Villette

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER VI.

  LONDON.

  The next day was the first of March, and when I awoke, rose, and openedmy curtain, I saw the risen sun struggling through fog. Above my head,above the house-tops, co-elevate almost with the clouds, I saw asolemn, orbed mass, dark blue and dim--THE DOME. While I looked, myinner self moved; my spirit shook its always-fettered wings half loose;I had a sudden feeling as if I, who never yet truly lived, were at lastabout to taste life. In that morning my soul grew as fast as Jonah'sgourd.

  "I did well to come," I said, proceeding to dress with speed and care."I like the spirit of this great London which I feel around me. Who buta coward would pass his whole life in hamlets; and for ever abandon hisfaculties to the eating rust of obscurity?"

  Being dressed, I went down; not travel-worn and exhausted, but tidy andrefreshed. When the waiter came in with my breakfast, I managed toaccost him sedately, yet cheerfully; we had ten minutes' discourse, inthe course of which we became usefully known to each other.

  He was a grey-haired, elderly man; and, it seemed, had lived in hispresent place twenty years. Having ascertained this, I was sure he mustremember my two uncles, Charles and Wilmot, who, fifteen, years ago,were frequent visitors here. I mentioned their names; he recalled themperfectly, and with respect. Having intimated my connection, myposition in his eyes was henceforth clear, and on a right footing. Hesaid I was like my uncle Charles: I suppose he spoke truth, becauseMrs. Barrett was accustomed to say the same thing. A ready and obligingcourtesy now replaced his former uncomfortably doubtful manner;henceforth I need no longer be at a loss for a civil answer to asensible question.

  The street on which my little sitting-room window looked was narrow,perfectly quiet, and not dirty: the few passengers were just such asone sees in provincial towns: here was nothing formidable; I felt sureI might venture out alone.

  Having breakfasted, out I went. Elation and pleasure were in my heart:to walk alone in London seemed of itself an adventure. Presently Ifound myself in Paternoster Row--classic ground this. I entered abookseller's shop, kept by one Jones: I bought a little book--a pieceof extravagance I could ill afford; but I thought I would one day giveor send it to Mrs. Barrett. Mr. Jones, a dried-in man of business,stood behind his desk: he seemed one of the greatest, and I one of thehappiest of beings.

  Prodigious was the amount of life I lived that morning. Finding myselfbefore St. Paul's, I went in; I mounted to the dome: I saw thenceLondon, with its river, and its bridges, and its churches; I sawantique Westminster, and the green Temple Gardens, with sun upon them,and a glad, blue sky, of early spring above; and between them and it,not too dense, a cloud of haze.

  Descending, I went wandering whither chance might lead, in a stillecstasy of freedom and enjoyment; and I got--I know not how--I got intothe heart of city life. I saw and felt London at last: I got into theStrand; I went up Cornhill; I mixed with the life passing along; Idared the perils of crossings. To do this, and to do it utterly alone,gave me, perhaps an irrational, but a real pleasure. Since those days,I have seen the West End, the parks, the fine squares; but I love thecity far better. The city seems so much more in earnest: its business,its rush, its roar, are such serious things, sights, and sounds. Thecity is getting its living--the West End but enjoying its pleasure. Atthe West End you may be amused, but in the city you are deeply excited.

  Faint, at last, and hungry (it was years since I had felt such healthyhunger), I returned, about two o'clock, to my dark, old, and quiet inn.I dined on two dishes--a plain joint and vegetables; both seemedexcellent: how much better than the small, dainty messes MissMarchmont's cook used to send up to my kind, dead mistress and me, andto the discussion of which we could not bring half an appetite betweenus! Delightfully tired, I lay down, on three chairs for an hour (theroom did not boast a sofa). I slept, then I woke and thought for twohours.

  My state of mind, and all accompanying circumstances, were just nowsuch as most to favour the adoption of a new, resolute, anddaring--perhaps desperate--line of action. I had nothing to lose.Unutterable loathing of a desolate existence past, forbade return. If Ifailed in what I now designed to undertake, who, save myself, wouldsuffer? If I died far away from--home, I was going to say, but I had nohome--from England, then, who would weep?

  I might suffer; I was inured to suffering: death itself had not, Ithought, those terrors for me which it has for the softly reared. Ihad, ere this, looked on the thought of death with a quiet eye.Prepared, then, for any consequences, I formed a project.

