Author: insearchofannebronte@hotmail.com

In yesterday’s post I revealed that next Sunday’s blog will be an Anne Brontë birthday special, but I couldn’t let the big day pass by unnoticed. Anne Brontë was born on this day in 1820 in Thornton Parsonage near Bradford. She was the sixth and final child of Patrick and Maria Brontë, but she deserves to be remembered alongside her sisters Charlotte and Emily as one of the greatest writers of the nineteenth century.

Anne Brontë was a brilliant poet and (most importantly of all) a brilliant and kind person, and she wrote two of the greatest novels of the nineteenth century. Agnes Grey was a partially autobiographical work about life as a governess in the first half of the nineteenth century; The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall shone a light upon coercive relationships, addiction and marital abuse: it has been called the first fully formed feminist novel, and is just as important and relevant today as it was when it was published in 1848.

Anne Brontë was an ordinary woman who created extraordinary things, so that can be an inspiration to us all. I’ll be baking a cake later and raising a glass to Anne’s memory, and of course the best way to remember Anne is to turn once more to one of Anne’s wonderful books. I hope to see you again next Sunday for a more in depth birthday post for Anne but for now I will leave you with one of her most beautiful poems and say: ‘Happy 202^nd birthday Anne Brontë!’

Advances in medicine really are one of the miracles of our age; after all, just think how much worse this pandemic would have been without vaccines. Our medics and scientists understand a lot about maladies, the human body, and which chemical combinations can combat which conditions, but we don’t have to go too far back to a time when things were very different indeed. In today’s post we’re going to look at medicine and the Brontës, and look ahead to a special day tomorrow.

It’s a particularly timely day to look at the medicine taken by the Brontës, for on this day in 1852 Charlotte Brontë wrote to Ellen Nussey regarding some medication which she’d been prescribed: and which we certainly wouldn’t dream of taking today. Before we take a look at that letter, however, let’s head back to the 14^th January 1852 to another letter in which we get the first details of the complaint:

Ellen is clearly concerned because she hadn’t heard from Charlotte in a while, and wondered if she was ill? Charlotte was indeed under the weather, and Mr Ruddock the Haworth physician has prescribed an alterative medicine. This was a kind of medicine designed to alter the status of the digestive system: without putting too fine a point on it, Charlotte was suffering from an acute case of constipation. Left to itself she would doubtless have been fine in a day or two, but Ruddock’s medicine did more harm than good, for it was mercury.

Mercury was commonly prescribed for a wide range of conditions in the nineteenth century. It was infamously used to treat syphilis, with horrendous results, but ‘blue mercurial pills’ could be used as a purgative or to treat digestive complaints such as Charlotte’s.

Charlotte correctly surmised, however, that the pills were causing her malady rather than relieving it, and since taking them she has started to feel better. Nevertheless, by this day in 1852 the effects of this potentially deadly medicine were still being felt:

Ellen is desperate to see Charlotte again, and we can guess the tone of her correspondence by looking at Charlotte’s replies. On 14^th January she urges Ellen to “be quite tranquil”, and two days later she is telling her, “Be quiet. Be tranquil.” Charlotte must be longing for that tranquillity herself, but the effects of her recent mercury medicine have made this a difficult task. As she says, “you can have little idea of the condition into which Mercury throws people to ask me to go from home anywhere in close or open carriage, and as to talking four days since I could not well have articulated three sentences – my mouth and tongue are ulcerated.”

These are classic symptoms of mercury poisoning; if Charlotte had not stopped taking Dr. Ruddock’s medicine at the dosage he prescribed it could have been the end of her. Thankfully for us all, Charlotte was soon better and by the end of January she was well enough to join Ellen at Brookroyd. Tranquillity was restored. There was to be no such happy outcome to the next medical letter we’re going to examine. On this occasion we head back to this week in 1849:

Less than a month after Emily’s death from consumption (tuberculosis), Anne Brontë is following the same terrible path. This must have been a dreadful ordeal for Charlotte, but at least Anne is willing to try medical solutions, something which Emily had always refused – calling it quackery. As we saw from Charlotte’s alterative medicine, prescriptions at this time were indeed often quackery, but people at the time believed them to be at least partially effective. Anne tried to take her cod-liver oil and carbonate of iron, but eventually found herself unable to swallow them without being sick, a counter-productive result with a wasting disease such as tuberculosis.

Other medications of the time routinely contained opium and alcohol. Patrick Brontë was prescribed an eye solution which contained alcohol to treat his cataracts and failing eyesight, but this led to rumours that the parish priest (and founder of Haworth’s temperance society) had turned to drink.

On 4^th October 1843 Patrick wrote to church trustee John Greenwood to explain the situation, stating: ‘They keep propagating false reports – I mean to single out one or two of these slanderers, and to prosecute them, as the Law directs. I have lately been using a lotion for my eyes, which are very weak – and they have ascribed the smell of that to a smell of a more objectionable character.’

We saw earlier the approach of a sad moment in the Anne Brontë story, but let’s finish by looking ahead to a happier one. Tomorrow marks the beginning of the Anne Brontë story, her two hundred and second birthday. We can imagine the excitement, not to say trepidation in Thornton Parsonage on this day in 1820 as the moment grew ever nearer. The Brontë children were sent to nearby Kipping House to be looked after by the Firth family, and Maria and Patrick prepared to welcome their sixth child. I hope you can join me next Sunday for an Anne Brontë birthday special. Cake isn’t compulsory but is recommended. When creating a filling do remember that jam and butter cream are excellent ideas, but mercury rather less so.

Well, we’ve made it through a whole week of 2022. Have you noticed a difference yet? Charlotte Brontë certainly noticed a difference in the first week of 1844 for she began it in Belgium and ended it among her familiar Yorkshire moors. In today’s Brontë blog post we’re going to look at Charlotte Brontë’s return from Brussels, and what it meant for her writing.

Charlotte Brontë first arrived in Brussels in February 1842, alongside her sister Emily whilst Anne was sadly ensconced as a governess at Thorp Green Hall near York. They returned to Haworth in November of that year after the death of Aunt Branwell, unfortunately arriving too late for her funeral. Home loving Emily decided to remain in Haworth, but Charlotte insisted upon returning to Brussels. Ostensibly this was so she could continue honing her language skills prior to opening a school with her sisters, but in reality it had a lot to do with the fact that she had fallen in love with her French master Constantin Heger. Unfortunately, he was the husband of the school’s proprietor.

