Villette

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XXV.

  THE LITTLE COUNTESS.

  Cheerful as my godmother naturally was, and entertaining as, for oursakes, she made a point of being, there was no true enjoyment thatevening at La Terrasse, till, through the wild howl of thewinter-night, were heard the signal sounds of arrival. How often, whilewomen and girls sit warm at snug fire-sides, their hearts andimaginations are doomed to divorce from the comfort surrounding theirpersons, forced out by night to wander through dark ways, to darestress of weather, to contend with the snow-blast, to wait at lonelygates and stiles in wildest storms, watching and listening to see andhear the father, the son, the husband coming home.

  Father and son came at last to the chateau: for the Count deBassompierre that night accompanied Dr. Bretton. I know not which ofour trio heard the horses first; the asperity, the violence of theweather warranted our running down into the hall to meet and greet thetwo riders as they came in; but they warned us to keep our distance:both were white--two mountains of snow; and indeed Mrs. Bretton, seeingtheir condition, ordered them instantly to the kitchen; prohibitingthem, at their peril, from setting foot on her carpeted staircase tillthey had severally put off that mask of Old Christmas they nowaffected. Into the kitchen, however, we could not help following them:it was a large old Dutch kitchen, picturesque and pleasant. The littlewhite Countess danced in a circle about her equally white sire,clapping her hands and crying, "Papa, papa, you look like an enormousPolar bear."

  The bear shook himself, and the little sprite fled far from the frozenshower. Back she came, however, laughing, and eager to aid in removingthe arctic disguise. The Count, at last issuing from his dreadnought,threatened to overwhelm her with it as with an avalanche.

  "Come, then," said she, bending to invite the fall, and when it wasplayfully advanced above her head, bounding out of reach like somelittle chamois.

  Her movements had the supple softness, the velvet grace of a kitten;her laugh was clearer than the ring of silver and crystal; as she tookher sire's cold hands and rubbed them, and stood on tiptoe to reach hislips for a kiss, there seemed to shine round her a halo of lovingdelight. The grave and reverend seignor looked down on her as men _do_look on what is the apple of their eye.

  "Mrs. Bretton," said he: "what am I to do with this daughter ordaughterling of mine? She neither grows in wisdom nor in stature. Don'tyou find her pretty nearly as much the child as she was ten years ago?"

  "She cannot be more the child than this great boy of mine," said Mrs.Bretton, who was in conflict with her son about some change of dressshe deemed advisable, and which he resisted. He stood leaning againstthe Dutch dresser, laughing and keeping her at arm's length.

  "Come, mamma," said he, "by way of compromise, and to secure for usinward as well as outward warmth, let us have a Christmas wassail-cup,and toast Old England here, on the hearth."

  So, while the Count stood by the fire, and Paulina Mary still danced toand fro--happy in the liberty of the wide hall-like kitchen--Mrs.Bretton herself instructed Martha to spice and heat the wassail-bowl,and, pouring the draught into a Bretton flagon, it was served round,reaming hot, by means of a small silver vessel, which I recognised asGraham's christening-cup.

  "Here's to Auld Lang Syne!" said the Count; holding the glancing cup onhigh. Then, looking at Mrs. Bretton.--

  "We twa ha' paidlet i' the burn Fra morning sun till dine, But seas between us braid ha' roared Sin' auld lane syne.

  "And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup, And surely I'll be mine; And we'll taste a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne."

  "Scotch! Scotch!" cried Paulina; "papa is talking Scotch; and Scotch heis, partly. We are Home and de Bassompierre, Caledonian and Gallic."

  "And is that a Scotch reel you are dancing, you Highland fairy?" askedher father. "Mrs. Bretton, there will be a green ring growing up in themiddle of your kitchen shortly. I would not answer for her being quitecannie: she is a strange little mortal."

  "Tell Lucy to dance with me, papa; there is Lucy Snowe."

  Mr. Home (there was still quite as much about him of plain Mr. Home asof proud Count de Bassompierre) held his hand out to me, saying kindly,"he remembered me well; and, even had his own memory been lesstrustworthy, my name was so often on his daughter's lips, and he hadlistened to so many long tales about me, I should seem like an oldacquaintance."

