简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER XXI Page 1
Presentiments are strange things! and so are sympathies; and soare signs; and the three combined make one mystery to which humanityhas not yet found the key. I never laughed at presentiments inmy life, because I have had strange ones of my own. Sympathies,I believe, exist (for instance, between far-distant, long-absent,wholly estranged relatives asserting, notwithstanding theiralienation, the unity of the source to which each traces his origin)whose workings baffle mortal comprehension. And signs, for aughtwe know, may be but the sympathies of Nature with man.
When I was a little girl, only six years old, I one night heardBessie Leaven say to Martha Abbot that she had been dreaming abouta little child; and that to dream of children was a sure sign oftrouble, either to one's self or one's kin. The saying might haveworn out of my memory, had not a circumstance immediately followedwhich served indelibly to fix it there. The next day Bessie wassent for home to the deathbed of her little sister.
Of late I had often recalled this saying and this incident; forduring the past week scarcely a night had gone over my couch thathad not brought with it a dream of an infant, which I sometimeshushed in my arms, sometimes dandled on my knee, sometimes watchedplaying with daisies on a lawn, or again, dabbling its hands inrunning water. It was a wailing child this night, and a laughingone the next: now it nestled close to me, and now it ran from me;but whatever mood the apparition evinced, whatever aspect it wore,it failed not for seven successive nights to meet me the moment Ientered the land of slumber.
I did not like this iteration of one idea -- this strange recurrenceof one image, and I grew nervous as bedtime approached and thehour of the vision drew near. It was from companionship with thisbaby-phantom I had been roused on that moonlight night when I heardthe cry; and it was on the afternoon of the day following I wassummoned downstairs by a message that some one wanted me in Mrs.Fairfax's room. On repairing thither, I found a man waiting forme, having the appearance of a gentleman's servant: he was dressedin deep mourning, and the hat he held in his hand was surroundedwith a crape band.
"I daresay you hardly remember me, Miss, " he said, rising as Ientered; "but my name is Leaven: I lived coachman with Mrs. Reedwhen you were at Gateshead, eight or nine years since, and I livethere still. "
"Oh, Robert! how do you do? I remember you very well: you usedto give me a ride sometimes on Miss Georgiana's bay pony. And howis Bessie? You are married to Bessie?"
"Yes, Miss: my wife is very hearty, thank you; she brought meanother little one about two months since -- we have three now --and both mother and child are thriving. "
"And are the family well at the house, Robert?"
"I am sorry I can't give you better news of them, Miss: they arevery badly at present -- in great trouble. "
"I hope no one is dead, " I said, glancing at his black dress. Hetoo looked down at the crape round his hat and replied -
"Mr. John died yesterday was a week, at his chambers in London. "
"Mr. John?"
"Yes. "
"And how does his mother bear it?"
"Why, you see, Miss Eyre, it is not a common mishap: his lifehas been very wild: these last three years he gave himself up tostrange ways, and his death was shocking. "
"I heard from Bessie he was not doing well. "
everyarticle of furniture looking just as it.
"Doing well! He could not do worse: he ruined his health andhis estate amongst the worst men and the worst women. He got intodebt and into jail: his mother helped him out twice, but as soonas he was free he returned to his old companions and habits. Hishead was not strong: the knaves he lived amongst fooled him beyondanything I ever heard. He came down to Gateshead about three weeksago and wanted missis to give up all to him. Missis refused: hermeans have long been much reduced by his extravagance; so he wentback again, and the next news was that he was dead. How he died,God knows! -- they say he killed himself. "
I was silent: the things were frightful. Robert Leaven resumed -
"Missis had been out of health herself for some time: she had gotvery stout, but was not strong with it; and the loss of money andfear of poverty were quite breaking her down. The informationabout Mr. John's death and the manner of it came too suddenly:it brought on a stroke. She was three days without speaking; butlast Tuesday she seemed rather better: she appeared as if she wantedto say something, and kept making signs to my wife and mumbling.It was only yesterday morning, however, that Bessie understoodshe was pronouncing your name; and at last she made out the words,'Bring Jane -- fetch Jane Eyre: I want to speak to her. ' Bessieis not sure whether she is in her right mind, or means anything bythe words; but she told Miss Reed and Miss Georgiana, and advisedthem to send for you. The young ladies put it off at first; buttheir mother grew so restless, and said, 'Jane, Jane, ' so manytimes, that at last they consented. I left Gateshead yesterday:and if you can get ready, Miss, I should like to take you back withme early to-morrow morning. "
"Yes, Robert, I shall be ready: it seems to me that I ought togo. "
"I think so too, Miss. Bessie said she was sure you would notrefuse: but I suppose you will have to ask leave before you canget off?"
