1917] on The Brontes: A Hundred Years After 153 



see nothing at all strange in Charlotte Bronte's distortion of the 

 character of the woman she thought her rival — a rival who had 

 rights to which she had no claim. That she was unjust is quite 

 true, but which one of us is quite judicial in all our estimates of 

 other people, especially when these people stand in our way, with or 

 without a flaming sword, barring our entrance into Eden ? 



I see no mystery in all this. There is no secret to unfold. 

 There is no one to be scolded or condemned. M. Heger was blind, 

 and Charlotte did not understand his blindness and callousness Avhen 

 she was begging the crumbs of words which might fall from his 

 table. But there is associated with all strong emotions an idea that 

 others are in the same whirlwind as that which is carrying us along. 

 It is a surprise to passion that the outer Avorld seems tranquil, when 

 it is in fierce turmoil. Nothing is a more common delusion in 

 one who loves than that it must be the means of inspiring affec- 

 tion in its object. It was thus with Charlotte Bronte. It was a 

 surprise to her that, while she was in a hot hell of passion, the 

 object of her passion could remain an iceberg. 



Madame Heger naturally thought more of her school for young 

 girls than of the English governess, and was wise to prevent, if she 

 could, a breath of scandal which would have diumed the brassplate 

 on the door of the pensionnat ; and* Charlotte Bronte is not to be 

 blamed for a forward love — for it is love that is her merit— a deep, 

 passionate love that made her a notable woman, and burned till the 

 heat of her genius lifted the lid of silence and steamed over in those 

 three great books. 



It is the idea of a prude that love should not be given when it 

 is not asked, and when it is not returned. Love is a free gift, and 

 not a barter. It would be a sorry world if it Avas only to be sold in 

 the market. Some of the very best affections have been pure charities, 

 some of the noblest loves have been unrequited. But these, although 

 unrequited in the world of sense, are never without their reward. 

 And although Charlotte Bronte thought, on leaving Brussels, that 

 her heart would break, although she beat her poor heart against the 

 bars of silence — as we read in those letters now in the British 

 Museum— and suffered for two years the pain of tl;e damned, it was 

 not lor nothing. It was this bitter education which Avas to make, 

 not mar, the woman who was to write " Jane Eyre " and " Yillette.'" 



It is, of course, the height of folly of a critic who wants readers, 

 or a lecturer who wants a listening audience, to declare that there is 

 no secret to disclose, and that the whole story is quite natural, and 

 could have been understood by anyone Avho took the trouble to listen 

 to Charlotte Bronte herself, not as the writer of an inspired gospel, 

 but as the writer of magnificently prejudiced confessions, which were* 

 just or unjust, true or untrue, as the woman herself. 



Miss Martineau wrote of her books, " all the female characters in 

 all their thoughts and lives are represented as being full of one thing 



