear of suffering stand in the way of +improvement. But suffer I shall. No matter.</p> +<p>‘The perusal of <i>Southey’s Life</i> 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 <i>though</i> he was a poet, but he +loved them the better <i>because</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘I have likewise read one of Miss Austen’s +works—<i>Emma</i>—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 <i>outré</i> 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 <!-- page 400--><a name="page400"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +400</span>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 (<i>not senseless</i>) +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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘It is well that <i>truth</i> is <i>indestructible</i>—that +ruin cannot crush nor fire annihilate her divine essence. While forms +change and institutions perish, “<i>truth</i> is great and shall +prevail.”</p> +<p>‘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 <i>do</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘There was likewise a most faithful portrait of R. H. Home, with +his imaginative forehead and somewhat foolish-looking <!-- page 401--><a +name="page401"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 401</span>mouth and chin, +indicating that mixed character which I should think he owns. Mr. +Home writes well. That tragedy on the <i>Death of Marlowe</i> reminds +me of some of the best of Dumas’ dramatic pieces.—Yours very +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—I sent yesterday the +<i>Leader</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Write soon.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 402--><a name="page402"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 402</span>TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I have received the books. I hope to write again when I +have read <i>The Fair Carew</i>. The very title augurs well—it +has no hackneyed sound.—Believe me, sincerely yours,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>May</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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>i.e.</i>, Moore’s <i>Life and Correspondence</i>, 1st +and 2nd vols.; Lamartine’s <i>Restoration of the Monarchy</i>, +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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I forwarded last +week a box of return books to Cornhill, which I trust arrived safely. +To-day I received the <i>Edinburgh Guardian</i>, <a +name="citation402"></a><a href="#footnote402" class="citation">[402]</a> +for which I thank you.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 403--><a name="page403"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +403</span>CHAPTER XV: WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY</h2> +<p>The devotion of Charlotte Brontë to Thackeray, or rather to +Thackeray’s genius, is a pleasant episode in literary history. +In 1848 he sent Miss Brontë, as we have seen, a copy of <i>Vanity +Fair</i>. In 1852 he sent her a copy of <i>Esmond</i>, with the more +cordial inscription which came of friendship.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/secondsignature.jpg"> +<img alt="Second Thackeray Inscription" src="images/secondsignature.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p>The second edition of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <a name="citation403"></a><a +href="#footnote403" class="citation">[403]</a> was sent to Haworth by Mr. +George Smith, Charlotte Brontë stood in front of it and, half +playfully, half seriously, shook her fist, apostrophising its original as +‘Thou Titan!’</p> +<p>With all this hero-worship, it may be imagined that no <!-- page +404--><a name="page404"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 404</span>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>October</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.”</p> +<p>‘The plot of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 +<i>Athenæum</i>, I had not had the good fortune to hear of.</p> +<p>‘The <i>Weekly Chronicle</i> 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 405--><a name="page405"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +405</span>‘I would still endeavour to keep my expectations low +respecting the ultimate success of <i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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 <i>too</i> sanguine; it would be better +to moderate them. What will the critics of the monthly reviews and +magazines be likely to see in <i>Jane Eyre</i> (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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. Bell</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘I have just received the <i>Tablet</i> and the <i>Morning +Advertiser</i>. 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 <i>Tablet</i>, 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘However, I have contrived to get a sight of <i>Fraser’s +Magazine</i> 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?</p> +<p><!-- page 406--><a name="page406"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +406</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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?</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘But I must not intrude on your time by too long a +letter.—Believe me, yours respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. Bell</span>.</p> +<p><!-- page 407--><a name="page407"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +407</span>‘I have received the <i>Sheffield Iris</i>, the <i>Bradford +Observer</i>, the <i>Guardian</i>, the <i>Newcastle Guardian</i>, and the +<i>Sunday Times</i> since you wrote. The contrast between the notices +in the two last named papers made me smile. The <i>Sunday Times</i> +almost denounces <i>Jane Eyre</i> as something very reprehensible and +obnoxious, whereas the <i>Newcastle Guardian</i> 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 23<i>rd</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—I am glad that you and +Messrs. Smith & Elder approve the second preface.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Will the inclosed dedication suffice? I have made it brief, +because I wished to avoid any appearance of pomposity or pretension.</p> +<p>‘The notice in the <i>Church of England Journal</i> gratified me +much, and chiefly because it <i>was</i> the <i>Church of England +Journal</i>. Whatever such critics as he of the <i>Mirror</i> 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 <i>ex</i>cluded—I am sincerely attached.</p> +<p>‘Is the forthcoming critique on Mr. Thackeray’s writings in +the <i>Edinburgh Review</i> 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 <i>Vanity Fair</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘With many thanks for your kind wishes, and a cordial +reciprocation of them,—I remain, dear sir, yours respectfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. Bell</span>.</p> +<p><!-- page 408--><a name="page408"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +408</span>‘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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 +<i>Quarterly</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, +was of unsound mind. However, a correspondence with him would seem to +have ended amicably enough. <a name="citation408"></a><a +href="#footnote408" class="citation">[408]</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I suppose it is no indiscretion to tell you this circumstance, +<!-- page 409--><a name="page409"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +409</span>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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> had been +written by a governess in his family, and that the dedication coming now +has confirmed everybody in the surmise.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>very very</i> sorry that my inadvertent blunder should +have made his name and affairs a subject for common gossip.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Factory Boy</i>. Besides, not one feeling on any +subject, public or private, will I ever <!-- page 410--><a +name="page410"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 410</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Currer +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—The notice from the +<i>Church of England Quarterly Review</i> is not on the whole a bad +one. True, it condemns the tendency of <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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 <i>Mirror</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 411--><a +name="page411"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 411</span>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 <i>Ranthorpe</i> +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.</p> +<p>‘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, <i>Chambers’ Journal</i> I believe. No critic, +however rigid, will find fault with “the tendency” of her work, +I should think.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘You mention Thackeray and the last number of <i>Vanity +Fair</i>. 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; <i>he</i> borrows nothing from fever, his is never the energy of +delirium—his energy is sane <!-- page 412--><a +name="page412"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 412</span>energy, deliberate +energy, thoughtful energy. The last number of <i>Vanity Fair</i> +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 <i>can</i> say no more, I +<i>will</i> say no less.—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘Your generous indignation against the <i>Quarterly</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Jane Eyre</i> was written before the author had seen one line of +<i>Vanity Fair</i>, 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>August</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—My sister Anne +thanks you, as well as myself, for your just critique on <i>Wildfell +Hall</i>. It appears to me <!-- page 413--><a +name="page413"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 413</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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; <i>but</i>, 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 <i>Vanity Fair</i> 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 <!-- page 414--><a name="page414"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +414</span>price of a purely original mind—such a mind as the Bulwers, +etc., his contemporaries have <i>not</i>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Heathcliffe, again, of <i>Wuthering Heights</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘I must not forget to thank you for the <i>Examiner</i> and +<i>Atlas</i> <!-- page 415--><a name="page415"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +415</span>newspapers. Poor Mr. Newby! It is not enough that the +<i>Examiner</i> nails him by both ears to the pillory, but the <i>Atlas</i> +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 <i>Examiner</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>opinion</i>, it only leaves on my mind an +<i>impression</i>. 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 <!-- page 416--><a +name="page416"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 416</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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, <!-- +page 417--><a name="page417"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 417</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Remember me kindly to your wife and daughters, and—Believe +me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 418--><a name="page418"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +418</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—Mrs. Ellis has made +her “morning call.” I rather relished her chat about +<i>Shirley</i> and <i>Jane Eyre</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘I have received and perused the <i>Edinburgh Review</i>—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.</p> +<p>‘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!</p> +<p>‘Good-bye for the present.—Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 419--><a name="page419"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 419</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 25<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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, <i>show this letter to no one</i>, +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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘76 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>Thursday Morning</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 <!-- page +420--><a name="page420"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 420</span>well and +cheerful. Give my kind regards to Tabby and Martha, and—Believe +me, your affectionate daughter,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It cannot be said that Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontë 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 Brontë, +again, was hyper-critical of the smaller vanities of men, and, as has been +pointed out, she emphasised in <i>Villette</i> 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 ‘<i>naïveté</i>’ +in her eyes. Thackeray, on his side, found conversation difficult, if +we may judge by a reminiscence by his daughter Mrs. Ritchie:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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 +Brontë 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 <!-- page 421--><a name="page421"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 421</span>eyes. She may be a little over thirty; +she is dressed in a little <i>barège</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘I think it must have been on this very occasion that my father +invited some of his friends in the evening to meet Miss +Brontë—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 <!-- page 422--><a name="page422"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 422</span>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 Brontë +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 Brontë was sitting, leant forward with a little commonplace, +since brilliance was not to be the order of the evening. “Do +you like London, Miss Brontë?” she said; another silence, a +pause, then Miss Brontë 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 +Brontë 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 <!-- page 423--><a name="page423"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +423</span>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.’ <a name="citation423"></a><a +href="#footnote423" class="citation">[423]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 <!-- page +424--><a name="page424"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 424</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘76 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>, <span +class="smcap">London</span>, <i>May</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 <i>élite</i> 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, <!-- page 425--><a +name="page425"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 425</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘112 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>, <i>June</i> 7<i>th</i>, +1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 <i>one</i> thing, but in the unique assemblage +of <i>all</i> things. <!-- page 426--><a name="page426"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 426</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘112 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>, <i>June</i> 14<i>th</i>, +1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—If all be well, and +if Martha can get the cleaning, etc., done by that time, I think I shall be +coming <!-- page 427--><a name="page427"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +427</span>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 <i>not</i> 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.</p> +<p><!-- page 428--><a name="page428"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +428</span>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—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.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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!’</p> +<h2><!-- page 429--><a name="page429"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +429</span>CHAPTER XVI: LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS</h2> +<p>There is a letter, printed by Mrs. Gaskell, from Charlotte Brontë +to Ellen Nussey, in which Miss Brontë, 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 Brontë to the world. What +Charlotte thought of him may be gathered from her frank acknowledgment that +he was the original of Dr. John in <i>Villette</i>, as his mother was the +original of Mrs. Bretton—perhaps the two most entirely charming +characters in Charlotte Brontë’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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 430--><a name="page430"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 430</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘4 <span class="smcap">Westbourne +Place</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Bishop’s Road</span>, <span +class="smcap">London</span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 431--><a name="page431"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 431</span>TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I am afraid Mr. +Williams told you I was sadly “put out” about the <i>Daily +News</i>, 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 <i>Observer</i>. +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?</p> +<p>‘I imagined, mistakenly it now appears, that <i>Shirley</i> bore +fewer traces of a female hand than <i>Jane Eyre</i>; 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.</p> +<p>‘I was indeed very much interested in the books you sent. +Eckermann’s <i>Conversations with Goethe</i>, <i>Guesses at +Truth</i>, <i>Friends in Council</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘You must not think of selecting any more works for me yet, my +stock is still far from exhausted.</p> +<p>‘I accept your offer respecting the <i>Athenæum</i>; it is a +paper I should like much to see, providing you can send it without +trouble. It shall be punctually returned.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 432--><a name="page432"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +432</span>‘With thanks for your kind letter and good +wishes,—Believe me, yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mrs. Gaskell has much to say of Miss Brontë’s relations with +George Henry Lewes. <a name="citation432"></a><a href="#footnote432" +class="citation">[432]</a> 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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘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, <!-- page 433--><a name="page433"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 433</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But her acquaintance with Lewes had apparently begun three years +earlier.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> +for the December number of <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, and possibly +also, he intimates, a brief notice to the <i>Westminster Review</i>. +Upon the whole he seems favourably inclined to the work, though he hints +disapprobation of the melodramatic portions.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 434--><a name="page434"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +434</span>‘I duly received your letter containing the notices from +the <i>Critic</i>, and the two magazines, and also the <i>Morning +Post</i>. I hope all these notices will work together for good; they +must at any rate give the book a certain publicity.—Yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. R. H. Horne <a name="citation434"></a><a href="#footnote434" +class="citation">[434]</a> sent her his <i>Orion</i>.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO R. H. HORNE</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I have to thank you, not merely for the gift of a little book of +137 pages, but for that of a <i>poem</i>. Very real, very sweet is +the poetry of <i>Orion</i>; 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 <i>Orion</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘With sincere thanks for the pleasure its perusal has afforded +me,—I remain, dear sir, yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 435--><a name="page435"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +435</span>‘I was much pleased to find that you had been kind enough +to forward the <i>Mirror</i> along with <i>Fraser</i>. The article on +“the last new novel” is in substance similar to the notice in +the <i>Sunday Times</i>. One passage only excited much interest in +me; it was that where allusion is made to some former work which the author +of <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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.</p> +<p>‘The reviewer is mistaken, as he is in perverting my meaning, in +attributing to me designs I know not, principles I disown.</p> +<p>‘I have been greatly pleased with Mr. R. H. Horne’s poem of +<i>Orion</i>. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 436--><a +name="page436"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 436</span>doing Mr. Lewes +injustice. I preferred overrating to underrating the merits of his +work.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>you</i> are, then Mr. Lewes must necessarily inform you that he +does not deal in the article; probably he will add that <i>therefore</i> it +must be non-essential. I should fear he might even stigmatise +imagination as a figment, and delicacy as an affectation.</p> +<p>‘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?</p> +<p>‘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—</p> +<p>‘“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.</p> +<p>‘“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 <!-- page 437--><a +name="page437"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 437</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Captain Heath, too, must have cut a deplorable figure behind the +post-chaise.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 438--><a +name="page438"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 438</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>not</i> the highest faculty of man, though it may +be the most brilliant; when he declares that the <i>moral</i> nature of his +kind is more sacred than the <i>intellectual</i> nature; when he prefers +“goodness, lovingness, and quiet self-sacrifice to all the talents in +the world.”</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I have received the <i>Dublin University Magazine</i>. The +notice <!-- page 439--><a name="page439"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +439</span>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; +<i>you</i>, likewise, are hard upon him. He always strikes me as a +miracle of productiveness.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>unmistakeably</i> (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 +<i>first critic</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Bell</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 5<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 440--><a name="page440"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 440</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘The Cornhill books are still our welcome and congenial resource +when Anne is well enough to enjoy reading. Carlyle’s +<i>Miscellanies</i> interest me greatly. We have read <i>The Emigrant +Family</i>. 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 <i>creates</i> nothing—he only copies. His +characters are portraits—servilely accurate; whatever is at all ideal +is not original. <i>The Testimony to the Truth</i> is a better book +than any tale he can write will ever be. Am I too dogmatical in +saying this?</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <!-- page 441--><a +name="page441"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 441</span>rare visits to +London, but she frequently came to call at Lower Phillimore Place.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS LÆTITIA WHEELWRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<span class="smcap">Keighley</span>, <i>December</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1849.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Lætitia</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 +<i>Times</i>, the <i>Athenæum</i>, the <i>Examiner</i>, the +<i>Spectator</i>, and the <i>Atlas</i>: 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.</p> +<p>‘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 Lætitia, yours faithfully,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 <i>Illustrated London +News</i>, about <!-- page 442--><a name="page442"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 442</span>the time of the publication of <i>Shirley</i>, +that they first learnt that Currer Bell and Charlotte Brontë were +one. They would, however, have known that <i>Shirley</i> was by a +Brussels pupil, they declared, from the absolute resemblance of Hortense +Moore to one of their governesses—Mlle. Hausse.</p> +<p>At the end of 1849 Miss Brontë and Miss Martineau became +acquainted. Charlotte’s admiration for her more strong-minded +sister writer was at first profound.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 443--><a name="page443"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +443</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘With every good wish of the season,—I am, my dear sir, +yours very sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Meanwhile the excitement which <i>Shirley</i> 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:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Birstall</span>, +near <span class="smcap">Leeds</span>,<br /> +‘8<i>th</i> <i>January</i> 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Fame says you are on +a visit with the renowned Currer Bell, the “great unknown” of +the present day. The celebrated <i>Shirley</i> 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>I have a fair claim in +return to be let into the secret of the company I have got into</i>. +Some of them are good enough to tell, and need no Œdipus to solve the +riddle. I can tabulate, for instance, the Yorke family for the +Taylors, Mr. Moore—Mr. Cartwright, and Mr. Helstone is <!-- page +444--><a name="page444"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 444</span>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.</p> +<p>‘Now pray get us a full light on all other names and localities +that are adumbrated in this said <i>Shirley</i>. 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—</p> +<p> ‘A chield’s among you taking notes,<br +/> + And faith he’ll prent it.’—</p> +<p>‘Yours sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">W. M. +Heald</span>.</p> +<p>‘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. Brontë +also, who may have some slight remembrance of me as a child. I just +remember him when at Hartshead.’ <a name="citation444"></a><a +href="#footnote444" class="citation">[444]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>February</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have despatched +to-day a parcel containing <i>The Caxtons</i>, Macaulay’s +<i>Essays</i>, <i>Humboldt’s Letters</i>, 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. <!-- page 445--><a name="page445"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 445</span>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 <i>Pride and Prejudice</i>. +Miss Martineau mentioned <i>Persuasion</i> as the best.</p> +<p>‘Thank you for your account of the <i>First Performance</i>. +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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Can you give me any information respecting Sheridan +Knowles? A few lines received from him lately, and a present of his +<i>George Lovel</i>, induce me to ask the question. Of course <!-- +page 446--><a name="page446"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 446</span>I am +aware that he is a dramatic writer of eminence, but do you know anything +about him as a man?</p> +<p>‘I believe both <i>Shirley</i> and <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The most permanent friend among the curiosity-hunters, was Sir James +Kay-Shuttleworth, <a name="citation446"></a><a href="#footnote446" +class="citation">[446]</a> who came a month later to Haworth.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> and <i>Shirley</i>; 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.</p> +<p>‘If all be well I shall be able to write more about them when <!-- +page 447--><a name="page447"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 447</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 16<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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 +<i>less</i> 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 naïve 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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 448--><a +name="page448"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 448</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 449--><a name="page449"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 449</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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, Lætitia 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 450--><a name="page450"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 450</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘76 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park Gardens</span>, <i>June</i> +3<i>rd</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +451--><a name="page451"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 451</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘76 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park Gardens</span>, <i>June</i> +4<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 452--><a name="page452"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +452</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘I am glad to hear that Tabby and Martha are pretty well. +Remember me to them, and—Believe me, dear papa, your affectionate +daughter,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘I hope you don’t care for the notice in <i>Sharpe’s +Magazine</i>; 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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘76 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park Gardens</span>, <i>June</i> +21<i>st</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> 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?</p> +<p>‘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 Brontë 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 <!-- +page 453--><a name="page453"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 453</span>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 <i>dis</i>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘Write by return of post.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS LÆTITIA WHEELWRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 30<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Lætitia</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 454--><a +name="page454"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 454</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 Lætitia, yours hurriedly but +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Ambleside</span>, +<i>August</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 <!-- page 455--><a +name="page455"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 455</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO W. S. WILLIAMS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—I have to thank you +for the care and kindness with which you have assisted me throughout in +correcting these <i>Remains</i>.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 456--><a +name="page456"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 456</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Among Miss Brontë’s papers I find the following letter to +Miss Martineau, written with a not unnatural resentment after the +publication of a severe critique of <i>Shirley</i>.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS HARRIET MARTINEAU.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Martineau</span>,—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.”</p> +<p>‘I know what <i>love</i> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘To differ from you gives me keen pain.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Williams told me (if I mistake not) that you had recently +visited the Lake Country. I trust you enjoyed your <!-- page 457--><a +name="page457"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 457</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Ambleside</span>, +<i>December</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>It was during this visit to Ambleside that Charlotte Brontë and +Matthew Arnold met.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘At seven,’ writes Mr. Arnold from Fox How (December 21, +1850), ‘came Miss Martineau and Miss Brontë (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 <a name="citation457a"></a><a href="#footnote457a" +class="citation">[457a]</a> to-morrow—I, who hardly know a cow from a +sheep. I talked to Miss Brontë (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.’ <a +name="citation457b"></a><a href="#footnote457b" +class="citation">[457b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 458--><a name="page458"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +458</span>By the light of this ‘impression,’ it is not a little +interesting to see what Miss Brontë, ‘past thirty and +plain,’ thought of Mr. Matthew Arnold!</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 459--><a +name="page459"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 459</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>Wuthering Heights</i> were those in the +<i>Examiner</i>, the <i>Leader</i>, and the <i>Athenæum</i>. +That in the <i>Athenæum</i> somehow gave me pleasure: it is quiet but +respectful—so I thought, at least.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 460--><a name="page460"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +460</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘You mention the <i>Leader</i>; 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.</p> +<p>‘Thanking you for your good wishes,—I am, my dear sir, yours +sincerely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS LÆTITIA WHEELWRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Lætitia</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 461--><a +name="page461"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 461</span>she combines the +highest mental culture with the nicest discharge of feminine duties filled +me with admiration, while her affectionate kindness earned my +gratitude.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Compelled to break off, I have only time to offer my kindest +remembrances to your whole circle, and my love to yourself.—Yours +ever,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO REV. P. BRONTË</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘112 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>, <span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>June</i> 17<i>th</i>, +1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 <!-- page 462--><a +name="page462"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 462</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘112 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<span class="smcap">Hyde Park</span>, <i>June</i> 24<i>th</i>, +1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 463--><a name="page463"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 463</span>TO REV. P. BRONTË, <span +class="smcap">Haworth</span>, <span class="smcap">Yorks</span></p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘112 <span class="smcap">Gloucester +Terrace</span>,<br /> +‘<i>June</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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 +<i>without fail</i>. 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><!-- page 464--><a name="page464"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +464</span>CHAPTER XVII: THE REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS</h2> +<p>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 +Brontë. 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 +Brontës 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 Brontë’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 Brontë’s Life who were eager to fan +that feeling in the usually kindly biographer. Mr. <!-- page 465--><a +name="page465"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 465</span>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 <i>The +Professor</i>, 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 Brontë’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 Brontë 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.</p> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1844.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- +page 466--><a name="page466"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 466</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>July</i> 10<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Who gravely asked +you whether Miss Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘Write to me again soon, whether you have anything particular to +say or not. Give my sincere love to your mother and sisters.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>November</i> 17<i>th</i>, 1846.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That Scotch reticence held sway, and told against Mr. Nicholls for many +a day to come.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/revnicholls.jpg"> +<img alt="THE REV. ARTHUR BELL NICHOLLS" src="images/revnicholls.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 467--><a name="page467"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 467</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>October</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1847.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Give my best love to all of them, and—Believe me, yours +faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The next glimpse is more kindly.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1850.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <i>must come</i> one day. Let it prepare your mind, dear Ellen, +for that great <!-- page 468--><a name="page468"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 468</span>trial which, if you live, it <i>must</i> 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.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">‘C. B.</p> +<p>‘<i>P.S.</i>—Mr. Nicholls has finished reading +<i>Shirley</i>; 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. <a name="citation468"></a><a +href="#footnote468" class="citation">[468]</a> What Mr. Grant will +say is another thing. No matter.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>July</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1851.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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?</p> +<p><!-- page 469--><a name="page469"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +469</span>‘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 <i>Westminster</i>; by the way, it is the +production of a man, and one of the first philosophers and political +economists and metaphysicians of the day.) <a name="citation469"></a><a +href="#footnote469" class="citation">[469]</a> 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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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. Brontë’s infirmity of defective +eyesight.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS LÆTITIA WHEELWRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>April</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Lætitia</span>,—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 <!-- page 470--><a +name="page470"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 470</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 471--><a name="page471"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 471</span>TO REV. P. BRONTË, HAWORTH, YORKS</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Cliff House</span>, +<span class="smcap">Filey</span>, <i>June</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Papa</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>their</i> backs on the pulpit +and parson. The effect of this manœuvre 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 <!-- page 472--><a +name="page472"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 472</span>excessively +grotesque. There is a well-meaning but utterly inactive clergyman at +Filey, and Methodists flourish.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I know not whether you have ever observed him specially when +staying here. Your perception is generally quick +enough—<i>too</i> 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 <!-- page 473--><a name="page473"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 473</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>loved</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘I have letters from Sir J. K. Shuttleworth and Miss Martineau, +but I cannot talk of them now.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><!-- page 474--><a name="page474"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +474</span>With this letter we see the tragedy beginning. Mr. +Brontë, 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. Brontë was perfectly justified in the attitude he +adopted. His present feeling for Mr. Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘Attachment to Mr. Nicholls you are aware I never +entertained.’ A good deal has been made of this and other +casual references of Charlotte Brontë 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 Brontë 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. Brontë; and finally, that +the months of her married life, prior to her last illness, were the +happiest she was destined to know.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1852.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 475--><a name="page475"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +475</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘I am glad to say that the incipient inflammation in papa’s +eye is disappearing.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>January</i> 2<i>nd</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Nell</span>,—I thought of you on +New Year’s night, and hope you got well over your formidable +tea-making. I trust <!-- page 476--><a name="page476"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 476</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 4<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 477--><a name="page477"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +477</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">c. Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>March</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 478--><a name="page478"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +478</span>‘I have not yet read the papers; D.V. I will send them +to-morrow.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>April</i> 6<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>dying</i> and they would not speak a friendly word to or +of him. How much of all <!-- page 479--><a name="page479"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 479</span>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, <i>entirely +passive</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘Remember me kindly to all at Brookroyd, and—Believe me, +yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 16th, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p><!-- page 480--><a name="page480"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +480</span>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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. Brontë’s fault or +his own? “His own,” he answered. Did he blame Mr. +Brontë? “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 <i>constrained</i> civility, but still with +<i>civility</i>. 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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>May</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1853.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—You will want to +know about the leave-taking? The whole matter is but a painful +subject, but I must treat it <!-- page 481--><a name="page481"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 481</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 482--><a name="page482"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +482</span>‘Write soon and say how your prospects proceed. I +trust they will daily brighten.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS LÆTITIA WHEELWRIGHT</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 18<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Lætitia</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 +Lætitia, 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 +<i>twice</i> every Sunday, the curate only reading the prayers. +<i>You</i> 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 <i>your</i> 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.</p> +<p>‘Circumstanced as I have been, you will comprehend that I <!-- +page 483--><a name="page483"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 483</span>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 +Lætitia, affectionately yours,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mr. Nicholls’s successor did not prove acceptable to Mr. +Brontë. 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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>March</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 484--><a name="page484"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 484</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘He was here in January and was then received, but not +pleasantly. I trust it will be a little different now.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Think it over, dear Nell, and come to Haworth if you can. +Write as soon as you can decide.—Yours affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 1<i>st</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 485--><a name="page485"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +485</span>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.</p> +<p>‘With kind regards to your mother and all at Brookroyd,—I +am, dear Ellen, yours affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>April</i> 11<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—Thank you for the +collar; it is very pretty, and I will wear it for the sake of her who made +and gave it.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p><!-- page 486--><a name="page486"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +486</span>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><!-- page 487--><a name="page487"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 487</span>TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 15<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My own dear Nell</span>,—I hope to see +you somewhere about the second week in May.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 488--><a +name="page488"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 488</span>not be mere talk with +him—he is no talker, no dealer in professions.—Yours +affectionately,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>April</i> 28<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘When you write, address me at Mrs. Gaskell’s, Plymouth +Grove, Manchester.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>May</i> 22<i>nd</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—I wonder how you +are, and whether that <!-- page 489--><a name="page489"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 489</span>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.</p> +<p>‘It is getting late and dark. Write soon, dear Ellen. +Goodnight and God bless you.—Yours affectionately,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>May</i> 27<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 490--><a name="page490"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +490</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Good-bye, dear Ellen. Write again soon, and mind and give a +bulletin.—Yours faithfully,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>June</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘I like the card very well, but not the envelope. I should +like a perfectly plain envelope with a silver initial.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page +491--><a name="page491"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 491</span>no end to +his string of parson friends. My own list I have not made +out.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Charlotte Brontë’s list of friends, to whom wedding-cards +were to be sent, is in her own handwriting, and is not without +interest:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">SEND CARDS TO</p> +<p>The Rev. W. Morgan, Rectory, Hulcott, Aylesbury, Bucks. Joseph +Branwell, Esq., Thamar Terrace, Launceston. Cornwall.</p> +<p>Dr. Wheelwright, 29 Phillimore Place, Kensington, London.</p> +<p>George Smith, Esq., 65 Cornhill, London.</p> +<p>Mrs. and Misses Smith, 65 Cornhill, London.</p> +<p>W. S. Williams, Esq., 65 Cornhill, London.</p> +<p>R. Monckton Milnes, Esq.</p> +<p>Mrs. Gaskell, Plymouth Grove, Manchester.</p> +<p>Francis Bennoch, Esq., Park, Blackheath, London.</p> +<p>George Taylor, Esq., Stanbury.</p> +<p>Mrs. and Miss Taylor.</p> +<p>H. Merrall, Esq., Lea Sykes, Haworth.</p> +<p>E. Merrall, Esq., Ebor House, Haworth.</p> +<p>R. Butterfield, Esq., Woodlands, Haworth.</p> +<p>R. Thomas, Esq., Haworth.</p> +<p>J. Pickles, Esq., Brow Top, Haworth.</p> +<p>Wooler Family.</p> +<p>Brookroyd. <a name="citation491"></a><a href="#footnote491" +class="citation">[491]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>The following was written on her wedding day, June 29th, 1854.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>Thursday Evening</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 492--><a +name="page492"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 492</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘C. B. N.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>August</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘We have had sundry callers this week. Yesterday Mr. Sowden +and another gentleman dined here, and Mr. and Mrs. Grant joined them at +tea.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 493--><a +name="page493"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 493</span>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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.</p> +<p>‘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.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>August</i> 29<i>th</i>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +N.</span>’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>September</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page +494--><a name="page494"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 494</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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 <!-- page 495--><a name="page495"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 495</span>considering their fate, till Arthur seemed to +reflect on both so seriously.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 14<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 21<i>st</i>, 1854,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <a +name="citation495"></a><a href="#footnote495" class="citation">[495]</a> 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 <!-- page 496--><a name="page496"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 496</span>help somehow wishing that the matter should be +arranged, if all on examination is found tolerably satisfactory.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>November</i> 29<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 <!-- page 497--><a +name="page497"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 497</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>December</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1854.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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 +<!-- page 498--><a name="page498"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +498</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>North and South</i>.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<i>January</i> 19<i>th</i>, 1855.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘As to the living of Habergham or Padiham, it appears the <!-- +page 499--><a name="page499"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 499</span>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.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">My dear Ellen</span>,—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.</p> +<p>‘These last two days I have been somewhat better, and <!-- page +500--><a name="page500"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 500</span>have taken +some beef-tea, a spoonful of wine and water, a mouthful of light pudding at +different times.</p> +<p>‘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,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">C. B. +Nicholls</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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 +Brontë tomb in Haworth church. Her will runs as +follows:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p>Extracted from the District Probate Registry at York attached to Her +Majesty’s High Court of Justice.