Charles and Emma (28 page)

Emma continued to read books on religion as well, and on politics; she read the Psalms, but was not much impressed by
them, and as usual she called it as she saw it. She wrote in a letter to Etty, “I am reading the Psalms and I cannot conceive how they have satisfied the devotional feelings of the world for such centuries.” She also did needlework, played patience and whist, played the piano, and wrote many letters.

Emma enjoyed her grandchildren immensely, playing with them and bribing them just as she had done with her own children. They climbed into her bed as she ate breakfast; Emma pulled licorice out of her sewing basket and gave them treats. Her daughters-in-law loved her, too, and she returned the feeling. “My dear daughter in heart,” she called William's wife.

One day in Cambridge she was playing with her grandchildren, watching them fly a kite. Afterward she had them over for tea and a game of hide-and-seek. Little Erasmus, then about three, said, “Grandmama, did your little children have kites?” Emma wondered whether he realized who her little children were.

She entertained visitors in Cambridge and in Down, often old servants and the children of old servants. Etty said she seemed very happy and less anxious in her later years. “Her buoyant spirit and the essential reserve of her nature prevented our knowing how much she dwelt on the past.”

 

In his autobiography, Charles told his children that their mother was his greatest blessing. “I marvel at my good fortune, that she, so infinitely my superior in every single moral quality consented to be my wife…She has been my wise adviser and cheerful comforter…She has earned the love and admiration of every soul near her.”

On September 27, 1896, Emma fell ill. She was eighty-eight years old. Charles had been gone for fourteen years. She wrote
to Etty and said she was feeling fine; there was no need to come. But Etty hurried to take care of her mother just as her mother had taken care of her when she was sick.

Getting ready for bed on October 2, Emma wound up her watch as she always did before she went to sleep. Then she put her head back on her pillow and she died.

 

Epilogue

So Much to Worship

 

There is a grandeur in this view of life…

—C
HARLES, IN
T
HE
O
RIGIN OF
S
PECIES

 

I suppose one does admire one's own view absurdly.

—E
MMA
, 1889,
LOOKING AT THE VALLEY FROM THE FIELD AT
D
OWN

 

C
harles Darwin left an unparalleled legacy to science. He gave future generations of scientists “a theory by which to work.” His theory will continue to evolve. The debate between evolution and religion continues, too. He and Emma would certainly say that people from both worlds should keep talking to each other.

Together Emma and Charles left a legacy in generations of Darwins. Frank, George, and Horace had children, and these three sons also continued in their father's footsteps: Frank was a botanist and edited his father's letters and published the
Autobiography.
He was knighted in 1913. George did grow up to find work he loved, as Aunt Jessie had hoped. He was an
astronomer and mathematician and studied the evolution of the solar system. Horace made scientific instruments and was for a short time mayor of Cambridge.

As Charles had said, all the sons were doing wonders, though not all in science. William was a banker. Lenny became a soldier in the Royal Engineers, taught at the School of Military Engineering, and served in the Ministry of the War (in the Intelligence Division) and in Parliament. Henrietta Darwin Litchfield edited her mother's personal letters and published them in 1904 with many biographical notes. Etty had no children but was a devoted wife and aunt. Elizabeth Darwin did not marry or have children; she was a loving and attentive aunt to her nieces and nephews and took care of elderly people at the workhouse in Cambridge.

Emma and Charles's first grandchild, Bernard, grew up to be a lawyer and a famous golf writer. And George's daughter, Gwen (the baby who put both fists in her mouth), grew up to be an artist and writer named Gwen Raverat. She wrote a memoir about her childhood called
Period Piece,
in which she described her grandmother Emma, her Darwin aunts and uncles, and Down House.

Gwen spent many summers at Down before Emma died. And as a little girl, she adored everything about Down House. She wrote,

 

The path in front of the veranda was made of large round water-worn pebbles, from some beach. They were not loose, but stuck down tight in moss and sand, and were black and shiny, as if they had been polished. I adored those pebbles. I mean literally, adored; worshipped…And it was adoration that I felt for the foxgloves at Down, and for the stiff red clay out of the Sandwalk clay-pit; and for the beautiful white paint on the nursery floor.

 

When the Darwins had first moved to Down House, Charles had planted flowers so that Emma would be as happy there as she had been at Maer. The offspring of those flowers still bloomed, alongside new ones that Emma had planted. Just as Emma had felt about the flowers at Maer—that they were the prettiest anywhere—so Gwen felt about the ones at Down. “All the flowers that grew at Down were beautiful,” she said, “and different from all other flowers.”

Even though she never met her grandfather, his presence filled the house. “The faint flavour of the ghost of my grandfather hung in a friendly way about the place, house, garden and all.” Charles Darwin was a person to be revered. “Of course, we always felt embarrassed if our grandfather were mentioned, just as we did if God were spoken of.”

