Confession
Authors: S. G. Klein
Confession
S. G. Klein
Copyright © 2013, S. G. Klein
‘This weakness of sight is too terrible a privation for me – without it, do you know what I would do, Monsieur? I would write a book and I would dedicate it to my literature master – to the only master that I have ever had – to you Monsieur.’
C.B.
The Letters 1829 – 1847
‘Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea’
Emily Dickinson
PART ONE
FEBRUARY 1842
I
It was Emily who described the moon like a wrecker’s lantern floating above us on the crossing to Belgium. We stood on deck of the London to Ostend packet having left dry land but a few hours since. All around us the sea swayed while clouds scudded across the sky.
‘If the moon is a wrecker’s lantern, where are the rocks?’ I enquired, but Emily would not answer instead turning away from me in that infuriating manner of hers. No matter, I thought. Twenty-four-hours and we would arrive in Brussels. Besides I was too excited for my little sister’s misgivings to unsettle me. We were in the world now, a far cry from the moulding anonymity of home. With every gust of wind and salt-edged breath I felt more alive. I had waited a long time for this moment wondering whether boredom might push me into the grave. Now I was travelling towards new horizons, deep into uncertainty.
Rain fell in broad sheets as our carriage rattled along the cobbles. Everywhere heaved with life. The city was a living, breathing creature; not as large a one as London I will admit, but large enough to frighten an exhausted traveller. I glanced from the carriage excited and terrified by turns, my eyes drinking in the soft shadow of buildings, the bustle of markets, the wheeling lights & shimmering darks of the cobbled streets. For her part Emily kept her eyes to the floor. If she did lift them it was only to hold the city at bay for she would not allow herself to admit that her circumstances had changed and for the first time on that journey my heart flew out to her. My sister and I were closer than skin is to bone. I told her everything,
but she was braver than I, fiercer of heart, sterner of soul. She had to sacrifice much to accompany me. Not material sacrifices you understand, but those of a spiritual nature. She had wrenched herself from the only environment in which she could breathe.
I reached out and clasped her hand in mine. It was cold but her grip was strong and by this means she conveyed herself still to be on our adventure together.
‘Look at that building,’ I exclaimed as we turned a corner into the centre of the most beautiful square. ‘See that woman with the blue hat! Look at that man, what is he wearing?’
Emily placed her arm on mine. ‘Not so loud,’ she whispered. ‘People will stare!’ Ah! my brave-hearted sister, afraid to be seen in a city yet fierce as a wolf when out walking the moors. She was correct of course; drawing attention to oneself is not desirable and here more than most places we were going to be judged for the way we acted, how we spoke, the manner of our dress – everything would be put to the test. What would the Hegers make of us? And the other pupils who would all be so much younger than us? Emily barely spoke a word of French, our manners and customs were as different to theirs as sea is to land and as for the mummery they called their religion…
Catholics were as thin on the ground back home as the hairs on the Revd Bradley’s head. Did any reside in the whole of Yorkshire? Butchers, bottle-men, wool merchants, farmhands; if any amongst them were Catholics then they worshipped in secret.
As for my father: ‘You must not be swayed by Papistry –’ he declared when the plan to study in Brussels first arose. ‘Catholicism is nothing if not distasteful. Too much gold and flummery for my liking – too many red hats and brocade – it is all too easy for the unsuspecting worshiper to be drawn into its web – ’
Swayed by it
. Did he think his daughters like willow trees, likely to bend in the breeze? We
were stronger than that.
I was stronger than that.
At that point I doubted nothing.
Pensionat Heger lay in the ancient quarter of the city on Rue d’Isabelle buttressed against the overwhelming towers of St Gudule whose beauty was spoilt only by its blackened appearance. Despite this I was excited when we entered the pensionnat’s clean, white entrance hall and even more pleased when we were ushered into the Heger’s private drawing room, which lay at the heart of the building.
It was a curious room, filled with books and rugs and a large gilded mirror that hung on the opposite wall to the fireplace. When the flames leapt up their light flew across the room and bounced off this mirror throwing shadows against the ceiling and walls.
Madame Heger sat close to the fire. She was a pretty woman, in her early thirties, with a pleasant face and rounded figure because she was with child, a fact that meant she sat throughout most of this, our first encounter. Later Emily would remark on two things. Firstly how engaged Madame was with everything that surrounded her, yet how curiously uninvolved she remained. Secondly how closely Madame Heger watched us, how unearthly dark her eyes were; ‘not so much brown as black’ was how Emily described them ‘and watchful.’
‘You make her sound like a hawk,’ I commented later that evening.
‘More of a sparrow –’
‘Isn’t that a little too dull? – ’
‘She runs a school, teaches classes – ’
‘We are not above doing likewise – ’
‘We are not ordinary,’ replied Emily bluntly. ‘She is.’
I disagreed.
I thought Madame Heger exceptional.
‘You are always too eager to see the best in people,’ countered my sister.
