Chapter XXXI – “The Dryad,” continued
“The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something and to tell what was seen.”
- John Ruskin, English writer and art critic (1819–1900)
“Wonder is a sudden surprise of the soul that brings it about that the soul goes on to consider with attention the objects that seem rare and extraordinary to it.”
- Renè Descartes, French philosopher (1596–1650) Meteors
It was in reading William Wordsworth's Prelude that I first came to understand out-of-the-ordinary experiences to be the ones we may most vividly remember, something which I continue to find confirmed in my own experience. For him, a few of these extra-ordinary experiences were significant in his personal and poetic development; he called them “spots of time.” This can play out in very ordinary situations. I do not usually remember what we had for supper six nights ago, or what I bought at the grocery store the last time I was there. But, if the experience is somehow different, or if something unusual or unexpected happened during that supper or while grocery shopping, it gets ear-marked in my memory—and comes to the fore more oft and easily than the routine things we experience day-to-day, over and over again.
Friendships in which we have been involved in the past, as well as those we are still fortunate enough to have, are also given heft in recollecting experiences that stand-out from the ordinary, routine day-to-day of our lives. When I think back over a particular friendship, there will be memories of things we did together, things that we learned from one another, and the emotional and experiential milieu in which I subsisted with that friend. Specific memories of specific moments can also be called to the present in our mind. But then there are those 'spots of time' - if borrowing Wordsworth's term is appropriate here - that stand-out; because of some extra-ordinary, unusual or even strange element in the experience recollected. I find such moments to embellish a friendship; often fostering a deeper bonding between us because of such experiences. They can be poignant moments, revelatory or insightful reckonings, or even uncanny experiences that have never quite been reconciled with the more ordinary run of day-to-day life!
What happens in the scene we are about to delve into would certainly be one such experience in Lucy and M Paul’s evolving friendship. In the previous blog we journeyed through the first sequence of the dialogue in Chapter XXXI in which M Paul and Lucy become cautiously yet willingly more open with one another; through dialogue, confession and enacted humility, especially on M Paul’s part – seeking each other out, runing their way into true friendship. What happens next provides the two friends with a common experience; one of Mystery and Wonder.
They had been discussing M Paul’s surveillance of the Garden and Lucy’s response to it; she now having been made aware that he does this! They have gone back-and-forth about its value and whether what is gained by his surveilling the Garden has positive consequences; for M Paul’s soul as much as for the students and teachers he keeps an eye on. It is at this point in their dialogue (¶ 57) that it moves into its third and final phase—toward a revelation significant to each of them.
The subject here is of a “Something” that is sometimes seen in the Garden—the Nun. I dealt with this sequence in “The End of Villette, Again,” (20 June 2025), but there was focused on the different ways in which John Bretton and M Paul treated Lucy in terms of her seeing the Nun. Here, I would like to look more closely at the exchange between M Paul and Lucy; what their say and how they engage—moving toward the revelation M Paul wants to share with Lucy hoping to confirm his suspicions that she has had the same experience. He, too, has seen the “Something” that Lucy has twice seen by this point in the story.
Paying closer attention on my second and third reads of Villette to the exchanges between them in this final scene of Chapter XXXI, I began to wonder if M Paul did not have this concern about the “Something” appearing the Garden in the back of his mind the whole time he was conversing with Lucy. How long has he wanted to speak with Lucy about it? Or did it arise organically out of their conversating?
By way of interested dialogue, each of them has learned a bit more about the other through exchange of questions and answers in a close, intimate conversation in the Forbidden Alley; one bodying forth revelations in self-disclosures, affirmations and honest responses. If so, this could parallel the structure of their dialogue in Chapter XV; which ends in his offering the hand of friendship with “Miss Lucy,” as he oft calls her, as I there suspected this theme being an undercurrent beneath his jealousy regarding Lucy being allowed to give the English examinations. Here, M Paul has perhaps been opening up to Lucy as a way of preparing her for the question of the “Something” that he has seen, whether this was premeditated or arising organically.
On this night they had already been discussing things that had been seen in the Garden; especially by M Paul; teachers, students_ even Lucy herself—from his high vantage point; his room at the boy’s school. After a brief pause, during which M Paul smoked a bit on his cigar, he then admits “I have seen other things.” (¶ 57), meaning, during his surveillance of the Garden. It is a potent moment; fecund of possible revelation. He is about to reveal something about what he has experienced, suspecting – perhaps even knowing – that Lucy has also experienced it.
