Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (585 page)

‘Charlotte Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Haworth,
November
10
th
, 1834.

‘Dear Ellen, — I have been a long while, a very long while without writing to you.  A letter I received from Mary Taylor
 
this morning reminded me of my neglect, and made me instantly sit down to atone for it, if possible.  She tells me your aunt, of Brookroyd, is dead, and that Sarah is very ill; for this I am truly sorry, but I hope her case is not yet without hope.  You should however remember that death, should it happen, will undoubtedly be great gain to her.  In your last, dear Ellen, you ask my opinion respecting the amusement of dancing, and whether I thought it objectionable when indulged in for an hour or two in parties of boys and girls.  I should hesitate to express a difference of opinion from Mr. Atkinson, but really the matter seems to me to stand thus: It is allowed on all hands that the sin of dancing consists not in the mere action of shaking the shanks (as the Scotch say), but in the consequences that usually attend it — namely, frivolity and waste of time; when it is used only, as in the case you state, for the exercise and amusement of an hour among young people (who surely may without any breach of God’s commandments be allowed a little light-heartedness), these consequences cannot follow.  Ergo (according to my manner of arguing), the amusement is at such times perfectly innocent.  Having nothing more to say, I will conclude with the expression of my sincere and earnest attachment for, Ellen, your own dear self.

‘Charlotte Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Haworth,
January
12
th
, 1835.

‘Dearest Ellen, — I thought it better not to answer your kind letter too soon, lest I should (in the present fully occupied state of your time) appear intrusive.  I am happy to inform you papa has given me permission to accept the invitation it conveyed, and ere long I hope once more to have the pleasure of seeing
almost
the
only
and certainly the
dearest
friend I possess (out of our own family).  I leave it to you to fix the time, only requesting you not to appoint too early a day; let it be a fortnight or three weeks at least from the date of the present letter.  I am greatly obliged to you for your kind offer of meeting me at Bradford, but papa thinks that such a plan
 
would involve uncertainty, and be productive of trouble to you.  He recommends that I should go direct in a gig from Haworth at the time you shall determine, or, if that day should prove unfavourable, the first subsequent fine one.  Such an arrangement would leave us both free, and if it meets with your approbation would perhaps be the best we could finally resolve upon.  Excuse the brevity of this epistle, dear Ellen, for I am in a great hurry, and we shall, I trust, soon see each other face to face, which will be better than a hundred letters.  Give my respectful love to your mother and sisters, accept the kind remembrances of all our family, and — Believe me in particular to be, your firm and faithful friend,

‘Charlotte Brontë.

‘
P.S.
— You ask me to stay a month when I come, but as I do not wish to tire you with my company, and as, besides, papa and aunt both think a fortnight amply sufficient, I shall not exceed that period.  Farewell,
dearest
,
dearest
.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Roe Head,
September
10
th
, 1835.

‘My dear Ellen, — You are far too kind and frequent in your invitations.  You puzzle me: I hardly know how to refuse, and it is still more embarrassing to accept.  At any rate, I cannot come this week, for we are in the very thickest
mêlée
of the repetitions; I was hearing the terrible fifth section when your note arrived.  But Miss Wooler says I must go to Gomersall next Friday as she promised for me on Whitsunday; and on Sunday morning I will join you at church, if it be convenient, and stay at Rydings till Monday morning.  There’s a free and easy proposal!  Miss Wooler has driven me to it — she says her character is implicated!  I am very sorry to hear that your mother has been ill.  I do hope she is better now, and that all the rest of the family are well.  Will you be so kind as to deliver the accompanying note to Miss Taylor when you see her at church on Sunday?  Dear Ellen, excuse the most horrid scrawl ever penned by mortal hands.  Remember me to your mother and sisters, and — Believe me, E. Nussey’s friend,

‘Charlotte.’

 
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
February
20
th
, 1837.

‘I read your letter with dismay, Ellen — what shall I do without you?  Why are we so to be denied each other’s society?  It is an inscrutable fatality.  I long to be with you because it seems as if two or three days or weeks spent in your company would beyond measure strengthen me in the enjoyment of those feelings which I have so lately begun to cherish.  You first pointed out to me that way in which I am so feebly endeavouring to travel, and now I cannot keep you by my side, I must proceed sorrowfully alone.

‘Why are we to be divided?  Surely, Ellen, it must be because we are in danger of loving each other too well — of losing sight of the
Creator
in idolatry of the
creature
.  At first I could not say, “Thy will be done.”  I felt rebellious; but I know it was wrong to feel so.  Being left a moment alone this morning I prayed fervently to be enabled to resign myself to
every
decree of God’s will — though it should be dealt forth with a far severer hand than the present disappointment.  Since then, I have felt calmer and humbler — and consequently happier.  Last Sunday I took up my Bible in a gloomy frame of mind; I began to read; a feeling stole over me such as I have not known for many long years — a sweet placid sensation like those that I remember used to visit me when I was a little child, and on Sunday evenings in summer stood by the open window reading the life of a certain French nobleman who attained a purer and higher degree of sanctity than has been known since the days of the early Martyrs.  I thought of my own Ellen — I wished she had been near me that I might have told her how happy I was, how bright and glorious the pages of God’s holy word seemed to me.  But the “foretaste” passed away, and earth and sin returned.  I must see you before you go, Ellen; if you cannot come to Roe Head I will contrive to walk over to Brookroyd, provided you will let me know the time of your departure.  Should you not be at home at Easter I dare not promise to accept your mother’s and sisters’ invitation. 
 
