He continued to write to Charlotte, and while she initially did not respond to his letters, they gradually developed a clandestine correspondence, and met secretly whenever Nicholls stayed with the family of Reverend Joseph Brett Grant near Haworth.

Charlotte's own accounts of this courtship and eventual engagement, given in her letters to Ellen Nussey as it went along, could not be bettered in the finest novel in the world. Mr. Bronte's jealous fury, expressing itself as snobbish resentment - a curate with £100 a year marry his famous daughter! Mr. Nicholl's stubborn passion, which almost unseated his reason - he would not eat or drink; stayed shut up in his lodgings at the Browns' (though he still took poor old Flossy out for walks); broke down in the Communion Service, while the village women sobbed around; was rude to a visiting Bishop; resigned his Haworth curacy and agreed to remain till Mr. Bronte found another curate; volunteered as a missionary to Australia but finally took a curacy at Kirk Smeaton, in the West Riding itself. Charlotte, exasperated by Nicholl's lack of the qualities she desired in a husband, infuriated by her father's ignoble objections to the match, conscious of the absence of alternatives. The villagers, torn between opposing parties - some say they would like to shoot Mr. Nicholls, but they gave him a gold watch as a parting present. What a tragic drama - or a roaring comedy, depending on its result. Love, coupled with Charlotte's loneliness and Mr. Bronte's dissatisfaction with his new curate, Mr. De Renzi, triumphed." bronte_Charlotte

Reverend Arthur Bell Nicholls, who had been licensed to the curacy of Haworth in June 1845, had first professed his affection for Charlotte Brontë in December 1852, to the great disapproval of her father Reverend Patrick Brontë. Charlotte consequently refused him, and Nicholls left for a curacy at Kirk Smeaton near Pontefract. He continued to write to Charlotte, and while she initially did not respond to his letters, they gradually developed a clandestine correspondence, and met secretly whenever Nicholls stayed with the family of Reverend Joseph Brett Grant near Haworth. Patrick Brontë gradually though grudgingly increased his acquaintance with Nicholls and eventually consented to a marriage between him and Charlotte.brontes-1854

Reverend Joseph Brett Grant
As the population had increased because of the mills, the Rev. Patrick Bronte of Haworth sent his curate, the Rev. Joseph Brett Grant to start the church in Oxenhope. He had to hold services in a house at the top of the catsteps, although nobody now knows which one it was. He was allowed to perform baptisms, but marriages and funerals could only take place in a church. As a school and vicarage were needed as well as a church, it was decided to build the school first. This was completed in 1846, and services were held there. The Rev. Brett Grant raised money by approaching people, telling them he needed money to build a church, holding out his hand and asking them how much they would give him. Charlotte Bronte described him in her novel 'Shirley' under the name of the Rev. Don, adding that he had walked so far he had worn out 14 pairs of shoes! She quite rightly described him as 'the champion beggar'. As a result of his persistence, the foundation stone was laid on 14 February 1849 and the finished building was consecrated by the Bishop of Ripon on 11 October 1849 OxenhopeVillage/history

I found him leaning against the garden door in a paroxysm of anguish, sobbing as women never sob. Of course I went straight to him.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘May 19th, 1853.

‘Dear Ellen,—I cannot help feeling a certain satisfaction in finding that the people here are getting up a subscription to offer a testimonial of respect to Mr. Nicholls on his leaving the place.  Many are expressing both their commiseration and esteem for him.  The Churchwardens recently put the question to him plainly: Why was he going?  Was it Mr. Brontë’s fault or his own?  “His own,” he answered.  Did he blame Mr. Brontë?  “No! he did not: if anybody was wrong it was himself.”  Was he willing to go?  “No! it gave him great pain.”  Yet he is not always right.  I must be just.  He shows a curious mixture of honour and obstinacy—feeling and sullenness.  Papa addressed him at the school tea-drinking, with constrained civility, but still with civility.  He did not reply civilly; he cut short further words.  This sort of treatment offered in public is what papa never will forget or forgive, it inspires him with a silent bitterness not to be expressed.  I am afraid both are unchristian in their mutual feelings.  Nor do I know which of them is least accessible to reason or least likely to forgive.  It is a dismal state of things.
‘The weather is fine now, dear Nell.  We will take these sunny days as a good omen for your visit to Yarmouth.  With kind regards to all at Brookroyd, and best wishes to yourself,—I am, yours sincerely,

‘C. Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Haworth, May 27th, 1853.

‘Dear Ellen,—You will want to know about the leave-taking?  The whole matter is but a painful subject, but I must treat it briefly.  The testimonial was presented in a public meeting.  Mr. Taylor and Mr. Grant were there. Papa was not very well and I advised him to stay away, which he did.  As to the last Sunday, it was a cruel struggle.  Mr. Nicholls ought not to have had to take any duty.

‘He left Haworth this morning at six o’clock.  Yesterday evening he called to render into papa’s hands the deeds of the National School, and to say good-bye.  They were busy cleaning—washing the paint, etc., in the dining-room, so he did not find me there.  I would not go into the parlour to speak to him in papa’s presence.  He went out, thinking he was not to see me; and indeed, till the very last moment, I thought it best not.  But perceiving that he stayed long before going out at the gate, and remembering his long grief, I took courage and went out, trembling and miserable.  I found him leaning against the garden door in a paroxysm of anguish, sobbing as women never sob.  Of course I went straight to him.  Very few words were interchanged, those few barely articulate.  Several things I should have liked to ask him were swept entirely from my memory.  Poor fellow!  But he wanted such hope and such encouragement as I could not give him.  Still, I trust he must know now that I am not cruelly blind and indifferent to his constancy and grief.  For a few weeks he goes to the south of England, afterwards he takes a curacy somewhere in Yorkshire, but I don’t know where.

