Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle Part 47

'It was a somewhat hasty step to hurry up to town as we did, but I do not regret having taken it. In the first place, mystery is irksome, and I was glad to shake it off with you and Mr. Smith, and to show myself to you for what I am, neither more nor less--thus removing any false expectations that may have arisen under the idea that Currer Bell had a just claim to the masculine cognomen he, perhaps somewhat presumptuously, adopted--that he was, in short, of the n.o.bler s.e.x.

'I was glad also to see you and Mr. Smith, and am very happy now to have such pleasant recollections of you both, and of your respective families. My satisfaction would have been complete could I have seen Mrs. Williams. The appearance of your children tallied on the whole accurately with the description you had given of them. f.a.n.n.y was the one I saw least distinctly; I tried to get a clear view of her countenance, but her position in the room did not favour my efforts.

'I had just read your article in the _John Bull_; it very clearly and fully explains the cause of the difference obvious between ancient and modern paintings. I wish you had been with us when we went over the Exhibition and the National Gallery; a little explanation from a judge of art would doubtless have enabled us to understand better what we saw; perhaps, one day, we may have this pleasure.

'Accept my own thanks and my sister's for your kind attention to us while in town, and--Believe me, yours sincerely,

'CHARLOTTE BRONTE.

'I trust Mrs. Williams is quite recovered from her indisposition.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'HAWORTH, _July_ 31_st_, 1848.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I have lately been reading _Modern Painters_, and I have derived from the work much genuine pleasure and, I hope, some edification; at any rate, it made me feel how ignorant I had previously been on the subject which it treats. Hitherto I have only had instinct to guide me in judging of art; I feel more as if I had been walking blindfold--this book seems to give me eyes. I _do_ wish I had pictures within reach by which to test the new sense. Who can read these glowing descriptions of Turner's works without longing to see them? However eloquent and convincing the language in which another's opinion is placed before you, you still wish to judge for yourself. I like this author's style much: there is both energy and beauty in it; I like himself too, because he is such a hearty admirer. He does not give Turner half-measure of praise or veneration, he eulogises, he reverences him (or rather his genius) with his whole soul. One can sympathise with that sort of devout, serious admiration (for he is no rhapsodist)--one can respect it; and yet possibly many people would laugh at it. I am truly obliged to Mr. Smith for giving me this book, not having often met with one that has pleased me more.

'You will have seen some of the notices of _Wildfell Hall_. I wish my sister felt the unfavourable ones less keenly. She does not _say_ much, for she is of a remarkably taciturn, still, thoughtful nature, reserved even with her nearest of kin, but I cannot avoid seeing that her spirits are depressed sometimes. The fact is, neither she nor any of us expected that view to be taken of the book which has been taken by some critics. That it had faults of execution, faults of art, was obvious, but faults of intention or feeling could be suspected by none who knew the writer. For my own part, I consider the subject unfortunately chosen--it was one the author was not qualified to handle at once vigorously and truthfully. The simple and natural--quiet description and simple pathos are, I think, Acton Bell's forte. I liked _Agnes Grey_ better than the present work.

'Permit me to caution you not to speak of my sisters when you write to me. I mean, do not use the word in the plural. Ellis Bell will not endure to be alluded to under any other appellation than the _nom de plume_. I committed a grand error in betraying his ident.i.ty to you and Mr. Smith. It was inadvertent--the words, "we are three sisters" escaped me before I was aware. I regretted the avowal the moment I had made it; I regret it bitterly now, for I find it is against every feeling and intention of Ellis Bell.

'I was greatly amused to see in the _Examiner_ of this week one of Newby's little cobwebs neatly swept away by some dexterous brush. If Newby is not too old to profit by experience, such an exposure ought to teach him that "Honesty is indeed the best policy."

'Your letter has just been brought to me. I must not pause to thank you, I should say too much. Our life is, and always has been, one of few pleasures, as you seem in part to guess, and for that reason we feel what pa.s.sages of enjoyment come in our way very keenly; and I think if you knew _how_ pleased I am to get a long letter from you, you would laugh at me.

'In return, however, I smile at you for the earnestness with which you urge on us the propriety of seeing something of London society.

