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THE SECRET OF CHARLOTTE BRONTË
Followed by Some Reminiscences of the Real
Monsieur and Madame Heger
by
FREDERIKA MACDONALD, D.LITT.
Authoress of 'Xavier and I,' 'The Iliad of the East,'
'A New Criticism of J.-J. Rousseau,' 'The Flower
and The Spirit,' 'The Humane Philosophy
of Rousseau,' etc.
London: T.C. & E.C. Jack
67 Long Acre, W.C.
and Edinburgh
1914
[Illustration: Portrait by Richmond]
'And now I will rehearse the tale of Love, which I heard
from Diotima of Mantineia, a woman wise in this, and many
other kinds of knowledge....
'... "What then is Love," I asked: "Is he mortal?" "He is
neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between the two,"
she replied. "He is a great Spirit, and, like all spirits,
an intermediate between the divine and the mortal." "And
what," I said, "is his power?" "He interprets," she replied,
"between gods and men; conveying to the gods the prayers and
sacrifices of men; and to men the commands and replies of
the gods." "And who," I said, "is his father? and who is his
mother?" "His father," she replied, "was Plenty (Poros), and
his mother Poverty (Penia), and as his parentage is, so are
his fortunes. He is always poor, and has no shoes, nor a
house to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed he lies under
the open heaven, in the streets, or at the doors of houses,
taking his rest, and like his mother he is always in
distress. Like his father, too, he is bold, enterprising,--a
philosopher at all times, terrible as an enchanter,
sorcerer, sophist. As he is neither mortal nor immortal, he
is alive and flourishing one moment, and dead another
moment; and again alive, by reason of his father's nature."'
(_Symposium_. Plato's _Dialogues_. Translator, Jowett, vol.
ii. pp. 54, 55.)
[Illustration: THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL (RUE D'ISABELLE),
WHICH REMAINED UNALTERED UNTIL 1909]
CONTENTS
PART I
CHARLOTTE BRONTË'S LETTERS TO M. HEGER
_(These Letters supply the Key to the Secret of Charlotte Brontë)_
CHAPTER I
THE PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM OF CHARLOTTE
BRONTË, CREATED BY A FALSE CRITICAL
METHOD
CHAPTER II
THE KEY TO THE PROBLEM
CHAPTER III
CHARLOTTE'S LAST YEAR AT BRUXELLES, 1842-43
CHAPTER IV
THE CONFESSION AT STE. GUDULE
CHAPTER V
THE LEAVE-TAKING--THE SCENE IN THE CLASS-ROOM
--'MY HEART WILL BREAK'
CHAPTER VI
THE LOVE-LETTERS OF A ROMANTIC
PART II
SOME REMINISCENCES OF THE REAL
MONSIEUR AND MADAME HEGER
CHAPTER I
THE HISTORICAL DIFFICULTY: TO DISENTANGLE
FACT FROM FICTION
CHAPTER II
MY FIRST INTRODUCTION TO CHARLOTTE
BRONTË'S PROFESSOR
CHAPTER III
MONSIEUR AND MADAME HEGER AS I SAW THEM:
AND BELGIAN SCHOOLGIRLS AS I KNEW
THEM
CHAPTER IV
MY SECOND INTERVIEW WITH M. HEGER. THE
WASHING OF 'PEPPER.' THE LESSON IN
ARITHMETIC
CHAPTER V
THE STORY OF A CHAPEAU D'UNIFORME
CHAPTER VI
MADAME HEGER'S SENTIMENT OF THE JUSTICE
OF RESIGNATION TO INJUSTICE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
CHARLOTTE BRONTË .... _Frontispiece_
THE FRONT OF THE SCHOOL IN THE RUE D'ISABELLE
M. HEGER AT SIXTY
DRAWING BY CHARLOTTE BRONTË OF ASHBURNHAM CHURCH
(_Copyright of Author_)
MADAME HEGER AT SIXTY
(_Copyright of Author_)
THE ALLÉE DÉFENDUE
(_Copyright of Author_)
THE GALERIE AND GARDEN IN WINTER
(_Copyright of Author_)
THE SECRET OF CHARLOTTE BRONTË
PART I
CHAPTER I
THE 'PSYCHOLOGICAL PROBLEM' OF CHARLOTTE
BRONTË, CREATED BY A FALSE
CRITICAL METHOD
We live in an epoch when impressionist methods of criticism, admissible,
and often illuminative, in the domains of art and of imaginative
literature, have invaded the once jealously guarded paths of historical
criticism, to the detriment of correct standards of judgment. Leading
critics, whose literary accomplishments, powers of persuasive argument,
and unquestionable good faith, lend great influence to their decisions,
