The Secret of Charlotte Bronte Part 5

But now if we consult honestly our own impressions, does this letter reveal that '_it is no cause of grief to Charlotte that M. Heger is married_'? Is it true that _there 'is nothing in it that any enthusiastic woman might not write to a married man with a family who had been her teacher_'?

What the letter does reveal (thus it seems to me at least) is one supreme thing before all others: that the writer of it is past saving, by this time, from the destiny she prophesied for herself ten months ago in Bruxelles. '_My heart will break_,' Charlotte said then: when fate (in the garb of Madame Heger) thrust herself between her and her beloved Professor.

And now, touching and eloquent as it all is, what escape is there from the conclusion that the writer of this letter _must_ break her heart?

What else can happen? Let us recognise her plight. Here one has an entirely honourable, pa.s.sionately tender, tenderly pa.s.sionate, very serious woman, her mind dominated (as she says herself) by one tyrannical fixed idea; let us rather say by one tragical pa.s.sion; and who sees her own life, and her claims upon the man she loves through the medium of this tragical pa.s.sion: _and who gives her life an impossible purpose; and who makes impossible claims_. They are very small claims, she pleads. And so they are, very small in comparison with what she gives, her whole life's devotion poured out at the feet of her 'Master,'

from whom she only asks in return that he will not forbid her worship; that, now and again, he will give her the joy of seeing his handwriting, and of knowing that he is well. But small as these claims are, they are unreasonable:--'_to the last degree "inconvenient" and impossible_,' as Madame would have said,--in the particular case of this 'Master'; a married man and an attached husband with five children, the Director of a Pensionnat de Jeunes Filles who has need to be especially circ.u.mspect; and who cannot discreetly, nor even honourably, allow a former under-mistress to address him pa.s.sionate, romantic love-letters, even every six months. Nor can this loyal husband and self-respecting Catholic and Professor undertake to appear to sanction this indiscretion, by keeping her informed of his health and welfare at regular intervals. So that, building her heart's desires upon false hopes, that, from day to day, wear themselves out in disappointment, and looking for consolation to things necessarily withdrawn; and that she pursues in vain like 'fading visions,'--how is our poor Charlotte to find any escape from the heart-break that is the natural term of the path along which this Love, that has become her destiny, leads her? No way of escape is there for Charlotte: not in heaven above, nor on the earth beneath, nor in the waters under the earth. For no miracle can give her love a happy ending; say that even a thunderbolt fell from heaven to remove Madame Heger,--it would be extremely unjust--but admit that a murderous miracle be granted--even so, it would not alter the fact that M. Heger is not in love with Charlotte. And no earthly scheme either can bridge the separation--wider than the 160 leagues between Yorkshire and Brussels--that now severs Charlotte, breaking her heart in Yorkshire, from her Master in literature, carrying on, as stormily and triumphantly as when she a.s.sisted at them, his lessons in the cla.s.s-rooms in the Rue d'Isabelle: those memory-haunted cla.s.s-rooms she will never see again; because although we find her in these Letters speaking of projects of earning money that she may return to Bruxelles, if only to see her professor once again, one knows that there would be Madame to count with; and even Monsieur Heger's obstinate neglect to reply to these appealing Letters does not indicate any answering wish on his side to see his former pupil again. Nor yet does there exist in the waters under the earth any pool of magical power of healing sufficient to soothe these bitter regrets and reproaches; nor any well deep enough to drown rebellious desires and memories: for Charlotte has too splendid a soul to think of suicide; or to quench anguish by drugs. So that one knows that Charlotte's fate is sealed: and that we must follow her through these last steps to the end, with pity and admiration and love for her--but still not with injustice to others. Because no one outside of herself, not Madame Heger, nor Monsieur Heger, is responsible for what has happened, and what is going to happen; but only the Love that has Charlotte's soul in thrall, the Love that 'seeketh not its own,'--romantic, or if it be preferred, Platonic Love; who as the wise woman, Diotima, told Socrates, is 'not a G.o.d, but an immortal spirit, who spans the gulf between heaven and earth, carrying to the G.o.ds the prayers of men, and to the earth the commands of the G.o.ds.' Love, who is 'the child of plenty and of poverty, often, like his mother, without house or home to cover him' (and who consequently is not highly esteemed by respectable householders). Love, the 'instinct of immortality in a mortal creature,' leading him amongst mortal conditions to where Charlotte is being led to,--the grave of hope,--_but not leaving hope there entombed, but raising it, not clogged with the pollution of mortality._

