Brontës (85 page)

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!
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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.
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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'.
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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.
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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.
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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 Brontë children – including Branwell – a personal memento, but she chose to leave her money to the four nieces who stood most in need of it.
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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.
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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.

In the meantime, she indulged in a little gaiety. Her visit to Ellen was reciprocated in January, and Charlotte teased her friend mercilessly about her current suitors, John and Joe Taylor, and her past one, Mr Vincent. ‘There exists a tragedy intitled the “rival Brothers”', she told Ellen,

I have addressed you in this note as plain Ellen – for though I know it will soon be Mrs J Taylor – I can't for the life of me tell whether the initial J stands for John or Joe. It is a complete enigma.

When I have time I mean to write Mr Vincent's elegy – poor man! the manufacturers are beating him hollow.
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On 27 January 1843, Charlotte left home, catching the nine o'clock train from Leeds to London. Arriving at Euston thirteen hours later, she took a cab to London Bridge Wharf and, despite the late hour, boarded the packet immediately.
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If, as seems likely, Charlotte used this adventure in her novel
Villette
, she had a frightening experience which would have fully justified her aunt's concerns about the impropriety of a young woman travelling alone. The cabman

offered me up as an oblation, served me as a dripping roast, making me alight in the midst of a throng of watermen.

This was an uncomfortable crisis. It was a dark night. The coachman instantly
drove off as soon as he had got his fare; the watermen commenced a struggle for me and my trunk. Their oaths I hear at this moment: they shook my philosophy more than did the night, or the isolation, or the strangeness of the scene.
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The packet at first refused to let her on board, saying it did not take passengers overnight, but eventually someone took pity on her plight and she was allowed on the boat.
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They sailed early the next morning, arriving in Ostend at nine in the evening. Next day, Charlotte took the train at midday and arrived at the Pensionnat Heger at seven o'clock on the Sunday evening. ‘Mde Heger received me with great kindness', she told Ellen and, omitting to tell her about the incident on London Bridge Wharf, which would undoubtedly have outraged her friend's sensibilities, she airily dismissed the adventure with the comment, ‘I had no accident – but of course some anxiety–'.
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Charlotte returned to the Pensionnat Heger as a teacher on a salary of sixteen pounds a year, out of which she had only to pay for her own German lessons. As befitted her new status, the Hegers gave orders that in future she was to be called ‘Mademoiselle Charlotte' and she took charge of the small but brightest group of pupils in the First Class.
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Almost immediately upon her arrival she had a visit from Mary Dixon, Mary Taylor's cousin, and was invited to spend the first of many Sundays at their house. By 6 March she could write quite cheerfully to Ellen to describe her life in Brussels.

I am settled by this time of course – I am not too much overloaded with occupation and besides teaching English I have time to improve myself in German I ought to consider myself well off and to be thankful for my good fortune – I hope I am thankful – and if I could always keep up my spirits – and never feel lonely or long for companionship or friendship or whatever they call it, I should do very well – As I told you before Msieur and Mde Heger are the only two persons in the house for whom I really experience regard and esteem and of course I cannot always be with them nor even often – They told me when I first returned that I was to consider their sitting-room my sitting-room also and to go there whenever I was not engaged in the school-room – this however I cannot do – in the day-time it is a public-room – where music masters and mistresses are constantly passing in and out and in the evening I will not and ought not to intrude on Mr & Mde Heger & their children – thus I am a good deal by myself out of school-hours – but that does not signify –
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Though Charlotte made light of her loneliness, it did indeed signify. In following her desire to return to Brussels she had not reckoned on the consequences of being alone, without the constant companionship of Emily which had made her first residence there not only bearable but happy. Then it had not mattered that there was a self-erected barrier between the Brontës and their fellow pupils. Now, however, when she stood in great need of friends, she had few resources to call upon. Mary Taylor had pursued her self-appointed plan of going to Germany as a teacher; Martha was lying in the Protestant cemetery; even the Dixons, the kind, gay and closely knit family with whom she spent so many pleasant hours, were soon to leave Brussels, their father having failed to sell his latest invention to the Belgian government.
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It was no wonder that Charlotte ended her letter to Ellen on a wistful note.

Good-bye to you dear Nell when I say so – it seems to me that you will hardly hear me – all the waves of the Channel, heaving & roaring between must deaden the sound—

Go-o-d-b-y-e

CB
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Chapter Fifteen

MONSIEUR HEGER

Possibly the greatest single influence on Charlotte, both as a person and as a writer, was the time she spent in Brussels; on Emily it is almost impossible to see any effect, however subtle. She seems to have picked up the threads of her old life without a pang of regret, plunging back into her Gondal poetry with an enthusiasm that suggests she had felt its deprivation in Brussels. The only noticeable difference is a slight increase in narrative poetry, charting the siege and fall of Zalona and the death of Rodric Lesley, suggesting that Emily had returned to chronicling the histories of Gondal and Gaaldine on a large scale. Otherwise, her preoccupations, as always, were with the partings and deaths of lovers and lamentations over the graves of loved ones.
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Monsieur Heger's teaching certainly had no influence on her poetic style, which remained as terse, evocative and simply phrased as ever.

Even Emily's friends were sceptical of the effect Brussels had had upon her. Mary Taylor, writing to Ellen Nussey from Germany, where she was now supporting herself by teaching, enquired curiously:

Tell me something about Emily Bronte. I can't imagine how the newly acquired qualities can
fit in
, in the same head & heart that is occupied by the old ones. Imagine Emily turning over prints or ‘taking wine' with any stupid fop & preserving her temper & politeness!
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Mary clearly considered that Emily's advantages in Brussels had been purely social, rather than academic. This may have been a recognition of her obstinate resistance to Monsieur Heger's teaching practices, but it failed to take into account the fact that the Pensionnat Heger had immeasurably improved her French as well as her German and her music. If nothing else, she had at least gained access to a whole new world of German literature which, with its dramatic qualities and stern tone, would appeal more to the creator of
Wuthering Heights
than the comparatively frivolous French novels Charlotte read so avidly. Ellen Nussey's graphic picture of Emily in the kitchen at the parsonage kneading bread with a German book propped open before her is testimony to her continuing interest.
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