简.爱 英文版 Jane Eyre
夏洛蒂.勃朗特 Charlotte Bronte
CHAPTER XXXVII Page 1
The manor-house of Ferndean was a building of considerable antiquity,moderate size, and no architectural pretensions, deep buried ina wood. I had heard of it before. Mr. Rochester often spoke ofit, and sometimes went there. His father had purchased the estatefor the sake of the game covers. He would have let the house, butcould find no tenant, in consequence of its ineligible and insalubrioussite. Ferndean then remained uninhabited and unfurnished, with theexception of some two or three rooms fitted up for the accommodationof the squire when he went there in the season to shoot.
To this house I came just ere dark on an evening marked by thecharacteristics of sad sky, cold gale, and continued small penetratingrain. The last mile I performed on foot, having dismissed thechaise and driver with the double remuneration I had promised. Evenwhen within a very short distance of the manor-house, you couldsee nothing of it, so thick and dark grew the timber of the gloomywood about it. Iron gates between granite pillars showed me whereto enter, and passing through them, I found myself at once in thetwilight of close-ranked trees. There was a grass-grown trackdescending the forest aisle between hoar and knotty shafts andunder branched arches. I followed it, expecting soon to reach thedwelling; but it stretched on and on, it would far and farther:no sign of habitation or grounds was visible.
I thought I had taken a wrong direction and lost my way. Thedarkness of natural as well as of sylvan dusk gathered over me. Ilooked round in search of another road. There was none: all wasinterwoven stem, columnar trunk, dense summer foliage -- no openinganywhere.
I proceeded: at last my way opened, the trees thinned a little;presently I beheld a railing, then the house -- scarce, by thisdim light, distinguishable from the trees; so dank and green wereits decaying walls. Entering a portal, fastened only by a latch,I stood amidst a space of enclosed ground, from which the wood sweptaway in a semicircle. There were no flowers, no garden-beds; onlya broad gravel-walk girdling a grass-plat, and this set in theheavy frame of the forest. The house presented two pointed gablesin its front; the windows were latticed and narrow: the frontdoor was narrow too, one step led up to it. The whole looked, asthe host of the Rochester Arms had said, "quite a desolate spot. "It was as still as a church on a week-day: the pattering rain onthe forest leaves was the only sound audible in its vicinage.
"Can there be life here?" I asked.
Yes, life of some kind there was; for I heard a movement -- thatnarrow front-door was unclosing, and some shape was about to issuefrom the grange.
It opened slowly: a figure came out into the twilight and stoodon the step; a man without a hat: he stretched forth his hand asif to feel whether it rained. Dusk as it was, I had recognisedhim -- it was my master, Edward Fairfax Rochester, and no other.
I stayed my step, almost my breath, and stood to watch him -- toexamine him, myself unseen, and alas! to him invisible. It wasa sudden meeting, and one in which rapture was kept well in checkby pain. I had no difficulty in restraining my voice from exclamation,my step from hasty advance.
His form was of the same strong and stalwart contour as ever: hisport was still erect, his hair was still raven black; nor were hisfeatures altered or sunk: not in one year's space, by any sorrow,could his athletic strength be quelled or his vigorous prime blighted.But in his countenance I saw a change: that looked desperate andbrooding -- that reminded me of some wronged and fettered wildbeast or bird, dangerous to approach in his sullen woe. The cagedeagle, whose gold-ringed eyes cruelty has extinguished, might lookas looked that sightless Samson.
And, reader, do you think I feared him in his blind ferocity? --if you do, you little know me. A soft hope blest with my sorrowthat soon I should dare to drop a kiss on that brow of rock, andon those lips so sternly sealed beneath it: but not yet. I wouldnot accost him yet.
He descended the one step, and advanced slowly and gropingly towardsthe grass-plat. Where was his daring stride now? Then he paused,as if he knew not which way to turn. He lifted his hand and openedhis eyelids; gazed blank, and with a straining effort, on the sky,and toward the amphitheatre of trees: one saw that all to himwas void darkness. He stretched his right hand (the left arm, themutilated one, he kept hidden in his bosom); he seemed to wish bytouch to gain an idea of what lay around him: he met but vacancystill; for the trees were some yards off where he stood. Herelinquished the endeavour, folded his arms, and stood quiet andmute in the rain, now falling fast on his uncovered head. At thismoment John approached him from some quarter.