‘Papa has been far from strong lately.  I dare not mention Mr. Nicholls’s name to him.  He speaks of him quietly and without opprobrium to others, but to me he is implacable on the matter.  However, he is gone—gone, and there’s an end of it.  I see no chance of hearing a word about him in future, unless some stray shred of intelligence comes through Mr. Sowden or some other second-hand source.  In all this it is not I who am to be pitied at all, and of course nobody pities me.  They all think in Haworth that I have disdainfully refused him.  If pity would do Mr. Nicholls any good, he ought to have, and I believe has it.  They may abuse me if they will; whether they do or not I can’t tell.

‘Write soon and say how your prospects proceed.  I trust they will daily brighten.—Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’

I got a lesson not to be repeated. He struggled, faltered, then lost command over himself—stood before my eyes and in the sight of all the communicants white, shaking, voiceless.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘March 4th, 1853.

‘Dear Ellen,—We had the parsons to supper as well as to tea.  Mr. N. demeaned himself not quite pleasantly.  I thought he made no effort to struggle with his dejection but gave way to it in a manner to draw notice; the Bishop was obviously puzzled by it.  Mr. Nicholls also showed temper once or twice in speaking to papa.  Martha was beginning to tell me of certain “flaysome” looks also, but I desired not to hear of them.  The fact is, I shall be most thankful when he is well away.  I pity him, but I don’t like that dark gloom of his.  He dogged me up the lane after the evening service in no pleasant manner.  He stopped also in the passage after the Bishop and the other clergy were gone into the room, and it was because I drew away and went upstairs that he gave that look which filled Martha’s soul with horror.  She, it seems, meantime, was making it her business to watch him from the kitchen door. If Mr. Nicholls be a good man at bottom, it is a sad thing that nature has not given him the faculty to put goodness into a more attractive form.  Into the bargain of all the rest he managed to get up a most pertinacious and needless dispute with the Inspector, in listening to which all my old unfavourable impressions revived so strongly, I fear my countenance could not but shew them.
‘Dear Nell, I consider that on the whole it is a mercy you have been at home and not at Norfolk during the late cold weather.  Love to all at Brookroyd.—Yours faithfully,
‘c. Brontë.’

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘You ask about Mr. Nicholls.  I hear he has got a curacy, but do not yet know where.  I trust the news is true.  He and papa never speak.  He seems to pass a desolate life.  He has allowed late circumstances so to act on him as to freeze up his manner and overcast his countenance not only to those immediately concerned but to every one.  He sits drearily in his rooms.  If Mr. Grant or any other clergyman calls to see, and as they think, to cheer him, he scarcely speaks.  I find he tells them nothing, seeks no confidant, rebuffs all attempts to penetrate his mind.  I own I respect him for this.  He still lets Flossy go to his rooms, and takes him to walk.  He still goes over to see Mr. Sowden sometimes, and, poor fellow, that is all.  He looks ill and miserable.  I think and trust in Heaven that he will be better as soon as he fairly gets away from Haworth.  I pity him inexpressibly.  We never meet nor speak, nor dare I look at him; silent pity is just all that I can give him, and as he knows nothing about that, it does not comfort.  He is now grown so gloomy and reserved that nobody seems to like him.  His fellow-curates shun trouble in that shape; the lower orders dislike it.  Papa has a perfect antipathy to him, and he, I fear, to papa.  Martha hates him.  I think he might almost be dying and they would not speak a friendly word to or of him.  How much of all this he deserves I can’t tell; certainly he never was agreeable or amiable, and is less so now than ever, and alas! I do not know him well enough to be sure that there is truth and true affection, or only rancour and corroding disappointment at the bottom of his chagrin.  In this state of things I must be, and I am, entirely passive.  I may be losing the purest gem, and to me far the most precious, life can give—genuine attachment—or I may be escaping the yoke of a morose temper.  In this doubt conscience will not suffer me to take one step in opposition to papa’s will, blended as that will is with the most bitter and unreasonable prejudices.  So I just leave the matter where we must leave all important matters.
‘Remember me kindly to all at Brookroyd, and—Believe me, yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’‘Haworth, April 6th, 1853

 

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘May 16th, 1853.

‘Dear Ellen,—The east winds about which you inquire have spared me wonderfully till to-day, when I feel somewhat sick physically, and not very blithe mentally.  I am not sure that the east winds are entirely to blame for this ailment.  Yesterday was a strange sort of a day at church.  It seems as if I were to be punished for my doubts about the nature and truth of poor Mr. Nicholls’s regard.  Having ventured on Whit Sunday to stop the sacrament, I got a lesson not to be repeated.  He struggled, faltered, then lost command over himself—stood before my eyes and in the sight of all the communicants white, shaking, voiceless.  Papa was not there, thank God!  Joseph Redman spoke some words to him.  He made a great effort, but could only with difficulty whisper and falter through the service.  I suppose he thought this would be the last time; he goes either this week or the next.  I heard the women sobbing round, and I could not quite check my own tears.  What had happened was reported to papa either by Joseph Redman or John Brown; it excited only anger, and such expressions as “unmanly driveller.”  Compassion or relenting is no more to be looked for than sap from firewood.
‘I never saw a battle more sternly fought with the feelings than Mr. Nicholls fights with his, and when he yields momentarily, you are almost sickened by the sense of the strain upon him.  However, he is to go, and I cannot speak to him or look at him or comfort him a whit, and I must submit.  Providence is over all, that is the only consolation.—Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’

 

Today, April 21 is the 197th anniversary of Charlotte Brontë's birthday

Happy anniversary, Charlotte
We don't forget this day!!!!