show no sort of hesitation in undertaking to interpret the characters
and careers of famous men and women, independently of any examination
of evidence, by purely psychological methods. I am not denying that, as
literary exercises, some of these impressionist portraits of men and
women of genius, seen through the temperament of writers who are,
_sometimes_, endowed with genius themselves, are very interesting. But
what has to be remembered (and what is constantly forgotten) is, that if
these psychological interpretations of people who once really existed
are to be accorded any authority as historical judgments, they must have
been preceded by an attentive enquiry, enabling the future interpreter,
before he begins to employ psychology, to feel perfectly certain that he
has clearly in view the particular Soul he is undertaking to penetrate,
with its own special qualities, and placed amongst, and acted upon by,
the real circumstances of its earthly career. Where the preliminary
precaution of this enquiry, into the true facts that have to be
penetrated, and explained, has been neglected, no psychological
subtlety, no pathological science, no sympathetic insight, can protect
the most accomplished literary impressionist from forming, and
fostering, false opinions about the historical personages he is judging
from a standpoint of assumptions that do not allow him to exercise the
true function of criticism, defined by Matthew Arnold as: 'an impartial
endeavour to see the thing as in itself it really is.'
In the case of Charlotte Brontë, her first, and, still, classical
biographer, Mrs. Gaskell, carried through, now fifty-seven years ago,
with great literary skill, and also with historical exactitude, the
study of her parentage and youth; of her experiences in England as a
governess; of her family trials and losses; of the sudden development of
her talent, or rather, of her genius as a writer, that, at one bound,
after the publication of her first novel, made her famous throughout
England; and soon famous throughout Europe: and that proved her (since
Charlotte has been 'dead'--as people use the phrase--more than half a
century, and since her books are still living spirits, we may be allowed
to affirm this) one of the immortals.
But now whilst all these epochs in Mrs. Gaskell's _Life of Charlotte
Brontë_ were studied by exact historical methods, there was one epoch in
her heroine's career that this, elsewhere, conscientious biographer
neglected to study at all: in the sense, of subjecting facts and events
and personages, belonging to its history, to careful examination. Here,
on the contrary, we find that Mrs. Gaskell left exact methods of enquiry
behind her; and adopted arbitrary psychological methods, of arguments,
and assumptions, where, not only no effort was made to consult the
testimony of facts, but where this testimony was ignored, or
contradicted, when it stood in the way, of preconceived theories. And
this period, thus inadequately, or, rather, thus mischievously, dealt
with, happened to be precisely the one where the key must be found to
the right interpretations of Charlotte's personality; and of the
emotions and experiences she had undergone and that called her genius
forth to life: and stamped it with the seal and quality that made her,
amongst our great English Novelists, the only representative
prose-writer in our literature of the European literary movement that
French critics praise, and attack, under the name of _le Romantisme_.
The period in Charlotte's life that I am speaking of is, of course, the
interval of two years (from Feb. 1842 to Jan. 1844) that she spent at
Bruxelles, in the school in the Rue d'Isabelle, whose Director and
Directress, Monsieur and Madame Heger, are supposed to have been painted
in the characters of 'Paul Emanuel' and of 'Madame Beck,' in the famous
novel of _Villette_.