"Yes; and I will do it now;" and having directed him to theservants' hall, and recommended him to the care of John's wife,and the attentions of John himself, I went in search of Mr. Rochester.
business? I am curious to hear it. "Why?"sir.
He was not in any of the lower rooms; he was not in the yard, thestables, or the grounds. I asked Mrs. Fairfax if she had seen him;-- yes: she believed he was playing billiards with Miss Ingram.To the billiard-room I hastened: the click of balls and the humof voices resounded thence; Mr. Rochester, Miss Ingram, the twoMisses Eshton, and their admirers, were all busied in the game. Itrequired some courage to disturb so interesting a party; my errand,however, was one I could not defer, so I approached the masterwhere he stood at Miss Ingram's side. She turned as I drew near,and looked at me haughtily: her eyes seemed to demand, "What canthe creeping creature want now?" and when I said, in a low voice,"Mr. Rochester, " she made a movement as if tempted to order me away.I remember her appearance at the moment -- it was very graceful andvery striking: she wore a morning robe of sky-blue crape; a gauzyazure scarf was twisted in her hair. She had been all animationwith the game, and irritated pride did not lower the expression ofher haughty lineaments.
"Does that person want you?" she inquired of Mr. Rochester; andMr. Rochester turned to see who the "person" was. He made a curiousgrimace -- one of his strange and equivocal demonstrations -- threwdown his cue and followed me from the room.
"Well, Jane?" he said, as he rested his back against the schoolroomdoor, which he had shut.
"If you please, sir, I want leave of absence for a week or two. "
"What to do? -- where to go?"
"To see a sick lady who has sent for me. "
"What sick lady? -- where does she live?"
Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present. "
"At Gateshead; in -shire. "
"-shire? That is a hundred miles off! Who may she be that sendsfor people to see her that distance?"
"Her name is Reed, sir -- Mrs. Reed. "
"Reed of Gateshead? There was a Reed of Gateshead, a magistrate. "
"It is his widow, sir. "
"And what have you to do with her? How do you know her?"
"Mr. Reed was my uncle -- my mother's brother. "
"The deuce he was! You never told me that before: you always saidyou had no relations. "
"None that would own me, sir. Mr. Reed is dead, and his wife castme off. "
"Why?"
"Because I was poor, and burdensome, and she disliked me. "
"But Reed left children? -- you must have cousins? Sir GeorgeLynn was talking of a Reed of Gateshead yesterday, who, he said,was one of the veriest rascals on town; and Ingram was mentioninga Georgiana Reed of the same place, who was much admired for herbeauty a season or two ago in London. "
"John Reed is dead, too, sir: he ruined himself and half-ruinedhis family, and is supposed to have committed suicide. The newsso shocked his mother that it brought on an apoplectic attack. "
"And what good can you do her? Nonsense, Jane! I would never thinkof running a hundred miles to see an old lady who will, perhaps,be dead before you reach her: besides, you say she cast you off. "
"Yes, sir, but that is long ago; and when her circumstances werevery different: I could not be easy to neglect her wishes now. "
"How long will you stay?"
"As short a time as possible, sir. "
"Promise me only to stay a week -- "
"I had better not pass my word: I might be obliged to break it. "
"At all events you WILL come back: you will not be induced underany pretext to take up a permanent residence with her?"
"Oh, no! I shall certainly return if all be well. "
"And who goes with you? You don't travel a hundred miles alone. "
"No, sir, she has sent her coachman. "
"A person to be trusted?"
"Yes, sir, he has lived ten years in the family. "
Mr. Rochester meditated. "When do you wish to go?"
"Early to-morrow morning, sir. "
"Well, you must have some money; you can't travel without money,and I daresay you have not much: I have given you no salary yet.How much have you in the world, Jane?" he asked, smiling.
I drew out my purse; a meagre thing it was. "Five shillings, sir. "He took the purse, poured the hoard into his palm, and chuckled overit as if its scantiness amused him. Soon he produced his pocket-book: "Here, " said he, offering me a note; it was fifty pounds,and he owed me but fifteen. I told him I had no change.
"I don't want change; you know that. Take your wages. "
could not spare the money on any account?
