Book: The Life of Charlotte Bronte

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I remember two or three subjects of the conversations which she
and I held in the evenings, besides those alluded to in my
letter.

I asked her whether she had ever taken opium, as the description
given of its effects in "Villette" was so exactly like what I had
experienced,--vivid and exaggerated presence of objects, of which
the outlines were indistinct, or lost in golden mist , etc. She
replied, that she had never, to her knowledge, taken a grain of
it in any shape, but that she had followed the process she always
adopted when she had to describe anything which had not fallen
within her own experience; she had thought intently on it for
many and many a night before falling to sleep,--wondering what it
was like, or how it would be,--till at length, sometimes after
the progress of her story had been arrested at this one point for
weeks, she wakened up in the morning with all clear before her,
as if she had in reality gone through the experience, and then
could describe it, word for word, as it had happened. I cannot
account for this psychologically; I only am sure that it was so,
because she said it.

She made many inquiries as to Mrs. Stowe's personal appearance;
and it evidently harmonised well with some theory of hers, to
hear that the author of Uncle Tom's Cabin was small and slight.
It was another theory of hers, that no mixtures of blood produced
such fine characters, mentally and morally, as the Scottish and
English.

I recollect, too, her saying how acutely she dreaded a charge of
plagiarism, when, after she had written "Jane Eyre;" she read the
thrilling effect of the mysterious scream at midnight in Mrs.
Marsh's story of the "Deformed." She also said that, when she
read the "Neighbours," she thought every one would fancy that she
must have taken her conception of Jane Eyre's character from that
of "Francesca," the narrator of Miss Bremer's story. For my own
part, I cannot see the slightest resemblance between the two
characters, and so I told her; but she persisted in saying that
Francesca was Jane Eyre married to a good-natured "Bear" of a
Swedish surgeon.

We went, not purposely, but accidentally, to see various poor
people in our distant walks. From one we had borrowed an
umbrella; in the house of another we had taken shelter from a
rough September storm. In all these cottages, her quiet presence
was known. At three miles from her home, the chair was dusted for
her, with a kindly "Sit ye down, Miss Bronte;" and she knew what
absent or ailing members of the family to inquire after. Her
quiet, gentle words, few though they might be, were evidently
grateful to those Yorkshire ears. Their welcome to her, though
rough and curt, was sincere and hearty.

We talked about the different courses through which life ran. She
said, in her own composed manner, as if she had accepted the
theory as a fact, that she believed some were appointed
beforehand to sorrow and much disappointment; that it did not
fall to the lot of all--as Scripture told us--to have their lines
fall in pleasant places; that it was well for those who had
rougher paths, to perceive that such was God's will concerning
them, and try to moderate their expectations, leaving hope to
those of a different doom, and seeking patience and resignation
as the virtues they were to cultivate. I took a different view: I
thought that human lots were more equal than she imagined; that
to some happiness and sorrow came in strong patches of light and
shadow, (so to speak), while in the lives of others they were
pretty equally blended throughout. She smiled, and shook her
head, and said she was trying to school herself against ever
anticipating any pleasure; that it was better to be brave and
submit faithfully; there was some good reason, which we should
know in time, why sorrow and disappointment were to be the lot of
some on earth. It was better to acknowledge this, and face out
the truth in a religious faith.

In connection with this conversation, she named a little abortive
plan which I had not heard of till then; how, in the previous
July, she had been tempted to join some friends (a married couple
and their child) in an excursion to Scotland. They set out
joyfully; she with especial gladness, for Scotland was a land
which had its roots deep down in her imaginative affections, and
the glimpse of two days at Edinburgh was all she had as yet seen
of it. But, at the first stage after Carlisle, the little
yearling child was taken with a slight indisposition; the anxious
parents fancied that strange diet disagreed with it, and hurried
back to their Yorkshire home as eagerly as, two or three days
before, they had set their faces northward, in hopes of a month's
pleasant ramble.

