简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER XXX
The more I knew of the inmates of Moor House, the better I likedthem. In a few days I had so far recovered my health that I couldsit up all day, and walk out sometimes. I could join with Dianaand Mary in all their occupations; converse with them as much asthey wished, and aid them when and where they would allow me. Therewas a reviving pleasure in this intercourse, of a kind now tastedby me for the first time -- the pleasure arising from perfectcongeniality of tastes, sentiments, and principles.
I liked to read what they liked to read: what they enjoyed,delighted me; what they approved, I reverenced. They loved theirsequestered home. I, too, in the grey, small, antique structure,with its low roof, its latticed casements, its mouldering walls,its avenue of aged firs -- all grown aslant under the stress ofmountain winds; its garden, dark with yew and holly -- and whereno flowers but of the hardiest species would bloom -- found a charmboth potent and permanent. They clung to the purple moors behindand around their dwelling -- to the hollow vale into which thepebbly bridle-path leading from their gate descended, and whichwound between fern-banks first, and then amongst a few of thewildest little pasture-fields that ever bordered a wilderness ofheath, or gave sustenance to a flock of grey moorland sheep, withtheir little mossy-faced lambs:- they clung to this scene, I say,with a perfect enthusiasm of attachment. I could comprehend thefeeling, and share both its strength and truth. I saw the fascinationof the locality. I felt the consecration of its loneliness: my eyefeasted on the outline of swell and sweep -- on the wild colouringcommunicated to ridge and dell by moss, by heath-bell, byflower-sprinkled turf, by brilliant bracken, and mellow granitecrag. These details were just to me what they were to them -- somany pure and sweet sources of pleasure. The strong blast and thesoft breeze; the rough and the halcyon day; the hours of sunriseand sunset; the moonlight and the clouded night, developed for me,in these regions, the same attraction as for them -- wound roundmy faculties the same spell that entranced theirs.
Indoors we agreed equally well. They were both more accomplishedand better read than I was; but with eagerness I followed in thepath of knowledge they had trodden before me. I devoured the booksthey lent me: then it was full satisfaction to discuss with themin the evening what I had perused during the day. Thought fittedthought; opinion met opinion: we coincided, in short, perfectly.
If in our trio there was a superior and a leader, it was Diana.Physically, she far excelled me: she was handsome; she was vigorous.In her animal spirits there was an affluence of life and certaintyof flow, such as excited my wonder, while it baffled my comprehension.I could talk a while when the evening commenced, but the firstgush of vivacity and fluency gone, I was fain to sit on a stool atDiana's feet, to rest my head on her knee, and listen alternatelyto her and Mary, while they sounded thoroughly the topic on whichI had but touched. Diana offered to teach me German. I liked tolearn of her: I saw the part of instructress pleased and suitedher; that of scholar pleased and suited me no less. Our naturesdovetailed: mutual affection -- of the strongest kind -- was theresult. They discovered I could draw: their pencils and colour-boxeswere immediately at my service. My skill, greater in this onepoint than theirs, surprised and charmed them. Mary would sit andwatch me by the hour together: then she would take lessons; anda docile, intelligent, assiduous pupil she made. Thus occupied,and mutually entertained, days passed like hours, and weeks likedays.
As to Mr. St John, the intimacy which had arisen so naturally andrapidly between me and his sisters did not extend to him. Onereason of the distance yet observed between us was, that hewas comparatively seldom at home: a large proportion of his timeappeared devoted to visiting the sick and poor among the scatteredpopulation of his parish.
No weather seemed to hinder him in these pastoral excursions: rainor fair, he would, when his hours of morning study were over, takehis hat, and, followed by his father's old pointer, Carlo, go outon his mission of love or duty -- I scarcely know in which lighthe regarded it. Sometimes, when the day was very unfavourable,his sisters would expostulate. He would then say, with a peculiarsmile, more solemn than cheerful --
"And if I let a gust of wind or a sprinkling of rain turn me asidefrom these easy tasks, what preparation would such sloth be forthe future I propose to myself?"
Diana and Mary's general answer to this question was a sigh, andsome minutes of apparently mournful meditation.
But besides his frequent absences, there was another barrier tofriendship with him: he seemed of a reserved, an abstracted, andeven of a brooding nature. Zealous in his ministerial labours,blameless in his life and habits, he yet did not appear to enjoythat mental serenity, that inward content, which should be thereward of every sincere Christian and practical philanthropist.Often, of an evening, when he sat at the window, his desk and papersbefore him, he would cease reading or writing, rest his chin on hishand, and deliver himself up to I know not what course of thought;but that it was perturbed and exciting might be seen in the frequentflash and changeful dilation of his eye.
