Brontës (154 page)

Despite the human tragedy behind both these stories, which must have interested the novelist in Charlotte, she made no reference to either of them in her letters. She was absorbed in her literary correspondence and making tentative plans for the future. She accepted an invitation to stay with Francis Bennoch and his wife in London in May with the proviso that

I will trust you for not
‘lionizing'
me – indeed I should suppose I am now too far out of date to make an eligible ‘lion' or ‘lioness' – but at any rate – you will I know spare me that vulgarizing process to which I have ever felt an insurmountable repugnance. It would not answer with me, for I could not \always/
‘roar' when I was bid – I am afraid I should sometimes disappoint my shewmen.
⁹⁶

She wrote to thank Sydney Dobell for the gift of his second book,
Balder:
a dramatic poem of lurid and morbid colouring. Recognizing that it would not be as popular as his first work, she offered a sympathy born of her own experience: ‘How is it that – while the first-born of genius often brings honour – the second, almost as often, proves a source rather of depression and care? I could almost prophesy that your third will atone for any anxiety inflicted by this his immediate predecessor.'
⁹⁷

Literary criticism was also sought from her from an altogether different quarter. Not for the first time, a hopeful author presumed upon family acquaintance to ask her opinion of his work.
⁹⁸
Henry Garrs, a younger brother of Nancy and Sarah Garrs, the Brontës' nurserymaids, sought her advice on publishing some poems he had written. Charlotte made it clear that ‘any opinion I may give is intended merely for your
private
satisfaction – not for
public
use', but took the trouble to go through the manuscript with great care, marking ‘prominent errors' in spelling and rhythm. After careful revision and provided he could get sufficient subscribers, she thought that he would be justified in publishing his poems – though warning him of the fate of
Poems
by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. ‘Should you decide on publishing, you may put down my father's name and my own as subscribers for a copy each. Be very cautious however not to commit yourself to pecuniary risk. Printers and Publishers are hazardous men to deal with: it is seldom an author comes off without loss.'
⁹⁹

It was ironic that on the very day she wrote this advice to Henry Garrs she unexpectedly received a cheque for thirty pounds from the ‘shuffling scamp' himself, Thomas Cautley Newby.
¹⁰⁰
It had taken him the best part of four years to produce the money he owed for her sisters' publications.

Charlotte had also resumed her correspondence with Ellen Nussey. Her first few letters were non-committal and avoided all mention of the burning issue which had been responsible for their quarrel in the first place.
¹⁰¹
Ellen remained unaware of how matters had progressed until, towards the end of March, Charlotte accidentally put letters to Mr Nicholls and Ellen in the wrong envelopes and thus inadvertently revealed to her friend that she was not only in correspondence with Arthur Nicholls but also about to welcome him on a visit to the parsonage. Evidently flustered, Charlotte tired
to gloss over the importance of the visit and make amends by inviting Ellen to Haworth as well.

I wish you
could
come about Easter rather than at another time – \for this reason/ – Mr Nicholls – if not prevented – proposes coming over then – I suppose he will stay at Mr Grant's, as he has done two or three times before – but he will be frequently coming here – which would enliven your visit a little – perhaps too – he might take a walk with us occasionally – altogether it would be a little change for you such as – you know – I could not always offer.
¹⁰²

Ellen had no wish for ‘a little change' or to have her visit ‘enlivened' by the presence of the loathed Mr Nicholls: she declined to come at Easter though she did not break the fragile peace by giving her true reasons. As it happened, Charlotte's ‘little plans' were ‘deranged' by the news that Mr Nicholls had decided to come a fortnight early: this was inconvenient, for Patrick was suffering from his usual spring attack of bronchitis but, with characteristic persistence, Mr Nicholls refused to be put off.
¹⁰³

He arrived on Monday, 3 April 1854 and stayed till the Friday. Whether his illness had left Patrick too weak to argue, or whether, in the face of his daughter's determination, he could no longer maintain his opposition, he was at last persuaded to sanction the marriage. Charlotte left him little choice, laying down the law both to him and to her suitor with customary bossiness: she would marry; she would not leave her father; Mr Nicholls would return to Haworth as curate; he would live in the parsonage with them.
¹⁰⁴
There was nothing left for them to do but bury their grievances and acquiesce in her arrangements.

Chapter Twenty-Six

SO HAPPY

On Friday, 7 April 1854, Arthur Nicholls returned to Kirk Smeaton to celebrate Palm Sunday in an appropriate mood of triumph. It was not until the following Monday that Charlotte gathered sufficient courage to begin the task of informing her friends. What should have been joyous and excited letters were actually subdued and rather forlorn. The most difficult to write was the first, which had to be to Ellen. For the first time Charlotte gave her a bare recital of how matters had progressed since their quarrel last July, ending with the announcement, ‘In fact, dear Ellen, I am engaged.' Struggling for words to convey her feelings, she could only report:

I am still very calm –
very
– inexpectant. What I taste of happiness is of the soberest order. I trust to love my husband – I am grateful for his tender love to me – I believe him to be an affectionate – a conscientious – a high-principled man – and if with all this, I should yield to regrets – that fine talents, congenial tastes
and thoughts are not added – it seems to me I should be most presumptuous and thankless.

