Chapter XVI: Literary Friendships (1)

There is a letter, printed by Mrs. Gaskell, from Charlotte Bronte to Ellen Nussey, in which Miss Bronte, when a girl of seventeen, discusses the best books to read, and expresses a particular devotion to Sir Walter Scott. During those early years she was an indefatigable student of literature. She read all that her father's study and the Keighley library could provide. When the years brought literary fame and its accompanying friendships, she was able to hold her own with the many men and women of letters whom she was destined to meet. Her staunchest friend was undoubtedly Mr. Williams, who sent her, as we have seen, all the newest books from London, and who appears to have discussed them with her as well. Next to Mr. Williams we must place his chief at Cornhill, Mr. George Smith, and Mr. Smith's mother. Mr. Smith happily still lives to reign over the famous house which introduced Thackeray, John Ruskin, and Charlotte Bronte to the world. What Charlotte thought of him may be gathered from her frank acknowledgment that he was the original of Dr. John in _Villette_, as his mother was the original of Mrs. Bretton--perhaps the two most entirely charming characters in Charlotte Bronte's novels. Mrs. Smith and her son lived, at the beginning of the friendship, at Westbourne Place, but afterwards removed to Gloucester Terrace, and Charlotte stayed with them at both houses. It was from the former that this first letter was addressed.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'4 WESTBOURNE PLACE,
'BISHOP'S ROAD, LONDON.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I have just remembered that as you do not know my
address you cannot write to me till you get it; it is as above. I
came to this big Babylon last Thursday, and have been in what seems
to me a sort of whirl ever since; for changes, scenes, and stimulus
which would be a trifle to others, are much to me. I found when I
mentioned to Mr. Smith my plan of going to Dr. Wheelwright's it would
not do at all--he would have been seriously hurt. He made his mother
write to me, and thus I was persuaded to make my principal stay at
his house. I have found no reason to regret this decision. Mrs.
Smith received me at first like one who had received the strictest
orders to be scrupulously attentive. I had fires in my bed-room
evening and morning, wax candles, etc., etc. Mrs. Smith and her
daughters seemed to look upon me with a mixture of respect and alarm.
But all this is changed--that is to say, the attention and politeness
continues as great as ever, but the alarm and estrangement are quite
gone. She treats me as if she liked me, and I begin to like her
much; kindness is a potent heart-winner. I had not judged too
favourably of her son on a first impression; he pleases me much. I
like him better even as a son and brother than as a man of business.
Mr. Williams, too, is really most gentlemanly and well-informed. His
weak points he certainly has, but these are not seen in society. Mr.
Taylor--the little man--has again shown his parts; in fact, I suspect
he is of the Helstone order of men--rigid, despotic, and self-willed.
He tries to be very kind and even to express sympathy sometimes, but
he does not manage it. He has a determined, dreadful nose in the
middle of his face, which, when poked into my countenance, cuts into
my soul like iron. Still, he is horribly intelligent, quick,
searching, sagacious, and with a memory of relentless tenacity. To
turn to Mr. Williams after him, or to Mr. Smith himself, is to turn
from granite to easy down or warm fur. I have seen Thackeray.

'C. BRONTE.'

TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL

'_November_ 6_th_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I am afraid Mr. Williams told you I was sadly "put
out" about the _Daily News_, and I believe it is to that circumstance
I owe your letters. But I have now made good resolutions, which were
tried this morning by another notice in the same style in the
_Observer_. The praise of such critics mortifies more than their
blame; an author who becomes the object of it cannot help momentarily
wishing he had never written. And to speak of the press being still
ignorant of my being a woman! Why can they not be content to take
Currer Bell for a man?

'I imagined, mistakenly it now appears, that _Shirley_ bore fewer
traces of a female hand than _Jane Eyre_; that I have misjudged
disappoints me a little, though I cannot exactly see where the error
lies. You keep to your point about the curates. Since you think me
to blame, you do right to tell me so. I rather fancy I shall be left
in a minority of one on that subject.

'I was indeed very much interested in the books you sent.
Eckermann's _Conversations with Goethe_, _Guesses at Truth_, _Friends
in Council_, and the little work on English social life pleased me
particularly, and the last not least. We sometimes take a partiality
to books as to characters, not on account of any brilliant intellect
or striking peculiarity they boast, but for the sake of something
good, delicate, and genuine. I thought that small book the
production of a lady, and an amiable, sensible woman, and I like it.

'You must not think of selecting any more works for me yet, my stock
is still far from exhausted.

'I accept your offer respecting the _Athenaeum_; it is a paper I
should like much to see, providing you can send it without trouble.
It shall be punctually returned.

'Papa's health has, I am thankful to say, been very satisfactory of
late. The other day he walked to Keighley and back, and was very
little fatigued. I am myself pretty well.

'With thanks for your kind letter and good wishes,--Believe me, yours
sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

Mrs. Gaskell has much to say of Miss Bronte's relations with George Henry Lewes. {432} He was a critic with whom she had much correspondence and not a few differences. It will be remembered that Charlotte describes him as bearing a resemblance to Emily--a curious circumstance by the light of the fact that Lewes was always adjudged among his acquaintances as a peculiarly ugly man. Here is a portion of a letter upon which Mrs. Gaskell practised considerable excisions, and of which she prints the remainder:--

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_June_ 12_th_, 1850.