</p> +<p><i>In the name of God</i>. <i>Amen</i>. <i>I</i>, <span +class="smcap">Charlotte Nicholls</span>, <i>of Haworth in the parish of +Bradford and county of York</i>, <i>being of sound and disposing mind</i>, +<i>memory</i>, <i>and understanding</i>, <i>but mindful of my own +mortality</i>, <i>do this seventeenth day of February</i>, <i>in the year +of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and fifty-five</i>, <i>make this my +last Will and Testament in manner and form following</i>, <i>that is to +say</i>: <i>In case I die without issue I give and bequeath to my husband +all my property to be his absolutely and entirely</i>, <i>but</i>, <i>In +case I leave issue I bequeath to my husband the interest of my property +during his lifetime</i>, <i>and at his death I desire that the principal +should go to my surviving child or children</i>; <i>should there be more +than one child</i>, <i>share and share alike</i>. <i>And I do hereby +make and appoint my said husband</i>, <i>Arthur Bell Nicholls</i>, +<i>clerk</i>, <i>sole executor of this my last Will and Testament</i>; +<i>In witness whereof I have to this my last Will and Testament subscribed +my hand</i>, <i>the day and year first above written</i>—<span +class="smcap">Charlotte Nicholls</span>. <i>Signed and acknowledged +by the said testatrix</i> <span class="smcap">Charlotte Nicholls</span>, +<i>as and for her last Will and Testament in the presence of us</i>, +<i>who</i>, <i>at her request</i>, <i>in her presence and in presence of +each other</i>, <i>have at the same time hereunto</i> <!-- page 501--><a +name="page501"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 501</span><i>subscribed our +names as witnesses thereto</i>: <i>Patrick Brontë</i>, B.A. +<i>Incumbent of Haworth</i>, <i>Yorkshire</i>; <i>Martha Brown</i>.</p> +<p><i>The eighteenth day of April</i> 1855, <i>the Will of</i> <span +class="smcap">Charlotte Nicholls</span>, <i>late of Haworth in the parish +of Bradford in the county of York</i> (<i>wife of the Reverend Arthur Bell +Nicholls</i>, <i>Clerk in Holy Orders</i>) (<i>having bona notabilia within +the province of York</i>). <i>Deceased was proved in the prerogative +court of York by the oath of the said Arthur Bell Nicholls</i> (<i>the +husband</i>), <i>the sole executor to whom administration was granted</i>, +<i>he having been first sworn duly to administer</i>.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Testatrix died 31st March 1855.</p> +<p>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 Brontë’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.</p> +<p>Mr. Nicholls stayed on at Haworth for the six years that followed his +wife’s death. When Mr. Brontë 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 Brontë 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 <!-- page 502--><a +name="page502"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 502</span>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.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> Although so stated by Professor A. W. Ward +in the <i>Dictionary of National Biography</i>, vol. xxi.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> ‘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.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> ‘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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> ‘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. +<i>The Brontë Family</i>, vol. ii. p. 284.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> Mrs. Gaskell had described Charlotte +Brontë’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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> Mrs. Lawry of Muswell Hill, to whose +courtesy in placing these and other papers at my disposal I am greatly +indebted.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> ‘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 Brontë Nomenclature’ +(Brontë Society’s Publications, Pt. III.), has found the name as +Brunty, Bruntee, Bronty, and Branty—but never in Patrick +Brontë’s handwriting. There is, however, no signature of +Mr. Brontë’s extant prior to 1799.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> ‘I translated this’ +(<i>i.e.</i> an Irish romance) ‘from a manuscript in my possession +made by one Patrick O’Prunty, an ancestor probably of Charlotte +Brontë, in 1763.’ <i>The Story of Early Gaelic +Literature</i>, p. 49. By Douglas Hyde, LL.D. T. Fisher Uwin, +1895.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> 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 Brontë. 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. +Brontë and Maria Branwell, and afterwards Mr. Brontë 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. Brontë 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.’</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39" +class="footnote">[39]</a> The passage in brackets is quoted by Mrs. +Gaskell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49" +class="footnote">[49]</a> The passage in brackets is quoted, not +quite accurately, by Mrs. Gaskell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53" +class="footnote">[53]</a> The following letter indicates Mr. +Brontë’s independence of spirit. It was written after +Charlotte’s death:</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">Haworth</span>, +<span class="smcap">nr. Keighley</span>, <i>January</i> 16<i>th</i>, +1858.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—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> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<span class="smcap">P. +Brontë</span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Sir Joseph Paxton</span>, <span +class="smcap">Bart.</span>,<br /> + ‘Hardwick Hall,<br /> + ‘Chesterfield.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote56a"></a><a href="#citation56a" +class="footnote">[56a]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote56b"></a><a href="#citation56b" +class="footnote">[56b]</a> <i>Baptisms solomnised in the Parish of +Bradford and Chapelry of Thornton in the County of York</i>.</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>When Baptized</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Child’s Christian Name</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Parent’s Name</i> (<i>Christian</i>).</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Parent’s Name</i> (<i>Surname</i>).</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Abode</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Quality</i>, <i>Trade or Profession</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>By whom the Ceremony was Performed</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>1816<br /> +29<i>th</i> <i>June</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Charlotte daughter of</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>The Rev. Patrick and Maria</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Thornton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Minister of Thornton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Wm. Morgan Minster of Christ Church Bradford</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>1817<br /> +<i>July</i> 23</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Patrick Branwell son of</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Patrick and Maria</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Thornton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Minister</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Jno. Fennell officiating Minister</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>1818<br /> +20<i>th</i> <i>August</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Emily Jane daughter of</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>The Rev. Patrick and Maria</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Brontë</i> A.B.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Thornton Parsonage</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Minister of Thornton</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Wm. Morgan Minster of Christ Church Bradford</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p>1820<br /> +<i>March</i> 25<i>th</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Anne daughter of</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>The Rev. Patrick and Maria</i>.</p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Brontë</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Minister of Haworth</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p></p> +</td> +<td> +<p><i>Wm. Morgan Minster of Christ Church Bradford</i>.</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p></p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74" +class="footnote">[74]</a> 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 Brontës there.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘In July 1824 the Rev. Mr. Brontë 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. Brontë 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.</p> +<p>‘“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 <i>not </i>experience while she was at Cowan Bridge.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>literal dwarf</i>, 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. Brontë’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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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 <i>A Vindication of the Clergy Daughters’ +School and the Rev. W. Carus Wilson from the Remarks in</i> ‘<i>The +Life of Charlotte Brontë</i>,’ <i>by the Rev. H. Shepheard</i>, +<i>M.A. London</i>: <i>Seeley</i>, <i>Jackson</i>, <i>and +Halliday</i>, 1857.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92" +class="footnote">[92]</a> The Rev. William Weightman.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95" +class="footnote">[95]</a> 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. Brontë, July 20, 1841,’ is in the possession +of Mr. W. Lowe Fleeming, of Wolverhampton.</p> +<p><a name="footnote96"></a><a href="#citation96" +class="footnote">[96]</a> ‘<span class="smcap">Upperwood +House</span>, <span class="smcap">Rawdon</span>, <i>September +</i>29<i>th</i>, 1841.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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, 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.</p> +<p>‘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; 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>i.e.</i>, 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 Château 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.</p> +<p>‘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, 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,</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Miss Branwell</span>. + <span class="smcap">C. Brontë</span>.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Mrs. Gaskell’s</i> ‘<i>Life</i>.’ +<i>Corrected and completed from original letter in the possession of Mr. A. +B. Nicholls</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote107"></a><a href="#citation107" +class="footnote">[107]</a> Miss Mary Dixon, the sister of Mr. George +Dixon, M.P., is still alive, but she has unfortunately not preserved her +letters from Charlotte Brontë.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109a"></a><a href="#citation109a" +class="footnote">[109a]</a> ‘The Brontës at +Brussels,’ by Frederika Macdonald.—<i>The Woman at Home</i>, +July 1894.</p> +<p><a name="footnote109b"></a><a href="#citation109b" +class="footnote">[109b]</a> This statement has received the separate +endorsement of the Rev. A. B. Nicholls and of Miss Ellen Nussey.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110"></a><a href="#citation110" +class="footnote">[110]</a> M. and Mme. Héger celebrated their +golden wedding in 1888, but Mme. Héger died the next year. M. +Constantin Héger 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 +Brontë. She started the school in the Rue d’Isabelle, and +M. Héger took charge of the upper French classes. In an +obituary article written by M. Colin of <i>L’Etoile Belge</i> in +<i>The Sketch</i> (June 5, 1896), which was revised by Dr. Héger, +the only son of M. Héger, it is stated that Charlotte Brontë +was piqued at being refused permission to return to the Pensionnat a third +time, and that <i>Villette</i> was her revenge. We know that this was +not the case. The Pensionnat Héger was removed in 1894 to the +Avenue Louise. The building in the Rue d’Isabelle will shortly +be pulled down.</p> +<p><a name="footnote121"></a><a href="#citation121" +class="footnote">[121]</a> <i>Pictures of the Past</i>, by Francis H. +Grundy, C.E: Griffith & Farran, 1879; <i>Emily Brontë</i>, by A. +Mary F. Robinson: W. H. Allen, 1883; <i>The Brontë Family</i>, <i>with +Special Reference to Patrick Branwell Brontë</i>, by Francis A. +Leyland: Hurst & Blackett, 2 vols. 1886.</p> +<p><a name="footnote123"></a><a href="#citation123" +class="footnote">[123]</a> After Mr. Brontë’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 <i>The Woman at Home</i> +for July 1894 is now known to have been merely an illustration from a +‘Book of Beauty,’ and entirely spurious.</p> +<p><a name="footnote138"></a><a href="#citation138" +class="footnote">[138]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote142"></a><a href="#citation142" +class="footnote">[142]</a> In the <i>Mirror</i>, 1872, Mr. Phillips, +under the pseudonym of ‘January Searle,’ wrote a readable +biography of Wordsworth.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145a"></a><a href="#citation145a" +class="footnote">[145a]</a> 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 <i>Life</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote145b"></a><a href="#citation145b" +class="footnote">[145b]</a> <i>Haworth Churchyard</i>, <i>April</i> +1855, by Matthew Arnold. Macmillan & Co.</p> +<p><a name="footnote158"></a><a href="#citation158" +class="footnote">[158]</a> See chap. xiii., page 346.</p> +<p><a name="footnote159"></a><a href="#citation159" +class="footnote">[159]</a> A dog, referred to elsewhere as Flossie, +junior.</p> +<p><a name="footnote161"></a><a href="#citation161" +class="footnote">[161]</a> It was sent to Mr. Williams on six +half-sheets of note-paper and was preserved by him.</p> +<p><a name="footnote163"></a><a href="#citation163" +class="footnote">[163]</a> Although <i>Jane Eyre</i> 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 <i>Jane Eyre</i>, 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 <i>Penny Plays</i>. 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 <i>verbatim</i> 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:—</p> +<table> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Jane Eyre</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mrs. Bernard-Beere</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Lady Ingram</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss Carlotta Leclercq</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Blanche Ingram</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss Kate Bishop</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Mary Ingram</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss Maggie Hunt</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Miss Beechey</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss Nellie Jordan</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Mrs. Fairfax</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss Alexes Leighton</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Grace Poole</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss Masson</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Bertha</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Miss D’Almaine</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Adele</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mdlle. Clemente Colle</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Mr. Rochester</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mr. Charles Kelly</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Lord Desmond</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mr. A. M. Denison</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Rev. Mr. Price</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mr. H. E. Russel</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>Nat Lee</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mr. H. H. Cameron</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> +<p><i>James</i></p> +</td> +<td> +<p>Mr. C. Stevens</p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<p>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 <i>Jane Eyre</i> under the title of <i>Poor Relations</i>. This +piece was performed at the Standard, Surrey, and Park Theatres. A +version of the story, dramatised by Charlotte Birch-Pfeiffer, called <i>Die +Waise von Lowood</i>, has been rather popular in Germany.</p> +<p><a name="footnote168a"></a><a href="#citation168a" +class="footnote">[168a]</a> Alexander Harris wrote <i>A Converted +Atheist’s Testimony to the Truth of Christianity</i>, and other now +forgotten works.</p> +<p><a name="footnote168b"></a><a href="#citation168b" +class="footnote">[168b]</a> Julia Kavanagh (1824-1877). Her +father, M. P. Kavanagh, wrote <i>The Wanderings of Lucan and Dinah</i>, a +poetical romance, and other works. Miss Kavanagh was born at Thurles +and died at Nice. Her first book, <i>The Three Paths</i>, a tale for +children, was published in 1847. <i>Madeline</i>, a story founded on +the life of a peasant girl of Auvergne, in 1848. <i>Women in France +during the Eighteenth Century</i> appeared in 1850, <i>Nathalie</i> the +same year. In the succeeding years she wrote innumerable stories and +biographical sketches.</p> +<p><a name="footnote173"></a><a href="#citation173" +class="footnote">[173]</a> It runs thus:—</p> +<blockquote> +<p style="text-align: right">‘<i>December</i> 9<i>th</i>, 1848.</p> +<p>‘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:—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>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.</p> +<blockquote> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘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.</p> +<p>‘Address—Miss Brontë, Parsonage, Haworth, Bradford, +Yorks.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p><a name="footnote183a"></a><a href="#citation183a" +class="footnote">[183a]</a> The original of this letter is lost, so +that it is not possible to fill in the hiatus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote183b"></a><a href="#citation183b" +class="footnote">[183b]</a> Emily—who was called the Major, +because on one occasion she guarded Miss Nussey from the attentions of Mr. +Weightman during an evening walk.</p> +<p><a name="footnote190"></a><a href="#citation190" +class="footnote">[190]</a> In his next letter Mr. Williams informed +her that Miss Rigby was the writer of the <i>Quarterly</i> article.</p> +<p><a name="footnote221"></a><a href="#citation221" +class="footnote">[221]</a> 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 +<i>Jane Eyre</i>’—a paper read before the Brontë Society +at Keighley, 1895.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259a"></a><a href="#citation259a" +class="footnote">[259a]</a> <i>Miss Miles</i>, <i>or A Tale of +Yorkshire Life Sixty Years Ago</i>, by Mary Taylor. Rivingtons, +1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote259b"></a><a href="#citation259b" +class="footnote">[259b]</a> <i>The First Duty of Women</i>. A +Series of Articles reprinted from the <i>Victorian Magazine</i>, 1865 to +1870, by Mary Taylor. 1870.</p> +<p><a name="footnote262"></a><a href="#citation262" +class="footnote">[262]</a> See letter to Ellen Nussey, page 78.</p> +<p><a name="footnote275"></a><a href="#citation275" +class="footnote">[275]</a> Miss Brontë was paid £1500 in +all for her three novels, and Mr. Nicholls received an additional +£250 for the copyright of <i>The Professor</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote280"></a><a href="#citation280" +class="footnote">[280]</a> A Mr. Hodgson is spoken of earlier, but he +would seem to have been only a temporary help.</p> +<p><a name="footnote282"></a><a href="#citation282" +class="footnote">[282]</a> Referring to a present of birds which the +curate had sent to Miss Nussey.</p> +<p><a name="footnote287"></a><a href="#citation287" +class="footnote">[287]</a> 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 Brontë, 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote288"></a><a href="#citation288" +class="footnote">[288]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote325"></a><a href="#citation325" +class="footnote">[325]</a> The originals are in the possession of Mr. +Alfred Morrison of Carlton House Terrace, London.</p> +<p><a name="footnote330"></a><a href="#citation330" +class="footnote">[330]</a> <i>De Quincey Memorials</i>, by Alexander +H. Japp. 2 vols. 1891. William Heinemann.</p> +<p><a name="footnote332a"></a><a href="#citation332a" +class="footnote">[332a]</a> <i>Agnes Grey</i>, a novel, by Acton +Bell. Vol. III. London, Thomas Cautley Newby, publisher, 72 +Mortimer Street, Cavendish Square.</p> +<p><a name="footnote332b"></a><a href="#citation332b" +class="footnote">[332b]</a> And yet the error not infrequently +occurs, and was recently made by Professor Saintsbury (<i>Nineteenth +Century Literature</i>), of assuming that it was <i>Jane Eyre</i> which met +with many refusals.</p> +<p><a name="footnote332c"></a><a href="#citation332c" +class="footnote">[332c]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote333"></a><a href="#citation333" +class="footnote">[333]</a> 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 <i>Two Old Men’s Tales</i>, two stories, <i>The +Admiral’s Daughter</i> and <i>The Deformed</i>, which won +considerable popularity. <i>Emilia Wyndham</i>, <i>Time</i>, <i>the +Avenger</i>, <i>Mount Sorel</i>, and <i>Castle Avon</i>, are perhaps the +best of her many subsequent novels.</p> +<p><a name="footnote335"></a><a href="#citation335" +class="footnote">[335]</a> <i>The Professor</i> was published, with a +brief note by Mr. Nicholls, two years after the death of its author. +<i>The Professor</i>, a Tale, by Currer Bell, in two volumes. Smith, +Elder & Co., 65 Cornhill, 1857.</p> +<p><a name="footnote348"></a><a href="#citation348" +class="footnote">[348]</a> Lady Eastlake died in 1893.</p> +<p><a name="footnote349"></a><a href="#citation349" +class="footnote">[349]</a> <i>Letters and Journals</i> of Lady +Eastlake, edited by her nephew, Charles Eastlake Smith, vol. i. pp. 221, +222 (John Murray).</p> +<p><a name="footnote350"></a><a href="#citation350" +class="footnote">[350]</a> <i>Life of J. G. Lockhart</i>, by Andrew +Lang. Published by John Nimmo. Mr. Lang has courteously +permitted me to copy this letter from his proof-sheets.</p> +<p><a name="footnote361"></a><a href="#citation361" +class="footnote">[361]</a> Name of place is erased in original.</p> +<p><a name="footnote373"></a><a href="#citation373" +class="footnote">[373]</a> Thus in original letter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote398"></a><a href="#citation398" +class="footnote">[398]</a> That Thackeray had written a certain +unfavourable critique of <i>Shirley</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote402"></a><a href="#citation402" +class="footnote">[402]</a> This article was by John Skelton +(<i>Shirley</i>).</p> +<p><a name="footnote403"></a><a href="#citation403" +class="footnote">[403]</a> Now in the possession of Mr. A. B. +Nicholls.</p> +<p><a name="footnote408"></a><a href="#citation408" +class="footnote">[408]</a> Thackeray writes to Mr. Brookfield, in +October 1848, as follows:—‘Old Dilke of the +<i>Athenæum</i> vows that Procter and his wife, between them, wrote +<i>Jane Eyre</i>; 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’ +[<i>Jane Eyre</i> to Thackeray, <i>Vanity Fair</i> to Barry +Cornwall].—<i>A Collection of Letters to W. M. Thackeray</i>, +1847-1855. Smith and Elder.</p> +<p><a name="footnote423"></a><a href="#citation423" +class="footnote">[423]</a> <i>Chapters from Some Memories</i>, by +Anne Thackeray Ritchie. Macmillan and Co. Mrs. Ritchie and her +publishers kindly permit me to incorporate her interesting reminiscence in +this chapter.</p> +<p><a name="footnote432"></a><a href="#citation432" +class="footnote">[432]</a> George Henry Lewes (1817-1878). +Published <i>Biographical History of Philosophy</i>, 1845-46; +<i>Ranthorpe</i>, 1847; <i>Rose</i>, <i>Blanche</i>, <i>and Violet</i>, +1848; <i>Life of Goethe</i>, 1855. Editor of the <i>Fortnightly +Review</i>, 1865-66. <i>Problems of Life and Mind</i>, 1873-79; and +many other works.</p> +<p><a name="footnote434"></a><a href="#citation434" +class="footnote">[434]</a> Richard Hengist Horne (1803-1884). +Published <i>Cosmo de Medici</i>, 1837; <i>Orion</i>, an epic poem in ten +books, passed through six editions in 1843, the first three editions being +issued at a farthing; <i>A New Spirit of the Age</i>, 1844; <i>Letters of +E. B. Browning to R. H. Horne</i>, 1877.</p> +<p><a name="footnote444"></a><a href="#citation444" +class="footnote">[444]</a> Printed by the kind permission of the Rev. +C. W. Heald, of Chale, I.W.</p> +<p><a name="footnote446"></a><a href="#citation446" +class="footnote">[446]</a> 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.</p> +<p><a name="footnote457a"></a><a href="#citation457a" +class="footnote">[457a]</a> Some experiments on a farm of two +acres.</p> +<p><a name="footnote457b"></a><a href="#citation457b" +class="footnote">[457b]</a> Letters of Matthew Arnold, collected and +arranged by George W. E. Russell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote468"></a><a href="#citation468" +class="footnote">[468]</a> Mr. Nicholls is the Mr. Macarthey of +<i>Shirley</i>. 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, <i>with truth</i>, +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.’—<i>Shirley</i>, chap. +xxxvii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote469"></a><a href="#citation469" +class="footnote">[469]</a> John Stuart Mill, who, however, attributed +the authorship of this article to his wife.</p> +<p><a name="footnote491"></a><a href="#citation491" +class="footnote">[491]</a> The Nusseys.</p> +<p><a name="footnote495"></a><a href="#citation495" +class="footnote">[495]</a> The Rev. George Sowden, vicar of Hebden +Bridge, Halifax, and honorary canon of Wakefield, is still alive.</p> +<h2>INDEX</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Abbotsford</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453-4</a></span>.</p> +<p>Academy of Arts Royal, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Agnes Grey</i>—its publication, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page332">332</a></span>; reprint, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page337">337</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span>; value of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ahaderg, County Down, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>.</p> +<p>Alexander, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page468">468</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ambleside, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page126">126</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page442">442</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page454">454</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page457">457</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Amy Herbert</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260</a></span>.</p> +<p>Antwerp, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span>.