There would be an advantage in it--a great advantage; yet it is one that no power on earth could induce Ellis Bell, for instance, to avail himself of. And even for Acton and Currer, the experiment of an introduction to society would be more formidable than you, probably, can well imagine. An existence of absolute seclusion and unvarying monotony, such as we have long--I may say, indeed, ever--been habituated to, tends, I fear, to unfit the mind for lively and exciting scenes, to destroy the capacity for social enjoyment.

'The only glimpses of society I have ever had were obtained in my vocation of governess, and some of the most miserable moments I can recall were pa.s.sed in drawing-rooms full of strange faces. At such times, my animal spirits would ebb gradually till they sank quite away, and when I could endure the sense of exhaustion and solitude no longer, I used to steal off, too glad to find any corner where I could really be alone. Still, I know very well, that though that experiment of seeing the world might give acute pain for the time, it would do good afterwards; and as I have never, that I remember, gained any important good without incurring proportionate suffering, I mean to try to take your advice some day, in part at least--to put off, if possible, that troublesome egotism which is always judging and blaming itself, and to try, country spinster as I am, to get a view of some sphere where civilised humanity is to be contemplated.

'I smile at you again for supposing that I could be annoyed by what you say respecting your religious and philosophical views; that I could blame you for not being able, when you look amongst sects and creeds, to discover any one which you can exclusively and implicitly adopt as yours. I perceive myself that some light falls on earth from Heaven--that some rays from the shrine of truth pierce the darkness of this life and world; but they are few, faint, and scattered, and who without presumption can a.s.sert that he has found the _only_ true path upwards?

'Yet ignorance, weakness, or indiscretion, must have their creeds and forms; they must have their props--they cannot walk alone. Let them hold by what is purest in doctrine and simplest in ritual; _something_, they _must_ have.

'I never read Emerson; but the book which has had so healing an effect on your mind must be a good one. Very enviable is the writer whose words have fallen like a gentle rain on a soil that so needed and merited refreshment, whose influence has come like a genial breeze to lift a spirit which circ.u.mstances seem so harshly to have trampled. Emerson, if he has cheered you, has not written in vain.

'May this feeling of self-reconcilement, of inward peace and strength, continue! May you still be lenient with, be just to, yourself! I will not praise nor flatter you, I should hate to pay those enervating compliments which tend to check the exertions of a mind that aspires after excellence; but I must permit myself to remark that if you had not something good and superior in you, something better, whether more _showy_ or not, than is often met with, the a.s.surance of your friends.h.i.+p would not make one so happy as it does; nor would the advantage of your correspondence be felt as such a privilege.

'I hope Mrs. Williams's state of health may soon improve and her anxieties lessen. Blameable indeed are those who sow division where there ought to be peace, and especially deserving of the ban of society.

'I thank both you and your family for keeping our secret. It will indeed be a kindness to us to persevere in doing so; and I own I have a certain confidence in the honourable discretion of a household of which you are the head.--Believe me, yours very sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_October_ 18_th_, 1848.

'MY DEAR SIR,--Not feeling competent this evening either for study or serious composition, I will console myself with writing to you. My malady, which the doctors call a bilious fever, lingers, or rather it returns with each sudden change of weather, though I am thankful to say that the relapses have hitherto been much milder than the first attack; but they keep me weak and reduced, especially as I am obliged to observe a very low spare diet.

'My book, alas! is laid aside for the present; both head and hand seem to have lost their cunning; imagination is pale, stagnant, mute.

This incapacity chagrins me; sometimes I have a feeling of cankering care on the subject, but I combat it as well as I can; it does no good.

'I am afraid I shall not write a cheerful letter to you. A letter, however, of some kind I am determined to write, for I should be sorry to appear a neglectful correspondent to one from whose communications I have derived, and still derive, so much pleasure. Do not talk about not being on a level with Currer Bell, or regard him as "an awful person"; if you saw him now, sitting m.u.f.fled at the fireside, shrinking before the east wind (which for some days has been blowing wild and keen over our cold hills), and incapable of lifting a pen for any less formidable task than that of writing a few lines to an indulgent friend, you would be sorry not to deem yourself greatly his superior, for you would feel him to be a poor creature.

'You may be sure I read your views on the providence of G.o.d and the nature of man with interest. You are already aware that in much of what you say my opinions coincide with those you express, and where they differ I shall not attempt to bias you. Thought and conscience are, or ought to be, free; and, at any rate, if your views were universally adopted there would be no persecution, no bigotry. But never try to proselytise, the world is not yet fit to receive what you and Emerson say: man, as he now is, can no more do without creeds and forms in religion than he can do without laws and rules in social intercourse. You and Emerson judge others by yourselves; all mankind are not like you, any more than every Israelite was like Nathaniel.