'I have seen Lewes. He is a man with both weakness and sins, but
unless I err greatly, the foundation of his nature is not bad; and
were he almost a fiend in character I could not feel otherwise to him
than half-sadly, half-tenderly. A queer word that last, but I use it
because the aspect of Lewes's face almost moves me to tears, it is so
wonderfully like Emily--her eyes, her features, the very nose, the
somewhat prominent mouth, the forehead--even, at moments, the
expression. Whatever Lewes does or says, I believe I cannot hate
him. Another likeness I have seen, too, that touched me sorrowfully.
You remember my speaking of a Miss Kavanagh, a young authoress, who
supported her mother by her writings. Hearing from Mr. Williams that
she had a longing to see me, I called on her yesterday. I found a
little, almost dwarfish figure, to which even I had to look down; not
deformed--that is, not hunch-backed, but long-armed and with a large
head, and (at first sight) a strange face. She met me half-frankly,
half-tremblingly; we sat down together, and when I had talked with
her five minutes, her face was no longer strange, but mournfully
familiar--it was Martha Taylor on every lineament. I shall try to
find a moment to see her again. She lives in a poor but clean and
neat little lodging. Her mother seems a somewhat weak-minded woman,
who can be no companion to her. Her father has quite deserted his
wife and child, and this poor little, feeble, intelligent, cordial
thing wastes her brains to gain a living. She is twenty-five years
old. I do not intend to stay here, at the furthest, more than a week
longer; but at the end of that time I cannot go home, for the house
at Haworth is just now unroofed; repairs were become necessary.

'I should like to go for a week or two to the sea-side, in which case
I wonder whether it would be possible for you to join me. Meantime,
with regards to all--Believe me, yours faithfully,

'C. B.'

But her acquaintance with Lewes had apparently begun three years earlier.

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_November_ 6_th_, 1847.

'DEAR SIR,--I should be obliged to you if you will direct the
inclosed to be posted in London as I wish to avoid giving any clue to
my place of residence, publicity not being my ambition.

'It is an answer to the letter I received yesterday, favoured by you.
This letter bore the signature G. H. Lewes, and the writer informs me
that it is his intention to write a critique on _Jane Eyre_ for the
December number of _Fraser's Magazine_, and possibly also, he
intimates, a brief notice to the _Westminster Review_. Upon the
whole he seems favourably inclined to the work, though he hints
disapprobation of the melodramatic portions.

'Can you give me any information respecting Mr. Lewes? what station
he occupies in the literary world and what works he has written? He
styles himself "a fellow novelist." There is something in the candid
tone of his letter which inclines me to think well of him.

'I duly received your letter containing the notices from the
_Critic_, and the two magazines, and also the _Morning Post_. I hope
all these notices will work together for good; they must at any rate
give the book a certain publicity.--Yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

Mr. R. H. Horne {434} sent her his _Orion_.

TO R. H. HORNE

'_December_ 15_th_, 1847.

'DEAR SIR,--You will have thought me strangely tardy in acknowledging
your courteous present, but the fact is it never reached me till
yesterday; the parcel containing it was missent--consequently it
lingered a fortnight on its route.

'I have to thank you, not merely for the gift of a little book of 137
pages, but for that of a _poem_. Very real, very sweet is the poetry
of _Orion_; there are passages I shall recur to again and yet
again--passages instinct both with power and beauty. All through it
is genuine--pure from one flaw of affectation, rich in noble imagery.
How far the applause of critics has rewarded the author of _Orion_ I
do not know, but I think the pleasure he enjoyed in its composition
must have been a bounteous meed in itself. You could not, I imagine,
have written that epic without at times deriving deep happiness from
your work.

'With sincere thanks for the pleasure its perusal has afforded me,--I
remain, dear sir, yours faithfully,

'C. BELL.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'HAWORTH, _December_ 15_th_, 1847.

'DEAR SIR,--I write a line in haste to apprise you that I have got
the parcel. It was sent, through the carelessness of the railroad
people, to Bingley, where it lay a fortnight, till a Haworth carrier
happening to pass that way brought it on to me.

'I was much pleased to find that you had been kind enough to forward
the _Mirror_ along with _Fraser_. The article on "the last new
novel" is in substance similar to the notice in the _Sunday Times_.
One passage only excited much interest in me; it was that where
allusion is made to some former work which the author of _Jane Eyre_
is supposed to have published--there, I own, my curiosity was a
little stimulated. The reviewer cannot mean the little book of
rhymes to which Currer Bell contributed a third; but as that, and
_Jane Eyre_, and a brief translation of some French verses sent
anonymously to a magazine, are the sole productions of mine that have
ever appeared in print, I am puzzled to know to what else he can
refer.

'The reviewer is mistaken, as he is in perverting my meaning, in
attributing to me designs I know not, principles I disown.

'I have been greatly pleased with Mr. R. H. Horne's poem of _Orion_.
Will you have the kindness to forward to him the inclosed note, and
to correct the address if it is not accurate?--Believe me, dear sir,
yours respectfully,

'C. BELL.'

The following elaborate criticism of one of Mr. Lewes's now forgotten novels is almost pathetic; it may give a modern critic pause in his serious treatment of the abundant literary ephemera of which we hear so much from day to day.

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_May_ 1_st_, 1848.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I am glad you sent me your letter just as you had
written it--without revisal, without retrenching or softening touch,
because I cannot doubt that I am a gainer by the omission.