"Will you take my arm, sir?" he said; "there is a heavy showercoming on: had you not better go in?"
"Let me alone, " was the answer.
John withdrew without having observed me. Mr. Rochester now triedto walk about: vainly, -- all was too uncertain. He groped hisway back to the house, and, re-entering it, closed the door.
I now drew near and knocked: John's wife opened for me. "Mary, "I said, "how are you?"
She started as if she had seen a ghost: I calmed her. To herhurried "Is it really you, miss, come at this late hour to thislonely place?" I answered by taking her hand; and then I followedher into the kitchen, where John now sat by a good fire. I explainedto them, in few words, that I had heard all which had happened sinceI left Thornfield, and that I was come to see Mr. Rochester. Iasked John to go down to the turn-pike-house, where I had dismissedthe chaise, and bring my trunk, which I had left there: andthen, while I removed my bonnet and shawl, I questioned Mary as towhether I could be accommodated at the Manor House for the night;and finding that arrangements to that effect, though difficult,would not be impossible, I informed her I should stay. Just atthis moment the parlour-bell rang.
"When you go in, " said I, "tell your master that a person wishesto speak to him, but do not give my name. "
"I don't think he will see you, " she answered; "he refuses everybody. "
When she returned, I inquired what he had said. "You are to sendin your name and your business, " she replied. She then proceededto fill a glass with water, and place it on a tray, together withcandles.
"Is that what he rang for?" I asked.
"Yes: he always has candles brought in at dark, though he isblind. "
"Give the tray to me; I will carry it in. "
I took it from her hand: she pointed me out the parlour door. Thetray shook as I held it; the water spilt from the glass; my heartstruck my ribs loud and fast. Mary opened the door for me, andshut it behind me.
This parlour looked gloomy: a neglected handful of fire burnt lowin the grate; and, leaning over it, with his head supported againstthe high, old-fashioned mantelpiece, appeared the blind tenantof the room. His old dog, Pilot, lay on one side, removed out ofthe way, and coiled up as if afraid of being inadvertently troddenupon. Pilot pricked up his ears when I came in: then he jumpedup with a yelp and a whine, and bounded towards me: he almostknocked the tray from my hands. I set it on the table; then pattedhim, and said softly, "Lie down!" Mr. Rochester turned mechanicallyto SEE what the commotion was: but as he SAW nothing, he returnedand sighed.
"Give me the water, Mary, " he said.
I approached him with the now only half-filled glass; Pilot followedme, still excited.
"What is the matter?" he inquired.
"Down, Pilot!" I again said. He checked the water on its way tohis lips, and seemed to listen: he drank, and put the glass down."This is you, Mary, is it not?"
"Mary is in the kitchen, " I answered.
He put out his hand with a quick gesture, but not seeing whereI stood, he did not touch me. "Who is this? Who is this?" hedemanded, trying, as it seemed, to SEE with those sightless eyes-- unavailing and distressing attempt! "Answer me -- speak again!"he ordered, imperiously and aloud.
"Will you have a little more water, sir? I spilt half of what wasin the glass, " I said.
"WHO is it? WHAT is it? Who speaks?"
"Pilot knows me, and John and Mary know I am here. I came onlythis evening, " I answered.
"Great God! -- what delusion has come over me? What sweet madnesshas seized me?"
"No delusion -- no madness: your mind, sir, is too strong fordelusion, your health too sound for frenzy. "
"And where is the speaker? Is it only a voice? Oh! I CANNOTsee, but I must feel, or my heart will stop and my brain burst.Whatever -- whoever you are -- be perceptible to the touch or Icannot live!"
He groped; I arrested his wandering hand, and prisoned it in bothmine.
"Her very fingers!" he cried; "her small, slight fingers! If sothere must be more of her. "
The muscular hand broke from my custody; my arm was seized, myshoulder -- neck -- waist -- I was entwined and gathered to him.