It was never going to end well, even though after her return from Haworth Charlotte was elevated to the position of teacher rather than simply being a pupil. By the end of 1843, the atmosphere in the Brussels Pensionnat (school) had become rather strained. An 1896 obituary for Constantin Heger, written by his friend Albert Colin, gave an insight into Madame Heger’s feelings by late 1843:

‘At the end of two years [after Charlotte Brontë’s 1842 entrance into the Pensionnat], the future English novelist spoke and wrote correctly the language of Bossuet, Racine and Voltaire. Once this had been achieved, Madame Heger, considering that her part of the contract morally entered into between herself and Charlotte had been completely fulfilled, refused to receive Miss Brontë a third year in her school. According to the statements of her own schoolfellows, the daughter of the English clergyman [sic] was anything but popular. She was also older than the other pupils, among whom she perhaps felt herself to be in a somewhat undignified position. Madame Heger was, therefore, not sorry to put an end to the connection.’

It seems therefore that Charlotte had requested to stay in Brussels, and presumably continue her work as a teacher, but had been refused. She was left with no choice but to return to England, and on 29^th December 1843 her time at the Pensionnat was drawn to an official end with the presentation to her of a diploma certifying that she had completed her studies. The diploma is lost, but not the envelope it came in, for Charlotte herself has written on the outside: ‘Diploma given to me by Monsieur Heger Decbr 29^th 1843.’ It had come from Constantin Heger, it must be treasured.

A sad new year indeed it must have seemed for Charlotte, for on the first of January 1844 she turned and took a final look at the Pensionnat, her eyes perhaps moving one last time to the window of the study of Monsieur Heger. As her carriage took her away from the city and towards the coast, did she know that this would be the last time she would ever see Brussels, or did she think she would be returning again one day when Madame Heger’s heart had softened?

After two days of travelling, on 3^rd January 1844, Charlotte Brontë arrived back in Haworth to find that Anne and Branwell were preparing to leave for York, her best friend Ellen was staying with her brother Henry in Sussex, and her father was nearly blind. But she was home, and she was loved.

In the days that followed Charlotte must have realised that her European adventure was over, and she was left “tamed down and broken”. On 23^rd January Charlotte finally raised the energy to write to Ellen, and a fascinating yet melancholic letter it is:

It’s also interesting to note that before leaving for Brussels in 1842 she had to persuade her Aunt Elizabeth to pay for the travel and tuition for herself and Emily, but now she has enough money to open her own school if she wanted to. The reason, of course, is that she (along with sisters Emily and Anne and cousin Eliza Kingston of Penzance) has now inherited a considerable sum of money from her Aunt’s will.

The school idea was now possible, but it would never open. The money would eventually be put to even greater use: it funded the publication of the first Brontë book, Poems by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell and the entrance of the Brontës into the world of literature. Charlotte’s time in Brussels, and the manner of her return from it, also played a great role in those classic novels to come.

Charlotte had been in love with Constantin Heger, an unrequited love that seeped into her bones and played restlessly with her mind. There was no outlet in the despairing letters that she sent to Monsieur Heger as they went unacknowledged and unanswered; it must have another outlet.

In Charlotte’s letters sent from Brussels we see that Monsieur Heger was a stern man with a hard countenance, one who does not show emotions easily, and yet it was these qualities that won Charlotte’s esteem and then heart. In May 1842 she had written to Ellen:

‘There is one individual of whom I have not yet spoken: Monsieur Heger the husband of Madame. He is professor of Rhetoric, a man of power as to mind but very choleric and irritable in temperament – a little, black, ugly being with a face that varies in expression. Sometimes he borrows the lineaments of an insane Tom-cat – sometimes those of a delirious hyena – occasionally, but very seldom, he discards these perilous attractions and assumes an air not above a hundred degrees removed from what you would call mild and gentleman-like.’

Surely from this we see more than a hint of Edward Rochester? When Bessie asks Jane about her employer she replies:

‘She wanted to know if I was happy at Thornfield Hall, and what sort of a person the mistress was; and when I told her there was only a master, whether he was a nice gentleman, and if I liked him. I told her he was rather an ugly man, but quite a gentleman; and that he treated me kindly, and I was content.’

We get a similar portrait of Paul Emanuel in Villette, as in this scene at the Hotel Crecy party: ‘Amongst the gentlemen, I may incidentally observe, I had already noticed by glimpses, a severe, dark, professorial outline, hovering aloof in an inner saloon, seen only in vista. M. Emanuel knew many of the gentlemen present, but I think was a stranger to most of the ladies, excepting myself; in looking towards the hearth, he could not but see me, and naturally made a movement to approach; seeing, however, Dr. Bretton also, he changed his mind and held back. If that had been all, there would have been no cause for quarrel; but not satisfied with holding back, he puckered up his eyebrows, protruded his lip, and looked so ugly that I averted my eyes from the displeasing spectacle.’

In short there can be no doubt in my mind that without Brussels and Monsieur Heger there could have been no such brilliantly realised characters as Rochester and Monsieur Emanuel, and therefore neither Jane Eyre nor Villette. More specifically it seems to me that these characters, and the novels they loom over, could not have existed without the manner of Charlotte Brontë’s exit from Brussels at the dawn of 1844. If she had left contended and happy these images would not have continued to brood in her mind only to burst forth so dramatically onto paper in the years to come.

We can never know what moments today which may seem sad and inauspicious may yet yield treasures of gold in the future, so whatever this new year throws at you keep going and keep believing in yourself. Charlotte Brontë did, and we can all be thankful for that.

Today also marks the anniversary of the death of Madame Clare Heger. She passed away on the 9^th of January 1890. Madame Heger also played a vital role in the Brontë literary story, although neither she nor Charlotte could have known it at the time. There are plenty more stories to tell, so I hope you can join me again next week for another new Brontë blog post. A bientot!

Happy New Year (a day late, but the sentiment is still there) to you all. I’ve loved sharing my Brontë blog posts with you over the last year, and I’ve really appreciated all your support, kind words, suggestions, comments and emails. There’s a lot of Brontë love out there, and I know that’s going to continue into 2022, whatever the world throws at us.

In today’s new post we’re going to look at the Bronte’s and New Year, and you’ll see a smattering of typically idiosyncratic Victorian new year cards, like the one above. Just what was the new year celebration like in Haworth Parsonage? Well we know that Anne Brontë enjoyed playing Auld Lang Syne on the parsonage piano as we have here her hand written score and words to the song, copied out by her into her music book. We can easily imagine Anne playing it and singing along as the new year approached (Ellen Nussey testified how Anne loved to sing and that she had a quiet yet sweet voice); perhaps the Brontë family would have joined in, just as we still do nearly two hundred years later?

We can get another possible glimpse into what the coming of a new year in the Brontë novels, for it features in three of them. In Jane Eyre we see how New Year, along with Christmas, was a time for celebration, yet young Jane was excluded from the celebrations. Even so, Jane is happy in her own company as long as she had something to love – in this case her beloved doll.

