The Secret of Charlotte Bronte Part 10

M. Heger delivered a little speech: he explained, and enlarged upon, the confidence that our kind hostess had placed in us; she had thrown open her garden to us; she had prepared a feast for us; she had made only one condition--respect my gooseberry-bushes. Was it possible, could one suppose it possible, that any one could be found base enough, greedy enough, to ignore her wishes?

'We were not told,' said Marie Hazard; 'This is not reasonable--one would not have touched a gooseberry had one known. Is one a child of six then, to love gooseberries to this extent?'

'Mlle. Hazard, it is not to _you_ I address myself,' said M. Heger. 'I have no question to ask you. You admit, and indeed it is not possible for you to deny, that you have committed this act of gluttony--inexcusable in a child of six. It is to you all, my dear pupils, outside of these two, who I know are guilty, that I ask it, and with confidence--amongst you all, have any of you been guilty of this indignity?'

Dead silence. Mlle. Zelie was fidgeting about, snapping her fingers nervously. But she said nothing.

M. Heger again addressed the girls round him, and there was a note of triumph in his voice:--

'Cela suffit,' he affirmed, 'I shall ask no more. If any of you are guilty, you know it in your consciences: you know now what it remains for you to do. For me, I believe, and I love to believe, that the only pupil in this school capable of this unworthy conduct is a foreigner.'

'Pardon, Monsieur,' said a voice at my elbow, 'je suis Belge; et moi aussi j'ai mange des groseilles.'

M. Heger bowed towards her profoundly.

_Je fais une exception en votre faveur_, _Mademoiselle Hazard_,' he said: and then he walked away.

I remained at first almost stupefied: the first shock rendered me unable to distinguish between reality and fiction. I began to doubt my senses: was I really, were Marie Hazard and myself, the only girls in the school who had rifled the gooseberry-bushes? Did it mean that, if not deliberately base, in some way there was a peculiar deficiency in delicacy and honour in my const.i.tution, rendering me capable of doing base things without knowing it? Was it true that in this foreign country I had disgraced my own? This was my first impression, confusion of mind; because up to this date I had never known nor suffered from real injustice. Here was an entirely new experience. And at first it baffled me. I suppose I must have shown this desperation in my face: for M.

Heger was no sooner out of sight than attempts were made to console me: but I was beyond consolation. Mlle. Zelie came first; she laid a soothing hand on my shoulder.

'Do not afflict yourself, my child,' she said. 'This is a misunderstanding: I shall explain everything to Madame Heger.'

Then several girls came bustling up, rather shamefacedly, a.s.suring me that it was nothing: '_Quelle affaire_,' they e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. '_Et tout cela a propos de quelques groseilles!_'

'It has nothing to do with the gooseberries,' I said; 'you are all cowards, and I detest you; why couldn't you say you took them too?'

'What good would it have been, with M. Heger? We shall all go to Madame and tell her everything. She will see how it is at once. _Voyons, Chou: ne pleures pas_.'

'_Je ne pleure pas; vous mentez_:' and this was both impolite and incorrect: I _was_ crying, but not ordinary tears, because they scalded one.

What happens invariably with people who insist upon their own private grievances too much, and too long, happened in my case that afternoon: at first I had been an object of sympathy, but when I refused it, and was ungracious, I became a bore. The case was stated to me in reasonable terms:

'Say that we should have done differently and were cowardly. It was not out of ill-will to you, but because we were afraid of M. Heger, with whom one must not reason when he is in a bad humour, as every one knows.

You and Marie Hazard, for instance, who must always be in the right with him, in what way does it serve you? Voyons: be frank; at least: _cela vous reussit-il?_ Listen then: we will make it all plain with Madame Heger. Mlle. Zelie will tell her we knew nothing when we ate those gooseberries; we thought they were there for us--that it belonged to the feast to eat this fruit: they were not so very good, these gooseberries after all: it was a politeness on our part, not greediness. Every one nearly ate gooseberries. When we were told it was a mistake, we ate no more gooseberries, and were sorry. La pet.i.te Anglaise and Marie Hazard did as the others did: and here is the whole history. Now all this is known already to almost every one. It will be known to Madame Heger before we go home to-night. What then do you want? Look at Marie Hazard: she is in the same case as you are, and does not afflict herself.'

'Marie Hazard is at home here, and I am not at home. I am English; and I am told by M. Heger before you all, that because I am English I am capable of baseness.'

'And what does that do to you?' asked Marie Hazard, herself, turning upon me with her cruel reasonableness. 'English or Belgian, one is not capable of baseness, and one has not deserved any blame: that is what is serious; the rest signifies nothing. One must not be a patriot to this extent. It is not reasonable. If even you had been in the wrong about those gooseberries, do you truly imagine to yourself that the honour of England would have been affected by it?'

Just _because_ this was so reasonable and true, it stung me to the soul.

