Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (589 page)

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Brussels,
April
1
st
, 1843.

‘Dear Ellen, — That last letter of yours merits a good dose of panegyric — it was both long and interesting; send me quickly such another, longer still if possible.  You will have heard of Mary Taylor’s resolute and intrepid proceedings.  Her public letters will have put you in possession of all details — nothing is left for me to say except perhaps to express my opinion upon it.  I have turned the matter over on all sides and really I cannot consider it otherwise than as very rational.  Mind, I did not jump to this opinion at once, but was several days before I formed it conclusively.

‘C. B.’

 
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
Sunday Evening
,
June
1
st
, 1845.

‘Dear Ellen, — You probably know that another letter has been received from Mary Taylor.  It is, however, possible that your absence from home will have prevented your seeing it, so I will give you a sketch of its contents.  It was written at about 4° N. of the Equator.  The first part of the letter contained an account of their landing at Santiago.  Her health at that time was very good, and her spirits seemed excellent.  They had had contrary winds at first setting out, but their voyage was then prosperous.  In the latter portion of the letter she complains of the excessive heat, and says she lives chiefly on oranges; but still she was well, and freer from headache and other ailments than any other person on board.  The receipt of this letter will have relieved all her friends from a weight of anxiety.  I am uneasy about what you say respecting the French newspapers — do you mean to intimate that you have received none?  I have despatched them regularly.  Emily and I keep them usually three days, sometimes only two, and then send them forward to you.  I see by the cards you sent, and also by the newspaper, that Henry is at last married.  How did you like your office of bridesmaid? and how do you like your new sister and her family?  You must write to me as soon as you can, and give me an
observant
account of everything.

‘C. Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Manchester,
September
13
th
, 1846.

‘Dear Ellen, — Papa thinks his own progress rather slow, but the doctor affirms he is getting on very well.  He complains of extreme weakness and soreness in the eye, but I suppose that is to be expected for some time to come.  He is still kept in the dark, but now sits up the greater part of the day, and is allowed a little fire in the room, from the light of which he is carefully screened.

‘By this time you will have got Mary’s letters; most interesting they are, and she is in her element because she is where she
 
has a toilsome task to perform, an important improvement to effect, a weak vessel to strengthen.  You ask if I had any enjoyment here; in truth, I can’t say I have, and I long to get home, though, unhappily, home is not now a place of complete rest.  It is sad to think how it is disquieted by a constant phantom, or rather two — sin and suffering; they seem to obscure the cheerfulness of day, and to disturb the comfort of evening.

‘Give my love to all at Brookroyd, and believe me, yours faithfully,

‘C. B.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘
June
5
th
, 1847.

‘Dear Ellen, — I return you Mary Taylor’s letter; it made me somewhat sad to read it, for I fear she is not quite content with her existence in New Zealand.  She finds it too barren.  I believe she is more home-sick than she will confess.  Her gloomy ideas respecting you and me prove a state of mind far from gay.  I have also received a letter; its tone is similar to your own, and its contents too.

‘What brilliant weather we have had.  Oh! I do indeed regret you could not come to Haworth at the time fixed, these warm sunny days would have suited us exactly; but it is not to be helped.  Give my best love to your mother and Mercy. — Yours faithfully,

‘C. BRONTË.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Haworth,
June
26
th
, 1848.

‘Dear Ellen, — I should have answered your last long ago if I had known your address, but you omitted to give it me, and I have been waiting in the hope that you would perhaps write again and repair the omission.  Finding myself deceived in this expectation however, I have at last hit on the plan of sending the letter to Brookroyd to be directed; be sure to give me your address when you reply to this.

‘I was glad to hear that you were well received at London, and that you got safe to the end of your journey.  Your
naïveté
in
 
gravely inquiring my opinion of the “last new novel” amuses me.  We do not subscribe to a circulating library at Haworth, and consequently “new novels” rarely indeed come in our way, and consequently, again, we are not qualified to give opinions thereon.

‘About three weeks ago, I received a brief note from Hunsworth, to the effect that Mr. Joe Taylor and his cousin Henry would make some inquiries respecting Mme.  Héger’s school on account of Ellen Taylor, and that if I had no objection, they would ride over to Haworth in a day or two.  I said they might come if they would.  They came, accompanied by Miss Mossman, of Bradford, whom I had never seen, only heard of occasionally.  It was a pouring wet and windy day; we had quite ceased to expect them.  Miss Mossman was quite wet, and we had to make her change her things, and dress her out in ours as well as we could.  I do not know if you are acquainted with her; I thought her unaffected and rather agreeable-looking, though she has very red hair.  Henry Taylor does indeed resemble John most strongly.  Joe looked thin; he was in good spirits, and I think in tolerable good-humour.  I would have given much for you to have been there.  I had not been very well for some days before, and had some difficulty in keeping up the talk, but I managed on the whole better than I expected.  I was glad Miss Mossman came, for she helped.  Nothing new was communicated respecting Mary.  Nothing of importance in any way was said the whole time; it was all rattle, rattle, of which I should have great difficulty now in recalling the substance.  They left almost immediately after tea.  I have not heard a word respecting them since, but I suppose they got home all right.  The visit strikes me as an odd whim.  I consider it quite a caprice, prompted probably by curiosity.