Common experiences – experiences had in common with an-other – tend to link people at various levels – emotional, intuitive, intellectual, spiritually – and can foster connections between them as they wend their way into friendship’s henge. A friendship gets loaded with common experiences as it unfolds over months and years. These experiences allow those growing in mutual knowing to participate in one another’s existence; bringing them to an understanding – each of the other – via both differing and common interpretations of their more significant experiences. Lucy and M Paul are here at the threshold of such an experience.
Paul threw down the still-burning butt of his cigar, which he then treated it as a kind of physical prop; a symbolic rune—for what he is about to reveal. He draws her attention to the burning butt, suggesting it to be something which can be seen but which fades away_ Like a ghost? He then professes that — “I have seen, Miss Lucy, things to me unaccountable, that have made me watch all night for a solution, and I have not yet found it.” (¶ 61). So here is another reason why he surveilles the Garden, that it is sometimes at night, and now Lucy knows, it is sometimes all night. There are the human foibles and misadventures, as well as revelations about the character of students and teachers – including Lucy herself – that he has gleaned from his observations, but then_ there is this thing “unaccountable.”
Lucy here notices the peculiar tone of M Paul’s voice, saying it “thrilled her veins.” His words are on the verge of lifting her out of the ordinary; at least for an open moment—and she wants to know ‘why!’ Not quite ready to say what he has seen, perhaps by way of preparing her – finding out where she stands on such issues as he is going to venture into – he asks whether as a Protestant she believes in “the supernatural” (¶ 67). This should certainly give her another hint as to the kind of thing M Paul has on his mind! She states very simply that “there is a difference of opinion on that point, as there are in other sects.” I find this a cold yet open remark. It is open to possibilities; yet it is stated ‘coldly,’ I mean – without passion or lilt of emotion. It is ‘statement of fact.’ There is no certainty as to “the supernatural;’ no consensus—no truth boxed up neatly as an answer to such a question. This reply is then followed by a ‘cool’ question of her own, she asks: “Why, Monsieur, do you ask such a question?” (¶ 68), the tension surely building between them as she moves toward an anticipated revelation.
M Paul notices her “shrink” and speaking “faintly,” in this request. She has not told him plainly that she believes in the supernatural, so he now queries her whether she is superstitious. This is a more loaded term; it implies belief in things which cannot be proven—even more_ belief in what has been disproven by experience, philosophy or the revelations of science. She replies, simply, again not directly answering the question, that “I am constitutionally nervous. I dislike the discussion of such subjects. I dislike it the more because—” (¶ 70). Why, Lucy? Why do you dislike it? As a reader, I wish I knew …
To fill this lacuna, M Paul suggests again it may be that she “believes?” In what? M Paul does not identify the object of “belief,” yet I interpret this as a return to the first query, as she did not answer it—he’s asking once more if she believes in the supernatural. She denies this, however – though what she denies believing-in is not stated – but immediately admits that “…it has happened to me to experience impressions—” (¶ 72). It’s interesting to hear her refer to the apparitions of the Nun as “impressions.” Impressions upon her senses, perhaps, in John Locke’s terminology? “Impressions” as in ghostly phenomena? _though I am not sure that term was then in common use in reference to spirits and ghosts. However you want to understand the word in this context, in a sense the apparitions of the Nun have certainly ‘impressed’ her, in one way or another.
“Since you came here?” M Paul then asks, to which she replies in the affirmative, “Yes; not many months ago.” He then asks for clarification, “Here?—in this house?” and her answer is “Yes.” They now know they are both on the same page; or at least on pages in closest proximity to one another! This is a very ‘intimate’ conversation, emotionally and intellectually, as it bears upon an important experience for each of them. Most such revelations are ‘intimate’ in this way when we are discovering that someone else knows or feels something we feel or understand; and as here – having seen something unusual. The interlocutors ‘lock in’ to one another, either gently or in stronger terms; expectant of what might be about to be revealed.
