Villette

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE PORTRESS'S CABINET.

  It was summer and very hot. Georgette, the youngest of Madame Beck'schildren, took a fever. Desiree, suddenly cured of her ailments, was,together with Fifine, packed off to Bonne-Maman, in the country, by wayof precaution against infection. Medical aid was now really needed, andMadame, choosing to ignore the return of Dr. Pillule, who had been athome a week, conjured his English rival to continue his visits. One ortwo of the pensionnaires complained of headache, and in other respectsseemed slightly to participate in Georgette's ailment. "Now, at last,"I thought, "Dr. Pillule must be recalled: the prudent directress willnever venture to permit the attendance of so young a man on the pupils."

  The directress was very prudent, but she could also be intrepidlyventurous. She actually introduced Dr. John to the school-division ofthe premises, and established him in attendance on the proud andhandsome Blanche de Melcy, and the vain, flirting Angelique, herfriend. Dr. John, I thought, testified a certain gratification at thismark of confidence; and if discretion of bearing could have justifiedthe step, it would by him have been amply justified. Here, however, inthis land of convents and confessionals, such a presence as his was notto be suffered with impunity in a "pensionnat de demoiselles." Theschool gossiped, the kitchen whispered, the town caught the rumour,parents wrote letters and paid visits of remonstrance. Madame, had shebeen weak, would now have been lost: a dozen rival educational houseswere ready to improve this false step--if false step it were--to herruin; but Madame was not weak, and little Jesuit though she might be,yet I clapped the hands of my heart, and with its voice cried "brava!"as I watched her able bearing, her skilled management, her temper andher firmness on this occasion.

  She met the alarmed parents with a good-humoured, easy grace for nobodymatched her in, I know not whether to say the possession or theassumption of a certain "rondeur et franchise de bonne femme;" which onvarious occasions gained the point aimed at with instant and completesuccess, where severe gravity and serious reasoning would probably havefailed.

  "Ce pauvre Docteur Jean!" she would say, chuckling and rubbing joyouslyher fat little white hands; "ce cher jeune homme! le meilleur creaturedu monde!" and go on to explain how she happened to be employing himfor her own children, who were so fond of him they would screamthemselves into fits at the thought of another doctor; how, where shehad confidence for her own, she thought it natural to repose trust forothers, and au reste, it was only the most temporary expedient in theworld; Blanche and Angelique had the migraine; Dr. John had written aprescription; voila tout!

  The parents' mouths were closed. Blanche and Angelique saved her allremaining trouble by chanting loud duets in their physician's praise;the other pupils echoed them, unanimously declaring that when they wereill they would have Dr. John and nobody else; and Madame laughed, andthe parents laughed too. The Labassecouriens must have a large organ ofphiloprogenitiveness: at least the indulgence of offspring is carriedby them to excessive lengths; the law of most households being thechildren's will. Madame now got credit for having acted on thisoccasion in a spirit of motherly partiality: she came off with flyingcolours; people liked her as a directress better than ever.

  To this day I never fully understood why she thus risked her interestfor the sake of Dr. John. What people said, of course I know well: thewhole house--pupils, teachers, servants included--affirmed that she wasgoing to marry him. So they had settled it; difference of age seemed tomake no obstacle in their eyes: it was to be so.

  It must be admitted that appearances did not wholly discountenance thisidea; Madame seemed so bent on retaining his services, so oblivious ofher former protege, Pillule. She made, too, such a point of personallyreceiving his visits, and was so unfailingly cheerful, blithe, andbenignant in her manner to him. Moreover, she paid, about this time,marked attention to dress: the morning dishabille, the nightcap andshawl, were discarded; Dr. John's early visits always found her withauburn braids all nicely arranged, silk dress trimly fitted on, neatlaced brodequins in lieu of slippers: in short the whole toilettecomplete as a model, and fresh as a flower. I scarcely think, however,that her intention in this went further than just to show a veryhandsome man that she was not quite a plain woman; and plain she wasnot. Without beauty of feature or elegance of form, she pleased.Without youth and its gay graces, she cheered. One never tired ofseeing her: she was never monotonous, or insipid, or colourless, orflat. Her unfaded hair, her eye with its temperate blue light, hercheek with its wholesome fruit-like bloom--these things pleased inmoderation, but with constancy.