  Every one now had tasted the wassail-cup except Paulina, whose pas defee, ou de fantaisie, nobody thought of interrupting to offer soprofanatory a draught; but she was not to be overlooked, nor baulked ofher mortal privileges.

  "Let me taste," said she to Graham, as he was putting the cup on theshelf of the dresser out of her reach.

  Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home were now engaged in conversation. Dr. Johnhad not been unobservant of the fairy's dance; he had watched it, andhe had liked it. To say nothing of the softness and beauty of themovements, eminently grateful to his grace-loving eye, that ease in hismother's house charmed him, for it set _him_ at ease: again she seemeda child for him--again, almost his playmate. I wondered how he wouldspeak to her; I had not yet seen him address her; his first wordsproved that the old days of "little Polly" had been recalled to hismind by this evening's child-like light-heartedness.

  "Your ladyship wishes for the tankard?"

  "I think I said so. I think I intimated as much."

  "Couldn't consent to a step of the kind on any account. Sorry for it,but couldn't do it."

  "Why? I am quite well now: it can't break my collar-bone again, ordislocate my shoulder. Is it wine?"

  "No; nor dew."

  "I don't want dew; I don't like dew: but what is it?"

  "Ale--strong ale--old October; brewed, perhaps, when I was born."

  "It must be curious: is it good?"

  "Excessively good."

  And he took it down, administered to himself a second dose of thismighty elixir, expressed in his mischievous eyes extreme contentmentwith the same, and solemnly replaced the cup on the shelf.

  "I should like a little," said Paulina, looking up; "I never had any'old October:' is it sweet?"

  "Perilously sweet," said Graham.

  She continued to look up exactly with the countenance of a child thatlongs for some prohibited dainty. At last the Doctor relented, took itdown, and indulged himself in the gratification of letting her tastefrom his hand; his eyes, always expressive in the revelation ofpleasurable feelings, luminously and smilingly avowed that it _was_ agratification; and he prolonged it by so regulating the position of thecup that only a drop at a time could reach the rosy, sipping lips bywhich its brim was courted.

  "A little more--a little more," said she, petulantly touching his handwith the forefinger, to make him incline the cup more generously andyieldingly. "It smells of spice and sugar, but I can't taste it; yourwrist is so stiff, and you are so stingy."

  He indulged her, whispering, however, with gravity: "Don't tell mymother or Lucy; they wouldn't approve."

  "Nor do I," said she, passing into another tone and manner as soon asshe had fairly assayed the beverage, just as if it had acted upon herlike some disenchanting draught, undoing the work of a wizard: "I findit anything but sweet; it is bitter and hot, and takes away my breath.Your old October was only desirable while forbidden. Thank you, nomore."

  And, with a slight bend--careless, but as graceful as her dance--sheglided from him and rejoined her father.

  I think she had spoken truth: the child of seven was in the girl ofseventeen.

  Graham looked after her a little baffled, a little puzzled; his eye wason her a good deal during the rest of the evening, but she did not seemto notice him.

  As we ascended to the drawing-room for tea, she took her father's arm:her natural place seemed to be at his side; her eyes and her ears werededicated to him. He and Mrs. Bretton were the chief talkers of ourlittle party, and Paulina was their best listener, attending closely toall that was said, prompting the repetition of this or that trait oradventure.

 
; "And where were you at such a time, papa? And what did you say then?And tell Mrs. Bretton what happened on that occasion." Thus she drewhim out.

  She did not again yield to any effervescence of glee; the infantinesparkle was exhaled for the night: she was soft, thoughtful, anddocile. It was pretty to see her bid good-night; her manner to Grahamwas touched with dignity: in her very slight smile and quiet bow spokethe Countess, and Graham could not but look grave, and bend responsive.I saw he hardly knew how to blend together in his ideas the dancingfairy and delicate dame.

  Next day, when we were all assembled round the breakfast-table,shivering and fresh from the morning's chill ablutions, Mrs. Brettonpronounced a decree that nobody, who was not forced by dire necessity,should quit her house that day.

  Indeed, egress seemed next to impossible; the drift darkened the lowerpanes of the casement, and, on looking out, one saw the sky and airvexed and dim, the wind and snow in angry conflict. There was no fallnow, but what had already descended was torn up from the earth, whirledround by brief shrieking gusts, and cast into a hundred fantastic forms.

