简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER XXXIV Page 2
One afternoon, however, I got leave to stay at home, because Ireally had a cold. His sisters were gone to Morton in my stead: Isat reading Schiller; he, deciphering his crabbed Oriental scrolls.As I exchanged a translation for an exercise, I happened to look hisway: there I found myself under the influence of the ever-watchfulblue eye. How long it had been searching me through and through,and over and over, I cannot tell: so keen was it, and yet so cold,I felt for the moment superstitious -- as if I were sitting in theroom with something uncanny.
"Jane, what are you doing?"
"Learning German. "
"I want you to give up German and learn Hindostanee. "
"You are not in earnest?"
"In such earnest that I must have it so: and I will tell you why. "
He then went on to explain that Hindostanee was the language hewas himself at present studying; that, as he advanced, he was aptto forget the commencement; that it would assist him greatly to havea pupil with whom he might again and again go over the elements,and so fix them thoroughly in his mind; that his choice had hoveredfor some time between me and his sisters; but that he had fixed onme because he saw I could sit at a task the longest of the three.Would I do him this favour? I should not, perhaps, have to makethe sacrifice long, as it wanted now barely three months to hisdeparture.
St. John was not a man to be lightly refused: you felt that everyimpression made on him, either for pain or pleasure, was deep-graved andpermanent. I consented. When Diana and Mary returned, the formerfound her scholar transferred from her to her brother: shelaughed, and both she and Mary agreed that St. John shouldnever have persuaded them to such a step. He answered quietly -
"I know it. "
I found him a very patient, very forbearing, and yet an exactingmaster: he expected me to do a great deal; and when I fulfilled hisexpectations, he, in his own way, fully testified his approbation.By degrees, he acquired a certain influence over me that took awaymy liberty of mind: his praise and notice were more restrainingthan his indifference. I could no longer talk or laugh freely whenhe was by, because a tiresomely importunate instinct reminded methat vivacity (at least in me) was distasteful to him. I was sofully aware that only serious moods and occupations were acceptable,that in his presence every effort to sustain or follow any otherbecame vain: I fell under a freezing spell. When he said "go, " Iwent; "come, " I came; "do this, " I did it. But I did not love myservitude: I wished, many a time, he had continued to neglect me.
One evening when, at bedtime, his sisters and I stood round him,bidding him good-night, he kissed each of them, as was his custom;and, as was equally his custom, he gave me his hand. Diana, whochanced to be in a frolicsome humour (SHE was not painfully controlledby his will; for hers, in another way, was as strong), exclaimed -
"St. John! you used to call Jane your third sister, but you don'ttreat her as such: you should kiss her too. "
She pushed me towards him. I thought Diana very provoking, and feltuncomfortably confused; and while I was thus thinking and feeling,St. John bent his head; his Greek face was brought to a level withmine, his eyes questioned my eyes piercingly -- he kissed me. Thereare no such things as marble kisses or ice kisses, or I should saymy ecclesiastical cousin's salute belonged to one of these classes;but there may be experiment kisses, and his was an experiment kiss.When given, he viewed me to learn the result; it was not striking:I am sure I did not blush; perhaps I might have turned a littlepale, for I felt as if this kiss were a seal affixed to my fetters.He never omitted the ceremony afterwards, and the gravity andquiescence with which I underwent it, seemed to invest it for himwith a certain charm.
As for me, I daily wished more to please him; but to do so, I feltdaily more and more that I must disown half my nature, stifle halfmy faculties, wrest my tastes from their original bent, force myselfto the adoption of pursuits for which I had no natural vocation. Hewanted to train me to an elevation I could never reach; it rackedme hourly to aspire to the standard he uplifted. The thing wasas impossible as to mould my irregular features to his correct andclassic pattern, to give to my changeable green eyes the sea-bluetint and solemn lustre of his own.
Not his ascendancy alone, however, held me in thrall at present.Of late it had been easy enough for me to look sad: a cankeringevil sat at my heart and drained my happiness at its source -- theevil of suspense.
Perhaps you think I had forgotten Mr. Rochester, reader, amidstthese changes of place and fortune. Not for a moment. His ideawas still with me, because it was not a vapour sunshine coulddisperse, nor a sand-traced effigy storms could wash away; it wasa name graven on a tablet, fated to last as long as the marble itinscribed. The craving to know what had become of him followedme everywhere; when I was at Morton, I re-entered my cottage everyevening to think of that; and now at Moor House, I sought my bedroomeach night to brood over it.
