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!
my head: and that is because I said I did not like the society of
children and old women (low be it spoken!
Jane Eyre- An Autobiography by Charlotte Brontë
--(Excuse my tone of command; I am used to say, 'Do this,'
and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for one new
inmate. )--Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you; leave the
door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune. "
I departed, obeying his directions.
"Enough! " he called out in a few minutes. "You play _a little_, I see;
like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but
not well. "
I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued--"Adele showed
me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. I don't know
whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you? "
"No, indeed! " I interjected.
"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch
for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you are
certain: I can recognise patchwork. "
"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir. "
I brought the portfolio from the library.
"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele and
Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.
"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings from my hand as I
finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine. "
He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid
aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.
"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he, "and look at
them with Adele;--you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer my
questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was that
hand yours? "
"Yes. "
"And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, and
some thought. "
"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had no
other occupation. "
"Where did you get your copies? "
"Out of my head. "
"That head I see now on your shoulders? "
"Yes, sir. "
"Has it other furniture of the same kind within? "
"I should think it may have: I should hope--better. "
He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately.
While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: and
first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had,
indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual eye,
before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand would
not second my fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale
portrait of the thing I had conceived.
These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented clouds low
and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse;
so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest billows, for there
was no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a half-submerged
mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large, with wings flecked with
foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that I had touched
with as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering
distinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and mast,
a drowned corpse glanced through the green water; a fair arm was the only
limb clearly visible, whence the bracelet had been washed or torn.
The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill,
with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above
spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky
was a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I
could combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineaments
below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark
and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm
or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale reflection like
moonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from
which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star.
The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter sky:
a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close serried, along
the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, a
head,--a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, and resting against
it. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, and supporting it, drew
up before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quite bloodless, white
as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for the
glassiness of despair, alone were visible. Above the temples, amidst
wreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its character and
consistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles
of a more lurid tinge. This pale crescent was "the likeness of a kingly
crown;" what it diademed was "the shape which shape had none. "
"Were you happy when you painted these pictures? " asked Mr. Rochester
presently.
"I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, was
to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known. "
"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have been
few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while
you blent and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them long
each day? "
"I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at them
from morning till noon, and from noon till night: the length of the
midsummer days favoured my inclination to apply. "
"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours? "
"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my
handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quite
powerless to realise. "
"Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more,
probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give
it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As to
the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must
have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet not
at all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And what
meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind?
There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did you
see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There! put the drawings away! "
I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at his
watch, he said abruptly--
"It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele sit up
so long? Take her to bed. "
Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured the caress,
but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done, nor so
much.
"I wish you all good-night, now," said he, making a movement of the hand
towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company, and wished
to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my portfolio:
we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew.
"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I
observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed.
"Well, is he? "
"I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt. "
"True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed to
his manner, I never think of it; and then, if he has peculiarities of
temper, allowance should be made. "
"Why? "
"Partly because it is his nature--and we can none of us help our nature;
and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and
make his spirits unequal. "
"What about? "
"Family troubles, for one thing. "
"But he has no family. "
"Not now, but he has had--or, at least, relatives. He lost his elder
brother a few years since. "
"His _elder_ brother? "
"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of
the property; only about nine years. "
"Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother as
to be still inconsolable for his loss? "
"Why, no--perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings
between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward;
and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was
fond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate together. He did
not like to diminish the property by division, and yet he was anxious
that Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of
the name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were
not quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and
Mr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a
painful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precise
nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could
not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he
broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled
kind of life. I don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for
a fortnight together, since the death of his brother without a will left
him master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place. "
"Why should he shun it? "
"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy. "
The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs.
Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information
of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred they
were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly from
conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the
subject, which I did accordingly.
CHAPTER XIV
For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the
mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the afternoon,
gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes stayed
to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough to admit of horse
exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return these visits, as he
generally did not come back till late at night.
During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence, and
all my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional rencontre in
the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would sometimes pass
me haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my presence by a distant nod
or a cool glance, and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike
affability. His changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I
had nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on
causes quite disconnected with me.
One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio; in
order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen went away early,
to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; but
the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them.
Soon after they were gone he rang the bell: a message came that I and
Adele were to go downstairs. I brushed Adele's hair and made her neat,
and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where
there was nothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braided
locks included, to admit of disarrangement--we descended, Adele wondering
whether the _petit coffre_ was at length come; for, owing to some
mistake, its arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there
it stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room.
She appeared to know it by instinct.
"Ma boite! ma boite! " exclaimed she, running towards it.
"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you genuine
daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it," said the
deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, proceeding from the
depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside. "And mind," he
continued, "don't bother me with any details of the anatomical process,
or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation be
conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu? "
Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning--she had already retired to a
sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which secured the
lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certain silvery
envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed--
"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau! " and then remained absorbed in ecstatic
contemplation.