"Is it Jane? WHAT is it? This is her shape -- this is her size -- "
"And this her voice, " I added. "She is all here: her heart, too.God bless you, sir! I am glad to be so near you again. "
"Jane Eyre! -- Jane Eyre, " was all he said.
"My dear master, " I answered, "I am Jane Eyre: I have found youout -- I am come back to you. "
"In truth? -- in the flesh? My living Jane?"
"You touch me, sir, -- you hold me, and fast enough: I am not coldlike a corpse, nor vacant like air, am I?"
"My living darling! These are certainly her limbs, and these herfeatures; but I cannot be so blest, after all my misery. It is adream; such dreams as I have had at night when I have clasped heronce more to my heart, as I do now; and kissed her, as thus -- andfelt that she loved me, and trusted that she would not leave me. "
"Which I never will, sir, from this day. "
"Never will, says the vision? But I always woke and found it anempty mockery; and I was desolate and abandoned -- my life dark,lonely, hopeless -- my soul athirst and forbidden to drink -- myheart famished and never to be fed. Gentle, soft dream, nestlingin my arms now, you will fly, too, as your sisters have all fledbefore you: but kiss me before you go -- embrace me, Jane. "
"There, sir -- and there!"'
I pressed my lips to his once brilliant and now rayless eyes --I swept his hair from his brow, and kissed that too. He suddenlyseemed to arouse himself: the conviction of the reality of allthis seized him.
"It is you -- is it, Jane? You are come back to me then?"
"I am. "
"And you do not lie dead in some ditch under some stream? And youare not a pining outcast amongst strangers?"
"No, sir! I am an independent woman now. "
issuefrom the grange.mean, Jane?"whose .
"Independent! What do you mean, Jane?"
"My uncle in Madeira is dead, and he left me five thousand pounds. "
"Ah! this is practical -- this is real!" he cried: "I shouldnever dream that. Besides, there is that peculiar voice of hers,so animating and piquant, as well as soft: it cheers my witheredheart; it puts life into it. -- What, Janet! Are you an independentwoman? A rich woman?"
"If you won't let me live with you, I can build a house of my ownclose up to your door, and you may come and sit in my parlour whenyou want company of an evening. "
"But as you are rich, Jane, you have now, no doubt, friends whowill look after you, and not suffer you to devote yourself to ablind lameter like me?"
"I told you I am independent, sir, as well as rich: I am my ownmistress. "
"And you will stay with me?"
"Certainly -- unless you object. I will be your neighbour,your nurse, your housekeeper. I find you lonely: I will be yourcompanion -- to read to you, to walk with you, to sit with you,to wait on you, to be eyes and hands to you. Cease to look somelancholy, my dear master; you shall not be left desolate, so longas I live. "
He replied not: he seemed serious -- abstracted; he sighed;he half-opened his lips as if to speak: he closed them again. Ifelt a little embarrassed. Perhaps I had too rashly over-leapedconventionalities; and he, like St. John, saw impropriety in myinconsiderateness. I had indeed made my proposal from the ideathat he wished and would ask me to be his wife: an expectation,not the less certain because unexpressed, had buoyed me up, thathe would claim me at once as his own. But no hint to that effectescaping him and his countenance becoming more overcast, I suddenlyremembered that I might have been all wrong, and was perhaps playingthe fool unwittingly; and I began gently to withdraw myself fromhis arms -- but he eagerly snatched me closer.
"No -- no -- Jane; you must not go. No -- I have touched you,heard you, felt the comfort of your presence -- the sweetness ofyour consolation: I cannot give up these joys. I have little leftin myself -- I must have you. The world may laugh -- may call meabsurd, selfish -- but it does not signify. My very soul demandsyou: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance onits frame. "
"Well, sir, I will stay with you: I have said so. "
"Yes -- but you understand one thing by staying with me; and Iunderstand another. You, perhaps, could make up your mind to beabout my hand and chair -- to wait on me as a kind little nurse(for you have an affectionate heart and a generous spirit, whichprompt you to make sacrifices for those you pity), and that oughtto suffice for me no doubt. I suppose I should now entertain nonebut fatherly feelings for you: do you think so? Come -- tell me. "
"I will think what you like, sir: I am content to be only yournurse, if you think it better. "
"But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet: you are young -- youmust marry one day. "
"I don't care about being married. "
"You should care, Janet: if I were what I once was, I would tryto make you care -- but -- a sightless block!"
