Confession (11 page)

At the same time allow me to tell you that there are some Catholics – who are as good as any Christians can be to whom the bible is a sealed book, and much better than scores of Protestants.

XI

‘What are you doing, Mademoiselle?’ Monsieur Heger’s voice broke the silence and made me jump. It was only a short while since Vertue and her companions had vacated the schoolroom leaving me in peace. Upon her departure I had decided to write a short piece of prose and – and as was my method – had closed my eyes whilst I wrote.

Monsieur Heger’s voice startled me. I had not heard him enter the room. Now I saw he was standing by the door looking straight at me as one might stare at an exhibit in a museum. ‘You had your eyes shut?’ he said, ‘yet you were writing?’

I covered my notebook with my arm.

‘You should not creep up on people like that, Monsieur. How long have you been standing there?’

‘Long enough – ’

‘Was there something you wanted?’

‘I forgot to give you this.’ Monsieur handed me a small volume of verse – Lamartine’s
Harmony
.

‘Thank you. You are always very kind.’

‘Not kind.’

‘Monsieur?’

‘You and your sister are gifted. You do not think I notice these things because I mark your work harshly, but I see everything. For instance you come in here night after night to study long after the others have given up, bending over your books, reading, writing.’

‘You’ve been spying on me?’

‘Spying? No. I take an interest in the more able of my pupils and, I repeat, you and

Mademoiselle Emily are very gifted. You work extremely hard –’

‘Being gifted and working hard do not necessarily correspond,’ I remarked. ‘One can study all one’s life and never be a great writer.’

‘Is that your ambition?’

‘No,’ I stammered. ‘Possibly. Maybe. If – ’

‘Well even the greatest writers must study their craft.’

‘Surely great poetry arises directly from the soul?’

‘The soul?’

‘I believe so, Sir, yes.’

‘Great poetry might well do so but a writer, even one of exceptional talents, still needs a framework, an acquaintance with the past, perhaps even an eye towards the – ’

‘But the flame,’ I said interrupting him while putting my hands up to my cheeks for I felt suddenly hot. ‘The inspiration, the overwhelming force of genius – ’

‘That was what you were doing when you had your eyes closed? Calling on Inspiration or was it Genius?’

‘You are mocking me, Sir – ’

‘A little,’ Monsieur Heger replied sitting down at the desk opposite. His eyes glanced around the room, bright and restless. ‘Is writing something you have always wanted to pursue?’

‘We have plans to open our own school back in England. I taught as a governess in Rawdon – ’

‘That is not what I asked. Remember…remorselessly sacrifice everything that does not contribute to clarity
–
’

I took a deep breath. ‘As children we wrote a little, yes Monsieur.’

‘Better.’

‘We wrote stories and poetry – ’

‘Were these stories based on your own experiences?’

‘Not our experiences, no Monsieur, but the experiences of those we read about. Kings and queens, the Duke of Wellington, Napoleon – ’

Now it was Monsieur who smiled.

‘I do not want to say the wrong thing, Monsieur. I do not want you to think me more foolish than you already do.’

‘Not foolish – ’

‘Ridiculous then or unwise?’

‘Do I appear to you as if I found you ridiculous?’

I shook my head.

‘Do you know what I see?’ he said. ‘I see a caged bird, one that longs to spread its wings.

The bars of its cage are made of metal, they are incredibly strong, but this bird is stronger.

One day it will escape, if it wants to.’

‘Will it?’ I murmured feeling as he spoke as if something marvelous were beginning to form within me – something so tantalizing, so ephemeral – but it lasted only a few moments.

‘Undoubtedly. She already has in a way – ’

‘By coming to Brussels?’

‘By writing.’

‘We all wrote stories and poetry when we were children. We enjoyed talking about the worlds we created. I would like to think I had some gift for it. But necessity demands that I teach – ’

‘There are worse things in life.’

For a third time in as many minutes, blood rose to my cheeks. ‘I did not mean to disparage your profession, Monsieur,’ I said. ‘But unlike yourself I have no flare for it. I am too selfish. Besides this school, this place is not hidden away out of sight, you live in a city, students come to you from France and Italy and Switzerland and you have travelled to these countries, have you not?’