I think, moreover, that Nature was not to him that treasury ofdelight it was to his sisters. He expressed once, and but once inmy hearing, a strong sense of the rugged charm of the hills, andan inborn affection for the dark roof and hoary walls he calledhis home; but there was more of gloom than pleasure in the toneand words in which the sentiment was manifested; and never did heseem to roam the moors for the sake of their soothing silence --never seek out or dwell upon the thousand peaceful delights theycould yield.
Incommunicative as he was, some time elapsed before I hadan opportunity of gauging his mind. I first got an idea of itscalibre when I heard him preach in his own church at Morton. I wishI could describe that sermon: but it is past my power. I cannoteven render faithfully the effect it produced on me.
It began calm -- and indeed, as far as delivery and pitch of voicewent, it was calm to the end: an earnestly felt, yet strictlyrestrained zeal breathed soon in the distinct accents, and promptedthe nervous language. This grew to force -- compressed, condensed,controlled. The heart was thrilled, the mind astonished, by thepower of the preacher: neither were softened. Throughout therewas a strange bitterness; an absence of consolatory gentleness;stern allusions to Calvinistic doctrines -- election, predestination,reprobation -- were frequent; and each reference to these pointssounded like a sentence pronounced for doom. When he had done,instead of feeling better, calmer, more enlightened by his discourse,I experienced an inexpressible sadness; for it seemed to me -- Iknow not whether equally so to others -- that the eloquence to whichI had been listening had sprung from a depth where lay turbid dregsof disappointment -- where moved troubling impulses of insatiateyearnings and disquieting aspirations. I was sure St. John Rivers-- pure-lived, conscientious, zealous as he was -- had not yetfound that peace of God which passeth all understanding: he had nomore found it, I thought, than had I with my concealed and rackingregrets for my broken idol and lost elysium -- regrets to which Ihave latterly avoided referring, but which possessed me and tyrannisedover me ruthlessly.
Meantime a month was gone. Diana and Mary were soon to leave MoorHouse, and return to the far different life and scene which awaitedthem, as governesses in a large, fashionable, south-of-Englandcity, where each held a situation in families by whose wealthyand haughty members they were regarded only as humble dependants,and who neither knew nor sought out their innate excellences, andappreciated only their acquired accomplishments as they appreciatedthe skill of their cook or the taste of their waiting-woman. Mr.St. John had said nothing to me yet about the employment he hadpromised to obtain for me; yet it became urgent that I should havea vocation of some kind. One morning, being left alone with him afew minutes in the parlour, I ventured to approach the window-recess-- which his table, chair, and desk consecrated as a kind of study-- and I was going to speak, though not very well knowing in whatwords to frame my inquiry -- for it is at all times difficult tobreak the ice of reserve glassing over such natures as his -- whenhe saved me the trouble by being the first to commence a dialogue.
Looking up as I drew near -- "You have a question to ask of me?"he said.
"Yes; I wish to know whether you have heard of any service I canoffer myself to undertake?"
"I found or devised something for you three weeks ago; but as youseemed both useful and happy here -- as my sisters had evidentlybecome attached to you, and your society gave them unusual pleasure-- I deemed it inexpedient to break in on your mutual comfort tilltheir approaching departure from Marsh End should render yoursnecessary. "
"And they will go in three days now?" I said.
"Yes; and when they go, I shall return to the parsonage at Morton:Hannah will accompany me; and this old house will be shut up. "
I waited a few moments, expecting he would go on with the subjectfirst broached: but he seemed to have entered another train ofreflection: his look denoted abstraction from me and my business.I was obliged to recall him to a theme which was of necessity oneof close and anxious interest to me.
"What is the employment you had in view, Mr. Rivers? I hope thisdelay will not have increased the difficulty of securing it. "
"Oh, no; since it is an employment which depends only on me togive, and you to accept. "
He again paused: there seemed a reluctance to continue. I grewimpatient: a restless movement or two, and an eager and exactingglance fastened on his face, conveyed the feeling to him aseffectually as words could have done, and with less trouble.