She is speaking “faintly,” making this conversation more ‘private,’ just for herself and M Paul, possibly because of what he has told her about Madame Beck also keeping an eye on her when she is in the Forbidden Alley? Are they really alone? No doubt she is also speaking quietly because they are treading into a strange arena of experience in which Lucy herself has been participant; and totally without anyone to talk with about it since Dr. John’s dismissal of her first experience of being visited by the Nun; calling it a result of her exhaustion and excitability.
I imagine she is sensing in this intimate exchange that she is coming near to a resolution to her aloneness in this strange experience she has twice had; that she may find, there in the Alley, a sympathetic person to share in her uncanny experiences; perhaps even help her to decipher her “impressions.” Much to her assurance, and facilitating, I am sure, a relief-into-closer-feeling with M Paul, he replies with confidence: “Bon! I am glad of it. I knew it, somehow; before you told me.” Does he mean that he suspected what her answer would be; knowing it by intuiting it? Or is it possible that he may have actually witnessed – from his perch way up in the boy’s school – the scene between her and the Nun on the night she buried John’s letters? This could also be the “somehow” that he knew it. As we are not told, I hold each possibility out as at least plausible.
Either way, M Paul is liberated by her admission into a more open discourse with Lucy. He then pauses to declare what he thinks he sees in her, sharing with Lucy what he believes to be true about them both, pointing to differences and then similarities in their character. What he unfolds for her is not something he has come up with in the moment. I rather think he has thought about these things for a while, reflecting on the woman he has been observing—becoming appreciative of her with perhaps a fondness that eventually led to his invitation to friendship. He avers that “I was conscious of rapport between you and myself.” But first he refers to ways in which he sees them as contrasted with one another:
“You are patient, and I am choleric; you are quiet and pale, and I am tanned and fiery; you are a strict Protestant, and I am a sort of lay Jesuit: but we are alike—there is affinity between us. Do you see it, Mademoiselle, when you look in the glass?” (¶ 77)
The reference to “the glass” is polyvalent. It has at least two objects inherent in it. Certainly, M Paul means when she looks into a dressing- or vanity-mirror and sees her literal reflection. As we have now heard of the “glass” that M Paul uses to surveille the Garden and its occupants, however, it may suggest the way in which such a “glass” could enable you to see things much more clearly. This valence would suggest that Lucy has looked-into herself more deeply than at the surface level; contra the metaphor of a ‘vanity’ mirror. Both glasses, a mirror and his hand-held ‘telescope,’ imply looking-into the reality of something. Like looking into a crystal ball – a third kind of “glass,” M Paul is asking if she has discerned the things he has seen about the two of them. How they are different, and yet still having an “affinity.”
Wherein does that affinity reside? He has contrasted them in regard to their character and personality. Now he goes on to delineate some of their similarities as he sees them, using characteristics of the then popular, now long debunked, pseudo-science of phrenology as well as a celestial referent—
“Do you observe that your forehead is shaped like mine—that your eyes are cut like mine? Do you hear that you have some of my tones of voice? Do you know that you have many of my looks? I perceive all this, and believe that you were born under my star. Yes, you were born under my star! Tremble! for where that is the case with mortals, the threads of their destinies are difficult to disentangle; knottings and catchings occur—sudden breaks leave damage in the web.” (¶ 77)
M Paul has been looking into the looking-glass at Lucy; seeing himself in her—in various of her aspects; wondering if she – looking into him by such a ‘glass’ – would see the same. He has been ‘observing’ Lucy, not just literally from the window above the Alley, but also in their daily lives at the school, in psychological and spiritual terms; seeing in her things he recognizes in himself—to the point where he believes they were “born under the same star” – a meaningful reference metaphorically, whether or not it is strictly a reference from astrology or a more general celestial descriptor for the kindred dimension of two souls.
Note that he has to repeat this assertion; “Yes, you were born under my star! Tremble! – probably because of some perceived reaction in Lucy? A widening of the eyes, perhaps, or a change of expression? Their fates, as he sees them, are woven together and, he says, it may not be possible to ‘disentangle’ them without damaging the “web.” The word “web” references those complex “weavings” and “nettings” that constitute our existential and social inter-relations within the world and in our own lived-in-worlds; inherent in our relations with others and then within the wider social network in which we live and breathe and have our being-in-becoming.
