Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle Part 33

We miss your society at least as much as you miss ours, depend upon it. Would that you were within calling distance, that you could as you say burst in upon us in an afternoon, and, being despoiled of your bonnet and shawl, be fixed in the rocking-chair for the evening once or twice every week. I certainly cherished a dream during your stay that such might one day be the case, but the dream is somewhat dissipating. I allude of course to Mr. Smith, to whom you do not allude in your letter, and I think you foolish for the omission. I say the dream is dissipating, because Mr. Smith has not mentioned your name since you left, except once when papa said you were a nice girl, he said, "Yes, she is a nice girl--rather quiet. I suppose she has money," and that is all. I think the words speak volumes; they do not prejudice one in favour of Mr. Smith. I can well believe what papa has often affirmed, and continues to affirm, _i.e._, that Mr.

Smith is a very fickle man, that if he marries he will soon get tired of his wife, and consider her as a burden, also that money will be a princ.i.p.al consideration with him in marrying.

'Papa has two or three times expressed a fear that since Mr. Smith paid you so much attention he will perhaps have made an impression on your mind which will interfere with your comfort. I tell him I think not, as I believe you to be mistress of yourself in those matters.

Still, he keeps saying that I am to write to you and dissuade you from thinking of him. I never saw papa make himself so uneasy about a thing of the kind before; he is usually very sarcastic on such subjects.

'Mr. Smith be hanged! I never thought very well of him, and I am much disposed to think very ill of him at this blessed minute. I have discussed the subject fully, for where is the use of being mysterious and constrained?--it is not worth while.

'Be sure you write to me and immediately, and tell me whether you have given up eating and drinking altogether. I am not surprised at people thinking you looked pale and thin. I shall expect another letter on Thursday--don't disappoint me.

'My best regards to your mother and sisters.--Yours, somewhat irritated,

'C. B.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'DEAR NELL,--I did not "swear at the postman" when I saw another letter from you. And I hope you will not "swear" at me when I tell you that I cannot think of leaving home at present, even to have the pleasure of joining you at Harrogate, but I am obliged to you for thinking of me. I have nothing new about Rev. Lothario Smith. I think I like him a little bit less every day. Mr. Weightman was worth 200 Mr. Smiths tied in a bunch. Good-bye. I fear by what you say, "Flossy jun." behaves discreditably, and gets his mistress into sc.r.a.pes.

'C. BRONTE.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_March_ 16_th_, 1844.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I received your kind note last Sat.u.r.day, and should have answered it immediately, but in the meantime I had a letter from Mary Taylor, and had to reply to her, and to write sundry letters to Brussels to send by opportunity. My sight will not allow me to write several letters per day, so I was obliged to do it gradually.

'I send you two more circulars because you ask for them, not because I hope their distribution will produce any result. I hope that if a time should come when Emily, Anne, or I shall be able to serve you, we shall not forget that you have done your best to serve us.

'Mr. Smith is gone hence. He is in Ireland at present, and will stay there six weeks. He has left neither a bad nor a good character behind him. n.o.body regrets him, because n.o.body could attach themselves to one who could attach himself to n.o.body. I thought once he had a regard for you, but I do not think so now. He has never asked after you since you left, nor even mentioned you in my hearing, except to say once when I purposely alluded to you, that you were "not very locomotive." The meaning of the observation I leave you to divine.

'Yet the man is not without points that will be most useful to himself in getting through life. His good qualities, however, are all of the selfish order, but they will make him respected where better and more generous natures would be despised, or at least neglected.

'Mr. Grant fills his shoes at present decently enough--but one cares naught about these sort of individuals, so drop them.

'Mary Taylor is going to leave our hemisphere. To me it is something as if a great planet fell out of the sky. Yet, unless she marries in New Zealand, she will not stay there long.

'Write to me again soon and I promise to write you a regular long letter next time.

'C. BRONTE.'

The Mr. Grant here described had come to Haworth as master of the small grammar school in which Branwell had received some portion of his education. He is the Mr. Donne, curate of Whinbury, in _s.h.i.+rley_.

Whinbury is Oxenhope, of which village and district Mr. Grant after a time became inc.u.mbent. The district was taken out of Haworth Chapelry, and Mr. Grant collected the funds to build a church, schoolhouse, and parsonage. He died at Oxenhope, many years ago, greatly respected by his paris.h.i.+oners. He seems to have endured good-naturedly much chaff from Mr. Bronte and others, who always called him Mr. Donne. It was the opinion of many of his acquaintances that the satire of _s.h.i.+rley_ had improved his disposition.

