Delphi Complete Works of the Brontes Charlotte, Emily, Anne Brontë (Illustrated) (467 page)

“The first part of her time at Brussels was not uninteresting.  She spoke of new people and characters, and foreign ways of the pupils and teachers.  She knew the hopes and prospects of the teachers, and mentioned one who was very anxious to marry, ‘she was getting so old.’  She used to get her father or brother (I forget which) to be the bearer of letters to different single men, who she thought might be persuaded to do her the favour, saying that her only resource was to become a sister of charity if her present employment failed and that she hated the idea.  Charlotte naturally looked with curiosity to people of her own condition.  This woman almost frightened her.  ‘She declares there is nothing she can turn to, and laughs at the idea of delicacy, — and she is only ten years older than I am!’  I did not see the connection till she said, ‘Well, Polly, I should hate being a sister of charity; I suppose that would shock some people, but I should.’  I thought she would have as much feeling as a nurse as most people, and more than some.  She said she did not know how people could bear the constant pressure of misery, and never to change except to a new form of it.  It would be impossible to keep one’s natural feelings.  I promised her a better destiny than to go begging any one to marry her, or to lose her natural feelings as a sister of charity.  She said, ‘My youth is leaving me; I can never do better than I have done, and I have done nothing yet.’  At such times she seemed to think that most human beings were destined by the pressure of worldly interests to lose one faculty and feeling after another ‘till they went dead altogether.  I hope I shall be put in my grave as soon as I’m dead; I don’t want to walk about so.’  Here we always differed.  I thought the degradation of nature she feared was a consequence of poverty, and that she should give her attention to earning money.  Sometimes she admitted this, but could find no means of earning money.  At others she seemed afraid of letting her thoughts dwell on the subject, saying it brought on the worst palsy of all.  Indeed, in her position, nothing less than entire constant absorption in petty money matters could have scraped together a provision.

“Of course artists and authors stood high with Charlotte, and the best thing after their works would have been their company.  She used very inconsistently to rail at money and money-getting, and then wish she was able to visit all the large towns in Europe, see all the sights and know all the celebrities.  This was her notion of literary fame, — a passport to the society of clever people . . . When she had become acquainted with the people and ways at Brussels her life became monotonous, and she fell into the same hopeless state as at Miss W — -’s, though in a less degree.  I wrote to her, urging her to go home or elsewhere; she had got what she wanted (French), and there was at least novelty in a new place, if no improvement.  That if she sank into deeper gloom she would soon not have energy to go, and she was too far from home for her friends to hear of her condition and order her home as they had done from Miss W — -’s.  She wrote that I had done her a great service, that she should certainly follow my advice, and was much obliged to me.  I have often wondered at this letter.  Though she patiently tolerated advice, she could always quietly put it aside, and do as she thought fit.  More than once afterwards she mentioned the ‘service’ I had done her.  She sent me 10
l
. to New Zealand, on hearing some exaggerated accounts of my circumstances, and told me she hoped it would come in seasonably; it was a debt she owed me ‘for the service I had done her.’  I should think 10
l
. was a quarter of her income.  The ‘service’ was mentioned as an apology, but kindness was the real motive.”

The first break in this life of regular duties and employments came heavily and sadly.  Martha — pretty, winning, mischievous, tricksome Martha — was taken ill suddenly at the Château de Koekelberg.  Her sister tended her with devoted love; but it was all in vain; in a few days she died.  Charlotte’s own short account of this event is as follows: —

“Martha T.’s illness was unknown to me till the day before she died.  I hastened to Koekelberg the next morning — unconscious that she was in great danger — and was told that it was finished.  She had died in the night.  Mary was taken away to Bruxelles.  I have seen Mary frequently since.  She is in no ways crushed by the event; but while Martha was ill, she was to her more than a mother — more than a sister: watching, nursing, cherishing her so tenderly, so unweariedly.  She appears calm and serious now; no bursts of violent emotion; no exaggeration of distress.  I have seen Martha’s grave — the place where her ashes lie in a foreign country.”

Who that has read “Shirley” does not remember the few lines — perhaps half a page — of sad recollection?