"You need be in no hurry to hear, " he said: "let me frankly tellyou, I have nothing eligible or profitable to suggest. Before Iexplain, recall, if you please, my notice, clearly given, that ifI helped you, it must be as the blind man would help the lame. Iam poor; for I find that, when I have paid my father's debts, allthe patrimony remaining to me will be this crumbling grange, therow of scathed firs behind, and the patch of moorish soil, with theyew-trees and holly-bushes in front. I am obscure: Rivers is anold name; but of the three sole descendants of the race, two earnthe dependant's crust among strangers, and the third considershimself an alien from his native country -- not only for life, butin death. Yes, and deems, and is bound to deem, himself honoured bythe lot, and aspires but after the day when the cross of separationfrom fleshly ties shall be laid on his shoulders, and when theHead of that church-militant of whose humblest members he is one,shall give the word, 'Rise, follow Me!'"
St. John said these words as he pronounced his sermons, witha quiet, deep voice; with an unflushed cheek, and a coruscatingradiance of glance. He resumed -
"And since I am myself poor and obscure, I can offer you but aservice of poverty and obscurity. YOU may even think it degrading-- for I see now your habits have been what the world calls refined:your tastes lean to the ideal, and your society has at least beenamongst the educated; but I consider that no service degrades whichcan better our race. I hold that the more arid and unreclaimedthe soil where the Christian labourer's task of tillage is appointedhim -- the scantier the meed his toil brings -- the higher the honour.His, under such circumstances, is the destiny of the pioneer; andthe first pioneers of the Gospel were the Apostles -- their captainwas Jesus, the Redeemer, Himself. "
"Well?" I said, as he again paused -- "proceed. "
He looked at me before he proceeded: indeed, he seemed leisurelyto read my face, as if its features and lines were characterson a page. The conclusions drawn from this scrutiny he partiallyexpressed in his succeeding observations.
"I believe you will accept the post I offer you, " said he, "andhold it for a while: not permanently, though: any more than Icould permanently keep the narrow and narrowing -- the tranquil,hidden office of English country incumbent; for in your natureis an alloy as detrimental to repose as that in mine, though of adifferent kind. "
"Do explain, " I urged, when he halted once more.
"I will; and you shall hear how poor the proposal is, -- how trivial-- how cramping. I shall not stay long at Morton, now that myfather is dead, and that I am my own master. I shall leave theplace probably in the course of a twelve-month; but while I do stay,I will exert myself to the utmost for its improvement. Morton,when I came to it two years ago, had no school: the children ofthe poor were excluded from every hope of progress. I establishedone for boys: I mean now to open a second school for girls. Ihave hired a building for the purpose, with a cottage of two roomsattached to it for the mistress's house. Her salary will be thirtypounds a year: her house is already furnished, very simply, butsufficiently, by the kindness of a lady, Miss Oliver; the onlydaughter of the sole rich man in my parish -- Mr. Oliver, theproprietor of a needle-factory and iron-foundry in the valley. Thesame lady pays for the education and clothing of an orphan fromthe workhouse, on condition that she shall aid the mistress in suchmenial offices connected with her own house and the school as heroccupation of teaching will prevent her having time to dischargein person. Will you be this mistress?"
He put the question rather hurriedly; he seemed half to expect anindignant, or at least a disdainful rejection of the offer: notknowing all my thoughts and feelings, though guessing some, hecould not tell in what light the lot would appear to me. In truthit was humble -- but then it was sheltered, and I wanted a safe asylum:it was plodding -- but then, compared with that of a governess ina rich house, it was independent; and the fear of servitude withstrangers entered my soul like iron: it was not ignoble -- notunworthy -- not mentally degrading, I made my decision.
"I thank you for the proposal, Mr. Rivers, and I accept it withall my heart. "
"But you comprehend me?" he said. "It is a village school: yourscholars will be only poor girls -- cottagers' children -- at thebest, farmers' daughters. Knitting, sewing, reading, writing,ciphering, will be all you will have to teach. What will you dowith your accomplishments? What, with the largest portion of yourmind -- sentiments -- tastes?"
"Save them till they are wanted. They will keep. "
"You know what you undertake, then?"
"I do. "
He now smiled: and not a bitter or a sad smile, but one wellpleased and deeply gratified.
"And when will you commence the exercise of your function?"
"I will go to my house to-morrow, and open the school, if you like,next week. "
"Very well: so be it. "
He rose and walked through the room. Standing still, he againlooked at me. He shook his head.
"What do you disapprove of, Mr. Rivers?" I asked.
"You will not stay at Morton long: no, no!"
"Why? What is your reason for saying so?"
"I read it in your eye; it is not of that description which promisesthe maintenance of an even tenor in life. "
"I am not ambitious. "
He started at the word "ambitious. " He repeated, "No. What madeyou think of ambition? Who is ambitious? I know I am: but howdid you find it out?"