Jane Eyre

‘November, December, and half of January passed away. Christmas and the New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead with the usual festive cheer; presents had been interchanged, dinners and evening parties given. From every enjoyment I was, of course, excluded: my share of the gaiety consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana, and seeing them descend to the drawing-room, dressed out in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes, with hair elaborately ringletted; and afterwards, in listening to the sound of the piano or the harp played below, to the passing to and fro of the butler and footman, to the jingling of glass and china as refreshments were handed, to the broken hum of conversation as the drawing-room door opened and closed. When tired of this occupation, I would retire from the stairhead to the solitary and silent nursery: there, though somewhat sad, I was not miserable. To speak truth, I had not the least wish to go into company, for in company I was very rarely noticed; and if Bessie had but been kind and companionable, I should have deemed it a treat to spend the evenings quietly with her, instead of passing them under the formidable eye of Mrs. Reed, in a room full of ladies and gentlemen. But Bessie, as soon as she had dressed her young ladies, used to take herself off to the lively regions of the kitchen and housekeeper’s room, generally bearing the candle along with her. I then sat with my doll on my knee till the fire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure that nothing worse than myself haunted the shadowy room; and when the embers sank to a dull red, I undressed hastily, tugging at knots and strings as I best might, and sought shelter from cold and darkness in my crib. To this crib I always took my doll; human beings must love something, and, in the dearth of worthier objects of affection, I contrived to find a pleasure in loving and cherishing a faded graven image, shabby as a miniature scarecrow. It puzzles me now to remember with what absurd sincerity I doated on this little toy, half fancying it alive and capable of sensation. I could not sleep unless it was folded in my night-gown; and when it lay there safe and warm, I was comparatively happy, believing it to be happy likewise.’

In Wuthering Heights we see the new year mark two very different events. It falls at the very conclusion of the novel, with new beginnings springing from the close of this epic story. Heathcliff is buried and Hareton and Cathy are to be married on New Year’s Day:

Wuthering Heights

‘We buried him, to the scandal of the whole neighbourhood, as he wished. Earnshaw and I, the sexton, and six men to carry the coffin, comprehended the whole attendance. The six men departed when they had let it down into the grave: we stayed to see it covered. Hareton, with a streaming face, dug green sods, and laid them over the brown mould himself: at present it is as smooth and verdant as its companion mounds—and I hope its tenant sleeps as soundly. But the country folks, if you ask them, would swear on the Bible that he walks: there are those who speak to having met him near the church, and on the moor, and even within this house. Idle tales, you’ll say, and so say I. Yet that old man by the kitchen fire affirms he has seen two on ’em looking out of his chamber window on every rainy night since his death:—and an odd thing happened to me about a month ago. I was going to the Grange one evening—a dark evening, threatening thunder—and, just at the turn of the Heights, I encountered a little boy with a sheep and two lambs before him; he was crying terribly; and I supposed the lambs were skittish, and would not be guided.

“What is the matter, my little man?” I asked.

“There’s Heathcliff and a woman yonder, under t’ nab,” he blubbered, “un’ I darnut pass ’em.”

I saw nothing; but neither the sheep nor he would go on so I bid him take the road lower down. He probably raised the phantoms from thinking, as he traversed the moors alone, on the nonsense he had heard his parents and companions repeat. Yet, still, I don’t like being out in the dark now; and I don’t like being left by myself in this grim house: I cannot help it; I shall be glad when they leave it, and shift to the Grange.

“They are going to the Grange, then?” I said.

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Dean, “as soon as they are married, and that will be on New Year’s Day.”

“And who will live here then?”

“Why, Joseph will take care of the house, and, perhaps, a lad to keep him company. They will live in the kitchen, and the rest will be shut up.”

“For the use of such ghosts as choose to inhabit it?” I observed.

“No, Mr. Lockwood,” said Nelly, shaking her head. “I believe the dead are at peace: but it is not right to speak of them with levity.”’

Another new year wedding is taking place in Charlotte Brontë’s first-written novel The Professor. Again it follows swiftly on the heels of a burial, with the circle of life replacing death with new hope and a new beginning, just as we see in the end of one year leading to the start of the next one. Frances seems strangely distraught at her wedding but I won’t give away how married life turns out for her!

The Professor

‘In two months more Frances had fulfilled the time of mourning for her aunt. One January morning – the first of the new year holidays – I went in a fiacre, accompanied only by M. Vandenhuten, to the Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges, and haying alighted alone and walked upstairs, I found Frances apparently waiting for me, dressed in a style scarcely appropriate to that cold, bright, frosty day. Never till now had I seen her attired in any other than black or sad-coloured stuff; and there she stood by the window, clad all in white, and white of a most diaphanous texture ; her array was very simple to be sure, but it looked imposing and festal because it was so clear, full, and floating; a veil shadowed her head, and hung below her knee; a little wreath of pink flowers fastened it to her thickly tressed Grecian plat, and thence it fell softly on each side of her face. Singular to state, she was, or had been crying; when I asked her if she were ready she said “Yes, monsieur,” with something very like a checked sob, and when I took a shawl, which lay on the table, and folded it round her, not only did tear after tear course unbidden down her cheek, but she shook to my ministration like a reed. I said I was sorry to see her in such low spirits, and requested to be allowed an insight into the origin thereof. She only said, “It was impossible to help it,” and then voluntarily though hurriedly putting her hand into mine, accompanied me out of the room, and ran downstairs with a quick, uncertain step, like one who was eager to get some formidable piece of business over. I put her into the fiacre. M. Vandenhuten received her, and seated her beside himself; we drove all together to the Protestant chapel, went through a certain service in the Common Prayer Book, and she and I came out married. M. Vandenhuten had given the bride away.’

We also see more direct evidence of Brontë attitudes to the new year in two letters of Charlotte Brontë. The first is one of the earliest still known to exist, dated 1^st January 1833 it was sent from Charlotte Brontë to her school friend Ellen Nussey. In it Charlotte reveals her thoughts at the start of every new year: how has she improved over the previous twelve months, and what can she do to improve herself in the next twelve?

Fast forward twenty years and we see Charlotte once again writing to her Nell. They are both now fully embarked upon adult life, but Charlotte still thinks of Ellen on new year’s night. Ellen has been at home at Brookroyd, Birstall charged with tea making duties – obviously an onerous task. A very different task has been occupying Charlotte as she sets about correcting the proofs of Villette whilst at the same time concerning herself with the fate of Arthur Bell Nicholls – she has rejected his recent proposal and now everyone has turned against him. Martha is bitter against him and her father John wants to shoot him!