Yours, wishing devoutly that papa would resume his tranquillity, and Mr. Nicholls his beef and pudding,

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘Haworth, December 18th, 1852.

You ask how papa demeans himself to Mr. Nicholls.  I only wish you were here to see papa in his present mood: you would know something of him.  He just treats him with a hardness not to be bent, and a contempt not to be propitiated.  The two have had no interview as yet; all has been done by letter.  Papa wrote, I must say, a most cruel note to Mr. Nicholls on Wednesday.  In his state of mind and health (for the poor man is horrifying his landlady, Martha’s mother, by entirely rejecting his meals) I felt that the blow must be parried, and I thought it right to accompany the pitiless despatch by a line to the effect that, while Mr. Nicholls must never expect me to reciprocate the feeling he had expressed, yet, at the same time, I wished to disclaim participation in sentiments calculated to give him pain; and I exhorted him to maintain his courage and spirits.  On receiving the two letters, he set off from home.  Yesterday came the inclosed brief epistle.
‘You must understand that a good share of papa’s anger arises from the idea, not altogether groundless, that Mr. Nicholls has behaved with disingenuousness in so long concealing his aim.  I am afraid also that papa thinks a little too much about his want of money; he says the match would be a degradation, that I should be throwing myself away, that he expects me, if I marry at all, to do very differently; in short, his manner of viewing the subject is on the whole far from being one in which I can sympathise.  My own objections arise from a sense of incongruity and uncongeniality in feelings, tastes, principles.
‘How are you getting on, dear Nell, and how are all at Brookroyd?  Remember me kindly to everybody.—Yours, wishing devoutly that papa would resume his tranquillity, and Mr. Nicholls his beef and pudding,

‘C. Brontë

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘January 2nd, 1853.

‘Dear Nell,—I thought of you on New Year’s night, and hope you got well over your formidable tea-making.  I trust that Tuesday and Wednesday will also pass pleasantly.  I am busy too in my little way preparing to go to London this week, a matter which necessitates some little application to the needle.  I find it is quite necessary I should go to superintend the press, as Mr. Smith seems quite determined not to let the printing get on till I come.  I have actually only received three proof-sheets since I was at Brookroyd.  Papa wants me to go too, to be out of the way, I suppose; but I am sorry for one other person whom nobody pities but me.  Martha is bitter against him; John Brown says “he should like to shoot him.”  They don’t understand the nature of his feelings, but I see now what they are.  He is one of those who attach themselves to very few, whose sensations are close and deep, like an underground stream, running strong, but in a narrow channel.  He continues restless and ill; he carefully performs the occasional duty, but does not come near the church, procuring a substitute every Sunday.  A few days since he wrote to papa requesting permission to withdraw his resignation.  Papa answered that he should only do so on condition of giving his written promise never again to broach the obnoxious subject either to him or to me.  This he has evaded doing, so the matter remains unsettled.  I feel persuaded the termination will be his departure for Australia.  Dear Nell, without loving him, I don’t like to think of him suffering in solitude, and wish him anywhere so that he were happier.  He and papa have never met or spoken yet.  I am very glad to learn that your mother is pretty well, and also that the piece of challenged work is progressing.  I hope you will not be called away to Norfolk before I come home: I should like you to pay a visit to Haworth first.  Write again soon.—Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’
 

dailymail/The-Brontes

 

 

The Rev. A. B. Nicholls, curate of Haworth since 1845, proposed marriage to Charlotte in 1852.

In 1826 Arthur Bell Nicholls was taken in by his uncle the Reverend Allan Bell, headmaster of the Royal Free School, Banagher, and 10years later went up to Trinity College, Dublin, graduating in 1844. His first clerical position was the curacy at Haworth, and he took up his duties in May 1845...

Mr Brontë was by then 68 years old, and besides taking services and undertaking such duties as Mr Brontë might direct, Mr Nicholls had specific responsibilities for Stanbury village, and for the Church School, where he taught five mornings a week. He was diligent, serious-minded and widely read, and both Mr Brontë and the village thought well of him. A strongly built man, he liked fresh air and exercise, and would take the Brontë dogs for walks on the moors.
Mr Nicholls lived in the sexton John Brown's house adjoining the Church School. A few months after Mr Nicholls' arrival in Haworth, Branwell returned home in disgrace, and Mr Nicholls would have witnessed every stage of Branwell's decline over the next three years, and shared the tragedy of the deaths of Branwell, Emily and Anne in 1848-9. By 1850 he would have been more familiar than anyone with the family at the Parsonage.

His proposal of marriage to Charlotte in December 1852 came as a complete surprise to both her and her father. Angered by his curate's presumption, Mr Brontë withheld his consent and Charlotte declined the offer.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘December 15th, 1852.

