The Professor

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XVII.

  AFTER all I had profited but imperfectly by the opportunity I had soboldly achieved of speaking to Mdlle. Henri; it was my intention to askher how she came to be possessed of two English baptismal names, Francesand Evans, in addition to her French surname, also whence she derivedher good accent. I had forgotten both points, or, rather, our colloquyhad been so brief that I had not had time to bring them forward;moreover, I had not half tested her powers of speaking English; all Ihad drawn from her in that language were the words "Yes," and "Thankyou, sir." "No matter," I reflected. "What has been left incomplete now,shall be finished another day." Nor did I fail to keep the promise thusmade to myself. It was difficult to get even a few words of particularconversation with one pupil among so many; but, according to the oldproverb, "Where there is a will, there is a way;" and again and againI managed to find an opportunity for exchanging a few words with Mdlle.Henri, regardless that envy stared and detraction whispered whenever Iapproached her.

  "Your book an instant." Such was the mode in which I often began thesebrief dialogues; the time was always just at the conclusion of thelesson and motioning to her to rise, I installed myself in her place,allowing her to stand deferentially at my side; for I esteemed it wiseand right in her case to enforce strictly all forms ordinarily inuse between master and pupil; the rather because I perceived that inproportion as my manner grew austere and magisterial, hers became easyand self-possessed--an odd contradiction, doubtless, to the ordinaryeffect in such cases; but so it was.

  "A pencil," said I, holding out my hand without looking at her. (I amnow about to sketch a brief report of the first of these conferences.)She gave me one, and while I underlined some errors in a grammaticalexercise she had written, I observed--

  "You are not a native of Belgium?"

  "No."

  "Nor of France?"

  "No."

  "Where, then, is your birthplace?"

  "I was born at Geneva."

  "You don't call Frances and Evans Swiss names, I presume?"

  "No, sir; they are English names."

  "Just so; and is it the custom of the Genevese to give their childrenEnglish appellatives?"

  "Non, Monsieur; mais--"

  "Speak English, if you please."

  "Mais--"

  "English--"

  "But" (slowly and with embarrassment) "my parents were not all the twoGenevese."

  "Say BOTH, instead of 'all the two,' mademoiselle."

  "Not BOTH Swiss: my mother was English."

  "Ah! and of English extraction?"

  "Yes--her ancestors were all English."

  "And your father?"

  "He was Swiss."

  "What besides? What was his profession?"

  "Ecclesiastic--pastor--he had a church."

  "Since your mother is an Englishwoman, why do you not speak English withmore facility?"

  "Maman est morte, il y a dix ans."

  "And you do homage to her memory by forgetting her language. Have thegoodness to put French out of your mind so long as I converse withyou--keep to English."

  "C'est si difficile, monsieur, quand on n'en a plus l'habitude."

  "You had the habitude formerly, I suppose? Now answer me in your mothertongue."

  "Yes, sir, I spoke the English more than the French when I was a child."

  "Why do you not speak it now?"

  "Because I have no English friends."

  "You live with your father, I suppose?"

  "My father is dead."

  "You have brothers and sisters?"

  "Not one."

  "Do you live alone?"

  "No--I have an aunt--ma tante Julienne."

  "Your father's sister?"

  "Justement, monsieur."

  "Is that English?"

  "No--but I forget--"

  "For which, mademoiselle, if you were a child I should certainly devisesome slight punishment; at your age--you must be two or three andtwenty, I should think?"

  "Pas encore, monsieur--en un mois j'aurai dix-neuf ans."

  "Well, nineteen is a mature age, and, having attained it, you ought tobe so solicitous for your own improvement, that it should not be needfulfor a master to remind you twice of the expediency of your speakingEnglish whenever practicable."

  To this wise speech I received no answer; and, when I looked up, mypupil was smiling to herself a much-meaning, though not very gay smile;it seemed to say, "He talks of he knows not what:" it said thisso plainly, that I determined to request information on the pointconcerning which my ignorance seemed to be thus tacitly affirmed.

  "Are you solicitous for your own improvement?"

  "Rather."

  "How do you prove it, mademoiselle?"

  An odd question, and bluntly put; it excited a second smile.