All this, that the wise Diotima related, is a true parable of Charlotte Bronte. And the proof that Diotima was a good psychologist, and had based her opinions upon the study of facts, is found in the a.s.sertion that Love, although an immortal spirit, is _not a G.o.d_. Because a G.o.d sees clearly, and does not make mistakes: whereas Love, as every one knows, is often blind, and never very clear-sighted; and _is_ liable to make mistakes, and to be unjust even: and to attribute his own errors to other people. Thus Charlotte, under the dominion of Love, was unjust, and made mistakes: she attributed to Madame Heger disappointments and misadventures and pangs, that were not of Madame Heger's preparation at all, but were simply the imprudences of this 'Child of plenty and poverty,' who inherits from both parents and is so often extravagant and houseless, and consequently in bad odour with householders and the worshippers of 'convenience,' because 'he has no home to cover him.'

Charlotte should not have attributed, for instance, malevolence or jealousy or the cruel pleasure of tantalising and torturing her in Bruxelles to Madame Heger, simply because, as the Directress of a Pensionnat de Jeunes Filles and wife of M. Heger, she did not want to take in Romantic Love as a boarder; nor to permit this 'Child of plenty and poverty' to disorganise the well-balanced domestic and conjugal relationships between herself and M. Heger. In all this Madame Heger was not persecuting Charlotte, but protecting her own rights. And if we examine the circ.u.mstances even in the narrative of the scene in the cla.s.s-room between the Directress and her English teacher, and the scene of the farewell interview between the Professor and his pupil, where the Directress of the Pensionnat is put out of the room because she objects to this sentimental leave-taking, we shall find that recognising the true relationships between these three people, if Madame Heger behaved exactly as Madame Beck is said to have done, then there is not any fault whatever to be found with Madame Heger. Nay, one does not see how she could have been more considerate. Another false impression of Charlotte's--that Madame Heger intercepted her letters, and that M.

Heger did not answer because he did not receive them--has no evidence to support it. Nor is this all; there is undeniable proof that the letter we have just considered (_which M. Heger did not answer_) _was_ received by him: and that he was not very much affected by the pa.s.sionate homage of his worshipper. 'On the edge of this letter he has made some commonplace notes in pencil;--one of them is the name and address of a shoemaker,' Mr. Spielmann tells us.

There is a natural feeling of indignation against this masculine insensibility to a woman's tragical pa.s.sion, even though one recognises that honour stood in the way of any responsive sentiment. But one must not forget M. Heger's special vocation and his daily occupations and preoccupations. Here you have a Professor of literature in a Pensionnat de Jeunes Filles who spends, week by week, several days in correcting and improving 'compositions' and exercises in 'style' of numberless schoolgirls, full of the eloquent sentimentality that belongs to young writers between the ages of fourteen and sixteen. Monsieur Heger had been Charlotte's master in literature, remember: and there is another fact to be realised also, one that upon the authority of my own knowledge of him, in the character of my own Professor, I am allowed to testify to: _he was before all things a born teacher, and one who saw the world as his cla.s.s-room, and his fellow-creatures in the light of pupils_. Applying this knowledge of him to the criticism of what we know about his relations with Charlotte Bronte, we arrive at entirely different opinions to those formed by people who either see M. Heger through the medium of Charlotte's pa.s.sion for him and as she painted him in _Villette_; or outside of any personal knowledge of him at all, as he appears to them judged in the light of the impression that he played with Charlotte's feelings: first of all encouraging by sentimental flattery her affection for him, and then, when he found that she had become inconveniently fond of him, behaving with cruel indifference.

None of these decisions is based on a correct knowledge of M. Heger, nor of his true behaviour and character. The true M. Heger was not the Paul Emanuel who was _the lover of Lucy Snowe_, because he is very truthfully and admirably painted in the domineering but interesting, terror-striking but captivating, masterful and masterly Professor of literature, so full of talent, and fiery captivating ardour for beautiful thoughts n.o.bly expressed. The real Professor was _not_ tender-hearted; nor very tender in manner; nor even very pleasant and considerate; nor even kind, outside of his professorial character: and he had no sympathy whatever to spare for people who were not his pupils.

And his sympathy for his pupils, _as his pupils_, led him to work upon their sympathies, as a way of inducing a frame of mind in them and an emotional state of feeling, rendering them susceptible to literary impressions, and putting them in key with himself, in this very fine enthusiasm of his, not only for enjoying literature himself, but for throwing open to others, and to young votaries especially, the worship of beautiful literature--as the record of the best that has been thought and said in the world.

