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The Professor 196
an old and quiet street。 I remember that； feeling a little hungry；
and not desiring to go back and take my share of the “gouter；”
now on the refectory…table at Pelet’s—to wit； pistolets and water—
I stepped into a baker’s and refreshed myself on a couc（？）—it is a
Flemish word； I don’t know how to spell it—à Corinthe…anglice； a
currant bun—and a cup of coffee； and then I strolled on towards
the Porte de Louvain。 Very soon I was out of the city； and slowly
mounting the hill； which ascends from the gate； I took my time； for
the afternoon； though cloudy； was very sultry； and not a breeze
stirred to refresh the atmosphere。 No inhabitant of Brussels need
wander far to search for solitude； let him but move half a league
from his own city and he will find her brooding still and blank over
the wide fields； so drear though so fertile； spread out treeless and
trackless round the capital of Brabant。 Having gained the summit
of the hill； and having stood and looked long over the cultured but
lifeless campaign； I felt a wish to quit the high road； which I had
hitherto followed； and get in among those tilled grounds—fertile
as the beds of a Brobdignagian kitchen…garden—spreading far and
wide even to the boundaries of the horizon； where； from a dusk
green； distance changed them to a sullen blue； and confused their
tints with those of the livid and thunderous…looking sky。
Accordingly I turned up a by…path to the right； I had not followed
it far ere it brought me； as I expected； into the fields； amidst
which； just before me； stretched a long and lofty white wall
enclosing； as it seemed from the foliage showing above； some
thickly planted nursery of yew and cypress； for of that species
were the branches resting on the pale parapets； and crowding
gloomily about a massive cross； planted doubtless on a central
eminence and extending its arms； which seemed of black marble；
Charlotte Bronte ElecBook Classics
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The Professor 197
over the summits of those sinister trees。 I approached； wondering
to what house this well…protected garden appertained； I turned the
angle of the wall； thinking to see some stately residence； I was
close upon great iron gates； there was a hut serving for a lodge
near； but I had no occasion to apply for the key—the gates were
open； I pushed one leaf back—rain had rusted its hinges； for it
groaned dolefully as they revolved。 Thick planting embowered the
entrance。 Passing up the avenue； I saw objects on each hand
which； in their own mute language。 of inscription and sign；
explained clearly to what abode I had made my way。 This was the
house appointed for all living； crosses； monuments； and garlands
of everlastings announced； “The Protestant Cemetery； outside the
gate of Louvain。”
The place was large enough to afford half an hour’s strolling
without the monotony of treading continually the same path； and；
for those who love to peruse the annals of graveyards； here was
variety of inscription enough to occupy the attention for double or
treble that space of time。 Hither people of many kindreds； tongues；
and nations； had brought their dead for interment； and here； on
pages of stone； of marble； and of brass； were written names； dates；
last tributes of pomp or love； in English； in French； in German；
and Latin。 Here the Englishman had erected a marble monument
over the remains of his Mary Smith or Jane Brown； and inscribed
it only with her name。 There the French widower had shaded the
grave： of his Elmire or Celestine with a brilliant thicket of roses；
amidst which a little tablet rising； bore an equally bright testimony
to her countless virtues。 Every nation； tribe； and kindred；
mourned after its own fashion； and how soundless was the
mourning of all！ My own tread； though slow and upon smooth…
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The Professor 198
rolled paths； seemed to startle； because it formed the sole break to
a silence otherwise total。 Not only the winds； but the very fitful；
wandering airs； were that afternoon； as by common consent； all
fallen asleep in their various quarters； the north was hushed； the
south silent； the east sobbed not； nor did the west whisper。 The
clouds in heaven were condensed and dull； but apparently quite
motionless。 Under the trees of this cemetery nestled a warm
breathless gloom； out of which the cypresses stood up straight and
mute； above which the willows hung low and still； where the
flowers； as languid as fair； waited listless for night dew or thunder…
shower； where the tombs； and those they hid； lay impassible to sun
or shadow； to rain or drought。
Importuned by the sound of my own footsteps； I turned off
upon the turf； and slowly advanced to a grove of yews； I saw
something stir among the stems； I thought it might be a broken
branch swinging； my short…sighted vision had caught no form； only
a sense of motion； but the dusky shade passed on； appearing and
disappearing at the openings in the avenue。 I soon discerned it
was a living thing； and a human thing； and； drawing nearer； I
perceived it was a woman； pacing slowly to and fro； and evidently
deeming herself alone as I had deemed myself alone； and
meditating as I had been meditating。 Ere long she returned to a
seat which I fancy she had but just quitted； or I should have
caught sight of her before。 It was in a nook； screened by a clump of
trees； there was the white wall before her； and a little stone set up
against the wall； and； at the foot of the stone； was an allotment of
turf freshly turned up； a new…made grave。 I put on my spectacles；
and passed softly close behind her； glancing at the inscription on
the stone； I read； “Julienne Henri； died at Brussels； aged sixty。
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The Professor 199
August 10th； 18—。” Having perused the inscription； I looked down
at the form sitting bent and thoughtful just under my eyes；
unconscious of the vicinity of any living thing； it was a slim；
youthful figure in mourning apparel of the plainest black stuff；
with a little simple； black crape bonnet； I felt； as well as saw； who
it was； and； moving neither hand nor foot； I stood some moments
enjoying the security of conviction。 I had sought her for a month；
and had never discovered one of her traces—never met a hope； or
seized a chance of encountering her anywhere。 I had been forced
to loosen my grasp on expectation； and； but an hour ago； had sunk
slackly under the discouraging thought that the current of life； and
the impulse of destiny； had swept her for ever from my reach； and；
behold； while bending suddenly earthward beneath the pressure
of despondency—while following with my eyes the track of sorrow
on the turf of a graveyard—here was my lost jewel dropped on the
tear…fed herbage； nestling in the messy and mouldy roots of yew…
trees。
Frances sat very quiet； her elbow on her knee； and her head on
her hand。 I knew she could retain a thinking attitude a long time
without change； at last； a tear fell； she had been looking at the
name on the stone before her； and her heart had no doubt
endured one of those constrictions with which the desolate living；
regretting the dead； are； at times； so sorely oppressed。 Many tears
rolled down； which she wiped away； again and agai