I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas: they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind.
Emily Bronte
Wuthering Heights

woensdag 20 november 2013

Harry Ransom Center's Brontë Family Collection


Austin Chronicle informs of the launch of the Harry Ransom Center at the University of Texas (in Austin) digital archive. One of the notable collections which can be found there is their Brontë collection:Harry Ransom Center's Brontë Family Collection

The holograph works of Charlotte and Emily Brontë make up the bulk of the Ransom Center's Brontë family collection, 1833–1858, along with works by Anne and Patrick Branwell Brontë. The collection is organized into two series: Series I. Brontë Family Works and Letters, 1833-1858 (1.5 boxes), and Series II. Works and Letters by Others, 1850 (.5 box). This collection was previously accessible through a card catalog, but has been re-cataloged as part of a retrospective conversion project.
The Brontë Family Works and Letters Series is divided into five subseries, arranged alphabetically by family member name: Subseries A. Brontë, Anne, 1836-1838; Subseries B. Brontë, Charlotte, 1833-1853; Subseries C. Brontë, Emily, 1837-1842; Subseries D. Brontë, Patrick, 1850; and Subseries E. Brontë, Patrick Branwell, 1834-1836.
Anne Brontë's writings are represented by typescripts of three poems and a list of characters she used in her stories and poems of the fictitious land of Gondal. The Charlotte Brontë subseries is more robust with holograph versions of "The Green Dwarf," "Julia," and "Something About Arthur." Also present is a letter to William Smith Williams, her publisher. Contained in the Emily Brontë subseries are two holograph poems and an essay in French.
The men of the Brontë family are represented in the final two subseries. Patrick Brontë's subseries contains a letter to an unknown recipient, and the Patrick Branwell subseries holds a holograph poem, a short story titled "A Narrative of the First War by Harry Hastings," and a commonplace book in which Patrick Branwell contributed four pages of poetry and sketches.
The Works and Letters by Others Series contains a musical score written by Ernest Powell for a poem by Emily Brontë and a biographical essay on Charlotte Brontë by Harriet Spofford. Also present are two letters, including one from Mary Taylor, one of Charlotte's life-long friends.

Title Letter to Charlotte Brontë
Creator Taylor, Mary, 1817-1893


Dear Charlotte, About a week since I received your last melancholy letter with the account of Ann's death and yr utter indifference to every thing, even to the success of your last book. Though you do not say this it is pretty plain to be seen from the style of your letter. It seems to me hard indeed that you who would succeed better than any one in making friends & keeping them should be condemned to solitude from your poverty. To no one would money bring more happiness, for no one would use it better than you would. - For me with my headlong selfindulgent habits I am perhaps better without it, but I am convinced it would give you great and noble pleasures. Look out then for success in writing. You ought to care as much for that as you do for going to Heaven. Though the advantages of being employed appear to you now the best part of the business you will soon please God have other enjoyments from your success. Railway shares will rise, your books will sell and you will acquire influence & power - & then most certainly you will find something to use it in which will interest you and make you exert yourself. What you say of Joe agrees with the melancholy account of him both in his own letters & other people's. I cannot give advice or propose a remedy. All seems to depend on himself & he - like all other people with his disease, is so powerless! His passion for marrying seems just to have come because it is the only thing serious enough to excite him - if that were done what would there be left? Your endeavour to persuade him to repose & quiet is certainly the best that could be made - may you succeed as you deserve! You will certainly do yourself good, tho it will be to both sides a melancholy meeting.
---------------------
Harry Ransom founded the Humanities Research Center in 1957 with the ambition of expanding the rare books and manuscript holdings of the University of Texas. He acquired the Edward Alexander Parsons Collection,[5] the T. Edward Hanley Collection,[6] and the Norman Bel Geddes Collection.[7][8] Ransom himself was the official director of the Center for only the years 1958 to 1961, but he directed and presided over a period of great expansion in the collections until his resignation in 1971 as Chancellor of the University of Texas System. wiki/Harry_Ransom_Center

utexas.edu/research/info/

1 opmerking:

  1. I had never seen Mary's handing ...very interesting and her letter is great of course. No one spoke to Charlotte like Mary did. Mary stands alone in her forthright and brilliant manner .
    I always wish that correspondence was saved

