No More Learning

Criticise me:
does my forehead not please you? "

He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over his
brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but an
abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen.

"Now, ma'am, am I a fool? "

"Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired in
return whether you are a philanthropist? "

"There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended to pat
my head: and that is because I said I did not like the society of
children and old women (low be it spoken! ). No, young lady, I am not a
general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;" and he pointed to the
prominences which are said to indicate that faculty, and which,
fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, a
marked breadth to the upper part of his head: "and, besides, I once had a
kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was a
feeling fellow enough, partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky;
but Fortune has knocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with her
knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber
ball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with one
sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for
me? "

"Hope of what, sir? "

"Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh? "

"Decidedly he has had too much wine," I thought; and I did not know what
answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he was
capable of being re-transformed?

"You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not pretty
any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it
is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my
physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; so
puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative
to-night. "

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning his arm
on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen plainly as
well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almost
to his length of limb. I am sure most people would have thought him an
ugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so much
ease in his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own
external appearance; so haughty a reliance on the power of other
qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere
personal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared
the indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the
confidence.

"I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night," he repeated,
"and that is why I sent for you: the fire and the chandelier were not
sufficient company for me; nor would Pilot have been, for none of these
can talk. Adele is a degree better, but still far below the mark; Mrs.
Fairfax ditto; you, I am persuaded, can suit me if you will: you puzzled
me the first evening I invited you down here. I have almost forgotten
you since: other ideas have driven yours from my head; but to-night I am
resolved to be at ease; to dismiss what importunes, and recall what
pleases. It would please me now to draw you out--to learn more of
you--therefore speak. "

Instead of speaking, I smiled; and not a very complacent or submissive
smile either.

"Speak," he urged.

"What about, sir? "

"Whatever you like. I leave both the choice of subject and the manner of
treating it entirely to yourself. "

Accordingly I sat and said nothing: "If he expects me to talk for the
mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has addressed
himself to the wrong person," I thought.

"You are dumb, Miss Eyre. "

I was dumb still. He bent his head a little towards me, and with a
single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.

"Stubborn? " he said, "and annoyed. Ah! it is consistent. I put my
request in an absurd, almost insolent form. Miss Eyre, I beg your
pardon. The fact is, once for all, I don't wish to treat you like an
inferior: that is" (correcting himself), "I claim only such superiority
as must result from twenty years' difference in age and a century's
advance in experience. This is legitimate, _et j'y tiens_, as Adele
would say; and it is by virtue of this superiority, and this alone, that
I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now, and divert
my thoughts, which are galled with dwelling on one point--cankering as a
rusty nail. "

He had deigned an explanation, almost an apology, and I did not feel
insensible to his condescension, and would not seem so.

"I am willing to amuse you, if I can, sir--quite willing; but I cannot
introduce a topic, because how do I know what will interest you? Ask me
questions, and I will do my best to answer them. "

"Then, in the first place, do you agree with me that I have a right to be
a little masterful, abrupt, perhaps exacting, sometimes, on the grounds I
stated, namely, that I am old enough to be your father, and that I have
battled through a varied experience with many men of many nations, and
roamed over half the globe, while you have lived quietly with one set of
people in one house? "

"Do as you please, sir. "

"That is no answer; or rather it is a very irritating, because a very
evasive one. Reply clearly. "

"I don't think, sir, you have a right to command me, merely because you
are older than I, or because you have seen more of the world than I have;
your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time
and experience. "

"Humph! Promptly spoken. But I won't allow that, seeing that it would
never suit my case, as I have made an indifferent, not to say a bad, use
of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the question, then, you
must still agree to receive my orders now and then, without being piqued
or hurt by the tone of command. Will you? "

I smiled: I thought to myself Mr. Rochester _is_ peculiar--he seems to
forget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving his orders.