"I was speaking of myself. "
"Well, if you are not ambitious, you are -- " He paused.
"What?"
"I was going to say, impassioned: but perhaps you would havemisunderstood the word, and been displeased. I mean, that humanaffections and sympathies have a most powerful hold on you. I amsure you cannot long be content to pass your leisure in solitude,and to devote your working hours to a monotonous labour whollyvoid of stimulus: any more than I can be content, " he added, withemphasis, "to live here buried in morass, pent in with mountains-- my nature, that God gave me, contravened; my faculties,heaven-bestowed, paralysed -- made useless. You hear now how Icontradict myself. I, who preached contentment with a humble lot,and justified the vocation even of hewers of wood and drawers ofwater in God's service -- I, His ordained minister, almost ravein my restlessness. Well, propensities and principles must bereconciled by some means. "
He left the room. In this brief hour I had learnt more of him thanin the whole previous month: yet still he puzzled me.
Diana and Mary Rivers became more sad and silent as the dayapproached for leaving their brother and their home. They bothtried to appear as usual; but the sorrow they had to struggle againstwas one that could not be entirely conquered or concealed. Dianaintimated that this would be a different parting from any they hadever yet known. It would probably, as far as St. John was concerned,be a parting for years: it might be a parting for life.
"He will sacrifice all to his long-framed resolves, " she said:"natural affection and feelings more potent still. St. John looksquiet, Jane; but he hides a fever in his vitals. You would thinkhim gentle, yet in some things he is inexorable as death; and theworst of it is, my conscience will hardly permit me to dissuade himfrom his severe decision: certainly, I cannot for a moment blamehim for it. It is right, noble, Christian: yet it breaks myheart!" And the tears gushed to her fine eyes. Mary bent her headlow over her work.
"We are now without father: we shall soon be without home andbrother, " she murmured,
At that moment a little accident supervened, which seemed decreedby fate purposely to prove the truth of the adage, that "misfortunesnever come singly, " and to add to their distresses the vexing oneof the slip between the cup and the lip. St. John passed the windowreading a letter. He entered.
"Our uncle John is dead, " said he.
Both the sisters seemed struck: not shocked or appalled; thetidings appeared in their eyes rather momentous than afflicting.
"Dead?" repeated Diana.
"Yes. "
She riveted a searching gaze on her brother's face. "And whatthen?" she demanded, in a low voice.
"What then, Die?" he replied, maintaining a marble immobility offeature. "What then? Why -- nothing. Read. "
He threw the letter into her lap. She glanced over it, and handedit to Mary. Mary perused it in silence, and returned it to herbrother. All three looked at each other, and all three smiled --a dreary, pensive smile enough.
"Amen! We can yet live, " said Diana at last.
"At any rate, it makes us no worse off than we were before, " remarkedMary.
"Only it forces rather strongly on the mind the picture of whatMIGHT HAVE BEEN, " said Mr. Rivers, "and contrasts it somewhat toovividly with what IS. "
He folded the letter, locked it in his desk, and again went out.
For some minutes no one spoke. Diana then turned to me.
"Jane, you will wonder at us and our mysteries, " she said, "andthink us hard-hearted beings not to be more moved at the death ofso near a relation as an uncle; but we have never seen him or knownhim. He was my mother's brother. My father and he quarrelledlong ago. It was by his advice that my father risked most of hisproperty in the speculation that ruined him. Mutual recriminationpassed between them: they parted in anger, and were never reconciled.My uncle engaged afterwards in more prosperous undertakings: itappears he realised a fortune of twenty thousand pounds. Hewas never married, and had no near kindred but ourselves and oneother person, not more closely related than we. My father alwayscherished the idea that he would atone for his error by leaving hispossessions to us; that letter informs us that he has bequeathedevery penny to the other relation, with the exception of thirtyguineas, to be divided between St. John, Diana, and Mary Rivers, forthe purchase of three mourning rings. He had a right, of course,to do as he pleased: and yet a momentary damp is cast on thespirits by the receipt of such news. Mary and I would have esteemedourselves rich with a thousand pounds each; and to St. John sucha sum would have been valuable, for the good it would have enabledhim to do. "
This explanation given, the subject was dropped, and no furtherreference made to it by either Mr. Rivers or his sisters. The nextday I left Marsh End for Morton. The day after, Diana and Maryquitted it for distant B-. In a week, Mr. Rivers and Hannah repairedto the parsonage: and so the old grange was abandoned.