Villette

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XXX.

  M. PAUL.

  Yet the reader is advised not to be in any hurry with his kindlyconclusions, or to suppose, with an over-hasty charity, that from thatday M. Paul became a changed character--easy to live with, and nolonger apt to flash danger and discomfort round him.

  No; he was naturally a little man of unreasonable moods. Whenover-wrought, which he often was, he became acutely irritable; and,besides, his veins were dark with a livid belladonna tincture, theessence of jealousy. I do not mean merely the tender jealousy of theheart, but that sterner, narrower sentiment whose seat is in the head.

  I used to think, as I Sat looking at M. Paul, while he was knitting hisbrow or protruding his lip over some exercise of mine, which had not asmany faults as he wished (for he liked me to commit faults: a knot ofblunders was sweet to him as a cluster of nuts), that he had points ofresemblance to Napoleon Bonaparte. I think so still.

  In a shameless disregard of magnanimity, he resembled the greatEmperor. M. Paul would have quarrelled with twenty learned women, wouldhave unblushingly carried on a system of petty bickering andrecrimination with a whole capital of coteries, never troubling himselfabout loss or lack of dignity. He would have exiled fifty Madame deStaels, if, they had annoyed, offended, outrivalled, or opposed him.

  I well remember a hot episode of his with a certain Madame Panache--alady temporarily employed by Madame Beck to give lessons in history.She was clever--that is, she knew a good deal; and, besides, thoroughlypossessed the art of making the most of what she knew; of words andconfidence she held unlimited command. Her personal appearance was farfrom destitute of advantages; I believe many people would havepronounced her "a fine woman;" and yet there were points in her robustand ample attractions, as well as in her bustling and demonstrativepresence, which, it appeared, the nice and capricious tastes of M. Paulcould not away with. The sound of her voice, echoing through the carre,would put him into a strange taking; her long free step--almoststride--along the corridor, would often make him snatch up his papersand decamp on the instant.

  With malicious intent he bethought himself, one day, to intrude on herclass; as quick as lightning he gathered her method of instruction; itdiffered from a pet plan of his own. With little ceremony, and lesscourtesy, he pointed out what he termed her errors. Whether he expectedsubmission and attention, I know not; he met an acrid opposition,accompanied by a round reprimand for his certainly unjustifiableinterference.

  Instead of withdrawing with dignity, as he might still have done, hethrew down the gauntlet of defiance. Madame Panache, bellicose as aPenthesilea, picked it up in a minute. She snapped her fingers in theintermeddler's face; she rushed upon him with a storm of words. M.Emanuel was eloquent; but Madame Panache was voluble. A system offierce antagonism ensued. Instead of laughing in his sleeve at his fairfoe, with all her sore amour-propre and loud self-assertion, M. Pauldetested her with intense seriousness; he honoured her with his earnestfury; he pursued her vindictively and implacably, refusing to restpeaceably in his bed, to derive due benefit from his meals, or evenserenely to relish his cigar, till she was fairly rooted out of theestablishment. The Professor conquered, but I cannot say that thelaurels of this victory shadowed gracefully his temples. Once Iventured to hint as much. To my great surprise he allowed that I mightbe right, but averred that when brought into contact with either men orwomen of the coarse, self-complacent quality, whereof Madame Panachewas a specimen, he had no control over his own passions; an unspeakableand active aversion impelled him to a war of extermination.

  Three months afterwards, hearing that his vanquished foe had met withreverses, and was likely to be really distressed for want ofemployment, he forgot his hatred, and alike active in good and evil, hemoved heaven and earth till he found her a place. Upon her coming tomake up former differences, and thank him for his recent kindness, theold voice--a little loud--the old manner--a little forward--so actedupon him that in ten minutes he started up and bowed her, or ratherhimself, out of the room, in a transport of nervous irritation.

  To pursue a somewhat audacious parallel, in a love of power, in aneager grasp after supremacy, M. Emanuel was like Bonaparte. He was aman not always to be submitted to. Sometimes it was needful to resist;it was right to stand still, to look up into his eyes and tell him thathis requirements went beyond reason--that his absolutism verged ontyranny.

