TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
‘July 29th, 1844.
‘Dear Nell, — I am very glad to hear of Henry’s good fortune. It proves to me what an excellent thing perseverance is for getting on in the world. Calm self-confidence (not impudence, for that is vulgar and repulsive) is an admirable quality; but how are those not naturally gifted with it to attain it? We all here get on much as usual. Papa wishes he could hear of a curate, that Mr. Smith may be at liberty to go. Good-bye, dear Ellen. I wish to you and yours happiness, health, and prosperity.
‘Write again before you go to Burlington. My best love to Mary.
‘C. Brontë.’
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.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
‘August 4th, 1839.
‘My dearest Ellen, — I have an odd circumstance to relate to you — prepare for a hearty laugh! The other day Mr. Hodgson, papa’s former curate, now a vicar, came over to spend the day with us, bringing with him his own curate. The latter gentleman, by name Mr. Price, is a young Irish clergyman, fresh from Dublin University. It was the first time we had any of us seen him, but, however, after the manner of his countrymen, he soon made himself at home. His character quickly appeared in his conversation: witty, lively, ardent, clever too, but deficient in the dignity and discretion of an Englishman. At home, you know, Ellen, I talk with ease, and am never shy, never weighed down and oppressed by that miserable mauvaise honte which torments and constrains me elsewhere. So I conversed with this Irishman and laughed at his jests, and though I saw faults in his character, excused them because of the amusement his originality afforded. I cooled a little, indeed, and drew in towards the latter part of the evening, because he began to season his conversation with something of Hibernian flattery, which I did not quite relish. However, they went away, and no more was thought about them. A few days after I got a letter, the direction of which puzzled me, it being in a hand I was not accustomed to see. Evidently, it was neither from you nor Mary Taylor, my only correspondents. Having opened and read it, it proved to be a declaration of attachment and proposal of matrimony, expressed in the ardent language of the sapient young Irishman! Well! thought I, I have heard of love at first sight, but this beats all. I leave you to guess what my answer would be, convinced that you will not do me the injustice of guessing wrong. When we meet I’ll show you the letter. I hope you are laughing heartily. This is not like one of my adventures, is it? It more nearly resembles Martha Taylor’s. I am certainly doomed to be an old maid. Never mind, I made up my mind to that fate ever since I was twelve years old. Write soon.
‘C. Brontë.’
It was not many months after this that we hear the last of poor Mr. Price.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
‘January 24th, 1840.
‘My dear Ellen, — Mr. Price is dead. He had fallen into a state of delicate health for some time, and the rupture of a blood-vessel carried him off. He was a strong, athletic-looking man when I saw him, and that is scarcely six months ago. Though I knew so little of him, and of course could not be deeply or permanently interested in what concerned him, I confess, when I suddenly heard he was dead, I felt both shocked and saddened: it was no shame to feel so, was it? I scold you, Ellen, for writing illegibly and badly, but I think you may repay the compliment with cent per cent interest. I am not in the humour for writing a long letter, so good-bye. God bless you.
‘C. B.’
There are many thoughts on marriage scattered through Charlotte’s correspondence. It was a subject upon which she never wearied of asking questions, and of finding her own answers. ‘I believe it is better to marry to love than to marry for love,’ she says on one occasion. And in reference to the somewhat uncertain attitude of the admirer of one of her friends, she thus expresses herself to Miss Nussey:
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
‘November 20th, 1840.
‘My dearest Nell, — That last letter of thine treated of matters so high and important I cannot delay answering it for a day. Now I am about to write thee a discourse, and a piece of advice which thou must take as if it came from thy grandmother. But in the first place, before I begin with thee, I have a word to whisper in the ear of Mr. Vincent, and I wish it could reach him. In the name of St. Chrysostom, St. Simon, and St. Jude, why does not that amiable young gentleman come forward like a man and say all that he has to say personally, instead of trifling with kinsmen and kinswomen. “Mr. Vincent,” I say, “go personally, and say: ‘Miss — -, I want to speak to you.’ Miss — - will of course civilly answer: ‘I am at your service, Mr. Vincent.’ And then, when the room is cleared of all but yourself and herself, just take a chair nearer. Insist upon her laying down that silly . . . work, and listening to you. Then begin, in a clear, distinct, deferential, but determined voice: ‘Miss — -, I have a question to put to you — a very important question: “Will you take me as your husband, for better, for worse. I am not a rich man, but I have sufficient to support us. I am not a great man, but I love you honestly and truly. Miss — -, if you knew the world better you would see that this is an offer not to be despised — a kind attached heart and a moderate competency.” Do this, Mr. Vincent, and you may succeed. Go on writing sentimental and love-sick letters to — -, and I would not give sixpence for your suit.” So much for Mr. Vincent. Now Miss — -’s turn comes to swallow the black bolus, called a friend’s advice. Say to her: “Is the man a fool? is he a knave? a humbug, a hypocrite, a ninny, a noodle? If he is any or all of these, of course there is no sense in trifling with him. Cut him short at once — blast his hopes with lightning rapidity and keenness. Is he something better than this? has he at least common sense, a good disposition, a manageable temper? Then consider the matter.” Say further: “You feel a disgust towards him now — an utter repugnance. Very likely, but be so good as to remember you don’t know him; you have only had three or four days’ acquaintance with him. Longer and closer intimacy might reconcile you to a wonderful extent. And now I’ll tell you a word of truth, at which you may be offended or not as you like.” Say to her: “From what I know of your character, and I think I know it pretty well, I should say you will never love before marriage. After that ceremony is over, and after you have had some months to settle down, and to get accustomed to the creature you have taken for your worse half, you will probably make a most affectionate and happy wife; even if the individual should not prove all you could wish, you will be indulgent towards his little follies and foibles, and will not feel much annoyance at them. This will especially be the case if he should have sense sufficient to allow you to guide him in important matters.” Say also: “I hope you will not have the romantic folly to wait for what the French call ‘une grande passion.’ My good girl, ‘une grande passion’ is ‘une grande folie.’ Mediocrity in all things is wisdom; mediocrity in the sensations is superlative wisdom.” Say to her: “When you are as old as I am (I am sixty at least, being your grandmother), you will find that the majority of those worldly precepts, whose seeming coldness shocks and repels us in youth, are founded in wisdom.”
