Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (452 page)

The recollections left of the four Brontë sisters at this period of their lives, on the minds of those who associated with them, are not very distinct.  Wild, strong hearts, and powerful minds, were hidden under an enforced propriety and regularity of demeanour and expression, just as their faces had been concealed by their father, under his stiff, unchanging mask.  Maria was delicate, unusually clever and thoughtful for her age, gentle, and untidy.  Of her frequent disgrace from this last fault — of her sufferings, so patiently borne — I have already spoken.  The only glimpse we get of Elizabeth, through the few years of her short life, is contained in a letter which I have received from “Miss Temple.”  “The second, Elizabeth, is the only one of the family of whom I have a vivid recollection, from her meeting with a somewhat alarming accident, in consequence of which I had her for some days and nights in my bedroom, not only for the sake of greater quiet, but that I might watch over her myself.  Her head was severely cut, but she bore all the consequent suffering with exemplary patience, and by it won much upon my esteem.  Of the two younger ones (if two there were) I have very slight recollections, save that one, a darling child, under five years of age, was quite the pet nursling of the school.”  This last would be Emily.  Charlotte was considered the most talkative of the sisters — a “bright, clever, little child.”  Her great friend was a certain “Mellany Hane” (so Mr. Brontë spells the name), whose brother paid for her schooling, and who had no remarkable talent except for music, which her brother’s circumstances forbade her to cultivate.  She was “a hungry, good-natured, ordinary girl;” older than Charlotte, and ever ready to protect her from any petty tyranny or encroachments on the part of the elder girls.  Charlotte always remembered her with affection and gratitude.

I have quoted the word “bright” in the account of Charlotte.  I suspect that this year of 1825 was the last time it could ever be applied to her.  In the spring of it, Maria became so rapidly worse that Mr. Brontë was sent for.  He had not previously been aware of her illness, and the condition in which he found her was a terrible shock to him.  He took her home by the Leeds coach, the girls crowding out into the road to follow her with their eyes over the bridge, past the cottages, and then out of sight for ever.  She died a very few days after her arrival at home.  Perhaps the news of her death falling suddenly into the life of which her patient existence had formed a part, only a little week or so before, made those who remained at Cowan Bridge look with more anxiety on Elizabeth’s symptoms, which also turned out to be consumptive.  She was sent home in charge of a confidential servant of the establishment; and she, too, died in the early summer of that year.  Charlotte was thus suddenly called into the responsibilities of eldest sister in a motherless family.  She remembered how anxiously her dear sister Maria had striven, in her grave earnest way, to be a tender helper and a counsellor to them all; and the duties that now fell upon her seemed almost like a legacy from the gentle little sufferer so lately dead.

Both Charlotte and Emily returned to school after the Midsummer holidays in this fatal year.  But before the next winter it was thought desirable to advise their removal, as it was evident that the damp situation of the house at Cowan Bridge did not suit their health.

CHAPTER V

For the reason just stated, the little girls were sent home in the autumn of 1825, when Charlotte was little more than nine years old.

About this time, an elderly woman of the village came to live as servant at the parsonage.  She remained there, as a member of the household, for thirty years; and from the length of her faithful service, and the attachment and respect which she inspired, is deserving of mention.  Tabby was a thorough specimen of a Yorkshire woman of her class, in dialect, in appearance, and in character.  She abounded in strong practical sense and shrewdness.  Her words were far from flattery; but she would spare no deeds in the cause of those whom she kindly regarded.  She ruled the children pretty sharply; and yet never grudged a little extra trouble to provide them with such small treats as came within her power.  In return, she claimed to be looked upon as a humble friend; and, many years later, Miss Brontë told me that she found it somewhat difficult to manage, as Tabby expected to be informed of all the family concerns, and yet had grown so deaf that what was repeated to her became known to whoever might be in or about the house.  To obviate this publication of what it might be desirable to keep secret, Miss Brontë used to take her out for a walk on the solitary moors; where, when both were seated on a tuft of heather, in some high lonely place, she could acquaint the old woman, at leisure, with all that she wanted to hear.