But the very exclusive literary temperament of M. Heger left him rather cold-blooded than particularly warm-hearted, where his pupils' feelings interfered with their good style in writing; or good accent when speaking; or with their sense of the first importance of a warm appreciation of the beauties of literature. If one reversed directly the description of Charlotte Bronte herself, as a writer whose _words became feelings_, one might justly say of M. Heger that for him, feelings were chiefly good with reference to their effects upon words, and the creation of beautiful language--so that Charlotte's love-letters to him would be no more than the '_Devoirs de Style_' of a former pupil sent him for criticism. The shoemaker's address may have been jotted down by accident, when he was running his eye down the page? If the further notes signified by Mr. Spielmann on this page, where poor Charlotte's heart's Secret lay exposed and quivering, had been '_Bon--mais un peu trop d'exaltation--la Ponctuation n'est pas soignee_,' no one who knew M. Heger would blame him for _voluntary_ unkindness. But upon this matter no more must be said at present: we have to return to Charlotte, and her Letters.

The second in the order in which I am studying them (that seems to me unmistakably indicated by the context) would have been written--if we take the year 1845 as the date--eight, instead of six, months after the one, dated November, that refers to a preceding letter in the May of the same year--when Charlotte would have accepted the obligation laid upon her not to write again for six months. This Letter, dated 24th July, indicates by the opening sentence, not that she is writing outside of the appointed time, but _outside of her turn_: that is to say, it shows that M. Heger had not answered her November Letter; that she had waited for his reply, but could not wait longer, and so wrote a second letter, before M. Heger's reply to the first. The custom shows us that poor Charlotte is uneasily conscious that her former one in November may have given offence. She apologises for it, as we shall see; and works hard to write with cheerfulness in a more temperate tone:--

Ah, Monsieur! I know I once wrote you a letter that was not a reasonable one, because my heart was choked with grief; but I will not do it again! I will try not to be selfish; although I cannot but feel your letters the greatest happiness I know. I will wait patiently to receive one, until it pleases you, and it is convenient to write one. At the same time, I may write you a little letter from time to time; you authorised me to do that.

The effort she is putting upon herself in this Letter is evident. She has become reasonable; she does not reproach him for not writing, but only asks him to remember how much she desires it. She tells him of her plans, as she was recommended to do, instead of dwelling on her feelings. She humours and flatters his vanity and taste by her acknowledgment of all she owes him; and of her unfailing grat.i.tude and wish to dedicate a book to him--she even sends a message to Madame!--

_Please present to Madame the a.s.surance of my esteem_. I fear that Maria, Louise and Claire will have forgotten me.

Prospere and Victorine never knew me, but I remember all five of them, and especially Louise. There was so much character, so much navete expressed in her little face.

Farewell, Monsieur--Your grateful pupil,

C. Bronte.

_July_ 24.--I have not begged you to write to me soon, because I am afraid of troubling you, but you are too kind to forget how much I desire it. Yes! I do desire it so much.

But that is enough. After all, do as you like, Monsieur, for if I received a letter from you and I thought you wrote it out of pity, it would hurt me very much.... Oh I shall certainly see you some day. It must come to pa.s.s. Because as soon as I earn any money, I shall go to Bruxelles--and I shall see you again, if only for a moment.

It is all of no avail! No answer does M. Heger vouchsafe. October comes round, and she writes again. This time she imagines that she has found a means of making her Letter reach its destination. In other words, she is convinced, or tries to be convinced, that it is all Madame Heger's fault again; she it is who will not allow her husband to receive Charlotte's Letters.

_October_ 24.--Monsieur--I am quite joyous to-day. A thing that has not often happened during the last two years.[7]

The reason is that a gentleman amongst my friends is pa.s.sing through Bruxelles, and he has offered to take charge of a letter for you, and to give this same letter into your hands; or else his sister will do this, so that I shall be quite certain that you receive it.

Now comes the final blow to this faithful worshipper. Up to this hour, she has hoped and waited, waited and hoped. But all this time there has been the suspicion of Madame Heger--that has kept alive in her the belief in M. Heger's friendship, who (perhaps?) writes, although his letters never arrive: who (perhaps?) never receives her letters, although whenever she dares, and even in defiance of the terms laid down for her, she writes him letters where the vibration of her pa.s.sionate attachment is felt. Now, however, he _has_ received her letter placed in his own hand. Had he written she would now have held in her turn the talisman of the beloved handwriting her eyes were weary with waiting to see again. But he remained obdurate and silent.

