Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes

by Bronte Sisters

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘September 17, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — Your letter gave me great pleasure. An author who has showed his book to none, held no consultation about plan, subject, characters, or incidents, asked and had no opinion from one living being, but fabricated it darkly in the silent workshop of his own brain — such an author awaits with a singular feeling the report of the first impression produced by his creation in a quarter where he places confidence, and truly glad he is when that report proves favourable.

  ‘Do you think this book will tend to strengthen the idea that Currer Bell is a woman, or will it favour a contrary opinion?

  ‘I return the proof-sheets. Will they print all the French phrases in italics? I hope not, it makes them look somehow obtrusively conspicuous.

  ‘I have no time to add more lest I should be too late for the post. — Yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘September 10th, 1849.

  ‘Dear Sir, — Your advice is very good, and yet I cannot follow it: I cannot alter now. It sounds absurd, but so it is.

  ‘The circumstances of Shirley’s being nervous on such a matter may appear incongruous because I fear it is not well managed; otherwise it is perfectly natural. In such minds, such odd points, such queer unexpected inconsistent weaknesses are found — perhaps there never was an ardent poetic temperament, however healthy, quite without them; but they never communicate them unless forced, they have a suspicion that the terror is absurd, and keep it hidden. Still the thing is badly managed, and I bend my head and expect in resignation what, here, I know I deserve — the lash of criticism. I shall wince when it falls, but not scream.

  ‘You are right about Goth, you are very right — he is clear, deep, but very cold. I acknowledge him great, but cannot feel him genial.

  ‘You mention the literary coteries. To speak the truth, I recoil from them, though I long to see some of the truly great literary characters. However, this is not to be yet — I cannot sacrifice my incognito. And let me be content with seclusion — it has its advantages. In general, indeed, I am tranquil, it is only now and then that a struggle disturbs me — that I wish for a wider world than Haworth. When it is past, Reason tells me how unfit I am for anything very different. Yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘September 15th, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — You observed that the French of Shirley might be cavilled at. There is a long paragraph written in the French language in that chapter entitled “Le coeval damped.” I forget the number. I fear it will have a pretentious air. If you deem it advisable, and will return the chapter, I will efface, and substitute something else in English. — Yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL

  ‘September 20th, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — It is time I answered the note which I received from you last Thursday; I should have replied to it before had I not been kept more than usually engaged by the presence of a clergyman in the house, and the indisposition of one of our servants.

  ‘As you may conjecture, it cheered and pleased me much to learn that the opinion of my friends in Cornhill was favourable to Shirley — that, on the whole, it was considered no falling off from Jane Eyre. I am trying, however, not to encourage too sanguine an expectation of a favourable reception by the public: the seeds of prejudice have been sown, and I suppose the produce will have to be reaped — but we shall see.

  ‘I read with pleasure Friends in Council, and with very great pleasure The Thoughts and Opinions of a Statesman. It is the record of what may with truth be termed a beautiful mind — serene, harmonious, elevated, and pure; it bespeaks, too, a heart full of kindness and sympathy. I like it much.

  ‘Papa has been pretty well during the past week, he begs to join me in kind remembrances to yourself. — Believe me, my dear sir, yours very sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘September 29th, 1849.

  ‘Dear Sir, — I have made the alteration; but I have made it to please Cornhill, not the public nor the critics.

  ‘I am sorry to say Newby does know my real name. I wish he did not, but that cannot be helped. Meantime, though I earnestly wish to preserve my incognito, I live under no slavish fear of discovery. I am ashamed of nothing I have written — not a line.