Tabby had lived in Haworth in the days when the pack-horses went through once a week, with their tinkling bells and gay worsted adornment, carrying the produce of the country from Keighley over the hills to Colne and Burnley.  What is more, she had known the “bottom,” or valley, in those primitive days when the fairies frequented the margin of the “beck” on moonlight nights, and had known folk who had seen them.  But that was when there were no mills in the valleys; and when all the wool-spinning was done by hand in the farm-houses round.  “It wur the factories as had driven ‘em away,” she said.  No doubt she had many a tale to tell of by-gone days of the country-side; old ways of living, former inhabitants, decayed gentry, who had melted away, and whose places knew them no more; family tragedies, and dark superstitious dooms; and in telling these things, without the least consciousness that there might ever be anything requiring to be softened down, would give at full length the bare and simple details.

Miss Branwell instructed the children at regular hours in all she could teach, making her bed-chamber into their schoolroom.  Their father was in the habit of relating to them any public news in which he felt an interest; and from the opinions of his strong and independent mind they would gather much food for thought; but I do not know whether he gave them any direct instruction.  Charlotte’s deep thoughtful spirit appears to have felt almost painfully the tender responsibility which rested upon her with reference to her remaining sisters.  She was only eighteen months older than Emily; but Emily and Anne were simply companions and playmates, while Charlotte was motherly friend and guardian to both; and this loving assumption of duties beyond her years, made her feel considerably older than she really was.

Patrick Branwell, their only brother, was a boy of remarkable promise, and, in some ways, of extraordinary precocity of talent.  Mr. Brontë’s friends advised him to send his son to school; but, remembering both the strength of will of his own youth and his mode of employing it, he believed that Patrick was better at home, and that he himself could teach him well, as he had taught others before.  So Patrick, or as his family called him — Branwell, remained at Haworth, working hard for some hours a day with his father; but, when the time of the latter was taken up with his parochial duties, the boy was thrown into chance companionship with the lads of the village — for youth will to youth, and boys will to boys.

Still, he was associated in many of his sisters’ plays and amusements.  These were mostly of a sedentary and intellectual nature.  I have had a curious packet confided to me, containing an immense amount of manuscript, in an inconceivably small space; tales, dramas, poems, romances, written principally by Charlotte, in a hand which it is almost impossible to decipher without the aid of a magnifying glass.  No description will give so good an idea of the extreme minuteness of the writing as the annexed facsimile of a page.

Among these papers there is a list of her works, which I copy, as a curious proof how early the rage for literary composition had seized upon her: —

CATALOGUE OF MY BOOKS, WITH THE PERIOD OF THEIR COMPLETION, UP TO AUGUST 3RD, 1830.

Two romantic tales in one volume; viz., The Twelve Adventurers and the Adventures in Ireland, April 2nd, 1829.

The Search after Happiness, a Tale, Aug. 1st, 1829.

Leisure Hours, a Tale, and two Fragments, July 6th 1829.

The Adventures of Edward de Crack, a Tale, Feb. 2nd, 1830.

The Adventures of Ernest Alembert, a Tale, May 26th, 1830.

An interesting Incident in the Lives of some of the most eminent Persons of the Age, a Tale, June 10th, 1830.

Tales of the Islanders, in four volumes.  Contents of the 1st Vol.: — l.  An Account of their Origin; 2.  A Description of Vision Island; 3.  Ratten’s Attempt; 4.  Lord Charles Wellesley and the Marquis of Douro’s Adventure; completed June 31st, 1829.  2nd Vol.: — 1.  The School-rebellion; 2.  The strange Incident in the Duke of Wellington’s Life; 3.  Tale to his Sons; 4.  The Marquis of Douro and Lord Charles Wellesley’s Tale to his little King and Queen; completed Dec. 2nd, 1829.  3rd Vol.: — 1.  The Duke of Wellington’s Adventure in the Cavern; 2.  The Duke of Wellington and the little King’s and Queen’s visit to the Horse-Guards; completed May 8th, 1830.  4th Vol.: — 1.  The three old Washer-women of Strathfieldsaye; 2.  Lord C. Wellesley’s Tale to his Brother; completed July 30th, 1830.

Characters of Great Men of the Present Age, Dec. 17th 1829.