    BeantwoordenVerwijderen

The Parlour

The Parlour

Parsonage

Parsonage

Charlotte Bronte

Presently the door opened, and in came a superannuated mastiff, followed by an old gentleman very like Miss Bronte, who shook hands with us, and then went to call his daughter. A long interval, during which we coaxed the old dog, and looked at a picture of Miss Bronte, by Richmond, the solitary ornament of the room, looking strangely out of place on the bare walls, and at the books on the little shelves, most of them evidently the gift of the authors since Miss Bronte's celebrity. Presently she came in, and welcomed us very kindly, and took me upstairs to take off my bonnet, and herself brought me water and towels. The uncarpeted stone stairs and floors, the old drawers propped on wood, were all scrupulously clean and neat. When we went into the parlour again, we began talking very comfortably, when the door opened and Mr. Bronte looked in; seeing his daughter there, I suppose he thought it was all right, and he retreated to his study on the opposite side of the passage; presently emerging again to bring W---- a country newspaper. This was his last appearance till we went. Miss Bronte spoke with the greatest warmth of Miss Martineau, and of the good she had gained from her. Well! we talked about various things; the character of the people, - about her solitude, etc., till she left the room to help about dinner, I suppose, for she did not return for an age. The old dog had vanished; a fat curly-haired dog honoured us with his company for some time, but finally manifested a wish to get out, so we were left alone. At last she returned, followed by the maid and dinner, which made us all more comfortable; and we had some very pleasant conversation, in the midst of which time passed quicker than we supposed, for at last W---- found that it was half-past three, and we had fourteen or fifteen miles before us. So we hurried off, having obtained from her a promise to pay us a visit in the spring... ------------------- "She cannot see well, and does little beside knitting. The way she weakened her eyesight was this: When she was sixteen or seventeen, she wanted much to draw; and she copied nimini-pimini copper-plate engravings out of annuals, ('stippling,' don't the artists call it?) every little point put in, till at the end of six months she had produced an exquisitely faithful copy of the engraving. She wanted to learn to express her ideas by drawing. After she had tried to draw stories, and not succeeded, she took the better mode of writing; but in so small a hand, that it is almost impossible to decipher what she wrote at this time.

I asked her whether she had ever taken opium, as the description given of its effects in Villette was so exactly like what I had experienced, - vivid and exaggerated presence of objects, of which the outlines were indistinct, or lost in golden mist, etc. She replied, that she had never, to her knowledge, taken a grain of it in any shape, but that she had followed the process she always adopted when she had to describe anything which had not fallen within her own experience; she had thought intently on it for many and many a night before falling to sleep, - wondering what it was like, or how it would be, - till at length, sometimes after the progress of her story had been arrested at this one point for weeks, she wakened up in the morning with all clear before her, as if she had in reality gone through the experience, and then could describe it, word for word, as it had happened. I cannot account for this psychologically; I only am sure that it was so, because she said it. ----------------------She thought much of her duty, and had loftier and clearer notions of it than most people, and held fast to them with more success. It was done, it seems to me, with much more difficulty than people have of stronger nerves, and better fortunes. All her life was but labour and pain; and she never threw down the burden for the sake of present pleasure. I don't know what use you can make of all I have said. I have written it with the strong desire to obtain appreciation for her. Yet, what does it matter? She herself appealed to the world's judgement for her use of some of the faculties she had, - not the best, - but still the only ones she could turn to strangers' benefit. They heartily, greedily enjoyed the fruits of her labours, and then found out she was much to be blamed for possessing such faculties. Why ask for a judgement on her from such a world?" elizabeth gaskell/charlotte bronte



Poem: No coward soul is mine

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the worlds storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heavens glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.


O God within my breast.
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life -- that in me has rest,
As I -- Undying Life -- have power in Thee!


Vain are the thousand creeds
That move mens hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,


To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by Thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast Rock of immortality.


With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.


Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.


There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou -- Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.


--
Emily Bronte

Family tree

The Bronte Family

Grandparents - paternal
Hugh Brunty was born 1755 and died circa 1808. He married Eleanor McClory, known as Alice in 1776.

Grandparents - maternal
Thomas Branwell (born 1746 died 5th April 1808) was married in 1768 to Anne Carne (baptised 27th April 1744 and died 19th December 1809).

Parents
Father was Patrick Bronte, the eldest of 10 children born to Hugh Brunty and Eleanor (Alice) McClory. He was born 17th March 1777 and died on 7th June 1861. Mother was Maria Branwell, who was born on 15th April 1783 and died on 15th September 1821.

Maria had a sister, Elizabeth who was known as Aunt Branwell. She was born in 1776 and died on 29th October 1842.

Patrick Bronte married Maria Branwell on 29th December 1812.

The Bronte Children
Patrick and Maria Bronte had six children.
The first child was Maria, who was born in 1814 and died on 6th June 1825.
The second daughter, Elizabeth was born on 8th February 1815 and died shortly after Maria on 15th June 1825. Charlotte was the third daughter, born on 21st April 1816.

Charlotte married Arthur Bell Nicholls (born 1818) on 29th June 1854. Charlotte died on 31st March 1855. Arthur lived until 2nd December 1906.

The first and only son born to Patrick and Maria was Patrick Branwell, who was born on 26th June 1817 and died on 24th September 1848.

Emily Jane, the fourth daughter was born on 30th July 1818 and died on 19th December 1848.

The sixth and last child was Anne, born on 17th January 1820 who died on 28th May 1849.

Top Withens in the snow.

Top Withens in the snow.

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