I declined accepting more than was my due. He scowledat first; then, as if recollecting something, he said -
"Right, right! Better not give you all now: you would, perhaps,stay away three months if you had fifty pounds. There are ten; isit not plenty?"
"Yes, sir, but now you owe me five. "
"Come back for it, then; I am your banker for forty pounds. "
"Mr. Rochester, I may as well mention another matter of businessto you while I have the opportunity. "
"Matter of business? I am curious to hear it. "
"You have as good as informed me, sir, that you are going shortlyto be married?"
"Yes; what then?"
"In that case, sir, Adele ought to go to school: I am sure youwill perceive the necessity of it. "
"To get her out of my bride's way, who might otherwise walk overher rather too emphatically? There's sense in the suggestion; nota doubt of it. Adele, as you say, must go to school; and you, ofcourse, must march straight to -- the devil?"
"I hope not, sir; but I must seek another situation somewhere. "
"In course!" he exclaimed, with a twang of voice and a distortionof features equally fantastic and ludicrous. He looked at me someminutes.
"And old Madam Reed, or the Misses, her daughters, will be solicitedby you to seek a place, I suppose?"
"No, sir; I am not on such terms with my relatives as would justifyme in asking favours of them -- but I shall advertise. "
"You shall walk up the pyramids of Egypt!" he growled. "At yourperil you advertise! I wish I had only offered you a sovereigninstead of ten pounds. Give me back nine pounds, Jane; I've a usefor it. "
"And so have I, sir, " I returned, putting my hands and my pursebehind me. "I could not spare the money on any account. "
mother bear it?"look at the cash. "sir.
"Little niggard!" said he, "refusing me a pecuniary request! Giveme five pounds, Jane. "
"Not five shillings, sir; nor five pence. "
"Just let me look at the cash. "
"No, sir; you are not to be trusted. "
"Jane!"
"Sir?"
"Promise me one thing. "
"I'll promise you anything, sir, that I think I am likely toperform. "
"Not to advertise: and to trust this quest of a situation to me.I'll find you one in time. "
"I shall be glad so to do, sir, if you, in your turn, will promisethat I and Adele shall be both safe out of the house before yourbride enters it. "
"Very well! very well! I'll pledge my word on it. You go to-morrow,then?"
"Yes, sir; early. "
"Shall you come down to the drawing-room after dinner?"
"No, sir, I must prepare for the journey. "
"Then you and I must bid good-bye for a little while?"
"I suppose so, sir. "
"And how do people perform that ceremony of parting, Jane? Teachme; I'm not quite up to it. "
"They say, Farewell, or any other form they prefer. "
"Then say it. "
Nonsense, Jane! !
"Farewell, Mr. Rochester, for the present. "
"What must I say?"
"The same, if you like, sir. "
"Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present; is that all?"
"Yes?"
"It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I shouldlike something else: a little addition to the rite. If one shookhands, for instance; but no -- that would not content me either.So you'll do no more than say Farewell, Jane?"
"It is enough, sir: as much good-will may be conveyed in one heartyword as in many. "
. Reed is dead, and his wife!
"Very likely; but it is blank and cool -- 'Farewell. '"
"How long is he going to stand with his back against that door?"I asked myself; "I want to commence my packing. " The dinner-bellrang, and suddenly away he bolted, without another syllable: Isaw him no more during the day, and was off before he had risen inthe morning.
I reached the lodge at Gateshead about five o'clock in the afternoonof the first of May: I stepped in there before going up to thehall. It was very clean and neat: the ornamental windows werehung with little white curtains; the floor was spotless; the grateand fire-irons were burnished bright, and the fire burnt clear.Bessie sat on the hearth, nursing her last-born, and Robert andhis sister played quietly in a corner.
"Bless you! -- I knew you would come!" exclaimed Mrs. Leaven, asI entered.
"Yes, Bessie, " said I, after I had kissed her; "and I trust I amnot too late. How is Mrs. Reed? -- Alive still, I hope. "
"Yes, she is alive; and more sensible and collected than she was.The doctor says she may linger a week or two yet; but he hardlythinks she will finally recover. "
"Has she mentioned me lately?"
"She was talking of you only this morning, and wishing you wouldcome, but she is sleeping now, or was ten minutes ago, when I wasup at the house. She generally lies in a kind of lethargy all theafternoon, and wakes up about six or seven. Will you rest yourselfhere an hour, Miss, and then I will go up with you?"
