The 12 Days Of Bronte Christmas: Twelve

So here it is – Merry Christmas! I opened my curtains to not a single snowflake this morning, but we can still get in the festive mood by finalising our 12 day Brontë Christmas countdown!

In the famous song that we’ve been following for nearly two weeks now, the twelfth day brought with it a gift of 12 drummers drumming.

There are no records of a Brontë owning a drum, or even hearing a drum, but we know that the family loved music. Patrick bought a second hand piano that Emily (who was reportedly a brilliant player) and Anne Brontë played (Charlotte apparently didn’t play as she was too short sighted to read music), and you can still see it in Patrick’s study in the Brontë Parsonage today. Branwell Brontë also played the church organ from time to time, and flute.

There is one other instrument that has become associated with the Brontës, thanks to a poem by Emily, and it’s one which was in its infancy at the time although it has come to dominate the world of popular music today: the guitar. Here is Emily Brontë’s poem “The Lady To Her Guitar”:

So now we have concluded our 12 Days Of Brontë Christmas countdown. We’ve had to use a little artistic license on some days, but I hope you’ve enjoyed reading these posts as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them. Our song now reads: “On the twelfth day of Christmas the Brontës gave to me twelve strummers strumming, eleven trumpets playing, ten Lords a changing, nine sisters dancing, eight maids a loving, seven books a reading, six geese a straying, five Brontë rings, four coloured dogs, three French letters, two captive doves, and a merlin in a bare tree.”

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas, and I look forward to seeing you on Sunday for another new Brontë blog post. I leave you today, as on every Christmas Day for the last 11 years with Anne Brontë’s poem “Music On Christmas Morning”:

‘Music I love – but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine –
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes born.
Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel’s voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice;
To greet with joy the glorious morn,
Which angels welcomed long ago,
When our redeeming Lord was born,
To bring the light of Heaven below;
The Powers of Darkness to dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.
While listening to that sacred strain,
My raptured spirit soars on high;
I seem to hear those songs again
Resounding through the open sky,
That kindled such divine delight,
In those who watched their flocks by night.
With them – I celebrate His birth –
Glory to God, in highest Heaven,
Good will to men, and peace on Earth,
To us a saviour-king is given;
Our God is come to claim His own,
And Satan’s power is overthrown!
A sinless God, for sinful men,
Descends to suffer and to bleed;
Hell must renounce its empire then;
The price is paid, the world is freed.
And Satan’s self must now confess,
That Christ has earned a Right to bless:
Now holy Peace may smile from heaven,
And heavenly Truth from earth shall spring:
The captive’s galling bonds are riven,
For our Redeemer is our king;
And He that gave his blood for men
Will lead us home to God again.’