Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (579 page)

‘Dear Sir, — I am, for my own part, dissatisfied with the preface I sent — I fear it savours of flippancy.  If you see no objection I should prefer substituting the inclosed.  It is rather more lengthy, but it expresses something I have long wished to express.

‘Mr. Smith is kind indeed to think of sending me
The Jar of Honey
.  When I receive the book I will write to him.  I cannot thank you sufficiently for your letters, and I can give you but a faint idea of the pleasure they afford me; they seem to introduce such light and life to the torpid retirement where we live like dormice.  But, understand this distinctly, you must never write to me except when you have both leisure
 
and inclination.  I know your time is too fully occupied and too valuable to be often at the service of any one individual.

‘You are not far wrong in your judgment respecting
Wuthering Heights
and
Agnes Grey
.  Ellis has a strong, original mind, full of strange though sombre power.  When he writes poetry that power speaks in language at once condensed, elaborated, and refined, but in prose it breaks forth in scenes which shock more than they attract.  Ellis will improve, however, because he knows his defects. 
Agnes Grey
is the mirror of the mind of the writer.  The orthography and punctuation of the books are mortifying to a degree: almost all the errors that were corrected in the proof-sheets appear intact in what should have been the fair copies.  If Mr. Newby always does business in this way, few authors would like to have him for their publisher a second time. — Believe me, dear sir, yours respectfully,

‘C. Bell.’

When
Jane Eyre
was performed at a London theatre — and it has been more than once adapted for the stage, and performed many hundreds of times in England and America — Charlotte Brontë wrote to her friend Mr. Williams as follows: —

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

‘
February
5
th
, 1848.

‘Dear Sir, — A representation of
Jane Eyre
at a minor theatre would no doubt be a rather afflicting spectacle to the author of that work.  I suppose all would be wofully exaggerated and painfully vulgarised by the actors and actresses on such a stage.  What, I cannot help asking myself, would they make of Mr. Rochester?  And the picture my fancy conjures up by way of reply is a somewhat humiliating one.  What would they make of Jane Eyre?  I see something very pert and very affected as an answer to that query.

‘Still, were it in my power, I should certainly make a point of being myself a witness of the exhibition.  Could I go quietly and alone, I undoubtedly should go; I should endeavour to endure both rant and whine, strut and grimace, for the sake of the useful observations to be collected in such a scene.

 
‘As to whether I wish
you
to go, that is another question.  I am afraid I have hardly fortitude enough really to wish it.  One can endure being disgusted with one’s own work, but that a friend should share the repugnance is unpleasant.  Still, I know it would interest me to hear both your account of the exhibition and any ideas which the effect of the various parts on the spectators might suggest to you.  In short, I should like to know what you would think, and to hear what you would say on the subject.  But you must not go merely to satisfy my curiosity; you must do as you think proper.  Whatever you decide on will content me: if you do not go, you will be spared a vulgarising impression of the book; if you
do
go, I shall perhaps gain a little information — either alternative has its advantage.
 

‘I am glad to hear that the second edition is selling, for the sake of Messrs. Smith & Elder.  I rather feared it would remain on hand, and occasion loss. 
Wuthering Heights
it appears is selling too, and consequently Mr. Newby is getting into marvellously good tune with his authors. — I remain, my dear sir, yours faithfully,

‘Currer Bell.’

I print the above letter here because of its sequel, which has something to say of Ellis — of Emily Brontë.

 
TO W. S. WILLIAMS

‘
February
15
th
, 1848.

‘Dear Sir, — Your letter, as you may fancy, has given me something to think about.  It has presented to my mind a curious picture, for the description you give is so vivid, I seem to realise it all.  I wanted information and I have got it.  You have raised the veil from a corner of your great world — your London — and have shown me a glimpse of what I might call loathsome, but which I prefer calling
strange
.  Such, then, is a sample of what amuses the metropolitan populace!  Such is a view of one of their haunts!

‘Did I not say that I would have gone to this theatre and witnessed this exhibition if it had been in my power?  What absurdities people utter when they speak of they know not what!

‘You must try now to forget entirely what you saw.

‘As to my next book, I suppose it will grow to maturity in
 
time, as grass grows or corn ripens; but I cannot force it.  It makes slow progress thus far: it is not every day, nor even every week that I can write what is worth reading; but I shall (if not hindered by other matters) be industrious when the humour comes, and in due time I hope to see such a result as I shall not be ashamed to offer you, my publishers, and the public.

‘Have you not two classes of writers — the author and the bookmaker?  And is not the latter more prolific than the former?  Is he not, indeed, wonderfully fertile; but does the public, or the publisher even, make much account of his productions?  Do not both tire of him in time?

‘Is it not because authors aim at a style of living better suited to merchants, professed gain-seekers, that they are often compelled to degenerate to mere bookmakers, and to find the great stimulus of their pen in the necessity of earning money?  If they were not ashamed to be frugal, might they not be more independent?

‘I should much — very much — like to take that quiet view of the “great world” you allude to, but I have as yet won no right to give myself such a treat: it must be for some future day — when, I don’t know.  Ellis, I imagine, would soon turn aside from the spectacle in disgust.  I do not think he admits it as his creed that “the proper study of mankind is man” — at least not the artificial man of cities.  In some points I consider Ellis somewhat of a theorist: now and then he broaches ideas which strike my sense as much more daring and original than practical; his reason may be in advance of mine, but certainly it often travels a different road.  I should say Ellis will not be seen in his full strength till he is seen as an essayist.