</p> +<p>Appleby, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page285">285</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span>.</p> +<p>Arnold, Matthew, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page457">457</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page458">458</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>.</p> +<p>Arnold, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page454">454</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page456">456</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page457">457</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page458">458</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>.</p> +<p>Arnold, Mrs. Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page456">456</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page458">458</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Athanæum</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page334">334</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page404">404</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>.</p> +<p>Atkinson, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page312">312</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page313">313</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Atlas</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page414">414</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span>.</p> +<p>Austen, Jane, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page399">399</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>.</p> +<p>Aylott & Jones, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325-9</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Bangor</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Beck, Madame.’ <i>See</i> Héger, Madame.</p> +<p>Bedford, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page40">40</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page47">47</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bell, Rev. Alan, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page465">465</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bell Chapel, Thornton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Bengal Hurkaru</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page362">362</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bennoch, Francis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bernard-Beere, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Berwick Warder</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page165">165</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bierly, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page47">47</a></span>.</p> +<p>Birch-Pfeiffer, Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span>.</p> +<p>Birrell, Augustine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>.</p> +<p>Birstall, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page210">210</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page214">214</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page224">224</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page239">239</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page312">312</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page457">457</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Black Bull,’ Haworth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Blackwood’s Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>.</p> +<p>Blake Hall, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page84">84</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page296">296</a></span>.</p> +<p>Blanche, Mdlle., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bolitho, Sons, & Co, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Bombay Gazette</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323</a></span>.</p> +<p>Borrow’s <i>Bible in Spain</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bowling Green Inn, Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page41">41</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page42">42</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page46">46</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page124">124</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page211">211</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page284">284</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page292">292</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Bradford Observer</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Bradford Review</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bradley, Rev. Richard, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwells of Cornwall, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Anne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Eliza, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Elizabeth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103-4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Joseph, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Margaret, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branwell, Maria. <i>See</i> Brontë, Mrs.</p> +<p>Branwell, Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span>.</p> +<p>Branty, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page28">28</a></span>.</p> +<p>Braxborne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page395">395</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bremer, Frederika, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Bretton Mrs.’ <i>See</i> Smith, Mrs.</p> +<p>Brewster, Sir David, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p>Briery, Windermere, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span>.</p> +<p>Britannia, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Brocklehurst Mr.’ <i>See</i> Wilson, Carus.</p> +<p>Bromsgrove, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Anne Chapter <span class="smcap">vii</span>., <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181-203</a></span> birth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>; baptism, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span>; at Haworth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>; as governess, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page88">88</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page90">90</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page296">296</a></span>; at Brussels, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page128">128</a></span>; at Scarborough, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page197">197</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page198">198</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page200">200</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page201">201</a></span>; in Miss +Branwell’s will, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span>; and Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page352">352</a></span>; as Emily’s chum, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page148">148</a></span>; and Miss Nussey, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182-4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page209">209</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page219">219</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page307">307</a></span>; and the Misses +Robinson, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page288">288</a></span>; and Mr. Weightman, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page286">286</a></span>; her dog +(<i>see</i> Flossie); her drawings, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span>; her letters, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span>; her unpublished MSS, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page62">62</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page71">71-2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>; her novels (see +<i>Agnes Grey</i> and <i>The Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>) her poems, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325-331</a></span>; her portrait, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>; her illness +and death, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page175">175</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page185">185</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page186">186</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page187">187</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page189">189</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page191">191</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page192">192</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page193">193</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page194">194</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page262">262</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page281">281</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page393">393</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page439">439</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page440">440</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page467">467</a></span>; her grave, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page203">203</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Branwell Chapter <span class="smcap">v</span>., <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120-143</a></span>; birth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>; baptism, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span>; at school, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page290">290</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span>; at the Royal Academy +of Arts, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page124">124</a></span>; at Luddenden Foot, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page148">148</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span>; in his aunt’s +will, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page104">104</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105</a></span>; and Anne, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page154">154</a></span>; and Charlotte, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page93">93</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page140">140</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page141">141</a></span>; Charlotte’s +letters to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page112">112-14</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page115">115</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page239">239</a></span>; and Emily, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span>; and his father, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page138">138</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page465">465</a></span>; and Hartley +Coleridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page125">125-7</a></span>; +and F. H. Grundy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>; Jane Eyre, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span>; and Miss Nussey, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page106">106</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page219">219</a></span>; and the Robinsons, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page129">129-31</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page136">136</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182</a></span>; his sketches, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page67">67</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>; his writings, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page72">72</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page73">73</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page125">125-7</a></span>; his translation of +Horace, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page126">126</a></span>; his +portrait, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page138">138</a></span>; his +character, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page124">124</a></span>; his +idleness, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page133">133</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page134">134</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page135">135</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span>; his death, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page138">138-41</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page191">191</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Charlotte birth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>; baptism, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span>; her place at the Haworth dinner-table, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>; childhood, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56-73</a></span>; her father +(<i>see</i> Brontë, Patrick) her mother (<i>see</i> Brontë, +Mrs. Patrick) her sisters (<i>see</i> Brontë, Anne; Brontë, +Emily; <i>Agnes Grey</i>; <i>Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>; <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>) her brother (<i>see</i> Brontë, Branwell) her school life +(<i>see</i> Wooler, Margaret; Cowan Bridge; and Roe Head) her school +friends (<i>see</i> Nussey, Ellen; Taylor, Mary) at the Sidgwicks’ +(<i>q.v.</i>), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79-84</a></span>; at the Whites’ (<i>q.v.</i>), <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page85">85-94</a></span>; at Brussels +(<i>see</i> Héger M. and Madame; Jenkins, Rev. Mr.; The +<i>Professor</i>; <i>Villette</i>; Wheelwright, Lætitia); in London, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page214">214</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page268">268</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page416">416</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page417">417-28</a></span>; her +father’s curates, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280-92</a></span> (<i>see also</i> De Renzi, Rev. Mr.; +Nicholls, Rev. A. B.; Smith, Rev. Peter Augustus; Weightman, Rev. W.; and +<i>Shirley</i>) her lovers, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293-324</a></span> (<i>see also</i> Nicholls, Rev. A. B.; +Nussey, Rev. Henry; Taylor, James) her literary ambitions, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325-369</a></span>; her unpublished +literary work, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61-7</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page68">68</a></span>; her published +work (see <i>Jane Eyre</i>, <i>The Professor</i>, <i>Shirley</i>, +<i>Villette</i>, <i>Poems</i>); her publishers (<i>see</i> Aylott & +Jones, Newby, and Smith Elder & Co); her literary friendships, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page429">429-463</a></span> (<i>see also</i> +Gaskell, Mrs.; Martineau, Harriet; Smith, George; Thackeray, W. M.; +Williams, W. S.); her critics (<i>see</i> Eastlake, Lady; Kingsley, +Charles; Lewes, G. H.; and various periodicals); her marriage, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page8">8</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page464">464</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page491">491</a></span> (<i>see</i> Nicholls, +Rev. A. B.); her appearance, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page457">457</a></span>; her death, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page500">500</a></span>; her grave, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page500">500</a></span>; her will, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page500">500</a></span>; her biography, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1-26</a></span> (<i>see also</i> Gaskell, Mrs.; Grundy, F. +H.; Leyland, F. A.; Nussey, Ellen; Reid, Sir Wemyss); her portrait, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page294">294</a></span>; on affection for her +family, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page88">88</a></span>; on +children, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page376">376-8</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page381">381</a></span>; on female +friendships, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page205">205</a></span>; +on governessing, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page84">84</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page228">228</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page382">382</a></span>; on ladies’ +college, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page277">277</a></span>; on +women in the professions, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page378">378</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page382">382</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page395">395</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page396">396</a></span>; on marriage, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page261">261</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page295">295-6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page298">298</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page303">303</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page304">304-6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page310">310</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page383">383</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page493">493</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page494">494</a></span>; on spinsters, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span>; on men, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page490">490</a></span>; on authors and bookmakers, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span>; on her critics, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page269">269</a></span>; on lionising, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page266">266</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span>; on literary +coteries, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page389">389</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page399">399</a></span>; on money rewards of +literature, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page275">275</a></span>; on +the art of biography, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page385">385</a></span>; on her heroes, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span>; on the French, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span>; on French politics, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page343">343</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page373">373</a></span>; on war, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page264">264</a></span>; on +Shakespeare-acting, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>; on dancing, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span>; on the Bible, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page213">213</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page216">216</a></span>; on religion, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page166">166</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page193">193</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page211">211</a></span>; on the value of work, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page203">203</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page396">396</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Elizabeth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Emily Chapter <span class="smcap">vi</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144-180</a></span>; birth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>; baptism, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span>; at Haworth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page59">59</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>; her childhood, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page74">74</a></span>; her school days, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; as a teacher, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; at Brussels, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page102">102</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page133">133</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; as Anne’s +chum, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>; in Miss +Branwell’s will, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span>; and the French newspapers, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page241">241</a></span>; Charlotte’s +letters to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page114">114</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page117">117</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span>; her religion, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; her portrait, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123-4</a></span>; her likeness to G. +H. Lewes, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page432">432</a></span>; her +messages to Miss Nussey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160-1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page209">209</a></span>; her dog (<i>see</i> Keeper); her sketches, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page67">67</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page154">154</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>; her unpublished +writings, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page62">62</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page70">70</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page146">146</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page148">148</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150-2</a></span>; her novel (see +<i>Wuthering Heights</i>); her poetry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page144">144</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325-31</a></span>; her illness and death, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page166">166-75</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page186">186</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page345">345</a></span>; her character, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page146">146</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page167">167</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page177">177</a></span>; Matthew Arnold on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; Charlotte on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page165">165</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page337">337</a></span>; Sydney Dobell on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; A. Mary F. +Robinson on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page121">121</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span>; Swinburne on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page146">146</a></span>; Dr. Wright on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page158">158</a></span>;</p> +<p>Brontë, Hugh, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Maria, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page404">404</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Museum, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, name, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Rev. Patrick Chapter 1, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27-55</a></span> his pedigree, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28-9</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page157">157</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span>; at Cambridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>; at Weatherfield, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29-30</a></span>; at Hartshead, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30-51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>; at Thornton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>; goes to Haworth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>; his courtship, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30-51</a></span>; his marriage, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>; his wife (<i>see</i> Brontë, Mrs. +Patrick); his church, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span> (<i>see also</i> Haworth) his curates, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page280">280-292</a></span>; his home, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span>; his study, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>; his children at home, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60-2</a></span>; takes his +children to school, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span>; his view of his daughters’ literary +successes, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span>; and +Miss Branwell, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page104">104</a></span>; and his son, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page137">137</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page138">138</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page139">139</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page140">140</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page141">141</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span>; and Charlotte, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page209">209</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page222">222</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page229">229</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page264">264</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page267">267</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span>; Charlotte’s +letters to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page5">5</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page423">423</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page451">451-2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page454">454</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page461">461</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page463">463</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page471">471</a></span>; and +Charlotte’s biography, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9-12</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span>; and Charlotte’s wedding, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span> (<i>see also</i> +Nicholls Rev. A. B.); and Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page193">193</a></span>; and Mary Burder, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page29">29</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span>; and Rev. A. B. +Nicholls, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page292">292</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page474">474</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page475">475-6</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page477">477</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page481">481</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page485">485</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page487">487</a></span>; and Miss Nussey, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page11">11</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page159">159</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page211">211</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page237">237</a></span>; and Flossy’s +death, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page230">230</a></span>; and +James Taylor, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page309">309</a></span>; +and Miss Wooler, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page269">269</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page274">274</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page369">369</a></span>; his gun, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>; his illnesses, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page241">241</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page272">272</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page451">451</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page470">470</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page482">482</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page484">484</a></span>; his poems, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>; his character, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span>; his recluse habits, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page186">186</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page308">308</a></span>; Mrs. Gaskell’s +view of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>; his death, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page501">501</a></span>; his will, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, Mrs. Patrick—her pedigree, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page33">33</a></span>; her love letters, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31-51</a></span>; her marriage, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span>; her life at Haworth, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page59">59-61</a></span>; her portrait, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page34">34</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brontë, pedigree, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brook, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page296">296</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brookfield, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page421">421</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brookroyd, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page85">85</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page93">93</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page94">94</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page106">106</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page174">174</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page211">211</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page213">213</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page214">214</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page219">219</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page222">222</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page224">224</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page225">225</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page242">242</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page275">275</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page297">297</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page477">477</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page491">491</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page493">493</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page494">494</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page499">499</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brougham, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span>.