In Charlotte Bronte’s Own Words

Charlotte Bronte

My Father is a Clergyman of limited though competent income, and I am the eldest of his children-He expended quite as much in my education as he could afford in justice to the rest. I thought it therefore my duty when I left school to become a Governess-In that capacity I find enough to occupy my thoughts all day long, and my head and hands too, without having a moment’s time for one dream of the imagination. In the evenings I confess I do think but I never trouble any one else with my thoughts. I carefully avoid any appearance of pre-occupation and eccentricity-which might lead those I live amongst to suspect the nature of my pursuits. 

I have endeavored not only attentively to observe all the duties a woman ought to fulfill, but to feel deeply interested in them-I don’t always succeed, for sometimes when I’m teaching, and sewing I’d far rather be reading and writing; but I try to deny myself-and my father’s approbation has hitherto amply rewarded me for the privation. (Charlotte Bronte letter to Robert Southey, 16 March 1837).

Mademoiselle Rachel Elisabeth Felix (1820/1-1858)

Theatre Actress

Most readers of Charlotte Bronte novels will recognize this name as the real life woman who inspired Charlotte Bronte’s character, Vashti from her novel, Villette. Rachel or Elisa Felix was Charlotte Bronte’s favorite actress between the years 1850-1 as her letters dictate. 

On 7 June 1851 at the St. James Theatre, Charlotte went to see Elisa Felix in the play, Adrienne Lecouvreur of which she originated the role. Later, Sarah Bernhardt would also star in this play as Elisa Felix was her inspiration to become an actress. 

On 21 June 1851, Charlotte Bronte went back to the theatre to see Elisa Felix in Corneille’s Horace. Charlotte wrote the following words...

Mademoiselle Rachel’s Acting transfixed me with wonder, enchained me with interest and thrilled me with horror. The tremendous power with which she expresses the very worst passions in their strongest essence forms an exhibition as exciting as the bullfights of Spain and the gladiatorial combats of old Rome-and not one whit more moral than these poisoned stimulants to popular ferocity.  It is scarcely human nature that she shews you; it is something wilder and worse; the feelings and fury of a fiend. The great gift of Genius she undoubtedly has-but-I fear-she rather abuses than turns it to good account. (Charlotte Bronte letter to James Taylor, 15 November 1851).

Photograveuvre Of Rachel Felix

Paris Musees Collection 

The following description of the character, Vashti is taken from Chapter XXIII Of Charlotte Bronte’s novel, Villette

Ihad heard this woman termed 'plain,' and I expected bony harshness and grimness - something large, angular, sallow. What I saw was the shadow of a royal Vashti: a queen, fair as the day once, turned pale now like twilight, and wasted like wax in flame.

For a while - a long while - I thought it was only a woman, though an unique woman, who moved in might and grace before this multitude. By-and-by I recognised my mistake. Behold! I found upon her something neither of woman nor of man: in each of her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces bore her through the tragedy, kept up her feeble strength - for she was but a frail creature; and as the action rose and the stir deepened, how wildly they shook her with their passions of the pit! They wrote HELL on her straight, haughty brow. They tuned her voice to the note of torment. They writhed her regal face to a demoniac mask. Hate, and Murder, and Madness incarnate she stood.

Here are Charlotte Bronte’s thoughts on Jane Austen’s novel Emma:

I have read one of Miss Austen’s works “Emma”-read it with interest and with just the degree of admiration which Miss Austen herself would have thought sensible and suitable-anything like warmth or enthusiasm; anything energetic,poignant, heartfelt, is utterly out of place in commending these works: all such demonstration the authoress would have met with a well-bred sneer, would have calmly scorned as extravagant. She does her business of delineating the surface of the lives of genteel English people curiously well. She ruffles her reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him by nothing profound: the Passions are perfectly unknown to her; she rejects even a speaking acquaintance with that stormy Sisterhood; even to the Feelings she vouchsafes no more than an occasional graceful but distant recognition; too frequent converse with them would ruffle the smooth elegance of her progress.
Her business is not half so much with the human heart as with the human eyes, mouth, hands, and feet. What sees keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it suits her to study; but what throbs fast and full, though hidden, what the blood rushes through, what is the unseen seat of life and the sentient target of death—this Miss Austen ignores. She no more, with her mind’s eye, beholds the heart of her race than each man, with bodily vision, sees the heart in his heaving breast. Jane Austen was a complete and most sensible lady, but a very incomplete and rather insensible (not senseless) woman.