'It would be useless to attempt opposition to your opinions, since,
in fact, to read them was to recognise, almost point for point, a
clear definition of objections I had already felt, but had found
neither the power nor the will to express. Not the power, because I
find it very difficult to analyse closely, or to criticise in
appropriate words; and not the will, because I was afraid of doing
Mr. Lewes injustice. I preferred overrating to underrating the
merits of his work.

'Mr. Lewes's sincerity, energy, and talent assuredly command the
reader's respect, but on what points he depends to win his attachment
I know not. I do not think he cares to excite the pleasant feelings
which incline the taught to the teacher as much in friendship as in
reverence. The display of his acquirements, to which almost every
page bears testimony--citations from Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish,
French, and German authors covering as with embroidery the texture of
his English--awes and astonishes the plain reader; but if, in
addition, you permit yourself to require the refining charm of
delicacy, the elevating one of imagination--if you permit yourself to
be as fastidious and exacting in these matters as, by your own
confession, it appears _you_ are, then Mr. Lewes must necessarily
inform you that he does not deal in the article; probably he will add
that _therefore_ it must be non-essential. I should fear he might
even stigmatise imagination as a figment, and delicacy as an
affectation.

'An honest rough heartiness Mr. Lewes will give you; yet in case you
have the misfortune to remark that the heartiness might be quite as
honest if it were less rough, would you not run the risk of being
termed a sentimentalist or a dreamer?

'Were I privileged to address Mr. Lewes, and were it wise or becoming
to say to him exactly what one thinks, I should utter words to this
effect--

'"You have a sound, clear judgment as far as it goes, but I conceive
it to be limited; your standard of talent is high, but I cannot
acknowledge it to be the highest; you are deserving of all attention
when you lay down the law on principles, but you are to be resisted
when you dogmatise on feelings.

'"To a certain point, Mr. Lewes, you can go, but no farther. Be as
sceptical as you please on whatever lies beyond a certain
intellectual limit; the mystery will never be cleared up to you, for
that limit you will never overpass. Not all your learning, not all
your reading, not all your sagacity, not all your perseverance can
help you over one viewless line--one boundary as impassable as it is
invisible. To enter that sphere a man must be born within it; and
untaught peasants have there drawn their first breath, while learned
philosophers have striven hard till old age to reach it, and have
never succeeded." I should not dare, nor would it be right, to say
this to Mr. Lewes, but I cannot help thinking it both of him and many
others who have a great name in the world.

'Hester Mason's character, career, and fate appeared to me so
strange, grovelling, and miserable, that I never for a moment doubted
the whole dreary picture was from the life. I thought in describing
the "rustic poetess," in giving the details of her vulgar provincial
and disreputable metropolitan notoriety, and especially in touching
on the ghastly catastrophe of her fate, he was faithfully recording
facts--thus, however repulsively, yet conscientiously "pointing a
moral," if not "adorning a tale"; but if Hester be the daughter of
Lewes's imagination, and if her experience and her doom be inventions
of his fancy, I wish him better, and higher, and truer taste next
time he writes a novel.

'Julius's exploit with the side of bacon is not defensible; he might
certainly, for the fee of a shilling or sixpence, have got a boy to
carry it for him.

'Captain Heath, too, must have cut a deplorable figure behind the
post-chaise.

'Mrs. Vyner strikes one as a portrait from the life; and it equally
strikes one that the artist hated his original model with a personal
hatred. She is made so bad that one cannot in the least degree
sympathise with any of those who love her; one can only despise them.
She is a fiend, and therefore not like Mr. Thackeray's Rebecca, where
neither vanity, heartlessness, nor falsehood have been spared by the
vigorous and skilful hand which portrays them, but where the human
being has been preserved nevertheless, and where, consequently, the
lesson given is infinitely more impressive. We can learn little from
the strange fantasies of demons--we are not of their kind; but the
vices of the deceitful, selfish man or woman humble and warn us. In
your remarks on the good girls I concur to the letter; and I must add
that I think Blanche, amiable as she is represented, could never have
loved her husband after she had discovered that he was utterly
despicable. Love is stronger than Cruelty, stronger than Death, but
perishes under Meanness; Pity may take its place, but Pity is not
Love.

'So far, then, I not only agree with you, but I marvel at the nice
perception with which you have discriminated, and at the accuracy
with which you have marked each coarse, cold, improbable, unseemly
defect. But now I am going to take another side: I am going to
differ from you, and it is about Cecil Chamberlayne.

'You say that no man who had intellect enough to paint a picture, or
write a comic opera, could act as he did; you say that men of genius
and talent may have egregious faults, but they cannot descend to
brutality or meanness. Would that the case were so! Would that
intellect could preserve from low vice! But, alas! it cannot. No,
the whole character of Cecil is painted with but too faithful a hand;
it is very masterly, because it is very true. Lewes is nobly right
when he says that intellect is _not_ the highest faculty of man,
though it may be the most brilliant; when he declares that the
_moral_ nature of his kind is more sacred than the _intellectual_
nature; when he prefers "goodness, lovingness, and quiet
self-sacrifice to all the talents in the world."

'There is something divine in the thought that genius preserves from
degradation, were it but true; but Savage tells us it was not true
for him; Sheridan confirms the avowal, and Byron seals it with
terrible proof.

'You never probably knew a Cecil Chamberlayne. If you had known such
a one you would feel that Lewes has rather subdued the picture than
overcharged it; you would know that mental gifts without moral
firmness, without a clear sense of right and wrong, without the
honourable principle which makes a man rather proud than ashamed of
honest labour, are no guarantee from even deepest baseness.