  Had she, indeed, floating visions of adopting Dr. John as a husband,taking him to her well-furnished home, endowing him with her savings,which were said to amount to a moderate competency, and making himcomfortable for the rest of his life? Did Dr. John suspect her of suchvisions? I have met him coming out of her presence with a mischievoushalf-smile about his lips, and in his eyes a look as of masculinevanity elate and tickled. With all his good looks and good-nature, hewas not perfect; he must have been very imperfect if he roguishlyencouraged aims he never intended to be successful. But did he notintend them to be successful? People said he had no money, that he waswholly dependent upon his profession. Madame--though perhaps somefourteen years his senior--was yet the sort of woman never to grow old,never to wither, never to break down. They certainly were on goodterms. _He_ perhaps was not in love; but how many people ever _do_love, or at least marry for love, in this world. We waited the end.

  For what _he_ waited, I do not know, nor for what he watched; but thepeculiarity of his manner, his expectant, vigilant, absorbed, eagerlook, never wore off: it rather intensified. He had never been quitewithin the compass of my penetration, and I think he ranged farther andfarther beyond it.

  One morning little Georgette had been more feverish and consequentlymore peevish; she was crying, and would not be pacified. I thought aparticular draught ordered, disagreed with her, and I doubted whetherit ought to be continued; I waited impatiently for the doctor's comingin order to consult him.

  The door-bell rang, he was admitted; I felt sure of this, for I heardhis voice addressing the portress. It was his custom to mount straightto the nursery, taking about three degrees of the staircase at once,and coming upon us like a cheerful surprise. Five minuteselapsed--ten--and I saw and heard nothing of him. What could he bedoing? Possibly waiting in the corridor below. Little Georgette stillpiped her plaintive wail, appealing to me by her familiar term,"Minnie, Minnie, me very poorly!" till my heart ached. I descended toascertain why he did not come. The corridor was empty. Whither was hevanished? Was he with Madame in the _salle-a-manger?_ Impossible: I hadleft her but a short time since, dressing in her own chamber. Ilistened. Three pupils were just then hard at work practising in threeproximate rooms--the dining-room and the greater and lesserdrawing-rooms, between which and the corridor there was but theportress's cabinet communicating with the salons, and intendedoriginally for a boudoir. Farther off, at a fourth instrument in theoratory, a whole class of a dozen or more were taking a singing lesson,and just then joining in a "barcarole" (I think they called it),whereof I yet remember these words "fraiche," "brise," and "Venise."Under these circumstances, what could I hear? A great deal, certainly;had it only been to the purpose.

  Yes; I heard a giddy treble laugh in the above-mentioned littlecabinet, close by the door of which I stood--that door half-unclosed; aman's voice in a soft, deep, pleading tone, uttered some, words,whereof I only caught the adjuration, "For God's sake!" Then, after asecond's pause, forth issued Dr. John, his eye full shining, but notwith either joy or triumph; his fair English cheek high-coloured; abaffled, tortured, anxious, and yet a tender meaning on his brow.

  The open door served me as a screen; but had I been full in his way, Ibelieve he would have passed without seeing me. Some mortification,some strong vexation had hold of his soul: or rather, to write myimpressions now as I received them at the time I should say somesorrow, some sense of injustice. I did not so m
uch think his pride washurt, as that his affections had been wounded--cruelly wounded, itseemed to me. But who was the torturer? What being in that house hadhim so much in her power? Madame I believed to be in her chamber; theroom whence he had stepped was dedicated to the portress's sole use;and she, Rosine Matou, an unprincipled though pretty little Frenchgrisette, airy, fickle, dressy, vain, and mercenary--it was not,surely, to _her_ hand he owed the ordeal through which he seemed tohave passed?