Mr. Smith left Haworth in 1844, to become curate of the parish church of Keighley. He became, at a later date, inc.u.mbent of a district church, but, his health failing, he returned to his native country, where he died.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_October_ 15_th_, 1844.

'DEAR NELL,--I send you two additional circulars, and will send you two more, if you desire it, when I write again. I have no news to give you. Mr. Smith leaves in the course of a fortnight. He will spend a few weeks in Ireland previously to settling at Keighley. He continues just the same: often anxious and bad-tempered, sometimes rather tolerable--just supportable. How did your party go off? How are you? Write soon, and at length, for your letters are a great comfort to me. We are all pretty well. Remember me kindly to each member of the household at Brookroyd.--Yours,

'C. B.'

The third curate of _s.h.i.+rley_, Mr. Sweeting of Nunnely, was Mr. Richard Bradley, curate of Oakworth, an outlying district of Keighley parish. He is at this present time vicar of Haxby, Yorks.h.i.+re, but far too aged and infirm to have any memories of those old Haworth days.

Mr. Bronte's one other curate was Mr. De Renzi, who occupied the position for a little more than a year,--during the period, in fact, of Mr.

Bronte's quarrel with Mr. Nicholls for aspiring to become his son-in-law.

After he left Haworth, Mr. De Renzi became a curate at Bradford. He has been dead for some years. The story of Mr. Nicholls's curacy belongs to another chapter. It is sufficient testimony to his worth, however, that he was able to win Charlotte Bronte in spite of the fact that his predecessors had inspired in her such hearty contempt. 'I think he must be like all the curates I have seen,' she writes of one; 'they seem to me a self-seeking, vain, empty race.'

CHAPTER XII: CHARLOTTE BRONTE'S LOVERS

Charlotte Bronte was not beautiful, but she must have been singularly fascinating. That she was not beautiful there is abundant evidence.

When, as a girl of fifteen, she became a pupil at Roe Head, Mary Taylor once told her to her face that she was ugly. Ugly she was not in later years. All her friends emphasise the soft silky hair, and the beautiful grey eyes which in moments of excitement seemed to glisten with remarkable brilliancy. But she had a sallow complexion, and a large nose slightly on one side. She was small in stature, and, in fact, the casual observer would have thought her a quaint, un.o.btrusive little body. Mr.

Grundy's memory was very defective when he wrote about the Brontes; but, with the exception of the reference to red hair--and all the girls had brown hair--it would seem that he was not very wide of the mark when he wrote of 'the daughters--distant and distrait, large of nose, small of figure, red of hair, prominent of spectacles, showing great intellectual development, but with eyes constantly cast down, very silent, painfully retiring.'

Charlotte was indeed painfully shy. Miss Wheelwright, who saw much of her during her visits to London in the years of her literary success, says that she would never enter a room without sheltering herself under the wing of some taller friend. A resident of Haworth, still alive, remembers the girls pa.s.sing him frequently on the way down to the shops, and their hands would involuntarily be lifted to the face on the side nearest to him, with a view to avoid observation. This was not affectation; it was absolute timidity. Miss Wheelwright always thought George Richmond's portrait--for which Charlotte sat during a stay at Dr.

Wheelwright's in Phillimore Place--entirely flattering. Many of Charlotte's friends were pleased that it should be so, but there can be no doubt that the magnificent expanse of forehead was an exaggeration.

Charlotte's forehead was high, but very narrow.

All this is comparatively unimportant. Charlotte certainly was under no illusion; and we who revere her to-day as one of the greatest of Englishwomen need have no illusions. It is sufficient that, if not beautiful, Charlotte possessed a singular charm of manner, and, when interested, an exhilarating flow of conversation which carried intelligent men off their feet. She had at least four offers of marriage. The three lovers she refused have long since gone to their graves, and there can be no harm now in referring to the actual facts as they present themselves in Charlotte's letters. Two of these offers of marriage were made in one year, when she was twenty-three years of age.

Her first proposal came from the brother of her friend Ellen Nussey.

Henry Nussey was a curate at Donnington when he asked Charlotte Bronte to be his wife. Two letters on the subject, one of which is partly printed in a mangled form in Mrs. Gaskell's Memoir, speak for themselves.

TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, _March_ 5_th_, 1839.