'I have received the _Dublin University Magazine_. The notice is
more favourable than I had anticipated; indeed, I had for a long time
ceased to anticipate any from that quarter; but the critic does not
strike one as too bright. Poor Mr. James is severely handled; _you_,
likewise, are hard upon him. He always strikes me as a miracle of
productiveness.

'I must conclude by thanking you for your last letter, which both
pleased and instructed me. You are quite right in thinking it
exhibits the writer's character. Yes, it exhibits it _unmistakeably_
(as Lewes would say). And whenever it shall be my lot to submit
another MS. to your inspection, I shall crave the full benefit of
certain points in that character: I shall ever entreat my _first
critic_ to be as impartial as he is friendly; what he feels to be out
of taste in my writings, I hope he will unsparingly condemn. In the
excitement of composition, one is apt to fall into errors that one
regrets afterwards, and we never feel our own faults so keenly as
when we see them exaggerated in others.

'I conclude in haste, for I have written too long a letter; but it is
because there was much to answer in yours. It interested me. I
could not help wishing to tell you how nearly I agreed with
you.--Believe me, yours sincerely,

'C. BELL.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_April_ 5_th_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--Your note was very welcome. I purposely impose on
myself the restraint of writing to you seldom now, because I know but
too well my letters cannot be cheering. Yet I confess I am glad when
the post brings me a letter: it reminds me that if the sun of action
and life does not shine on us, it yet beams full on other parts of
the world--and I like the recollection.

'I am not going to complain. Anne has indeed suffered much at
intervals since I last wrote to you--frost and east wind have had
their effect. She has passed nights of sleeplessness and pain, and
days of depression and languor which nothing could cheer--but still,
with the return of genial weather she revives. I cannot perceive
that she is feebler now than she was a month ago, though that is not
saying much. It proves, however, that no rapid process of
destruction is going on in her frame, and keeps alive a hope that
with the renovating aid of summer she may yet be spared a long time.

'What you tell me of Mr. Lewes seems to me highly characteristic.
How sanguine, versatile, and self-confident must that man be who can
with ease exchange the quiet sphere of the author for the bustling
one of the actor! I heartily wish him success; and, in happier
times, there are few things I should have relished more than an
opportunity of seeing him in his new character.

'The Cornhill books are still our welcome and congenial resource when
Anne is well enough to enjoy reading. Carlyle's _Miscellanies_
interest me greatly. We have read _The Emigrant Family_. The
characters in the work are good, full of quiet truth and nature, and
the local colouring is excellent; yet I can hardly call it a good
novel. Reflective, truth-loving, and even elevated as is Alexander
Harris's mind, I should say he scarcely possesses the creative
faculty in sufficient vigour to excel as a writer of fiction. He
_creates_ nothing--he only copies. His characters are
portraits--servilely accurate; whatever is at all ideal is not
original. _The Testimony to the Truth_ is a better book than any
tale he can write will ever be. Am I too dogmatical in saying this?

'Anne thanks you sincerely for the kind interest you take in her
welfare, and both she and I beg to express our sense of Mrs.
Williams's good wishes, which you mentioned in a former letter. We
are grateful, too, to Mr. Smith and to all who offer us the sympathy
of friendship.

'Whenever you can write with pleasure to yourself, remember Currer
Bell is glad to hear from you, and he will make his letters as little
dreary as he can in reply.--Yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

It was always a great trouble to Miss Wheelwright, whose friendship, it will be remembered, she had made in Brussels, that Charlotte was monopolised by the Smiths on her rare visits to London, but she frequently came to call at Lower Phillimore Place.

TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT

'HAWORTH, KEIGHLEY, _December_ 17_th_, 1849.

'MY DEAR LAETITIA,--I have just time to save the post by writing a
brief note. I reached home safely on Saturday afternoon, and, I am
thankful to say, found papa quite well.

'The evening after I left you passed better than I expected. Thanks
to my substantial lunch and cheering cup of coffee, I was able to
wait the eight o'clock dinner with complete resignation, and to
endure its length quite courageously, nor was I too much exhausted to
converse; and of this I was glad, for otherwise I know my kind host
and hostess would have been much disappointed. There were only seven
gentlemen at dinner besides Mr. Smith, but of these, five were
critics--a formidable band, including the literary Rhadamanthi of the
_Times_, the _Athenaeum_, the _Examiner_, the _Spectator_, and the
_Atlas_: men more dreaded in the world of letters than you can
conceive. I did not know how much their presence and conversation
had excited me till they were gone, and then reaction commenced.
When I had retired for the night I wished to sleep; the effort to do
so was vain--I could not close my eyes. Night passed, morning came,
and I rose without having known a moment's slumber. So utterly worn
out was I when I got to Derby, that I was obliged to stay there all
night.

'The post is going. Give my affectionate love to your mamma, Emily,
Fanny, and Sarah Anne. Remember me respectfully to your papa,
and--Believe me, dear Laetitia, yours faithfully,

'C. BRONTE.'

Miss Wheelwright's other sisters well remember certain episodes in connection with these London visits. They recall Charlotte's anxiety and trepidation at the prospect of meeting Thackeray. They recollect her simple, dainty dress, her shy demeanour, her absolutely unspoiled character. They tell me it was in the _Illustrated London News_, about the time of the publication of _Shirley_, that they first learnt that Currer Bell and Charlotte Bronte were one. They would, however, have known that _Shirley_ was by a Brussels pupil, they declared, from the absolute resemblance of Hortense Moore to one of their governesses--Mlle. Hausse.

