简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER IX
I discovered, too, that a great pleasure, an enjoyment which thehorizon only bounded, lay all outside the high and spike-guardedwalls of our garden: this pleasure consisted in prospect of noblesummits girdling a great hill-hollow, rich in verdure and shadow;in a bright beck, full of dark stones and sparkling eddies. Howdifferent had this scene looked when I viewed it laid out beneaththe iron sky of winter, stiffened in frost, shrouded with snow! --when mists as chill as death wandered to the impulse of east windsalong those purple peaks, and rolled down "ing" and holm till theyblended with the frozen fog of the beck! That beck itself was thena torrent, turbid and curbless: it tore asunder the wood, and senta raving sound through the air, often thickened with wild rain orwhirling sleet; and for the forest on its banks, THAT showed onlyranks of skeletons.
April advanced to May: a bright serene May it was; days of bluesky, placid sunshine, and soft western or southern gales filledup its duration. And now vegetation matured with vigour; Lowoodshook loose its tresses; it became all green, all flowery; itsgreat elm, ash, and oak skeletons were restored to majestic life;woodland plants sprang up profusely in its recesses; unnumberedvarieties of moss filled its hollows, and it made a strangeground-sunshine out of the wealth of its wild primrose plants: Ihave seen their pale gold gleam in overshadowed spots like scatteringsof the sweetest lustre. All this I enjoyed often and fully, free,unwatched, and almost alone: for this unwonted liberty and pleasurethere was a cause, to which it now becomes my task to advert.
Have I not described a pleasant site for a dwelling, when I speakof it as bosomed in hill and wood, and rising from the verge of astream? Assuredly, pleasant enough: but whether healthy or notis another question.
That forest-dell, where Lowood lay, was the cradle of fog andfog-bred pestilence; which, quickening with the quickening spring,crept into the Orphan Asylum, breathed typhus through its crowdedschoolroom and dormitory, and, ere May arrived, transformed theseminary into an hospital.
Semi-starvation and neglected colds had predisposed most of thepupils to receive infection: forty-five out of the eighty girlslay ill at one time. Classes were broken up, rules relaxed. Thefew who continued well were allowed almost unlimited license;because the medical attendant insisted on the necessity of frequentexercise to keep them in health: and had it been otherwise, noone had leisure to watch or restrain them. Miss Temple's wholeattention was absorbed by the patients: she lived in the sick-room,never quitting it except to snatch a few hours' rest at night.The teachers were fully occupied with packing up and making othernecessary preparations for the departure of those girls who werefortunate enough to have friends and relations able and willingto remove them from the seat of contagion. Many, already smitten,went home only to die: some died at the school, and were buriedquietly and quickly, the nature of the malady forbidding delay.
While disease had thus become an inhabitant of Lowood, and deathits frequent visitor; while there was gloom and fear within itswalls; while its rooms and passages steamed with hospital smells,the drug and the pastille striving vainly to overcome the effluviaof mortality, that bright May shone unclouded over the bold hillsand beautiful woodland out of doors. Its garden, too, glowedwith flowers: hollyhocks had sprung up tall as trees, lilies hadopened, tulips and roses were in bloom; the borders of the littlebeds were gay with pink thrift and crimson double daisies; thesweetbriars gave out, morning and evening, their scent of spice andapples; and these fragrant treasures were all useless for most ofthe inmates of Lowood, except to furnish now and then a handful ofherbs and blossoms to put in a coffin.
But I, and the rest who continued well, enjoyed fully the beautiesof the scene and season; they let us ramble in the wood, likegipsies, from morning till night; we did what we liked, went wherewe liked: we lived better too. Mr. Brocklehurst and his familynever came near Lowood now: household matters were not scrutinisedinto; the cross housekeeper was gone, driven away by the fearof infection; her successor, who had been matron at the LowtonDispensary, unused to the ways of her new abode, provided withcomparative liberality. Besides, there were fewer to feed; thesick could eat little; our breakfast-basins were better filled;when there was no time to prepare a regular dinner, which oftenhappened, she would give us a large piece of cold pie, or a thickslice of bread and cheese, and this we carried away with us tothe wood, where we each chose the spot we liked best, and dinedsumptuously.
My favourite seat was a smooth and broad stone, rising white and dryfrom the very middle of the beck, and only to be got at by wadingthrough the water; a feat I accomplished barefoot. The stone wasjust broad enough to accommodate, comfortably, another girl and me,at that time my chosen comrade -- one Mary Ann Wilson; a shrewd,observant personage, whose society I took pleasure in, partlybecause she was witty and original, and partly because she had amanner which set me at my ease. Some years older than I, she knewmore of the world, and could tell me many things I liked to hear:with her my curiosity found gratification: to my faults also shegave ample indulgence, never imposing curb or rein on anything Isaid. She had a turn for narrative, I for analysis; she liked toinform, I to question; so we got on swimmingly together, derivingmuch entertainment, if not much improvement, from our mutualintercourse.
