Charlotte Bronte and Her Circle Part 10

'HAWORTH, _January_ 15_th_, 1843.

'DEAR NELL,--I am much obliged to you for transferring the roll of muslin. Last Sat.u.r.day I found the other gift, for which you deserve smothering. I will deliver Branwell your message. You have left your Bible--how can I send it? I cannot tell precisely what day I leave home, but it will be the last week in this month. Are you going with me? I admire exceedingly the costume you have chosen to appear in at the Birstall rout. I think you say pink petticoat, black jacket, and a wreath of roses--beautiful! For a change I would advise a black coat, velvet stock and waistcoat, white pantaloons, and smart boots. Address Rue d'Isabelle. Write to me again, that's a good girl, very soon. Respectful remembrances to your mother and sister.

'C. BRONTE.'

Then she is in Brussels again, as the following letter indicates.

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'BRUSSELS, _January_ 30_th_, 1843.

'DEAR ELLEN,--I left Leeds for London last Friday at nine o'clock; owing to delay we did not reach London till ten at night--two hours after time. I took a cab the moment I arrived at Euston Square, and went forthwith to London Bridge Wharf. The packet lay off that wharf, and I went on board the same night. Next morning we sailed.

We had a prosperous and speedy voyage, and landed at Ostend at seven o'clock next morning. I took the train at twelve and reached Rue d'Isabelle at seven in the evening. Madame Heger received me with great kindness. I am still tired with the continued excitement of three days' travelling. I had no accident, but of course some anxiety. Miss Dixon called this afternoon. {107} Mary Taylor had told her I should be in Brussels the last week in January. I am going there on Sunday, D.V. Address--Miss Bronte, Chez Mme. Heger, 32 Rue d'Isabelle, Bruxelles.--Good-bye, dear.

'C. B.'

This second visit of Charlotte Bronte to Brussels has given rise to much speculation, some of it of not the pleasantest kind. It is well to face the point bluntly, for it has been more than once implied that Charlotte Bronte was in love with M. Heger, as her prototype Lucy Snowe was in love with Paul Emanuel. The a.s.sumption, which is absolutely groundless, has had certain plausible points in its favour, not the least obvious, of course, being the inclination to read autobiography into every line of Charlotte Bronte's writings. Then there is a pa.s.sage in a printed letter to Miss Nussey which has been quoted as if to bear out this suggestion: 'I returned to Brussels after aunt's death,' she writes, 'against my conscience, prompted by what then seemed an irresistible impulse. I was punished for my selfish folly by a total withdrawal for more than two years of happiness and peace of mind.'

It is perfectly excusable for a man of the world, unacquainted with qualifying facts, to a.s.sume that for these two years Charlotte Bronte's heart was consumed with an unquenchable love for her professor--held in restraint, no doubt, as the most censorious admit, but sufficiently marked to secure the jealousy and ill-will of Madame Heger. Madame Heger and her family, it must be admitted, have kept this impression afloat.

Madame Heger refused to see Mrs. Gaskell when she called upon her in the Rue d'Isabelle; and her daughters will tell you that their father broke off his correspondence with Miss Bronte because his favourite English pupil showed an undue extravagance of devotion. 'Her attachment after her return to Yorks.h.i.+re,' to quote a recent essay on the subject, 'was expressed in her frequent letters in a tone that her Brussels friends considered it not only prudent but kind to check. She was warned by them that the exaltation these letters betrayed needed to be toned down and replaced by what was reasonable. She was further advised to write only once in six months, and then to limit the subject of her letters to her own health and that of her family, and to a plain account of her circ.u.mstances and occupations.' {109a} Now to all this I do not hesitate to give an emphatic contradiction, a contradiction based upon the only independent authority available. Miss Laet.i.tia Wheelwright and her sisters saw much of Charlotte Bronte during this second sojourn in Brussels, and they have a quite different tale to tell. That misgiving of Charlotte, by the way, which weighed so heavily upon her mind afterwards, was due to the fact that she had left her father practically unprotected from the enticing company of a too festive curate. He gave himself up at this time to a very copious whisky drinking, from which Charlotte's home-coming speedily rescued him. {109b}

Madame Heger did indeed hate Charlotte Bronte in her later years. This is not unnatural when we remember how that unfortunate woman has been gibbeted for all time in the characters of Mlle. Zoraide Reuter and Madame Beck. But in justice to the creator of these scathing portraits, it may be mentioned that Charlotte Bronte took every precaution to prevent _Villette_ from obtaining currency in the city which inspired it.