At the end of 1849 Miss Bronte and Miss Martineau became acquainted. Charlotte's admiration for her more strong-minded sister writer was at first profound.

TO JAMES TAYLOR

'_January_ 1_st_, 1850.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I am sorry there should have occurred an irregularity
in the transmission of the papers; it has been owing to my absence
from home. I trust the interruption has occasioned no inconvenience.
Your last letter evinced such a sincere and discriminating admiration
for Dr. Arnold, that perhaps you will not be wholly uninterested in
hearing that during my late visit to Miss Martineau I saw much more
of Fox How and its inmates, and daily admired, in the widow and
children of one of the greatest and best men of his time, the
possession of qualities the most estimable and endearing. Of my kind
hostess herself I cannot speak in terms too high. Without being able
to share all her opinions, philosophical, political, or religious,
without adopting her theories, I yet find a worth and greatness in
herself, and a consistency, benevolence, perseverance in her practice
such as wins the sincerest esteem and affection. She is not a person
to be judged by her writings alone, but rather by her own deeds and
life--than which nothing can be more exemplary or nobler. She seems
to me the benefactress of Ambleside, yet takes no sort of credit to
herself for her active and indefatigable philanthropy. The
government of her household is admirably administered; all she does
is well done, from the writing of a history down to the quietest
female occupation. No sort of carelessness or neglect is allowed
under her rule, and yet she is not over strict nor too rigidly
exacting; her servants and her poor neighbours love as well as
respect her.

'I must not, however, fall into the error of talking too much about
her, merely because my own mind is just now deeply impressed with
what I have seen of her intellectual power and moral worth. Faults
she has, but to me they appear very trivial weighed in the balance
against her excellencies.

'With every good wish of the season,--I am, my dear sir, yours very
sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

Meanwhile the excitement which _Shirley_ was exciting in Currer Bell's home circle was not confined to the curates. Here is a letter which Canon Heald (Cyril Hall) wrote at this time:--

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'BIRSTALL, near LEEDS,
'8_th_ _January_ 1850.

'DEAR ELLEN,--Fame says you are on a visit with the renowned Currer
Bell, the "great unknown" of the present day. The celebrated
_Shirley_ has just found its way hither. And as one always reads a
book with more interest when one has a correct insight into the
writer's designs, I write to ask a favour, which I ought not to be
regarded presumptuous in saying that I think I have a species of
claim to ask, on the ground of a sort of "poetical justice." The
interpretation of this enigma is, that the story goes that either I
or my father, I do not exactly know which, are part of "Currer
Bell's" stock-in-trade, under the title of Mr. Hall, in that Mr. Hall
is represented as black, bilious, and of dismal aspect, stooping a
trifle, and indulging a little now and then in the indigenous
dialect. This seems to sit very well on your humble servant--other
traits do better for my good father than myself. However, though I
had no idea that I should be made a means to amuse the public, Currer
Bell is perfectly welcome to what she can make of so unpromising a
subject. But I think _I have a fair claim in return to be let into
the secret of the company I have got into_. Some of them are good
enough to tell, and need no OEdipus to solve the riddle. I can
tabulate, for instance, the Yorke family for the Taylors, Mr.
Moore--Mr. Cartwright, and Mr. Helstone is clearly meant for Mr.
Robertson, though the authoress has evidently got her idea of his
character through an unfavourable medium, and does not understand the
full value of one of the most admirable characters I ever knew or
expect to know. May thinks she descries Cecilia Crowther and Miss
Johnston (afterwards Mrs. Westerman) in two old maids.

'Now pray get us a full light on all other names and localities that
are adumbrated in this said _Shirley_. When some of the prominent
characters will be recognised by every one who knows our quarters,
there can be no harm in letting one know who may be intended by the
rest. And, if necessary, I will bear Currer Bell harmless, and not
let the world know that I have my intelligence from head-quarters.
As I said before, I repeat now, that as I or mine are part of the
stock-in-trade, I think I have an equitable claim to this
intelligence, by way of my dividend. Mary and Harriet wish also to
get at this information; and the latter at all events seems to have
her own peculiar claim, as fame says she is "in the book" too. One
had need "walk . . . warily in these dangerous days," when, as Burns
(is it not he?) says--

'A chield's among you taking notes,
And faith he'll prent it.'--

'Yours sincerely,

'W. M. HEALD.

'Mary and Harriet unite with me in the best wishes of the season to
you and C--- B---. Pray give my best respects to Mr. Bronte also,
who may have some slight remembrance of me as a child. I just
remember him when at Hartshead.' {444}

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_February_ 2_nd_, 1850.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I have despatched to-day a parcel containing _The
Caxtons_, Macaulay's _Essays_, _Humboldt's Letters_, and such other
of the books as I have read, packed with a picturesque irregularity
well calculated to excite the envy and admiration of your skilful
functionary in Cornhill. By-the-bye, he ought to be careful of the
few pins stuck in here and there, as he might find them useful at a
future day, in case of having more bonnets to pack for the East
Indies. Whenever you send me a new supply of books, may I request
that you will have the goodness to include one or two of Miss
Austen's. I am often asked whether I have read them, and I excite
amazement by replying in the negative. I have read none except
_Pride and Prejudice_. Miss Martineau mentioned _Persuasion_ as the
best.