  ‘The envelope containing the first proof and your letter had been received open at the General Post Office and resealed there. Perhaps it was accident, but I think it better to inform you of the circumstance. — Yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘October 1st, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — I am chagrined about the envelope being opened: I see it is the work of prying curiosity, and now it would be useless to make a stir — what mischief is to be apprehended is already done. It was not done at Haworth. I know the people of the post-office there, and am sure they would not venture on such a step; besides, the Haworth people have long since set me down as bookish and quiet, and trouble themselves no farther about me. But the gossiping inquisitiveness of small towns is rife at Keighley; there they are sadly puzzled to guess why I never visit, encourage no overtures to acquaintance, and always stay at home. Those packets passing backwards and forwards by the post have doubtless aggravated their curiosity. Well, I am sorry, but I shall try to wait patiently and not vex myself too much, come what will.

  ‘I am glad you like the English substitute for the French devour.

  ‘The parcel of books came on Saturday. I write to Mr. Taylor by this post to acknowledge its receipt. His opinion of Shirley seems in a great measure to coincide with yours, only he expresses it rather differently to you, owing to the difference in your casts of mind. Are you not different on some points? — Yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘November 1st, 1849

  ‘My dear Sir, — I reached home yesterday, and found your letter and one from Mr. Lewes, and one from the Peace Congress Committee, awaiting my arrival. The last document it is now too late to answer, for it was an invitation to Currer Bell to appear on the platform at their meeting at Exeter Hall last Tuesday! A wonderful figure Mr. Currer Bell would have cut under such circumstances! Should the “Peace Congress” chance to read Shirley they will wash their hands of its author.

  ‘I am glad to hear that Mr. Thackeray is better, but I did not know he had been seriously ill, I thought it was only a literary indisposition. You must tell me what he thinks of Shirley if he gives you any opinion on the subject.

  ‘I am also glad to hear that Mr. Smith is pleased with the commercial prospects of the work. I try not to be anxious about its literary fate; and if I cannot be quite stoical, I think I am still tolerably resigned.

  ‘Mr. Lewes does not like the opening chapter, wherein he resembles you.

  ‘I have permitted myself the treat of spending the last week with my friend Ellen. Her residence is in a far more populous and stirring neighbourhood than this. Whenever I go there I am unavoidably forced into society — clerical society chiefly.

  ‘During my late visit I have too often had reason, sometimes in a pleasant, sometimes in a painful form, to fear that I no longer walk invisible. Jane Eyre, it appears, has been read all over the district — a fact of which I never dreamt — a circumstance of which the possibility never occurred to me. I met sometimes with new deference, with augmented kindness: old schoolfellows and old teachers, too, greeted me with generous warmth. And again, ecclesiastical brows lowered thunder at me. When I confronted one or two large-made priests, I longed for the battle to come on. I wish they would speak out plainly. You must not understand that my schoolfellows and teachers were of the Clergy Daughters School — in fact, I was never there but for one little year as a very little girl. I am certain I
have long been forgotten; though for myself, I remember all and everything clearly: early impressions are ineffaceable.

  ‘I have just received the Daily News. Let me speak the truth — when I read it my heart sickened over it. It is not a good review, it is unutterably false. If Shirley strikes all readers as it has struck that one, but — I shall not say what follows.

  ‘On the whole I am glad a decidedly bad notice has come first — a notice whose inexpressible ignorance first stuns and then stirs me. Are there no such men as the Helstones and Yorkes?

  ‘Yes, there are.

  ‘Is the first chapter disgusting or vulgar?

  ‘It is not, it is real.

  ‘As for the praise of such a critic, I find it silly and nauseous, and I scorn it.

  ‘Were my sisters now alive they and I would laugh over this notice; but they sleep, they will wake no more for me, and I am a fool to be so moved by what is not worth a sigh. — Believe me, yours sincerely,

  ‘C. B.

  ‘You must spare me if I seem hasty, I fear I really am not so firm as I used to be, nor so patient. Whenever any shock comes, I feel that almost all supports have been withdrawn.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘November 5th, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — I did not receive the parcel of copies till Saturday evening. Everything sent by Bradford is long in reaching me. It is, I think, better to direct: Keighley. I was very much pleased with the appearance and getting up of the book; it looks well.