 

Nevertheless, Charlotte married Arthur, and Martha became best friends with him, eventually living with Arthur and his second wife in Ireland. It goes to show that we never know what the year will bring when we embark upon it. My resolution for this year? Read even more books, and finally finish my Charlotte and Ellen book, I know that a lot of you have been waiting for it. Sorry, it won’t be long now.

Have a great 2022, and I hope to see you again next week for another new Brontë blog post. Happy new year to you and all you love!

The day has finally arrived! As I type this I’m listening to festive songs while munching on some breakfast shortbread. It’s Christmas Day! In today’s special Christmas post we’re going to look at my Brontë themed 12 days of Christmas countdown and finish, as always, with Anne Brontë’s poem ‘Music On Christmas Morning’.

Over on Twitter (where I’m @Nick_Holland_) I’ve been tweeting a 12 days of Brontë every day leading up to today, so lets take a look at the twelve daily ‘gifts’, along with brief explanations of what they are:

 

A Merlin in a bare tree!

‘Nero, body of a merlin’, a portrait by Emily Brontë of her tame hawk.

Two knitted gloves

These knitted gloves, with a subtle decoration, are part of the Brontë Parsonage Museum collection. They are 185mm long and 100mm wide, a medium in today’s sizing. That leads me to think they belonged to Emily – the tallest Brontë.

Three French lessons

These pages are from Patrick Brontë’s own French phrasebook. He copied relevant sections out before journeying to Brussels with Charlotte and Emily in 1842. Phrases are presented in English, then French, and then phonetically. ‘Must be fully mastered’, Patrick has written to himself.

Four tiny books

These are among the tiny books written by Charlotte Brontë between 1829 and 1837 and clearly show the progression in her handwriting and her writing ability. They are part of the Honresfield Blavatnik Library which was recently saved for the nation!

Five old rings

These five rings were all worn by the Brontës. We see, top left, Charlotte’s tiny gold, diamond and garnet ring; top right, a ring which opens to reveal a lock of Emily’s hair; bottom left, a mourning ring containing the hair of Anne and Emily; bottom right, Charlotte’s pearl ring; in the centre is Charlotte Brontë’s gold wedding ring.

Six Brontë pets

The Brontës (like anyone sensible) loved animals. first, Anne’s picture of her spaniel Flossy; second, Emily’s picture ‘Keeper from life’; third, Emily’s ‘Grasper from life’; fourth, ‘Brontë Pets’ by brilliant artist Amanda White: as well as Flossy (again) it features Dick the canary and Brontë geese (a laying) Adelaide and Victoria. The original of this hangs proudly on my wall.

Seven Brontë novels

The seven Brontë novels in order of publication: Jane Eyre, Agnes Grey, Wuthering Heights (published jointly with Agnes Grey), The Tenant Of Wildfell Hall, Shirley, Villette and The Professor (written earlier but published posthumously).

Eight Janes A Eyreing

Which is your favourite screen Jane? Here we have Virginia Bruce (1934), Joan Fontaine (1943), Susannah York (1970), Sorcha Cusack (1973), Zelah Clarke (1983), Samantha Morton (1997), Ruth Wilson (2006), Mia Wasikowska (2011). There was lots of support for Charlotte Gainsbourg’s 1996 portrayal too, but alas the song limits us to eight!

Nine Brontë-inspired ladies dancing

Here I paid tribute to two wonderful Brontë ballets. The first four images are from Northern Ballet’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ and the last four from Northern Ballet’s ‘Jane Eyre’. The middle image, of course, is from the unforgettable Kate Bush dance to her great song Wuthering Heights.

Ten Brontë Friends

The first five friends pre-date Charlotte’s fame: Mary Taylor, Martha Brown, Arthur Bell Nicholls (who became more than a friend of course), Margaret Wooler and Ellen Nussey; the second set of five are literary-related friends of Charlotte: Elizabeth Gaskell, William Makepeace Thackeray, George Smith, W. S. Williams, and Harriet Martineau.

Eleven Heathcliffs Sniping

We’ve had Jane, but who was your favourite Heathcliff? Choose from Milton Rosmer (1920), Laurence Olivier (1939), Charlton Heston (1950), Richard Burton (1958), Keith Michell (1962), Ian McShane (1967), Timothy Dalton (1970 – he also played a brilliant Rochester opposite Zelah Clarke’s Jane 13 years later), Ralph Fiennes (1992), Cliff Richard (1996), Tom Hardy (2009) and James Howson (2011).

Twelve Brontë Treasures

There are so many Brontë treasures that I absolutely love, so picking just a dozen was tough. Here they are, and I’m going to describe them in top left, top right, bottom left, bottom right order for the following three squares:

Anne Bronte’s handkerchief: embroidered with her initials by Anne, this is a sad item as it bears her blood. Nevertheless, I always think it could be used to clone her one day! Onto more cheery items now.

The pillar portrait by Branwell Brontë – showing Anne, Emily and Charlotte as teenagers with (probably, or could it be his father?) Branwell himself painted out behind a pillar.

Smelling salts bottles of Maria Branwell and Elizabeth Branwell; ornate and with beautiful gilding they show the luxurious lifestyle enjoyed in Penzance by the Brontës’ mother and aunt.

Brontë toys that were found under the parsonage floorboards; the selection includes a tiny china doll, alphabet blocks and a toy iron. Keeper’s huge collar also makes an appearance on the right!

‘Sunrise Over Sea’ by Anne Brontë; this beautiful painting is full of optimism, and was painted by Anne before she ever saw the sea that she came to love.

A first edition of Poems by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell, the first Brontë book – and the rest is literary history!

A dress of Charlotte Brontë, complete with gloves, stockings and parasol. It should be noted that I had to squash (technical term) this image slightly to fit in the square, so it’s a bit longer and narrower than this in real life, but just as beautiful and evocative.

Maria Brontë’s needle case, which she presented to a school friend at the Clergy Daughter’s school, Cowan Bridge. It contains the only handwriting we have of the eldest Brontë sibling.

Brontë writing desks; these beautiful writing desks, or slopes as they are also called, could be used to hold pens, nibs, pencils, ink, cutting tools and paper, and were used to write some of the greatest books the world has ever seen.

A captivating Brontë bonnet collection. Particularly lovely are Charlotte’s wedding bonnet (top left), and the tiny bonnet worn on the big day by her bridesmaid Ellen Nussey (centre right).

Anne Brontë’s jewellery. I especially love the orange carnelian necklace as Charlotte drew her youngest sister wearing it.