How far that supposition is justified, and to what extent _Villette_ is
an autobiographical reminiscence, thinly disguised as a novel, can be
now, but has never been up to this date, satisfactorily decided, by an
attentive historical enquiry. What is established securely to-day, and
cannot be removed from the foundation of documentary evidence that
serves as the basis upon which all future theories must rest, is, that
it is in this period that Charlotte Brontë--not as an enthusiastic and
half-formed school-girl, as some reckless modern impressionist critics,
careless of the evidence of facts, would have us believe, but as a
woman, profoundly sincere, impassioned, exalted, unstained, and
unstainable, who, between twenty-six and twenty-eight years of age, had
long left girlish extravagance behind her--underwent experiences and
emotions, that were not transient feelings, nor sensational excitements.
But they were transforming and formative spiritual influences--causing,
no doubt, bitter anguish, and intolerable regrets, that 'broke her
heart,' in the sense that they destroyed personal hope or belief in
happiness, and even the personal capacity for happiness: yet that from
this grave of buried hope, called her genius forth to life; and stamped
and sealed it, with its special quality and gift:--the gift that made
her a 'Romantic.' So that at this hour one has not to deplore any
longer, for Charlotte's sake, this tragical sentiment, of predestined,
hopeless, and unrequited love, that broke her heart, but that gave her
immortality. For, whilst the broken heart is healed now, or, at any
rate, has slept in peace for more than half a century, the genius, born
from its sorrow, is still a living spirit; and will probably continue
to live on, from age to age, whilst the English tongue endures.
At the present hour all this can be positively affirmed. But even before
the final settlement, for every critic who respects historical evidence,
of the now incontrovertible fact, Mrs. Gaskell's method of dealing with
this momentous period could not satisfy an attentive student who
compared her account with Charlotte's correspondence: and also with
eloquent impassioned passages in _Villette_ and the _Professor_, where
the authoress is plainly painting emotions and impressions she has
herself undergone. And the effect that was left upon thoughtful readers
of the _Life of Charlotte Brontë_' was that the biographer was, not
negligently, but _deliberately_, altering the true significance, by
underrating the importance, of Charlotte's experiences in Bruxelles, and
of her relationships with Monsieur and Madame Heger.
This biographer's theory was (and the doctrine has been vehemently
defended by a certain clique of devotees of Charlotte Brontë down to
the present day) that Charlotte obtained, certainly, great intellectual
stimulus, as well as literary culture, from the lessons of M. Heger, as
an accomplished Professor; but that, outside of these influences, her
relationships with M. Heger were of an entirely ordinary and tranquil
character, and that she carried back with her to Haworth, after her two
years' residence in Bruxelles, no other sentiments than those of the
grateful regard and esteem a good pupil necessarily retains for a
Professor whose lessons she has turned to excellent account.
How far Mrs. Gaskell did believe, or was able to make herself believe,
what she professed, it is difficult to determine now. My own opinion is
she did _not_ believe it; but that she esteemed it a duty to respect the
secret _that had not been confided to her_: and to pass by in silence,
and with averted eyes, the place where, forsaken by hope, Charlotte had
fought out bravely and all alone this battle, with a hopeless passion
(that, after all, when it comes across any woman's path, she _must_
fight out _alone_, because nowhere, outside of her own soul, is there
any help), and then, having won her battle, had gone on, leaving her
broken heart buried in that silent, secret place, to face her altered
destiny. And to write stories as a method of salvation from despair. But
to return, now and again, to visit that silent, secret grave: and to
gather the magical flowers that grew there, and breathe their bitter,
sweet perfume. And to take large handfuls of these flowers home with
her, and, in the air saturated with the bitter-sweet perfume of these
magical flowers, to write her stories. So that the stories themselves
come to us, not like other stories, but steeped in this strange perfume
thrilled through with the magical life belonging to flowers of
remembrance, gathered from the grave of a tragical romance. And this
explains why the stories are themselves romantic: and why, as Harriet
Martineau complained, _Villette_, especially, has this quality, which,
to the authoress of _Illustrations in Political Economy_, appeared a
defect, that '_all events and personages are regarded through the medium
of one passion only--the passion of unrequited love._'
To return to Mrs. Gaskell and her criticism of Charlotte Brontë. The
question of whether she, like Harriet Martineau, committed a critical
blunder, as a result of studying Charlotte's character and genius by
wrong methods, or whether out of loyalty she endeavoured to cover in her
friend's life the secret romance that Charlotte herself never revealed,
does not need to trouble us much, because the answer does not greatly
matter. However laudatory Mrs. Gaskell's motive may have been, the fact
remains, that, as a result of her endeavour rather to turn attention
away from, than to examine, the true circumstances of Charlotte's
relationships with Monsieur and Madame Heger, an inadequate, or else a
false, criticism was inaugurated by her influence of the most popular in
Europe of our distinguished women novelists, and who, outside of
England, is judged by right standards as a 'Romantic,' but who, in her
own country, has been criticised from 1857 down to 1913, in the light of
one of two contradictory impressions--both of which we now know were
historical mistakes.
