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Updated: June 16, 2025


It was not only my right, but my duty, as a critic to point out the important part which M. Heger had played in the development of Charlotte Bronte's genius, and there was most assuredly nothing in what I said that touched in the slightest degree the purity of her exalted character.

It is a difference of vision, of sensation. The strange greyness of The Professor, its stillness, is not due altogether to Charlotte's deliberate intention. It is the stillness, the greyness of imperfect hearing, of imperfect seeing. I know it has one fine piece of word-painting, but not one that can stand among Charlotte Brontë's masterpieces in this kind. Here it is.

Had Charlotte Brontë's literary life been prolonged under the new conditions opened to her by her sudden fame, we have small reason to suppose that she would have created a more telling character than Rochester, though she would not have exhausted her powers in the microscopic delineation of commonplace people which constitutes the province of her most popular female successor.

Long ago preacher Grimshaw flogged the loungers from its taproom into chapel; here Wesley and Whitefield lodged when holding meetings on the hilltop; here Bronte's predecessor took refuge from his riotous parishioners, finally escaping through the low easement at the back, out of which poor Branwell Bronte used to vault when his sisters asked for him at the door.

I am well aware that the identity of Ellen Nussey and Caroline Helstone has been questioned by some recent writers, and that Mr. Nicholls, who was for a few months Charlotte Bronte's husband, is quoted in support of this denial.

This delightful task being conscientiously discharged, we proposed to devote our last day in the beautiful Belgian capital to the accomplishment of one of the cherished projects of our lives, the searching out of the localities associated with Charlotte Bronté's unhappy school-life here, which she has so graphically portrayed.

Its power quite overcame my dislike to the measure so far at least as to make me read it with great interest often, though, a painful one. And now I must end. As to Miss Bronte's impressions of Matthew Arnold in that same afternoon call of 1850, they were by no means flattering.

Itself is not quoted by anyone alive, but Charlotte Bronte's rejoinder adds one to our little treasury of her incomparable pages. If they were twenty, they are twenty-one by the addition of this, written in a long-neglected letter and saved for us by Mr.

This device, which he imagined would impoverish us to enrich his own States, was the greatest aid that he could have rendered to our hard-pressed social system; and readers of Charlotte Brontë's realistic sketches of the Luddite rioting in Yorkshire may imagine what would have befallen England if, besides lack of work and low wages, there had been the added horrors of a bread famine.

Bronte's great age, and failing sight, which made it a paramount obligation on so dutiful a daughter as Charlotte, to devote as much time and assistance as ever in attending to his wants. Mr. Nicholls, too, hoped that he might be able to add some comfort and pleasure by his ready presence, on any occasion when the old clergyman might need his services.

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