M Paul encourages Lucy to Tremble, as in, “yes, you are right to tremble” – or, perhaps, you should tremble! _at the implications of what he is suggesting. Does he also tremble? Did he tremble when he first realized this? He has just avowed that they are linked because of these various common physical characteristics; forehead, eyes, face, appearance. He has been observing himself as well as her, in order to see this. His recognition of their similarities will lead to his aspiration to a familial relation; he wants Lucy to be to him as a “sister,” an assertion he will later make in Chapter XXXV (see the Epilogue to this blog for the text).
The phrase “threads of destiny” references how people and their ‘fates’ may become and then are intertwined through the course of a life. Their destiny coming more or less into concert; becoming singular and more or less unified. Though the one individual must not be subsumed into the other if the relationship is to be a True Friendship, nevertheless their choices, their actions and how they handle their life-situations – would be woven together as they wayfared through this mortal vale. _Together as well individually.
It doesn’t take a symbolic system like astrology – useful as it may be as a divinatory tool – or an ungrounded method of diagnosis of character like phrenology to understand how the destiny of people having come together in one kind of relationship or another must pay attention to these factors; at the risk of wrecking their own relationship or, more drastically—even the lives of others in the orbit of their relationship. While M Paul’s assertion to her of their interwoven destinies could be the ploy of someone trying to seduce another into a relationship, saying “oh we’re so alike, let’s get together” M Paul is here sincere; I find no evidence in the text that he is that kind of person—he is not trying to manipulate Lucy. His hope is to draw her into a degree of self-revelation regarding their individual natures, so that she might see how this could inform their going forward togethering as friends.
We do not hear Lucy respond to these comparisons between them; nor are we told how she felt about the implications—but does she accept them? We do not know, though she does not deny them. When M Paul then continues toward what he wants to reveal, saying “But these ‘impressions,’ as you say, with English caution, I, too, have had my ‘impressions.’” (¶ 77), she plainly and directly asks to be told of them. She no doubt hopes to hear something leading to a mutual understanding with someone whose opinions she now values, relating to an experience that has surprised and confuses her. There has been an element of wonder in her experiences of the Nun. She surely wants to compare what she has experienced with what her friend may have experienced, and so insists: “Monsieur, tell me them.” (¶ 78)
Once again preparing their cognitive ground for the revelation, he asks her if she knows the history and story of the Garden, to which she asserts that she surely does, and relates the basic facts (¶ 80). Here he is beginning to establish common ground with her; such as a revelation of this gravity would need to have. He then goes on, “And that in former days a nun’s ghost used to come and go here.” (¶ 81). Here he is raising the issue of the supernatural, taking another cautious step toward what is to be revealed; wondering what Lucy will say in response. Then comes the question on her part that opens toward full disclosure of the issue being discussed: “Monsieur, what if it comes and goes here still?” (¶ 82). At this moment they have reached a dialogic apex; this deeply significant admission prompting M Paul’s to admit that:
“Something comes and goes here: there is a shape frequenting this house by night, different to any forms that show themselves by day. I have indisputably seen a something, more than once; and to me its conventual weeds were a strange sight, saying more than they can do to any other living being. A nun!” (¶ 83)
Lucy simply and honestly replies: “Monsieur, I, too, have seen it.”
Each time I read this reply, I feel the thrill of the revelation, as surely as Lucy must have. How long has she waited to say those words to someone with a sympathetic ear!? She first saw the Nun in the attic, on the night that she was reading John’s initial epistle in solitude; in the privacy she believed necessary to be able to savor the letter she had so long awaited. She believed she was in solitude; having a private moment—but then was rudely interrupted_ By the Nun!
After Dr. John cast a pall of doubt over her experience – telling her it was an illusion brought on by a case of ‘nerves’ and that she needed to get out and experience more of ‘life’ and be ‘happy,’ – she struggled within herself for some time, until she saw the Nun again on the night she buried John’s letters. (see “The End of Villette, Again,” June 2025.) That night, there was no one to tell her it wasn’t ‘real!’ Whatever it was! Now, she has confirmation from another mortal person – someone with whom she has a chance of becoming a true friend – that she may actually have seen whatever – or whomever – it was on those two former occasions!