‘I return to you the note inclosed under your cover, it is from the editor of the
Berwick Warder
; he wants a copy of
Jane Eyre
to review.

‘With renewed thanks for your continued goodness to me, — I remain, my dear sir, yours faithfully,

‘Currer Bell.’

A short time afterwards the illness came to Emily from which she died the same year.  Branwell died in September
 
1848, and a month later Charlotte writes with a heart full of misgivings: —

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
October
29
th
, 1848.

‘Dear Ellen, — I am sorry you should have been uneasy at my not writing to you ere this, but you must remember it is scarcely a week since I received your last, and my life is not so varied that in the interim much should have occurred worthy of mention.  You insist that I should write about myself; this puts me in straits, for I really have nothing interesting to say about myself.  I think I have now nearly got over the effects of my late illness, and am almost restored to my normal condition of health.  I sometimes wish that it was a little higher, but we ought to be content with such blessings as we have, and not pine after those that are out of our reach.  I feel much more uneasy about my sisters than myself just now.  Emily’s cold and cough are very obstinate.  I fear she has pain in the chest, and I sometimes catch a shortness in her breathing, when she has moved at all quickly.  She looks very, very thin and pale.  Her reserved nature occasions me great uneasiness of mind.  It is useless to question her — you get no answers.  It is still more useless to recommend remedies — they are never adopted.  Nor can I shut my eyes to the fact of Anne’s great delicacy of constitution.  The late sad event has, I feel, made me more apprehensive than common.  I cannot help feeling much depressed sometimes.  I try to leave all in God’s hands; to trust in His goodness; but faith and resignation are difficult to practise under some circumstances.  The weather has been most unfavourable for invalids of late: sudden changes of temperature, and cold penetrating winds have been frequent here.  Should the atmosphere become settled, perhaps a favourable effect might be produced on the general health, and those harassing coughs and colds be removed.  Papa has not quite escaped, but he has, so far, stood it out better than any of us.  You must not mention my going to Brookroyd this winter.  I could not, and would not, leave home on any account.  I am
 
truly sorry to hear of Miss Heald’s serious illness, it seems to me she has been for some years out of health now.  These things make one
feel
as well as
know
, that this world is not our abiding-place.  We should not knit human ties too close, or clasp human affections too fondly.  They must leave us, or we must leave them, one day.  Good-bye for the present.  God restore health and strength to you and to all who need it. — Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

‘
November
2
nd
, 1848.

‘My dear Sir, — I have received, since I last wrote to you, two papers, the
Standard of Freedom
and the
Morning Herald
, both containing notices of the Poems; which notices, I hope, will at least serve a useful purpose to Mr. Smith in attracting public attention to the volume.  As critiques, I should have thought more of them had they more fully recognised Ellis Bell’s merits; but the lovers of abstract poetry are few in number.

‘Your last letter was very welcome, it was written with so kind an intention: you made it so interesting in order to divert my mind.  I should have thanked you for it before now, only that I kept waiting for a cheerful day and mood in which to address you, and I grieve to say the shadow which has fallen on our quiet home still lingers round it.  I am better, but others are ill now.  Papa is not well, my sister Emily has something like slow inflammation of the lungs, and even our old servant, who lived with us nearly a quarter of a century, is suffering under serious indisposition.

‘I would fain hope that Emily is a little better this evening, but it is difficult to ascertain this.  She is a real stoic in illness: she neither seeks nor will accept sympathy.  To put any questions, to offer any aid, is to annoy; she will not yield a step before pain or sickness till forced; not one of her ordinary avocations will she voluntarily renounce.  You must look on and see her do what she is unfit to do, and not dare to say a word — a painful necessity for those to whom her health and existence are as precious as the life in their veins.  When she is ill there seems to
 
be no sunshine in the world for me.  The tie of sister is near and dear indeed, and I think a certain harshness in her powerful and peculiar character only makes me cling to her more.  But this is all family egotism (so to speak) — excuse it, and, above all, never allude to it, or to the name Emily, when you write to me.  I do not always show your letters, but I never withhold them when they are inquired after.

‘I am sorry I cannot claim for the name Brontë the honour of being connected with the notice in the
Bradford Observer
.  That paper is in the hands of dissenters, and I should think the best articles are usually written by one or two intelligent dissenting ministers in the town.  Alexander Harris
  
is fortunate in your encouragement, as Currer Bell once was.  He has not forgotten the first letter he received from you, declining indeed his MS. of
The Professor
, but in terms so different from those in which the rejections of the other publishers had been expressed — with so much more sense and kind feeling, it took away the sting of disappointment and kindled new hope in his mind.

‘Currer Bell might expostulate with you again about thinking too well of him, but he refrains; he prefers acknowledging that the expression of a fellow creature’s regard — even if more than he deserves — does him good: it gives him a sense of content.  Whatever portion of the tribute is unmerited on his part, would, he is aware, if exposed to the test of daily acquaintance, disperse like a broken bubble, but he has confidence that a portion, however minute, of solid friendship would remain behind, and that portion he reckons amongst his treasures.