"Is Miss Eyre there? " now demanded the master, half rising from his seat
to look round to the door, near which I still stood.
"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here. " He drew a chair near his own.
"I am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued; "for, old
bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with their
lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening
_tete-a-tete_ with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre;
sit down exactly where I placed it--if you please, that is. Confound
these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularly
affect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-bye, I must have mine in mind;
it won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is
said to be thicker than water. "
He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon arrived,
knitting-basket in hand.
"Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I have
forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is bursting
with repletion: have the goodness to serve her as auditress and
interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you ever
performed. "
Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to her
sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the
waxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations and
raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of.
"Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr. Rochester,
"put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be at
liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a
little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you
without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no
mind to do. "
I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained somewhat in
the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, it
seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.
We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had been
lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light; the large
fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample
before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything was still, save the
subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud), and, filling up each
pause, the beating of winter rain against the panes.
Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to
what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--much less gloomy.
There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wine
or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short,
in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self-
indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still he
looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling
back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-
hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes,
and very fine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depths
sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that
feeling.
He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking the
same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze
fastened on his physiognomy.
"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me handsome? "
I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by
something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped
from my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir. "
"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he: "you
have the air of a little _nonnette_; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as
you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the
carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face;
as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a
remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder,
which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it? "
"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied that
it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about
appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little
consequence, or something of that sort. "
"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence,
indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, of
stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under
my ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I have
all my limbs and all my features like any other man? "
"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointed
repartee: it was only a blunder. "
"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. 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.
and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for one new
inmate. )--Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you; leave the
door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune. "
I departed, obeying his directions.
"Enough! " he called out in a few minutes. "You play _a little_, I see;
like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but
not well. "
I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued--"Adele showed
me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours. I don't know
whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you? "
"No, indeed! " I interjected.
"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch
for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you are
certain: I can recognise patchwork. "
"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir. "
I brought the portfolio from the library.
"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele and
Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.
"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings from my hand as I
finish with them; but don't push your faces up to mine. "
He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid
aside; the others, when he had examined them, he swept from him.
"Take them off to the other table, Mrs. Fairfax," said he, "and look at
them with Adele;--you" (glancing at me) "resume your seat, and answer my
questions. I perceive those pictures were done by one hand: was that
hand yours? "
"Yes. "
"And when did you find time to do them? They have taken much time, and
some thought. "
"I did them in the last two vacations I spent at Lowood, when I had no
other occupation. "
"Where did you get your copies? "
"Out of my head. "
"That head I see now on your shoulders? "
"Yes, sir. "
"Has it other furniture of the same kind within? "
"I should think it may have: I should hope--better. "
He spread the pictures before him, and again surveyed them alternately.
While he is so occupied, I will tell you, reader, what they are: and
first, I must premise that they are nothing wonderful. The subjects had,
indeed, risen vividly on my mind. As I saw them with the spiritual eye,
before I attempted to embody them, they were striking; but my hand would
not second my fancy, and in each case it had wrought out but a pale
portrait of the thing I had conceived.
These pictures were in water-colours. The first represented clouds low
and livid, rolling over a swollen sea: all the distance was in eclipse;
so, too, was the foreground; or rather, the nearest billows, for there
was no land. One gleam of light lifted into relief a half-submerged
mast, on which sat a cormorant, dark and large, with wings flecked with
foam; its beak held a gold bracelet set with gems, that I had touched
with as brilliant tints as my palette could yield, and as glittering
distinctness as my pencil could impart. Sinking below the bird and mast,
a drowned corpse glanced through the green water; a fair arm was the only
limb clearly visible, whence the bracelet had been washed or torn.
The second picture contained for foreground only the dim peak of a hill,
with grass and some leaves slanting as if by a breeze. Beyond and above
spread an expanse of sky, dark blue as at twilight: rising into the sky
was a woman's shape to the bust, portrayed in tints as dusk and soft as I
could combine. The dim forehead was crowned with a star; the lineaments
below were seen as through the suffusion of vapour; the eyes shone dark
and wild; the hair streamed shadowy, like a beamless cloud torn by storm
or by electric travail. On the neck lay a pale reflection like
moonlight; the same faint lustre touched the train of thin clouds from
which rose and bowed this vision of the Evening Star.
The third showed the pinnacle of an iceberg piercing a polar winter sky:
a muster of northern lights reared their dim lances, close serried, along
the horizon. Throwing these into distance, rose, in the foreground, a
head,--a colossal head, inclined towards the iceberg, and resting against
it. Two thin hands, joined under the forehead, and supporting it, drew
up before the lower features a sable veil, a brow quite bloodless, white
as bone, and an eye hollow and fixed, blank of meaning but for the
glassiness of despair, alone were visible. Above the temples, amidst
wreathed turban folds of black drapery, vague in its character and
consistency as cloud, gleamed a ring of white flame, gemmed with sparkles
of a more lurid tinge. This pale crescent was "the likeness of a kingly
crown;" what it diademed was "the shape which shape had none. "
"Were you happy when you painted these pictures? " asked Mr. Rochester
presently.
