A. M. F. ROBINSON: ‘Emily Brontë.’
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[Sidenote: Anecdote of Charlotte.]
There is a touching story of Charlotte at six years old which gives us some notion of the ideal life led by the forlorn little girl at this time, when, her two elder sisters having been sent to school, she found herself living at home, the eldest of the motherless brood. She had read ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress’ and had been fascinated, young as she was, by that wondrous allegory. Everything in it was to her true and real; her little heart had gone forth with Christian on his pilgrimage to the Golden City, her bright young mind had been fixed by the Bedford tinker’s description of the glories of the Celestial Place; and she made up her mind that she too would escape from the City of Destruction, and gain the haven towards which the weary spirits of every age have turned with eager longing. But where was this glittering city, with its streets of gold, its gates of pearl, its walls of precious stones, its stream of life and throne of light? Poor little girl! The only place which seemed to her to answer Bunyan’s description of the celestial town was one which she had heard the servants discussing with enthusiasm in the kitchen, and its name was Bradford! So to Bradford little Charlotte Brontë, escaping from that Haworth parsonage which she believed to be a doomed spot, set off one day in 1822. Ingenious persons may speculate if they please upon the sore disappointment which awaited her when, like older people, reaching the place which she had imagined to be heaven, she found that it was only Bradford. But she never even reached her imaginary Golden City. When her tender feet had carried her a mile along the road, she came to a spot where overhanging trees made the highway dark and gloomy; she imagined that she had come to the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and, fearing to go forward, was presently discovered by her nurse cowering by the road side.
T. WEMYSS REID: ‘Charlotte Brontë, a Monograph.’
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[Sidenote: Charlotte at fifteen.]
[Sidenote: First impressions of a school-mate.]
I first saw her coming out of a covered cart, in very old-fashioned clothes, and looking very cold and miserable. She was coming to school at Miss Wooler’s. When she appeared in the school-room, her dress was changed, but just as old. She looked a little old woman, so short-sighted that she always appeared to be seeking something, and moving her head from side to side to catch a sight of it. She was very shy and nervous, and spoke with a strong Irish accent. When a book was given her, she dropped her head over it till her nose nearly touched, and when she was told to hold her head up, up went the book after it, still close to her nose, so that it was not possible to help laughing.
---- ----: _Communication_, quoted by MRS. GASKELL.
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I can well imagine that the grave, serious composure, which, when I knew her, gave her face the dignity of an old Venetian portrait, was no acquisition of later years, but dated from that early age when she found herself in the position of an elder sister to motherless children. But in a girl only just entered on her teens, such an expression would be called, (to use a country phrase) “old-fashioned;” and in 1831 ... we must think of her as a little, set, antiquated girl, very quiet in manners, and very quaint in dress; for, besides the influence exerted by her father’s ideas concerning the simplicity of attire befitting the daughters of a country clergyman, her aunt, on whom the duty of dressing her nieces principally devolved, had never been in society since she left Penzance, eight or nine years before, and the Penzance fashions of that day were still dear to her heart.
MRS. GASKELL: ‘Life of Charlotte Brontë.’
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[Sidenote: Miss Nussey’s account of Charlotte at this period.]
[Sidenote: Combined ignorance and precocity.]
She never seemed to me the unattractive little person others designated her, but certainly she was at this time anything but _pretty_; even her good points were lost, her naturally beautiful hair of soft silky-brown being then dry and frizzy-looking, screwed up in tight curls, showing features that were all the plainer from her exceeding thinness and want of complexion; she looked “dried in.” A dark, rusty green stuff dress of old-fashioned make detracted still more from her appearance; but let her wear what she might, or do what she would, she had ever the demeanor of a born gentlewoman; vulgarity was an element that never won the slightest affinity with her nature. Some of the elder girls, who had been years at school, thought her ignorant. This was true in one sense; ignorant she was indeed in the elementary education which is given in schools, but she far surpassed her most advanced school-fellows in knowledge of what was passing in the world at large, and in the literature of her country. She knew a thousand things in these matters unknown to them.
[Sidenote: Near-sightedness.]
[Sidenote: Her hands.]
Music she wished to acquire, for which she had both ear and taste, but her near-sightedness caused her to stoop so dreadfully in order to see her notes that she was dissuaded from persevering in the acquirement, especially as she had at this time an invincible objection to wearing glasses. Her very taper fingers, tipped with the most circular nails, did not seem very suited for instrumental execution; but when wielding the pen or the pencil, they appeared in the very office they were created for.
[Sidenote: A vegetarian diet.]
[Sidenote: Conscientiousness.]
Her appetite was of the smallest; for years she had not tasted animal food; she had the greatest dislike to it; she always had something specially provided for her at our mid-day repast. Toward the close of the first half-year she was induced to take, little by little, meat gravy with vegetables, and in the second half-year she commenced taking a very small portion of animal food daily. She then grew a little bit plumper, looked younger and more animated, though she was never what is called lively at this period. She always seemed to feel that a deep responsibility rested upon her; that she was an object of expense to those at home, and that she must use every moment to attain her purpose for which she was sent to school, _i.e._, to fit herself for governess life. She had almost too much opportunity for her conscientious diligence. We were so little restricted in our doings, the industrious might accomplish the appointed tasks of the day and enjoy a little leisure, but she chose in many things to do double lessons when not prevented by class arrangement or a companion.
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[Sidenote: A hard student.]
She did not play or amuse herself when others did. When her companions were merry round the fire, or otherwise enjoying themselves during the twilight, which was always a precious time of relaxation, she would be kneeling close to the window occupied with her studies, and this would last so long that she was accused of seeing in the dark.
ELLEN NUSSEY: Article on Charlotte Brontë, _Scribner’s Monthly_, now _The Century_.
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[Sidenote: Life at home after Charlotte’s return from Miss Wooler’s.]
[Sidenote: Emily on the moors.]
Charlotte staid a year and a half at school, and returned in the July of 1832 to teach Emily and Anne what she had learned in her absence--French, English and Drawing was pretty nearly all the instruction she could give. Happily genius needs no curriculum. Nevertheless the sisters toiled to extract their utmost boon from such advantages as came within their range. Every morning from nine till half-past twelve they worked at their lessons; then they walked together over the moors, just coming into flower. The moors knew a different Emily to the quiet girl of fourteen who helped in the housework and learned her lessons so regularly at home. On the moors she was gay, frolicsome, almost wild. She would set the others laughing with her quaint, humorous sallies and genial ways. She was quite at home there, taking the fledgling birds in her hands so softly that they were not afraid, and telling stories to them.
A. MARY F. ROBINSON: ‘Emily Brontë.’
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[Sidenote: Emily’s appearance in girlhood.]
Emily Brontë had ... 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. Their color might be said to be dark-gray, at other times dark-blue, they varied so. She talked very little. She and Anne were like twins--inseparable companions, and in the very closest sympathy, which never had any interruption.