Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (597 page)

TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY

‘Haworth,
May
26
th
, 1840.

‘Dear Sir, — In looking over my papers this morning I found a letter from you of the date of last February with the mark upon it unanswered.  Your sister Ellen often accuses me of want of punctuality in answering letters, and I think her accusation is here justified.  However, I give you credit for as much considerateness as will induce you to excuse a greater fault than this, especially as I shall hasten directly to repair it.

‘The fact is, when the letter came Ellen was staying with
 
me, and I was so fully occupied in talking to her that I had no time to think of writing to others.  This is no great compliment, but it is no insult either.  You know Ellen’s worth, you know how seldom I see her, you partly know my regard for her; and from these premises you may easily draw the inference that her company, when once obtained, is too valuable to be wasted for a moment.  One woman can appreciate the value of another better than a man can do.  Men very often only see the outside gloss which dazzles in prosperity, women have opportunities for closer observation, and they learn to value those qualities which are useful in adversity.

‘There is much, too, in that mild even temper and that placid equanimity which keep the domestic hearth always bright and peaceful — this is better than the ardent nature that changes twenty times in a day.  I have studied Ellen and I think she would make a good wife — that is, if she had a good husband.  If she married a fool or a tyrant there is spirit enough in her composition to withstand the dictates of either insolence or weakness, though even then I doubt not her sense would teach her to make the best of a bad bargain.

‘You will see my letters are all didactic.  They contain no news, because I know of none which I think it would interest you to hear repeated.  I am still at home, in very good health and spirits, and uneasy only because I cannot yet hear of a situation.

‘I shall always be glad to have a letter from you, and I promise when you write again to be less dilatory in answering.  I trust your prospects of happiness still continue fair; and from what you say of your future partner I doubt not she will be one who will help you to get cheerfully through the difficulties of this world and to obtain a permanent rest in the next; at least I hope such may be the case.  You do right to conduct the matter with due deliberation, for on the step you are about to take depends the happiness of your whole lifetime.

‘You must not again ask me to write in a regular literary way to you on some particular topic.  I cannot do it at all.  Do you think I am a blue-stocking?  I feel half inclined to laugh at you for the idea, but perhaps you would be angry.  What was
 
the topic to be?  Chemistry? or astronomy? or mechanics? or conchology? or entomology? or what other ology?  I know nothing at all about any of these.  I am not scientific; I am not a linguist.  You think me far more learned than I am.  If I told you all my ignorance, I am afraid you would be shocked; however, as I wish still to retain a little corner in your good opinion, I will hold my tongue. — Believe me, yours respectfully,

‘C. Brontë.’

TO REV. HENRY NUSSEY

‘
January
11th, 1841.

‘Dear Sir, — It is time I should reply to your last, as I shall fail in fulfilling my promise of not being so dilatory as on a former occasion.

‘I shall be glad to receive the poetry which you offer to send me.  You ask me to return the gift in kind.  How do you know that I have it in my power to comply with that request?  Once indeed I was very poetical, when I was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen years old, but I am now twenty-four, approaching twenty-five, and the intermediate years are those which begin to rob life of some of its superfluous colouring.  At this age it is time that the imagination should be pruned and trimmed, that the judgment should be cultivated, and a few, at least, of the countless illusions of early youth should be cleared away.  I have not written poetry for a long while.

‘You will excuse the dulness, morality, and monotony of this epistle, and — Believe me, with all good wishes for your welfare here and hereafter, your sincere friend,

‘C. Brontë.’

This letter closes the correspondence; but, as we have seen, Charlotte spent three pleasant weeks in Mr. Nussey’s home with his sister Ellen when that gentleman became vicar of Hathersage, in Derbyshire.  She thus congratulates her friend when Mr. Nussey is appointed to the latter living.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
July
29
th
, 1844.

‘Dear Nell, — I am very glad to hear of Henry’s good fortune. 
 
It proves to me what an excellent thing perseverance is for getting on in the world.  Calm self-confidence (not impudence, for that is vulgar and repulsive) is an admirable quality; but how are those not naturally gifted with it to attain it?  We all here get on much as usual.  Papa wishes he could hear of a curate, that Mr. Smith may be at liberty to go.  Good-bye, dear Ellen.  I wish to you and yours happiness, health, and prosperity.

‘Write again before you go to Burlington.  My best love to Mary.

‘C. Brontë.’

Meanwhile, as I have said, a second lover appeared on the field in this same year, 1839, and the quickness of his wooing is a remarkable testimony to the peculiar fascination which Miss Brontë must have exercised.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
August
4
th
, 1839.

‘My dearest Ellen, — I have an odd circumstance to relate to you — prepare for a hearty laugh!  The other day Mr. Hodgson, papa’s former curate, now a vicar, came over to spend the day with us, bringing with him his own curate.  The latter gentleman, by name Mr. Price, is a young Irish clergyman, fresh from Dublin University.  It was the first time we had any of us seen him, but, however, after the manner of his countrymen, he soon made himself at home.  His character quickly appeared in his conversation: witty, lively, ardent, clever too, but deficient in the dignity and discretion of an Englishman.  At home, you know, Ellen, I talk with ease, and am never shy, never weighed down and oppressed by that miserable
mauvaise honte
which torments and constrains me elsewhere.  So I conversed with this Irishman and laughed at his jests, and though I saw faults in his character, excused them because of the amusement his originality afforded.  I cooled a little, indeed, and drew in towards the latter part of the evening, because he began to season his conversation with something of Hibernian flattery, which I did not quite relish.  However, they went away, and no more was thought about them.  A few days after I got a letter, the
 
direction of which puzzled me, it being in a hand I was not accustomed to see.  Evidently, it was neither from you nor Mary Taylor, my only correspondents.  Having opened and read it, it proved to be a declaration of attachment and proposal of matrimony, expressed in the ardent language of the sapient young Irishman!  Well! thought I, I have heard of love at first sight, but this beats all.  I leave you to guess what my answer would be, convinced that you will not do me the injustice of guessing wrong.  When we meet I’ll show you the letter.  I hope you are laughing heartily.  This is not like one of my adventures, is it?  It more nearly resembles Martha Taylor’s.  I am certainly doomed to be an old maid.  Never mind, I made up my mind to that fate ever since I was twelve years old.  Write soon.

‘C. Brontë.’

It was not many months after this that we hear the last of poor Mr. Price.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
January
24
th
, 1840.

‘My dear Ellen, — Mr. Price is dead.  He had fallen into a state of delicate health for some time, and the rupture of a blood-vessel carried him off.  He was a strong, athletic-looking man when I saw him, and that is scarcely six months ago.  Though I knew so little of him, and of course could not be deeply or permanently interested in what concerned him, I confess, when I suddenly heard he was dead, I felt both shocked and saddened: it was no shame to feel so, was it?  I scold you, Ellen, for writing illegibly and badly, but I think you may repay the compliment with cent per cent interest.  I am not in the humour for writing a long letter, so good-bye.  God bless you.

‘C. B.’

There are many thoughts on marriage scattered through Charlotte’s correspondence.  It was a subject upon which she never wearied of asking questions, and of finding her own answers.  ‘I believe it is better to marry
to
love than to
 
marry
for
love,’ she says on one occasion.  And in reference to the somewhat uncertain attitude of the admirer of one of her friends, she thus expresses herself to Miss Nussey:

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
November
20
th
, 1840.

‘My dearest Nell, — That last letter of thine treated of matters so high and important I cannot delay answering it for a day.  Now I am about to write thee a discourse, and a piece of advice which thou must take as if it came from thy grandmother.  But in the first place, before I begin with thee, I have a word to whisper in the ear of Mr. Vincent, and I wish it could reach him.  In the name of St. Chrysostom, St. Simon, and St. Jude, why does not that amiable young gentleman come forward like a man and say all that he has to say personally, instead of trifling with kinsmen and kinswomen.  “Mr. Vincent,” I say, “go personally, and say: ‘Miss — -, I want to speak to you.’  Miss — - will of course civilly answer: ‘I am at your service, Mr. Vincent.’  And then, when the room is cleared of all but yourself and herself, just take a chair nearer.  Insist upon her laying down that silly . . . work, and listening to you.  Then begin, in a clear, distinct, deferential, but determined voice: ‘Miss — -, I have a question to put to you — a very important question: “Will you take me as your husband, for better, for worse.  I am not a rich man, but I have sufficient to support us.  I am not a great man, but I love you honestly and truly.  Miss — -, if you knew the world better you would see that this is an offer not to be despised — a kind attached heart and a moderate competency.”  Do this, Mr. Vincent, and you may succeed.  Go on writing sentimental and love-sick letters to — -, and I would not give sixpence for your suit.”  So much for Mr. Vincent.  Now Miss — -’s turn comes to swallow the black bolus, called a friend’s advice.  Say to her: “Is the man a fool? is he a knave? a humbug, a hypocrite, a ninny, a noodle?  If he is any or all of these, of course there is no sense in trifling with him.  Cut him short at once — blast his hopes with lightning rapidity and keenness.  Is he
 
something better than this? has he at least common sense, a good disposition, a manageable temper?  Then consider the matter.”  Say further: “You feel a disgust towards him now — an utter repugnance.  Very likely, but be so good as to remember you don’t know him; you have only had three or four days’ acquaintance with him.  Longer and closer intimacy might reconcile you to a wonderful extent.  And now I’ll tell you a word of truth, at which you may be offended or not as you like.”  Say to her: “From what I know of your character, and I think I know it pretty well, I should say you will never love before marriage.  After that ceremony is over, and after you have had some months to settle down, and to get accustomed to the creature you have taken for your worse half, you will probably make a most affectionate and happy wife; even if the individual should not prove all you could wish, you will be indulgent towards his little follies and foibles, and will not feel much annoyance at them.  This will especially be the case if he should have sense sufficient to allow you to guide him in important matters.”  Say also: “I hope you will not have the romantic folly to wait for what the French call ‘une grande passion.’  My good girl, ‘une grande passion’ is ‘une grande folie.’  Mediocrity in all things is wisdom; mediocrity in the sensations is superlative wisdom.”  Say to her: “When you are as old as I am (I am sixty at least, being your grandmother), you will find that the majority of those worldly precepts, whose seeming coldness shocks and repels us in youth, are founded in wisdom.”

‘No girl should fall in love till the offer is actually made.  This maxim is just.  I will even extend and confirm it: No young lady should fall in love till the offer has been made, accepted, the marriage ceremony performed, and the first half-year of wedded life has passed away.  A woman may then begin to love, but with great precaution, very coolly, very moderately, very rationally.  If she ever loves so much that a harsh word or a cold look cuts her to the heart she is a fool.  If she ever loves so much that her husband’s will is her law, and that she has got into a habit of watching his looks in
 
order that she may anticipate his wishes, she will soon be a neglected fool.