“He has no idea that little Jessy will die young, she is so gay, and chattering, and arch — original even now; passionate when provoked, but most affectionate if caressed; by turns gentle and rattling; exacting yet generous; fearless . . . yet reliant on any who will help her.  Jessy, with her little piquant face, engaging prattle, and winning ways, is made to be a pet.

* * * * *

“Do you know this place?  No, you never saw it; but you recognise the nature of these trees, this foliage — the cypress, the willow, the yew.  Stone crosses like these are not unfamiliar to you, nor are these dim garlands of everlasting flowers.  Here is the place: green sod and a grey marble head-stone — Jessy sleeps below.  She lived through an April day; much loved was she, much loving.  She often, in her brief life, shed tears — she had frequent sorrows; she smiled between, gladdening whatever saw her.  Her death was tranquil and happy in Rose’s guardian arms, for Rose had been her stay and defence through many trials; the dying and the watching English girls were at that hour alone in a foreign country, and the soil of that country gave Jessy a grave.

* * * * *

“But, Jessy, I will write about you no more.  This is an autumn evening, wet and wild.  There is only one cloud in the sky; but it curtains it from pole to pole.  The wind cannot rest; it hurries sobbing over hills of sullen outline, colourless with twilight and mist.  Rain has beat all day on that church tower” (Haworth): “it rises dark from the stony enclosure of its graveyard: the nettles, the long grass, and the tombs all drip with wet.  This evening reminds me too forcibly of another evening some years ago: a howling, rainy autumn evening too — when certain who had that day performed a pilgrimage to a grave new made in a heretic cemetery, sat near a wood fire on the hearth of a foreign dwelling.  They were merry and social, but they each knew that a gap, never to be filled, had been made in their circle.  They knew they had lost something whose absence could never be quite atoned for, so long as they lived; and they knew that heavy falling rain was soaking into the wet earth which covered their lost darling; and that the sad, sighing gale was mourning above her buried head.  The fire warmed them; Life and Friendship yet blessed them: but Jessy lay cold, coffined, solitary — only the sod screening her from the storm.”

This was the first death that had occurred in the small circle of Charlotte’s immediate and intimate friends since the loss of her two sisters long ago.  She was still in the midst of her deep sympathy with “Mary,” when word came from home that her aunt, Miss Branwell, was ailing — was very ill.  Emily and Charlotte immediately resolved to go home straight, and hastily packed up for England, doubtful whether they should ever return to Brussels or not, leaving all their relations with M. and Madame Héger, and the pensionnat, uprooted, and uncertain of any future existence.  Even before their departure, on the morning after they received the first intelligence of illness — when they were on the very point of starting — came a second letter, telling them of their aunt’s death.  It could not hasten their movements, for every arrangement had been made for speed.  They sailed from Antwerp; they travelled night and day, and got home on a Tuesday morning.  The funeral and all was over, and Mr. Brontë and Anne were sitting together, in quiet grief for the loss of one who had done her part well in their household for nearly twenty years, and earned the regard and respect of many who never knew how much they should miss her till she was gone.  The small property which she had accumulated, by dint of personal frugality and self-denial, was bequeathed to her nieces.  Branwell, her darling, was to have had his share; but his reckless expenditure had distressed the good old lady, and his name was omitted in her will.

When the first shock was over, the three sisters began to enjoy the full relish of meeting again, after the longest separation they had had in their lives.  They had much to tell of the past, and much to settle for the future.  Anne had been for some little time in a situation, to which she was to return at the end of the Christmas holidays.  For another year or so they were again to be all three apart; and, after that, the happy vision of being together and opening a school was to be realised.  Of course they did not now look forward to settling at Burlington, or any other place which would take them away from their father; but the small sum which they each independently possessed would enable them to effect such alterations in the parsonage-house at Haworth as would adapt it to the reception of pupils.  Anne’s plans for the interval were fixed.  Emily quickly decided to be the daughter to remain at home.  About Charlotte there was much deliberation and some discussion.

Even in all the haste of their sudden departure from Brussels, M. Héger had found time to write a letter of sympathy to Mr. Brontë on the loss which he had just sustained; a letter containing such a graceful appreciation of the daughters’ characters, under the form of a tribute of respect to their father, that I should have been tempted to copy it, even had there not also been a proposal made in it respecting Charlotte, which deserves a place in the record of her life.