The first of these impressions is that Charlotte Brontë has painted, not
only her own emotions, but her own actual experiences, in _Villette_;
and that Lucy Snowe, Paul Emanuel, and Madame Beck, are pseudonyms,
under which we ought to recognise Charlotte herself, and the Director
and Directress of the Pensionnat in the Rue d'Isabelle.
The second, and almost equally mischievous impression is that no
romantic nor tragical sentiment whatever characterises the relationships
between Charlotte Brontë and her Bruxelles Professor in literature; and
that she derived her inspirations as a writer solely from the drab
dreariness and the desolation of disease and death, of her life in the
shadow of Haworth churchyard. It is impossible from the standpoint of
either of these impressions to form right opinions about Charlotte
Brontë, either as a distinguished personality, or as a writer of genius,
whose place in English literature is that amongst our prose writers she
is the representative 'Romantic' who counts with George Sand; but
differs from her, as an English and not a French exponent of the
sentiment of romantic love.
Judged both as a distinguished personality and as a writer of genius
from the standpoint of the impression that _Villette_ is an
autobiographical story, Charlotte Brontë suffers injustice, both as a
woman of fine character, and as an imaginative painter of emotions
rather than an observer of events, or a critic of manners. Accepted as a
realistic picture of her own adventures in Brussels, the book does not
testify to her accuracy or skill in portraiture, from the purely
literary point of view. And from the moral and personal standpoint, she
remains convicted (if she be held to be telling her own story) of the
baseness of a half-confession;--and _of a dishonourable and a
successful_, not a _romantic and tragical_, love for a married man. And
of the treacherous wrong done a sister-woman, who threw open her home to
her, when she was a friendless alien in a foreign city. And, if this
were so, this traitress would have further aggravated the dishonest
betrayal of her protectress, by holding up the woman she had wronged to
the world's detestation, either as the contemptible and scheming Mlle.
Zoraïde Reuter, of the _Professor_:--or the less contemptible but more
hateful Madame Beck, in _Villette_.
If, then, Charlotte did mean, or even suppose, that others could be
induced to believe that she meant, to paint her own relationships to
Monsieur and Madame Heger in the story, she would stand convicted, not
only as a woman of bad character, but as one who had a wicked and
vindictive heart.
Nor yet does the second impression, patronised by devotees of Charlotte
Brontë (who seem to imagine that the revelation of an entirely innocent
and indeed beautiful, though tragical, romantic attachment in the life
of this romantic writer, is the disclosure of a sin), help us to find
any solution of the 'problem' as psychological critics present it to us,
of the 'dissonance' between her personality and dull existence, and her
literary distinction, as our chief English Romantic, and the authoress
of those amazing masterpieces _Jane Eyre_ and _Villette._ What a
contrast, in effect, between the characteristics of these masterpieces
and the characteristics of her circumstances at Haworth and of the
circle of her familiar acquaintances! The characteristics of Charlotte's
books are--emotional force, the exaltation of passion over all the
commonplace proprieties, the low-toned feelings, the semi-educated
pedantries that are the characteristics of the people who surround
Charlotte; who are her correspondents and her friends; and whose
mediocrity weighs on the poor original woman's spirit (and even on her
literary style) like lead:--so that the letters she writes to them are,
really, nearly as dull as the letters they write to her; and one finds
it hard to believe that some of the letters, to Ellen Nussey, for
instance, come from the same pen that wrote _Villette_: or even that
wrote from Bruxelles some of her letters to Emily.
