by Nick Holland
From an early age she showed a prodigious intellect that was well beyond her years. This is demonstrated by a recollection that her father gave to Mrs Gaskell at the time when she was writing her celebrated biography of Charlotte Brontë. Patrick was a very busy man, spending much of his day carrying out church services, baptisms and funerals or locked in his study. He believed that his children were too timid to share their true feelings with him, and so he came up with an ingenious way to break down the barriers between them and find out who they really were and how they felt. This is how he explained the scene:
When my children were very young, when as far as I can remember, the oldest was about ten years of age, and the youngest about four, thinking that they knew more than I had yet discovered, in order to make them speak with less timidity, I deemed that if they were put under a sort of cover I might gain my end; and happening to have a mask in the house, I told them all to stand and speak boldly from under the cover of the mask.
I began with the youngest (Anne, afterwards Acton Bell) and asked what a child like her most wanted; she answered, ‘Age and experience’. I asked the next (Emily, afterwards Ellis Bell) what I had best do with her brother Branwell, who was sometimes a naughty boy; she answered, ‘Reason with him, and when he won’t listen to reason, whip him’. I asked Branwell what was the best way of knowing the difference between the intellects of men and women; he answered, ‘By considering the difference between them as to their bodies’. I then asked Charlotte what was the best book in the world; she answered, ‘The Bible’. And what was the next best; she answered, ‘The Book of Nature’.1
Patrick then questioned his two eldest children, who were soon to meet their untimely end. He asked the practical Elizabeth what was the best form of education for a woman, to which she answered, ‘That which would make her rule her house well’. To his eldest child, Maria, he asked what was the best way of spending time, to which she replied, touchingly under the circumstances, ‘By laying it out in preparation for a happy eternity’.
This brief insight into the young Brontës told their father a lot about them, and it’s very revealing for us too. We can glean Charlotte’s love of reading, even at an early age, which is why Patrick asked what her favourite book was. We also get evidence of Branwell’s independent streak and inherent naughtiness at just 7 years old. In opposition to that, we have Emily’s common sense and high moral standards. And then, of course, we come to Anne. At just 4 years old she is a bright and precocious girl with a longing for the two things that fate decreed she would never be allowed to receive: age and experience.
We also learn something about the Brontë children as a whole, their love of drama and performance. Patrick realised that many of his children were taciturn by nature and prone to keeping secrets, traits that would remain with them all their lives. He also recognised that they could not resist the chance to perform, and this is the opportunity that a simple prop in the form of a mask gave them. They discovered the thrill that many actors down the centuries have experienced, the chance to set down their normally reserved characters and become someone completely different. Hidden behind the mask they could become like other people: confident, proud, ready to speak the truth come what may. It was something they would later bring to fruition under the masks of Acton, Currer and Ellis Bell.
It is easy to think of the young Brontës as scholarly children, sitting silently over books, somehow out of touch with the reality around them, but in fact they were as lively and fun loving as any other youngsters. Whilst books and magazines certainly did play a big part in their lives, as we shall see, it was their sense of fun and love of playing together that really lit the spark beneath their creativity.
The Reverend Patrick Brontë could be a very serious man, and to the end of his life he preferred spending long hours serving the church or reading and writing about political and social matters of the day to mixing in general society. Nevertheless he delighted in seeing his children happy, and he would often buy them toys, including ninepins, dolls and play houses.
One day he returned from a business journey to Leeds with presents for all his children. It was 5 June 1826, and his present was to change the course of literary history forever. It was late at night when he arrived back at the parsonage, and so the children would not get their gifts until the morning. For the 6-year-old Anne there was the delightful present of a dancing doll, crafted out of paper and with pins jointing the arms and legs allowing it to dance, but it was the present selected for Branwell that was to prove life changing for the whole family. Three years later, Charlotte recollected this day:
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 one up 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.2
It’s no surprise that Charlotte should choose the Duke of Wellington’s name for her soldier. She had grown up listening to tales of the great war hero, and her obsession with him would last a lifetime. For 10-year-old Charlotte, the Iron Duke and his sons Arthur and Charles Wellesley were as the latest boy band would be to a young girl today. We can only imagine her excitement when she finally met him in London’s Chapel Royal nearly a quarter of a century later. In a letter to Ellen Nussey dated 12 June 1850 she described him as a ‘real grand old man’.
We should also not be surprised at Branwell’s choice of Napoleon, at an early age taking delight in being an anti-hero rather than doing what was expected of him. The names that Charlotte and Branwell bestowed on their sisters’ soldiers are also telling. Even at this young age Emily could be gravely serious and quiet, and Anne was small and delicate, even if far from ‘queer looking’ by the accounts of others.
The soldiers grabbed the attention of all four children, yet we all know how quickly a child can grow tired with what has been their favourite toy. In this instance, however, it was to be an enduring love and one that would kindle the creative spark growing within them. All twelve were given names and their own individual characters. Together they were known as The Young Men or The Twelve, and in the children’s minds they were soldiers returning from the Peninsular War and seeking new adventures.