Robert here entered, and Bessie laid her sleeping child in thecradle and went to welcome him: afterwards she insisted on my takingoff my bonnet and having some tea; for she said I looked pale andtired. I was glad to accept her hospitality; and I submitted tobe relieved of my travelling garb just as passively as I used tolet her undress me when a child.
Old times crowded fast back on me as I watched her bustling about-- setting out the tea-tray with her best china, cutting bread andbutter, toasting a tea-cake, and, between whiles, giving littleRobert or Jane an occasional tap or push, just as she used to giveme in former days. Bessie had retained her quick temper as wellas her light foot and good looks.
Tea ready, I was going to approach the table; but she desired meto sit still, quite in her old peremptory tones. I must be servedat the fireside, she said; and she placed before me a little roundstand with my cup and a plate of toast, absolutely as she used toaccommodate me with some privately purloined dainty on a nurserychair: and I smiled and obeyed her as in bygone days.
She wanted to know if I was happy at Thornfield Hall, and what sortof a person the mistress was; and when I told her there was onlya master, whether he was a nice gentleman, and if I liked him. Itold her he was rather an ugly man, but quite a gentleman; andthat he treated me kindly, and I was content. Then I went on todescribe to her the gay company that had lately been staying at thehouse; and to these details Bessie listened with interest: theywere precisely of the kind she relished.
In such conversation an hour was soon gone: Bessie restored to memy bonnet, &c. , and, accompanied by her, I quitted the lodge forthe hall. It was also accompanied by her that I had, nearly nineyears ago, walked down the path I was now ascending. On a dark,misty, raw morning in January, I had left a hostile roof with adesperate and embittered heart -- a sense of outlawry and almostof reprobation -- to seek the chilly harbourage of Lowood: thatbourne so far away and unexplored. The same hostile roof now againrose before me: my prospects were doubtful yet; and I had yet anaching heart. I still felt as a wanderer on the face of the earth;but I experienced firmer trust in myself and my own powers, andless withering dread of oppression. The gaping wound of my wrongs,too, was now quite healed; and the flame of resentment extinguished.
"You shall go into the breakfast-room first, " said Bessie, as shepreceded me through the hall; "the young ladies will be there. "
In another moment I was within that apartment. There was everyarticle of furniture looking just as it did on the morning I wasfirst introduced to Mr. Brocklehurst: the very rug he had stood uponstill covered the hearth. Glancing at the bookcases, I thought Icould distinguish the two volumes of Bewick's British Birds occupyingtheir old place on the third shelf, and Gulliver's Travels and theArabian Nights ranged just above. The inanimate objects were notchanged; but the living things had altered past recognition.
Two young ladies appeared before me; one very tall, almost as tallas Miss Ingram -- very thin too, with a sallow face and severemien. There was something ascetic in her look, which was augmentedby the extreme plainness of a straight-skirted, black, stuff dress,a starched linen collar, hair combed away from the temples, andthe nun-like ornament of a string of ebony beads and a crucifix.This I felt sure was Eliza, though I could trace little resemblanceto her former self in that elongated and colourless visage.
The other was as certainly Georgiana: but not the GeorgianaI remembered -- the slim and fairy-like girl of eleven. This wasa full-blown, very plump damsel, fair as waxwork, with handsomeand regular features, languishing blue eyes, and ringleted yellowhair. The hue of her dress was black too; but its fashion was sodifferent from her sister's -- so much more flowing and becoming-- it looked as stylish as the other's looked puritanical.
In each of the sisters there was one trait of the mother -- and onlyone; the thin and pallid elder daughter had her parent's Cairngormeye: the blooming and luxuriant younger girl had her contour ofjaw and chin -- perhaps a little softened, but still imparting anindescribable hardness to the countenance otherwise so voluptuousand buxom.
Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and both addressedme by the name of "Miss Eyre. " Eliza's greeting was delivered ina short, abrupt voice, without a smile; and then she sat down again,fixed her eyes on the fire, and seemed to forget me. Georgianaadded to her "How d'ye do?" several commonplaces about my journey,the weather, and so on, uttered in rather a drawling tone: andaccompanied by sundry side-glances that measured me from head tofoot -- now traversing the folds of my drab merino pelisse, andnow lingering on the plain trimming of my cottage bonnet. Youngladies have a remarkable way of letting you know that theythink you a "quiz" without actually saying the words. A certainsuperciliousness of look, coolness of manner, nonchalance of tone,express fully their sentiments on the point, without committingthem by any positive rudeness in word or deed.