She told Miss Wheelwright, with whom naturally, on her visits to London, she often discussed the Brussels life, that she had received a promise that there should be no translation, and that the book would never appear in the French language. One cannot therefore fix upon Charlotte Bronte any responsibility for the circ.u.mstance that immediately after her death the novel appeared in the only tongue understood by Madame Heger.

Miss Wheelwright informs me that Charlotte Bronte did certainly admire M.

Heger, as did all his pupils, very heartily. Charlotte's first impression, indeed, was not flattering: 'He is professor of rhetoric, a man of power as to mind, but very choleric and irritable in temperament; a little black being, with a face that varies in expression. Sometimes he borrows the lineaments of an insane tom-cat, sometimes those of a delirious hyena; occasionally, but very seldom, he discards these perilous attractions and a.s.sumes an air not above 100 degrees removed from mild and gentleman-like.' But he was particularly attentive to Charlotte; and as he was the first really intelligent man she had met, the first man, that is to say, with intellectual interests--for we know how much she despised the curates of her neighbourhood--she rejoiced at every opportunity of doing verbal battle with him, for Charlotte inherited, it may be said, the Irish love of debate. Some time after Charlotte had returned to England, and when in the height of her fame, she met her Brussels school-fellow in London. Miss Wheelwright asked her whether she still corresponded with M. Heger. Charlotte replied that she had discontinued to do so. M. Heger had mentioned in one letter that his wife did not like the correspondence, and he asked her therefore to address her letters to the Royal Athenee, where, as I have mentioned, he gave lessons to the boys. 'I stopped writing at once,' Charlotte told her friend. 'I would not have dreamt of writing to him when I found it was disagreeable to his wife; certainly I would not write unknown to her.' 'She said this,' Miss Wheelwright adds, 'with the sincerity of manner which characterised her every utterance, and I would sooner have doubted myself than her.' Let, then, this silly and offensive imputation be now and for ever dismissed from the minds of Charlotte Bronte's admirers, if indeed it had ever lodged there. {110}

Charlotte had not visited the Wheelwrights in the Rue Royale during her first visit to Brussels. She had found the companions.h.i.+p of Emily all-sufficing, and Emily was not sufficiently popular with the Wheelwrights to have made her a welcome guest. They admitted her cleverness, but they considered her hard, unsympathetic, and abrupt in manner. We know that she was self-contained and homesick, pining for her native moors. This was not evident to a girl of ten, the youngest of the Wheelwright children, who was compelled to receive daily a music lesson from Emily in her play-hours. When, however, Charlotte came back to Brussels alone she was heartily welcomed into two or three English families, including those of Mr. Dixon, of the Rev. Mr. Jenkins, and of Dr. Wheelwright. With the Wheelwright children she sometimes spent the Sunday, and with them she occasionally visited the English Episcopal church which the Wheelwrights attended, and of which the clergyman was a Mr. Drury. When Dr. Wheelwright took his wife for a Rhine trip in May he left his four children--one little girl had died at Brussels, aged seven, in the preceding November--in the care of Madame Heger at the Pensionnat, and under the immediate supervision of Charlotte.

At this period there was plenty of cheerfulness in her life. She was learning German. She was giving English lessons to M. Heger and to his brother-in-law, M. Chappelle. She went to the Carnival, and described it 'animating to see the immense crowds and the general gaiety.' 'Whenever I turn back,' she writes, 'to compare what I am with what I was, my place here with my place at Mrs. Sidgwick's or Mrs. White's, I am thankful.'

