Life of Charlotte Bronte Volume I Part 15

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 Heger, 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. Bronte 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 acc.u.mulated, 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. Heger had found time to write a letter of sympathy to Mr. Bronte 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 Reverend Monsieur Bronte, Pasteur Evangelique, &c, &c.

"Samedi, 5 Obre.

"MONSIEUR,

"Un evenement bien triste decide mesdemoiselles vas filles a retourner brusquement en Angleterre, ce depart qui nous afflige beaucoup a cependant ma complete approbation; il est bien naturel qu'elles cherchent a vous consoler de ce que le ciel vient de vous oter, on se serrant autour de vous, poui mieux vous faire apprecier ce que le ciel vous a donne et ce qu'il vous laisse encore. J'espere 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 connaitre personnellement, et cependant j'eprouve pour votre personne un sentiment de sincere veneration, car en jugeant un pere de famille par ses enfants on ne risque pas de se tromper, et sous ce rapport l'education et les sentiments que nous avons trouves dans mesdemoiselles vos filles n'ont pu que nous donner une tres-haute idee de votre merite et de votre caractere. Vous apprendrez sans doute avec plaisir que vos enfants ont fait du progres tresremarquable dans toutes les branches de l'enseignenient, et que ces progres sont entierement du a leur amour pour le travail et a leur perseverance; nous n'avons eu que bien peu a faire avec de pareilles eleves; leur avancement est votre oeuvre bien plus que la notre; nous n'avons pas eu a 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 merite de diriger leurs efforts et de fournir un aliment convenable a la louable activite que vos filles ont puisees dans votre exemple et dans vos lecons. Puissent les eloges meritees que nous donnons a vos enfants vous etre de quelque consolation dans le malheur que vous afflige; c'est la notre espoir en vous ecrivant, et ce sera, pour Mesdemoiselles Charlotte et Emily, une douce et belle recompense de leurs travaux.

"En perdant nos deux cheres eleves, nous ne devons pas vous cacher que nous eprouvons a la fois et du chagrin et de l'inquietude; nous sommes affliges parce que cette brusque separation vient briser l'affection presque paternelle que nous leur avons vouee, et notre peine s'augmente a la vue de tant de travaux interrompues, de tant de choses bien commencees, et qui ne demandent que quelque temps encore pour etre menees a bonne fin. Dans un an, chacune de vos demoiselles eut ete entierement premunie contre les eventualites de l'avenir; chacune d'elles acquerait a la fois et l'instruction et la science d'enseignement; Mlle Emily allait apprendre le piano; recevoir les lecons du meilleur professeur que nous ayons en Belgique, et deja elle avait elle-meme de pet.i.tes eleves; elle perdait donc a la fois un reste d'ignorance et un reste plus genant encore de timidite; Mlle Charlotte commencait a donner des lecons en francais, et d'acquerir cette a.s.surance, cet aplomb si necessaire dans l'enseignement; encore un an tout au plus et l'oeuvre etait achevee et bien achevee. Alors nous aurions pu, si cela vous eut convenu, offrir a mesdemoiselles vos filles ou du moins a l'une des deux une position qui eut ete dans ses gouts, et qui lui eut donne cette douce independance si difficile a trouver pour une jeune personne. Ce n'est pas, croyez le bien, Monsieur, ce n'est pas ici pour nous une question d'interet 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 qualites personnelles, leur bon vouloir, leur zele extreme sont les seules causes qui nous poussent a nous hasarder de la sorte. Nous savons, Monsieur, que vous peserez plus murement et plus sagement que nous la consequence qu'aurait pour l'avenir une interruption complete dans les etudes de vos deux filles; vous deciderez ce qu'il faut faire, et vous nous pardonnerez notre franchise, si vous daignez considerer que le motif qui nous fait agir est une affection bien desinteressee et qui s'affligerait beaucoup de devoir deja se resigner a n'etre plus utile a vos chers enfants.

"Agreez, je vous prie, Monsieur, l'expression respectueuse de mes sentiments de haute consideration.

"C. HEGER."

There was so much truth, as well as so much kindness in this letter--it was so obvious that a second year of instruction would be far more valuable than the first, that there was no long hesitation before it was decided that Charlotte should return to Brussels.

Meanwhile, they enjoyed their Christmas all together inexpressibly.