In the course of my necessary correspondence with Mr. Briggs aboutthe will, I had inquired if he knew anything of Mr. Rochester's presentresidence and state of health; but, as St. John had conjectured,he was quite ignorant of all concerning him. I then wrote to Mrs.Fairfax, entreating information on the subject. I had calculatedwith certainty on this step answering my end: I felt sure it wouldelicit an early answer. I was astonished when a fortnight passedwithout reply; but when two months wore away, and day after daythe post arrived and brought nothing for me, I fell a prey to thekeenest anxiety.
I wrote again: there was a chance of my first letter havingmissed. Renewed hope followed renewed effort: it shone like theformer for some weeks, then, like it, it faded, flickered: nota line, not a word reached me. When half a year wasted in vainexpectancy, my hope died out, and then I felt dark indeed.
A fine spring shone round me, which I could not enjoy. Summerapproached; Diana tried to cheer me: she said I looked ill, andwished to accompany me to the sea-side. This St. John opposed; hesaid I did not want dissipation, I wanted employment; my presentlife was too purposeless, I required an aim; and, I suppose, by wayof supplying deficiencies, he prolonged still further my lessons inHindostanee, and grew more urgent in requiring their accomplishment:and I, like a fool, never thought of resisting him -- I could notresist him.
One day I had come to my studies in lower spirits than usual; theebb was occasioned by a poignantly felt disappointment. Hannah hadtold me in the morning there was a letter for me, and when I wentdown to take it, almost certain that the long-looked for tidingswere vouchsafed me at last, I found only an unimportant note fromMr. Briggs on business. The bitter check had wrung from me sometears; and now, as I sat poring over the crabbed characters andflourishing tropes of an Indian scribe, my eyes filled again.
St. John called me to his side to read; in attempting to do thismy voice failed me: words were lost in sobs. He and I were theonly occupants of the parlour: Diana was practising her music inthe drawing-room, Mary was gardening -- it was a very fine May day,clear, sunny, and breezy. My companion expressed no surprise atthis emotion, nor did he question me as to its cause; he only said -
"We will wait a few minutes, Jane, till you are more composed. "And while I smothered the paroxysm with all haste, he sat calm andpatient, leaning on his desk, and looking like a physician watchingwith the eye of science an expected and fully understood crisisin a patient's malady. Having stifled my sobs, wiped my eyes,and muttered something about not being very well that morning, Iresumed my task, and succeeded in completing it. St. Johnput away my books and his, locked his desk, and said -
"Now, Jane, you shall take a walk; and with me. "
"I will call Diana and Mary. "
"No; I want only one companion this morning, and that must be you.Put on your things; go out by the kitchen-door: take the roadtowards the head of Marsh Glen: I will join you in a moment. "
I know no medium: I never in my life have known any medium in mydealings with positive, hard characters, antagonistic to my own,between absolute submission and determined revolt. I have alwaysfaithfully observed the one, up to the very moment of bursting,sometimes with volcanic vehemence, into the other; and as neitherpresent circumstances warranted, nor my present mood inclined meto mutiny, I observed careful obedience to St. John's directions;and in ten minutes I was treading the wild track of the glen, sideby side with him.
The breeze was from the west: it came over the hills, sweet withscents of heath and rush; the sky was of stainless blue; the streamdescending the ravine, swelled with past spring rains, pouredalong plentiful and clear, catching golden gleams from the sun,and sapphire tints from the firmament. As we advanced and left thetrack, we trod a soft turf, mossy fine and emerald green, minutelyenamelled with a tiny white flower, and spangled with a star-likeyellow blossom: the hills, meantime, shut us quite in; for theglen, towards its head, wound to their very core.
"Let us rest here, " said St. John, as we reached the first stragglersof a battalion of rocks, guarding a sort of pass, beyond which thebeck rushed down a waterfall; and where, still a little farther,the mountain shook off turf and flower, had only heath for raimentand crag for gem -- where it exaggerated the wild to the savage,and exchanged the fresh for the frowning -- where it guarded theforlorn hope of solitude, and a last refuge for silence.
