Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle Part 52

'C. BRONTE.'

TO REV. P. BRONTE

'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, 'HYDE PARK, _June_ 7_th_, 1851.

'DEAR PAPA,--I was very glad to hear that you continued in pretty good health, and that Mr. Cartman came to help you on Sunday. I fear you will not have had a very comfortable week in the dining-room; but by this time I suppose the parlour reformation will be nearly completed, and you will soon be able to return to your old quarters.

The letter you sent me this morning was from Mary Taylor. She continues well and happy in New Zealand, and her shop seems to answer well. The French newspaper duly arrived. Yesterday I went for the second time to the Crystal Palace. We remained in it about three hours, and I must say I was more struck with it on this occasion than at my first visit. It is a wonderful place--vast, strange, new, and impossible to describe. Its grandeur does not consist in _one_ thing, but in the unique a.s.semblage of _all_ things. Whatever human industry has created, you find there, from the great compartments filled with railway engines and boilers, with mill-machinery in full work, with splendid carriages of all kinds, with harness of every description--to the gla.s.s-covered and velvet-spread stands loaded with the most gorgeous work of the goldsmith and silversmith, and the carefully guarded caskets full of real diamonds and pearls worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. It may be called a bazaar or a fair, but it is such a bazaar or fair as Eastern genii might have created. It seems as if magic only could have gathered this ma.s.s of wealth from all the ends of the earth--as if none but supernatural hands could have arranged it thus, with such a blaze and contrast of colours and marvellous power of effect. The mult.i.tude filling the great aisles seems ruled and subdued by some invisible influence.

Amongst the thirty thousand souls that peopled it the day I was there, not one loud noise was to be heard, not one irregular movement seen--the living tide rolls on quietly, with a deep hum like the sea heard from the distance.

'Mr. Thackeray is in high spirits about the success of his lectures.

It is likely to add largely both to his fame and purse. He has, however, deferred this week's lecture till next Thursday, at the earnest pet.i.tion of the d.u.c.h.esses and marchionesses, who, on the day it should have been delivered, were necessitated to go down with the Queen and Court to Ascot Races. I told him I thought he did wrong to put it off on their account--and I think so still. The amateur performance of Bulwer's play for the Guild of Literature has likewise been deferred on account of the races. I hope, dear papa, that you, Mr. Nicholls, and all at home continue well. Tell Martha to take her scrubbing and cleaning in moderation and not overwork herself. With kind regards to her and Tabby,--I am, your affectionate daughter,

'C. BRONTE.'

TO REV. P. BRONTE

'112 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, 'HYDE PARK, _June_ 14_th_, 1851.

'DEAR PAPA,--If all be well, and if Martha can get the cleaning, etc., done by that time, I think I shall be coming home about the end of next week or the beginning of the week after. I have been pretty well in London, only somewhat troubled with headaches, owing, I suppose, to the closeness and oppression of the air. The weather has not been so favourable as when I was last here, and in wet and dark days this great Babylon is not so cheerful. All the other sights seem to give way to the great Exhibition, into which thousands and tens of thousands continue to pour every day. I was in it again yesterday afternoon, and saw the ex-royal family of France--the old Queen, the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans, and her two sons, etc., pa.s.s down the transept. I almost wonder the Londoners don't tire a little of this vast Vanity Fair--and, indeed, a new toy has somewhat diverted the attention of the grandees lately, viz., a fancy ball given last night by the Queen. The great lords and ladies have been quite wrapt up in preparations for this momentous event. Their pet and darling, Mr.

Thackeray, of course sympathises with them. He was here yesterday to dinner, and left very early in the evening in order that he might visit respectively the d.u.c.h.ess of Norfolk, the Marchioness of Londonderry, Ladies Chesterfield and Clanricarde, and see them all in their fancy costumes of the reign of Charles II. before they set out for the Palace! His lectures, it appears, are a triumphant success.

He says they will enable him to make a provision for his daughters; and Mr. Smith believes he will not get less than four thousand pounds by them. He is going to give two courses, and then go to Edinburgh and perhaps America, but _not_ under the auspices of Barnum. Amongst others, the Lord Chancellor attended his last lecture, and Mr.