Branwell was with them; that was always a pleasure at this time; whatever might be his faults, or even his vices, his sisters yet held him up as their family hope, as they trusted that he would some day be their family pride. They blinded themselves to the magnitude of the failings of which they were now and then told, by persuading themselves that such failings were common to all men of any strength of character; for, till sad experience taught them better, they fell into the usual error of confounding strong pa.s.sions with strong character.

Charlotte's friend came over to see her, and she returned the visit. Her Brussels life must have seemed like a dream, so completely, in this short s.p.a.ce of time, did she fall back into the old household ways; with more of household independence than she could ever have had during her aunt's lifetime. Winter though it was, the sisters took their accustomed walks on the snow-covered moors; or went often down the long road to Keighley, for such books as had been added to the library there during their absence from England.

CHAPTER XII

Towards the end of January, the time came for Charlotte to return to Brussels. Her journey thither was rather disastrous. She had to make her way alone; and the train from Leeds to London, which should have reached Euston-square early in the afternoon, was so much delayed that it did not get in till ten at night. She had intended to seek out the Chapter Coffee-house, where she had stayed before, and which would have been near the place where the steam-boats lay; but she appears to have been frightened by the idea of arriving at an hour which, to Yorks.h.i.+re notions, was so late and unseemly; and taking a cab, therefore, at the station, she drove straight to the London Bridge Wharf, and desired a waterman to row her to the Ostend packet, which was to sail the next morning. She described to me, pretty much as she has since described it in "Villette," her sense of loneliness, and yet her strange pleasure in the excitement of the situation, as in the dead of that winter's night she went swiftly over the dark river to the black hull's side, and was at first refused leave to ascend to the deck. "No pa.s.sengers might sleep on board," they said, with some appearance of disrespect. She looked back to the lights and subdued noises of London--that "Mighty Heart" in which she had no place--and, standing up in the rocking boat, she asked to speak to some one in authority on board the packet. He came, and her quiet simple statement of her wish, and her reason for it, quelled the feeling of sneering distrust in those who had first heard her request; and impressed the authority so favourably that he allowed her to come on board, and take possession of a berth. The next morning she sailed; and at seven on Sunday evening she reached the Rue d'Isabelle once more; having only left Haworth on Friday morning at an early hour.

Her salary was 16_l_. a year; out of which she had to pay for her German lessons, for which she was charged as much (the lessons being probably rated by time) as when Emily learnt with her and divided the expense, viz., ten francs a month. By Miss Bronte's own desire, she gave her English lessons in the _cla.s.se_, or schoolroom, without the supervision of Madame or M. Heger. They offered to be present, with a view to maintain order among the unruly Belgian girls; but she declined this, saying that she would rather enforce discipline by her own manner and character than be indebted for obedience to the presence of a _gendarme_.

She ruled over a new schoolroom, which had been built on the s.p.a.ce in the play-ground adjoining the house. Over that First Cla.s.s she was _surveillante_ at all hours; and henceforward she was called _Mademoiselle_ Charlotte by M. Heger's orders. She continued her own studies, princ.i.p.ally attending to German, and to Literature; and every Sunday she went alone to the German and English chapels. Her walks too were solitary, and princ.i.p.ally taken in the allee defendue, where she was secure from intrusion. This solitude was a perilous luxury to one of her temperament; so liable as she was to morbid and acute mental suffering.

On March 6th, 1843, she writes thus:--

"I am settled by this time, of course. I am not too much overloaded with occupation; and besides teaching English, I have time to improve myself in German. I ought to consider myself well off, and to be thankful for my good fortunes. I hope I am thankful; and if I could always keep up my spirits and never feel lonely, or long for companions.h.i.+p, or friends.h.i.+p, or whatever they call it, I should do very well. As I told you before, M. and Madame Heger are the only two persons in the house for whom I really experience regard and esteem, and of course, I cannot be always with them, nor even very often. They told me, when I first returned, that I was to consider their sitting- room my sitting-room also, and to go there whenever I was not engaged in the schoolroom. This, however, I cannot do. In the daytime it is a public room, where music-masters and mistresses are constantly pa.s.sing in and out; and in the evening, I will not, and ought not to intrude on M. and Madame Heger and their children. Thus I am a good deal by myself, out of school-hours; but that does not signify. I now regularly give English lessons to M. Heger and his brother-in-law.