I can remember a few significant moments of such import with friends over the years that stand-forth from my own memory as this moment would certainly have done in their relationship. I imagine Lucy feeling a rush of delight and affirmation when she confesses “Monsieur, I, too, have seen it.” There can be a mingling of souls and spirits at such a cross†roads when friends reveal things they thought were secret but can now be shared. When what is revealed is good and positive toward the building up of friendship and the honest deepening of lives, it is something to be savored. Here it is something mysterious that they find they have an experience of in-common, surely lending itself to the strengthening of their deepening soul-connection. Experiencing the delight that is emergent in such moments, relieved that his intuitions – about Lucy and the strange apparition frequenting the Garden – were true, M Paul then avows:
“I anticipated that. Whether this nun be flesh and blood, or something that remains when blood is dried, and flesh is wasted, her business is as much with you as with me, probably. Well, I mean to make it out; it has baffled me so far, but I mean to follow up the mystery. I mean—” (¶ 85)
If you know the rest of the story, you will realize why M Paul believes the visitation of this Nun may have business with him, though what he thinks its business with Lucy may be, I would argue he is in the dark! He puts them both forward, however, as dual objects of the visitation. At this point, Lucy is as much in the dark about why the Nun would have something to do with him, as he is in regard to her.
Up till now, Lucy has probably considered the Nun as something she alone is experiencing; at least in the present time of the story—though there is a tradition of supposed apparitions from before she came to the pensionnat. She was silenced after the first apparition; told by Madame Beck and Dr John not to tell others in the school about what she had seen in the attic. _Most likely because of wanting to preserve Lucy’s reputation (they perhaps didn’t want her thought of as someone who ‘sees things’?) as much as keeping the school from getting caught up in stories of the ‘ghost nun,’ which they were afraid would cause a certain amount of disruption. Now, she has a confidante; someone who also knows there is a “Something” frequenting the Garden. It is not a snake or serpent; yet it could perhaps be called ‘stealthy’ and perhaps even ‘crafty’—so perhaps in a way it is.[1] M Paul has not yet been able to make it out.
What does M Paul think of the Nun? He ponders whether it could be something of flesh and blood – a live person! – or “something that remains when blood is dried, and flesh is wasted.” Notice, he never says he wonders if it is a spirit or a ghost! He realizes that there seems to be something substantial about the Nun; just as Lucy did in her previous encounter. Either it is a person of “flesh and blood” or some kind of dried up and desiccated revenant! More like a zombie than a ghost? Why does he describe it this way? The tradition about the Nun suggests a ghost; it is usually referenced in such terms. This is an important clue to the nature of the Nun; and – though I didn’t interpret it out on my first read – it is right there in front of the reader’s eyes!
M Paul’s pauses, at which Lucy tells us what happened next:
Instead of telling what he meant, he raised his head suddenly; I made the same movement in the same instant; we both looked to one point—the high tree shadowing the great berceau [arbor], and resting some of its boughs on the roof of the first classe. There had been a strange and inexplicable sound from that quarter, as if the arms of that tree had swayed of their own motion, and its weight of foliage had rushed and crushed against the massive trunk. Yes; there scarce stirred a breeze, and that heavy tree was convulsed, whilst the feathery shrubs stood still. (¶ 86)
As with what M Paul has just suggested of the Nun, the disturbance here is no doubt caused by something with mass; physicality – bestirring this “high tree.” Branches are bending and swaying, though no wind was blowing to disturb them. Not seeing what was causing the movement of the branches, it seems the tree was itself animated. I assume both Lucy and M Paul are enrapt in attention, in a state of surprise and even wonder, togethered in the experience, attempting to discern what is happening in that tree! Lucy continues:
For some minutes amongst the wood and leafage a rending and heaving went on. Dark as it was, it seemed to me that something more solid than either night-shadow, or branch-shadow, blackened out of the boles. (¶86)
This disturbance went on for “some minutes”—which reminds me of Lucy’s previous encounter with the Nun, in which she and the Nun stared each other down in the moonlit darkness of the Alley for “five minutes.” (Chapter XXVI, ¶ 32; see the 2nd blog in this series)
Lucy gathers the impression from the evidence of her senses that there is something more than ‘ghostly’ going on; whatever could move a tree in this fashion had to have substance; some weight and girth! It is “more solid” than shadows! At this moment, they do not know that what they are seeing has anything to do with the Nun_ And then:
