简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER XXI Page 2
A sneer, however, whether covert or open, had now no longer thatpower over me it once possessed: as I sat between my cousins, Iwas surprised to find how easy I felt under the total neglect ofthe one and the semi-sarcastic attentions of the other -- Eliza didnot mortify, nor Georgiana ruffle me. The fact was, I had otherthings to think about; within the last few months feelings hadbeen stirred in me so much more potent than any they could raise-- pains and pleasures so much more acute and exquisite had beenexcited than any it was in their power to inflict or bestow -- thattheir airs gave me no concern either for good or bad.
"How is Mrs. Reed?" I asked soon, looking calmly at Georgiana,who thought fit to bridle at the direct address, as if it were anunexpected liberty.
"Mrs. Reed? Ah! mama, you mean; she is extremely poorly: I doubtif you can see her to-night. "
"If, " said I, "you would just step upstairs and tell her I am come,I should be much obliged to you. "
Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue eyes wild andwide. "I know she had a particular wish to see me, " I added, "andI would not defer attending to her desire longer than is absolutelynecessary. "
"Mama dislikes being disturbed in an evening, " remarked Eliza. Isoon rose, quietly took off my bonnet and gloves, uninvited, andsaid I would just step out to Bessie -- who was, I dared say, in thekitchen -- and ask her to ascertain whether Mrs. Reed was disposedto receive me or not to-night. I went, and having found Bessie anddespatched her on my errand, I proceeded to take further measures.It had heretofore been my habit always to shrink from arrogance:received as I had been to-day, I should, a year ago, have resolvedto quit Gateshead the very next morning; now, it was disclosedto me all at once that that would be a foolish plan. I had takena journey of a hundred miles to see my aunt, and I must stay withher till she was better -- or dead: as to her daughters' pride orfolly, I must put it on one side, make myself independent of it.So I addressed the housekeeper; asked her to show me a room, toldher I should probably be a visitor here for a week or two, had mytrunk conveyed to my chamber, and followed it thither myself: Imet Bessie on the landing.
"Missis is awake, " said she; "I have told her you are here: comeand let us see if she will know you. "
I did not need to be guided to the well-known room, to which Ihad so often been summoned for chastisement or reprimand in formerdays. I hastened before Bessie; I softly opened the door: a shadedlight stood on the table, for it was now getting dark. There wasthe great four-post bed with amber hangings as of old; there thetoilet-table, the armchair, and the footstool, at which I had ahundred times been sentenced to kneel, to ask pardon for offencesby me uncommitted. I looked into a certain corner near, half-expectingto see the slim outline of a once dreaded switch which used to lurkthere, waiting to leap out imp-like and lace my quivering palm orshrinking neck. I approached the bed; I opened the curtains andleant over the high-piled pillows.
Well did I remember Mrs. Reed's face, and I eagerly sought thefamiliar image. It is a happy thing that time quells the longingsof vengeance and hushes the promptings of rage and aversion. I hadleft this woman in bitterness and hate, and I came back to her nowwith no other emotion than a sort of ruth for her great sufferings,and a strong yearning to forget and forgive all injuries -- to bereconciled and clasp hands in amity.
The well-known face was there: stern, relentless as ever -- therewas that peculiar eye which nothing could melt, and the somewhatraised, imperious, despotic eyebrow. How often had it lowered on memenace and hate! and how the recollection of childhood's terrorsand sorrows revived as I traced its harsh line now! And yet Istooped down and kissed her: she looked at me.
"Is this Jane Eyre?" she said.
"Yes, Aunt Reed. How are you, dear aunt?"
I had once vowed that I would never call her aunt again: I thoughtit no sin to forget and break that vow now. My fingers had fastenedon her hand which lay outside the sheet: had she pressed minekindly, I should at that moment have experienced true pleasure. Butunimpressionable natures are not so soon softened, nor are naturalantipathies so readily eradicated. Mrs. Reed took her hand away,and, turning her face rather from me, she remarked that the nightwas warm. Again she regarded me so icily, I felt at once thather opinion of me -- her feeling towards me -- was unchanged andunchangeable. I knew by her stony eye -- opaque to tenderness,indissoluble to tears -- that she was resolved to consider me badto the last; because to believe me good would give her no generouspleasure: only a sense of mortification.