They get on with wonderful rapidity; especially the first. He already begins to speak English very decently. If you could see and hear the efforts I make to teach them to p.r.o.nounce like Englishmen, and their unavailing attempts to imitate, you would laugh to all eternity.

"The Carnival is just over, and we have entered upon the gloom and abstinence of Lent. The first day of Lent we had coffee without milk for breakfast; vinegar and vegetables, with a very little salt fish, for dinner; and bread for supper. The Carnival was nothing but masking and mummery. M. Heger took me and one of the pupils into the town to see the masks. It was animating to see the immense crowds, and the general gaiety, but the masks were nothing. I have been twice to the D.'s" (those cousins of "Mary's" of whom I have before made mention). "When she leaves Bruxelles, I shall have nowhere to go to.

I have had two letters from Mary. She does not tell me she has been ill, and she does not complain; but her letters are not the letters of a person in the enjoyment of great happiness. She has n.o.body to be as good to her as M. Heger is to me; to lend her books; to converse with her sometimes, &c.

"Good-bye. When I say so, it seems to me that you will hardly hear me; all the waves of the Channel heaving and roaring between must deaden the sound."

From the tone of this letter, it may easily be perceived that the Brussels of 1843 was a different place from that of 1842. Then she had Emily for a daily and nightly solace and companion. She had the weekly variety of a visit to the family of the D.s; and she had the frequent happiness of seeing "Mary" and Martha. Now Emily was far away in Haworth--where she or any other loved one, might die, before Charlotte, with her utmost speed, could reach them, as experience, in her aunt's case, had taught her. The D.s were leaving Brussels; so, henceforth, her weekly holiday would have to be pa.s.sed in the Rue d'Isabelle, or so she thought. "Mary" was gone off on her own independent course; Martha alone remained--still and quiet for ever, in the cemetery beyond the Porte de Louvain. The weather, too, for the first few weeks after Charlotte's return, had been piercingly cold; and her feeble const.i.tution was always painfully sensitive to an inclement season. Mere bodily pain, however acute, she could always put aside; but too often ill-health a.s.sailed her in a part far more to be dreaded. Her depression of spirits, when she was not well, was pitiful in its extremity. She was aware that it was const.i.tutional, and could reason about it; but no reasoning prevented her suffering mental agony, while the bodily cause remained in force.

The Hegers have discovered, since the publication of "Villette," that at this beginning of her career as English teacher in their school, the conduct of her pupils was often impertinent and mutinous in the highest degree. But of this they were unaware at the time, as she had declined their presence, and never made any complaint. Still it must have been a depressing thought to her at this period, that her joyous, healthy, obtuse pupils were so little answerable to the powers she could bring to bear upon them; and though from their own testimony, her patience, firmness, and resolution, at length obtained their just reward, yet with one so weak in health and spirits, the reaction after such struggles as she frequently had with her pupils, must have been very sad and painful.

She thus writes to her friend E.:--

"April, 1843.

"Is there any talk of your coming to Brussels? During the bitter cold weather we had through February, and the princ.i.p.al part of March, I did not regret that you had not accompanied me. If I had seen you s.h.i.+vering as I s.h.i.+vered myself, if I had seen your hands and feet as red and swelled as mine were, my discomfort would just have been doubled. I can do very well under this sort of thing; it does not fret me; it only makes me numb and silent; but if you were to pa.s.s a winter in Belgium, you would be ill. However, more genial weather is coming now, and I wish you were here. Yet I never have pressed you, and never would press you too warmly to come. There are privations and humiliations to submit to; there is monotony and uniformity of life; and, above all, there is a constant sense of solitude in the midst of numbers. The Protestant, the foreigner, is a solitary being, whether as teacher or pupil. I do not say this by way of complaining of my own lot; for though I acknowledge that there are certain disadvantages in my present position, what position on earth is without them? And, whenever I turn back to compare what I am with what I was--my place here with my place at Mrs. ---'s for instance--I am thankful. There was an observation in your last letter which excited, for a moment, my wrath. At first, I thought it would be folly to reply to it, and I would let it die. Afterwards, I determined to give one answer, once for all. 'Three or four people,'