  That same evening I obtained from my friend, the waiter, informationrespecting, the sailing of vessels for a certain continental port,Boue-Marine. No time, I found, was to be lost: that very night I musttake my berth. I might, indeed, have waited till the morning beforegoing on board, but would not run the risk of being too late.

  "Better take your berth at once, ma'am," counselled the waiter. Iagreed with him, and having discharged my bill, and acknowledged myfriend's services at a rate which I now know was princely, and which inhis eyes must have seemed absurd--and indeed, while pocketing the cash,he smiled a faint smile which intimated his opinion of the donor's_savoir-faire_--he proceeded to call a coach. To the driver he alsorecommended me, giving at the same time an injunction about taking me,I think, to the wharf, and not leaving me to the watermen; which thatfunctionary promised to observe, but failed in keeping his promise: onthe contrary, he offered me up as an oblation, served me as a drippingroast, making me alight in the midst of a throng of watermen.

  This was an uncomfortable crisis. It was a dark night. The coachmaninstantly drove off as soon as he had got his fare: the watermencommenced a struggle for me and my trunk. Their oaths I hear at thismoment: they shook my philosophy more than did the night, or theisolation, or the strangeness of the scene. One laid hands on my trunk.I looked on and waited quietly; but when another laid hands on me, Ispoke up, shook off his touch, stepped at once into a boat, desiredausterely that the trunk should be placed beside me--"Justthere,"--which was instantly done; for the owner of the boat I hadchosen became now an ally: I was rowed off.

  Black was the river as a torrent of ink; lights glanced on it from thepiles of building round, ships rocked on its bosom. They rowed me up toseveral vessels; I read by lantern-light their names painted in greatwhite letters on a dark ground. "The Ocean," "The Phoenix," "TheConsort," "The Dolphin," were passed in turns; but "The Vivid" was myship, and it seemed she lay further down.

  Down the sable flood we glided, I thought of the Styx, and of Charonrowing some solitary soul to the Land of Shades. Amidst the strangescene, with a chilly wind blowing in my face and midnight cloudsdropping rain above my head; with two rude rowers for companions, whoseinsane oaths still tortured my ear, I asked myself if I was wretched orterrified. I was neither. Often in my life have I been far more sounder comparatively safe circumstances. "How is this?" said I."Methinks I am animated and alert, instead of being depressed andapprehensive?" I could not tell how it was.

  "THE VIVID" started out, white and glaring, from the black night atlast.--"Here you are!" said the waterman, and instantly demanded sixshillings.

  "You ask too much," I said. He drew off from the vessel and swore hewould not embark me till I paid it. A young man, the steward as I foundafterwards, was looking over the ship's side; he grinned a smile inanticipation of the coming contest; to disappoint him, I paid themoney. Three times that afternoon I had given crowns where I shouldhave given shillings; but I consoled myself with the reflection, "It isthe price of experience."

  "They've cheated you!" said the steward exultingly when I got on board.I answered phlegmatically that "I knew it," and went below.

  A stout, handsome, and showy woman was in the ladies' cabin. I asked tobe shown my berth; she looked hard at me, muttered something about itsbeing unusual for passengers to come on board at that hour, and seemeddisposed to be less than civil. What a face she had--so comely--soinsolent and so selfish!

  "Now that I am on board, I shall certai
nly stay here," was my answer."I will trouble you to show me my berth."

  She complied, but sullenly. I took off my bonnet, arranged my things,and lay down. Some difficulties had been passed through; a sort ofvictory was won: my homeless, anchorless, unsupported mind had againleisure for a brief repose. Till the "Vivid" arrived in harbour, nofurther action would be required of me; but then.... Oh! I could notlook forward. Harassed, exhausted, I lay in a half-trance.

  The stewardess talked all night; not to me but to the young steward,her son and her very picture. He passed in and out of the cabincontinually: they disputed, they quarrelled, they made it up againtwenty times in the course of the night. She professed to be writing aletter home--she said to her father; she read passages of it aloud,heeding me no more than a stock--perhaps she believed me asleep.Several of these passages appeared to comprise family secrets, and borespecial reference to one "Charlotte," a younger sister who, from thebearing of the epistle, seemed to be on the brink of perpetrating aromantic and imprudent match; loud was the protest of this elder ladyagainst the distasteful union. The dutiful son laughed his mother'scorrespondence to scorn. She defended it, and raved at him. They were astrange pair. She might be thirty-nine or forty, and was buxom andblooming as a girl of twenty. Hard, loud, vain and vulgar, her mind andbody alike seemed brazen and imperishable. I should think, from herchildhood, she must have lived in public stations; and in her youthmight very likely have been a barmaid.