Monsieur Heger acknowledged that, ‘Yes’, he had.

‘I want to live in the world too – ’ I said.

‘But you are here are you not, in a foreign country? And soon enough you will be teaching our students – ?’

I have to admit; I was taken aback that Monsieur Heger knew of our plans for seldom did I think of him conversing with Madame Heger. Naturally I knew they must talk but we rarely if ever saw them together, they were two entirely separate entities consequently the thought that they chatted between themselves, in their own private quarters and about subjects such as Emily and myself surprised me.

‘Does the thought of teaching here alarm you so much?’ Monsieur Heger’s voice interrupted my silence.

‘I would hope I am up to the challenge, Monsieur.’

‘Hope?
Hope
! Hope is a dull virtue. It almost always means one is halfway defeated in the matter already. Do not be hopeful – ’

‘I meant nothing by it,’ I stuttered somewhat alarmed, yet at the same time warmed by Monsieur Heger’s outburst. I was use to hearing his voice rise in frustration during his classes, use to his passionate readings of poetry but here in this room the outburst was for my benefit alone.

‘I have shocked you?’

‘A world without hope would be a sad place,’ I replied. ‘I spent many months as a governess wishing to escape. Hope sustained me, but your need for it is clearly less than mine. You have a position, respect, this school – ’

A shadow passed over Monsieur Heger’s face although whether at my impertinence or for some other reason, I could not tell – nor could I ask for in the next instant Monsieur Heger leapt up.

‘You are leaving?’ I said.

‘I have essays to mark for tomorrow. Read the Lamartine. We will talk again soon.’

XII

But the reality was we did not talk again soon. Not in private for suddenly Monsieur Heger became very busy at the Athénée where he was called upon to oversee the last of that year’s exams and afterwards to mark all the papers and judge which student would be worthy of which award or, more prestigious still, an Athénée Fellowship. Emily and I saw him for our tutorials, but other than that no contact was made.

Time passed. I spent a great many weeks in the main classroom studying history and literature alongside my sister, writing essays on subjects as diverse as the Siege of Oudenarde and Peter the Hermit, always taking on board Monsieur’s invaluable notes and trying – as best I could – to do as he had suggested and use details as a means of setting my main arguments in relief.

Emily and I also took a great many walks through Brussels during this period, frequenting the city’s several art galleries, admiring its architectural delights, its churches & cathedrals as well as the Municipal Gardens. At weekends we tended to sit out in the pensionat’s garden and, as the weather grew steadily warmer, some of the other students joined us, particularly in the evenings when groups of them could be found sitting on the lawns under the trees, drawing and sketching or reading poetry to each other.

In July Madame Heger began to teach some of the lower classes. She took them for a number of art classes as well as a few History lessons when Mademoiselle Haussé declared herself
too ill to teach. Madame Heger’s main duties however remained her children. The baby, Prospére, was faring well, growing fatter by the day and his sisters more talkative.

‘Do you think you will ever get married?’ Vertue Basompierre asked me one afternoon having caught me watching Marie Pauline and Louise Florence sitting with their nurserymaid who was cradling their little brother in her arms while they chattered away and made daisy chains.

‘Why do you ask?’ I replied turning around.

‘I have two suitors already in Brussels,’ she whispered as if at the confessional, ‘and several back home in Paris. Really it is the choice that is so difficult, wouldn’t you agree? He loves me, he loves me not,’ she said ripping the petals off a daisy and tossing them on to the grass. ‘Or in my case
she
loves him,
she
loves him not – ’

‘Perhaps you could close your eyes and pick one that way?’

‘But you want children, surely?’ Vertue said ignoring my remark. Indeed over the previous weeks and months I had discovered that this was Mademoiselle Basompierre’s unique talent – being able to give the impression that she was being intimate with someone whilst at the same time utterly ignoring their sensibilites.

‘Children are for God to bestow upon us,’ was all I could muster. Of course I did want children, had often dreamt of a husband & family but was also aware I routinely asked too much of Fate.

Vertue smiled at me pityingly then looked across at the two children again. ‘She never plays with them, have you noticed?’

‘Her hands are full with the baby.’