Anne Brontë drawn by Charlotte Brontë. Anne was drawn three times by Charlotte, but this is my favourite. To the right of the picture you can see where Charlotte has also drawn Anne’s eye looking upwards.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my twelve days of Brontë rundown; I’ve certainly enjoyed all your support and comments over the last year, it’s meant a lot to me. I hope you’ve enjoyed my blog posts and Deo volente there will be lots more to come in 2022, so until then I wish you a very merry, peaceful and love-filled Christmas day, and leave you, as per my tradition, with Anne Brontë’s ‘Music On Christmas Morning’. I’ll see you next Sunday, in a new year, for another new Brontë blog post.

“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.”

Christmas is nearly upon us, and of course an extra reason for celebration has arrived as we got the news this week that the Honresfield library collection of literary treasures has been saved for the nation rather than being sold to the highest bidder. Great news, but this day in 1848 brought tragic news to Haworth Parsonage: it was at 2pm on this day 173 years ago that Emily Brontë died.

We will not dwell too long on Emily’s final illness, on her brave determination not to be cowed by consumption; that is something Emily’s family had to struggle with. Instead, let us pay tribute to Emily’s life and work. If her life seemed, on the surface, unremarkable, her work was truly remarkable. In today’s new post we’re going to look at what some of those who knew Emily Brontë had to say about her, as well as showcasing some of her artistic productions.

Charlotte Brontë

‘In Emily’s nature the extremes of vigour and simplicity seemed to meet. Under an unsophisticated culture, inartificial tastes, and an unpretending outside, lay a secret power and fire that might have informed the brain and kindled the veins of a hero.’

Ellen Nussey

‘Emily had by this time acquired a lithesome, graceful figure. She was the tallest person in the house, except her father. Her hair, which was naturally as beautiful as Charlotte’s, was in the same unbecoming tight curl and frizz, and there was the same want of complexion. She had very beautiful eyes, kind, kindling, liquid eyes; but she did not often look at you: she was too reserved. She talked very little. She and Anne were like twins – inseparable companions, and in the very closest sympathy, which never had any interruption…

I have at this time before me the history of a mighty and passionate soul, whom every adventure that makes for the sorrow or gladness of man would seem to have passed by with averted head. It is of Emily Brontë I speak, than whom the first 50 years of this century produced no woman of greater or more incontestable genius.’

John Greenwood

‘Patrick had such unbounded confidence in his daughter Emily that he resolved to learn her to shoot too. They used to practice with pistols. Let her be ever so busy in her domestic duties, whether in the kitchen baking bread at which she had such a dainty hand, or at her studies, rapt in a world of her own creating – it mattered not; if he called upon her to take a lesson, she would put all down. His tender and affectionate “Now, my dear girl, let me see how well you can shoot today”, was irresistible to her filial nature and her most winning and musical voice would be heard to ring through the house in response, “Yes, papa” and away she would run with such a hearty good will taking the board from him, and tripping like a fairy to the bottom of the garden, putting it in its proper position, then returning to her dear revered parent, take the pistol which he had primed and loaded for her. “Now my girl” he would say, “take time, be steady”. “Yes papa” she would say taking the weapon with as firm a hand, and as steady an eye as any veteran of the camp, and fire. Then she would run to fetch the board for him to see how she had succeeded. And she did get so proficient, that she was rarely far from the mark. His “how cleverly you have done, my dear girl”, was all she cared for. “Oh!” He would exclaim, “she is a brave and noble girl. She is my right-hand, nay the very apple of my eye!”

Sarah Wood

‘“Do I remember the Brontës?” was her greeting. “I should rather think I did. Miss Charlotte was my Sunday-school teacher. She was nice. But Miss Anne was my favourite: such a gentle creature.” “And Miss Emily?” Miss Parry asked. “Oh, you see, ma’am, I don’t know much about Miss Emily, she was very shy; but Martha loved her: she said she was so kind.”’

Martha Brown

‘Many’s the time that I have seen Miss Emily put down the tally-iron as she was ironing the clothes to scribble something on a piece of paper. Whatever she was doing, ironing or baking, she had her pencil and paper by her. I know now that she was then writing Wuthering Heights. Poor Emily, we always thought to be the best-looking, the cleverest, and the bravest-spirited of the three. Little did we dream that she would be the first to be taken away.’

Constantin Heger

‘She should have been a man – a great navigator. Her powerful reason would have deduced new spheres of discovery from the knowledge of the old; and her strong, imperious will would never have been daunted by opposition or difficulty; never have given way but with life.’

Halliwell Sutcliffe

‘“Emily Brontë,” says Mr. Sutcliffe, “was perhaps the bravest woman of her generation. Shame she abhorred, and to stand secure in one’s own strength was peculiarly her gospel.” He speaks of “Emily, the genius; Charlotte, the half-genius; and Branwell, the clever ne’er-do-weel who chose to wear motley all his days, when better raiment was at his service.”

Speaking of Emily Brontë, he continues, “She was neither worldly-wise nor eager for publicity, on the contrary her life to the last detail exhibits a reserve that was almost cloister-like, a self-dependence that was scarcely human, an integrity that disdained, not the great shams of life alone, but even the trickeries of social intercourse.

See her out yonder on the loneliest moor of Yorkshire – gaunt of figure, free of stride, not beautiful to look at until one saw the deep far-seeing eyes, with the light in them that comes from lonely, lover-like communion with the larger nature. See her climb the slopes, and walk knee-deep in ling, and halt just now and then to drink in the wild sweet wind, to scent the bracken, or watch the mystic purple creep out at foaming tide above the distant hills. Is this a woman to seek pseudo-fame by trickery? Or is she one who has kept long watches with her mother, Nature, who has sorrowed and rejoiced with her, who has wept with the weeping skies and laughed with the laughing sun, who, finally, has passed her soul through furnaces impossible to weaker natures and is ready to bring to birth a book of vital and surpassing charm.”’

Emily Brontë was a great poet, an excellent artist, a brilliant pianist, a fabulous bread maker, superb at learning languages, oh, and she also happened to write what may just be the greatest novel ever written. Emily Brontë truly was a unique genius: whatever she turned her hand to, she quickly excelled at. Let’s remember the talents of Emily Brontë and her family today, and look forward with joy to the festive celebrations to come. I hope to see you next Saturday for a special Christmas Brontë blog post.

It’s a rare mid week blog post this week, because I’ve received some great Brontë-related news that I just had to share with you all. I’ve been under strict instructions to keep this under wraps until noon today, but I can finally reveal that the Honresfield Library collection has been saved for the nation!

