#bronte family

[adobongsiopao]

Caricature of Brontē siblings from an old issue of "Punch" magazine.

Source: The Official Bronte Group on Facebook

[burningvelvet]

Mini books created by Charlotte and Branwell Brontë when they were ~13/14 years old.

“Measuring about 2.5 by 5 centimeters, page after mini-page brims with poems, stories, songs, illustrations, maps, building plans, and dialogue. The books, lettered in minuscule, even script, tell of the “Glass Town Confederacy,” a fictional world the siblings created for and around Branwell’s toy soldiers, which were both the protagonists of and audience for the little books. In 1829 and 1830, Charlotte and Branwell cobbled the pages together from printed waste and scrap paper, perhaps cut from margins of discarded pamphlets. They wrote with steel-nibbed pens, which tend to blot, yet the even script demonstrates their practiced hand. Charlotte, who in adulthood wrote “Jane Eyre,” nested leaves together, then neatly sewed the spine with embroidery thread; it’s evident she constructed her book and planned its content before ever putting pen to paper. Branwell, who would become a painter and poet, stacked folded leaves together, which allowed him to add pages as he needed; clearly not as adept with needle and thread as his sister, he stab-sewed the leaves together with thicker linen yarn.”

[veronicaleighauthor]

Charlotte Bronte and Ellen Nussey

Friendships are often born in the unlikeliest of places. How they endure the test of time is another matter entirely. For Charlotte Bronte and Ellen Nussey, their friendship lasted for over two decades, and they relied upon letters to cope with their distance from one another.

Charlotte Bronte, the future author of “Jane Eyre,” was not pleased to have leave her home in Haworth in Yorkshire and go to Roe Head School to be trained up as a teacher or a governess. Her previous experience at a school resulted in the deaths of her two older sisters. But now as the eldest of the remaining Bronte children, she had to pave the way for the others and become an educator, since marriage was no guarantee in life. There she met Ellen Nussey, her opposite in every way imaginable. Where Charlotte was intelligent and considered plain, Ellen was more of the traditional Victorian, beautiful and elegant. Yet the friendship was forged.

Ellen’s stay there wasn’t permanent while Charlotte remained at Roe Head for a few years. They paid visits to each other’s homes, but not nearly enough to satisfy them. Determined to stay in touch, she and Ellen corresponded religiously for the next twenty-four years. They exchanged their opinions on a variety of subjects: love, money, literature, marriage, religion…Unfortunately, Ellen’s side of the conversations was not preserved. Charlotte’s letters were preserved, accumulating to over five hundred letters. To Ellen, Charlotte was able to confide her deepest, darkest secrets. How she loathed teaching and being a governess, and longed to pursue a literary career. Through these hundreds of letters, the Bronte’s family story is told. What we know of the Bronte’s and how they lived is largely in thanks to Ellen Nussey, for saving her friends’ missives.

A daughter of an Irish curate, Charlotte and her siblings lived in a gothic-like parsonage on the edge of the moors. Her brother, Branwell, was to be the savior of the family and take care of his sisters and their aging father. Instead, he fell into dissipation and drugs. It was left to Charlotte, Emily, and Anne to raise the family’s hopes. After the three ventured out into the world and came home in 1845, beaten down by life, they banded together to produce a book of poetry. Later, they published novels as the Bell brothers, which provided them with a means of support. Eventually, what began as a secret endeavor, was undone when Charlotte and Anne had to travel to London to defend their reputations due to a shady publisher. They returned home happy, but darkness was on the horizon though.

The deaths of Branwell, Emily, and Anne left Charlotte bereft. She found solace in her friendship with Ellen, as well as her newfound fame as an author in literary society. The letters continued for the next few years, but there was a period when they came to an abrupt halt.