We parted with many intentions, on both sides, of renewing very
frequently the pleasure we had had in being together. We agreed
that when she wanted bustle, or when I wanted quiet, we were to
let each other know, and exchange visits as occasion required.

I was aware that she had a great anxiety on her mind at this
time; and being acquainted with its nature, I could not but
deeply admire the patient docility which she displayed in her
conduct towards her father.

Soon after I left Haworth, she went on a visit to Miss Wooler,
who was then staying at Hornsea. The time passed quietly and
happily with this friend, whose society was endeared to her by
every year.

To Miss WOOLER

"Dec. 12th, 1853.

"I wonder how you are spending these long winter evenings. Alone,
probably, like me. The thought often crosses me, as I sit by
myself, how pleasant it would be if you lived within a walking
distance, and I could go to you sometimes, or have you to come
and spend a day and night with me. Yes; I did enjoy that week at
Hornsea, and I look forward to spring as the period when you will
fulfil your promise of coming to visit me. I fear you must be
very solitary at Hornsea. How hard to some people of the world it
would seem to live your life! how utterly impossible to live it
with a serene spirit and an unsoured disposition! It seems
wonderful to me, because you are not, like Mrs. ----, phlegmatic
and impenetrable, but received from nature feelings of the very
finest edge. Such feelings, when they are locked up, sometimes
damage the mind and temper. They don't with you. It must be
partly principle, partly self-discipline, which keeps you as you
are."

Of course, as I draw nearer to the years so recently closed, it
becomes impossible for me to write with the same fulness of
detail as I have hitherto not felt it wrong to use. Miss Bronte
passed the winter of 1853-4 in a solitary and anxious manner. But
the great conqueror Time was slowly achieving his victory over
strong prejudice and human resolve. By degrees Mr. Bronte became
reconciled to the idea of his daughter's marriage.

There is one other letter, addressed to Mr. Dobell, which
developes the intellectual side of her character, before we lose
all thought of the authoress in the timid and conscientious woman
about to become a wife, and in the too short, almost perfect,
happiness of her nine months of wedded life.

"Haworth, near Keighley,

"Feb. 3rd, 1854.

"My dear Sir,--I can hardly tell you how glad I am to have an
opportunity of explaining that taciturnity to which you allude.
Your letter came at a period of danger and care, when my father
was very ill, and I could not leave his bedside. I answered no
letters at that time, and yours was one of three or four that,
when leisure returned to me, and I came to consider their
purport, it seemed to me such that the time was past for
answering them, and I laid them finally aside. If you remember,
you asked me to go to London; it was too late either to go or to
decline. I was sure you had left London. One circumstance you
mentioned--your wife's illness--which I have thought of many a
time, and wondered whether she is better. In your present note
you do not refer to her, but I trust her health has long ere now
been quite restored.

"'Balder' arrived safely. I looked at him, before cutting his
leaves with singular pleasure. Remembering well his elder
brother, the potent 'Roman,' it was natural to give a cordial
welcome to a fresh scion of the same house and race. I have read
him. He impressed me thus he teems with power; I found in him a
wild wealth of life, but I thought his favourite and favoured
child would bring his sire trouble--would make his heart ache. It
seemed to me, that his strength and beauty were not so much those
of Joseph, the pillar of Jacob's age, as of the Prodigal Son, who
troubled his father, though he always kept his love.

"How is it that while the first-born of genius often brings
honour, the second as almost often proves a source of depression
and care? I could almost prophesy that your third will atone for
any anxiety inflicted by this his immediate predecessor.

"There is power in that character of 'Balder,' and to me a
certain horror. Did you mean it to embody, along with force, any
of the special defects of the artistic character? It seems to me
that those defects were never thrown out in stronger lines. I did
not and could not think you meant to offer him as your cherished
ideal of the true, great poet; I regarded him as a
vividly-coloured picture of inflated self-esteem, almost frantic
aspiration; of a nature that has made a Moloch of
intellect--offered up; in pagan fires, the natural
affections--sacrificed the heart to the brain. Do we not all know
that true greatness is simple, self-oblivious, prone to
unambitious, unselfish attachments? I am certain you feel this
truth in your heart of hearts.