"I was absorbed, sir: yes, and I was happy. To paint them, in short, was
to enjoy one of the keenest pleasures I have ever known. "
"That is not saying much. Your pleasures, by your own account, have been
few; but I daresay you did exist in a kind of artist's dreamland while
you blent and arranged these strange tints. Did you sit at them long
each day? "
"I had nothing else to do, because it was the vacation, and I sat at them
from morning till noon, and from noon till night: the length of the
midsummer days favoured my inclination to apply. "
"And you felt self-satisfied with the result of your ardent labours? "
"Far from it. I was tormented by the contrast between my idea and my
handiwork: in each case I had imagined something which I was quite
powerless to realise. "
"Not quite: you have secured the shadow of your thought; but no more,
probably. You had not enough of the artist's skill and science to give
it full being: yet the drawings are, for a school-girl, peculiar. As to
the thoughts, they are elfish. These eyes in the Evening Star you must
have seen in a dream. How could you make them look so clear, and yet not
at all brilliant? for the planet above quells their rays. And what
meaning is that in their solemn depth? And who taught you to paint wind?
There is a high gale in that sky, and on this hill-top. Where did you
see Latmos? For that is Latmos. There! put the drawings away! "
I had scarce tied the strings of the portfolio, when, looking at his
watch, he said abruptly--
"It is nine o'clock: what are you about, Miss Eyre, to let Adele sit up
so long? Take her to bed. "
Adele went to kiss him before quitting the room: he endured the caress,
but scarcely seemed to relish it more than Pilot would have done, nor so
much.
"I wish you all good-night, now," said he, making a movement of the hand
towards the door, in token that he was tired of our company, and wished
to dismiss us. Mrs. Fairfax folded up her knitting: I took my portfolio:
we curtseyed to him, received a frigid bow in return, and so withdrew.
"You said Mr. Rochester was not strikingly peculiar, Mrs. Fairfax," I
observed, when I rejoined her in her room, after putting Adele to bed.
"Well, is he? "
"I think so: he is very changeful and abrupt. "
"True: no doubt he may appear so to a stranger, but I am so accustomed to
his manner, I never think of it; and then, if he has peculiarities of
temper, allowance should be made. "
"Why? "
"Partly because it is his nature--and we can none of us help our nature;
and partly because he has painful thoughts, no doubt, to harass him, and
make his spirits unequal. "
"What about? "
"Family troubles, for one thing. "
"But he has no family. "
"Not now, but he has had--or, at least, relatives. He lost his elder
brother a few years since. "
"His _elder_ brother? "
"Yes. The present Mr. Rochester has not been very long in possession of
the property; only about nine years. "
"Nine years is a tolerable time. Was he so very fond of his brother as
to be still inconsolable for his loss? "
"Why, no--perhaps not. I believe there were some misunderstandings
between them. Mr. Rowland Rochester was not quite just to Mr. Edward;
and perhaps he prejudiced his father against him. The old gentleman was
fond of money, and anxious to keep the family estate together. He did
not like to diminish the property by division, and yet he was anxious
that Mr. Edward should have wealth, too, to keep up the consequence of
the name; and, soon after he was of age, some steps were taken that were
not quite fair, and made a great deal of mischief. Old Mr. Rochester and
Mr. Rowland combined to bring Mr. Edward into what he considered a
painful position, for the sake of making his fortune: what the precise
nature of that position was I never clearly knew, but his spirit could
not brook what he had to suffer in it. He is not very forgiving: he
broke with his family, and now for many years he has led an unsettled
kind of life. I don't think he has ever been resident at Thornfield for
a fortnight together, since the death of his brother without a will left
him master of the estate; and, indeed, no wonder he shuns the old place. "
"Why should he shun it? "
"Perhaps he thinks it gloomy. "
The answer was evasive. I should have liked something clearer; but Mrs.
Fairfax either could not, or would not, give me more explicit information
of the origin and nature of Mr. Rochester's trials. She averred they
were a mystery to herself, and that what she knew was chiefly from
conjecture. It was evident, indeed, that she wished me to drop the
subject, which I did accordingly.
CHAPTER XIV
For several subsequent days I saw little of Mr. Rochester. In the
mornings he seemed much engaged with business, and, in the afternoon,
gentlemen from Millcote or the neighbourhood called, and sometimes stayed
to dine with him. When his sprain was well enough to admit of horse
exercise, he rode out a good deal; probably to return these visits, as he
generally did not come back till late at night.