I took a seat: St. John stood near me. He looked up the passand down the hollow; his glance wandered away with the stream, andreturned to traverse the unclouded heaven which coloured it: heremoved his hat, let the breeze stir his hair and kiss his brow.He seemed in communion with the genius of the haunt: with his eyehe bade farewell to something.
"And I shall see it again, " he said aloud, "in dreams when I sleepby the Ganges: and again in a more remote hour -- when anotherslumber overcomes me -- on the shore of a darker stream!"
Strange words of a strange love! An austere patriot's passionfor his fatherland! He sat down; for half-an-hour we never spoke;neither he to me nor I to him: that interval past, he recommenced -
"Jane, I go in six weeks; I have taken my berth in an East Indiamanwhich sails on the 20th of June. "
"God will protect you; for you have undertaken His work, " I answered.
"Yes, " said he, "there is my glory and joy. I am the servant ofan infallible Master. I am not going out under human guidance,subject to the defective laws and erring control of my feeblefellow-worms: my king, my lawgiver, my captain, is the All-perfect.It seems strange to me that all round me do not burn to enlistunder the same banner, -- to join in the same enterprise. "
"All have not your powers, and it would be folly for the feeble towish to march with the strong. "
"I do not speak to the feeble, or think of them: I address onlysuch as are worthy of the work, and competent to accomplish it. "
"Those are few in number, and difficult to discover. "
"You say truly; but when found, it is right to stir them up -- tourge and exhort them to the effort -- to show them what their giftsare, and why they were given -- to speak Heaven's message in theirear, -- to offer them, direct from God, a place in the ranks ofHis chosen. "
"If they are really qualified for the task, will not their ownhearts be the first to inform them of it?"
I felt as if an awful charm was framing round and gathering overme: I trembled to hear some fatal word spoken which would at oncedeclare and rivet the spell.
"And what does YOUR heart say?" demanded St. John.
"My heart is mute, -- my heart is mute, " I answered, struck andthrilled.
"Then I must speak for it, " continued the deep, relentless voice."Jane, come with me to India: come as my helpmeet and fellow-labourer. "
The glen and sky spun round: the hills heaved! It was as if I hadheard a summons from Heaven -- as if a visionary messenger, likehim of Macedonia, had enounced, "Come over and help us!" But Iwas no apostle, -- I could not behold the herald, -- I could notreceive his call.
"Oh, St. John!" I cried, "have some mercy!"
I appealed to one who, in the discharge of what he believedhis duty, knew neither mercy nor remorse. He continued -
"God and nature intended you for a missionary's wife. It isnot personal, but mental endowments they have given you: you areformed for labour, not for love. A missionary's wife you must --shall be. You shall be mine: I claim you -- not for my pleasure,but for my Sovereign's service. "
"I am not fit for it: I have no vocation, " I said.
He had calculated on these first objections: he was not irritatedby them. Indeed, as he leaned back against the crag behind him,folded his arms on his chest, and fixed his countenance, I saw hewas prepared for a long and trying opposition, and had taken in astock of patience to last him to its close -- resolved, however,that that close should be conquest for him.
"Humility, Jane, " said he, "is the groundwork of Christian virtues:you say right that you are not fit for the work. Who is fit forit? Or who, that ever was truly called, believed himself worthyof the summons? I, for instance, am but dust and ashes. With St.Paul, I acknowledge myself the chiefest of sinners; but I do notsuffer this sense of my personal vileness to daunt me. I knowmy Leader: that He is just as well as mighty; and while He haschosen a feeble instrument to perform a great task, He will, fromthe boundless stores of His providence, supply the inadequacy ofthe means to the end. Think like me, Jane -- trust like me. Itis the Rock of Ages I ask you to lean on: do not doubt but it willbear the weight of your human weakness. "
"I do not understand a missionary life: I have never studiedmissionary labours. "
"There I, humble as I am, can give you the aid you want: I canset you your task from hour to hour; stand by you always; help youfrom moment to moment. This I could do in the beginning: soon(for I know your powers) you would be as strong and apt as myself,and would not require my help. "
"But my powers -- where are they for this undertaking? I do notfeel them. Nothing speaks or stirs in me while you talk. I amsensible of no light kindling -- no life quickening -- no voicecounselling or cheering. Oh, I wish I could make you see how muchmy mind is at this moment like a rayless dungeon, with one shrinkingfear fettered in its depths -- the fear of being persuaded by youto attempt what I cannot accomplish!"