At last the struggle ceased. What birth succeeded this travail? What Dryad was born of these throes? We watched fixedly. (¶86)
Lucy compares whatever is disturbing the tree to a Dryad; a tree spirit. Surprise elevates the mind, often to the mythic level; wonder enlivening the senses—preparing the observer of the phenomenon for what may be coming! She is trying to imagine what is happening up in that tree, as I am sure M Paul was as well! I imagined on first read that it was maybe some wild animal having gotten into the Garden by some mode of egress! But I was quickly dissuaded of that possibility, Lucy telling us that
A sudden bell rang in the house—the prayer-bell. Instantly into our alley there came, out of the berceau [arbor], an apparition, all black and white. With a sort of angry rush-close, close past our faces—swept swiftly the very NUN herself! Never had I seen her so clearly. She looked tall of stature, and fierce of gesture. As she went, the wind rose sobbing; the rain poured wild and cold; the whole night seemed to feel her. (¶ 86)
The prayer-bell ringing plays into ghost-story tropes, as bells are sometimes said to bring an end to hauntings – especially if they occur at dawn – or even to fairy visitations (bells oft rung by the fairies themselves to signify dawn coming and the need to return to their own realm!). This ringing of the prayer bell can be seen in yet another way that seems relevant to the situation: the bell carries the import of a ‘clearing of the air,’ as in various religious rituals. The sound of the bell being rung during such rituals is said to create a ‘sympathy’ of powers; a cleansing of the air of confusion and dissonant influences. What do M Paul and Lucy see once the bell is rung? Something rushing toward them; right out of the arbor which is close to the tree that was being shaken and disturbed! What was uncertain came to be suddenly identifiable. The Nun came – up-close and nearly personal—running right past them! So close! Lucy says she had never seen the Nun so clearly before![2]
Do they suspect that this figure rushing close by them along the Alley is the cause of the tree being disturbed? I would say so. It came from the direction of the berceau, which is right beside the tall acacia tree that was being so strangely disturbed, so it would seem logical to connect the two phenomena. Lucy says it was “all black and white,” just as in its two former appearances. And like the ‘visitation’ in Chapter XV – (See the 2nd blog in this series) – she comes into the Alley, this time going rushing close past M Paul and Lucy! I imagine they could have each reached out and touched her – as Lucy had tried to do during the previous encounter – had they not been so surprised by the visitation!? It is nighttime, and dark in the Alley. The rush-close I am sure would have been a genuinely surprising experience! Did they perhaps not reach out to touch her because they had to back away to let her pass?
If you have ever been out in a wood at night, in virtual darkness, and had an animal – or jogger, as happened to me recently – rush past you, you have an experiential reference-point for what M Paul and Lucy were surely experiencing! This was sudden and unexpected. In nocturnal darkness you cannot always see what is approaching you until it is right on you!
I can imagine they had still been wondering about the movement in the tree when their experience was punctuated by the prayer bell; they were just about to go in, responding to the bell—when the Nun appeared, rushing right by them! Did they notice that the tree stopped writhing? They both see the Nun, however; this is a shared experience, the first one for Lucy in relation to the Nun. Lucy describes the Nun as “Tall” and “fierce.” I have come to doubt that she really thinks of it as a ghost or spirit after this encounter!
Then, however, the account ends with an old paranormal or supernatural trope – that of a storm coming and breaking open over them. She tells us that “the wind rose sobbing; the rain poured wild and cold; the whole night seemed to feel her.” (¶ 86). This happened as the Nun was going down the Alley. This would cast the experience in paranormal terms as, according to the trope, the natural elements would be ‘responding’ in some sense to the appearance of this Nun or even being connected phenomenally with her as if, ‘when the Nun appears a storm occurs.’
Of course, in neither of the previous apparitions did a storm occur.
Then we have a reference to the wind “sobbing,” a Gothic theme arising from the oft supposed sadness behind the a ghost’s ongoing existence, here, per the Nun being said to have been buried alive in a century long ago. It could also describe the loneliness in having to roam about in the realms of the living? These are both common themes in ghost stories, and may be implied here as possibilities—though the evidence of Lucy’s and M Paul’s senses seems to cast such interpretations into doubt; as this Nun is more substantial than any ghost.