On Monday evening Mr. Nicholls was here to tea.  I vaguely felt without clearly seeing, as without seeing I have felt for some time, the meaning of his constant looks, and strange, feverish restraint.  After tea I withdrew to the dining-room as usual.  As usual, Mr. Nicholls sat with papa till between eight and nine o’clock; I then heard him open the parlour door as if going.  I expected the clash of the front door.  He stopped in the passage; he p. 473tapped; like lightning it flashed on me what was coming.  He entered; he stood before me.  What his words were you can guess; his manner you can hardly realise, nor can I forget it.  Shaking from head to foot, looking deadly pale, speaking low, vehemently, yet with difficulty, he made me for the first time feel what it costs a man to declare affection where he doubts response.
‘The spectacle of one ordinarily so statue-like thus trembling, stirred, and overcome, gave me a kind of strange shock.  He spoke of sufferings he had borne for months, of sufferings he could endure no longer, and craved leave for some hope.  I could only entreat him to leave me then and promise a reply on the morrow.  I asked him if he had spoken to papa.  He said he dared not.  I think I half led, half put him out of the room.  When he was gone I immediately went to papa, and told him what had taken place.  Agitation and anger disproportionate to the occasion ensued; if I had loved Mr. Nicholls, and had heard such epithets applied to him as were used, it would have transported me past my patience; as it was, my blood boiled with a sense of injustice.  But papa worked himself into a state not to be trifled with: the veins on his temples started up like whip-cord, and his eyes became suddenly bloodshot.  I made haste to promise that Mr. Nicholls should on the morrow have a distinct refusal.
‘I wrote yesterday and got this note.  There is no need to add to this statement any comment.  Papa’s vehement antipathy to the bare thought of any one thinking of me as a wife, and Mr. Nicholls’s distress, both give me pain.  Attachment to Mr. Nicholls you are aware I never entertained, but the poignant pity inspired by his state on Monday evening, by the hurried revelation of his sufferings for many months, is something galling and irksome.  That he cared something for me, and wanted me to care for him, I have long suspected, but I did not know the degree or strength of his feelings.  Dear Nell, good-bye.—Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.

 

JAMES TAYLOR. DIED APRIL 29, 1874, AGED 57.

When Mr. Taylor returned to England in 1856 Charlotte Brontë was dead.  His after-life was more successful than happy.  He did not, it is true, succeed in Bombay with the firm of Smith, Taylor & Co.  That would seem to have collapsed.  But he made friends in Bombay and returned there in 1863 as editor of the Bombay Gazette and the Bombay Quarterly Review.  A little later he became editor of the Bombay Saturday Review, which had not, however, a long career.  Mr. Taylor’s successes were not journalistic but mercantile.  As Secretary of the Bombay Chamber of Commerce, which appointment he obtained in 1865, he obtained much real distinction.  To this post he added that of Registrar of the University of Bombay and many other offices.  He was elected Sheriff in 1874, in which year he died.  An imposing funeral ceremony took place in the Cathedral, and he was buried in the Bombay cemetery, where his tomb may be found to the left of the entrance gates, inscribed—

JAMES TAYLOR.  DIED APRIL 29, 1874, AGED 57.

 Iain MacFarlaine

 

He married during his visit to England, but the marriage was not a happy one.  That does not belong to the present story.  Here, however, is a cutting from the Times marriage record in 1863:—

‘On the 23rd inst., at the Church of St. John the Evangelist, St. Pancras, by the Rev. James Moorhouse, M.A., James Taylor, Esq., of Furnival’s-inn, and Bombay, to Annie, widow of Adolph Ritter, of Vienna, and stepdaughter of Thos. Harrison, Esq., of Birchanger Place, Essex.’

Burial: Sewri Christian Cemetery Mumbai (Bombay) Maharashtra, India

findagrave

I have had a very long letter from Mr. Williams. He speaks with much respect of Mr. Taylor.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘May 5th, 1851.

I have had a very long letter from Mr. Williams.  He speaks with much respect of Mr. Taylor.  I discover with some surprise, papa has taken a decided liking to Mr. Taylor.  The marked kindness of his manner when he bid him good-bye, exhorting him to be “true to himself, his country, and his God,” and wishing him all good wishes, struck me with some astonishment.  Whenever he has alluded to him since, it has been with significant eulogy.  When I alluded that he was no gentleman, he seemed out of patience with me for the objection.  You say papa has penetration.  On this subject I believe he has indeed.  I have told him nothing, yet he seems to be au fait to the whole business.  I could think at some moments his guesses go farther than mine.  I believe he thinks a prospective union, deferred for five years, with such a decorous reliable personage, would be a very proper and advisable affair.

 

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘November 4th, 1851.

The other day I received a long letter from Mr. Taylor.  I told you I did not expect to hear thence, nor did I.  The letter is long, but it is worth your while to read it.  In its way it has merit, that cannot be denied; abundance of information, talent of a certain kind, alloyed (I think) here and there with errors of taste.  He might have spared many of the details of the bath scene, which, for the rest, tallies exactly with Mr. Thackeray’s account of the same process.  This little man with all his long letters remains as much a conundrum to me as ever.

 

TO JAMES TAYLOR, BOMBAY

‘Haworth, November 15th, 1851.

 

‘It would seem to me a matter of great regret that the society at Bombay should be so deficient in all intellectual attraction.  Perhaps, however, your occupations will so far absorb your thoughts as to prevent them from dwelling painfully on this circumstance.  No doubt there will be moments when you will look back to London and Scotland, and the friends you have left there, with some yearning; but I suppose business has its own excitement.  The new country, the new scenes too, must have their interest; and as you will not lack books to fill your leisure, you will probably soon become reconciled to a change which, for some minds, would too closely resemble exile.

