If heredity is to count for anything, Elizabeth Stevenson derived much of her literary talent from her father, who, according to the Annual Register for 1830, “was a man remarkable for the stores of knowledge which he possessed and for the simplicity and modesty by which his rare attainments were concealed.” Mrs. Gaskell was very proud of her father’s memory, as well she might be. One who knew him wrote, “No man had so few personal enemies and so many sincere, steady friends. He was kind and benevolent, and had little of the pride of authorship.” These words might be written with all sincerity as equally applicable to his famous daughter.
William Stevenson played many parts. After his education was finished at the Daventry Academy, he became a tutor at Bruges, afterwards going to Manchester as Classical lecturer at the Academy and preacher at the Dob Lane Unitarian Chapel, Failsworth. Later he was a farmer in East Lothian, and then he moved to Edinburgh, where he became editor of the Edinburgh Review and a contributor to many magazines, besides writing a Life of Caxton. In 1807 he came to London as secretary to Lord Lauderdale, and eventually settled as Keeper of the Records at the Treasury Office, which position he held until his death in 1829. Mrs. Gaskell’s mother was Elizabeth Holland, fourth daughter of Samuel Holland of the Sandlebridge Estate, near Knutsford. He also owned an estate known as Dogholes, near Great Warford.
Grandfather Holland was a very lovable man, and doubtless he contributed something to the beautiful character of the farmer preacher, Mr. Holman, in Cousin Phillis, and in a less degree to Thomas Holbrook, Miss Matty’s faithful lover. The ancestral home at Sandlebridge is beautifully and accurately described as Hope Farm in Cousin Phillis, and as Woodley in Cranford. The history of several members of the distinguished Holland family was such that it could not escape wandering into the novels of such a genius as Mrs. Gaskell, though she never meant to put real people in her stories. If Leslie Stephen’s definition of a novel is correct, “transfigured experience, not necessarily the author’s own experience, but near enough to his everyday life to be within the range of his sympathy,” then Mrs. Gaskell’s novels bear the test well.
Little is known of the paternal grandmother, but her grandmother Holland is described as “A woman of extraordinary energy and will and rather the opposite of her husband, who, though firm, was far quieter and disposed to treat his servants with more leniency than his wife, who was exceedingly particular with them.” Sir Henry Holland, in his Recollections, says that his grandfather, Samuel Holland, was the most practical optimist he ever knew, and although he farmed his own land, he could never be got to complain of “the distemperature of the seasons,” and one of Samuel Holland’s own sons states that his father’s life had been “particularly smooth.”
Elizabeth Stevenson stayed in Knutsford until she was thirteen, the only variation being an occasional visit to her father at Chelsea. Knutsford, with its curious old customs, must have made a very vivid impression on her mind, since afterwards she was able to portray the little country town in no less than six of her stories depicting English village life in the early part of the nineteenth century. These quaint stories are perfect little miniatures set in the beautiful scenery which abounds in that part of Cheshire, and they give us glimpses of the novelist at her best.
How few could have found in bygone Knutsford, with its prim old maids, a few aristocratic families, and the necessary doctor and lawyer, so much excellent material with which to weave stories that have charmed succeeding generations in many lands. It was Mrs. Gaskell’s clear intuition which saw so much more than meets the eye of the ordinary mortal and supplied her with an unlimited and inexhaustible store, from which she could charm either by voice or pen. One who knew her before she was recognised as a gifted writer said of her, “She was a born story-teller,” and we can well believe it.
When nearly fourteen Elizabeth Stevenson was sent to an excellent boarding-school at Stratford-on-Avon, kept by the Misses Byerley, who were related to the Hollands, as well as to her stepmother. There she stayed for two years, including holidays. The school was once known as “The Old House of St. Mary,” and for a little while Shakespeare lived there. To be educated in a house in which Shakespeare once dwelt was a good augury for the future novelist.
Elizabeth’s schooldays were very happy. Writing to Mary Howitt in 1838, she says, “I am unwilling to leave even in thought the haunts of such happy days as my schooldays were.”
A book, presented to one of her schoolfellows, dated June 15th, 1824, lies before me, with Elizabeth Stevenson’s signature. She was noted for her kindness to her school friends, and, like Charlotte Brontë, when at Roe Head it was said of her that she could often be found surrounded by a group of eager listeners, and even as a schoolgirl she had, like her dear Miss Matty, a leaning to ghost stories.
Her first separate literary effort was a letter describing an afternoon spent at Clopton Hall, Stratford-on-Avon, in company with her school friends, which she sent to William Howitt, who readily accepted it for insertion in his “Visits to Remarkable Places.” It was written more than ten years after she left school, but it proves how observant as a girl she was, and how her love of research led her to explore the old house, rather than wander in the park which surrounds the hall.