Lucy interprets this response to the apparition as world-embracing, for the “whole night” seemed to be aware of the Nun. This can be understood as a projection of a limited and local yet sublime experience onto the fabric of one’s whole existence; it is one of those experiences that seems to touch upon your very being-in-the-world. Seen naturalistically, however, the wind and storm – given the lack of storms accompanying the previous two appearances of the Nun – can simply be understood as a coincidence; the weather was changing and a sudden storm blew up and rained down on the human experiencers at the fading-away – in the darkness – of the Nun; like the fire from the tip of M Paul’s tossed-away cigar.
Having experienced this apparition would certainly lead to questions; though we are not made privy to them or how they were expressed between M Paul and Lucy. When friends have a profound, common experience, they may well grapple with it as a way of deepening their connection with one another; their common field of reference arising out of such experiences. They might ask, what was the Nun doing in the tall tree by the First Classe? Was it, in fact, the Nun? And if so, why would the Nun be climbing around in a tree? Where did she go after passing Lucy and M Paul in the Alley? We can assume that she ran down past Old Methuselah; which is where the Alley ends—but to where?
That this is supposed to be an apparition of the Nun buried beneath the Old Pear Tree; her apparition rushing down the Alley toward that Tree might be thought – in good ghost-lore fashion – to be her returning to her coffin in the ground beneath the roots of the Old Tree. Yet we are not told this. And other, more naturalistic possibilities are certainly on offer within the narrative. Once the reader is aware of the door that communicates with the boy’s school – through which M Paul comes and goes – could not this ‘ghost’ avail herself of that door – or some other – as a means to come in and then get away again? Though if a ghost, why would she need such a door?
We will never know, as here the chapter ends abruptly.
It occurs to me that this ‘apparition’ has occurred once again when (1) Lucy was thinking about the buried letters and whether or not she did right in ‘setting them apart’ from herself in order to put her grief at arm’s length, as well as when (2) she was speculating on attaining some more independent situation of in life. Can some thematic connection be made-out between these appearances of the Nun and Lucy’s relationship to John Bretton and M Paul? Or is it, too, simply coincidence?
Further, I would love to know what Lucy and M Paul did after the Nun passed them? Did they attempt to follow the Nun as Lucy did in her previous encounter? Did they stand in the Alley, awestruck perhaps and surprised, discussing, in a heightened state of surprise and wonder, what they had just witnessed? As it was raining, probably not. Perhaps they said a hasty goodnight and quickly retreated inside; M Paul to his room high up in the boy’s school, and Lucy back to her own room. But what might they have said to each other in days to come? What conclusions might they have come to about what they saw, especially after sharing their former experiences with one another?[3] Such questioning between friends regarding unusual or mysterious experiences oft adds heft and depth to their ongoing communion.
Conclusions: The themes of the Garden—Tree—Alley Complex
At the conclusion of this extended analysis, it is now clear to me that this complex is not any version, allegory or parody of the Biblical story of Eden; nor does it rely on it for explication and interpretation. The Old Pear Tree is no “Tree of Life,” nor is it a “Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil,” though there may be some ways in which it is akin to this latter Tree in terms of it being a place where revelations happen, enabling the visitant to become wisened in some degree. Certainly knowledge is gained in the Alley near the Tree; especially the ability to discern the value of one’s relationships—as Lucy learns in regard to John Bretton and M Paul.
As we have seen in these blogs, the temptation in the Garden in Villette is not connected to the Tree and its fruit, but to the Alley that runs down to it along the wall of the boy’s school. There are only a couple of minor connections in Villette between the Garden—Tree—Alley complex and temptation. Lucy is ‘tempted’ at first to enter into the Alley herself, disobeying the sanction against it, but then overcomes her qualms and becomes a regular visitant – Madame Beck soon giving her permission to visit and occupy it whenever she wants. The Alley holds temptations for the female students, but it is not an ontological ‘Fall’ that would take place. Rather, a girl temped into ‘indiscretions’ with a boy of the neighboring school might well experience a kind of personal ‘fall’ in consequence.
In many ways, I find that Charlotte Brontë used the Garden—Tree—Alley complex in her final novel in unique and intriguing ways; it is a specific manifestation of her Creative Imagination and has a mythos about it particular to the author. I would suggest that it can easily join the list of sacred and mythic gardens on its own terms, as a fictional representation of the mythic theme, and be appreciated for how it functions – in narratively specific and deeply relevant ways – in this complex and intriguing novel. It is connected in complex patterns with these themes:
1. Revelation: Lucy has had revelations about herself, John Graham Bretton and about M Paul in the Alley in the Garden, near the Tree.