Mr. Taylor has returned (she writes): I asked him if he had no letter for me. 'No: nothing.' Be patient, I told myself: soon his sister will return. Miss Taylor came back: 'I have nothing for you from Monsieur Heger,' she said; 'neither letter, nor any message.'

Understanding only too well what this meant, I told myself just what I should have told any one else in the same circ.u.mstances: Resign yourself to what you cannot alter, and before all things do not grieve for a misfortune that you have not deserved. I would not allow myself to weep nor complain. But when one refuses to oneself the right to tears and lamentations in certain cases, one is a tyrant; and natural faculties revolt; so that one buys outward calm at the price of an inner conflict that cannot be subdued.

Neither by day, nor by night can I find rest nor peace: even if I sleep, I have tormenting dreams, where I see you, always severe, gloomy, angry with me. Forgive me, Monsieur, if I am driven to take the course of writing to you once more. How can I endure my life, if I am forbidden to make any effort to alleviate my sufferings?

She continues in this piteous strain. She pleads with him not to reprove her again as she has been reproved before, for exaggeration, morbidness, sentimentality. She tells him all this may be true--she is not going to defend herself--but the case is as she states it. She _cannot_ resign herself to the loss of her master's friendship without one last effort to preserve it.

I submit to all the reproaches you may make against me; if my master withdraws his friendship from me entirely, I shall remain without hope; if he keeps a little for me (never mind though it be _very_ little) I shall have some motive for living, for working.

Monsieur (she continues), the poor do not need much to keep them alive; they ask only for the crumbs that fall from the rich man's table, but if these crumbs are refused them, _then_ they die of hunger! For me too, I make no claim either to great affection from those I love; I should hardly know how to understand an exclusive and perfect friendship, I have so little experience of it! But once upon a time, at Bruxelles, when I was your pupil, you _did_ show me a little interest: and just this small amount of interest you gave me then, I hold to and I care for and prize, as I hold to and care for life itself....

... I will not re-read this letter, I must send it as it is written. And yet I know, by some secret instinct, that certain absolutely reasonable and cool-headed people reading it through will say:--'She appears to have gone mad.' By way of revenge on such judges, all I would wish them is that they too might endure, _for one day only_, the sufferings I have borne for eight months--then, one would see, if they too did not 'appear to have gone mad.'

One endures in silence whilst one has his strength to do it.

But when this strength fails one, one speaks without weighing one's words. I wish Monsieur all happiness and prosperity.

Haworth, Bradford, Yorkshire, 8_th January_.

The Letter obtained no answer. And thus the end was reached. We now know where in Charlotte Bronte's life lay her experiences that formed her genius and made her the great Romantic--whose quality was that she saw all events and personages through the medium of one pa.s.sion--the pa.s.sion of a predestined tragical and unrequited love.

END OF PART I.

[1] I have to thank Mr. Clement Shorter, who has purchased the copyright of Charlotte Bronte's ma.n.u.scripts, for his generous permission to quote from these letters freely for the purposes of my criticism.--(F.M.)

[2] _Childe Harold_, note 9 to canto iii.

[3] The author of _Childe Harold_ adds on this note as a comment upon what he has said of 'Love' as the inspiration of the greatest of all Romantics, J.-J. Rousseau:--

'His love was pa.s.sion's essence--as a tree On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be Thus, and enamour'd, were in him the same.

But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, But of Ideal beauty, which became In him existence and o'erflowing teems Along his burning page, distemper'd tho' it seems.

This breathed itself to life in Julie, this Invested her with all that's wild and sweet; This hallow'd too the memorable kiss Which every morn his fever'd lip would greet, From hers, who but with friendship his would meet: But to that gentle touch, thro' brain and breast Flash'd the thrill'd spirit's love-devouring heat; In that absorbing sigh perchance more blest Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest.'

[4] Rudyard Kipling.

[5] See Letter, 18 Nov. I am giving my own translation from the French of Charlotte's Letters in these extracts, not certainly on account of any dissatisfaction with Mr. Spielmann's English versions of them, but in order to avoid the risk of any infringement of Mr. Spielmann's copyright in his Introduction.

[6] Mrs. Gaskell's _Life, p._ 290.

[7] Charlotte had been a year and ten months in England in October 1845.

This phrase, however, proves that the Letter belongs to this year and not to 1844, and consequently that the Letter that follows it, January 8, is 1846.

PART II

SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE

REAL MONSIEUR AND MADAME HEGER