In a letter to her brother, however, we find the darker side of the picture. It reveals many things apart from what is actually written down. In this, the only letter to Branwell that I have been able to discover, apart from one written in childhood, it appears that the brother and sister are upon very confidential terms. Up to this time, at any rate, Branwell's conduct had not excited any apprehension as to his future, and the absence of any substantial place in his aunt's will was clearly not due to misconduct. Branwell was now under the same roof as his sister Anne, having obtained an appointment as tutor to young Edmund Robinson at Thorp Green, near York, where Anne was governess. The letter is unsigned, concluding playfully with 'yourn; and the initials follow a closing message to Anne on the same sheet of paper.

TO BRANWELL BRONTE

'BRUSSELS, _May_ 1_st_, 1843.

'DEAR BRANWELL,--I hear you have written a letter to me. This letter, however, as usual, I have never received, which I am exceedingly sorry for, as I have wished very much to hear from you.

Are you sure that you put the right address and that you paid the English postage, 1s. 6d.? Without that, letters are never forwarded.

I heard from papa a day or two since. All appears to be going on reasonably well at home. I grieve only that Emily is so solitary; but, however, you and Anne will soon be returning for the holidays, which will cheer the house for a time. Are you in better health and spirits, and does Anne continue to be pretty well? I understand papa has been to see you. Did he seem cheerful and well? Mind when you write to me you answer these questions, as I wish to know. Also give me a detailed account as to how you get on with your pupil and the rest of the family. I have received a general a.s.surance that you do well and are in good odour, but I want to know particulars.

'As for me, I am very well and wag on as usual. I perceive, however, that I grow exceedingly misanthropic and sour. You will say that this is no news, and that you never knew me possessed of the contrary qualities--philanthropy and sugariness. _Das ist wahr_ (which being translated means, that is true); but the fact is, the people here are no go whatsoever. Amongst 120 persons which compose the daily population of this house, I can discern only one or two who deserve anything like regard. This is not owing to foolish fastidiousness on my part, but to the absence of decent qualities on theirs. They have not intellect or politeness or good-nature or good-feeling. They are nothing. I don't hate them--hatred would be too warm a feeling.

They have no sensations themselves and they excite none. But one wearies from day to day of caring nothing, fearing nothing, liking nothing, hating nothing, being nothing, doing nothing--yes, I teach and sometimes get red in the face with impatience at their stupidity.

But don't think I ever scold or fly into a pa.s.sion. If I spoke warmly, as warmly as I sometimes used to do at Roe-Head, they would think me mad. n.o.body ever gets into a pa.s.sion here. Such a thing is not known. The phlegm that thickens their blood is too gluey to boil. They are very false in their relations with each other, but they rarely quarrel, and friends.h.i.+p is a folly they are unacquainted with. The black Swan, M. Heger, is the only sole veritable exception to this rule (for Madame, always cool and always reasoning, is not quite an exception). But I rarely speak to Monsieur now, for not being a pupil I have little or nothing to do with him. From time to time he shows his kind-heartedness by loading me with books, so that I am still indebted to him for all the pleasure or amus.e.m.e.nt I have.

Except for the total want of companions.h.i.+p I have nothing to complain of. I have not too much to do, sufficient liberty, and I am rarely interfered with. I lead an easeful, stagnant, silent life, for which, when I think of Mrs. Sidgwick, I ought to be very thankful.

Be sure you write to me soon, and beg of Anne to inclose a small billet in the same letter; it will be a real charity to do me this kindness. Tell me everything you can think of.

'It is a curious metaphysical fact that always in the evening when I am in the great dormitory alone, having no other company than a number of beds with white curtains, I always recur as fanatically as ever to the old ideas, the old faces, and the old scenes in the world below.

'Give my love to Anne.--And believe me, yourn

'DEAR ANNE,--Write to me.--Your affectionate Schwester,

'C. B.