  The dawnings, the first developments of peculiar talent appearingwithin his range, and under his rule, curiously excited, even disturbedhim. He watched its struggle into life with a scowl; he held back hishand--perhaps said, "Come on if you have strength," but would not aidthe birth.

  When the pang and peril of the first conflict were over, when thebreath of life was drawn, when he saw the lungs expand and contract,when he felt the heart beat and discovered life in the eye, he did notyet offer to foster.

  "Prove yourself true ere I cherish you," was his ordinance; and howdifficult he made that proof! What thorns and briers, what flints, hestrewed in the path of feet not inured to rough travel! He watchedtearlessly--ordeals that he exacted should be passedthrough--fearlessly. He followed footprints that, as they approachedthe bourne, were sometimes marked in blood--followed them grimly,holding the austerest police-watch over the pain-pressed pilgrim. Andwhen at last he allowed a rest, before slumber might close the eyelids,he opened those same lids wide, with pitiless finger and thumb, andgazed deep through the pupil and the irids into the brain, into theheart, to search if Vanity, or Pride, or Falsehood, in any of itssubtlest forms, was discoverable in the furthest recess of existence.If, at last, he let the neophyte sleep, it was but a moment; he wokehim suddenly up to apply new tests: he sent him on irksome errands whenhe was staggering with weariness; he tried the temper, the sense, andthe health; and it was only when every severest test had been appliedand endured, when the most corrosive aquafortis had been used, andfailed to tarnish the ore, that he admitted it genuine, and, still inclouded silence, stamped it with his deep brand of approval.

  I speak not ignorant of these evils.

  Till the date at which the last chapter closes, M. Paul had not been myprofessor--he had not given me lessons, but about that time,accidentally hearing me one day acknowledge an ignorance of some branchof education (I think it was arithmetic), which would have disgraced acharity-school boy, as he very truly remarked, he took me in hand,examined me first, found me, I need not say, abundantly deficient, gaveme some books and appointed me some tasks.

  He did this at first with pleasure, indeed with unconcealed exultation,condescending to say that he believed I was "bonne et pas trop faible"(i.e. well enough disposed, and not wholly destitute of parts), but,owing he supposed to adverse circumstances, "as yet in a state ofwretchedly imperfect mental development."

  The beginning of all effort has indeed with me been marked by apreternatural imbecility. I never could, even in forming a commonacquaintance, assert or prove a claim to average quickness. Adepressing and difficult passage has prefaced every new page I haveturned in life.

  So long as this passage lasted, M. Paul was very kind, very good, veryforbearing; he saw the sharp pain inflicted, and felt the weightyhumiliation imposed by my own sense of incapacity; and words can hardlydo justice to his tenderness and helpfulness. His own eyes wouldmoisten, when tears of shame and effort clouded mine; burdened as hewas with work, he would steal half his brief space of recreation togive to me.

  But, strange grief! when that heavy and overcast dawn began at last toyield to day; when my faculties began to struggle themselves, free, andmy time of energy and fulfilment came; when I voluntarily doubled,trebled, quadrupled the tasks he set, to please him as I thought, hiskindness became sternness; the light changed in his eyes from a beam toa spark; he fretted, he opposed, he curbed me imperiously; the more Idid, the harder I worked, the less he seemed content. Sarcasms of whichthe severity amazed and puzzled me, harassed my ears; then flowed outthe bitterest inuendoes against the "pride of intellect." I was vaguelythreatened wi
th I know not what doom, if I ever trespassed the limitsproper to my sex, and conceived a contraband appetite for unfeminineknowledge. Alas! I had no such appetite. What I loved, it joyed me byany effort to content; but the noble hunger for science in theabstract--the godlike thirst after discovery--these feelings were knownto me but by briefest flashes.

  Yet, when M. Paul sneered at me, I wanted to possess them more fully;his injustice stirred in me ambitious wishes--it imparted a strongstimulus--it gave wings to aspiration.

  In the beginning, before I had penetrated to motives, thatuncomprehended sneer of his made my heart ache, but by-and-by it onlywarmed the blood in my veins, and sent added action to my pulses.Whatever my powers--feminine or the contrary--God had given them, and Ifelt resolute to be ashamed of no faculty of his bestowal.