  "Why, monsieur, I am not inattentive--am I? I learn my lessons well--"

  "Oh, a child can do that! and what more do you do?"

  "What more can I do?"

  "Oh, certainly, not much; but you are a teacher, are you not, as well asa pupil?"

  "Yes."

  "You teach lace-mending?"

  "Yes."

  "A dull, stupid occupation do you like it?"

  "No--it is tedious."

  "Why do you pursue it? Why do you not rather teach history, geography,grammar, even arithmetic?"

  "Is monsieur certain that I am myself thoroughly acquainted with thesestudies?"

  "I don't know; you ought to be at your age."

  "But I never was at school, monsieur--"

  "Indeed! What then were your friends--what was your aunt about? She isvery much to blame."

  "No monsieur, no--my aunt is good--she is not to blame--she does whatshe can; she lodges and nourishes me" (I report Mdlle. Henri's phrasesliterally, and it was thus she translated from the French). "She is notrich; she has only an annuity of twelve hundred francs, and it would beimpossible for her to send me to school."

  "Rather," thought I to myself on hearing this, but I continued, in thedogmatical tone I had adopted:--

  "It is sad, however, that you should be brought up in ignorance of themost ordinary branches of education had you known something of historyand grammar you might, by degrees, have relinquished your lace-mendingdrudgery, and risen in the world."

  "It is what I mean to do."

  "How? By a knowledge of English alone? That will not suffice; norespectable family will receive a governess whose whole stock ofknowledge consists in a familiarity with one foreign language."

  "Monsieur, I know other things."

  "Yes, yes, you can work with Berlin wools, and embroider handkerchiefsand collars--that will do little for you."

  Mdlle. Henri's lips were unclosed to answer, but she checked herself,as thinking the discussion had been sufficiently pursued, and remainedsilent.

  "Speak," I continued, impatiently; "I never like the appearance ofacquiescence when the reality is not there; and you had a contradictionat your tongue's end."

  "Monsieur, I have had many lessons both in grammar, history, geography,and arithmetic. I have gone through a course of each study."

  "Bravo! but how did you manage it, since your aunt could not afford tosend you to school?"

  "By lace-mending; by the thing monsieur despises so much."

  "Truly! And now, mademoiselle, it will be a good exercise for you toexplain to me in English how such a result was produced by such means."

  "Monsieur, I begged my aunt to have me taught lace-mending soon afterwe came to Brussels, because I knew it was a METIER, a trade which waseasily learnt, and by which I could earn some money very soon. I learntit in a few days, and I quickly got work, for all the Brussels ladieshave old lace--very precious--which must be mended all the times it iswashed. I earned money a little, and this money I gave for lessonsin the studies I have mentioned; some of it I spent in buying books,English books especially; soon I shall try to find a place of governess,or school-teacher, when I can write and speak English well
; but it willbe difficult, because those who know I have been a lace-mender willdespise me, as the pupils here despise me. Pourtant j'ai mon projet,"she added in a lower tone.

  "What is it?"

  "I will go and live in England; I will teach French there."

  The words were pronounced emphatically. She said "England" as you mightsuppose an Israelite of Moses' days would have said Canaan.

  "Have you a wish to see England?"

  "Yes, and an intention."

  And here a voice, the voice of the directress, interposed:

  "Mademoiselle Henri, je crois qu'il va pleuvoir; vous feriez bien, mabonne amie, de retourner chez vous tout de suite."

  In silence, without a word of thanks for this officious warning, Mdlle.Henri collected her books; she moved to me respectfully, endeavoured tomove to her superior, though the endeavour was almost a failure, for herhead seemed as if it would not bend, and thus departed.

  Where there is one grain of perseverance or wilfulness in thecomposition, trifling obstacles are ever known rather to stimulate thandiscourage. Mdlle. Reuter might as well have spared herself the troubleof giving that intimation about the weather (by-the-by her predictionwas falsified by the event--it did not rain that evening). At the closeof the next lesson I was again at Mdlle. Henri's desk. Thus did I accosther:--

  "What is your idea of England, mademoiselle? Why do you wish to gothere?"