"The smile is very well," said he, catching instantly the passing
expression; "but speak too. "

"I was thinking, sir, that very few masters would trouble themselves to
inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued and hurt by
their orders. "

"Paid subordinates! What! you are my paid subordinate, are you? Oh yes,
I had forgotten the salary! Well then, on that mercenary ground, will
you agree to let me hector a little? "

"No, sir, not on that ground; but, on the ground that you did forget it,
and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable in his
dependency, I agree heartily. "

"And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional forms
and phrases, without thinking that the omission arises from insolence? "

"I am sure, sir, I should never mistake informality for insolence: one I
rather like, the other nothing free-born would submit to, even for a
salary. "

"Humbug! Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary;
therefore, keep to yourself, and don't venture on generalities of which
you are intensely ignorant. However, I mentally shake hands with you for
your answer, despite its inaccuracy; and as much for the manner in which
it was said, as for the substance of the speech; the manner was frank and
sincere; one does not often see such a manner: no, on the contrary,
affectation, or coldness, or stupid, coarse-minded misapprehension of
one's meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in three
thousand raw school-girl-governesses would have answered me as you have
just done. But I don't mean to flatter you: if you are cast in a
different mould to the majority, it is no merit of yours: Nature did it.
And then, after all, I go too fast in my conclusions: for what I yet
know, you may be no better than the rest; you may have intolerable
defects to counterbalance your few good points. "

"And so may you," I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed my mind:
he seemed to read the glance, answering as if its import had been spoken
as well as imagined--

"Yes, yes, you are right," said he; "I have plenty of faults of my own: I
know it, and I don't wish to palliate them, I assure you. God wot I need
not be too severe about others; I have a past existence, a series of
deeds, a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast, which might
well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I
started, or rather (for like other defaulters, I like to lay half the
blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong
tack at the age of one-and-twenty, and have never recovered the right
course since: but I might have been very different; I might have been as
good as you--wiser--almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind,
your clean conscience, your unpolluted memory. Little girl, a memory
without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure--an
inexhaustible source of pure refreshment: is it not? "

"How was your memory when you were eighteen, sir? "

"All right then; limpid, salubrious: no gush of bilge water had turned it
to fetid puddle. I was your equal at eighteen--quite your equal. Nature
meant me to be, on the whole, a good man, Miss Eyre; one of the better
kind, and you see I am not so. You would say you don't see it; at least
I flatter myself I read as much in your eye (beware, by-the-bye, what you
express with that organ; I am quick at interpreting its language). Then
take my word for it,--I am not a villain: you are not to suppose that--not
to attribute to me any such bad eminence; but, owing, I verily believe,
rather to circumstances than to my natural bent, I am a trite commonplace
sinner, hackneyed in all the poor petty dissipations with which the rich
and worthless try to put on life. Do you wonder that I avow this to you?
Know, that in the course of your future life you will often find yourself
elected the involuntary confidant of your acquaintances' secrets: people
will instinctively find out, as I have done, that it is not your forte to
tell of yourself, but to listen while others talk of themselves; they
will feel, too, that you listen with no malevolent scorn of their
indiscretion, but with a kind of innate sympathy; not the less comforting
and encouraging because it is very unobtrusive in its manifestations. "

"How do you know? --how can you guess all this, sir? "

"I know it well; therefore I proceed almost as freely as if I were
writing my thoughts in a diary. You would say, I should have been
superior to circumstances; so I should--so I should; but you see I was
not. When fate wronged me, I had not the wisdom to remain cool: I turned
desperate; then I degenerated. Now, when any vicious simpleton excites
my disgust by his paltry ribaldry, I cannot flatter myself that I am
better than he: I am forced to confess that he and I are on a level. I
wish I had stood firm--God knows I do! Dread remorse when you are
tempted to err, Miss Eyre; remorse is the poison of life. "

"Repentance is said to be its cure, sir. "

"It is not its cure. Reformation may be its cure; and I could reform--I
have strength yet for that--if--but where is the use of thinking of it,
hampered, burdened, cursed as I am? Besides, since happiness is
irrevocably denied me, I have a right to get pleasure out of life: and I
_will_ get it, cost what it may. "

"Then you will degenerate still more, sir. "

"Possibly: yet why should I, if I can get sweet, fresh pleasure? And I
may get it as sweet and fresh as the wild honey the bee gathers on the
moor. "

"It will sting--it will taste bitter, sir. "

"How do you know? --you never tried it. How very serious--how very solemn
you look: and you are as ignorant of the matter as this cameo head"
(taking one from the mantelpiece). "You have no right to preach to me,
you neophyte, that have not passed the porch of life, and are absolutely
unacquainted with its mysteries. "

"I only remind you of your own words, sir: you said error brought
remorse, and you pronounced remorse the poison of existence. "