The Peninsular War lasted from 1807 to 1814 and formed part of what we now call the Napoleonic Wars. After years of fighting across Spain and Portugal, the Duke of Wellington, with his Iberian allies, defeated Napoleon and pushed him back to France. Whilst the war was over before any of the Brontë children were born they would have heard all about it from their father, who held a keen interest in all things relating to the military and was also a huge fan of his fellow Irishman, Wellesley.
The children would have also read recollections of the duke’s exploits in the newspapers that were taken at the parsonage. In 1829, Charlotte proudly revealed, ‘We take 2 or 3 newspapers a week. We take the Leeds Intelligencer, Tory, and the Leeds Mercury, Whig, and see the John Bull: it is high Tory, very violent.’3
The girls took after their father’s political leanings, becoming passionate Tories themselves. From the earliest age they took an interest in the cut and thrust of British politics, and would discuss matters with each other and with their father. After the death of their sister Maria, it was Branwell who would sit and read to the girls on occasions when their father was too busy or when he was resting his weak eyes. From these papers they not only learned about the political world but also about Britain’s military campaigns and the exciting adventures of explorers, like Mungo Park and his successors, who had opened up new co
ntinents to British eyes.
These stories were so exciting to the Brontë children that they began to re-enact them using their beloved set of twelve soldiers. It was a small step from here to letting their imagination take flight, and they first did this through the creation of plays. This was a daily occurrence. The four children would gather together for an hour in the evening and use their soldiers as inspiration for tales of heroism and romance which they would then re-enact. By 1829, Charlotte proudly revealed in her ‘History of the Year’ for 1829 that they had created three great plays entitled The Young Men, Our Fellows and The Islanders.4 These were the three plays that were not secret, although she also wrote of ‘bed plays’ that she composed with Emily and which must remain secret.
Charlotte and Emily were at this time sharing a bed, as was common in this era and necessitated by the lack of space provided by the parsonage. These bed plays show that even when they had retired to bed and were supposed to be sleeping, they were really composing new plays, verbally, well into the night. This was a secret, of course, that had to be kept from their strict Aunt Branwell, whilst the daytime plays could be revealed to all.
Anne was sharing a room with her aunt, so of course there was no hope of any night-time playing there. How she must have yearned for the evening hour when she could join her brother and sisters in inventing their fantastic tales. At any and every opportunity they acted out their wild stories, as shown by one incident when their father and aunt had both left the house, leaving the children in the care of Tabitha Aykroyd.
The children immediately began to act out one of their plays, and they were so immersed in their characters that Tabby had to run screaming from the house to fetch help from her nephew William. The story was later recounted by Francis Leyland, a friend of Branwell who had heard the story from eyewitnesses to the event. He has her saying, ‘William! William! Yah mun goa up to Mr Brontë’s for aw’m sure yon chiller’s all gooin mad, and I dar’nt stop ith house ony longer wi’em; and aw’ll stay here woll yah come back!’5
Seeing how frightened his Aunt Tabitha was, William marched off to the parsonage, only to be greeted by a ‘great cackling of laughter’ when he came in sight of the children. They were delighted at how effective their playing and acting had been.
We have a record of another such event. The cemetery of St Michael and All Angels’ church lies at the foot of the parsonage garden and is today shaded all round by trees. The garden was very different in the 1820s, however, bare and barren, which is why Patrick Brontë took such pride in the cherry tree growing outside the parsonage. One day, during the course of their playing, the children decided to re-enact the flight of King Charles I after the Battle of Worcester. It was Emily who displayed typical fearlessness and climbed into the tree to act as the king in hiding. Alas one of the branches snapped off, leaving the children less worried about Emily’s fall than about what their father would say when he saw the damage.
Showing great ingenuity, they ran to the house next to the parsonage, which was home to John Brown, the young village sexton who had recently succeeded his father in the role. Amused by the girls’ antics, he was easily persuaded to paint the damaged area brown in an attempt to cover up the missing branch. Their efforts were to no avail, however, as their father spotted the missing branch immediately upon his return. Nancy Garrs told Patrick that it was she who had accidentally broken the branch, but he must have known the handiwork of his mischievous, fun-loving children.6
From this we can see the affection and loyalty to the children of those who knew them, in the way that John Brown and Nancy Garrs attempted to cover for them, but also how boisterous the young Brontës could be. In contrast to their bookish, cloistered image, they loved to play as much as any other children then or now. It’s a heartening image when we consider that by this point they had already lost two sisters and a mother.
Patrick Brontë was an enlightened man for the time, and he indulged his children in both their playing and their learning. He had an extensive library himself, and he allowed his children to read any book that they wanted from it rather than saying that some books were unsuitable for girls, as many other fathers would have done. He also passed on the magazines that were to have such an important influence on the next stage of their creative development.