  ‘I have got the Examiner and your letter. You are very good not to be angry with me, for I wrote in indignation and grief. The critic of the Daily News struck me as to the last degree incompetent, ignorant, and flippant. A thrill of mutiny went all through me when I read his small effusion. To be judged by such a one revolted me. I ought, however, to have controlled myself, and I did not. I am willing to be judged by the Examiner — I like the Examiner. Fonblanque has power, he has discernment — I bend to his censorship, I am grateful for his praise; his blame deserves consideration; when he approves, I permit myself a moderate emotion of pride. Am I wrong in supposing that critique to be written by Mr. Fonblanque? But whether it is by him or Forster, I am thankful.

  ‘In reading the critiques of the other papers — when I get them — I will try to follow your advice and preserve my equanimity. But I cannot be sure of doing this, for I had good resolutions and intentions before, and, you see, I failed.

  ‘You ask me if I am related to Nelson. No, I never heard that I was. The rumour must have originated in our name resembling his title. I wonder who that former schoolfellow of mine was that told Mr. Lewes, or how she had been enabled to identify Currer Bell with C. Brontë. She could not have been a Cowan Bridge girl, none of them can possibly remember me. They might remember my eldest sister, Maria; her prematurely-developed and remarkable intellect, as well as the mildness, wisdom, and fortitude of her character might have left an indelible impression on some observant mind amongst her companions. My second sister, Elizabeth, too, may perhaps be remembered, but I cannot conceive that I left a trace behind me. My career was a very quiet one. I was plodding and industrious, perhaps I was very grave, for I suffered to see my sisters perishing, but I think I was remarkable for nothing. — Believe me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘November 15th, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — I have received since I wrote last the Globe, Standard of Freedom, Britannia, Economist, and Weekly Chronicle.

  ‘How is Shirley getting on, and what is now the general feeling respecting the work?

  ‘As far as I can judge from the tone of the newspapers, it seems that those who were most charmed with Jane Eyre are the least pleased with Shirley; they are disappointed at not finding the same excitement, interest, stimulus; while those who spoke disparagingly of Jane Eyre like Shirley a little better than her predecessor. I suppose its dryer matter suits their dryer minds. But I feel that the fiat for which I wait does not depend on newspapers, except, indeed, such newspapers as the Examiner. The monthlies and quarterlies will pronounce it, I suppose. Mere novel-readers, it is evident, think Shirley something of a failure. Still, the majority of the notices have on the whole been favourable. That in the Standard of Freedom was very kindly expressed; and coming from a dissenter, William Howitt, I wonder thereat.

  ‘Are you satisfied at Cornhill, or the contrary? I have read part of The Caxtons, and, when I have finished, will tell you what I think of it; meantime, I should very much like to hear your opinion. Perhaps I shall keep mine till I see you, whenever that may be.

  ‘I am trying by degrees to inure myself to the thought of some day stepping over to Keighley, taking the train to Leeds, thence to London, and once more venturing to set foot in the strange, busy whirl of the Strand and Cornhill. I want to talk to you a little and to hear by word of mouth how matters are progressing. Whenever I come, I must come quietly and but for a short time — I should be unhappy to leave papa longer than a fortnight. — Believe me, yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘November 22nd, 1849.

  ‘My dear Sir, — If it is discouraging to an author to see his work mouthed over by the entirely ignorant and incompetent, it is equally reviving to hear what you have written discussed and analysed by a critic who is master of his subject — by one whose heart feels, whose powers grasp the matter he undertakes to handle. Such refreshment Eugène Forçade has given me. Were I to see that man, my impulse would be to say, “Monsieur, you know me, I shall deem it an honour to know you.”

  ‘I do not find that Forçade detects any coarseness in the work — it is for the smaller critics to find that out. The master in the art — the subtle-thoughted, keen-eyed, quick-feeling Frenchman, knows the true nature of the ingredients which went to the composition of the creation he analyses — he knows the true nature of things, and he gives them their right name.