‘Joe Taylor mentioned that he had called at Brookroyd, and that Anne had told him you were ill, and going into the South for change of air.

‘I hope you will soon write to me again and tell me particularly how your health is, and how you get on.  Give my
 
regards to Mary Gorham, for really I have a sort of regard for her by hearsay, and — Believe me, dear Nell, yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’

The Ellen Taylor mentioned in the above letter did not go to Brussels.  She joined her cousin Mary in New Zealand instead.

TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË

‘Wellington,
April
10
th
, 1849.

‘Dear Charlotte, — I’ve been delighted to receive a very interesting letter from you with an account of your visit to London, etc.  I believe I have tacked this acknowledgment to the tail of my last letter to you, but since then it has dawned on my comprehension that you are becoming a very important personage in this little world, and therefore, d’ye see? I must write again to you.  I wish you would give me some account of Newby, and what the man said when confronted with the real Ellis Bell.  By the way, having got your secret, will he keep it?  And how do you contrive to get your letters under the address of Mr. Bell?  The whole scheme must be particularly interesting to hear about, if I could only talk to you for half a day.  When do you intend to tell the good people about you?

‘I am now hard at work expecting Ellen Taylor.  She may possibly be here in two months.  I once thought of writing you some of the dozens of schemes I have for Ellen Taylor, but as the choice depends on her I may as well wait and tell you the one she chooses.  The two most reasonable are keeping a school and keeping a shop.  The last is evidently the most healthy, but the most difficult of accomplishment.  I have written an account of the earthquakes for
Chambers
, and intend (now don’t remind me of this a year hence, because
la femme propose
) to write some more.  What else I shall do I don’t know.  I find the writing faculty does not in the least depend on the leisure I have, but much more on the
active
work I have to do.  I write at my novel a little and think of my other book.  What this will turn out, God only knows.  It is not, and never can be forgotten.  It is my child, my baby, and
I assure you
such a
 
wonder as never was.  I intend him when full grown to revolutionise society and
faire époque
in history.

‘In the meantime I’m doing a collar in crochet work.

‘Pag.’

TO MISS CHARLOTTE BRONTË

‘Wellington, New Zealand,
‘
July
24
th
, 1849.

‘Dear Charlotte, — About a month since I received and read
Jane Eyre
.  It seemed to me incredible that you had actually written a book.  Such events did not happen while I was in England.  I begin to believe in your existence much as I do in Mr. Rochester’s.  In a believing mood I don’t doubt either of them.  After I had read it I went on to the top of Mount Victoria and looked for a ship to carry a letter to you.  There was a little thing with one mast, and also H.M.S.
Fly
, and nothing else.  If a cattle vessel came from Sydney she would probably return in a few days, and would take a mail, but we have had east wind for a month and nothing can come in.

‘
Aug
. 1. — The
Harlequin
has just come from Otago, and is to sail for Singapore
when the wind changes
, and by that route (which I hope to take myself sometime) I send you this.  Much good may it do you.  Your novel surprised me by being so perfect as a work of art.  I expected something more changeable and unfinished.  You have polished to some purpose.  If I were to do so I should get tired, and weary every one else in about two pages.  No sign of this weariness in your book — you must have had abundance, having kept it all to yourself!

‘You are very different from me in having no doctrine to preach.  It is impossible to squeeze a moral out of your production.  Has the world gone so well with you that you have no protest to make against its absurdities?  Did you never sneer or declaim in your first sketches?  I will scold you well when I see you.  I do not believe in Mr. Rivers.  There are no
good
men of the Brocklehurst species.  A missionary either goes into his office for a piece of bread, or
 
he goes from enthusiasm, and that is both too good and too bad a quality for St. John.  It’s a bit of your absurd charity to believe in such a man.  You have done wisely in choosing to imagine a high class of readers.  You never stop to explain or defend anything, and never seem bothered with the idea.  If Mrs. Fairfax or any other well-intentioned fool gets hold of this what will she think?  And yet, you know, the world is made up of such, and worse.  Once more, how have you written through three volumes without declaring war to the knife against a few dozen absurd doctrines, each of which is supported by “a large and respectable class of readers”?  Emily seems to have had such a class in her eye when she wrote that strange thing
Wuthering Heights
.  Anne, too, stops repeatedly to preach commonplace truths.  She has had a still lower class in her mind’s eye.  Emily seems to have followed the bookseller’s advice.  As to the price you got, it was certainly Jewish.  But what could the people do?  If they had asked you to fix it, do you know yourself how many ciphers your sum would have had?  And how should they know better?  And if they did, that’s the knowledge they get their living by.  If I were in your place, the idea of being bound in the sale of two more would prevent me from ever writing again.  Yet you are probably now busy with another.  It is curious for me to see among the old letters one from Anne sending
a copy of a whole article
on the currency question written by Fonblanque!  I exceedingly regret having burnt your letters in a fit of caution, and I’ve forgotten all the names.  Was the reader Albert Smith?  What do they all think of you?

‘I mention the book to no one and hear no opinions.  I lend it a good deal because it’s a novel, and
it’s as good as another
!  They say “it makes them cry.”  They are not literary enough to give an opinion.  If ever I hear one I’ll embalm it for you.  As to my own affair, I have written 100 pages, and lately 50 more.  It’s no use writing faster.  I get so disgusted, I can do nothing.