2. Inspirations: She has experienced inspirations via her connection with the Garden—Tree—Alley complex (e.g., the manner in which she would deal with John’s letters while looking out into the Garden, gazing down the Alley to the Old Tree).
She was inspired by the Moon and Solitude while in the Alley to tarry and then recall mystical directionings she had experienced earlier in her life. These inspirations helped guide her to her new life at the pensionnat.
3. Mysticism and Mystery: As these directionings occurred in a heightened state, the Alley can be thought of as a place of mysticism; in the sense of having an experience of Mystery; usually self-transcending. Whenever she encounters the Nun, she is in a liminal space with regard to ordinary daily life; the experience being one of Mystery.
4. Memory and Recollection are facilitated by her sojourning in the Forbidden Alley. This can be seen in her experienced remembering of events back in England (e.g., when she saw the Crescent Moon hanging over the heath with the lone Thorn Tree atop it, as well as when she was directed by the Aurora Borealis to leave England.) She later struggles there, in the Alley, with the memory of John Graham Bretton and their friendship—eventually bidding him adieu.
5. Friendship; conciliation and reconciliation: She has dealt with her friendship with John while in the Alley, where she buried his letters under the Tree, and is at last reconciled to letting John Bretton go while standing near the Methuselah Tree. She was later invited into friendship with M Paul in the Alley at the resolution of honest and open dialogues in which their growing conciliation was ever more fully realized. In those moments of vivid transports that she remembers while in the Alley near the Old Tree, she experiences – or remembers experiencing – a re-conciliation with her true self; one in which she is more evenly balanced between passion and her more quiet self; the self drawn to solitude.
6. Self-Discovery and Self-Realization: Having experienced the mystery of the Nun; whatever or whoever it turns out to be!—the horizons of her normal world were broadened. Such experiences often contribute to self-discovery, lifting us out of the merely ‘obvious’ and ‘ordinary’ dimensions of our everyday lives; valuable as those are in themselves. These experiences can be self-revelatory when not suppressed or denied value (as in reductionist ‘explanations’ that try to merely ‘explain them away.’) Self-discovery often contributes to self-realization; which Lucy experiences in ongoing and fortuitous ways as her story unfolds.
7. Comfort and Connection: Lucy has found comfort near the Tree (e.g., especially after burying John’s letters and then ruminating on her burial of them later in Chapter XXXI). She experiences the comfort of mutual sharing and self-revelations with M Paul in the Alley, and then a deepening of connection with him via their mutual admission of having seen the Nun, and then seeing it together!
These are the main themes I see at this point connected to the Garden—Tree—Alley complex in Villette. If you see any others, please feel free to enlighten me.
Thank you for reading and travelling with me through these texts.
And so, at long last, Adieu, mes amis!
- Montague Whitsel
finis
Epilogue
“Knowing me thoroughly now—all my antecedents, all my responsibilities—having long known my faults, can you and I still be friends?”
“But a close friend I mean—intimate and real—kindred in all but blood. Will Miss Lucy be the sister of a very poor, fettered, burdened, encumbered man?”
I could not answer him in words, yet I suppose I _did_ answer him; he took my hand, which found comfort, in the shelter of his. _His_ friendship was not a doubtful, wavering benefit—a cold, distant hope—a sentiment so brittle as not to bear the weight of a finger I at once felt (or _thought_ I felt) its support like that of some rock.
- Charlotte Brontë Villette, Chapter XXXV, “Fraternity”(¶s 89 – 92)
[1] This is one of the few places where an allusion to there being a tempter in the Garden – as in many mythic and sacred Gardens, including Eden – in Villette. Once you understand the nature and identity of the Nun, it becomes a little more obvious how the Nun could be like the Serpent in the Garden, but I have not analyzed this in the body of the blog as it is an undeveloped theme. It may be a reading-in on my part; not something present in the text. What do you think?
[2] I can clearly see the ringing of the bell as bringing an end to the haunting by the Nun. If you know the rest of the story, perhaps you may understand why!
[3] We will never know. I have not found these questions answered by Lucy anywhere in the rest of her narrative. If you have, I would be glad to know the ‘chapter and paragraph.’