‘No girl should fall in love till the offer is actually made. This maxim is just. I will even extend and confirm it: No young lady should fall in love till the offer has been made, accepted, the marriage ceremony performed, and the first half-year of wedded life has passed away. A woman may then begin to love, but with great precaution, very coolly, very moderately, very rationally. If she ever loves so much that a harsh word or a cold look cuts her to the heart she is a fool. If she ever loves so much that her husband’s will is her law, and that she has got into a habit of watching his looks in order that she may anticipate his wishes, she will soon be a neglected fool.
‘I have two studies: you are my study for the success, the credit, and the respectability of a quiet, tranquil character; Mary is my study for th
e contempt, the remorse, the misconstruction which follow the development of feelings in themselves noble, warm, generous, devoted, and profound, but which, being too freely revealed, too frankly bestowed, are not estimated at their real value. I never hope to see in this world a character more truly noble. She would die willingly for one she loved. Her intellect and her attainments are of the very highest standard. Yet I doubt whether Mary will ever marry. Mr. Weightman expresses himself very strongly on young ladies saying “No,” when they mean “Yes.” He assures me he means nothing personal. I hope not. Assuredly I quite agree with him in his disapprobation of such a senseless course. It is folly indeed for the tongue to stammer a negative when the heart is proclaiming an affirmative. Or rather, it is an act of heroic self-denial, of which I for one confess myself wholly incapable. I would not tell such a lie to gain a thousand pounds. Write to me again soon. What made you say I admired Hippocrates? It is a confounded “fib.” I tried to find something admirable in him, and failed.’
‘He is perhaps only like the majority of men’ (she says of an acquaintance). ‘Certainly those men who lead a gay life in their youth, and arrive at middle-age with feelings blunted and passions exhausted, can have but one aim in marriage — the selfish advancement of their interest. Hard to think that such men take as wives — as second-selves — women young, modest, sincere, pure in heart and life, with feelings all fresh and emotions all unworn, and bind such virtue and vitality to their own withered existence, such sincerity to their own hollowness, such disinterestedness to their own haggard avarice — to think this, troubles the soul to its inmost depths. Nature and justice forbid the banns of such wedlock.’
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
‘August 9th, 1846.
‘Dear Nell, — Anne and I both thank you for your kind invitation. And our thanks are not mere words of course — they are very sincere, both as addressed to yourself and your mother and sisters. But we cannot accept it; and I think even you will consider our motives for declining valid this time.
‘In a fortnight I hope to go with papa to Manchester to have his eyes couched. Emily and I made a pilgrimage there a week ago to search out an operator, and we found one in the person of Mr. Wilson. He could not tell from the description whether the eyes were ready for an operation. Papa must therefore necessarily take a journey to Manchester to consult him. If he judges the cataract ripe, we shall remain; if, on the contrary, he thinks it not yet sufficiently hardened, we shall have to return — and Papa must remain in darkness a while longer.
‘There is a defect in your reasoning about the feelings a wife ought to experience. Who holds the purse will wish to be master, Ellen, depend on it, whether man or woman. Who provided the cash will now and then value himself, or herself, upon it, and, even in the case of ordinary minds, reproach the less wealthy partner. Besides, no husband ought to be an object of charity to his wife, as no wife to her husband. No, dear Ellen; it is doubtless pleasant to marry well, as they say, but with all pleasures are mixed bitters. I do not wish for my friend a very rich husband. I should not like her to be regarded by any man ever as “a sweet object of charity.” Give my sincere love to all. — Yours,
‘C. Brontë.’
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. 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, Shirley, and here is Charlotte’s reply.