And again, if we leave out of account the tragical romantic sentiment
for M. Heger, how are we to solve the problem as these psychologists
present it to us, and that states itself in this conviction: that the
creator of 'Rochester' and 'Paul Emanuel' found her _own_ romance, only
at forty years of age, in her marriage with the Rev. A.B. Nicholls, an
event she announces thus:--'_I trust the demands of both feeling and
duty will be in some measure reconciled by the step in contemplation_';
adding on to this the following description of the future bridegroom:
'_Mr Nicholls is a kind, considerate fellow: with all his masculine
faults, he enters into my wishes about having the thing done quietly_'?
From the standpoint of the impression that the romance in Charlotte's
life, was the marriage she speaks of as '_the thing_,' that she wishes
'_may be done quietly_,'--and that the highest pitch of personal emotion
she attained to, is expressed by her in the temperate confidence that by
'the step in contemplation'--'_the demands of both feeling and duty may
in some measure be reconciled_,' (--only _in some measure_? Poor
Charlotte!--But she died within a year)--from this standpoint, I say,
one really cannot solve the problem of the 'dissonance' between
Charlotte's personality and her books.
But there is one conclusion we are bound to reach. The influences of
Haworth, no doubt--the drab dreariness of everything; and then the
desolation after Bramwell's death, and Emily's death, and Anne's
death--and the father threatened with blindness--and also the mediocrity
of all those dull, dull people, who represented her familiar friends and
correspondents, so satisfied with themselves, all of them; so
dissatisfied with life, and who saw it through the medium not of a
romantic tragical sentiment, not of one great passion, but through the
medium of small grievances of superior nursery governesses: the sort of
people who dislike children, and want overdriven mothers to be always
occupied with their governesses' sentiments, instead of with the baby
who is cutting its teeth. No doubt the influences of Haworth and of
Charlotte Brontë's 'Circle' there, before she became famous, _did_ help
to plant in her the immense depression and fatigue of a spirit that had
known the stress of great emotions, and _could bear no more_,--expressed
in the letter announcing her decision to marry one of the curates she
had laughed at in _Shirley_--who _with all his masculine faults_,' she
says, 'is a _kind, considerate fellow_,' who doesn't expect her to
pretend she thinks this marriage ('_the thing_')--a Festival. Well, but
the conclusion we must form is this, that if it be at Haworth, and after
1846, that we must find the causes of the depression that brought about
Charlotte's marriage with Mr. Nicholl, it is _not_ here that we must
seek the '_Secret of Charlotte Brontë_';--the romance that broke her
heart, true--but made her an immortal, whose claim to live for ever is
based upon no moderate well-balanced sentiment, where 'the demands of
both feeling and duty will be in some measure reconciled'--but upon
passionate emotions, compelling expression, and forming a new language
almost; as M. Jules Lemaître has said 'introducing new ways of feeling,
and as it were a new vibration into literature.'
And in the place where the romance in Charlotte's life is found must we
seek, also, the source of this power of emotion: creating powers of
expression to which much more accomplished literary artists than
Charlotte (Jane Austen and Mrs. Gaskell, for instance) never reached;
and to an intimate knowledge of moods and ecstasies and raptures, that
rule and torture and exalt human souls, that much more subtle and
scientific psychologists than herself (George Eliot, for instance, and
Mrs. Humphry Ward) never discovered.