  The combat was very sharp for a time. I seemed to have lost M. Paul'saffection; he treated me strangely. In his most unjust moments he wouldinsinuate that I had deceived him when I appeared, what he called"faible"--that is incompetent; he said I had feigned a falseincapacity. Again, he would turn suddenly round and accuse me of themost far-fetched imitations and impossible plagiarisms, asserting thatI had extracted the pith out of books I had not so much as heardof--and over the perusal of which I should infallibly have fallen downin a sleep as deep as that of Eutychus.

  Once, upon his preferring such an accusation, I turned upon him--I roseagainst him. Gathering an armful of his books out of my desk, I filledmy apron and poured them in a heap upon his estrade, at his feet.

  "Take them away, M. Paul," I said, "and teach me no more. I never askedto be made learned, and you compel me to feel very profoundly thatlearning is not happiness."

  And returning to my desk, I laid my head on my arms, nor would I speakto him for two days afterwards. He pained and chagrined me. Hisaffection had been very sweet and dear--a pleasure new andincomparable: now that this seemed withdrawn, I cared not for hislessons.

  The books, however, were not taken away; they were all restored withcareful hand to their places, and he came as usual to teach me. He madehis peace somehow--too readily, perhaps: I ought to have stood outlonger, but when he looked kind and good, and held out his hand withamity, memory refused to reproduce with due force his oppressivemoments. And then, reconcilement is always sweet!

  On a certain morning a message came from my godmother, inviting me toattend some notable lecture to be delivered in the same public roomsbefore described. Dr. John had brought the message himself, anddelivered it verbally to Rosine, who had not scrupled to follow thesteps of M. Emanuel, then passing to the first classe, and, in hispresence, stand "carrement" before my desk, hand in apron-pocket, andrehearse the same, saucily and aloud, concluding with the words, "Qu'ilest vraiment beau, Mademoiselle, ce jeune docteur! Quels yeux--quelregard! Tenez! J'en ai le coeur tout emu!"

  When she was gone, my professor demanded of me why I suffered "cettefille effrontee, cette creature sans pudeur," to address me in suchterms.

  I had no pacifying answer to give. The terms were precisely such asRosine--a young lady in whose skull the organs of reverence and reservewere not largely developed--was in the constant habit of using.Besides, what she said about the young doctor was true enough. Graham_was_ handsome; he had fine eyes and a thrilling glance. Anobservation to that effect actually formed itself into sound on my lips.

  "Elle ne dit que la verite," I said.

  "Ah! vous trouvez?"

  "Mais, sans doute."

  The lesson to which we had that day to submit was such as to make usvery glad when it terminated. At its close, the released, pupils rushedout, half-trembling, half-exultant. I, too, was going. A mandate toremain arrested me. I muttered that I wanted some fresh air sadly--thestove was in a glow, the classe over-heated. An inexorable voice merelyrecommended silence; and this salamander--for whom no room ever seemedtoo hot--sitting down between my desk and the stove--a situation inwhich he ought to have felt broiled, but did not--proceeded to confrontme with--a Greek quotation!

  In M. Emanuel's soul rankled a chronic suspicion that I knew both Greekand Latin. As monkeys are said to have the power of speech if theywould but use it, and are reported to conceal this faculty in fear ofits being turned to their detriment, so to me was ascribed a fund ofknowledge which I was supposed criminally and craftily to conceal. Theprivileges of a "classical education," it was insinuated, had beenmine; on flowers of Hymettus I had revelled; a golden store, hived inmemory, now silently sustained my efforts, and privily nurtured my wits.

  A hundred expedients did M. Paul employ to surprise my secret--towheedle, to threaten, to startle it out of me. Sometimes he placedGreek and Latin books in my way, and then watched me, as Joan of Arc'sjailors tempted her with the warrior's accoutrements, and lay in waitfor the issue. Again he quoted I know not what authors and passages,and while rolling out their sweet and sounding lines (the classic tonesfell musically from his lips--for he had a good voice--remarkable forcompass, modulation, and matchless expression), he would fix on me avigilant, piercing, and often malicious eye. It was evident hesometimes expected great demonstrations; they never occurred, however;not comprehending, of course I could neither be charmed nor annoyed.