As well as the patriotic John Bull magazine, Patrick received a new periodical called Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, which was lent to him by a parishioner called Dr Driver and then passed on to his children. This magazine featured some of the greatest writers of the day, including James Hogg, known as the Ettrick Shepherd, and Thomas de Quincey, known as the Opium Eater. The magazine featured political and philosophical discussions, as well as reviews of all the latest literary works, often including lengthy extracts from them. Nothing was as eagerly anticipated by the Brontë children as a new edition passed into their eager hands. From 1832, the parsonage also took a subscription to Fraser’s Magazine, another source of literary news and opinion.
There were some books in the parsonage library that were especially prized by the children’s young eyes and minds. Tales from the Arabian Nights was read on an almost daily basis, as was Tales of the Genii by James Ridley, writing under the pen name of Sir Charles Morrell, and Aesop’s Fables. They also loved Gulliver’s Travels and Pilgrims Progress, along with the poetry of Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott. In Christmas 1828 they received Scott’s Tales of a Grandfather from Aunt Branwell, showing that she did indeed have a thoughtful and caring side. It’s a book that recounts a series of tales around episodes of Scottish history, featuring characters such as Mary, Queen of Scots. It was a big hit in the parsonage, and it sparked a lifelong love of Sir Walter Scott and all things Scottish among the Brontës.
Fiction wasn’t the only thing that caught their imagination. One particularly cherished book was the beautifully illustrated A History of British Birds by Thomas Bewick. We can tell the impact that it had on the children by the fact that it features in two Brontë novels. Bewick’s history is the book that Jane Eyre is reading as a child, hidden behind the curtains, before being found and attacked by her monstrous cousin.7 It is also the book that Helen Huntingdon, the eponymous tenant of Wildfell Hall, gives her son Arthur to read to distract him while she discusses matters of love with Gilbert Markham.8 We can here read Anne Brontë’s own opinion of the book, put into the mouth of the young boy after he runs excitedly towards Gilbert: ‘Look, Mr Markham, a natural history with all kinds of birds and beasts in it, and the reading as nice as the pictures!’9
As well as Bewick’s history, they also delighted in studying the Grammar of General Geography by J. Goldsmith (a pen name of Sir Richard Phillips). This collection of maps and drawings showed the growing understanding of the world around Britain as the extent of its military and trade influence grew. Nevertheless, there were vast swathes of land that were still unknown, and it was these that captured the children’s imagination. They added details of explorations reported by Blackwood’s, but there was soon a new land added to the maps: the land that was to become known as the Great Glass Town Confederacy. The Brontës’ imaginations had now taken a leap from verbal enactments to the written word.
In their new collaborative adventure, The Twelve had become shipwrecked at the delta of the Niger River and had headed into the heart of Africa to form their own lands. The chief characters were once again the four soldiers that they had snatched so eagerly on that day in 1826. Charlotte’s soldier was given control of ‘Wellingtonsland’. Branwell’s soldier was now called ‘Sneaky’, from which we again get an early insight into his character, and he formed ‘Sneakysland’. Emily and Anne’s soldiers had by now taken on the name of two Arctic explorers who had caught their imagination, and Emily was in charge of ‘Parrysland’ while Anne’s soldier founded ‘Rossesland’.10
At the heart of each land was a capital made of glass, the mighty glass towns themselves, and the lands were populated by lords and ladies, politicians and poets, s
orcerers and adventurers. By 1829 their adventures were being chronicled in exquisitely written books that were the size of postage stamps. Examples of the tiny books can be seen today at the Brontë Parsonage Museum, readable only through a powerful magnifying glass.
These famous little books aren’t the first example of Brontë writing that we have, however. That honour goes to a charming little story that a 10-year-old Charlotte wrote for her 6-year-old youngest sister, and it begins, ‘There was once a little girl and her name was Ane’.11 The short story is illustrated by the author as well, and it tells of how the little girl explores a castle in London and then sails off on an adventure with her parents, who are very rich. It’s a touching story designed to delight young Anne’s heart, helping her imagine how life would be if she were from a rich family and still had a mother to love her. It is noted in the story that ‘Ane’s Mama was very sick and Ane attended her with so much care. She gave her medicine.’ Charlotte also gives us a portrayal of Anne as ‘not too much indulged’ and says that ‘by and by she became a good girl’. Charlotte wasn’t the only one to produce drawings to please little Anne. Branwell too would draw elaborate pictures of fairy-tale castles and thatched cottages that he inscribed ‘for Anne’. It was a brotherly kindness that Anne would always cherish and remember.
Charlotte’s composition skills increased immeasurably in the years after this first tale, as we can tell from the little books that she contributed to. Each tiny book was stitched together by hand beneath a brown paper cover, and they tell the complex stories of Glass Town, which would become known as Verdopolis, and then later focused on the nearby land of Angria. Whilst other children in the same era, John Ruskin being a notable example, also produced little books, none possessed the sheer sophistication, wit and flair that the Brontës brought to theirs. Alongside the stories themselves, there are songs, maps and illustrations, as well as miniature adverts for imaginary products that are both satirical and comical.