"And who talks of error now? I scarcely think the notion that flittered
across my brain was an error. I believe it was an inspiration rather
than a temptation: it was very genial, very soothing--I know that. Here
it comes again! It is no devil, I assure you; or if it be, it has put on
the robes of an angel of light. I think I must admit so fair a guest
when it asks entrance to my heart. "

"Distrust it, sir; it is not a true angel. "

"Once more, how do you know? By what instinct do you pretend to
distinguish between a fallen seraph of the abyss and a messenger from the
eternal throne--between a guide and a seducer? "

"I judged by your countenance, sir, which was troubled when you said the
suggestion had returned upon you. I feel sure it will work you more
misery if you listen to it. "

"Not at all--it bears the most gracious message in the world: for the
rest, you are not my conscience-keeper, so don't make yourself uneasy.
Here, come in, bonny wanderer! "

He said this as if he spoke to a vision, viewless to any eye but his own;
then, folding his arms, which he had half extended, on his chest, he
seemed to enclose in their embrace the invisible being.

"Now," he continued, again addressing me, "I have received the pilgrim--a
disguised deity, as I verily believe. Already it has done me good: my
heart was a sort of charnel; it will now be a shrine. "

"To speak truth, sir, I don't understand you at all: I cannot keep up the
conversation, because it has got out of my depth. Only one thing, I
know: you said you were not as good as you should like to be, and that
you regretted your own imperfection;--one thing I can comprehend: you
intimated that to have a sullied memory was a perpetual bane. It seems
to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to
become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you
began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in
a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to
which you might revert with pleasure. "

"Justly thought; rightly said, Miss Eyre; and, at this moment, I am
paving hell with energy. "

"Sir? "

"I am laying down good intentions, which I believe durable as flint.
Certainly, my associates and pursuits shall be other than they have
been. "

"And better? "

"And better--so much better as pure ore is than foul dross. You seem to
doubt me; I don't doubt myself: I know what my aim is, what my motives
are; and at this moment I pass a law, unalterable as that of the Medes
and Persians, that both are right. "

"They cannot be, sir, if they require a new statute to legalise them. "

"They are, Miss Eyre, though they absolutely require a new statute:
unheard-of combinations of circumstances demand unheard-of rules. "

"That sounds a dangerous maxim, sir; because one can see at once that it
is liable to abuse. "

"Sententious sage! so it is: but I swear by my household gods not to
abuse it. "

"You are human and fallible. "

"I am: so are you--what then? "

"The human and fallible should not arrogate a power with which the divine
and perfect alone can be safely intrusted. "

"What power? "

"That of saying of any strange, unsanctioned line of action,--'Let it be
right. '"

"'Let it be right'--the very words: you have pronounced them. "

"_May_ it be right then," I said, as I rose, deeming it useless to
continue a discourse which was all darkness to me; and, besides, sensible
that the character of my interlocutor was beyond my penetration; at
least, beyond its present reach; and feeling the uncertainty, the vague
sense of insecurity, which accompanies a conviction of ignorance.

"Where are you going? "

"To put Adele to bed: it is past her bedtime. "

"You are afraid of me, because I talk like a Sphynx. "

"Your language is enigmatical, sir: but though I am bewildered, I am
certainly not afraid. "

"You _are_ afraid--your self-love dreads a blunder. "

"In that sense I do feel apprehensive--I have no wish to talk nonsense. "

"If you did, it would be in such a grave, quiet manner, I should mistake
it for sense. Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don't trouble yourself to
answer--I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe
me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious.
The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your
features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear
in the presence of a man and a brother--or father, or master, or what you
will--to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in
time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it
impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements
will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at
intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars
of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but
free, it would soar cloud-high. You are still bent on going? "

"It has struck nine, sir. "

"Never mind,--wait a minute: Adele is not ready to go to bed yet. My
position, Miss Eyre, with my back to the fire, and my face to the room,
favours observation. While talking to you, I have also occasionally
watched Adele (I have my own reasons for thinking her a curious
study,--reasons that I may, nay, that I shall, impart to you some day).
She pulled out of her box, about ten minutes ago, a little pink silk
frock; rapture lit her face as she unfolded it; coquetry runs in her
blood, blends with her brains, and seasons the marrow of her bones. 'Il
faut que je l'essaie! ' cried she, 'et a l'instant meme! ' and she rushed
out of the room. She is now with Sophie, undergoing a robing process: in
a few minutes she will re-enter; and I know what I shall see,--a
miniature of Celine Varens, as she used to appear on the boards at the
rising of--But never mind that. However, my tenderest feelings are about
to receive a shock: such is my presentiment; stay now, to see whether it
will be realised. "

Ere long, Adele's little foot was heard tripping across the hall. She
entered, transformed as her guardian had predicted. A dress of
rose-coloured satin, very short, and as full in the skirt as it could be
gathered, replaced the brown frock she had previously worn; a wreath of
rosebuds circled her forehead; her feet were dressed in silk stockings
and small white satin sandals.