Providence offers me this destiny. Doubtless then it is the best for me –

The marriage would take place in the summer, probably July, and Charlotte hoped that Ellen would be her bridesmaid. Aware that she hardly sounded like a joyful bride, Charlotte added, ‘There is a strange – half-sad feeling in making these announcements – The whole thing is something other than imagination paints it beforehand: cares – fears – come mixed inextricably with hopes.'
¹

The same apologetic tone pervaded her letter to Miss Wooler the next day. ‘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.'
²
This was a theme she was to touch on more than once. Most of the time she blamed her father: ‘The feeling which had been disappointed in Papa – was
ambition
– paternal
pride
, ever a restless feeling – as we all know', she told Ellen. To Mrs Gaskell, she confessed, ‘I could almost cry sometimes that in this important action in my life I cannot better satisfy papa's perhaps natural pride. My destiny will not be brilliant, certainly, but Mr Nicholls is conscientious, affectionate, pure in heart and life. He offers a most constant and tried attachment – I am very grateful to him.' Writing to Ellen at the end of the month, Charlotte returned to the theme again: ‘I trust the illusions of Ambition are quite dissipated – and that he really sees it is better to relieve a suffering and faithful heart – to secure in its fidelity a solid good – than unfeelingly to abandon one who is truly attached to
his
interests as well as mine – and pursue some vain empty Shadow –'.
³
One is left with the uncomfortable feeling that Charlotte was trying to convince herself, as much as her father and her friends, that Mr Nicholls' virtues compensated for the humble station in life he offered her.

The one undeniable cause for satisfaction in all this was the knowledge that the marriage would ensure her father a comfortable old age; his son-in-law's salary, however meagre, would be a useful addition to the family income and, more importantly, as Patrick's health failed, he was assured of willing and able help in the parish. ‘My hope is that in the end this arrangement will turn out more truly to Papa's advantage – than any other it was in my power to achieve. Mr N— only in his last letter – refers
touchingly to his earnest desire to prove his gratitude to Papa by offering support and consolation to his declining age. This will not be mere talk with him – he is no talker – no dealer in professions.' Patrick himself, realizing the benefits of the arrangements, had come round with surprising rapidity. ‘Papa's mind seems wholly changed about this matter;' Charlotte happily informed Ellen. ‘And he has said both to me and when I was not there – how much happier he feels since he allowed all to be settled. It is a wonderful relief for me to hear him treat the thing rationally – and quietly and amicably to talk over with him themes on which, once I dared not touch.'
⁴

The necessity of having someone reliable in the parish had been forcibly brought home to Patrick by his own continuing ill health. His bronchitis lingered ominously: he had been unable to preach for some time and on Easter Monday he was still too unwell to attend the annual soiree of the Haworth Mechanics' Institute.
⁵
An invitation to join James Cheadle, vicar of Bingley, in meeting Dr Longley, the Bishop of Ripon, also had to be turned down, despite the fact that Patrick had received a kind and cordial letter from the ‘good and dear' bishop, expressing his approval of Mr Nicholls' return and pleasure at the ensuing ‘domestic arrangements'.
⁶

Now that the matter was decided, both Patrick and Mr Nicholls were anxious to hasten events. Charlotte, however, dragged her feet. She had much to arrange: her proffered visit to Francis Bennoch had to be cancelled and arrangements made for a brief bride-visit to Mrs Gaskell, the Taylors and the Nusseys.
⁷
There were alterations to be made at the parsonage to accommodate its new inmate. Charlotte had promised her father that the ‘plan of residence … should maintain his seclusion and convenience uninvaded' and to that end the little pantry behind the dining room had to be converted into a study for Mr Nicholls. The workmen were called in and Charlotte herself was busy stitching: ‘the little new room is got into order now and the green and white curtains are up – they exactly suit the papering – and look neat and clean enough'.
⁸

There were also business arrangements to be made. Reluctantly, Charlotte realized she would have to write to George Smith since he had managed all her investments on her behalf. That she had still not forgiven him for getting engaged (he had married in the meantime) was more than apparent. This was how she announced her own engagement to the man who had once been her most intimate male friend:

My dear Sir

It having become necessary that my Stock in the Funds should be transferred to another name, I have empowered Mr Metcalfe – my Solicitor – the Bearer of this note – to ask such particulars as are required to fill up the Power of Attorney for a transfer …

Listing all the sums she believed she had invested, totalling £1,684 7s. 6d., she ended her letter with a brusque, ‘Apologising for the unavoidable trouble thus given I am, my dear Sir Yours sincerely C Brontë'.
⁹
No word of explanation; no enquiry after or good wishes for himself or his family; no point of personal reference at all. They might have been total strangers.

George Smith was too acute not to realize the implications of the letter and he wrote a long and friendly reply which Charlotte could not ignore. Grudgingly, and with many a barbed comment that revealed the soreness she still felt, Charlotte accepted his congratulations and good wishes on her forthcoming marriage. ‘It gave me also sincere pleasure to be assured of your own happiness –', she told him, ‘though of that I never doubted – I have faith also in its permanent character – provided Mrs George Smith is – what it pleases me to fancy her to be.' Giving him a brief résumé of her courtship, she added, ‘My expectations, however, are very subdued – very different – I dare say – to what
yours
were before you were married.' Even now she could not bear to include his wife in the good wishes she felt obliged to send the Smith family: ‘I hardly know in what form of greeting to include your wife's name – as I have never seen her – say to her whatever may seem to you most appropriate – and most expressive of good-will.' That was the nearest she could get to magnanimity towards the woman who had succeeded where she had failed. She ended her letter with a sad comment that nevertheless bore a sting in its tail. ‘In the course of the year that is gone – Cornhill and London have receded a long way from me – the links of communication have waxed very frail and few. It must be so in this world. All things considered – I don't wish it otherwise.'
¹⁰