  The Countess seconded Mrs. Bretton.

  "Papa shall not go out," said she, placing a seat for herself besideher father's arm-chair. "I will look after him. You won't go into town,will you, papa?"

  "Ay, and No," was the answer. "If you and Mrs. Bretton are _very_ goodto me, Polly--kind, you know, and attentive; if you pet me in a verynice manner, and make much of me, I may possibly be induced to wait anhour after breakfast and see whether this razor-edged wind settles.But, you see, you give me no breakfast; you offer me nothing: you letme starve."

  "Quick! please, Mrs. Bretton, and pour out the coffee," entreatedPaulina, "whilst I take care of the Count de Bassompierre in otherrespects: since he grew into a Count, he has needed _so_ muchattention."

  She separated and prepared a roll.

  "There, papa, are your 'pistolets' charged," said she. "And there issome marmalade, just the same sort of marmalade we used to have atBretton, and which you said was as good as if it had been conserved inScotland--"

  "And which your little ladyship used to beg for my boy--do you rememberthat?" interposed Mrs. Bretton. "Have you forgotten how you would cometo my elbow and touch my sleeve with the whisper, 'Please, ma'am,something good for Graham--a little marmalade, or honey, or jam?"'

  "No, mamma," broke in Dr. John, laughing, yet reddening; "it surely wasnot so: I could not have cared for these things."

  "Did he or did he not, Paulina?"

  "He liked them," asserted Paulina.

  "Never blush for it, John," said Mr. Home, encouragingly. "I like themmyself yet, and always did. And Polly showed her sense in catering fora friend's material comforts: it was I who put her into the way of suchgood manners--nor do I let her forget them. Polly, offer me a smallslice of that tongue."

  "There, papa: but remember you are only waited upon with thisassiduity; on condition of being persuadable, and reconciling yourselfto La Terrasse for the day."

  "Mrs. Bretton," said the Count, "I want to get rid of my daughter--tosend her to school. Do you know of any good school?"

  "There is Lucy's place--Madame Beck's."

  "Miss Snowe is in a school?"

  "I am a teacher," I said, and was rather glad of the opportunity ofsaying this. For a little while I had been feeling as if placed in afalse position. Mrs. Bretton and son knew my circumstances; but theCount and his daughter did not. They might choose to vary by someshades their hitherto cordial manner towards me, when aware of my gradein society. I spoke then readily: but a swarm of thoughts I had notanticipated nor invoked, rose dim at the words, making me sighinvoluntarily. Mr. Home did not lift his eyes from his breakfast-platefor about two minutes, nor did he speak; perhaps he had not caught thewords--perhaps he thought that on a confession of that nature,politeness would interdict comment: the Scotch are proverbially proud;and homely as was Mr. Home in look, simple in habits and tastes, I haveall along intimated that he was not without his share of the nationalquality. Was his a pseudo pride? was it real dignity? I leave thequestion undecided in its wide sense. Where it concerned meindividually I can only answer: then, and always, he showed himself atrue-hearted gentleman.

  By nature he was a feeler and a thinker; over his emotions and hisreflections spread a mellowing of melancholy; more than a mellowing: introuble and bereavement it became a cloud. He did not know much aboutLucy Snowe; what he knew, he did not very accurately comprehend: indeedhis misconceptions of my character often made me smile; but he saw mywalk in life lay rather on the shady side of the hill: he gave mecredit for doing my endeavour to keep the course honestly straight; hewould have helped me if he could: having no opportunity of helping, hestill wished me well. When he did look at me, his eye was kind; when hedid speak, his voice was benevolent.

  "Yours," said he, "is an arduous calling. I wish you health andstrength to win in it--success."

  His fair little daughter did not take the information quite socomposedly: she fixed on me a pair of eyes wide with wonder--almostwith dismay.

  "Are you a teacher?" cried she. Then, having paused on the unpalatableidea, "Well, I never knew what you were, nor ever thought of asking:for me, you were always Lucy Snowe."

  "And what am I now?" I could not forbear inquiring.

  "Yourself, of course. But do you really teach here, in Villette?"

  "I really do."

  "And do you like it?"

  "Not always."

  "And why do you go on with it?"