The Young Men’s Magazines, in Six Numbers, from August to December, the latter months double number, completed December the 12th, 1829.  General index to their contents: — 1.  A True Story; 2.  Causes of the War; 3.  A Song; 4.  Conversations; 5.  A True Story continued; 6.  The Spirit of Cawdor; 7.  Interior of a Pothouse, a Poem; 8.  The Glass Town, a Song; 9.  The Silver Cup, a Tale; 10.  The Table and Vase in the Desert, a Song; 11.  Conversations; 12.  Scene on the Great Bridge; 13.  Song of the Ancient Britons; 14.  Scene in my Tun, a Tale; 15.  An American Tale; 16.  Lines written on seeing the Garden of a Genius; 17.  The Lay of the Glass Town; 18.  The Swiss Artist, a Tale; 19.  Lines on the Transfer of this Magazine; 20.  On the Same, by a different hand; 21.  Chief Genii in Council; 22.  Harvest in Spain; 23.  The Swiss Artists continued; 24.  Conversations.

The Poetaster, a Drama, in 2 volumes, July 12th, 1830.

A Book of Rhymes, finished December 17th, 1829.  Contents: — 1.  The Beauty of Nature; 2.  A Short Poem; 3.  Meditations while Journeying in a Canadian Forest; 4.  Song of an Exile; 5.  On Seeing the Ruins of the Tower of Babel; 6. 
A Thing of
14
lines
;  7.  Lines written on the Bank of a River one fine Summer Evening; 8.  Spring, a Song; 9.  Autumn, a Song.

Miscellaneous Poems, finished May 30th, 1830.  Contents: — 1.  The Churchyard; 2.  Description of the Duke of Wellington’s Palace on the Pleasant Banks of the Lusiva; this article is a small prose tale or incident; 3.  Pleasure;  4.  Lines written on the Summit of a high Mountain of the North of England; 5.  Winter; 6.  Two Fragments, namely, 1st, The Vision; 2nd, A Short untitled Poem; the Evening Walk, a Poem, June 23rd, 1830.

Making in the whole twenty-two volumes.

C. BRONTË,
August
3, 1830

As each volume contains from sixty to a hundred pages, and the size of the page lithographed is rather less than the average, the amount of the whole seems very great, if we remember that it was all written in about fifteen months.  So much for the quantity; the quality strikes me as of singular merit for a girl of thirteen or fourteen.  Both as a specimen of her prose style at this time, and also as revealing something of the quiet domestic life led by these children, I take an extract from the introduction to “Tales of the Islanders,” the title of one of their “Little Magazines:” —

“June the 31st, 1829.

“The play of the ‘Islanders’ was formed in December, 1827, in the following manner.  One night, about the time when the cold sleet and stormy fogs of November are succeeded by the snow-storms, and high piercing night winds of confirmed winter, we were all sitting round the warm blazing kitchen fire, having just concluded a quarrel with Tabby concerning the propriety of lighting a candle, from which she came off victorious, no candle having been produced.  A long pause succeeded, which was at last broken by Branwell saying, in a lazy manner, ‘I don’t know what to do.’  This was echoed by Emily and Anne.

“
Tabby
.  ‘Wha ya may go t’ bed.’

“
Branwell
.  ‘I’d rather do anything than that.’

“
Charlotte
.  ‘Why are you so glum to-night, Tabby?  Oh! suppose we had each an island of our own.’

“
Branwell
.  ‘If we had I would choose the Island of Man.’

“
Charlotte
.  ‘And I would choose the Isle of Wight.’

“
Emily
.  ‘The Isle of Arran for me.’

“
Anne
.  ‘And mine shall be Guernsey.’

“We then chose who should be chief men in our islands.  Branwell chose John Bull, Astley Cooper, and Leigh Hunt; Emily, Walter Scott, Mr. Lockhart, Johnny Lockhart; Anne, Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, Sir Henry Halford.  I chose the Duke of Wellington and two sons, Christopher North and Co., and Mr. Abernethy.  Here our conversation was interrupted by the, to us, dismal sound of the clock striking seven, and we were summoned off to bed.  The next day we added many others to our list of men, till we got almost all the chief men of the kingdom.  After this, for a long time, nothing worth noticing occurred.  In June, 1828, we erected a school on a fictitious island, which was to contain 1,000 children.  The manner of the building was as follows.  The Island was fifty miles in circumference, and certainly appeared more like the work of enchantment than anything real,” &c.

