Villette

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XL.

  THE HAPPY PAIR.

  The day succeeding this remarkable Midsummer night, proved no commonday. I do not mean that it brought signs in heaven above, or portentson the earth beneath; nor do I allude to meteorological phenomena, tostorm, flood, or whirlwind. On the contrary: the sun rose jocund, witha July face. Morning decked her beauty with rubies, and so filled herlap with roses, that they fell from her in showers, making her pathblush: the Hours woke fresh as nymphs, and emptying on the early hillstheir dew-vials, they stepped out dismantled of vapour: shadowless,azure, and glorious, they led the sun's steeds on a burning andunclouded course.

  In short, it was as fine a day as the finest summer could boast; but Idoubt whether I was not the sole inhabitant of the Rue Fossette, whocared or remembered to note this pleasant fact. Another thought busiedall other heads; a thought, indeed, which had its share in mymeditations; but this master consideration, not possessing for me soentire a novelty, so overwhelming a suddenness, especially so dense amystery, as it offered to the majority of my co-speculators thereon,left me somewhat more open than the rest to any collateral observationor impression.

  Still, while walking in the garden, feeling the sunshine, and markingthe blooming and growing plants, I pondered the same subject the wholehouse discussed.

  What subject?

  Merely this. When matins came to be said, there was a place vacant inthe first rank of boarders. When breakfast was served, there remained acoffee-cup unclaimed. When the housemaid made the beds, she found inone, a bolster laid lengthwise, clad in a cap and night-gown; and whenGinevra Fanshawe's music-mistress came early, as usual, to give themorning lesson, that accomplished and promising young person, herpupil, failed utterly to be forthcoming.

  High and low was Miss Fanshawe sought; through length and breadth wasthe house ransacked; vainly; not a trace, not an indication, not somuch as a scrap of a billet rewarded the search; the nymph wasvanished, engulfed in the past night, like a shooting star swallowed upby darkness.

  Deep was the dismay of surveillante teachers, deeper the horror of thedefaulting directress. Never had I seen Madame Beck so pale or soappalled. Here was a blow struck at her tender part, her weak side;here was damage done to her interest. How, too, had the untoward eventhappened? By what outlet had the fugitive taken wing? Not a casementwas found unfastened, not a pane of glass broken; all the doors werebolted secure. Never to this day has Madame Beck obtained satisfactionon this point, nor indeed has anybody else concerned, save andexcepting one, Lucy Snowe, who could not forget how, to facilitate acertain enterprise, a certain great door had been drawn softly to itslintel, closed, indeed, but neither bolted nor secure. The thunderingcarriage-and-pair encountered were now likewise recalled, as well asthat puzzling signal, the waved handkerchief.

  From these premises, and one or two others, inaccessible to any butmyself, I could draw but one inference. It was a case of elopement.Morally certain on this head, and seeing Madame Beck's profoundembarrassment, I at last communicated my conviction. Having alluded toM. de Hamal's suit, I found, as I expected, that Madame Beck wasperfectly au fait to that affair. She had long since discussed it withMrs. Cholmondeley, and laid her own responsibility in the business onthat lady's shoulders. To Mrs. Cholmondeley and M. de Bassompierre shenow had recourse.

  We found that the Hotel Crecy was already alive to what had happened.Ginevra had written to her cousin Paulina, vaguely signifying hymenealintentions; communications had been received from the family of deHamal; M. de Bassompierre was on the track of the fugitives. Heovertook them too late.

  In the course of the week, the post brought me a note. I may as welltranscribe it; it contains explanation on more than one point:--

  'DEAR OLD TIM "(short for Timon),--" I am off you see--gone like ashot. Alfred and I intended to be married in this way almost from thefirst; we never meant to be spliced in the humdrum way of other people;Alfred has too much spirit for that, and so have I--Dieu merci! Do youknow, Alfred, who used to call you 'the dragon,' has seen so much ofyou during the last few months, that he begins to feel quite friendlytowards you. He hopes you won't miss him now that he has gone; he begsto apologize for any little trouble he may have given you. He is afraidhe rather inconvenienced you once when he came upon you in the grenier,just as you were reading a letter seemingly of the most specialinterest; but he could not resist the temptation to give you a start,you appeared so wonderfully taken up with your correspondent. Enrevanche, he says you once frightened him by rushing in for a dress ora shawl, or some other chiffon, at the moment when he had struck alight, and was going to take a quiet whiff of his cigar, while waitingfor me.