</p> +<p>Broughton-in-Furness, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brown, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page468">468</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page476">476</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page479">479</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brown, Martha, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page60">60</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page151">151</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page319">319</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page424">424</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page425">425</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page426">426</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page452">452</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page461">461</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page462">462</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page471">471</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page472">472</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page474">474</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page476">476</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page478">478</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brown, Tabby, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page54">54</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page151">151</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page153">153</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page202">202</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page239">239</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brown, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>.</p> +<p>Browning, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page434">434</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bruntee, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page29">29</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brunty, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page29">29</a></span>.</p> +<p>Brussels, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page21">21</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page26">26</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page84">84</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page93">93</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page95">95</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page96">96-119</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page133">133</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page159">159</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page218">218</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page290">290</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page307">307</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page440">440</a></span>.</p> +<p>Bunsen, Chevalier, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page456">456</a></span>.</p> +<p>Burder, Miss Mary, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>.</p> +<p>Burnet, Rev. Dr., Vicar of Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Burns, Helen.’ <i>See</i> Brontë Maria.</p> +<p>Burns, Robert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page392">392</a></span>.</p> +<p>Butterfield, R, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Caldwell</span>, <span class="smcap">James</span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page333">333</a></span>.</p> +<p>Carlisle, Earl of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page425">425</a></span>.</p> +<p>Carlyle, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page421">421</a></span>.</p> +<p>Carlyle, Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page380">380</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page421">421</a></span>.</p> +<p>Carter family, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span>.</p> +<p>Cartman, Rev. Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page425">425</a></span>.</p> +<p>Cartwright’s mill, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page22">22</a></span>.</p> +<p>Catholics, Charlotte and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Caxtons</i>, <i>The</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page359">359</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Chambers’ Journal</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span>.</p> +<p>Chapham, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span>.</p> +<p>Chappelle, M., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>.</p> +<p>Chesterfield, Lady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span>.</p> +<p>Chorley, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Christian Remembrancer</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page341">341</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page368">368</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Church of England Journal</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>.</p> +<p>Clanricarde, Lady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span>.</p> +<p>Clapham, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page500">500</a></span>.</p> +<p>Clapham, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page500">500</a></span>.</p> +<p>Clergy Daughters’ School, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>.</p> +<p>Colburn, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span>.</p> +<p>Coleridge, Hartley, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page125">125</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page126">126</a></span>.</p> +<p>Coleridge, S. T., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Colin, M. of <i>L’Etoile Belge</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>.</p> +<p>Collins, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Cottage Poems</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Cottage in the Wood</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Courier</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>.</p> +<p>Coverley Church, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>.</p> +<p>Cowan Bridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page63">63</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page74">74</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page75">75</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page263">263</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>Crackenthorp, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page285">285</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Cranford</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Crimsworth’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Critic</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page191">191</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page334">334</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page434">434</a></span>.</p> +<p>Crosstone Parsonage, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span>.</p> +<p>Crowe, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page421">421</a></span>.</p> +<p>Crystal Palace, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page268">268</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page425">425</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page461">461</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p>Curates at Haworth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280-292</a></span>.</p> +<p>Curie’s Homœopathy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Daily News</span>’, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page356">356</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page357">357</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page431">431</a></span>.</p> +<p>Davenport, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>David Copperfield</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>.</p> +<p>De Quincey, Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page330">330</a></span>.</p> +<p>Derby, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page441">441</a></span>.</p> +<p>De Renzi, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page292">292</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page483">483</a></span>.</p> +<p>Devonshire, Duke of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dewsbury, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dewsbury Moor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page78">78</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page262">262</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dickens, Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page410">410</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dickenson, Lowes, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Die Waise von Lowood</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dilke, C. W., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dixon, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dixon Miss Mary, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dobell, Sydney, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dobsons of Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Donne, Mr.’ <i>See</i> Grant Rev. Mr.</p> +<p>Donnington, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page294">294</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page295">295</a></span>.</p> +<p>Douro, Marquis of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page70">70</a></span>.</p> +<p>Drury, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Dublin Review</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Dublin University Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page334">334</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page438">438</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dury, Caroline, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page285">285</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dury, Rev. Theodore, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>.</p> +<p>Dyson, Harriet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page449">449</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Earnley Rectory</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page281">281</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page297">297</a></span>.</p> +<p>Eastlake, Lady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page347">347</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page349">349</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>.</p> +<p>Easton, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page299">299</a></span>.</p> +<p>Eckermann’s <i>Goethe</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Economist</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>Edinburgh, Charlotte in, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page452">452</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page454">454</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Edinburgh Guardian</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Edinburgh Review</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Edward Orland</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ellesmere, Earl of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p>Elliott, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>.</p> +<p>Elliotson, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ellis, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Emanuel Paul.’ <i>See</i> Héger, M.</p> +<p>Emerson, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page189">189</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page391">391</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Emma</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page399">399</a></span>.</p> +<p>Epps, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page173">173</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Esmond</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page275">275</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page276">276</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page403">403</a></span>.</p> +<p>Euston Square, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Examiner</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page357">357</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page375">375</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page414">414</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page441">441</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>.</p> +<p>Exeter Hall, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Experience of Life</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page275">275</a></span>.</p> +<p>Eyre, Joan, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>.</p> +<p>Eyre, Robert (died 1459), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Fair Carew</span>, <span +class="smcap">The</span>’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Fanny Hervey</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Fanshawe, Ginevra.’ <i>See</i> Miller, Maria.</p> +<p>Fawcets of Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span>.</p> +<p>Fennell, Rev. John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page217">217</a></span>.</p> +<p>Fennell, Jane (Mrs. Morgan), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page50">50</a></span>.</p> +<p>Fielding, Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>.</p> +<p>Filey, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page471">471</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>First Performance</i>, <i>The</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>.</p> +<p>Fitzwilliam, Earl, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page206">206</a></span>.</p> +<p>Fleeming, W. Lowe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span>.</p> +<p>Flossie, jun., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>.</p> +<p>Flossy, the dog, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page151">151</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page230">230</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page428">428</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page452">452</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page471">471</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page478">478</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page497">497</a></span>.</p> +<p>Forbes, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page192">192</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page398">398</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page425">425</a></span>.</p> +<p>Forçade, Eugene, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page359">359</a></span>.</p> +<p>Forster, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page357">357</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span>.</p> +<p>Fonblanque, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page357">357</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page406">406</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page329">329</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page405">405</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Garrs</span>, <span class="smcap">Nancy</span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page52">52</a></span>.</p> +<p>Garrs, Sarah, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gaskell Mrs—the biography of Charlotte Brontë, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1-26</a></span>; its hiatuses and +blunders, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page39">39</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page49">49</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page104">104</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page294">294</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325</a></span>; on Branwell, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page104">104</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page277">277</a></span>; visited by +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page7">7</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page369">369</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page458">458</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page461">461</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page462">462</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page463">463</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page488">488</a></span>; visits Charlotte, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page8">8</a></span>; and Charlotte’s +wedding, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page491">491</a></span>; on +Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; and Patrick, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page27">27</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page67">67</a></span>; and M. Héger, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page108">108</a></span>; and Kingsley, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; and Lewes, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page432">432</a></span>; and Rev. A. B. +Nicholls, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page465">465</a></span>; and Miss Nussey, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>; and the Robinsons, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18-20</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page129">129</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page130">130</a></span>; and Mary Taylor, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page21">21</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page257">257</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page259">259</a></span>; and Thackeray, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page428">428</a></span>; and Frank Williams, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page322">322</a></span>; and Rev. Carus +Wilson, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>; Miss +Wooler on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page278">278</a></span>; +<i>Cranford</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>; +<i>Mary Barton</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>; <i>North and South</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page498">498</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gaskell, Miss Meta, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gaskell, Rev. W, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gawthorpe Hall, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page447">447</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page448">448</a></span>.</p> +<p>George Lovel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gibson, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Gleneden’s Dream</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154-7</a></span>.</p> +<p>Glenelg, Lord, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Globe</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>Godwin, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>.</p> +<p>Goethe, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page397">397</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page420">420</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page431">431</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page432">432</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gomersall, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page238">238</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page239">239</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page260">260</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Gondaland Chronicles</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>.</p> +<p>Gorham, Mary, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span>.</p> +<p>Grant, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page290">290</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page468">468</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page478">478</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page481">481</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page484">484</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page492">492</a></span>.</p> +<p>Greenwood, J, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page82">82</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>.</p> +<p>Growler, dog, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>.</p> +<p>Grundy’s <i>Pictures of the Past</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span>.</p> +<p>Guizot, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page373">373</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Habergham</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page498">498</a></span>.</p> +<p>Halifax, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page159">159</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page277">277</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page287">287</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hardy, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hare’s <i>Guesses at Truth</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span>.</p> +<p>Harris, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span>.</p> +<p>Harris, Alexander, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page440">440</a></span>.</p> +<p>Harrison, Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page324">324</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hartshead, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page36">36</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page38">38</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page39">39</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page41">41</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page43">43</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page45">45</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page47">47</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page49">49</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hathersage, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page220">220</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page222">222</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page223">223</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page297">297</a></span>.</p> +<p>Haussé, Mdlle., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span>.</p> +<p>Haworth—church, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>; curates, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280-92</a></span>; library, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>; museum, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>; parsonage, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page201">201</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page396">396</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433</a></span>; ‘Lodge of the Three Graces’, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page124">124</a></span>; village in +1828, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>; villagers, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page355">355</a></span>; Mrs. Gaskell and, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page8">8</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page10">10</a></span>; <i>see also</i> +Nicholls, Nussey, Taylor, Williams.</p> +<p>Haxby, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hazlitt, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Heald, Canon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page443">443</a></span>.</p> +<p>Heald, Mary, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444</a></span>.</p> +<p>Heald, Harriet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444</a></span>.