 

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘November 19th, 1851.

The little man’s disdain of the sensual pleasure of a Turkish bath had, I must own, my approval.  Before answering his epistle I got up my courage to write to Mr. Williams, through whose hands or those of Mr. Smith I knew the Indian letter had come, and beg him to give me an impartial judgment of Mr. Taylor’s character and disposition, owning that I was very much in the dark.  I did not like to continue correspondence without further information.  I got the answer, which I inclose. 

 

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

‘January 1st, 1852.

You ascribe to Mr. Taylor an excellent character; such a man’s friendship, at any rate, should not be disregarded; and if the principles and disposition be what you say, faults of manner and even of temper ought to weigh light in the balance.  I always believed in his judgment and good-sense, but what I doubted was his kindness—he seemed to me a little too harsh, rigid, and unsympathising.  Now, judgment, sense, principle are invaluable and quite indispensable points, but one would be thankful for a little feeling, a little indulgence in addition—without these, poor fallible human nature shrinks under the domination of the sterner qualities.  I answered Mr. Taylor’s letter by the mail of the 19th November, sending it direct, for, on reflection, I did not see why I should trouble you with it.

 gutenberg

James Taylor, a reader at the firm of Smith, Elder and Co, Charlotte Brontë’s publisher. He proposed to Charlotte, she rejected him and he went off to India

 Charlotte remained good friends with James Taylor but could not feel "enough love to accept him as a husband". James went to India, as a representative of the publishing firm. Charlotte wrote to him in India. She also wrote about her feelings for him to Ellen Nussey.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘April 23rd, 1851.

‘My dear Ellen,—I have heard from Mr. Taylor to-day—a quiet little note. He returned to London a week since on Saturday; he has since kindly chosen and sent me a parcel of books. He leaves England May 20th. His note concludes with asking whether he has any chance of seeing me in London before that time. I must tell him that I have already fixed June for my visit, and therefore, in all human probability, we shall see each other no more.
‘There is still a want of plain mutual understanding in this business, and there is sadness and pain in more ways than one. My conscience, I can truly say, does not now accuse me of  having treated Mr. Taylor with injustice or unkindness. What I once did wrong in this way, I have endeavoured to remedy both to himself and in speaking of him to others—Mr. Smith to wit, though I more than doubt whether that last opinion will ever reach him. I am sure he has estimable and sterling qualities; but with every disposition and with every wish, with every intention even to look on him in the most favourable point of view at his last visit, it was impossible to me in my inward heart to think of him as one that might one day be acceptable as a husband. It would sound harsh were I to tell even you of the estimate I felt compelled to form respecting him. Dear Nell, I looked for something of the gentleman—something I mean of the natural gentleman; you know I can dispense with acquired polish, and for looks, I know myself too well to think that I have any right to be exacting on that point. I could not find one gleam, I could not see one passing glimpse of true good-breeding. It is hard to say, but it is true. In mind too, though clever, he is second-rate—thoroughly second-rate. One does not like to say these things, but one had better be honest. Were I to marry him my heart would bleed in pain and humiliation; I could not, could not look up to him. No; if Mr. Taylor be the only husband fate offers to me, single I must always remain. But yet, at times I grieve for him, and perhaps it is superfluous, for I cannot think he will suffer much: a hard nature, occupation, and change of scene will befriend him.

‘With kind regards to all,—I am, dear Nell, your middle-aged friend,

‘C. Brontë.‘Write soon.’
TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘May 5th, 1851.

‘My dear Ellen,—I have had a long kind letter from Miss Martineau lately. She says she is well and happy. Also, I have had a very long letter from Mr. Williams. He speaks with much respect of Mr. Taylor. I discover with some surprise, papa has taken a decided liking to Mr. Taylor. The marked kindness of his manner when he bid him good-bye, exhorting him to be "true to himself, his country, and his God," and wishing him all good wishes, struck me with some astonishment. Whenever he has alluded to him since, it has been with significant eulogy. When I alluded that he was no gentleman, he seemed out of patience with me for the objection. You say papa has penetration. On this subject I believe he has indeed. I have told him nothing, yet he seems to be au fait to the whole business. I could think at some moments his guesses go farther than mine. I believe he thinks a prospective union, deferred for five years, with such a decorous reliable personage, would be a very proper and advisable affair.

‘How has your tic been lately? I had one fiery night when this same dragon "tic" held me for some hours with pestilent violence. It still comes at intervals with abated fury. Owing to this and broken sleep, I am looking singularly charming, one of my true London looks—starved out and worn down. Write soon, dear Nell.—Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’
　 　

Ann Dinsdale's The Brontës at Haworth:

The Telegraph and Argus reviews the paperback edition of Ann Dinsdale's The Brontës at Haworth:

So much has been written about the Brontes, you might wonder what could be said about them that hasn’t been said before.
But in considering the family and their work within the social and historic context of Haworth, and exploring how the village came to be a world-famous literary shrine, Ann Dinsdale presents a thorough, comprehensive account of the Brontes and the people and places that shaped them.
In The Brontes of Haworth [sic], Ann – librarian at the Bronte Parsonage Museum – traces the story of each family member, explores their novels and poetry, and presents a detailed picture of Haworth in the mid-19th century.
The book is beautifully illustrated with rarely-seen images from the Haworth archives, including drawings by Charlotte and Emily, and haunting pictures by photographer Simon Warner.
While Ann creates a vivid picture of 19th century Haworth, she doesn’t romanticise the place. [...] bronteblog
She takes the reader to Haworth’s cluster of pubs, including the Black Bull, frequented by Branwell Bronte, and up the narrow lane at the top of Main Street, climbing past the church and Sunday school, leading to the Parsonage, “virtually the last house in Haworth before the open moors”.
She goes on to trace life beyond the Brontes; examining the legacy of their writing and developments leading to the establishment of the Bronte Parsonage Museum. (Emma Baylis)

I saw him very near, and once through my glass. His absence leave me certainly with less support and in deeper solitude than before.

