Brontës

by Juliet Barker

  I generally visited him twice a day, joined with him in prayer, heard his request for the prayers of this congregation, listened to him whilst he expressed his entire dependence on the merits of the Saviour, heard of his pious admonitions to his attendants, and saw him in tranquility close his eyes on this bustling, vain, selfish world; so that I may truly say, his end was peace, and his hope glory.74

  William Weightman was just twenty-eight, his death requiring all Patrick’s eloquence and faith to explain as the will of the God whom he had served so well. He died on 6 September and was buried four days later in Haworth Church by Patrick himself.75 As was then customary, Patrick preached a funeral sermon in his memory on the afternoon of Sunday, 2 October. Such was his grief that he was unable to follow his usual practice of preaching extempore and he prepared his sermon in advance, opening it with the words: ‘For more than twenty years, during which time I have ministered amongst you, this will be the first sermon I shall have read to this congregation, and it may be the last.’ He went on to praise not only his curate’s pious end but, more especially, his life, giving way to rare public emotion only when he declared ‘we were always like father and son’. It was right to mourn his death, but not without hope, for his salvation was assured. In words which could have been intended for his own son, Branwell, whose poems had often dwelt on the fear of death, he offered understanding and comfort:

  There is more of scepticism in man’s creed than he is wont to think of. Else, why does the pious youth fear to die? perhaps, that he may live well, perhaps not – or for what reason does the good old man wish to protract his weary existence, till he becomes a burthen to himself, and an incumbrance to others … that the followers of Christ should tremble at the last step of their journey, which will introduce them into His presence and His glory, can only be accounted for by the weakness of their faith, and the remains of sin …76

  The tributes to Weightman flooded in. Patrick had his sermon published privately so that it could reach a larger audience; the Leeds Intelligencer eulogized Weightman’s ‘talents, worth, and amiable character’ and the inhabitants of Haworth raised a subscription to pay for a monument to their curate. The wording may again have been drawn up by Branwell.

  He was three years curate of Haworth and by the congregation, and parishioners in general, was greatly respected, for his orthodox principles, active zeal, moral habits, learning, mildness and affability: his useful labours will long be gratefully remembered, by the members of the congregation; and Sunday school teachers, and scholars.77

  Patrick and Branwell scarcely had time to inform Charlotte, Emily and Anne of Weightman’s death and recover from their grief when another blow struck. Aunt Branwell, who had always enjoyed uniformly good health, fell ill. It soon became obvious that she, too, was about to die. Branwell, reeling under the shock, could only write to Grundy, who had protested at his friend’s failure to reply to his letters.

  There is no misunderstanding. I have had a long attendance at the death-bed of the Rev. Mr Weightman, one of my dearest friends, and now I am attending at the death-bed of my aunt, who has been for twenty years as my mother. I expect her to die in a few hours.78

  In fact, it was four more days before Aunt Branwell died, an internal obstruction of her bowel reducing her to helpless agony. Writing to Grundy again on the day she died, Branwell was almost beside himself.

  As I don’t want to lose a real friend, I write in deprecation of the tone of your letter. Death only has made me neglectful of your kindness, and I have lately had so much experience with him, that your sister would not now blame me for indulging in gloomy visions either of this world or another. I am incoherent, I fear, but I have been waking two nights witnessing such agonising suffering as I would not wish my worst enemy to endure; and I have now lost the guide and director of all the happy days connected with my childhood.79

  If ever there was a corrective to the usual view of Aunt Branwell as a despotic, unpleasant and narrow-minded spinster who made the Brontë children’s lives a misery, Branwell’s unsolicited testimonial is it.

  Letters had been immediately despatched to Charlotte and Emily in Brussels and to Anne at Thorp Green as soon as Aunt Branwell’s death was imminent. The news of her illness did not reach Brussels until 2 November and although Charlotte and Emily made plans for their immediate departure, the next morning’s post brought them news of her death. Aunt Branwell was actually buried that day by the Reverend James Chesterton Bradley, curate of Oakworth. As she had wished, her remains were deposited in the church ‘as near as convenient to the remains of my dear sister’.80 Anne arrived home in time for the funeral and was permitted by the Robinsons to spend a few weeks with her family before returning to Thorp Green. This was an absolute necessity as, without Aunt Branwell, the whole burden of running the household would otherwise have fallen on the only servant, twelve-year-old Martha Brown.

