The difficulty that presented itself most strongly to me, when I first
had the honour of being requested to write this biography, was how I
could show what a noble, true, and tender woman Charlotte Brontë really
was, without mingling up with her life too much of the personal history
of her nearest and most intimate friends. After much consideration of
this point, I came to the resolution of writing truly, if I wrote at all;
of withholding nothing, though some things, from their very nature, could
not be spoken of so fully as others.
One of the deepest interests of her life centres naturally round her
marriage, and the preceding circumstances; but more than all other events
(because of more recent date, and concerning another as intimately as
herself), it requires delicate handling on my part, lest I intrude too
roughly on what is most sacred to memory. Yet I have two reasons, which
seem to me good and valid ones, for giving some particulars of the course
of events which led to her few months of wedded life—that short spell
of exceeding happiness. The first is my desire to call attention to the
fact that Mr. Nicholls was one who had seen her almost daily for years;
seen her as a daughter, a sister, a mistress and a friend. He was not a
man to be attracted by any kind of literary fame. I imagine that this,
by itself, would rather repel him when he saw it in the possession of a
woman. He was a grave, reserved, conscientious man, with a deep sense of
religion, and of his duties as one of its ministers.
In silence he had watched her, and loved her long. The love of such
a man—a daily spectator of her manner of life for years—is a great
testimony to her character as a woman.
How deep his affection was I scarcely dare to tell, even if I could in
words. She did not know—she had hardly begun to suspect—that she was the
object of any peculiar regard on his part, when, in this very December,
he came one evening to tea. After tea she returned from the study to
her own sitting-room, as was her custom, leaving her father and his
curate together. Presently she heard the study door open, and expected
to hear the succeeding clash of the front door. Instead, came a tap;
and, “like lightning, it flashed upon me what was coming. He entered.
He stood before me. What his words were you can imagine; his manner you
can hardly realise, nor can I forget it. He made me, for the first time,
feel what it costs a man to declare affection when he doubts response.…
The spectacle of one, ordinarily so statue-like, thus trembling, stirred,
and overcome, gave me a strange shock. I could only entreat him to leave
me then, and promise a reply on the morrow. I asked if he had spoken to
Papa. He said he dared not. I think I half led, half put him out of the
room.”
So deep, so fervent, and so enduring was the affection Miss Brontë had
inspired in the heart of this good man! It is an honour to her; and,
as such, I have thought it my duty to speak thus much, and quote thus
fully from her letter about it. And now I pass to my second reason for
dwelling on a subject which may possibly be considered by some, at first
sight, of too private a nature for publication. When Mr. Nicholls had
left her, Charlotte went immediately to her father and told him all.
He always disapproved of marriages, and constantly talked against them.
But he more than disapproved at this time; he could not bear the idea of
this attachment of Mr. Nicholls to his daughter. Fearing the consequences
of agitation to one so recently an invalid, she made haste to give her
father a promise that, on the morrow, Mr. Nicholls should have a distinct
refusal. Thus quietly and modestly did she, on whom such hard judgments
had been passed by ignorant reviewers, receive this vehement, passionate
declaration of love—thus thoughtfully for her father and unselfishly for
herself, put aside all consideration of how she should reply, excepting
as he wished!
The immediate result of Mr. Nicholls’ declaration of attachment was, that
he sent in his resignation of the curacy of Haworth; and that Miss Brontë
held herself simply passive, as far as words and actions went, while she
suffered acute pain from the strong expressions which her father used in
speaking of Mr. Nicholls, and from the too evident distress and failure
of health on the part of the latter.