Bombay Kalbadevie Road 1890

 

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘April 5th, 1851.

‘Dear Ellen,—Mr. Taylor has been and is gone; things are just as they were.  I only know in addition to the slight information I possessed before, that this Indian undertaking is necessary to the continued prosperity of the firm of Smith, Elder, & Co., and that he, Taylor, alone was pronounced to possess the power and means to carry it out successfully—that mercantile honour, combined with his own sense of duty, obliged him to accept the post of honour and of danger to which he has been appointed, that he goes with great personal reluctance, and that he contemplates an absence of five years.
‘He looked much thinner and older.  I saw him very near, and once through my glass; the resemblance to Branwell struck me forcibly—it is marked.  He is not ugly, but very peculiar; the lines in his face show an inflexibility, and, I must add, a hardness of character which do not attract.  As he stood near me, as he looked at me in his keen way, it was all I could do to stand my ground tranquilly and steadily, and not to recoil as before.  It is no use saying anything if I am not candid.  I avow then, that on this occasion, predisposed as I was to regard him very favourably, his manners and his personal presence scarcely pleased me more than at the first interview.  He gave me a book at parting, requesting in his brief way that I would keep it for his sake, and adding hastily, “I shall hope to hear from you in India—your letters have been and will be a greater refreshment than you can think or I can tell.”
‘And so he is gone; and stern and abrupt little man as he  is—too often jarring as are his manners—his absence and the exclusion of his idea from my mind leave me certainly with less support and in deeper solitude than before.
‘You see, dear Nell, though we are still precisely on the same level—you are not isolated.  I feel that there is a certain mystery about this transaction yet, and whether it will ever be cleared up to me I do not know; however, my plain duty is to wean my mind from the subject, and if possible to avoid pondering over it.  In his conversation he seemed studiously to avoid reference to Mr. Smith individually, speaking always of the “house”—the “firm.”  He seemed throughout quite as excited and nervous as when I first saw him.  I feel that in his way he has a regard for me—a regard which I cannot bring myself entirely to reciprocate in kind, and yet its withdrawal leaves a painful blank.’

 

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘April 9th, 1851

 

‘Dear Nell,—Thank you for your kind note; it was just like you to write it though it was your school-day.  I never knew you to let a slight impediment stand in the way of a friendly action.
‘Certainly I shall not soon forget last Friday, and never, I think, the evening and night succeeding that morning and afternoon.  Evils seldom come singly.

 

And soon after Mr. Taylor was gone, papa, who had been better, grew much worse.  He went to bed early, and was very sick and ill for an hour; and when at last he began to doze, and I left him, I came down to the dining-room with a sense of weight, fear, and desolation hard to express and harder to endure.  A wish that you were with me did cross my mind, but I repulsed it as a most selfish wish; indeed, it was only short-lived: my natural tendency in moments of this sort is to get through the struggle alone—to think that one is burdening and racking others makes all worse.
‘You speak to me in soft consolating accents, but I hold far sterner language to myself, dear Nell.
‘An absence of five years—a dividing expanse of three oceans—the wide difference between a man’s active career and a woman’s passive existence—these things are almost equivalent to an eternal separation.  But there is another thing which forms a barrier more difficult to pass than any of these.  Would Mr. Taylor and I ever suit? Could I ever feel for him enough love to accept him as a husband?  Friendship—gratitude—esteem I have, but each moment he came near me, and that I could see his eyes fastened on me, my veins ran ice.  Now that he is away I feel far more gently towards him; it is only close by that I grow rigid—stiffening with a strange mixture of apprehension and anger, which nothing softens but his retreat and a perfect subduing of his manner. I did not want to be proud, nor intend to be proud, but I was forced to be so.
‘Most true is it that we are over-ruled by one above us—that in his hands our very will is as clay in the hands of the potter.
‘Papa continues very far from well, though yesterday, and I hope this morning, he is a little better.  How is your mother?  Give my love to her and your sister.  How are you?  Have you suffered from tic since you returned home?  Did they think you improved in looks?
‘Write again soon.—Yours faithfully,

‘C. Brontë.’

nytimes/marshall-east
-------------------

Extracts from George Smith's - The Recollections of a long and busy life, c1895

The business of Smith, Elder & Co was now prospering and a new partner named Patrick Stewart had been taken into the firm. Stewart was the son of an Edinburgh divine of some fame and a ward of Mr Aeneas Mackintosh, at that time the head of the great firm of Mackintosh & Co, of Calcutta. He was a young man of social tastes and, in some respects, of brilliant gifts. His guardian arranged that Stewart should join my father’s firm, and advanced the necessary capital, which was to be repaid by the firm out of Stewart’s share of the profits. nineteenth_century_literary_manuscripts