</p> +<p>Heap, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Heathcliffe’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page414">414</a></span>.</p> +<p>Heaton, Robert, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hebden Bridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page495">495</a></span>.</p> +<p>Heckmondwike, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#pagev">v</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page260">260</a></span>.</p> +<p>Héger, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span>.</p> +<p>Héger, M., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96-219</a></span>.</p> +<p>Héger, Madame, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span>.</p> +<p>Héger’s Pensionnat, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96-119</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page279">279</a></span>.</p> +<p>Helps’s <i>Friends in Council</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page354">354</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hero, the hawk, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page151">151</a></span>.</p> +<p>Herschel, Sir John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page360">360</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page406">406</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hervey, Fanny, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hewitt, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page499">499</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hexham, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page90">90</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hoby, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hodgson Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page302">302</a></span>.</p> +<p>Homœopathy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page169">169</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page194">194</a></span>.</p> +<p>Horne, R. H., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page405">405</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page434">434</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hornsea, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page274">274</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hotel Clusyenaar, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>.</p> +<p>Houghton. <i>See</i> Milnes, Monckton.</p> +<p>Howitt, Mary, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>.</p> +<p>Howitt, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page359">359</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hunsworth, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page219">219</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page220">220</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page223">223</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page224">224</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page243">243</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hunt, Leigh, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page406">406</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hunt, Thornton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page449">449</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hyde, Dr. Douglas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>.</p> +<p>Hydropathy, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page194">194</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page401">401</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Ilkley</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page277">277</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Illustrated London News</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page441">441</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Imitation</i> of Thomas à Kempis, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ingham, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page84">84</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Ingram, Miss’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ireland, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page28">28</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page90">90</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page290">290</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page465">465</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page493">493</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Ireland, An adventure in’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64-6</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Jane Eyre</span>,’ authorship, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page349">349</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page379">379</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page404">404</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page408">408</a></span>; inception, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page33">33</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page74">74</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page221">221</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page372">372</a></span>; where written, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>; manuscript of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page333">333</a></span>; publication, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page332">332</a></span>; preface, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span>; dedication, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page408">408</a></span>; reprint, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page198">198</a></span>; proposed +illustration of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page342">342-3</a></span>; in French, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>; reception, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page158">158</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338-42</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page363">363</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page376">376</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page404">404</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page405">405</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page410">410</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>; dramatised, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162-4</a></span>; Cowan Bridge controversy, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>; +‘Brocklehurst’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>; ‘Helen Burns’, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page404">404</a></span>; ‘Miss +Ingram’, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>; +‘Mrs. Read’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span>; ‘Rochester’, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page405">405</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page409">409</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page410">410</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page414">414</a></span>; ‘Mrs. +Rochester’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span>; Branwell on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span>; Hugh Brontë on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page158">158</a></span>; Kingsley on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; Mary Taylor on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page252">252</a></span>.</p> +<p>Jannoy, Hortense, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page115">115</a></span>.</p> +<p>Japp’s <i>De Quincey Memorials</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page330">330</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Jar of Honey</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span>.</p> +<p>Jenkins, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span>.</p> +<p>Jerrold, Douglas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>John Bull</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page386">386</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘John, Dr.’ <i>See</i> Smith, George.</p> +<p>Johnson, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page395">395</a></span>.</p> +<p>Jolly, Rev. J, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Journal from Cornhill</i> etc, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page320">320</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Jupiter’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page311">311-12</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Kavanagh</span>, <span class="smcap">Julia</span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page7">7</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page168">168</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page189">189</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page203">203</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page400">400</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page411">411</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page432">432</a></span>.</p> +<p>Kavanagh, M.P., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>.</p> +<p>Keats, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Keene, Laura, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span>.</p> +<p>Keeper, the dog, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page180">180</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page202">202</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page428">428</a></span>.</p> +<p>Keighley, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page106">106</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page281">281</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page291">291</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page429">429</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page431">431</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Kenilworth</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page200">200</a></span>.</p> +<p>Keyworth, Rev. Thomas, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>.</p> +<p>Kingsley, Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>.</p> +<p>Kingston, Anne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>.</p> +<p>Kingston, Elizabeth Jane, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span>.</p> +<p>Kirk-Smeaton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page483">483</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page490">490</a></span>.</p> +<p>Kirkstall Abbey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span>.</p> +<p>Knowles, Sheridan, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Lamartine</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lamb, Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lamb, Mary, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lang’s <i>Lockhart</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lawry, Mrs., of Muswell Hill, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Leader</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page460">460</a></span>.</p> +<p>Leeds, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page49">49</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page359">359</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Leeds Mercury</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lewes, George Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page406">406</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page410">410</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page432">432</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page468">468</a></span>.</p> +<p>Leyland’s <i>Brontë Family</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page143">143</a></span>.</p> +<p>Liége, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lille, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page98">98</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lind, Jenny, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lockhart, J. G., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page348">348</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page350">350</a></span>.</p> +<p>London. <i>See</i> Brontë, Charlotte, in London.</p> +<p>London Bridge Wharf, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>.</p> +<p>Londonderry, Marchioness of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span>.</p> +<p>Louis Philippe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page373">373</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page374">374</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Lowood School’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>.</p> +<p>Luddenden Foot, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span>.</p> +<p>Luddite Riots, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page206">206</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lynn, Eliza, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lyttleton’s <i>Advice to a Lady</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page51">51</a></span>.</p> +<p>Lytton Bulwer, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page359">359</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page392">392</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page414">414</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page426">426</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Macarthey</span>, <span +class="smcap">Mr.</span>’ <i>See</i> Nicholls.</p> +<p>Macaulay’s <i>History</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page187">187</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page229">229</a></span>.</p> +<p>Macdonald, Frederika, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Macmillan’s Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>.</p> +<p>Macready, the actor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Madeline</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page170">170</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Maid of Killarney</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page33">33</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Malone, Mr.’ <i>See</i> Smith Rev. Peter A.</p> +<p>Manchester, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page17">17</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page241">241</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page349">349</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page369">369</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page462">462</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page463">463</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Marsh, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page333">333</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page404">404</a></span>.</p> +<p>Martineau, Harriet, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page278">278</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page312">312</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page313">313</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page368">368</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page416">416</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page442">442</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page445">445</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page454">454</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page456">456</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page457">457</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page459">459</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page460">460</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page469">469</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page473">473</a></span>.</p> +<p>Martineau, Rev. James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Mary Barton</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>.</p> +<p>Marzials, Madame, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mayers, H. S., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page203">203</a></span>.</p> +<p>Meredith, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span>.</p> +<p>Merrall, E, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Merrall, H, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Miles, Rev. Oddy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mill, John Stuart, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page469">469</a></span>.</p> +<p>Miller, Maria (Mrs. Robertson), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mills, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span>.</p> +<p>Milnes, Monckton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page425">425</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mirabeau, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384-85</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mirfield, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page81">81</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Mirror</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page410">410</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>.</p> +<p>Miry Shay, near Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Miss Miles</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Mrs. Leicester’s School</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Modern Painters</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span>.</p> +<p>Moore’s <i>Life</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Moorland Cottage</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span>.</p> +<p>More, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page261">261</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morgan, Lady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morgan, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page277">277</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morgan, Rev. William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page478">478</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morley, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morley, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Morning Chronicle</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page375">375</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page380">380</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Morning Herald</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Morning Post</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page434">434</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morrison, Alfred, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page325">325</a></span>.</p> +<p>Morton Village, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mossman, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>.</p> +<p>Mühl, Mdlle., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Napoleon</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page375">375</a></span>.</p> +<p>National Gallery, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span>.</p> +<p>Near and Far Oxenhope, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nelson, Lord, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page29">29</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page73">73</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page127">127</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page358">358</a></span>.</p> +<p>Newby, Thomas Cautley, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page171">171</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page337">337</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page354">354</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page365">365</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Newcastle Guardian</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>.</p> +<p>Newman, Cardinal, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page363">363</a></span>.</p> +<p>Newton & Robinson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nicholls, Rev. A. B. Chapter <span class="smcap">xvii</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page464">464-502</a></span>; birth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page465">465</a></span>; character, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page501">501</a></span>; Charlotte refers to, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page426">426</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page428">428</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page466">466</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page467">467</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page469">469</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page470">470</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page475">475</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page476">476</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page480">480</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page489">489</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page499">499</a></span>; Mrs. Gaskell’s +view of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page464">464</a></span>; and +Rev. Patrick Brontë, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page292">292</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page474">474</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page475">475</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page476">476</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page477">477</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page481">481</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page485">485</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page487">487</a></span>; wooing of Charlotte, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page472">472</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page473">473</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page475">475</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page476">476</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page480">480</a></span>; marriage with +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page490">490-1</a></span>; +marriage with Miss Bell, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page501">501</a></span>; his study at Haworth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>; in Ireland, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page183">183</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page465">465</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page467">467</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page501">501</a></span>; on Charlotte’s +letters, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page494">494</a></span>; and +Mrs. Gaskell’s biography, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10-12</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span>; and <i>Charlotte Brontë and her +Circle</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#pagev">v</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page332">332</a></span>; and Cowan Bridge +controversy, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>; his +relics of the Brontës, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123-4</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page403">403</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nicholls, Mrs. A. B. (<i>secunda</i>), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page501">501</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nicoll, Dr. Robertson, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagev">v</a></span>.</p> +<p>Noel, Baptist, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page218">218</a></span>.</p> +<p>Norfolk, Duchess of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>North American Review</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page169">169</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>North British Review</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page313">313</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page346">346</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Ellen Chapter <span class="smcap">viii</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204-233</a></span>; her pedigree, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>; at school, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page76">76</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page234">234</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page264">264</a></span>; at Haworth, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page59">59</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page60">60</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page158">158</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page273">273</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page274">274</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page276">276</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page299">299</a></span>; in Sussex, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page272">272</a></span>; visited by +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page239">239</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page301">301</a></span>; help to Mrs. +Gaskell, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9-15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page24">24</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>; <i>The Story of +Charlotte Brontë’s Life</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>; recollections of Anne, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page203">203</a></span>; recollections of +Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page178">178-180</a></span>; +recollections of Miss Wooler, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page261">261</a></span>; Charlotte’s admiration for, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page300">300</a></span>; Mary Taylor on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page249">249</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page250">250</a></span>; letters from Anne, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182-4</a></span>; letters from +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#pagev">v</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page76">76-86</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page89">89-95</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page98">98</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page102">102</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105-7</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131-2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page134">134-8</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page166">166</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page173">173</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page191">191</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page196">196</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206-32</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page237">237-8</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page240">240-4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page254">254</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page281">281-91</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page295">295-7</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page302">302-7</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page310">310-2</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page314">314-9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page321">321</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page322">322</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page360">360</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page401">401</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page417">417</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page429">429</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page430">430</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page432">432</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page443">443</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page446">446</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page448">448-50</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page452">452</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page457">457</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page462">462</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page465">465-9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page472">472-500</a></span>; letter from +Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page160">160</a></span>; letter +from Canon Heald, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page443">443</a></span>; letter from Martha Taylor, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page240">240</a></span>; letter from Mary +Taylor, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page256">256</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page258">258</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Rev. Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page160">160</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page294">294-301</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Mrs. Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page220">220</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page223">223</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page206">206</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page275">275</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Mercy, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page222">222</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page226">226</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Richard, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>.</p> +<p>Nussey, Sarah, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Oakworth</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Observer</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page431">431</a></span>.</p> +<p>O’Callaghan Castle, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page64">64-6</a></span>.</p> +<p>O’Prunty, Patrick, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Orion</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page434">434</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>.</p> +<p>Orleans, Duchess of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span>.</p> +<p>Outhwaite, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Oxford Chronicle</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Padiham</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page498">498</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Pag.’ <i>See</i> Taylor, Mary.</p> +<p><i>Palladium</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page310">310</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span>.</p> +<p>Paris, Charlotte and, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page153">153</a></span>.</p> +<p>Pascal’s <i>Thoughts</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>.</p> +<p>Patchet, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>.</p> +<p>Paxton, Sir Joseph, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>.</p> +<p>Payn, James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Pendennis</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page172">172</a></span>.</p> +<p>Penzance, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page33">33</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page103">103</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page105">105</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page217">217</a></span>.</p> +<p>Perry, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>.</p> +<p>Phillips, George Searle, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>.</p> +<p>Pickles, J, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Poems by the sisters—in manuscript, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68-72</a></span>; Aylott & Jones’s edition, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page325">325-331</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page334">334</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page348">348</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Poor Relations</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span>.</p> +<p>Port Nicholson, N.Z., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span>.</p> +<p>Portraits—of Anne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>; of Branwell, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138</a></span>; of Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page294">294</a></span>; of Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span>.</p> +<p>Postlethwaite, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page124">124</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Prelude</i>, Wordsworth’s, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span>.</p> +<p>Price, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page302">302-3</a></span>.</p> +<p>Procter, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Professor</i>, <i>The</i>—its inception, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page99">99</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page101">101</a></span>; where written, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page61">61</a></span>; the manuscript, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page332">332</a></span>; seeking a publisher, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page331">331</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page332">332</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page372">372</a></span>; its publication, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page275">275</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page335">335</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page336">336</a></span>; Mrs. Gaskell’s +proposed recasting of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page465">465</a></span>.</p> +<p>Prunty, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>.</p> +<p>Puseyite struggle, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page368">368</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Quarterly Review</span>’, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page158">158</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page176">176</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page195">195</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page347">347</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page348">348</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page352">352</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page393">393</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page397">397</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page408">408</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page410">410</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page412">412</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Railway Panic</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span>.</p> +<p>Rands of Bradford, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Ranthorpe</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page411">411</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page432">432</a></span>.</p> +<p>Rawson, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span>.</p> +<p>Read, Mrs. <i>See</i> Branwell, Elizabeth.</p> +<p>Redhead, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span>.</p> +<p>Redman, Joseph, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page479">479</a></span>.</p> +<p>Reform Bill, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>.</p> +<p>Reid, Sir Wemyss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevi">vi</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Reuter, Mdlle. Zoraïde.’ <i>See</i> +Héger, Madame.</p> +<p>Revue des deux Mondes, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page345">345</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page361">361</a></span>.</p> +<p>Richmond’s portrait of Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page294">294</a></span>.</p> +<p>Rigby, Miss. <i>See</i> Eastlake, Lady.</p> +<p>Ringrose, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page225">225</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page227">227</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ritchie, Mrs. Richmond, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page420">420-23</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Rivers, St John’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robertson, Mr. (‘Helstone’), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page430">430</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page443">443</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robinson, Rev. Edmund, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robinson, Mrs. Edmund, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robinson, Edmund jun., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page129">129</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robinson, Misses, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page154">154</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robinson, William, of Leeds, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span>.</p> +<p>Robinson’s <i>Emily Brontë</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page121">121</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page122">122</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Rochester’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page405">405</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page409">409</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page410">410</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page414">414</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Rochester, Mrs.’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>.</p> +<p>Roe Head, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page62">62</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page63">63</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page75">75</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page76">76</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page113">113</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page120">120</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page209">209</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page213">213</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page260">260</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page269">269</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page293">293</a></span>.</p> +<p>Rogers, Samuel, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p>Rouse Mill, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ruddock, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page231">231</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Rue Fossette.’ <i>See</i> Rue d’Isabelle.</p> +<p>Rue d’Isabelle, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Rural Minstrel</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page32">32</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ruskin, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page195">195</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page429">429</a></span>.</p> +<p>Ruskin John James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Russell, Lord John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page400">400</a></span>.</p> +<p>Rydings, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page206">206</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page212">212</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">S. Gudule</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page117">117</a></span>.</p> +<p>St. John’s College, Cambridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>.</p> +<p>Samplers worked by the Branwells, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>; by the Brontës, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page57">57</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span>.</p> +<p>Saunders, Rev. Moses, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span>.</p> +<p>Scarborough, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page197">197</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page198">198</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page200">200</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page203">203</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page219">219</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page221">221</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page233">233</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page272">272</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Scotsman</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page337">337</a></span>.</p> +<p>Scott, Sir Walter, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page208">208</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page429">429</a></span>.</p> +<p>Sewell, Elizabeth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260</a></span>.</p> +<p>Shaen, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page130">130</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Sharpe’s Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page452">452</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Sheffield Iris</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Shirley</i>, the curates of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page280">280</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page291">291</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page443">443</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page468">468</a></span>; other characters in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page234">234</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page236">236</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page238">238</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page346">346</a></span>; authorship of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page431">431</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page442">442</a></span>; French in, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page353">353</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page345">345</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page396">396</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page456">456</a></span>; Charles Kingsley on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; Harriet +Martineau on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page456">456</a></span>; Rev. A. B. +Nicholls on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page468">468</a></span>; +Mary Taylor on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page248">248</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span>; general reception of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page354">354</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page355">355</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page358">358</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page360">360</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page418">418</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page443">443</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page446">446</a></span>.</p> +<p>Shuttleworth, Lady, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page448">448</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page462">462</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p>Shuttleworth, Sir James Kay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page230">230</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page255">255</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page266">266</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page419">419</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page447">447</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page454">454</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page457">457</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page458">458</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page462">462</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page468">468</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page473">473</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page495">495</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page496">496</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page498">498</a></span>.</p> +<p>Shuttleworth, Sir U. J. Kay, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page446">446</a></span>.</p> +<p>Sidgwicks of Stonegappe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page79">79-84</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page113">113</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>.</p> +<p>Skelton, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Sketch</i>, <i>The</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>.</p> +<p>Skipton, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page54">54</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>.</p> +<p>Smith Elder & Co, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page5">5</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page163">163</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page176">176</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page204">204</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page271">271</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page311">311</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page314">314</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page331">331</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page335">335</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page336">336</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page370">370</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page410">410</a></span>.</p> +<p>Smith, George; and Anne, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span>; and Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page388">388</a></span>; and <i>Jane Eyre</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page198">198</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page363">363</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page372">372</a></span>; and <i>Shirley</i>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page189">189</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page190">190</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page351">351</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page352">352</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page356">356</a></span>; and <i>Villette</i>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page366">366</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page429">429</a></span>; and <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page365">365</a></span>; +sends books to Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page334">334</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page398">398</a></span>; meets Charlotte, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page187">187</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page430">430-3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page441">441</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page462">462</a></span>; writes Charlotte, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page449">449</a></span>; and James +Taylor, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page315">315</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page317">317</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page321">321</a></span>; and Thackeray, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page420">420-1</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page427">427</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page428">428</a></span>; Charlotte’s +opinion of, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page318">318</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page386">386</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page417">417</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page430">430</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page445">445</a></span>; and +Charlotte’s marriage, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Smith, Mrs. (mother of George Smith), <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page417">417</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page419">419</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page429">429</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page430">430</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page450">450</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page452">452</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page462">462</a></span>.</p> +<p>Smith, Rev. Peter Augustus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page119">119</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page288">288</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page302">302</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page465">465</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Snowe, Lucy’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span>.</p> +<p>Sophia, Mdlle., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span>.</p> +<p>Southey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page399">399</a></span>.</p> +<p>Sowden, Rev. George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page54">54</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page478">478</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page493">493</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page494">494</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page495">495</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page496">496</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page498">498</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page499">499</a></span>.</p> +<p>Sowerby Bridge, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page127">127</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Spectator</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page178">178</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page338">338</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page441">441</a></span>.</p> +<p>Stanbury, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page58">58</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page59">59</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Standard of Freedom</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page167">167</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page359">359</a></span>.</p> +<p>Stephen, Sir James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>.</p> +<p>Stephen, Leslie, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page19">19</a></span>.</p> +<p>Stephenson, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>.</p> +<p>Stonegappe, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page79">79</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page80">80</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page82">82</a></span>.</p> +<p>Stuart, Dr. J. A. Erskine, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Sun</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Sunday Times</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page435">435</a></span>.</p> +<p>Sutherland, Duchess of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page424">424</a></span>.</p> +<p>Swain, Mrs. John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page159">159</a></span>.</p> +<p>Swarcliffe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81-3</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Sweeting, Rev. Mr.’ <i>See</i> Bradley.</p> +<p>Swinburne, A. C., on Emily, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">TABLET</span>’, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page405">405</a></span>.</p> +<p>Talfourd’s <i>Lamb</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page263">263</a></span>.