  Baffled--almost angry--he still clung to his fixed idea; mysusceptibilities were pronounced marble--my face a mask. It appeared asif he could not be brought to accept the homely truth, and take me forwhat I was: men, and women too, must have delusion of some sort; if notmade ready to their hand, they will invent exaggeration for themselves.

  At moments I _did_ wish that his suspicions had been better founded.There were times when I would have given my right hand to possess thetreasures he ascribed to me. He deserved condign punishment for histesty crotchets. I could have gloried in bringing home to him his worstapprehensions astoundingly realized. I could have exulted to burst onhis vision, confront and confound his "lunettes," one blaze ofacquirements. Oh! why did nobody undertake to make me clever while Iwas young enough to learn, that I might, by one grand, sudden, inhumanrevelation--one cold, cruel, overwhelming triumph--have for evercrushed the mocking spirit out of Paul Carl David Emanuel!

  Alas! no such feat was in my power. To-day, as usual, his quotationsfell ineffectual: he soon shifted his ground.

  "Women of intellect" was his next theme: here he was at home. A "womanof intellect," it appeared, was a sort of "lusus naturae," a lucklessaccident, a thing for which there was neither place nor use increation, wanted neither as wife nor worker. Beauty anticipated her inthe first office. He believed in his soul that lovely, placid, andpassive feminine mediocrity was the only pillow on which manly thoughtand sense could find rest for its aching temples; and as to work, malemind alone could work to any good practical result--hein?

  This "hein?" was a note of interrogation intended to draw from mecontradiction or objection. However, I only said--"Cela ne me regardepas: je ne m'en soucie pas;" and presently added--"May I go, Monsieur?They have rung the bell for the second dejeuner" (_i.e._ luncheon).

  "What of that? You are not hungry?"

  "Indeed I was," I said; "I had had nothing since breakfast, at seven,and should have nothing till dinner, at five, if I missed this bell."

  "Well, he was in the same plight, but I might share with him."

  And he broke in two the "brioche" intended for his own refreshment, andgave me half. Truly his bark was worse than his bite; but the reallyformidable attack was yet to come. While eating his cake, I could notforbear expressing my secret wish that I really knew all of which heaccused me.

  "Did I sincerely feel myself to be an ignoramus?" he asked, in asoftened tone.

  If I had replied meekly by an unqualified affirmative, I believe hewould have stretched out his hand, and we should have been friends onthe spot, but I answered--

  "Not exactly. I am ignorant, Monsieur, in the knowledge you ascribe tome, but I _sometimes_, not _always_, feel a knowledge of my own."

  "What did I mean?" he inquired, sharply.

  Unable to answ
er this question in a breath, I evaded it by change ofsubject. He had now finished his half of the brioche feeling sure thaton so trifling a fragment he could not have satisfied his appetite, asindeed I had not appeased mine, and inhaling the fragrance of bakedapples afar from the refectory, I ventured to inquire whether he didnot also perceive that agreeable odour. He confessed that he did. Isaid if he would let me out by the garden-door, and permit me just torun across the court, I would fetch him a plateful; and added that Ibelieved they were excellent, as Goton had a very good method ofbaking, or rather stewing fruit, putting in a little spice, sugar, anda glass or two of vin blanc--might I go?

  "Petite gourmande!" said he, smiling, "I have not forgotten how pleasedyou were with the pate a la creme I once gave you, and you know verywell, at this moment, that to fetch the apples for me will be the sameas getting them for yourself. Go, then, but come back quickly."

  And at last he liberated me on parole. My own plan was to go and returnwith speed and good faith, to put the plate in at the door, and then tovanish incontinent, leaving all consequences for future settlement.

  That intolerably keen instinct of his seemed to have anticipated myscheme: he met me at the threshold, hurried me into the room, and fixedme in a minute in my former seat. Taking the plate of fruit from myhand, he divided the portion intended only for himself, and ordered meto eat my share. I complied with no good grace, and vexed, I suppose,by my reluctance, he opened a masked and dangerous battery. All he hadyet said, I could count as mere sound and fury, signifying nothing: notso of the present attack.