  "Do you begin to comprehend by this time that M. le Comte de Hamal wasthe nun of the attic, and that he came to see your humble servant? Iwill tell you how he managed it. You know he has the entree of theAthenee, where two or three of his nephews, the sons of his eldestsister, Madame de Melcy, are students. You know the court of theAthenee is on the other side of the high wall bounding your walk, theallee defendue. Alfred can climb as well as he can dance or fence: hisamusement was to make the escalade of our pensionnat by mounting, firstthe wall; then--by the aid of that high tree overspreading the grandberceau, and resting some of its boughs on the roof of the lowerbuildings of our premises--he managed to scale the first classe and thegrand salle. One night, by the way, he fell out of this tree, tore downsome of the branches, nearly broke his own neck, and after all, inrunning away, got a terrible fright, and was nearly caught by twopeople, Madame Beck and M. Emanuel, he thinks, walking in the alley.From the grande salle the ascent is not difficult to the highest blockof building, finishing in the great garret. The skylight, you know, is,day and night, left half open for air; by the skylight he entered.Nearly a year ago I chanced to tell him our legend of the nun; thatsuggested his romantic idea of the spectral disguise, which I think youmust allow he has very cleverly carried out.

  "But for the nun's black gown and white veil, he would have been caughtagain and again both by you and that tiger-Jesuit, M. Paul. He thinksyou both capital ghost-seers, and very brave. What I wonder at is,rather your secretiveness than your courage. How could you endure thevisitations of that long spectre, time after time, without crying out,telling everybody, and rousing the whole house and neighbourhood?

  "Oh, and how did you like the nun as a bed-fellow? _I_ dressed her up:didn't I do it well? Did you shriek when you saw her: I should havegone mad; but then you have such nerves!--real iron and bend-leather! Ibelieve you feel nothing. You haven't the same sensitiveness that aperson of my constitution has. You seem to me insensible both to painand fear and grief. You are a real old Diogenes.

  "Well, dear grandmother! and are you not mightily angry at my moonlightflitting and run away match? I assure you it is excellent fun, and Idid it partly to spite that minx, Paulina, and that bear, Dr. John: toshow them that, with all their airs, I could get married as well asthey. M. de Bassompierre was at first in a strange fume with Alfred; hethreatened a prosecution for 'detournement de mineur,' and I know notwhat; he was so abominably in earnest, that I found myself forced to doa little bit of the melodramatic--go down on my knees, sob, cry, drenchthree pocket-handkerchiefs. Of course, 'mon oncle' soon gave in;indeed, where was the use of making a fuss? I am married, and that'sall about it. He still says our marriage is not legal, because I am notof age, forsooth! As if that made any difference! I am just as muchmarried as if I were a hundred. However, we are to be married again,and I am to have a trousseau, and Mrs. Cholmondeley is going tosuperintend it; and there are some hopes that M. de Bassompierre willgive me a decent portion, which will be very convenient, as dear Alfredhas nothing but his nobility, native and hereditary, and his pay. Ionly wish uncle would do things unconditionally, in a generous,gentleman-like fashion; he is so disagreeable as to make the dowrydepend on Alfred's giving his written promise that he will never touchcards or dice from the day it is paid down. They accuse my angel of atendency to play: I don't know an
ything about that, but I _do_ know heis a dear, adorable creature.

  "I cannot sufficiently extol the genius with which de Hamal managed ourflight. How clever in him to select the night of the fete, when Madame(for he knows her habits), as he said, would infallibly be absent atthe concert in the park. I suppose _you_ must have gone with her. Iwatched you rise and leave the dormitory about eleven o'clock. How youreturned alone, and on foot, I cannot conjecture. That surely was _you_we met in the narrow old Rue St. Jean? Did you see me wave myhandkerchief from the carriage window?

  "Adieu! Rejoice in my good luck: congratulate me on my supremehappiness, and believe me, dear cynic and misanthrope, yours, in thebest of health and spirits,

  GINEVRA LAURA DE HAMAL, nee FANSHAWE.