And where, meantime, was Helen Burns? Why did I not spend thesesweet days of liberty with her? Had I forgotten her? or was I soworthless as to have grown tired of her pure society? Surely theMary Ann Wilson I have mentioned was inferior to my first acquaintance:she could only tell me amusing stories, and reciprocate any racyand pungent gossip I chose to indulge in; while, if I have spokentruth of Helen, she was qualified to give those who enjoyed theprivilege of her converse a taste of far higher things.
True, reader; and I knew and felt this: and though I am a defectivebeing, with many faults and few redeeming points, yet I never tiredof Helen Burns; nor ever ceased to cherish for her a sentimentof attachment, as strong, tender, and respectful as any that everanimated my heart. How could it be otherwise, when Helen, atall times and under all circumstances, evinced for me a quiet andfaithful friendship, which ill-humour never soured, nor irritationnever troubled? But Helen was ill at present: for some weeks shehad been removed from my sight to I knew not what room upstairs.She was not, I was told, in the hospital portion of the house withthe fever patients; for her complaint was consumption, not typhus:and by consumption I, in my ignorance, understood something mild,which time and care would be sure to alleviate.
I was confirmed in this idea by the fact of her once or twice comingdownstairs on very warm sunny afternoons, and being taken by MissTemple into the garden; but, on these occasions, I was not allowedto go and speak to her; I only saw her from the schoolroom window,and then not distinctly; for she was much wrapped up, and sat ata distance under the verandah.
One evening, in the beginning of June, I had stayed out very latewith Mary Ann in the wood; we had, as usual, separated ourselvesfrom the others, and had wandered far; so far that we lost ourway, and had to ask it at a lonely cottage, where a man and womanlived, who looked after a herd of half-wild swine that fed on themast in the wood. When we got back, it was after moonrise: apony, which we knew to be the surgeon's, was standing at the gardendoor. Mary Ann remarked that she supposed some one must be veryill, as Mr. Bates had been sent for at that time of the evening.She went into the house; I stayed behind a few minutes to plant inmy garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest, and whichI feared would wither if I left them till the morning. This done,I lingered yet a little longer: the flowers smelt so sweet asthe dew fell; it was such a pleasant evening, so serene, so warm;the still glowing west promised so fairly another fine day on themorrow; the moon rose with such majesty in the grave east. I wasnoting these things and enjoying them as a child might, when itentered my mind as it had never done before:-
"How sad to be lying now on a sick bed, and to be in danger ofdying! This world is pleasant -- it would be dreary to be calledfrom it, and to have to go who knows where?"
And then my mind made its first earnest effort to comprehend whathad been infused into it concerning heaven and hell; and for thefirst time it recoiled, baffled; and for the first time glancingbehind, on each side, and before it, it saw all round an unfathomedgulf: it felt the one point where it stood -- the present; all therest was formless cloud and vacant depth; and it shuddered at thethought of tottering, and plunging amid that chaos. While ponderingthis new idea, I heard the front door open; Mr. Bates came out,and with him was a nurse. After she had seen him mount his horseand depart, she was about to close the door, but I ran up to her.
"How is Helen Burns?"
"Very poorly, " was the answer.
"Is it her Mr. Bates has been to see?"
"Yes. "
"And what does he say about her?"
"He says she'll not be here long. "
This phrase, uttered in my hearing yesterday, would have only conveyedthe notion that she was about to be removed to Northumberland, toher own home. I should not have suspected that it meant she wasdying; but I knew instantly now! It opened clear on my comprehensionthat Helen Burns was numbering her last days in this world, andthat she was going to be taken to the region of spirits, if suchregion there were. I experienced a shock of horror, then a strongthrill of grief, then a desire -- a necessity to see her; and Iasked in what room she lay.
"She is in Miss Temple's room, " said the nurse.
"May I go up and speak to her?"
"Oh no, child! It is not likely; and now it is time for you to comein; you'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is falling. "
The nurse closed the front door; I went in by the side entrance whichled to the schoolroom: I was just in time; it was nine o'clock,and Miss Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed.
It might be two hours later, probably near eleven, when I -- nothaving been able to fall asleep, and deeming, from the perfectsilence of the dormitory, that my companions were all wrapt inprofound repose -- rose softly, put on my frock over my night-dress,and, without shoes, crept from the apartment, and set off in questof Miss Temple's room. It was quite at the other end of the house;but I knew my way; and the light of the unclouded summer moon,entering here and there at passage windows, enabled me to find itwithout difficulty. An odour of camphor and burnt vinegar warnedme when I came near the fever room: and I passed its door quickly,fearful lest the nurse who sat up all night should hear me. Idreaded being discovered and sent back; for I MUST see Helen, --I must embrace her before she died, -- I must give her one lastkiss, exchange with her one last word.