"Est-ce que ma robe va bien? " cried she, bounding forwards; "et mes
souliers? et mes bas? Tenez, je crois que je vais danser! "

And spreading out her dress, she chasseed across the room till, having
reached Mr. Rochester, she wheeled lightly round before him on tip-toe,
then dropped on one knee at his feet, exclaiming--

"Monsieur, je vous remercie mille fois de votre bonte;" then rising, she
added, "C'est comme cela que maman faisait, n'est-ce pas, monsieur? "

"Pre-cise-ly! " was the answer; "and, 'comme cela,' she charmed my English
gold out of my British breeches' pocket. I have been green, too, Miss
Eyre,--ay, grass green: not a more vernal tint freshens you now than once
freshened me. My Spring is gone, however, but it has left me that French
floweret on my hands, which, in some moods, I would fain be rid of. Not
valuing now the root whence it sprang; having found that it was of a sort
which nothing but gold dust could manure, I have but half a liking to the
blossom, especially when it looks so artificial as just now. I keep it
and rear it rather on the Roman Catholic principle of expiating numerous
sins, great or small, by one good work. I'll explain all this some day.
Good-night. "




CHAPTER XV


Mr. Rochester did, on a future occasion, explain it. It was one
afternoon, when he chanced to meet me and Adele in the grounds: and while
she played with Pilot and her shuttlecock, he asked me to walk up and
down a long beech avenue within sight of her.

He then said that she was the daughter of a French opera-dancer, Celine
Varens, towards whom he had once cherished what he called a "_grande
passion_. " This passion Celine had professed to return with even
superior ardour. He thought himself her idol, ugly as he was: he
believed, as he said, that she preferred his "_taille d'athlete_" to the
elegance of the Apollo Belvidere.

"And, Miss Eyre, so much was I flattered by this preference of the Gallic
sylph for her British gnome, that I installed her in an hotel; gave her a
complete establishment of servants, a carriage, cashmeres, diamonds,
dentelles, &c. In short, I began the process of ruining myself in the
received style, like any other spoony. I had not, it seems, the
originality to chalk out a new road to shame and destruction, but trode
the old track with stupid exactness not to deviate an inch from the
beaten centre. I had--as I deserved to have--the fate of all other
spoonies. Happening to call one evening when Celine did not expect me, I
found her out; but it was a warm night, and I was tired with strolling
through Paris, so I sat down in her boudoir; happy to breathe the air
consecrated so lately by her presence. No,--I exaggerate; I never
thought there was any consecrating virtue about her: it was rather a sort
of pastille perfume she had left; a scent of musk and amber, than an
odour of sanctity. I was just beginning to stifle with the fumes of
conservatory flowers and sprinkled essences, when I bethought myself to
open the window and step out on to the balcony. It was moonlight and
gaslight besides, and very still and serene. The balcony was furnished
with a chair or two; I sat down, and took out a cigar,--I will take one
now, if you will excuse me. "

Here ensued a pause, filled up by the producing and lighting of a cigar;
having placed it to his lips and breathed a trail of Havannah incense on
the freezing and sunless air, he went on--

"I liked bonbons too in those days, Miss Eyre, and I was
_croquant_--(overlook the barbarism)--_croquant_ chocolate comfits, and
smoking alternately, watching meantime the equipages that rolled along
the fashionable streets towards the neighbouring opera-house, when in an
elegant close carriage drawn by a beautiful pair of English horses, and
distinctly seen in the brilliant city-night, I recognised the 'voiture' I
had given Celine. She was returning: of course my heart thumped with
impatience against the iron rails I leant upon.
The carriage stopped, as
I had expected, at the hotel door; my flame (that is the very word for an
opera inamorata) alighted: though muffed in a cloak--an unnecessary
encumbrance, by-the-bye, on so warm a June evening--I knew her instantly
by her little foot, seen peeping from the skirt of her dress, as she
skipped from the carriage-step. Bending over the balcony, I was about to
murmur 'Mon ange'--in a tone, of course, which should be audible to the
ear of love alone--when a figure jumped from the carriage after her;
cloaked also; but that was a spurred heel which had rung on the pavement,
and that was a hatted head which now passed under the arched _porte
cochere_ of the hotel.