You may remember that this collection was once the domain of the Law brothers of Honresfield House in Lancashire. They amassed a huge collection of literary treasures, at the heart of which were Brontë manuscripts in all shapes and sizes. Earlier this year Sotheby’s announced that the entire collection would be sold – leading to the very real prospect that they would enter private collections or bank vaults never to be seen again. Thanks to hard work by many organisations and people this has now been averted once and for all. Here’s a press release from Friends Of The National Libraries:

In short – these incredible literary treasures (I’ve added pictures of just a short selection from the Laws’ collection) are saved for the nation, and they are now safe forever. Not only are they saved, they will be put on display and available for public view in perpetuity. Further details of that will be announced in full course, but the Brontë related material will be shared between three very deserving organisations: the Brontë Parsonage Museum, the British Library and the Brotherton Library of the University of Leeds (rather fittingly, as Brotherton, like the Laws, was a self-made Lancashire-born industrialist with a huge passion for collecting Brontë material).

The patron of Friends Of The National Libraries has expressed his delight. HRH Prince Charles, the Prince of Wales, said: “It is tremendous news for our country that Friends of the National Libraries, a charity of which I am proud to be Patron, has raised £15 million in just five months to save one of the most significant collections, including manuscripts by Charlotte Brontë, Walter Scott and Robert Burns. I can only congratulate the Chairman, Geordie Greig, and his team for saving the Blavatnik Honresfield Library for the nation, with its treasures now to be owned by some of our greatest national libraries across the U.K. Our literary heritage is our cultural D.N.A. and this preserves it for students, teachers, academics and ordinary readers in perpetuity.”

You may have noticed that the collection has a new name – it’s no longer the Honresfield Library but the Blavatnik Honresfield Library. A deserving tribute, as one man in particular has made a huge contribution to this happy outcome. Sir Leonard Blavatnik agreed to match all other funding raised to ensure that the appeal reached whatever target was needed; to this end, he personally has given over seven and a half million pounds so that these items can be saved for the nation, and by extension for literature lovers across the world.

So what will we soon be able to see? Well, we have Emily and Anne Brontë’s 1841 diary paper, a collection of Brontë little books, letters from Branwell Brontë to Hartley Coleridge, and a huge treasure: Emily Brontë’s secret poetry manuscript which inspired the Brontë sisters to seek a publisher for their work. It’s surely one of the most important handwritten literary treasures in the world today – and until the auction was announced it had been thought lost for over 80 years.

Our beloved Brontës are at the centre of the collection, but that’s by no means all that’s being saved. We also have, amongst other things, the handwritten manuscript of Rob Roy by Sir Walter Scott. That would please Charlotte Brontë who famously declared in a letter to Ellen Nussey: ‘For Fiction – read Scott alone, all novels after his are worthless.’

We also have the first English edition of Don Quixote, dating from 1620, and a collection of poetry by Robbie Burns – a great favourite of Anne Brontë. Perhaps most importantly, alongside Emily’s poetry, is a letter written from one sister to another – but this time we’re talking not of the Brontë sisters but the Austen sisters.

In January 1796 Jane Austen wrote to Cassandra Austen about a ball she was due to attend – and at which she was expecting a proposal from the love of her life, Tom Lefroy. This is not only a letter of great significance in Jane’s life, it is also the earliest letter of Jane Austen which is known to exist. It’s a particularly appropriate date for this letter to be saved, as today marks the 246^th anniversary of the birth of Jane Austen.

I find this whole news very moving, and it’s great news towards the end of what has been a very trying year for us all. Alongside Sir Leonard Blavatnik, other philanthropists such as the Vogel-Denebeim family and big cultural institutions, this announcement has been made possible because of the time and money given by huge numbers of ordinary people like you and I – and out of adversity has come triumph.

Charlotte Brontë and her sisters were among the greatest writers of the Victorian era, and many would select Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre as the greatest novel of the century. In their own lives, however, we can see that the Brontë siblings were influenced by the societal norms of the time, but they were far from bound by them. In today’s post we’re going to look at one word which Charlotte Brontë certainly possessed, although many at the time would have thought that to be entirely unbefitting to a woman: passion.

Only a genius could have written Jane Eyre, but only a special kind of genius: one who knew the power of longing, the driving force of passion. One reason for the novel’s great success is its protagonists. Rochester is not a typical romantic hero, but nor is he a pantomime villain. It is this complexity which makes him compelling and believable, and which Charlotte elucidated upon in a letter sent to W. S. Williams at her publisher:

Rochester, at least as far as his creator is concerned, is a man both sinned against and sinning; he made mistakes in his youth but atones for them in his adulthood. He has made mistakes but atones for them. The great thing about the novel, and about any great novel, is that readers are free to make their own judgements on the character.

What is clear is that Rochester was highly influenced by a man who had been in Charlotte’s own life: Constantin Heger. A powerful man with undoubted faults, but whose personality drew Charlotte inexorably to him, just as Rochester does to Jane. Charlotte’s letters to Monsieur Heger after leaving Brussels are incredibly sad as we know that he never responded to them – they are also incredibly passionate, as in this extract from a letter dated 18^th November 1845:

‘In a word, tell me what you will, my master, but tell me something. Writing to a former assistant teacher (no – I don’t want to remember my position as an assistant teacher, I disown it) well then, writing to an old pupil cannot be a very interesting occupation for you – I know that – but for me it is life itself. Your last letter has sustained me – has nourished me for six months – now I need another and you will give it me… To forbid me to write to you, to refuse to reply to me – that will be to tear from me the only joy I have on earth… when day after day I await a letter and day after day disappointment flings me down again into overwhelming misery, when the sweet delight of seeing your writing and reading your counsel flees from me like an empty vision – then I am in a fever – I lose my appetite and sleep – I pine away.’

In an earlier letter to Heger (24^th July 1844), Charlotte had written of the driving force behind her writing dream:

‘My sight is too weak for writing – if I wrote a lot I would become blind. This weakness of sight is a terrible privation for me – without it, do you know what I would do, Monsieur? I would write a book and I would dedicate it to my literature master – to the only master that I have ever had – to you Monsieur.’

Alas for Charlotte, Heger, like Rochester, was already married, but there was to be no happy ending for the lovelorn woman in Haworth. Without Heger would there have been a Rochester, or a Paul Emanuel in Villette, would there have been any Charlotte Brontë novels? Probably not. The publication of Jane Eyre transformed Charlotte’s life, and the lives of readers ever since, but it also brought her into contact with another man she developed a passion for: George Smith.

Smith was younger then Charlotte, and from a very different background: he had inherited his father’s publishing business of Smith, Elder & Co at a young age, and was both wealthy and well connected, not to mention handsome.