Thackeray says he expects a place from him; but in this I think he was joking. Of course Mr. T. is a good deal spoiled by all this, and indeed it cannot be otherwise. He has offered two or three times to introduce me to some of his great friends, and says he knows many great ladies who would receive me with open arms if I would go to their houses; but, seriously, I cannot see that this sort of society produces so good an effect on him as to tempt me in the least to try the same experiment, so I remain obscure.

'Hoping you are well, dear papa, and with kind regards to Mr.

Nicholls, Tabby, and Martha, also poor old Keeper and Flossy,--I am, your affectionate daughter,

'C. BRONTE.

'_P.S._--I am glad the parlour is done and that you have got safely settled, but am quite shocked to hear of the piano being dragged up into the bedroom--there it must necessarily be absurd, and in the parlour it looked so well, besides being convenient for your books.

I wonder why you don't like it.'

There are many pleasant references to Thackeray to be found in Mrs.

Gaskell's book, including a letter to Mr. George Smith, thanking him for the gift of the novelist's portrait. 'He looks superb in his beautiful, tasteful, gilded gibbet,' she says. A few years later, and Thackeray was to write the eloquent tribute to his admirer, which is familiar to his readers: 'I fancied an austere little Joan of Arc marching in upon us and rebuking our easy lives, our easy morals.' 'She gave me,' he tells us, 'the impression of being a very pure, and lofty, and high-minded person.

A great and holy reverence of right and truth seemed to be with her always. Who that has known her books has not admired the artist's n.o.ble English, the burning love of truth, the bravery, the simplicity, the indignation at wrong, the eager sympathy, the pious love and reverence, the pa.s.sionate honour, so to speak, of the woman? What a story is that of the family of poets in their solitude yonder on the gloomy Yorkshire moors!'

CHAPTER XVI: LITERARY FRIENDSHIPS

There is a letter, printed by Mrs. Gaskell, from Charlotte Bronte to Ellen Nussey, in which Miss Bronte, when a girl of seventeen, discusses the best books to read, and expresses a particular devotion to Sir Walter Scott. During those early years she was an indefatigable student of literature. She read all that her father's study and the Keighley library could provide. When the years brought literary fame and its accompanying friendships, she was able to hold her own with the many men and women of letters whom she was destined to meet. Her staunchest friend was undoubtedly Mr. Williams, who sent her, as we have seen, all the newest books from London, and who appears to have discussed them with her as well. Next to Mr. Williams we must place his chief at Cornhill, Mr. George Smith, and Mr. Smith's mother. Mr. Smith happily still lives to reign over the famous house which introduced Thackeray, John Ruskin, and Charlotte Bronte to the world. What Charlotte thought of him may be gathered from her frank acknowledgment that he was the original of Dr.

John in _Villette_, as his mother was the original of Mrs.

Bretton--perhaps the two most entirely charming characters in Charlotte Bronte's novels. Mrs. Smith and her son lived, at the beginning of the friendship, at Westbourne Place, but afterwards removed to Gloucester Terrace, and Charlotte stayed with them at both houses. It was from the former that this first letter was addressed.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'4 WESTBOURNE PLACE, 'BISHOP'S ROAD, LONDON.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I have just remembered that as you do not know my address you cannot write to me till you get it; it is as above. I came to this big Babylon last Thursday, and have been in what seems to me a sort of whirl ever since; for changes, scenes, and stimulus which would be a trifle to others, are much to me. I found when I mentioned to Mr. Smith my plan of going to Dr. Wheelwright's it would not do at all--he would have been seriously hurt. He made his mother write to me, and thus I was persuaded to make my princ.i.p.al stay at his house. I have found no reason to regret this decision. Mrs.

Smith received me at first like one who had received the strictest orders to be scrupulously attentive. I had fires in my bed-room evening and morning, wax candles, etc., etc. Mrs. Smith and her daughters seemed to look upon me with a mixture of respect and alarm.

But all this is changed--that is to say, the attention and politeness continues as great as ever, but the alarm and estrangement are quite gone. She treats me as if she liked me, and I begin to like her much; kindness is a potent heart-winner. I had not judged too favourably of her son on a first impression; he pleases me much. I like him better even as a son and brother than as a man of business.

Mr. Williams, too, is really most gentlemanly and well-informed. His weak points he certainly has, but these are not seen in society. Mr.

Taylor--the little man--has again shown his parts; in fact, I suspect he is of the Helstone order of men--rigid, despotic, and self-willed.