'_Ma chere et bonne amie_,' wrote Rousseau to Madame d'Epinay in the days of their friendship, when explaining why he had burnt a letter to her that seemed to him more reasonable than kind: '_Pythagore disait qu'il ne faut jamais attiser le feu avec une epee. Cette sentence me parait etre la plus importante et la plus sacree des lois de l'amitie_.'

I knew nothing about the sayings of Pythagoras, nor the writings of Rousseau in those days. But it did seem to me opposed to the sacred laws of friendship, to remind me, in this moment, that it was absurd in me to drag patriotism into this question.

'Leave me alone,' I said, turning my back upon them, 'you tire me, all of you; none of you understand me.'

Although I sulked the whole afternoon, and was, as I deserved to be, left to sulk, as 'insupportable,' I yet came round to the conviction before we returned, that everything had been explained, and that even M.

Heger understood that an injustice had been done me; and that although, of course, no apology could be looked for from such an obstinate man, still _he knew he had been in the wrong_ and was secretly repentant. But I was to be undeceived. After our return to the Rue d'Isabelle, the lecture du soir in the refectory was given, as was the usual plan on holidays, by M. Heger, seated at the head of the room, with Madame Heger on his right hand, and a table before them, placed between the two long lines of tables with benches stretching the length of the room against the walls, and two ranges of chairs on the opposite side of the tables facing the benches, where sat all the pupils. Having finished the 'reading,' M. Heger summed up in a few words the sentiments that 'he was sure all there must feel of grat.i.tude to their hostess, once an inmate of this school; and who had contrived this little fete for her successors. He asked their consent to a message of thanks that was to be sent her; and he wound up his expression of confidence in the enjoyment every one had derived from this holiday, by stating the satisfaction of Madame Heger and himself at the good conduct of every one; and then came this sentence:--There was only one regrettable exception to be made to the perfect behaviour and sense of respect due to the lady who had thrown open her house and garden to them, and this exception, he was, at any rate, pleased to recognise, was not amongst those brought up in the sentiments of religion and convenience cherished by almost all of them: and hence though one had to deplore the fault, in the case of a foreigner (_une etrangere_) one was more disposed to regard it with indulgence.'

Marie Hazard rose from her seat:--but there really was no time for any protest or objection. There was a shuffling of chairs, a movement of benches. Monsieur and Madame Heger walked out of the Refectory by a folding door behind them that opened into a pa.s.sage leading to their own part of the house; and the pupils filed out, under the surveillance of the mistress in charge, by the opposite door towards the staircase leading to the Oratory, for evening prayers. I alone remained sitting on my bench, in my usual place in the Refectory, about half-way down the right-hand line of tables. No one paid any attention to me, until the room was nearly empty, and then the mistress at the door looked round, and seeing me sitting there, said, 'Make haste, Mees; you will be late for prayers: what _are_ you doing?'

I remained sitting there. She looked at me a moment; evidently didn't like my looks; shrugged her shoulders, agitated her hands, said--

'One cannot wait for you any longer mademoiselle, _vous etes notee_,'

and vanished.

I do not know now, and I hardly think I knew then, what I meant by the resolution that was the only one firmly present to me, that no one, nothing, should move me from the place where I was sitting in the Refectory: that there I was going to remain all night, and for ever if necessary, until this wrong was redressed, and until just excuses were made to me. What had at first been a new and astonishing discovery to me, that injustice could be done, and that people whom I respected and even loved, could be unjust to me, had now become a well-established and common fact, and I saw injustice everywhere and felt no use in living at all, because I had become convinced that people would always be unjust to me, _always_; it was the common rule of the world evidently. What was I to do then? Resist, perish in resisting? Very possibly, but not submit.

There I sat at fifteen years of age, on the bench, with my elbows planted on the Refectory table, and my burning, throbbing head between my hands, _in the frame of mind in which Anarchists are made._

But the influence was already approaching that was to transform anarchy into the ideal socialism of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, where the bitter bitter rage of rebelliousness against the wrong done oneself becomes the generous sympathy with all injustice throughout the world: '_Ce premier sentiment de l'injustice est reste si profondement grave dans mon ame, que toutes les idees qui s'y rapportent me rendent ma premiere emotion; et ce sentiment, relatif a moi dans son origine, a pris une telle consistance en lui-meme, et s'est si bien detache de tout interet personnel, que mon coeur s'enflamme au spectacle ou au recit de toute action injuste, quel qu'en soit l'objet, et en quelque lieu qu'elle se commette, comme si l'effet en retomboit sur moi_.'

The lesson that the author of the _Confessions_ learnt at an even earlier age than I did was taught me by a Victim of injustice who continued throughout her life so courageously undisturbed by it in kindness and consideration for others, that her sensibility to it became a less powerful feeling in her than her compa.s.sion for the suffering and pa.s.sionate woman who had wronged her.