‘No, not the nurserymaid.
Madame Heger
. For all her kindesses and sweet nature with us,
you would think she would be more involved with her own – ’

I looked at Vertue then back at the two little girls. Suddenly they seemed very small in comparison to the vast expanse of lawn upon which they sat. Very small, but not insignificant. ‘She loves them,’ I said brusquely brushing Vertue’s comment aside ‘and Monsieur Heger does too,’ I added but by this time Vertue had left me to return to her friends.

Soon the long summer holidays were upon us and with them mine and my sister’s teaching duties began. For Emily this meant tutoring three young sisters whose family had recently arrived in Brussels and whose father did not want his children to fall behind in their studies. Fanny, Sarah Ann and Julia Wheelwright were the youngest of five siblings whom Emily was to tutor in piano although she refused point blank to do so during her private study periods consequently they had to forgo their own recreation time.

As for myself I taught English to those students at the Pensionat who had not been able to return home for the holidays – six girls in total whose abilities were wide-ranging. I did not find the work in itself arduous, however one amongst the teaching staff, namely Mademoiselle Blanche, made no secret of the fact that she thought it well beyond my capabilities to tutor pupils – albeit in my native tongue!

Coming upon me one afternoon in the classroom she asked what it was I was hoping to achieve by reading to my students from Shakespeare and Milton.

‘I myself adore Monsieur Shakespeare,’ she said as if she were on intimate terms with him. ‘The English are such masterly writers, are they not Mademoiselle? Such creative souls. Such skilled practitioners of the dramatic arts – ’ she added although it was clear to me that her
praise was as insincere as the smile she bestowed upon me. ‘But these girls – they do not understand genius. It is beyond their capabilities – no matter how well-meaning your efforts. I have taught in this school for many years and I know of what I am speaking – these children, these students they do not need English poetry – no! They require a little grammar perhaps, a few simple phrases here and there – ’

‘You are too kind, Mademoiselle, to point this out to me,’ I said fearing she was correct for none of my pupils had shown any respect for the English language let alone aptitude and yet who was this woman to question the manner in which I chose to conduct my classes. ‘Too kind, however I believe everyone should hear Shakespeare, particularly in his
own
language, spoken by one of his
fellow
countrymen. Surely you would not wish to deprive these students of that opportunity?’

Mademoiselle smiled, her thin lips almost disappearing in the attempt.

‘You are too good to them,’ replied she, ‘They do not deserve someone as generous of spirit or as eager to please as yourself. I am sure Madame Heger has chosen her new teacher wisely. Still, if you would allow me to say – ’

But I would not allow her to say and in this respect I surprised even myself.

Nor did I find my return to teaching half as distressing as I had feared for although I had entreated Madame Heger to take Emily and I on as staff so that we might extend our stay at the Pensionat, secretly I had been dreading the day when I had to take my place on the teacher’s podium.

Not that my days were solely occupied with teaching or studying. Emily and I, along with some of the other students, took several walks out into the surrounding countryside accompanied by Mademoiselle Sophie and Mademoiselle Hauseé. We practiced our drawing,
took picnics, learnt the names of the local flora & fauna. Then August turned into September, September into October. A chill wind began, the origins of which I fancied were the Russian steppes or perhaps ‘farthest Thule’.

One morning I awoke before Emily and heard the wind whistling around the eaves of the house. I crept from my bed and went to the window where the first light of dawn broke red as if blood were seeping through cracks in the sky. Perhaps it was this that made me suspect something was amiss, or perhaps it was the sight of the apple tree below, which had been half uprooted by the storm.

Later that morning a letter arrived addressed to myself. It was from Mary Taylor informing us that Martha had fallen seriously ill with the cholera and begging my presence. Excusing myself from lessons I headed straight out to Koekelberg on foot. The walk was dismal. The winds of the previous days had settled but in their wake a mist had descended so that, without the road to guide me, I would have been completely disorientated. As it was the mists filled my head, making what seemed far away loom large and what appeared close-by fade into the distance. I reached the Château Koekelberg in a state of panic only to be told I was too late. Martha had died during the night and Mary had left to stay with her cousins – the Dixons – in the city.