"But if the critics err now (as yet I have seen none of their
lucubrations), you shall one day set them right in the second
part of 'Balder.' You shall show them that you too know--better,
perhaps, than they--that the truly great man is too sincere in
his affections to grudge a sacrifice; too much absorbed in his
work to talk loudly about it; too intent on finding the best way
to accomplish what he undertakes to think great things of
himself--the instrument. And if God places seeming impediments in
his way--if his duties sometimes seem to hamper his powers--he
feels keenly, perhaps writhes, under the slow torture of
hindrance and delay; but if there be a true man's heart in his
breast, he can bear, submit, wait patiently.

"Whoever speaks to me of 'Balder'--though I live too retired a
life to come often in the way of comment--shall be answered
according to your suggestion and my own impression. Equity
demands that you should be your own interpreter. Good-bye for the
present, and believe me,

"Faithfully and gratefully,

"CHARLOTTE BRONTE.

"Sydney Dobell, Esq."

A letter to her Brussels schoolfellow gives an idea of the
external course of things during this winter.

"March 8th.

"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, glad tidings
both of your papa, mama, your sisters, and, last but not least,
your dear respected English self.

"My dear father has borne the severe winter very well, a
circumstance for which I feel the more thankful as he had many
weeks of very precarious health last summer, following an attack
from which he suffered in 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, when, after that dreary and
almost despairing interval of utter darkness, some gleam of
daylight became visible to him once more. I had feared that
paralysis had seized the optic nerve. A sort of mist remained for
a long time; and, indeed, his vision is not yet perfectly clear,
but he can read, write, and walk about, and he preaches TWICE
every Sunday, the curate only reading the prayers. YOU can well
understand how earnestly I wish and pray that sight may be spared
him to the end; he so dreads the privation of blindness. His mind
is just as strong and active as ever, and politics interest him
as they do YOUR papa. The Czar, the war, the alliance between
France and England--into all these things he throws himself heart
and soul; they seem to carry him back to his comparatively young
days, and to renew the excitement of the last great European
struggle. Of course my father's sympathies (and mine too) are all
with Justice and Europe against Tyranny and Russia.

"Circumstanced as I have been, you will comprehend that I have
had neither the leisure nor the 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 find reason for
often-renewed feelings of gratitude, in the sort of support which
still comes and cheers me on 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 P.
Place."

In April she communicated the fact of her engagement to Miss
Wooler.

"Haworth, April 12th.

"My dear Miss Wooler,--The truly kind interest which you always
taken in my affairs makes me feel that it is due to you to
transmit an early communication on a subject respecting which I
have already consulted you more than once. I must tell you then,
that since I wrote last, papa's mind has gradually come round to
a view very different to that which he once took; and that after
some correspondence, and as the result of a visit Mr. Nicholls
paid here about a week ago, it was agreed that he was to resume
the curacy of Haworth, as soon as papa's present assistant is
provided with a situation, and in due course of time he is to be
received as an inmate into this house.

"It gives me unspeakable content to see that now my father has
once admitted this new view of the case, he dwells on it very
complacently. In all arrangements, his convenience and seclusion
will be scrupulously respected. Mr. Nicholls seems deeply to feel
the wish to comfort and sustain his declining years. I think from
Mr. Nicholls' character I may depend on this not being a mere
transitory impulsive feeling, but rather that it will be accepted
steadily as a duty, and discharged tenderly as an office of
affection. The destiny which Providence in His goodness and
wisdom seems to offer me will not, I am aware, be generally
regarded as brilliant, but I trust I see in it some germs of real
happiness. I trust the demands of both feeling and duty will be
in some measure reconciled by the step in contemplation. It is
Mr. Nicholls' wish that the marriage should take place this
summer; he urges the month of July, but that seems very soon.