  Towards morning her discourse ran on a new theme: "the Watsons," acertain expected family-party of passengers, known to her, it appeared,and by her much esteemed on account of the handsome profit realized intheir fees. She said, "It was as good as a little fortune to herwhenever this family crossed."

  At dawn all were astir, and by sunrise the passengers came on board.Boisterous was the welcome given by the stewardess to the "Watsons,"and great was the bustle made in their honour. They were four innumber, two males and two females. Besides them, there was but oneother passenger--a young lady, whom a gentlemanly, thoughlanguid-looking man escorted. The two groups offered a marked contrast.The Watsons were doubtless rich people, for they had the confidence ofconscious wealth in their bearing; the women--youthful both of them,and one perfectly handsome, as far as physical beauty went--weredressed richly, gaily, and absurdly out of character for thecircumstances. Their bonnets with bright flowers, their velvet cloaksand silk dresses, seemed better suited for park or promenade than for adamp packet deck. The men were of low stature, plain, fat, and vulgar;the oldest, plainest, greasiest, broadest, I soon found was thehusband--the bridegroom I suppose, for she was very young--of thebeautiful girl. Deep was my amazement at this discovery; and deeperstill when I perceived that, instead of being desperately wretched insuch a union, she was gay even to giddiness. "Her laughter," Ireflected, "must be the mere frenzy of despair." And even while thisthought was crossing my mind, as I stood leaning quiet and solitaryagainst the ship's side, she came tripping up to me, an utter stranger,with a camp-stool in her hand, and smiling a smile of which the levitypuzzled and startled me, though it showed a perfect set of perfectteeth, she offered me the accommodation of this piece of furniture. Ideclined it of course, with all the courtesy I could put into mymanner; she danced off heedless and lightsome. She must have beengood-natured; but what had made her marry that individual, who was atleast as much like an oil-barrel as a man?

  The other lady passenger, with the gentleman-companion, was quite agirl, pretty and fair: her simple print dress, untrimmed straw-bonnetand large shawl, gracefully worn, formed a costume plain to quakerism:yet, for her, becoming enough. Before the gentleman quitted her, Iobserved him throwing a glance of scrutiny over all the passengers, asif to ascertain in what company his charge would be left. With a mostdissatisfied air did his eye turn from the ladies with the gay flowers;he looked at me, and then he spoke to his daughter, niece, or whatevershe was: she also glanced in my direction, and slightly curled hershort, pretty lip. It might be myself, or it might be my homelymourning habit, that elicited this mark of contempt; more likely, both.A bell rang; her father (I afterwards knew that it was her father)kissed her, and returned to land. The packet sailed.

  Foreigners say that it is only English girls who can thus be trusted totravel alone, and deep is their wonder at the daring confidence ofEnglish parents and guardians. As for the "jeunes Meess," by some theirintrepidity is pronounced masculine and "inconvenant," others regardthem as the passive victims of an educational and theological systemwhich wantonly dispenses with proper "surveillance." Whether thisparticular young lady was of the sort that can the most safely be leftunwatched, I do not know: or, rather did not _then_ know; but it soonappeared that the dignity of solitude was not to her taste. She pacedthe deck once or twice backwards and forwards; she looked with a littlesour air of disdain at the flaunting silks and velvets, and the bearswhich thereon danced attendance, and eventually she approached me andspoke.

  "Are you fond of a sea-voyage?" was her question.

  I explained that my _fondness_ for a sea-voyage had yet to undergo thetest of experience; I had never made one.

  "Oh, how charming!" cried she. "I quite envy you the novelty: firstimpressions, you know, are so pleasant. Now I have made so many, Iquite forget the first: I am quite _blasee_ about the sea and all that."

  I could not help smiling.

  "Why do you laugh at me?" she inquired, with a frank testiness thatpleased me better than her other talk.

  "Because you are so young to be _blasee_ about anything."

  "I am seventeen" (a little piqued).

  "You hardly look sixteen. Do you like travelling alone?"