Gwen looked at Charles's study with awe. It had been left just as it was when he died, for the pilgrims who came to Down to see where the great man worked and lived. On the tables and shelves were remnants of his experiments, including something weird in a bottle. Gwen and her cousins ran through Charles's study to get outside, but it felt “faintly holy and sinister, like a church.”

“At Down,” Charles and Emma's granddaughter wrote, “there were more things to worship than anywhere else in the world.”

 

In 1838, when Charles had decided to ask Emma to marry him, he had made a leap of faith. When she agreed, they made that leap together.

“Marry—Marry—Marry Q.E.D.”

It had been demonstrated; it had been proved.

 

Acknowledgments

 

Writing this book was a labor of love. Sometimes it was a little heavy on the labor part, but it was never too light on the love part. That's because I fell in love with Charles and Emma and their whole family. And speaking of love, this book is a love letter to my husband, Jonathan Weiner, and it is he whom I have to thank first. He is the one who got me into this, after all. Jon's been writing about science and evolution since we met. I had just graduated from college with a major in religious studies. We started talking immediately—about science and religion and writing and pretty much everything else—and we haven't stopped since.

One day, about seven years ago, Jon said to me, “You know, Charles Darwin's wife was religious.” I looked at him. He continued, “And they loved each other very much. She was afraid he would go to hell and they wouldn't be together for eternity.”

If bells had chimed right then or fireworks had exploded in the sky above us at that moment (as they did once in Italy for no apparent reason other than it was our anniversary), I would not have been surprised. I knew right then I had a book to write. So thank you, Jon, for that moment, and for all the other zillions of moments since. You put up with a lot as I wrote this book. You owed me, sure, but you have paid me back in spades. I'm ready for your next one. Jon read the book front to back in many drafts, and if there are any mistakes, blame him. (That's not what you're supposed to say, I know, but…hey, he's my husband, so why not?)

Other people helped me enormously, and none of the mistakes (if there are any; God, I hope not) are theirs. I would like to thank those who read the whole book in different drafts: John Tyler Bonner, great scientist, writer, and dear friend; Martha Hewson, who saved my life and my sanity by being a terrific editor; Tali Woodward, who made terrific suggestions, and helped me check facts and track down loose ends at a moment's notice; and a special thanks to Janet Browne, who knows more about Darwin than anyone ever, including Darwin himself. I would also like to thank Reverend Nathan Humphrey for consultations. The following writer friends read chapters and gave me great advice and much encouragement. Thank you to Kay Winters, Sally Keehn, Pat Brisson, Wendy Pfeffer, Elvira Woodruff, Joyce McDonald, Pamela Curtis Swallow, Susan Korman, Gail Carson Levine, Elizabeth Winthrop, and the other three Four Vines—Patricia Lakin, Marguerite Holloway, and Laurent Linn. Barbara Kerley, Marfé Ferguson Delano, and Laurie Halse Anderson held my hand from afar.

My sons, Aaron and Benjamin, consulted, consoled, cajoled, and jumped to when I needed a quick fact or piece of advice. Benjamin helped out by going to college just as I had to finish the book. Those two sons of ours are doing wonders, and they inspire me every day. I also have to thank the friends and family I neglected while working on this book. They knew not to call before noon most days (if they remembered) and not to call at all sometimes. For their support and patience I thank especially Julie Stockler, Nancy Sandberg, Laurie Brotman (and Henry), Essie Goldsmith, Linda Miller, Cherie Vogelstein, Doris and Morton Fleischer, Bonnie Long, Jerome Weiner, and my whole Pennsylvania family. I'm sorry if I'm missing anyone. Thanks also to Gail and Steve Rubin.

Now to my book team. First to Ken Wright, who has the best homo-phonic name for an agent (yes, you Can Write!). Thank you, Ken, for looking at me at our first meeting, and saying, “So what do ya got?” and lighting up when I told you about Charles and Emma. Thank you, too, for your (almost) limitless capacity for patience, and for your humor, your great e-mails, and, you know, everything. (I don't want to sing your praises too high because I don't want to share you more than I already have to.) Noa Wheeler is probably the most brilliant associate editor in the universe and also perhaps the funniest. She not only kept us all in line and held it all together, miraculously, but she also came up with the second-best title for this book
(Charles, Emma, and God: The Darwins at Home).
A very special
thanks to my editor, Laura Godwin, who dispensed pearls of wisdom just when I needed them and somehow managed to make me laugh at the same time. I don't know how she does it.

And, finally, thank you to Charles and Emma. You two are just the best. I am going to miss you.

The Darwin Family

 

 

 

The Wedgwood Family