  It consisted in an unreasonable proposition with which he had beforeafflicted me: namely, that on the next public examination-day I shouldengage--foreigner as I was--to take my place on the first form offirst-class pupils, and with them improvise a composition in French, onany subject any spectator might dictate, without benefit of grammar orlexicon.

  I knew what the result of such an experiment would be. I, to whomnature had denied the impromptu faculty; who, in public, was by naturea cypher; whose time of mental activity, even when alone, was not underthe meridian sun; who needed the fresh silence of morning, or therecluse peace of evening, to win from the Creative Impulse one evidenceof his presence, one proof of his force; I, with whom that Impulse wasthe most intractable, the most capricious, the most maddening ofmasters (him before me always excepted)--a deity which sometimes, undercircumstances--apparently propitious, would not speak when questioned,would not hear when appealed to, would not, when sought, be found; butwould stand, all cold, all indurated, all granite, a dark Baal withcarven lips and blank eye-balls, and breast like the stone face of atomb; and again, suddenly, at some turn, some sound, somelong-trembling sob of the wind, at some rushing past of an unseenstream of electricity, the irrational demon would wake unsolicited,would stir strangely alive, would rush from its pedestal like aperturbed Dagon, calling to its votary for a sacrifice, whatever thehour--to its victim for some blood, or some breath, whatever thecircumstance or scene--rousing its priest, treacherously promisingvaticination, perhaps filling its temple with a strange hum of oracles,but sure to give half the significance to fateful winds, and grudgingto the desperate listener even a miserable remnant--yielding itsordidly, as though each word had been a drop of the deathless ichor ofits own dark veins. And this tyrant I was to compel into bondage, andmake it improvise a theme, on a school estrade, between a Mathilde anda Coralie, under the eye of a Madame Beck, for the pleasure, and to theinspiration of a bourgeois of Labassecour!

  Upon this argument M. Paul and I did battle more than once--strongbattle, with confused noise of demand and rejection, exaction andrepulse.

  On this particular day I was soundly rated. "The obstinacy of my wholesex," it seems, was concentrated in me; I had an "orgueil de diable." Ifeared to fail, forsooth! What did it matter whether I failed or not?Who was I that I should not fail, like my betters? It would do me goodto fail. He wanted to see me worsted (I knew he did), and one minute hepaused to take breath.

  "Would I speak now, and be tractable?"

  "Never would I be tractable in this matter. Law itself should notcompel me. I would pay a fine, or undergo an imprisonment, rather thanwrite for a show and to order, perched up on a platform."

  "Could softer motives influence me? Would I yield for friendship'ssake?"

  "Not a whit, not a hair-breadth. No form of friendship under the sunhad a right to exact such a concession. No true friendship would harassme thus."

  He supposed then (with a sneer--M. Paul could sneer supremely, curlinghis lip, opening his nostrils, contracting his eyelids)--he supposedthere was but one form of appeal to which I would listen, and of thatform it was not for him to make use.

  "Under certain persuasions, from certain quarters, je vous vois d'ici,"said he, "eagerly subscribing to the sacrifice, passionately arming forthe effort."

  "Making a simpleton, a warning, and an example of myself, before ahundred and fifty of the 'papas' and 'mammas' of Villette."

  And here, losing patience, I broke out afresh with a cry that I wantedto be liberated--to get out into the air--I was almost in a fever.

  "Chut!" said the inexorable, "this was a mere pretext to run away; _he_was not hot, with the stove close at his back; how could I suffer,thoroughly screened by his person?"

  "I did not understand his constitution. I knew nothing of the naturalhistory of salamanders. For my own part, I was a phlegmatic islander,and sitting in an oven did not agree with me; at least, might I step tothe well, and get a glass of water--the sweet apples had made methirsty?"

  "If that was all, he would do my errand."

  He went to fetch the water. Of course, with a door only on the latchbehind me, I lost not my opportunity. Ere his return, his half-worriedprey had escaped.