I felt pain, and then I felt ire; and then I felt a determinationto subdue her -- to be her mistress in spite both of her natureand her will. My tears had risen, just as in childhood: I orderedthem back to their source. I brought a chair to the bed-head: Isat down and leaned over the pillow.
"You sent for me, " I said, "and I am here; and it is my intentionto stay till I see how you get on. "
particular wish to see me, " I added, "andI would not defer attending to her desire.
"Oh, of course! You have seen my daughters?"
"Yes. "
"Well, you may tell them I wish you to stay till I can talk somethings over with you I have on my mind: to-night it is too late, andI have a difficulty in recalling them. But there was somethingI wished to say -- let me see -- "
The wandering look and changed utterance told what wreck had takenplace in her once vigorous frame. Turning restlessly, she drew thebedclothes round her; my elbow, resting on a corner of the quilt,fixed it down: she was at once irritated.
"Sit up!" said she; "don't annoy me with holding the clothes fast.Are you Jane Eyre?"
"I am Jane Eyre. "
"I have had more trouble with that child than any one would believe.Such a burden to be left on my hands -- and so much annoyance as shecaused me, daily and hourly, with her incomprehensible disposition,and her sudden starts of temper, and her continual, unnaturalwatchings of one's movements! I declare she talked to me once likesomething mad, or like a fiend -- no child ever spoke or looked asshe did; I was glad to get her away from the house. What did theydo with her at Lowood? The fever broke out there, and many of thepupils died. She, however, did not die: but I said she did -- Iwish she had died!"
"A strange wish, Mrs. Reed; why do you hate her so?"
"I had a dislike to her mother always; for she was my husband's onlysister, and a great favourite with him: he opposed the family'sdisowning her when she made her low marriage; and when news came ofher death, he wept like a simpleton. He would send for the baby;though I entreated him rather to put it out to nurse and pay forits maintenance. I hated it the first time I set my eyes on it --a sickly, whining, pining thing! It would wail in its cradle allnight long -- not screaming heartily like any other child, butwhimpering and moaning. Reed pitied it; and he used to nurse itand notice it as if it had been his own: more, indeed, than heever noticed his own at that age. He would try to make my childrenfriendly to the little beggar: the darlings could not bear it,and he was angry with them when they showed their dislike. In hislast illness, he had it brought continually to his bedside; and butan hour before he died, he bound me by vow to keep the creature.I would as soon have been charged with a pauper brat out of aworkhouse: but he was weak, naturally weak. John does not at allresemble his father, and I am glad of it: John is like me and likemy brothers -- he is quite a Gibson. Oh, I wish he would ceasetormenting me with letters for money? I have no more money to givehim: we are getting poor. I must send away half the servants andshut up part of the house; or let it off. I can never submit todo that -- yet how are we to get on? Two-thirds of my income goesin paying the interest of mortgages. John gambles dreadfully, andalways loses -- poor boy! He is beset by sharpers: John is sunkand degraded -- his look is frightful -- I feel ashamed for himwhen I see him. "
She was getting much excited. "I think I had better leave hernow, " said I to Bessie, who stood on the other side of the bed.
"Perhaps you had, Miss: but she often talks in this way towardsnight -- in the morning she is calmer. "
I rose. "Stop!" exclaimed Mrs. Reed, "there is another thingI wished to say. He threatens me -- he continually threatens mewith his own death, or mine: and I dream sometimes that I see himlaid out with a great wound in his throat, or with a swollen andblackened face. I am come to a strange pass: I have heavy troubles.What is to be done? How is the money to be had?"
Bessie now endeavoured to persuade her to take a sedative draught:she succeeded with difficulty. Soon after, Mrs. Reed grew morecomposed, and sank into a dozing state. I then left her.