  Although they were too late to pay their last respects to their aunt, Charlotte and Emily decided it was their duty to return home. They travelled to Antwerp, where they sailed for England on 6 November, arriving in Haworth on the morning of Tuesday, 8 November.81 They brought with them a letter from Monsieur Heger, addressed to their father, and further bad news. Martha Taylor, Mary’s bright, cheerful and flighty younger sister, had died in Brussels only a few days before Aunt Branwell; like William Weightman she had succumbed to cholera and had been devotedly nursed by Mary who had proved ‘more than a Mother – more than a Sister watching – nursing – cherishing her – so tenderly, so unweariedly’. Charlotte had rushed over to the Château Koekelberg as soon as she heard the news, but had arrived only to find Martha had died in the night. Mary was taken away to stay with her cousins, the Dixons, in Brussels and on 30 October, the Brontës had visited her. They had walked together to the Protestant cemetery outside Brussels where Martha was buried and had then returned for a pleasant evening at the Dixons’. Charlotte especially returned home in low spirits, writing mournfully to Ellen, ‘Aunt – Martha – Taylor – Mr Weightman are now/ all gone – how dreary & void everything seems –.’82

  There was some comfort not only in being reunited at home, however, but in the glowing terms of Monsieur Heger’s letter to their father. ‘I have not the honour of knowing you personally’, he told Patrick,

  and yet I have a feeling of profound admiration for you, for in judging the father of a family by his children one cannot be mistaken and in this respect the education and sentiments that we have found in your daughters can only give us a very high idea of your worth and of your character. You will undoubtedly learn with pleasure that your children have made extra-ordinary progress in all the branches of learning, and that this progress is entirely due to their love of work and their perseverance. With pupils like this we had very little to do; their progress is more your work than ours. We did not have to teach them the value of time and instruction, they had learnt all this in their paternal home; and we have only had, on our part, the slight merit of directing their efforts and providing suitable material for the praiseworthy activity which your daughters have drawn from your example and your lessons.83

  Monsieur Heger went on to praise the improvement the girls had shown in their studies. Emily had progressed so well that she was about to receive music lessons from the best teacher in Belgium; she was now teaching the piano herself and losing the last traces of her crippling shyness. Charlotte had begun to give lessons in French and had already acquired that ‘assurance and aplomb’ so necessary to teachers. Had they been able to stay, the Hegers would have been able to offer at least one of them a position entirely suited to her tastes and giving her a much coveted independence. Though he did not wish to interfere, Monsieur Heger nevertheless made an indirect appeal to Patrick to allow the girls to return to Brussels.

  You must believe, sir, this is not a question of personal interest with us, it is a question of affection. You will pardon me if we speak of your children, if we interest ourselves in th
eir welfare, as if they were part of our own family; their personal qualities, their good will, their extreme zeal are the only reasons which compel us to risk your displeasure.84

  Charlotte had already determined that she would return to Brussels but, for the moment at least, she had to remain at home. The Brontës were expected to go into mourning for their aunt and did so, though it did not take Charlotte long to arrange to meet Ellen. As her brother, George, was ill at home, Ellen did not wish to leave Brookroyd. Instead, she proposed that Charlotte should visit her there for a week, an invitation which Charlotte snapped up, despite having doubts as to how convenient her presence would be.85

  Charlotte went to Brookroyd the day after Anne returned to Thorp Green. Anne had been quite happy to resign the household duties to Emily and had spent at least part of her precious time at home in writing two poems. In view of the fact that this was less than two months after William Weightman’s death, it is worth pointing out that neither poem bore any relation to him or even expressed grief or suffering. The first completed a poem begun at Thorp Green in February, ‘In memory of a happy day in February.’

  Blessed be Thou for all the Joy

  My soul has felt today!

  O let its memory stay with me

  And never pass away!

  The poem celebrated the quiet religious joy she had experienced when she had been given ‘a glimpse of truths divine’:

  I knew there was a God on high

  By whom all things were made.

  I saw his wisdom and his power

  In all his works desplayed

  But most through out the moral world

  I saw his glory shine

  I saw his wisdom infinite

  His mercy all devine.

  Deep secrets of his providence

  In darkness long co[n]cealed

  Were brought to my delighted eyes

  And graciously revealed86

  This poem was completed on 10 November, the same day she began another addressed to the religious poet, William Cowper. The mood of this composition, though appropriately melancholic, was again optimistic. Recalling how she had read Cowper’s poems since childhood and in them traced her own sins and sorrows, hopes and fears, she reflected that she had not then known of the poet’s real torments. Now, his years of suffering were ended, his ‘gentle soul’ was in the bosom of his God and had found its home at last.

  It must be so if God is love,

  And answers fervent prayer;

  Then surely thou shalt dwell on high

  And I may meet thee there …

  Yet should thy darkest fears be true

  If Heaven <’s decree> be so severe

  That such a soul as thine is lost

  O! how shall I appear?87

  The question in the last verse was surely hypothetical. It is clear from the rest of the poem that Anne had no doubts as to Cowper’s salvation, though she may have feared for her own. In this quietly introspective mood, Anne returned to Thorp Green on 28 November, to recommence her uncongenial duties.88

  It was while she was at Thorp Green in December that Anne wrote the only poem which can justifiably be attributed to William Weightman’s death. It is worth quoting in full, if only because it is often produced as the trump card, ‘proving’ Anne’s unrequited passion for the curate.

  I will not mourn thee, lovely one,

  Though thou art torn away.

  ’Tis said that if the morning sun

  Arize with dazzling ray

  And shed a bright and burning beam,

  Athwart the glittering main,

  Ere noon shall fade that laughing gleam

  Enlulphed in clouds and rain.

  And if thy life as transient proved

  It hath been full as bright,

  For thou wert hopeful and beloved;

  Thy spirit knew no blight.