"You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need not
ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to
experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall
waken it. You think all existence lapses in as quiet a flow as that in
which your youth has hitherto slid away. Floating on with closed eyes
and muffled ears, you neither see the rocks bristling not far off in the
bed of the flood, nor hear the breakers boil at their base. But I tell
you--and you may mark my words--you will come some day to a craggy pass
in the channel, where the whole of life's stream will be broken up into
whirl and tumult, foam and noise: either you will be dashed to atoms on
crag points, or lifted up and borne on by some master-wave into a calmer
current--as I am now.

"I like this day; I like that sky of steel; I like the sternness and
stillness of the world under this frost. I like Thornfield, its
antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its grey
facade, and lines of dark windows reflecting that metal welkin: and yet
how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a great
plague-house? How I do still abhor--"

He ground his teeth and was silent: he arrested his step and struck his
boot against the hard ground. Some hated thought seemed to have him in
its grip, and to hold him so tightly that he could not advance.

We were ascending the avenue when he thus paused; the hall was before us.
Lifting his eye to its battlements, he cast over them a glare such as I
never saw before or since. Pain, shame, ire, impatience, disgust,
detestation, seemed momentarily to hold a quivering conflict in the large
pupil dilating under his ebon eyebrow. Wild was the wrestle which should
be paramount; but another feeling rose and triumphed: something hard and
cynical: self-willed and resolute: it settled his passion and petrified
his countenance: he went on--

"During the moment I was silent, Miss Eyre, I was arranging a point with
my destiny. She stood there, by that beech-trunk--a hag like one of
those who appeared to Macbeth on the heath of Forres. 'You like
Thornfield? ' she said, lifting her finger; and then she wrote in the air
a memento, which ran in lurid hieroglyphics all along the house-front,
between the upper and lower row of windows, 'Like it if you can! Like it
if you dare! '

"'I will like it,' said I; 'I dare like it;' and" (he subjoined moodily)
"I will keep my word; I will break obstacles to happiness, to
goodness--yes, goodness. I wish to be a better man than I have been,
than I am; as Job's leviathan broke the spear, the dart, and the
habergeon, hindrances which others count as iron and brass, I will esteem
but straw and rotten wood. "

Adele here ran before him with her shuttlecock. "Away! " he cried
harshly; "keep at a distance, child; or go in to Sophie! " Continuing
then to pursue his walk in silence, I ventured to recall him to the point
whence he had abruptly diverged--

"Did you leave the balcony, sir," I asked, "when Mdlle. Varens entered? "

I almost expected a rebuff for this hardly well-timed question, but, on
the contrary, waking out of his scowling abstraction, he turned his eyes
towards me, and the shade seemed to clear off his brow. "Oh, I had
forgotten Celine! Well, to resume. When I saw my charmer thus come in
accompanied by a cavalier, I seemed to hear a hiss, and the green snake
of jealousy, rising on undulating coils from the moonlit balcony, glided
within my waistcoat, and ate its way in two minutes to my heart's core.
Strange! " he exclaimed, suddenly starting again from the point. "Strange
that I should choose you for the confidant of all this, young lady;
passing strange that you should listen to me quietly, as if it were the
most usual thing in the world for a man like me to tell stories of his
opera-mistresses to a quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last
singularity explains the first, as I intimated once before: you, with
your gravity, considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipient
of secrets. Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in
communication with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection:
it is a peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm
it: but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I
converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me. "
After this digression he proceeded--

"I remained in the balcony. 'They will come to her boudoir, no doubt,'
thought I: 'let me prepare an ambush. ' So putting my hand in through the
open window, I drew the curtain over it, leaving only an opening through
which I could take observations; then I closed the casement, all but a
chink just wide enough to furnish an outlet to lovers' whispered vows:
then I stole back to my chair; and as I resumed it the pair came in. My
eye was quickly at the aperture. Celine's chamber-maid entered, lit a
lamp, left it on the table, and withdrew. The couple were thus revealed
to me clearly: both removed their cloaks, and there was 'the Varens,'
shining in satin and jewels,--my gifts of course,--and there was her
companion in an officer's uniform; and I knew him for a young roue of a
vicomte--a brainless and vicious youth whom I had sometimes met in
society, and had never thought of hating because I despised him so
absolutely. On recognising him, the fang of the snake Jealousy was
instantly broken; because at the same moment my love for Celine sank
under an extinguisher. A woman who could betray me for such a rival was
not worth contending for; she deserved only scorn; less, however, than I,
who had been her dupe.