it seems, 'have the idea that the future _epoux_ of Mademoiselle Bronte is on the Continent.' These people are wiser than I am. They could not believe that I crossed the sea merely to return as teacher to Madame Hegers. I must have some more powerful motive than respect for my master and mistress, grat.i.tude for their kindness, &c., to induce me to refuse a salary of 50_l_. in England, and accept one of 16_l_. in Belgium. I must, forsooth, have some remote hope of entrapping a husband somehow, or somewhere. If these charitable people knew the total seclusion of the life I lead,--that I never exchange a word with any other man than Monsieur Heger, and seldom indeed with him,--they would, perhaps, cease to suppose that any such chimerical and groundless notion had influenced my proceedings. Have I said enough to clear myself of so silly an imputation? Not that it is a crime to marry, or a crime to wish to be married; but it is an imbecility, which I reject with contempt, for women, who have neither fortune nor beauty, to make marriage the princ.i.p.al object of their wishes and hopes, and the aim of all their actions; not to be able to convince themselves that they are unattractive, and that they had better be quiet, and think of other things than wedlock."

The following is an extract, from one of the few letters which have been preserved, of her correspondence with her sister Emily:--

"May 29, 1843

"I get on here from day to day in a Robinson-Crusoe-like sort of way, very lonely, but that does not signify. In other respects, I have nothing substantial to complain of, nor is this a cause for complaint.

I hope you are well. Walk out often on the moors. My love to Tabby.

I hope she keeps well."

And about this time she wrote to her father,

"June 2nd, 1818,

"I was very glad to hear from home. I had begun to get low-spirited at not receiving any news, and to entertain indefinite fears that something was wrong. You do not say anything about your own health, but I hope you are well, and Emily also. I am afraid she will have a good deal of hard work to do now that Hannah" (a servant-girl who had been a.s.sisting Tabby) "is gone. I am exceedingly glad to hear that you still keep Tabby" (considerably upwards of seventy). "It is an act of great charity to her, and I do not think it will be unrewarded, for she is very faithful, and will always serve you, when she has occasion, to the best of her abilities; besides, she will be company for Emily, who, without her, would be very lonely."

I gave a _devoir_, written after she had been four months under M.

Heger's tuition. I will now copy out another, written nearly a year later, during which the progress made appears to me very great.

"31 Mai, 1843.

"SUR LA MORT DE NAPOLEON.

"Napoleon naquit en Corse et mourut a Ste. Helene. Entre ces deux iles rien qu'un vaste et brulant desert et l'ocean immense. Il naquit fils d'un simple gentilhomme, et mourut empereur, mais sans couronne et dans les fers. Entre son berceau et sa tombe qu'y a-t-il? la carriere d'un soldat parvenu, des champs de bataille, une mer de sang, un trone, puis du sang encore, et des fers. Sa vie, c'est l'arc en ciel; les deux points extremes touchent la terre, la comble lumi-neuse mesure les cieux. Sur Napoleon au berceau une mere brillait; dans la maison paternelle il avait des freres et des soeurs; plus tard dans son palais il eut une femme qui l'aimait. Mais sur son lit de mort Napoleon est seul; plus de mere, ni de frere, ni de soeur, ni de femme, ni d'enfant!! D'autres ont dit et rediront ses exploits, moi, je m'arrete a contempler l'abandonnement de sa derniere heure!

"Il est la, exile et captif, enchaine sur un ecueil. Nouveau Promethee il subit le chatiment de son orgueil! Promethee avait voulu etre Dieu et Createur; il deroba le feu du Ciel pour animer le corps qu'il avait forme. Et lui, Buonaparte, il a voulu creer, non pas un homme, mais un empire, et pour donner une existence, une ame, a son oeuvre gigantesque, il n'a pas hesite a arracher la vie a des nations entieres. Jupiter indigne de l'impiete de Promethee, le riva vivant a la cime du Caucase. Ainsi, pour punir l'ambition rapace de Buonaparte, la Providence l'a enchaine, jusqu'a ce que la mort s'en suivit, sur un roc isole de l'Atlantique. Peut-etre la aussi a-t-il senti lui fouillant le flanc cet insatiable vautour dont parle la fable, peut-etre a-t-il souffert aussi cette soif du coeur, cette faim de l'ame, qui torturent l'exile, loin de sa famille et de sa patrie.