'Mr. Heger has just been in and given me a little German Testament as a present. I was surprised, for since a good many days he has hardly spoken to me.'

A little later she writes to Emily in similar strain.

TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE

'BRUSSELS, _May_ 29_th_, 1843.

'DEAR E. J.,--The reason of the unconscionable demand for money is explained in my letter to papa. Would you believe it, Mdlle. Muhl demands as much for one pupil as for two, namely, 10 francs per month. This, with the 5 francs per month to the Blanchisseuse, makes havoc in 16 pounds per annum. You will perceive I have begun again to take German lessons. Things wag on much as usual here. Only Mdlle. Blanche and Mdlle. Hausse are at present on a system of war without quarter. They hate each other like two cats. Mdlle. Blanche frightens Mdlle. Hausse by her white pa.s.sions (for they quarrel venomously). Mdlle. Hausse complains that when Mdlle. Blanche is in fury, "_elle n'a pas de levres_." I find also that Mdlle. Sophie dislikes Mdlle. Blanche extremely. She says she is heartless, insincere, and vindictive, which epithets, I a.s.sure you, are richly deserved. Also I find she is the regular spy of Mme. Heger, to whom she reports everything. Also she invents--which I should not have thought. I have now the entire charge of the English lessons. I have given two lessons to the first cla.s.s. Hortense Jannoy was a picture on these occasions, her face was black as a "blue-piled thunder-loft," and her two ears were red as raw beef. To all questions asked her reply was, "_je ne sais pas_." It is a pity but her friends could meet with a person qualified to cast out a devil.

I am richly off for companions.h.i.+p in these parts. Of late days, M.

and Mde. Heger rarely speak to me, and I really don't pretend to care a fig for any body else in the establishment. You are not to suppose by that expression that I am under the influence of _warm_ affection for Mde. Heger. I am convinced she does not like me--why, I can't tell, nor do I think she herself has any definite reason for the aversion; but for one thing, she cannot comprehend why I do not make intimate friends of Mesdames Blanche, Sophie, and Hausse. M. Heger is wonderously influenced by Madame, and I should not wonder if he disapproves very much of my unamiable want of sociability. He has already given me a brief lecture on universal _bienveillance_, and, perceiving that I don't improve in consequence, I fancy he has taken to considering me as a person to be let alone--left to the error of her ways; and consequently he has in a great measure withdrawn the light of his countenance, and I get on from day to day in a Robinson-Crusoe-like condition--very lonely. That does not signify.

In other respects I have nothing substantial to complain of, nor is even this a cause for complaint. Except the loss of M. Heger's goodwill (if I have lost it) I care for none of 'em. I hope you are well and hearty. Walk out often on the moors. Sorry am I to hear that Hannah is gone, and that she has left you burdened with the charge of the little girl, her sister. I hope Tabby will continue to stay with you--give my love to her. Regards to the fighting gentry, and to old asthma.--Your

'C. B.

'I have written to Branwell, though I never got a letter from him.'

In August she is still more dissatisfied, but 'I will continue to stay some months longer, till I have acquired German, and then I hope to see all your faces again.'

TO MISS ELLEN NUSSEY

'BRUSSELS, _August_ 6_th_, 1843.

'DEAR ELLEN,--You never answered my last letter; but, however, forgiveness is a part of the Christian Creed, and so having an opportunity to send a letter to England, I forgive you and write to you again. Last Sunday afternoon, being at the Chapel Royal, in Brussels, I was surprised to hear a voice proceed from the pulpit which instantly brought all Birstall and Batley before my mind's eye.

I could see nothing, but certainly thought that that unclerical little Welsh pony, Jenkins, was there. I buoyed up my mind with the expectation of receiving a letter from you, but as, however, I have got none, I suppose I must have been mistaken.

'C. B.