  ‘Yours of yesterday has just reached me. Let me, in the first place, express my sincere sympathy with your anxiety on Mrs. Williams’s account. I know how sad it is when pain and suffering attack those we love, when that mournful guest sickness comes and takes a place in the household circle. That the shadow may soon leave your home is my earnest hope.

  ‘Thank you for Sir J. Herschel’s note. I am happy to hear Mr. Taylor is convalescent. It may, perhaps, be some weeks yet before his hand is well, but that his general health is in the way of re-establishment is a matter of thankfulness.

  ‘One of the letters you sent to-day addressed “Currer Bell” has almost startled me. The writer first describes his family, and then proceeds to give a particular account of himself in colours the most candid, if not, to my ideas, the most attractive. He runs on in a strain of wild enthusiasm about Shirley, and concludes by announcing a fixed, deliberate resolution to institute a search after Currer Bell, and sooner or later to find him out. There is power in the letter — talent; it is at times eloquently expressed. The writer somewhat boastfully intimates that he is acknowledged the possessor of high intellectual attainments, but, if I mistake not, he betrays a temper to be shunned, habits to be mistrusted. While laying claim to the character of being affectionate, warm-hearted, and adhesive, there is but a single member of his own family of whom he speaks with kindness. He confesses himself indolent and wilful, but asserts that he is studious and, to some influences, docile. This letter would have struck me no more than the others rather like it have done, but for its rash power, and the disagreeable resolve it announces to seek and find Currer Bell. It almost makes me feel like a wizard who has raised a spirit he may find it difficult to lay. But I shall not think about it. This sort of fervour often foams itself away in words.

  ‘Trusting that the serenity of your home is by this time restored with your wife’s health, — I am, yours sincerely,

  ‘C. Brontë.’

  TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

  ‘February
16th, 1850.

  ‘Dear Nell, — Yesterday, just after dinner, I heard a loud bustling voice in the kitchen demanding to see Mr. Brontë. Somebody was shown into the parlour. Shortly after, wine was rung for. “Who is it, Martha?” I asked. “Some mak of a tradesman,” said she. “He’s not a gentleman, I’m sure.” The personage stayed about an hour, talking in a loud vulgar key all the time. At tea-time I asked papa who it was. “Why,” said he, “no other than the vicar of B — -!” Papa had invited him to take some refreshment, but the creature had ordered his dinner at the Black Bull, and was quite urgent with papa to go down there and join him, offering by way of inducement a bottle, or, if papa liked, “two or three bottles of the best wine Haworth could afford!” He said he was come from Bradford just to look at the place, and reckoned to be in raptures with the wild scenery! He warmly pressed papa to come and see him, and to bring his daughter with him!!! Does he know anything about the books, do you think; he made no allusion to them. I did not see him, not so much as the tail of his coat. Martha said he looked no more like a parson than she did. Papa described him as rather shabby-looking, but said he was wondrous cordial and friendly. Papa, in his usual fashion, put him through a regular catechism of questions: what his living was worth, etc., etc. In answer to inquiries respecting his age he affirmed himself to be thirty-seven — is not this a lie? He must be more. Papa asked him if he were married. He said no, he had no thoughts of being married, he did not like the trouble of a wife. He described himself as “living in style, and keeping a very hospitable house.”

  ‘Dear Nell, I have written you a long letter; write me a long one in answer.

  ‘C. B.’

  TO W. S. WILLIAMS

  ‘April 3rd, 1850.

  ‘My dear Sir, — I have received the Dublin Review, and your letter inclosing the Indian Notices. I hope these reviews will do good; they are all favourable, and one of them (the Dublin) is very able. I have read no critique so discriminating since that in the Revue des deux Mondes. It offers a curious contrast to Lewes’s in the Edinburgh, where forced praise, given by jerks, and obviously without real and cordial liking, and censure, crude, conceited, and ignorant, were mixed in random lumps — forming a very loose and inconsistent whole.