Two or three things strike me much in this fragment; one is the graphic vividness with which the time of the year, the hour of the evening, the feeling of cold and darkness outside, the sound of the night-winds sweeping over the desolate snow-covered moors, coming nearer and nearer, and at last shaking the very door of the room where they were sitting — for it opened out directly on that bleak, wide expanse — is contrasted with the glow, and busy brightness of the cheerful kitchen where these remarkable children are grouped.  Tabby moves about in her quaint country-dress, frugal, peremptory, prone to find fault pretty sharply, yet allowing no one else to blame her children, we may feel sure.  Another noticeable fact is the intelligent partisanship with which they choose their great men, who are almost all stanch Tories of the time.  Moreover, they do not confine themselves to local heroes; their range of choice has been widened by hearing much of what is not usually considered to interest children.  Little Anne, aged scarcely eight, picks out the politicians of the day for her chief men.

There is another scrap of paper, in this all but illegible handwriting, written about this time, and which gives some idea of the sources of their opinions.

THE HISTORY OF THE YEAR 1829.

“Once Papa lent my sister Maria a book.  It was an old geography-book; she wrote on its blank leaf, ‘Papa lent me this book.’  This book is a hundred and twenty years old; it is at this moment lying before me.  While I write this I am in the kitchen of the Parsonage, Haworth; Tabby, the servant, is washing up the breakfast-things, and Anne, my youngest sister (Maria was my eldest), is kneeling on a chair, looking at some cakes which Tabby has been baking for us.  Emily is in the parlour, brushing the carpet.  Papa and Branwell are gone to Keighley.  Aunt is upstairs in her room, and I am sitting by the table writing this in the kitchen.  Keighley is a small town four miles from here.  Papa and Branwell are gone for the newspaper, the ‘Leeds Intelligencer,’ a most excellent Tory newspaper, edited by Mr. Wood, and the proprietor, Mr. Henneman.  We take two and see three newspapers a week.  We take the ‘Leeds Intelligencer,’ Tory, and the ‘Leeds Mercury,’ Whig, edited by Mr. Baines, and his brother, son-in-law, and his two sons, Edward and Talbot.  We see the ‘John Bull;’ it is a high Tory, very violent.  Mr. Driver lends us it, as likewise ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ the most able periodical there is.  The Editor is Mr. Christopher North, an old man seventy-four years of age; the 1st of April is his birth-day; his company are Timothy Tickler, Morgan O’Doherty, Macrabin Mordecai, Mullion, Warnell, and James Hogg, a man of most extraordinary genius, a Scottish shepherd.  Our plays were established; ‘Young Men,’ June, 1826; ‘Our Fellows,’ July, 1827; ‘Islanders,’ December, 1827.  These are our three great plays, that are not kept secret.  Emily’s and my best plays were established the 1st of December, 1827; the others March, 1828.  Best plays mean secret plays; they are very nice ones.  All our plays are very strange ones.  Their nature I need not write on paper, for I think I shall always remember them.  The ‘Young Men’s’ play took its rise from some wooden soldiers Branwell had: ‘Our Fellows’ from ‘Æsop’s Fables;’ and the ‘Islanders’ from several events which happened.  I will sketch out the origin of our plays more explicitly if I can.  First, ‘Young Men.’  Papa bought Branwell some wooden soldiers at Leeds; when Papa came home it was night, and we were in bed, so next morning Branwell came to our door with a box of soldiers.  Emily and I jumped out of bed, and I snatched up one and exclaimed, ‘This is the Duke of Wellington!  This shall be the Duke!’  When I had said this, Emily likewise took up one and said it should be hers; when Anne came down, she said one should be hers.  Mine was the prettiest of the whole, and the tallest, and the most perfect in every part.  Emily’s was a grave-looking fellow, and we called him ‘Gravey.’  Anne’s was a queer little thing, much like herself, and we called him ‘Waiting-Boy.’  Branwell chose his, and called him ‘Buonaparte.’”