George Smith became more than a publisher to Charlotte Brontë, he became a close friend. Charlotte was often invited to visit him in London, and they even holidayed in Scotland together. He frequently sent a supply of books to Haworth for Charlotte to read (an expensive commodity at the time), but on 6^th December 1853 Charlotte wrote a sad, short letter to the publishing house saying that she wished to receive no more:

 

A month earlier Charlotte had heard the news that George Smith had become engaged to an Elizabeth Blakeway and she was once more heartbroken. Four months later Charlotte finally accepted the suit of Arthur Bell Nicholls and became engaged herself, but despite short lived attempts at starting new work she wrote no more for Smith, Elder & Co.

Charlotte’s passionate nature was at the heart of her creative genius, and for that we can all be thankful. I hope you can join me next week for another new Brontë blog post, but for now I leave you with a poem that Charlotte Brontë wrote on this day in 1841. It’s title? ‘Passion’.

The best laid plans of mice and men, and you know the rest. I had intended today’s post to be about the Brontës and torchlight, filled with pictures of yesterday’s torchlight parade in Haworth (it’s on today at 5 as well if you can make it). Alas, bad weather and a bus strike put an end to those plans, but there is an important anniversary to mark today: in today’s new post we’re going to look at Patrick Brontë in Dewsbury.

On the 5^th of December 1809, the 32 year old Patrick began his curacy at Dewsbury All Saints Church (now Dewsbury Minster); it’s an especially significant date in the Brontë story as this marked Patrick Bronte’s arrival in Yorkshire. From thereon he moved parishes to Hartshead-cum-Clifton, and then Thornton, and finally Haworth. Let’s not run ahead of ourselves, for Patrick’s time as an assistant curate at Dewsbury was a fascinating one and gives us a remarkable insight into Patrick as a man rather than merely as a father.

Dewsbury is today an unassuming town which is overshadowed by the nearby urban areas of Huddersfield, Wakefield and Leeds, but at the time Patrick arrived it was a town on the move. In the first half of the nineteenth century its population trebled to over 90,000 (compared to around 70,000 today), and the reason for this is that it had become an important hub on the wool processing trail – a town at the very heart of the industrial revolution.

Dewsbury’s minister was the Reverend John Buckworth. He had met Patrick before as they both belonged to the evangelical wing of the Church of England. Buckworth’s fame as a preacher was widespread, and he was also known as a hymn writer and the headmaster of a school for the poor – a ground breaking idea at the time. By 1809, however, he was increasingly in ill health, and in search of an energetic young priest to assist in his parochial duties. Patrick Brontë was his choice, and as 1809 neared its close he made the journey north from Shropshire to the West Riding of Yorkshire.

Patrick’s two years at Dewsbury were eventful ones, and he had to fight (quite literally) to win the respect of his new parishioners. The story is told of how one Sunday evening when Patrick was in sole charge of the church (Reverend Buckworth being away from the parish temporarily) he was astonished to hear the church bells ringing again after his services had ended.

Unbeknownst to Patrick the parish bell ringing team had entered a competition and had popped into the bell tower for some extra practise. They must have been rather surprised when a furious Patrick burst in on them, accused them of ‘desecrating the Sabbath’ and drove them from the building. He was brandishing a shillelagh, a traditional Irish walking stick and club that few bell ringers would want to find themselves on the wrong end of.

His fiery temperament, and solid sense of what was right and wrong, was also shown at the 1810 Whitsun walk. Whitsuntide is also known as Pentecost and is traditionally the seventh Sunday after Easter. It was a long-standing tradition in Dewsbury for the churchgoers to march on Whit Tuesday (two days later) from the church to the village green of Earlsheaton where they would sing hymns.

On this particular march Patrick strode out with the choirboys beyond him, but their path was soon blocked by a large man making oaths. Without thinking twice, Patrick picked up the man by his collar and threw him into some nearby bushes. Some were worried that the man, notorious for his violence in the area, would be waiting for them on the return journey. He was, but when Patrick fronted him up once more he stepped aside. One of the choirboys later recalled the incident:

‘The bully came from Gawthorpe, near Osset, and was a notorious cockfighter and boxer, and much addicted to drinking… what happened was talked about for many a Sunday.’

It must have been talked about within the family for many years after as well, for it found its way into Charlotte Brontë’s novel Shirley as two Whitsuntide marches clash:

‘Old Helstone moved on. Quickening his step, he marched some yards in advance of his company. He had nearly reached the other sable leaders, when he who appeared to act as the hostile commander-in-chief – a large, greasy man, with black hair combed flat on his forehead – called a halt. The procession paused. He drew forth a hymn book, gave out a verse, set a tune, and they all struck up the most dolorous of canticles.

Helstone signed to his bands. They clashed out with all the power of brass. He desired them to play “Rule, Britannia!” and ordered the children to join in vocally, which they did with enthusiastic spirit. The enemy was sung and stormed down, his psalm quelled. As far as noise went, he was conquered.

“Now, follow me!” exclaimed Helstone; “not at a run, but at a firm, smart pace. Be steady, every child and woman of you. Keep together. Hold on by each other’s skirts, if necessary.”

And he strode on with such a determined and deliberate gait, and was, besides, so well seconded by his scholars and teachers, who did exactly as he told them, neither running nor faltering, but marching with cool, solid impetus – the curates, too, being compelled to do the same, as they were between two fires, Helstone and Miss Keeldar, both of whom watched any deviation with lynx-eyed vigilance, and were ready, the one with his cane, the other with her parasol, to rebuke the slightest breach of orders, the least independent or irregular demonstration – that the body of Dissenters were first amazed, then alarmed, then borne down and pressed back, and at last forced to turn tail and leave the outlet from Royd Lane free. Boultby suffered in the onslaught, but Helstone and Malone, between them, held him up, and brought him through the business, whole in limb, though sorely tried in wind.

The fat Dissenter who had given out the hymn was left sitting in the ditch. He was a spirit merchant by trade, a leader of the Nonconformists, and, it was said, drank more water in that one afternoon than he had swallowed for a twelvemonth before. Mr. Hall had taken care of Caroline, and Caroline of him. He and Miss Ainley made their own quiet comments to each other afterwards on the incident. Miss Keeldar and Mr. Helstone shook hands heartily when they had fairly got the whole party through the lane. The curates began to exult, but Mr. Helstone presently put the curb on their innocent spirits. He remarked that they never had sense to know what to say, and had better hold their tongues; and he reminded them that the business was none of their managing.’

Patrick’s reputation in Dewsbury was further enhanced when he saved the life of a local boy. Patrick loved taking long walks, something his children would also later delight in, and one of his favourite stretches was by the side of the River Calder. On one of these perambulations he saw a group of local boys playing on the bank but then disaster struck and one of them fell (or was pushed in). Patrick sprang into action and leapt into the river, plucked the boy out of the water and swam him back to the shore before taking him home to his family. Drowning was a very common form of death in the early nineteenth century, but thankfully that was one child saved from becoming a statistic.

