Dangerous Letters

Chapter Five

Letter XIII

September 16, 17--

Dear Hannah,

I wish to God, dear friend, that you were as regular in letting me know what passes on your side of the country, as I am careful in endeavouring to amuse you by the account of all I see, that I think worth your notice. You content yourself with telling me over and over, that the town remains very dull: it may, possibly, be dull to you, when every day does not present you with something new; but for me that am in arrears, at least two months news, all that seems very stale with you, would be very fresh and sweet here. Pray let me into more particulars, and I will try to awaken your gratitude, by giving you a full and true relation of the novelties of this place.

I feel quite enchanted at the present and felt an immediate urge to convey this moment of unmediated delight – I am sitting in the garden in the midday sun, during a break from one of the Villette's lessons, and all around me nature is magnificent in her idle beauty. The hum of bees alone breaks the quiet, as, with other insects of various hues, they sport gaily in the shade, or sip sweets from the fresh flowers: and, while I watched a butterfly, flitting from bud to bud, I indulged myself in imagining the pleasures of its short day, till I had composed a poem:

Borne on the gale, thou com'st to me;
O! welcome, welcome to my home!
In lily's cell we'll live in glee,
Together o'er the mountains roam!

This is the only stanza I can recall now, but you will see my casual fancy in its whimsy, which has made me indulge in the luxury of slovenliness that warmer weather invites. Even Lette's lesson, which was to be on a correction of her needlepoint – that is in quite a state of disarray – was derailed when, rolling on the grass, she ruined the neat effects of her curlpapers. It was then insisted that I wreathe her hair into Grecian plaits, after brushing out the gold until it shone as if lacquered.

I pleased her very much with some English Poetry and Horæ Paulinæ and a few lines of Blair's Rhetoric which Villette was most tickled by. I am gradually becoming more accustomed to the particulars of her curious behaviour; a week ago, I came to her door and heard voices inside. Thinking that she was conversing with either her personal maid or the housekeeper, I knocked before entering. To my surprise, there was no one inside but my little mademoiselle.

"Were you chatting to yourself?" I asked.

"Of course not," she replied, her pale cheeks flushing, "how ridiculous!"

"I heard voices," I insisted. "Perhaps you were talking to your dolls?"

She gave me one of her sullen looks, that suggested I was being foolish. Yet, just two nights ago, the same happened – I heard her speaking as she left her room. Hurrying along, I checked her apartment only to find it empty and then overtook her, I remember, on the staircase; we went down together, and at the bottom I detained her, holding her there with a hand on her arm. "It is nothing to be embarrassed about if you make believe. Who were you talking to?"

She threw back her head; she had clearly, by this time, and very honestly, adopted an attitude. "I do not 'make believe'!"

I was more upset than I should have been. "You shouldn't lie to your governess."

"You would not understand."

I held her tighter. "What don't I understand?" Then, keeping pace with her answer, "But I do!" I eagerly brought out. "I know what it means to be a lonely child, you know."

She stared, taking my meaning in; but it produced in her an odd laugh. "You think I'm lonely?" She put the question with such a fine bold humour that, with a laugh, a little silly doubtless, to match her own, I gave way for the time to the apprehension of ridicule.