I smiled. At the time I thought Emily – discomforted at finding herself in foreign surroundings – was being too harsh on those who inhabited them. New things are threatening. My sister had led a sheltered life. I dismissed out of hand that Emily – already known by at least one family member as visionary – might be correct. She was exaggerating, which was her right, but all things considered my own observations were more accurate. For instance Madame wore her hair – which was dark – in a coil, tight as a clock spring. Her cheeks glowed pink as peaches. Her dress was fashionable but not overtly so. She wore a large bunch of keys at her waist that glinted in the firelight. I also noted that her face, which was not unpleasant, had a confrontational aspect to it by which I mean she was much bolder than her English counterparts, the women Emily and I were familiar with, knew and loved back home. Indeed, far from being too ready to see the best in people, I thought myself acutely aware of their faults.
‘Maman, maman…’ the children who were ranged around their mother’s feet were only three in number yet they seemed innumerable, all laughing and mewing like kittens. Occasionally one would stretch out her arms to be carried but Madame was not, I observed, a caressing woman, nor an indulgent one. Instead she turned to us and introduced each child by turn: Marie Pauline, the eldest was four-years of age, after which came Louise Florence and last but not least Claire Zoe, the baby – although she was soon to loose this favoured position to a
little brother, Prospére.
Madam began her introductions in English then changed to her mother tongue, speaking rapidly so that Emily’s eyes glazed over, her grasp of the language being far weaker than mine. She explained when and where we would take our lessons, which subjects we would be expected to study, how she hoped we would make the most of this opportunity and how pleased she was to welcome two young English ladies into her school.
‘We pride ourselves,’ said she, ‘on our system of education. Most of our girls hail from this country or are from France or Germany. We educate them in music and languages which are both highly valued, but arithmetic and geography are also studied. You will find our school a healthy place in which to live and work. The regime is simple but effective. No mind is overtasked yet none is left indolent. There are few rules but those there are, help make all our lives simpler.’
No sooner had we entered Madame’s room than we seemed to be leaving it, accompanied by a girl who had been tasked with showing us the dormitory we were to sleep in and afterwards the classrooms and refectory.
Our guide, a girl called Vertue Basompierre, was blessed with skin clear as snow, frost-blue eyes and blonde, ringletted hair that fell down her back like gold coins. Her beauty made the sun seem dull – or so I overheard one of the other pupils declare later that evening and it was true. Vertue Basompierre was eighteen-years old and exquisite. The only black mark against her was her character. Eighteen-years old she might have been but she acted much younger than her years suggested so taken was she at giggling behind our backs. At one point I heard her whispering to one of her friends in French – a language she obviously thought us too dull to understand – that Emily’s dress was something a servant might wear.
Dormitories are never pleasant. To have to sleep alongside strangers, listening to them moan and cough is not conducive to sleep but our dormitory was prettier than those we had previously suffered. For a start it was somewhat larger than expected and enjoyed more light. There were ten beds, five at equal intervals down each side of the room with small cabinets dividing each space. Vertue Basompierre led us towards the far end where two beds had been partitioned off by a curtain giving us a private area with our own washbasin and a large window, light from which pooled on the floorboards.
‘This is a pleasant enough room,’ I said to my sister.
Silence.
‘This is a great opportunity. An adventure - ’ I continued, trying to describe our sojourn here in the most positive light.
‘Adventurers do not sleep in dormitories,’ replied Emily. Her voice sounded choked as if she held a bead in her throat.
‘They travel to foreign lands, they see new sights, meet new people – ’
‘Family is enough. Surely family is enough for you?’
My sister was used to wearing her family like a blanket; without them she froze.
‘I miss them of course. But I miss Ellen too and she is not related to us at all,’ I said. ‘Besides
I
am here with you,’ I continued trying to sound as comforting as I could given how excited I felt. After all this was
my
time. I had waited for it long enough, hadn’t I? Paced up and down like an animal with nothing but Imagination for company. Sometimes it felt as though I were haunted.
Can
a person be haunted? I think that they can given how sincerely I was possessed by the ghost of a woman who would never experience life, who would always remain locked
away from society, invisible, silent. ‘And father will write to us and the others,’ I blundered. ‘They will tell us all the gossip, what Aunt is doing, how many jams she has made, how the dogs are faring.’
At the far end of the room Vertue stood with her friends. She was clearly a favourite of everybody. They crowded around her, like puppies around their mistress, all doing exactly as they were bid which at that present moment was eyeing Emily up and down and afterwards turning inwards and whispering amongst themselves. Their tones were unfamiliar, the nuances of this new, un-poetic language wildly different from ours.
Nor did I like their faces much; they were not like the faces from home.
‘We will be going back in no time,’ I said. ‘You will see, it will be summer soon and we will be on the boat back.’
After Emily and I had unpacked our band-boxes and trunks Vertue was obliged to take us downstairs to show us the two main schoolrooms – the larger of which we were to be taught in. On our way she pointed to a smaller, narrower dormitory next to our own and, on the second floor, to some further rooms belonging to Monsieur & Madame Heger. In a small alcove on the staircase I also spied a statue of the Virgin Mary in front of which two candles burned. Later I would learn that these candles were never extinguished; they burned night and day illuminating the statue’s face in such a way that some might have remarked beautiful.
Our classroom had windows opening out onto a walled garden. There was a platform at one end on which stood the teacher’s desk. Behind this was a small door, one that led I supposed back out to the main corridor. The windows would let in a tremendous amount of light, particularly given that there were no shutters. Really it was the most perfect room for study
and I said as much to Emily.