The British Empire in India
The 1850s witnessed the introduction of the three "engines of social improvement" that heightened the British illusion of permanence in India. They were the railroads, the telegraph, and the uniform postal service, inaugurated during the tenure of Dalhousie as governor-general. The first railroad lines were built in 1850 from Howrah (Haora, across the Hughli River from Calcutta) inland to the coalfields at Raniganj, Bihar, a distance of 240 kilometers. In 1851 the first electric telegraph line was laid in Bengal and soon linked Agra, Bombay, Calcutta, Lahore, Varanasi, and other cities. The three different presidency or regional postal systems merged in 1854 to facilitate uniform methods of communication at an all-India level. With uniform postal rates for letters and newspapers--one-half anna and one anna, respectively (sixteen annas equalled one rupee)--communication between the rural and the metropolitan areas became easier and faster. The increased ease of communication and the opening of highways and waterways accelerated the movement of troops, the transportation of raw materials and goods to and from the interior, and the exchange of commercial information.

blogger.com/blogger

bronte-parsonage

 

Write me a line to say on what day I may expect you at Haworth

TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL

‘March 22nd, 1851.

‘My dear Sir,—Yesterday I despatched a box of books to Cornhill, including the number of the North British Review which you kindly lent me.  The article to which you particularly directed my attention was read with pleasure and interest, and if I do not now discuss it more at length, it is because I am well aware how completely your attention must be at present engrossed, since, if I rightly understood a brief paragraph in Mr. Smith’s last note, you are now on the eve of quitting England for India.
‘I will limit myself, then, to the expression of a sincere wish for your welfare and prosperity in this undertaking, and to the hope that the great change of climate will bring with it no corresponding risk to health.  I should think you will be missed in Cornhill, but doubtless “business” is a Moloch which demands such sacrifices.
‘I do not know when you go, nor whether your absence is likely to be permanent or only for a time; whichever it be, accept my best wishes for your happiness, and my farewell, if I should not again have the opportunity of addressing you.—Believe me, sincerely yours,

‘C. Brontë.’

TO JAMES TAYLOR, CORNHILL

‘March 24th, 1851

‘My dear Sir,—I had written briefly to you before I received yours, but I fear the note would not reach you in time.  I will now only say that both my father and myself will have pleasure in seeing you on your return from Scotland—a pleasure tinged with sadness certainly, as all partings are, but still a pleasure.
‘I do most entirely agree with you in what you say about Miss Martineau’s and Mr. Atkinson’s book.  I deeply regret its publication for the lady’s sake; it gives a death-blow to her future usefulness.  Who can trust the word, or rely on the judgment, of an avowed atheist?
‘May your decision in the crisis through which you have gone result in the best effect on your happiness and welfare; and indeed, guided as you are by the wish to do right and a high sense of duty, I trust it cannot be otherwise.  The change of climate is all I fear; but Providence will over-rule this too for the best—in Him you can believe and on Him rely.  You will want, therefore, neither solace nor support, though your lot be cast as a stranger in a strange land.—I am, yours sincerely,

‘C. Brontë.

‘When you shall have definitely fixed the time of your return southward, write me a line to say on what day I may expect you at Haworth.

‘C. B.’

----------------------------------

After this move the firm was joined by a third partner and acquired its permanent designation of Smith, Elder & Co. Their new partner had important connections in India, and he brought to the firm the new department of an Indian agency. The firm began their Indian operations with the export of books and stationary to officers of the East India Company, and eventually expanded into banking and the export of other commodities. The firm's Indian interests came to be the most important and lucrative branch of their busines

 

You may laugh as much and as wickedly as you please

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘September 14th, 1850.

‘I wish, dear Ellen, you would tell me what is the “twaddle about my marrying, etc.,” which you hear.  If I knew the details I should have a better chance of guessing the quarter from which such gossip comes—as it is, I am quite at a loss.  Whom am I to marry?  I think I have scarcely seen a single man with whom such a union would be possible since I left London.  Doubtless there are men whom, if I chose to encourage, I might marry; but no matrimonial lot is even remotely offered me which seems to me truly desirable.  And even if that were the case, there would be many obstacles.  The least allusion to such a thing is most offensive to papa.

 

‘An article entitled Currer Bell has lately appeared in the Palladium, a new periodical published in Edinburgh.  It is an eloquent production, and one of such warm sympathy and high appreciation as I had never expected to see.  It makes mistakes about authorships, etc., but these I hope one day to set right. Mr. Taylor (the little man) first informed me of this article. I was somewhat surprised to receive his letter, having concluded nine months ago that there would be no more correspondence from that quarter. I inclose you a note from him received subsequently, in answer to my acknowledgment.  Read it and tell me exactly how it impresses you regarding the writer’s character, etc. His little newspaper disappeared for some weeks, and I thought it was gone to the tomb of the Capulets; however, it has reappeared, with an explanation that he had feared its regular transmission might rather annoy than gratify. I told him this was a mistake—that I was well enough pleased to receive it, but hoped he would not make a task of sending it.  For the rest, I cannot consider myself placed under any personal obligation by accepting this newspaper, for it belongs to the establishment of Smith  Elder.  This little Taylor is deficient neither in spirit nor sense.

 

‘The report about my having published again is, of course, an arrant lie.

 

‘Give my kind regards to all, and—Believe me, yours faithfully,

‘C. B.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

‘January 30th, 1851.