"I have an answer for you -- hear it. I have watched you eversince we first met: I have made you my study for ten months. Ihave proved you in that time by sundry tests: and what have Iseen and elicited? In the village school I found you could performwell, punctually, uprightly, labour uncongenial to your habits andinclinations; I saw you could perform it with capacity and tact:you could win while you controlled. In the calm with which youlearnt you had become suddenly rich, I read a mind clear of thevice of Demas:- lucre had no undue power over you. In the resolutereadiness with which you cut your wealth into four shares, keepingbut one to yourself, and relinquishing the three others to theclaim of abstract justice, I recognised a soul that revelled inthe flame and excitement of sacrifice. In the tractability withwhich, at my wish, you forsook a study in which you were interested,and adopted another because it interested me; in the untiring assiduitywith which you have since persevered in it -- in the unflaggingenergy and unshaken temper with which you have met its difficulties-- I acknowledge the complement of the qualities I seek. Jane,you are docile, diligent, disinterested, faithful, constant,and courageous; very gentle, and very heroic: cease to mistrustyourself -- I can trust you unreservedly. As a conductress ofIndian schools, and a helper amongst Indian women, your assistancewill be to me invaluable. "
My iron shroud contracted round me; persuasion advanced withslow sure step. Shut my eyes as I would, these last words of hissucceeded in making the way, which had seemed blocked up, comparativelyclear. My work, which had appeared so vague, so hopelessly diffuse,condensed itself as he proceeded, and assumed a definite form underhis shaping hand. He waited for an answer. I demanded a quarterof an hour to think, before I again hazarded a reply.
"Very willingly, " he rejoined; and rising, he strode a littledistance up the pass, threw himself down on a swell of heath, andthere lay still.
"I CAN do what he wants me to do: I am forced to see and acknowledgethat, " I meditated, -- "that is, if life be spared me. But I feelmine is not the existence to be long protracted under an Indiansun. What then? He does not care for that: when my time came todie, he would resign me, in all serenity and sanctity, to the Godwho gave me. The case is very plain before me. In leaving England,I should leave a loved but empty land -- Mr. Rochester is not there;and if he were, what is, what can that ever be to me? My businessis to live without him now: nothing so absurd, so weak as to dragon from day to day, as if I were waiting some impossible change incircumstances, which might reunite me to him. Of course (as St.John once said) I must seek another interest in life to replace theone lost: is not the occupation he now offers me truly the mostglorious man can adopt or God assign? Is it not, by its noble caresand sublime results, the one best calculated to fill the void leftby uptorn affections and demolished hopes? I believe I must say,Yes -- and yet I shudder. Alas! If I join St. John, I abandonhalf myself: if I go to India, I go to premature death. And howwill the interval between leaving England for India, and India forthe grave, be filled? Oh, I know well! That, too, is very clearto my vision. By straining to satisfy St. John till my sinews ache,I SHALL satisfy him -- to the finest central point and farthestoutward circle of his expectations. If I DO go with him -- if IDO make the sacrifice he urges, I will make it absolutely: I willthrow all on the altar -- heart, vitals, the entire victim. He willnever love me; but he shall approve me; I will show him energieshe has not yet seen, resources he has never suspected. Yes, I canwork as hard as he can, and with as little grudging.
"Consent, then, to his demand is possible: but for one item --one dreadful item. It is -- that he asks me to be his wife, andhas no more of a husband's heart for me than that frowning giantof a rock, down which the stream is foaming in yonder gorge. Heprizes me as a soldier would a good weapon; and that is all.Unmarried to him, this would never grieve me; but can I let himcomplete his calculations -- coolly put into practice his plans --go through the wedding ceremony? Can I receive from him the bridalring, endure all the forms of love (which I doubt not he wouldscrupulously observe) and know that the spirit was quite absent?Can I bear the consciousness that every endearment he bestowsis a sacrifice made on principle? No: such a martyrdom wouldbe monstrous. I will never undergo it. As his sister, I mightaccompany him -- not as his wife: I will tell him so. "