  "P.S.--Remember, I am a countess now. Papa, mamma, and the girls athome, will be delighted to hear that. 'My daughter the Countess!' 'Mysister the Countess!' Bravo! Sounds rather better than Mrs. JohnBretton, hein?"

  * * * * *

  In winding up Mistress Fanshawe's memoirs, the reader will no doubtexpect to hear that she came finally to bitter expiation of heryouthful levities. Of course, a large share of suffering lies inreserve for her future.

  A few words will embody my farther knowledge respecting her.

  I saw her towards the close of her honeymoon. She called on MadameBeck, and sent for me into the salon. She rushed into my arms laughing.She looked very blooming and beautiful: her curls were longer, hercheeks rosier than ever: her white bonnet and her Flanders veil, herorange-flowers and her bride's dress, became her mightily.

  "I have got my portion!" she cried at once; (Ginevra ever stuck to thesubstantial; I always thought there was a good trading element in hercomposition, much as she scorned the "bourgeoise;") "and uncle deBassompierre is quite reconciled. I don't mind his calling Alfred a'nincompoop'--that's only his coarse Scotch breeding; and I believePaulina envies me, and Dr. John is wild with jealousy--fit to blow hisbrains out--and I'm so happy! I really think I've hardly anything leftto wish for--unless it be a carriage and an hotel, and, oh! I--mustintroduce you to 'mon mari.' Alfred, come here!"

  And Alfred appeared from the inner salon, where he was talking toMadame Beck, receiving the blended felicitations and reprimands of thatlady. I was presented under my various names: the Dragon, Diogenes, andTimon. The young Colonel was very polite. He made me a prettily-turned,neatly-worded apology, about the ghost-visits, &c., concluding withsaying that "the best excuse for all his iniquities stood there!"pointing to his bride.

  And then the bride sent him back to Madame Beck, and she took me toherself, and proceeded literally to suffocate me with her unrestrainedspirits, her girlish, giddy, wild nonsense. She showed her ringexultingly; she called herself Madame la Comtesse de Hamal, and askedhow it sounded, a score of times. I said very little. I gave her onlythe crust and rind of my nature. No matter she expected of me nothingbetter--she knew me too well to look for compliments--my dry gibespleased her well enough and the more impassible and prosaic my mien,the more merrily she laughed.

  Soon after his marriage, M. de Hamal was persuaded to leave the army asthe surest way of weaning him from certain unprofitable associates andhabits; a post of attache was procured for him, and he and his youngwife went abroad. I thought she would forget me now, but she did not.For many years, she kept up a capricious, fitful sort ofcorrespondence. During the first year or two, it was only of herselfand Alfred she wrote; then, Alfred faded in the background; herself anda certain, new comer prevailed; one Alfred Fanshawe de Bassompierre deHamal began to reign in his father's stead. There were great boastingsabout this personage, extravagant amplifications upon miracles ofprecocity, mixed with vehement objurgations against the phlegmaticincredulity with which I received them. I didn't know "what it was tobe a mother;" "unfeeling thing that I was, the sensibilities of thematernal heart were Greek and Hebrew to me," and so on. In due courseof nature this young gentleman took his degrees in teething, measles,hooping-cough: that was a terrible time for me--the mamma's lettersbecame a perfect shout of affliction; never woman was so put upon bycalamity: never human being stood in such need of sympathy. I wasfrightened at first, and wrote back pathetically; but I soon found outthere was more cry than wool in the business, and relapsed into mynatural cruel insensibility. As to the youthful sufferer, he weatheredeach storm like a hero. Five times was that youth "in articulo mortis,"and five times did he miraculously revive.

  In the course of years there arose ominous murmurings against Alfredthe First; M. de Bassompierre had to be appealed to, debts had to bepaid, some of them of that dismal and dingy order called "debts ofhonour;" ignoble plaints and difficulties became frequent. Under everycloud, no matter what its nature, Ginevra, as of old, called outlustily for sympathy and aid. She had no notion of meeting any distresssingle-handed. In some shape, from some quarter or other, she waspretty sure to obtain her will, and so she got on--fighting the battleof life by proxy, and, on the whole, suffering as little as any humanbeing I have ever known.