So one day, when we wuz on our way home from some big palace or monument—Martin wanted to show off before us—I persuaded him to go a little out of our way to that quiet street, to the kinder old-fashioned house where the Professor ust to teach school, and some of his folks live now and keep a small school. They let us in when they found out that we wuz Americans; truly that name opens all sorts of foreign doors.
It wuz a half holiday, and they let us walk through the room where she ust to set and study, and the old-fashioned garden where she ust to walk and dream them strange dreams of hern, that afterwards charmed the world.
Though the folks here didn’t seem to think of her as I did—no, indeed! They seemed to kinder blame her for reflectin’ on ’em in her books. Still they must respect to a certain degree the memory of one that leads so many from distant lands to their out-of-the-way home, jest to stand on the floor she trod on; jest to look on the walls that rared up around that great soul.
What emotions Charlotte did have here! She had more to bear than most folks knew of—yes, indeed!
What wuz that hantin’ grief that rung her soul so that year in Brussels, that drove her, a devout Protestant, into a Catholic church, to pour out her agony in confession? Longin’ to give vent to the sorrer that without that relief wuz mebby a-urgin’ her to forgit it all in the long quiet.
Why, a pint bottle full of sweet turned bitter, must have vent gin to it or else bust.
Poor creeter! poor, little, lonesome creeter! with her intense power of lovin’, and her intenser tenderness of conscience.
Gray old city, never did one tread your streets with more need of heart pity than she who wuz swept along by her emotions that day into an alien temple, a strange altar, and a strange worship, seekin’ for rest, for help to live, which is so much harder than to die.
I know what the matter wuz—it come to me straight, but I sha’n’t tell it, it has got to be kep’.
Wall, I had a large white handkerchief with me, I took it a purpose, for I thought more’n as likely as not I should be melted into tears a-meditatin’ on her life and all she had done to delight the world, and how after her life-long struggles and her brief wedded happiness she passed away.