'Thank you for your account of the _First Performance_. It was
cheering and pleasant to read it, for in your animated description I
seemed to realise the scene; your criticism also enables me to form
some idea of the play. Lewes is a strange being. I always regret
that I did not see him when in London. He seems to me clever, sharp,
and coarse; I used to think him sagacious, but I believe now he is no
more than shrewd, for I have observed once or twice that he brings
forward as grand discoveries of his own, information he has casually
received from others--true sagacity disdains little tricks of this
sort. But though Lewes has many smart and some deserving points
about him, he has nothing truly great; and nothing truly great, I
should think, will he ever produce. Yet he merits just such
successes as the one you describe--triumphs public, brief, and noisy.
Notoriety suits Lewes. Fame--were it possible that he could achieve
her--would be a thing uncongenial to him: he could not wait for the
solemn blast of her trumpet, sounding long, and slowly waxing louder.

'I always like your way of mentioning Mr. Smith, because my own
opinion of him concurs with yours; and it is as pleasant to have a
favourable impression of character confirmed, as it is painful to see
it dispelled. I am sure he possesses a fine nature, and I trust the
selfishness of the world and the hard habits of business, though they
may and must modify him disposition, will never quite spoil it.

'Can you give me any information respecting Sheridan Knowles? A few
lines received from him lately, and a present of his _George Lovel_,
induce me to ask the question. Of course I am aware that he is a
dramatic writer of eminence, but do you know anything about him as a
man?

'I believe both _Shirley_ and _Jane Eyre_ are being a good deal read
in the North just now; but I only hear fitful rumours from time to
time. I ask nothing, and my life of anchorite seclusion shuts out
all bearers of tidings. One or two curiosity-hunter have made their
way to Haworth Parsonage, but our rude hill and rugged neighbourhood
will, I doubt not, form a sufficient barrier to the frequent
repetition of such visits.--Believe me, yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

The most permanent friend among the curiosity-hunters, was Sir James Kay-Shuttleworth, {446} who came a month later to Haworth.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_March_ 1_st_, 1850.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I scribble you a line in haste to tell you of my
proceedings. Various folks are beginning to come boring to Haworth,
on the wise errand of seeing the scenery described in _Jane Eyre_ and
_Shirley_; amongst others, Sir J. K. Shuttleworth and Lady S. have
persisted in coming; they were here on Friday. The baronet looks in
vigorous health; he scarcely appears more than thirty-five, but he
says he is forty-four. Lady Shuttleworth is rather handsome, and
still young. They were both quite unpretending. When here they
again urged me to visit them. Papa took their side at once--would
not hear of my refusing. I must go--this left me without plea or
defence. I consented to go for three days. They wanted me to return
with them in the carriage, but I pleaded off till to-morrow. I wish
it was well over.

'If all be well I shall be able to write more about them when I come
back. Sir J. is very courtly--fine-looking; I wish he may be as
sincere as he is polished.--In haste, yours faithfully,

'C. B.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_March_ 16_th_, 1850.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I found your letter with several others awaiting me on
my return home from a brief stay in Lancashire. The mourning border
alarmed me much. I feared that dread visitant, before whose coming
every household trembles, had invaded your hearth and taken from you
perhaps a child, perhaps something dearer still. The loss you have
actually sustained is painful, but so much _less_ painful than what I
had anticipated, that to read your letter was to be greatly relieved.
Still, I know what Mrs. Williams will feel. We can have but one
father, but one mother, and when either is gone, we have lost what
can never be replaced. Offer her, under this affliction, my sincere
sympathy. I can well imagine the cloud these sad tidings would cast
over your young cheerful family. Poor little Dick's exclamation and
burst of grief are most naive and natural; he felt the sorrow of a
child--a keen, but, happily, a transient pang. Time will, I trust,
ere long restore your own and your wife's serenity and your
children's cheerfulness.

'I mentioned, I think, that we had one or two visitors at Haworth
lately; amongst them were Sir James Kay-Shuttleworth and his lady.
Before departing they exacted a promise that I would visit them at
Gawthorpe Hall, their residence on the borders of East Lancashire. I
went reluctantly, for it is always a difficult and painful thing to
me to meet the advances of people whose kindness I am in no position
to repay. Sir James is a man of polished manners, with clear
intellect and highly cultivated mind. On the whole, I got on very
well with him.

'His health is just now somewhat broken by his severe official
labours; and the quiet drives to old ruins and old halls situate
amongst older hills and woods, the dialogues (perhaps I should rather
say monologues, for I listened far more than I talked) by the
fireside in his antique oak-panelled drawing-room, while they suited
him, did not too much oppress and exhaust me. The house, too, is
very much to my taste, near three centuries old, grey, stately, and
picturesque. On the whole, now that the visit is over, I do not
regret having paid it. The worst of it is that there is now some
menace hanging over my head of an invitation to go to them in London
during the season--this, which would doubtless be a great enjoyment
to some people, is a perfect terror to me. I should highly prize the
advantages to be gained in an extended range of observation, but I
tremble at the thought of the price I must necessarily pay in mental
distress and physical wear and tear. But you shall have no more of
my confessions--to you they will appear folly.--Yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_March_ 19_th_, 1850.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I have got home again, and now that the visit is over,
I am, as usual, glad I have been; not that I could have endured to
prolong it: a few days at once, in an utterly strange place, amongst
utterly strange faces, is quite enough for me.