Her father’s curate, Arthur Bell Nicholls began to pursue Charlotte romantically, and after a rough beginning, she accepted his marriage proposal. When Ellen heard of the engagement, she was upset. She had believed that she and Charlotte would eventually live together as spinsters. This, coupled with her dislike of Arthur, temporarily upended her and Charlotte’s friendship. It took a year for them to reconcile and Ellen attended her dearest friend’s wedding. Yet the ungoverned freedom they had possessed in the previous years no longer existed. At first, Arthur read their letters. Only when Ellen agreed to destroy Charlotte’s missives, an attempt to protect her friend’s reputation as an author lest the letters fall into the wrong hands, did Arthur promise not to read their correspondence.

Ellen, however, did not keep her promise and cherished Charlotte’s letters.

Like her siblings, Charlotte did not have a strong constitution. It is believed she became pregnant and suffered from hyperemesis gravidarum – a severe case of mourning sickness – which led to her death in 1855.

Elizabeth Gaskell, fellow friend and author, was commissioned by Charlotte’s father to write a biography on his daughter. She went to Ellen Nussey and drew heavily upon the letters for her source material. “The Life of Charlotte Bronte,” was published two years later. Ellen died in 1897, at age 80, having spent the rest of her life devoted to Charlotte’s memory. She was often sought out by biographers for her input. After her death, her belongings and Charlotte’s letters were sold at auctions. The letters eventually found their way into the possession of the Bronte Parsonage Museum, where they remain today.

[what-shitfuckery-is-this-ew]

So Charlotte's type was a racist slaver who cheated on his wife for her, Emily's type was a racially ambiguous probable slave turned landlord who just happened to sound like her brother. And Anne was just watching her two sisters write their messed up romances into books that outsold hers despite her writing toxic men die.

So the Bronte family reunions must have been ... interesting.

[letyourwordsliveon]

Looking up some stuff about the Brontë family and my heart hurts🥺

[theodoradove]

oops i looked at the brontë family tree again and am having feelings about it

[baura-bear]

If you can’t reach me it’s because I’m still thinking about Jack’s Santa Fe painting and the color of Katherine’s costume

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Is there any chance you could make a web weaving of wanting to be a better parent than one’s own? Like a protective individual wanting to spite a bloodline of pain to foster love and care to their own child? To be better that one’s own parents? I think a web weaving of this would be gorgeous!

Ethel Cain Family Tree (Intro) / The Oh Hellos Dear Wormwood / Emily Brontë Healthcliff / Caitlin Conlon (@/cgcpoems on instagram) / Lia Marie Johnson DNA / Nicola Yoon The Sun Is Also a Star / Daniel Jamie Williams Dear Mother... / Marina & The Diamonds The Family Jewels

[decemberblue]

Wuthering Heights - Family tree (Wikipedia)

[seaspaghetti]

🌱 springtime picnic sisters 🌱

prints available on my etsy

[thechildisgone]

GINGER FINALLY GOT ADOPTED THIS JUST MADE MY DAYYY

[crymeariveronceagain]

so anyways self-promo if you haven't read Come Home you 100% should it's one of my favorite fics that i've written

[burningvelvet]

On this day, 189 years ago: 16-year-old Emily Brontë and 14-year-old Anne Brontë write a diary entry:

November the 24

1834 Monday

Emily Jane Brontë

Anne Brontë

I fed Rainbow, Diamond Snowflake Jasper pheasant this morning. Branwell went down to Mr. Driver's and brought news that Sir Robert Peel was going to be invited to stand for Leeds. Anne and I have been peeling apples for Charlotte to make us an apple pudding and for Aunt nuts and apples. Charlotte said she made puddings perfectly and she was of a quick but limited intellect. Taby said just now Come Anne pilloputate (i.e. pill a potato). Aunt has come into the kitchen just now and said where are your feet Anne? Anne answered On the floor Aunt. papa opened the parlour door and gave Branwell a letter saying here Branwell read this and show it to your Aunt and Charlotte – The Gondals are discovering the interior of Gaaldine, Sally Mosley is washing in the back kitchen.

