Life of Charlotte Brontë | Page 5

comfortable lodgings, kept by an old servant of his. These were in one
of numerous similar streets of small monotonous-looking houses, in a
suburb of the town. From thence the following letter is dated, on
August 21st, 1846:--
"I just scribble a line to you to let you know where I am, in order that
you may write to me here, for it seems to me that a letter from you
would relieve me from the feeling of strangeness I have in this big
town. Papa and I came here on Wednesday; we saw Mr. Wilson, the
oculist, the same day; he pronounced papa's eyes quite ready for an
operation, and has fixed next Monday for the performance of it. Think
of us on that day! We got into our lodgings yesterday. I think we shall
be comfortable; at least our rooms are very good, but there is no
mistress of the house (she is very ill, and gone out into the country),
and I am somewhat puzzled in managing about provisions; we board
ourselves. I find myself excessively ignorant. I can't tell what to order
in the way of meat. For ourselves I could contrive, papa's diet is so very
simple; but there will be a nurse coming in a day or two, and I am
afraid of not having things good enough for her. Papa requires nothing,
you know, but plain beef and mutton, tea and bread and butter; but a
nurse will probably expect to live much better; give me some hints if
you can. Mr. Wilson says we shall have to stay here for a month at least.
I wonder how Emily and Anne will get on at home with Branwell.
They, too, will have their troubles. What would I not give to have you
here! One is forced, step by step, to get experience in the world; but the
learning is so disagreeable. One cheerful feature in the business is, that
Mr. Wilson thinks most favourably of the case."
"August 26th, 1846.
"The operation is over; it took place yesterday Mr. Wilson performed it;
two other surgeons assisted. Mr. Wilson says, he considers it quite
successful; but papa cannot yet see anything. The affair lasted precisely
a quarter of an hour; it was not the simple operation of couching Mr. C.
described, but the more complicated one of extracting the cataract. Mr.

Wilson entirely disapproves of couching. Papa displayed extraordinary
patience and firmness; the surgeons seemed surprised. I was in the
room all the time; as it was his wish that I should be there; of course, I
neither spoke nor moved till the thing was done, and then I felt that the
less I said, either to papa or the surgeons, the better. Papa is now
confined to his bed in a dark room, and is not to be stirred for four days;
he is to speak and be spoken to as little as possible. I am greatly obliged
to you for your letter, and your kind advice, which gave me extreme
satisfaction, because I found I had arranged most things in accordance
with it, and, as your theory coincides with my practice, I feel assured
the latter is right. I hope Mr. Wilson will soon allow me to dispense
with the nurse; she is well enough, no doubt, but somewhat too
obsequious; and not, I should think, to be much trusted; yet I was
obliged to trust her in some things. . . .
"Greatly was I amused by your account of ----'s flirtations; and yet
something saddened also. I think Nature intended him for something
better than to fritter away his time in making a set of poor, unoccupied
spinsters unhappy. The girls, unfortunately, are forced to care for him,
and such as him, because, while their minds are mostly unemployed,
their sensations are all unworn, and, consequently, fresh and green; and
he, on the contrary, has had his fill of pleasure, and can with impunity
make a mere pastime of other people's torments. This is an unfair state
of things; the match is not equal. I only wish I had the power to infuse
into the souls of the persecuted a little of the quiet strength of pride--of
the supporting consciousness of superiority (for they are superior to
him because purer)--of the fortifying resolve of firmness to bear the
present, and wait the end. Could all the virgin population of ---- receive
and retain these sentiments, he would continually have to veil his crest
before them. Perhaps, luckily, their feelings are not so acute as one
would think, and the gentleman's shafts consequently don't wound so
deeply as he might desire. I hope it is so."
A few days later, she writes thus: "Papa is still lying in bed, in a dark