简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER XXXII Page 2
I gazed at him in wonder.
"It is strange, " pursued he, "that while I love Rosamond Oliver sowildly -- with all the intensity, indeed, of a first passion, theobject of which is exquisitely beautiful, graceful, fascinating --I experience at the same time a calm, unwarped consciousness thatshe would not make me a good wife; that she is not the partner suitedto me; that I should discover this within a year after marriage;and that to twelve months' rapture would succeed a lifetime ofregret. This I know. "
"Strange indeed!" I could not help ejaculating.
"While something in me, " he went on, "is acutely sensible to hercharms, something else is as deeply impressed with her defects: theyare such that she could sympathise in nothing I aspired to -- co-operate in nothing I undertook. Rosamond a sufferer, a labourer,a female apostle? Rosamond a missionary's wife? No!"
"But you need not be a missionary. You might relinquish thatscheme. "
"Relinquish! What! my vocation? My great work? My foundationlaid on earth for a mansion in heaven? My hopes of being numberedin the band who have merged all ambitions in the glorious one ofbettering their race -- of carrying knowledge into the realms ofignorance -- of substituting peace for war -- freedom for bondage-- religion for superstition -- the hope of heaven for the fear ofhell? Must I relinquish that? It is dearer than the blood in myveins. It is what I have to look forward to, and to live for. "
After a considerable pause, I said -- "And Miss Oliver? Are herdisappointment and sorrow of no interest to you?"
"Miss Oliver is ever surrounded by suitors and flatterers: in lessthan a month, my image will be effaced from her heart. She willforget me; and will marry, probably, some one who will make herfar happier than I should do. "
"You speak coolly enough; but you suffer in the conflict. You arewasting away. "
"No. If I get a little thin, it is with anxiety about my prospects,yet unsettled -- my departure, continually procrastinated. Onlythis morning, I received intelligence that the successor, whosearrival I have been so long expecting, cannot be ready to replaceme for three months to come yet; and perhaps the three months mayextend to six. "
"You tremble and become flushed whenever Miss Oliver enters theschoolroom. "
Again the surprised expression crossed his face. He had not imaginedthat a woman would dare to speak so to a man. For me, I felt athome in this sort of discourse. I could never rest in communicationwith strong, discreet, and refined minds, whether male or female,till I had passed the outworks of conventional reserve, and crossedthe threshold of confidence, and won a place by their heart's veryhearthstone.
"You are original, " said he, "and not timid. There is somethingbrave in your spirit, as well as penetrating in your eye; but allowme to assure you that you partially misinterpret my emotions. Youthink them more profound and potent than they are. You give me alarger allowance of sympathy than I have a just claim to. When Icolour, and when I shade before Miss Oliver, I do not pity myself.I scorn the weakness. I know it is ignoble: a mere fever of theflesh: not, I declare, the convulsion of the soul. THAT is justas fixed as a rock, firm set in the depths of a restless sea. Knowme to be what I am -- a cold hard man. "
every point inmy shape, face, and dress; for it traversed all, .
I smiled incredulously.
"You have taken my confidence by storm, " he continued, "and nowit is much at your service. I am simply, in my original state --stripped of that blood-bleached robe with which Christianity covershuman deformity -- a cold, hard, ambitious man. Natural affectiononly, of all the sentiments, has permanent power over me. Reason,and not feeling, is my guide; my ambition is unlimited: my desireto rise higher, to do more than others, insatiable. I honourendurance, perseverance, industry, talent; because these are themeans by which men achieve great ends and mount to lofty eminence.I watch your career with interest, because I consider you a specimenof a diligent, orderly, energetic woman: not because I deeplycompassionate what you have gone through, or what you still suffer. "
"You would describe yourself as a mere pagan philosopher, " I said.
"No. There is this difference between me and deistic philosophers:I believe; and I believe the Gospel. You missed your epithet. Iam not a pagan, but a Christian philosopher -- a follower of thesect of Jesus. As His disciple I adopt His pure, His merciful,His benignant doctrines. I advocate them: I am sworn to spreadthem. Won in youth to religion, she has cultivated my originalqualities thus:- From the minute germ, natural affection, she hasdeveloped the overshadowing tree, philanthropy. From the wildstringy root of human uprightness, she has reared a due sense ofthe Divine justice. Of the ambition to win power and renown formy wretched self, she has formed the ambition to spread my Master'skingdom; to achieve victories for the standard of the cross. Somuch has religion done for me; turning the original materials tothe best account; pruning and training nature. But she could noteradicate nature: nor will it be eradicated 'till this mortalshall put on immortality. '"
Having said this, he took his hat, which lay on the table besidemy palette. Once more he looked at the portrait.
"She IS lovely, " he murmured. "She is well named the Rose of theWorld, indeed!"
"And may I not paint one like it for you?"
"CUI BONO? No. "
He drew over the picture the sheet of thin paper on which I wasaccustomed to rest my hand in painting, to prevent the cardboardfrom being sullied. What he suddenly saw on this blank paper, itwas impossible for me to tell; but something had caught his eye.He took it up with a snatch; he looked at the edge; then shot aglance at me, inexpressibly peculiar, and quite incomprehensible:a glance that seemed to take and make note of every point inmy shape, face, and dress; for it traversed all, quick, keen aslightning. His lips parted, as if to speak: but he checked thecoming sentence, whatever it was.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"Nothing in the world, " was the reply; and, replacing the paper,I saw him dexterously tear a narrow slip from the margin. Itdisappeared in his glove; and, with one hasty nod and "good-afternoon, "he vanished.
"Well!" I exclaimed, using an expression of the district, "thatcaps the globe, however!"
I, in my turn, scrutinised the paper; but saw nothing on it save afew dingy stains of paint where I had tried the tint in my pencil.I pondered the mystery a minute or two; but finding it insolvable,and being certain it could not be of much moment, I dismissed, andsoon forgot it.