TO W. S. WILLIAMS
‘August 24th, 1849.
‘My dear Sir, — I think the best title for the book would be Shirley, without any explanation or addition — the simpler and briefer, the better.
‘If Mr. Taylor calls here on his return to town he might take charge of the Ms.; I would rather intrust it to him than send it by the ordinary conveyance. Did I see Mr. Taylor when I was in London? I cannot remember him.
‘I would with pleasure offer him the homely hospitalities of the Parsonage for a few days, if I could at the same time offer him the company of a brother, or if my father were young enough and strong enough to walk with him on the moors and show him the neighbourhood, or if the peculiar retirement of papa’s habits were not such as to render it irksome to him to give much of his society to a stranger, even in the house. Without being in the least misanthropical or sour-natured, papa habitually prefers solitude to society, and custom is a tyrant whose fetters it would now be impossible for him to break. Were it not for difficulties of this sort, I believe I should ere this have asked you to come down to Yorkshire. Papa, I know, would receive any friend of Mr. Smith’s with perfect kindness and goodwill, but I likewise know that, unless greatly put out of his way, he could not give a guest much of his company, and that, consequently, his entertainment would be but dull.
‘You will see the force of these considerations, and understand why I only ask Mr. Taylor to come for a day instead of requesting the pleasure of his company for a longer period; you will believe me also, and so will he, when I say I shall be most happy to see him. He will find Haworth a strange uncivilised little place, such as, I daresay, he never saw before. It is twenty miles distant from Leeds; he will have to come by rail to Keighley (there are trains every two hours I believe). He must remember that at a station called Shipley the carriages are changed, otherwise they will take him on to Skipton or Colne, or I know not where. When he reaches Keighley, he will yet have four miles to travel; a conveyance may be hired at the Devonshire Arms — there is no coach or other regular communication.
‘I should like to hear from him before he comes, and to know on what day to expect him, that I may have the MS. ready; if it is not quite finished I might send the concluding chapter or two by post.
‘I advise you to send this letter to Mr. Taylor — it will save you the trouble of much explanation, and will serve to apprise him of what lies before him; he can then weigh well with himself whether it would suit him to take so much trouble for so slight an end. — Believe me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,
‘C. Brontë.’
TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL.
‘September 3rd, 1849.
‘My dear Sir, — It will be quite convenient to my father and myself to secure your visit on Saturday the 8th inst.
‘The MS. is now complete, and ready for you.
‘Trusting that you have enjoyed your holiday and derived from your excursion both pleasure and profit, — I am, dear sir, yours sincerely,
‘C. Brontë.’
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.
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY
‘September 14th, 1850.
‘Dear Ellen, — I found after sealing my last note to you that I had forgotten after all to inclose Amelia’s letter; however, it appears it does not signify. While I think of it I must refer to an act of petty larceny committed by me when I was last at Brookroyd. Do you remember lending me a parasol, which I should have left with you when we parted at Leeds? I unconsciously carried it away in my hand. You shall have it when you next come to Haworth.
‘I wish, dear Ellen, you would tell me what is the “twaddle about my marrying, etc.,” which you hear. If I knew the details I should have a better chance of guessing the quarter from which such gossip comes — as it is, I am quite at a loss. Whom am I to marry? I think I have scarcely seen a single man with whom such a union wo
uld be possible since I left London. Doubtless there are men whom, if I chose to encourage, I might marry; but no matrimonial lot is even remotely offered me which seems to me truly desirable. And even if that were the case, there would be many obstacles. The least allusion to such a thing is most offensive to papa.
‘An article entitled Currer Bell has lately appeared in the Palladium, a new periodical published in Edinburgh. It is an eloquent production, and one of such warm sympathy and high appreciation as I had never expected to see. It makes mistakes about authorships, etc., but these I hope one day to set right. Mr. Taylor (the little man) first informed me of this article. I was somewhat surprised to receive his letter, having concluded nine months ago that there would be no more correspondence from that quarter. I inclose you a note from him received subsequently, in answer to my acknowledgment. Read it and tell me exactly how it impresses you regarding the writer’s character, etc. His little newspaper disappeared for some weeks, and I thought it was gone to the tomb of the Capulets; however, it has reappeared, with an explanation that he had feared its regular transmission might rather annoy than gratify. I told him this was a mistake — that I was well enough pleased to receive it, but hoped he would not make a task of sending it. For the rest, I cannot consider myself placed under any personal obligation by accepting this newspaper, for it belongs to the establishment of Smith & Elder. This little Taylor is deficient neither in spirit nor sense.
‘The report about my having published again is, of course, an arrant lie.
‘Give my kind regards to all, and — Believe me, yours faithfully,
‘C. B.’
Her friend’s reference to Jupiter is to another suggested lover, and the kindly allusion to the ‘little man’ may be taken to imply that had he persevered, or not gone off to India, whither he was sent to open a branch establishment in Bombay for Smith & Elder, Mr. Taylor might possibly have been successful in the long run.
Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Page 509