"When you write to me, tell me how you are. . . . I have now
decidedly declined the visit to London; the ensuing three months
will bring me abundance of occupation; I could not afford to
throw away a month. . . . Papa has just got a letter from the
good and dear bishop, which has touched and pleased us much; it
expresses so cordial an approbation of Mr. Nicholls' return to
Haworth (respecting which he was consulted), and such kind
gratification at the domestic arrangements which are to ensue. It
seems his penetration discovered the state of things when he was
here in June 1853."

She expressed herself in other letters, as thankful to One who
had guided her through much difficulty and much distress and
perplexity of mind; and yet she felt what most thoughtful women
do, who marry when the first flush of careless youth is over,
that there was a strange half-sad feeling, in making
announcements of an engagement--for cares and fears came mingled
inextricably with hopes. One great relief to her mind at this
time was derived from the conviction that her father took a
positive pleasure in all the thoughts about and preparations for
her wedding. He was anxious that things should be expedited, and
was much interested in every preliminary arrangement for the
reception of Mr. Nicholls into the Parsonage as his daughter's
husband. This step was rendered necessary by Mr. Bronte's great
age, and failing sight, which made it a paramount obligation on
so dutiful a daughter as Charlotte, to devote as much time and
assistance as ever in attending to his wants. Mr. Nicholls, too,
hoped that he might be able to add some comfort and pleasure by
his ready presence, on any occasion when the old clergyman might
need his services.

At the beginning of May, Miss Bronte left home to pay three
visits before her marriage. The first was to us. She only
remained three days, as she had to go to the neighbourhood of
Leeds, there to make such purchases as were required for her
marriage. Her preparations, as she said, could neither be
expensive nor extensive; consisting chiefly in a modest
replenishing of her wardrobe, some re-papering and re-painting in
the Parsonage; and, above all, converting the small flagged
passage-room, hitherto used only for stores (which was behind her
sitting room), into a study for her husband. On this idea, and
plans for his comfort, as well as her father's, her mind dwelt a
good deal; and we talked them over with the same unwearying
happiness which, I suppose, all women feel in such
discussions--especially when money considerations call for that
kind of contrivance which Charles Lamb speaks of in his Essay on
Old China, as forming so great an addition to the pleasure of
obtaining a thing at last.

"Haworth, May 22nd.

"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 in Manchester and B----. 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 if he is
doomed to suffer, so much the more will he need care and help.
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."

Mr. Bronte had a slight illness which alarmed her much. Besides,
all the weight of care involved in the household preparations
pressed on the bride in this case--not unpleasantly, only to the
full occupation of her time. She was too busy to unpack her
wedding dresses for several days after they arrived from Halifax;
yet not too busy to think of arrangements by which Miss Wooler's
journey to be present at the marriage could be facilitated.

"I write to Miss Wooler to-day. Would it not be better, dear, if
you and she could arrange to come to Haworth on the same day,
arrive at Keighley by the same train; then I could order the cab
to meet you at the station, and bring you on with your luggage?
In this hot weather walking would be quite out of the question,
either for you or for her; and I know she would persist in doing
it if left to herself, and arrive half killed. I thought it
better to mention this arrangement to you first, and then, if you
liked it, you could settle the time, etc., with Miss Wooler, and
let me know. Be sure and give me timely information, that I may
write to the Devonshire Arms about the cab.

"Mr. Nicholls is a kind, considerate fellow. With all his
masculine faults, he enters into my wishes about having the thing
done quietly, in a way that makes me grateful; and if nobody
interferes and spoils his arrangements, he will manage it so that
not a soul in Haworth shall be aware of the day. He is so
thoughtful, too, about 'the ladies,'--that is, you and Miss
Wooler. Anticipating, too, the very arrangements I was going to
propose to him about providing for your departure, etc. He and
Mr. S---- come to ---- the evening before; write me a note to let
me know they are there; precisely at eight in the morning they
will be in the church, and there we are to meet them. Mr. and
Mrs. Grant are asked to the breakfast, not to the ceremony.