The supreme gift of the authoress of _Villette_ and _Jane Eyre_, as a
painter of emotions, an interpreter of intimate moods, a witness in the
cause of ideal sentiments, an incessant rebel against vulgarity and
common worldliness, and the stupid tyranny of custom, an upholder of the
sovereignty of romance, cannot be weighed against, nor judged by, the
same standards as the accomplished literary gift of such finished
artists as the authors of _Pride and Prejudice_ and _Cranford_, such
subtle students of character as the authors of _Middlemarch_ and _Robert
Elsmere_, such vigorous fighters for intellectual and moral ends as are
represented by the author of the _Illustrations upon Political Economy_,
and the _Atkinson Letters_. And it is because, as a result of judging
her genius and her personality from the standpoint of false
impressions, Charlotte Brontë has not been recognised in England as a
painter of personal emotions, a Romantic in short, but has been judged
as the advocate of a general doctrine--(one very agreeable to the
convictions of the average man, but especially exasperating to the
aspirations and principles of the superior woman)--I mean, the doctrine
that _to obtain the love of a man whom she feels to be, and rejoices to
recognise as, her 'Master,'--is the supreme desire and dream of every
truly feminine heart_; it is because, I say, of this mistake, that
Charlotte has become the idol of a class of critics least qualified
perhaps to appreciate the merits of a romantic rebel against
conventional domesticity; whilst amongst more naturally sympathetic
judges, the peculiar perfume and power of these novels, steeped in and
saturated with the passionate essence of a personal romance, has not
been recognised either for what it really is,--the 'magic' of Charlotte
Brontë; the special quality in her work that gives it originality and
distinction; but this very quality--'the personal note' that makes her
our only English Romantic Novelist, has been signalised by many sincere
admirers of her books as a defect!
I have already mentioned the judgment passed upon _Villette_ by an
admirable woman of letters, Charlotte Brontë's personal friend, and a
critic whose good faith, and honest desire to serve the interests of
this sister-authoress with whom she found fault it is quite impossible
to doubt.
When _Villette_ appeared, Charlotte Brontë had been for some little time
on very friendly terms with Harriet Martineau: and she did not fear to
incur the risk--always a perilous one to friendship--of asking Harriet
to tell her, quite frankly, what she thought of her book. Harriet
responded with perfect frankness to the invitation; and the almost
inevitable result followed. The event wrecked their friendship. And no
one was to blame: Harriet Martineau, without disguise, but without
malice, said what she thought was true. But neither was Charlotte in the
wrong, for she felt herself unjustly judged; and her feeling was right,
because Harriet used false standards.
'As for the matter which you so desire to know,' wrote the frank
Harriet; 'I have but one thing to say: but it is not a small one. I do
not like the love--either the kind or the degree of it--and its
prevalence in the book, and effect on the action of it, help to explain
the passages in the reviews which you consulted me about, and seem to
afford some foundation for the criticism they afford.'
Charlotte was deeply offended: 'I protest against this passage,' she
wrote; 'I know what _love_ is as I understand it, and if man or woman
should be ashamed of feeling such love, then there is nothing right,
noble, faithful, truthful, unselfish in this earth, as I comprehend
rectitude, nobleness, fidelity, truth and disinterestedness.'
Here spoke the Romantic. But Harriet Martineau was _not_ a Romantic but
an Intellectual, and she judged Charlotte's books and her genius through
her own temperament, and by intellectual standards. She followed up the
private rebuke to her friend for making too much of love, in a review of
_Villette_, contributed to the _Daily News._
'All the female characters,' she wrote, 'in all their thoughts and
lives, are full of one thing, or are regarded in the light of that one
thought, love! It begins with the child of six years old, of the opening
(a charming picture), and closes with it at the last page. And so
dominant is this idea, so incessant is the writer's tendency to describe
_the need of being loved_, that the heroine, who tells her own story,
leaves the reader at last under the uncomfortable impression of her
having either entertained a double love, or allowed one to supersede
another, without notification of the transition. It is not thus in real
life. There are substantial, heartfelt interests for women of all ages,
and, under ordinary circumstances, quite apart from love; there is an
absence of introspection, an unconsciousness, a repose, in women's
lives, unless under peculiarly unfortunate circumstances, of which we
find no admission in this book; and to the absence of it may be
attributed some of the criticism which the book will meet with from
readers who are no prudes, but whose reason and taste will regret the
assumption that events and characters are to be regarded through the
medium of one passion only.'
