Brontës in Toronto

What would the Brontë sisters do in Toronto? (Besides leave Anne at home.) Dude-watch at a hockey game, of course.

Dear Anne,

Emily and I send all our love from Toronto. It is a cold, grey city and the streets are lined with slush. This afternoon we passed through Y— D— Square, a sort of centre where throngs of people were gathered. A gentleman there was playing a sort of drum he had made of buckets and making the most terrible din.

I wanted to stay longer and look at all the signs, but Emily caught a chill so we went inside for some refreshment. Rest assured, though; we are feeding our immortal souls as well as our vile bodies. Tonight we are going to a hockey game, which I’m told is a cause of much excitement among the Canadians.

Later

We have just returned from the hockey. All those men dashing about, and the cracking of the puck, and the roar of the crowd—it was positively Roman! We were seated next to the penalty box, so close that I could feel the chill come off the ice.

When the players lined up to face off, one of them stared at me as though he meant to see through me. He was a dark man, a harsh apparition, with a broad, sallow brow and a wide, quivering nostril. The whistle blew and he raced away toward the goal.

It is acceptable in hockey to strike not only the puck, but your opponents, and this player wasted no time. He set upon a brute from the other team with the fury of a thunderstorm, his fists landing like hailstones, his curses ringing through the arena. He was sent to the penalty box, where he removed his helmet.

My heart smote me. His visage was covered in dewy droplets after the play; the very complexion seemed clearer and fresher. He shook his massive head like a spaniel emerging from water with a prize duck and smiled at me, his teeth straight and gleaming but scarce in number. I have bought tickets for tomorrow night’s game in hopes of seeing him again. I cannot forget those five minutes when we were so close—but if only we had been closer!

I must go—the cab has arrived to take us to S—, where we have dinner reservations that we cannot miss.

Yours affectionately,

Charlotte

P.S. We bought you the most darling dress at a very large store on the square that is apparently run by Swedes. I think I should like some more clothing than their dainty pieces if I were going to live in Scandinavia.

This Historic Visit was inspired by this glorious comic and a recent reading of Charlotte’s Villette. Is there a historical figure you’d like to see in Toronto? Let us know in the comments.