  But while I pondered, her voice, clear, though somewhat sharp, brokeout in a lightsome French song, trilling through the door still ajar: Iglanced in, doubting my senses. There at the table she sat in a smartdress of "jaconas rose," trimming a tiny blond cap: not a living thingsave herself was in the room, except indeed some gold fish in a glassglobe, some flowers in pots, and a broad July sunbeam.

  Here was a problem: but I must go up-stairs to ask about the medicine.

  Dr. John sat in a chair at Georgette's bedside; Madame stood beforehim; the little patient had been examined and soothed, and now laycomposed in her crib. Madame Beck, as I entered, was discussing thephysician's own health, remarking on some real or fancied change in hislooks, charging him with over-work, and recommending rest and change ofair. He listened good-naturedly, but with laughing indifference,telling her that she was "trop bonne," and that he felt perfectly well.Madame appealed to me--Dr. John following her movement with a slowglance which seemed to express languid surprise at reference being madeto a quarter so insignificant.

  "What do you think, Miss Lucie?" asked Madame. "Is he not paler andthinner?"

  It was very seldom that I uttered more than monosyllables in Dr. John'spresence; he was the kind of person with whom I was likely ever toremain the neutral, passive thing he thought me. Now, however, I tooklicence to answer in a phrase: and a phrase I purposely made quitesignificant.

  "He looks ill at this moment; but perhaps it is owing to some temporarycause: Dr. John may have been vexed or harassed." I cannot tell how hetook this speech, as I never sought his face for information. Georgettehere began to ask me in her broken English if she might have a glass of_eau sucree_. I answered her in English. For the first time, I fancy,he noticed that I spoke his language; hitherto he had always taken mefor a foreigner, addressing me as "Mademoiselle," and giving in Frenchthe requisite directions about the children's treatment. He seemed onthe point of making a remark; but thinking better of it, held histongue.

  Madame recommenced advising him; he shook his head, laughing, rose andbid her good-morning, with courtesy, but still with the regardless airof one whom too much unsolicited attention was surfeiting and spoiling.

  When he was gone, Madame dropped into the chair he had just left; sherested her chin in her hand; all that was animated and amiable vanishedfrom her face: she looked stony and stern, almost mortified and morose.She sighed; a single, but a deep sigh. A loud bell rang formorning-school. She got up; as she passed a dressing-table with a glassupon it, she looked at her reflected image. One single white hairstreaked her nut-brown tresses; she plucked it out with a shudder. Inthe full summer daylight, her face, though it still had the colour,could plainly be seen to have lost the texture of youth; and then,where were youth's contours? Ah, Madame! wise as you were, even _you_knew weakness. Never had I pitied Madame before, but my heart softenedtowards her, when she turned darkly from the glass. A calamity had comeupon her. That hag Disappointment was greeting her with a grisly"All-hail," and her soul rejected the intimacy.

  But Rosine! My bewilderment there surpasses description. I embracedfive opportunities of passing her cabinet that day, with a view tocontemplating her charms, and finding out the secret of theirinfluence. She was pretty, young, and wore a well-made dress. All verygood points, and, I suppose, amply sufficient to account, in anyphilosophic mind, for any amount of agony and distraction in a youngman, like Dr. John. Still, I could not help forming half a wish thatthe said doctor were my brother; or at least that he had a sister or amother who would kindly sermonize him. I say _half_ a wish; I broke it,and flung it away before it became a whole one, discovering in goodtime its exquisite folly. "Somebody," I argued, "might as wellsermonize Madame about her young physician: and what good would thatdo?"

  I believe Madame sermonized herself. She did not behave weakly, or makeherself in any shape ridiculous. It is true she had neither strongfeelings to overcome, nor tender feelings by which to be miserablypained. It is true likewise that she had an important avocation, a realbusiness to fill her time, divert her thoughts, and divide herinterest. It is especially true that she possessed a genuine good sensewhich is not given to all women nor to all men; and by dint of thesecombined advantages she behaved wisely--she behaved well. Brava! oncemore, Madame Beck. I saw you matched against an Apollyon of apredilection; you fought a good fight, and you overcame!