Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (525 page)

CHAPTER VI.

THE LITERARY TASTES OF THE CHILDREN.

The youthful Compositions of the Brontës — Their Character — Branwell’s Share in them — ’The Secret,’ a Fragment — The Reading of the Brontë Children — Branwell’s Character at this Period.

Mr. Brontë, perhaps, made use of a slight hyperbole when he said that, as soon as they could read and write, Charlotte and her brother and sisters used to invent and act little plays of their own; but it is certain that, at an early period of their lives, they took pleasure and pride in seeing their thoughts put down in the manifest form of written words. Charlotte, indeed, gives a list of the juvenile works she had composed. They filled twenty-two volumes, and consisted of Tales, Adventures, Lives, Meditations, Stories, Poems, Songs, &c. Without repeating all the titles which Mrs. Gaskell and others have published, it may be said that the productions manifested extraordinary ability and industry. Branwell, Emily, and Anne partook of the same spirit, and displayed similar energy according to the leisure they could command.

Before Charlotte went to Roe Head, in January, 1831, Branwell worked with his sisters in producing their monthly magazine, with its youthful stories.
 
 
Mrs. Gaskell has quoted Charlotte’s introduction to the ‘Tales of the Islanders,’ one of these ‘Little Magazines,’ dated June, 1829, from which it appears that a remark of Branwell’s led to the composition of the play of that name, and that he chose the Isle of Man as his territory, and named John Bull, Astley Cooper, and Leigh Hunt as the chief men in it. Charlotte gives the dates of most of their productions. She says: ‘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.’
 
 

It would be difficult to arrive at a correct understanding of the literary value of these productions of the youthful Brontës, but it would be interesting to know what kind of assistance Branwell was able to give in the work, as well as what was the general merit of these early compositions. Mrs. Gaskell makes some mention of Branwell’s literary abilities in his youth. It is certain, from all we know, that his mind was as much occupied in these matters as his sisters’, and that his ambition corresponded with theirs. It has, indeed, been placed on record by Mrs. Gaskell that he was associated with his sisters in the compilation of their youthful writings. This author says, also, that their youthful occupations were ‘mostly of a sedentary and intellectual nature.’
 
 

Among the youthful stories of which Charlotte, as has been already mentioned, wrote a catalogue or list, there was one, of which Mrs. Gaskell has published a fragment in fac-simile, written in a small, elaborate, and cramped hand — so small, indeed, as to be of little use to the general reader. In the ‘Life of Charlotte Brontë,’ this was inserted as a specimen of the hand-writing. It shows truly the literary ability, dramatic skill, and force of imagination of the children at the period of their lives of which I speak, and affords an interesting specimen of the character of these early works. A few extracts from it may be given here: —

THE SECRET.

CHAPTER I.

A dead silence had reigned in the Home Office of Verdopolis for three hours in the morning of a fine summer’s day, interrupted only by such sounds as the scraping of a pen-knife, the dropping of a ruler, or an occasional cough; or whispered now and then some brief mandate, uttered by the noble first secretary, in his commanding tones. At length that sublime personage, after completing some score or so of despatches, addressing a small slightly-built young gentleman who occupied the chief situation among the clerks, said:

‘Mr. Rymer, will you be good enough to tell me what o’clock it is?’

‘Certainly, my lord!’ was the prompt reply as, springing from his seat, the ready underling, instead of consulting his watch like other people, hastened to the window in order to mark the sun’s situation; having made his observation, he answered: ‘‘Tis twelve precisely, my lord.’

‘Very well,’ said the marquis. ‘You may all give up then, and see that all your desks are locked, so that not a scrap of paper is left to litter the office. Mr. Rymer, I shall expect you to take care that my directions are fulfilled.’ So saying, he assumed his hat and gloves, and with a stately tread was approaching the vestibule, when a slight bustle and whispering among the clerks arrested his steps.

‘What is the matter?’ asked he, turning round. ‘I hope these are not sounds of contention I hear!’

‘I — and — ‘ said a broad, carrotty-locked young man of a most pugnacious aspect, ‘but — but — your lordship has forgotten that — that —
 
— ‘

‘That what?’ asked the marquis, rather impatiently.

‘Oh! — merely that this afternoon is a half-holiday — and — and —
 
— ‘

‘I understand,’ replied his superior, smiling, ‘you need not tax your modesty with further explanation, Flanagan; the truth is, I suppose, you want your usual largess, and I’m obliged to you for reminding me — will that do?’ he continued, as, opening his pocket-book, he took out a twenty-pound bank bill and laid it on the nearest desk.

‘My lord, you are too generous,’ Flanagan answered; but the chief secretary laughingly laid his gloved hand on his lips, and, with a condescending nod to the other clerks, sprang down the steps of the portico and strode hastily away, in order to escape the noisy expressions of gratitude which now hailed his liberality.

On the opposite side of the busy and wide street to that on which the splendid Home Office stands, rises the no less splendid Colonial Office; and, just as Arthur, Marquis of Douro, left the former structure, Edward Stanley Sydney departed from the latter: they met in the centre of the street.

‘Well, Ned,’ said my brother, as they shook hands, ‘how are you to-day? I should think this bright sun and sky ought to enliven you if anything can.’