'MY DEAR SIR,--Before answering your letter I might have spent a long time in consideration of its subject; but as from the first moment of its reception and perusal I determined on what course to pursue, it seemed to me that delay was wholly unnecessary. You are aware that I have many reasons to feel grateful to your family, that I have peculiar reasons for affection towards one at least of your sisters, and also that I highly esteem yourself--do not therefore accuse me of wrong motives when I say that my answer to your proposal must be a _decided negative_. In forming this decision, I trust I have listened to the dictates of conscience more than to those of inclination. I have no personal repugnance to the idea of a union with you, but I feel convinced that mine is not the sort of disposition calculated to form the happiness of a man like you. It has always been my habit to study the characters of those amongst whom I chance to be thrown, and I think I know yours and can imagine what description of woman would suit you for a wife. The character should not be too marked, ardent, and original, her temper should be mild, her piety undoubted, her spirits even and cheerful, and her _personal attractions_ sufficient to please your eyes and gratify your just pride. As for me, you do not know me; I am not the serious, grave, cool-headed individual you suppose; you would think me romantic and eccentric; you would say I was satirical and severe.

However, I scorn deceit, and I will never, for the sake of attaining the distinction of matrimony and escaping the stigma of an old maid, take a worthy man whom I am conscious I cannot render happy. Before I conclude, let me thank you warmly for your other proposal regarding the school near Donnington. It is kind in you to take so much interest about me; but the fact is, I could not at present enter upon such a project because I have not the capital necessary to insure success. It is a pleasure to me to hear that you are so comfortably settled and that your health is so much improved. I trust G.o.d will continue His kindness towards you. Let me say also that I admire the good-sense and absence of flattery and cant which your letter displayed. Farewell. I shall always be glad to hear from you as a _friend_.--Believe me, yours truly,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'HAWORTH, _March_ 12_th_, 1839.

'MY DEAREST ELLEN,--When your letter was put into my hands, I said, "She is coming at last, I hope," but when I opened it and found what the contents were, I was vexed to the heart. You need not ask me to go to Brookroyd any more. Once for all, and at the hazard of being called the most stupid little wretch that ever existed, I _won't_ go till you have been to Haworth. I don't blame _you_, I believe you would come if you might; perhaps I ought not to blame others, but I am grieved.

'Anne goes to Blake Hall on the 8th of April, unless some further unseen cause of delay should occur. I've heard nothing more from Mrs. Thos. Brook as yet. Papa wishes me to remain at home a little longer, but I begin to be anxious to set to work again; and yet it will be _hard work_ after the indulgence of so many weeks, to return to that dreary "gin-horse" round.

'You ask me, my dear Ellen, whether I have received a letter from Henry. I have, about a week since. The contents, I confess, did a little surprise me, but I kept them to myself, and unless you had questioned me on the subject, I would never have adverted to it.

Henry says he is comfortably settled at Donnington, that his health is much improved, and that it is his intention to take pupils after Easter. He then intimates that in due time he should want a wife to take care of his pupils, and frankly asks me to be that wife.

Altogether the letter is written without cant or flattery, and in a common-sense style, which does credit to his judgment.

'Now, my dear Ellen, there were in this proposal some things which might have proved a strong temptation. I thought if I were to marry Henry Nussey, his sister could live with me, and how happy I should be. But again I asked myself two questions: Do I love him as much as a woman ought to love the man she marries? Am I the person best qualified to make him happy? Alas! Ellen, my conscience answered _no_ to both these questions. I felt that though I esteemed, though I had a kindly leaning towards him, because he is an amiable and well-disposed man, yet I had not, and could not have, that intense attachment which would make me willing to die for him; and, if ever I marry, it must be in that light of adoration that I will regard my husband. Ten to one I shall never have the chance again; but _n'importe_. Moreover, I was aware that Henry knew so little of me he could hardly be conscious to whom he was writing. Why, it would startle him to see me in my natural home character; he would think I was a wild, romantic enthusiast indeed. I could not sit all day long making a grave face before my husband. I would laugh, and satirise, and say whatever came into my head first. And if he were a clever man, and loved me, the whole world weighed in the balance against his smallest wish should be light as air. Could I, knowing my mind to be such as that, conscientiously say that I would take a grave, quiet, young man like Henry? No, it would have been deceiving him, and deception of that sort is beneath me. So I wrote a long letter back, in which I expressed my refusal as gently as I could, and also candidly avowed my reasons for that refusal. I described to him, too, the sort of character that would suit him for a wife.--Good-bye, my dear Ellen.