He tries to be very kind and even to express sympathy sometimes, but he does not manage it. He has a determined, dreadful nose in the middle of his face, which, when poked into my countenance, cuts into my soul like iron. Still, he is horribly intelligent, quick, searching, sagacious, and with a memory of relentless tenacity. To turn to Mr. Williams after him, or to Mr. Smith himself, is to turn from granite to easy down or warm fur. I have seen Thackeray.

'C. BRONTE.'

TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL

'_November_ 6_th_, 1849.

'MY DEAR SIR,--I am afraid Mr. Williams told you I was sadly "put out" about the _Daily News_, and I believe it is to that circ.u.mstance I owe your letters. But I have now made good resolutions, which were tried this morning by another notice in the same style in the _Observer_. The praise of such critics mortifies more than their blame; an author who becomes the object of it cannot help momentarily wishing he had never written. And to speak of the press being still ignorant of my being a woman! Why can they not be content to take Currer Bell for a man?

'I imagined, mistakenly it now appears, that _Shirley_ bore fewer traces of a female hand than _Jane Eyre_; that I have misjudged disappoints me a little, though I cannot exactly see where the error lies. You keep to your point about the curates. Since you think me to blame, you do right to tell me so. I rather fancy I shall be left in a minority of one on that subject.

'I was indeed very much interested in the books you sent.

Eckermann's _Conversations with Goethe_, _Guesses at Truth_, _Friends in Council_, and the little work on English social life pleased me particularly, and the last not least. We sometimes take a partiality to books as to characters, not on account of any brilliant intellect or striking peculiarity they boast, but for the sake of something good, delicate, and genuine. I thought that small book the production of a lady, and an amiable, sensible woman, and I like it.

'You must not think of selecting any more works for me yet, my stock is still far from exhausted.

'I accept your offer respecting the _Athenaeum_; it is a paper I should like much to see, providing you can send it without trouble.

It shall be punctually returned.

'Papa's health has, I am thankful to say, been very satisfactory of late. The other day he walked to Keighley and back, and was very little fatigued. I am myself pretty well.

'With thanks for your kind letter and good wishes,--Believe me, yours sincerely,

'C. BRONTE.'

Mrs. Gaskell has much to say of Miss Bronte's relations with George Henry Lewes. {432} He was a critic with whom she had much correspondence and not a few differences. It will be remembered that Charlotte describes him as bearing a resemblance to Emily--a curious circ.u.mstance by the light of the fact that Lewes was always adjudged among his acquaintances as a peculiarly ugly man. Here is a portion of a letter upon which Mrs.

Gaskell practised considerable excisions, and of which she prints the remainder:--

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'_June_ 12_th_, 1850.

'I have seen Lewes. He is a man with both weakness and sins, but unless I err greatly, the foundation of his nature is not bad; and were he almost a fiend in character I could not feel otherwise to him than half-sadly, half-tenderly. A queer word that last, but I use it because the aspect of Lewes's face almost moves me to tears, it is so wonderfully like Emily--her eyes, her features, the very nose, the somewhat prominent mouth, the forehead--even, at moments, the expression. Whatever Lewes does or says, I believe I cannot hate him. Another likeness I have seen, too, that touched me sorrowfully.

You remember my speaking of a Miss Kavanagh, a young auth.o.r.ess, who supported her mother by her writings. Hearing from Mr. Williams that she had a longing to see me, I called on her yesterday. I found a little, almost dwarfish figure, to which even I had to look down; not deformed--that is, not hunch-backed, but long-armed and with a large head, and (at first sight) a strange face. She met me half-frankly, half-tremblingly; we sat down together, and when I had talked with her five minutes, her face was no longer strange, but mournfully familiar--it was Martha Taylor on every lineament. I shall try to find a moment to see her again. She lives in a poor but clean and neat little lodging. Her mother seems a somewhat weak-minded woman, who can be no companion to her. Her father has quite deserted his wife and child, and this poor little, feeble, intelligent, cordial thing wastes her brains to gain a living. She is twenty-five years old. I do not intend to stay here, at the furthest, more than a week longer; but at the end of that time I cannot go home, for the house at Haworth is just now unroofed; repairs were become necessary.

'I should like to go for a week or two to the sea-side, in which case I wonder whether it would be possible for you to join me. Meantime, with regards to all--Believe me, yours faithfully,

'C. B.'

But her acquaintance with Lewes had apparently begun three years earlier.

TO W. S. WILLIAMS