  Her father looked at, and, I feared, was going to check her; but heonly said, "Proceed, Polly, proceed with that catechism--prove yourselfthe little wiseacre you are. If Miss Snowe were to blush and lookconfused, I should have to bid you hold your tongue; and you and Iwould sit out the present meal in some disgrace; but she only smiles,so push her hard, multiply the cross-questions. Well, Miss Snowe, whydo you go on with it?"

  "Chiefly, I fear, for the sake of the money I get."

  "Not then from motives of pure philanthropy? Polly and I were clingingto that hypothesis as the most lenient way of accounting for youreccentricity."

  "No--no, sir. Rather for the roof of shelter I am thus enabled to keepover my head; and for the comfort of mind it gives me to think thatwhile I can work for myself, I am spared the pain of being a burden toanybody."

  "Papa, say what you will, I pity Lucy."

  "Take up that pity, Miss de Bassompierre; take it up in both hands, asyou might a little callow gosling squattering out of bounds withoutleave; put it back in the warm nest of a heart whence it issued, andreceive in your ear this whisper. If my Polly ever came to know byexperience the uncertain nature of this world's goods, I should likeher to act as Lucy acts: to work for herself, that she might burdenneither kith nor kin."

  "Yes, papa," said she, pensively and tractably. "But poor Lucy! Ithought she was a rich lady, and had rich friends."

  "You thought like a little simpleton. _I_ never thought so. When I hadtime to consider Lucy's manner and aspect, which was not often, I sawshe was one who had to guard and not be guarded; to act and not beserved: and this lot has, I imagine, helped her to an experience forwhich, if she live long enough to realize its full benefit, she may yetbless Providence. But this school," he pursued, changing his tone fromgrave to gay: "would Madame Beck admit my Polly, do you think, MissLucy?"

  I said, there needed but to try Madame; it would soon be seen: she wasfond of English pupils. "If you, sir," I added, "will but take Miss deBassompierre in your carriage this very afternoon, I think I can answerfor it that Rosine, the portress, will not be very slow in answeringyour ring; and Madame, I am sure, will put on her best pair of glovesto come into the salon to receive you."

  "In that case," responded Mr. Home, "I see no sort of necessity thereis for delay. Mrs. Hurst can send what she calls her young lady's'things' after her; Polly can settle down to her horn-book beforenight; and you, Miss Lucy, I trust, will not disdain to cast anoccasional eye upon her, and let me k
now, from time to time, how shegets on. I hope you approve of the arrangement, Countess deBassompierre?"

  The Countess hemmed and hesitated. "I thought," said she, "I thought Ihad finished my education--"

  "That only proves how much we may be mistaken in our thoughts. I hold afar different opinion, as most of these will who have been auditors ofyour profound knowledge of life this morning. Ah, my little girl, thouhast much to learn; and papa ought to have taught thee more than he hasdone! Come, there is nothing for it but to try Madame Beck; and theweather seems settling, and I have finished my breakfast--"

  "But, papa!"

  "Well?"

  "I see an obstacle."

  "I don't at all."

  "It is enormous, papa; it can never be got over; it is as large as youin your greatcoat, and the snowdrift on the top."

  "And, like that snowdrift, capable of melting?"

  "No! it is of too--too solid flesh: it is just your own self. MissLucy, warn Madame Beck not to listen to any overtures about taking me,because, in the end, it would turn out that she would have to take papatoo: as he is so teasing, I will just tell tales about him. Mrs.Bretton and all of you listen: About five years ago, when I was twelveyears old, he took it into his head that he was spoiling me; that I wasgrowing unfitted for the world, and I don't know what, and nothingwould serve or satisfy him, but I must go to school. I cried, and soon; but M. de Bassompierre proved hard-hearted, quite firm and flinty,and to school I went. What was the result? In the most admirablemanner, papa came to school likewise: every other day he called to seeme. Madame Aigredoux grumbled, but it was of no use; and so, at last,papa and I were both, in a manner, expelled. Lucy can just tell MadameBeck this little trait: it is only fair to let her know what she has toexpect."

  Mrs. Bretton asked Mr. Home what he had to say in answer to thisstatement. As he made no defence, judgment was given against him, andPaulina triumphed.