I should be miserable at Brookroyd without you, yet I would contrive to visit them for a few hours if I could not for a few days.  I love them for your sake.  I have written this note at a venture.  When it will reach you I know not, but I was determined not to let slip an opportunity for want of being prepared to embrace it.  Farewell, may God bestow on you all His blessings.  My darling — Farewell.  Perhaps you may return before midsummer — do you think you possibly can?  I wish your brother John knew how unhappy I am; he would almost pity me.

‘C. Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
June
8
th
, 1837.

‘My dearest Ellen, — The inclosed, as you will perceive, was written before I received your last.  I had intended to send it by this, but what you said altered my intention.  I scarce dare build a hope on the foundation your letter lays — we have been disappointed so often, and I fear I shall not be able to prevail on them to part with you; but I will try my utmost, and at any rate there is a chance of our meeting soon; with that thought I will comfort myself.  You do not know how selfishly
glad
I am that you still continue to dislike London and the Londoners — it seems to afford a sort of proof that your affections are not changed.  Shall we really stand once again together on the moors of Haworth?  I
dare
not flatter myself with too sanguine an expectation.  I see many doubts and difficulties.  But with Miss Wooler’s leave, which I have asked and in part obtained, I will go to-morrow and try to remove them. — Believe me, my own Ellen, yours always truly,

‘C. Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
January
12
th
, 1839.

‘My
dear kind
Ellen, — I can hardly help laughing when I reckon up the number of urgent invitations I have received from you during the last three months.  Had I accepted all or even half of them, the Birstallians would certainly have concluded that I had come to make Brookroyd my permanent residence.  When you set your mind upon it, you have a peculiar way of edging one
 
in with a circle of dilemmas, so that they hardly know how to refuse you; however, I shall take a running leap and clear them all.  Frankly, my dear Ellen, I
cannot come
.  Reflect for yourself a moment.  Do you see nothing absurd in the idea of a person coming again into a neighbourhood within a month after they have taken a solemn and formal leave of all their acquaintance?  However, I thank both you and your mother for the invitation, which was most kindly expressed.  You give no answer to my proposal that you should come to Haworth with the Taylors.  I still think it would be your best plan.  I wish you and the Taylors were safely here; there is no pleasure to be had without toiling for it.  You must invite me no more, my dear Ellen, until next Midsummer at the nearest.  All here desire to be remembered to you, aunt particularly.  Angry though you are, I will venture to sign myself as usual (no, not as usual, but as suits circumstances). — Yours, under a cloud,

‘C. Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
May
5
th
, 1838.

‘My dearest Ellen, — Yesterday I heard that you were ill.  Mr. and Miss Heald were at Dewsbury Moor, and it was from them I obtained the information.  This morning I set off to Brookroyd to learn further particulars, from whence I am but just returned.  Your mother is in great distress about you, she can hardly mention your name without tears; and both she and Mercy wish very much to see you at home again.  Poor girl, you have been a fortnight confined to your bed; and while I was blaming you in my own mind for not writing, you were suffering in sickness without one kind
female
friend to watch over you.  I should have heard all this before and have hastened to express my sympathy with you in this crisis had I been able to visit Brookroyd in the Easter holidays, but an unexpected summons back to Dewsbury Moor, in consequence of the illness and death of Mr. Wooler, prevented it.  Since that time I have been a fortnight and two days quite alone, Miss Wooler being detained in the interim at Rouse Mill.  You
 
will now see, Ellen, that it was not neglect or failure of affection which has occasioned my silence, though I fear you will long ago have attributed it to those causes.  If you are well enough, do write to me just two lines — just to assure me of your convalescence; not a word, however, if it would harm you — not a syllable.  They value you at home.  Sickness and absence call forth expressions of attachment which might have remained long enough unspoken if their object had been present and well.  I wish your
friends
(I include myself in that word) may soon cease to have cause for so painful an excitement of their regard.  As yet I have but an imperfect idea of the nature of your illness — of its extent — or of the degree in which it may now have subsided.  When you can let me know all, no particular, however minute, will be uninteresting to me.  How have your spirits been?  I trust not much overclouded, for that is the most melancholy result of illness.  You are not, I understand, going to Bath at present; they seem to have arranged matters strangely.  When I parted from you near White-lee Bar, I had a more sorrowful feeling than ever I experienced before in our temporary separations.  It is foolish to dwell too much on the idea of presentiments, but I certainly had a feeling that the time of our reunion had never been so indefinite or so distant as then.  I doubt not, my dear Ellen, that amidst your many trials, amidst the sufferings that you have of late felt in yourself, and seen in several of your relations, you have still been able to look up and find support in trial, consolation in affliction, and repose in tumult, where human interference can make no change.  I think you know in the right spirit how to withdraw yourself from the vexation, the care, the meanness of life, and to derive comfort from purer sources than this world can afford.  You know how to do it silently, unknown to others, and can avail yourself of that hallowed communion the Bible gives us with God.  I am charged to transmit your mother’s and sister’s love.  Receive mine in the same parcel, I think it will scarcely be the smallest share.  Farewell, my dear Ellen.

‘C. Brontë.’