'"Is there a human being," you ask, "so depraved that an act of kindness will not touch--nay, a word melt him?" There are hundreds of human beings who trample on acts of kindness and mock at words of affection. I know this though I have seen but little of the world.

I suppose I have something harsher in my nature than you have, something which every now and then tells me dreary secrets about my race, and I cannot believe the voice of the Optimist, charm he never so wisely. On the other hand, I feel forced to listen when a Thackeray speaks. I know truth is delivering her oracles by his lips.

'As to the great, good, magnanimous acts which have been performed by some men, we trace them up to motives and then estimate their value; a few, perhaps, would gain and many lose by this test. The study of motives is a strange one, not to be pursued too far by one fallible human being in reference to his fellows.

'Do not condemn me as uncharitable. I have no wish to urge my convictions on you, but I know that while there are many good, sincere, gentle people in the world, with whom kindness is all-powerful, there are also not a few like that false friend (I had almost written _fiend_) whom you so well and vividly described in one of your late letters, and who, in acting out his part of domestic traitor, must often have turned benefits into weapons wherewith to wound his benefactors.--Believe me, yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_April_ 2_nd_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--My critics truly deserve and have my genuine thanks for the friendly candour with which they have declared their opinions on my book. Both Mr. Williams and Mr. Taylor express and support their opinions in a manner calculated to command careful consideration. In my turn I have a word to say. You both of you dwell too much on what you regard as the _artistic_ treatment of a subject. Say what you will, gentlemen--say it as ably as you will--truth is better than art. Burns' Songs are better than Bulwer's Epics. Thackeray's rude, careless sketches are preferable to thousands of carefully finished paintings. Ignorant as I am, I dare to hold and maintain that doctrine.

'You must not expect me to give up Malone and Donne too suddenly--the pair are favourites with me; they s.h.i.+ne with a chastened and pleasing l.u.s.tre in that first chapter, and it is a pity you do not take pleasure in their modest twinkle. Neither is that opening scene irrelevant to the rest of the book, there are other touches in store which will harmonise with it.

'No doubt this handling of the surplice will stir up such publications as the _Christian Remembrancer_ and the _Quarterly_--those heavy Goliaths of the periodical press; and if I alone were concerned, this possibility would not trouble me a second.

Full welcome would the giants be to stand in their greaves of bra.s.s, poising their ponderous spears, cursing their prey by their G.o.ds, and thundering invitations to the intended victim to "come forth" and have his flesh given to the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field. Currer Bell, without pretending to be a David, feels no awe of the unwieldy Anakim; but--comprehend me rightly, gentlemen--it would grieve him to involve others in blame: any censure that would really injure and annoy his publishers would wound himself.

Therefore believe that he will not act rashly--trust his discretion.

'Mr. Taylor is right about the bad taste of the opening apostrophe--that I had already condemned in my own mind. Enough said of a work in embryo. Permit me to request in conclusion that the MS.

may now be returned as soon as convenient.

'The letter you inclosed is from Mary Howitt. It contained a proposal for an engagement as contributor to an American periodical.

Of course I have negatived it. When I _can_ write, the book I have in hand must claim all my attention. Oh! if Anne were well, if the void Death has left were a little closed up, if the dreary word _nevermore_ would cease sounding in my ears, I think I could yet do something.

'It is a long time since you mentioned your own family affairs. I trust Mrs. Williams continues well, and that f.a.n.n.y and your other children prosper.--Yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

'_July_ 3_rd_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--You do right to address me on subjects which compel me, in order to give a coherent answer, to quit for a moment my habitual train of thought. The mention of your healthy-living daughters reminds me of the world where other people live--where I lived once. Theirs are cheerful images as you present them--I have no wish to shut them out.

'From all you say of Ellen, the eldest, I am inclined to respect her much. I like practical sense which works to the good of others. I esteem a dutiful daughter who makes her parents happy.

'f.a.n.n.y's character I would take on second hand from n.o.body, least of all from her kind father, whose estimate of human nature in general inclines rather to what _ought_ to be than to what _is_. Of f.a.n.n.y I would judge for myself, and that not hastily nor on first impressions.