It was fixed that the marriage was to take place on the 29th of
June. Her two friends arrived at Haworth Parsonage the day
before; and the long summer afternoon and evening were spent by
Charlotte in thoughtful arrangements for the morrow, and for her
father's comfort during her absence from home. When all was
finished--the trunk packed, the morning's breakfast arranged, the
wedding-dress laid out,--just at bedtime, Mr. Bronte announced
his intention of stopping at home while the others went to
church. What was to be done? Who was to give the bride away?
There were only to be the officiating clergyman, the bride and
bridegroom, the bridesmaid, and Miss Wooler present. The
Prayer-book was referred to; and there it was seen that the
Rubric enjoins that the Minister shall receive "the woman from
her father's or FRIEND'S hands," and that nothing is specified as
to the sex of the "friend." So Miss Wooler, ever kind in
emergency, volunteered to give her old pupil away.

The news of the wedding had slipt abroad before the little party
came out of church, and many old and humble friends were there,
seeing her look "like a snow-drop," as they say. Her dress was
white embroidered muslin, with a lace mantle, and white bonnet
trimmed with green leaves, which perhaps might suggest the
resemblance to the pale wintry flower.

Mr. Nicholls and she went to visit his friends and relations in
Ireland; and made a tour by Killarney, Glengariff, Tarbert,
Tralee, and Cork, seeing scenery, of which she says, "some parts
exceeded all I had ever imagined." . . . "I must say I like my
new relations. My dear husband, too, appears in a new light in
his own country. More than once I have had deep pleasure in
hearing his praises on all sides. Some of the old servants and
followers of the family tell me I am a most fortunate person; for
that I have got one of the best gentlemen in the country. . . . I
trust I feel thankful to God for having enabled me to make what
seems a right choice; and I pray to be enabled to repay as I
ought the affectionate devotion of a truthful, honourable man."

Henceforward the sacred doors of home are closed upon her married
life. We, her loving friends, standing outside, caught occasional
glimpses of brightness, and pleasant peaceful murmurs of sound,
telling of the gladness within; and we looked at each other, and
gently said, "After a hard and long struggle--after many cares
and many bitter sorrows--she is tasting happiness now!" We
thought of the slight astringencies of her character, and how
they would turn to full ripe sweetness in that calm sunshine of
domestic peace. We remembered her trials, and were glad in the
idea that God had seen fit to wipe away the tears from her eyes.
Those who saw her, saw an outward change in her look, telling of
inward things. And we thought, and we hoped, and we prophesied,
in our great love and reverence.

But God's ways are not as our ways!

Hear some of the low murmurs of happiness we, who listened,
heard:--

"I really seem to have had scarcely a spare moment since that dim
quiet June morning, when you, E----, and myself all walked down
to Haworth Church. Not that I have been wearied or oppressed; but
the fact is, my time is not my own now; somebody else wants a
good portion of it, and says, 'we must do so and so.' We DO so
and so, accordingly; and it generally seems the right thing. . .
. We have had many callers from a distance, and latterly some
little occupation in the way of preparing for a small village
entertainment. Both Mr. Nicholls and myself wished much to make
some response for the hearty welcome and general goodwill shown
by the parishioners on his return; accordingly, the Sunday and
day scholars and teachers, the church-ringers, singers, etc., to
the number of five hundred, were asked to tea and supper in the
School-room. They seemed to enjoy it much, and it was very
pleasant to see their happiness. One of the villagers, in
proposing my husband's health, described him as a 'consistent
Christian and a kind gentleman.' I own the words touched me
deeply, and I thought (as I know YOU would have thought had you
been present) that to merit and win such a character was better
than to earn either wealth, or fame, or power. I am disposed to
echo that high but simple eulogium. . . . My dear father was not
well when we returned from Ireland. I am, however, most thankful
to say that he is better now. May God preserve him to us yet for
some years! The wish for his continued life, together with a
certain solicitude for his happiness and health, seems, I
scarcely know why, even stronger in me now than before I was
married. Papa has taken no duty since we returned; and each time
I see Mr. Nicholls put on gown or surplice, I feel comforted to
think that this marriage has secured papa good aid in his old
age."

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