  But she had other moods besides the arch and naive. After breakfast;when the two elders withdrew--I suppose to talk over certain of Mrs.Bretton's business matters--and the Countess, Dr. Bretton, and I, werefor a short time alone together--all the child left her; with us, morenearly her companions in age, she rose at once to the little lady: hervery face seemed to alter; that play of feature, and candour of look,which, when she spoke to her father, made it quite dimpled and round,yielded to an aspect more thoughtful, and lines distincter and less_mobile_.

  No doubt Graham noted the change as well as I. He stood for someminutes near the window, looking out at the snow; presently he,approached the hearth, and entered into conversation, but not quitewith his usual ease: fit topics did not seem to rise to his lips; hechose them fastidiously, hesitatingly, and consequently infelicitously:he spoke vaguely of Villette--its inhabitants, its notable sights andbuildings. He was answered by Miss de Bassompierre in quite womanlysort; with intelligence, with a manner not indeed whollydisindividualized: a tone, a glance, a gesture, here and there, ratheranimated and quick than measured and stately, still recalled littlePolly; but yet there was so fine and even a polish, so calm andcourteous a grace, gilding and sustaining these peculiarities, that aless sensitive man than Graham would not have ventured to seize uponthem as vantage points, leading to franker intimacy.

  Yet while Dr. Bretton continued subdued, and, for him, sedate, he wasstill observant. Not one of those petty impulses and natural breaksescaped him. He did not miss one characteristic movement, onehesitation in language, or one lisp in utterance. At times, in speakingfast, she still lisped; but coloured whenever such lapse occurred, andin a painstaking, conscientious manner, quite as amusing as the slighterror, repeated the word more distinctly.

  Whenever she did this, Dr. Bretton smiled. Gradually, as theyconversed, the restraint on each side slackened: might the conferencehave but been prolonged, I believe it would soon have become genial:already to Paulina's lip and cheek returned the wreathing, dimplingsmile; she lisped once, and forgot to correct herself. And Dr. John, Iknow not how _he_ changed, but change he did. He did not grow gayer--noraillery, no levity sparkled across his aspect--but his position seemedto become one of more pleasure to himself, and he spoke his augmentedcomfort in readier language, in tones more suave. Ten years ago thispair had always found abundance to say to each other; the interveningdecade had not narrowed the experience or impoverished the intelligenceof either: besides, there are certain natures of which the mutualinfluence is such, that the more they say, the more they have to say.For these out of association grows adhesion, and out of adhesion,amalgamation.

  Graham, however, must go: his was a profession whose claims are neitherto be ignored nor deferred. He left the room; but before he could leavethe house there was a return. I am sure he came back--not for thepaper, or card in his desk, which formed his ostensible errand--but toassure himself, by one more glance, that Paulina's aspect was reallysuch as memory was bearing away: that he had not been viewing hersomehow by a partial, artificial light, and making a fond mistake. No!he found the impression true--rather, indeed, he gained than lost bythis return: he took away with him a parting look--shy, but verysoft--as beautiful, as innocent, as any little fawn could lift out ofits cover of fern, or any lamb from its meadow-bed.

  Being left alone, Paulina and I kept silence for some time: we bothtook out some work, and plied a mute and diligent task. The white-woodworkbox of old days was now replaced by one inlaid with preciousmosaic, and furnished with implements of gold; the tiny and tremblingfingers that could scarce guide the needle, though tiny still, were nowswift and skilful: but there was the same busy knitting of the brow,the same little dainty mannerisms, the same quick turns andmovements--now to replace a stray tress, and anon to shake from thesilken skirt some imaginary atom of dust--some clinging fibre of thread.

  That morning I was disposed for silence: the austere fury of thewinter-day had on me an awing, hushing influence. That passion ofJanuary, so white and so bloodless, was not yet spent: the storm hadraved itself hoarse, but seemed no nearer exhaustion. Had GinevraFanshawe been my companion in that drawing-room, she would not havesuffered me to muse and listen undisturbed. The presence just gone fromus would have been her theme; and how she would have rung the changeson one topic! how she would have pursued and pestered me with questionsand surmises--worried and oppressed me with comments and confidences Idid not want, and longed to avoid.

  Paulina Mary cast once or twice towards me a quiet but penetratingglance of her dark, full eye; her lips half opened, as if to theimpulse of coming utterance: but she saw and delicately respected myinclination for silence.

