Life of Charlotte Brontë | Page 9

his debts had to
be paid. It is not agreeable to lose money, time after time, in this way;
but where is the use of dwelling on such subjects? It will make him no
better."
"December 28th.
"I feel as if it was almost a farce to sit down and write to you now, with
nothing to say worth listening to; and, indeed, if it were not for two
reasons, I should put off the business at least a fortnight hence. The
first reason is, I want another letter from you, for your letters are
interesting, they have something in them; some results of experience
and observation; one receives them with pleasure, and reads them with
relish; and these letters I cannot expect to get, unless I reply to them. I

wish the correspondence could be managed so as to be all on one side.
The second reason is derived from a remark in your last, that you felt
lonely, something as I was at Brussels, and that consequently you had a
peculiar desire to hear from old acquaintance. I can understand and
sympathise with this. I remember the shortest note was a treat to me,
when I was at the above-named place; therefore I write. I have also a
third reason: it is a haunting terror lest you should imagine I forget
you--that my regard cools with absence. It is not in my nature to forget
your nature; though, I dare say, I should spit fire and explode
sometimes if we lived together continually; and you, too, would get
angry, and then we should get reconciled and jog on as before. Do you
ever get dissatisfied with your own temper when you are long fixed to
one place, in one scene, subject to one monotonous species of
annoyance? I do: I am now in that unenviable frame of mind; my
humour, I think, is too soon over- thrown, too sore, too demonstrative
and vehement. I almost long for some of the uniform serenity you
describe in Mrs. ----'s disposition; or, at least, I would fain have her
power of self- control and concealment; but I would not take her
artificial habits and ideas along with her composure. After all I should
prefer being as I am. . . You do right not to be annoyed at any maxims
of conventionality you meet with. Regard all new ways in the light of
fresh experience for you: if you see any honey gather it." . . . "I don't,
after all, consider that we ought to despise everything we see in the
world, merely because it is not what we are accustomed to. I suspect,
on the contrary, that there are not unfrequently substantial reasons
underneath for customs that appear to us absurd; and if I were ever
again to find myself amongst strangers, I should be solicitous to
examine before I condemned. Indiscriminating irony and faultfinding
are just sumphishness, and that is all. Anne is now much better, but
papa has been for near a fortnight far from well with the influenza; he
has at times a most distressing cough, and his spirits are much
depressed."
So ended the year 1846.
CHAPTER II

The next year opened with a spell of cold dreary weather, which told
severely on a constitution already tried by anxiety and care. Miss
Bronte describes herself as having utterly lost her appetite, and as
looking "grey, old, worn and sunk," from her sufferings during the
inclement season. The cold brought on severe toothache; toothache was
the cause of a succession of restless miserable nights; and long
wakefulness told acutely upon her nerves, making them feel with
redoubled sensitiveness all the harass of her oppressive life. Yet she
would not allow herself to lay her bad health to the charge of an uneasy
mind; "for after all," said she at this time, "I have many, many things to
be thankful for." But the real state of things may be gathered from the
following extracts from her letters.
"March 1st.
"Even at the risk of appearing very exacting, I can't help saying that I
should like a letter as long as your last, every time you write. Short
notes give one the feeling of a very small piece of a very good thing to
eat,--they set the appetite on edge, and don't satisfy it,--a letter leaves
you more contented; and yet, after all, I am very glad to get notes; so
don't think, when you are pinched for time and materials, that it is
useless to write a few lines; be assured, a few lines are very acceptable
as far as they go; and though I like long letters, I would by no means
have you to make a task of writing them. . . . I really should like