  "Bah! I care nothing about it. I have crossed the Channel ten times,alone; but then I take care never to be long alone: I always makefriends."

  "You will scarcely make many friends this voyage, I think" (glancing atthe Watson-group, who were now laughing and making a great deal ofnoise on deck).

  "Not of those odious men and women," said she: "such people should besteerage passengers. Are you going to school?"

  "No."

  "Where are you going?"

  "I have not the least idea--beyond, at least, the port of Boue-Marine."

  She stared, then carelessly ran on:

  "I am going to school. Oh, the number of foreign schools I have been atin my life! And yet I am quite an ignoramus. I know nothing--nothing inthe world--I assure you; except that I play and dance beautifully,--andFrench and German of course I know, to speak; but I can't read or writethem very well. Do you know they wanted me to translate a page of aneasy German book into English the other day, and I couldn't do it. Papawas so mortified: he says it looks as if M. de Bassompierre--mygodpapa, who pays all my school-bills--had thrown away all his money.And then, in matters of information--in history, geography, arithmetic,and so on, I am quite a baby; and I write English so badly--suchspelling and grammar, they tell me. Into the bargain I have quiteforgotten my religion; they call me a Protestant, you know, but reallyI am not sure whether I am one or not: I don't well know the differencebetween Romanism and Protestantism. However, I don't in the least carefor that. I was a Lutheran once at Bonn--dear Bonn!--charmingBonn!--where there were so many handsome students. Every nice girl inour school had an admirer; they knew our hours for walking out, andalmost always passed us on the promenade: 'Schoenes Maedchen,' we used tohear them say. I was excessively happy at Bonn!"

  "And where are you now?" I inquired.

  "Oh! at--_chose_," said she.

  Now, Miss Ginevra Fanshawe (such was this young person's name) onlysubstituted this word "_chose_" in temporary oblivion of the real name.It was a habit she had: "_chose_" came in at every turn in herconversation--the convenient substitute for any missing word in anylanguage she might chance at the time to be speaking. French girlsoften do the like; from them she had caught the custom. "_Chose_,"however, I found in this instance, stood for Villette--the greatcapital of the great kingdom of Labassecour.

  "Do you
like Villette?" I asked.

  "Pretty well. The natives, you know, are intensely stupid and vulgar;but there are some nice English families."

  "Are you in a school?"

  "Yes."

  "A good one?"

  "Oh, no! horrid: but I go out every Sunday, and care nothing about the_maitresses_ or the _professeurs_, or the _eleves_, and send lessons_au diable_ (one daren't say that in English, you know, but it soundsquite right in French); and thus I get on charmingly.... You arelaughing at me again?"

  "No--I am only smiling at my own thoughts."

  "What are they?" (Without waiting for an answer)--"Now, _do_ tell mewhere you are going."

  "Where Fate may lead me. My business is to earn a living where I canfind it."

  "To earn!" (in consternation) "are you poor, then?"

  "As poor as Job."

  (After a pause)--"Bah! how unpleasant! But _I_ know what it is to bepoor: they are poor enough at home--papa and mamma, and all of them.Papa is called Captain Fanshawe; he is an officer on half-pay, butwell-descended, and some of our connections are great enough; but myuncle and godpapa De Bassompierre, who lives in France, is the only onethat helps us: he educates us girls. I have five sisters and threebrothers. By-and-by we are to marry--rather elderly gentlemen, Isuppose, with cash: papa and mamma manage that. My sister Augusta ismarried now to a man much older-looking than papa. Augusta is verybeautiful--not in my style--but dark; her husband, Mr. Davies, had theyellow fever in India, and he is still the colour of a guinea; but thenhe is rich, and Augusta has her carriage and establishment, and we allthink she has done perfectly well. Now, this is better than 'earning aliving,' as you say. By the way, are you clever?"

  "No--not at all."

  "You can play, sing, speak three or four languages?"

  "By no means."

  "Still I think you are clever" (a pause and a yawn).

  "Shall you be sea-sick?"

  "Shall you?"

  "Oh, immensely! as soon as ever we get in sight of the sea: I begin,indeed, to feel it already. I shall go below; and won't I order aboutthat fat odious stewardess! Heureusement je sais faire aller mon monde."

  Down she went.