More than ten days elapsed before I had again any conversation withher. She continued either delirious or lethargic; and the doctorforbade everything which could painfully excite her. Meantime,I got on as well as I could with Georgiana and Eliza. They werevery cold, indeed, at first. Eliza would sit half the day sewing,reading, or writing, and scarcely utter a word either to me or hersister. Georgiana would chatter nonsense to her canary bird by thehour, and take no notice of me. But I was determined not to seemat a loss for occupation or amusement: I had brought my drawingmaterials with me, and they served me for both.
Provided with a case of pencils, and some sheets of paper, I usedto take a seat apart from them, near the window, and busy myselfin sketching fancy vignettes, representing any scene that happenedmomentarily to shape itself in the ever-shifting kaleidoscope ofimagination: a glimpse of sea between two rocks; the rising moon,and a ship crossing its disk; a group of reeds and water-flags, anda naiad's head, crowned with lotus-flowers, rising out of them; anelf sitting in a hedge-sparrow's nest, under a wreath of hawthorn-bloom.
One morning I fell to sketching a face: what sort of a face it wasto be, I did not care or know. I took a soft black pencil, gaveit a broad point, and worked away. Soon I had traced on the papera broad and prominent forehead and a square lower outline of visage:that contour gave me pleasure; my fingers proceeded actively tofill it with features. Strongly-marked horizontal eyebrows mustbe traced under that brow; then followed, naturally, a well-definednose, with a straight ridge and full nostrils; then a flexible-looking mouth, by no means narrow; then a firm chin, with a decidedcleft down the middle of it: of course, some black whiskers werewanted, and some jetty hair, tufted on the temples, and waved abovethe forehead. Now for the eyes: I had left them to the last,because they required the most careful working. I drew themlarge; I shaped them well: the eyelashes I traced long and sombre;the irids lustrous and large. "Good! but not quite the thing, "I thought, as I surveyed the effect: "they want more force andspirit;" and I wrought the shades blacker, that the lights mightflash more brilliantly -- a happy touch or two secured success.There, I had a friend's face under my gaze; and what did it signifythat those young ladies turned their backs on me? I looked at it;I smiled at the speaking likeness: I was absorbed and content.
"Is that a portrait of some one you know?" asked Eliza, who hadapproached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely a fancyhead, and hurried it beneath the other sheets. Of course, I lied:it was, in fact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester.But what was that to her, or to any one but myself? Georgianaalso advanced to look. The other drawings pleased her much, butshe called that "an ugly man. " They both seemed surprised at myskill. I offered to sketch their portraits; and each, in turn,sat for a pencil outline. Then Georgiana produced her album. Ipromised to contribute a water-colour drawing: this put her at onceinto good humour. She proposed a walk in the grounds. Before wehad been out two hours, we were deep in a confidential conversation:she had favoured me with a description of the brilliant winter shehad spent in London two seasons ago -- of the admiration she hadthere excited -- the attention she had received; and I even gothints of the titled conquest she had made. In the course of theafternoon and evening these hints were enlarged on: various softconversations were reported, and sentimental scenes represented;and, in short, a volume of a novel of fashionable life was that dayimprovised by her for my benefit. The communications were renewedfrom day to day: they always ran on the same theme -- herself, herloves, and woes. It was strange she never once adverted either toher mother's illness, or her brother's death, or the present gloomystate of the family prospects. Her mind seemed wholly taken up withreminiscences of past gaiety, and aspirations after dissipationsto come. She passed about five minutes each day in her mother'ssick-room, and no more.
Eliza still spoke little: she had evidently no time to talk. Inever saw a busier person than she seemed to be; yet it wasdifficult to say what she did: or rather, to discover any resultof her diligence. She had an alarm to call her up early. I knownot how she occupied herself before breakfast, but after that mealshe divided her time into regular portions, and each hour had itsallotted task. Three times a day she studied a little book, whichI found, on inspection, was a Common Prayer Book. I asked her oncewhat was the great attraction of that volume, and she said, "theRubric. " Three hours she gave to stitching, with gold thread,the border of a square crimson cloth, almost large enough for acarpet. In answer to my inquiries after the use of this article,she informed me it was a covering for the altar of a new churchlately erected near Gateshead. Two hours she devoted to her diary;two to working by herself in the kitchen-garden; and one to theregulation of her accounts. She seemed to want no company; noconversation. I believe she was happy in her way: this routinesufficed for her; and nothing annoyed her so much as the occurrenceof any incident which forced her to vary its clockwork regularity.