"They began to talk; their conversation eased me completely: frivolous,
mercenary, heartless, and senseless, it was rather calculated to weary
than enrage a listener. A card of mine lay on the table; this being
perceived, brought my name under discussion. Neither of them possessed
energy or wit to belabour me soundly, but they insulted me as coarsely as
they could in their little way: especially Celine, who even waxed rather
brilliant on my personal defects--deformities she termed them. Now it
had been her custom to launch out into fervent admiration of what she
called my '_beaute male_:' wherein she differed diametrically from you,
who told me point-blank, at the second interview, that you did not think
me handsome. The contrast struck me at the time and--"

Adele here came running up again.

"Monsieur, John has just been to say that your agent has called and
wishes to see you. "

"Ah! in that case I must abridge. Opening the window, I walked in upon
them; liberated Celine from my protection; gave her notice to vacate her
hotel; offered her a purse for immediate exigencies; disregarded screams,
hysterics, prayers, protestations, convulsions; made an appointment with
the vicomte for a meeting at the Bois de Boulogne. Next morning I had
the pleasure of encountering him; left a bullet in one of his poor
etiolated arms, feeble as the wing of a chicken in the pip, and then
thought I had done with the whole crew. But unluckily the Varens, six
months before, had given me this filette Adele, who, she affirmed, was my
daughter; and perhaps she may be, though I see no proofs of such grim
paternity written in her countenance: Pilot is more like me than she.
Some years after I had broken with the mother, she abandoned her child,
and ran away to Italy with a musician or singer. I acknowledged no
natural claim on Adele's part to be supported by me, nor do I now
acknowledge any, for I am not her father; but hearing that she was quite
destitute, I e'en took the poor thing out of the slime and mud of Paris,
and transplanted it here, to grow up clean in the wholesome soil of an
English country garden. Mrs. Fairfax found you to train it; but now you
know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you
will perhaps think differently of your post and protegee: you will be
coming to me some day with notice that you have found another place--that
you beg me to look out for a new governess, &c. --Eh? "

"No: Adele is not answerable for either her mother's faults or yours: I
have a regard for her; and now that I know she is, in a sense,
parentless--forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir--I shall
cling closer to her than before. How could I possibly prefer the spoilt
pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as a nuisance, to a
lonely little orphan, who leans towards her as a friend? "

"Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go in now; and
you too: it darkens. "

But I stayed out a few minutes longer with Adele and Pilot--ran a race
with her, and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock. When we went
in, and I had removed her bonnet and coat, I took her on my knee; kept
her there an hour, allowing her to prattle as she liked: not rebuking
even some little freedoms and trivialities into which she was apt to
stray when much noticed, and which betrayed in her a superficiality of
character, inherited probably from her mother, hardly congenial to an
English mind. Still she had her merits; and I was disposed to appreciate
all that was good in her to the utmost. I sought in her countenance and
features a likeness to Mr. Rochester, but found none: no trait, no turn
of expression announced relationship. It was a pity: if she could but
have been proved to resemble him, he would have thought more of her.

It was not till after I had withdrawn to my own chamber for the night,
that I steadily reviewed the tale Mr. Rochester had told me. As he had
said, there was probably nothing at all extraordinary in the substance of
the narrative itself: a wealthy Englishman's passion for a French dancer,
and her treachery to him, were every-day matters enough, no doubt, in
society; but there was something decidedly strange in the paroxysm of
emotion which had suddenly seized him when he was in the act of
expressing the present contentment of his mood, and his newly revived
pleasure in the old hall and its environs. I meditated wonderingly on
this incident; but gradually quitting it, as I found it for the present
inexplicable, I turned to the consideration of my master's manner to
myself. The confidence he had thought fit to repose in me seemed a
tribute to my discretion: I regarded and accepted it as such. His
deportment had now for some weeks been more uniform towards me than at
the first. I never seemed in his way; he did not take fits of chilling
hauteur: when he met me unexpectedly, the encounter seemed welcome; he
had always a word and sometimes a smile for me: when summoned by formal
invitation to his presence, I was honoured by a cordiality of reception
that made me feel I really possessed the power to amuse him, and that
these evening conferences were sought as much for his pleasure as for my
benefit.