The critical blunder in this judgment is that here the authoress of the
_Illustrations in Political Economy_ and of the _Atkinson Letters_ sees
the authoress of _Villette_ through her own temperament, as an
intellectual like herself:--a humane sociologist, and a philosophical
freethinker, _whose literary purpose is to use her talent as a writer in
the service of her ideas and principles_. Judging _Villette_ and its
authoress from this point of view and by these standards, Harriet
Martineau decides that _because_ 'all events and characters in _Villette
are_ regarded through the medium of one passion, love,' _therefore_ the
literary motive and purpose of the authoress must have been to deny--or
at any rate to ignore--that '_there are substantial heartfelt interests
for women of all ages, and in ordinary circumstances, quite apart from
love._'
The mistake lay in assuming that Charlotte Brontë was an intellectual,
instead of an imaginative genius; and that her literary purpose was to
affirm, or deny, or ignore deliberately, any principle; or in any way
to make her genius the servant of her intellect; whereas her
intelligence was so coloured by her imagination, so subservient to her
genius, that if one were to measure her by intellectual standards--with
Harriet Martineau, for instance--she would remain as vastly Harriet's
inferior in enthusiasm of humanity, in practical benevolence and warm
interest in social reform, and in emancipations from prejudice and
insularity and bigotry, as she was Harriet's superior in power of
passionate feeling, in wealth of imagination, and in superb gift of
expression. But any such comparison would be out of place. Let us admit
that Charlotte's thoughts and aspirations, as we find them scattered
through her writings, express the ordinary vigorous prejudices of an
English gentlewoman of her period, brought up under the influences of a
father who was a good sort of Tory clergyman; that her attitude of
condescension toward, rather than of sympathy with, the 'common people,'
regarded as the 'lower orders,' who should be kindly treated of course,
but kept in their place, and taught to 'order themselves lowly and
reverently to their betters,' indicates a defective humanitarianism;
that her almost rabid patriotism--her conviction that not to be English
is a misfortune, and a stamp of inferiority that weighs heavily as an
impediment to nobility and virtue, upon every member of every other
foreign race, is distinctly narrow; and that her staunch and straitened
protestantism, leaves her as far away as the 'idolatrous priests' she
denounced, from any claim to enlightened tolerance.
Yet this lack of any particular height or breadth or distinction in
Charlotte Brontë's social, political, critical, or even religious views,
does not in any way detract from the height, depth and distinction of
her powers of noble emotion and splendid expression; nor from the rare
gift of translating words into feelings that quicken her readers'
sensibility to a finer perception of the ideal beauty that lies at the
heart of common things.
Here is the gift by which we have to judge, or, to speak more
becomingly, for which we have to praise and thank, our only English
'Romantic' novelist, who stands in rank with George Sand, and who has
been studied in comparison with her by Swinburne. And we have to praise,
and thank our Charlotte all the more, because she has a national as well
as a personal note: and brings to this European literary movement the
characteristic qualities of imagination and sentiment that belong to our
English literary temperament, and that do us honour, as a romantic
people who are romantic in our own, and nobody else's way.
But now if we want to appreciate the 'magic' of Charlotte Brontë as a
Romantic we must not look for the sources of her inspiration at Haworth;
nor in the circle of dull people, to whom she wrote, brilliant writer as
she was, dull letters, because their mediocrity weighed upon her spirit
like lead.
Twenty years ago, now, I attempted (but was not especially successful in
the task) to establish upon the personal knowledge that my own residence
as a pupil in the historical Pensionnat in the Rue d'Isabelle, at
Bruxelles gave me of the facts of Charlotte Brontë's relationships to
Monsieur and Madame Heger, right impressions about the experiences and
emotions she underwent between 1842 and 1846, and that supply the key
and clue to the right interpretation of her genius. Every opinion I then
ventured to state, not upon the authority of any special power of
divination or of psychological insight of my own, but solely upon the
authority of this personal knowledge of Monsieur and Madame Heger in my
early girlhood, and also of the information I owed to the friendship and
kind assistance given me, in my endeavour to rectify false judgments, by
the Heger family, has quite recently, not only been confirmed, but
established upon entirely incontrovertible evidence, by the generous
gift made to English readers throughout the world of the key needed to
unlock once and for ever the tragical but romantic 'Secret' of Charlotte
Brontë.