Patrick Brontë’s time in Dewsbury was not only tumultuous for the town, but for the country as a whole. Britain was engaged in the Napoleonic Wars and young men were being recruited into the army in large numbers, being given ‘the King’s shilling’ in return. This led to a notorious court case in which Patrick played a major part.

On 25^th November 1810 a Dewsbury man named William Nowell was arrested for desertion. A soldier called James Thackray had testified that he had recruited Nowell into his regiment at the Lee Horse Fair but that he had not reported for duty. Nowell insisted that he had not been at the horse fair and produced witnesses to swear this, but the judge refused to accept this evidence and Nowell was confined to prison.

Dewsbury was in uproar at this miscarriage of justice, and Patrick Brontë was one of four local men who spoke to magistrates on Nowell’s behalf, to no avail. Patrick then wrote to the Secretary of War, Lord Palmerston, to plead the case and a delegation including William Wilberforce travelled to the ministry to add their support. Palmerston (and Wilberforce) had been at Cambridge with Patrick, but we can’t know whether that influenced his decision or not. A full hearing was arranged at which Patrick, and 25 other witnesses, spoke on Nowell’s behalf. Nowell was released from prison, but a year later Thackray was found guilty of perjury and transported to Australia for seven years.

On 15^th December 1810 a jubilant Patrick gave a full account of the case to the Leeds Mercury, opening it with a quote from Shakespeare’s Measure For Measure: “’Tis excellent to have a giant’s strength: but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

In his time at Dewsbury Patrick had saved a child’s life, dispatched a bully into a ditch, righted a miscarriage of justice, and stood up, with a shillelagh, for the church doctrines which meant so much to him. It’s a real insight into his character: Patrick Brontë was certainly not a man to be messed with. Within three years of his arrival in the county he had met and married another incomer to Yorkshire: Maria Branwell. The rest is history. I hope to see you again next Sunday for another new Brontë blog post.

This week has marked a sad anniversary in the Brontë story (there seem to be so many of those, but remember there’s a corresponding happy anniversary for each one) as Ellen Nussey passed away on the 26^th November 1897. Ellen was the great friend of Charlotte Brontë, and Ellen paid this glowing tribute to the qualities which mattered to her most:

In today’s new post we’re going to look at Ellen Nussey’s death, but we’re going to lighten the mood with some glorious pictures of Ellen too. Let’s begin with a picture of Ellen Nussey that Charlotte herself drew in their youth:

Charlotte Brontë and Ellen Nussey first met at Roe Head School, Mirfield in January 1831, and Ellen later recalled their first meeting:

‘Turning to the window to observe the look-out I became aware for the first that I was not alone; there was a silent, weeping, dark little figure in the large bay window; she must, I thought, have risen from the floor. As soon as I had recovered from my surprise, I went from the far end of the room, where the book-shelves were, the contents of which I must have contemplated with a little awe in anticipation of coming studies. A crimson cloth covered the long table down the centre of the room, which helped, no doubt, to hide the shrinking little figure from my view. I was touched and troubled at once to see her so sad and tearful.

I said shrinking, because her attitude, when I saw her, was that of one who wished to hide both herself and her grief. She did not shrink, however, when spoken to, but in very few words confessed she was “home-sick”. After a little of such comfort as could be offered, it was suggested to her that there was a possibility of her too having to comfort the speaker by and by for the same cause. A faint quivering smile lighted her face; the tear-drops fell; we silently took each other’s hands, and at once we felt that genuine sympathy which always consoles, even though it be unexpressed. We did not talk or stir till we heard the approaching footsteps of other pupils coming in from their play.”

A firm friendship was made, and a lasting one. Ellen it was who served as Charlotte’s chief bridesmaid and it was also Ellen, alongside Charlotte, who accompanied Anne Brontë on her final journey to Scarborough; even the reserved Emily Brontë took Ellen as a friend, a friendship that Ellen repaid by later remembering Emily as the greatest genius of the first half of the nineteenth century.

Ellen Nussey lived to be eighty years old. She never married; her one true, unending relationship was with the Brontës who had long predeceased her. It is thanks to her ripe old age (for the time) that we have so many photographs of Ellen, and a portrait of her. Ellen loved to talk about the Brontës, and she was never short of people willing to listen. There was a regular stream of visitors, Brontë fans, to her homes in Birstall and Gomersal in her later life, and one of these was the American-English artist Frederic Yates. He painted this beautiful portrait of Ellen in later years:

We have a record of perhaps the last visit to Ellen Nussey, and a fascinating one it is too. It appeared in the Yorkshire Post on 29^th November 1897:

This same Yorkshire Post, two days earlier, had carried news of Ellen’s death:

Two days later, alongside the report of the visit by the unnamed West Riding lady, we hear a report of Ellen’s final moments:

Ellen’s funeral took place on the 30^th November 1897. We hear that the Brontë Society sent a wreath, but that her funeral was sparsely attended due to terrible weather. She lies now in St. Peter’s churchyard, Birstall (that’s it at the head of this post), not far from another woman who was central to the Brontë story: Margaret Wooler.

There’s a further sad incident to reflect upon, I’m afraid, that came two years after Ellen’s death. Ellen had a great love for the church, and she was always ready to help the church, its clergy, and wider society in general. She was generous both with her time and money, and in her will she had made provision for ‘the benefit of the poor of Birstall.’ Alas, as this report in the Manchester Evening News of 21st April 1899 reveals, legal wrangling and complications ate up all the money that Ellen left, and the poor and needy were left with nothing:

Nevertheless Ellen was remembered fondly by all who knew her and by those in the area as a whole. Today she is known to a wider world of Brontë lovers as the woman who preserved the Brontë legacy in the decades after their passing. It is thanks to the hundreds of Charlotte Brontë’s letters which Ellen kept that we know so much about the Brontës today. That’s a legacy that can never be diminished.

Charlotte loved Ellen dearly. It was to Ellen that she wrote frankly, ‘It is from religion that you derive your chief charm and may its influence always preserve you as pure, as unassuming and as benevolent in thought and deed as you are now. What am I compared to you? I feel my own utter worthlessness when I make the comparison.’ Now that’s a tribute! I hope to see you all again next week for another new Brontë blog post.

Oh, before I go, there’s another picture I want you to look at that you won’t have seen before. This late Victorian photograph was found in a West Yorkshire antique shop – to me it bears more than a resemblance to earlier photographs of Ellen Nussey, although this is of an older woman. Could this be the very last photograph of Ellen Nussey? It hangs proudly now on my wall.