She told me one evening, when more disposed to be communicativethan usual, that John's conduct, and the threatened ruin of thefamily, had been a source of profound affliction to her: but shehad now, she said, settled her mind, and formed her resolution.Her own fortune she had taken care to secure; and when her motherdied -- and it was wholly improbable, she tranquilly remarked,that she should either recover or linger long -- she would executea long-cherished project: seek a retirement where punctual habitswould be permanently secured from disturbance, and place safe barriersbetween herself and a frivolous world. I asked if Georgiana wouldaccompany her.
"Of course not. Georgiana and she had nothing in common: theynever had had. She would not be burdened with her society forany consideration. Georgiana should take her own course; and she,Eliza, would take hers. "
Georgiana, when not unburdening her heart to me, spent most of hertime in lying on the sofa, fretting about the dulness of the house,and wishing over and over again that her aunt Gibson would sendher an invitation up to town. "It would be so much better, " shesaid, "if she could only get out of the way for a month or two, tillall was over. " I did not ask what she meant by "all being over, "but I suppose she referred to the expected decease of her motherand the gloomy sequel of funeral rites. Eliza generally took nomore notice of her sister's indolence and complaints than if no suchmurmuring, lounging object had been before her. One day, however,as she put away her account-book and unfolded her embroidery,she suddenly took her up thus -
"Georgiana, a more vain and absurd animal than you was certainlynever allowed to cumber the earth. You had no right to be born,for you make no use of life. Instead of living for, in, and withyourself, as a reasonable being ought, you seek only to fastenyour feebleness on some other person's strength: if no one can befound willing to burden her or himself with such a fat, weak, puffy,useless thing, you cry out that you are ill-treated, neglected,miserable. Then, too, existence for you must be a scene of continualchange and excitement, or else the world is a dungeon: you mustbe admired, you must be courted, you must be flattered -- you musthave music, dancing, and society -- or you languish, you die away.Have you no sense to devise a system which will make you independentof all efforts, and all wills, but your own? Take one day; shareit into sections; to each section apportion its task: leave nostray unemployed quarters of an hour, ten minutes, five minutes-- include all; do each piece of business in its turn with method,with rigid regularity. The day will close almost before you areaware it has begun; and you are indebted to no one for helping youto get rid of one vacant moment: you have had to seek no one'scompany, conversation, sympathy, forbearance; you have lived,in short, as an independent being ought to do. Take this advice:the first and last I shall offer you; then you will not want me orany one else, happen what may. Neglect it -- go on as heretofore,craving, whining, and idling -- and suffer the results of youridiocy, however bad and insuperable they may be. I tell you thisplainly; and listen: for though I shall no more repeat what I amnow about to say, I shall steadily act on it. After my mother'sdeath, I wash my hands of you: from the day her coffin is carriedto the vault in Gateshead Church, you and I will be as separate asif we had never known each other. You need not think that becausewe chanced to be born of the same parents, I shall suffer you tofasten me down by even the feeblest claim: I can tell you this --if the whole human race, ourselves excepted, were swept away, andwe two stood alone on the earth, I would leave you in the old world,and betake myself to the new. "
She closed her lips.
"You might have spared yourself the trouble of delivering thattirade, " answered Georgiana. "Everybody knows you are the mostselfish, heartless creature in existence: and I know your spitefulhatred towards me: I have had a specimen of it before in thetrick you played me about Lord Edwin Vere: you could not bear meto be raised above you, to have a title, to be received into circleswhere you dare not show your face, and so you acted the spy andinformer, and ruined my prospects for ever. " Georgiana took outher handkerchief and blew her nose for an hour afterwards; Elizasat cold, impassable, and assiduously industrious.
True, generous feeling is made small account of by some, but herewere two natures rendered, the one intolerably acrid, the otherdespicably savourless for the want of it. Feeling without judgmentis a washy draught indeed; but judgment untempered by feeling istoo bitter and husky a morsel for human deglutition.