</p> +<p>Tatham, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Ellen, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page244">244</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page252">252</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page254">254</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, George, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Henry, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page254">254</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, James appearance, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page309">309</a></span>; history, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page307">307</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page323">323-24</a></span>; illness, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page360">360</a></span>; at Haworth, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page308">308</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page314">314</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page310">310-11</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page314">314</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page315">315</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page316">316</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page317">317</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page318">318</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page321">321</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page392">392</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page430">430</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page462">462</a></span>; Charlotte’s letters to, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page309">309</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page313">313</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page319">319</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page345">345</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page354">354</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page442">442</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page456">456</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page458">458</a></span>; his opinion of +<i>Shirley</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page355">355</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>; and Mrs. Gaskell’s biography, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>; his marriage, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page324">324</a></span>; his death, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page324">324</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Mrs. James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page324">324</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Jessie, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Joe, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page243">243</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Joshua, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Louisa, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page395">395</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Martha, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page235">235</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Mr., father of Mary Taylor, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page238">238</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page251">251</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Mary Chapter <span class="smcap">ix</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page234">234-259</a></span>; at school, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261</a></span>; in Brussels, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page98">98</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page239">239</a></span>; in New Zealand, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page85">85</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page132">132</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page220">220</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page238">238</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page241">241-59</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page290">290</a></span>; illness of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page78">78</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page84">84</a></span>; letters to Charlotte, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page210">210</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page244">244-52</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page254">254-56</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span>; description of +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page293">293</a></span>; +Charlotte and, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page77">77</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page90">90</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page131">131</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page196">196</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page207">207</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page212">212</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page223">223</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page232">232</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page306">306</a></span>; and Mrs. Gaskells +biography, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page21">21-3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page259">259</a></span>; Miss Nussey’s +description of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page234">234-37</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor, Rose, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor & Hessey, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor Waring, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page240">240</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page252">252</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page253">253</a></span>.</p> +<p>Taylor Yorke, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page236">236</a></span>.</p> +<p>Teale, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page187">187</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page194">194</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Temple, Miss’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Tenant of Wildfell Hall</i>, writing of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page364">364</a></span>; publication, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page184">184</a></span>; reception of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page412">412</a></span>; its value, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page181">181</a></span>.</p> +<p>Tennyson’s <i>Poems</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page189">189</a></span>.</p> +<p>Thackeray, William Chapter <span class="smcap">xv</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403-428</a></span>; on Charlotte, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page428">428</a></span>; on <i>Jane Eyre</i>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page404">404</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page406">406</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page408">408</a></span>; <i>Jane Eyre</i> +dedicated to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page408">408</a></span>; compared to +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page348">348-49</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page408">408</a></span>; visited by +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page416">416</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page418">418</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page420">420-3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page441">441</a></span>; sends <i>Vanity +Fair</i> to Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page403">403</a></span>; his illness, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page356">356</a></span>; his illustrations, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page342">342</a></span>; his lectures, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page427">427</a></span>; Charlotte on, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page172">172</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page177">177</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page188">188</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page275">275</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page276">276</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page319">319</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page320">320</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page333">333</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page343">343</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page391">391</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page404">404</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page406">406</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page411">411</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page412">412</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page419">419</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page423">423</a></span>; Lady Eastlake on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page348">348</a></span>; Charles +Kingsley on, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page16">16</a></span>; his +friendship with W. S. Williams, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Thackeray, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page408">408</a></span>.</p> +<p>Thiers, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page373">373</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page374">374</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page375">375</a></span>.</p> +<p>Thomas, R, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Thornton, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page3">3</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page51">51</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page56">56</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page123">123</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span>.</p> +<p>Thorp Green, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page146">146</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page148">148</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page150">150</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page182">182</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Three Paths</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page168">168</a></span>.</p> +<p>Tiger, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page151">151</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page152">152</a></span>.</p> +<p>Tighe, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Times</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page18">18</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page129">129</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page130">130</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page441">441</a></span>.</p> +<p>Tootill, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span>.</p> +<p>Trollope, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page407">407</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page409">409</a></span>.</p> +<p>Truelock, Miss, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page422">422</a></span>.</p> +<p>Turner, J. M. W., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page270">270</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page387">387</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page423">423</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Upperwood House</span>, <span +class="smcap">Rawdon</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85-94</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page238">238</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘<span class="smcap">Vanity Fair</span>’, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page1">1</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page172">172</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page349">349</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page403">403</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page411">411</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page412">412</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page413">413</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Verdopolis’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span>.</p> +<p>Vernon, Solala, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Victorian Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page259">259</a></span>.</p> +<p>Victoria, Queen, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page426">426</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page427">427</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Villette</i>—its inception, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page116">116</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page420">420</a></span>; publication, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page277">277</a></span>; its reception, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page279">279</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page366">366</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page367">367</a></span>; George Smith and, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page204">204</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page429">429</a></span>; in Brussels, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page109">109</a></span>; confession, incident +in, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page116">116</a></span>.</p> +<p>Vincent, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page304">304</a></span>.</p> +<p>Voltaire’s <i>Henriade</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Wainwright</span>, Mrs., <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page54">54</a></span>.</p> +<p>Walker, Reuben, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page206">206</a></span>.</p> +<p>Walton, Miss Agnes, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page282">282</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page283">283</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page285">285</a></span>.</p> +<p>Watman, Rev. Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span>.</p> +<p>Watt’s <i>Improvement of the Mind</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page182">182</a></span>.</p> +<p>Weatherfield, Essex, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page30">30</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Weekly Chronicle</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page358">358</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page404">404</a></span>.</p> +<p>Weightman, Rev. William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page102">102</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page179">179</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page183">183</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page284">284-7</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page289">289</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page306">306</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page467">467</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wellesley, Lord Charles, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wellington, Duke of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wellington, N. Z., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page247">247</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page249">249</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page250">250</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page258">258</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wells’s <i>Joseph and his Brethren</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page371">371</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wesley, John, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page30">30</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page31">31</a></span>.</p> +<p>Westerman, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444</a></span>.</p> +<p>Westminster, Marquis of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page463">463</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Westminster Review</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page469">469</a></span>.</p> +<p>Whately’s <i>English Social Life</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page397">397</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wheelwright, Dr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page294">294</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page430">430</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page469">469</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page470">470</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wheelwright, Lætitia, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page101">101</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page109">109</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page293">293</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page294">294</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page440">440</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page441">441</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page449">449</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page453">453</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page460">460</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page469">469</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page482">482</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wheelwright, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page470">470</a></span>.</p> +<p>White, Sarah Louisa, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span>.</p> +<p>Whites of Rawdon, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84-94</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page147">147</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page149">149</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page152">152</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page239">239</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, Anna, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, E. Thornton, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevi">vi</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, Ellen, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, Fanny, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page344">344</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page372">372</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page383">383</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page384">384</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page393">393</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page415">415</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, Frank, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page402">402</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, Louisa, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page394">394</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page395">395</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, W. S. Chapter <span class="smcap">xiv</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page370">370-402</a></span>; discovery of +Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page9">9</a></span>; sends +books to Charlotte, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page429">429</a></span>; and <i>The Professor</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page332">332</a></span>; on <i>Wuthering +Heights</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>; +Charlotte’s letters to, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevi">vi</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3-7</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page138">138-141</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page161">161-177</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page185">185-191</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page194">194-9</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page200">200-3</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page205">205</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page232">232</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page308">308</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page321">321</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page322">322</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page333">333-67</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page371">371-402</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page404">404-17</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page418">418</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page420">420</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page433">433-40</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page444">444-8</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page455">455</a></span>; meets Charlotte, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page318">318</a></span>; Charlotte’s +description of, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page430">430</a></span>; and Charlotte’s wedding, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page491">491</a></span>.</p> +<p>Williams, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page4">4</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page7">7</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page359">359</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page362">362</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page376">376</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page383">383</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page386">386</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page390">390</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page393">393</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page396">396</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page398">398</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page415">415</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page440">440</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page447">447</a></span>.</p> +<p>Willing, James, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wills, W. G., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page164">164</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wilson, Rev. Carus, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page245">245</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page339">339</a></span>.</p> +<p>Windermere, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page230">230</a></span>, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page266">266</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wise, Thomas J., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevi">vi</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wiseman, Cardinal, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page461">461</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wood, Mr. Butler, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevi">vi</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wood House Grove, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page38">38</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page43">43</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span>.</p> +<p>Woodward, Mr., of Wellington N. Z., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page249">249</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wooler, Miss C., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page264">264</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wooler, Mr., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page215">215</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wooler, Mrs., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wooler, Margaret Chapter x, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page260">260-79</a></span>; her history, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page260">260-1</a></span>; her school, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page75">75</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page77">77</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page78">78</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page91">91</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page92">92</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page96">96</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page145">145</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page181">181</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page214">214</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page215">215</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page234">234</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page235">235</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page284">284</a></span>; Charlotte’s +letters to, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page8">8</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page132">132-4</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page193">193</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page199">199</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page262">262-78</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page367">367-9</a></span>; Charlotte and, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page87">87</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page207">207</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page212">212</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page249">249</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page262">262</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page492">492</a></span>; Miss Nussey on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page261">261-2</a></span>; at the +Nusseys’, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page477">477</a></span>; and Mary Taylor, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page234">234</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page249">249</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page258">258</a></span>; and +Charlotte’s wedding, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page487">487</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page491">491</a></span>; and Mrs. Gaskell, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page12">12</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page13">13</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page14">14</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page278">278</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wordsworth, William, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page142">142</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page312">312</a></span>.</p> +<p>Wright’s <i>Brontës in Ireland</i>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page158">158</a></span>.</p> +<p><i>Wuthering Heights</i>—its inception, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page157">157</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page158">158</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page159">159</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page246">246</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page414">414</a></span>; authorship of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page122">122</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page142">142</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page143">143</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page340">340</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page342">342</a></span>; publication of, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page161">161</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page331">331</a></span>; reception of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page255">255</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page350">350</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page459">459</a></span>; reprint of, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page364">364</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page365">365</a></span>; its light on Emily, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page144">144</a></span>; Charlotte on, +<span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page162">162</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page336">336</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page337">337</a></span>; sent to Mrs. +Gaskell, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page5">5</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Yarmouth</span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page369">369</a></span>.</p> +<p>Yates, W. W., <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#pagevi">vi</a></span>.</p> +<p>York, <span class="indexpageno"><a href="#page130">130</a></span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page200">200</a></span>.</p> +<p>‘Yorke, Rose.’ <i>See</i> Taylor Mary.</p> +<p>‘--- of Briarmains.’ <i>See</i> Taylor, Mr., +banker.</p> +<p><i>Young Men’s Magazine</i>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span>, <span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page68">68</a></span>.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Zoological Gardens</span>, <span +class="indexpageno"><a href="#page451">451</a></span>.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARLOTTE BRONTE AND HER CIRCLE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 19011-h.htm or 19011-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/9/0/1/19011 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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