‘You are to say no more about “Jupiter” and “Venus”—what do you mean by such heathen trash?  The fact is, no fallacy can be wilder, and I won’t have it hinted at even in jest, because my common sense laughs it to scorn.  The idea of the “little man” shocks me less—it would be a more likely match if “matches” were at all in question, which they are not.  He still sends his little newspaper; and the other day there came a letter of a bulk, volume, pith, judgment, and knowledge, worthy to have been the product of a giant.  You may laugh as much and as wickedly as you please; but the fact is, there is a quiet constancy about this, my diminutive and red-haired friend, which adds a foot to his stature, turns his sandy locks dark, and altogether dignifies him a good deal in my estimation.  However, I am not bothered by much vehement ardour—there is the nicest distance and respect preserved now, which makes matters very comfortable.

‘This is all nonsense, Nell, and so you will understand it.—Yours very faithfully,

‘C. B.

’

Palladium; a monthly journal of literature, politics, science and art. Edinburgh. July 1850-Mar.1851. Reel 243
Published in Edinburgh, The Palladium contained reviews of current literature, serial novels, and articles concerning literature, politics science and art. Scottish subjects were of special interest, and like most regional magazines, the Palladium did not last long. It was published for only nine months.

library. earlyperiodicals

 

Marriage proposal Nr III for Charlotte Bronte

 

The offices of Smith, Elder & Co. at No. 15 Waterloo Place in London

 wiki/Smith,_Elder_Co

 

Many years were to elapse before Charlotte Brontë received her third offer of marriage.  These were the years of Brussels life, and the year during which she lost her sisters.  It came in the period of her early literary fame, and indeed was the outcome of it.  Mr. James Taylor was in the employment of Smith & Elder.  He was associated with the literary department, and next in command to Mr. W. S. Williams as adviser to the firm.  Mr. Williams appears to have written to Miss Brontë suggesting that Mr. Taylor should come to Haworth in person for the manuscript of her new novel, Shirley, and here is Charlotte’s reply.

 

‘August 24th, 1849.

TO W. S. WILLIAMS

 

‘My dear Sir,—I think the best title for the book would be Shirley, without any explanation or addition—the simpler and briefer, the better.
‘If Mr. Taylor calls here on his return to town he might take charge of the Ms.; I would rather intrust it to him than send it by the ordinary conveyance.  Did I see Mr. Taylor when I was in London?  I cannot remember him.
‘I would with pleasure offer him the homely hospitalities of the Parsonage for a few days, if I could at the same time offer him the company of a brother, or if my father were young enough and strong enough to walk with him on the moors and show him the neighbourhood, or if the peculiar retirement of papa’s habits were not such as to render it irksome to him to give much of his society to a stranger, even in the house.  Without being in the least misanthropical or sour-natured, papa habitually prefers solitude to society, and custom is a tyrant whose fetters it would now be impossible for him to break.  Were it not for difficulties of this sort, I believe I should ere this have asked you to come down to Yorkshire.  Papa, I know, would receive any friend of Mr. Smith’s with perfect kindness and goodwill, but I likewise know that, unless greatly put out of his way, he could not give a guest much of his company, and that, consequently, his entertainment would be but dull.
‘You will see the force of these considerations, and understand why I only ask Mr. Taylor to come for a day instead of requesting the pleasure of his company for a longer period; you will believe me also, and so will he, when I say I shall be most happy to see him.  He will find Haworth a strange uncivilised little place, such as, I daresay, he never saw before

thetelegraphandargus/Shipley

It is twenty miles distant from Leeds; he will have to come by rail to Keighley (there are trains every two hours I believe).  He must remember that at a station called Shipley the carriages are changed, otherwise they will take him on to Skipton or Colne, or I know not where. 

When he reaches Keighley, he will yet have four miles to travel; a conveyance may be hired at the Devonshire Arms—there is no coach or other regular communication.

valendale

‘I should like to hear from him before he comes, and to know on what day to expect him, that I may have the MS. ready; if it is not quite finished I might send the concluding chapter or two by post.
‘I advise you to send this letter to Mr. Taylor—it will save you the trouble of much explanation, and will serve to apprise him of what lies before him; he can then weigh well with himself whether it would suit him to take so much trouble for so slight an end.—Believe me, my dear sir, yours sincerely,

‘C. Brontë.’

 

house of smith elder

Charlotte Brontë's Rate per Word, around £1,000

Alison Flood in The Guardian adds:
A minuscule handwritten poem by Charlotte Brontë, composed when the author was just 13, has been sold for almost £100,000.
Signed C Brontë, and dated by her on 14 December 1829, "I've been wandering in the greenwoods" is written on a piece of paper measuring just three inches square, and is difficult to read without a magnifying glass. Charlotte and her siblings all wrote in a tiny hand, to make the most of a scarce and expensive paper supply, but they were also short-sighted, so would have been able to see what they were writing themselves, even it was illegible to others.
The manuscript was sold by Bonhams as part of the collection of the poet and scholar Roy Davids: it had been given an estimated sale price of £40,000-£45,000, but went for more than double that, selling for £92,450. The Brontë poem, said the auction house, is "extremely rare", because although the author would go on to write around 200 poems, the "vast majority" are in institutions, with "perhaps no more than four" in private hands.
"I've been wandering in the greenwoods" is a celebration of nature, with the precocious young poet elaborating on how she has "been to the distant mountain,/ To the silver singing rill/ By the crystal murmering mountain,/ And the shady verdant hill." It appeared in a printed version in the literary magazine The Young Man's Intelligencer, which was produced by the Brontë children for their own enjoyment. Charlotte took over as editor from her brother Branwell in 1829.Charlotte Brontë's Rate per Word, around £1,000