The Secret of Charlotte Bront?

TE LEAVE

tte. We cannot doubt that these emotions were suffered by the woman of genius who describes them, because it is, not imagination, but remembrance, that has given these

flict injury on others; yet that is refused the right that even the condemned criminal is not refused,-to bid farewell to what he holds most dear on earth before he goes forth to execution-all these feelings are painted in the wonderful pages, whe

ucy farewell, before he starts for his voyage to Basseterres in Guadeloupe, are pages from the spiritual life of Charlotte Bront?-taken out of their proper frame of circumstances, and a

, that is to say, in a period when, from Christmas day to perhaps the 7th January, there would be holidays, and the Bruxelles pupils would have gone to their homes. It is probable then that the English teacher, before the bre

Madame Heger would have kept her English teacher employed in writing letters at her dictation, in her private sitting-room, whilst this class was going on. Like Lucy, Charlotte would have broken away at the end, when she heard the sound of moving forms, and shutting desk

ut it would have been entirely like him, whether he knew what was happening or not, to wish for an emotional leave-taking with his English pupil. M. Heger liked to foster a certain amount of sensibility in his relationships with his pupils-it did not amount to more than a taste for dramatic situations where he had an interesting part to play that gave his histrionic talents a good field of exercise. But the message warning Charlotte 'that he must see her at leisure, before she left, and talk with her at length,' appears to me just the sort of message M. Heg

band from keeping the appointment, it is also quite possible that M. Heger may have aga

n Madame Heger and Charlotte took place just as the authoress of 'Vill

would he come and speak his farewell, or he w

l rose at the usual hour; all breakfasted as usual; all, without reference to, or apparent th

I scarce knew how to breathe in an atmosphere thus stagnant, thus smothering. Would no one l

ld not, they would not now band to besiege Madame Beck, and insist on a last interview with a master who had

was scarce a stone's-throw. Had it been in the next room, unsummoned I could make no use of

arm. Had he passed silent and unnoticing, silent

knew how to keep at my post or do my work. Yet the little world round me plodded on indifferent; all seemed jocund, free of care, or fear, or thought. The ve

wer. Before settling to this work, I observed that she softly closed the two doors of her chamber; she even shut and fastened the casement, though it was a hot day, and free circulation

tramp. Yet I could both listen and write. About the middle of the letter I heard what checked my pen-a tread in the vestibule. No door-bell had rung; Rosine-a

was fettered, my ear enchained, my

m the dwelling-house. Despite distance and partition, I heard

ing away work,

y work, but why that sudden hush,

; I will see

not be left. Powerless to detain me, she rose and followed

oming too?

r aspect-a look clouded, yet resolute. We proceed

ere once more appeared the form most familiar. I doub

ls, pressing each hand, touching with his lips each cheek. This last cere

lowing and watching me close. My neck and shoulder shra

fault of self-assertion, with which, in a crisis, I could be struck. She hastened to her kinsman, she broke upon him volubly, she mastered his attention, she hurried him to the door-the glass door opening on the garden. I think he looked round. Could I but have caught his eye, courage, I think, would have rushed in to aid feeling, and there would

n passed alone-a grief inexpressible over a loss unendurable. What should I do-oh! what sho

t child in the school-broke with its simplicity and its unconsci

t. M. Paul said I was to seek you all over the house, from the

ropped on my knee, its olive leaf plucked off. I

terview is deferred. Be ready for me. Ere I sail, I must see you at leisure, and speak with you at length. Be ready. My moments are numbered

ed. Oh! I would be ready. But could that longed-for meeting really be achieved? The time was so short, the schemers seemed so watchful, so active, so hostile. The

me comfort. It seemed to me that I felt a pulse of h

hich never dawned, and will not set, an angel entered Hades, stood, shone, smiled, delivered a prophecy of conditional pardon, kindled a doubtful hope of bliss to come, not now, but at a day and hour unlooked

ssed heavy. Cold and peculiar, I knew it for the partner of a rarely-belied presentiment. The first hours seemed long and s

I still remained in the gloomy first classe, forgetting, or at lea

h down its length. There I walked, and there, when certain that the whole household were abed and quite out of hearing, there I at last wept. Reliant on night,

y occasion, at an ordinary season. Instead of at once addressing me, she went to her desk, took her keys, and seemed to seek something. She loitered over this feigned search long, too long. She was calm, too calm. My mood s

said madame. 'The rule of the house h

t check my walk. When she came

s; let me lead you to your chamber

you nor another shall

ting up still. She shall make you comfo

our own bed warm and soft; take sedatives and meats, and drinks spiced and sweet, as much as you will. If you have any sorrow or disappoint

to watch you, Meess

my life, and my troubles. O madame! in your hand there

ss? You must not marry

e might bind him to her interest. Deep into some of madame's secrets I had entered, I know not how-by an intuition or an inspiration which came to me, I know not whence. In the course of living with her, to

