In any discussion of Charlotte Brontë’s works, Jane Eyre consumes so much oxygen and mind space that her other books tend to be given short shrift. Which is a pity. Though Jane Eyre is a stone-cold classic, the more compelling romance Brontë wrote is actually Villette, which was published in 1853. By the time Villette came into the world, Brontë had already established herself as a bestselling author.
Villette doesn’t have an unambiguously happy ending promised by the marriage plot that Jane Eyre and Shirley (Brontë’s second novel to be published) possess. For fans who desire the pulsing, vicarious feels that Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights (by Charlotte’s sister Emily) inspires in the reader, the themes of Villette may be more difficult to appreciate. At its heart, it’s a story that is about fortitude, the uncomfortable truth that most of us are more likely to experience the heartbreak of unrequited love than not, and loneliness.
Unrequited love has inspired great music and great literature and Villette more than earns its place in that special pantheon. The story itself was rooted in Brontë’s own experience of teaching in Brussels and the novel brings alive 19th century Belgium. The heroine, Lucy Snowe, experiences a fall in fortunes as a young girl in England and after initially being a companion to an older woman, moves to Villette, a fictionalised Brussels. In Villette, Lucy is first a governess to the children of the domineering Madame Beck and later becomes a teacher at the boarding school she runs in the city.
Lucy harbours feelings for John Bretton, the English doctor at the school, but there is no prospect of these being reciprocated as the young doc is enthralled by conventionally prettier women who have (this being a sign of the times) a more assured place in society than a penniless teacher. Villette also shines a bright light on the difficulty of social mobility for women and the equally rare and precious freedom they crave; to love and be loved in return.
When a person does emerge who would be worthy of Lucy’s love, it’s from an unexpected quarter: Madame Beck’s cousin Paul Emanuel who is also a teacher at the school. Cross-cultural misunderstandings and differences do rear up and the path of love is not so smooth or obvious between these two.
Long after I had first read Villette in my late teens, it haunted me. Lucy’s deep internal turmoil, the fierce independence she carves out for herself, the evocation of life in one of Europe’s great cities just before the industrial age — all these and more leave an indelible impact. There is also a ghost said to be roaming the school, a must-have for all boarding schools of repute.
But for me, I remember with the greatest pleasure one of the things that gives Lucy comfort and quiet joy: the walled garden of the school. Lucy admits that she might be romanticising the beauty of the garden more than reality warranted but it’s a place where she can be alone in the early mornings and twilight. Recently, while scrolling through Instagram, I found an artist named Gemma Mathews who creates embroidered artworks inspired by literature, among other things, and in her depiction of Villette, it’s Lucy standing in her beloved garden that Mathews chose to stitch and show. For those of us who adore it, Villette is, in its quietness and intensity, the most perfect Charlotte Brontë novel.
The author is a writer and communications professional. When she’s not reading, writing or watching cat videos, she can be found on Instagram @saudha_k where she posts about reading, writing, and cats.
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