Having descended a staircase, traversed a portion of the housebelow, and succeeded in opening and shutting, without noise, twodoors, I reached another flight of steps; these I mounted, and thenjust opposite to me was Miss Temple's room. A light shone throughthe keyhole and from under the door; a profound stillness pervadedthe vicinity. Coming near, I found the door slightly ajar;probably to admit some fresh air into the close abode of sickness.Indisposed to hesitate, and full of impatient impulses -- soul andsenses quivering with keen throes -- I put it back and looked in.My eye sought Helen, and feared to find death.
Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains,there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form under theclothes, but the face was hid by the hangings: the nurse I hadspoken to in the garden sat in an easy-chair asleep; an unsnuffedcandle burnt dimly on the table. Miss Temple was not to be seen:I knew afterwards that she had been called to a delirious patientin the fever-room. I advanced; then paused by the crib side: myhand was on the curtain, but I preferred speaking before I withdrewit. I still recoiled at the dread of seeing a corpse.
"Helen!" I whispered softly, "are you awake?"
She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, pale,wasted, but quite composed: she looked so little changed that myfear was instantly dissipated.
"Can it be you, Jane?" she asked, in her own gentle voice.
"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die; they are mistaken: shecould not speak and look so calmly if she were. "
I got on to her crib and kissed her: her forehead was cold, andher cheek both cold and thin, and so were her hand and wrist; butshe smiled as of old.
"Why are you come here, Jane? It is past eleven o'clock: I heardit strike some minutes since. "
"I came to see you, Helen: I heard you were very ill, and I couldnot sleep till I had spoken to you. "
"You came to bid me good-bye, then: you are just in time probably. "
"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?"
Yes. " Helen Burns?"I believe; I have .
"Yes; to my long home -- my last home. "
"No, no, Helen!" I stopped, distressed. While I tried to devourmy tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen; it did not, however, wakethe nurse; when it was over, she lay some minutes exhausted;then she whispered -
"Jane, your little feet are bare; lie down and cover yourself withmy quilt. "
I did so: she put her arm over me, and I nestled closeto her. After a long silence, she resumed, still whispering -
"I am very happy, Jane; and when you hear that I am dead, you mustbe sure and not grieve: there is nothing to grieve about. Weall must die one day, and the illness which is removing me is notpainful; it is gentle and gradual: my mind is at rest. I leaveno one to regret me much: I have only a father; and he is latelymarried, and will not miss me. By dying young, I shall escapegreat sufferings. I had not qualities or talents to make my wayvery well in the world: I should have been continually at fault. "
"But where are you going to, Helen? Can you see? Do you know?"
"I believe; I have faith: I am going to God. "
"Where is God? What is God?"
"My Maker and yours, who will never destroy what He created. Irely implicitly on His power, and confide wholly in His goodness:I count the hours till that eventful one arrives which shall restoreme to Him, reveal Him to me. "
"You are sure, then, Helen, that there is such a place as heaven,and that our souls can get to it when we die?"
"I am sure there is a future state; I believe God is good; I canresign my immortal part to Him without any misgiving. God is myfather; God is my friend: I love Him; I believe He loves me. "
"And shall I see you again, Helen, when I die?"
"You will come to the same region of happiness: be received bythe same mighty, universal Parent, no doubt, dear Jane. "
Again I questioned, but this time only in thought. "Where isthat region? Does it exist?" And I clasped my arms closer roundHelen; she seemed dearer to me than ever; I felt as if I couldnot let her go; I lay with my face hidden on her neck. Presentlyshe said, in the sweetest tone -
"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me alittle; I feel as if I could sleep: but don't leave me, Jane; Ilike to have you near me. "
"I'll stay with you, DEAR Helen: no one shall take me away. "
"Are you warm, darling?"
"Yes. "
"Good-night, Jane. "
"Good-night, Helen. "
She kissed me, and I her, and we both soon slumbered.
When I awoke it was day: an unusual movement roused me; I lookedup; I was in somebody's arms; the nurse held me; she was carryingme through the passage back to the dormitory. I was not reprimandedfor leaving my bed; people had something else to think about; noexplanation was afforded then to my many questions; but a day ortwo afterwards I learned that Miss Temple, on returning to her ownroom at dawn, had found me laid in the little crib; my face againstHelen Burns's shoulder, my arms round her neck. I was asleep, andHelen was -- dead.
Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard: for fifteen years afterher death it was only covered by a grassy mound; but now a greymarble tablet marks the spot, inscribed with her name, and the word"Resurgam. "