'When the train stopped at Burnley, I found Sir James waiting for me.
A drive of about three miles brought us to the gates of Gawthorpe,
and after passing up a somewhat desolate avenue, there towered the
hall--grey, antique, castellated, and stately--before me. It is 250
years old, and, within as without, is a model of old English
architecture. The arms and the strange crest of the Shuttleworths
are carved on the oak pannelling of each room. They are not a
parvenue family, but date from the days of Richard III. This part of
Lancashire seems rather remarkable for its houses of ancient race.
The Townleys, who live near, go back to the Conquest.

'The people, however, were of still more interest to me than the
house. Lady Shuttleworth is a little woman, thirty-two years old,
with a pretty, smooth, lively face. Of pretension to aristocratic
airs she may be entirely acquitted; of frankness, good-humour, and
activity she has enough; truth obliges me to add, that, as it seems
to me, grace, dignity, fine feeling were not in the inventory of her
qualities. These last are precisely what her husband possesses. In
manner he can be gracious and dignified; his tastes and feelings are
capable of elevation; frank he is not, but, on the contrary, politic;
he calls himself a man of the world and knows the world's ways;
courtly and affable in some points of view, he is strict and rigorous
in others. In him high mental cultivation is combined with an
extended range of observation, and thoroughly practical views and
habits. His nerves are naturally acutely sensitive, and the present
very critical state of his health has exaggerated sensitiveness into
irritability. His wife is of a temperament precisely suited to nurse
him and wait on him; if her sensations were more delicate and acute
she would not do half so well. They get on perfectly together. The
children--there are four of them--are all fine children in their way.
They have a young German lady as governess--a quiet, well-instructed,
interesting girl, whom I took to at once, and, in my heart, liked
better than anything else in the house. She also instinctively took
to me. She is very well treated for a governess, but wore the usual
pale, despondent look of her class. She told me she was home-sick,
and she looked so.

'I have received the parcel containing the cushion and all the
etcetera, for which I thank you very much. I suppose I must begin
with the group of flowers; I don't know how I shall manage it, but I
shall try. I have a good number of letters to answer--from Mr.
Smith, from Mr. Williams, from Thornton Hunt, Laetitia Wheelwright,
Harriet Dyson--and so I must bid you good-bye for the present. Write
to me soon. The brief absence from home, though in some respects
trying and painful in itself, has, I think, given me a little better
tone of spirit. All through this month of February I have had a
crushing time of it. I could not escape from or rise above certain
most mournful recollections--the last few days, the sufferings, the
remembered words, most sorrowful to me, of those who, Faith assures
me, are now happy. At evening and bed-time such thoughts would haunt
me, bringing a weary heartache. Good-bye, dear Nell.--Yours
faithfully,

'C. B.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_May_ 21_st_, 1850.

'DEAR ELLEN,--My visit is again postponed. Sir James Shuttleworth, I
am sorry to say, is most seriously ill. Two physicians are in
attendance twice a day, and company and conversation, even with his
own relatives, are prohibited as too exciting. Notwithstanding this,
he has written two notes to me himself, claiming a promise that I
will wait till he is better, and not allow any one else "to introduce
me" as he says, "into the Oceanic life of London." Sincerely sorry
as I was for him, I could not help smiling at this sentence. But I
shall willingly promise. I know something of him, and like part, at
least, of what I do know. I do not feel in the least tempted to
change him for another. His sufferings are very great. I trust and
hope God will be pleased to spare his mind. I have just got a note
informing me that he is something better; but, of course, he will
vary. Lady Shuttleworth is much, much to be pitied too; his nights,
it seems, are most distressing.--Good-bye, dear Nell. Write soon to

'C. B.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK GARDENS, _June_ 3_rd_, 1850.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I came to London last Thursday. I am staying at Mrs.
Smith's, who has changed her residence, as the address will show. A
good deal of writing backwards and forwards, persuasion, etc., took
place before this step was resolved on; but at last I explained to
Sir James that I had some little matters of business to transact, and
that I should stay quietly at my publisher's. He has called twice,
and Lady Shuttleworth once; each of them alone. He is in a fearfully
nervous state. To my great horror he talks of my going with them to
Hampton Court, Windsor, etc. God knows how I shall get on. I
perfectly dread it.

'Here I feel very comfortable. Mrs. Smith treats me with a serene,
equable kindness which just suits me. Her son is, as before, genial
and kindly. I have seen very few persons, and am not likely to see
many, as the agreement was that I was to be very quiet. We have been
to the Exhibition of the Royal Academy, to the Opera, and the
Zoological Gardens. The weather is splendid. I shall not stay
longer than a fortnight in London. The feverishness and exhaustion
beset me somewhat, but not quite so badly as before, as indeed I have
not yet been so much tried. I hope you will write soon and tell me
how you are getting on. Give my regards to all.--Yours faithfully,

'C. B.'

TO REV. P. BRONTE

'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK GARDENS, _June_ 4_th_, 1850.

'DEAR PAPA,--I was very glad to get your letter this morning, and
still more glad to learn that your health continues in some degree to
improve. I fear you will feel the present weather somewhat
debilitating, at least if it is as warm in Yorkshire as in London. I
cannot help grudging these fine days on account of the roofing of the
house. It is a great pity the workmen were not prepared to begin a
week ago.