I, indeed, talked comparatively little, but I heard him talk with relish.
It was his nature to be communicative; he liked to open to a mind
unacquainted with the world glimpses of its scenes and ways (I do not
mean its corrupt scenes and wicked ways, but such as derived their
interest from the great scale on which they were acted, the strange
novelty by which they were characterised); and I had a keen delight in
receiving the new ideas he offered, in imagining the new pictures he
portrayed, and following him in thought through the new regions he
disclosed, never startled or troubled by one noxious allusion.

The ease of his manner freed me from painful restraint: the friendly
frankness, as correct as cordial, with which he treated me, drew me to
him. I felt at times as if he were my relation rather than my master:
yet he was imperious sometimes still; but I did not mind that; I saw it
was his way. So happy, so gratified did I become with this new interest
added to life, that I ceased to pine after kindred: my thin
crescent-destiny seemed to enlarge; the blanks of existence were filled
up; my bodily health improved; I gathered flesh and strength.

And was Mr. Rochester now ugly in my eyes? No, reader: gratitude, and
many associations, all pleasurable and genial, made his face the object I
best liked to see; his presence in a room was more cheering than the
brightest fire. Yet I had not forgotten his faults; indeed, I could not,
for he brought them frequently before me. He was proud, sardonic, harsh
to inferiority of every description: in my secret soul I knew that his
great kindness to me was balanced by unjust severity to many others. He
was moody, too; unaccountably so; I more than once, when sent for to read
to him, found him sitting in his library alone, with his head bent on his
folded arms; and, when he looked up, a morose, almost a malignant, scowl
blackened his features. But I believed that his moodiness, his
harshness, and his former faults of morality (I say _former_, for now he
seemed corrected of them) had their source in some cruel cross of fate. I
believed he was naturally a man of better tendencies, higher principles,
and purer tastes than such as circumstances had developed, education
instilled, or destiny encouraged. I thought there were excellent
materials in him; though for the present they hung together somewhat
spoiled and tangled. I cannot deny that I grieved for his grief,
whatever that was, and would have given much to assuage it.

Though I had now extinguished my candle and was laid down in bed, I could
not sleep for thinking of his look when he paused in the avenue, and told
how his destiny had risen up before him, and dared him to be happy at
Thornfield.

"Why not? " I asked myself. "What alienates him from the house? Will he
leave it again soon? Mrs. Fairfax said he seldom stayed here longer than
a fortnight at a time; and he has now been resident eight weeks. If he
does go, the change will be doleful. Suppose he should be absent spring,
summer, and autumn: how joyless sunshine and fine days will seem! "

I hardly know whether I had slept or not after this musing; at any rate,
I started wide awake on hearing a vague murmur, peculiar and lugubrious,
which sounded, I thought, just above me. I wished I had kept my candle
burning: the night was drearily dark; my spirits were depressed. I rose
and sat up in bed, listening. The sound was hushed.

I tried again to sleep; but my heart beat anxiously: my inward
tranquillity was broken. The clock, far down in the hall, struck two.
Just then it seemed my chamber-door was touched; as if fingers had swept
the panels in groping a way along the dark gallery outside. I said, "Who
is there? " Nothing answered. I was chilled with fear.

All at once I remembered that it might be Pilot, who, when the kitchen-
door chanced to be left open, not unfrequently found his way up to the
threshold of Mr. Rochester's chamber: I had seen him lying there myself
in the mornings. The idea calmed me somewhat: I lay down. Silence
composes the nerves; and as an unbroken hush now reigned again through
the whole house, I began to feel the return of slumber. But it was not
fated that I should sleep that night. A dream had scarcely approached my
ear, when it fled affrighted, scared by a marrow-freezing incident
enough.

This was a demoniac laugh--low, suppressed, and deep--uttered, as it
seemed, at the very keyhole of my chamber door. The head of my bed was
near the door, and I thought at first the goblin-laugher stood at my
bedside--or rather, crouched by my pillow: but I rose, looked round, and
could see nothing; while, as I still gazed, the unnatural sound was
reiterated: and I knew it came from behind the panels. My first impulse
was to rise and fasten the bolt; my next, again to cry out, "Who is
there? "

Something gurgled and moaned. Ere long, steps retreated up the gallery
towards the third-storey staircase: a door had lately been made to shut
in that staircase; I heard it open and close, and all was still.