I cannot say how long I had sat in the Refectory, when I saw the folding doors at the head of the room open, and quietly and composedly as usual, Madame Heger entered and approached me. She sat down on the chair opposite my bench on the opposite side of the table.

'My child,' she said, 'you are wrong to take so seriously the reproach addressed to you by M. Heger as the result of a mistake. Mlle. Zelie has explained to M. Heger and to me the accident. It was a pity, no doubt, that this happened: but you have not any more blame than the others. All is forgotten and forgiven. But you, my child, are wrong in this. Why do you remain here, when prayers are already over, and without permission?

You know well it is forbidden.'

I broke out pa.s.sionately complaining that I could not be expected to obey rules when I was unjustly treated: I could bear anything else, but I could not support injustice.

'Pas l'injustice,' I protested, 'j'obeirais a tout, je supporterais tout: mais, pas l'injustice, non, madame, non, je ne saurais supporter l'injustice.'

'Cependant, mon enfant, il faut savoir la supporter. Que faire?

_Seriez-vous la seule personne au monde qui ne connaitrait pas l'injustice?_'

I shook my head obstinately: I made a show of resistance: but I was already under Madame Heger's influence. A tremendous change had taken place in me. I was no longer an Anarchist. It had already come to me as a conviction that there was nothing grand, but rather something mean, in refusing to bear anything that my other fellow-creatures had to bear, that better and n.o.bler people than I had borne.

'It saddens me,' continued Madame Heger--'(_Cela m'attriste_) to see a young girl like you, who soon must enter life, and who takes the habit of saying, "I cannot support this, everything else you like, _but not this_": or "I will renounce everything else, _but not that_." It does not depend upon us, my child, what we must support, nor what we may, because _les convenances_ or the interests of others demand it, have to renounce. Amongst the many pupils I have known, there have been some pa.s.sionate like yourself and exalted, who have said like you to-day, I cannot support injustice, who have seen injustice, where there was no intention to be unjust; who have refused counsel with anger and impatience, and who in their refusal to bow to necessary obligations have been themselves unjust. And they have been unhappy in their lives; most unhappy. _Dominated by some fixed idea, the slave of some desire that cannot be accomplished,_ they have seen enemies in those who would have been their friends. They have created for themselves a sad fate; and I know one of them who died of it (_j'en connais une qui en est morte_).'

Something in Madame Heger's voice surprised me, for her even tones quavered and broke. I looked up suddenly, her face was ashen white and her lips blue. I was struck to the heart. I knew not why, but in some way I instinctively felt that, through my fault, she was in pain: I was full of remorse. The table was between us, or I should have thrown myself upon my knees before her. My emotion had the usual effect upon my French accent. 'Forgive me, oh forgive me,' I wanted to say, 'I am ashamed of myself.' I said, 'Pardong, O pardong, j'ai honte de moi.'

As it happened, nothing could have been better timed than my relapse into English barbarism. In a moment Madame's unusual emotion was under control: the soft colour returned to her cheek and lips, she shook her head gently, and said in her ordinary voice--

'You _must_ take care of your accent, my child. One says "pardon," not "pardong "; and one does not say "J'ai honte de moi," but one says "Je suis honteuse," or "J'ai honte."

'But I see you are now in a good disposition,' she went on, 'and I am pleased to see it. Thus then, go quietly to bed without disturbing your companions, and I will send Clothilde to you with some flower-of-orange water that will tranquillise this hot head. Good night, and be very wise in the future: and all will be well.'

Ever since I have known the story of Charlotte Bronte I have had the firm conviction of what was in Madame Heger's mind when she spoke to me of one who had imagined enemies in friends, and who, complaining of injustice, had been unjust. But since I have read Charlotte's Letters, the unmistakable proof is that Madame Heger, so far as my memory serves me after all these years, actually quoted the very words of one of these letters, about one dominated by a fixed idea, and the slave of vain desires.

So then we may decide finally, that Madame Heger was not Madame Beck.

And of M. Heger we may decide that he was not Paul Emanuel either; for Paul Emanuel having learnt that he had committed an injustice, would have called his whole school together, and in full cla.s.s-room repaired his involuntary fault. But the real M. Heger did nothing of the sort.

For a time there was a great coldness towards him in my heart. But in the hours of his lessons he remained, as ever, the 'Professor' of unrivalled merit.

Summing up what may be gathered from these reminiscences, I think the facts that can be affirmed are these:--

No moral likeness, but a physical resemblance, between Madame Heger and the portrait of Madame Beck. A strong and lifelike resemblance, between Paul Emanuel and M. Heger, up to the point when the Professor Paul falls in love with Lucy Snowe. After this event, a dwindling resemblance between the Professor in _Villette_, and the real Professor in the Rue d'Isabelle, who was never in love with Charlotte Bronte, and who was the lawful and attached husband of the Directress of the Pensionnat.

But when Professor Paul Emanuel becomes the docile disciple of Pere Silas, when he is caught in the 'Jesuitical cobwebs of mother Church,'