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I saw her off drearily and helplessly enough, I well remember, and even at that moment found for her another image: what was she most like, though in a still sparer and dryer form, but some low-toned, some employed little Brontë heroine? though more indeed a Lucy Snowe than a Jane Eyre, and with no shade of a Brontë hero within sight.
And here was the direction, "Miss Lucy Snowe," in a clean, clear, equal, decided hand; and here was the seal, round, full, deftly dropped by untremulous fingers, stamped with the well-cut impress of initials, "J. G. B." I experienced a happy feeling a glad emotion which went warm to my heart, and ran lively through all my veins. For once a hope was realized.
'Certainly not, I answered proudly; 'when my time comes for Lorna, I shall not study Betty Muxworthy. In this way the Squire got over us; and Farmer Nicholas Snowe was sent for, to counsel with mother about the matter and to set his two daughters sewing.
But however varied, however apparently discriminated the characters, M. Héger is in all the men, and Charlotte is in all the women, in the two Catherines, in Jane Eyre and Frances Henri; in Caroline Helstone, in Pauline Bassompierre, and Lucy Snowe. Now there is a certain plausibility in this.
Madame Beck's commencement was as I have often heard her say from no higher starting-point, and where is she now? All these premises and this garden are hers, bought with her money; she has a competency already secured for old age, and a flourishing establishment under her direction, which will furnish a career for her children. "Courage, Lucy Snowe!
But a fuller and more accurate picture of her character may be found in Lucy Snowe, the heroine of 'Villette. Here we find especially that note of hopelessness that predominated in Charlotte's character. Mrs. Gaskell, in her admirable biography of Charlotte Bronté, has called attention to this absence of hope in her nature. Charlotte indeed never allowed herself to look forward to happy issues.
My godmother lived in a handsome house in the ancient town of Bretton the widow of Bretton and there I, Lucy Snowe, visited her about twice a year, and liked the visit well, for time flowed smoothly for me at her side, like the gliding of a full river through a verdant plain.
'Coortin' of thy mother, lad? cried Farmer Snowe, with as much amazement as if the thing were impossible; 'why, who ever hath been dooin' of it? 'Yes, courting of my mother, sir. And you know best who comes doing it. 'Wull, wull! What will boys be up to next? Zhud a' thought herzelf wor the proper judge. No thank 'ee, lad, no need of thy light.
It was across this park that Lucy Snowe was piloted from the bureau of the diligence by the chivalrous stranger, Dr. John, on the night when she, despoiled, helpless, and solitary, arrived in Brussels. She found the park deserted and dark, the paths miry, the water "dripping from its trees."
But now I do with all my heart. Will you never know what I am, love?" "No, Lorna, that I never shall. I can understand my mother well, and one at least of my sisters, and both the Snowe girls very easily, but you I never understand; only love you all the more for it." "Then never try to understand me, if the result is that, dear John. And yet I am the very simplest of all foolish simple creatures.
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