It is past Twelve o'clock. Anne and I have not tidied ourselves, done our bedwork or done our lessons and we want to go out to play. We are going to have for Dinner Boiled Beef, Turnips, potatoes and applepudding. The Kitchin is in a very untidy state. Anne and I have not done our music exercise which consists of b major. Taby said on my putting a pen in her face Ya pitter pottering there instead of pilling a potate. I answered O Dear, O Dear, O dear I will directly. With that I get up, take a knife and begin pilling (finished) pilling the potatoes. Papa going to walk. Mr. Sunderland expected.

        Anne and I say I wonder what we shall be like and what we shall be and where we shall be if all goes on well in the year 1874 – in which year I shall be in my 54th year Anne will be going in her 55th year Branwell will be going in his 58th year And Charlotte in her 59th year hoping we shall all be well at that time we close our paper

Emily and Anne

November the 24 1834

[fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-liar]

something about Emily Brontë ending with Wuthering Heights, a novel about obsession and revenge and how it does no one good, with Hareton and Catherine - two extremely wronged characters, Hareton especially - rising above their circumstances and getting married just scratches my brain right

[pristina-nomine]

More WH sketches from a while ago that I never posted

[callipraxia]

Day Three Progress:

Total Word Count: 5877

Notebook Page Reached: 30

Percentage of Project Completed: 12%

Narrators Utilized: 1

Number of Scenes Worked On: 1

Interactions Written: 5

Outfits Described: 2, though far more sparse descriptions than any previous outfit descriptions.

Random Thought Had: “…how sure am I that I know how adding one hundred to a number works? Five seconds ago I was totally confident about that but now I am unsure if the number is getting bigger too fast. Why does this happen every time I think I have figured out a relatively painless way to address a problem? This is second grade math for crying out loud!”

Gonna be honest, I was displeased with my output for Day Three. There was a lot of filler, and a lot of deliberately using three little words where one ordinary word would do just to get to the count, and even then, I barely made it to par before midnight after writing hear-constantly for the last three hours of the day. I was feeling exceedingly poorly yesterday - all week I had been unable to sleep except for between the hours of 6-9 am, and I didn’t thrive on that kind of sleep diet when I was young. Now, it was a clear Message: find some means of going to sleep, or illness would be with me shortly.

Thankfully, though, my anxiety meds finally arrived at the pharmacy, so I slept from 1am-9am. Said medication and several rounds on the heating pad helped with the bad shoulder, as did taking six hours off of my unofficial job as my grandmother’s minder - I went home, washed several loads of clothes, washed up where my mother had been cooking earlier, and was in a much better state of mind by evening. Dr. Jean Shinoda Bolen would probably lump me in with the Hestias in her book of “conceptualizing feminine archetypes as Greek goddesses;” I don’t know if I would say I find anything spiritual about doing housework, but the silence and solitude and satisfaction of rapidly-visible results does do wonderful things for me. It’s one reason I’m so fond of Emily Bronte; her writing, sadly small though the surviving quantity is, is amazing of course, but I also relate to her intensely as a person. I, too, don’t do well physically or mentally when I spend too much time among people in 3D and can only really achieve equilibrium in a “very noiseless, very secluded but unrestricted and unartificial mode of life,” to quote Charlotte Bronte. I’m somewhat more gregarious than Emily (I can’t even see EJB posting anonymously on AO3, much less writing all this on tumblr), but despite that, I’ve always had an affinity for her, even though my collection of flaws is more akin to Charlotte’s.

As for why this wasn’t posted last night, there’s an easy explanation for that! Between scrambling to preserve my Duolingo streak and squeeze in my last NaNo update, my phone battery was extended past the limits of what it could do on 10%. So the phone died in my hand just after I started typing this post, so I put the phone on the charger and went to bed.

Anyway. Yesterday is over, today is another day. Here’s to a better Day 4!