"Was that Grace Poole? and is she possessed with a devil? " thought I.
Impossible now to remain longer by myself: I must go to Mrs. Fairfax. I
hurried on my frock and a shawl; I withdrew the bolt and opened the door
with a trembling hand. There was a candle burning just outside, and on
the matting in the gallery. I was surprised at this circumstance: but
still more was I amazed to perceive the air quite dim, as if filled with
smoke; and, while looking to the right hand and left, to find whence
these blue wreaths issued, I became further aware of a strong smell of
burning.

Something creaked: it was a door ajar; and that door was Mr. Rochester's,
and the smoke rushed in a cloud from thence. I thought no more of Mrs.
Fairfax; I thought no more of Grace Poole, or the laugh: in an instant, I
was within the chamber. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the
curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapour, Mr. Rochester
lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep.

"Wake! wake! " I cried. I shook him, but he only murmured and turned: the
smoke had stupefied him. Not a moment could be lost: the very sheets
were kindling, I rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately, one was wide
and the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up,
deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my
own water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and, by God's aid, succeeded in
extinguishing the flames which were devouring it.

The hiss of the quenched element, the breakage of a pitcher which I flung
from my hand when I had emptied it, and, above all, the splash of the
shower-bath I had liberally bestowed, roused Mr. Rochester at last.
Though it was now dark, I knew he was awake; because I heard him
fulminating strange anathemas at finding himself lying in a pool of
water.

"Is there a flood? " he cried.

"No, sir," I answered; "but there has been a fire: get up, do; you are
quenched now; I will fetch you a candle. "

"In the name of all the elves in Christendom, is that Jane Eyre? " he
demanded. "What have you done with me, witch, sorceress? Who is in the
room besides you? Have you plotted to drown me? "

"I will fetch you a candle, sir; and, in Heaven's name, get up. Somebody
has plotted something: you cannot too soon find out who and what it is. "

"There! I am up now; but at your peril you fetch a candle yet: wait two
minutes till I get into some dry garments, if any dry there be--yes, here
is my dressing-gown. Now run! "

I did run; I brought the candle which still remained in the gallery. He
took it from my hand, held it up, and surveyed the bed, all blackened and
scorched, the sheets drenched, the carpet round swimming in water.

"What is it? and who did it? " he asked. I briefly related to him what
had transpired: the strange laugh I had heard in the gallery: the step
ascending to the third storey; the smoke,--the smell of fire which had
conducted me to his room; in what state I had found matters there, and
how I had deluged him with all the water I could lay hands on.

{"What is it and who did it? " he asked: p140. jpg}

He listened very gravely; his face, as I went on, expressed more concern
than astonishment; he did not immediately speak when I had concluded.

"Shall I call Mrs. Fairfax? " I asked.

"Mrs. Fairfax? No; what the deuce would you call her for? What can she
do? Let her sleep unmolested. "

"Then I will fetch Leah, and wake John and his wife. "

"Not at all: just be still. You have a shawl on. If you are not warm
enough, you may take my cloak yonder; wrap it about you, and sit down in
the arm-chair: there,--I will put it on. Now place your feet on the
stool, to keep them out of the wet. I am going to leave you a few
minutes. I shall take the candle. Remain where you are till I return;
be as still as a mouse. I must pay a visit to the second storey. Don't
move, remember, or call any one. "

He went: I watched the light withdraw. He passed up the gallery very
softly, unclosed the staircase door with as little noise as possible,
shut it after him, and the last ray vanished. I was left in total
darkness. I listened for some noise, but heard nothing. A very long
time elapsed. I grew weary: it was cold, in spite of the cloak; and then
I did not see the use of staying, as I was not to rouse the house. I was
on the point of risking Mr. Rochester's displeasure by disobeying his
orders, when the light once more gleamed dimly on the gallery wall, and I
heard his unshod feet tread the matting. "I hope it is he," thought I,
"and not something worse. "

He re-entered, pale and very gloomy. "I have found it all out," said he,
setting his candle down on the washstand; "it is as I thought. "

"How, sir? "

He made no reply, but stood with his arms folded, looking on the ground.