'Mr. Jenkins has called. He brought no letter from you, but said you were at Harrogate, and that they could not find the letter you had intended to send. He informed me of the death of your sister. Poor Sarah, when I last bid her good-bye I little thought I should never see her more. Certainly, however, she is happy where she is gone--far happier than she was here. When the first days of mourning are past, you will see that you have reason rather to rejoice at her removal than to grieve for it. Your mother will have felt her death much--and you also. I fear from the circ.u.mstance of your being at Harrogate that you are yourself ill. Write to me soon.'

It was in September that the incident occurred which has found so dramatic a setting in _Villette_--the confession to a priest of the Roman Catholic Church of a daughter of the most militant type of Protestantism; and not the least valuable of my newly-discovered Bronte treasures is the letter which Charlotte wrote to Emily giving an unembellished account of the incident.

TO MISS EMILY J. BRONTE

'BRUSSELS, _September_ 2_nd_, 1843.

'DEAR E. J.,--Another opportunity of writing to you coming to pa.s.s, I shall improve it by scribbling a few lines. More than half the holidays are now past, and rather better than I expected. The weather has been exceedingly fine during the last fortnight, and yet not so Asiatically hot as it was last year at this time.

Consequently I have tramped about a great deal and tried to get a clearer acquaintance with the streets of Bruxelles. This week, as no teacher is here except Mdlle. Blanche, who is returned from Paris, I am always alone except at meal-times, for Mdlle. Blanche's character is so false and so contemptible I can't force myself to a.s.sociate with her. She perceives my utter dislike and never now speaks to me--a great relief.

'However, I should inevitably fall into the gulf of low spirits if I stayed always by myself here without a human being to speak to, so I go out and traverse the Boulevards and streets of Bruxelles sometimes for hours together. Yesterday I went on a pilgrimage to the cemetery, and far beyond it on to a hill where there was nothing but fields as far as the horizon. When I came back it was evening; but I had such a repugnance to return to the house, which contained nothing that I cared for, I still kept threading the streets in the neighbourhood of the Rue d'Isabelle and avoiding it. I found myself opposite to Ste. Gudule, and the bell, whose voice you know, began to toll for evening salut. I went in, quite alone (which procedure you will say is not much like me), wandered about the aisles where a few old women were saying their prayers, till vespers begun. I stayed till they were over. Still I could not leave the church or force myself to go home--to school I mean. An odd whim came into my head.

In a solitary part of the Cathedral six or seven people still remained kneeling by the confessionals. In two confessionals I saw a priest. I felt as if I did not care what I did, provided it was not absolutely wrong, and that it served to vary my life and yield a moment's interest. I took a fancy to change myself into a Catholic and go and make a real confession to see what it was like. Knowing me as you do, you will think this odd, but when people are by themselves they have singular fancies. A penitent was occupied in confessing. They do not go into the sort of pew or cloister which the priest occupies, but kneel down on the steps and confess through a grating. Both the confessor and the penitent whisper very low, you can hardly hear their voices. After I had watched two or three penitents go and return I approached at last and knelt down in a niche which was just vacated. I had to kneel there ten minutes waiting, for on the other side was another penitent invisible to me.

At last that went away and a little wooden door inside the grating opened, and I saw the priest leaning his ear towards me. I was obliged to begin, and yet I did not know a word of the formula with which they always commence their confessions. It was a funny position. I felt precisely as I did when alone on the Thames at midnight. I commenced with saying I was a foreigner and had been brought up a Protestant. The priest asked if I was a Protestant then. I somehow could not tell a lie and said "yes." He replied that in that case I could not "_jouir du bonheur de la confesse_"; but I was determined to confess, and at last he said he would allow me because it might be the first step towards returning to the true church. I actually did confess--a real confession. When I had done he told me his address, and said that every morning I was to go to the rue du Parc--to his house--and he would reason with me and try to convince me of the error and enormity of being a Protestant!!! I promised faithfully to go. Of course, however, the adventure stops there, and I hope I shall never see the priest again. I think you had better not tell papa of this. He will not understand that it was only a freak, and will perhaps think I am going to turn Catholic.

Trusting that you and papa are well, and also Tabby and the Holyes, and hoping you will write to me immediately,--I am, yours,