  It was not long before the other passengers followed her: throughoutthe afternoon I remained on deck alone. When I recall the tranquil, andeven happy mood in which I passed those hours, and remember, at thesame time, the position in which I was placed; its hazardous--somewould have said its hopeless--character; I feel that, as--

  Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars--a cage,

  so peril, loneliness, an uncertain future, are not oppressive evils, solong as the frame is healthy and the faculties are employed; so long,especially, as Liberty lends us her wings, and Hope guides us by herstar.

  I was not sick till long after we passed Margate, and deep was thepleasure I drank in with the sea-breeze; divine the delight I drew fromthe heaving Channel waves, from the sea-birds on their ridges, from thewhite sails on their dark distance, from the quiet yet beclouded sky,overhanging all. In my reverie, methought I saw the continent ofEurope, like a wide dream-land, far away. Sunshine lay on it, makingthe long coast one line of gold; tiniest tracery of clustered town andsnow-gleaming tower, of woods deep massed, of heights serrated, ofsmooth pasturage and veiny stream, embossed the metal-bright prospect.For background, spread a sky, solemn and dark blue, and--grand withimperial promise, soft with tints of enchantment--strode from north tosouth a God-bent bow, an arch of hope.

  Cancel the whole of that, if you please, reader--or rather let itstand, and draw thence a moral--an alliterative, text-hand copy--

  Day-dreams are delusions of the demon.

  Becoming excessively sick, I faltered down into the cabin.

  Miss Fanshawe's berth chanced to be next mine; and, I am sorry to say,she tormented me with an unsparing selfishness during the whole time ofour mutual distress. Nothing could exceed her impatience andfretfulness. The Watsons, who were very sick too, and on whom thestewardess attended with shameless partiality, were stoics comparedwith her. Many a time since have I noticed, in persons of GinevraFanshawe's light, careless temperament, and fair, fragile style ofbeauty, an entire incapacity to endure: they seem to sour in adversity,like small beer in thunder. The man who takes such a woman for hiswife, ought to be prepared to guarantee her an existence all sunshine.Indignant at last with her teasing peevishness, I curtly requested her"to hold her tongue." The rebuff did her good, and it was observablethat she liked me no worse for it.

  As dark night drew on, the sea roughened: larger waves swayed strongagainst the vessel's side. It was strange to reflect that blackness andwater were round us, and to feel the ship ploughing straight on herpathless way, despite noise, billow, and rising gale. Articles offurniture began to fall about, and it became needful to lash them totheir places; the passengers grew sicker than ever; Miss Fanshawedeclared, with groans, that she must die.

  "Not just yet, honey," said the stewardess. "We're just in port."Accordingly, in another quarter of an hour, a calm fell upon us all;and about midnight the voyage ended.

  I was sorry: yes, I was sorry. My resting-time was past; mydifficulties--my stringent difficulties--recommenced. When I went ondeck, the cold air and black scowl of the night seemed to rebuke me formy presumption in being where I was: the lights of the foreign sea-porttown, glimmering round the foreign harbour, met me like unnumberedthreatening eyes. Friends came on board to welcome the Watsons; a wholefamily of friends surrounded and bore away Miss Fanshawe; I--but Idared not for one moment dwell on a comparison of positions.

  Yet where should I go? I must go somewhere. Necessity dare not be nice.As I gave the stewardess her fee--and she seemed surprised at receivinga coin of more value than, from such a quarter, her coarse calculationshad probably reckoned on--I said, "Be kind enough to direct me to somequiet, respectable inn, where I can go for the night."

  She not only gave me the required direction, but called acommissionaire, and bid him take charge of me, and--_not_ my trunk, forthat was gone to the custom-house.

  I followed this man along a rudely-paved street, lit now by a fitfulgleam of moonlight; he brought me to the inn. I offered him sixpence,which he refused to take; supposing it not enough, I changed it for ashilling; but this also he declined, speaking rather sharply, in alanguage to me unknown. A waiter, coming forward into the lamp-litinn-passage, reminded me, in broken English, that my money was foreignmoney, not current here. I gave him a sovereign to change. This littlematter settled, I asked for a bedroom; supper I could not take: I wasstill sea-sick and unnerved, and trembling all over. How deeply glad Iwas when the door of a very small chamber at length closed on me and myexhaustion. Again I might rest: though the cloud of doubt would be asthick to-morrow as ever; the necessity for exertion more urgent, theperil (of destitution) nearer, the conflict (for existence) more severe.