  Accustomed by this time to the calculated abruptness of my manner, it nolonger discomposed or surprised her, and she answered with only somuch of hesitation as was rendered inevitable by the difficulty sheexperienced in improvising the translation of her thoughts from Frenchto English.

  "England is something unique, as I have heard and read; my idea of it isvague, and I want to go there to render my idea clear, definite."

  "Hum! How much of England do you suppose you could see if you went therein the capacity of a teacher? A strange notion you must have of gettinga clear and definite idea of a country! All you could see of GreatBritain would be the interior of a school, or at most of one or twoprivate dwellings."

  "It would be an English school; they would be English dwellings."

  "Indisputably; but what then? What would be the value of observationsmade on a scale so narrow?"

  "Monsieur, might not one learn something by analogy?An--echantillon--a--a sample often serves to give an idea of the whole;besides, narrow and wide are words comparative, are they not? All mylife would perhaps seem narrow in your eyes--all the life of a--thatlittle animal subterranean--une taupe--comment dit-on?"

  "Mole."

  "Yes--a mole, which lives underground would seem narrow even to me."

  "Well, mademoiselle--what then? Proceed."

  "Mais, monsieur, vous me comprenez."

  "Not in the least; have the goodness to explain."

  "Why, monsieur, it is just so. In Switzerland I have done but little,learnt but little, and seen but little; my life there was in a circle;I walked the same round every day; I could not get out of it; had Irested--remained there even till my death, I should never have enlargedit, because I am poor and not skilful, I have not great acquirements;when I was quite tired of this round, I begged my aunt to go toBrussels; my existence is no larger here, because I am no richer orhigher; I walk in as narrow a limit, but the scene is changed; it wouldchange again if I went to England. I knew something of the bourgeois ofGeneva, now I know something of the bourgeois of Brussels; if I went toLondon, I would know something of the bourgeois of London. Can you makeany sense out of what I say, monsieur, or is it all obscure?"

  "I see, I see--now let us advert to another subject; you propose todevote your life to teaching, and you are a most unsuccessful teacher;you cannot keep your pupils in order."

  A flush of painful confusion was the result of this harsh remark; shebent her head to the desk, but soon raising it replied--

  "Monsieur, I am not a skilful teacher, it is true, but practiceimproves; besides, I work under difficulties; here I only teach sewing,I can show no power in sewing, no superiority--it is a subordinateart; then I have no associates in this house, I am isolated; I am too aheretic, which deprives me of influence."

  "And in England you would be a foreigner; that too would deprive youof influence, and would effectually separate you from all round you; inEngland you would have as few connections, as little importance as youhave here."

  "But I should be learning something; for the rest, there are probablydifficulties for such as I everywhere, and if I must contend, andperhaps be conquered, I would rather submit to English pride than toFlemish coarseness; besides, monsieur--"

  She stopped--not evidently from any difficulty in finding words toexpress herself, but because discretion seemed to say, "You have saidenough."

  "Finish your phrase," I urged.

  "Besides, monsieur, I long to live once more among Protestants; they aremore honest than Catholics; a Romish school is a building with porouswalls, a hollow floor, a false ceiling; every room in this house,monsieur, has eyeholes and ear-holes, and what the house is, theinhabitants are, very treacherous; they all think it lawful to telllies; they all call it politeness to profess friendship where they feelhatred."

  "All?" said I; "you mean the pupils--the mere children--inexperienced,giddy things, who have not learnt to distinguish the difference betweenright and wrong?"

  "On the contrary, monsieur--the children are the most sincere; they havenot yet had time to become accomplished in duplicity; they will telllies, but they do it inartificially, and you know they are lying; butthe grown-up people are very false; they deceive strangers, they deceiveeach other--"

  A servant here entered:--

  "Mdlle. Henri--Mdlle. Reuter vous prie de vouloir bien conduire lapetite de Dorlodot chez elle, elle vous attend dans le cabinetde Rosalie la portiere--c'est que sa bonne n'est pas venue lachercher--voyez-vous."

  "Eh bien! est-ce que je suis sa bonne--moi?" demanded Mdlle. Henri; thensmiling, with that same bitter, derisive smile I had seen on her lipsonce before, she hastily rose and made her exit.