He relapsed again into gloom. I, on the contrary, became morecheerful, and took fresh courage: these last words gave me aninsight as to where the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficultywith me, I felt quite relieved from my previous embarrassment. Iresumed a livelier vein of conversation.
"It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you, " said I, partinghis thick and long uncut locks; "for I see you are being metamorphosedinto a lion, or something of that sort. You have a 'faux air' ofNebuchadnezzar in the fields about you, that is certain: your hairreminds me of eagles' feathers; whether your nails are grown likebirds' claws or not, I have not yet noticed. "
"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails, " he said, drawingthe mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It isa mere stump -- a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?"
"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes -- and thescar of fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is indanger of loving you too well for all this; and making too much ofyou. "
"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, andmy cicatrised visage. "
"Did you? Don't tell me so -- lest I should say somethingdisparaging to your judgment. Now, let me leave you an instant,to make a better fire, and have the hearth swept up. Can you tellwhen there is a good fire?"
"Yes; with the right eye I see a glow -- a ruddy haze. "
"And you see the candles?"
half-opened his lips as if to speak: he closed them!
"Very dimly -- each is a luminous cloud. "
"Can you see me?"
"No, my fairy: but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you. "
"When do you take supper?"
"I never take supper. "
"But you shall have some to-night. I am hungry: so are you, Idaresay, only you forget. "
After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I hadbeen, what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gavehim only very partial replies: it was too late to enter intoparticulars that night. Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrillingchord -- to open no fresh well of emotion in his heart: my solepresent aim was to cheer him. Cheered, as I have said, he was:and yet but by fits. If a moment's silence broke the conversation,he would turn restless, touch me, then say, "Jane. "
"You are altogether a human being, Jane? You are certain of that?"
"I conscientiously believe so, Mr. Rochester. "
"Yet how, on this dark and doleful evening, could you so suddenlyrise on my lone hearth? I stretched my hand to take a glass of waterfrom a hireling, and it was given me by you: I asked a question,expecting John's wife to answer me, and your voice spoke at myear. "
"Because I had come in, in Mary's stead, with the tray. "
"And there is enchantment in the very hour I am now spending withyou. Who can tell what a dark, dreary, hopeless life I have draggedon for months past? Doing nothing, expecting nothing; merging nightin day; feeling but the sensation of cold when I let the fire goout, of hunger when I forgot to eat: and then a ceaseless sorrow,and, at times, a very delirium of desire to behold my Jane again.Yes: for her restoration I longed, far more than for that of mylost sight. How can it be that Jane is with me, and says she lovesme? Will she not depart as suddenly as she came? To-morrow, Ifear I shall find her no more. "
A commonplace, practical reply, out of the train of his owndisturbed ideas, was, I was sure, the best and most reassuring forhim in this frame of mind. I passed my finger over his eyebrows,and remarked that they were scorched, and that I would applysomething which would make them grow as broad and black as ever.
"Where is the use of doing me good in any way, beneficent spirit,when, at some fatal moment, you will again desert me -- passinglike a shadow, whither and how to me unknown, and for me remainingafterwards undiscoverable?
"Have you a pocket-comb about you, sir?"
"What for, Jane?"
"Just to comb out this shaggy black mane. I find you ratheralarming, when I examine you close at hand: you talk of my beinga fairy, but I am sure, you are more like a brownie. "
"Am I hideous, Jane?"
"Very, sir: you always were, you know. "
"Humph! The wickedness has not been taken out of you, whereveryou have sojourned. "
"Yet I have been with good people; far better than you: a hundredtimes better people; possessed of ideas and views you neverentertained in your life: quite more refined and exalted. "
"Who the deuce have you been with?"