During this interval, even Adele was seldom sent for to his presence, and
all my acquaintance with him was confined to an occasional rencontre in
the hall, on the stairs, or in the gallery, when he would sometimes pass
me haughtily and coldly, just acknowledging my presence by a distant nod
or a cool glance, and sometimes bow and smile with gentlemanlike
affability. His changes of mood did not offend me, because I saw that I
had nothing to do with their alternation; the ebb and flow depended on
causes quite disconnected with me.
One day he had had company to dinner, and had sent for my portfolio; in
order, doubtless, to exhibit its contents: the gentlemen went away early,
to attend a public meeting at Millcote, as Mrs. Fairfax informed me; but
the night being wet and inclement, Mr. Rochester did not accompany them.
Soon after they were gone he rang the bell: a message came that I and
Adele were to go downstairs. I brushed Adele's hair and made her neat,
and having ascertained that I was myself in my usual Quaker trim, where
there was nothing to retouch--all being too close and plain, braided
locks included, to admit of disarrangement--we descended, Adele wondering
whether the _petit coffre_ was at length come; for, owing to some
mistake, its arrival had hitherto been delayed. She was gratified: there
it stood, a little carton, on the table when we entered the dining-room.
She appeared to know it by instinct.
"Ma boite! ma boite! " exclaimed she, running towards it.
"Yes, there is your 'boite' at last: take it into a corner, you genuine
daughter of Paris, and amuse yourself with disembowelling it," said the
deep and rather sarcastic voice of Mr. Rochester, proceeding from the
depths of an immense easy-chair at the fireside. "And mind," he
continued, "don't bother me with any details of the anatomical process,
or any notice of the condition of the entrails: let your operation be
conducted in silence: tiens-toi tranquille, enfant; comprends-tu? "
Adele seemed scarcely to need the warning--she had already retired to a
sofa with her treasure, and was busy untying the cord which secured the
lid. Having removed this impediment, and lifted certain silvery
envelopes of tissue paper, she merely exclaimed--
"Oh ciel! Que c'est beau! " and then remained absorbed in ecstatic
contemplation.
"Is Miss Eyre there? " now demanded the master, half rising from his seat
to look round to the door, near which I still stood.
"Ah! well, come forward; be seated here. " He drew a chair near his own.
"I am not fond of the prattle of children," he continued; "for, old
bachelor as I am, I have no pleasant associations connected with their
lisp. It would be intolerable to me to pass a whole evening
_tete-a-tete_ with a brat. Don't draw that chair farther off, Miss Eyre;
sit down exactly where I placed it--if you please, that is. Confound
these civilities! I continually forget them. Nor do I particularly
affect simple-minded old ladies. By-the-bye, I must have mine in mind;
it won't do to neglect her; she is a Fairfax, or wed to one; and blood is
said to be thicker than water. "
He rang, and despatched an invitation to Mrs. Fairfax, who soon arrived,
knitting-basket in hand.
"Good evening, madam; I sent to you for a charitable purpose. I have
forbidden Adele to talk to me about her presents, and she is bursting
with repletion: have the goodness to serve her as auditress and
interlocutrice; it will be one of the most benevolent acts you ever
performed. "
Adele, indeed, no sooner saw Mrs. Fairfax, than she summoned her to her
sofa, and there quickly filled her lap with the porcelain, the ivory, the
waxen contents of her "boite;" pouring out, meantime, explanations and
raptures in such broken English as she was mistress of.
"Now I have performed the part of a good host," pursued Mr. Rochester,
"put my guests into the way of amusing each other, I ought to be at
liberty to attend to my own pleasure. Miss Eyre, draw your chair still a
little farther forward: you are yet too far back; I cannot see you
without disturbing my position in this comfortable chair, which I have no
mind to do. "
I did as I was bid, though I would much rather have remained somewhat in
the shade; but Mr. Rochester had such a direct way of giving orders, it
seemed a matter of course to obey him promptly.
We were, as I have said, in the dining-room: the lustre, which had been
lit for dinner, filled the room with a festal breadth of light; the large
fire was all red and clear; the purple curtains hung rich and ample
before the lofty window and loftier arch; everything was still, save the
subdued chat of Adele (she dared not speak loud), and, filling up each
pause, the beating of winter rain against the panes.
Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to
what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--much less gloomy.
There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wine
or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short,
in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self-
indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still he
looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling
back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-
hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes,
and very fine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depths
sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that
feeling.
He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking the
same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze
fastened on his physiognomy.
"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me handsome? "
I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by
something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped
from my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir. "
"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he: "you
have the air of a little _nonnette_; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as
you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the
carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face;
as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a
remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder,
which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it? "
"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied that
it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about
appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little
consequence, or something of that sort. "
"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence,
indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, of
stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under
my ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I have
all my limbs and all my features like any other man? "
"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointed
repartee: it was only a blunder. "
"Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. 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.