“Au Révérend Monsieur Brontë, Pasteur Évangélique, &c, &c.

“Samedi, 5 Obre.

“MONSIEUR,

“Un évènement bien triste décide mesdemoiselles vas filles à retourner brusquement en Angleterre, ce départ qui nous afflige beaucoup a cependant ma complète approbation; il est bien naturel qu’elles cherchent à vous consoler de ce que le ciel vient de vous ôter, on se serrant autour de vous, poui mieux vous faire apprécier ce que le ciel vous a donné et ce qu’il vous laisse encore.  J’espère que vous me pardonnerez, Monsieur, de profiter de cette circonstance pour vous faire parvenir l’expression de mon respect; je n’ai pas l’honneur de vous connaître personnellement, et cependant j’éprouve pour votre personne un sentiment de sincère vénération, car en jugeant un père de famille par ses enfants on ne risque pas de se tromper, et sous ce rapport l’éducation et les sentiments que nous avons trouvés dans mesdemoiselles vos filles n’ont pu que nous donner une très-haute idée de votre mérite et de votre caractère.  Vous apprendrez sans doute avec plaisir que vos enfants ont fait du progrès trèsremarquable dans toutes les branches de l’enseignenient, et que ces progrès sont entiérement dû à leur amour pour le travail et à leur persévérance; nous n’avons eu que bien peu à faire avec de pareilles éléves; leur avancement est votre œuvre bien plus que la nôtre; nous n’avons pas eu à leur apprendre le prix du temps et de l’instruction, elles avaient appris tout cela dans la maison paternelle, et nous n’avons eu, pour notre part, que le faible mérite de diriger leurs efforts et de fournir un aliment convenable à la louable activité que vos filles ont puisées dans votre exemple et dans vos leçons.  Puissent les éloges méritées que nous donnons à vos enfants vous être de quelque consolation dans le malheur que vous afflige; c’est là notre espoir en vous écrivant, et ce sera, pour Mesdemoiselles Charlotte et Emily, une douce et belle récompense de leurs travaux.

“En perdant nos deux chéres éléves, nous ne devons pas vous cacher que nous éprouvons à la fois et du chagrin et de l’inquiétude; nous sommes affligés parce que cette brusque séparation vient briser l’affection presque paternelle que nous leur avons vouée, et notre peine s’augmente à la vue de tant de travaux interrompues, de tant de choses bien commencées, et qui ne demandent que quelque temps encore pour être menées à bonne fin.  Dans un an, chacune de vos demoiselles eût été entièrement prémunie contre les éventualités de l’avenir; chacune d’elles acquérait à la fois et l’instruction et la science d’enseignement; Mlle Emily allait apprendre le piano; recevoir les leçons du meilleur professeur que nous ayons en Belgique, et déjà elle avait elle-même de petites élèves; elle perdait donc à la fois un reste d’ignorance et un reste plus gênant encore de timidité; Mlle Charlotte commençait à donner des leçons en français, et d’acquérir cette assurance, cet aplomb si nécessaire dans l’enseignement; encore un an tout au plus et l’œuvre était achevée et bien achevée.  Alors nous aurions pu, si cela vous eût convenu, offrir à mesdemoiselles vos filles ou du moins à l’une des deux une position qui eût été dans ses goùts, et qui lui eût donné cette douce indépendance si difficile à trouver pour une jeune personne.  Ce n’est pas, croyez le bien, Monsieur, ce n’est pas ici pour nous une question d’intérêt personnel, c’est une question d’affection; vous me pardonnerez si nous vous parlons de vos enfants, si nous nous occupons de leur avenir, comme si elles faisaient partie de notre famille; leurs qualités personnelles, leur bon vouloir, leur zèle extrême sont les seules causes qui nous poussent à nous hasarder de la sorte.  Nous savons, Monsieur, que vous peserez plus mûrement et plus sagement que nous la conséquence qu’aurait pour l’avenir une interruption complète dans les études de vos deux filles; vous déciderez ce qu’il faut faire, et vous nous pardonnerez notre franchise, si vous daignez considérer que le motif qui nous fait agir est une affection bien désintéressée et qui s’affligerait beaucoup de devoir déjà se résigner à n’être plus utile à vos chers enfants.