'Since I wrote I have been to the Opera; to the Exhibition of the
Royal Academy, where there were some fine paintings, especially a
large one by Landseer of the Duke of Wellington on the field of
Waterloo, and a grand, wonderful picture of Martin's from Campbell's
poem of the "Last Man," showing the red sun fading out of the sky,
and all the soil of the foreground made up of bones and skulls. The
secretary of the Zoological Society also sent me an honorary ticket
of admission to their gardens, which I wish you could see. There are
animals from all parts of the world inclosed in great cages in the
open air amongst trees and shrubs--lions, tigers, leopards,
elephants, numberless monkies, camels, five or six cameleopards, a
young hippopotamus with an Egyptian for its keeper; birds of all
kinds--eagles, ostriches, a pair of great condors from the Andes,
strange ducks and water-fowl which seem very happy and comfortable,
and build their nests amongst the reeds and sedges of the lakes where
they are kept. Some of the American birds make inexpressible noises.

'There are also all sorts of living snakes and lizards in cages, some
great Ceylon toads not much smaller than Flossy, some large foreign
rats nearly as large and fierce as little bull-dogs. The most
ferocious and deadly-looking things in the place were these rats, a
laughing hyena (which every now and then uttered a hideous peal of
laughter such as a score of maniacs might produce) and a cobra di
capello snake. I think this snake was the worst of all: it had the
eyes and face of a fiend, and darted out its barbed tongue sharply
and incessantly.

'I am glad to hear that Tabby and Martha are pretty well. Remember
me to them, and--Believe me, dear papa, your affectionate daughter,

'C. BRONTE.

'I hope you don't care for the notice in _Sharpe's Magazine_; it does
not disturb me in the least. Mr. Smith says it is of no consequence
whatever in a literary sense. Sharpe, the proprietor, was an
apprentice of Mr. Smith's father.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'76 GLOUCESTER TERRACE,
'HYDE PARK GARDENS, _June_ 21_st_, 1850.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I am leaving London, if all be well, on Tuesday, and
shall be very glad to come to you for a few days, if that arrangement
still remains convenient to you. I intend to start at nine o'clock
A.M. by the express train, which arrives in Leeds thirty-five minutes
past two. I should then be at Batley about four in the afternoon.
Would that suit?

'My London visit has much surpassed my expectations this time; I have
suffered less and enjoyed more than before. Rather a trying
termination yet remains to me. Mrs. Smith's youngest son is at
school in Scotland, and George, her eldest, is going to fetch him
home for the vacation. The other evening he announced his intention
of taking one of his sisters with him, and proposed that Miss Bronte
should go down to Edinburgh and join them there, and see that city
and its suburbs. I concluded he was joking, laughed and declined;
however, it seems he was in earnest. The thing appearing to me
perfectly out of the question, I still refused. Mrs. Smith did not
favour it; you may easily fancy how she helped me to sustain my
opposition, but her worthy son only waxed more determined. His
mother is master of the house, but he is master of his mother. This
morning she came and entreated me to go. "George wished it so much";
he had begged her to use her influence, etc., etc. Now I believe
that George and I understand each other very well, and respect each
other very sincerely. We both know the wide breach time has made
between us; we do not embarrass each other, or very rarely; my six or
eight years of seniority, to say nothing of lack of all pretension to
beauty, etc., are a perfect safeguard. I should not in the least
fear to go with him to China. I like to see him pleased, I greatly
_dis_like to ruffle and disappoint him, so he shall have his mind;
and if all be well, I mean to join him in Edinburgh after I shall
have spent a few days with you. With his buoyant animal spirits and
youthful vigour he will make severe demands on my muscles and nerves,
but I daresay I shall get through somehow, and then perhaps come back
to rest a few days with you before I go home. With kind regards to
all at Brookroyd, your guests included,--I am, dear Ellen, yours
faithfully,

'C. BRONTE.

'Write by return of post.'

TO MISS LAETITIA WHEELWRIGHT

'HAWORTH, _July_ 30_th_, 1850.

'MY DEAR LAETITIA,--I promised to write to you when I should have
returned home. Returned home I am, but you may conceive that many,
many matters solicit attention and demand arrangement in a house
which has lately been turned topsy-turvy in the operation of
unroofing. Drawers and cupboards must wait a moment, however, while
I fulfil my promise, though it is imperatively necessary that this
fulfilment should be achieved with brevity.

'My stay in Scotland was short, and what I saw was chiefly comprised
in Edinburgh and the neighbourhood, in Abbotsford and Melrose, for I
was obliged to relinquish my first intention of going from Glasgow to
Oban and thence through a portion of the Highlands. But though the
time was brief, and the view of objects limited, I found such a charm
of situation, association, and circumstances that I think the
enjoyment experienced in that little space equalled in degree and
excelled in kind all which London yielded during a month's sojourn.
Edinburgh compared to London is like a vivid page of history compared
to a huge dull treatise on political economy; and as to Melrose and
Abbotsford, the very names possess music and magic.

'I am thankful to say that on my return home I found papa pretty
well. Full often had I thought of him when I was far away; and
deeply sad as it is on many accounts to come back to this old house,
yet I was glad to be with him once more.

'You were proposing, I remember, to go into the country; I trust you
are there now and enjoying this fine day in some scene where the air
will not be tainted, nor the sunshine dimmed, by London smoke. If
your papa, mamma, or any of your sisters are within reach, give them
my kindest remembrances--if not, save such remembrances till you see
them.--Believe me, my dear Laetitia, yours hurriedly but faithfully,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO REV. P. BRONTE

'AMBLESIDE, _August_ 15_th_, 1850.