  If few and short the joys of life

  That thou on earth couldst know

  Little thou knew’st of sin and strife

  Nor much of pain and wo

 

  If vain thy earthly hopes did prove

  Thou canst not mourn their flight

  Thy brightest hopes were fixed above

  And they shall know no blight.

  And yet I cannot check my sighs

  Thou wert so young and fair

  More bright than Summer morning skies,

  But stern Death would not spare

  He would not pass our darling bye

  Nor grant one hour’s delay

  But rudely closed his shining eye

  And frowned his smile away

  That Angel smile that late so much,

  Could my fond heart rejoice,

  And he has silenced by his touch,

  The music of thy voice,

  I’ll weep no more thine early doom

  But O I still must mourn –

  The pleasures buried in thy tomb

  For they will not return!89

  For a poem supposed to represent the depth of Anne’s love for William Weightman, cruelly torn from her in her absence and in the prime of his life, the lines are surprisingly calm and resigned. If anything, they reflect the reaction of Patrick as expressed in his ‘Funeral Sermon’, rather than someone devastated by the loss of the great love of her life. The poem expresses fondness and regret, rather than the desolation and despair one would expect in such circumstances. The strongest expression of affection she uses is qualified by the fact that he is ‘our darling’ and not ‘my darling’. Anne was perfectly capable of writing passionate love poetry for the characters in Gondal and in her novels.90 In her own religious poetry, too, she plumbs the depths of a heartfelt emotion which is totally absent from this poem, so one cannot argue that her autobiographical poetry lacked the passion of her purely fictional work. The most one can deduce from this poem, granted that it is about William Weightman, is that Anne shared the family affection for him and, like all who came in contact with him, regretted his early death.

  The year 1842 drew to a close in a flurry of activity in Haworth. There were two lectures in the village, held in the Forester’s Hall: one by a local man, John Townend, on the subject of phrenology, followed a week later by one from a Manchester professor of elocution ‘on the present crisis, faction & its influence, origin of the late fearful commotions, university of opinion with respect to reform, necessity of union, how to effect the same and restore the human family to comfort and independence’.91 Having put the world to rights, Haworth celebrated the end of the year, appropriately enough, with high culture and comedy. A vocal and instrumental concert was held in the church Sunday school, featuring Thomas Parker, the Haworth tenor, and Mrs Boocock, from the Halifax concerts. The orchestra of Haworth players was led for the occasion by Mr G. F. Hoffman,

  the celebrated … German violinist, who astonished a numerous audience by his extra-ordinary abilities as a musician, especially by his performance on the violincello, entitled ‘The Farmyard’ … all was performed with first rate ability amidst unbounded applause.92

  Though they were in mourning for their aunt, it seems probable that the Brontës would have attended such a musical treat, especially as it was held under the auspices of the church.

  The comedy was provided at Stanbury by the ex-churchwardens of Haworth who, having quarrelled about their office, decided to settle the dispute in the time-honoured fashion.

  We are not certain whether the gentlemen were armed with hair-trigger pistols or common blunder-busses, but have been positively informed that the weapons were loaded with cinders, instead of ball. The distance of the gentlemen was 20 paces. They fired & lo! the whole matter ended in smoke, but the gentlemen were satisfied.93

  With the death of Aunt Branwell, the girls, together with their cousin in Penzance, Eliza Kingston, had all inherited an equal share in their aunt’s estate. She had left each of the Bro
ntë children – including Branwell – a personal memento, but she chose to leave her money to the four nieces who stood most in need of it.94 Probate and administration was granted in December and, according to an inventory of the residue of Aunt Branwell’s property, the girls could expect to get just under £300 each.95 Most of the money was invested in shares in the York and North Midland Railway, but as the youngest niece, Anne, had already passed her twenty-first birthday, they could be cashed in. Though not a sum which would transform their lives, the Brontë girls now had at least the benefit of a cushion against immediate financial hardship should their father die.

  There was clearly much to be sorted out over the Christmas holidays, but the solutions seem to have come easily. Charlotte was in high spirits; she had been the least close to her aunt and so felt her death less keenly than the other members of her family. She was determined to return to Brussels and there was no one to oppose her, her aunt being the only person who could have exerted sufficient pressure. Aunt Branwell would certainly have moved heaven and earth to prevent Charlotte travelling alone across England and Belgium, as she intended to do because she could not find a suitable escort. It is a measure of Charlotte’s influence over Patrick that he was persuaded to agree to such an ill-advised plan. Despite her success in Brussels, Emily had no wish to return. She gave up her place at the Pensionnat Heger willingly, almost, one senses, with a feeling of relief, and agreed to resume her old role as the family housekeeper. Anne, who had now spent nearly two years with the Robinsons, was clearly appreciated by them – so much so that, young Edmund Robinson having outgrown her care, they were prepared to accept her suggestion that her brother should be appointed his tutor. At the end of the Christmas holidays, Branwell would join her at Thorp Green. With all her family gainfully employed, Charlotte had nothing to restrain her. She could and would return to Brussels.