disguise, her mask, and her domino were to me a mere network reticulated with holes; and I saw underneath a being heartless, self-indulgent, and ignoble. She quietly retreated from me. Meek and self-pos

her manner to me. I do not know that she revenged it. I do not know that she hated me the worse for my fell candour. I think she bucklered herself with the secret philosophy of he

nd emotions that transformed the early memories of Madame Heger, of whom Charlotte once spoke so kindly in her letters,

this very passage-which the critic affirms (and no doubt she is quite right) does not strike her as a convincing nor even as a credible account of the sentiments or behaviour that could have belonged to Lucy Snowe, the heroine in Villette. 'Lucy Snowe,' this critic complains, 'could never have broken down, never have appealed for mercy, neve

nowe, by virtue of the very force of the effect produced by this creation, could not have said, 'My heart will break,' before her treacherous rival Madame Beck, in Paul Emanuel's presence. I admit this, because Lucy Snowe, Madame Beck and Paul Emanuel, if not absolutely 'creations,' in the sense of being imaginary characters, are nevertheless different people from Charlotte Bront?, Madame Heger and Monsieur Heger, and their relationships to each other are different. Thus, in the novel Lucy Snowe is not only in love with Paul Emanuel, but she has a perfect right to

arlotte has obtained, after so much suspense and waiting, and as the result of a heaven-sent accident, the almost despaired of chance of a personal interview with her loved Professor, before she loses sight of him, perhaps for ever, and when in this moment, and just when he has taken her hand in his,... Madame Heger enters, and thrusts herself between them, and commands her husband, 'Come, Constantin,' and Charlotte believes he will obey, it seems to me so eminently credible as to be almost inevitably true, that what Charlotte describes happened, and that then,

, and judge this page as one torn out of Charlot

again essay that corroding pain of long attent, that rude agony of rupture at the close, that mute, mortal wrench, which, in at once uproo

ng walk into the country to take their go?ter, or afternoon meal, at some farmhouse. I did not go with them, for now but two days remaine

he performance of these operations, which could not be executed when the rooms were filled with pupils. As I sat solitary, purp

ted, too-as captives in dungeons find sometimes dreary leisure to note the merest trifles-that this man wore shoes, and not sabots. I concluded that it must be the master-carpenter coming to inspect before he sent his journeymen. I threw round me my scarf. He advanced; he opened the doo

pliant no fulfilment. Once haply in life one golden gift falls pron

se to me in one second; he was all amity. It might be his bridegroom-mood which thus brightened him. Whatever the cause, I could not meet his sunshine with cloud. If this were my last moment with him, I would not waste it in forced, unnatural distance. I loved him well-too well not to smite out of my path even Jeal

d my hand two minutes. He would touch my cheek with his lips for the first, last, only time, and then-no more. Then, indeed, the final p

us smile went out, his lips expressed something almost like the wordless language of a mother who finds

n. I have yet a great many things to say to you-conversation for the whole

M. Emanuel. 'Come, Paul!' she reiterated, her eye grazing me with its hard ray like a steel stylet. She pushed against her kinsman.

rt will

n. One breath from M. Paul, the whisper, 'Trust me!' lifted a load, opened an outlet. With many

will give her a cordial, and it wi

e poisoner and her bowl. When M. Paul answered deeply, harshly, and briefly, '

ostrils opening, and his facial m

ver do,' said mad

y rejoined

ez d'

the spot I will send for him,'

his deep tones, but in his highest and mo

im in his wrath with a passi

able, imaginative temperament-a step impulsive, injudicious, inconsistent-a proceeding vex

entle, be pitying, be a woman. Look at this poor face, and relent. You know I am your friend and the friend of your friends; in spite of your taunts you well

m dauntless; she met his eyes, forbidding and fixed as stone. She was opening her lips to retort. I saw over all M. Paul's face a quick rising light and fire. I can hardly tell how he managed the mo

I was calm, dropping from time to time a stilling, solacing word. Ere long I sat beside him once more myself-

ad, then, to lose y

have not heard from you one word, and I was crushed with the possibilit

r? You will have proof that I can be a firm friend? Without clear proof this hand will not lie still in

hing, prove anything, mon

, waits and works in the school where he has appointed her Directress; in patient expectation of his return,-that never comes to pass! For (why or wherefore, no literary critic of Villette who measures the book by simply artistic standards can find any reason to explain) Charlotte won't let Lucy Snowe, the heroine, who is her other self, find happiness at last with Paul Emanu

t and indignation. He had, with tenderness and passion, declared his love for Lucy; and had asked her to be his wife. This is what had followed after those scenes between Lucy and Mad

must be gathered, not by a quite literal acceptance, but by an intelligent and impartial weighing, of her

g my abilities as a teacher sealed with the seal of the Athenée Royal of which he is a professor.... I do not know whether you feel as I do, but there are times when it appears to me as if all my ideas and feelings, except a few friendships and affections, are changed fro

haps? Charlotte left Br

ife,