Mais parler ainsi n'est-ce pas attribuer gratuitement a Napoleon une humaine faiblesse qu'il n'eprouva jamais? Quand donc s'est-il laisse enchainer par un lien d'affection? Sans doute d'autres conquerants ont hesite dans leur carriere de gloire, arretes par un obstacle d'amour ou d'amitie, retenus par la main d'une femme, rappeles par la voix d'un ami--lui, jamais! Il n'eut pas besoin, comme Ulysse, de se lier au mat du navire, ni de se boucher les oreilles avec de la cire; il ne redoutait pas le chant des Sirenes--il le dedaignait; il se fit marbre et fer pour executer ses grands projets. Napoleon ne se regardait pas comme un homme, mais comme l'incarnation d'un peuple. Il n'aimait pas; il ne considerait ses amis et ses proches que comme des instruments auxquels il tint, tant qu'ils furent utiles, et qu'il jeta de cote quand ils cesserent de l'etre. Qu'on ne se permette donc pas d'approcher du sepulcre du Corse avec sentiments de pitie, ou de souiller de larmes la pierre qui couvre ses restes, son ame repudierait tout cela. On a dit, je le sais, qu'elle fut cruelle la main qui le separa de sa femme et de son enfant. Non, c'etait une main qui, comme la sienne, ne tremblait ni de pa.s.sion ni de crainte, c'etait la main d'un homme froid, convaincu, qui avait su deviner Buonaparte; et voici ce que disait cet homme que la defaite n'a pu humilier, ni la victoire enorgueiller. 'Marie-Louise n'est pas la femme de Napoleon; c'est la France que Napoleon a epousee; c'est la France qu'il aime, leur union enfante la perte de l'Europe; voila la divorce que je veux; voila l'union qu'il faut briser.'

"La voix des timides et des traitres protesta contre cette sentence.

'C'est abuser de droit de la victoire! C'est fouler aux pieds le vaincu! Que l'Angleterre se montre clemente, qu'elle ouvre ses bras pour recevoir comme hote son ennemi desarme.' L'Angleterre aurait peut-etre ecoute ce conseii, car partout et toujours il y a des ames faibles et timorees bientot seduites par la flatterie ou effrayees par le reproche. Mais la Providence permit qu'un homme se trouvat qui n'a jamais su ce que c'est que la crainte; qui aima sa patrie mieux que sa renommee; impenetrable devant les menaces, inaccessible aux louanges, il se presenta devant le conseil de la nation, et levant son front tranquille en haut, il osa dire: 'Que la trahison se taise! car c'est trahir que de conseiller de temporiser avec Buonaparte. Moi je sais ce que sont ces guerres dont l'Europe saigne encore, comme une victime sous le couteau du boucher. Il faut en finir avec Napoleon Buonaparte. Vous vous effrayez a tort d'un mot si dur! Je n'ai pas de magnanimite, dit-on? Soit! que m'importe ce qu'on dit de moi? Je n'ai pas ici a me faire une reputation de heros magnanime, mais a guerir, si la cure est possible, l'Europe qui se meurt, epuisee de ressources et de sang, l'Europe dont vous negligez les vrais interets, pre-occupes que vous etes d'une vaine renommee de clemence. Vous etes faibles! Eh bien! je viens vous aider. Envoyez Buonaparte a Ste.