‘Why, my dear Douro,’ replied Mr. Sydney, with a faint smile, ‘such lovely, genial weather may, and I have no doubt does, elevate the spirits of the free and healthy; but for me, whose mind and body are a continual prey to all the heaviest cares of public and private life, it signifies little whether sun cheer or rain damp the atmosphere.’

‘Edward,’ replied Arthur, his features at the same time assuming that disagreeable expression which my landlord denominates by the term ‘scorney;’ ‘now don’t begin to bore me, Ned, with trash of that description, I’m tired of it quite: pray have you recollected that to-day is a half-holiday in all departments of the Treasury?’

‘Yes; and the circumstance has cost me some money; these silly old customs ought to be abolished in my opinion — they are ruinous.’

‘Why, what have you given the poor fellows?’

‘Two sovereigns;’ an emphatic hem formed Arthur’s reply to the communication.

They had now entered Nokel Street, and were proceeding in silence past the line of magnificent shops which it contains, when the sound of wheels was heard behind them, and a smooth-rolling chariot dashed up and stopped just where they stood. One of the window-glasses now fell, a white hand was put out and beckoned them to draw near, while a silvery voice said,

‘Mr. Sydney, Marquis of Douro, come hither a moment.’

Both the gentlemen obeyed the summons, Arthur with alacrity, Sydney with reluctance.

‘What are your commands, fair ladies?’ said the former, bowing respectfully to the inmates of the carriage, who were Lady Julia Sydney and Lady Maria Sneaky.

‘Our commands are principally for your companion, my lord, not for you,’ replied the daughter of Alexander the First; ‘now, Mr. Sydney,’ she continued, smiling on the senator, ‘you must promise not to be disobedient.’

‘Let me first know what I am required to perform,’ was the cautious answer, accompanied by a fearful glance at the shops around.

‘Nothing of much consequence, Edward,’ said his wife, ‘but I hope you’ll not refuse to oblige me this once, love. I only want a few guineas to make out the price of a pair of earrings I have just seen in Mr. Lapis’s shop.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ answered he. ‘Not a farthing will I give you: it is scarce three weeks since you received your quarter’s allowance, and if that is done already you may suffer for it.’

With this decisive reply, he instinctively thrust his hands into his breeches’ pockets, and marched off with a hurried step.

‘Stingy little monkey!’ exclaimed Lady Julia, sinking back on the carriage-seat, while the bright flush of anger and disappointment crimsoned her fair cheek. ‘This is the way he always treats me, but I’ll make him suffer for it!’

‘Do not discompose yourself so much, my dear,’ said her companion, ‘my purse is at your service, if you will accept it.’

‘I am sensible of your goodness, Maria, but of course I shall not take advantage of it; no, no, I can do without the earrings — it is only a fancy, though to be sure I would rather have them.’

‘My pretty cousin,’ observed the marquis, who, till now, had remained a quiet though much-amused spectator of the whole scene, ‘you are certainly one of the most extravagant young ladies I know: why, what on earth can you possibly want with these trinkets? To my knowledge you have at least a dozen different sorts of ear-ornaments.’

‘That is true; but then these are quite of another kind; they are so pretty and unique that I could not help wishing for them.’

‘Well, since your heart is so much set upon the baubles, I will see whether my purse can compass their price, if you will allow me to accompany you to Mr. Lapis’s.’

‘Oh! thank you, Arthur, you are very kind,’ said Lady Julia, and both the ladies quickly made room for him as he sprang in and seated himself between them.

In a few minutes they reached the jeweller’s shop. Mr. Lapis received them with an obsequious bow, and proceeded to display his glittering stores. The pendants which had so fascinated Lady Julia were in the form of two brilliant little humming-birds, whose jewelled plumage equalled if not surpassed the bright hues of nature….

This gay and pleasant fragment of a story, in which the characters and scenes are so freshly drawn, may well be imagined as one of the best, if not the best, of these productions of the Brontë children. We may, indeed, regard the spirit and style of these early stories as the outcome of their eager and observant reading of the magazine and newspaper articles within their reach — when their plastic minds would receive indelible impressions, from which they, perhaps without knowing it, acquired the knowledge and practice of accurate literary composition, and of how to clothe their thoughts in fitting words. Their retentive memories, and their intuitive faculty of putting things, brought them thus early to the threshold of the republic of letters. Mrs. Gaskell states that these works were principally written by Charlotte in a hand so small as to be ‘almost impossible to decipher without the aid of a magnifying glass.’ The specimen she gives is written in an upright hand, and was an attempt to represent the stories in a kind of print, as near as might be to type. If, however, Charlotte and Emily ever accustomed themselves in these early works to this diminutive type-like writing, they threw it off completely in after-years. This, Branwell never did, and Mrs. Gaskell’s fac-simile page is not without some resemblance to one of his ordinary pages of manuscript reduced in size.

Mr. T. Wemyss Reid observes that Mrs. Gaskell, in speaking of the juvenile performances of the Brontë children, ‘paid exclusive attention to Charlotte’s productions.’ ‘All readers of the Brontë story,’ he says, ‘will remember the account of the play of “The Islanders,” and other remarkable specimens, showing with what real vigour and originality Charlotte could handle her pen while she was still in the first years of her teens.’ And he adds that ‘those few persons who have seen the whole of the juvenile library of the family bear testimony to the fact that Branwell and Emily were at least as industrious and successful as Charlotte herself.’