  "This will not hold long," I thought to myself; for I was notaccustomed to find in women or girls any power of self-control, orstrength of self-denial. As far as I knew them, the chance of a gossipabout their usually trivial secrets, their often very washy and paltryfeelings, was a treat not to be readily foregone.

  The little Countess promised an exception: she sewed till she was tiredof sewing, and then she took a book.

  As chance would have it, she had sought it in Dr. Bretton's owncompartment of the bookcase; and it proved to be an old Brettonbook--some illustrated work of natural history. Often had I seen herstanding at Graham's side, resting that volume on his knee, and readingto his tuition; and, when the lesson was over, begging, as a treat,that he would tell her all about the pictures. I watched her keenly:here was a true test of that memory she had boasted; would herrecollections now be faithful?

  Faithful? It could not be doubted. As she turned the leaves, over herface passed gleam after gleam of expression, the least intelligent ofwhich was a full greeting to the Past. And then she turned to thetitle-page, and looked at the name written in the schoolboy hand. Shelooked at it long; nor was she satisfied with merely looking: shegently passed over the characters the tips of her fingers, accompanyingthe action with an unconscious but tender smile, which converted thetouch into a caress. Paulina loved the Past; but the peculiarity ofthis little scene was, that she _said_ nothing: she could
feel withoutpouring out her feelings in a flux of words.

  She now occupied herself at the bookcase for nearly an hour; takingdown volume after volume, and renewing her acquaintance with each. Thisdone, she seated herself on a low stool, rested her cheek on her hand,and thought, and still was mute.

  The sound of the front door opened below, a rush of cold wind, and herfather's voice speaking to Mrs. Bretton in the hall, startled her atlast. She sprang up: she was down-stairs in one second.

  "Papa! papa! you are not going out?"

  "My pet, I must go into town."

  "But it is too--_too_ cold, papa."

  And then I heard M. de Bassompierre showing to her how he was wellprovided against the weather; and how he was going to have thecarriage, and to be quite snugly sheltered; and, in short, proving thatshe need not fear for his comfort.

  "But you will promise to come back here this evening, before it isquite dark;--you and Dr. Bretton, both, in the carriage? It is not fitto ride."

  "Well, if I see the Doctor, I will tell him a lady has laid on him hercommands to take care of his precious health and come home early undermy escort."

  "Yes, you must say a lady; and he will think it is his mother, and beobedient. And, papa, mind to come soon, for I _shall_ watch and listen."

  The door closed, and the carriage rolled softly through the snow; andback returned the Countess, pensive and anxious.

  She _did_ listen, and watch, when evening closed; but it was instillest sort: walking the drawing-room with quite noiseless step. Shechecked at intervals her velvet march; inclined her ear, and consultedthe night sounds: I should rather say, the night silence; for now, atlast, the wind was fallen. The sky, relieved of its avalanche, laynaked and pale: through the barren boughs of the avenue we could see itwell, and note also the polar splendour of the new-year moon--an orbwhite as a world of ice. Nor was it late when we saw also the return ofthe carriage.

  Paulina had no dance of welcome for this evening. It was with a sort ofgravity that she took immediate possession of her father, as he enteredthe room; but she at once made him her entire property, led him to theseat of her choice, and, while softly showering round him honeyed wordsof commendation for being so good and coming home so soon, you wouldhave thought it was entirely by the power of her little hands he wasput into his chair, and settled and arranged; for the strong man seemedto take pleasure in wholly yielding himself to this dominion-potentonly by love.

  Graham did not appear till some minutes after the Count. Paulina halfturned when his step was heard: they spoke, but only a word or two;their fingers met a moment, but obviously with slight contact. Paulinaremained beside her father; Graham threw himself into a seat on theother side of the room.

  It was well that Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home had a great deal to say toeach other--almost an inexhaustible fund of discourse in oldrecollections; otherwise, I think, our party would have been but astill one that evening.

  After tea, Paulina's quick needle and pretty golden thimble were busilyplied by the lamp-light, but her tongue rested, and her eyes seemedreluctant to raise often their lids, so smooth and so full-fringed.Graham, too, must have been tired with his day's work: he listeneddutifully to his elders and betters, said very little himself, andfollowed with his eye the gilded glance of Paulina's thimble; as if ithad been some bright moth on the wing, or the golden head of somedarting little yellow serpent.