Helene! n'hesitez pas, ne cherchez pas un autre endroit; c'est le seul convenable. Je vous le dis, j'ai reflechi pour vous; c'est la qu'il doit etre et non pas ailleurs. Quant a Napoleon, homme, soldat, je n'ai rien contre lui; c'est un lion royal, aupres de qui vous n'etes que des chacals. Mais Napoleon Empereur, c'est autre chose, je l'extirperai du sol de l'Europe.' Et celui qui parla ainsi toujours sut garder sa promesse, celle-la comme toutes les autres. Je l'ai dit, et je le repete, cet homme est l'egal de Napoleon par le genie; comme trempe de caractere, comme droiture, comme elevation de pensee et de but, il est d'une tout autre espece. Napoleon Buonaparte etait avide de renommee et de gloire; Arthur Wellesley ne se soucie ni de l'une ni de l'autre; l'opinion publique, la popularite, etaient choses de grand valeur aux yeux de Napoleon; pour Wellington l'opinion publique est une rumeur, un rien que le souffle de son inflexible volonte fait disparaitre comme une bulle de savon. Napoleon flattait le peuple; Wellington le brusqne; l'un cherchait les applau-diss.e.m.e.nts, l'autre ne se soucie que du temoignage de sa conscience; quand elle approuve, c'est a.s.sez; toute autre louange l'obsede. Aussi ce peuple, qui adorait Buonaparte s'irritait, s'insurgeait contre la morgue de Wellington: parfois il lui temoigna sa colere et sa haine par des grognements, par des hurlements de betes fauves; et alors, avec une impa.s.sibilite de senateur romain, le moderne Coriolan toisait du regard l'emeute furieuse; il croisait ses bras nerveux sur sa large poitrine, et seul, debout sur son seuil, il attendait, il bravait cette tempete populaire dont les flots venaient mourir a quelques pas de lui: et quand la foule, honteuse de sa rebellion, venait lecher les pieds du maitre, le hautain patricien meprisait l'hommage d'aujourd'hui comme la haine d'hier, et dans les rues de Londres, et devant son palais ducal d'Apsley, il repoussait d'un genre plein de froid dedain l'incommode empress.e.m.e.nt du peuple enthousiaste. Cette fierte neanmoins n'excluait pas en lui une rare modestie; partout il se soustrait a l'eloge; se derobe au panegyrique; jamais il ne parle de ses exploits, et jamais il ne souffre qu'un autre lui en parle en sa presence. Son caractere egale en grandeur et surpa.s.se en verite celui de tout autre heros ancien ou moderne. La gloire de Napoleon crut en une nuit, comme la vigne de Jonas, et il suffit d'un jour pour la fletrir; la gloire de Wellington est comme les vieux chenes qui ombragent le chateau de ses peres sur les rives du Shannon; le chene croit lentement; il lui faut du temps pour pousser vers le ciel ses branches noueuses, et pour enfoncer dans le sol ces racines profondes qui s'enchevetrent dans les fondements solides de la terre; mais alors, l'arbre seculaire, inebranlable comme le roc ou il a sa base, brave et la faux du temps et l'effort des vents et des tempetes. Il faudra peut-etre un siecle a l'Angleterre pour qu'elle connaise la valeur de son heros. Dans un siecle, l'Europe entiere saura combien Wellington a des droits a sa reconnaissance."

How often in writing this paper "in a strange land," must Miss Bronte have thought of the old childish disputes in the kitchen of Haworth parsonage, touching the respective merits of Wellington and Buonaparte!

Although the t.i.tle given to her _devoir_ is, "On the Death of Napoleon,"

she seems yet to have considered it a point of honour rather to sing praises to an English hero than to dwell on the character of a foreigner, placed as she was among those who cared little either for an England or for Wellington. She now felt that she had made great progress towards obtaining proficiency in the French language, which had been her main object in coming to Brussels. But to the zealous learner "Alps on Alps arise." No sooner is one difficulty surmounted than some other desirable attainment appears, and must be laboured after. A knowledge of German now became her object; and she resolved to compel herself to remain in Brussels till that was gained. The strong yearning to go home came upon her; the stronger self-denying will forbade. There was a great internal struggle; every fibre of her heart quivered in the strain to master her will; and, when she conquered herself, she remained, not like a victor calm and supreme on the throne, but like a panting, torn, and suffering victim. Her nerves and her spirits gave way. Her health became much shaken.

"Brussels, August 1st, 1843.

"If I complain in this letter, have mercy and don't blame me, for, I forewarn you, I am in low spirits, and that earth and heaven are dreary and empty to me at this moment. In a few days our vacation will begin; everybody is joyous and animated at the prospect, because everybody is to go home. I know that I am to stay here during the five weeks that the holidays last, and that I shall be much alone during that time, and consequently get downcast, and find both days and nights of a weary length. It is the first time in my life that I have really dreaded the vacation. Alas! I can hardly write, I have such a dreary weight at my heart; and I do so wish to go home. Is not this childish? Pardon me, for I cannot help it. However, though I am not strong enough to bear up cheerfully, I can still bear up; and I will continue to stay (D. V.) some months longer, till I have acquired German; and then I hope to see all your faces again. Would that the vacation were well over! it will pa.s.s so slowly. Do have the Christian charity to write me a long, long letter; fill it with the minutest details; nothing will be uninteresting. Do not think it is because people are unkind to me that I wish to leave Belgium; nothing of the sort. Everybody is abundantly civil, but home-sickness keeps creeping over me. I cannot shake it off. Believe me, very merrily, vivaciously, gaily, yours,

"C.B."