... I will not re-read this letter, I must send it as it is written. And yet I know, by some secret instinct, that certain absolutely reasonable and cool-headed people reading it through will say:--'She appears to have gone mad.' By way of revenge on such judges, all I would wish them is that they too might endure, _for one day only_, the sufferings I have borne for eight months--then, one would see, if they too did not 'appear to have gone mad.' One endures in silence whilst one has his strength to do it. But when this strength fails one, one speaks without weighing one's words. I wish Monsieur all happiness and prosperity. Haworth, Bradford, Yorkshire, 8_th January_. The Letter obtained no answer. And thus the end was reached. We now know where in Charlotte Brontë's life lay her experiences that formed her genius and made her the great Romantic--whose quality was that she saw all events and personages through the medium of one passion--the passion of a predestined tragical and unrequited love. END OF PART I. [1] I have to thank Mr. Clement Shorter, who has purchased the copyright of Charlotte Brontë's manuscripts, for his generous permission to quote from these letters freely for the purposes of my criticism.--(F.M.) [2] _Childe Harold_, note 9 to canto iii. [3] The author of _Childe Harold_ adds on this note as a comment upon what he has said of 'Love' as the inspiration of the greatest of all Romantics, J.-J. Rousseau:-- 'His love was passion's essence--as a tree On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same. But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, But of Ideal beauty, which became In him existence and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distemper'd tho' it seems. This breathed itself to life in Julie, this Invested her with all that's wild and sweet; This hallow'd too the memorable kiss Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, From hers, who but with friendship his would meet: But to that gentle touch, thro' brain and breast Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat; In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest.' [4] Rudyard Kipling. [5] See Letter, 18 Nov. I am giving my own translation from the French of Charlotte's Letters in these extracts, not certainly on account of any dissatisfaction with Mr. Spielmann's English versions of them, but in order to avoid the risk of any infringement of Mr. Spielmann's copyright in his Introduction. [6] Mrs. Gaskell's _Life, p._ 290. [7] Charlotte had been a year and ten months in England in October 1845. This phrase, however, proves that the Letter belongs to this year and not to 1844, and consequently that the Letter that follows it, January 8, is 1846. PART II SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE